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I Am The Lie, I Am The Liar; Warning: insect abuse
Topic Started: Aug 11 2017, 07:15 AM (1,028 Views)
Espi
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((Clio Gabriella: Tentativo Due))

This is the tale of a crazy, full-of-herself bitch who gets in over her head and-

Fuck off. Nobody wants to hear you whine.

Excuse me? You are not one to talk, Miss 'Endless font of rage at nothing in particular'.

Oh yeah? Well at least I'm not a stuck-up brat who bitches out everyone around her to cover up that she's a huge fucking-

...On second thought, the attempt at self-introspection and criticism could wait. Honestly, she had better things to be upset about. Not that she wanted to introspect too much on the whole 'oh no I must kill my classmates to survive' thing, though. That was a whole other can of worms. Clio wasn't in denial, of course, but it seemed like mentally easing herself into the situation gently would be more beneficial than freaking out and crying or whatever the other people were probably doing.

Her bag was plopped on the ground, having already been thoroughly manhandled in the process of Clio's initial investigation. She had experienced a brief moment of impending hysteria when she struggled with the zipper, but she quelled it quickly. The insolent duffel was closed and mostly the same, though she'd pulled the machete out and wait where had it gone.

Where was her machete. Clio looked around at the ground, but saw no telltale glimmer of metal in her area. She'd definitely taken it out of the bag and not put it back. Oh Lord, what if she hadn't? Was she already losing it? How could she possibly handle this if she was going to start becoming delusional almost instantly?!

...Wait it was in her hand. The speed of Clio's breathing returned to normal, only to begin hastening itself as soon as she realized her whole 'keep-calm-and-carry-on' thing was looking real dubious right now. Her face was probably burning red, and her fingers hurt from how she clenched her fists. She was embarrassed and hurt, and she was angry.

Her muscles were all tense and she felt trembles running through her limbs. Her stomach was tight and she felt sick. Clio knew all too well the symptoms of a genuine table-flipping tantrum, and normally she'd rush herself to the gym and start punching something right about now but the only thing to hit in sight was trees and she didn't want to break her hands again anytime soon.

She spied the mantis when the tall, slender stem of the purple-flowered plant wobbled unexpectedly in the other-wise gentle breeze. It was a big, alien-looking praying mantis perched just under the flower. It was quite large, and that sudden realization that there was an insect right in front of her, she reacted before she even thought better of it.

Swinging the machete as though it were a flyswatter, she saw the unprepared insect vanish in the rush of steel as the stalk was brutally cleaved in two. Clio suddenly found herself standing very still, almost as if posed in place, until she saw the cleaved and crushed remains of the bug land a moment later near her left foot.

That same foot then lashed out, stamping the poor innocent bug into the dirt with a swift strike, even grinding it in with her shoe. Clio gasped abruptly, and then delivered another stomp, and then another, becoming more and more frantic until she was gasping loudly and smashing the long-passed arthropod as though it were a stubborn campfire out of control.

She was out of control. That was enough of a wake-up call that Clio froze, leg lifted in preparation for another hit. She was so stunned by this readily apparent revelation that she lost her balance and fell backward, landing flat on her ass.

"Motherfucker!" Clio squealed. Staying seated for only a moment, her expression of fury and hatred quickly melted away into horror and despair. Clio pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her shins, and lowered her head.

The machete slipped from her hand and thumped quietly against the dirt as she began to sniffle. Soon, as her prized intellect continued to tie itself in knots in a futile effort to hold herself together, Clio began to truly weep.
TV2: Died, Didn't Do


SC2: Attempt Number Deux
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((Theodore's not home right now. Please leave a message after the tone.))

It's okay. It's okay. Everything's fine. It's a dream, or, or something. Something. It doesn't matter. I'm not moving. I'm not ever moving. Not again.

Theo's eyes hadn't opened since he'd woken up. Fear. Stubbornness. Shock. Call it whatever you want. He hadn't moved despite the tickling of flowers against his nose and the breeze running over his body. There was no way of knowing where he was or what had happened, but as long as he didn't acknowledge his environment at all he could be anywhere.

I had a bad fall. Over a fence or something. I hit my head, and I had a crazy hallucination, and someone is gonna come get me in a bit and everything is gonna be okay.

Except I didn't fall. I don't remember being at school. I don't remember climbing anything. I remember being on the trip.

I remember Mr. Dolph being shot. I remember that I'm gonna die just like him.

He tried to talk himself in circles again and again but it was going nowhere. It wasn't distracting him anymore. In the distance...no, that was too kind. Too safe. It was close. Screaming, and metal tearing through plants. Someone was here, and they were angry, and they were much, much louder than his own thoughts.

Theo didn't open his eyes. He curled into a tighter ball among the flowers and tried not to cry.

Tried. Not succeeded. That's probably important.
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((Bridgette Sommerfeld continued from Lord of the Luz))

Bridgette left the mess hall walking north, but somewhere along the way, she’d strayed too far west. She now found herself in a vast, colorful meadow that had taken her breath away when she’d first stumbled upon it. For an island of death and destruction, it sure was beautiful. A part of Bridgette wished that she’d gone outside more, and enjoyed views like this when she wasn’t being hunted.

Not a lot happened during her hike. The only event of note was the accidental firing of her knife as she rested on a tree stump, nicking her thumb and making a notch in a tree several feet away. Normally she’d find the situation novel, but Bridgette was just happy that her weapon was a lot more useful than she thought it was. The rest of her hike was spent in solitude, grappling with whether or not she could take another person’s life. She briefly considered taking the moral high ground, but Bridgette valued her own life over a guilty conscience. If she wasn’t going to kill, someone else would. Like the shooter back at the mess hall. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do when she finally met another person, but Bridgette thought she’d figure it out when she got there.

And as she waded through the flowers, she realized that the time had come.

A girl was nearby. Bridgette wasn’t good at identifying voices just from one curse and some crying, but it definitely sounded somewhat familiar. But familiarity didn’t matter at a time like this. All that mattered was that someone was nearby, and seemingly unaware of their surroundings. Bridgette crouched as she decided her next course of action. Could she just attack someone unprovoked? The shooter back in the mess hall had attacked unprovoked, so if she wasn’t going to, someone else would. And besides, Bridgette thought as she squeezed the knife, it’d make good practice for a real fight later on.

Bridgette crept through the wildflowers, slowly making her way towards where she thought the girl was. The whimpering grew louder as she approached, and her determination faltered. Before she psych herself back up, Bridgette’s foot caught on something, and she fell flat on her face.

“Shi-” Her hands immediately flew over her mouth as she froze up, continuing the string of curses in her head. She’d botched up her sneak attack, and now she had just given away her position. Oh god, she’d also dropped the knife when she fell. Bridgette ran her free hand frantically across the dirt, searching for the only thing that could keep her alive.
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((Continued))

Setting fire to the whole field was an idea that danced around her head like flames themselves.

Payment for the loss of her board. A petty daydream and nothing more even though she had the means to make it reality.

Her bag had contained four molotov cocktails.

In the end though nothing would be solved and her board would still be gone.

So it was not a plan she stock in or considered like an idea thrown at during group work to fill the silence. The molotov's being her only line of defence, needed to be preserved. They were her lifelines, her fireflies.

So they were left in her bag to gently clink together with every step she made.

G19 her bag had said. Ironically an age she wasn't going to see. A number that existed to be a target just out of reach. An object on a high shelf, close enough to scrape with her fingertips but never truly grasp.

The clearing was approaching and with it the yelling and cursing had grown louder before stopping to be overtaken by sobs. The sudden switch of emotions as the various stages of dealing with their situation washed over someone. She couldn't relate. The strange sense of calm that flowed through her own body was different, a boon granted to her for reasons she couldn't ascertain.

Still, there was nothing to lose. The worst case scenario was that she met sooner rather than later. He had places reserved for all of them and it wouldn't matter to him which order they arrived in just as long as they arrived.

Another person broadcast their presence. Moving quicker she approached the new sound, finding, to her surprise a girl with skin the colour of peach, crawling in the dirt, looking for something. Metaphors could have been used but their application was expected. No, she didn't need to elaborate on the situation.

Instead she sat down in front of the girl, knees up, arms resting on them.

"What have you lost?"
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Physically, Clio was already wrecked by the time she looked up from her pitiful posture on hearing voices of others, with smeared, tear-run makeup and a puffy red face, making crude gasping noises as she sobbed. She was not an attractive crier, to to say the least.

Of course, it wasn't like her appearance mattered right now. The thought almost made her smirk bitterly, and another surge of anger compelled her to stumble up to her feet, machete in hand. Did anything matter now? Her whole life was pointless now, with no existing accomplishments and no future to aspire to. For God's sake, hadn't she had enough shit in her life? She wasn't exactly a miserable street rat or anything, but it wasn't like she'd had some idyllic existence.

Clio frowned. That whole train of thought was bullshit, though. It didn't matter who was here or why. This wasn't karma, or divine intervention or anything stupid like that. So what was it? Just random fucking chance that it was her of all people that ended up here?

She didn't talk about being Catholic a lot. It was usually either awkward or ended in an argument whenever it got mentioned, so she didn't bring it up. She wasn't very orthodox, really; she didn't care if people wanted to use condoms or be gay or whatever people bitched about these days. Judging someone for being a prick was one thing; why bother picking fights when it has nothing to do with you? If God doesn't believe in the gays or whatever, that's their problem, not hers. That kind of thing described her whole philosophy, really; life on Earth was supposed to be like, yeah, do your thing, if you're a douchebag you can get fucked and if not you'll be fine. Shitty stuff happens, but everyone gets justice in the end, right?

So basically yes, it was stupid bad luck that the tiny percentage of people who were here now and before included her, but that applied to everyone else in this, right? It wasn't like anyone was out to get her, specifically, not that that was much comfort but whatever.

Clio was still kind of pissed off, actually, since slapping reason into herself only solved so much. The big picture of His Plan and all didn't help her right now, stuck in a goddamned flower field with...who was that? Clio shaded her eyes and squinted across the plain. The blonde person looked like that one skater chick, Kris? There were always jokes about skaters and their boards, and with Kris some were probably true. The one on the ground was harder to ID.

She briefly considered trying to strategize an entrance, see what was up before talking to them, but fuck that. She fumbled briefly with her bag before awkwardly slinging it over her shoulders like a backpack. Less than convenient, but weighing down one shoulder would be worse. "Hey!" Clio yelled, a little more aggression in her tone than necessary but it wasn't like she was running at them with a bazooka or something. Her pace wasn't exactly a charge, and while she did have the machete, if people were going to start freaking out at whatever then who cared? She might as well have a box of chocolate for all the peacekeeping that'd do.

She stopped about fifteen feet from the two, passing the sword to her other hand so she could rest her dominant one. Glancing between the two, she looked down at Bridgette, who seemed to be scrambling on the ground. "Uh..." Starting to speak, Clio noticed a more immediate sound.

"Who the fuck else is crying?" She asked, looking around but not spotting anyone immediately.
TV2: Died, Didn't Do


SC2: Attempt Number Deux
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G10 – PANYA BISHARA: START

Panya Bishara stared at her designated bag, and her bag stared right back at her.

The ‘G10’ in white lettering on the side of her bag still irked her. She didn't know what sort of ranking system these people were using, but there was no way she wasn't in the top four, at the very least. And even then, she had to admit she was being modest. The notion that there were nine other girls from their school these people thought were better than her was laughable.

Her bag might have said ‘G10’ on it, but Panya knew there was no way she wasn’t coming out on top this time, even with the ‘game’ she’d been tasked with playing. Panya knew she had a cast-iron stomach – she’d grown up on all sorts of exotic dishes from both her father and mother and had never had any trouble with them – but the sheer thought of offing someone she knew sent knots through her chest and bile rising in her throat.

Panya really hadn’t thought much about her classmates or how they must be reacting to the situation they’d all been tossed into. But as she trudged into the field and saw, from a distance, Clio “Look at this ’cute’ (i.e. ‘hideous’) top I stitched up!” Gabriella shrieking at some other figures, it all started to trickle in. They’d all die except for her. That really wasn’t a pleasant thought.

Panya hadn’t formed a long term plan yet, but it was still early days and she hadn’t even opened her bag yet. (And that was not at all because doing so might just let the reality of the situation set in – dramatic reveals were her speciality!) At the very least, she knew she’d have to eventually find this elusive ‘G01’ and swap bags with her (or steal, depending on how cooperative she was). The unwieldy canvas rucksack was hardly the most fashionable of items, but if she was going to be plied with it, the writing on the side ought to match the status of its owner.

Number One. The centre of attention. The star.

Panya always knew she was a star – she’d just needed the right opportunity to let everyone else know it.

She just never thought it’d happen like this.
Current Characters:

The Program 2.5
M22 – Nicholas Rogers – Dark Chocolate Cheesecake
F26 – Theodora Smalls – Candelabra

Former Characters
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Don't say anything.

A long gasp for air between sobs.

Don't draw anymore attention to yourself.

A thought nibbling at the back of his head.

She'll kill you if you talk. I can't even look at her.

A belief, as naive as it is, in the goodness of other people even in the darkest situations.

She'll kill me. But I've gotta try.

People were evil. People were cruel. Theo knew, at a distance, what people were capable of, and he was often terrified by them just in the relatively safe space of normal school life. But something in him wanted to believe that even here that cruelty was an outlier. Deep down, everyone was afraid and hurting and given the right opportunity, they wouldn't lash out. Clio was coping with this way differently than he was, and she was armed, and if she proved him wrong he could die. He would die. He should die.

But he had to try.

One hand, then another, propped him up out over the flowers. His puffy eyes caught sight of Clio across the field as he tried to sit up and get his hat back on. His body was trembling almost as bad as his voice was when he forced a smile and rasped out "G-guilty as charged."
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Where was it? Bridgette furrowed her brow as she brushed away dirt, trying to search for a glint of metal. Her nerves were fraying, and she began to mutter curses to herself, anything to ease the tension that was straining her very being. Maybe that’s why she didn’t hear the footsteps.

“What have you lost?”

Bridgette looked up to see a girl’s face only a few feet away from her own. She yelped and scurried back a little bit, hastily trying to identify the newcomer. The girl’s face was familiar, though in a sort of impersonal sense. The name Kris came to mind, along with a few cursory details that were unimportant in this situation. Whoever she was before all this didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they were now competing with each other for survival, and Kris could very well kill her.

And Bridgette hoped, it was just as possible if their roles reversed.

At least Kris was calm - albeit in an eerie way that put her on edge. She wasn’t sure if she had some sort of hidden intentions or if she was just weirdly mellow. Bridgette sat there for a minute, panting and staring at the other girl, before opening her mouth to try and sputter out a reply.

“I-”

Someone else called out, a feminine voice from the direction Bridgette was headed. Now that she wasn’t on the ground weeping, she recognized her hopeful victim as Clio Gabriella. A little more familiar to Bridgette than Kris was, but still not a friend. Even if she was, any amity Bridgette harbored melted away once she spotted the machete in her hands. Clio was wielding a bigger, better version if Bridgette’s own weapon, which was still lost on the ground.

The girl’s attention drifted from Bridgette, and she took this opportunity to look back down and continue her search. Yet another voice called out at the group, this time a boy. Her heartbeat quickened as she realized how screwed over she could be. There were now four people in a field together, and in a situation like this, it could very well end up as a bloodbath. Bridgette needed to get out of here, fast.

But not without her knife.
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The girl scrambled back, like a young deer unsure what to make of a new arrival and as such reacting with the right amount of suspicion and caution.

Over the sound of the girls surprised panting she could make out more voices, more lost souls cast adrift in the purgatory that was their new island home.

She heard the cry in their direction, someone trying to attract their attention. It was a harsh almost desperate sound. She turned her head to see the girl from school with the purple highlights in their hair. She recognized her and knew who she was. She had a reputation, not that anyone's previous reputations mattered anymore. New ones would be carved out using the tools of destruction they had been supplied with.

As her gaze returned to the girl who was on the floor she spotted something glinting in the grass. Reaching forward from her seated position she plucked the knife up off the ground, it was light in her hand. She rolled it over, taking in its design before passing it back to its original owner.

Then she stood up and walked away without saying another word.

((Continued))
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[[Wendy Fischer Continued From: Princess Aquapussy]]

Vibrancy as far as the eye could see. Stark contrast to the overhanging circumstance around them.

It was incredible. Below the slight, grassy hilltop vantage from where she sat, was a vast field of flowers and for a second Wendy could only sigh in amazement. Down below there were others, frolicking through the meadows, or so it seemed. One of them had taken a tumble, disappearing straight into the rainbow beds. She wondered what they were doing, curious on the behavior. Everyone she had seen so far looked to be enjoying themselves. Fishing, frolicking, talking with friends. On the surface, everything felt just fine.

The lake girls were proof of that. On her around and away adventure from that area, she'd over heard them talk. Their tone of voice; normal, giddy, altogether friendly, but if you really listened in you'd realize what was happening. She'd caught some names, some faces on her way out, but not all of them. It was Bunny, with her gunny, holding up the budding angler who had revealed to be Sophie McDowell. Wendy hadn't stuck around to see that girls' fate. She was probably dead. It was too bad.

Wendy made her way down the knoll, she wanted to see the flowers. Wild flowers were just about the only part of science she knew about. Dad would always let her pick some during camping at the great lakes when she was a child, teaching her and pointing out ways to identify them. Nearly all flowers were beautiful, but some were more dangerous than others. Even a rose had some thorns.

One of the girls in the field savagely slashed into the plant-life with a machete. She had highlighted hair in a shade much like the petals of the familiar flower she had unceremoniously mowed down: Purple. Wendy knew who she was. Clio Gabriella - a thorny rose if she ever saw one.

Wendy heaved her bag and the cooler around, heavy as it was, but the storage was too important. She gently placed it a space within the bed, careful not to unnecessarily crush any flowers. Clio had sworn and had already moved several meters ahead, heading toward to confront the others in the meadow.

While Clio did that, Wendy went over to the area Clio had cut up. She removed her fuzzy hoodie and placed it in the bag. The aroma was lovely. Her bright pink shirt blended with the posies around her, before everything turned purple and green. Wendy's skirt had gotten caught, snagged to some thorns, tearing it at the side. She frowned, she really like that skirt, but she would have to remove it later. Find some actual pants soon as it had been non-functional, not meant for camping. A quest for later.

There was a dead mantis on the ground, cut apart, most likely the reason for Clio's attack on the plants. It always felt so silly that the other girls would get so freaked out from little bugs like this. She wondered of her friends, other girls in her class, just then. It seemed like most of them had been on the other buses, she was happy for them. Unfortunately, Felicia LaChapelle was on her bus, she'd seen her. Felicia was a good friend and it was sad to think of what would happen to her. Would she end up, chopped up like this mantis too? No, Wendy couldn't think of this. She'd need to keep cheerful, like she's always been. Find some optimism. She could do this. Couldn't let it be in vain.

For Mr. Dolph's sake.

Laying on the grass, was the chopped stock of the purple flowers, also victims of Clio's attack. Wendy picked them up one by one, examining them closely. Flora was lovely, she picked a few more, humming a tune as she placed them into her pack.
Second Chances Version 2 Characters:
B14: Kyran Dean | Alive - bandaged cheek with diagonal scar, bloody nose | Whatever (Catchphrase) in: Hero? But I'm a Kid Like Everyone Else | AK-47
G29: Wendy Fischer | Alive | Pantsless in: Carp Diem | Frozen 25lb Carp with no head (Mr. Dolph)

Sotf-TV Season 65 Flagship:
Gold Team Member #4 (SDA Male): Shawn Morrison | One with the Universe | Being Real in: Oracular Spectacular | Brian Peter George St. John Le Baptiste De La Salle Eno, The Deceased Boa Constrictor.

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Clio's hand trembled.

Theodore Fletcher appeared from the grass, confessing his pitiful behavior. On one hand, couldn't really blame him. On the other hand, was there any other guy in her class as pathetic as Theo? Dude was a joke.

Distracted by his announcement, Clio only returned her attention to Kris and Bridgette when Kris handed Bridgette something and left. Clio opened her mouth to yell at her, ignoring her like that. Clio hated being ignored. Luckily, common sense kicked in enough to know that weird skater freaks were better off anywhere but near Clio right now.

Of course, the moment of relative calm was disrupted by more arrivals. Panya Bishara of all people was lurking off to the side, and a moment later Clio spotted that blonde bimbo Wendy wandering up to the patch of flowers where Clio had been a moment ago.

Clio took a brief glance between everyone present. Girl who she hated, total loser boy, girl with lost her glasses, and fairyland girl picking violets. Clio bit her lower lip and slowly began to walk away. Embarrassment was one thing; she was embarrassed a bit, but not to the extent that drove her off. She picked up the pace to a light jog, occasionally turning her gaze just in case someone pulled out a goddamned bazooka or something. Confident she was fine to go, she picked up a brisk sprint off into the woods.

Granted, Clio had no clue what she was doing, where she was going, or how she was going to hold up, but maybe finding someone remotely competent would bolster her now that her initial freakout was out of the way.

((Clio Gabriella continued in The Noose of Time))
TV2: Died, Didn't Do


SC2: Attempt Number Deux
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((Skipping for inactivity/exit))

For a moment, it seemed like Clio might actually talk to him. Then she looked away. Then she was gone. Theo stared on dumbfounded as she ran away, unsure what exactly just had happened.

I'm not dead?

I'M NOT DEAD

But Bridgette was still searching for something in the grass, and she seemed kind of spooked. Maybe...maybe it was a good idea to get out of here. Well, there was a pretty obvious way to go about that, right? Maybe Clio was just scared like he was. And maybe she just needed a friend to see her through this whole thing.

Maybe he just really, really wanted to get out of here before Bridgette found whatever she was looking for.

"H-hey, wait up!"

((Theodore Fletcher just wants to help.))
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As she observed the tense gathering before her, Panya quickly realised that Clio, questionable fashion sense and hysterical personality aside, was by far the most interesting of the little gathering before her. Theodore Fletcher was blunter than Clio’s eyebrow pencil, but he was so whiney, and Panya wasn’t afraid to admit that she’d thought for years that Kristina Hartmann was actually a Christopher. With such short hair and dowdy outfits, who could blame her?

Lack of exciting personalities aside (she’d just have to fill in that niche herself), the small cast of characters before her did have some potential. And who knew? Maybe one of them possessed a ‘G01’-designated bag amongst their possessions.

Panya resisted the urge to pull her compact from her handbag and make sure she looked good – and let’s face it, did she really need to? Panya couldn’t think of a day in recent history where she didn’t look good – and took her first measured, deliberate steps towards the group. And then, just as she was starting to find her stride, Kris, Theo, and Clio had all decided to up and go, leaving her alone with two remaining… companions, for lack of a better word.

Wendy Fischer was sweeter than honey and about as thick as it too. And Bridgette Sommerfeld? Well, she looked… good? Nothing quite as dynamic as the other three (and even then, they were sorely lacking), but Panya liked a challenge. Something interesting would come out of the scene sprawled before her, come hell or highwater.

Panya sashayed in the direction of the two girls, and flashed them her most winning smile.

Action.

“Hello darlings,” she purred, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder, “bit of a situation we’re in, aren’t we?”
Current Characters:

The Program 2.5
M22 – Nicholas Rogers – Dark Chocolate Cheesecake
F26 – Theodora Smalls – Candelabra

Former Characters
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Kris handed the knife back to her. Bridgette stared at it for a moment before looking back up at Kris, who was walking away. It was a moment of kindness Bridgette expected back at school, but not in a place like this. From Kris’s standpoint, giving Bridgette the knife was like putting the gun back into the hands of your killer. Not that Bridgette was going to kill Kris.

But at some point, she could.

Bridgette slowly got off her hands and knees, brushing dirt off her pants as her eyes darted around. Clio was running back into the woods, and the boy in the grass was chasing after her. She wasn’t sure why he was going after an unstable girl with a machete, but Bridgette couldn’t bother to care for his well being.

At first, Bridgette assumed she was alone, but there were a few lone stragglers she’d never noticed. Some girl was picking flowers, and Panya Bishara came out of nowhere and was running her mouth, as she was wont to do back at school. Bridgette wasn’t sure if she was that stupid or in denial, but judging by her grades, she was partial towards the former.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Bridgette replied, sighing. It may still be early, but walking up to people and just talking was practically a death sentence. If Bridgette had been the shooter at the mess hall, Panya would be dead. But Bridgette wasn’t the shooter in the mess hall, firing willy nilly and making a fool of themselves.

If she was going to kill Panya, she was going to be much more covert about it.

Bridgette let the knife lay casually at her side, hoping Panya wouldn’t notice the strong grip. Her original plan had fallen through, but perhaps that was for the better. With how many people showed up, Bridgette would’ve had a lot more to deal with. Unless four of her classmates were also lying somewhere in the field, she was alone with Panya.

Well, mostly alone. Her eyes wandered over to the flower girl. She seemed harmless, but Bridgette wasn’t about to write her off completely. Who knew what she was hiding? Her attention turned back to Panya. It was tempting to take advantage of someone so oblivious of their situation, but unless flower girl wandered off, she was going to save her energy. Bridgette would rather face the best odds of victory, and that meant a one-on-one fight.

For now, she had to resort to casual conversation. Bridgette looked Panya up and down, before settling on her bag. She nodded towards it.

“Get anything decent in there?”
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Clio and Theo, the amusingly rhymeful duo, drifted away like dandelions in the wind one after another as another pretty flower, Panya, weaved her way through the beds, practically dancing, before taking root midway between Wendy and the girl who tumbled, Bridgette. Between clouds, the sunshine beamed a ray directly onto her which seemed to feed Panya, like a spotlight. Her smile was just as radiant.

"Yep, it is pretty special," Wendy had stated, with a mild smile of her own.

She went largely unheard however, as Bridgette had been standing much closer to Panya and already went for an abrupt answer, before pushing direction of the conversation to Panya's bag - cutting Wendy out entirely.

From Wendy's view point, a few meters away, Bridgette moved anxious, spoke anxious, and even her eyes looked anxious, for the split second their eyes met. Her hand rested casually to the side where Wendy could see, sunlight glinting off the knife she held.

"Oh."

Perhaps it was best to stay away from this antsy gardener.

Wendy turned and skipped her way back to Mr. Dolph's little blue housing unit. She carefully placed the bouquet of flowers to the corner of her pack, making enough room so they wouldn't be crushed as she then lifted the heavy cooler. After a seconds thought, Wendy turned back to the girls and enthusiastically waved goodbye.

Poor Panya was about to have her petals pruned.

On that note, Wendy, tiptoed her way through the tulips - another dandelion in the breeze.

[[Wendy Fischer Continued To: hOLE In eArHt swaLowS GiRL wHoLE [NSFL]]]
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