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Jess
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| Posted: Sun Jun 24, 2007 7:44 pm Post subject: |
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OOC: I'm posting this on behalf of Amy.
Merrik
Jungle//Docks
Ford, JJ, Tyler
All urgency had gone, but necessity had left its imprint on the group’s morale, voiced by JJ’s question; "From that map of yours, can you tell how far we've got left?" Merrik coerced with the map, marking with one dirty finger the point where he stood, and the annotated spot not far from them reading “Docks”. By applying basic geography to the situation, Merrik predicted that they were not far at all. And that scared him. What if he was meters away from being gunned down and buried nine foot under? If there was one thing worse than never being permitted to feast on the truth, then it would be to die on the Island. This hell hole; the place where his mind had been pushed to its internal (and to some extent, external) limits. It made it all the worse, for he could not remember the exact details of his imprisonment – what had happened, how he had been manipulated – it did not even form in his mind as a blurred image, rather, it did not appear at all. And no matter how many times he prayed today that these suppressed memories would penetrate his higher consciousness, they never did. Would they ever? Was there truly a trigger waiting a couple of miles down the jungle, or had the gun been disarmed and dissected before the soldier had a chance to seize fire?
“I don’t think we’ve got far to go, actually.” He replied to JJ, snapping out of the tight cocoon of thought which was eager to keep him in hibernation for as long as it could. He stared at the map one last time, before crunching it up in his hand and stuffing it into his pocket. March on then, was what he wanted to say – and resume at a crisp pace, eager for completion of Stage One. But he found his pace slowing down slightly, perhaps the subconscious nag that they should turn around. Maybe “Better to be on the safe side” was applicable to this excursion, and Merrik was just ignoring his common sense. Well, wasn’t that always the way? No, he would pursue what everybody had been searching for from day one, and he would relay the truths to the camp very soon. He exhaled the dead air in his lungs with a puff of his cheeks, and forced himself to accelerate.
It wasn’t so much that the hike was taking his toll on him, but nevertheless Merrik began to pant – experiencing that tiresome feeling of not having enough air circulating in one’s system. He began to realise that it was the worry of having to convince these people not to stab him in the back, because he might be doing likewise. It wasn’t that he was purposely leading them to potential meltdown, but he…He had to know. For his own sake as well as everyone else’s. He softly pep-talked himself for fuel as he pursued the map’s trail, until eventually, miraculously, he began to see the wooden structure of the docks on the horizon. It happened as a beige dot on the equator at first, which was soon accompanied by the sound and vision of the big blue ocean on his right. They were here. He licked his lips, though that only reiterated the harsh lack of moisture in the buds which caused slight pain, and slowly pulled back to a halt. He turned around to look at the other three, and nodded his head to himself. He had the motivation; he had the intent, now he had the delivery. “We’re here.” He began, raising a hand to halt the various murmurs. “I want you all to stay here, while I go check this out. I know you don’t trust me, I wouldn’t trust me if I were any of you three, but I’m not risking all four of us getting killed, ok?” he gave but a second for rebuttal, and when there was no substantial reply to be found, he nodded his head sharply once more, before turning his backs on them, and marching down the slope leading him to the plains.
The area around the docks was pretty much secluded; apart from a couple of small buildings Merrik didn’t yet acknowledge fully. The long wooden platform from land that outstretched to the sea was vacant – no boats were docked, and no sailors were present. Merrik didn’t know whether to be more afraid of jubilant at this discovery. Now noting the small structures erected next to the docks, Merrik cautiously approached them, every few seconds shooting his gaze to random parts of the area (but found no new reason to be suspicious) and entered the first abode. The small interior was packed with equipment; harpoons, lockers, and a small radio device upon a worn desk which immediately gave him false hope. He yanked the receiver from its place and pressed it against his mouth. “Hello, can anyone hear me? Hello? Hello?” nothing, but static. He gritted his teeth and threw the speaker against the wall, hastily leaving through the door he had but five minutes ago entered through.
Again in the open, he surveyed his surroundings, almost satisfied that the other three could join him. What would happen next though, he was unsure of. He smiled to himself; a radiant smile haunted with purity. He had done this, he had led them here and he had succeeded. He had –
--He had failed! It happened quickly, but surely, as Merrik felt an excruciating pain pierce the side of his neck. He dropped to his knees in a painful thud, his right hand clasping his neck. His fingers began to feel around the area. A black dart protruded from the infected area, the kind you saw spies use when they had to take down the President. A howl of pain had escaped his lips at immediate impact, yet his secondary noises of pains were released in a series of moans and yelps as he began to lose control of his body. His body stiffened, making it hard to crawl along the dirt track. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, yet sheer determination (or stubbornness) prevented him from falling unconscious just yet. “God, help me.” He whispered, as he used all his might to drag himself slowly across the ground. A pair of feet stepped in front of him; the left boot stepping on his hand so he could no longer move. Merrik dropped to his stomach; the will to squirm no longer in him as the poison coursed hungrily though his veins. Motions may have left him now; the will to move, to think, to feel – but the fear did not. The only part of his self which hadn’t numbed was his face, and so he did what came to his mind first – he prayed. “Our Father…Who art in heaven…Hallowed...Be…Thy name…”
The prayer uncompleted, but the poison not – Merrik finally let his eyelids droop forward, blinding him until further notice, and from the person whose foot crushed his arm under their weight.
Last edited by Jess on Sun Jun 24, 2007 7:46 pm; edited 2 times in total |
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Jess
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| Posted: Sun Jun 24, 2007 7:45 pm Post subject: |
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OOC: Again, on behalf of Amy.
Ben
Docks
Merrik//Others
A tough crowd to entertain, Ben decided he would not indulge his people in the story of the last two weeks, and instead allowed Tom to lead him into the communication station just a few feet from the dock. It was a small structure, hosting just a simple radio transmitter to contact the few boats the Others kept in possession, along with other essentials such as lockers full of fake beards and the glue that held their lies in place. He allowed himself to drop into the beaten leather chair, instantly lifting his cut and bruised feet from the floor with satisfaction.
He exhaled a loud sigh, closing his eyes a moment, before looking Tom squarely in the eye. He didn’t say anything; for he was sure a bombardment of questions was to be fired before Ben could ask if the plan was underway yet or not. As sure as the sun sets each night, Tom sat on the edge of the desk and folded his arms. “So…?” he began, and when Ben did not take the prompt, followed up with a, “What happened?”
Ben shook his head slightly, unsure of where to begin. “They claimed me, shot me, and imprisoned me. I suppose I should have expected less, what with James Ford a near permanent resident of the Station.” His tone was insipid, and he internally scolded himself for even talking about what he had gone through. It was unprofessional, and made him look bad – even to Tom (Who at times he felt needed the elaboration like a Dog needs to be shown how to sit and stay.) so he abruptly changed the subject.
“Whatever; Orlington and his friends, what of them?” a grin from his associate was the primarily his reply, but Tom soon found the words Ben needed to hear. They were close, excruciatingly close. This filled Ben with renewed purpose, so much so that he was willing to stand on his feet, and was willing to push his body to a new limit, simply to ensure his weeks of meticulous planning did not go to waste.
“Alright then” he said, his lips drawn into a thin line of seriousness, his intense eyes boring into Tom’s face, “I want Bea’s team ready to open fire as soon as they get here. If one or two of them approach the docks, shoot them down anyway. Contact our camp; tell Juliet and Richard to prepare the cages and locker rooms.”
He paused, his words suspended in the air waiting for Richard to absorb. In an undertone, more to himself than to his friend, he said, “This is finally going to happen.”
Three frantic knocks hit the door separating Ben and Tom from the outside, and he hastily opened the door to see Bea standing looking somewhat apprehensive. “What is it?” he asked, not concern in his voice, but annoyance. She backed away from the door slightly, and pointed far north, where the hill’s plains were swallowed by the jungle. He moved outside, clamping his hand over his forehead so the glare of sun didn’t blind or alter his vision.
Ahead he saw one lone figure, the familiar figure of Merrik, approaching. There were only fifteen of his people on the docks, but they had to be hidden immediately. Tom and Bea were already on this, and signalled all those present to get and hide in the bushes and long grass. He gave one last, lingering look to the Scot, before he too followed the rest into the camouflage.
Just as planned, Merrik was shot down by one of his men; in the neck, where the poison was inescapable and dire for a person’s prevention of escape. Phase One was complete. Now equipped with boots for his feet, Ben approached the weeding figure of Merrik and placed a heavy foot on his hand to prevent him from struggling further; it was futile. Words were not needed, just a smile, which came easily to Ben’s features as he watched Merrik finally pass out.
Taking a step back, he pointed to his left, to the green blanket that covered a large portion of the Island – and nodded. “The rest can’t be far. Find them, take them down.”
Last edited by Jess on Sun Jun 24, 2007 7:46 pm; edited 1 time in total |
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Jess
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| Posted: Sun Jun 24, 2007 7:45 pm Post subject: |
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JJ
Jungle
Merrik, Ford and Tyler & ZOMGOTHERS!!
One of the most unsettling things about this whole ordeal was that reassurance came from no where, and from no one at all. They were all doing this because they had to, temporarily lending their guiding trust to a man who could very well cross them all over. JJ could not stand being prey to circumstances and situations like this, she needed the control of the world around her; it was only during a few occasions she let go. Walking here, step after step, worry lay not with her but with the two other men with her -- Ford and Tyler. It was out of the world with its ways, but what if she could not protect them? What if something happened to them? She didn't even consider the fact that something may happen to her. Letting anything happen to them, anything at all... it was a fright new to her. It made her throat tighten, her blood's temperature drop and her skin feel prickly; she knew then that she would do anything to keep it away. Anything to protect them.
Merrik announced that they were here -- she looked at his immobile back, looking around herself. She sure as hell was not seeing any docks. “I want you all to stay here, while I go check this out. I know you don’t trust me, I wouldn’t trust me if I were any of you three, but I’m not risking all four of us getting killed, ok?” JJ wanted to protest as sure as day needed night, and by all means she would have, partly just for her being she. But he had a point, even though it was one she did not like. Still, various wants for actions formed when Merrik announced his departure -- her wanting to punch him by the temple to see if there in fact was anything within that hollow space being one thing. She despised the arrogance of the man... didn't he see they could just as well be killed in here, in the jungle, as out there? But any other protests felt without their worth now, and besides, it would be emptying energy in a direction it could not afford to be wasted now. They needed to focus, she needed to, to see if they were indeed walking into a trap's arms as easily as this. They couldn't, right? Not with all of them... they couldn't let it be that easy.
When Merrik had left them now, his leaving left no trust behind him to shadow. This was exactly what an easy trap would be like: him leaving them to be their own prey now. The only reason she didn't protest and go after Merrik, despite what he had said, was that she wasn't alone in this and couldn't think of herself like that, not at all... both Tyler and Ford were here, as well. There were more people concerned than just her -- and didn't she know it. And she could have said anything in those moments, picking out more of her suspicion of Merrik, already blatantly obvious, but instead she folded her arms, remaining mute. However, JJ did bring out a gun from her pack, chosing not to look into either of the boys faces to see if they approved or not, and instead checked the mag once (that feeling of slick steel; like iron-gloved silk) and then folded her arms in front of her chest, gun in hand. She began to pace about, feeling seconds elongated and time as a whisper of the wind that remained for far too long with each breath.
Finally, it was the silence that gave it away. There were no sounds of birds, no sounds of anything that should have been, come to think of it, and she felt her pulse turning up, her muscles tensing and eyes going sharp and seeking for targets: she'd been here before and recognized the scenario and partly hated herself for walking into it so willingly. But for once... she was doing something for other people. And if she still could, and did, it meant that there was something worth saving even in her. Even she wasn't eternally lost, left to walking a path with the cloaked figures of pathless wanderers.
The silence returned, magnified, and it was the loudest thing she had ever heard. "I think there's—" a twig snapped. She'd known that this was a bad idea all along. She knew that this wasn't to be trusted, that all the happenings now could never bring any good, and she knew that embarking up this so-called quest was a willing step into danger's mouth, if but traded for lives to save. But now... the pressure was sneaking up on her like a building bass before the crescendo in the entry to a song, like the feeling of under-pressure that sucked you down into the ground -- someone was watching. There was someone in the bushes. JJ's eyes cast themselves around, searching for something to focus on, seeking out the spaces where the scenery had missing holes in its fittings, where details were awry— right there. She saw the long, moving tube, vexed at how much it looked like a thin branch. And then -- SMACK! The feeling of an instant needle-prick to her neck, her hand going there at once, and she looked around, trying to see the source of the shot. Pulling the small needle out, she valued it at once. A tranquilizer dart. The shock was instantaneous, the realisation the same, and all the sudden she didn't remember breathing. The panic rushed through her veins like a poison speeding its way to her heart.
"It's a trap," she spoke, loud and clear. "It's a trap!" Not being big nor sturdy, it didn't take more than a second more for her to begin to feel the effects of whatever drug was coursing through her system -- but she would be damned if she didn't fight it. Rebelling towards her own body, she began to spin around herself, a step forward and then to the side, taking in where Ford and Tyler where. They were safe, alright -- until she watched them too suffer the same fate as she, and it was then that the true rage inside her kicked in. A sound, only to be described as a battle cry left her mouth, ripping apart her lips and she realised that the gun was still within her hands to hold: she began pointing it in the former direction, then looked in the direction where Ford and Tyler had to be shot from -- and fired it off, sending the bullets whizzing through the empty air losing any target they had never initially had. "You cowards! Come out so—" and now, her legs wobbled. A step to the side, like a wounded animal. "You fucking cowards…" which was all she said before she went down, colliding with the ground. The gun fell to her side, an attribute to her fallen soldier.
Suddenly, there was no pain or rage at all. Just a strange sense of calm -- she watched the world fade before her eyes, colours vanishing and in their absence black came and all she saw were stars, uncountable and flickering like a dying promise... and all she could press from herself in that last second was the thought; wondering if they were alright. She never got her answer before limbo brought her in. |
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Lauren
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| Posted: Tue Jun 26, 2007 6:59 am Post subject: |
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Sarah
Beach kitchen area / near shore
Caleb, Jace, Shannon
"His name is Jace... Don't know if you met him. He's a good guy. He's further down the beach, so... if you will?"
Sarah trudged behind Caleb, finishing off her banana and remembering her brief interaction with Jace. It had been only hours after the crash; he expressing concern for the camp, and she caring little, trying to contemplate just where her next drink would come from. She cringed upon recollection of the desperateness she had felt; so pathetic in hindsight. But history couldn’t be helped, and she wouldn’t change hers for anything because it made her who she was today – flaws and all.
The air was soft and unobtrusive as she softly waded through it, her steps as gentle and carefree as they had ever been, leaving the ghosts of footprints in her wake. She was barefoot again, as nature intended, and she threw the yellow skin into the pyre they passed, the plume seeming to choke on the new and apparently hazardous material. Her lips twitched with twisted amusement and she styled a hand over her forehead, plunging a few lengthening tresses behind one of her ears. The sound of the waves was brash and wild and she wondered where from it had gathered its strength; the wind certainly wasn’t turbulent in these parts, not during this juncture.
At last, the slope was descended and her eyes cast downward onto Jace and blonde girl whose name she knew - through reputation, not acquaintance - to be Shannon. These two opposites, seated next to each other made for a very confusing picture, and yet Sarah sensed some harmony between them, as troubled as it was. As Caleb took her into loose possession, he brought up the fish thing again, obviously stemming from some personal joke she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know the origin of. She gave a strange look and Shannon seemed to mirror it – that was until she stood up and walked a little way away without so much as a “see you later.” Shrugging, Sarah affably offered a small smile through her introduction, inclining her head toward Jace as she was acknowledged. Their last meeting hadn’t including the exchanging of names – she’d only learnt of his name at a later time and place.
Jace
Shoreline
Sarah, Caleb, Sarah
Shannon seemed on the brink of breakdown; her strength, usually so strong and proud, was pouring out through her memories, and he felt it as keenly as he ever did; some things never became unlearned. He was considering some old and comfortable gesture - a simple hand to her knee perhaps, or the long and sleek neck he’d always loved, so lithe and well-sculpted - when he heard a booming voice of warning come rampaging from behind. Turning wasn’t required for him to ascertain who it was. They were well acquainted by now and when Caleb said he hoped he wasn’t interrupting anything, Jace shook his head, though the gesture contradicted the truth of things. He stood out of politeness, seeing that Caleb had company. ”I see you’ve left the fish to their peace.” The fish thing had tired a long while ago, but nonetheless he gave a scoffing laugh. “They miss me, but it’s okay. They’ll cope somehow.” It was at this point that he noted Shannon trail off wordlessly down the shore, part of him wanting only to chase after her, the other part deciding it was safer and more decorous to stay where he was. They’d talk again…later. Better to let her rest awhile and mend the pieces that he had unwillingly scattered.
Turning his attention adjacently, he looked again to Caleb and the girl next to him, whom he recognised from their other camp – it was hard to forget someone who could look both bruised and radiant at the same time. He learnt the girl’s name and stored it immediately into his memory bank so he wouldn’t have to be a dunce and ask for it again at some later period. ”She needs a shelter pretty badly and you happen to be good at building them.” Jace grinned, “You mean because my shelter’s still going strong, whereas the last one you built almost got demolished by one of those soft breezes at the other camp?” His laugh carried sideways as he looked again to Sarah, a warm smile placed on his lips. “I’ll help you out, no problem.”
A hand went to Sarah’s upper back and he guided her up the dune, giving Caleb a nod as they went past. When he thought they were almost out of hearing range, he looked to Sarah with a façade of complete seriousness. “What are you doing hanging out with that loser, anyway? Did you know I beat him in poker the first time I ever played? He played like a blind man.” With a mischievous smile he craned his head around to see if Caleb had in fact heard him, then swung his gaze back to Sarah. “I’m not scared of him or anything, but don’t tell him I said that.”
Time to change the subject. “So, about this shelter, where do you want to build it? I know where we can get some materials.”
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Amy
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| Posted: Tue Jun 26, 2007 4:11 pm Post subject: |
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Ben
Docks
Merrik//JJ, Ford, Tyler
The throne of broken metal and scuffed leather creaked under Ben’s weight as he softly shifted his position to something more comfortable and unburdening. It would be preposterous to gaze upon the rickety chair he sat upon now and count it as a throne; what made it a furnishing of high importance was his self decorating it – he and everybody else alike knew that whatever he adorned in a room, instantaneously emanated a special aura; one of self importance and clarification he was the boss. He couldn’t picture it any other way – nor did he want to remember his past life of submission and hauling crates of nothing around for his father. He made the rules now, he didn’t follow them. But they were playing a whole different game now; one where the hand you were dealt counted for everything, though the opportunity to cheat was presented every turn. Luckily for Ben, he was already two moves ahead, and it would stay that way until he got what he wanted.
Now, as Merrik sat with his back to him, gagged and his every limb tied down to the chair he was sitting on, Ben knew the game had began. Orlington seemed to be down for the count, until he was doused with cold water – then he began to splutter. The communication room they both sat in now was far from luxury, but for all of ten minutes it would be Merrik’s sanctum, at least until the fun began. As Ben watched Merrik stir and re-awaken, his mind wandered through the hills of memory; and locked on to a particular emotion he remembered – while it had died in the folds of time, it now sympathised with the Scot, for Merrik would soon come to feel the exact same thing…Regret. And the follow up which was secondary – the inability to escape past actions.
As the dusty sunlight projected onto the bound shape of Merrik, Ben shuffled closer in his chair so that he could talk softly enough, without the suspicion anyone but he would hear what was to be said. “Are you awake?” Ben asked his voice soft at first, though there was no note of reassurance to be sung. Merrik replied by squirming in his chair as he came to, obviously aware now that he was tied up. “Don’t bother” he continued, a hint of playfulness now emerging. Sure, Benjamin knew and was well aware of what he was going to subject these people to, but…But he wasn’t a monster – Christ; no one would meet a more well mannered man then he. He could still be civil, and in time show these people what he was doing was for the greater good. Yet this thought in his head was an argument to be reckoned with later; and the entity of hostility had to be repressed in order for him to continue talking to Merrik with a calm disposition. “I’m going to leave now, Merrik. But I’ll be back. Don’t move.”
He left Merrik alone with his passionate but futile muffled howls, closing the door and enshrouding the man in darkness. Tom took the guarding position outside the door, in case they were dealing with Houdini (God knew they needed another one of those), and began to walk to the remaining three who were aligned in a row on the docks, bound by their hands and forced to their knees. The female figure of JJ seemed to be the most erect and alert (judging by her stance, seeing as her face was covered by a sack) – and so Ben took off the heavy mask, reducing the female to think twice about opening her eyes; as the sun seemed so dreadfully bright after coming around from that tranq shot. As they locked eyes, Ben smiled, and knelt in front of her, resting on his haunches supported by the balls of his feet. To any stranger, you would have thought the two knew each other from a life before the current – there was nothing in the stretched grin to suggest he could be so manipulative. “Hello, Jessica.”
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Jess
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| Posted: Tue Jun 26, 2007 4:48 pm Post subject: |
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JJ
Docks
Ben, Ford & Tyler (Others)
How does a nightmare begin?
In darkness, or in rain? Or maybe in the eyes of a woman, bright with hope and future. Eyes that knows death as its most heinous; its most primeval, awashed in shadows and dread. Here and now, with a bag covering her head, she felt like the nightmare had been draped down upon her. Her mind fled into itself, wandering about in the recesses there like a little child lost... but always keeping its eyes straight ahead, not veering left or right, because on the dark periphery lay the things it could not stand to see; to think about. To remember. Slowing down, and the ever-threatening darkness would close in, sucking the dour unfortunate of her mind's self into the alleyways from which they had such a hard time escaping. The mind had its own jagged traps; its own bleak trash-clogged backstreets.
So when she realised that her lucidity was jolting her conscious awake, she forced it to go through the list of the logic's rundown -- where was she? How come her mouth was tied underneath whatever it was covering her face? The sounds throughout it were muffled, but she could discern voices around her, and then, in the audience of movements, hands ushering her to a kneeling position upon what felt like wooden floor. She could smell the salty ocean even through the covering in front of her face, and knew then that they were still on the island. JJ was unsure if that was a good thing or not.
Suddenly she felt a hand upon her neck, pulling at the ends of the very bag she had just considered the restriction of. Like being brought out from a womb into the reality of the world, the sack was lifted from her, and her eyes were set to receive the striking, blinding white of the day -- she shielded her eyes by closing them, but desperate for seeing she had them open for a second; one that lasted too long. At the rims of her eyelids water welled up, comforting to her eyes, but blurring the world before her, like fresh rain. She blinked a few times to get it out of the way, and was not calmed by the sight in front of her. There, a man with eyes as intense as lizard's stared into hers, and it only took her a fraction of a second to recognize him; being good with faces. The prisoner. How the hell had he made his way here? How had he gotten out from the surveillance of the bunker? And, more importantly, as she saw when she moved her gaze beyond him... where were they?
The docks, of course, like she has assumed. She wonder how much time had passed, but all in all, she guessed it didn't matter. The tranquilizers they had been shot with had apparently only been to take them out for the mean while, to tie them up and bring them into these Others possession -- and how she hated it. Like an animal locked in a cage, she fought the restrictions of the ropes around her wrist, grinding them bloody as she pulled. It did nothing though, the knot tied much too carefully. And every time she tried to move, she felt the cold, open mouth of a rifle being pressed to her neck -- she had no choice but to believe that it was loaded. Not knowing what they wanted with the three of them – she shot a quick look at the still hooded Tyler to her left, then Ford to her right – she refused to to anything that could jeopardize their safety. She didn't care about herself, nor the danger that she could be subjected to, but when it came to these two men by her side that was an entirely different position altogether.
"Hello Jessica." The lizard finally voiced itself. (She remembered his name as Henry from down the in the hatch, but doubted that was nothing more than an adopted alias.) It was with a spite in her entire self that she watched that grin on his face: it was as if he enjoyed seeing her like this. As if he already knew how much this would pain her, to be in this position when all control whatsoever had been stolen from her. And being gagged helped nothing – she wanted to bite, to spit, to do anything to wipe that grin away – and when the unidentified person behind her finally let it lose, from an indication of the man in front of her, he was already too far out of reach. Free, she moved her tongue around in her mouth just to get it moist enough to speak. There were a tirade of questions she wanted to unravel, but she settled for the most obvious one, which rolled out to be more than just one. "What the hell are you doing to us? Who are you?" The pair of inquisition bantered from her in an assault, and given the circumstances, nothing less could be expected.
This entire situation was wrong, she hated being in someone else's hands. What was going to happen now? That was the worst part. Not knowing. |
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Jess
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| Posted: Tue Jun 26, 2007 5:44 pm Post subject: |
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Hurley & Isabel
Jungle / Beach
Each other (Vincent)
The voices warbled out of the jungle, in so far hidden from view.
"I can't get it out!" The only thing known: it was distinctly female. Held an accent, too.
"You've got to push, dude. It won't just like... fall out of itself, you know?" This voice was male, relaxed in the spectrum of where the tones balanced off the air, but clearly otherwise not. Deceiving the words it had spoken, it did not sound exasperated or worried at all, it sounded calm, like still water.
"Coup de merde... this is hard."
Then gathered image of the whole event came into view now -- the branch of a tree reached out into the mid-leveled air like a frozen thunderbolt, and on it, Isabel could be seen climbing. She was far out now, inching her lithe body with its agile ways to reach the cluster of some banana plantains, which hung there likening a suspended, gigantic grenade. The explosion in this case lay for Isabel climbing as far out as she was; the risk was not for the branch to break, not as much as her being fifteen feet up in the air. However, once upon a time she had been used to heights reaching beyond the levitation of this one, so for her, the height in itself was not the issue nor the vexing predicament -- that was loosening the cluster from the actual vine it grew upon. Despite being agile and lithe and able to carry her own weight; that was as far as her strength went.
Isabel had agreed to come when Hurley had made the proposition: that she would lend a hand where Hurley's greatest strength clearly did not lay, and it had been a long time since it ever had. Trading strengths for weaknesses now, Isabel had been bored down to her teeth itching from it, looking for any way out of the dreary, uneventful rut she'd stuck herself in. Of course, with the new Dharma sustenance they had been given, going out like this to pick fruit did not came with the same underlying necessity as it once had, but still, the fruits were needed. Isabel had never much enjoyed candy and have always rather settled on fruit; it was where the rest of the food spectrum came into place she was, almost, ungorgable.
"Hey, any progress?" Hurley called out. He was busy covering his face with his own hand, which blocked his view of Isabel temporarily; the tree had managed to pick a place where the sun always seemed to shine, and there was no relief for Hurley to take resort to other than shielding himself by using his own flesh for shade.
"Just about to—" and with a flip of her hand and the knife it held, the cluster snapped lose from its holdings, falling to the earth beneath its feet with a large thud which caused Hurley to duck out of its way. Isabel flipped the knife and put it into her pocket, a satisfied grin toning her features as she begun her descend, but then thought the better of it. With the certainty only endowed upon suchlikes with her experience, she let her arms go from the branch altogether, relying on her legs to keep her around the branch, still. She hung upside down for a while, enjoying the view of this world, marveling about how it looked like a foreign place altogether, even if she'd seen the surroundings a hundred times before... upside down, she'd entered a new land, a new world without boundaries as she saw them. Childishly, a giggle bubbled out of her, feeling the levity crawl into her stomach and wake the butterflies there to life: she always felt the most alive when doing such acts as this -- another second and she withdrew her feet inwardly to her body, falling, but managing thanks to body weight and a supreme control of limbs to turn herself around mid-air, landing comfortable on her feet much like a cat would have. Isabel caught some wind for breath and then turned to Hurley, who had been watching her all the while like she had just been beamed out on a runway and was now planning to colonize the earth, she and her ET friends.
Isabel walked over to the cluster, grabbing a hold of the end of it. "Hey... help me carry it?"
Hurley remembered himself, and rushed forward in a half-jog to aid her with the plantains. When they started pulling he realised it was heavier than he had initially thought it would be, even though its size gave away much of its imposition. Realising the walk back to the beach was going to be longer than he'd thought, he initiated conversation. Anything to pass the time. "So... you learnt to do that in the circus, huh?"
Isabel nodded, grinning in her reminiscence. It was funny how a single word could bring out so vivid images. "Yup." A hand went to wipe at her forehead, pushing away the reddish bangs clinging to the perspiration. "I used to be on the trapezes, some times with the acrobats. I usually filled spaces with missing people. I was a clown once, too."
"Wow," he chuckled, trying to sound as if the carrying weight behind him hadn't already made his arm ache. "I went to the circus once, just like a couple of years ago? But uhm... it didn't end up all that well." He saw the raised brow in Isabel's face, filling his sentence out. "The juggler fell down in the high act." Isabel made a frown, showing her sympathy for the involved. But Hurley wasn't finished— "And uh... the trapeze people also fell. And the tiger jumped out into the audience."
"Sounds like fun."
Hurley shook the memory from his mind, letting the pieces tumble off into the black spots where the missed ones slipped into. "Yeah, it kinda wasn't..." Hurley remembered looking at the number of his ticket then, remembered his hesitance to enter the tent at all, and then how his mother had urged him inside. 108. It hadn't ever meant anything, had it? (He wasn't fooling anyone.) Thankfully, the beach was within a nearer reaching distance than what he had previously thought, and it was with a gratuitous smile he saw the sharp colour of the ocean in his eyes distanced view. Together with his French accomplice he brought the cluster over to the kitchen area, watching as Caleb and Sarah walked off in the direction of somewhere, not really thinking about where.
Grabbing slice of the piece of bread someone had left on the kitchen table, Isabel sat down on one of the logs as she started munching it -- Vincent soon joined her, his wagging tail showing off his friendly intention, and the direction of his nose what he wanted from her. Laughing through a smile, she broke off pieces of the bread and fed to the canine, watching him chomp the bits more eagerly than even she did. It always crossed her mind how animals were so honest in their gratefulness, just as they were unashamed in their begging, but she didn't mind. She had been brought up among various animals, and also, animals who were by some not considered normal, knowing more tricks and acts than most humans ever tried to learn. Pulling out the last piece of the bread, she put it in front of of Vincent's nose. "Séjour." Reaching out, she placed the soft piece on top of his nose now, on the bridge of it, and waited a moment, Vincent as still and unmoving as a statue. Finally, she told him "Alors!" and he flipped his nose upwards, sending the bread into the air, then caught it in his jaws, chewing it proudly. Isabel's hands went to ruffle about in his sand-coloured, golden mane.
"Dude, I didn't know he could do that," Hurley said, having watched the act. "How the hell? What did you tell him?"
Isabel smiled, removing her eyes from the dog, but not her hands. "I taught him. It's not about what you say – it's about speaking their language..."
Hurley shrugged, then spoke his thought which was spontaneous and not thought of, yet it came out as it. "You know, if you spoke boar you could like walk into the jungle and tell them to come here. Could always use the meat."
Isabel's French gum-pop laughter rolled out into the space like water laughing its way to the brook, and she cherished that feeling of good inside. What bad could come from this day? |
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Jess
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| Posted: Tue Jun 26, 2007 7:56 pm Post subject: |
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Caleb
Beach (shoreline)
Sarah, Jace / Shannon
Caleb watched the interaction between the people fall into natural pieces, and he was glad that Jace so willingly accepted and chose to help Sarah. Sure, he had never expected anything less, but people were unreliable; they could bend either ways, and do this and that, bending for wills and impulses and have trust as a second colour that never shone through at all with some. All in all, he wouldn't have it any other way. He'd never liked machines much, other than the mobile kind, and preferred his own two legs before much else that could carry him. Hope carried him far enough, always had. Watching the small crowd they'd formed he also gathered the impression of complications lining every side of their characters without words breaching it as evidence -- what was there really between Jace and Shannon? What was it that he'd missed to pick up on the island's gossip, which usually spread like fire through dry bushels? He only had himself to blame though: he never really paid attention to it.
It had been something more than the way they had sat with an intimacy of too close next to each other, and at the same time, with space taking up the empty air between. Unfinished arguments -- and then he recalled. He'd heard two people being spoken about, nameless, and their entire situation that had gotten laid out before him as he'd grabbed dinner a couple of nights ago. He'd just never connected Jace and Shannon to the story, but now that he did, they fit perfectly. How could he not have realised?
Not lingering around for long as Jace and Sarah disappeared from view (he stayed to watch for just a moment though, making sure that Jace took care of Sarah in an appropriate manner) he turned around, searching in the way Shannon had disappeared, seeking her out. The blue contrasted sharply against the wind-wrecked pebbles that together made up the beach, colours of different yellows melting together in a firm line as they abused the other, harmonious, luring each other in an endless game that had no end or beginning, nor knew no day or night. She walked along it, an upright image along a world of horizontal lines, looking like a stray cat looking for home. But even he knew that she was too preoccupied to look for anything other than answers -- and he could guess what the questions were being posed on the topic of.
He'd seen her kind of people before. Caleb had even spent his time around them for years, on events which he really had never wanted to go to, but which sponsors and other people (the insects like agents and the like) forced upon him to do, assuring him it had been good for his 'image'. At that point of his life it had been too, but that did not mean he had enjoyed it any of the more. He had never meant to be a socialite to entertain the crowd, despite being taller than most and therefore given a natural disposition upon this earth for attention; the only time he had ever really craved it, coveting it with desire, was when he was making a run for freedom, fighting time the best way he only knew how. People had always told him one couldn't change time, couldn't fight it -- and lord knows he'd been through enough events to prove that. But running had been his escape. He proved people wrong then. He did not even have to push it in their face for them so see it either.
This all also meant that he knew just what kind of make-belief world it was. You were only an item as long as you were actual, and your image was thin when you had nothing other than fame to support your back on. He'd always had his career and results, never completely fading. But singularly relying on money and the assets of that; it was such a bleak and empty world that almost evaporated as soon as one dared reach out a real hand to touch the vision which framed the esoteric views. All those fancy shoes, fancy clothes... what good would they ever do on the bridges they burnt along the way? Useless.
Still, all of that was just a small portion of the reason why he chose to follow her steps and approach her. It was neither usually in him to do a thing like this -- and partly, he tried convincing himself to shut the hell up and just remove himself from the scene, going to grab another chocolate-sandwich instead. Walking up to her, he was even more convinced that this was an idiotic idea, but even he himself didn't ever really want to believe he was one of the kind. He was foolish some times, even he knew that... but he had intentions behind most things he did, even if it didn't seem so at the while. And this? This was a matter about the heart. There could never be a grander reason.
"Shannon!" he called out, jogging up the last few paces towards her. He realised when he reached her that he had thought of nothing to say, shaped no sentences at all, and it paused him for a second too long. He started of where beginnings lay best, not knowing if he knew his name or not. "I'm Caleb... I'm a friend of Jace's. Your used-to-be husband." He looked at her with a look like that's right, I know. He released the look before it said 'and so those the whole damned beach soon'. Was he just going to dwell around here? No, he decided. Better to just get to the point.
"You know, I once had this girlfriend..." Caleb looked out over the ocean now, trying to see anything in the distance. All he saw was different shades of blue. "And when she dumped me, she told me that no one feels love. It's just a fear of being alone.. For a while I wanted to believe that – especially when things felt tough or when I was just in a shitty self-preservation sort of mood... when no one mattered but myself." He scoffed, gently, not meaning for it to be directed at her; it was against and for himself, a resistance kicking in. He reached with one of his large hands upwards then, spreading the fingers in a palm before her like a five-fingered clover; there was nothing exceptional about his hands other than them being sturdy and strong, and it was as if he was trying to prove this, but not quite. "I used to be married." He retracted his hand, point proven well enough. "I was married for five years, and those years were the best of my life. And even though it may not have lasted longer," he refused to give her the reason, deciding selfishly that it didn't matter between them now, not yet, "I still don't regret it. It's not a mistake – and I bet you marrying Jace wasn't either. At least not from the start."
He felt out of sorts, dwindling about with topics like this. Revealing too much about yourself was too easy, it came there in between the spoken lines, and in the paragraphs which never got said at all, but understood. He'd folded his arms against his chest now, looking between her and the ocean: both temptresses which should not be agitated. They had unruly tempers, and forceful passions. He didn't know why, but in the end he just said it. "My wife died during the fifth year." He said it very casually, like how you would have announced that today spaghetti would be served instead of meatloaf. But the sigh that came after it, the look in his eyes -- a blind man could have felt it; a deaf man would have heard it. It reverberated through, on the emotional planes, and moaned around itself with the sadness of a tuneless dirge.
"Look, I'm not a preacher, I never was. But what I'm trying to say is that if there's anything at all worth saving, anything at all... if you believe in marriage, you marry people for a reason." He looked at her now, with conviction, and tried his best to keep the images of his late wife from arising -- he wanted to remember them in the good times, not the sad; Daisy would have kicked his ass if he did. "And if there's any of that reason left, even just a damned tiny parcel? Then it's worth saving." He spoke the last as if it was a cursed promise he wanted her to believe.
He released his arms, and with folding his body dropped down to the shore, digging his hands down into the water, splaying hands with the foam that had formed at his feet. They were soaked, through sneakers and everything, and he hadn't noticed any of it at all. He glanced up at her from his sitting position, pulling for received glances in retribution. "Maybe you should look into it, kiddo." |
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BornToRun
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| Posted: Wed Jun 27, 2007 2:12 pm Post subject: |
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Kate
Jungle
Sawyer & Jack
It seemed like every time Kate lied to someone here she felt like she was setting up a landmine. All it took was a wrong step later on and it was blowing up in her face. She knew that if anything....this once....she knew that she had lied for the right reasons. She had kept the fact that she knew Henry was going to escape from them, she had taken these men to this point for a damned good reason. Kate didn't know if these people could actually hurt everyone on the island, but she knew that she didn't want to be responsible for testing it.
Now she knew for a lot of the same reasons that she had lied in the first place, she had to tell the truth now. There wasn't much of a chance that either of the men could get them out of this, but she just knew that it wasn't fair that they had to walk into this without knowing what to expect. Not that she entirely knew what to expect either, but if they were going to get hurt or....
Sawyer was the first one to ask her what was going on, and she immediately shrank a little bit even though he was being as gentle with the question as he could muster. Kate felt instantly grateful when she saw the instant recognition in his eyes, when she saw that he understood how even if she was halfway to confession it wasn't going to be easy for her. He tried to play off the entire thing, and for a quick second she saw how he was destined to care no matter what she was doing--right or wrong.
She knew just as quickly that winning Sawyer over in this wasn't the easy part. It was when Jack found his voice, no more than a few steps from her--so close that she could feel the silent waves of anger coming from him. Even through all of it--even through the mistrust he had in her, the mistrust she had earned--there was something different in how he looked at her. He didn't have a blind faith in her like Sawyer did. Still, even when Jack was rightfully upset with her he still always expected the truth from her. Always thought that she would care enough about him not to lie to him.
Kate's hand moved to her back pocket, digging in and pulling out the folded square of the note. She gave a half glance towards Sawyer, catching the slightly confused look on his face, and handed the note to Jack. She didn't look to see if he was reading it as she spoke, she just said what she had to say to make sure it was said.
"I had to. If I didn't bring you here..." She let her voice trail off, knowing that the note would explain everything for her. Kate nervously put her hands on her hips. "We can turn around, we can find a way out of this. I just don't know how."
_________________
B. acceleration (due to gravity) - 980cm^-2 sec
Yeah I feel something pulling me down
Forcing me between myself and the ground
Of all the nightmares that ever came true
I think that gravity (gravity-gravity) is you
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Amy
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| Posted: Wed Jun 27, 2007 3:20 pm Post subject: |
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Ben
Docks
JJ, Ford, Tyler
Obviously his smile was mistaken for sarcasm; a false gesture encased by insincerity – wasn’t it always perceived in that tainted light? Ben could assure Jessica that this outward display of gentle greeting was nothing further from insincere. He meant every second of his smile, which faded rapidly as he was misunderstood. Replacing it was the remnants of what once was a pleased grin, in the shape of a twisted mouth, his lips only slightly curved to one side unlike before. He broke eye contact with her, and averted his eyes to the planks of the docks; his piercing eyes locking on the gaps between the thick blocks of wood to stare at the ocean below. From above, on land, it looked as if he had imprisoned the sea; leashing his people from ever gazing upon its blue wonder. In a way, he had already done that. Thinking of the docks in this way made him feel uneasy, and his eyes soon re-acquainted with JJ’s. What was she thinking at this moment? That he was a bastard – most likely. That he had no reason to do this – maybe so. That he was doing this not for himself, but for others as well – doubtful. But whether she liked it or not, he wasn’t a selfish man.
Her and her friends feeding of his island was what he could classify as selfish. But this moment was not made for that argument, but something else altogether. His accusations of the parasitic survivors of flight 815 would be held at bay, for now – until it was valid. As she spoke, he could visualise her words melting into thin streaks which her body absorbed; these were the veins of her body which expressed all that she felt, so simply yet so clearly. What coursed through them was the venom of a woman scorned – rightly so, to her. However, his forked tongue of wit and sense could cut these veins in half – prematurely stopping her crimson flow of anger and duty to her people; and killing slowly what had once been a young harridan, proud to call herself assertive and accountable for the slaying of the dragons in the dark, scary world.
This mental excursion had taken him to places far and wide in the vast fabrics of his mind – so much so he had almost forgotten the three that knelt in front of him. He inclined his head towards JJ, daring to speak to the fiery female, “All in good time, Jessica.”
He didn’t entirely dismiss her; his gaze partially lingering on her frazzled figure, but soon he turned his attention to contestant number two; Tyler. He too was disguised by an emptied sack – though the mystery had already been unveiled, even if visually he was not. A colleague had described their undercover work as “reading the last page of a novel” – which couldn’t be further from the truth. Ben read the entire book, memorised it, and then recited it in perfect order. He couldn’t take a risk with the final page of a book, and miss out on the vital plot points. The conclusion was never the cause of the story, but a symptom – a side effect. And in any case, Ben would write his own. This time he didn’t wait for the person standing behind Tyler to take his mask off – Ben did it himself, and swiftly withdrew from the space he occupied. How did Tyler feel about Ben being the first other occupied soul he would see? He was guessing far from elated.
Again, he tried to smile – this time he tried to show he meant it. He supposed that only made it look worse; condescending and inappropriate. A shell of disappointment in this miscommunication began to wrap around the meat of his frustration that he was unable to get through to these people on such a primitive level. In all truth, tying these people up and gagging them was not his idea, no… He was more civilized that some. And it was ironic wasn’t it? That the peasant should be more capable of civilization than his master – yet that was the truth. It made him question his motives briefly, and he wondered whether this was really the best way to go about this. Perhaps something more diplomatic, something…Easier. No, it could never be like that – it was clear that while only a few inches separated them, the difference between them had created an avalanche; splitting society from society, infringing on the basic rules of co-habitation. The line had been crossed, more than once, less then three times.
Ben had no grounds to dispute the elder’s choices in life – and he had no reason to dispute God’s reason for bringing the flight’s survivors to this island – it had had its ups and downs to say the least. But he was in control of the hourglass now, and could stop the grains of sand from slipping and disintegrating into the underneath of the glass. He now had the chance to tip it upside down again, to start again – to live again. And a couple of scowls composed into a symphony by these three people couldn’t but a damper on his raising spirits. “You must be, Tyler – I should probably keep you gagged, huh?”
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Lauren
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| Posted: Thu Jun 28, 2007 8:44 am Post subject: |
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Shannon
Beach
Caleb
The sun blazed so vibrantly that the colour azure was embedded rich and true within the sky’s peculiar structure. All was saturated so violently; no room for the soft hues that seemed the most probable in the thick of the morning hours. An errant cloud had lost its way and was looking entirely out of place in the otherwise bare patch of blue and it had rained so sorely and aggressively the day before that the world seemed in a state of recuperation, making itself in readiness for the next angry downpour which would undoubtedly occur only a few days away. These things had a tendency to go in cycles, the weather itself have a very unpredictable routine that the meteorologists couldn’t accurately tap into to, no matter how they tried.
Shannon tread her sandals through the mass of yellow-white sand, each step a thoughtless routine bred into her since the years when she was but a toddler, barely able to fend for herself. She existed then only within the breadth of her only thoughts, and though they were staggering and wide, she felt small and somewhat helpless, as if she’d dropped from purgatory into the line-up to Hell. Jace seemed so determined to keep the two of them separated. No, actually, that wasn’t true. He’d just come to terms, and in way had given up on what obviously wasn’t meant to be. And though she’d initiated the parting of them, she found it hard - even after all this time - to accept that their time was up. If they didn’t have a future then why had they both been on the same plane? Did the old addiction mean nothing? And did fate have no motive?
There was an underlying guilt with all of this. She’d made the first - or technically second - move on Boone and now here she was contemplating the future of this former relationship. But it was understandable, wasn’t it? In such a brief time she and Jace had developed a bond that far exceeded anything she and Boone had ever had. She sighed; this mess seemed impossible to muddle through.
”Shannon!” She turned, expecting to see Jace, but rather saw a man she knew too little about. He sounded so alike to Jace, his timbre on the same plane, only he lacked the rollicking accent that was unique to those stemming from England. Folding her arms protectively, but loosely, she eyed him and wondered for what possible reason he’d want to talk to her for. He caught up too her quickly; faster than she expected; he really had some juice stored in those legs of his. “What do you want?” she asked huffily, the first board of her shield being nailed into place. "I'm Caleb... I'm a friend of Jace's. Your used-to-be husband." The board stumbled from its mount and cracked on the floor with no effort at all. “I don’t know what you’re--” she had failed. Somehow he knew. And she had to wonder, if he knew, did that mean Boone did too? Shannon hoped Jace had only taken Caleb into his confidence – she didn’t want these words reaching certain ears. “Who told you?”
It was as if she hadn’t spoken. Caleb went into a spiel about a former girlfriend of his and she, Shannon, had to wonder how this was relevant to her. She had her own opinions on love and they in no way reflected those of his ex. Unmoved by anything he had so far, she shifted her centre of gravity so it hovered over her right leg, as opposed to her left; a body language warning that he best hurry up with his point. The tactic must have worked because at last he stated he had been married, and she looked at the proof encircled around the traditional left finger; an imprint of what once was. Her interest heightened some more and she ditched her mood of impatience, slipping her hands into pockets rather than having them folded before her. "I still don't regret it. It's not a mistake – and I bet you marrying Jace wasn't either. At least not from the start." Her eyes settled on his and finally she felt a union with what he was saying, understanding the view he was trying to present. She nodded a fraction and looked off to the side.
”My wife died during the fifth year.” Half a gasp came from her as she darted brown-hued eyes back toward him. She hadn’t expected this, just like she hadn’t foreseen many things on the island. A normal thing to say in this circumstance was “I’m sorry,” but it would seem so shallow and meaningless coming from her, she being the practical stranger to him that she was, and so she didn’t even try it. His eyes were sorry enough for both of them anyway, with the raw and customary grief seeming to bob to the surface of his retina, sharp and without the apparent hope of being lessened by time, surging there so prominently and surely, alike to how the moons tended to orbit the planets.
The subject progressed and she hated herself a little bit for the tremble of relief she felt. ”… you marry people for a reason." She knew this. There had been a reason, and it had felt very valid reason during that memorable time, but the question was whether that reason was still there. "And if there's any of that reason left, even just a damned tiny parcel? Then it's worth saving." In a gradual scope, she looked at him, distantly taking in the sight of him crouching down to the thick and damp sand.
She remained standing next to him, immune to the rest of the world as she retreated into her sheath of thoughts. Like a shipwreck she felt, and now she crashed into port, where she could perhaps make some clarity of her emotional predicament.
The afore-mentioned reason had obviously been love, and she just wasn’t sure what measure of it she still felt. They’d both evolved and rolled with their own paths of life, had become separated entities, who now had just so happened to collide once again.
“Technically we’re still married,” she revealed, speaking more for her own benefit than for the man beside her as she stared blankly out to sea, not at all regarding the beauty that waited there patiently for acknowledgement. “I guess ‘separated’ is the term they use.” A small and almost ironic smile snaked over her lips. “It was a hell of a separation.”
Thoughtfully, she gazed at Caleb. “I’ve never told anyone this. My brother doesn’t even know about Jace.” She laughed a little; the challenge of secrets seemed to be a bit of a game between her and Boone. Certainly she knew more of his than he knew of hers. Again she reinforced her glance on the man not more than a few feet away. It was a look of appreciation more than anything else, and she felt sure that he understood it.
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What if I missed you
You got caught in the sun |
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OutOfPeroxide
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| Posted: Thu Jun 28, 2007 11:32 am Post subject: |
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Ford
The Jungle/ The Docks
Jessica, Tyler, Merrik, Ben & Others
After Merrik left, telling them to stay put, the jungle around them went that mysterious quiet. It reminded him of the silence before the whispers; it seemed so long ago. It was so long ago. Ford stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, shoulders tensed slightly from listening so hard to Merrik’s muffled footfalls. They were soon out of ear shot, and he, Jessica, and Tyler were left with nothing but their own pushing pulses. He shifted his gaze from the spot in the jungle where Merrik had disappeared to glance over at the two others with him, and found them in the same stance; locked and ready.
It’s a trap! Yelled moments after a quiet whistle and dull thunk! marked the sound of a man going down – she was staggering. He took a step towards Jessica, arms extended to break her fall, the speed of adrenaline slowing down the moment. A sharp pain bit into the right side of his neck, and his hand flew up to yank out the black-plumed dart, though he knew from watching Jessica that it was useless. But they still had Tyler, Tyler still wasn’t hit - but now he was, crumpled inward from impact. Jessica slipped from his grasp like she was made of water, and he bent over, hands on his knees, eyes streaming. Pure size gave him the slightest advantage over the other two, though to not much avail; Ford managed to remain on his feet, unmoving and unable to move. He tried to persuade himself to stand despite the constant spin of the ground, and as he straightened the world tilted; somehow this was all very, very familiar. The ground rushed up, and a handful of unknown feet came into his view – and then he was out.
I’m pretty sure my eyes are open. I’m pretty sure, but it’s still dark. Can’t see anything. A soft struggle for use of his hands yielded no results, and the strain was against rope, tied just too tight for him to slip loose. Okay, that can’t be good. Think, are you even awake? He bent his head to one side to crack his neck, and to feel some other kind of movement – any kind that wasn’t inhibited. The muscles protested weakly; and it all came back. The beach, the ocean, Merrik, the map, jungle, darts, feet – they’d been captured. Was Jessica okay? He didn’t know, he couldn’t see anything. Had Tyler gone down too, or had he managed to escape? Ford couldn’t remember, but he knew that he’d been hit, in the very least. Merrik was either tied like them or smiling at a job well done – no way to know quite yet. As far as he could tell, he was sitting on his knees, wrists bound; the sound of the ocean crashed in front of him. Ford imagined if he could see the horizon right now it would tilt a little; the after-affects of whatever it was made those darts put down a person so fast. He knew he couldn’t remember the details of the last time he’d been taken, but his general feeling was that this second time was very different. For a different reason, for a different time.
He took a shaky breath, tongue pressing against the fabric between his teeth. In his very most basic instinct, it made him nervous that there was something over his head and gag in his mouth not for the obvious reasons – but because it was blocking airflow. It was alright, it really was, because he was getting plenty of oxygen (he attempted to convince himself) but his lungs rattled quietly anyway, expanding and re-stretching over scar tissue, like a car engine starting after its battery had been shocked.
Suddenly, there were sounds of footsteps. Ford didn’t know whether to move or sit still – it was really kind of a shock to him that he’d managed to wake up, anyway. The steps stopped just in front of him, and there was the sound of rustling fabric; a voice addressed Jessica, and Ford sagged with relief. She must have been just out of his reach, and despite probably being bound and gagged just like him, at least she was still alive. He could feel her struggling movements against the ground, angry sputterings from behind a gag. And Tyler, too, the voice addressed Tyler. If Ford had more faith in his balance right now, he would have thrown himself at the voice, and he probably would have missed; but at least it would have been a distraction. Something. He turned his hands towards each other, feeling the knotted rope for weaknesses or anything that gave.
Ford did not want to go through with this again, and he’d be damned if he let anybody else experience it for the first time.
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I want to be there when you hit the ground.
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Jess
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| Posted: Thu Jun 28, 2007 4:17 pm Post subject: |
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Caleb
Beach (shoreline)
Shannon
For some reason, the wafting breezes of air held a sense of melancholy to them. Ocean-blue in his eyes, he wondered if it had to do with the topic of discussion, as mortal and dire as it had strayed into with no shoes fit to wander aimlessly, but still trudging through; or if there was a deeper feel to it. He was not even the slightest hint of future-foreseeing – usually he had a hard time seeing past his own choices – but this, he couldn't put his finger to it... maybe it was more because of his memories than anything else. That had to be it, right?
Even though he had been the one who had ignited and initiated the conversation between them, he could have so easily dismissed her. Just picked up his feet, let the weight push them through and walked away, and that would have been that... but he remained, letting the glisten of crystal-shaped beads of water cool off his face, wash off former traces of emotions and further evidence, congealing it now with a fresh mask to fit the face of a kept-up expression which never gave too much away. It wasn't that he was a simple man, really not, had he not just proved that, at least to her? But somehow, all of those aspects of proving such things had never mattered -- competitive instinct let him fall to laying importance otherlands-wise. But even through morning jogs and the appetite that always coveted to slake a need for more, he wondered if those days were gone. For him, it was the last, ultimate fear -- so he stopped those thoughts right there, and let the fierce light of the obtrusive sun crush them into sun-dust before his eyes before he flung a sideways glance upwards at her again.
She told him that she and Jace were still married, something that surprised him. What had been the cause of separation then, which had left them with their ties still attached like that? He knew that if either of him and Daisy would have left the other – if that in fact was what had happened to Shannon and Jace – then he couldn't just walk away... not that he would ever have wanted to, of course, but it was all liable in theory.
"It was a hell of a separation." Caleb did not extend his expression to this into anything other than a nod, asking no questions. He wondered how it had came to be: he already knew that Jace bestowed a temper unseen by most, from the facts of the shooting of JJ, which had resulted in the death of his sister. (Suddenly he wondered where her grave was.) He obviously had a lethal, dangerous fire inside of himself, which some times spluttered out of the internal house burning down; and he couldn't help but think that maybe that was what had caused the separation? But this girl in front of him now; that was all she still was.... a girl. She wasn't that old, what could she be; twenty-two, twenty-three? She was probably the type who make-up-ed her age away so no one could ever tell, and then created her personality around that. "I've never told anyone this. My brother doesn’t even know about Jace.” Or maybe, just the chance of mighty maybe... she'd been looking for a new start. Away from a life better lost. He looked upon her with a fresh set of implanted eyes then -- he could definitely level with her there.
But instead of marking out the lines of that, he spoke bluntly in regards of the brother. "Well, maybe it's time he does then?" Caleb finally rose, heaps and heaps taller than Shannon. Her face, that young and pretty one, hovered at chest-height for him, but it was not something he wasn't used to. Daisy, she'd been shorter than Shannon was. Come to think of, Sarah was too. Raking his fingers through his hair (still too damned long) he set off marbles of tiny glisten at the ends of it, spiking it in every direction. He noticed then that his grey tee was thoroughly soaked, and just like that, swept his hands over the sides of it -- and took it off. He managed to look casual, and with that tan, like he'd always belonged on a beach, which wasn't as far from the truth as one would perhaps like to stretch it. His eyes told off the rest -- going back and forth between waves of the ocean, and dull dunes of sand. Finally, he looked back at her, still casual.
"It's easy, really. You'd rather he heard it from you, or from anyone else?" It could be just that simple some times.
Feeling like he'd spent enough time asking for pieces of her which he was mildly convinced she had a hard time giving in the first place, he followed up with a chortle, easy as always. There was charm in that smile, and also, twinkles of warmth. He was not making a pass at her, he'd always been careful with knowing the limits of his friends territories, where they ended and began; despite being a porcelain doll of artistic beauty, Shannon did not fit the merits for him. However, he could entertain his own notions for a while and play the pleasant cards. He'd always been the opposite of demure. "Hey, do you know anywhere around here a guy can get his hair cut?"
Last edited by Jess on Thu Jun 28, 2007 5:30 pm; edited 1 time in total |
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Amy
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| Posted: Thu Jun 28, 2007 4:58 pm Post subject: |
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Ben
Docks
Ford, JJ, Tyler
Strange, what desire made foolish people do. He’d heard that in a song somewhere, at some time – probably floating tragically outside of his daughter’s room – and they had always left a footstep on his memory, albeit it a footprint in the sand; one that sometimes eroded but was visible at times you least expected it. As the folded waves of his memory came flooding back and bursting onto the shore, he could see the lyrics clear as he saw Tyler in front of him now. He was unsure whether the words were applicable to Bateman, or himself. He could tell that the looks in Tyler’s eyes, and JJ’s alike were desperate – and their desire to escape and be free was…Inconceivably strong, like the torch of a lighthouse leading the ships to safety. But so was Ben’s, though that little thought often escaped people’s heads. What about his need to be free, to be SAFE – for though he liked to pretend that he protected his people, they were far from safe.
And though he wanted to help everybody, it was just not possible. It was like calling three small children to one place, and telling them to play on the seesaw – who was the third to be left out? He’d had a harder life than some, and less than more – but he was savvy enough to gather that not everybody could be pleased. And since it was he who moderated the settlement, and on his shoulders the responsibility lay, he should be the one to issue who got left out. And that was of course Them. He was patriotic too, not just these people hunched in front of him. He did not wave the white flag, for it was tinted grey with the grizzly past – and so he couldn’t expect these three to do the same. They were angry, Ben would deal with that.
Now the one who left standing (or crouching) in front of his friends enjoying their time on the seesaw, was the centre of Ben’s attention. Perhaps it was Ford’s advantage, not being on that seesaw – he would be immune to the ups and downs of the child-borne equipment, at least it until it was his turn. As before with Tyler, Ben removed the hood from Ford’s head, and the pair’s eyes instantly locked onto each others – staring long and intensely at one another. Ben wasn’t the one to break eye contact, and he smiled. He was about to say something, probably something smart and ingenious, when the walkie talkie strapped to the belt of his trousers crackled into life, and sparks of a gruff voice emerged from the small speaker. Giving one last look to his new friends, he stood up and walked up the docks out of earshot. “…There Ben?” was the last words he caught.
He looked out to sea, a small part of him wondering if he could see what doth approached. He couldn’t as of yet, as the whispery sheen of mist covered the sea like an almost transparent wall. He stared at the instrument in his hand, weighing the block up in his hand. He wished there could be a simpler way of communicating – from pen and paper to cell phone – anything for a…Change. Some things had to change, with reason. “What is it?” he replied, speaking into his instrument, awaiting the reply.
“We’re going to be there in a second. Can you see us yet?” Ben took another step further out to sea, his eyes narrowing and squinting in hope that he could see the vehicle approach. But he heard nothing; not the crash of partitioned waves, nor the rumble of the boat’s engines; sounding like Zeus coughing his Godly lungs out, from the flu. He shook his head, before quickly remembering they could not see him.
“No, no I can’t…Wait…” then he heard it – the God coughing, his breath spluttering out in a series of chugs and belches of offensive engine noise. Sure, it wasn’t the swiftest of subtlest of mobiles, but it got the job done right? “I see it” he said, not allowing the essence of excitement enter his voice – he kept it professional and deadpan. “See you in five.” He turned from the docks, as the speed boat began gradually approaching the shore, and marched back to land, amidst the tension once more. Well, it had been nice to get a break for thirty seconds.
“You’re probably wondering what you’re doing here.” Ben began, his voice loud and clear and belting over the dull noise of the waves scraping against the ocean’s floor. “But all will be revealed in good time. All you need to know is… We’re not as bad as you people make us out to be.” He paused, wondering how far he should dare to go, “We’re the good guys.” There. He had said it, and by God he had meant that. As the boat was manoeuvred next to the wooden structure expanding into the sea, Ben turned to look at it momentarily, and grinned. Did anybody know what had just hit them?
What a wicked game to play.
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BornToRun
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| Posted: Fri Jun 29, 2007 12:35 am Post subject: |
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Tyler
Docks
Ben, JJ, Ford, etc
flashback
Being incarcerated, Tyler had heard in his days, was nothing more than a waiting game. Counting minutes into hours into days passing stagnantly into years. Except in the hospital you didn't get the stale hope of a steadfast date of freedom, you didn't even get the bittersweet knowledge of knowing when your sentence was up. At a place like this there weren't jaunts of a few weeks, this was no poorly decorated spa date. No, you were here with the indefinate promise of 'when you get well' that for most of the occupants equated to never. You weren't even allowed the simple human pleasure of anticipation.
That was unless, of course, you found you could look forward to something. Tyler hadn't sought out these biweekly visits, in fact it had taken a good few months before he began to warm up to the idea even in the slightest. Still, somehow, everything had turned a one eighty at this point. His fingers tapped quickly on the table before him, a smile he didn't know he possessed in his arsenal fresh on his face. One of the guards positioned at the door caught his eye and returned his smile. The guys name was Javier, and he and Tyler had shared a few conversations in this room while Tyler waited for his visitor. The faculty couldn't have helped but notice the change in Tyler's demeanor since the first time they threatened to take away visitor privledges from him. In fact, even beyond their threats he seemed a sort of jovial none of them would have imagined possible in him.
"Do you think she'll like what I wrote?"
Javier shrugged a little bit, the motion swallowing the tiny bit of neck that existed between the glutenously fleshy folds where his shoulders met his chin. "Man, I dunno. I never understand half that shit you write anyway."
Tyler's grin got even broader, his gaze steady on the pages scratched out in dulled pencil (sharpened pencils simply were not an option in this institution) before him. "She will, she always does."
The door clicked open in it's usual almost deafening fashion and Tyler leapt to his feet. He stood ramrod tall, minding his posture with a coy look that almost instantly made him look a solid decade younger. She crossed the room in long strides, her long gray skirt falling in long folds almost touching the ground. She mostly wore variations of the same outfit--short heels, long skirts, and cardigans of various muted shades. Most days she looked like you'd be more likely to find her dusting off books in a library. Tyler always more imagined her a few decades back, probably protesting something righteously with fire in her eyes.
"Karen, it's good to see you."
She put a hand on his arm briefly, smiling reassuringly before sitting down at the table. "It's always good to see you, Tyler. Have you written much this week?"
He sat down instantly across her and again in front of his papers. He folded his hands over each other almost mocking her stance. "Yes, yes....I really did. Taking me off of the Zolpidem dosings really seemed to help me with that." He stopped a moment, running one nervous hand through his closely cropped hair. "Thank you again for speaking to my doctor about that, Karen. I...I really..."
She held up a finger to interrupt him. "Now you know I'm always happy to help you, Tyler." Karen had an incredibly soothing voice, soft but strong. An admirable sort of voice, he had decided. "So most of what you wrote, was it numbers or theory?"
"A bit of both, actually--but mostly number." He handed the first of the pages across the table at her. "Mostly green chemistry, really. I know you said to focus on genetics but...."
"Go where your mind takes you, Tyler."
He stopped to smile again, almost resisting an urge to blush. He felt far from himself when he talked to Karen. He felt proud of what he knew, which was something he had never gotten used to feeling when he was growing up. Back home in America his entire life he had to hide who he was reallly. Tyler made a life of dumbing down so that he wouldn't stand out. Karen encouraged and understood things that he thought only he knew, and she always wanted him to tell her more.
"Well more I was focusing on the complexities of combining toxicities that human beings can be capable of withstanding to the molecular diversity of the G42 compound from those plants the people from the University of Nottingham send you the information on. It seems that maybe we were looking at it backwards by trying to fix the human genetic problems. We have to start trying to change the tropical plants around these people inst-"
Tyler stopped himself, looking down at all of the pages before him. He stopped for a moment, a bit of bitter irony raining down on his moment of bliss.
"Tyler, what is it?" Karen moved to reach her hand a bit further across the table. Javier, always attentive at the door, was heard scuffling towards them until she moved her hand back and he stopped.
His voice was a note lower so that only Karen could hear him. "I have pages before me, you've gotten all the necessary okays on removing my meds. If we can do all of this...." his voice got quieter, cold and sad. "Why can't we get me out of here?"
Karen's face fell a little bit. "It isn't time yet, Tyler. Now let's get back to the pages." She grabbed them all from him, starting to read through and nodding. "I'm really impressed, Tyler. You may have something here."
"To hell with it right now, Karen. I feel...better. I want to leave." He leaned in closer to her. "You've been..." the words took a moment to come out, as if he didn't want to reveal himself enough to say how he had been feeling long before this. "...you've been like a mother to me, Karen. I know you care about me. Please...get me out of here."
She almost recoiled at first. "Ohhhh, ohhh Tyler don't say that." When she looked at him he could see the pity in her eyes. He knew that she didn't want to tell him what she was about to clue him in on. "Tyler, it isn't time for you to get out yet. You have to stay here to get to where you need to be, remember?"
"No. No. No." Tyler put one hand to his head. "I shouldn't be here."
She leaned in closer, as if what she was about to say was a secret. "You killed somebody, Tyler. That doesn't just go away."
"It was a mistake....I didn't..." The other hand went up to the other side of his head, hands snaking through his thick hair now. "He. Fell."
"Tyler." Karen leaned in closer. "He didn't fall. His injuries...his face was almost missing when the police got there, he-"
"Stop. No. That's not how it happened. That's not how it happened. I tried to get in...he fell. Jesus, Karen--why are we talking about all of this? It doesn't matter. I'm okay now and we both know it. I'm okay. Now I just want to get out."
"You'll get out when it's time, Tyler. It can't be before then. If you don't leave when you're supposed to you'll never get to where you need to be."
"Stop saying that!" He slammed a closed fist tightly on top the table. Karen didn't flinch at all, but Javier took two long strides across the room. The woman held up a hand to cease the large man's steps and Javier stopped almost immediately. Tyler never did figure why Javier would pay mind to her orders, but he always did.
"I'm not coming back again, Tyler."
His entire stance instantly changed. He moved his hands from his face, his large eyes baring down on her imploringly. "No, please don't say that. I'm sorry I was upset, I'll stay...I'll stay. I won't get upset anymore, I promise."
"That's not why I'm not coming back."
"Then please why? I'll fix it."
She scooted her chair out, preparing to stand. When she was talking, she wasn't looking at him but he swore he could see the beginning of tears in her eyes. "Because of what you just told me, Tyler. You cannot be attached to me. You cannot care about me." She looked up then. "This is a lesson you must be taught, so I want you to listen very, very carefully. The moment you begin to care, to worry about someone else's fate over your own? Is the moment you forsake your own destiny." She stood then, his legs unwilling to work to stop her. Karen remembered to grab the pages, as always, before she left. "And you -must- remember just how important your destiny is, always remember that."
Tyler had no clear memory of Karen leaving that room, no fresh images of her turning the knob and her back walking out the door. There were a few jumbled thoughts scattered out a few moments past her leaving that he still had, though. The screaming--his and the other man's. The way everything seemed to wash over in red. And, of course, the bright scar that Javier wore every day after their little dance.
As he looked up at the man above him now he imagined giving Henry much the same sort of injury. It wasn't that he was desperately upset about the condition he was currently in. Granted there weren't many bright points to being hit with some sort of tranquilizer and dragged to a damned docking area to go to some uncertain fate. There really wasn't much of a natural reaction in Tyler to be angry at his own unfortunate position.
No, it wasn't his being trapped that upset him so much. It wasn't being bound and gagged and having to listen to the man go on. No, it was having to watch Jessica next to him, straining and furious and uncharacteristilly helpless at his side. The moment his hood was removed and he saw her there as damned as he was, Karen's warning had left his mind entirely. To hell with his own destiny, every fiber in him screamed to save the woman next to him.
It was an any means possible sort of scenario. Unfortunately the more that Tyler looked around him, the more he realized that there were no means possible. This Henry was a very smart man, and he had clearly left nothing to chance. If there was to be a moment to escape--to get JJ free--this certainly wasn't that moment. If Henry was ever bound to afford him a window of opportunity at all, that was....
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B. acceleration (due to gravity) - 980cm^-2 sec
Yeah I feel something pulling me down
Forcing me between myself and the ground
Of all the nightmares that ever came true
I think that gravity (gravity-gravity) is you
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OutOfPeroxide
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| Posted: Fri Jun 29, 2007 11:33 pm Post subject: |
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Jack
Jungle
Kate & Sawyer
The silence fell for a few moments, but Jack didn’t look away from Kate. He searched for something redeeming, even the fall of a weak explanation for whatever concealed lie she was about to reveal. But there was none of that, not even an attempt. She wasn’t covering it up, because she, of all people, had to know that the cover up was always worse than the crime.
So they all just stood there for a moment, waiting for the truth to make itself known. Jack, like he was doing more and more often, wondered why he had gone along with this so easily. He should have known something was up; really, if Henry Gale had been in the armory just before their shift started, and slipped away, somehow, without both of them noticing...either the man with the gaping bullet hole in his shoulder had suddenly tapped into powers of elite stealth, or he had been helped out by an inside man. A look at Sawyer pretty much spelled out that he didn’t have any more of a clue in this than Jack did, and Jack didn’t know whether or not to be comforted by that. What could have been so pressing that Kate would feel compelled to lie to both of them? Most often, there wasn’t just one person holding on to all the important information and hidden twists and tricks. Usually they did that in groups. And usually Jack was in the group.
He reached out a hand to accept Kate’s note, but didn’t read it at first. Jack just couldn’t believe that he’d fallen for this again. He’d rationalized this out with himself many, many times: it was too complex to dissect everything that came his way, to try and decide whether or not to believe or be skeptical or push for more proof. There were some people that he didn’t trust (Locke) when they told him the sky was blue; he’d always check for himself before putting any stock in it. But really, it took a lot to truly betray his trust. Jack even trusted Sawyer, to a point, and it wasn’t exactly a secret that they didn’t necessarily enjoy each other’s company. Kate knew all about Jack and his willingness to take things at face value. She knew it and used it to her own advantage. But was he angry? Surprisingly little, though fairly annoyed. Instead, he was starting to understand something a little better.
The paper was worn around the edges and corners, soft like it had been unfolded, opened, and smoothed many times. Kate must have been carrying this thing around with her every second since she got it. It read: When your prisoner escapes...as you'll allow him...bring the names on this list, and only these names, to this location. Your options, your only two options, are to follow these instructions or watch everyone in your camp die because you don't. Then, below, a scribbled list of their names, and a roughly etched map. He let out a breath and rubbed a distracted hand down his face. Sure, this seemed like good reason to follow orders. Then again, if whoever had given Kate the note was willing and able to harm the survivors at camp (a hard feat, considering the number of people there, and also the general air of paranoia) then what was to say they weren’t just dragging the three of them in to death?
Jack grit his teeth. “Kate, why didn’t you just say something? He shook his head, but stopped himself short from saying anything more. Right now, it wasn’t going to help much.
“Who gave you this?” An unfocused question that Jack didn’t really expect a clear answer to. He ran his eyes down the note again. He wished that she had clued them in before they left. That way, maybe Jack could have come a little more prepared, but as of now he didn’t have any sort of weaponry on him; he didn’t usually carry a gun...only the key to the case. He didn’t think it would be necessary for bringing back an unarmed man with a serious injury. “It’s not like this seems negotiable,” He said tightly. He turned over the note and found it blank. “Is there a way for us to go around? A different route? Because this way...” he drew his finger up the map. “...this way we’re going to get ambushed, because they assume this is where we’ll go. We don’t have time to go back...if this thing is real. We have to assume it’s real.” He paused and looked up. “We have to try to level the playing field.”
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Lauren
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| Posted: Sun Jul 01, 2007 7:36 am Post subject: |
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Desmond
Hatch
Locke
Not a lot had changed. A few various little elements had been shifted, or details altered, but for the most part the bunker had remained an exact replica of how he remembered it being just over a week ago. He wondered if a certain book still stood like a soldier in its little parade of surrounding books. Perhaps he’d be needing it soon.
It was as if the last seven days had been obliterated and he was exactly back where he had started from. He had to keep convincing himself that it was different this time; that the chore would die out and something of a revolution would be reached; a chapter closed. It was a hope he’d clung to for years and he just prayed that it would now be fulfilled by what he and Locke intended to.
He hovered in that small rounded room, his arms folded, standing with a wobble of hesitance all around him. His fear was that he’d slip so easily back into the destructive pattern that had controlled his life for three years. His fear was that he would succumb to his cowardice. He had to remain strong for the sake of all that is right, and for the sake of what was left of his sanity.
As if on cue, John entered the room, an almost baffled look on his face which quickly disintegrated. Desmond thought little of it and was wholly enticed to grab the beer offered to him – it was just the kind of courage the Scot needed. “Cheers,” he said, wafting the can in the air before drawing several gulps from its inside. His eyes ticked to the counter, the minutes piling into history.
“This station,” he started, reluctantly taking up the stool next to Locke and before the little ancient computer, “the Pearl? What is it you learnt there, brotha? What made you jump off the wagon?” The timer clicked down to eighteen minutes and Desmond took another slug from the beer, vainly hoping it would dissolve the massing unease brewing inside him.
Locke
Hatch
Desmond
Any other motion apart from his steadily increasing heartbeat would have been pointless, for there was nothing left to do apart from sit and wait until the countdown. He was so close, he could almost smell that tension, and taste the future, whose flavour was not yet palatable. Desmond on the contrary, decided he would indulge in the flavour of beer, and sat next to him dousing the contents of the can Locke had passed to him, down his gullet. He himself did not drink, but took a couple of sips, before resting the Dharma-stamped can on the desk his feet were resting up on.
“…What made you jump off the wagon?” Such a sensitive topic, Locke was unsure whether he could answer Desmond straight away. He hadn’t talked to anybody about what he had seen, not even to himself. To talk to the Scot would be even more inappropriate, seeing as how they had just reacquainted after he had held a gun to Locke’s head. Or maybe it was better this way; where this near enough stranger’s judgement didn’t mean so much to him.
“Do you remember that Orientation tape you showed me, Desmond?” Locke asked, though he didn’t wait for the reply, “Well there was a video just like that in the Pearl Station. It…” the words held themselves back, their claws digging into his tongue to prevent themselves from being spoken. It was so hard to admit this, that he had…Failed. He had been so wrong. “…It said that this hatch? The Swan Station? Was being monitored and tested. Everyone in this hatch was being tested; to see if they’d really push the button or not.” He has been undecided on how much to tell Desmond, yet as the tension eased itself; he decided to relay the whole memory – more for himself than the other.
“And every time we did push the button, it was recorded and sent down this vacuum thing – to some higher power. We were the experiment, not anybody else. And we were stupid enough to fall for it. But hey, lesson learned right?”
Fifteen minutes till show time.
Desmond
Hatch
Locke
He nodded quickly. Of course he remembered showing Locke the Orientation tape. Desmond recalled his awe and confusion, which had not been unlike his own the first ten times he had watched it, over and over. That tape was infuriatingly clipped to pieces and he’d once searched the entire bunker – with Kelvin laughing at him all the while – looking for those missing links. He’d never found a trace, not a single cell and it still bothered him to this day.
Locke mentioned another species of Orientation film, this time on video, and immediately Desmond’s interest was peaked and suspended, hovering over John’s next sentence as if it might spell out the difference between an apocalypse and paradise. “…It said that this hatch? The Swan Station? Was being monitored and tested. Everyone in this hatch was being tested; to see if they’d really push the button or not.” To John, Desmond’s face would likely appear curious, but imprinted within him was a more troubled expression; he couldn’t fathom the blasphemy of the idea that he’d been a lab rat for three years.
“Are you sure about this, brotha? What if you’ve got it backwards? What if the experiment was on the people in that hatch and not the ones down here?” It was with a shaking hand that he was holding onto his sanity – and his beer. He dismissed the idea he’d just proposed to Locke, thinking it too far-fetched and ridiculous, even for the Namaste clan. There had to be a different answer.
He shook his head, and then took a vigorous drink from his old and white beer-filled can, the aluminium crackling as he did so. “Was there anything else in that station? Was there a computer?” The Swan station revolved around the computer he now sat in front of, but what was the lifeblood of the Pearl?
Locke
Hatch
Desmond
Desmond’s suggestion that what John had seen could be fake, made Locke feel like his intestines were knotting up with…Fury. He’d gotten used to nobody believing what he said, but Desmond of all people should have been able to accept somebody’s farfetched story – God knew he had a few of his own. The doubt that Locke’s discovery was sincere caused a flicker of a spark to ignite, but rationality dampened the anger that was quickly building up. He let it go, though he could have so easily argued against the Scot who was prepared to drink himself into the truth – simply for the reason that Locke needed this man if his plan were to work. He couldn’t do any of this alone; nobody could, so he felt no shame.
Replacing what could have been a brash comeback; Locke stared at Desmond, an eerily peaceful smile apparent on his lips, stretching his aged skin – in need of some nurture. It would be a long time coming, that he was certain of. He decided to focus on an ‘easier’ aspect of the conversation they had engaged in, and spoke while his eyes remained on the countdown timer – 5 minutes. 5 more minutes, small minutes. Small blips in time which were so insignificant to others. To Locke and Desmond – they were everything.
“It was mainly TV’s in the room, along with an old leather chair so whoever has been watching us had a first class seat. I mean, I was looking out for a popcorn dispenser, but I guess they took that with them when they vacated, whenever that was.” He sighed, rubbing his temples frustratingly, “Won’t this just hurry up?”
Desmond
Hatch
Locke
The tension was building, and rather than feeling opposed to it, he embraced it and accepted it; drank it willingly like a drug. It was sweet, and the release would be all the more sweeter if he could only survive and withstand the difference in time between now and then.
He would have been amused and grateful for the humour Locke provided, except that he didn’t acquire any information of use in the end. Televisions made sense of the surveillance, but was there really no computer down there? He wondered if he’d been taken to the Pearl whether he’d have found it just as monotonous, stressful and disheartening as he had found the Swan to be. Honestly, he hoped he’d never find out.
Again he tipped the can so that he was privy to its somewhat stale and malty contents. As he pried the aluminium from his lips he felt his eyes directly shoot to the counter; it was as if his pulse felt the ticking over from five minutes down to four and he anticipated the alarm before it actually started. He looked at Locke, “Not much longer now, John.” He chuckled a bit, though the noise of his laugh struggled over the sound of the vulgar beeping distressed signal that reverberated throughout the hatch. “If you’ve got any last doubts let’s be having them, ey?”
Locke
Hatch
Desmond
The time had decreased so slowly when Locke had been anticipating the countdown – and now that it was finally bestowed upon them, time couldn’t go quick enough, just when he wished it wouldn’t. He didn’t shift position, but brought his hand up to his mouth, to gnaw on his thumb apprehensively as the important question was approached – was he really sure what he was doing was right, or did he want to back down? Was this doubt hammering his stomach like some unrelentless boxer, or a nervous confirmation that this was still real, so very real – existent enough to make him feel afraid?
He shot a side glance to Desmond, and forced a semi-confident smile, “No doubts, Desmond.” His eyes returned to the countdown clock, forty seconds left – now under a minute… It was remarkable how time increased or decreased according to the levels of tension present. If the atmosphere peaked in awkwardness, then time might as well stop ticking.
30, 20, 10…
What was to be expected, what was there to be achieved now? Would this ever satiate his curiosity or need for answers, or was this simply a way to prove to the other powers on this island that he was just as savvy as they were? Had he even thought this far ahead?
As the numbers clicked harshly, spinning on their small hinges at a rapid speed; the numbers no longer present, and instead replacing them were hieroglyphics. He had seen these once before when he had failed the press the button in time. He glanced as Desmond whose eyes were still on the countdown timer. He didn’t punch in the numbers, neither of them did…They watched. With such determination to not press the button that their heads broke a sweat.
Locke truly thought this would be ok, that he had succeeded in proving something to himself – when the metal frame protecting the clock began to dilapidate and crush itself, as if some invisible titan were forcing the metal to collapse in on itself. What the hell was happening?
Desmond
Hatch
Locke
It was the repetitive strain of “System Failure” coming over the loudspeakers that ultimately made Desmond doubt their decision. Some time ago - a couple of months at least - the voice had boomed the same urgent doomsday message, screeching like an air raid, and as he reasoned with Locke that the button had a purpose and as he tried to push the numbers into the keyboard, as he tried to be rational in a situation that didn’t make sense to begin with, and as Locke carelessly mercilessly slammed the computer to the floor, Desmond felt death creeping up on him, as it had done the last time, with the same character, black and ominous; so clear in his mind. Clearer than the time before, a deeper presence which he failed to be oblivious to. In fact, he immersed himself in it.
He stared at Locke in disbelief. He was so distraught at the action just performed – a vast majority of their hope was now in tangled pieces on the cold concrete floor. “You killed us,” he said, the words despondent as they fell from him, “You killed us all.”
John’s response was unheard as the Scot ran from the room, a mission carpeting the space before his feet. He hurried to the bookshelf, dodging flying pieces of metal as he moved, and rummaged quickly through the books stacked in the shelf. A certain one he grabbed, opening Dickens’ Our Mutual Friend to the front page, where the bulky key waited for him. His feet still in a run, he returned to the room, barely avoiding a flying fork, and looked urgently at Locke. “You’ve got to run! I’m going to blow the dam, John. I’m sorry for whatever made you stop believing, but it’s real, and I’ve got to make it go away.”
The tiny protest that followed was dismissed by his words. “I’ll see you in another life, brotha.”
Shifting a bulky piece of equipment, Desmond descended a couple of awkward little stairs that were embedded into the floor, and took the key down into the barely-lit area. He could feel the cold dose of sweat pouring over him, the pressure like a knot forced down his throat and the shadow crawling over him with long and scraping talons. And yet, all he could think about was Penelope. All he remembered was her voice. All we really need to survive is one person who truly loves us. And you have her. I will wait for you. Always. I love you. Desmond made the Sign of the Cross, whispered “I love you, Penny,” jammed closed his eyes and turned the key.
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Amy
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| Posted: Mon Jul 02, 2007 8:49 am Post subject: |
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Ben
Docks
JJ, Ford, Tyler
He looked at them all with some excitement lashed across his face; as if it had been beaten onto his mouth in a crooked smile, for he was not supposed to lose control of keeping his emotions in tact. Even the slightest quirk of his brow, or the twitch in the corner of his face would probably equate to a leader that can’t keep things in check. And that in a world where one has to conceal so much under a veneer of cool doesn’t fare so well. So he let the rush of giddiness subside all too fast, leaving him feeling light headed and suddenly drowsy. His comrades knew what was in store for the 815 survivors, but they did not. And that is how Ben would keep it until the last moment, until he could latch onto the last opportunity. He stole a sideways glance to the boat now resting behind him, leashed to the docks like an old dog tied to the fence; it was a necessary precaution, but the old boy wasn’t going anywhere.
Casting an informative nod to the three assigned men standing behind his new friends, Ben turned his back on Ford, JJ and Tyler, and began walking back up the dirt track that had once outstretched all the way to the tide, until the docks became a necessity however many years ago. He took out his walkie talkie once more from his pocket – and held his button on the communication tab, waiting until the crackling static subsided into another voice. Ben didn’t wait for them to say anything more than ‘what is it?’ before he was firing orders at them. “I need you to bring me Austen, Ford and Shepherd, now.” His voice was commanding and firm, but was coated in an unseen varnish of apprehension. The plan seemed to be slowing down, like a pan of water fading to stillness after it had reached the peak of its boil. The two groups were meant to be here now, yet only half of the six were hunched over the docks.
And everybody knew He couldn’t tolerate any mishaps or miscalculations.
Confirmation that the second half of the plan was about to executed, he stuffed the walkie talkie back into his pocket, and folded his arms across his chest. As always, it was but a matter of time. Ben spun on his heel, and began marching back into the circle of the small crowd that had gathered; friends staring at friends staring at foe – but in the end they all came to look at him. He said nothing to either interlocking circles of the group – nor would he have the chance. The seconds before a reverberating pulsing sound filled the air, Ben heard a terribly high pitched scream in his ears, which acutely rang in his head. He denied his reflexes the chance to clap his hands over his ears, and turned his head to stare at the others (with tremendous effort, for an invisible viscous force seemed to be slowing his every action down), who had already sheltered their hearing with the palms of their hands.
As the shriek in his ears increased to what seemed to be a global howl, it boomed and pulsed through the air – making a few to his left and right hit the floor trying to bury their heads in the sand. (wasn’t that always the easiest option?) Ben looked north, as if the blame lay there and glared at the sky as it became his enemy. Overhead the blue of the land’s ceiling disintegrated into a violet colour – so peculiar and strange that Ben could not take his eyes away from it. The bright colour pierced his eyes and his eyelids flickered to protect his retina before he was blinded completely. He managed to tear away his gaze from the purple sky to his comrades who were crushing their arms around their faces – and yet he still refused to bring his hands up to protect himself. All around him, everything was tinted white, like an angelic idea of the earth was being presented right in front of him – and the screeching sound, was this sound of the Judgement Day?
He was unsure whether he was just mouthing the word “God” or whether he was saying it – but either way he could not hear the word either in his mind or in the choked air around his face. Everything was silent, except for the unrelenting drone which penetrated and began to grate his skull. Unable to take the pain any longer, Ben covered his ears with his hands, pressing down on them as hard as he could. His knees were insistent that they buckle, but he knew better than to let them have the final say – and held his ground. For a few more seconds everything turned a pure white colour, in which Ben could see and feel nothing. Then it all began to fade into the normal shades of blue and green. Carefully, he let his hands slide to his sides again, and shook his head as his ears popped.
The others looked at him questioningly – but he withheld the answers for himself. Somebody had exploded one of the stations; most likely the Swan. He didn’t let the dread fall on his features, nor did he let the idea that the world might cease any moment enter his head. Right now, he had to keep up that poker face. He rotated in a semi circle, checking nobody was injured from the short ordeal, and then crossed his arms again. “You’re going to want to contact Mikhail.” Was all he mumbled in Tom’s ear – before allowing himself to recover.
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| Posted: Mon Jul 02, 2007 1:04 pm Post subject: |
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Kate
Jungle
Sawyer, Jack, others in waiting
She shook her head a little bit as he spoke, resisting the urge to begin to pace as he explained to her in no uncertain terms exactly how screwed they were. Jack was mostly doing what she thought he was going to, he was trying to find a way to get the best of these people. She watched him as he thought, and for a moment she wanted to explain to him what things were like on the other end of the jungle. What they had all been unaware of because they hadn't experienced the level of fear that everyone in the other camp had walked around with. Jack didn't lose anyone from their side yet, so he didn't realize how organized these Others were.
"I-I don't know how...I was in the hatch alone and it just showed up..." she was barely responding, sure that he was too busy trying to come up with a plan to care what her answer was. There was a time to tell him the whole story, maybe--but it wasn't now. Since her confession she still hadn't bothered to look over at Sawyer, see if he felt betrayed by the fact that she hadn't clued him in on what was going on, either. She didn't think she would be able to handle his not being on her side, not when they had to focus on getting out of this.
When Jack mentioned levelling the playing field she looked upwards. The place they were supposed to meet them was an open field with a drum sloping inward. Kate pointed her arm, "We could try to get the higher ground, but we don't have any weapons. And we don't know how many of them there are." She thought for a moment, not sure if she wanted to say what she was about to. "Jack...if they wanted to ki-"
Kate didn't get a chance to finish her thought, the sound had begun to invade the sky so quickly she didn't know what was going on. Her hands instinctually went to her ears and she dropped down to the ground, but neither gesture quelled the sheer intensity of the sound. It seemed to fill the air like sonic fog, thick and everywhere all at once. Almost immediately following the entire of the jungle's green became washed out in an eerie glow that flashed brilliantly violent white even through Kate's closed eyelids. She waited with her head towards the ground for a few seconds until it seemed to go away and then she cautiously opened one eye.
As soon as she had recovered enough she glanced to her sides to make sure that Jack and Sawyer were still there and that they were okay. It took only seconds before she confirmed all of this and then she began to move without question. Kate leapt to her feet and went to run, her mind already figuring that the light and noise had been some sort of diversionary ambush tactic that was being used against them and not wanting to be where they were. She had no idea she was wrong, though--and didn't recognize her error in judgement until she hit the open field and the sharp pierce of the dart hit in her in the neck. Kate began to drop from the tranquilizer almost immediately, trying her damnedest to get just a few more steps in that she knew were bound to lead her nowhere before completely blacking out.
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B. acceleration (due to gravity) - 980cm^-2 sec
Yeah I feel something pulling me down
Forcing me between myself and the ground
Of all the nightmares that ever came true
I think that gravity (gravity-gravity) is you
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Amy
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| Posted: Mon Jul 02, 2007 2:49 pm Post subject: |
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NEXT DAY!
If anyone is unsure of whats going down now, just take a clicky and you'll be redirected to the Main OOC where all is explained.
Have fun!
MAIN OOC
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Lauren
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| Posted: Sat Jul 14, 2007 6:45 am Post subject: |
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Desmond
Jungle (near what was the Hatch)
Alone
Purgatory. That’s what this place had to be.
He wakened into this shrewd world, all colour muted by the brightness accosting him. As he lay there it didn’t feel heavenly, there were no signs of harps or wings or halos and there was no promised other-worldly voice welcoming him to the pale plane. The luminosity he witnessed wasn’t soft nor gentle, but rather more intrusive so that it pierced his sight even through the closing of his eyes. His heart felt white as he lay motionless. Doves flew, but he didn’t see their recession into the far horizon. It seemed a vulture started circling. But this place didn’t feel of hell either. The only heat was sourced from inside his chest, and there was no smell of fire rousing his senses. It seemed he was almost free of sin.
Conscious shifting, he became aware of the heaviness of his self; body massed out with all the feeling of its old weight. And as he swivelled his head left, his neck was pliable with the movement. With concentrated effort, he saw the tell-tale twitch in his fingers that verified his control over them. Tinges of pain were dappled between the positive quakes of movement he put into action, and his head lifted, torso too, until he at last sat upright. He braced his knees between his hands, noting listlessly the bareness of his every part. His skin was on exposé without his written consent.
Shyly, fearing the pain that would accompany his every move, he dared to stand, a quick and wary reeling taking possession of his head a moment thereafter. He stood as still as he was able, legs loose in their joints, and inhaled the majority of the dizziness away.
Then he looked around.
Sun spots remained as flecks across his undeserving eyes, but he caught the gist of his location. There was no conceivable way of mistaking it really. It was purgatory, but not in the manner religion speaks of; this place was more personal, designed specifically, it seemed, to be his suspension between hell and the other place.
He sighed, rubbed his face. A collection of dirt and blood stayed on his fingers. And as he blinked he felt as if time had transformed itself, vivid pictures playing across his inner retina. What could this mean? Staggering, he regained clarity, or as much of it as he was able, and stepped forward, seeing discards of his temporary hatch life strewn across the jungle floor. That picture. He picked it up, taking no note of the damage, but more so of the content. Penny.
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Jess
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| Posted: Sun Jul 15, 2007 1:57 pm Post subject: |
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Caleb
Beach (Flashback)
Alone / Sarah
There is a darkness in a man's soul... a darkness clouded not by lies, but by truth. Rip away the truth and underneath the darkness is another darkness.
And underneath it all is Hell.
Damnation is a place, but not a place. Different for all people. To some, it's ice cold isolation; a forevering of guilt and melancholy that lacerates hope and freezes belief. Equally, Hell is a place of physical pain. It's boiling lakes and branding irons, tar and fire and sharp, sharp knives— terrors unimaginable perpetrated against the flesh. It's a state of mind, hidden below the underside of a bottomless pit of despair, one that can't be climbed.
For Caleb McCoy, however, it was none of those things. As he sat there on the shore, facing the current, he knew. He'd been confronted with it so many times that he had finally reached the final conclusion of what he'd always suspected.
Hell is a return to his moment of lowest despair, magnified.
Flashback
For better or for worse...
To say that Daisy looked like a ghost of herself would be perfectly, and without diffident modesty, accurate. The clothes she wore enhanced the fact: thin fabrics of white garments that with the shifting light was flecked with paler spots, as well as stained ones, from the occasional perspiration. The colour was rid from her face like someone had washed it off; even her freckles seemed insignificant and didn't stand a chance against the rigid paleness. Her lips were swollen and dry, also them a paler shade of white. The only thing that still held any semblance of a colour in an otherwise so flashing face were the irises of her eyes; green against black and white. The heart of the jungle in them had since long degraded its beating, but not fully out. Not yet.
It hurt seeing her like this, physically hurt. Her parents had come and gone and were now staying at Caleb's parents house, whom passed in and out daily to check on their daughter-in-law, but also to check on their son, who was an equal mess of torpor as his wife.
For richer, for poorer...
But there were differences. For a while, a while after Daisy had been confined to bedsides, he'd gotten so caught up in everything that he'd completely let the every-other daily routine of shaving fall to ignorance; a thing he'd never done once previously in his life. Seeing him develop a beard Daisy had given him a scoffing look, then proceeded to cough up some blood, then returned to her scoff. She had asked why he wasn't shaving. 'Because of you' he'd told her, and she'd smacked him on the side of the head (very weakly) and told him that just for that, because of her, he should keep shaving. Also told him he looked funny with a beard: like a ten year old boy in front of the mirror with his daddy's razor. He'd laughed, told her he'd shave at once -- and had proceeded to go into the bathroom, turn the shower on, and sink down into the floor of it, face in hands… and cried at the top of his lungs as the water drowned his sobbing.
He had cried, a raging storm, until he was certain he'd run himself dry, or that he had no pain left to feel that hadn't already wrecked his insides to shards by its havoc. Then he had went out into the lounge room, where Daisy's bed was positioned (so she could see the ocean, her eternal mistress) and seen her cough up more blood -- and he knew then that the hurt was endless.
In sickness and in health...
Caleb walked into the room now, a glass of clear-liquid water carried between his sturdy hands. If one would have taken a quick look at him, one would have noticed nothing different -- but if you let your look linger for more than half of a second, if you spared him more than that, then he was a horrible image of his former self. The bags underneath his eyes hung there like deceased shadows, his hair was a mess of flat and spikes and all of the in-between, and his body... if you looked closely, you would be able to see how his fingertips shook, constantly; which was the evidence of how much (really, how little) he slept. But he wasn't the key point here and now. He approached Daisy's bed, sitting down by the side of it.
"Here's the glass of water you wanted."
"Thanks, baby." She smiled up at him like nothing was wrong, nothing at all. But something had been wrong for a much too long time.
When Caleb had been asked to get it, her glass had already been more than half-empty, but still he did not question why she had asked this of him. Right now, anything Daisy wanted, Daisy would get, without any questions attached. She could have asked him to bring down the moon for her and he would have jumped right off that balcony.
Just like she had insight into his thoughts, she placed a frail hand upon his arm. Caleb was in denial about the fact that today... today she looked worse than she ever had before. Highs and lows, right? "Aren't you going to ask what I wanted it for?"
Instantly he put his hand to cover hers, all attentive. Still, he sounded tired when he spoke, too tired for health. "What did you want new water for?"
Daisy made a motion to the bedside table he'd put there for her, the white wooden thing which looked so simple, too simple to mention, but which she had seen in an old antique shop once and begged for him to buy her. She'd never needed begging with him, and needless to say, he'd bought her it and the same day she had renovated the thing, stayed up til the early hours after midnight, painting it. When she had been done, she had roused Caleb from his sleep, dragged his less-than-lucid form out into the room and shown it to him. He'd told her it was sweet, very nice looking, but couldn't it have waited until morning? Daisy had looked at him as if he was a teddy bear, wanting to hug him. Maybe, she had replied. But she wanted to put it in their first child's room. He woken up instantly then, smiled at her and hugged her -- Daisy revealing her planned doctor's appointment the day after. He'd hugged her, held her tight and told her he loved her, and that he was happy, so happy.
By now, they all knew what that doctor's appointment had brought her.
"Can you grab the orange bottle there?" Daisy asked, indicating to the table.
"The pills?"
She nodded, and he grabbed them in response. It was funny, he couldn't recall her taking these before. The bottle, judging from the uncapped lid, was previously untouched. Without a word, he uncapped it for her, strong hands gone to work, and without a question gave them to her. A little stupidly, with fingers scratching the three-day stubble on him, he asked— "Are they for headaches, or..."
"I'm going to do it, Caleb." She looked at him, proudly, and he felt himself for the first time ever become sick to the stomach at the sight of her always so generous smile, and the words; at what they meant together. He felt his whole world on pause, as if her words had frozen time and he couldn't just believe how it could go on without him like this and... she couldn't be serious. She just couldn't.
"I thought you were kidding," he pleaded, desperate, but with the calmness of a man who knows that the outcome, no matter what he does, will be the same.
"You knew I weren't," Daisy replied coolly, with an unsettling timbre of equanimity. "You tried to talk me out of it then, too. But Caleb, I can't... I can't just wait around like this." She bit her lower lip; never a good sign. "It hurts so much and... do you know how much it hurts?" Of course he did, he was there for every day, sharing the pain. He hurt too. "I know it's going to end and it's only a matter of days. But I want the choice to be mine. And as much as I love them, I don't want mom or dad or yours to be around... I only want you." She smiled now, and somehow he knew it would be one of the last ones he would ever get from her. "That's all I ever wanted, baby."
He couldn't look at her now, and his eyes travelled everywhere but in her direction. He removed himself from the bed, kneeling down beside it, leaning with his upper body against it, into her embrace. "Don't make me." He put his head into her embrace, into her chest and couldn't keep the tears from falling as he repeated his words. "Don't make me watch this, now when I can do something to stop it. Please don't give me that choice." He sounded wailing, pathetic, and he couldn't have cared any less of what anyone thought of him right then. This wasn't happening.
And yet it was.
She patted his head with one hand, the other one stroking the firm skin of his neck. "It's not your choice. It's mine."
With tears that stained his vision, he lifted his eyes and looked into hers. She wiped his tears away, kissed his forehead— "I could never have asked for anyone better than you, Caleb." Affectionately, she touched his face. "You've been an ass at times, you know," she suddenly said. "But you've been my ass. And that killer body doesn't hurt, either." Her hands framed his face now, and he couldn't hide the tears from protruding, making him years younger and years older in the same moment. He couldn't laugh, but wanted to; a muffled sound that got caught halfway up in his throat and there transmuted itself into a sob. Daisy felt like she was dying at a faster pace seeing this, and now rubbed her thumbs against his temples, pulling his eyes into hers. "I've loved you with all my heart and soul, Caleb McCoy. God sent you down to me, to bless these five last years of my life. With your heart, with your soul... I've been blessed. And not by God – by you. I wouldn't take a single moment of the past five years back, baby... not a single one. Good for the bad." One hand crept closer to the middle of his face, and wiped away the tears, only to be covered with new ones; he looked so small before her now. Much too small.
"But now, it's time for me to let go." Daisy wasn't as brave as the facade she was trying to put up -- finally, the liquid forced itself out of the corners of her eyes as well, falling down her cheeks like a flowing tragedy.
From this day onward...
"Don't," he pleaded, through sobs that tore his voice apart. "Please... don't do this. I love you..."
"One more day won't matter right now Caleb." She sounded tired when she spoke.
Childishly, "Yes, yes it would."
This time it was Daisy who pulled him against her chest, for support, for love and for all the rest which he would now have to do without. For the rest of his life. He drew in her scent through his nose, forcing himself to smell beyond that clean smell of soap, or the scent of the drugs she was already taking and which were eating her body up, inside out, trying to ease her out of the pain... and into death. He understood her choice, didn't think it was selfish at all... but it was Daisy, for Christ's sake. She had been the constant in his life for five years now, and after this, after this day and when tomorrow would come... there would be no more. No, he thought. He couldn't do this. He looked up at her again, into those eyes and all he could see was the pain in them -- he had to, for her sake. He just had to survive this.
They remained like that, listening to time ticking itself away. Calm, stroking the embrace of the others hand, feeling every moment of it like a lazy morning's riser would embrace every single minute of the snooze button; this was the snooze waiting for life to stop ticking, and the alarm of death's finality to kick in.
When her hands reached for the pills, he didn't see the moves as much as he felt them. He reached up then, violently, and kissed her with all the force and might that was in the summoned power of both their bodies -- despite the bravado of her words, he felt the true weakness in her then, literally felt as life drained her of herself, slowly pulled her soul away... she was diminishing by the second, and he could only imagine the pain. Breaking apart, he was silent, too silent, and reached for the water, which she was too weak to pick up herself.
"I love you," he said one last time, feeling its eternal impact. There were no other words which could have interpreted the situation better.
"Me too," Daisy crackled hoarsely. "Always. I'll be waiting."
Wordlessly, he gave her the water. Without a word, only vision, he watched her put the pills in her mouth, and then put the her hands to the glass and pull the trigger, drinking the water down, gulp by gulp... and he waited. And she did -- and suddenly, she smiled, and he knew then that this was it. Outside, framing the background of the two, the sun set on the horizon line and framed them in a halo of liquid gold, as two swallows flew by in the evening sky. Swallows; they stayed together until the end, with always the two of them. Flying together, beyond the sky's limit, into the morning and night of each and every day; warmth and cold. Fear and reassurance. Love... and nothing but it.
A quick shudder of the body, a last breathe and then... nothingness. One last sunset upon them both.
Everything was silent now. Eventually, he knew that somebody would call, or come over and ring at the door, and then he'd have to move. But for now, he remained sitting, clutching onto a body growing colder by each missed heartbeat, every lack of a breath. Had silence ever been louder?
He held his hand over her heart, feeling the pulse there, thumping against his hand, then the tip of his fingers, almost making him think it was his own, and then... there wasn't any more. No more beating. It faded as if on pause; except this was an eternal, final one. Silence ate him like darkness overlapping, and just when he thought silence to be all there was – he was waiting for that final scream of his own heart – he heard a soft sigh escape her lips. The last sigh. The last breath she ever would take.
And here and now... it would be his; eternally. To have and to hold.
Til death do us part.
End Flashback
The crashing of the waves came so gently, rolling in towards the beach like they'd been blown by the wind. He felt the briny spray of them on his face, planting itself onto where he should have shaved two, maybe three days ago. It didn't seem to matter. None of it did.
The sun parted from a cloud and blinded his vision; he put a hand to cover his sight, and turned his eyes away from the topaz of the rolling, curling waters. He saw her then, also an early morning's riser. Alone, she walked where he had just before, retracting his steps; her feet much smaller to fit the imprints than his. She looked like she could use a friend right now. So could he. He called out to her— "Morning!" The call wasn't as enthusiastic as he may have wished, but considering memories, considering all other circumstances, he could be forgiven. For just this once, for this moment -- he was forgiven. He had to be, some time.
"Slept alright in your new shelter?" |
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| Posted: Sun Jul 29, 2007 11:40 am Post subject: |
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Sarah
Beach
Caleb
Impious, the sea rebelled against tranquillity, never standing still, ceaselessly breathing its windy waves upon the shore. Like rolling barrels of ale, they smashed into a coating of foam that sank impossibly into the sand. She never tired of looking at it, observing the repetitions that were all together different from the one before and the one that came after. The ocean was a magnitude of variables that never grew sore or fatigued. And Sarah liked that she could count on it staying like that, at least until the world froze over.
With sparks for eyes, she shifted her fuse to where Caleb was berthed in the sand, the ripples of granules rising to meet his edges. He looked to her as if he’d just climbed himself out of a pit of troublesome thoughts and was now struggling to breathe the free air again. She easily crowded herself next to him; her legs bent back to her either side like a frog, a small greeting smile coming as the response to his salutation. A wonderment – should she ask what weighed on him?
”Slept alright in your new shelter?” There was thankfulness for the easy theme of talk; it was her belief that anything more intense shouldn’t be breached by this first breath of morning; it was too early for such matters. Her mind was only warming up. She was certain of her answer, a nod clearly indicating that yes, she had slept alright – a few more hours than was typical for her. “Like a baby, without the crying,” she smiled. “Thanks for setting me up with the builder. He sure knows his way around a shelter.”
Soaking, her eyes filled up with the light that deflected from the sea’s salty tips. She looked askance, turning with a query to Caleb’s face. “Did you see it yesterday?” How should she define “it”? “The sky ...glowed... and that noise.” She grinned crisply. “I’m not well versed in the ways of the world, at least not outside my own territory, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t normal.” Contemplatively, she added, eyes squinting in thought, “It was abnormal.” How else could she phrase it? She’d never experienced anything like it, and wasn’t keen to do so again anytime soon.
The sun was like an ambuscade of light, seeming to hone in on her and Caleb alone, like some alien spaceship picking out their intended victims by way of a circular floodlight. Heat echoed up from the sand, the first tones of it to be felt for the day, and it reminded her of Australia’s more potent days where everyone searched out the air conditioned buildings; she’d often gone to the library until the hissing librarian grew intolerable of her sometimes intoxicated behaviour. There’d be no escape of the heat here on the island – except in the hatch. But her mind associated that place with symptoms and emotions she’d rather be without.
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| Posted: Sat Aug 11, 2007 4:09 am Post subject: |
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Merrik
Docks//Beach
Alone//Whoever wants to be part of the rescue team.
Such an abstract thought, was redemption. One could view it like a professor might analyse a Picasso; relative and skewif – forever achieving a new outlook or perspective. To be redeemed was not a one man show – it took turn after turn, person after person. It could never be achieved in one fluid hour; therefore the hour of need no longer existed. But to Merrik, it did. And not only that, those sixty minutes prolonged into agonising hours which crawled across the map of time into a day and night. What had happened in that time he was unsure of, as the lingering substance of poison still coursed through his languid veins – all Merrik was certain of was that he was tied securely to a rickety chair, and the sky had at one point ripped in half, and angels the colour of brightest magenta had floated from the sky and blew their horns which had deafened him. That was when he had felt most helpless; unable to shield his ears from their harrowing beckon. They urged him to join them, to fly where they had come from – but he was strapped so tightly to the chair… He could not leave. Had he missed his chance of redemption?
One might have asked what he needed to be forgiven for – he could answer it truthfully and instantly. He had let three of his friends down, and those actions would reverberate around the camp regardless of what happened now. Merrik could only imagine what they would say about him; a traitor, a spy, every derogatory name he could imagine. When left on his own in the small room, it didn’t take much longer until he heard nothing but his own laboured breathing. What the fuck was he meant to do? He had done what any man or woman would have done, he panicked with such an insane intensity he almost knocked himself out. There was nobody to tell him what he had done wrong, or how he could correct it – Merrik was abandoned in every sense of the word. When he had first come to he had briefly reacquainted with the familiarised voice he had heard in his head so often, but he had not seen a face – was this the man behind all this; the man behind the curtain?
Merrik guessed it didn’t matter; it wouldn’t bring him any closer to escaping the chair. And with only his knee downwards free, he had had only one option valid still – and had pushed himself against the wall, causing the chair he was imprisoned in to topple backwards. Lucky for the Scot, its spine had cracked enough for the ropes to loosen around Merrik’s arms and chest – and from this he was unable to untie himself. The plan was all so easy and accomplishable; it didn’t take long for Braveheart to assume that even this, his escape, had been planned; which left him wondering why it had been so easy. His conclusion was that this was not over by a long shot – he may have been abandoned, but an essence of mystery and occupancy lingered on. He searched around the room he had been kept in; sorting useless paperwork from the potentially useful, flicking through work guides, and the shift rotas. And just when he was about to turn his back on the room and try and figure out the way back to camp; something caught his eye.
His eyes flitted to the floor, and honed in on the small gap between the desk and the wall. To a passer by it would have just been space and nothing more – painted a blurred black by the shadow the desk cast. Luckily for Merrik however, he had been caught in one of those moments where everything seemed magnified, and for a moment he felt like some kind of Marvel hero, as if he had a spidey sense or something. He rubbed down the knotted muscles in his shoulders and legs, and bent down cautiously, picking up what he felt to be a photo, by the thin glossy sheen covering both sides of what previously he had thought to be a piece of paper. He turned it around in his dirt encrusted hands, rotating the Polaroid so he could look at the picture. To have seen a photo of himself and Sandra wouldn’t have totally surprised him, on the contrary; he might have been expecting some kind of sick foreplay from these people – but he hadn’t counted on the photo being of himself and Maisy. He was tempted to let it float to floor, in hope it wasn’t really there… It was his imagination. He couldn’t look at this – it hurt too badly, the wounds hadn’t even begun to heal before they were being ripped open again. He felt the breath choke in his throat, and so he quickly slipped the photo into his back pocket and left the communications room.
He was clueless as to how long he’d been stewing in his own self pity, though judging by the suns location on the horizon; it was sunrise, not sunset – which answered the question of gnawing hunger inside his belly. Merrik turned his head to look at the front door of the room he had been captured in, his new, sharper eyes picking out a white sheet of paper attached the front door. He retraced his steps to read the note, Your friends JJ, Ford and Tyler along with Kate, Jack and Sawyer are with us now. Don’t bother looking for them. “Fucking hell” he cursed, stuffing the letter into his shirt pocket. Now the guilt was doubled. He decided, after surveying the complete emptiness on the docks, that he could waste no time – and despite his flesh wound still paining him – ran into the jungle. Luckily, as he traipsed through the green blanket of foily leaves and creeping trees, he re-discovered the map that had been delivered to him yesterday. Following it in the reverse order now, he led himself back to the beach. Once on the border of the sandy land, he slowed down to a slower pace; readying himself for what was to come. He would have a hard time explaining himself…
People gazed at him curiously as he strode past them all, bellowing to them all “Follow me!” – and he led them all into the caves. There he was met with more familiar faces, who too surveyed him with a questioning look. He took a couple of deep breathes, clapping his hands together to get rid of the dirt embedded in his palms. Or was he just delaying what was to come? “Our friends have been taken by Them; the Others. JJ, Ford, Tyler and… And Kate, Jack and Sawyer.” He took a deep breath, letting his words settle. “I’m going to get them back. All of them. I will bring them home – but I can’t do it alone… Who will stand up and help?”
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Lauren
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| Posted: Mon Aug 13, 2007 10:25 am Post subject: |
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Jace
Shelter / Beach / Caves
Alone / Merrik and co
There were some nightmares that stung. The thought that he’d been living one since crashing hadn’t been identified by his mind. But it all fit together now, the disasters accumulated into one big bundle that he could in no way cherish. He’d never forgive all that had happened. Smiles were put on show, jokes were fake and his demeanour was all an act. He’d never be at peace with himself. The nightmare was his to live through.
He sat in his immaculate shelter, pondering what the day would bring. Would it deliver more sinister wounds that would never heal? It was a negative take on things, but his sleep, jostled and ragged as it had been, hadn’t infused a good mood upon his waking. In fact, he felt like shit, with no physical excuse to blame.
Maybe he just missed his sister.
Stepping from his temporary abode, he took no time to bask in the matutinal glory that accosted the sky; rather he tripped forward to his diurnal task, the ritual by which he obeyed with every circuit of the sun. As he slumped before her grave, casually dropping to his knees, he realised just how empty he’d become; how sick he was of the extremes of the emotions. He couldn’t take it anymore. He was tired of it.
If only an angel could find it fit to swoop him up and take him out of this place.
Instead a voice beckoned him, not at all god-like, but still loud and clear enough to seize the whole of his attention. The words, tilted as they were in the thick Scottish accent, were unmistakably Merrik’s, and his command called for no questioning. Like a lamb being led to its slaughter, Jace fell into line behind him, curious as to what the occasion was that called for such a gathering.
Merrik looked worn and dirty as if he’d just come from living in a cave much shabbier than the one they currently occupied. And the man was exhausted; it was evident in so many ways that Jace was enthralled as to the cause. The sentence that tumbled boisterously from Merrik’s tongue spoke of a treason that Jace had been sorely oblivious to and he wondered how it had come to be. The mention of JJ in particular unsettled him -- even though she’d embedded that scar upon his neck he would still fight to aid her, no matter their history.
“I’ll help,” he proclaimed, not giving himself a chance to second-guess himself. Now he was committed and that was final.
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Jess
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| Posted: Mon Aug 13, 2007 3:01 pm Post subject: |
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Caleb
Beach / Caves
Sarah / + Merrik, Jace & the lot
The voices of the sea-breeze wind had no secrets to divulge any of them in today. It came strong and sweet, like always, with the ends of it whipping in a salty tinge towards where they sat, sunken down in the sand. Small pebbles as they were, when exposed to sunlight, it became sharp, almost too sharp for sight. Caleb had a double golden vision in his eye: the burning ball of liquid fire, thousand miles afar, and by his side, the golden enigma that was the girl named Sarah. She shone along with the sunlight, proving to be a more reliable source of light, for now at least. “Thanks for setting me up with the builder. He sure knows his way around a shelter.”
"He does." After stating the fact, Caleb rubbed with his hand at his neck, making temporary residency of the itch there. "It's a good thing I didn't build it for you, 'cause then last night's brief rain would have left you sleeping in a pool of water." He nodded, chuckling. "Yeah, I do suck that much. Dad was a builder, and I can barely put together anything at all."
The wriggling of the ocean's foamed fingers carried with it the last of his words out to sea. Sarah seemed hesitant to bring up the next topic, pausing long enough for him to pass an ephemeral glance her way, just to make sure she was still there with him. “Did you see it yesterday? The sky ...glowed... and that noise.” He knew of that she was speaking. Only a man, both blind and deaf, who had been here yesterday could not have. The violet light which had screened the sky and all its inhabitants underneath it white, as well as the sound which had left them all ducking for covers, and making of their hands shields; how would he ever forget it? He'd spoken to some people yesterday, them as clueless as himself regarding its origin. But if there was one thing true about the island, experienced and lived, although still yet to be welcomed (it never would be) it was that anything could happen. Apparently even so; the Twilight Zone.
"I saw and heard it," he confirmed, elbows resting upon knees. Looking out at the cerulean water in front of him, he realised he missed his shades. "I don't know what it was, and honestly, something tells me we're better off without knowing. Some things are better remained buried." He said it all very contemplatively, almost expecting an objection from the younger girl, all the while having offered his version of things.
He would have been happy to wait around and listen to Sarah's intake of it, but not before their scenes was disturbed by an accented voice warbling off the air -- "Follow me!" Caleb's first instinct was to question what the hell the guy was up to – he gave Sarah a look which pretty much asked her that – and then he would have proceeded to protest. He wasn't going anywhere just because he was being told to. But people were already following him, a minor throng, and the retinue of them seemed to be gathering about, whispering of urgent news. Despite stubbornness, even Caleb sensed that there was something terribly wrong here, something amiss. A look to Sarah, and he quickly rose to his legs, pulling her up with a strong hand lent out. What the hell was this about? Only one way to find out.
Making sure that Sarah kept up with his pace, they soon reached the caves, bulking among the back of the people, in the crowd. At first, he didn't think twice about this, seeing as how he was tall enough to have a free view over all of the rest of the survivors heads, but after a look to the girl next to him, he knew that the matters weren't the same for her. So he headed further in, indicating for Sarah to follow him, and soon found them a place among the front row, where Caleb stood in silence, listening as Merrik unravelled about the Other's prisoners. The mere mention of them brought back images of the raid which had been done on their camp, in a black-clad night not so long ago at all, still in reach for memory's width, and his gaze fell as he tumbled into them. So now, they were back, having claimed some of their people? It didn’t' make any sense either. They'd taken both people who had been on this camp always – Kate, Sawyer and the doctor, also known as the leader – and from his old camp as well. What did they want with them— but then again, what had they ever wanted with any of the ones they had abducted? Though not a person to gorge much on the island gossip, even Caleb knew of the people which had been kidnapped and returned. One of the now kidnapped ones (Ford), and, the one who was standing, urging them to join in on some kind of rescue mission. Merrik.
"Who will stand up and help?” Caleb's arms were folded over his chest, and he looked around himself, curious to see volunteers. At first, a just silence followed, in which the survivors did nothing much else but see who'd be the bold one and step up first. It didn't take long. Another few seconds and Jace offered his services up, and Caleb watched him walk over to Merrik, looking back at Sarah once, and then repeating the move.
"You've got my help as well," he told the Scot, "and whoever else wants to... if you tell me you got a plan." He knew he was not speaking of any folly here -- it would be senseless going after these people without any kind of plan at all. Did Merrik already have one designed, or did he expect for them to figure one out now? Caleb was not a man from the military, but even he could work out some sense here.
"We've seen these people before. Back on our old camp, Merrik." He reasoned with the other man, passing glances between him and Jace. "They got guns, they got a knowledge about this island that we don't – so unless someone comes up with a damned good plan, we can't just head in there. No matter how much we want these people back." His input one of reason, he remained standing with them still, showing that he was still to be counted in. They had to get the people back -- if he'd been captured, he wouldn't have wanted to be left to hang high and dry. They had to get them back. |
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Amy
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| Posted: Mon Oct 08, 2007 1:13 pm Post subject: |
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Merrik
Caves
Caleb, Jace //Anyone else who wants to get involved.
Let’s rewind, rethink.
What had happened and what had he thought? A kidnap executed, a loss felt by him and echoed through the Island – how exactly did Merrik think he’d defeat the Others overnight? His hands dropped to his sides as he stared at Caleb. The tip of his tongue brushed along the palate of his mouth and pressed roughly against the sensitive roof as he began to let the panic sink in. But he wouldn’t let it show, he couldn’t. His middle and index finger tapped against each other, forming a kind of pincer. His eyelids began to flutter, his blinking becoming rapid. <i>Don’t let this show.</i>, he told himself. <i>Just don’t let it show.</i>
His plan…Huh. To run in a random direction, following the vague tracks he would probably find at the docks, leading him to…Wherever? And what if there weren’t any tracks? What if there was…Nothing? What if his friends had been taken to somewhere else, on the boat? That’s a lot of questions, son.
So rewind. And rethink.
Had he really seen those tracks, those indents in the disturbed earth that could lead him to his friends – to his everything? No. There had been nothing but a Polaroid of his lost loved one; something so normal and alien in the harsh desolation of an aftermath. Staring at the man in front of him, Merrik cursed him and anyone else with half a wit for not believing in Lady Fortune. Like fuck were they about to be thrown a bone – a plan had to be formulated, only then could it be executed. And the facts were the questions and uncertainty he had already been feeling since his groggy form awakened at the Docks; the Others wouldn’t have left them a biscuit trail unless they had wanted to be found – and when had they ever wanted to be found?
“I’m sorry.” He croaked, apologising for his cursory introduction into news that was clearly upsetting for everyone in earshot. He let his body still. “No plan. Just thoughts and theories. And determination.” As he spoke, he stepped forward, intending not to alienate himself any longer. “Truth is, Caleb, I don’t know where the hell our friends are. But I might be able to find tracks, something the Others left, a clue or something that will lead us to them.”
Although he was a teacher, and used to curious and penetrating eyes boring into him, the attention was excruciating; he subconsciously let his hand brush across his face – his limb resting there for a moment to block his vision from the rest. He shouldn’t feel guilty. He tried to help; God knows he tried to help – so why did he feel like he should be stricken with this burden?
“I’m sure there are questions you want to ask, and then we can round anyone and everyone up, head to the place it all happened. If that’s…Agreeable.” He added, in an embarrassed undertone.
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Lauren
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| Posted: Thu Dec 13, 2007 6:54 am Post subject: |
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Sarah
Beach / Caves
Caleb, Merrik, Jace & co
The serious nature of Merrik’s speech surprised her, though she wasn’t sure why. Everything seemed so dire on this island, so urgent and life-threatening, so why would she think today would bring an exception? He popped out the names of those that had been stolen; more than she had ever thought possible. She was familiar with the majority of the people, having been acquainted with them at one stage or another, and she found it hard to believe that they weren’t just sitting in a shelter somewhere, or out picking fruit amongst the jungle. The acceptance that their camp could be so vulnerable to intruders didn’t come easy.
Maliciously, she couldn’t stifle her inner smile from sparking. JJ was among those who were stolen, and though the animosity between them had never fully been labelled or spoken, it lay under her current thoughts like a snake writhing into a hole. Was the girl getting all that she deserved?
But even Sarah wasn’t that callous. She was a notch under the theory that not even the worst of people deserved whatever bad deeds were aimed at them. And though she’d never be one to admit it, she even felt a bit sorry for her. Assumedly she was in Tyler’s vicinity, and how could that be a good thing?
Funny how much friction Sarah had caused around her since her island beginnings. Not an ounce of had been intentional, and yet, it had all happened for different reasons which she had to justify to herself. She tried to recall how her dislike for Tyler had come about. Was it because she had accused him of being crazy during her withdrawal-induced stupor? Or was the reason more thick and substantial?
Little she felt among the throng of people currently around her. There was Merrik, and though he was no tower, he was still considerable in height. It was Jace and Caleb who were in the league of the clouds, their heads high and not half sublime to the eyes, envying even the sun. Sarah tendered her cheek in thought as Caleb added himself to the ranks. How could he muster up enough compassion for the people that were not much more than strangers; enough to risk even his life, because surely that’s what was at stake? Perhaps it wasn’t compassion but more a wriggling sense of necessity. It seemed to be coming down to the logic of either attacking or be attacked.
And just like that she found her vote was for the offensive. The decision had been made even before she could nurture it or reason with it. Already she was standing at Caleb’s side. These people, whoever they may be, were a disease that needed to be contained, no matter the cost.
At Caleb’s mentioning of the Others harassing their old camp she felt a frolicking sense of confusion that soon settled into a tiny flicker of shame. She’d forgotten about the incident that she hadn’t witnessed from the seclusion of Marcus’ shelter. It still baffled her that she could’ve been so out of it not to notice that those kids had been plucked away by evil hands, and not just the juveniles either – there’d been other people who, if pressed, she couldn’t even reveal their names.
Miserably, she heard Caleb speak of guns, and thereafter Merrik’s obvious absence of a functioning plan. Her hold on commitment to this mission quickly wavered. What was she doing here anyway, amongst a random group of men that could just as easily be soldiers? But then she remembered the alternative of staying behind, of being in the position of becoming vulnerable to mad kid-napping strangers and it felt right again, to be a part of the forming army. She’d find a use for herself somehow, even if it meant something as little as being a diversion.
“It’s agreeable to me,” she voiced up. Her eyes steered to Caleb, as if subconsciously she was asking his approval. Amazing how he had managed to shatter her sense of independence; and yet, she didn’t mind. Rather she favoured having someone she could count on. Barring Marcus, it was a long time since she’d had that.
Strange how she hadn’t equated Marcus into her decision to mount up and leave camp. Let him stay behind without her and count sand molecules until he grew dizzy. So long as he was safe, she didn’t much care what he did. Besides, there were enough tall people along for the ride already.
“How far is it to the place they were taken?” she asked Merrik. To clarify: “Could we make it there today or do we wait until tomorrow?”
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Amy
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| Posted: Thu Feb 07, 2008 10:57 am Post subject: |
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Locke
Area where the hatch used to be
Alone/Desmond
The rustle of leaves sounded like a plane taking off, but he couldn’t find his hands to clap over his ears. He guessed the no-hair situation didn’t really help, for protecting his ears n’all. It sounded cliché, but he pondered upon the idea that he was dead; if he felt pain, he didn’t care about it. That’s what dying felt like, he supposed; the lack of anything, an endless nothingness that he felt quite okay to go on with. He didn’t even harness a memory of what got him into this state. The last thing running through his bewildered mind was doing his shift at the hatch.
The hatch. The ex-hatch. That’s right, the ex-hatch. Somebody had turned those taps on, as Locke slowly began to piece together the past. He remembered the screech of the alarm, the crash of metal upon metal, and a bright flash of light that threatened to blind him. How he made his way to the surface, to the soft and cold earth, he didn’t know. Maybe Desmond…
He forced his eyes open. He immediately closed them. This time, with less force, his eyelids rose somewhat apprehensively. Wow, that sky was blue. And gosh, those trees were green. Colour seemed such a mind-boggling concept to him in a weakened state. Well, he was still alive. Whether it was something to be thankful for or not, he had yet to decide. Sitting up, he dusted his elbows and knees, which he propped against his chest, and surveyed the jungle. Nobody was in sight, not a man-made sound in earshot.
Confident he was alone, he disregarded his clumsiness and took his time in scrambling to his hands and knees, and finally onto his feet. He staggered, but kept his composure. Feeling like a new-born calf, he stumbled through the surrounded leafy foliage, still unsure what he was doing. Either way, he had a lot of explaining to do.
Clearing a path of broken branches with his scuffed and bruised arms, he found the dirt track that had been trodden into the earth from all those visits to the hatch. Further on, he saw a figure.
Locke frowned as he crept up on the stranger. Stranger in all sense of the word, as he wasn’t aware he knew anyone that paraded the jungle naked. In daylight.
His eyes averted, pleading his brain to look anywhere besides the nude body in front of him. Wreckage of the hatch was strewn across the ground, and he became dismally aware that most of that was his fault. Again, he had a lot of explaining to do.
His hand raised to grab the attention of his friend in front, recognised by means of an unmistakable mess of hair that belonged to Desmond. He froze, he didn’t know what to say to him.
Actually, he couldn’t say anything to him. He couldn’t talk. His tongue had given up, it lolled out of his mouth stupidly. Well, this was a first. He stamped on the floor, and then threw a stick by Desmond’s foot. Had his breath abandoned his body too, for now he couldn’t breathe.
What added to the bitterness was that the frustration erupting inside his body was so familiar. When the hell were the powers that be going to let him control his own body?
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Lauren
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| Posted: Fri Feb 08, 2008 6:50 am Post subject: |
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Desmond
Jungle (near ex-Hatch)
Locke-a-by baby
His hand trembled as he looked down at the photo. The moment in which it was taken was such a significant time in his life. It had been no more than a minute before the peak of his cowardice. His smile, his hold on her, had lacked the true luster of sincerity. He remembered it all so vividly that it could’ve only been yesterday.
He stared ahead. Had it been yesterday?
With the narrowing of his eyes he looked about himself with general scrutiny. The fact of his nakedness returned, and he was considering implementing some way to amend the problem when something twitched in his peripheral view, a motion that called for his attention. He tried to look in that direction, but he suffered still from some sort of reverie. It wasn’t until the stick crashed obtrusively by his feet that he steered his eyes toward the direction of his company.
A disruption to his calm came when he recognized Locke. Amazing the effect this man had had on Desmond’s habitually oppressive life. He reached down, fetching whatever would be suitable to cover up his family jewels, which happened to be a tattered piece of what was once a pair of his overalls, and went towards Locke while tying it around his waist. It was surreal being alive again. It was only the location that disappointed him.
He glanced at Locke, fathoming the way he was opening his mouth like a goldfish, vainly attempting to say something. Desmond crunched up an eye against the sun. This situation wasn’t making the best of sense.
“The proverbial cat got your tongue, John?” he asked, noting that his own voice was not without some hoarseness. He added a chuckle for good measure. Sometimes God knew just what to do to people.
He didn’t stop for a one-sided conversation, but instead held tight to his photo and pursued the path towards where he remembered the beach to be.
_________________
What if I missed you
You got caught in the sun |
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