Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]
Welcome to Survival of the Fittest, a RPing board loosely based off of Koshun Takami's Battle Royale, with its own unique plot and spin on the 'deadly game'. We've been around quite a while, and are now in our thirteenth year, so don't worry about us going anywhere any time soon!

If you're a newcomer and interested in joining, then please make sure you check out the rules. You may also want to read the FAQ, introduce yourself and stop by the chat to meet some of our members. If you're still not quite sure where to start, then we have a great New Member's Guide with a lot of useful information about getting going. Don't hesitate to PM a member of staff (they have purple usernames) if you have any questions about SOTF and how to get started!

Let the games begin!

Username:   Password:
Add Reply
Waking Up is Hard to do; B055: Start - TOPIC CLOSED
Topic Started: Aug 8 2010, 06:31 AM (4,086 Views)
Rattlesnake
Member Avatar
Now you may be wondering, who was wearing the bolo tie? Me or the shark? Answer: YES!
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
B055: Start

Nick Reid lay alone and asleep in a forest clearing. He twitched; the soporific effect of whatever the terrorist organization's favored brand of tranquilizer slowly slipped away, and at last he emerged from a dreamless sleep into a waking nightmare.

He cracked open an eyelid, but saw only the piercing radiance of the Sun. He quickly shut it again.

"The eff?"

A faint humming sounded in his ears. He sat slowly up, and then quickly lay down again. It wasn't a very good day. Or afternoon, or evening? Time seemed like an irrelevant notion when compared to his feeling of grogginess, and increasingly, dull pain. It seemed as if the ground was a featherbed, and if he were to fall back asleep he would sink backwards, deep down into its depths and be smothered. Smothered by a feeling of headsplitting confusion and grogginess, and -

He sat up again, feeling blood cascading away from his brain, but stayed up, opening his eyes and viewing a curtain of deep purple spots that slowly resolved away. He looked up at the sun shining brightly in the sky, though its brilliant glow no longer pained him.

Guess it's not nighttime, at least.

Yes, it wasn't night. How keen an observation. Nick heaved himself over, stretching out for his bag, and pulled it towards him. A good book might pass the time while he came to his senses. He rifled through it. Jeans, no, first-aid kit, no, Going Postal? No, he was busy reading The Fifth Elephant. Molotov cocktail, no, flashlight... Something stirred uneasily within him. Had he packed his molotovs correctly? There seemed to be six of them, and he had packed - how many had he packed? Math shirt, no, extra socks -

"CRAP!"

He flipped himself onto his feet, holding his spinning head a moment before looking around wildly. That's what wasn't right: the whole situation wasn't right. He hadn't packed a half-dozen molotovs. He hadn't packed any. Nobody did. Unless this was someone's idea of a prank? Try and get Nick Reid chucked out for drinking, as if anyone would believe he had the balls to get hammered on a class trip, or even anywhere at all? A memory stirred within him, and immediately he hoped it was a prank. He unstoppered a bottle and sniffed deeply. Diesel fumes. They almost knocked him off his feet. Desperate, he prayed silently that the returning memory was just a vivid nightmare, that someone had pulled one over on him. He swallowed hard, and the collar clinging to his neck choked away his hope.

No. There's got to be a rational explanation to this. Just think...

But there was no rational explanation. He hadn't packed that first-aid kit, he certainly hadn't packed those molotovs, and that memory, that memory that froze his veins -

"That boy in the first clip was John Rizzolo, last season's winner. He played smart, and he played hard, and he won."

No, there was no rational explanation at all, even the one he knew had to be true. He remembered all too clearly. He had sat there in that room, restrained, while blood pooled on the floor, feeling the same sick feeling he had right now. His heart drumming, hair standing on end, huddled in a violent cold shiver.

He bent down to his pack, ears pricked and head on a swivel, as if there was an assassin behind every tree just waiting to strike - two hundred and fifty assassins, in fact. Every student, a potential killer, every one a potential friend, and every friend a possible traitor. He caught himself off-guard with a silly sort of thought. You had to be famous to be assassinated, right? Where was that threshold? Would he be famous?

As if in answer, the elusive glint of a camera caught his eye; moving his head around, it seemed to have disappeared, until he spotted a second one. And a third. Well-hidden as they might be, they were pervasive enough to fall under Nick's searching eye. Yes, he thought, he might cross that threshold soon...

Suddenly, the stupidity of his actions occurred to him. Nick Reid, blundering around an open clearing like a blind toddler! Stowing his possessions safely but messily in his bag, he shouldered it and slipped into the trees. Sitting in the shadow of a large fallen log a dozen feet or so from the clearing, trying to properly take stock of his situation. He was uncomfortably alone, but feared a meeting that would break the solitude. He had some molotov cocktails, which were great for burning down forests but poor for beating down enemies. He was sore from his aerial drop, and whatever tranquilizer they used was leaving him with something like a hangover - not, of course, that he would know what that felt like.

"This sucks."
VeeFive


V4


NO. THERE IS NO MORE TIME, EVEN FOR CAKE. FOR YOU, THE CAKE IS OVER. YOU HAVE REACHED THE END OF CAKE.

Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Rattlesnake
Member Avatar
Now you may be wondering, who was wearing the bolo tie? Me or the shark? Answer: YES!
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
"OH-GO-FUCK! My head!"

Nick felt his heart almost leap out of his chest. Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, it was time already to fire up the good ol' fight or flight response. He hoped to do neither, but prepared himself anyways for whatever and whoever he was about to get involved with.

With rather more noise than he'd hoped to make, Nick fumbled with shaking hands to unzip his bag and draw out a cocktail. Finally, he slammed the zipper closed, shouldering the pack and ruing the fumes that pervaded the confined space, seemingly eager to contaminate its entire contents with a greasy odor. Slowly he rose above the fallen log and stalked through the trees, towards the source of the noise.

It was a terrible risk to advance. It was a terrible risk to stay where he was. It was a terrible risk, even, to flee in this place. It was - Andrea Raymer?

"Airghh"

Smooth one, that was, keeping your cool and your cover.

"...Andrea," he breathed out after a second, for no real reason other than to cover up, to excuse his pitiful greeting. It was the sort of amateur mistake that mattered here, the kind that he couldn't afford if he wanted to stay alive and intact. Seizing the silence before she could draw words out of her dazed head, Nick continued. "So..."

So. So, you're here. So, I hope you don't intend to kill me. So, I hope you haven't got a deadly weapon hidden in that bag. So, what do you think of SotF now? So, what's next?

"So," he repeated, twisting the neck of the bottle in his sweaty palm, "fancy meeting you here," he blurted, silently furious at himself. And, come to think of it, Andrea. She enjoyed watching this? How could any decent human being enjoy something like this? Heartache and betrayal and tears and blood and murder and the Island, that capital-I Island that was really another circle of Hell, the one that Dante seemed to forget to write about? The sound of bodies crashing off of cliffs or onto the ground and of lives, real lives crashing into ruin? It was bad enough fake, but real? If you enjoyed it while you thought it was real, certainly you deserved to be thrown on the island yourse-

He gave a long, shuddering sigh but kept his face impassive.

Make it look like nerves, that's the ticket. If highschool's taught me anything, it's pretending to be ok. Be cool...

Nick's curt introduction hung heavy in the air during his brief seconds of internal turmoil, during which pause he glanced sharply off to the right - had someone else spoken? It must have been his imagination. That, and nerves.

Please, just don't try to kill me...
VeeFive


V4


NO. THERE IS NO MORE TIME, EVEN FOR CAKE. FOR YOU, THE CAKE IS OVER. YOU HAVE REACHED THE END OF CAKE.

Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Rattlesnake
Member Avatar
Now you may be wondering, who was wearing the bolo tie? Me or the shark? Answer: YES!
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Deep breaths.

Slowly Nick worked to reign in his leaping heart. It was easier, now, with Andrea flustering on the ground below him, as if she was drawing his own nervousness into her. In any other circumstances, her performance might have been almost humorous. Indeed, even now he felt a sharp, little guffaw tear out of him, a harsh little snort that he tried to pass off as a particularly shaky breath. He continued to shiver, but it had nothing to do with the temperature.

How did that little saying go, an enemy of my enemy is a friend of mine? Something like that. At any rate, he supposed, leaning against a soft mossy bole, anyone who a) didn't want to die and b) didn't want him to die could be considered a friend, at least for the moment. All the same, another phrase flashed briefly through his mind - the best defense is a good offense.

This is new, am I actually going to talk to Adrea Raymer on purpose?

"So," he began again, wishing for a little less adrenaline and a little more eloquence, "Yeah. It's Survival of the Fittest. Glad you noticed. Now I don't suppose, to get to the point, that you've got any idea what you're doing? Surely someone so - intelligent might have a master plan?" Hidden wells of frustration and anger slathered his voice with venom. Was he blaming her already? Like the terrorists cared about snatching up their little fangirl, and anyone else she happened to be around? It was a silly notion, and he had no right to act that way, he knew. But what did that matter? Soon enough, maybe already, fellow students were deferring to a more primal sort of law, where blades and bullets replaced lawmen and everyone was constantly standing trial in a cruel sort of kangaroo court. Manners and mores were relics of the irretrievable past. It did you no good, in short, to stick out your pinkie finger while you took your last swig of water.

He fingered the white cloth "fuse" hanging out the bottleneck. With the suddenness of realization, he looked down at Andrea's bag and shot at her, "What did the terrorists give Danya's little girl, anyways? And," looking around again, speaking with less coldness and more inquisitiveness, "is something climbing trees over there?"
VeeFive


V4


NO. THERE IS NO MORE TIME, EVEN FOR CAKE. FOR YOU, THE CAKE IS OVER. YOU HAVE REACHED THE END OF CAKE.

Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Rattlesnake
Member Avatar
Now you may be wondering, who was wearing the bolo tie? Me or the shark? Answer: YES!
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
People. This is why I hate people.

A little part of Nick's brain urged him onwards, scrabbling like a rat over a sea of mice, clawing its way towards the portion of his psyche where all of his suppressed feelings lay, yearning to tear into a store of emotion so long battered, so long suppressed, so long ignored, so long hidden from his conscious mind. That locker where lay sequestered everything he never felt, and everything he never thought he pushed away, because if he was bottling everything up, why did it feel so empty? He wanted to rage, to storm, to savage his classmate's feelings because that would be so wrong. It was a horrible thing to do, and he would feel so bad.

And he would feel so bad.

He would feel so bad.

He would feel.

For all he knew, however, it was just another caustic quip he felt, another barbed witticism or caustic accusation he could fire off. Throwing up another facade would do no good, because he was always throwing up facades. This, at least, he knew about himself. His will to yell and to hurt broke off, falling away from his chest like a headless python. As Andrea continued on, leveling an accusation that was so horrible because it was so true, he shuddered, and a flash of heat seethed downwards from his head to his feet. But he betrayed nothing, not letting even his burning tears escape, though they clung to the corners of his eyes when she asked what in the world she was supposed to say.

Nick Reid maintained his posture, leaning against the mossy tree. He looked down, impassive, then turned his head towards the noise, not to see who was coming but to avoid looking at Andrea. Once she had opened her bag, then stood and asserted herself, he spoke. "Molotovs and a jar of gunpowder - fella could have a pretty good time in Vegas with that." He tested the air with a voice a measure less strong and a face a measure more pained than seconds ago, and she continued to speak.

"No. I, I understand. It's just this soporific or whatever, I'll feel like crap again once the adrenaline wears off. Hah, I just said soporific." In truth, his veins were already clear. The aches from his rough landing were clear again, but that wasn't why he felt so wretched. "Yes, the-"

"Hey."

The effect was immediate. Keeping the bottle in his left hand but dumping his bag unceremoniously to the ground, he turned to face the new arrival and took a stance.

Drop the load, right leg forward, weight on the left, knees bent, barrel mace bottle in front, right side to the shield wall tree, between the maiden and the aggressor.

He was glad that he hadn't spoken out loud, especially the last part, though it might go a ways towards calming troubled waters.

"Hey there," he called back, squinting. "Alex White? We've got nothing, what's your given weapon?" He let his weapon arm swing back down to the vertical, but kept his stance.

On second thought, maybe I should just let the girl do the talking...
VeeFive


V4


NO. THERE IS NO MORE TIME, EVEN FOR CAKE. FOR YOU, THE CAKE IS OVER. YOU HAVE REACHED THE END OF CAKE.

Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Rattlesnake
Member Avatar
Now you may be wondering, who was wearing the bolo tie? Me or the shark? Answer: YES!
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Nick was in a very sour mood. He could deal with it. He was no stranger to moods like that. What did get to him, however, was the alarming strength and unnerving alacrity of its arrival, not to mention the impeccably bad timing. And the part where he had, in fact, seen it coming and was unable to head it off.

I should talk to a doctor about that. Oh, silly me, I already have!

Everything about the situation grated on his nerves. Not, he thought bitterly, that it would be his biggest trial on the island. Far from it, once people started crying and dying and killing and rapingand pillaging and joining groups and leaving groups and clung to dying breaths with the stupidity and stubbornness of the human raceand shot and stabbed and tore at others with the stupidity and selfishness of the human race and everyone's life became a soap opera because they couldn't just die and get on with it and once his life turned into a soap opera because he couldn't just die and get on with it and nobody wanted to die and nobody wanted anyone else to die but they all wanted to win so so badly just so they could get on with their stupid useless human lives and scream and cry at night when they got home because it was all too much and didn't they realize that things could never be the same, and that nobody could ever be normal again and it would be just doctor visits and psychiatrists and "How are you doing?" "Life sucks" "I know, where's my $150 an hour" and Nick had had enough of that already because his life sucked and it wasn't fair but it never was so he couldn't complain because complaining did nobody any good and nothing had ever done him any good but that's how life was when you knew what you were and who you were and ignorance was bliss and

"No," he spat pointedly at Alex, "I don't suppose things could get much worse here. Not unless you -"
Bad move. Keep cool.
"Nevermind." He did a quick survey of the forest floor and sat rather more heavily than he had intended onto a stump. It hurt, but not enough to distract him from his already-aching back and arms. The new lance of pain did, however, distract him from his thoughts. That was somewhat of a relief, except...

"Well, don't just do something, stand there! Come closer if you wanna talk to us, since I suppose you're gonna speak softly with that big old stick there."

And then he was silent, fuming at himself on the inside. He hated when this happened, because it took so much effort to avoid rubbing people the wrong way, something he was so good at in the first place, and he had just failed miserably at averting it. Again. He cursed them inwardly in spite of himself, the useless junkies. Which reminded him...

Nick looked sharply over at his bag, as if literally stung by the thought. He stretched his arm out to touch it. Pulling it towards him in a more sedate manner, he began sifting idly through it, until at last his fingers closed around the little orange bottle he was seeking. He worked the cap off and tipped a large, cream puck of a pill into his hand.

"Bupropion, 'hundred fifty mils. Cheers."

And he tossed it back without any water.

"...What?"
VeeFive


V4


NO. THERE IS NO MORE TIME, EVEN FOR CAKE. FOR YOU, THE CAKE IS OVER. YOU HAVE REACHED THE END OF CAKE.

Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Rattlesnake
Member Avatar
Now you may be wondering, who was wearing the bolo tie? Me or the shark? Answer: YES!
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
A vague feeling of uneasiness drifted like a fog over Nick's mind. He had gone too far, he knew, had been pushing it since the moment he'd seen Andrea. The best, most rational thing to do would be to pack up and excuse himself.

But despite his claims to the contrary, Nick Reid did not always act rationally.

He looked out, leaning his chin on his hand, which still hung limply onto the orange plastic medicine bottle. It would be so much nicer, he mused, to just go to sleep. He was so tired, as anyone who looked at him could tell, with deep purple crescents underlining his sunken eyes. Besides, and this was the best part, it would mean he could ignore the trouble around him, ignore the sullenness of his mood and the atrocity of what reality had most recently thrown his way. Even if he could, though, he knew it wouldn't end well, and when he awoke hours later, if he awoke, massaging his head and wiping mingled sweat and drool out of his hair, off of his face, clenching his limbs and sponging dribbles of sweat issuing from his armpits and knees and wherever else he was folded in on himself, it would be from nightmare into nightmare. He stared impassively.

That is, his face betrayed no hint of what he thought, but he stared hard into space, as if to ignite some arbitrary point in midair with the intensity of his gaze. And he stared. He stared past the trees, wondering how far they stretched, what lay beyond them, who lay beyond them. He stared past the underbrush, wondering what sorts of creatures played out their own little game of Survival of the Fittest, albeit one that didn't mandate genocide or death within a week or two. He stared past Alex, stalking forward like a man possessed, and thought there might be a little connection in the way they felt. He stared past Andrea, who was rifling through her bag. But he didn't stare for long, because she was finishing her inspection.

She tossed a bottle at him. He snapped to, caught between twin reflexes to grab and to block, sending it spinning off the back of his hand. Now what was she playing at? He wasn't some druggie, living from high to high. He didn't bend to pick it up, and he wouldn't. In this state, every stimulus was just another source of sheer annoyance, and he felt himself bristling over it, but didn't say anything. He wasn't sure she had noticed.

"Know what?" he said, standing up and dilating his eyes momentarily against the brief curtain of darkness. "I think I've gone right off the bottle."

Almost carelessly, he flung it onto the stump. He didn't watch it tilt and spin and disgorge half its contents. Instead, he reached into his pack, finding by feel a flat blue plastic container and pulling it out. He drew out the silvery plastic studded with little orange pills, and chucked that too.

Nick was sure he didn't score any points with Andrea, but he was past caring, really, if she wasn't going to hurt him. The more important person was Alex, who seemed absorbed in his thoughts, betrayed by the glassy expression Nick himself had worn so many times. It was curious, he thought, how Andrea's flip-flop had been lying right in front of them, but Alex derailed that train of thought by escalating the situation.

"Better, eh? Not likely."
Don't take the bait. Oh, whoops, too late...
"My little friend's hard as steel, and's got a nice heft to boot. Heck of a weapon, if you're unfamiliar with bar fights and bushmen. Reach really isn't everything." And to drive the point home, or to hopefully drive the point home but look cool anyways even the point wasn't driven home, he flicked his wrist and produced a neat little twirling motion.

While Alex stepped slowly forward, Nick shouldered his pack, ostensibly to vacate the premises. But he took care to sling it lightly, and that the skinny neck of a second bottle was within his grasp. He kept his eyes locked on Alex's stick.
VeeFive


V4


NO. THERE IS NO MORE TIME, EVEN FOR CAKE. FOR YOU, THE CAKE IS OVER. YOU HAVE REACHED THE END OF CAKE.

Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Rattlesnake
Member Avatar
Now you may be wondering, who was wearing the bolo tie? Me or the shark? Answer: YES!
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Here it comes...

It was going to happen, it was really going to happen, he was about to to really truly get into a fight with someone that he realized was quite large and not unskilled in beating the snot out of people. Nick took a step backwards, grabbing the topmost molotov with a sweaty palm and discarding his bag roughly onto the ground. Then, with more bravery than he thought possible, he took a step forwards. He'd fought larger opponents and come out on top, this was nothing compared to the Cu Sith, Alex was -
WHOOSH.
- a heck of a guy to be fighting.

Oh, bugger.

The branch swooshed by, carving itself a tunnel of rushing air that closed loudly behind it. Alex meant business. Nick nearly stumbled, stepping quickly backwards onto questionable footing. He went to seize the opening, but it was too late - hesitating out of surprise, he rushed forward only to be swept aside by Alex's backswing. There wasn't much momentum to it, but Nick found himself gritting his teeth from the pain. Sweeping aside the branch with one molotov, he dashed forward again, swinging heavily but not quite fast enough at Alex's head.

Nick stood a second, thinking - had he really just made an earnest attempt to smash Alex's skull? - but darted in again. Hard as steel yet brittle as, well, glass, his makeshift maces were no good for blocking heavy swings. Or for blocking light swings, or taking swings, really, he thought, as they were really not much better than just holding a rock in each hand.

Now fighting in earnest he thought he felt the same kind of nervousness as a test pilot or acrobat - he knew what he was doing, he was in his element, but to let his concentration slip for just an instant off the knife-edge between success and failure would have dire consequences. Really, the best thing to do would be to do what he did best and run. Run far away from his problems, mental and physical, outstrip them and keep running and then, as he had half-jokingly written in his senior goodbye in the yearbook, run long enough and far enough and someone will just take care of them for you. But here, there was everything to run from and nowhere to run to, because the collars wouldn't come off, and home was a thousand miles away or more.

None of that really registered with his conscious mind. He was too occupied with parrying and footwork and feints and crosses and jabs. A little tendril of thought snaked across his mind, telling him that he was dead anyways, that he might as well put on a show. Consciously, however, he knew that caution was key. It was no use getting injured on day one of what, a week? Two weeks? And if he got really badly hurt, he wouldn't make it that far. He just had to stay close, block the branch before it could get going, but close to Alex was exactly where he didn't want to be...

He darted in, stabbing forward, and was rewarded with a heavy exhalation. A good solid strike at last. But before he could do more than mentally congratulate himself, Alex acted with alarming speed, bringing the pine branch crashing down. Nick put up the old standby, the double dagger defense - dominant hand behind the weaker one, catch the blade in an x and then stab with the dominant. Or at least that was the plan. What was not part of the plan was the fact that the branch did not stop but rather crashed downwards, shattering the bottle in Nick's left hand and gouging his right with glistening, stinging shrapnel.

He fell back, panting, looking down at what most closely resembled a curious sort of glass shiv. It was a lucky thing that the bottleneck hadn't shattered completely, leaving his hand bloody and useless, but it was much less lucky that the lacerations on his right arm were smarting and stinging from the contents of the molotov. He clutched his shiv, less dangerous yet more deadly than the unbroken bottle, and waited for the next move.
VeeFive


V4


NO. THERE IS NO MORE TIME, EVEN FOR CAKE. FOR YOU, THE CAKE IS OVER. YOU HAVE REACHED THE END OF CAKE.

Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Rattlesnake
Member Avatar
Now you may be wondering, who was wearing the bolo tie? Me or the shark? Answer: YES!
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
What in the world did he think he was doing?

There was no reason for it. No reason at all. He should be a hundred yards away by now, leaving Alex and Andrea to their fates. No, he should be a thousand miles away, in a perfectly innocuous stretch of woodland on a perfectly innocuous senior trip. But he was blinded by anger and frustration and pain and who knows else, trading blows for no good reason, the motive behind the scuffle forgotten...

It was a mistake, really, thinking that he could weather the fury of a much bigger student with a much more robust weapon. He'd stepped forward instinctively, trying to reduce the arc of his swing, trying to rob the branch of its deadly momentum, and been rewarded for all his skills and reflexes with what? A bloody arm and a broken weapon.

"Hey, asshole!"

It was a perfect opportunity, just what he needed. If his thoughts ever chanced upon the subject, there were two rules that he thought to obey had he ever gotten into a real altercation. Number one was fight dirty, and number two was run like a madman. The thought came swirling through the heady stew of light and sound and adrenaline that ensnared his mind, blocking out all rational thought. And for the first time, he acted not to dissuade or to beat off his attacker, but to wound and tear in earnest. He made his move uncoiling like a spring, exploding forward with an almighty lunge from his legs, the only portion of his wiry little frame he could be proud of. But Alex knew what he was doing, too.

For a moment, the world spun, and then stopped, brutally, harshly, showing him the forest canopy far above. The shock of it pounded through him, unhindered by such underrated cushions as body fat. All strength left him, and his grip on the sharp glass was pitifully weak, surrendering it without much resistance. Adrenaline left his body with his breath, and his ribcage, previously slathered in molten lead, felt small and weak as it heaved. Any moment now, he'd see that branch coming down like a world-shattering meteor.

Where the intact bottle had gone, he neither knew nor cared. He rolled to the side, heaving himself onto unwilling legs, and stared dizzily through the trees. Alex might have been saying something, or might not. Its importance was nil. Nick was listening to his brain now, and every synapse was screaming the same command, "RUN!" There would be no restitution, no apologies or even continued hostility. He stumbled unsteadily forward then broke into a run, giving Alex a wide berth and kicking of a tree to send him in the right direction, towards his bag, which he grabbed with a hand coated in a slimy film of grime and thin, oily blood.

And then he got the hell out of Dodge.

((Nick Reid continued in The Right Thing for the Wrong Reasons))
VeeFive


V4


NO. THERE IS NO MORE TIME, EVEN FOR CAKE. FOR YOU, THE CAKE IS OVER. YOU HAVE REACHED THE END OF CAKE.

Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)
ZetaBoards - Free Forum Hosting
Create a free forum in seconds.
Learn More · Register Now
« Previous Topic · The Woods: Inland · Next Topic »
Add Reply