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Topic Started: Sep 26 2010, 02:12 PM (3,226 Views)
Namira
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((Brock Mason continued from Word's Can't Bring Me Down))

The swamp was very... swampy. If somebody were to hold out a dictionary, it was a pretty safe bet that under 'swamp' he'd find a picture of this place. Well... Brock would have to assume it was under swamp if he wasn't given a good long time to try and puzzle it out. But enough about that.

Brock had pretty much been ambling around aimlessly since leaving the little encounter in the woods behind. He wasn't much for maps, so as far as navigation went, it had been pretty much 'pick a direction and start walking'. Stood to reason that sooner or later, he'd run across somebody. Hopefully that'd be someone he could trust, a guy on the team that wasn't too much of an asshat or maybe even Hilary, though that seemed a hell of a lot to hope for. Until then, well, being on his own was just fine.

The pair of girls had pretty much gone off in the other direction, which Brock was glad of, since his offer to them to tag along had been grudging at best. Hunt... well, Hunt wasn't much of a loss either. He'd seemed pretty genuine, but hell Brock sucked at figuring people out. He could have been planning to knife him in the back at first opportunity, for all the footballer had known.

Speaking of knives...

The announcement, coming after Brock had spent the night under a tree (fun times) had struck home in a couple of ways. Brock's grim fatalism had been confirmed, especially with the sheer number of deaths, but for all that, a lot of the names went unremarked by the muscular young man. These guys... he didn't know a lot of them, even if he'd been in their year since he was a Fresher. He knew the team, he knew a couple of other sportsmen, he knew Hilary that was about it. Nobody could exactly call Brock a social butterfly. Still... Tony, Tony Russo was dead. Rob Jenkins and Staffan Kronwall had killed. Shanahan was six feet under.

Goddammit. He'd played football with Tony...

Since then, well, he'd found this frigging swamp.

It pretty much sucked.
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Brock snapped into alertness as fast as was humanly possible as somebody called out to him. They didn't sound threatening, but then, what kind of moron ran up to somebody saying 'Oh hey there, I'm going to kill you now'? The source of the greeting was another guy that seemed to be around Brock's own height, dark haired, not that it mattered. The important thing was that he wasn't somebody that Brock recognised, though he didn't seem to be carrying a weapon, which meant he was either foolish or unlucky. (Brock's own gun was tucked into his waistband and hopefully, it would be staying there).

"Just great," Brock growled, somewhat piqued by the question. "Ain't nothing better than stumbling around wondering if some psycho if gonna spring out of the bushes, am I right?" this Brock wasn't the Brock that most people would remember from around school (and with his bulk and slightly unconventional appearance, he did stick in the mind). At Bayview, Brock kept himself to himself, mostly - sometimes hanging around with the football team. Right now though? He was just way too stressed to not be confrontational.

"Look," Brock said, deciding to be as blunt as he'd been with the others before. "I dunno whether you've got a plan or something you wanna do... but I ain't too charmed by the idea of company. No offence or nothing, I'm sure you're a stand up guy... but I can't figure that for certain. There's only a couple of guys I can do that for," Brock held up a hand. "I ain't telling you to get lost or threatening you or nothing like that, just saying... I ain't looking for a partner."

That was... a better way of putting it. Probably making a big assumption, but hell, out of the three people he'd met so far, all of them'd had designs on teaming up with him. Because of his gun? More than likely, was his suspicion. Still Brock felt it was better to lay it all out, although that didn't exactly solve the issue of what he'd do if he moved on and the other guy decided to follow him...

Best to stick to the here and now.
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Apparently, Brock's bluntness had cowed the other guy into silence. Well that was just too bad. He didn't care. He was only being realistic, and if other people couldn't handle that, then they were in need of a wake-up call anyway. Call him paranoid or pessimistic, but Brock could just point to the first announcement. That proved full well he wasn't being glass half empty. Speaking of announcements, it probably wasn't too long until the next one, if his sense of timing had any measure of accuracy...

"Alright... I dunno about you, but I ain't too thrilled by the idea of spending any more time in this swamp, so if it's all the same to you, I'll be on my way," as it happened, Brock didn't really care if it wasn't all the same to the other guy, but there was such a thing as a little tact.

Without waiting for a reply, Brock simply turned away and set off, using his flashlight to guide him. At this hour, it would be much too easy to trip and fall, and looking at the swamp waters, that wasn't really something Brock thought he wanted to do. What a stupid idea it'd been to come here; like Hilary would come wandering around someplace like this. Hilary was way too fragile to be hiking through a swamp. Brock really should have thought that through...

Brock was so busy berating himself that he almost stumbled right over the pair that had been watching his conversation. Both of them hunched down, obviously trying to avoid detection, though that didn't much help when somebody basically blundered straight into. The footballer jumped back immediately, brow creasing with suspicion, instinctively raising his fists for a second, before his expression gave way to surprise.

"Jimmy?"
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Jimmy Robertson. He was.... he was better than nothing. That was almost cruel to the guy, really, because hell he was on the team and that meant something, but well... put it this way. Jimmy Robertson wasn't the captain - JJ, he could be trusted, but they weren't tight. Team didn't mean friend, team meant you could watch each other's backs. That's what Brock hoped, at least. That there was a bond of sorts. Dammit, he didn't want to think about the alternative.

Still, Jimmy was upfront about his weapon, at least (though given he was holding it, it was like he could try and make out that it was something else). That counted for something. Damn. That was a good one, wasn't it? He'd spent all this time hoping to meet somebody on the team, and the second he actually did, Brock decided to start second-guessing them. Fuck's sake... Trying to get the doubts out of his head, Brock was just about to show his gun to Jimmy when a boisterous roar hit his ears.

And in spite of it all, and to the surprise of even himself, Brock's face broke into a smile.

Okay, now here was somebody Brock could trust. If everything had gone normally at school, that is, if Brock's dyslexia hadn't tripped him up, and Deidre hadn't spent half of an entire school year (culmatively, not consecutively) suspended, they probably would barely have known each other. Been casual acquaintances at best. Except... things hadn't gone normally. They'd flunked eighth grade, and they'd flunked it together. Hell, they had common ground. Brock and Deidre were practically the same size, they'd fucked up at the same time. It meant something when somebody was the only person you even vaguely knew in the whole year.

"Well, ain't that a sight to make sore eyes?"

Brock would've said more. But at that moment, the announcement opted to chime in.
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It happened Brock agreed with Deidre about the first priority. There were plenty of viable places for a conversation and a swamp didn't strike him as one of them by a long shot. Finding somewhere nice and dry would be a good start to regrouping and setting up a plan. Besides, Brock could be happier about reunions when they weren't taking place knee deep in stagnant water. Or not on a godforsaken island where they were all likely to die, but that one didn't seem immediately attainable.

So when the other guy with Jimmy spoke up, Brock was only listening with half an ear. For one thing, it wasn't somebody that Brock really knew, although if Jimmy vouched for him, he couldn't be too bad... But mainly, Brock just wanted to get the hell out of there. Discussion could happen in better environs, right? From what Brock did catch, defiance by sitting out sounded... interesting, but they were still gonna wind up dying, so either way, it wasn't much of an idea. Better than killing each other like dogs? Well, maybe it was. Or maybe somebody would decide to put themself in front of the plan and start to kill again anyway. Seemed more likely.

Even with that pessimism though, things - god forbid - were actually beginning to look up. A couple of people that Brock could actually rely on to be on the level, a possible third if he trusted in Jimmy's judgement. That was the makings of a pretty solid group. Brock hoped Deidre and Jimmy didn't have anything else on their agends or had a problem with accompanying him... it would suck if his search for Hilary broke a promising group up. Especially, a cynical part of himself observed, since these two were much better allies than his girlfriend. Hilary would need shielding, Deidre and Jimmy could tough it out for themselves.

"Hold that thought. I ain't discussing a thing more 'till I'm on something like dry land again. We can talk about the plan then, alright?"

With that brusque remark hanging in the air, an energised Brock didn't wait for the answer. He just took off. Such a people person.

((Brock Mason concluded in Heartbeat Symphony))
Edited by Namira, Oct 28 2010, 07:08 PM.
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