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Haha. NaNo time again. I'm doing it this year too. Gonna try to finish quickly; I am, for once, epically busy. 3.5 hours until it starts for me.

SOTF: Evolution
If you are still in Evo and do not want to be inactive killed, read and comply with this thread ASAP. We're going to get this rolling again, dangit all.

Robert Herrmann
Since Odium hasn't even logged on since placing his bid, Robert's back up. Place bids here, and be sure to read the thread he debuted in.

October Mid-Monthly Rolls
Speaking of, the time for playing cards has now passed.

The voice was surprising, though it should not have been. After all, Kimberly would have been incredibly surprised had she been the only one awake. To sleep well in a situation like this required a special kind of arrogance or stupidity, a special kind of trust in fate. After all, it was impossible to guarantee another sunrise. How could people be so cavalier about sleep?

Whatever. Point was, Dutchy had fucking noticed her return, which implied he had also noticed her absence. He was expressing happiness at her being back. Asking if she was alright. Fuck him. Fuck them all, wanting to know if she was fine. What did they want her to say? She wasn't fine, not in any real sense, not with her arm fucked up and her hat stolen and her actions thwarted at every turn, but, given all that, she was as fine as could be, and being asked didn't do jack shit to change her circumstances. No, it was how they subtly solidified their misconceptions. Look at poor Kimberly, trying to be brave, saying she's fine even when her life is shit. Isn't she precious?

Heat washed over Kimberly, anger warming her body. It was unfair, completely unfair, to freak out now, to blame Dutchy for her problems. After all, he was one of the better ones. He had done relatively little to patronize her, had seemed to genuinely care, had been so excited about his plan. But he'd just said the wrong thing at the wrong time, and dammit, nothing on this island was fair. So Kimberly raised her index finger to her lips, ssshhhhh, and crawled over to him, a once-simple process made a nuisance (like everything else) by her left arm. Oh, Kris, how much you have coming to you.

Thinking of Kris did not calm Kimberly down very well. Had her opponents been here, she would have been reacting differently, would have been keeping her cool, keeping in control, not letting things get to her. But, on her own, with only allies, any loss of composure was a choice, a willing release of tension. She stopped at the foot of Dutchy's makeshift bed, smiling at him.

"Back? What do you mean, 'back'?"

This was wrong. She knew that. It did nothing to stop her.

"Oh, so you noticed me sneaking off? I was kinda hoping no one would. It'd be pretty fucking inconvenient if the others heard. I trust we won't have any problems there, right?

"I mean, I'd be really, really upset if they were to find out. And I get... well, I don't like getting mad, and you've been such a good friend. It'd be an awful shame for anything to threaten that. So, I guess maybe we should start this again:"

It took a little effort, but Kimberly blanked her face for a moment.

"Back? What do you mean, 'back'? Oh, I see. You were dreaming, Dutchy. I never left at all.

"Go back to sleep."

Yes. Go back to sleep. Don't escalate this. Let vague menace serve as sufficient warning, because it'd be a pity to wake the others up with yells, a pity to get into more trouble so soon, but if it had to be, it had to be. Because no way in fuck was Kimberly giving him any slack. No. Strength is what it takes to get what you want here. So true, so sensible. Strength, physical or emotional. The drive, the ability to do what it took, any threat, implicit or otherwise. Yes.

Whatever it took.

Then the crackling of speakers shook the stillness of the camp.

SOTF: The Program
Just updating that The Program is currently halfway to cap. There's still time to get in.

Milk of Human Kindness
The day passed, and the night. Isaiah dug.

First, he completed the grave. However, by then it was evening, and the tide had come in. He knew tides. He should have expected it. This did nothing to change the fact that the grave was too close to the sea, that water was trickling over the edges and eroding the rim. So he moved it, and Dougal too. He moved further inland, past the high water mark, and he made a new one.

Somewhere before all of this, he had checked the collapsed guy, found him drunk. Luckily, he too was above the high tide line.

Isaiah found himself slightly less inclined to help the fellow. Drunk, at a time like this? He knew the need to escape pressure. Knew the ease of finding solace in alcohol. Knew the folly of the solution, in the long run. But, how could he judge?

Muttered, under his breath: "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. Ecclesiastes 3:1."

It made him feel better. The phrase was open to interpretation, serving as both a mild condemnation of the drunk boy's behavior (for, if there was ever a time not to be drunk, it was now), and also an admission of his own possibility of error (for, if there was a time to every purpose, there was surely a time to drink one's way into oblivion to escape impending doom). Either way, it provided something to ponder as he dug.

And so, now, as the rays of dawn shone down from above, as the boy woke from his stupor and began to speak, as Isaiah pushed the last of the sand over the body he had ensconced in the dirt, he found himself still pondering. Pondering the broader implications of their situation, the meaning of it all. It wasn't helping. All he could see was that he still had something to do. Maybe not a divine mandate, but a purpose nonetheless, a reason to keep going.

It wasn't to babysit some pasty moron who'd gotten drunk and now had a headache.

And so, it was time to move on. Time to find someone who truly could use his help. Adrian, Andrew, and the other guy could take care of themselves. The same could not be said for everyone. He wished his companions of the past day the best, as sincerely as he could. He just couldn't stay.

Isaiah stood, stretching. He was stiff. Drunk guy explained that he was Kevin, that he'd seen a killing. Bad news, that. It added a sense of urgency. A sense that Isaiah couldn't waste any more time. How to explain, though? How to convey the message without coming across as a jerk, without insulting these people? But then, if they were insulted, that was their problem. He meant no offense. He simply had more important things to do.

"Isaiah Garvey," he said in response, with a nod. Glancing to Andrew and Adrian, he added, "Thanks for your help. I'm sure they'll rest easier.

"Unfortunately, I need to get moving. There's a lot of people out there who could use a hand. Keep safe. God bless."

A smile. He adjusted his hat, hoisted his bag. The guy who'd left so long ago wasn't back yet. That was the way he'd go, then. He'd assumed the boy had just needed space, just needed to grieve, but it had been hours now, so he couldn't be sure. Yes. Start there, then keep moving. Do the best possible in the time remaining. Defend those who need it.

He looked around, suddenly remembering the metal bar he'd taken back at the cell tower. It was gone, vanished beneath the sands over a day's tide, lost with the remnants of the first grave he'd dug. Somehow, he didn't mind.

He didn't need a weapon anyways.

A wave, and Isaiah was off.

((Isaiah Garvey continued Late Dawns and Early Sunsets))

((Breaking post order and moving Isaiah out to avoid inactivity and keep chronology nice and sensible))

Okay. Had some time to mull this one over, and I'm ready with nominations.

In no particular order:

First up, we've got Ciel's Zach Jamis. Zach is a fascinating character for a large number of reasons. He's a jerk, but he's doing the right thing. He's an awful people person, but a passable leader. But, more than all that, he's got an incredibly strong voice, which carries throughout all his posts. You can tell a Zach post at a glance, just from the writing. And, through it all, he manages to be a persistently likeable character on an emotional level, even as he's telling an idealistic girl that her actions are just going to further Danya's corporate empire. Zach has just missed my nomination the past two months, but this month, his writing has been the best yet, and he's easily earned a spot on the list.

Next, we have Chib's Logan Reynolds. Logan is an absolutely fascinating character. He's had high quality writing throughout the version, but what really stands out is his story. Logan met up with the also-excellent Daisuke Nagazawa early on, and the two of them immediately decided to become player hunters. I honestly wasn't expecting a ton, but the dynamic between the two was totally awesome, as was their evolving friendship. Then, though, the real whammy came, when they encountered Kris Hartmann. While a fight was averted, this was enough to shake Logan's confidence, and he realized he couldn't actually kill anyone, and admitted such to his companion, who had just come to the opposite conclusion. That scene, and its resolution, is one of my favorites in V4, and is handled beautifully and realistically. Also, big nods to RJ Lowe, Kris Hartmann, and Daisuke Nagazawa, without whom it wouldn't have occurred.

Finally, I'm nominating Blastinus' Madeleine Smith. Madeleine wasn't a character I paid too much attention to early on. She had high quality writing, but nothing really made her stand out. Then she killed Jonathan Jarocki, and her reaction to that event was absolutely wonderful. Madeleine's continued questioning of her feelings and culpability, as well as her future interactions and the awkward timing of the revelation of her kill, have turned a good character into a great one. Hats off to Blast for Madeleine.

Project: Wiki
Googling reveals an Andrew P anturescu in Toronto, with an interest in hockey and stuff. Sounds like it could be legit to me.

EDIT: Okay, my theory here is that the claim is legit, and the filtering of the word is simply due to an admin taking the most expedient manner for a fix and retroactively adjusting all the pages via the word filter. We should simply change all references to Ponikarovsky, I think, and we'll be clear.

Still Going Strong
Thank goodness for positive moments, however small. A new boy turned up, bulky enough to be mildly menacing, with long blond hair and a beard, but he didn't want trouble. In fact, he was one of Phil's teammates. One of the people they had been looking for. As Phil greeted him and introduced Jennifer, thankfully clarifying her identity and sparing any potential embarrassment, she watched the two. They seemed instantly at ease. Comrades. Comfortable with each other. It was strange that bonds from the past could hold true even at a time like this. Jennifer wondered whether anyone would trust her based on her actions at school. Probably not. Maybe Maf, but certainly no one else.

Didn't matter. Phil was explaining how he and Jennifer had come to travel together. And, more than that, he was asking about Guthrie. She swallowed, buying a second to collect herself before responding.

"Um, well, uh, Nick... killed him. He, um, beat him, and, uh, and I moved the body out... outside, because it was smelling, but, um, but it didn't really help much."

That was a pretty fucking awkward thing to say, wasn't it? While you were passed out, a boy beat another boy to death. I hid the body. Lovely. No way to frame it to sound better now, though. And, one thing this entire experience was teaching Jennifer was that people weren't nearly as quick to judge as she'd always imagined. Bill hadn't shot her. The boys in the bar hadn't attacked her. Even Bounce had been no more than wary.

Was she the only one who had knee jerk negative reactions? Or was everyone else just keeping them down too? That was actually not a very reassuring thought, not after she'd lost control.

Further musings were cut off by the sudden appearance of another person. A girl, stumbling towards them. Jennifer squinted. The newcomer looked unarmed. Also looked to be in pretty bad shape, judging by her use of trees for support and her uneven gait. Rhory, that was her name. And Rhory wanted water. Didn't everyone? It was the thing Jennifer and Phil were going to have to deal with here soon. They'd be forced to find a stream or a well or something of the sort. If Rhory was in this bad condition, maybe that wouldn't be so easy.

So Phil told her to beat it. Jennifer blinked. It was the smart call. The right call. The choice that would help them survive. But she couldn't back it.

"Um, hang on," she said, digging into her pack. "I think, um, I may have a bit left. And, uh, it's okay, Phil. She won't hurt us."

Time to hope, to hope with all her heart, that she had spoken the truth.

Jennifer took her last remaining water bottle, barely half full, and walked over to Rhory, holding it out. She hoped this wouldn't upset Phil. Hoped this wouldn't end their alliance. After all, he now had Marco. He didn't really need Jennifer anymore, and she couldn't fault him for ditching her, especially after the fucking idiotic choice she had just made.

It would happen or it wouldn't, though. Nothing could change it now, short of yanking the bottle away from Rhory and laughing in her face, and Jennifer wouldn't do that.

"Um, once you're done, we can all, um, look for more together, maybe. I'm sure we could all use a refill."

That's the way. Unite everyone with a common goal. Teamwork would bridge the shaky beginnings.

At least, that was the hope.

Where Do You Go From Here?
The world continued to march to the beat of Aaron's drum, at least, for the moment. Lily returned from who-knew-where. Said she was sorry, then moved on, curious about what Tom had said. Good to know she had the proper focus. Escape first, grief later (never?). So, it was time, was it? Time to reveal his master plan. Well, time to scribble it down, at least. Get it all set up. He wrote in small, quick, cramped letters, paying only minimal attention to the others, acting like he was maybe just finishing up his list. He'd have to be sure the members were absolutely trustworthy before letting them in. And, right now, he was still having some doubts.

Richard returned as well, shouting some sort of idiotic war cry. So, it seemed competence was not going to be one of the hallmarks of this alliance. That was fine. Aaron could work that. He was pretty sure he could trust Richard to the ends of the earth, at least. The boy possessed not an ounce of subtlety. Unfortunately, that very quality also made him entirely unsuited to knowing the details of their plan. He'd go and blab them to a camera or share them with a player, and then it would be the end, back to square one at best, death at worst. No. That wasn't how Aaron saw his revolution ending. He would stand over Danya, saber in hand, and lop the terrorist's head off to the approval of the masses. Well, okay, maybe shoot him instead. If his reading was correct, heads were an absolute nightmare to remove, even in the best of conditions. A shooting seemed a little barbaric, but one had to work with the available materials.

At least Aileen was glaring at Richard. Good. Strange as it was, a little animosity between his allies was exactly what Aaron could use. If they were at each others' throats, that meant they wouldn't be at his. They'd be posturing and jockeying for position, not plotting to overthrow Aaron or screwing up his plans. It was just a matter of pushing things a tiny bit further. With Bounce around, it would be simple. She was not good in social situations. She was blunt to the point of rudeness at times. Aaron could live with that. He was expecting it. The others, probably not. Bounce could become a mutual outlet for them, and, because she had knowledge none of the rest possessed, she would be completely safe. It was a situation where everyone won.

And then Bounce dropped the bomb. She had a rendezvous? Now? Like, she couldn't wait until she had her collar off to go skipping off searching for her buddies? Buddies? Who was Aaron kidding? It was almost guaranteed to be Alice. He'd never really seen Bounce in the company of anyone else, aside from himself and Will and Stephen. Will would have been along. Stephen was a Junior. Probably laughing his butt off right now, knowing what Danya was gonna get.

But wait. There was another option. Maybe Bounce had met someone new on the island. Maybe she'd teamed up with a player. She didn't have the strength, but she was useful because of her knowledge. If she was prostituting her know-how to some killer, it might be best to have a little talk with her first. Pump her for information. Not in any violent or threatening sense of the word, of course; Bounce was, after all, one of Aaron's friends. Just a bit of guilt, or a more attractive offer. She was sure to come around. No way Bounce would desert him.

"I'll be quick, then," he said. "We'd love to have you on the team. You'd be useful here, and I can't imagine you don't want out as much as we all do. Your partner or whatever can come too, as long as they're—"

The voice outside tickled the edge of Aaron's hearing. Had the door not been open, had he not still been on guard, he would have missed it entirely. He couldn't say for sure that it was close to the house they were in, but he sure couldn't guarantee it wasn't. He dipped his hand into the pocket of his cargo pants, withdrew the gun, held it down, against his leg, pointed safely away from all his allies. Flipped the safety off without looking (that practice on the walk had come in handy after all), gesturing with his left hand, the one holding the notebook and pencil, for the others to get down. He was going to look pretty dumb if there wasn't anyone nearby, but better dumb than dead.

"Hello?" he called. "Is someone out there? We're not going to attack. We're trying to get off this island."

Good. Broadcast intentions, but don't reveal too much. Announce the presence of a group, but not the armaments or numbers. Keep them guessing.

Be ready for trouble, just in case.

He stuffed his notebook back in his pocket, only the first snippets of the plan written.

it seems pretty clear, given the lack of electricity around the island, that they don't want us to have acess to power. the question, then, is why? i think we can...

Michelle O'Cain
By handler agreement, Michelle has been handed off to Tythanin, and is to be considered his character in all ways.

Carla Conners
As of this post, Carla Conners has been officially adopted by VinnyMcQ and is now considered to be his character in all ways.

Still Going Strong
Phil didn't mind taking a break. Good. They could just take a few moments, maybe an hour at most, and pull themselves together again. Then they could... could... actually, Jennifer didn't really know what came next. She'd been operating on the theory that the best thing to do was to keep moving whenever possible, resting when necessary or convenient. There was no real rhyme or reason behind the method. She simply walked when she was stressed. On a tactical scale, it was probably not a great choice, at least, when it came to avoiding trouble. It increased their chances of stumbling across stationary groups, and did nothing to make encounters with other moving groups less likely.

Then again, if they were really trying to find Maf and the others from Phil's team, maybe maximizing the potential for encounters was a wise move. It meant more risk, but also a greater possibility of success. All that, though, was justification. Jennifer really just liked walking.

The problem was, that wasn't at all fair to Phil. He was wounded, and probably wasn't so set on keeping on the move. She hadn't been thinking about him enough. Hadn't been factoring his wellbeing into the equation, since he seemed to be doing better. That would have to change, right away.

The first step was to answer his question honestly.

"Um, I, uh, I don't really know. I figured we should, um, get clear of all the people on the East of the island, since, um, that's where most of the buildings and danger zones are. But, um, I'm not really sure where we should go now. I, uh, I don't know where anyone we're looking for would be."

There. That was good. Getting it all off her chest helped a lot. She had an ally now. It meant she had to readjust herself to working with others. It meant she couldn't keep going around doing whatever she wanted without thinking through the consequences.

It was a simple revelation, an easy adjustment. A few days of freedom had felt nice, but it was good to have someone again. Phil was a sort of grounding presence, forcing her not to let go again. No more mistakes like in the tunnels. No. In fact, maybe it was best to give Phil more of a say.

"Um, do you have anywhere you want to go?"

((Kimberly Nguyen continued from This Scene Is about a Hat))

Kimberly slowly picked her way through the forest. Slowly made her way back to camp. She was pissed off. What the fuck had Jeremy been thinking, chewing her out, trying to pin the blame on her? She hadn't asked to be mugged. She hadn't started the confrontation. She hadn't even hurt anyone. Yet.

But really, she was mad at herself. She'd lost control there, in a major way. It was damn lucky Jeremy hadn't wanted to kill her. She wasn't so sure she'd have been able to resist. Sure, she'd have made him pay dearly. She could have done some damage, of that she was positive. But that would have meant exactly jack shit to her if she was dead. Awful as it was, maybe he had a point. Maybe acting dangerous wasn't such a hot move. Maybe she was borrowing more trouble. Whatever. At least it was trouble as a result of her decisions, trouble she came by honestly. Not like a causal gunshot to the shoulder. No, nothing like that.

How did you sleep last night, Kris?

Anyways, it was time to focus on the present. Things were going to be tricky. Maybe a little bit ugly. Reintegration would not be a smooth process, if any of the others noticed. She had no intention of letting Bridget find out what had transpired overnight. The last thing she needed was to be given even less credit as a capable human being, to be watched even more closely, like she was gonna fucking set herself on fire while trying to light a cigarette or something.

But no, it looked like she'd gotten a lucky break. She couldn't tell if everyone was asleep, but the one closest to her, Roland, certainly was. Her sleeping bag was near his, a good ways away from Sarah and Bridget. She'd positioned it like that intentionally. Thinking about Bridget watching her sleep was damn creepy. Sure, it was unlikely Bridget would actually do that, but... No. Get rid of those thoughts right now. Bridget was being overprotective. Nothing more. Her stripping on the beach, her slavish devotion to keeping Kimberly safe, her comforting touch after the shooting, it meant nothing. Nothing. Because there was no fucking way Kimberly was being someone's island crush.

She reached her sleeping bag and lay down, staying quiet, as quiet as she could. Too bad she couldn't sleep. No, there was no way she could get rest after that little incident. She looked around, sat up, found her glasses sitting on top of her daypack. Leaving without them had been a mistake. She hadn't been too negatively impacted—while she was moderately nearsighted, there hadn't been a ton to see anyways, in the dark and shadows—but something could have happened to them while she was gone. She would be totally fucked without her glasses during the day. She had, luckily, not been wearing them either of the times she fell. On the beach, they'd been in her backpack, stuffed there when she started feeling sleepy on the bus. Funny, how the gas had actually given her that little break.

She put them on. The world came into better focus. Now it was just a matter of her seeing to her arm. She'd shifted the towel-cape back into position for the journey. Now, she brushed it aside. In the growing light, she could see the red. Yup. Blood. Fuck. At least there didn't seem to be much. Slowly—of course it was slowly, with just the one good hand, fuck you, Kris—she unwound the bandage, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. Where she was seated, there wasn't a line of sight to Sarah and Bridget. Good.

It wasn't as bad as she'd thought. It hurt like a bitch, but it looked like all that had happened was the lowest stitch tearing out, and that had scabbed over already. It probably wasn't worth tearing her arm up to resew it. Yeah. No reason to hassle the others. Just spray it with some disinfectant and wrap it back up with the rest of her gauze. She'd tear up her spare shirt in the morning, use that for bandages later. Bridget would never need to know.

The new bandage was less snug, less comfortable. Whatever. She'd live.

On to the next issue. The grappling hook. Fuck that little prick Jeremy. Fuck his sword cane. Fuck him for messing up her weapon. At least the rope was thin. Kimberly laid it out on her lap, matching the ends. This was not going to be fun, but dammit, she would give it her absolute best before asking for help. It had to be possible.

It was. It just wasn't easy. It took her nearly half an hour to tie a knot that satisfied her (a triple knot, stress tested by her tugs), and then adjust the ropes wrapping her to give her the same amount of slack she'd had before. Still, she did it. She'd patched herself up, fixed her weapon, and she'd done it without any help. Suck on that, "protectors".

With that done, she returned her towel to position and sat, waiting. After a bit, she grabbed a cigarette from her pack. She didn't want to smoke. Didn't need to. Just needed something to occupy her attention.

So she sat there in the dawn, taking drags from an unlit cigarette, waiting for true morning to bring renewed activity.

((Kimberly's just gonna chill until the other section's done, unless one of the uninvolved folks interacts with her. Feel free to ignore her for post order until it becomes relevant.))

Alice Boucher
As of this post, Alice Boucher has been officially adopted by storyspoiler and is now considered to be her character in all ways.

Still Going Strong
((Jennifer Perez continued from Spelunking))

It was unreal. Entirely impossible to believe. The announcements had come and gone once more, and Jennifer realized that, with the exception of the killing she had witnessed, none of the names would connect to faces. Sure, they made impressions. She could grasp at straws (Eve? Didn't she have a kid or something?), but she couldn't really bring herself to care. People were dying. Too fucking bad, but not everyone was gone yet. The living had to take priority. Yes. Don't think of the dead. They're nothing now.

Jennifer and Phil had been traveling towards the Eastern side of the island. They had passed by the House of Mirrors, but had seen nothing to imply the presence of Maf, and the place did not seem a wise area to stick around too long, with the potential for ambushes and chaos. It was, all things considered, a terrible place to suggest a meeting. The central location, sheer slope backing, and presumably-confusing interior combined to make the building a likely deathtrap. And that's where she had told Bill to have Maf meet her. Fuck.

After that, they had headed further east. The thought had been to search the infirmary to replenish their first aid kits, assuming it hadn't already been ransacked by other students or looted by the terrorists, and then scope out the mansion as a temporary resting place. Danya's announcement, coming as it did right as they neared the area, had put an end to both plans, as well as proving pretty disheartening for Jennifer.

For a time, they hadn't been quite sure what to do. Finally, they had made their way back West, figuring that, if Danya wanted to get students moving from central eastern areas, it would be best to be far away from the ensuing chaos. They had, once again, passed the House of Mirrors. Jennifer was starting to hope that Bill never met up with Maf after all, that they'd all just stumble into each other and things would be perfect, or at least as perfect as they could be with everyone doomed to die terribly in the next few days or weeks.

Around forty dead. It was almost unthinkable. Not the deaths, not really, but that Jennifer had somehow managed to live this long. She'd been within feet of a killing. Been in multiple tense situations with guns. By all rights, she should have faced some sort of serious threat to her health, but everyone seemed to simply ignore her or actively go out of their way to avoid hurting her. She had screamed into the face of a killer, and he had encouraged her, had told her she was better than him, had done everything he could to help her.

It made no sense. It was almost as if she was living a charmed existence. Phil was proof that people could get seriously hurt without dying, though he'd been holding up quite well, considering. Jennifer wondered how many uninjured, well-rested people were on the island.

It didn't matter now, though. What mattered was that they'd been on their feet for a long, long time. True, they'd had a lot of rest the day before. Jennifer was pretty sure she could keep going for a long time, but she didn't want to push it. It was time for a break. They were in the forest where Jennifer had spent her first night. It was relatively quiet and calm, with the sounds of insects and animals the only disruption of the still air. Jennifer said, "Hey, um, you mind if we take a quick rest here?"

Then, that done, she sat against a tree, popping out her water bottle. She was starting to run low. That wasn't good, not at all. They'd have to find somewhere to refill soon.

She looked over at Phil and said, "Hey, um, I'm really sorry to have, um, dragged you around everywhere. Thanks for putting up with me."

The Second Announcement
Alright. Make sure to get it up as soon as possible.

Michelle O'Cain
It seems there's been a miscommunication here, and the character in question was meant to be handed off to another handler. I'm locking this while it's sorted.

The Second Announcement
So, deaths are due by the end of today. I'll go ahead and say the requested extensions are fine, given that it's midterm and project season and such, and everyone's reasons sound nice and valid.