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Topic Started: Mar 25 2014, 10:20 PM (1,750 Views)
Skraal
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Are you my mummy?
[ *  * ]
((Soren Rosendahl Start))

Soren let out a yelp as he stubbed his toes on a stray bowling ball. He stopped to look around. His grip tightened on the straps of his backpack. A few minutes passed as he stood there, his foot throbbing.Satisfied that nobody was watching him, he set off again towards the exit.

He wondered how long he was unconscious. Two to three hours, maybe? He wasn't sure. To be honest, he was still pretty groggy from the knockout gas.

At least they dumped him in a sheltered place rather than out in the open. He knew he should probably be thankful to God for at least that small amount of protection, but given the circumstances, he wasn't so sure. Was this part of God's plan, to put him here? He felt his chest tighten. What purpose could this possibly serve? He just couldn't understand. There was only one thing he could think of to do. He quickly walked over to a nearby corner, closed his eyes and bowed his head.

“Um, hi God, it's me, Soren. I'm just really unsure of what you want from me right now. I mean, murder is wrong, right?”

His fingers tightened around the grip of the drill-like object in his hands.


“Could you please lend me Your guidance, Lord? Maybe together we can think of a way to help everyone and get out of this evil place.”

Soren swallowed.

“After all, I can't exactly serve you here if I'm dead, right? I know that You have the power to save everyone here. Please help us get out of this. In Jesus' name, Amen.”

After a few moments of silence, Soren opened his eyes and moved out of the corner. Now, about that exit...
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[ *  *  * ]
((Brendan O'Toole continued from I'm Not Here to Make Friends))

When Brendan left the Ice Palace, he had no idea where to go. His friends could have been anywhere, really. Finding them was just going to be luck. With that in mind, Brendan decided to go to the resort's bowling alley. If he had nowhere better to be, he might as well have spent his time bowling.

Brendan entered the bowling alley and found a kid praying in the corner. He couldn't remember ever seeing the kid at Davison. There was another school taken, right? The kid must've been from there. He was also holding some sort of weird-looking gun. Brendan thought it might've been some sort of stun gun, but he wasn't sure. Either way he wanted to stay away from it.

The kid stood up and Brendan found himself face to face with him. Brendan considered turning around and leaving, but he decided it wouldn't hurt to talk to the guy. He could have seen one of Brendan's friends. Besides, the religious types weren't likely to shoot first, right?

"Hey," Brendan said "I'm not lookin' for trouble. I'm just here to bowl and maybe find some of my friends. All I got is this wire here, I'm not a threat."
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Namira
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[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Amir Al-Asad begins))

So apparently he was supposed to be frigging Poseidon or something.

The alternative was straight up gladiator, like in some of those old movies that he'd watched, but maaan... who wanted to be a gladiator? Gladiators died. A lot. Which was precisely a lot more than Amir was happy with. It sure as hell wasn't how he wanted the story of his life to end, being famous for five seconds on TV and then having to go give an accounting of his worldly deeds. He hadn't even done anything cool yet.

Amir held the trident like a walking cane as he entered the bowling alley, humming something about slams and jams under his breath. Man this thing was inconvenient to carry. It hadn't even been in his bag (sadly, because he would've almost liked to see them just shove the thing all the way through) - it had been ominously impaled in the patch of dirt he'd woken up in. Well, flowerbed, presumably, but it hadn't looked very lively at this time of year.

Stepping through the front doors, there was immediately audible speaking, and it didn't take binoculars to look around and see the pair having a conversation in the middle of the room. Amir hesitated and stepped slightly to the side. He didn't recognise one of these guys, and the other... big ol' Brendan, who was y'know, an okay dude, but not a 'I WILL ENTRUST MY LIFE TO YOU' type of dude.

"Howdy, champs-in-making. Fine day for some ratings-grabbing action, wouldn't you say?"
~*~

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Skraal
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Are you my mummy?
[ *  * ]
Soren stopped suddenly in his tracks, startled at the sudden appearance of the rather large boy in front of him. After managing to suppress the urge to cry out in surprise, he took a step back and responded to his greeting.

"H-Hi, my name's Soren. Sorry, I haven't seen any of your friends. I just woke up."

His wait for a response was interrupted as he noticed the entrance of another large boy carrying a wicked-looking trident. He cringed at the newcomer's enthusiastic tone. Soren could feel his stomach churning. That weapon combined with those muscles could easily make short work of him. He took another step back, keeping his eyes on the two in front of him.
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So the kid's name was Soren. He seemed alright. He wasn't shooting at Brendan with his stun gun thing, at least. That was good enough. Before Brendan could respond to Soren he heard a familiar voice coming from behind him. He turned around and saw Amir Al-Asad holding a fucking trident, of all things.

"Woah, dude. That thing looks... fuckin' terrifying."

Thankfully Amir was an okay guy. He wasn't going to go around impaling people, probably. Brendan looked and spotted the shoe counter. He walked behind the counter and browsed through the pairs of shoes.

"I was tellin' Soren over here that I'm tryin' to find my friends. You see anyone from Davison?"

He grabbed a pair of shoes in his size and turned back to face the others.

"I have no idea where they are. I figure I might as well stay and play a bit, maybe someone'll wander in. Either of you want in? Fair warnin', I'm pretty good."

He leaned over the counter and looked at Soren. "Where ya from, anyway? Just curious."
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Namira
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[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Amir leaned on his trident and manufactured a yawn. The kid that he didn't recognise was already flinching back, which was pretty freaking hilarious so far as Amir was concerned. Like, come on, was he really all that scary? Besides, Amir noted with a little unease, that was some kind of gun, what kind he had no idea. He was not master weaponsmith.

Brendan shot him a question, and Amir shrugged lazily. "Nah man. I've just been looking around a lil' bit. Haven't ran into anyone other than your fine selves."

The look turned sceptical. Brendan was... seriously planning on playing a round? In the middle of Ess-Oh-Tee-Eff? Like, damn you had to get your priorities straight. For one thing how the heck did he think he was going to get on with those clown shoes if someone ran in here with a fricking rocket launcher or something? Man... Brendan sure wasn't doing that whole meathead rep any favours.

Amir... elected not to mention any of that. Best not to prod at someone who had something like fifty pounds on him, and Amir wasn't a small guy to be outweighed. Brendan was being friendly enough and all for now, but Amir had watched enough SOTF to see where this could go.

Man. Amir hated being in front of the camera.

"I'll pass, bro. Got two left feet. Miracle I can even walk in a straight line, really."
~*~

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"Ah, that sucks."

Brendan sat down at a bench and started untying his shoes.

"Well, look out for them, y'know? We've gotta find each other quick. I mean, we don't know what the other school's kids're gonna do..."

Brendan turned back to Soren. He looked like he was too busy shaking at the trident to answer Brendan's question.

"Uh... no offense. I dunno, your guys might be nice but I haven't met any of 'em other then you."

He took off his shoes and started tying on the bowling shoes.

"Anyway, I'm stayin' here for now. It's not like I have any leads or anything. There's the same chance of them comin' up here and me findin' 'em out there."

Brendan stood up went over to the bowling balls. He took one and started walking over to one of the scorers.
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Skraal
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[ *  * ]
Soren shifted his weight from foot to foot anxiously as the two boys in front of him seemed to be parting ways. He walked over to Brendan, who seemed to be the nicer one here. He had never bowled before, but it might be nice just to talk with someone and feel normal for a while.

"Sorry for taking so long to answer your question. I guess I sort of spaced out over there for a second. I'm from Whittree, Oklahoma. What about you?"

He tugged on the straps of his bag as he waited for a response. Should he take a ball and play? He wasn't exactly sure how to play, but it might seem rude not to try. Soren sighed quietly as he put down his bag and picked up one of the bowling balls lying around, clutching it with both hands.
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[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Amir glanced an unreadable glance over at Brendan. Right, Davison, find people that they knew. 'Cept that didn't strike Amir as a Spielberg-standard idea, really. Us against them, when us was just everyone from New Mexico and them was a bunch of people Amir didn't know from adam, but sure as hell could be wearing the right colour bandanna? Like, Amir had friends - plural, even, and he cared about them, even if they weren't on the same team as him. On the other hand, he could also call to mind people at Davison who were in all honesty utter asshats, and Brendan saying finding people just cause they were from back home?

Man. Amir almost wanted to ask Brendan if he'd ever thought about buying a bridge.

"Eh I dunno. If you're moving around you're covering more ground yourself. Might be people just don't like the looks of a bowling alley, or don't have any slams in their jams," holding up his free hand. "Not that I'm telling you to get lost or anything. Just saying, might be a bit of a flaw in the ol' masterplan."

The other kid - Soren, spoke up. Oklahoma... huh. Some ways away. Amir puffed out his chest. "I am Amir," he intoned. "I hail from the lands of Atlantis, beneath the sea. Tremble mortal, before the wrath of my trident."

"Atlantis is better known as New Mexico, fun facts."
~*~

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[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
A voice quietly whispers from Amir's collar.

"Yo, Pusseidon. You got a pretty sweet gig right now. These two don't look the type to hurt you soon, so you can hang out here for a while. That said, don't stay too long with them, it's not smart."
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Maybe Amir was right. Maybe Brendan would have better luck if he went searching himself. But he didn't want to go back out into the cold and wander aimlessly. Staying would work fine.

Brendan bowled with Soren for a while. The kid looked like he barely knew how to play, but Brendan didn't mind too much. It was better than being alone. He went to lie down on the bench after playing a few games. Nobody else had come in, unfortunately. He was beginning to get a bit anxious. Where was everyone? What were they doing? There were definitely people who were already dead set on killing. Brendan wasn't dumb enough to think everyone would be peaceful, but he at least had faith that his friends wouldn't turn into murderers so soon. By the time the announcements came on, he was pretty damn nervous. Chances were that some people he'd known would be dead. Maybe someone he was close to. Ritzy started reading off the names and... what the fuck?

How the hell had Davis died first? He was strong. He could take care of himself. Who the fuck was Jewel Evans? Who the fuck kills two people right off the bat?Then Ritzy announced Isaiah's death. And Lucy's. Three of Brendan's friends dead in the first few hours. While he was bowling.

"Fuck, fuck!" he shouted. Brendan threw off his bowling shoes and tied his sneakers back on, and picked up his bag from where he had left it on the floor. This had been a mistake. He had to find Matt, Aidan and the rest. Before they were killed, too.

Brendan turned to Soren. All but one of the deaths was a Davison student. And aside from that asshole Munez and that Italian girl, all of the killers were from Soren's school. Brendan didn't know what the hell was going on with the Oklahoma kids, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to tell the killers from the innocents if he ran into any more of them.

"Soren!" he shouted. He might have come off as aggressive, but he wasn't exactly paying attention to his tone.

"What can you tell me about Jewel and Alice? What do they look like?" Brendan wouldn't be able to remember all of the Oklahoma killers. Those two were the only ones he really cared about. He didn't know what he'd do if he met either of them, but he sure as hell would to know who they were.
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MurderWeasel
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[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Jewel Evans continued from Boyhood))

"Alice is this little shy girl, brown hair, short, looks like she's maybe thirteen. Jewel's a really slutty blond cheerleader," said Jewel, from over by the bowling alley's entrance.

She was the first killer and the only one to manage two in the first few hours, it turned out, and the position this left her in was interesting. As the music had played, Jewel had made her way further from the daycare center. Before that, because she had heard gunfire after her departure, she had turned around and lurked near the center, trying to figure out if Yagmur had executed Colin—which would have pissed her off—or if Colin had turned the tables for some reason—which would have been pleasantly intriguing. When the announcements came on, the daycare center became a danger zone and her hypotheticals were both debunked, so she headed towards the bowling alley which was right next door and also the most interesting sounding thing on the map she'd finally found in her pack while waiting.

She arrived just in time to hear the yelling, making her way in through the doors and standing quietly. Ritzy had rumbled that Jewel had an axe but had fortunately neglected to mention it was attached to a gun, which was really the more obvious part of the weapon at a glance. The people in this room were Søren Rosendahl who was a skinny Christian kid who struck Jewel as spineless, nervous, and nice and also two bigger boys she didn't know, who were thus from wherever those other kids had been from; she couldn't remember.

She had at first been cold while walking outside, but her pace had quickened in time with the music even though Queen was lame, and now she could feel the slightest trickle of sweat down the back of her neck and she could feel each of her breaths, and they had that burn that came with moving but not moving enough to really be fatigued or tired. She'd at least remembered finally to take out her stud and her earrings and slip them into her pack, which made her a little more comfortable though slightly less fashionable.

"I hope you don't mind me helping," she added. She took a couple steps further into the room and showed the boys her teeth. "I think I know them better than Søren does. They're bitches."

She winked at Søren but wasn't sure he could see it.
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A voice quietly whispers from Jewel's collar.

"Someone over here likes to play risky! I'd be a bit more mad over you not listening to me earlier if you hadn't produced such provocative results. I wouldn't want to infringe on your creative process, but always be sure to have an exit plan. Last time you were being dumb and got caught up by that Yagmur person. You're gambling again, but now with higher stakes against you."
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Skraal
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Jewel had killed two people. There was an armed killer in the room with them. Søren's heart pounded in his chest as he examined the newcomer. He wasn't really close to her back at school, but he had heard a lot of bad rumours about her. He wasn't really one to gossip, but now it was looking like the stories about her were true after all. And now, she was not only lying, but asking him to help her cover up her guilt.

He clenched his hands tightly as he thought. As much as he would like to avoid conflict, he just couldn't lie like that. It was wrong, and he wasn't going to just compromise his principles for anyone, let alone someone like her. He took a deep breath as he prepared himself to speak.

"Wait, that's not right, Jewel. You're not a cheerleader."

He cringed inwardly as he took a step back, anticipating the ensuing conflict.
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[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Amir tipped his head to the side as his collar started to speak. He'd... he'd actually forgotten about the entire mentor thing, until just now. And he called himself a TV buff. Soren and Brendan were distracted with the bowling, so they didn't appear to notice as he listened to the voice. Amir sort of hoped he'd be able to place it, that it would be someone you know... someone cool, but no such luck. It just sounded like a guy, youngish at that.

"Thanks, mission control," he muttered quietly in reply. "Your sage and wise advice which I had in no way thought of or considered has been noted."

Amir straightened up and hopped onto a counter. It was weird to think it, but he'd always sort of wanted to just be behind the counter of a store or whatever, like it was this forbidden place you weren't supposed to go. Obviously nobody was going to be there, but the lack of people was, well, strange. Like a ghost town. He sat there for a while, watching the other two bowl.

The PA crackled to life.

And the names hit like a crashing punch to the gut.

"Fuckballs," Amir managed. That was people, actual people. And friends at that; the waffle night was still enshrined in legend. Fuck. Wow.

Brendan flipped, Amir couldn't blame him; he he himself had been next to a table he might have tipped it over. Isaiah, Davis, they both played football with Brendan, and now they were dead. Finito. Deceased. Passed on.

This was getting kind of morbid.

A goth-looking girl strolled on in like she hadn't a care in the world, answering Brendan's accusing questions to Soren.

"Thank you goth-looking girl from nowhere, you're sure-"

Soren dropped the bombshell that this was, in fact, Jewel.

Well, shit.

Amir slid off the counter, behind it. Man, look at him, rebelling and everything. The trident leaned against the surface, whilst his hand swept underneath, looking for something that he could use. Distraction? Weapon?

His fingers found something.

...

Shoe.
~*~

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