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Hi Kids! Do You Like Violence?; this is probably a private thread but if for whatever reason you really wanna join this just PM me i guess
Topic Started: Aug 19 2017, 08:02 AM (2,007 Views)
The Yugetnam War
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best officer on the force
[ *  *  *  * ]
To be honest, Maxwell wasn’t entirely sure why he’d wanted to go outside the cabin.

It had been safe in there. Even as person after person came through the door - came into the room - Maxwell didn’t have to worry for his life, Maxwell could have still pretended - even if only for brief moments - as if everything was as it used to be. Now that he was out here, he couldn’t feel the same way. He couldn’t think - even for a moment - that he was safe out here, in the open air. As he heard the gunshots in the distance, as he heard the cracks in the air, he had moved with Brandon. Exploring this island. Trying to see if there were any other buildings like the cabin they had been in.

Hoping every time they turned a corner they didn’t see anybody. No wannabe psychopaths. Nobody with a gun pointed at them.

But for now, they weren’t moving. They were here. The lighthouse in the distance had been a far distance away from where any of the tunnels were, but the two of them had managed well enough in getting here. Honestly, taking the entire group here seemed impractical from the get to - if they couldn’t get here from the tunnels, then wouldn’t it be better to go to the buildings they had seen earlier? - but it was the place that Brandon had decided they should check out first, so off they went. To the place furthest away from where they once were, according to the map.

And admittedly, there was a sense of fear crawling up his back right now.

And admittedly, Maxwell didn’t know why he had made the decision to exit.

But it had been his choice. His idea. If he sent others to do what he needed done, then what did that say about him? Besides, there was no point in being scared. He was here. On this island. There was nothing he could do about that.

And if he were to be the winner of this game, if he were to be the one deemed the fittest, then he couldn’t let emotion rule him. He couldn’t let fear stop him from doing what needed to be done.

It had been his decision.

Now was the time for him to act on it.

He walked forward. Towards the edge of the cliff. Saw the fence in front of him.

Saw the rocks and sea below.

And he knew that if he stepped forward, if he put his weight on it, this fence would not stop him from falling down to the rocks and sea below.

He let that image rule his head, for a few seconds. He let those emotions reign. Let his fears be heard.

And once he did that, once he knew what he had to do, he spoke. Asked a question to the man behind him.

“Baxter, do you think that there are some people here who have already died?”
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decoy73
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[ *  *  * ]
((Female Student #32: Sarah Miller: RE-START))

This sucked. Mr. Dolph was dead - which she had to witness, and now she had to fight to the death while Lo-jacked. The book she had was useless - no protection, and Lovecraft was not known for his inspirational material. She'd woken up nearby about fifteen minutes prior, and she was just peachy. All she had to do was kill everyone. Who cared about the moral or technical quandaries of exactly how and if she was supposed to do so?

So here she was, asking the hard questions?

Will I be able to kill someone if I had to?

Would I be able to stomach it if I could?

Why did I let Mom and Dad convince me to wear a swimsuit as underwear?


Sarah just huffed as she fiddled around with the bandana around her neck. It had been a whim when she put it on, but now it seemed like a godsend - it didn't actually remove or deactivate the collar, but it did cover it, which kinda helped her keep her head from blowing off if, no, when she got pissed.

Am I fucked? Yeah, pretty likely.
Second Chances 2
Male Student #18: Zubin Wadia Status: ACTIVE; Weapon: Franchi SPAS-12
Female Student #32: Sarah Miller Status: ACTIVE; Weapon: The Complete Works of H.P. Lovecraft Hardback Edition

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The Homeless Bearde
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"Two plus two is four, minus one is three quick maths"
[ *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((From.))

"We probably won't know until morning," came the bigger boy's response, the table leg twirling idly in his hand. They'd walked in silence for the most point, the odd this way and huff of breath the only sounds accompanying them on their trek. Along the way, he'd pulled his map out, muttered to himself, shifting it as they moved across the island.

Occasionally, he'd squint back in the direction of the cabin, but didn't voice his thoughts.

His mouth had tightened in a small movement when Maxwell had asked, but he kept his eyes on the piece of paper, studying the jagged cliff face represented there. Without looking at Maxwell, he continued.

"Did you see it? Last time?"
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The Yugetnam War
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best officer on the force
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He almost felt like an idiot for asking that question.

“I suppose so,” Maxwell said, his head still looking out over the sea. Was that something the man on the bus had said? Maxwell… wasn’t entirely sure. Admittedly, he hadn’t been the most attentive during those particular moments. Admittedly, he had felt paralyzed, fearful, too trapped in his own head to really be able to focus on what the man was saying in front of him. He had gotten enough of what he said then, though. His class was going to be transported to an island. His class would be unable to escape, unless they happened to be the last one still alive. If they tried going against that rule, the metal band around their necks would kill them.

But it seemed that he didn’t understand enough of this place.

And that… bothered him.

And although it was, although Maxwell in particular needed to know how this place worked, it wasn’t an issue.

Not at all.

He shook his head as Baxter asked his question. Turned around.

Saw the girl standing behind him.

“...Sarah, right?”
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Cicada Nights
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me_irl
[ *  *  * ]
"... But yeah, dude, I think men like Mr. Dolph would go to heaven. He was a good teacher..."

Paris spoke to himself a bit, or he spoke to the person still following him.

((Paris Ardennes continued from The Land of Shadow))

"I'm just saying."

Paris had plenty more to say, though he wasn't sure how much of it was relevant. Ultimately he didn't really want to talk about the situation as it were too much. Plans, fears, those sorts of things seemed like a waste of time. His own two feet led them where they would, and Paris didn't know himself where that was.

He drunk in the scent of the ocean with deep, calm rises of his chest. He listened to the crunch of dry topsoil underneath his boots with each step, for a few more steps until he saw a few figures a way up the fence he'd been following. Paris waved casually, then approached until he was a respectful ways behind the girl with the purple hoodie, gazing over her shoulder.

"Maxwell!" Paris paused, figuring people would need a second if they hadn't noticed him approaching. The gun stayed visible, pointed right at the ground. "Am I interrupting anything? We all cool up here?"
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jimmydalad
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That Guy
[ *  *  *  * ]
((Aria Samuels continued from The Land of Shadow))

"Ok, ok. Mr. Dolph's going to heaven. Not like I said he wasn't."

Whenever it came to religion, Aria knew it was just best to go along with what Paris said. He really didn't give a fuck about God or any religious figures, but he remembered one time where Paris went on what felt like an entire sermon and wanted to avoid that. In a way, it was nice to hear Paris talking about religion, even in the context of their dead teacher. It was almost fucking normal, or at least as normal as things were gonna fuckin' get around here.

He really didn't want to interfere too much with Paris's vibe, even though he was nervous about where they were going. After all, Aria seemed to be going in a fucking big old circle, straight back to the fucking cliffs. That meant having another chance encounter with the psycho girl with the gun. Though that probably would be something right up Paris's alley, Aria personally would've much preferred staying the fuck away from that particular brand of crazy.

"Lombardi." Aria droned quietly to himself.

His grip tightened on his trumpet. He almost wished the psycho girl was still here. At least she'd possibly kill fucking Maxwell Lombardi. Asshole extraordinaire, he easily was one of the biggest assholes at school, which was a fucking accomplishment with the likes of Adumbis existing. One of the main kids who made his life hell, Aria had no love lost for the fucking red-haired head-up-his-own-ass jerk. He pretty much ignored Baxter and Sarah. They couldn't compare to the utter loathing he had for Lombardi.

Paris was friendly with him, however, so he elected not to shout obscenities at the fucking asshole. Instead, he was content to just glare angrily at him.
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The Yugetnam War
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best officer on the force
[ *  *  *  * ]
For all Maxwell knew, Sarah could have given a response to his greeting. For all Maxwell knew, Baxter could have expressed confusion, asked why Maxwell had just responded the way he did.

But there were other things. More important things to pay attention to. Two more shapes in the distance, one of which being of a person Maxwell considered very important.

Well, at the very least, more so than the other people here.

Paris Ardennes - like Maxwell - was one of the more popular kids at P.J Hobbs Senior High School. Paris Ardennes - like Maxwell - was also interested in social climbing, social interaction. Like Maxwell, he also knew how to talk to others, how to get from one place on the social ladder to the other. How to get… quite a lot of the girls in the school to fall in love with him. He knew the results of which tended not to be pretty - which was, for the most part, different to Maxwell’s own experiences with breaking up - but he wasn’t exactly one to judge. He wasn’t exactly one who could mock the fact that Paris himself was fairly vulnerable to the girls of this high school.

But that part of Paris wasn’t one that benefited Maxwell to think about. The part of Paris that did effect Maxwell was his particular status. As a fellow combatant. As Maxwell’s friend.

Someone who could serve as a benefit to Maxwell, if he played his cards right.

He stepped forward. Smiled as Paris greeted him, as Aria - uninteresting, to be honest someone Maxwell had never talked to all that much - stood behind him.

Decided to give a reply on his own.

“No. Me and Baxter had only just noticed Sarah here.”

He paused. Took another step forward.

“It’s good to see you again.”
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Cicada Nights
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me_irl
[ *  *  * ]
Maxwell front and center, Paris nodded in recognition. Definitely a familiar sort of face, that one. Paris checked out the scene, as it stood. Aria over here, Maxwell over here, other people over there.

Paris tentatively massaged the bloody mess on his shoulder and grit his teeth, then he smiled.

"Good to see you too, but like. Better circumstances and all." Paris glanced the way of the distant pillar of the lighthouse rising from the earth, then began to slowly drift towards it, his shoes scrunching earth underneath. He got the sense that he should check that building out at some point or another, it dominated the horizon so it probably had a decent vantage point or something strategic like that.

"These all the people you've found so far? Not asking you to kiss and tell though." Paris segued into his next thought without delay. "I'm going to check out the way to the lighthouse, see if it's clear. We'll probably head there next."

And so he went, and the others all just did whatever.
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The Yugetnam War
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best officer on the force
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“We have some others in a… more secure location,” Maxwell said, taking his steps to follow Paris. “We’re hoping just to take a quick trip away from them, to… see what this island is like for ourselves, I guess.”

He watched Paris as he led the way towards the lighthouse. Saw the blood, the injury on his shoulder. Winced, slightly. Admittedly, Maxwell had seen gore before, but they’d been the gore of animals. Of… things. Not humans. Not people Maxwell happened to care about.

But he supposed he would have to see it, wouldn’t he? If he were to win, if he were to be the one deemed the fittest, he would have to kill. He would have to be the one who spilled blood.

Obviously though, that could wait. Right now, he supposed the main thing- the main person he should be worrying about was Paris. There was blood on his shoulder. A gun in his hands. Obviously the injury in itself was a worry - even if somebody had bandaged it up - but the question was more in line with context. How did Paris get that injury? How had he gotten his shoulder opened up this early? Maxwell wasn’t sure, but it felt… off. Suspicious. Admittedly, part of that was because of what Paris was like, what Paris had done before now. Moments at parties, where he had suddenly tried to set Maxwell up with a girl. Moments at the cafeteria, where he had gotten some of the… less intellectually capable people in the school to do what he wanted for him.

Moments across the school, where he seemed to be able to just string people along with a snap of his fingers.

And Maxwell knew that it wasn’t smart to make his distrust known.

And Maxwell knew that trust between them - between him and everyone he had met so far - was essential to his continued survival.

But he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t shake off the feeling. He couldn’t help but have his eyes trail to the blood on Paris’ shoulder.

So, after a moment of deliberation, he decided to make his distrust known.

“What happened to your shoulder?”

He looked around. Tried to see if the expressions on anyone else’s face had changed.

As it turned out, he was alone.

And as he noticed that the others were a considerable ways back, he began to feel a sense of worry crawling up his arms.
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Cicada Nights
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me_irl
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'Secure location' was kinda vague, like it was with people Paris knew sometimes being all kinds of vague and talking a lot about stuff in particular. Paris chose not to question it, at some point forgot what his question would have been anyways, he kept walking.

Paris shoved the barrel of the gun into his jeans, so the handle stuck out. It also made the fabric around his hip a bit tight, and he waddled and shimmied, crab walked a bit to adjust.

"Some guy attacked me." What had that guy's name been again? "He robbed Soren- you remember Soren, right?- robbed him of his gun and.. and ran off after he hit me with a sword for trying to intervene. Now I dunno where any of them are."

Paris glanced back at the others beginning to shrink and melt away into the distance as he and Maxwell continued ambling down the slopes.

"Anyways I have to find Soren again and help him out just in case. And, you know, guys like the guy that attacked him. We have to watch out, and warn others. It's you and me, Maxwell. You know?" Paris sighed a bit. There was some sort of weight somewhere balanced on his shoulders, wounded or otherwise. "It's going to be hard but someone has to do it. Why not us, you know?"
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The Yugetnam War
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best officer on the force
[ *  *  *  * ]
And as it turned out, Paris had been injured trying to help somebody else.

And as it turned out, Maxwell had been worrying for nothing.

And that had happened before, hadn’t it? Back at the cabin, when Baxter had initially entered the cabin. When Daniel spoke, indicating that he was still alive. He had worried for the worst, back then, and both times - three times now - his worries had been unfounded. Daniel hadn’t been dead, Baxter hadn’t been a threat and Maxwell had just been standing there, annoyed that he had been wary for nothing. Was he always going to fear the worst from now on? To be honest, Maxwell wasn’t sure, but it was… annoying, how that tended to happen. How he always seemed to want to imagine the worst, only for something less bad to settle in.

Did that mean that he wanted the worst to happen?

Did he want Daniel to be dead?

Did he want the people he met - Baxter, Paris - to attack him?

The answer was no, but to be honest, he wasn’t sure.

That didn’t matter, though. He could push that away. Think about it later, if he needed to.

Right now all he needed to do was consider Paris’ offer. His suggestion. One that suggested being heroic. One that suggested working with him.

One that - admittedly - went against Maxwell’s own plans, although that wasn’t necessarily something Paris had to know. All he had to do was talk. Act as if he was interested in this.

Act as if this conversation was in the halls of the school, rather than on the cliffs of this island.

“Do you really think that we’re the only two who would…” he said, shaking his head slightly. “...who could help others?”
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Cicada Nights
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me_irl
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"Anyone could, but we can only trust ourselves to get it done for sure. Everyone else that's all up to them."

Paris stopped for a moment, at a section of the fence right by the cliffside. He tentatively hung a hand off the rungs, pressing the rusty metal a bit into his flesh. It felt kind of unstable, like it'd give out and let him fall if he pushed any harder. He pushed a bit anyways, feeling the shifting weight, testing it with the assumption that it wouldn't give out.

"I mean what are your plans, anyways? If you've got a better idea, or like, need to focus on protecting those people in your hideout, I'd understand." Paris would understand, definitely.

He wouldn't approve so much, but that was just how it was.
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The Yugetnam War
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best officer on the force
[ *  *  *  * ]
“Right. Right.”

He paused as Paris did. Looked at him as he stroked his hands over the fence overlooking the cliffs. Listened as Paris posed his question. His suggestion that the both of them do good. Try to help others now that they were both on here.

But that wasn’t what Paris was suggesting. That wasn’t what Paris was asking. It was a simple question, really. What was Maxwell doing on this island?

And Maxwell supposed that it was an easy answer as well. Maybe not one Paris would like, but it was one he had to give.

One he had to say if he wanted to make things clear. For himself. For the others. For the people on the cameras.

“I’m not sure of the specifics as of yet, but…”

He paused. Looked to the lighthouse. Looked back to the group of people talking in the distance.

Felt the knife in his pocket become heavier than it’d felt before.

“I know I don’t want to die here. I know I don’t want to let them kill me.”
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Cicada Nights
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me_irl
[ *  *  * ]
"Well duh."

One last clanging rattle and Paris disengaged his hand from the still standing fence.

"That's what everyone wants isn't it? No one wants to die, like. Not yet, not when we're so young and meaningful still."

Paris now had two free arms, which he crossed and tucked slightly under his ribs. He gazed out into the deep expanses of the ocean.

"It's why I'm doing what I'm doing, you know? And why you're going to be doing what you're going to be doing."

Paris glanced at Maxwell with a slight shrug hunching his shoulders.

"What do you think is going to happen? With all of this, I mean. How it all ends."
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The Yugetnam War
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“I suppose so.”

And that was true, wasn’t it? Maxwell wasn’t the only person on this island who wanted to live. No. He wasn’t. Baxter, Yasmin, Lyndi, whoever else happened to be here, he was sure that they all wanted to live. He was sure that nobody on this island wanted to die here.

And he was sure that there were people who were willing to do anything to live and see another day.

People - just like him - who were willing to do whatever it took if it meant they could live.

And what would Maxwell do to those people if they crossed his path?

What exactly would he do if they decided to put themselves in his way?

He didn’t know. He’d think about it later along with all the other things he seemed to be carrying under this new mantra of his.

Right now though, he’d walk. Behind Paris, the lighthouse within viewing distance of the two. To be honest, he wasn’t entire sure of what they’d do when the both of them got there. Explore? Scavenge? Talk? The possibilities seemed endless, and until the two of them entered that building it couldn’t be told which possibilities were valid and which weren’t, whether the lighthouse was safe or if it was a deathtrap.

He sighed.

He supposed he would have to rely on familiar ground. These cliffs. The person asking a question in front of him.

Familiar ground, familiar possibilities, he supposed.

“I don’t know how this game will end, but…”

He paused. Considered what he was about to say for a brief moment.

“I know that not everyone here is just going to lay down and die. I know that there are people who are… actively going to try and achieve victory.”

Another pause. Then:

“I suppose the both of us are going to have to stop these people, aren’t we?”
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