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Fountain of Youth; Day 3 - 6am start (wait 'til Craig Hoyle enters to post)
Topic Started: Oct 10 2010, 05:45 PM (4,696 Views)
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God was telling you "not yet".
[ *  *  *  * ]
((Trent Savage continued from Laurel and Hardy Got NOTHIN' on Us))

The third day.

It didn't mean much to him, having slept through the majority of his time here, but he knew that his partner would soon be feeling the full effects the island had on the students. Craig Hoyle sat across the way, busying himself with his belongings as he organized his daypack. Meanwhile, Trent lounged over the edge of the fountain, watching his murky reflection bob in and out of view as the water rushed out of the statue and into the basin below. The morning light was dim - he guessed it was around 7am, though he was probably wrong - and the stone-carved woman stood proudly in the dawning sun, drawing in the boy's perverted gaze as the sun began to cast flattering shadows over her breasts and hips.

In short, he was feeling much better. Having spent the previous night in warm beds, the two were in unusually high spirits - even for someone like Craig - and the feel of sheets and mattresses was much more intoxicating after spending the night before sprawled out under leaves and dirt. The colour had almost returned to his cheeks, albeit slightly greyer than the average guy's, and his head was feeling enormously better thanks to the soft caress of real pillows. Still, he wasn't in perfect condition, as his eyes refused to stop blurring every now and then, but for the most part his head was throbbing much less painfully and he could actually walk without need of support every five steps.

And so, with no-one around to interrupt them, they began to sort out their possessions while they had the time. Craig was already close to finishing, but Trent on the other hand? Well, he hadn't even bothered to look. After all, he'd lost his duffel bag somewhere near the ranger's station, meaning all the stuff he needed was already tucked nicely into his daypack, which lay ready by his feet. The only thing missing was his assigned weapon, the kanabo (or "big club-thing" to Trent), but that had a different home - in his hand 24/7. Craig had told him all about the encounter with the boy in the cabin, and now that he was well enough, he was going to offer his partner a more solid form of protection than the one he'd been giving him so far.

In fact-


Oh, fuck no.

That sound.

That awful sound.
Edited by Hallucinojelly, Oct 10 2010, 05:51 PM.
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God was telling you "not yet".
[ *  *  *  * ]
Trent shook. How many people had died now, according to the announcements at least? 30? 40? 50? It wasn't like he was keeping score, but shit, it'd only been a couple of days and everyone at Bayview had gone straight out of their fucking minds. Knowing that anyone they met could be a potential murderer wasn't exactly a comfort to him, and judging by Craig's reactions to the list, he figured now he'd have to be the one to start protecting the other.

His kanabo stung his hand as he loosened his grip - the nerves having gotten the better of him, he'd held it so tight in his palm that it caused large red grooves to appear in his skin. Gently, he slipped down off the edge of the fountain, being careful not to move to fast in case of a head rush, and shuffled over to his partner. What should he say...? He didn't know Reiko very well, so...


Then without warning, Owen appeared out of nowhere.

One of Craig's friends was here, looking scared and panicked. Trent raised his weapon a little - he wasn't about to let him mosey on over after hearing all that shit on the speakers. He could be one of them. A murderer. Crazy. His weapon grew higher, showing the guy what he would get if he took even the slightest step towards them. He knew Craig couldn't see what he was doing, and he was glad. He knew that he'd probably try and defend the guy if anything happened, leaving Trent to deal with the island all by himself. It was selfish, he knew, but the sense of relief when the boy turned tail and fled was overwhelmingly satisfying. Right now, he needed Craig more than anything else, and while he was still alive and kicking he wouldn't let anyone near the two of them.

With Owen gone, his heartbeat steadied, and he lowered his weapon to his waist. Patting Craig on the shoulder in commiseration, he hobbled back over to where he'd been sitting beforehand and slumped back down next to his things.

By his estimations, it must've been past 6am now, if the terrorists were keeping a schedule, which meant it would be high-time to find cover if they wanted to last another day. He dove into his bag, retrieving his map. Folding it out across his lap, he scanned the whole thing for a perfect place to hide. The woods seemed too open, and there was a huge chance they'd bump into another group while they wandered around in there. The beach was a definite no-no; they'd be far too vulnerable. His eyes glanced at the very top of the map, at the sea, washing a look of desperation over his face.

If only we had a boat...

His eyes trailed away from the paper, looking up at the area ahead of him. The flowers were still growing here, which would've seemed odd to him if he'd seen the rest of the island, so he stared at them for a while, studying their quiet swaying as the wind conducted them. Then by chance, he noticed something dark in the flowers to the right. A large something, actually. A something which... no, were they -


He muttered under his breath, keeping his gaze solely focused on the shape.

"Craig, get over here."

He swallowed.

"I think someone's hiding."
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God was telling you "not yet".
[ *  *  *  * ]


One of them literally rose up from the soil.

And Craig was apparently loving it.

While the girl had been introducing herself, Duncan had stumbled into the scene, rambling on about tunnels and being a stalker while another guy appeared from nowhere in a wild panic.

But where to start?

The girl - Haruka - seemed harmless enough, even if her entrance reminded him of something out of a fucking zombie movie, and Craig wasn't all that wary of her, so she was fine. But then those other two guys - Duncan and David - had severely crept him out. Duncan's attention was solely focused on the girl from the flowerbed, which was weird considering Craig fucking Hoyle was standing right in front of her, and though he was a bit of a weed, Trent thought he would be at least a little intimidating.

Sighing, he lounged back on the edge of the fountain, kanabo firmly in hand nonetheless. Hey, if Craig was alright with them all being there, making lots of noise and generally being a giant nuisance, then fine. If anything happened to them now, he could take solace in the fact that it was all his partner's responsibility. Awesome. In the mean time, he'd get on with mapping out their next destination in peace.

Glancing up to the left, he noticed the frenzied look on David's face. He hadn't calmed down at all, which was worrying. A quick look at Craig, who was busy being distracted by the other two, he groaned and shoved his weapon back into his daypack.

"Chill out, man. We're not part of the murderin' trade, and I'm in no shape to kick your ass today."

He held down the map with his free hand as he waved the guy over.

"Now if you're stickin' around, come make yourself useful. I'm not... great with maps."

Another look back at the others.

"And if you guys wanna stick around too, you better make yourselves real useful."

His gaze wandered over Haruka's chest for a second, before he turned his head back down to the paper on his lap.
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God was telling you "not yet".
[ *  *  *  * ]
Trent looked on as the sixth member of the fountaineers crept his way into their not-so-hidden hideout - one of the hockey players. What was his name... the Swedish one... oh! Nik! Nik Kron- shit. Shit, shit, shit. He was one of the Kronwall brothers; bad news for guys like him in Bayview, but here? They may as well just shoot themselves now and be done with - oh wait they didn't have guns; perfect. He could almost hear someone laughing at him.

Hopefully Nik would just move along though. Sure he was feeling a little better now, but even in full health there was no chance someone that skinny could take on a fucking hockey player. His eyes slipped down to his hand. The club? Well, it was a weapon; a heavy one at that. If he got the right angle - no, what? Now he was planning to kill the guy? The guy whose only crime so far was being better at sports than Trent.

Nice, man. Real nice.

The wind started playing with his hair as he let out a heavy sigh. The two were still talking, but he was noticing a change in Craig's behaviour. He seemed scared - something he'd never really seen in the guy before now. Did he think Nik was dangerous? Would he be right? The guy did seem a little suspicious, but then again so did the three in the background. Hell, if it weren't for Craig teaming up with him, he'd be pretty high on the suspicious list himself, wouldn't he? Half-dead, half-loner - a winning combination when it comes to gaining a person's trust.

"Uh.... hey, look, but... could you leave?"

Ohh, shit. Craig, what're you doin'? Don't tell him to get lost, that's just askin' to get everyone killed. Gotta play it cool, keep the guy nice and calm so he doesn't go Jason Voorhees on our asses.

"I don't care if it was you or your brother, I can't even remember... but one of you... one of you kinda killed somebody, and I can't even wrap my head around that statement right now. So, um... go away?"


Well, they were all fucked now. Nice going, really.

Trent gave his hand another glance. The club... If things got shitty, would he be able to do as he promised? Would he be able to protect himself - no, everyone? He knew Craig was trying to keep them all safe, but he was doing a pretty lousy job, and now the guy looked majorly pissed off.

"You think I killed someone? You think me or my brother killed someone. Well you're right,"

Oh, shit.

"You...giving me no chance to explain why I'm here. No chance to just walk by. You just assume that because you heard my last name that it was a bad killing? How do you know that Staffan wasn't defending himself?"

Oh, shit, shit.

"Maybe Staffan was right about you Americans all along. Maybe I should take a more American approach to things yes?"

Ohhh, Shiiiit.

"Maybe the answer is to just shoot first and ask questions later? Use my fat American ass to make assumptions about people!"

A fucking gun?!


"Let me pass Craig. I have enough shit to deal with as it is."


He leapt off the fountain, arms raised, fingers curled tightly around the handle of his club. The spikes were arcing through the morning air, cutting through the coldness of it as Trent ran forward while uttering that single word out loud. There was no thinking, no plan; only a moment's hesitation before he launched himself across the square. This was it now, he could feel it. In a few split seconds he'd bring the wood down into that Swedish fucker's face and become a real hero. He'd save everybody in a single swing, and they'd leave him here to die in a cruel twist of fate.

Forgetting, however, that Nik wouldn't just stand there and take it.

His gun carved an arc of its own as it came down through the air, connecting with the back of Trent's head as he lurched forward and missed his target completely. The sound that came was painful to all, but to Trent it only sounded like a faraway explosion. He fell, face-first onto the worn cobbled street, and the word he was shouting before crumbled into a indistinguishable mess of grunts and moans.


The demons greeted him with their familiar vacant smiles.
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