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Topic Started: Apr 19 2011, 02:39 AM (1,106 Views)
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(ORA5, Katherine "Kathy" Clements, START)

The wood tasted salty.

The sun shone down on the Inland Lake, casting its rays upon a small figure, face down on one of the many docks that littered the lake's shores.

What time was it? She didn't really care. The sun was up, so, probably around the morning. Maybe afternoon.

Tentatively, she licked her lips. Just that same wooden taste, salty. The lake didn't seem salty, but maybe the wood had come from salted trees or something. That was ridiculous.

She'd been lying in the same place for a while, sprawled on the docks, her arms and legs askew. They'd dumped her there, whoever was running this show. They were probably filming her right now, wondering why she hadn't gotten up yet. Truth was, she didn't particularly want to. Maybe if she lay there forever, they'd give up on her entertainment potential, blow her collar like the boy she'd seen on TV before.

Kathy could feel the bile rising in her throat. She forced it down. She couldn't throw up now. She'd go out with dignity.

Truth was, she didn't particularly care to die, either.

She sat up at last, taking account of her appendages. She still had both her arms, both her legs, and her head. Oh, and a bandanna in her left hand - an emblem of an orange sun. A brown cane in the right. Probably her weapon. Last, a backpack, strapped onto her back. She hadn't checked the contents of the backpack yet.

She looked at the bandanna, then at the sun. The sun hurt her eyes.
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((W01: Timothy Walker — START))

Timothy had gotten up as quickly as he could. He was still a bit queasy, and more than a little dazed after what the TV guys did to pacify the kids so they could get here. He was sure he would never, ever get used to being knocked out like that. Not even in those wild parties he was sure to have when he got out of here. But damn if he was going to lay down on the ground and get his favorite outfit dirty. He ran his hand through his hair. "Damn. No hat. You bastards better not have taken it. That was my favorite fedora. It was my ONLY fedora." To his delight, he spotted it only a few feet from where he had woken up. It must have been blown away a bit, or rolled away. It didn't matter which.

"Looks like someone has a sense of style at that studio." He placed the hat back on. The look was complete once more. Well almost. He didn't have a sweet Thompson submachine gun to go with the threads. Or did he? He went back over to his pack. He hadn't opened the thing yet. When he did, he was more than a bit surprised by what he found. A white bandanna (with an awesome emblem on it. dragons for the win), white t-shirt, and... Hawaiian shirt and shorts. He raised an eyebrow at that. Sure it fit the island paradise (soon to be hell) theme, but it just wasn't him. He stuffed the clothes, aside from his team bandanna, back into the bag. As he did, he felt around for his weapon.

It was a handgun. He frowned. "It'll have to make due." At least it came with a manual. He'd study it later. He closed the bag and slung it over his shoulder. Timothy wasn't exactly thrilled to be here, but it was his lot in life. Lady luck has dealt him his cards. He didn't like them, but he couldn't exactly ask for new ones. He had to play with what he had. That was life. Your luck was your luck no matter how much you whined. And a smart person knows how to play the cards they been dealt to their advantage every time.

So he was supposed to run around killing everyone he met who wasn't on his team. "Kill or be killed. Right. Just like do your lit homework or you don't get to watch TV. Exactly like that." He adjusted his sunglasses. Damn he was lucky they let him keep his attire. It just wouldn't look cool incomplete. He looked around. He was near some kind of lake. Wonderful. A source of water. Hopefully fresh because he didn't exactly have time to mess around to make it fresh.

As he scanned the area, he spotted a girl by the docks. Staring at the sun, that's what she appeared to be doing. He looked at the gun in his hand. The safety was on. Good. He turned it off. Better. "Who knew that watching old programs and videos about gangsters would come in handy in real life? Now I just wonder if all that art studying will help me out." He looked around for a camera. Didn't take long to find one. Damn they were everywhere. "Hey what's up? You people back home are really messed up you know? Ah who am I kidding? I was one of you once. But now I'm here. So here's the deal. I'm going to go talk to that girl over there," he pointed to her with his free hand "and maybe if she attacks first you'll get to see what I think will be the first death of the game. Hers, not mine. If not, well then maybe I'll find a use for what I found in my bag. Yeah, some of you got what I'm talking about." He smiled with his mouth closed. Like hell did he mean what he said. But hey, there's no such thing as bad publicity. He was sure to get some fans with that remark.

He started walking towards the girl. His gun hand was trembling. He really hoped she'd be friendly.
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She wasn't thinking real well at the moment.

Kathy blinked, averted her eyes from the sun, her eyes stinging from the sun's bright glare. The sun, like the orange sun on her bandanna. Her team. Should she find them? Go find them, witness the inevitable death of others by her team's hands, be responsible for people dying? People were going to die, that was for sure.

She tried to be optimistic. Maybe everyone would get along. But she doubted it, a little. People didn't just get along like that. And if they did all get along, the people working on the show would find some way to manipulate them all. Get them to kill each other. It just wasn't a very good time for optimism. This story wasn't going to have a happy ending.

But no - she had to be optimistic. Couldn't just give up and die. She'd die trying, at least. Whatever that meant. Hopefully not shooting other people. It was all she could hope f-

What was that?

There was a boy, a boy with a fedora, at the end of the dock. Was it a fedora? She wasn't quite sure. He seemed to be talking. Talking to nothing. No, he was talking to the air. No, that was the same thing as nothing. He was talking to a camera, to the cameras, that's what she meant to think.

She wished she could actually get her thoughts in order.

Now the boy was walking towards her, a gun in his hands. Okay, her thoughts were in order. First in the order: fear. He was going to kill her. Shoot her right in the... well, she didn't exactly know where he would sho-

No! Say something intelligent! Maybe he's not completely convinced that he should shoot yet!

"Please don't shoot," Kathy managed to get out, luckily without much of a tremor in her voice. "All I've got is this cane..."
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((Devonte Washington-Grey 03: start))

It had taken Devonte some time to throw off the effects of whatever had been given to him. Now, mostly recovered, he sat in the doorway of one of the conveniently located cabins. He was grateful that at least he’d been left in a cabin, rather than dumped out to bake in the sun like that girl out on the docks.

He knew his grandmamma would be sorely disappointed that he had not run out there and checked on the little biscuit baking out on the dock, but given what he was all mixed up in at the moment, he hoped she would understand. He felt a little surge of vindication as some boy biscuit rolled up on the girl, gun a’waving.

Damn, man. Who on earth thought it a good idea to give crazy little white kids guns? Those fuckers the ones who go and shoot up schools and malls and shit. Grow up to become fucking stock brokers and postal employees. Devonte clicked his tongue in irritation as he looked down at the weapon that had been given to him. A fucking pen with a knife in it. If that didn’t beat all.

Say what you will about minority crime, but at least we usually shootin’ fools who deserve it instead of blasting erebody in sight.

Feeling pretty secure in his current position, he decided to sit back and watched the drama before him unfold. As the girl sat up, Devonte realized that he knew her from school. It was airhead Kathy, the itty bitty band girl. They weren’t close or anything, as Kathy tended to be all stuck up and insular. She was okay, for one of the band kids.

He again contemplated getting involved since he knew the girl, but dismissed the thought. Kathy, timid little biscuit she may be, was from the D, after all. If she couldn’t handle this fool, then it was all probably for the best.
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Well it seemed she wasn't going to attack him. And with a cane for a weapon it would be pretty damn difficult. He shook his head. "Hell little lady, I'm not going to shoot you. I was taught better than to just up and murder someone... without cause." He looked her over. Not bad really. Not bad at all.

There was only one problem. "Of course, you're not on my team." He pointed to his white bandanna, wrapped around his arm. "Now see that's a problem by the rules of the game." He tried to sound as non-threatening as possible. No need for her to panic.

"But see here's what I'm thinking. The guys in charge of this thing would love for me to just shoot you dead in a heart-beat. But I'm sure that they'd also love if I was to offer to make an alliance between our respective teams, you hear? Stuff like that is sure to keep up the interest. And hey, we both last longer too. A good bonus don't you think?"

He hoped that she'd be reasonable. No need for this to get uncivilized. Play it smooth, real suave-like. That's just the way it should be. It then dawned on him that he had been incredibly rude by not bothering to give out his name or ask hers.

"Eh, before you answer that... I'm Timothy Walker. Might I ask your name, madam?" Rudeness averted. Damn he was good.

He adjusted his glasses. Oh yeah, he was going to give everyone back home a real show.
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Kathy relaxed slightly as the boy kept talking, this time to her, assuring her that he wasn't going to shoot. And he hadn't. Yet.

She looked him over as sneakily as she could - didn't want him to think she was sizing him up or anything. Well, she hadn't seen this boy before, that was for sure. He was dressed up like one of those gangster guys like on those old TV shows no one watched anymore. Not that anyone watched anything besides SotF-TV these days. And now they were on it. Kathy briefly wondered if the boy thought real gangsters dressed like that - she doubted it. Besides, that was back in the twenties, and the sixties, or whatnot. It did look like quite a nice suit, though. Sunglasses, fedora, the works. Classy. He probably wasn't from her school. Not many people from her school could afford something like that, unless they saved up for a while.

By the time she had all that analysis down, the boy was just finishing saying something. Something about not being on the same teams, something about an alliance. She should have been paying better attention, not drifting off into thought like she always did...

"Um, give me a second to think it over." Kathy gave him a small smile. He was being nice, and it was always nice to have allies, right? But... "I don't think we can really represent our teams, though. I mean, I haven't found anyone with the same bandanna yet, and I'm guessing you haven't either. So, you know, can't really speak on behalf of teammates and all..." She trailed off. Hopefully he wouldn't take offense. He still had the gun, after all.

His name was Timothy Walker, she suddenly realized. He had just introduced himself, and she hadn't told him her name in response. "Oh, I'm Kathy. Kathy Clements."

Kathy was acutely aware that she was still sitting on the salty wooden dock, and she still had to check her bags. No problem. She'd just smooth it all out, make absolutely sure this boy was friendly - he seemed friendly enough already. Then she'd stand up, see what she had, maybe survive the first day. That's all she'd ask for now. All she'd ask.

Actually, she might be better off actually paying attention to what he said next. That might help.
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As gruesome as it was, Devonte was disappointed when the boy didn’t shoot Kathy. Instead, the two exchanged what appeared to be pleasant words.

Sighing, he rested his chin in his cupped palm. If he was watching this at home, he would have changed the channel by now. Nobody wanted to watch WASPy-ass kids make nice. Shit was boring.

And of course the little biscuits warmly greeted each other despite the fact that they were total strangers. That’s just what boring little white children did before they started stabbing people in the back. They were probably just the very best of friends and were busy sharing sob stories.

‘Gee Biffy. Gee Susie. We’re here in a place where we are supposed to kill each other. Whatever shall we do? Oh, /I/ know! How about instead of killing each other, we sit here and share our life stories as though it matters to anyone? Because really, that’s what we’re all about. Crying about how tough we have it to anyone who will listen. Ah ha ah ha ah ha ha ha.’

He snorted at the thought, his lips twisting into a wry grin. Of course they’d be all up each other’s asses. They were probably busy complaining about how hard all this was so far. After all, what do boppin’ little biscuits know about the struggle? Nothin’, that’s what.

Bitter, him? Nah.

Devonte looked down at the scrap of gray cloth next to him. He wondered what anyone would do if he just ripped two eye holes in the cloth and wore it over his head all Charlie Brown style. ‘Take that, fuckers. I’ll be the mystery player. How you like that shit?’

Looking back at the two on the docks, he rolled his eyes. Still fuckin’ talking. What they hell they talking about? Didn’t nobody need they life story two seconds after meeting them. He needed to get his own ass in gear and go find Marcus and Anferny and Jaszmine, that’s what he needed to do.

He couldn’t do that while strapped Biscuit Bob was sunning hisself on the docks. “Get yo asses moving already. Damn, son,” he hissed.
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Timothy wasn't surprised that the girl didn't take to the alliance idea. She even had a good logical reason for not teaming up. Still, he hated to lose the opportunity. She was kinda cute, and hanging around with a girl from another team was sure to make people reconsider shooting first and asking questions later. They might even think that he was friendly, not out to kill them.

They'd be dead wrong of course. He was here to play the game, just not on the terms set before him. Teams? Screw that. He'd make his own team. His own group. His... 'family'. It would be the easiest way to catch everyone else off guard.

And Kathy didn't want to be a part of it. Kathy Clements. Damn, cute name too. "It'd be a real shame to waste her here and now." He was aware that it was unwise to keep in one place for too long.

"Right. I get where you're coming from. Well how about we put it on a trial basis? We stick together, informally, for now. Who knows, maybe we'll find that it's better to work together?" He offered her his left hand to help her up. But he never loosened his grip on the gun with his right hand.

That'd be stupid. Nicest people in the world can be ruthless sharks. Strangely enough, gangster movies and gambling taught him that. And Timothy Walker was not going to get swarmed by sharks. "I know you're still hesitant and all but we gotta move, fast. God knows what kind of maniacs we got already attacking people. You know?"

Tim was going to make damn sure no one could see through his poker face.
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Kathy sat there, listening to Timothy. He said something about sticking together for the time being. Maybe when she found her team, then she'd leave. If she accepted, that was. Maybe they'd find that it was better to work together, he said. Yeah, probably so.

But what if she teamed up with him, then found her team? Would he let her go? She didn't know him, didn't know what he was really like. Maybe he was just playing her for a foo- No. Everyone's pretty shaken up right now. Be optimistic. Assume the best in people.

Of course, there was a thin line between being optimistic and hopelessly naive... She'd decide to cross that line when she came to it. What she needed right now was a brief sense of security... and paper. Paper and a pen, or a pencil.

She reached up with her left hand, the hand with the bandanna in it, letting him help her to her feet. "Okay then," she said. "Listen, though, you know anywhere I can find paper?"

Cross the line between optimism and naivete? Maybe she already had.

All of a sudden, someone was snarling at her, or both of them, from across the dock. She startled, taking a small step backwards. Couldn't forget, other people were out there. Someone complaining about their presence. At least he - Kathy wasn't sure who it was, she was having a hard time pinpointing the location of the voice - weren't aiming to kill, not yet.

She ventured a reply back, hopefully not one that'd get her immediately shot, if whoever it was had a gun. "Uh, I don't see you. Not that I need to, I just... If you need to get past us, you can just go! I won't, uh, stop you or anything." She felt stupid, talking to the air like that. She just felt so unprepared for it all.

Again, mental list: Check bag, get paper, don't die too quickly. That's all she'd ask. Maybe if she repeated it over and over while she waited, she'd feel better.
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Sighing again, Devonte rolled his head to crack his neck while the boring little biscuit children continued…whatever it was they were doing, since they sure as hell weren’t killing each other. ‘And those little assholes got guns and everything. What a waste.’

He was done with sitting here, waiting for shit to come to him. He was gonna go find his friends. He didn’t have much of a plan beyond that. Planning was not his strong suit. They left that shit to Anferny and Jaszmine. He was sure they would know exactly what to do.

Devonte slowly stood and hoisted his bag onto his shoulder. He made sure his stupid gray “flag” was hanging from the back pocket of his pants. Casting one last disgusted look at the pair on the dock, Devonte slipped out of the area.

((Devonte Washington continued in Wising Up))
Edited by BetaKnight, Apr 28 2011, 06:26 AM.
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She took his hand, and he helped her up. She asked where she could find some people. He was about to ask her if she was really that clueless about their situation when she jumped back in fright. He hadn't heard it, but someone else was here. She called out to the other person and made some pathetic little suggestion that said person could leave without fear of assault on their part.

"Screw. That." Tim swung his arm, and the gun, in the direction he believed the other person was hiding. He didn't really know if there was anyone else there. But he wasn't going to let anyone get the drop on him. At least not anymore. "You've got five seconds to get out here man. I don't wanna shoot you, but I ain't gonna sit around and wait for you to attack us." Even though he fully intended to fire, at least warning shots anyway, he needed to pretend otherwise for the lady's sake. Dames like her weren't used to the violent stuff that went around here. To tell the truth, neither was he, but she didn't need to know that.

Little did he know that the other boy had left before he even got into his firing stance. He stayed like that for a few seconds, feeling like an idiot. "Okay. I don't think there's anyone here." He clicked the safety on the gun back on and let his hand rest. "We should get going. Maybe we'll find you some paper. Coming?" He stuck his left hand out again.



There were a lot of people at the table. The dealer smiled as each one took his or her seat. When everyone was seated, the cards were dealt. The game was no-limit Texas hold'em. Tim's favorite. Everyone put in the ante, and the cards were dealt.

He had the big blind. Dumping his chips in the pot, he examined his cards. He held the King of Clovers and the Ace of Clubs. So many possibilities with those pocket cards. The bets went around the table. Nothing out of the ordinary. A few raises here and there, a couple of folds.

Timothy was a little surprised at the number of players. Quite a large group. So much that three decks had to be used. That was odd. Who could have organized a game of this size? He decided it didn't matter. All that mattered was the game. Kathy was there. He flashed her a smile. Cute girl. He wondered what her hand contained. It couldn't be as good as his, he was sure.

The betting round came to a close. The flop was coming up. He couldn't wait.
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Kathy watched as Timothy swung around, pointing his gun at the would be assailant, or just whoever had made that noise. Nobody answered. Maybe they'd left - maybe she'd just been imagining things. A hallucination? Funny how getting dropped on a island and told to kill your classmates on national television tended to do that to people.

She guessed that he was trying to protect her or something, or at least trying to put on an act for his own sake. People had to do something to keep their minds off the situation, huh? Had to keep control of their lives, no matter if there wasn't any. To that end, she really needed paper - something to write down her thoughts, to keep sane. She smiled at him, though, just to show she appreciated the gesture.

He was holding out his hand to her again, but for what, she didn't exactly know. It'd be kind of awkward to reach out and high five him or something. She didn't really know what to do with that.

"Um, give me a second," Kathy muttered, propping her cane in her right armpit, then quickly tying her orange bandanna around her left wrist. "I think there's a map in the backpacks they gave us." She swung her backpack off her back. "We probably shouldn't stick around too long, like you said, but let me get the map..."

She was back up in only a few seconds, her cane in her right hand, map clutched in her left, and her backpack back on her back. The map had been on top of everything in the bag - she hadn't really checked everything else yet. That could probably wait until they got somewhere safe. "Okay, ready to go."
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"Right, let's get out of here. Listen, before we get you that paper, I'm thinking we should make a quick check around to see if we can find anyone from our teams. You know, get some defensive options. One gun won't protect us forever." He hoped she'd agree to that.

Time to get moving.

((Timothy Walker continued in Man, I Hate Poke Wars))
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Kathy nodded, but didn't say anything more.

He had forgotten her cane in his analysis, not that she really blamed him for it; it wasn't much of a weapon. A gun and a cane, that's what they had for now. As for protection... She didn't want to die, but she didn't really want to kill, either, in self defense or not. Especially not with the whole nation watching her.

Well, she'd just have to work all that out. Later.

((Kathy Clements continued in Man, I Hate Poke Wars))

((Thread also closed.))
Edited by Iceblock, Apr 24 2011, 10:36 PM.
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