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D-Day
Topic Started: Aug 8 2010, 10:27 AM (8,397 Views)
Gwbiii
~~PCH0000~~
[ *  *  * ]
((Sarah Xu out of nowhere from False Awakening))

She was almost there, heart pounding, feeling like the oxygen was jamming it's way into her lungs,
having expended every Joule of energy she could. She could see them properly now, Bridget was easy to recognise with her hair, the other two... Kimberly was shot, and she didn't give a fuck who the guy was. Back up onto the soft sand, almost tripping over herself as she navigated the unsteady surface. She finally stumbled over to the trio, practically falling to the ground next to them.

The boy was injured as well, but that could wait, especially since he seemed intent on blubbering uselessly. She put her hand on the bandage to keep it steady as she pushed him out of the way with the rest of her body. She would have chewed him out for losing his head but was far too busy concentrating on calming herself. Shaking and hyperventilating like she was wasn't going to help the situation.Though between the sprint and seeing the state Kimberly was in she had a lot to come down from.

Calm down Sarah, relax, you'll be fine.

"K-Kimberly, try to, try to ca-calm down, you're gonna be fine." She didn't really believe it herself, with all the blood, and she doubted Kimberly would either, but she knew panick would only exacerbate the bleeding. Higher blood pressure, faster bleed; More movement, faster bleed. From what she'd seen as she'd approached it seemed there was already plenty of exacerbation to go around.

"Bridge, get behind her and raise her up." She turned to the boy "You, call an amb... w-wait fuck... Just get another kit!"

She swallowed and tried to breath slower, away from the wound. The last thing Kimberly needed was for it to get even more contaminated. She had the feeling the other two had already done plenty of that.

"Okay... let's have a look." She lifted the cloth that had been so haphazardly pressed onto the wound so she could see what was going on.

Okay okay, uh, darkish, constant flow...

She sighed with relief. If they'd hit an artery she'd have been in trouble. As it was, Kimberly was practically in the clear. The now even more blood-drenched girl laughed nervously, her jitters calming altogether as she discarded the bandage and pulled open the duffel bag sitting by her side.

"Okay Kimberly, you're going to be fine. Tell me if you start feeling drowzy though okay?"
Edited by Gwbiii, Aug 15 2010, 11:25 AM.
G003 - Sarah Xu -"Th-then I-I'll stitch you up."---> 開始
G049 - Mia Kuiper - "lada didi dada di dum dum."---> Anfang
B040 - Richard Han - "YOU WIN THIS TIME, GRAAAVIIIIITYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY"
G094 - Raina Morales
-*snort* pretty cows...---> Began: Bump in the Night || Ended: A New Day
""-Mandarin ""-Cantonese ""-German ""-Spanish
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Rocky
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They see me walking, they hating
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Things weren't getting much better, but at least Kimberly had stopped moving. Steve apparently chose this time to start freaking out, moaning about how they were all going to die, and that there was nothing they could do. Bridget was about to say something to the boy, but was interrupted by the rather sudden arrival of Sarah Xu. Sarah immediately began to take control of the situations, throwing out commands left and right.

"Kim, I'm going to let go of your arm." Bridget said, preparing to move into the position Sarah had told her to. "But if you try to attack us again, I won't be so nice about it." Her piece having been said, the redhead's hold on Kimberly's arm was released, and Bridget's blood soaked hands raised the injured girl's torso off the ground, and she quickly slid herself underneath, resting Kimberly's head on her lap.

Brushing the other girl's hair out of her face, Bridget couldn't help but feel for the girl. Her face was contorted in pain, and God knows how much longer she would be able to stay conscious. Almost out of instinct, the Irish girl grasped Kimberly's good hand reassuringly, vaguely aware of the fact the girl's blood had tinted her hand red. "It's going to be okay."
G068 Chan, Yuan Stephanie
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Chib
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Oh my god you guys The Riz killed Cara what do!?
[ *  *  * ]
One second, Steve was in the middle of whining about how they were all going to die. The next, he was face-down in the sand, realising how much of a pussy he'd just been. Here he was, with a girl he'd just met's blood all over him, while she was lying in the sand with a bullet in her shoulder, and he was concerned with his own wellbeing? As he picked himself up, he literally slapped himself across the face, ashamed that he'd let himself act like such a moron.

He wasn't quite sure who this new girl was, but he decided to save thanking her until later. She had snapped him out of his idiot fugue, after all, but there were more pressing matters to attend to - namely, doing whatever was needed to stop Kimberly from bleeding to death.

"You, call an amb... w-wait fuck... Just get another kit!"

Yeah, he recalled hearing something like that earlier. Even if he hadn't, it couldn't hurt. A quick look around told Steve he'd dropped his daypack a few metres away when he'd come to Kimberly's aid in the first place, so he quickly moved over to it - still on all fours - hunted down his own first aid kit, stood up, and strode back over to Sarah, laying the small green box down by Kimberly's shoulder. He would've handed it to her, but her hands were clearly busy, so instead he just opened it, and offered a rather self-conscious "Eh, here."
Every time you fall asleep you die. Someone else wakes up in your body, thinking they're you.
You are alone and trapped in your own mind, the world around you is your lie.
Soon you will be nothing, you will never again hear sounds, never again see colours, never again be anyone.


Riley Moon appreciates that Action Needs an Audience, but it's hard not to watch. Hair Status: Bubblegum Pink
Parallel with: The Heavy Weapons Guy

The Past
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MurderWeasel
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You've been counting stars, now you're counting on me
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
She was going to die. She didn't want to, but Kimberly was sure of it now. But then, suddenly, there was someone else. Someone? Who? She couldn't tell. Couldn't really make anything out at the moment. Could've been Danya himself and Kimberly wouldn't have complained, though. As long as it was someone who hadn't been here before. She'd had some sort of instinctual aversion to the people she'd trusted just minutes before. They'd just... they'd just stood there while she got shot. It was their fault! All of it. If they'd been quicker, well, fuck, they'd have just been shot instead. Ugh. Nothing made sense anymore. At least whoever was working on her arm now wasn't making it hurt more. That was her current measure of good. Things not hurting more. Less pain seemed impossible. A world with less pain was a fantasy, a nice memory, nothing more.

Her head was in someone's lap. Felt comfortable. She'd used to lie like that with one of her boyfriends. Who? Couldn't even remember. And then, more words. The newcomer. Telling her she'd be fine. Fine? How could she be fine? She'd been shot. The voice was calm, though, in control. Being clear and confident, well, relatively so. Kimberly began to calm down just a bit. She'd didn't really think it was possible that she'd pull through this, but if someone who knew what they were doing was here, then just maybe she could hold out. Possibly. She didn't want to die. No, she couldn't die. It just wasn't imaginable. Even now, she still had some will to live.

Someone was squeezing her hand while the calm girl told her to say something if she felt sleepy. Sleepy? Kimberly couldn't imagine how anyone could sleep in a situation like this. Her arm hurt too much. She would never be able to sleep ever again. Even if, by some miracle, she managed to nod off in a week or whatever, all that would happen is she'd get fucking nightmares. Kris. No, sleep was a thing of the past. She nodded a bit, though, and grunted in what she hoped could be understood as assent, since they couldn't know that she would never be going back to sleep. Then she let out another little wail. Nothing felt worse, but vocalizing helped, somehow. She forced herself to keep breathing. In, out. In, out. Deep breaths. Focus on something else to hide from the pain. Her hand. She squeezed tightly on the hand in hers, not enough to hurt, just enough to focus on instead of her left arm. Fuck. She was so glad she was right handed all of a sudden. For all her life, Kimberly had envied left handed people, thought they were cool and different and special, but now, for once, she was so very happy to be a part of the boring majority.

She blinked her eyes, quickly and repeatedly, trying to clear them of tears. No good. She'd need to wipe her eyes with her hand, and she wasn't ready to weaken her grasp. Besides, if she pulled away, would they hurt her? She'd attacked them. What had she been thinking? It was all so crazy. This whole thing was insane. There was just one beacon of sense in it all.

A question formed in Kimberly's mind, and she tried to vocalize it, but she couldn't really concentrate. In the end, she just managed to sputter out, "F-fuck. Who?"

It was close enough.
V7:
Juliette Sargent drawn by Mimi and Ryuki
Alton Gerow drawn by Mimi
Lavender Ripley drawn by Mimi
Phillip Olivares drawn by Ryuki
Library Vee
Misty Browder
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chitoryu12
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Leader
[ *  *  * ]
B0052 Start

As a loud bang echoed down the surf, Christopher Carlson experienced a sensation of awakening like he never had before.

The first thing that came to him was light. As his eyelids fluttered open, all he could see was a blinding whiteness that burned to the end of his optic nerve. His eyes shut on instinct, replacing the white with a kind of smeared red that still made him ache.

Then there was the headache. It was pounding like a double-bass drum in his brain. He groaned and rolled over, the multicolored lights flashing in his skull replaced with comforting black. The headache slowly began to fade; the ground felt wet and gritty.

He tried opening his eyes again, finding himself face down and staring at a sheet of gray, soggy sand. His head tilted upward, and while the glare of the sun made it a painful experience, he could clearly see a stretch of wet, gritty, rocky sand.

His hands nearly failed him as he tried to push himself up. He was weak, tired; he just wanted to go back to sleep. Somehow, he managed to push himself up into a sitting position and look around.

As he took in the rest of his view, he rubbed his head, his hand continuing to travel down the back of his neck. Suddenly, it froze. There was a strange, smooth surface beneath his fingertips.

Shiiiiiit

He suddenly remembered. The shooting. The kidnapping. The video. The gas. The laughter.

Survival of the Fittest.

A sudden rush of adrenaline sent him scrambling to get to his feet. His head whipped around, and he could very faintly see several figures in the distance. Apparently, they hadn't spotted him.

He didn’t know much about SOTF, but he did know that he had a bag with some equipment in it. He began scanning the ground around him, and sure enough there was a large black duffel bag. B052 was stenciled in white on it. “So I’m just a fucking number for the audience now, eh?” he muttered to himself. He quickly snatched up the pack and, spotting a patch of thin grass, hefted it and ducked behind the foliage.

Chris knelt next to his pack and unzipped it, hands groping through the shadowy innards. The first thing he pulled out was a map and a compass, which he tossed on the sand next to him. Next were a few bottles of water, some stale-feeling loaves of bread, and a cold tin can. He twisted the top off, and was assaulted by the bready smell of crackers. Not exactly a nutritionally-balanced meal, but perhaps part of this complete breakfast. Below that was a red plastic flashlight. At least he wouldn't be stumbling around in the dark.

At the very bottom, his hand touched something cold and metallic. His heart raced; a gun? A knife?

As his hand came out of the pack, his hopes dropped. He was holding a gleaming pair of brass knuckles. It was a step up from being unarmed, but he figured that a few dozen kids would be four or five steps up. He was a good shot and familiar with a wide range of firearms, though he never actually fired real bullets at anything and was stuck with practicing with his BB rifle in his backyard. If he had even a pocket pistol, he would have been a force to be reckoned with.

Still, he at least had something. At least he wasn’t trying to whack people with a rubber ducky. He slipped his fingers through the metal rings and clenched his fist around the curved back. He lightly tapped his knuckles against his palm, feeling the cold press of brass against his flesh. He recalled a Youtube video he had seen once of a drunk somewhere in Russia accosting a passerby and getting knuckleduster to the head twice. He remembered how one punch was enough to send the man sprawling.

Chris quickly wiped some sand off his glasses and peered at the party down the beach. He could see that one of them appeared to be on the ground. Was someone hurt?

He wasn't taking any chances with this one. He would be playing it as safe as possible. He quickly tossed his supplies back in his pack, shouldered it, and ran slightly up the beach into the tall grass bordering the sand. He crept down through his cover, occasionally looking over the grass and out toward the rest of the island to spot anyone sneaking up on him.
Characters for v4

Christopher Carlson: B052
Weapons: Brass knuckles


Jake Crimson: B084 (Adopted)
Weapons: Cinderblock

Characters for v5

Clayton Leven: B050
Weapons: Handcuffs

Shit people say

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Gwbiii
~~PCH0000~~
[ *  *  * ]
Sarah wasn't totally certain what procedure dictate she do next. The wound was still bleeding, that needed to stop, and quickly, but there was also sand around the wound and she had the feeling letting that stay in there would be a problem. Ironically, the first problem was already doing a decent job fixing the second, the stream of blood pulling most of the sand out as it came, but it wouldn't hurt to help it, would it?

Indecision left as her hands grasped cool plastic. Pulling it out, she wrenched the cap of the water bottle off with a snap and carefully poured over and around the hole in Kimberly's shoulder, clearing away what was left of the sand. The diluted blood ran everywhere, but the pair were already soaked in it, and she was pretty sure the wound wasn't life threatening. Pretty sure. The way Kimberly had just wailed didn't help inspire confidence. Hurry up.

Fuck She'd forgotten this was a bullet wound. She quickly leaned over to check the other side of Kimberley's shoulder. There wasn't an exit wound. Now that she knew, she wasn't sure how to feel about it. At least she only had to worry about clotting the blood on one side of the girl's body. She'd never dealt with anything like this before, the closest she'd gotten was when Joel tripped over... She couldn't believe she hadn't thought about them until then, but this really, really wasn't the time. The thought that her breaking down again might hurt the person she was tending to only made her feel worse. She tried to push the thoughts back but could already feel the tears coming and knew it was useless. She'd just have to be quick.

She had to try and distract herself. Though probably pointless, she hastily poured some water on her hands anyway as the boy returned with another medkit. At least that saved her digging around for her own.

"Thanks."

She almost missed registering Kimberly's question as she unzipped the pack and pulled out a gauze pad, folding it carefully.

"S-sorry, it's Sarah, relax."

She placed the pad across the wound, pressing as firmly as she dared. Now they just had to wait.

"Okay, should be ano... another ten minutes before this stops."

"Could be twelve, s-since you're a smoker." She tried to smile at the girl she was now pressing against, but the pathetic attempt at a joke only set her crying wholesale.

She missed them. Her brothers, Her parents, she'd last seen them before running to join the group for camp. She'd expected it to be the last time she'd be with her school friends, not the last time she'd see her family. Suddenly that simple goodbye meant so much more than she'd realised at the time. She had barely even paid attention, she'd been so eager to run off and find Reiko... She pulled out another gauze, placing it over the first and pressing down on them again... She wanted to be with Reiko again. She knew it was selfish, she knew she'd see her soon enough and that she could look after herself. But she just wanted to have it back, the way it had been down the back of the bus, kissing, chatting, falling asleep in each other's arms as the gas had worked it's way through the cabin... She retched as the kidnapping invaded her thoughts. She couldn't believe those fuckers were taking her memories from her too.
G003 - Sarah Xu -"Th-then I-I'll stitch you up."---> 開始
G049 - Mia Kuiper - "lada didi dada di dum dum."---> Anfang
B040 - Richard Han - "YOU WIN THIS TIME, GRAAAVIIIIITYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY"
G094 - Raina Morales
-*snort* pretty cows...---> Began: Bump in the Night || Ended: A New Day
""-Mandarin ""-Cantonese ""-German ""-Spanish
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Little Boy
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STICK IT IN ZEE BOOOOOOOT~~~~
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
((Φrn "Dutchy Ayers continued from False Awakening))

"Dutchy" Ayers, was not actually born with the name Dutchy Ayers.

In truth, the timid Icelandic Boy was born Φrn Markϊsson on the island of Heimaey, the largest of the cluster of islands collectively called Vestmannaeyjar on the South Coast of Iceland. Despite moving at the young age of 4, Φrn, or Dutchy, could swear on his life that if he shut his eyes and felt the cool breeze, he could picture the town he was born in.

On Dutchy's 7th Birthday, his Father Markϊs had taken him on a trip to Eagle Mountain, to climb the trails and have a picnic. At the end of the day, the pair sat down and watched the sun set, admiring the beautiful forests of Minnesota in the twilight. His Father had turned to him, and asked him what he thought of the view. But Dutchy wasn't there. Dutchy was in Iceland.

"Helgafell er betri"

If it hadn't been for the accident, Dutchy would have never left Iceland. The call came in the dead of night, and within minutes, the family of three were packing their things and preparing for the long and unbearably tense flight to America. The abrupt departure left almost no time for goodbyes, not that Dutchy truly knew anyone. When he thought of it later, it made him sad regardless.

Magnϊs Magnϊsson was Tinna's only brother. It had been not even a full day after the accident when they had arrived in the hospital. The hospital was white, unreasonably pristine. Dutchy remembered cotton swabs and out-dated magazines, and how his shoes clacked on the ground, irregardless of how fast he was walking. He tried to show his Mom a dance he'd made up, but she wasn't very happy. A normal 4 year old would have forgotten these things, they held no importance. But Dutchy remembered. Dutchy remembered how he had heard Uncle Magnϊs before he had seen him, and he remembered the strange hissing sound as the machine pumped air into his Uncle's lungs. The burns were extensive, and a skin graft hadn't been performed yet. A mottled yellow, black and raw sinewy red. Blue veins, popping out beneath the skin. The crash had been so violent, even after the emergency surgery Magnϊs' legs...

Wrong...

Popped and twisted, muscle ripped... a cruel mockery of what had once been...

Infected where it remained...

Markϊs and Tinna didn't realize the full extent of the terribly rash decision until that night when Dutchy had awoken drenched in cold sweat, bawling his eyes out. Dutchy wet his bed for the next two years, nearly every night.

He never ate meatloaf again.

Dutchy wasn't thinking of this as he sprinted down the beach. To be completely honest with himself, Dutchy wasn't thinking of anything. Nothing else at that moment mattered, safe for reaching his destination. His legs pumped furiously, trained from years upon years of soccer drills and he could feel the sweat on his brow. The figures were close now, he could see them.

He saw Bridget first. The parkour crazy girl, with the long beautiful red hair. His heart plummeted as he saw her. He'd liked her a lot once, and her accent was beautiful.

She shouldn't be here. Not her too! Not everyone, not everyone!

Dutchy's gaze swung to Sarah next, who was already down in the sand holding the girl, Oh God someone hurt a girl! and doing some first aid. Dutchy strained to look, but couldn't identify the girl. She was short and asian, beautiful brown eyes. He had seen her in the hall, heck, he'd seen her for the past 4 years but didn't know her name, she was screaming, gibbering in pain and Dutchy wanted to make her stop, needed to make her stop and help her feel better he ne-

Dutchy saw the blood, streaming from her shoulder. His legs gave out beneath him and he fell down a few feet from her in the sand, the med kit flying through the air and landing near the clustered group around the wounded girl. Dutchy began to breath very fast. It was suddenly incredibly hot on the beach. Tears once more began to flow down his face as he stammered, trying to stand, but failing. His legs wouldn't work. He could feel his stomach churning but he couldn't look away. It was grotesque, he wanted to be anywhere else in the world, but he couldn't look away.

"Ah... Ah... Ah..." He stammered, breathing in erratically at every pause. To anyone watching, it almost looked like the blond boy was going into a full on panic attack. He began to shake as he tried to stand, but his legs felt like jelly. He could feel what little food he had in his stomach come bubbling up and he unexpectedly threw up onto the sand. His thoughts came out in a mindless jumble that made him dizzy.

Oh no, no no no no! She's going to die! She's going to die! Not again! Not anymore please, anything! I'm going to- I can't stop it! This Island, I'm going to watch everyone I- I- She's pretty, she needs to stop shouting! She has to be okay, because it's- Stop! We need to get out of here! Don't hurt people! Help! She's- the blood, it's just- it's not like that! Oh God, please not like that!

Everything that had been put up in Dutchy's mind to block the sheer inhumanity of what he was now facing came crashing down underneath a tidal wave of raw emotion.
With one last cry, Dutchy collapsed in the sand bawling his eyes out, and not a thing in the world could stop him.
V5
Posted Image Posted Image
Oswaldo Marx --> "Chicks dig scars? Yeah, I'm calling bullshit." --> Cicada Nights
Mikko "Mike" Korhonen --> "Interesting, very interesting!" --> A Casual Question
V4 / Mini's
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"My dick did the Mexican Hat Dance and I had to suppress the moan that wanted to escape." - Casey


NOTE TO SELF: Burns on the left side. LEFT SIDE.
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decoy73
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Winner
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Jason Clarke continued from False Awakening. GMing of Dutchy approved by Little Boy))

While Jason was the last person to move from the group's original location, when he finally started moving, he moved. The result was that he passed Roland and Brendan on his way to the scene of the action. Needless to say, what he saw wasn't very good.

He didn't know who it was, but there was a black haired girl lying on her back (Kimberly - he recognized her from class, but that was it), a bandage and blood covering her left shoulder. He noticed three people there - Sarah, who was kneeling by the girl who had been shot, as well as a redheaded girl and a guy with messy hair (Bridget and Steve, but Jason didn't know that). The adrenaline was still in his body, so he didn't see Dutchy. He just walked over to the main group, by Bridget, and looked at the wound. He covered his mouth in shock. He chugged the rest of his beer, mostly in an attempt to draw up some courage, even if it was from a more liquid source, and put the empty can back in his bag. Kimberly's shoulder was covered in blood, and the constant flow showed that the bleeding had yet to stop.

It was then that he noticed Dutchy. Judging from his position, the guy was a wreck. He just walked over to Dutchy, dropped Sarah's shield and offered his hand to the sobbing boy as he knelt down.

"Hey, Dutchy." Jason whispered. Drat. He helped Dutchy up. "Don't worry. We'll get out of here." He patted Dutchy on the shoulder, picked up the shield and walked over to Kimberly and Sarah, placing the shield to Sarah's right.

Jason looked at the wound. While he was no medical expert, he was very well read from hours reading books and going online. The result? While Jason was untested, he did know some theories of controlling bleeding. The main ones that he knew were basic: bandages, pressure, and the only one which Jason could see had never been attempted, elevation. He looked at Sarah, who was been holding bandages on the wound. She, like Dutchy, was in a crying fit.

No wonder. Chances are, we're probably all going to die. Jason looked down for a second, and then looked back up to Sarah, and thought well about what his next words would be.

"Um, hey. I got your shield back." He was about to say more, when a queasiness came in Jason's stomach. He ran off, one hand on his stomach, one hand on his mouth, and walked a little bit away from the group, splashing some water on his face. Then he came back, and asked:

"Is there anything I can do to help?"
Female #16: Jaime Schanbacher; Status: ACTIVE 0
Female #42: Sabrina Luz; Status: ACTIVE 0


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Survivor: The Cursed Islands


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Brackie
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personification of adhd
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Brendan Wallace continued from False Awakening))

Brendan Wallace wished he could think faster, because for all he knew, he could be running straight into conflict...again.

There was no time to think, no time at all, just a mission to accomplish, like in those games where what you'd need to do is spelt out for you on the sceen: Find out what the hell is going on over there.

Brendan had fallen behind the other two, and Jason had even passed him. He stopped momentarily and started to try and breathe again. He wasn't used to running like this, hell he didn't know it was possible for him to run as fast as he did, but it was catching up to him. Taurus still clenched in his hand, he tried to keep up again, and...he finally arrived, and realised why he should not have left his gun out.

It was a clusterfuck, to say the least. People everywhere, and all doing something. The girl with Rapunzel hair, the guy who was trying to help out in anyway he could, the girl on the sand, lying, bleeding, dying...and his two best friends in this place, Sarah trying her hardest to help, and Dutchy, the poor, poor guy, had finally been overcome.

And for a while, Brendan stood there, mouth agap, and realising how it was going to be for the last few days of his life.

Blood.

Pain.

Crying.

Pain.

Loss.

Hope.

Hope gone again.

Pain.

Pain.

Stuffing the gun into his bag, he stood there, and knew what he had to do first. He had nothing he could help Kimberly with, hell if he even tried he would probably just muck it up. There was someone he had to talk to.

The poor Scandinavian boy crying in the sand.

Almost 6 months ago, he dared to take a leap. He knew, he had realised by that time, that people like him, like Dutchy, weren't going to be completely accepted until the world stopped becoming a cespool of conservatism and realised that people were different. So that was when he started to date Dutchy.

And boy did it mess up good.

Brendan often wondered why he leant more to guys than girls. He'd come to terms with his sexuality a long time ago, thought the worst about himself, and finally accepted it. He was bisexual, leaning slightly more homosexual, and cared a lot what people thought of him, so he vowed to make anyone he was with keep it under wraps, having to try and not care if they thought he was being rash and judgemental. He never told anyone about anything he did, in real life or otherwise. It was always the same online: post the story, read the comments, host the game, play the game, beat the game. But...through the time he wanted to, he could never actually reveal anything to people, even if he would never meet them. He feared them all, with their judgemental eyes, and wanted to keep everything about himself under wraps. Keep the mystery alive.

And, partially, that's why him and Dutchy failed.

He was open, he was loveable, he was everyone's friend. He was his friend, and knew it. He never went further than a hug, or a kiss, and that would always be in private, or where he knew no-one would be watching him. But Dutchy...it couldn't work. He had affection, and wanted to show it, and Brendan couldn't stand it, not with people watching. So one day, just one day, when Dutchy smiled at him, he walked by without a word, without a smile. He supposed Dutchy got it, and they hardly spoke outside of the Activist Club.

Brendan knew Dutchy, getting to know him a lot more in the months after he decided to screw the internet so far and get a real life. He always wanted to see Iceland, he was a comic fan, and he was real. He had soul, he had tenderness, and he was the reason he could grow from his old persona and begin anew. He rubbed off on Brendan, and made him see the world in a different light.

Secretly, though he never told anyone, he was the reason that Erik and him worked. He found out how to be a real person.

And now he was crying, puking, and needed somebody to comfort him.

Brendan didn't know how to deal with crying people. He would have done something, but...so much was happening. He could only just stand there and watch chaos, watch disorder, watch the effect of a scared person with a gun, and watch a person even more scared affect the world.

He was useless, just standing there, watching everything roll without him even making an impact. Jason had scrammed, Sarah was in a fit, and Dutchy...he didn't know what to say to him now. Brendan stood there, watching the world descend.

His legs were starting to feel faint. He couldn't do anything, and...

Suddenly not feeling so good, Brendan dropped his bag beneath him and sat down, head in his hands, eyes gaping through the gaps in his fingers. If people were hurt, and all he had was a gun, and no knowledge about the human body, medical help, or even how to console a person who was beyond all hope, what use was he?

The wind was all Brendan could notice, as he sat there, head in hands, as the situation rolled by his notice.

All I am is a useless load. This is the game, people are gonna get hurt. I need to...I need to help them. But...I can't even help Dutchy when he's crying. What if someone gets hurt, or shot, or stabbed, or hurt real bad? What can I do? I can't...I can't...
I CAN'T DO ANYTHING.

WHY DON'T I JUST DIE?
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Rocky
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They see me walking, they hating
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Where had all these people come from? First it had just been Sarah, and she was fine with that, but almost as quickly a bunch of other people had arrived, most likely following Sarah. Bridget wasn't sure how she felt having so many people around, especially if any of them tried to take command of the situation, or at this point, even came close to them. Kimberly was still showing signs of life, giving the redhead's hand a reassuring squeeze. The pressure seemed to be getting to Sarah, who continued to work on patching up the injured girl through her tears. Bridget wished she had an extra hand at that point to give her a comforting pat on the shoulder, but with one hand in the firm grasp of Kimberly's good hand, and the other cradling her head, she could only use words.

She didn't get a chance to however, before another boy came up, telling Sarah he had her shield. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Bridget snapped. Something about this boy just rubbed her the wrong way. "You're going to come up here, while my friend is injured from a fucking gun shot, and all you can think of is to make sure someone had a fucking shield? Bridget's little tirade was interrupted as the boy ran off to the foot of the ocean and cleaned his face off.

Bridget sighed, trying to calm herself down. She didn't want to scare Kimberly, who was no doubt not in the state of mind for loud outbursts right now. She looked at the Vietnamese girl's pained face, wishing that she could do more to help, that she wasn't so useless. Sarah was still crying, but still doing an admiral job at stopping the bleeding. Bridget wanted to say something to make her feel better, but there was nothing she could say. Nothing was going to be alright. What could she say? Keep your chin up, you're not dead yet?

Once again, Bridget's attempts to think of a way to console Sarah was interrupted by the same guy, this time asking if he can do anything. "Yes." Bridget said before anyone else could answer. "You can stop being an annoying fucking twat and know when you're not needed. So I suggest you use those legs of yours to fuck off before I render you unable to do so." The redhead's eyes told more than her words. If Jason was still there by the time she was able to move away from Kimberly, he would not enjoy the remainder of his time on the island.
G068 Chan, Yuan Stephanie
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Solitair
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Where modesty's ill manners, 'tis but fit that impudence and malice pass for wit.
[ *  *  *  * ]
((Roland Hayes continued from False Awakening))

Four months ago, Roland began to exercise. He'd never had much of an aptitude for physical tasks; he found intellectual things (and couch potato behavior) more entertaining, and whenever he tried to do much in the way of physical activity, he found his muscles aching, his heart protesting, and his breath shortening.

Thus the pattern continued until Roland realized something about college. He would be hiking around a campus five days a week, and he could stand to drop a few pounds to reduce the strain on his legs. So he began running for about half an hour, three days a week. Everyone in the family supported the decision, especially Lily. Her approval felt a bit embarrassing to him, because she was a svelte and active gymnast.

But he continued jogging on a treadmill up until now, each time leaving the gym fully lubricated with sweat. This memory popped into Roland's head as he made his way down the beach to where the rest of his team went. He got a headstart on Jason, who still managed to overtake him by several feet, and wound up panting as he got within visual range of the situation.

In addition to his group, there were three more people he could see, but the only one he knew was Bridget Connolly, who was... tending to the wounds of the Asian girl on the ground. Oh shit.

She and the other boy, that scraggly-looking, grungy guy, looked a bit dismayed at his team's arrival, but Sarah looked like she knew what she was doing, so they accepted her. Jason, on the other hand, looked to be continuing his streak of being a complete charisma vacuum when Bridget snapped at him, high on stress and nerves.

"She's right, Jason," he added. "We should stand back and let these guys do their thing. Just limit it to like, the people who know first aid best. Man, I wish Lily was here!" He stood back about ten feet from Kimberly's prone body, looking at the blood staining Sarah's black outfit and otherwise being completely useless.

He started wishing for an opportunity to use Dutchy's harpoon.
WickedIcon: i just launched a baby wearing a denim jacket and a bowler hat across a hospital, through a window, killing several patients, destroying thousands of dollars of equipment, and finally coming to rest on the body of a presumably dead clown
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chitoryu12I have yet to find gay sex that involves the men punching each other. I must not be on the internet enough

Turning Pages: Read some books along with me, why don't you?

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Arthur Wells: The Artist ... ... ... ... ?
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decoy73
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[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Post order broken with permission from all involved.))

Jason was hoping to help out. Hell, even a "we've got this covered, thanks," would have been good. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. The redhead (Bridget) turned to him and said:

"Are you fucking kidding me? You're going to come up here, while my friend is injured from a fucking gun shot, and all you can think of is to make sure someone had a fucking shield?" Okay. Not going well. But a genuine offer of assistance was always nice, right?

"You can stop being an annoying fucking twat and know when you're not needed. So I suggest you use those legs of yours to fuck off before I render you unable to do so." Ow. She was pissed. And quite possibly totally serious. It hadn't occurred to him until then, but the problem was clear: he just didn't fit in. He had assumed that because they weren't playing to win and in a group that he could join with little problem. The thought hit him so hard that he didn't pay attention to Roland's (gentler) agreement with Bridget.

Joining these guys won't work. It will just all of us in the long run. He shook his head at Bridget's scathing commentary on Jason's contributions to the group.

"All right. You don't want me here, so I won't stay." Jason walked off, his disappointment with his efforts evident, bags around his shoulders. When he was about ten feet away from the group, he turned back. "Oh, by the way, I know I've been a douchebag, but I'm really sorry about your friend, and I hope she gets better. I hope I see you all again under better circumstances." He walked away, head down.

I can't survive alone. I'll just be eaten alive. I need to find someone.

((Jason Clarke continued in Accidental Acrophobia))
Edited by decoy73, Aug 23 2010, 07:52 PM.
Female #16: Jaime Schanbacher; Status: ACTIVE 0
Female #42: Sabrina Luz; Status: ACTIVE 0


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Chib
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Oh my god you guys The Riz killed Cara what do!?
[ *  *  * ]
The whole situation was getting out of hand. A load of others had arrived from the other end of the beach, clamouring for attention and knowledge of what was going on. Steve couldn't really blame them; a gunshot is a pretty intriguing signal, but then again, flocking towards the sound of a lethal weapon, on Survival of the Fittest no less, was perhaps a rather foolhardy decision. Luckily for them, Kris had already fled.

And it seemed to Steve that it was about time he did as well. There was nothing he could do to help, and he felt he'd long outstayed his welcome amongst the large group. If not for her killing streak, he'd feel inclined to seek out Kris, having a heck of a lot more in common with her than most others he'd met so far. But she was dangerous even if she didn't want to be, so chasing after her was even more stupid an idea than herding to the sound of gunfire.

Kris had gone North, for as long as she was visible at least, so Steve decided to take the only other viable option and head East. He left his first-aid kit where it lay, figuring that the others would need it more than him, and his own wound was nothing serious; so long as it didn't get infected, it should heal up fairly quickly. So after quickly recovering his daypack, abandoning the bag he'd brought for the campsite, the boy put it back over his right shoulder, careful not to irritate the laceration just beneath, and slinked off without a word.

[Steve --> Mirror Mirror]
Every time you fall asleep you die. Someone else wakes up in your body, thinking they're you.
You are alone and trapped in your own mind, the world around you is your lie.
Soon you will be nothing, you will never again hear sounds, never again see colours, never again be anyone.


Riley Moon appreciates that Action Needs an Audience, but it's hard not to watch. Hair Status: Bubblegum Pink
Parallel with: The Heavy Weapons Guy

The Past
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MurderWeasel
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You've been counting stars, now you're counting on me
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
More people. Kimberly could tell they were there, all around her, bickering, trying to help her, getting in each others' ways. It was strange. This was about her, but she was something of a nonentity, a prop on the stage, the center of the drama yet held apart from actually participating. It pissed her off. A lot. Sure didn't ease the pain, either.

She was tilted onto her side. Bridget was still holding her hand. Someone was still pressing something to her shoulder. She couldn't see her hat anymore. She wanted to start screaming, reclaim everyone's attention by force. Tell them all to shut up and stop fucking around. Bridget was talking to someone, scaring him off. It sounded like Steve left. Good riddance. Kimberly didn't need anyone who thought she was going to die. No, she was starting to think she really had a chance. She hadn't passed out yet, hadn't faded away. She was fucked up, no doubt, but she would make it. She would make it and... and... Well, that wasn't so clear. What the fuck did she have left to do now? Clearly, everyone was going to fight. There'd even been confrontations right here, while she was bleeding, albeit not physical ones. And Kimberly knew the truth, now. She knew that people were willing to play. Anyone was a potential enemy. Even Bridget. Even the girl patching up her arm. All of them could turn on her at any second, like Kris had.

Kris. She had to warn them. Had to do something about the girl. She'd run off by now, of course, but they might meet her later. Suddenly, Kimberly found herself lost in her imagination. What she would do to see Kris again, only, this time, armed herself. She would catch the girl unaware, unarmed, and she would hold her at gunpoint, and then she would say, "Kris, do you know how it feels to be shot?" Then she would pull the trigger and shoot Kris in the arm. An eye for an eye. A bullet for a bullet. That would be so very nice. Help her reclaim a little self respect, a little self control.

"Kris," she mumbled. "Kris did this to me."

She was vaguely worried by the fact that she no longer had any trouble believing that fact. Kris had shot her. All these others had helped her. In the end, it was likely that every one of them would be dead. One person would leave the island. The odds of it being a specific person were astronomically low. What were all these people helping her for? Did they think that doing so would improve their own chances, somehow? Had they already given up, and chosen to just follow their own consciences rather than really try to live? Did it matter? Kimberly was almost certain that each and every one of them was doomed. It was a strange thought. Not quite sad. Worse.

She finally managed to blink her eyes clear enough to see, though she moved something wrong in the process and felt a jolt run down her arm. It froze her, eyes staring at nothing, able to see but not comprehend, for a good ten seconds. Then she tried to take stock of the people near her. Bridget. Sarah. Sarah was the one tending her. A few boys, too far away to be clear. Her stuff was still lying on the ground. Her bags. Her hat had to be behind her. She wanted it back. It was stupid, but dammit all, she wanted that hat.

"Can you pass me my..." she started, but then swallowed wrong, trying to clear her mouth of excess saliva, and coughed a couple of times. Bad move. More pain in her arm. This being shot thing just wasn't getting any easier. She hated it. Kimberly felt nothing but hate for her situation. She needed to change it, somehow. Needed to get her hands on a weapon or something, so she could at least feel powerful to some degree. She realized that she wanted a gun. It would be good. Helpful. Keep her safe. Let her teach Kris a little lesson. Give her back her control. Where could she get one, though? Could she use one? She had a rope and a grappling hook. Was that any good? Not now, that was for sure. She wasn't going to be climbing anything with only one functional arm.

She tried to push herself up a little, to more of a sitting position. It wasn't going so well. She tried to wiggle her hand free, just to get a bit more movement. Something. Anything. She wanted to go. To just walk away from it all, like she always did when things bothered her. She wondered if she would ever be able to do so again. Hopefully. After all, there was nothing wrong with her legs. She just had to hold it together a bit longer. Keep strong until she stopped bleeding. Then she could try to do something. What didn't matter.
V7:
Juliette Sargent drawn by Mimi and Ryuki
Alton Gerow drawn by Mimi
Lavender Ripley drawn by Mimi
Phillip Olivares drawn by Ryuki
Library Vee
Misty Browder
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chitoryu12
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Leader
[ *  *  * ]
Chris slowly stalked through the brush, the tall grass making attempts to stick to his bare forearms. He was starting to itch, but he was afraid that scratching would blow his cover.

He managed to get right behind the group on the beach, still crouched in his camouflage. He tried to spy them through his planty cover, but couldn't recognize anyone. At the very least, he couldn't see their faces clearly enough. One of them was on the ground, and he could clearly see crimson blood splashed on the sand and rocks below.

He was about to break out and walk up to them, but the redheaded chick started shouting her head off at a guy who walked up and tried to help. Whoever these people are, they weren't too friendly. Especially the Irish one.

Slower than a sleepwalking slug, Chris picked his way out of the beach and into the trees. In a bit, he'd find somewhere to rest and read his map.


((Chris has left his backpack from the trip on the beach. It contains several bags of Chex Mix, his iPod and Nintendo DS, extra clothes, toiletries, and the last two Harry Potter novels. This bag is free for anyone to grab at the moment if they find it.))
((Christopher Carlson continued in Don't go breaking my heart...))
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Christopher Carlson: B052
Weapons: Brass knuckles


Jake Crimson: B084 (Adopted)
Weapons: Cinderblock

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Clayton Leven: B050
Weapons: Handcuffs

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