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V5 Third Rolls
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V5 BKA/BDA Voting: July 2013
Sorry! One last note: if you could bold or color your picks that'd be great.

V5 BKA/BDA Voting: July 2013

I am the decidedly more feminine mod bringing you the BKA and BDA for the month. The contest will be up for 5 (five) days and will then be shut down so that we can get the announcement up to keep close to schedule.

A few reminders before we start:

- People will not be rolled over who miss the start of a contest, even with an extension. Sorry!
- Please read all deaths and kills before voting.
- Votes that do not provide a reason for the voting (at least sentence or two, though we'd love more) will be disqualified. Just tell us why you liked it.
- Tell us why you loved something, but don't say unkind things about the scenes you don't vote for.
- As always, votes are anonymous. Log out, first! You can deal with the Indulgence skin for five minutes before logging back in and returning to the sweet embrace of eVolution (or maybe you're the one person who uses Zetaboards original).


Megan Emerson, for killing Francis St. Ledger
Miranda Millers, for killing Kaitlyn Williamson
Maximilian Sawyer, for killing Becca Everett
Miles Strickland, for killing Chuck Soileau
Joachim Lovelace, for killing Carmina Maliksi
Summer Simms, for killing Naomi Bell
Lana Torres, for killing Venice Pennington-Johannes
Amaranta Montalvo, for killing Michael Whaley
Yukiko Sakurai, for killing Stacey Mordetsky
Eliza Patton, for killing Luca Johanssen


Pippin, for the death of Francis St. Ledger
armeggedonCounselor, for the death of Kaitlyn Williamson
Namira, for the death of Becca Everett
The Burned Handler, for the death of Chuck Soileau
Maraoone, for the death of Carmina Maliksi
Violent Medic, for the death of Naomi Bell
Un-Persona, for the death of Venice Pennington-Johannes
decoy73, for the death of Michael Whaley
Aura Master Fox, for the death of Stacey Mordetsky
JamesRenard, for the death of Luca Johanssen

Walk the Streets so Mean
"She obviously wants to annoy us, in answer to your question. She's going to badger us to death."

Mara took the end of the gauze in her teeth an wrapped it around her hand. Once it was wound a few times she took a piece of medical tape and secured the wrap in place. She pressed her hands together and then separated them. A few specks of blood came through and stained the gauze, but otherwise, it held up.

She took a deep breath and wiggled her fingers. It still hurt quite a lot, but this was better than before. Now all that was left was for her shirt to finish drying and she'd be back about the way she was before. Mara looked at the bandaged up hand. She was probably going to have a scar or something. She frowned and thought about it. She concluded it didn't upset her terribly, no one ever really looked too close to the palm of her hand anyway. It wouldn't detract from her appearance.

"Didn't your parents teach you manners? You cop attitude with us after eavesdropping and then expect us to respond to your order that we tell you something? I don't think so."

She waved her injured hand. "Shoo. Run along. Maybe you'll learn something for the next group you accost."

V5 Third Rolls
6 hours, 24 minutes. Everyone not already done has extensions, but last call for BDA/BKA eligibility.

Walk the Streets so Mean
She felt like she could taste blood again.

Mara continued her work. Her right hand was shaky and unsure. Unfortunately, she was a lefty. Her sewing was halting, and slow. Blood trickled out from around the thread and rolled down her hand. She pulled the thread tight and the split part of her palm came together, held by the black criss cross.

She sighed shakily. She could do this. She had to finish.

Finn came around and held onto her again. She shrugged him off. She was sort of busy at the moment.

"I'm not running around stabbing everyone so maybe you should be considering what he did to get stabbed!"

His question was if it was self defense and if she meant to kill him. She would argue that yes, it was done to save herself from harm that would have befallen her quickly had she not stabbed him. Had she meant to? Well obviously. That was a dumb question. The choice to stab him was a very fast one, having happened without much thought from her, sort of a reflex. However, when she looked up at him with the glass in hand she pushed it deeper. At the very least, she meant to hurt him. It was his fault for not letting her leave, for taking the side of an unconscious crazy person, for grabbing her, for throwing her down.

"I already said what happened. I was trying to leave before psycho woke up, he wouldn't let me, I ended up on the ground and I got him before he had the chance to do anything else. If he'd just let me go we wouldn't be in this situation."

The conversation had at least given her something else to concentrate on while she finished. She tied the end of the thread in a knot and searched the bag for gauze.

There was a voice and Finn announced who it was. Nina Clarke. Finn had a hand on his gun so she figured he had it covered in the event someone decided to be a ranger for justice or something. Mara ignored her and unrolled gauze.

Princesses & McQueens
Her hand ran delicately against the racks of fine clothes. Thousands upon thousands of dollars in the closet.

She adjusted her glasses as she looked at one of the sleeves of a shirt, inspecting the quality of the fabric. Unimpressed, she let it drop. Her fingers traipsed across the items until they came to rest on a white shoulder. She bit her lip and blinked behind her black, elegant frames. Carefully she took the hanger and disentangled the garment from the others.

She took it and sized it up. It was a white, tuxedo style shirt-dress. High, pointed collar, black buttons running down the front cinched in at the waist with flared pleats out the back. It was a marvel of structure. It was impressive.

On the glass table near her was a black and white clutch with brass knuckles decorating the top. She set the clutch next to the dress.

They were Alexander McQueens and now, they were hers.

Mara's plane had crashed a few weeks ago. Rebeca hadn't been in the room until now. At first it was out of reverence, but no one else had gone in. Her clothes were so lovely. Not all of them were Rebeca's style and not all of them had the quality that was up to her standards, she could just make the cheap stuff herself. The McQueens were peerless though in their quality.

She took the two items to her room and changed. Rebeca took off her glasses to put on the dress. Normally she wore contacts, but she was more comfortable with the glasses. Mara said they made her look like an old librarian. The dress was beautiful on her.

How was she supposed to feel? Shocked, sad of course in the first few days. Her father was hardly ever home. When something terrible happened, he would just focus so hard on his work that he couldn't think about it. Mara did exactly the same thing. They were more alike than they realized.

Everyone praised her for how strong she was. She looked so good even though she had gone through such hardship. How tragic she was, the only survivor of a pair of beautiful, smart sisters. She was so gracious, so kind to everyone who offered sympathies. Much nicer than Mara had been.

Everyone thought she was a tragic angel. She smiled.

Now I'm the famous one. Everyone wants to talk to ME.

Her mother had sunk even deeper into her depression. That wasn't good. But she had run of the house. The chefs made whatever she wanted whenever. She hung her art wherever she wanted.

She beamed.

She was an expert at dealing with loss now. Other people who'd lost someone came to her to see how she dealt so gracefully.

Rebeca fell backwards onto her bed. She supposed she could take the bigger bedroom now. Was she sad? She supposed she was. Mara had looked after her many times. It was strange not being part of a pair. The lesser of a pair, she reminded herself.

Everything was hers now.


At school she wore the dress with her hair in a long braid. Someone came up to her, excited. It seemed Mara was actually still...alive?

"....what? No. No, she died in a plane crash. Everyone, we all saw it on the...the news" she sputtered.

"She's on survival of the fittest."

"....the what?"

Rebeca rushed to her laptop to look it up. Mara was on a death game of some kind. She'd stolen back all the attention. Rebeca narrowed her eyes. If there was anyone who could kill her way to survival, it was certainly her sister. She sulked downstairs, waiting for dinner and for the first time since her sister had disappeared, her father was downstairs reading the paper and waiting for dinner as well.

Walk the Streets so Mean
"Hi, yeah, thanks for your concern. I just told you someone shot a classmate I was talking to and then threatened to shoot me and you want to ask about the other guy. No big deal, though."

Mara took the needle from him. She grabbed the disinfectant spray and sprayed it down. She turned to the bag and noticed the patch. The bags didn't have names, but it had a letter B on it with a number which she supposed might not be the best thing to be running around with. Mara brought the side of the bag up and tugged at the patch with her teeth until it yielded. She tore it the rest of the way off with her good hand and threw it to the side.

"Football Mike. Mike W- something. Tall, beefcake kind of boy."

She was ready. Mara stared at the tip of the needle. The metal narrowed to a perfectly sharp point. She knew how to sew a button, but that was the extent of what she knew. Once when she was very young, maybe 6, her mother bought her and Rebeca needle point projects from a craft store. You used different colors of thread to make a little picture. Mara threw hers to the side and gave up before it was even a quarter of the way done. Rebeca made a picture of birds in a birdhouse and hung it on the door to her room. Mara knocked it down, but she just fixed it and hung it inside after.

Mara sighed and her eyebrows came up, knitting together in anxiety. Her fingers tingled.

"It's not like when he walked in I thought I was going to kill him. I had no idea he was going to walk in. It was bad luck."

She laid her left hand open in her lap. Mara bit her lip. She held the flap of skin taut. Her heart pounded. Slowly, precisely, she pushed the tip of the needle against the soft surface of her skin. Her eyes watered and she pulled the needle through until the knot at the end of the thread rested against the wound, bringing the thread's path to a stop.

"It-" she choked. "W-was....his own f-f-fault. I didn't-" she took a big breath. Her shaking fingers moved to the other side of the wound and held the skin. She let out the breath and pierced her hand again. "- mean to. His own st-stupid fault. Idiot."

Walk the Streets so Mean
Mara sat up and dropped the needle when he came up and hugged her. Mara lowered her head and smiled. His sort were always a bit emotional. Her hand slid away from the gun. His chest was cold and damp against her; he must have either gone swimming or he was also doing laundry like her.

"Yeah. Nice to see you too."

He noticed her hand and the needle and thread she'd been fiddling with. She looked down at her open palm.

"Thread this for me and I'll tell you what happened."

With her right, uninjured hand she held up the thread and the needle.

"I was walking around and I saw this guy who does work with deaf kids I think, Dan. I started talking to him and then Hansel shot him in the head from the bushes. I ran away and got to this lighthouse and he showed up a little later. He found where I was and he had this big gun so I hit him in the head with a snow globe. Right after that happened Mike came in and he wanted to wait until Hansel, who, let me remind you shot someone, woke up so we could all hash it out like kumbaya. So I told him no way and tried to leave, but he wouldn't let me and threw me on the floor just as asshole number 1 was starting to come to. Anyway, he was over me and I grabbed a piece of glass from the broken snow globe," she said, looking at her hand, "and I stabbed him in the neck and...uh...I guess he's dead now. Then I got up just as Hansel woke up and grabbed Mike's gun right when Hansel was about to shoot me. But…he didn't and I ran out of there and now I'm here."

Walk the Streets so Mean
Mara squeezed her eyes closed tightly. It was making her eyes tired trying to concentrate on the needle. Her injured hand shook too much to be able to actually thread the thing. From behind her, someone timidly said her name. She perked up. Next to her on the bench was the gun she'd taken from Mike. Her hand discretely slid away from her lap and toward the gun so that when she turned her head her hand was resting on it.

A piece of her wet hair was stuck in front of her right eye, but she could still see him.

"Hi Finn," she said, simply.

She supposed there was no reason to be embarrassed. Not like he would care about her toplessness. He was a friend and she didn't remember hearing about him during the announcement. However, the past day had put a dent in how much she trusted anyone, friend or not. Her fingers curled around the gun on the bench.

"If you're not going to shoot me, I could use some help. I'm tired and I'm not feeling great so put that away. I've got a boo boo."

Walk the Streets so Mean
((Mara Montalvo continued from Decathect )))

Mara didn't make it very far from the lighthouse point. She ran, carrying her new bag and her new gun. Somewhere in the woods she slumped against a tree. She slid down until she was lying in the dirt and passed out.

The next time she woke was a few hours later. Blearily she opened her eyes and listened. She had no idea where she was or how she'd gotten there. The last she remembered was the lighthouse with Mike and Hansel. The announcements said that Hansel was the one who'd killed Dan. She was right. He was a murderer.

"I....escaped a murderer...."

She fell back asleep.

She woke up another hour later. Mara stood, feeling a little better and walked. Where ever she was, there was a sign that said "RESTROOMS" pointing up ahead. She walked up to the small building. There were two doors. She chose the one with the little triangle shaped woman.

It was dark inside. She stuck the bag by the door to keep it open and allow the light. She plodded up to the sinks and looked in the mirror. She looked like a horror movie. Mara pulled a face. She turned the tap and some murky water came out.

The girl stripped her shirt off and started splashing the water on her face. Clouds of red collected in the sink basin. She stuck her head under the faucet and with her good hand she rung out her hair, watching the cotton candy colored water pour down. She stuck her shirt in the basin and let the water run over it

Now her reflection was cleaner with her soggy black hair hanging around her face. Mara felt fragile. She sort of wanted to cry. Instead she bit her lip, turned off the water and left the bathroom.

She went outside and sat on a bench that overlooked the scenic view. Next to her she placed her shirt to dry. Digging around inside the bag she found the first aid kit with disinfectant spray. She opened up her palm. There was a gash in the middle with two floppy pieces of flesh on either side. Mara sprayed her hand and yelped. She reached into the small pocket in her skirt and pulled out a tiny case. She'd ditched her bag so it was the only thing of hers she still had left. She did not appreciate that this was her keepsake.

Mara opened the small case and inside was a needle and a small packet of black thread. Rebeca had given it to her before she'd left the house. "One of your buttons is a little loose," she said. She shoved it in her pocket absently. She'd tossed it into the bin at airport security and then put it back in her pocket, not thinking about it.

"That bitch must be laughing her head off," she grimaced.

She tore open the thread's plastic wrapping and started trying to put the thread through the eye of the needle.

"Into the eye the thread goes, a steady hand will end your woes."


"Into the eye the thread goes, a steady hand will end your woes."

"Will you hurry up? I don't want to stand here all day."

Mara huffed and crossed her arms. In the mirror in front of her, her pout was reflected back. At her feet sat her sister, trying to thread a needle.

"One sec, -ranta" she mumbled, part of the thread in her mouth.

Rebeca finished threading the needle and swept a piece of her hair back into her messy bun. She got up onto her knees and pulled back the fabric. Rebeca tilted her head and looked in the mirror to see the effect. She put the threaded needle down and picked up a pin cushion full of pins. She pushed the pin cushion against her glasses, sliding them back up her nose and then pulled one of the pins out with her teeth.

Rebeca set the pulled fabric against the back of the dress and fixed a pin to it. The process was repeated on the other side.

"It'll be done tomorrow if I don't have much homework. Plenty of time in advance before your next uh...show-"


"Mmmhmm..that," she said, starting to sew. Mara jumped.

"OW! You stuck me! Watch it. That hurt," she grumbled.

Her mouth set in a thin line as her shaking hands tried to thread the needle.

"Laugh it up, 'beca."


She was able to get a hold on the bag with her good, uninjured hand. She slung it over her shoulder and stepped, toe to heel backwards until she found the door.

"You aren't doing me any favors, Hee-Haw. You startle me with a loud noise like, let's say, a gun shot and I pull the trigger out of sheer reflex and we're both swiss cheese. So don't kid yourself."

"I bet it was you," she said slowly, eyes wide. "I bet you were the psycho who shot Daniel."

She could still taste the blood. Maybe it was new blood from when she was struck in the head. The gun shook as her hand felt the pain of it's weight.

"Well I won't fall to you."

She groped around behind her until she felt the door knob. She twisted it and threw her foot behind her, kicking it open. Mara stepped out into the doorway. With the light of the moon behind her she was just a silhouette. For a moment it was silent.

"....and you're not a very good kisser!"

((Mara Montalvo continued in Walk the Streets So Mean))

The General SOTF Discussion Thread
I generally avoid this thread.

But I heard there were time complaints.

Yes, Decathect takes place past midnight, making it Day 2.

Old Holmes
"Hey, sure. I know- um, knew her. I'm really sorry, Cho. I remember hearing about Theo. He....he's really gone off the deep end I guess. That's really awful."

He reached up to her face and wiped away a few of the tears, passing his thumb across her cheek. He smiled up at her.

"It's alright to cry. Crying help release stress."

He laughed shortly at her assessment and shrugged.

"If it were a person I'd say that was a bit unkind. But it isn't and frankly it's true. This place isn't really any one's idea of a vacation, not these days anyway."

He closed the space between them and gave her a hug. His fingers gripped her and he let his head rest on her shoulder. He released her and then went to his bag. He produced a pistol.

"You're a nice girl and I don't think this riot shield is all that good for protection."

He held onto the barrel and held the gun out to Cho, with the handle nearest to her.

"I took the bullets out so I wouldn't accidentally hurt someone, but you can scare someone off with it. It'll certainly make anyone think twice. Please accept it."

Her hand reached out and touched the gun. It was hers. Suddenly something struck her head, but her hand, bloody and torn, grabbed it just before she was struck down. Mara rolled to the side taking the weapon with her. She skittered to a stop and slammed her other hand against the floor.

Mike was certainly dead. The hit came from another direction. She growled, jammed her knee against the ground and managed to prop herself up. She shot up to a standing position, leaning against a shelf. Her head hadn't stopped spinning yet, but she figured she'd get in a more advantageous position first, then worry about actually being able to see what was happening.

As soon as she was up, even before she knew for certain she wouldn't topple back over, the gun was up with and her pointing in his direction.

"You want violence? I'll show you violence," she whispered.

Half her face was streaked in blood, hair slick with it and dripping. She reached out a shaky hand to grab Mike's bag and slid backwards towards the door.

The Art of Accepting Each Other
She chewed her lip and tasted the salt. She'd been staring down at the ocean and watching her feet swing back and forth. She lifted her eyes and looked at the bright, gauzy gray morning. She felt her pupil's dilate from the bright, but still cloudy sky.

Gwen called to her and she looked back over her shoulder. She nodded vigorously. Her one hand gripped the edge of the soft, wood of the pier. She swallowed and tried to brush her hair to the side.

She stood, nearly toppled back over into the ocean, but regained balance. Michelle's wasn't very graceful or balanced. She took a deep breath and then scampered forward back towards Gwen.

"Let's go find our friends, okay?"

((Michelle Weschler continued in That's Crate!))

She blinked. Her eyes fluttered and a drop of blood caught on her eyelash. Mara watched him grab at his neck. He was trying to pull the glass out. She just stared at him. He was tearing up his hand to try and get it out. Mara was half sitting up and he was no longer above her. He hit a wall and fell to the floor next to her.

She felt fuzzy. Her fingers tips tingled. The adrenaline blocked her from being able to feel the damage she'd taken for the time being. Mara was taking big breaths, trying to keep up with how hard her heart was pumping blood. She fell back, exhausted.

She stared straight up, now lying down again. Next to her Mike was still making bubbling gurgles. When he'd stopped she turned her head to look at him. Her chest was still rising and falling dramatically. Her hair was matted to her face by blood. Unthinking, she reached up with her damaged hand and tried to sweep it away from her face. She ended up smearing her lovely doll's face with blood.

He wasn't moving. Mara reached over a shaky hand and punched him in the arm. He stayed still. His eyes were open and still had the expression of frantic fear. She clutched her hand to her chest.

After a few wobbly attempts she sat up again. Mara surveyed the room. Two guys, very big, tall, athletic guys, were laid out on the floor. She'd taken them both out. Her. Little Mara who was half a foot shorter, no weapons and probably couldn't do a single pull-up.

Maybe she was going to be okay? Maybe she had what it took to survive. She thought about how her father would feel about the scene. He'd be proud of her, maybe prouder than he'd ever been of any debate win or A+. She was a survivor.

She looked back at Mike. Well, he was dead. She didn't mean to kill him, it certainly what she thought when he walked in. What choice did she have, though? He wouldn't let her leave and if Hansel woke up and figured-

"Oh fuck, right."

Hansel was still there. Still knocked out, still possibly a murderer. She wasn't a murderer, this was a kill of necessity. However, the person who killed Daniel shot him from the bushes for no reason. That person was a psycho and if it was this psycho she needed to move.

Mara keyed in on the gun Mike dropped. She scrambled, crawling across the floor to reach it.

Mara opened her eyes. Her vision, two copies of the same scene that seemed separated from each other swam for a moment before meeting together to form one vision, though a slightly blurry one. One hand flopped over her face, partially covering her eyes so that the only visible space was between her fingers. Her other hand curled and contracted around something smooth and cool on the floor. Around here there were puddles of sparkly water from the snow globe.

The feeling of having been flung to the floor was a sort of searing pain going from the back of her head up to her eyes. How did this happen? Mike was above her now as she lay trying to collect herself again. She felt exposed. An unpleasant tingle spread through her chest. Mara felt trapped; she couldn't even run, not in the position she was in now and the way things had happened. Her heart slammed against her chest and forced against her throat.

Her hand swept to her side, feeling frantically next to her. It was the last action she was cognizant of. It was a flash, a feral reaction.

There was her hand searching for something, anything that would stop him and then there was Mara staring up into Mike's face, connected to him by the piece of glass cutting into both his flesh and her hand. In an instant they were connected.

Mara frantically grabbed a piece of glass and jammed it into Mike's neck.

Oh my God.

The only sound was the deafening silence. Not ordinary silence, but the strange awful silence that resulted in the high pitched buzzing of emptiness. Her hand shook.

Stop it.

The dark red blood gushed from his neck and slid onto her hand, dripped onto her face. It marred her cheek and ran down the side. Mara screamed.

It was a high pitched scream that tore the inside of her throat raw, but she couldn't stop. She drew breath and kept screaming.


She was holding onto the glass so hard that it had sunk into her hand. Her whole body shivered and when she closed her mouth she could taste blood swirling around. Mara unclenched her hand and with a wet squish she was able to separate her hand from the shard. A deep line in her palm marked where she'd held it, but her hand was completely covered in both of their blood.

She held her breath, unable to look away from him.

The Art of Accepting Each Other
Michelle put her arm back into the sling and sat up.

"Keep them if they mean so much to you," she said grumpily. "But If I see them I'm going to throw them into the ocean. I'm not going to tell you it's okay to kill people no matter who they are."

She clumsily got to her feet and climbed on top of one of the tables shoved up against the door to the restaurant. She yanked down one of the boards covering up a broken window.

"I'm going to go get some air."

She climbed out the broken window and jumped down the two feet or so, landing on the boardwalk. The planks creaked under her flip flops. Michelle went to the edge and sat down with her feet hanging over. The ocean calmly lapped up to the wooden posts holding up the boardwalk. She closed her eyes and felt the air made heavy by the salt. When the waves came in her hair fluttered a bit.

Michelle sat down and fiddled with one of her friendship bracelets. She didn't want to think of what Virgil said. She thought briefly about just leaving them, but she could never just run off without saying anything. She thought of Kam.

"If you were here I know I wouldn't get so riled up."

Michelle daydreamed that maybe Kam hadn't been taken. Maybe she was in the bathroom when they'd all been taken and they missed her and she'd made it California and when she got out of the bathroom everyone was gone. Maybe when they were gathering everyone she slumped down and got wedged between the seats and a bag from the overhead compartment fell on her and they didn't see her. Maybe she'd grabbed a parachute, but there wasn't time for her to grab Michelle to, or the two of them would have been too heavy together. Maybe when they were transporting them (in Michelle's day dream they were all stacked together on a truck like boxes or fruit) she'd rolled off the back and woke up somewhere alone, but safe.

She sighed deeply, breathing in the familiar scent of the ocean and fiddled with the bracelet.

He caught her wrist and for a moment she looked at him in surprise. No one had done that before. No one had ever stopped her. Then again, so rarely did she find herself driven to the point where she had to scratch someone. She'd done it to people before, mostly when she was younger, but no one ever stopped her.

She looked up at him and became aware again of how much bigger than her he was. Mara swallowed and tried to wrench herself out of his grasp.

"Fuck you! Let me go!" she shrieked. "You couldn't leave it alone you idiot!"

He was hell bent on keeping her there and the minute Hansel woke up he'd think she was some kind of psycho and they'd shoot her. Mara pulled and slammed against him. They'd throw her against the wall and shoot her. She tried to knee him in the crotch, but an uneven floor board and her thrashing derailed that plan.

She went crashing to the floor. Her head slammed against the hardwood floor and she landed flat on her back. Mara groaned.