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Lady So Divine
Simon winced, even though it wasn't him being hurt. It wrenched his heart to see Madison bleeding and in pain. He didn't know where their relationship stood, but Simon was certain of one thing at least: he loved her.

"I'm sorry Madi," he apologised. "But what uh... he says makes sense, we need to get it cleaned out, otherwise there's gonna be all sorts of crap inside the wound: it will make things worse than they already are." Simon gave the painkillers to Madison, smiling his thanks to Lenny. "Hey, I didn't get your name: I'm Simon. Thanks for the help,"

He didn't get a chance to hear the reply though, as another voice broke the silence. Simon's head snapped around, and he spotted two girls emerging from the bushes. He recognised neither, though he was reassured by the fact that the pair didn't appear to be armed in a way which was likely to cause them to be killed... at least from afar.

Simon place the water bottle down and drew his laser dazzler, resting it on his cast and aiming it towards the two girls. He was counting on the darkness, and the shape of the dazzler, to make it seem like he was directing a gun at them. He had no intention of shooting, but it paid to be careful.

"Someone's hurt here," he called in reply. "How many in your group?" Simon wanted to trust, like he had Brad and Terrie, but that had been an entirely different situation all over. He couldn't help but feel suspicion tugging at him.

(Bobby continued from: Misery's End)

That poor, poor bastard... what a life he had, the Program was just the crowning moment of it. Oh yeah, and then I killed him. I wonder,,, was I putting him out of his misery, or just writing the last chapter of a book of torment?

Bobby Jacks, B06 sighed and kept pushing forward. His thoughts kept getting dragged back to his status... both morally and mentally. It was an undeniable fact to him: he was now a three time murderer - four if he counted Wolfe, but he had his doubts about that one. Christopher Straton, Tyson Neills and now Ricardo Chee, that was what he knew for concrete. It didn't matter if he made it to the end without taking another life, he was damned even before he reached the game.

The burly boxer's body crumpled to the ground almost of its own volition. Bobby sat on the sand for a few moments, allowing the sounds of the sea to wash over him. It was a strange kind of peace, as always, it was fleeting. In the distance, Bobby heard voices, and the logical, methodical thoughts which had compelled him to start playing in the first place once again urged him to take up his carbine and pick up another couple of kills.

Bobby shook his head.

"No, I'm not some mindless robot, following my programming. I make my own decisions," Bobby thought about that for a few moments: it wasn't true... no matter what he had to say about it, he was, and always would be a killer. The only way out was to kill even more... Bobby looked down at the scalpel in his belt, and after considering it for a second or so, tugged it out.

He raised the weapon to the light: noting that it still had a reddish tinge to the blade, and similar on the handle. It had found its mark no fewer than four times, even if twice it had been an accident on the part of its owners. Bobby shuddered: he hoped it would prove kinder to its newest master. He raised the blade again and touched it to his cheek: the point at which he had been cut in his last fight.

"Penance..." he murmured, cutting the skin gently with the blade. He felt blood trickle down his face, and pain began assaulting him, but Bobby ignored it, making another, long cut just above. Bobby could feel the flow of blood from the twin wounds now: not a great deal, but hardly inconsiderable. Bobby made not a murmur, swapping to the opposite hand, and scoring two similar lines across his other cheek. One for each death.

Bobby dabbed at the wounds with his shirt, staining it red, up until the point the bleeding began to slow and he felt sure he didn't look like he was wearing a crimson mask. He got to his feet and looked grimly in the direction of the voices, before heading in that general direction. Before long, he spotted the source: no fewer than six people, quite an array. The 'player' part of him, would have liked nothing better than to charge in there and gun them all down: or at least as many of them as he could, but even if they weren't armed, it was much the same situation as with Ric. He just couldn't bring himself to shoot somebody. Was stabbing better? He didn't know. For some reason, much as he hated to think of it in that way: Bobby wanted to give the prey a sporting chance.

The boxer squinted, and realised that one of the faces in the distance was familiar: or at least, seemed so. It looked as if Madison was still alive... Putting the gun on one shoulder, he narrowed his eyes and continued to look at the group. Ideally, he would have tried a trick, but Madison being there blew that out of the water: unless of course, a haircut and a couple of cuts was enough of a disguise to stop somebody he had used as a human shield from recognising him. Bobby decided to hover in the background and see what happened: two people appeared to be joining the group, it could end up giving him an opportunity to act.

Alive Out of Habit
Assured that she wasn't about to be shown the colour of her own guts, Maxie slotted her meat hook into her belt - taking care not to accidentally prick herself with it. With an object like the weapon, it was pretty difficult to set it up in a way that there wasn't potential for disaster. Maxie figured she would just keep it there for a little while to take the strain off her arm - after all, she had been carrying it for quite some time.

She sighed, relaxing slightly for the first time in some considerable duration. It seemed that Maxie was, for the time being, both literally and figuratively out of the woods. As long as she could keep her argumentative tendecies on a tight leash, Maxie would be fine. Of course... that wasn't really much of a solution: getting with a group (and that wasn't even concrete, since Maxie hadn't even raised the point yet) wouldn't stop the game from running, nor would hiding in a bulding. Eventually, somebody rather less friendly than either herself or any of these three would come along, and then things would get nasty.

Maxie glanced away from Kallie when she heard a new voice, but it turned out only to be Guy Rapide, someone Maxie knew vaguely, but they weren't really friendly. Maxie tended to note him simply due to the fact he was so diminutive, which was rather cruel, but true all the same: girls don't often have boys being half a foot plus smaller than them. However, the size was really immaterial, since Guy was holding a gun. The smallest man in the world became a giant with a pistol. Maxie shifted herself ever so slightly away from him nervously. She didn't think that any of the group was hostile, but not considering every eventuality was what got people killed, and Maxie was somewhat fond of her own neck.

She listened as Kallie spoke to her and, for once, was willing to take her words at face value. Either you could trust people, or be massively paranoid and probably end up getting yourself killed. Taking things from a more callous viewpoint: if Kallie or Guy were playing (maybe even together) she could see no benefit in hauling along some girl who rolled up into a ball like a frightened mouse at the first sight of danger - or even just blood. There was deception, and then there was compassion. The drawbacks for any player - in the trust department and such, would definitely outweigh the advantages.

"I'm not playin'... unless anybody forces me to," Maxie felt it necessary to add that. Despite any reassurances, self-defence was playing the game. Unless of course, you were somebody who would generally decide killing people was an acceptable thing to do. "You guys are th' first people I've run across. That jungle... this is th' first time I've reached some sort of clearin' since I woke up. It all looks so similar y'know?" Maxie ran one hand through her hair anxiously. "D'you mind if I uh... stay with ya for a while? Same runnin' 'round the jungle thing. Considerin' it took me that long to get out in th' first place... I just don't want to spend another night out there," Maxie had trusted Kallie, hopefully she would now return the favour and not judge her by her reputation.

Say Goodbye, Hollywood
"Call me naive, and I know that I'm just asking for it, but I'd rather be dead than an amoral bastard," Sean smirked. "And funnily enough, the 'perfect opportunity' to make my getaway would involve me... well I dunno, running through you? Regardless though, I guess I'll get out of here..."

Sean rotated his shoulder, working a kink out of it, then moved towards the door, manouvering himself so that he could see both Dominica and Gabriel and make sure that they weren't planning to stick a blade into him. When he made his way outside, Sean stood there and looked inwards at the pair. Sticking the glass knife into his belt, he gave a cheery wave and a smile he didn't feel.

"So long you guys, may your eviscerations go smoothly and decapitations be clean,"

Sean turned away from the storehouse and took off. He had wasted enough time already. Where the hell had Andy ended up?

((Sean continued in: Them vs. You vs. Me))

Alive Out of Habit
At the fringes of the hospital clearing, there was the sound of footsteps, flattening down vegatation with a distinctive swishing sound. A camera slowly adjusted itself to focus on the area from which the noise was coming, and it grew steadily louder as the unseen student got closer to the observing sentinel. Those watching the show at home would be keeping a close eye on the TV. Would the hidden person be revealed as one of the islands psychopaths - one of the killers? Could the footsteps belong to Bobby Jacks, perhaps, not caught on camera since his showdown with the horribly disfigured Ric Chee. Might it be Blood Boy? But no... he was at the lagoon, was he not? There was a certain sense of anticipation amidst the viewers, dread for those who might have had family members amongst the contestants, eagerness for the people who watched the show for the sheer blood and gore - or perhaps just think it is reality TV or a soap opera of sorts.

Then the foilage parted, pushed aside by a tanned, slender, most certainly female hand. The mystery set of footsteps proceded to claim an identity, and the viewers got their first plain view of G32, Maxie Dasai.

Maxie had been wandering around the jungle for the best part of two days - although she had managed to snatch some sleep at one point. It was with an almost sureal sense of relief that she saw she had finally managed to make it out of the confines of the sweltering jungle. It had been quite the trek through the jungle, and Maxie hadn't actually encountered any other students, although she surmised by the first announcement and the sounds of gunshots that te game was indeed well underway. Maxie wondered briefly if it would have been a better idea never to have ventured outside of the annonymity of the jungle.

It appeared that she wasn't the only person in the area, however. Rather unpleasantly, there were a number of corpses strewn about outside, a sight which sickened Maxie more than she could say. Sure, she was holding a meat hook, but just because she wasn't willing to allow somebody to slaughter her didn't mean that she wanted to go around wantonly killing everybody. Aside from the disturbing number of dead bodies (it seemed that the second day had claimed rather more victims than the first) there were also two live ones in the area.

One was standing in the doorway of the hospital building itself, holding a pretty vicious looking sword. The other was crouched down on the ground outside, right next to one of the dead bodies. Maxie immediately recognised the first of them: it was difficult not to know who Kallie Majors was. She was so good-looking (and most certainly knew it) that Kallie stood out instantly. Maxie doubted that she would be a player, although with tensions running high, she supposed that anybody could turn into a murderer. The second person, Maxie couldn't place for the life of her, although she seemed familiar. Kallie didn't concern Maxie unduly, and the other girl seemed harmless enough, so...

Maxie stepped from the shadows and began walking towards the hospital, her meat hook held nonchalently and (she hoped) unthreateningly.

"Hey," she called out, moderating her voice so as to not have too high a volume: didn't want anybody hostile hearing after all. "What's goin' on with you guys?" not exactly a Spanish inquisition way of deciding if somebody was friendly or not but, in all fairness, Maxie figured that she'd find out soon enough if either girl would try to kill her. If that came to pass, Maxie had more than enough confidence in her own ability to beat them.

Say Goodbye, Hollywood
Sean rolled his eyes as Gabriel insisted on maintaining his 'evil genius' dialogue. Really, did he not think he looked scary enough already? When you were as big as he was, you didn't need to use that deliberate badass talk. Hell, Sean knew that he was scared of Gabriel, even if he didn't let it show. After all, he had just witnessed the guy decapitate somebody right in front of him.

"Seriously Gabriel, do you get those out of some kind of 'Cliche villain handbook'? You're dangerous enough as it is? You are so full of yourself..." a small, humourless smile broke out on Sean's face. "And I object to be referred to as in idiot when I'm the only person in this room who isn't either a corpse or has caused a corpse," Sean gave Gabriel and Dominica quizzical glances in turn. "That sure shows what people tend to think of morals huh?"

He knew that he was probably pushing it, but at this point, Sean didn't really care. Dominica had sounded at least somewhat interested in Gabriel's proposal, and the baseballer wouldn't back himself to avoid both her speargun and the giant's sword in order to get the hell out of there. Hell, he was slightly surprised that he hadn't been impaled yet.

"A fundemental flaw in your plan, Gabriel, is that both of you want to win. As I said before, one or the other of the pair of you is going to stab the partner in the back sooner or later. Every time you spring the trap on some unsuspecting group, every time you go to sleep, you're going to have to leave one eye open, be looking over your shoulder, just in case your so-called partner decides you'd look better with a knife between your shoulderblades," Sean tipped his head backward, allowing his hair to fall back and out of his eyes. "Gabriel... you want to kill me? Just try it, anything to be free from your shamefully corny conversation..."

Lady So Divine
"Never mind that," Simon told Madison as another two of their classmates arrived on the scene. "Another helping hand is welcome in any situation," he had found the bandages, but according to the new guy, they had to clean the wound out first. Of course, that was fair logic, but he was far too scattered at the moment to think straight.

"Right, water bottle," Simon went into to his pack again, thankfully managing to locate his water rather more quickly than he had his first aid kit. Simon glanced at his girlfriend. "Sorry if this hurts Madi," Simon quickly unscrewed the cap from the water bottle with his teeth, then tipped it up and allowed water to begin dribbling onto the gorey wound in her side. Hopefully this wasn't merely closing the stable door after the horses had bolted.

Say Goodbye, Hollywood
Sean looked across the room sharply as somebody responded to the commet he made to Gabriel. He made sure to keep a decent distance away from his adversary though: he really didn't feel like getting stabbed simply because he had been distracted by something. A girl was in the doorway, more importantly, she was holding some kind of speargun: and it was being pointed right at Gabriel. Despite the fact her weapon was currently being directed towards his opponent, Sean felt decidedly uncomfortable. Of course he knew, owing to the nature of the weapon, she would only get one shot before having to reload: and likely she wouldn't get that much time, but Sean would much rather not be the one that the one shot was directed at.

Sean didn't recognise the small girl readily, but after a moment's thought, a name came to him: Dominica Shapiro. Judging by her witch-esque cackling, the girl had lost it. or was dangerously close to doing so. A worrying thought occured to him: what if she was very much sane? It wasn't really something Sean wanted to contemplate, but he kept the idea in his mind, just in case any further information could be used to credit this theory.

"Much as I hate to interupt your evil-genius psychoanalysis with my idiotic, wordly concerns," Sean interjected at the end of Dominica's little speech. "Generally, it isn't a particularly good idea to cross-examine a lunatic: saying they have no humanity of all things and being pretty unconcerned about it all..." Sean paused, and raised an eyebrow. "When your weapon has got only one shot, and said psycho path is just barely out of reach," Sean smiled winningly. "Just a thought, y'know?"

Sean didn't really have anything to lose by being sarcastic, and confrontational for that matter. Both Gabriel and Domincia were better armed than he was: fire poker didn't beat sword or speargun in any circumstance. The way he figured, he might as well utilise the opportunity to unleash his 'biting wit' while he could. Sean let Gabriel start to talk, then cut in again, with an expressive shrug, addressing Dominica, mock-plainatively.

"You see why I call the guy a lunatic?" Sean's face was creased by a frown as the giant continued, the references to him as a 'young virgin metrosexual' irritating him. "Hey, enough about my sex life: just concede that I have a far higher chance at getting laid than either of you and be done with it. Hell, it would be a minor miracle if Gabriel could meet any woman and spend more than a minute without disembowling her," Sean looked across at the girl. "And rest assured, I would come up with a suitably witty remark concerning you, however, I have no fucking clue who you are,"

Sean fell quiet after that for a little while: allowing Gabriel to continue to speak, before snorting derisively.

"Love at first sight or what..." Sean murmured under his breath. "Any kind of 'mutual admiration' I might observe, is doomed to failure. At some point, either one of you is going to decide the other has outlived their usefulness and..." Sean drew on finger across his throat for emphasis. "You both know it, I'm just pointing it out,"

Sean kept both his weapons ready, even as Gabriel finished speaking.

"Castration? Well, I'm looking at somebody right now who I'd very much like to eunuchify,"

Maxie Dasai
Ah, I missed that when I was looking it up. Sorry: I'll change it :)

Edit: Done

Maxie Dasai
Name: Maxie Dasai
Gender: Female
Age: 18
Grade: 12th [Senior]
School: Southridge High School
Hobbies and Interests: Maxie enjoys pretty much anything that will allow her to get a break from the tedium of school life. This includes (and is not limited to) going to rock concerts, partying hard, and even occasional drug use, though she is mindful not to go further than a small sampling, and infrequently at that. A notable exception to Maxie's no-restraints lifestyle is in the area of sex: to her, it's not a thing to be done casually, a value so firmly held in her mind that even when drunk, she will remain unswayed on the subject (although she is not adverse to a little kissing). Briefly, Maxie attempted to learn Capoeira, but dropped out after a couple of months on the basis that it was too much of a commitment.

Appearance: 'Conventional' is not a word which sits well with any aspect of Maxie; her appearence is no exception. Maxie's hair is relatively short, reaching only the level of her jawline, oftentimes it is rather dishevelled, most commonly due to a party or somesuch which Maxie simply didn't bother to fix herself up from. Her hair is predominantly brown: not exactly mousey, but hardly the look of a supermodel. However, the tips of Maxie's hair have all been dyed a vivid scarlet, the bright and unusual colour drawing the eye to her, at least momentarily. Maxie's eyes, often concealed behind a thin curtain of hair, are a cool, almost ice blue. She has a fairly dark complexion, having been out in the sun plenty during her life, and her skin is blessedly free of blemishes. However, one detriment to an otherwise fairly attractive face is the near-constant presence of dark rings underneath the eyes, caused by many a (very) late night.

Maxie is a little taller than most other girls her age, with 5'8" to her name, and seems to enjoy a weight exactly right for her. This means she boasts quite the figure, although Maxie most certainly isn't the best looking girl in Southridge, you can definitely say she has curves - and good ones at that. Maxie's chest is perhaps, somewhat bigger than you would normally expect from a girl of her size, but luckily, it is not too disproportionate.

On the day of the trip, Maxie was wearing her favourite pair of jeans: faded, and so threadbare in places as to be almost worn right through, practical trainers, and fingerless leather gloves. On her upper body, Maxie wore a rather tight pale tanktop, as well as her much-loved denim jacket.

Biography: Maxie has never liked the idea of being subversient to anybody, including parents, teacher, and on occassion, other classmates. She hates being told what to do, to the point of being deliberately (and ridiculously) objectional at times, even if she holds the same view on a subject as somebody else. Maxie will listen to suggestions, but that's about as far as it goes. Maxie, in essence, just wants to be able to go out and have a good time when she wants to. However, what tends to happen and what she wants to do are entirely seperate things. Maxie is quite a troublemaker, with any number of plans for 'fun' up her sleeve. Needless to say, these aren't often in the best of tastes, and the elaborate practical jokes Maxie likes to arrange can be downright dangerous at times. Her rebellious streak, coupled with her stubborness, causes her schoolwork to suffer. Despite appearences, Maxie is reasonably intelligent, and manages to just about get by on what nature has given her. A staunch refusal to do revision of any kind, and homework only being completed around 60% on time (and only then because she doesn't want detention cutting down her free time) drags Maxie's grades down considerably: A student who could conceivably be getting straight A's acheiving, at the best, a B. Still, Maxie puts this down to her not bothering to try, and when once accused of being merely stupid in a report, she proved perfectly capable of attaining an A in the next test that subject put forward. Of course, this kind of reverse psychology didn't last long, and Maxie soon stopped putting the effort in: her point proven.

Tracking back, Maxie was born locally: Highland beach, and has lived in the vicinity of Southridge High School for her entire life. Her parents were named Sophie, the manager of a small local shop, and Chris Dasai, a lawyer. Neither treated her (or her older brother, Lucas) with anything but love and affection - despite the fact that both Maxie and Lucas were and are 'trouble' children, then teenagers, then young adults. From a very young age: about as soon as Maxie learned to speak with any degree of fluency, she was very contrary indeed. The young girl found it incredibly amusing to do the exact opposite of what she was told to do, causing much frustration on the part of her parents. Even trickery (i.e: 'Don't stop doing that!') failed, for Maxie cottoned on to the trick very quickly. However, fortunately (most definitely for the nerves and tempers of her parents) Maxie knew when to stop, a never went too far, learning her lesson the first time her father - a mild-mannered man, lost his temper and briefly shouted at her before calming down and apologising to the young girl.

Whilst Maxie was causing her parents headaches, she was nothing short of her brother's partner in crime. Delighted to have found a kindred spirit in his younger sister, Lucas taught Maxie every trick he knew. This continued throughout their teenage years: Lucas, of course, constantly being three years ahead of Maxie in experience, nevertheless took the time to pass his knowledge onto her, making Maxie perhaps a little more savvy than you would expect for her age. However, in some instances, being related to and taught by one of the most notorious troublemakers of his time was not a particularly good thing: such were the similarities between brother and sister that, despite that fact Lucas was much worse than Maxie, she got very little leniency where discipline was concerned. In the opinion of teachers, Maxie was in exactly the same mould as her brother, where, in truth, she wasn't quite as bad as he. On the other hand, many a druken advance or potential fight has been averted by simply dropping Lucas' name. Quite rightly so, Maxie's brother has a considerable reputation, especially in less savoury areas. Very few people want to mess with the sister of a guy famous for being able to take down guys near double his size in a matter of moments.

With the influence of somebody who had a large a personality as Lucas, it was inevitable that Maxie would turn out similarly to him: she became something of a party animal, although she did her best not to let things get out of hand. Still, if there was a party, rave, or concert, you could bet your house that Maxie Dasai would be there, or had already been there and left after causing a suitable amount of trouble. Despite a somewhat damning reputation, Maxie was usually just there to have some fun - in terms of substances, she is surprisingly clean-cut. Maxie doesn't smoke, samples drugs only occassionally, and never any of the really serious stuff, and drinks in moderation. This is partially because Maxie likes to keep a clear head: she would hate it if she was too intoxicated to ward off an advance.

Maxie, in general, just meanders her way through life: making no big decisions, putting off contemplating her future, and just trying to get the biggest amoubt of enjoyment you can out of life. After all, you only live once, why waste that time doing stuff you don't like doing? This philosophy isn't best received at all times, but Maxie is more than willing to argue it out with anybody who decides to disagree with her. Maxie holds true to her belief that nobody should be allowed to tell anyone else what to do.

Advantages: Maxie is in good shape, simply because she rarely stays inside her house for a night and walks everywhere she goes - unless it's an unreasonably far distance, in which case she will get a lift. Maxie is also quite a brawler - numerous parties which have disintergrated into simple fights have seen to that, although she has nowhere near the degree of competence of a trained fighter. In addition, Maxie is surprisingly acrobatic, capable of any number of cartwheels, somersaults, and rolls. Amusingly, this is derived both from her brief foray into Capoeria, and a penchant for putting on some moves on the dancefloor.

Disadvantages: The majority of the popular/normal crowd in Southridge hold a particularly damning view of Maxie, seeing her as a troublemaker and delinquent, and as such, want nothing to do with her - and will probably have little trouble seeing her as a 'player' of Danya's game. Maxie being the contrary person she is, with an affinity for playing Devil's advocate, it's unlikely she will be able to stay in a group for any meaningful length of time: easier to consider is that Maxie will either merely grow tired of being ordered about, and depart, or be forced to leave due to arguing. As mentioned previously, Maxie's fighting prowess nowhere reaches the extent to a proper study of such martial arts, and has little to no experience with weaponary.

March Mid-Month Rolls
Ric hath bitten the dust...

Misery's end
(Bobby continued from: Carnage)

Bobby hadn't encountered anybody since leaving that charnal house of a hospital. It was ironic that a place of healing should become the site of such scenes of death. Judging by the announcement, there were yet more corpses in that place which Bobby hadn't seen. The boxer shuddered, stopping dead in his tracks for a moment. Although he was resigned to participating in this game, the sight of all of those dead bodies was enough to make him want to be sick... He understood that killing was a necessity in this instance, but that most certainly didn't mean that he had to revel in the deaths of others. The fewer people Bobby encountered, and, it followed, the fewer people he was forced to kill, the happier he would be. He was having enough troubles with his conscience as it was, without having to add further burdens to it. Bobby hoped sincerely he didn't see another person until the inevitable finish. Until the time he saw somebody else, Bobby resolved to just keep walking, putting on front in front of another, and taking each situation as it came.

*

Juan had, at least, fallen silent for the time being, though Ric had mixed feeling about that. Of course the voice was intrusive, sarcastic, and somewhat irritating, but at the same time it was company. It was rather depressing that the person whom he had had his best conversation with in a very long time was a figment of his imagination. Ric knew that it was sad, but at least Juan understood him.

How could he not? Ric observed wryly. He's a voice in my head: essentially, he is me.

Talking about me behind my back are we now? Juan's voice echoed, loud and clear inside his own head.

You don't exist. Ric told him shortly. And it's not like I was trying to hold some kind of secret discussion in the corner of my brain. Eavesdropping is a redundant thing when it's all in my own head anyway. Juan's reply served to annoy Ric.

Aha, but maybe I was in the brain bar.

... Shut up, just... shut up. Juan subsided into a decidedly smug silence. Ric had been so caught up in arguing - and pretty much with himself, that he only spotted the figure in front of him at the last instant. With close cut hair, a scarred face, as well as being muscular, tall, and most importantly, holding a gun, he appeared more than a formidable adversary. He wasn't formidable. He was death.

*

There was a moment of mutual surprise as the two of them stood there, regarding each other silently. They were poles apart, on the one hand you had Ric, slender, smaller, an outcast, going relatively unnoticed in his society, ugly, yet ultimately, good hearted, a weighty stick his only defence. On the other side you had Bobby, muscular, taller, a seasoned fighter, not socially skilled, yet having his own measure of notierity, equipped with a veritable arsenal of weapons, most notably his Carbine.

They continued to staredown for a little longer, then Bobby swung his pack from his shoulder, dropping it to the ground beside him, dropping with it his pipewrench and golf club. The gun followed those weapons a moment later, leaving Bobby unarmed save for his original syringe, and the recently aquired scalpel, both thrust into his belt, rather ineptly. However, being without weapons against somebody with only a stick was hardly putting yourself into a threatening position, especially with the size and strength advantage he so obviously enjoyed over Ric.

"I have no excuses. It's fight or die, and I'm not going to be the one to die," Bobby told Ric shortly, shrugging his shoulders, muscles shifting visibly through his sweat-drenched short sleeved shirt. "I can't just let you by me, nor can I simply shoot you dead," Bobby sighed, tipping his head skyward and closing his eyes for an instant. The boxer enjoyed the brief peace that came with this, though it was far too fleeting as Bobby's head snapped back down again in moments, his eyes locking onto Ric's gaze. "I'll offer you a deal. Keep me down for five, and I'll let you past me: Wish you well, even give you one of my weapons, God knows I've got enough of them. All I've got here are my bare hands, so this, my friend, is your best shot at beating me," Bobby's eyes narrowed. "Refuse, or fail, and I think you can guess what will happen,"

Ric hesitated for several long moments before coming to a decision, not aided at all by Juan yelling into his (proverbial) ear, breaking his concentration and train of thought simaltaneously.

You can't trust him Ric! The guy has five weapons dammit, you can't secure that much weaponary solely by scavenging!

I've hardly got a choice, do I? I turn down this 'deal' of his, and he'll put a bullet, or worse, a knife, in my back. There's no doubt that he can outpace me in a flat sprint, or at least have the endurance to just keep coming and coming. Whether or not he is trustworthy doesn't come into the equation: I'd rather face him when he's got his fists out than his gun.

Gr.. Having voiced his disapproval, Juan fell silent, clearly unable to offer any argument to the points Ric made: it was an unenviable situation, but this option was the only chance, however slight, he would have of making it through alive.

"Fine," Ric almost-snarled. "I accept your conditions, much as I don't want to, it's the only shot I have," Ric twirled his stick around and pointed it at Bobby, before saying, with bravado he didn't feel. "Bring it on,"

*

Bobby nodded sagely before shifitng his feet, moving into the correct stance to fight in. Unsurprisingly, he took up a typical boxing pose, hands closer to the body than was normal, the signature of a power boxer. Ric, conversely, merely shuffled from side to side a little: he had never been in a proper fight in his life, his only ever real altercation consisting of his adversary pretty much knocking his brains out with a baseball bat. Ric felt apprehensive as he eyed Bobby, who began taking small, measured steps towards him, closing the gap steadily. Suddenly, the distance between them, which Ric had considered fairly sizeable, simply could not be far enough.

Despite his fear, Ric stood his ground staunchly, frowning deeply at the inexorable advance of his opponent. Bobby seemed emotionless, his face a hard mask, grim and statue-like. Although now bereft of his distinctive dreadlocks, which had added around two inches to his height, Bobby still stood at a towering 6ft 3", a size which topped even Ric's rather large 6ft. Somehow, the reduction in height didn't seem to supress Bobby's menacing aura: previously, Bobby had looked like an amiable, fuzzy lion. If it was possible, the cut had made him look more scary. Fortunately (in a manner of speaking) Ric didn't believe it was possible for him to become more scared, so the alteration in appearence made a neglible difference.

When Ric considered Bobby was too close for comfort, he darted in a diagonal direction - forwards and to the left, ducking his head as he did. This last proved a decision well made as Bobby's left hand snapped out for a jab, ending up finding nothing due to the swift movement of his adversary. Ric immediately tried to capitalise on managing to move inside Bobby's guard, jamming his stick point first into Bobby's side. The boxer winced as the hard object drove into his side. Luckily (the weapon, after all, being a stick) it caused but superficial damage - nothing that Bobby hadn't had to endure in any number of training sessions or matches. In retaliation, Bobby pulled back his wayward jab, and swung around with a huge left hook. Aggravatingly, Ric managed to avoid this potentially devastating blow too, spinning away from Bobby and ending up virtually back-to-back with him.

Wielding the stick with some skill (it was little more than a club, in all fairness, not exactly difficult to handle) Ric proceeded to hammer the stick into the small of Bobby's back, driving it with the hand not holding the 'weapon' to provide the force, still not actually facing the boxer. Bobby let out a little growl of pain and frustration, both from being hit a second time and with his inability to land a hit on Ric. Bobby's eyes narrowed - unbeknownst to his opponent. and he pivoted on one foot, sweeping his right foot around in a kick. Correctly anticipating that Ric would duck away again, Bobby's foot caught Ric square in the jaw, sending him flying clean across the entirity of the little track. Bobby grinned savagely, having finally succeeded in nailing the smaller and faster guy down.

Bobby stalked towards Ric, who was lying on the ground, dazed, preparing to finish him off: that kick had been hard. All of a sudden, however, the tables were turned again as Ric managed to pick himself up - rolling into a crouch, before smashing his stick into the one area that no guy ever wants anything smashed into. Bobby groaned with pain, doubling over, but managing to remain standing. That was one area that Bobby most certainly did not have experience being hit in. Ric once again tried to press his advantage, using his low position to smack the stick into Bobby's forehead, knocking him out of his bent over posture. Ric followed up with a full-on, running club to Bobby's face, spinning him away and dropping him to his knees.

Ric felt his heart swell with exhilaration as he saw Bobby go down, but the feeling soon faded as the boxer shook his head groggily, got to one knee, then stood up again after a mental count of four seconds in Ric's mind. Had he been honourable and trustworthy, that was one second away from signifying the end of their conflict. However, Ric didn't trust Bobby one jot, and would have followed up, had he not been so surprised to see him fall with the blow to the face. Ric charged forward to attack, but then was rebuked with a punishing punch to the stomach. At least... it looked like a punch. Ric felt a sickening pain in his abdonem, one which harshly contradicted any thoughts that it was a normal blow. Ric looked down in disbelief, and saw bright blood, crimson, insidiously spreading out across his shirt.

... I shouldn't have worn white today...

Stop worrying about your laundry bill and more about the fact that you just got freakin' STABBED! He pulled a knife or something, hid it in his fist and then got the cheap shot in. I fucking told you!

Shut the hell up for just one second will you!? In case you haven't noticed, I'm still in the middle of a fight here, wound or not.

You're the one who had to bring up the colour of your damn shirt...

Bobby looked vaguely remorseful as he straightened up, the scalpel he used to gain the advantage still held in his right hand. For somebody who had never cheated before, even whilst boxing, it was a harsh eventuality to consider. Bobby didn't like doing it, but in the end, it was neccessity. He felt bad: albeit briefly, for having lied about fighting fair, but hell, the way he figured it, there were no rewards for good behaviour in SOTF.

Ric still looked stunned at the blood slowly blossoming from the point of impact of the blade. It hadn't gone in deeply, since Bobby had been forced to conceal most of the thing in his fist, leaving only a small amount of the blade protuding to actually deal the damage. Still, it would be more than enough: with that kind of wound, and losing blood steadily, Ric would no longer be much of a threat. Ric looked up just in time to see Bobby stalking towards him a second time. With one hand clasped over the wound, and the other still on his stick, Ric continued to defend valiently, The boxer almost threw it away at that point: he jabbed with the scalpel at the same time Ric swung his stick, and in a freak of timing, the blade ended up catching on the club and sticking there, being jarred from Bobby's hand. Sensing an opportunity to gain the initiative once again, Ric swung for a second time, seemingly oblivious to the surgical tool turned lethal weapon jammed into his club.

Once again though, experience prevailed. Bobby managed to parry the stick with his left forearm, although the impact was painful. However, more important than the fleeting injury was the fact that this now left Ric wide, wide open, and Bobby gleefully took this chance, bringing his right arm around once again and making contact with a magnificent hook, lifting Ric from his feet, blood spraying from his mouth as he experienced just what it felt like to be clocked by the boy who was arguably the best puncher at Southridge. This time around, there was no swift recovery, and Ric lay sprawled on the ground, staring up at the sky, seeing stars despite it being day. He didn't think he had ever been hit so hard in his life: the flesh around his mouth shredded by some of his very few remaining teeth: less so now, as Ric could now feel no fewer than three fresh, blood spewing craters inside of his mouth.

More methodically now, Bobby went over to the dropped stick and retrieved his scalpel. Fortunately it didn't seem like it was much worse for the wear having been caught by the wooden stick: evidently it was made of sterner stuff than most, either that, or the stick hadn't been from a hardwood tree, which was rather more likely. Having picked up the scalpel once again, Bobby stalked towards the downed Ric.

Get up Ric, get up! Come on! You can't just give up! Juan's voice urged Ric as he lay there, almost unable to move, such was the sheer exhaustion and detetachment he was now experiencing.

I'm tired, leave me alone.

Damn it Ric, you can't sleep now, not yet, there's time for that when you die. Juan chided him.

Funnily enough, I suspect that is now... Ric replied, with a touch of sarcasm, before closing his eyes.

Ric! Ric! Stay with me, stay with me!

"It's okay Juan..." Ric murmured aloud. "Didn't have anything to live for anyway..." Ric jolted once as he felt another short sharp pain, which mercifully faded, along with the agony in his gut, in a matter of moments. The ex-baseballer's head fell back, lolling to one side as his cheek touched against the dusty ground.

Guess I'll never be able to buy you that drnk Juan...

B36: Ricardo 'Ric' Chee - ELIMINATED

Bobby pulled the scalpel from Ric's chest and wiped off the blade with the edge of his t-shirt, looking down at his second (third, if Dan Wolfe had not already been dead when Bobby shot him) corpse of the game, in his mind nothing but tumult and discord. Swiftly, the boxer returned to his equipment, eager to leave as soon as possible. With his pack and weapons back in their position, Bobby left the scene, sprinting as fast as he possibly could.

(Bobby continued elsewhere)

March Mid-Month Rolls
Sorry Kyle, but you're really taking too long...

Megs I'll deal with it myself within an hour or two.

March Mid-Month Rolls
Yeah... thanks for the heads up Megs...

Lady So Divine
Simon knew that he had arrived just in the nick of time, straining 'at the last minute' to the very limit. He didn't get a particularly good look at the guy who had ran almost as soon as Simon got on the scene, but judging by the blood pouring from Madison's side, it wouldn't have been long before he was altogether too late to save her... And it could very well be a one time deal: Daniel Brent had always seemed a bit of a weasel, likely he had only fled because he didn't want it to become a two on one. Simon was not an intimidating person by a long, long shot.

He had heard Madison's name on the announcement earlier, cited as having shot somebody, but he didn't believe that it was deliberate - or indeed, even true. Madison had a fire axe with her, unless it somehow managed to double as a pistol, he just couldn't see how Danya had been telling the truth. It didn't matter, regardless: it was an accident had to be an accident.

Simon wasn't even sure why he was thinking those thoughts as he raced towards Madison, desperately trying to remember if had ever heard anything about wounds, or ever read something... As Simon skidded to a halt beside Madison he used his momentum to flip his daypack from his shoulder, and in moments, had torn it open and was seeking his first aid kit. He looked up at Madison as he rooted through the pack, and managed to pull out the medical supplies.

"Madi j-just sit down okay? Try not to move too much, I'll try get that staunched..." the fact was, though, that Simon didn't have the first idea where to begin applying the help. It seemed an impossible task.

Simon, in truth, didn't even know where he stood with Madison anymore... they were close, but he had no idea whether she considered him to be a friend or something more. Displays of affection were rare, and Madison always seemed to hesitate, whether it was a kiss or even holding hands. Simon wasn't entirely sure, but he sensed that there was something stopping Madison from opening up to him entirely: but it wasn't Simon's way to pry... whatever it was, Simon was sure Madison would get over it eventually. He had ot be content with what he had... but what he had seemed to be disappearing before his very eyes...

Say Goodbye, Hollywood
Sean waited silently for Gabriel to 'freshen up' as it were. It amused him, in a morbid way, that he was actually standing around waiting for somebody to wash blood of his face so that they could fight - probably do the death. It was somewhat surreal... Sean took the time to stretch a bit, loosening up his muscles as if he were preparing for a baseball match. It was probably one of the most civil encounters SOTF had ever born witness to.

"If I kill you, it's one less psycho," Sean pointed out to Gabriel as he spoke. "And Gabriel, rest assured, I'm not going to be having any nightmares: it doesn't get more fucked up than you. You 'ought to have a medal or something, maybe a trophy 'Gabriel Theobaldt: One crazy son of a bitch,' would probably be the caption." A small smile touched Sean's lips again and he raised an eyebrow at his opponent. "But hey, what's with all of this trying to convince me not to fight you? You scared or something? Afraid I might kiss you?"

Sean was gearing up to continue his verbal assault on Gabriel when the other abruptly lashed out with his sword. The baseballer sprang backwards nimbly. stumbling slightly when his back foot caught the edge of a box and knocked him off balance. Crates and obstacles were literally all over the floor after Gabriel pulled them down on top of him everywhere. Sean would have to watch his footing if he didn't want to end up like Troy, Jason, and whoever Gabriel's other hapless victim had been. Unless, of course, he had made that up to try and intimidate Sean, though he somehow doubted Gabriel was the sort to do that. Hell, he was a nearing 7ft sword wielding psychopath, how much more intimidating could you get?

Sean managed to regain his footing in a split second, but remained wary, not going on the attack but hanging back, and waiting for Gabriel to strike at him again. Sean didn't know what the etiquette was for taking on somebody with a sword with a poker, so he decided just to stick with what came to him naturally.

Misery's end
(Ric continued from: Fade Into You)

Somehow, and Ric wasn't entirely sure how, between the cottage, and wherever the hell this was, he had managed to lose sight of Nadine. He had been so caught up in the pursuit that he hadn't taken note of where he was going, and Ric was now pretty much lost. He knew, pretty much for sure, that Nadine hadn't come this way: the trail would have been marked, overgrown as it was. Ric was leaving slight indentations in the road as he walked, and he doubted that Nadine was light enough not to leave any trace of her passing on the soft surface of the trail.

Ric knew that the best thing to do would be to simply turn around and head back to the cottage, apologise to Neil and Evan for running off like he did, and get back to planning their escape. However, the problem with that plan was that Ric didn't know which way back was. The jungle had caused him to lose all sense of direction, and now he didn't even know whether he was heading towards or away from the cottage. The chase had been brief, but intense, and had left Ric stranded out here in the middle of nowhere. The map wouldn't be much use, since the trail extended across the entire island, and although he knew he couldn't be too far from the cottage, there were far too many opportunites to go wrong.

Ric then paused in his tracks, shook his head, and laughed at his own foolishness. He had a compass! A little work with that, and Ric would be able to locate his position and get straight back to the others with no trouble whatsoever.

May I interject on your self-deprecation to proclaim: I told you this wasn't a good idea?

Yeah well, I owe you a drink then.

Look, I know more about how the mind works than you do, you can't just say there's a 'brain bar'...

Why not? It's my head, I can say there's a five floor mansion inhabited by flying pink elephants if I want.

You know what Ric? I prefered you when you thought there were weird creatures flying around attempting to steal your eyes.

And I liked you better when... oh, never.

Ric snickered, tuning himself out to the indignant reply, pleased at having finally got one over the intrusive Juan. He patted his pockets to check for the compass, but unexpectedly discovered something else wedged in the pocket of his trousers. He put his hand into it, and extricated the smooth object, and saw that it was a pair of sunglasses. Ric was momentarily stunned: he hadn't seen these in years, why would they finally turn up now? Ric had been given them by his eldest brother, senior to the real Juan, so long ago that he couldn't even recall the brother's name. Ric shrugged ot himself and put the sunglasses on, as much for sentimental reasons as for their practical use.

Amazing how a pair of glasses can make you feel better, isn't it?

Whatever, Juan, all I know is that I don't feel too bad for the first time in quite a while, so save it, okay?

It won't last. Juan told him, prophetically.

Fade Into You
Ric didn't know why he reacted the way that he did to Nadine's taunts and subsequent departure, but the derision in her voice made him boil over with anger, and he literally leapt from the bed and sprinted after her as fast as his legs would carry him. It didn't matter that they had very little chance of succeeding - they had to try, at least, otherwise, as Nadine had said, they might as well just lay down and die...

This isn't a good idea. Juan interjected as Ric burst from the doors of the cottage and took off after Nadine.

Well, if you're right, I'll buy you a drink.

.... That makes no sense. How can you buy me a drink when I'm a part of your mind?

I've decided I have a 'brain bar'

Say what now?

My head, my rules. Ric concluded, a tough smugly at having finally got one up on the persistant voice in his head.

(Ric continued (or rather, ended) in: Misery's end)

March Mid-Month Rolls
Ah... nuts, I was enjoying RPing a schizophrenic.

Oh well. If ya want Ric's death rights, drop me a line, sure we can figure something out within the next couple of days.

Edit: Death rights have been given, and Ric will be biting the dust here

Carnage
Bobby cursed softly when all of the remaining people standing around outside the hospital decided to make a break for it. Evidently, his attempt to change his appearence hadn't gone very well... The boxer thought about loosing a shot after those fleeing, but the distance was so great as to make it an exercise in futility and a simple waste of bullets. Well... at least until one of them tripped and fell whilst they were running away.

He immediately began to sprint - hoping to catch them before they could scramble to their feet. When he felt he was close enough, Bobby snapped off a shot with his carbine: feeling both exhilarated and somewhat sad as he saw the shot tear into the back of his prone classmate. Bobby's justification was shakey at best, all he could come with was: nobody would believe that he was acting in self-defence when he killed Tyson. It was a flimsy excuse and he knew it, he had attempted to trick and kill those at the lookout before the announcement. The only real reason Bobby could find was fear, and a primal instinct for self-preservation, just as he had said to Danya via the camera.

"I am steeped in blood, so deep that to return would be as tedious to go o'er..." Bobby smiled ruefully. He might not have quoted that exactly right, but it described his predicament to a T. He had pledged himself to this, and there was no going back now. Bobby forced himself not to look away as he flipped the corpse over. Aside from the bullet hole in his chest, there also appeared to be some sort of metallic implement wedged in his ribcage. The boxer frowned and wondered: was it the blade, or the bullet that killed him? He supposed that the second announcement would enlighten him, when it finally came about.

Bobby grimaced and tugged at the instrument stuck into the body, and, with a little effort, pulled it free, revealing it to be a rather bloodstained scalpel. Glancing sidelong at one of the other bodies on the ground (this hospital was a damn charnel house!) Bobby saw that its throat was torn open. Bobby presumed she had suffered a similar fate to this unfortunate before him. When he pocketed the scalpel, alongside his bloody syringe, Bobby took great care positioning it so that it wouldn't risk stabbing him. He could most certainly learn from the misfortune of others.

The boxer proceded to open up the daypack of the boy he had shot and rifle through it briefly. There was a pipewrench inside, which Bobby took too, noting wryly as he did that he was beginning to gather something of an arsenal, as he had now gathered now fewer than five weapons. Granted, four of them were melee, and of rather dubious quality in terms of usefulness: but you never knew when you might need a trump card, and that could come in the form of another piece of equipment...

Bobby was surprised to spot another two daypacks just lying on the ground nearby, and he was eager to check through them as well. However, it came to nothing. He already had three times the initial number of supplies, any more would simply be uneccessary encumberance. Whilst he believed weapons were good to have, Bobby had to draw the line here. The ski pole he found in the pack labelled 'B26 - McCallum, Gabe' would merely be a less effective version of his golf club, and the fire extinguisher he discovered in the second pack would be too heavy to haul around and also of limited use.

With the area deserted, Bobby relaxed - marginally, for the first time since the game had begun. Sure, there were three dead bodies strewn around outside, but Bobby could be thankful he was not one of them. Judging by Danya's announcement, there was a fourth dead person, Heather Tilmitt, inside, and horribly, that patch of disturbed earth could very well conceal a developing baby.

"Here I am, surrounded by the dead, and all I can think about is that it's four less I have to deal with... I could have killed a second person, if that scalpel didn't already do for him, and I could barely care. What is this game doing to me...?"

Bobby sighed and gratefully sank down to the ground, propping himself up against the wall of the hospital. Although his stamina was prodigious, stress and fatigue were draining even his large reserves. Swinging his pack from his shoulder, Bobby opened it up, pushing aside the ammo and wrench, before grabbing a loaf of bread and a bottle of water, of which he had six and twelve (due to his looting) respectively.

Taking his time, Bobby steadily ate the entire loaf - as he hadn't realised quite how hungry he was before he had started eating. Bobby sighed again, knowing that he had to keep moving, but first, he really had to do something... His dreadlocks were far too conspicious, and, much as Bobby hated to say it, they were hindering his progress.

With a touch of remorse, and a little ceremony, Bobby methodically sawed off each and every one of his long locks, utilising his newly aquired scalpel. The boxer looked down at each of the several tails, and, with a moment's thought, picked one up and stashed that in his pack too, a memento of sorts. It was peculiar to become sentimental about something as trivial as hair, but Bobby had been cultivating it for a long time, cutting it was like saying good-bye to an old friend.

Bobby stood up, and replaced his pack on one shoulder. he regarded the carnage all around him, then set off back into the jungle, his head feeling as if a massive load had been removed from it.

(Bobby continued Misery's End)

Say Goodbye, Hollywood
Sean slowly shook his head, a grin playing across his lips before disappearing. Although he had received an open invitation to leave without consequence, accepting it would simply contradict the very reason he had decided to get involved in the fight in the first instance. Obviously, Sean was worse equipped for a fight than Gabriel, but the giant, somehow, appeared less threatening than he did earlier... Gabriel looked tired, wheras Sean was fired up and raring to go.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait a second. Am I seriously considering tangling with this guy? I've already seen it first hand that in poker versus sword, sword wins, where the hell has this lemming urge to see it first hand come from? ... If there's any proof that head wounds are bad for your health, then this is it. Just how many screws were knocked loose by that fall I took?

"Well if you're continually being called a sick son of a bitch Gabriel, don't you think there might be some kind of legitimate reason behind it?" Sean stopped speaking for a moment and glowered at Gabriel, recalling what he had just said. "In fact, considering you agreed with me, that must qualify you as uber fucked up, no?"

The baseballer smiled again, humourlessly.

"Really, I'd love to take that offer of yours, but I said I was going to do something, and, call me an idiot if you like, but if I say I will perform, then I will perform," Sean kept his gaze on Gabriel, cold, and hard. "Yeah, I might die trying, but hell, I'd rather be dead than find out, somewhere along the line, that you killed somebody I care about and I could have done something about it," Sean stepped back, and shifted his feet so he now stood in a more stable position, gripping the poker at the rear end, wielding it as a poor excuse for a sword. "Now, we gonna kill each other or just stand around talking all day?"