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The Long Road Home; semi-private; PM to join
Topic Started: Nov 23 2010, 12:04 AM (3,538 Views)
Little Boy
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STICK IT IN ZEE BOOOOOOOT~~~~
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Dutchy had been laying on the couch for what seemed like eternity. He'd fallen asleep at some point, and had dreamt of nothing. He felt strange, as if his entire body was gradually becoming numb... his fingers felt slow, unresponsive. The others were busy, talking or checking the immediate area. Dutchy hadn't helped, but they didn't seem to mind. Dutchy did. He felt guilty, useless.

They don't need me tagging along... I'm not helping. I CAN'T help. I can't. I just can't do anything...

Dutchy thought back to the previous sleepless night and his mind once more returned to the names. He jammed his hands into his eye sockets, willing himself not to cry. No effort was required however. Dutchy simply couldn't cry anymore. He had prayed he would stop, he prayed for control at least in front of his friends. Now that it was gone however, he felt emptier then ever. Inhuman. A monster, worse then the killers of Survival of the Fittest.

The reported death toll was 41. Dutchy supposed that many more had died since, but he couldn't handle thinking about that. He had known nearly every one to some degree. Dutchy had loved his friends. He had loved his life. Danya had taken it, and was viciously dismembering it all, his happiness, his very existence, piece by piece. The others were fighting, and he should be to. But he just couldn't. He had tried, but the reality was too terrifying. His friends were dying. Steve Barnes, the boy from the beach was dead. Dutchy couldn't believe it, had refused to believe it. But the truth was slowly burned into him as he walked with Sarah, and he couldn't deny it. Tom Guthrie was dead, so was Everett. People he had known, had classes with. They had died, somewhere in the woods. He hadn't been there.

What kind of a friend am I?

It was eerily quiet. The others had for the most part left him alone. He knew his behavior was upsetting them. He had on occasion, tried to put on a brave face, or even smile. The sad looks they had given in return shattered him even more. Dutchy was running out of smiles. He was running out of time. And not for the first time, he was beginning to wonder if maybe, just maybe, that was a good thing.

They can't leave me behind. It's unspoken, but it's agreed on. They won't let me die. But I will. I know I will. And they'll just have to watch and... and cry. What kind of a friend does that? What kind of a friend am I, if I let that happen? I've let others die. I could have done something more I could have- But no... And I can't let it go. I can't pretend nothing is wrong when I'm dying on the inside...

Dutchy did not know what he wanted. But it wasn't like God was listening anyway.

~~~~

"Good luck and all. I wish you the best, really. I just think you're fucked."

Dutchy flinched back at the words. He didn't know why. It was true. They were doomed. The others were gathered together, sharing information, trying to figure a way out. Dutchy sat nearby. He was close enough to listen, and he did intently. He hoped against all hope that Sarah had found a way, an escape. But as Kim had so eloquently put it, they were goners. Dutchy shivered as the girl stood. He felt cold, despite the pleasant temperature. Just looking at Kimberly made him feel cold, nervous. He hadn't forgotten the secret, the strange encounter just a few hours before. He halfheartedly wondered what had happened, but dismissed it. It wasn't important. He would probably never know why exactly Kimberly had left the camp. And as hard as he tried, he couldn't bring himself to care about even that.

As Kimberly turned to leave, Dutchy felt a pang of fear shoot up through him. The girl had been shot, and was obviously paying close attention to avoid aggravating the wound. He silently chastised himself for his fear, and struggled to prevent his stomach from somersaulting.

Will it be bloody when I go? I can't stand blood. I don't know how she can still walk after that... Sarah fixed her. She's fantastic. I was a mess, after just a glimpse and she... She's so brave. She's braver then me.


The door slammed behind Kim as she departed. Dutchy hadn't felt safe around Kim he realized suddenly, the girl unnerved him. Her behavior wasn't normal, and if he wasn't so trusting Dutchy suspected his paranoia to shoot through the roof. All the same, he was even more so terrified to let her go. The Island was dangerous, and she was out there alone.

I should have stopped her. I shouldn't have let her leave. She'll get hurt, and it'll be my fault because I didn't stop her...


"Bless Kimmy..." He mumbled to himself.

Goodbye forever... What are you going to do? What are you going to do...?
V5
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Oswaldo Marx --> "Chicks dig scars? Yeah, I'm calling bullshit." --> Cicada Nights
Mikko "Mike" Korhonen --> "Interesting, very interesting!" --> A Casual Question
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"My dick did the Mexican Hat Dance and I had to suppress the moan that wanted to escape." - Casey


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Little Boy
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STICK IT IN ZEE BOOOOOOOT~~~~
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Dutchy sat at the edge of the couch, staring off at the wall. The entire house had gradually worked its way to a deathly silence since the abrupt departure of Kim the night before. Sarah and Bridget had gone off in search of something, whether it be supplies or allies, Dutchy didn't know.

I should know. They told me, but...

But he had forgotten. It wasn't important, whatever the case. Dutchy wasn't integral to the success of the mission, and for that he was glad. He wasn't stupid. He realized the state he was in, and he realized the utter uselessness he would have been had they trusted him with anything. The others were keeping their heads above the water. Dutchy was content to drown.

Roland entered the room, the strong boy looking a little worse for the wear. He'd been left behind to guard the fort while the girls went out.

And to guard me...

Dutchy cringed back slightly as Roland sat down next to him. He'd grown angry last night with Kim's departure, so angry that Dutchy had momentarily feared his friend would strike him. He would have apologized for what he had done, but by the time he'd regained his senses from the verbal thrashing, Roland was already upstairs. It had worried him and kept him up almost the entire night.

It wasn't so much the prospect of Roland still being angry with him, but more so the idea of Roland... leaving.... and being angry with him. At one point hearing a creek upstairs, he'd convinced himself that Roland was sneaking his way out, to leave the group just like Kim. Dutchy had stayed awake for a good two hours, keeping an eye on the stairs. Not to reprimand him if he left. Simply to apologize.

Exhaustion eventually took him, and Dutchy didn't dream. It was a blessing, given the circumstances. When he had dreamed, it was always of home, of St. Paul, of warm food and his mom smiling happily as he bounced through the door. It was as horrible as the hours awake, knowing he would never return to it.

For all his initial optimism, Dutchy's hopes were shattered. The announcements had been ripping apart his mind, name by name. Even rescue, even some escape, what solace was there in that? His friends were dying, innocent people were dying. How could he be who he was, past the game? Dutchy had died the second he had stepped foot on the bus.

The announcements brought little comfort, as always. More were dying. Hermione Miller was dead. So was Craig Hoyle, and so was Vera Osbourne. Dutchy had known many of the kids listed on the announcements. Even in his groggy state however, this one struck home. Vera was the first killed whom Dutchy had been close friends with. A fellow activist…, an amazing artist. Gone. Dutchy could still picture her smile and struck his fist against his head to knock the image from his mind. Hermione Miller had always seemed to be in his class. She wasn’t the brightest, even Dutchy could see that. But it didn’t matter. She was energetic, she was fun. And who could forget Craig? He was one of the gentlest kids Dutchy had ever known, and a fellow comic lover to boot. Dutchy had smacked himself again at the thought of Craig lumbering through the hallways, a Minnesota Vikings jersey tight on his large frame. He couldn’t bring himself to remember anymore. It was far too painful.

Dutchy had barely realized Roland had been talking. It was rude and he chastised himself for it. He felt slow in his thoughts, slow in his movements… as if the entire house, his entire life were now submerged in icy cold water. Brushing his blonde hair out of his face, he turned to regard Roland.

“Bless… no. No vertu blessuð. That’s how they say it. Goodbye.” Dutchy whispered, seemingly straining to say every word.

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. And an- what she was doing, that night. I- I don’t know. If- if, if it would have hurt you, I would tell you. I don’t want to hurt you Roland. Please, believe me. I won’t do it again, okay?”

He tried to smile, but knew he had made a horrible attempt. He was suddenly shivering, suddenly very cold. It didn’t make any sense.

Since when did this place have to make sense? Since when did the world have to make sense? People die every day. Maybe this is rational. Maybe I’m the one who doesn’t make sense.
V5
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Oswaldo Marx --> "Chicks dig scars? Yeah, I'm calling bullshit." --> Cicada Nights
Mikko "Mike" Korhonen --> "Interesting, very interesting!" --> A Casual Question
V4 / Mini's
Spoiler: click to toggle

Quote:
 
"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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Little Boy
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STICK IT IN ZEE BOOOOOOOT~~~~
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Dutchy absentmindedly nodded his head as Roland apologized. He couldn't quite reason out why. Was that what normally happened, even if a fight was one sided? For the life of him, Dutchy couldn't understand just why Roland should be sorry. He wasn't the one in the wrong. Or was he? Dutchy ignored the thought.

Just forget. It's over, it's not important. Nothing's important anymore. Heck, nothing ever was important. Everything I've done, what does it matter? I'm still here. This was my destination, all along. Who cares if I was nice, or mean, or anything in between. It ends here, we all end here, the good guys, the bad guys. We're equal. We've had no point.

Dutchy shook his head, knocking the thoughts from his mind. His heart was pounding for some reason, but he couldn't be sure why. Raising his pale hands he rubbed his eyes, letting out a soft sigh. Roland was talking, rationalizing. He tried his hardest to listen and understand, but it went straight over his head. Dutchy gave a nod.

"It's okay Roland. Don't be sorry. They'll be oka- they'll come back."

The bigger boy sagged down in his seat, boredom seemingly striking him dead. Dutchy could understand the feeling. Roland was a fighter, he could be of use outside. But he was stuck, babysitting. Guilt burnt into his gut. He curled up, hands on his knees and tilted over, leaning against Roland. He didn't know what else to say. The underwater sensation was back, and through the haze, all he could think of was Vera.

Vera...

"Roland..." Dutchy began, his voice cracking. "Roland, do you think it's working? The map? Do you think someone saw? Do you think they cared?"
V5
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Oswaldo Marx --> "Chicks dig scars? Yeah, I'm calling bullshit." --> Cicada Nights
Mikko "Mike" Korhonen --> "Interesting, very interesting!" --> A Casual Question
V4 / Mini's
Spoiler: click to toggle

Quote:
 
"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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Little Boy
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STICK IT IN ZEE BOOOOOOOT~~~~
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Dutchy bit his tongue, unsure of what exactly to say. The realization that somewhere out there, Lillian Hayes was fighting for her life hit him full on. Dutchy had, as ashamed as he was to admit, forgotten that Roland had a sister. He liked Roland, practically loved the boy, but he'd never exactly gotten a chance to know the other members of the Hayes' brood. Guilt quickly overwhelmed him, the pale Icelandic boy grimaced in discomfort as the taste of blood filled his mouth. A shiver went up his spine as he curled up against Roland. The realization of his vanity struck home as he stared off into space, contemplating his friends words.

Here I am, moaning and crying for everyone, for everything I've lost... And Roland has a sister. Out there, out where there's gunfire and.. and killing. People being mean, and people dying and he's sitting here, guarding me. He could be out there, he- he could be sitting here, going out of his mind with worry but- but no, he's waiting. Patiently. He's calm, he's not crying and he's not worrying... he's not even scared. How? How is that even possible? If I die, that's it. My parents, they only lose me. But Roland, his parents... They had to lose two, a daughter and a son.

"I'm... I'm worried for everyone. I don't want to hear any more names..." He whispered, struggling to make himself clear. "I'm scared everytime that microphone crackles and 'he' starts talking... I don't know how you're doing this. You're... you're really brave Roland. You're braver then I could ever be."

I'm doing nothing, and it's costing them time they can't afford to waste...

Dutchy bit his lip again, despite the pain. He didn't know what to add, what to say. Sorry? Sorry wasn't cutting it. He could be sorry all he wanted, but sorry wasn't going to stop Danya, sorry wasn't going to make anyone safe. Dutchy hated Danya. He wanted him to go away, he wanted him to disappear forever. He could almost picture the man in front of him, taunting him for his misplaced courage. He'd been so sure he could save them, save everyone. He'd been so sure he could be strong. But he'd failed, failed miserably. It was up to people like Roland to carry him along like extra baggage, while he dreamed seemingly endless nightmares about broken bodies, beeping collars...

He'd failed, plain and simple. Failed as a friend, failed as a companion. He'd failed to even keep smiling, the one thing that made him who he was. He'd cried, he'd practically fainted, he'd puked and sobbed and moaned and had served no positive purpose, not for a single person since he'd woken up on that beach so long ago.

I'm a symbol of this, of Survival of the Fittest. A symbol of what Danya can do, what Danya IS doing to Bayview. Breaking it apart, piece by piece. I do have a purpose. To remind Bayview of what it once was, and more importantly, what it was now.

Dutchy found himself letting out a low giggle, and barely managed to stop himself. Casting a worried glance up at Roland, Dutch looked back towards the wall, embarrassed. There was no doubt about it. His mind was going. He'd spent far too long thinking, contemplating over things he couldn't change. It was driving him crazy, and the more he thought, the more he felt himself separate, looking back on his own past as if he were a different person. Would the old Dutchy have sat there, thinking about death? It was impossible to even consider the circumstance. He'd barely watched a violent movie in his life. Blood made him squeamish. He'd practically fainted during the Kimberly incident. He couldn't hurt a fly, but then again he couldn't help a fly either. But yet here he was. Death was all around. Vera was gone, and more were dying every minute. And here he sat, not trying to help, not even bawling his eyes out, but contemplating. Trapped underwater, drowning and breaking apart, drifting away...

Back before the island, that was Dutchy. But I'm not Dutchy anymore.
Dutchy wouldn't cry, he wouldn't let his friends down, not like me.
He'd had stuck it out to the last, and he would have... smiled.
I can't be Dutchy anymore... Not after what I've done. But I can't let them know that.
Vera. Vera was lucky, she still thinks I'm me. She didn't- she- she didn't see me. She didn't see that I'm a failure. Wherever she is... she- she doesn't know. She still thinks I'm a good person.
Oh God, Vera.
I can't let them know I'm already lost- that I'm never going to make it out of here...
They deserve better. They don't need to know, they don't need to cry. They're all heroes, the good guys and who am I?
I'm not even me anymore. Good guys keep fighting, Super Man never gave up. Not like me. I gave up.
I'm talking about nothing in my head, worried and sick and getting worse.
Vera.
I can't keep playing this stupid game.
I'm wasting away to nothing, and I'm taking them with me.
And if I get out they'll just look at me and remember what they lost...

No.

I can't do that to them...

I need to make them smile.
That's all I've ever wanted to be, just like Super Man, a hero. Strong in the face of danger,
A hero, a rock, strong and loyal.
If...

I can't do this anymore, not to them. I don't wanna' cry... No.

I don't want to make THEM cry...

If I just had a cape, I'd save you all.

V5
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Oswaldo Marx --> "Chicks dig scars? Yeah, I'm calling bullshit." --> Cicada Nights
Mikko "Mike" Korhonen --> "Interesting, very interesting!" --> A Casual Question
V4 / Mini's
Spoiler: click to toggle

Quote:
 
"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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Little Boy
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STICK IT IN ZEE BOOOOOOOT~~~~
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Dutchy wanted desperately to say something, to beg Roland to stay. But what could he do? The boy was already up, moving to the door. He had friends to look out for, he had a job to do. What would he accomplish if he was sitting inside, baby-sitting?

Baby-sitting. That's what he's doing.

Dutchy didn't feel anger at the thought, he felt shame. If he wasn't so weak, a completely defenseless pacifist, Roland would be out with the others, saving people, and proving a use. Dutchy sat up, weakly shaking his head as Roland moved towards the front door. It was better he went, made a use of himself. The others had been gone awhile, and it looked like the bigger boy was becoming nervous.

Dutchy got up off the couch, pacing around the home. It was more or less empty, devoid of furniture. He held his arms in close, suddenly aware he was cold, very cold. He paced back and forth, considering things, thinking about his life, his friends, his failures.

Failure. Just a failure. Can't help Sarah, can't help Roland. Just a tag-a-long, not even me anymore. How can I be me if I stop smiling? If I was gone it'd be better. They'd be thinkin' about me, thinking that maybe I was alright. They know, they can tell, I'm not alright. I'm really not alright. I'm not me anymore.

Dutchy stopped, feeling his guts churn in agony. How long had it been since he'd last eaten? Two announcements ago? He was starving and his empty stomach was finally rebelling. He didn't know why he wasn't eating. It wasn't like they had to ration the food. He just couldn't eat. He couldn't do anything. People were dying and he wasn't himself and it was all becoming way way way too much for him to handle. Dutchy turned abruptly, heading towards the washroom.

---

For a split second he was sure he was going to puke up the contents of his stomach, however empty it may have been. Instead, Dutchy weakly cradled the lid of the toilet, staring down into the water. He wasn't crying, but he felt like it. Was that all he could do, cry? He thought again about Roland, his poor sister, lost out in the jungle. He could be looking for her. He could be doing something, but instead he was stuck, stuck with him.

"Ughhh." He moaned, making his way to his feet. He needed to eat something, anything. His stomach felt like it was in a knot. Turning around Dutchy made his way to the sink, washing his hands. With a sigh he leaned forward, awkwardly bonking his head against the mirror.

"Whatta... whatta I do..."

It was all too much. Sarah could escape, so could Roland. Dutchy was useless, Dutchy was dead. Why prolong it? Why even pretend he could get out, be the same? People were dying and his heart was breaking in two. What could he do. He could feel every bone in his body tingling. Something had to be done. He had to do something, anything, stop his indecision, stop himself. What could he-

Before Dutchy knew what he was doing, he'd taken a step back, his hands still gripping the sink, his knuckles white from the strain. His brain barely registered what was happening. He looked up, his eyes wide with sudden fear as he jerked forward, smashing his face into the mirror, a loud crack and a louder thump echoed through the house.

With a high pitched yelp, he careened back, his vision replaced with bright lights, his brains scrambled with pain. It'd been so long since he'd last been hurt, he'd almost forgotten what pain, real pain, felt like. Stumbling backwards from the mirror Dutchy fell flat on his back, whimpering as his head came back to smash against the tiles, sending another jolt of pain through him. Curling into a ball with awkward jerky motions, Dutchy pressed his hands against his forehead, a strange wetness began to form from beneath, trickling out from in between the cracks in his fingers. He began to shake, biting his lip and feebly kicking his legs against the ground. Rolling onto his side another wave of pain slammed into his forehead. He whimpered, feeling shakes running through him.

What was wrong with him? He didn't know. His stomach hurt worse then ever, and this time he was sure he was going to throw up. He tucked his knees in tighter, condensing himself into a little shivering blonde and orange ball. Fear was in his chest, tight and constricting. Blood. He'd hated blood. Ever since before, ever since he was a kid. He couldn't see. His eyes were wet.

"Oh no. Oh no no no.."

Dutchy slammed his eyes shut as he pulled his still shaking hands away from his forehead. He couldn't see but he could feel a bruise coming on, numbness and swollen, puffed up skin. How bad had he hit his head? Had he cracked the mirror?

"No no no."

Dutchy slowly opened his eyes. His hands seemed to be dripping in blood. Gasping in fright he began to rub them against the floor, knowing and dreading what his forehead might look like.

"No no no, it wasn't supposed to be that. Not this much. No no no no..."

They can't ask questions. Oh no, that's bad. Why'd I do that? Stupid Dutchy. You're so stupid Dutchy. You're not him anymore, you've got blood on you.

Getting to his feet, Dutchy reached out a trembling hand, grabbing at a towel. Pressing it against his forehead for an instant and pulling away, he saw the towel red with blood. He blinked, examining it for an instant. His fear rising with every passing second. He glanced at the door, white faced and afraid, barely holding back another tidal wave of tears.

"No no no, why'd you do that..."

Gingerly he pushed the towel up against his head.. He could feel himself wanting to pass out. He was crying again, freely now, blubbering like a little kid. He nearly slipped, pressing his bloody palm up against the wall to steady himself.

"Wh-why'd you do that?" He said, barely managing to get the words out. He felt his throat locking up, visions of his Uncle flashing through his head. So much blood. So much pain. He didn't want to see it ever again but it was always there, everywhere. His Uncle and Kimmy and soon very soon, him too. Pain and oblivion, and death and the end to everything he had ever been.

"K-Kimmy."

Why'd you do that? What'd it prove?

He was crying full on now, soaking the towel more with his tears then the drying blood from his forehead. Scrambling desperately Dutchy cranked the tap, letting the noise of the water drown out his sobs. He couldn't let them know, not ever. Throwing the towel aside Dutchy began to wash his hands, looking in the mirror. A small crack ran down the center of it, right where he'd banged his head off. Had Roland heard? It didn't appear likely... But still.

"I'm fine Roland, just fine. No I don't know what happened. Weird huh? It was there when I got there. I've been upstairs all alo- Roland I'm fine, no what are you talking about? There's a crack in the mirror? That's strange. That's really weird." He murmured to himself, his voice low, near silent.

"I don't know anything about a crack. I'm FINE Roland. No, no, no not like that, no. Me? Oh, no I'm fine Roland."

Drown... What am I trying to do? It'd be easier to drown. I like water. Iceland has water, hot springs and cold water, whatever I'd want if I ever made it back there. I could drown, couldn't I?

With shaking hands, Dutchy reached down and picked up the table, rinsing it in the sink. He had a lot of work to do, quick work. His thoughts were scrambled, he felt numb and afraid, afraid of what he didn't know. He was beginning to think he didn't want to know. Throwing the wet towel to the ground, Dutchy began to soak up any blood on the floor. He felt dizzy, all the movement... He needed to lie down. He needed to sleep, to rest, to stop thinking like this.

"I didn't think like this." He croaked out. "Dutchy was a stupid kid who never thought he was gon-gonna' get hurt." He scrubbed harder, angry at himself. His naivety...

"I shouldn't be here. I don't think anyone should be here. Killing is bad. People are bad, and I don't want to be around people anymore. I don' want to see anyone else hurt. Vera's still in St. Paul. I'm still in St. Paul. I just wanna go home. One wish. God? God, can I go home now? What'd I do wrong? What'd I- I-"

He couldn't talk anymore. Mewling and shaking, Dutchy continued scrubbing the floor.

Don't wanna cry. Don't wanna cry, I need to be happy. Need to make them happy. Go out there, make them remember I'm supposed to be the happy one. Happy.

"Gon' be happy." Dutchy said, sniffling. The blood didn't seem to be coming off the floor, no matter how much he scrubbed. He grabbed another towel, throwing it down next to him. His vision seemed hazy in front of him, but he couldn't stop now. He needed to be someone, someone to rely on. Roland couldn't find him like this, he wouldn't find him like this.

"No.. No no no. Gonna be happy. I'm not going make them sad. I'm okay, just like Vera. We're both gonna' be okay."

A drop of blood dripped from his forehead, splashing onto the wet floor.

"I'm gonna be happy."
V5
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Oswaldo Marx --> "Chicks dig scars? Yeah, I'm calling bullshit." --> Cicada Nights
Mikko "Mike" Korhonen --> "Interesting, very interesting!" --> A Casual Question
V4 / Mini's
Spoiler: click to toggle

Quote:
 
"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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Little Boy
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STICK IT IN ZEE BOOOOOOOT~~~~
[ *  *  *  *  * ]
(( GMing is approved by Lim))

Alan and Joe were taken aback by the sudden yelling and demanding nature of the other boy. Obviously cornering in his own hide out hadn't been the best idea, and with Dutchy wounded the stakes had been raised. Roland rose dramatically, advancing menacingly towards Alan and Joe, towering over the pair, 6 feet tall and over 250 pounds. His message couldn't have been more clear.

"Get out!"

They were happy to oblige.

Alan watched Joe leave before turning back towards the house. He wanted to go back inside, clear things up with Dutchy and Roland. He'd barged in abruptly, eager to save Dutchy, but in the end he'd come out looking more like a villain. No good would come from pestering the pair, at least for the moment. Perhaps there would be time later. But whatever the matter, Roland wouldn't be happy to see him sticking around just outside the door.

Alan headed down the road, shouldering his pack. He had a lot of thinking to do.

((Alan Rickhall continued in Our Last Days as Children))
V5
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Oswaldo Marx --> "Chicks dig scars? Yeah, I'm calling bullshit." --> Cicada Nights
Mikko "Mike" Korhonen --> "Interesting, very interesting!" --> A Casual Question
V4 / Mini's
Spoiler: click to toggle

Quote:
 
"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.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
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