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Words Can't Bring Me Down; B060: Brock Mason - Topic Concluded
Topic Started: Aug 8 2010, 07:20 PM (3,264 Views)
Namira
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It was, Brock considered, just yet another godawful situation brought along by the one thing that had dogged each and every last step he'd taken in... well, in his entire life. It was a simple progression. Brock was a year older than the vast majority of his classmates. Why was that? Because he'd been held back a year due to flunking. Why was that? Dyslexia.

He'd gone past the denial of the situation and the onset of panic, managing to calm himself down to a degree. Brock wasn't the smartest guy around, but nor was he hysterical, either. All whilst contemplating this calmly, he'd still come to the conclusion that trying to take part would be all too fucked up. No matter most of the year hadn't tried to befriend him, beyond the football guys which let him hang around because he was a solid part of the team, you didn't kill people just because somebody said that you should.

Was he capable of killing? Brock couldn't say. But he wouldn't set out to do it.

That decision had given him plenty of time to contemplate and decide dyslexia was pretty much at fault for just about every one of his problems.

Were it not for his stupid fucking condition, Brock wouldn't be about to die.

...Were it not for that, he would never have met Hilary.

Hilary vs. being dead... Okay, sorry Miss Strand but Brock liked breathing. It wasn't that he didn't care about her, but meeting a girl that he'd cultivated a sort of weird awkward relationship with was a poor trade for being dead at nineteen.

And Brock had this fatalistic certainty of his fate why? Because of the little booklet that lay alongside him as he sat with his back against a tree. It held the key to his means of defence, the little pistol that even now lay on the top of his daypack.

It was the instruction manual to the gun.

And Brock couldn't read it. The words were a tangled nonsensical mess, the explanations lost on him. He hadn't even figured out what the pistol was called. So that figured. He'd had a lucky draw and it was useless to him...

Because he couldn't understand the manual.

Brock threw back his head and laughed at the absurdity of it all.
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Namira
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The laughter faded, although it had been ringing hollow in the first instance. Brock let out a sigh and looked up at the sky, much of which was visible through gaps in the tree cover. There was some natural beauty, if you cared to look for it, but that was more or less lost on Brock. He wasn't in the mood to be appreciating the marvels of the scenary. He mind had just returned to cursing his inability to read the instructions for his weapon when a voice snapped him from his thoughts.

Brock looked over at the newcomer without much interest. He made no move towards picking up the pistol. No sense in antagonising somebody with a weapon that he couldn't fall back on. Hunt, the kid from Canada. If he thought hard, he remembered vaguely that he was involved in the drama club. Oh yeah, the guy was gay too, not that it particularly mattered. The important thing was that whilst he was packing a knife, Hunt didn't look like he'd be much a threat. That was good, even if Brock was going to die, he was in no mood to hasten that event.

He was a little surprised to hear Hunt (what was his first name? Brock couldn't recall) make such a plea, at least at first, but then he reconsidered. Why wouldn't he be scared? Hell, Brock was scared and he had a gun (albeit one he couldn't use, but... still). Confronted with somebody as big and strong as Brock, well, it wasn't a massive shock, ultimately, that Hunt had hit a panic switch.

He didn't say anything for a few seconds after the other guy spoke, then gave a hefty shrug. "I ain't gonna attack you. Don't plan to go after anyone, really. Gonna die soon enough without inviting it on, anyhow."
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Namira
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"Am I ready to die?" Brock let out a bark of laughter before turning despairing eyes back to Hunt. "No I ain't fucking ready! Who the fuck is ready to die when they're nineteen!?" Brock slammed a fist into the tree he was leaning against, sending a jolt of pain through his hand. "But I'm smart enough to know I ain't smart enough to do jack shit about all of this. I can't come up with some kind of super-genius plan to get out of here, and even if by some miracle somebody did, who the fuck is going to invite the big stupid jock along!?" Brock was degenerating into full-on ranting mode now, something which was somewhat out of character for him. He was usually more reserved. "And if that ain't enough, I have a weapon I can't even use because I'm FUCKING DYSLEXIC!" in a fit of pique, Brock picked up the manual to his gun and hurled it in Hunt's direction.

There was nothing he could gooddamn do, especially since that even had the manual be comprehensible, he would have had no inclination to use the gun. Hell, for all his complaints, Brock could probably have figured out the pistol with a little bit of care and attention but in a way, it was a relief that he couldn't. Being armed was a responsibility, one that Brock didn't want in the slightest. It was authority and Brock had never been much of a leader.

What he happened to be was fucked all over. People were going to look at him and see a threat, they were going to remember all those times when he'd just gone along with some of the other guys who'd decided to be less than friendly, they were going to see his size and physique and get anxious. If there were more people with guns out there... well, spooked and armed wasn't a good combination. Maybe he could find some of the other footballers...

Or Hilary. Damn. If he was scared, then what sort of state would see be in? She wasn't a massive dude on a sports team with a gun, she was a little half-british girl who seemed scared of her own shadow half the time. ...If anyone was going to need watching over, it would be her.

Was he a knight in shining armour? Hell no, but he was probably the best she'd get.
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Namira
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Brock gave Hunt an incredulous look as he made his offer. It sounded, well... nuts. You see a big guy with a gun that can't use said gun and his first instinct was to offer to teach him how to use it? It was placing an awful lot of trust in somebody, especially someone that you weren't exactly bosom buddies with. Brock couldn't see Hunt's angle, not unless the teaching he was going on about involved 'demonstration'. He'd effectively be making Brock into a much bigger threat.

Maybe he thought that in exchange for that, Brock would watch his back... shit. Another responsibility that he didn't want nor need. He'd likely have his hands full with Hilary, if and when he found her. He was a football player, not a babysitter nor a bodyguard. ...On the other hand, wasn't some back up better than no back up at all? Hunt didn't exactly cut an intimidating figure, but he was obviously no weakling, either.

"It all depends, Hunt. You ain't got anyone you wanna find? Buddies? More than buddies? I've got an agenda here and if you don't chime with it then it's best we know sooner rather than-"

The soft voice of a girl interrupted him. Brock looked around to see said girl standing not far from him and Hunt, holding some kind of sword. He couldn't recall her name, though knew her face from a couple of classes he was sure they shared. Probably one of the smart kids that breezed through every subject, he considered bitterly.

"What do you want?" Brock said bluntly, not bothering to stand. There wasn't time for socialising.

Then, somebody else called out. The jock rolled his eyes. These woods were a lot more crowded than he'd first thought.
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Namira
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Brock rolled his eyes. Of course they wanted to find buddies, of course they wanted to team up with somebody. That was a far cry from not wanting anything, and pretty much the sort of thing that Brock had been expecting (just behind the reveal of a hidden weapon and a hail of bullets). Alongside the first girl had appeared another, looking comical with a sledgehammer over her shoulder. Somebody else Brock didn't really know or particularly care to know.

"That ain't nothing," Brock said, an edge of annoyance creeping into his voice. "That's saying 'I'm after somebody to look after me and watch my back'. Take a hike, seriously. I ain't interested in baby-sitting somebody I barely know."

Brock didn't usually get wound up like this, but it was a stressful situation, and the ulterior motives of the others had struck a nerve. Always the same, it was always the same. Big dumb dependable Brock could be your muscle, your bodyguard, all it took was a little nudge in the right direction and he'd be defending you all day long. He's just that guillible.

Not anymore...
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Namira
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Brock's earlier depression was now all but burned away by irritation. In fact, anger was probably the only thing that would have had a decent shot of snapping him out of his funk. Brock ran hot and cold most of the time, and whilst he was brooding and reserved by nature, he did have a slight tendency to lash out. The situation was definitely prodding him towards that. Hunt's complete lack of anything resembling conviction, the words of both of the new arrivals... yeah, Brock wasn't a happy bunny.

Gritting his teeth, trying to stop himself from just starting to yell, Brock got to his feet, tossing his pistol on top of his daypack, just to his left. Turning to the pair of girls, he took a couple of steps towards them and then loomed for a couple of seconds. Brock was good at looming, particularly over people so considerably shorter than him and not built like tanks. Although he didn't do it often, Brock was pretty well-versed in using his size to intimidate people and at that moment, he was turning on the menace. His glower most certainly wasn't, however, put on.

"Let me put it this way," Brock said. "Nobody wants to die, but some people are gonna be willing to cross lines that others won't," he pointed straight at the redhead. "I. Don't. Know. You. I don't know if you'd do that, I don't know if she'd do that," Brock indicated the smaller girl. "I don't even know if Hunt would. Expecting people to take you at face value is stupid, especially when the single biggest detail they know is that you're not too shabby at calculus," Brock's voice was restrained, but it had a cool anger to it. An explosion was clearly being held in check. "The downside to your offer is that I can't tell whether it's fucking true! I ain't no mind reader or lie detector. I ain't watching the back of somebody that might plant a goddamn knife in mine!"

Brock turned away, shaking his head. How could you be that naive? Brock's gut feeling was that the girls were genuine, but his head was telling him that even if they were, he'd just be the muscle of the outfit. Hunt, at least, had some smarts to offer, the girls? Hell one of them looked like her weapon weighed more than she did. Expecting Brock, somebody they barely knew, to welcome them with open arms was flatly stupid.

Hilary was going to be enough to shield as it was without complicating things...

Walking over to his pack, Brock slipped the gun inside of it and then slung the bag onto his shoulder. He looked back to the girls again, then glanced at Hunt. That little gut feeling tweaked at him again and he scowled. Annoyed though he was, his conscience was telling him that he couldn't just turn them away altogether. What if Brock driving them off left them prey for some psycho? ...Dammit, middle road it was.

"Look..." Brock began, semi-forcing the words out. "I ain't making any promises, but... you can tag along if you want. I ain't gonna stick my neck out for you guys, but I ain't gonna tell you to buzz off either," Brock took a step, then halted, looking back again. "One thing though... I've got plans. I'm looking for someone. If that don't suit you... best to make your own way."

And with that, not even glancing back again, Brock took off into the woods. Hoping against hope the Hilary was alright...

((Brock Mason continued Dirty)
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