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Hanley's Bazaar; now hiring
Topic Started: Jul 29 2013, 06:24 PM (1,105 Views)
xylophonefairy
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B26, Harry Hanley, Begin

Harry had done a lot of things with his life thus far. Sometimes, when work was quiet or when he couldn't sleep, he'd think about it. He liked to imagine his autobiography. What he would title it. And the section on childhood was pretty much already written in his mind. Except that he found it difficult to focus it, there was too much. It depended on what he ended up being famous for (the very existence of said autobiography meant that he must have ended up famous for something). Was it stage? Was it business?

Was it this?

Harry had done a lot of things with his life, but they all relied on a civilised world. A world were people would pay money to see a play. A world where businesses could thrive. He was never going to stop someone here by singing at them. Perhaps he could sell food. His bag was full of chocolate, intended to cash in on the extortionate Disneyland prices. Possibly even branching outside of his schoolmates.

What was he supposed to trade the food for, though? Bullets? More stuff he could trade?

It was the best thing to do. To set up a shop. He needed goons though. Bodyguards. His knee was already twinging from just walking around the last day or so. So far all he had was the gun that rested heavy against his leg. Avoiding people. Hiding. He'd even climbed a tree. He had mostly stuck to the woodlands, liking the cover it gave him. But he was sick of hiding. And he had the goods. And the know how. And a theory. Only one person had to die every twenty four hours. From the little he had seen of the programme when he was younger, he was pretty sure that at least one person died every day simply from being an absolute fucking idiot. So if everyone helped each other a bit, then more of them might live long enough to get rescued. Because they had gotten rescued before, he remembered that. He had been mowing the grass of the house next door, when his mom came out crying. His neighbours had been sitting on their porch reading, and suddenly it seemed the whole street was out celebrating.

They would be rescued. Eventually. It might just take a little while. The important thing was to help as man people survive for as long as possible, by distributing the wealth where it was needed. Low on food but found a box of bullets for a gun you don't have? Come to Harry! He'll sort you out. He had a loyal client base. But he needed to find out what people wanted. Cigarettes, alcohol, painkillers, food, weapons. He didn't know. But he was going to find out.

So Harry wrote some ambiguous notes, and pinned them to trees. Then he returned to the campsite. It was deserted, but in generally fairly good shape. Obviously he didn't want to wait at the campsite itself, so he hid himself away. Mabe someone would show up? He hadn't seen many people in the woods yet, but the island seemed fairly big, and the woods were big as well. He didn't want someone to shoot him though.

He was just playing the game. He was going to help people.

And his payment for that would be that he could ensure staying alive as long as everyone else. To make sure that they felt like they couldn't survive without him. Because, at the end of the day, it was all about surviving. And this would make a really good autobiography.

Despite everything, he felt a silvery thread of excitement start churning through his veins. He crouched in his hiding place and waited.

((Uh, so Harry's looking for a team. For plot purposes it would work better if anyone wandering in wanted to be part of that team, but Harry will make small talk with anyone if you're just bored. He is after bodyguards (well-armed would be good), and scouts. So people willing to go out and peddle goods and find out what people need.
the world is on my side
i have no reason to run


v4 nostalgia

shiny shiny V5 concepts (now with clickies)
Phoebe Cho - I shall be playing Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto in E minor. Wizard!
Harry Hanley - I've got Hershey's at half price today! Get 'em quick before I have rehearsal!
Lor Van Diepen - I'm gonna make a video later. About running. Does that sum me up enough?
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The Burned Handler
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(Max continued from Nobody Wants This. Sorry this is so brief. This will be my last Maxpost until I've settled in from the moving house and have a reliable means of getting online again. Until I'm back in action, Max will be written by Jonny.)

He wasn't quite sure how long he'd run. He'd eventually stopped noticing the lead in his legs, the fire in his lungs, the rattling breaths from pushing himself just one step further, the instinctive ducking and shielding himself from slashing branches and tangling bushes. He wasn't so much hurting as vaguely aware of the pain, and whenever he stopped to rest and eat or drink everything tasted like smoke and blood.

He saw white. White slowly being eaten up by red, to the sound of thunder. It made his rests anything but. So he kept running, keeping the red at bay.

It hadn't been his fault. What was he supposed to do when someone shoved a gun in his face and started taunting him, trying to break down everything that made him him before ending it all? How else would he have got out? Didn't that video make it clear it was him or her?

Shit, Becca. Why couldn't you have been smarter?

Why couldn't I have been smarter, found another way. His brain had thought and his muscles had acted, but the muscles had different plans and now his bitchy ex was very dead. The video played over his eyes, running red. He couldn't read lips, what the hell had she tried to tell him at that last moment?

Probably another crude insult, but she'd looked right at him, mouthed something impossible to hear over the incessant ringing. He couldn't stop seeing it again and again. Why couldn't she have had the decency to just close her eyes and fall over.

The trees had paper on it. The contents were murky but the context wasn't: people. At least one. He didn't know when the Anaconda slipped into his hand, but it did, running with him through the underbrush until trees parted for just a moment and a campsite appeared before him. He had the sense to step back.

Someone had already settled in pretty well, and what had just rushing into something done for Becca? Exactly. He wasn't going to turn red. He watched for a moment, praying whoever was there wasn't stupid.
Edited by The Burned Handler, Jul 30 2013, 12:37 PM.
MurderWeasel getting impatient
 
Hiya, jerk! Please don't post until edits have been completed, as doing so causes confusion/messes up the queue.


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18:48 Ruggawork I have faith in you!
18:48 Ruggawork and your ass!


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16:35 Kilmarnock Maybe Iktor?
16:35 Kilmarnock Maybe Toben.
16:35 Kilmarnock hard to tell until they make out with me.
16:35 *** mib_6brm7d is now known as Irene


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((Maynard Hurst, Natali Greer, and Adam Morgan continued from Now I'm radioactive! That can't be good!))

As a child, Maynard had always been slightly energetic. He'd run around the backyard with his siblings, and the three of them would spend hours with each other, engaging in small play-fights or pelting water balloons at each other.

He was ten when all of that changed.

It was at June's fifteenth birthday party, and Maynard had been sent to play with the other younger children - the sons and daughters of his parents's friends. Most were content to participate in the games his parents had set up for them - pass the parcel and all that, but a select few were a bit more adventurous. They targeted Maynard - not because they wanted to play with him, but because he was by far the most familiar with the house's layout. So he was coerced into abandoning the game of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey that was failing miserably and ran about the unoccupied rooms of the Hurst home.

Ten year olds weren't the best communicators, and Maynard was left unaware of the pile of toy cars that was left by a particularly stubborn door. His father had always gone on about how he'd fix it, but he'd never gotten around to it.

Clumsy running kid + forgotten toy + stubborn door = A crying Maynard rubbing his head with fingers slick with blood, shaking and screaming and ruining his sister's birthday.

After that Maynard stopped running.

And in the meantime he'd become as unfit as it was possible to be. His parents had thought that his scrawny frame and healthy would only make him better at any physical exertion, but he'd promptly proven them wrong in his junior high P.E. class.

And now Maynard was well and truly paying the price for ruining his sister's birthday.



By the time they'd reached the centre of the woodlands, Maynard's breathing had been replaced by a light wheezing peppered with intermittent and choked breaths. Natali and Adam seemed to be holding up excellently, all things considered, but Maynard couldn't say the same for himself. As much as he'd tried to stop himself he couldn't stop thinking of Daniel and what'd happened to him. He was starting to regret not asking who'd killed him. At least then he'd have some defined image in his head. Right now it was a hundred different people firing a hundred different shots.

They reached the campsite lingering on the very edge of the somewhat well-organised encampment. Rest. Finally. The only way Maynard could've been more relieved was if Gwen suddenly popped up from behind one of the gnarled oaks announcing an easy escape.

He turned to whisper something to his companions, but his words caught in his throat when he saw that they'd already found company in the form of Maximilian Sawyer. Max was a person to whom Maynard felt no connection. Not even ambivalence, as was the case for Adam and Natali. In school, at least. Here... I don't know what I'd do without either of them. Maynard couldn't remember if they'd even spoken. Maynard knew Max's name, but little else about him.

He turned towards the others as Max took a step back, and scuffed his feet against the thick layer of undergrowth that carpeted the forest floor.

"So, uh...what do we do?" He whispered, as quietly as he could.
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And I am still hungry.
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Natali was a few seconds away from taking Maynard's weapon from him and ordering him to sit down and rest by the time they reached the campsite. She felt bad for dragging Maynard around like this; she and Adam were both used enough to physical activity that they could get around with little trouble, but Maynard looked like he was on the edge of collapse.

Unfortunately, the campsite they'd come upon was already occupied. Even more unfortunately, it was occupied by Max Sawyer, and he was holding a very big gun.

Maynard seemed like he was at as much of a loss as she was, and Adam's expression was unreadable. As much as Natali wanted to just walk in and sit down, she wanted to not get shot even more.

She couldn't suppress a soft groan at Maynard's question. "I have no clue." She whispered back. "Just running in and saying hi doesn't seem like a good idea."
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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The Burned Handler
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(Skipping because Max really has to be somewhere, sorry folks.)

Pointless.

It was a good word, a word he'd used a lot back in reality. Making two trips when you could do something in one was pointless. Getting up early on Sunday was pointless. Correcting Jimmy the Freshman's golf swing was almost pointless. Doing homework was pointless because he'd been a shoo-in for Princeton from day one. Most things the little people did were pointless, and they were the little people because they couldn't realise that. It was why he was supposed to be somebody, and if they'd not ended up here most of the rest would've just rotted away in cubicles for the next few decades.

It was a good word, and it was perfect for what he was doing right this second, standing at the edge of a forgotten camp watching people he only knew in passing milling around as if hoping to be let in. Why, in hopes a "yes, you can stay at our camp for the night" would serve as absolution? That it would take away the smoke that filled his mouth and he could watch the sunlight through the branches all around them without thinking about all the red?

What would they do tomorrow when all was told and they knew about poor Becca? He doubted the terrorists would much care about how she'd been going to blow his head right off its shoulders, splattering his brilliant mind all over some tacky wall. People usually weren't terribly understanding when you gunned someone down. In civilisation they locked you up and condemned you to live like an animal until you died, no matter what the reason.

Here there were no locks. They'd probably skip the "live like an animal" part. Besides, even if he cleared people out, others would come, drawn to the excitement. He didn't want more red. He was better than that.

Let the animals tear each other apart, the wind through trees and the chirps of far-off birds said. You can always find this place later. Find somewhere better, somewhere you could see people coming as opposed to all this green and brown where anything could be in any shadow. Shadows that got longer by the minute, as the Earth continued its journey around the sun without once giving a shit about the things crawling on its skin.

Pointless. Staying here when he could keep moving, put distance between himself and that town, be harder to find, was pointless. So he didn't stay.

(Maximilian Sawyer continued in Hollow Stars)
MurderWeasel getting impatient
 
Hiya, jerk! Please don't post until edits have been completed, as doing so causes confusion/messes up the queue.


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18:48 Ruggawork I have faith in you!
18:48 Ruggawork and your ass!


Quote:
 
16:35 Kilmarnock Maybe Iktor?
16:35 Kilmarnock Maybe Toben.
16:35 Kilmarnock hard to tell until they make out with me.
16:35 *** mib_6brm7d is now known as Irene


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"I guess that settles it," Adam said as Max made tracks. Problem solved, and good riddance to bad news on that front. There'd been enough problems of late, and actually interacting with Max would've probably just spawned more.

Really, Adam wasn't so thrilled about stopping. He was finally starting to feel the walk, but that didn't mean he couldn't push onwards. Any physical exertion was hard; that was half the point. Keeping on going would be a little mental victory.

But maybe Maynard and Natali didn't think like that, and maybe they needed some rest, and it looked like there might well be others nearby. Something had spooked Max, and Adam didn't really think Max was the sort who spooked easily. Well, maybe if he was caught at a disadvantage he might. That seemed to be a common trend among rich assholes. Miles was out there somewhere, Adam thought, probably crying and trying to pay the terrorists to let him go home.

That thought didn't give him as much comfort or amusement as he'd expected.

"So, you guys wanna rest, or keep going?" he asked. He dug around in his pockets, searching for his cigarettes. He'd bought a new brand before the trip, Mavericks, because they had a sweet name, but they tasted like ass, even more than cigarettes usually did. Adam hadn't smoked anything since waking up, though, and he felt that taking a moment here would help remind Natali and Maynard that he was tough and capable, maybe raise their morale a bit.

He fished the box out, opened it, extracted one of the fifteen or so paper cylinders, and stuck it in his mouth. He'd moved the lighter from the first aid kit to his pocket a while ago, and fished it out, flicking it a few times before he could get the end of his smoke to light.
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"A rest would be quite-" Maynard paused to breathe "-welcome."

Maynard sighed as he rested his naginata and bags against a nearby log. Grateful for the load off his back, he rubbed a fist against his brow, which was cool with drying sweat.

"I, um... If you want to keep moving, of course, I'd have no objections." He attempted a half-smile, but it came out more as a disgruntled frown than anything else.

He dug a toe into the mossy undergrowth, a trickle of dirt slipping into his boater. Adam was smoking, and although Maynard had never had the chance to taste cigarette smoke, he could understand why someone could enjoy it. Besides, Adam had remained remarkably level this whole time, and Maynard was happy for anything to keep him as he'd been this far.

If only I had a similar way of relaxation. If they hadn't taken my sonnet book, then maybe I wouldn't be so messed up. Still, it could be worse.

Somehow.
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Natali was breathing easier since Max had left - until Adam lit up a cigarette, anyway. She wrinkled her nose as the smoke drifted over to her, and she waved a hand to dissipate it. Adam was entitled to whatever relaxation methods he wanted, sure, but the smell of cigarette smoke had always given her a headache.

"There's plenty of tents around that we could spend the night in, take turns watching outside like we did last night." She said. "I can take first watch if you guys want to rest. I'm still feeling pretty fresh."

She rolled her shoulders and swung the crowbar around a bit to prove her point. She really didn't mind being the one to stay up; her feet were a bit sore, but that wasn't much of a problem, and stamina had always been her strong point. It was one of the reasons she pulled all-nighters so frequently.

Natali started towards the tents, and then paused. "...You guys think someone else is already here? Max ran off pretty quick, and I don't think he saw us..."
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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That was a very, very good point. Adam could've actually used a few minutes of sitting around, but if there was someone here scaring people off, they didn't need any part of that, especially with everyone so tired. Adam took a big drag of the cigarette, trying to burn it to the filter like he'd seen in some movie or cartoon or something. He got maybe a fifth of the way before the burning smoke in his lungs made him cough. The cigarette was propelled from his mouth, as he hacked up a cloud of smoke.

Maybe not quite so badass. He stomped on the burning butt, because he'd watched the news enough to know that leaving a burning butt on a forest floor was a good way to get tossed in jail for arson, and even without a cop for miles around he didn't really fancy waking up tomorrow to find out he'd burned half the class to death by mistake.

"I think we should keep moving," he said, his voice a little raspy from the smoke. "Don't wanna borrow anyone else's problems. Got 'nough of our own."

The sword bounced on his leg again, reminding him that they at least weren't totally helpless if trouble came after them. Better to push it off, though, outrun it and keep moving, always keep moving just as long as they could. Back home, he'd've called up Paulo and Cooper and some of the others and fought a couple rounds with them, and there was still that urge here, to just slam into someone and let out the mounting frustration, but it wouldn't be appropriate, wouldn't keep him safe, let alone Maynard and Natali.

So Adam just kept going, at a light jog, off at an angle that took him away from Max and the camp and the way they'd come. There weren't a lot of choices for that, but he found a heading he thought would do.

Next stop: who could even say?

((Adam Morgan continued in Poor Unfortunate Souls))
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While Maynard would've gladly collapsed right there and then, he could understand Adam's reasoning. If they kept on moving, then he wouldn't have to think about all that was happening, even if it was just for a short while.

He nodded as Adam began to move on, before slinging his bags over his back. He took pause for a moment, to take advantage of their brief stop and breath deeply. Then, before Adam could get too far away he rushed to join the boy, naginata in hand.

"Hey, Adam...just a sec."

He turned and smiled at Natali before rejoining Adam's side. He didn't know where they were going, but in a place like this, it didn't really matter.

((Maynard Hurst continued in Poor Unfortunate Souls))
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As much as Natali wanted to just set up here where shelter was readily available, she didn't want to run into whatever or whomever had spooked Max, and she definitely didn't want Maynard and Adam to go off and leave her. Not that she thought they really would do that, but Adam was already jogging off and Maynard was rushing to catch up with him. Best she didn't lag behind.

She flashed a smile back at Maynard, glad to see that he was starting to recover a bit. He was probably still reeling from the announcements, and heaven knew that he set off her maternal instincts like nobody's business. It was reassuring to see that he was still able to smile.

Natali was more lost in her own thoughts than paying attention to where she was going, and that was where things started to go wrong. She was jogging just a little too fast to catch up with Adam and Maynard, and her foot caught on a protruding tree root, sending her tumbling.

The real problem was how close together the trees were, now that they were away from the campsite; as Natali stumbled over the tree root, she smacked directly into the trunk of another, hitting her head hard. Spots exploded in front of her eyes, and then she blacked out.

Only a few moments had passed when she came to, but it took several minutes for Natali to get her bearings and drag herself back to her feet. She shook her head to try and clear the ringing in her ears, groaning as the motion caused her head to throb. She stumbled away from the trees, crowbar laying forgotten next to the root that had tripped her.

She stumbled a bit, caught herself. The ringing in her ears didn't go away.

"Guys... wait up."

((Natali Greer continued in Poor Unfortunate Souls))
Edited by backslash, Nov 26 2013, 09:44 AM.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Nobody turned up for ages after that first group, so eventually Harry went off looking for others. Can't be a salesman if there aren't any customers, after all.

((Harry Hanley continued in Everyone Dies))
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