Young Writers Society

Year: 2002
Target: The states of Oregon, California, Idaho, Utah, Arizona and Nevada.

Hunted

You've lived the majority of, if not your entire life, in a town or city in one of the aforementioned states. For you, life is good- maybe you don't see it that way, and maybe it's not that way by American standards- but it's good, whether you know and accept it or not. All in all, your life has been at least relatively cushioned. Whether you're rich or flat broke doesn't make much of a difference in that department. Not anymore.

Last night, at precisely 12:13 a.m., two men or women, clad in all white, showed up at your doorstep. Any others in the household where bribed, and if that failed, held at gun-point. Those who caused too many problems were disposed of. You were given exactly 10 minutes to pack, no more, no less. You could take whatever you wanted; the only things that weren't allowed were cell phones or electronic devices of any sort. (There was no sneaking them out. A thorough inspection was done before you left) Pets were allowed, so long as they were caged, muzzled, leashed or all three. After inspecting you for any smuggled "illegal items," you were drugged to sleep.

When you woke up, you were in an inclosed space, metal walls, floor and ceiling. You knew you were moving, you just didn't know what in. Turns out it was the back of a helicopter- a big one. With you in that helicopter was a group of people, most around your own age. All of you were still too groggy from the drug to ask questions.

Upon landing, you were each injected with something to ease the effects of the drug. It woke you up and cleared out your head. It's been around half an hour since the helicopter took off again, leaving you in the middle of a forested island, near a fresh-water stream. You're not quite sure why you're here, but you are, and that's all that's important at the moment. Will you ever go home? No, probably not.

what you don't know about the island: (yet)

•--Giant, beast-like creatures roam the forest. They are usually around three feet tall and five feet long, all lizard-esque in appearance, complete with scales, huge claws and razor-sharp fangs and teeth. (Yes, these lizard-beasts have teeth) Many of them have deformalities, though they don't seem to slow the creatures down. They will kill you the first chance they get, without hesitation. There are few ways to kill them, on the other hand, and they are virtually untameable. There are these, and then there are the huge wolves that they eat. (Other than their ability to rip you to shreds, these beasts are harmless... compared to what's being worked on, anyways)

•--There is a large metal wall to the north-western corners of the forest. No visible entrance can, or ever will be, found by the group. There are no windows, no doors, and not a single ventalation system. It's just a giant metal wall, stretching about sixty feet long and standing well above most of the tree-tops.

•--There is a very small chain of tiny-ish mountains to the south-east of the island, home to wild mountain goats and perhaps, later on, a few "wild" horses.

•--The island is constantly moving, though the group won't notice it. They'll be sorely unprepared for climate changes and days that feel like they go on for a tad too long. (It's not really an island, if you haven't figured that out yet)

•--Around twelve feet under the surface of the "island," there is a huge facility. It's run by a woman named Samantha Jones, who is responsible for the beasts and... well, everything that's gone on so far. What she's up to is not yet any of your business. You'll figure it out soon enough.

a few things to keep in mind:

•--This is not a jungle, it's a forest. There is a difference vegetation and animal-wise. And yes, there will be normal forest animals- foxes, deer, cougars, rodents, birds, etc...

•--None of the characters knew each other before this; they're all complete strangers.

•--The more you explore, the more you will find. Of course, exploration is going to be extremely dangerous in this place- you may want to stick to working in groups. Of course, there may be a few of you who disagree with that.

•--Your characters don't know why the island moves, so when the weather changes over-night or other little extremities, they're going to be completely unprepared.

rules:

•--All regular YWS/Storybook rules apply.
•--No godmodding, perfect characters or mary/gary-sues. They're unfair, irritating to deal with and just don't add that much to the storybook.
•--Romance is allowed and even encouraged, but no sex scenes.
•--Swearing is also allowed, but do not make it a second language, and no F-bombs.
•--Posts have no maximum or minimum requirements, but please, try to make them as long as possible. Let's see how many words we can get up to.
•--Taking more than one character is definitely allowed and encouraged here. This is because, realistically, some characters are probably going to die. (None are allowed to be killed without the creator's permission. It should probably be plotted for.)
•--No out-of-character (OOC) posts on the SB whatsoever. Either put them in the DT or in the club, depending on their nature.
•--The club plays a very important role, so join it and check back whenever there's something new added. It contains inventory of items, unlockable things, little extras about certain areas of the island, and what may happen to which character in a certain area. (These things will be posted as the SB goes along- it almost gives it a bit of a game-like feel, which is appropriate for the plot. Your job is to discover what's going on, not that it will be even relatively easy for your characters)
•--The DT is for plotting out and revealing schemes and experimenting with character interactions.
•--SisterItaly and ScarlettFire are co-modding this storybook with me. What they say goes.

Link to the D.T: topic84469.html
Link to the Club: page.php?id=1276

Character Templates:

Code: Select all

[b]Name:[/b] (first and last)
[b]Age:[/b] (15-19 for the new islanders, and 20+ for the Supervisors. [don't worry, you'll all figure out who they are sooner or later. No Supervisors unless you've been given permission to be one.])
[b]Gender:[/b]

[b]Appearance:[/b] (Written description. Pictures are optional, and non-fantasy-oriented anime is allowed as a last resort only.)

[b]Personality:[/b] (Flaws, strengths, exactly what makes your character tick. We need details here, and a bare minimum of one hundred-fifty words.)

[b]History:[/b] (You've been raised in the same place in one of the aforementioned states [at the top of the main post] for the majority of your life. What's happened to you? Doesn't have to be too long- at least a couple of paragraphs would be nice, though. As for the Supervisors- you've been on the island for around four or five years now, with little to no contact with the outside world.)

[b]What You Packed:[/b] (What did you character bring with them in that minimal 10 minutes of packing? Supervisors do not need to fill this out.)

[b]Up For Love:[/b] (Yes, no, reasons, extra little notes, etc)

[b]Other:[/b] (Anything we forgot? Physical/mental disabilities/disadvantages, special skills, little extras, did they bring a pet, etc...?)

Name: Venus Harlow

Age: 17 [8, mentally]

Gender: Female

Appearance: Despite the way she acts/dresses/does her hair she doesn't look much like a child in her form. She has a nice hourglass figure and stands with a straight back. She's... well endowed as well. Her clothing is usually bright colored and easy to move in, which doesn't leave much to the imagination when one wants to check out her figure. Her hair is always, I repeat, always in a pony-tail or pigtails. Normally a pony tail.



Personality: She's got the maturity of an eight year old about ninety percent of the time, but she can shock you. She's never afraid to ask blunt and sometimes rude questions. She doesn't seem to realize how rude those questions can be.

She can be surprisingly mature at times, though. She's always full of shockingly helpful insight and advice, but if she doesn't like you she will refuse to help you. If she doesn't like you, she lets you know. Again, she is very blunt. It takes a lot to get on her hated people list, and she normally has a horrible sense of character so you probably won't have to worry about meeting this list any time soon.

She's also completely oblivious to most (if not all) insults, you could call her something horrible and disgusting in every way and she'll smile sweetly at you and pretend to understand what it means. Another note: She's not the brightest tool in the shed.

History: She was raised in a small town in Utah, where it was always sunny and quiet. Despite all that sun she isn't very tan, but she does despise the cold. Her parents were very protective, and kept her from all the 'evils' of the world, they owned a small store/gas station out in the middle of no-where.

She was home schooled as well, and other than the occasional customer she never really had anyone to talk to and befriend. Her parents had raised her to believe there was no such thing as a stupid question. She's not quiet sure how she's supposed to act around strangers, so she automatically treats everyone like family.

What You Packed: Clothes, Hair brush, Stuffed animal, tool belt, note book and about a dozen pens still in their package, a small first aid kit, two small bottles of shampoo and a industrial sized bottle of body wash, a sweater, bug spray, and a pair of novelty sunglasses (Yes, the huge kind).

Up For Love: Sure, if you can deal with the way she acts sometimes. She's not really informed on the concept of 'love' either, she's seen her parents kiss and stuff but she's never really questioned it.

Other: She has an issue sleeping alone, it is possible but she has a really hard time with it. If she does sleep alone, she has a habit of sleep walking.

Name: Tarrion Wayne Michaels
Age: 19
Gender: Male

Appearance: Medium-length brown hair, styled to look a bit on the shaggy side. Dark brown eyes that always seem to be gently amused. He's fairly tall, much like the rest of his family, and stands about 6'3". (His brother's taller, by the way- 6'5") He's definitely got muscle, though not loads of it. He was an athlete before he came to the island, and work-outs were a normal occurance. He has a different facial expression for everything, which automatically makes it hard for him to hide his emotions.


Personality: Tarrion is a fairly nice guy on a good day- he tries to get along well with everybody for at least an hour before choosing to hate or adore them. Towards those he cares about, he is very protective, and will do almost anything to ensure you safety; it gets to the point where he can be very overprotective, and somewhat paranoid that something's going to happen if he lets a certain person out of his sight. On the other hand, if he decides to hate you, then don't expect him to come around any time soon. For Tarrion, first impressions are usually not forgettable. If he hated you once, he'll hate you for a good, long time. He's definitely cold towards the people on his list of evil, but he won't physically or verbally lash out unless you do or say something to tick him off. He has a temper, but he does know how to control it.

Despite his tendency to try to make people feel at home (or like they're in hell, depending on how he feels about them), he definitely needs alone time. Lots of it. He has a tendency to wander off by himself, or stick somewhat close and tune everything out. Chances are that if you interupt him during one of his thinking moments, he'll come back in a dark mood, with a less-controled temper and a tendency to make snarky and sarcastic remarks. It's possible to pull him out of this, but it isn't exactly easy.

Another noteable thing about Tarrion is his leader complex- he's used to being the head of a group, and this shows right away. If a situation needs taking charge of, he'll take charge of it. He doesn't think about giving orders until he's started to give a lot, and then he worries about whether or not people find him bossy or they find him helpful. He doesn't usually stop "leading" due to the answers he gives himself, but he does get more gentle and patient about it if the answers are in the negative. He doesn't like receiving orders one bit; the only way he takes them without attitude is if a person has proved him/herself a better leader than he is. (It'll take some time to convince him, but he does bend eventually.) If he respects your authority, savour it.

Around women, he tends to be a gentle-man, one of the very few in the school that he went to. His parents raised him to have a very high respect rate for women, kept him well away from inappropriate anythings (movies, magazines, even music was limited, and he didn't mind it too much)- they were definitely not religious people, just a family with a lot of regard for others.

History: Tarrion was homeschooled all through elementary and middle school, along with his older brother and younger sister. (Ryder and Susan) Mid-way through his last year of being homeschooled, Tarrion's father was shot after being stopped on the street and robbed. He had already been dragged into an alley and beaten, and had worked up the courage to say that he would call the authorities. He never lived to. His death hit the family hard, whereas he was the one who worked, and his wife stayed at home and taught their sons and daughter. It was extremely hard on the family, both emotionally and financially. Unable to afford books for the next few years, and since their mother had to start work, the kids decided that yes, they would enroll in public school.

Tarrion and Ryder both adjusted very well, and somehow managed to avoid falling into the habits of their new class-mates. The school they went to had very little regard for anything the brothers did. Ryder was softer than his brother, a carpenter at heart and an athlete to keep fit- he was intimidatingly sized, but his soft nature and inability to hurt anybody paid off. Tarrion was a baseball player for most of highschool, but an injury in a car accident a couple years ago has given him an incurable limp- now he just goes to the gym every now and then to work out. Ryder graduated two years before Tarrion, married a girl who came from a bad home and already has two twin children. Tarrion has been thrown into an arranged marriage- one fo the only things that his mother ever did that he had a problem with. To this day, he does not know why the heck he's engaged to a woman that he hadn't meant before his mother made the announcement. All that he knows is that they do not get along very well. The wedding was scheduled for two weeks after he was sent to the island.

What You Packed: His hand pistol, (it was confinscated and then given back after the group landed) all of the ammunition he had on him, a notebook, a week's worth of clothing, a few disposable razors (and a can of shaving cream/aftershave), his brother's shampoo and conditioner, a couple bars of soap, a toothbrush and a tube and a half of tooth-paste, some snacks (okay, a lot of snacks. Two boxes of granola bars, the fruit snacks that were supposed to be his sister's, a couple bags of chips and three two-litre bottles of soda/pop), a novel, his brother's sport-sized waterbottle, his old baseball cap, a couple sweaters, a jacket, his guitar and his violin. (he's strictly a fiddler- he does not do the whole classic violin music thing)
He's brought a decent amount of stuff- also supplied are the two duffel bags he needed to carry it all in.

Up For Love: Definitely, though he does get protective. (If he gets too much so, slap him on the hand and he'll try to suffocate you a little less)

Other: He's hypoglocemic. (in a nutshell, he has to eat something every couple of hours or he starts to feel faint, nauseous and just unpleasant in general) His bad (right) leg still bothers him sometimes, and he has to be careful of how hard he works it. He's picked up minimal amounts of carpentry from his brother, though he doesn't know a whole lot.

He also has a pet falcon named Shaloe- she eats raw meat and granola bars. (She's also been trained to carry messages- it was for a play the high-school Tarrion went to was putting on)

He's from a semi-small town in Oregon.

*****************************************************************************

Name: Brady Ed Rowen
Age: 17
Gender: Male

Appearance: Short light brown-dirty blonde (depends on how much sun he's gotten) hair that sits in a slightly curly mess on the top of his head. Both of his eyes are blue-green, though his left eye is a bit more green than blue. (The difference is only noticeable if you catch it in the right light/are looking very intently at his face) He's tall like his father, around 6", and very skinny, though it's often hidden behind his sweatpants/baggy jeans and favorite blue bunny-hug. (Sweater, jumper, hoodie, whatever you call them on your home planet)
He also has a bit of an akward step, though it isn't noticeable. On occasion, if he's been standing/sitting still for two long, his wrists will start to twitch or flick around beside him a bit.


Personality: Brady is, in short, a sweet-heart. He's one of those people who seem to love everybody, no matter how awfully they've been treated by them. He's the first to comfort the upset, the one who volunteers to do people little favours, and always tries to be as helpful as possible, though it often backfires on him and he just ends up in the way. Honestly though, he does try his best. There are a number of things that Brady can't stand, and a few of the ones that are on the top of the list are when people are hurting, being yelled at, when people don't like him, and when he's in trouble or even thinks that he's done something wrong.

Something that people should take hede of is how easily overwhelmed he is. If too many people are talking, or if somebody's talking to him without pausing to give him a second to process things, he'll start to get anxious. He's afraid that if he lets somebody know how confused they're making him, that they'll call him names or get mad at him for not being able to keep up. Too much noise tends to frustrate him too, because it makes it impossible to concentrate. Even tiny noises, like rustling leaves or fingers drumming against something hard are huge distractions for him. On top of this, Brady is very, very emotional, and tends to be very hurt by very small jabs. He's heard enough of them now, and been shoved around enough, that he's fallen into depression, to the point where he's turned to self-harm on a few occassions- something that nobody ever expected him to be capable of. He's depressed, and though he thinks very highly of others, he truley believes that he's worthless- it's why he has the need to help.

He constantly needs something to fiddle with, whether it be a pen, a twig, a coin... anything. It's a nervous habbit and a coping mechanism. If you're even half paying attention to him, you can feel his stress, fear and saddness oozing from the cracks. He's falling apart, little by little, and to keep himself from disintegrating, he constantly needs to be doing or watching something. All of his spare time is occupied by building those strange little contraptions that don't do much good, save for amuse and occupy him. Either that, or he's folding paper into little oragami boats- the paper, of course, has to be navy blue.

(Also a few things to note: --He does tend to act much younger than he is, and his speach indicates this. --Has an obsession with navy blue, building aforementioned strange little contraptions, oragami boats and his dog. --He does have thoughts just like any other person, they just tend to get too jumbled up for him to sort out again)

History: Brady was handed over to the foster care system at birth, and has been jumping around from family to family for as long as he can remember. His first social worker was a sweet woman named Dana Harber, and she made sure that baby-Brady was always put into the best homes, and attempts were made to have visits with Brady's mother once every two weeks. (She never showed up, and the few times that she did, she left early because Brady was 'such a disapointment' or 'not worth talking to.') She died in a car accident when Brady was four and a half, and his next social worker wasn't nearly as sweet. His name was Joel Kerber, and he took an automatic disliking to the boy. For reasons that are beyond anybody's understanding, it seemed like Kerber intentionally put Brady into all of the wrong homes- the ones that shouldn't have been in the foster care system in the first place. Each home brought on a different kind of abuse, whether it was intensive labour for biological children or the foster parents, beatings, emotional abuse or anything else, really, Brady dealt with it. Through it all, he learned to think that it was his fault, that he really had done something wrong or that he was a bad person- he thought that he deserved what he got, even when he was trying his hardest to live up to everybody's expectations. When a time came when the state of California decided that Brady obviously had to be tested for a mental disability, Kerber through together a bunch of fake documents and said that he already had. It probably took him a lot more time and effort to put together a huge lie than it would have to just go and get the kid tested in the first place.

There was one particular family that he stayed with for eight months- or, a man whose wife had died three years ago and another foster-boy. One who was five times as large and five hundred times as mean as Brady. This home was by far the worst, and it's often assumed that Kerber kept him there intentionally. Either way, that's when Brady's depression hit an all-time low. He was finished- completely worn out. Finished being beaten, finished listening to insults, finished being screamed and yelled at every time he tried to make it better, finished being touched by Keith (the other foster boy) and mocked by his foster father. It started with cutting- anywhere Brady saw skin, it was given a thin cut with anything he had on-hand, his nails, if he got desperate enough. It didn't matter that he was punished everytime a new cut was seen, he did it anyways. Three suicide attempts- something that nobody thought Brady would ever be capable of- and that was the last straw. California finally figured out that Kerber was corrupt and needed therapy for rage problems and issues with seeking revenge. He was fired, Brady got another new social worker- a man named Phillip Thomas- who was infuriated with what Brady had gone to, and Brady was sent to a very, very carefully selected family.

Conner and Laia Fry, and their two bi-racial twin daughters, Elaine and Kimberly. (Age 13) The family had taken in three other children by then, but they hadn't been permanent placements. The Fry's were the ones who managed to stop Brady from hurting himself, and in the four months that he had been there, an appointment has been made to get a real test for mental disabilities, he was enrolled in a good support-system at his new school and given enough affection to make up for the first sixteen and a half years of his life.

The tests were scheduled around three days after he was taken to the island.

The adoption was to start processing in a month.

What You Packed: A very large supply of odds and ends, including craft sticks, seven glue-bottles, twigs, buttons, washers, hinges, magnets, etc... A few changes of clothes, his navy blue sweater/bunny-hug/hoodie/jumper, a navy blue jacket, two 500-piece packages of [navy] blue construction paper, a [navy blue] scissors, and a very large fleece navy blue blanket. There's some dog food and dog treats for a dog the Fry's got permission to buy him a month or so after he arrived. There are a few snacks for him in there, too, but not much. (Laia paked some toiletries in a smaller bag)

Up For Love: He can fall in love, contrary to popular belief, but it may take him a while to process just what's happening to his heart at that point.

Other: Nobody knows exactly what's "wrong" with him. Most people just assume he's autistic and leave it at that; though he's never been tested for anything before. He's definitely very slow, has child-like tendencies, is easily overwhelmed, an anxiety/panic disorder, OCD tendencies, and some sort of PTSD.
He also managed to drag along the golden retriever that he got from the Fry's. Her name is Blue.

**********************************************************

Name: Samantha Renee Jones
Age: 32
Gender: Female

Appearance: (Written description. Pictures are optional, and non-fantasy-oriented anime is allowed as a last resort only.)

Personality: (Flaws, strengths, exactly what makes your character tick. We need details here, and a bare minimum of one hundred-fifty words.)

History: (You've been raised in the same place in one of the aforementioned states [at the top of the main post] for the majority of your life. What's happened to you? Doesn't have to be too long- at least a couple of paragraphs would be nice, though. As for the Supervisors- you've been on the island for around four or five years now, with little to no contact with the outside world.)

What You Packed: (What did you character bring with them in that minimal 10 minutes of packing? Supervisors do not need to fill this out.)

Up For Love: (Yes, no, reasons, extra little notes, etc)

Other: (Anything we forgot? Physical/mental disabilities/disadvantages, special skills, little extras, did they bring a pet, etc...?)

And here's Maia and Dimitri. ^^

Maiara:

Name: Maiara Ashton.
Age: 19.
Gender: Female.

Appearance: Maiara is tall-ish, around 5'5, with dark red-brown hair and light blue eyes.


Personality: Kind, caring, loving, distant, determined, and fiery, Maiara has a fiery temper but is friendly and kind--unless she's angry (which is when her family/friends are being harmed). Although her temper has a shot fuse, she doesn't lose it often and prefers peace to violence. She doesn't like to fight. She often seems timid and shy, though she's semi-confident once you get to know her. Maiara has a few of dark, confined spaces. If she were to be locked in, say, a cupboard of some kind, she would panic. Badly. Deep water-she is intensely freaked by it. Occasionally lacks self-control. Maiara likes running, the forest, the stars, the moon, nighttime, daytime, being the center of attention and freedom. She highly dislikes death, blood, destruction, dark & confined spaces, war, fighting, being/feeling trapped, being replaced, feeling rejected or ignored and cold weather. She has basic survival skills, basic camping skills, basic defense skills.

History: Not much is known about Maiara. Well, not much that she can remember anyway. She knows came from California, from a bad background and is very shy around guys, but she had a decent childhood until her parents died and she turned to the streets before eventually finding her way back to her Aunt. She remembers Dimitri, who she used to date but she has no idea where he is now. She also remember pain, but that was a long time ago. Maiara's used to the gap in her memories. She used to live with her Aunt and seeing a very nice boy until the Supervisors came and took her away. She's now on the island, new and confused.

What You Packed: A small bag full of clothes, a hairbrush, her favourite book, pictures of her family and friends; mother, father, aunt and one of her boyfriend. Sunglasses. A pocket knife, which she doesn't realize is broken. And a mirror.

Up For Love: Sure, but she's still a little shy.

Other: Has some nasty scars across her lower back and can't remember how she got them. She doesn't realize it, but she's pregnant. She'll find that out soon enough. She also managed to drag along her eight-week-old grey kitten.



Dimitri:

Name: Dimitri Belvidere.
Age: 22.
Gender: Male.

Appearance: Dimitri is about 6" tall with chin length dark brown hair and brown eyes--almost the same brown as dark chocolate with slightly tanned skin covered in a stylish suit that completes the 'Russian Mafia' look. Dimitri is strong, although slim and athletic, often mistaken for weak until he shows you he's not. He is never seen with his gun in its halter on his hip--or the stun gun beside it.


Personality: Dimitri is cocky, it's the only word for him. Cocky, bold and a bit of a bastard, but loyal--to Samantha. He loves to toy with pretty girls and boys, and is often quite nasty to those he sees as weak. He likes to torment others, especially the ones he sees as weak, and often goes as far as almost or actually killing the person. He has blood on his hands and isn't moved by it--at all. He actually sees it as a good thing. One could say he's just a little crazy and unstable. He's not afraid to hurt or kill--with or without orders, and would never dream of disobeying Samantha. He values his life far too much.

He's bold and loyal, knows how to, and not to mention is, unafraid to get his hands dirty, be it blood, dirt or anything really. Somewhat manipulative, but tends to prefer force and he knows how to fight--both from training on the island and from fighting others back home--and basic first aid. Dimitri has a weakness for pretty girls or boys (He likes to break things) and can't stand 'nice' things. Hopeless at cooking. Sometimes way too bold for Samantha's tastes. Follows Samantha's orders, but questions them--not that he'd tell Samantha that. Can't seem to distinguish between 'right' and 'wrong', black or white; seemingly in the grey area most of time.

History: Dimitri's younger years are a bit of a mystery. Although, his time with Maiara isn't such a mystery. He hurt her, abused her and cut up her back a bit with a nasty knife--that he'd sterilized via fire. Ever since he was a kid, Dimitri had liked to toy with things--animals, humans. Anything really. Especially if it was deemed weak in his eyes. Maiara had been such a toy. After he was done with her, she was terrified of men, and couldn't remember anything from when he'd cut up her lower back. Dimitri was surprised she could even walk after that.

A few years later, Dimitri came across Samantha, who asked him to help her out with something. He agreed and has been a Supervisor for a few years now. He was quite surprised when Maiara was brought to the island, and has been growing steadily more furious as he watched her fall for Duncan. He's been on the island as a Supervisor for about five years.

What You Packed: Clothes, a gun (standard pistol), a taser/stun gun, a few files on the Islanders, new and old. And a picture of Maiara....when she was younger.

Up For Love: Erm, if you could love him?

Other: Yes, you guessed it. This is the guy who left Maiara scared of men and with the scars across her lower back.

Name: Eric Sanders
Age: 19
Gender: Male

Appearance:

Personality: (Flaws, strengths, exactly what makes your character tick. We need details here, and a bare minimum of one hundred-fifty words.)

History: (You've been raised in the same place in one of the aforementioned states [at the top of the main post] for the majority of your life. What's happened to you? Doesn't have to be too long- at least a couple of paragraphs would be nice, though. As for the Supervisors- you've been on the island for around four or five years now, with little to no contact with the outside world.)

What You Packed: (What did you character bring with them in that minimal 10 minutes of packing? Supervisors do not need to fill this out.)

Up For Love: (Yes, no, reasons, extra little notes, etc)

Other: (Anything we forgot? Physical/mental disabilities/disadvantages, special skills, little extras, did they bring a pet, etc...?)

Name: Micah Lewitt

Age: 16 and one quarter.

Gender: Male

Appearance: He doesn't really jump out of a crowd. His hair is dark and is on the corner of wavy and curly, and he doesn't make an attempt to keep it out of his shy, endlessly deep gray eyes. He's on the tall side and very skinny, and he resembles a pole, or a twig, on bad days. His ears stick out a tiny bit. He plays with his hands as a nervous habit. He normally wears dark clothes that fit close to him, often with long pants and long sleeves. Turtlenecks, if he has to. He wears faded, beat up, written on gray Converse sneakers, high top, with fraying laces and soles worn completely flat. He doesn't like showing skin, because he's often bruised, and because there are some scars over his chest and abdomen.



Personality: Micah is an awkward, socially inept boy who follows more than leads. He's zoned into his own world ninety percent of the time, but he still absorbs what goes around him. He's a visionary, and there are hundreds of innovative, creative ideas in his head that have never been put into action. He doesn't feel trapped where he is, but he definitely doesn't feel like at home. He never really has.

He's very theoretical and doesn't put as much faith in his ability as he does in his thoughts. There's self hate and insecurity under those curls, even if all you can see is the quirky, seemingly crazy cover. He finds himself telling bits of trivia or small little tidbits that only he can relate to the situation. He's very introverted, but if the stress gets too much for him, he might break. He'll cover his ears and squeeze his eyes shut, maybe even rock back and forth, and he'll hold it off for as long as he can, but in the end, he'll end up screaming exactly what he's thinking.

He likes clouds, cats, acoustic music, and things that make him think. He works best late at night, during winter, and he absolutely loves the feeling of strong wind. He's clever and creative, and sees things from an unexpected angle. He's fast, nimble, and a virtual rag doll- you could beat him to the ground, and he would get up, make a note, and walk off. He has pretty much no temper whatsoever, either, so his emotions don't normally get in his way.

He doesn't like humidity, dogs, loud rap, and people who spit. He's very awkward and introverted. He never acts like everyone wants him to. He can't fight, and he'll always try to offer himself as bait, and won't try to save himself until the last split second. He breaks a little inside every time someone lashes out at him. He's a tattered young man with a tattered spirit.

History: He grew up with his father and four older brothers, and no mother. She died under circumstances Micah was never told about. They lived and worked in Las Vegas, Nevada. His family called him Cloudwatcher, their own derogatory term for him, the one Lewitt who didn't chase the most obvious girls of the bunch, who didn't try his very hardest at everything he did. They tortured him and hurt him and called him names- not that bad at first, but rapidly worse, and too much to handle for a little boy. He hid from them in the casino his father worked at, and had memorized the labyrinth of the floors he was allowed into by age ten.

He wasn't loved in his own home, and he understood that. Truth be told, he wasn't sure he loved them either. If he wasn't tucked into a little alcove amongst the poker tables and slot machines, or hiding under the kindly bartender's table (it was a strange relationship), he knew he was as good as dead. The abuse would always come once his father found him. Always his arms and legs. Always his torso. Never, ever his face. If he hit his face, people would know. It was the shouting that Micah hated, though- the mean words, the ugly sentences, the short, acid monologues that would slap him across the face, as if to make up for the lack of physical contact. None of his brothers were hurt like that.

He's been found asleep on a lobby couch before- that's how badly he doesn't want to go home.

In a way, he was desperate for this- he was desperate for someone to take him away from the family that would never treat him as their own.

What You Packed: A couple of changes of clothes, his favorite pea coat (which happens to be his only coat), a bag of little trinkets like bent metal shapes, glass buttons, and pretty stones, and several worn out journals, a few blank ones, and a fistful of pens. He wants to remember this.

Up For Love: Sure. Good luck understanding how his complicated little world works. (Message me first.)

Other: He wears a plain hemp bracelet and a puzzle ring. He really, really hates being touched, to the point where he sometimes flinches or ducks when people lift a hand. May have some sort of mental disorder. Has a soft spot for younger children.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Name: Rogue Green

Age: 17 and one month.

Gender: Female

Appearance: Full lips, smooth skin, striking bone structure, lithe build, and a fierce burn in her green-gray eyes: Rogue has everything she needs to be model. She has her hair chopped asymmetrically, and although her hair is brunette, there is one patch of flaming red, and a little tuft of blue left over from a bad dye job. She pulls it off. She doesn't use makeup any less or more than the next person, but she leans towards the "less" side. She likes the ragged sort of fashion- the chic style that embraces the street. She tries to break the laws of fashion in the best way- wearing colors that have never been worn together, drawing on her clothes by hand, making everything she owns a Rogue Green classic. She's daring, but she can settle for jeans and a tee if she wants to.



Personality: Rogue has two parts sewn together in her. One is poised, calming, and graceful; the other is fierce, strong, and can take anyone down. It's not a split personality- it's just the two halves of her that happen to be near polar opposites. She doesn't follow the rules of society, and she's a daredevil in almost every sense. She'd jump off a cliff if someone told her not to. It's just the way she is. She was taught that if someone tries to pin you down, you come right back up and pin them back. She follows that rule exclusively. It's her one law.

Her headstrong but well mannered behavior has scared off anyone who could have been her friend, and the same things have been mistaken for sarcasm and defiance by bullies at her local school. This is where she learned to hold her own and take no prisoners. People as a whole have taught her that once the pain starts, it won't stop, so you have to make sure that it dies right at the beginning. She was expelled after hospitalizing a student -the worst she'd ever done- and was home schooled since. She's kept herself pretty well controlled since then, but she still explodes in violence and shouting when she feels cornered or like someone's going to hurt her. She attacks before she's certain- it's the safe way.

She likes loud rock music, edgy fashion, and things that are unconventionally beautiful. She handles delicate situations well when she's not feeling intimidated, and works well under pressure. She likes running in the cold. She's a strong fighter, with a tough skin and tougher muscles. She has good stamina and a fearless attitude when confronted by something she doesn't understand. She can climb trees well and has excellent hearing and sight. She's smart, and can spot out a trap quickly. She doesn't let people slow her down for more than five seconds.

She hates derogatory words and actions, typical high school prom dresses, and people who look beautiful by being fake about it. She sometimes loses her temper quite easily. She likes knowing every detail of how a plan is going to work, which can be a major annoyance. She has a major issue with messes and likes everything to be in a proper place. She takes the fighting route over thinking, and although she stops to think about other people's feelings, she spends more time figuring out if they have something against her. She can be a little paranoid.

History: Rogue grew up right on the separating line between two parts of Los Angeles, California: the tough, more hands-on side and the glamorous, elegant side that played host to all the celebrities. Each side taught her something: how to fight and rebel against what held you down and how to look good and be graceful doing it. She lived with her single mother, a couture designer on the brink of success. When she got the big break, Rogue's desire to make her mark on the world exploded into a burning, craving need that wouldn't leave her alone.

She began by standing up to bullies and diabolical pint-sized masterminds. When that got to be too much -the hospitalization incident- she switched to helping the people impoverished in the slums with her mother, a newfound philanthropist. She wanted to be a good person- no, a terrific person. It didn't matter that her mother was eccentric and sometimes forgot to give her daughter food and an education. It didn't matter that she didn't have a father and her mother never talked about the rest of the family. Didn't matter that she was a no-name daughter of an up and coming designer.

She was going to be a bright, blazing gold star in a world of gray shadows.

What You Packed: A sketchbook, charcoal pencils, several staple items of clothing (it's in her blood), a jagged knife she found in the alley she never showed her mother, practical shoes, a unique hairbrush with studs on the back that could hurt quite a bit, and a long silver chain with medium sized links with an old engagement ring on it. She suspects it's her mother's.

Up For Love: I believe she may not be up for offer. This will be determined for certain later.

Other: She doesn't know why her mother named her Rogue. Sometimes she loves her name. Sometimes she absolutely hates it. Depends. She also wants a baby blue motorcycle with black skulls and crossbones on it. She will have it named Delilah. When she gets it. Which she will. She's determined.

Name: Seth Baxter

Age: 17

Gender:Male

Appearance: Seth stands at 5'9 and has a lean toned body with nearly zero body fat, thanks to his picky eating and constant exercise. He has evenly toned skin color with a few freckles. His brown hair falls around his face and he has bright green eyes. He prides himself on having a symmetrical face.



Personality: Seth loves beauty in all of its forms. Nature fascinates him as does beautiful women. He thinks that no one should be restricted to only one woman, so he likes to sample around. This makes him very flirtatious and even if not flirting he is sizing up a women’s beauty. Because of his attention to detail he likes things organized and finds symmetry and patterns to be preferable to disorder.

Seth is also very arrogant, he considers himself to be perfect in his looks and cannot be told otherwise. Those that disagree with him, he suspects are just jealous. This arrogance does not connect to his art since he rarely shows anybody his work.

He has no filters and rarely thinks about what he says before he says it. On top of that he seems to relish in offending people. He's manipulative and scheming, used to getting his way.

Despite his rather abrasive personality he suffers the delusion that everyone likes him. Someone not liking him is a concept he does not understand. He also has the odd habit of mentally making any imperfection he may gain into a vain positive. For instance, If he gets cut and gets a scar, he will simply say it makes him look “dangerous and hot.” Such delusions of grandeur are common for him.


History: Seth grew up in a sheltered home with a overprotective mother and father. When his mother died, his father rarely paid attention to his children and Seth began to branch out more. He would spend hours at a time partying and having fun. His mother had been a artist and had put her sons into every art program imaginable. Seth took to painting and drawing. It's whenever he does decide to go home, he locks himself in his room and paints. His art is the only thing that he's self conscious about, and he lets nobody see them.

He mostly ignored his family, finding them to be annoying.

What You Packed: Coloring pad, clothes, various toiletries, brush, and lots of scented lotions and flavored lip balms.

Up For Love: I would not call what he searches for love, but yes.

Other:

****************************************************************************************************************************************************

Name: Sidney Baxter
Age: 17
Gender:Male

Appearance: Similar to his brother in height, hair color and eye color. He however has slightly sharper features and his eyes have more of a lazy quality about them. He often keeps his brown hair gelled up, which when grown out is thicker than Seth’s.



Personality: Sid’s immaturity and naivety create a stark contrast in comparison to his brother. He like his brother however often speaks his mind without filtering, but he takes it to a new extreme by voicing nearly every random thought that passes through his mind. He’s a very curious kid and lacks a sense of personal space. He like his brother values the use of all five of his senses and often tastes smells, touches things just for the experience. He seems to not understand subtle thing like sarcasm and takes most things literally.

History: Like his brother he was coddled from a early, age and he was devastated when his mother died. He however repressed it seeking to only have happy thoughts. He actively seeks out the good things, and shuns any and all things that might make him feel bad. He took to music during his culturing training. He plays the violin and that is generally what he does to center himself.

What You Packed: Some clothes, violin, and lots of pudding.

Up For Love: Sure

Other:

Name: Carla Simmons
Age: 17
Gender: Female

Appearance: Carla is just under average height at 5'3", and has a slim build - she exercises enough to have some core muscle, but is not particularly strong. She has brown hair that falls to just below shoulder-length, and light brown eyes.


Personality: At first glance, Carla appears to be an average hard-working student, with polite if distant nature and a poor sense of humour. It is only later that people realise how blunt and ruthless Carla can be, a steamroller of single-minded determination that is willing to sacrifice any and all trivialities in order to get the success that she wants.

Carla prides herself in excelling in everything she does, and despises being second-best to anybody else. She is a highly focussed and logical person and disregards the things she views as less important in favour of the end goal; she is a firm believer in the saying that the end justifies the means. She puts success above friendships or romances, and struggles to relate to people who do otherwise. In social situations Carla can often come off as abrasive or bad-tempered, having little patience for meaningless interaction, and whilst she is not particularly shy she is rarely strikes up conversation for anything other than a set purpose, and is loathe to get involved in discussions of "feelings". When things aren't going to plan, Carla has a tendency to freeze up and is not particularly good at adapting to changes or unforeseen circumstances.

History: Throughout her upbringing Carla has been used to getting her own way, as the only child of a lawyer and a historical archivist. Her parents have had a tendency to treat their daughters upbringing much like a business, exchanging desired things for good deeds with an almost robotic nature. Her childhood has been largely devoid of warmth or strong emotional bonds, with her parents frequently going away for their work and leaving her in the care of babysitters, or more recently, alone to fend for herself.

Carla has lived most of her teenage life with the single ambition of getting into Harvard University to study Law, building her life around this and putting her everything into school-work, along with copious hours of extra-curricular studying to further her chances. Her parents have orchestrated this desire, encouraging her from a young age and strongly influencing her actions until she adopted the idea as her own.

What You Packed: A small bag of clothes including a waterproof jacket, a penknife, energy bars, a compass.

Up For Love: You can try, but any advances are unlikely to be reciprocated.

Other: She is allergic to cats.

---


Name: Jonathon Asreid
Age: 18
Gender: Male

Appearance: Jonathon is around average height, at 5'9", and has a fairly toned build, though he doesn't really have much muscle. He has quite thick dark brown hair and dark brown eyes. He usually sticks to the basics, clothes-wise, and goes for comfort and practicality, pretty much living in his jeans and boots.


Personality: Generally speaking, Jonathon has an introverted character, with a tendency to observe silently and reserve judgement for later. He is quite a perceptive person and can read others well, but his unwillingness to share this information with others freely means that his insights are often wasted. Jonathon has a good sense of obligation and, whilst not seeking to lead or influence others, is content to follow the direction of a leader and is dependable to do what is required of him with little question or complaint, even if he does not understand or agree with the action. He is very sensitive towards others feelings and makes a good listener, offering sound advice when it is sought of him.

Jonathon struggles with situations of conflict, usually choosing to ignore difficult issues until they escalate beyond feasible avoidance and events inevitably explode in his face. Whilst he often has good ideas, he finds it hard to verbalise them well or to put them into action without the help of someone else; his world is largely internalised and he is much more of a thinker than a doer.

History: As the youngest of three children, the other two both being girls, Jonathon has lived a fairly stable life in the state of Oregon since he was born. His parents split up when he was aged 8 after years of a tumultuous relationship, and since then he and his sisters have lived with their mother, with their father visiting infrequently and often to the tune of numerous loud arguments with his ex-wife throughout the visit. Whilst their mother has had several new relationships, none of them have lasted beyond a year or progressed towards becoming serious relationships. Jonathon is secretly pleased that none of these have proven strong enough to merit them moving in; he treasures the close bond between his mother, sisters and himself and is finding it hard to deal with his sister's recent moving-out to live with her fiancé.

Within school Jonathon maintains a small circle of friends, still hanging around with the same people he knew when he first started. He is a stable and dependable member of the group, though is known within the school for his quiet and untalkative nature.

What You Packed: A flask of coffee, a bag of food including fruit, snack bars and coffee granules, a lighter, a small bag of clothes, a warm scarf and a pair of extra shoes.

Up For Love: Yes

Other: n/a

Tarrion

Was it too cliche to just assume that this was all a bad dream? It happened regularly enough, didn't it? Teenagers dreamed about being stranded in Heaven-knows-where with Heaven-knows-who all the time, didn't they? No, Tarrion, they do not. Of course they didn't. Fantastic.

At least the sense of panic had ebbed off; he no longer felt the need to run around in circles screaming for help, and that was progress. And he had just made more progress by realizing that no, this was not a dream- it was very much reality, and his life had very much just took a turn for the worst. Maybe. It could be one of those weird game-shows, or some sort of cruel joke played by his siblings. For all he knew, he was one television right now, and people were laughing at him.

He had the sudden urge to hunt for hidden cameras.

Then again, there was no way his family could afford to put him on a show like that. Nevermind.

Tarrion looked around, eyeing the others carefully. He had managed to get a few names, and the names of a few animals, but that was about it. One of the girls collapsed, pulling her knees up to her chest and covered her head with her hands. One of the boys was eating pudding, of all the stupid things to do at the moment, and another one was huddled under a blue blanket, guarded intently by a dog. There was a cat wandering around, and Shaloe was still in her cage at Tarrion's feet.

The girl who had collapsed- she had a strange name, but that was all Tarrion could remember - was in hysterics. Tarrion frowned, weaving his way towards her and sat next to her. Instinctively, he rested a hand on her shoulder, pulling it away quickly when she cowered.

"Are you okay?" Maybe talking was the better of the two options here.

Brady

It wasn't happening. He was with the Fry's right now, eating scrambled eggs and toast. Or maybe he was at the office, telling Phil that everything was still okay, and that he was still happy and the Fry's really were good.

He didn't care where he was- all that he knew was that he was not in a forest, and he was not sitting on a bunch of fuzzy green stuff and there were not other people that he didn't know with him. That wasn't possible- it was silly, ridiculous even.

Brady peeked over the edge of the blanket, abruptly pulling it back over his head when he realized that the scene still hadn't gone away. Even under the blanket, he could hear them talking. Little bits of conversation made it through to him, little pieces that only made him more afraid that he already was.

"...the hell is going on..?"

"A gameshow...."

"...a shelter? Food, too."

"We already have wa-"

He risked another glance, forcing himself to notice the people this time. Some were still talking, and there were a few people huddled around a girl who was on the ground. Was she dead? Oh God, please don't let her be dead. She couldn't be dead- Brady would not stay in a forest where people died. He would not. It hadn't even occurred to him that she was moving, and therefore, could not be dead.

The blanket was back over his head instantaniously, hiding him from everybody else. Blue whined. Brady ignored her. Blue nudged his arm with her snout. Brady kept ignoring her. Blue pushed the blanket away and licked his cheek- Brady couldn't help but laugh quietly and shove her away. The moment of calm ended quickly, and he started panicking again. How long had he been doing this panic thing? It had been a long time... maybe he should get up.

Don't get up. There's a dead person over there.

Brady was content to remain where he was.

Micah

Micah didn't wake with a start, or with sweat beading his forehead, or fresh from a nightmare. He just... woke. The sleepiness wore off immediately, like it always did, and he began absorbing immediately. There were people all around him -that, he was used to. But this... it definitely wasn't the casino lobby. Cass wasn't waving at him to remind him that the slots were about to open and he needed to get out of the way before he was trampled. He couldn't hear his brothers thumping down the lanes. His father wasn't at the front door, arms crossed and earpiece buzzing.

It was natural that the first thing Micah reached for was the notebook he was using presently. He turned the page from the people-watching study he'd done yesterday -yesterday, good God- and started scribbling on the next blank one. Location: forest. Time of day: Micah looked up. Through the foliage, he couldn't tell where the sun was. Maybe the sun wasn't there at all. How stupid of him, to forget his watch. He wrote a question mark next to it. Human life: teenagers, unsure of number. To be studied at a later time.

There were animals here. He'd noticed that earlier, but his brain had been foggy, too foggy to interact. He'd stayed in his corner and clutched his bag. He kept one thought from that time to now: at least he wasn't with his family anymore. He'd wanted to get away from this. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise. He didn't have many blessings. He'd remember this one.

Well, if it turned out to be a blessing.

Micah stood up, started walking, and taking more notes. Temperature...

Rogue

Rogue rolled onto her side and tucked her arm under her head, reaching for a pillow or blanket. She found a bag -hers, by the feel of it- and that was good enough. She hugged it to her chest with one arm. The motion dragged leaves to her skin, and that was when she remembered, like a slap in the face, that this wasn't LA. This wasn't anywhere near it.

She opened her eyes reluctantly. It looked like park her mom had had a show at once. Lots of trees and leaves and grass. Her slowed mind took a moment to look for the word. A forest! That was it. She sat up and brushed herself off, getting as much of the debris off her as possible. She ran a hand through her hair and stood up, brushing her legs off, too. She was going to start this nightmare off looking good.

She ran through a mental checklist. No mother meant no stability, and no stability meant that she might slip into violent mode. Things might get ugly. She made a note to herself to tell whoever appeared to be the leader that she shouldn't be provoked. She looked around at the other people strewn on the ground. Most of them looked like they wouldn't recognize her mother's works as her mother's. This was good. She didn't like people making assumptions.

There was one thing that caught her attention, though: a fleece blanket. She hadn't seen a fleece blanket since... well, a long time. Even people at the soup kitchens didn't use them. It was a decent fabric, good for winter clothing's lining. When the blanket jerked, courtesy of a snuffling dog (a cutie, too), she decided that she'd investigate. That was what Rogue did. She found things out. If she didn't like them, she turned into a little monster, but she did find things out.

She walked over to the lumpy figure, very glad she'd chosen vintage Converse over her Christian Louboutin peep toe pumps. She crouched, not willing to expose her pants any more to the elements than they already had been, and tapped what looked vaguely like either a shoulder or a head.

"Excuse me?" Maybe the hider was still sleeping. "Are you awake? I'd like to talk to you."

Venus

A strange hand met my shoulder, making me cringe. There was no way I was looking up and letting them see me cry. Mom always said people weren't pretty when they cried. When the man had said she was going on a trip, I didn't think this would be it. I thought perhaps that private school I was trying to get into had accepted me, or maybe I had won a dream vacation. At least I had some helpful tools, my bag was always packed for trips of all kinds. When mom and I go into town to get supplies and food we normally have to spend the night because it's such a far drive.

"Are you alright?" the voice that was probably attached to the hand was talking now, did I want to acknowledge it? I suppose so, it would be bad manners to ignore him.

"I want to go home. I'm scared, and tired and I want to go home." My voice is getting worse and worse from all this crying. I forced myself to even out my breathing. When that was all managed I pulled my eyes up from my hands to see- Tarris, was it?

"I'm sure we're all scared, we'll figure out what's going on and see what we can do." he nodded before finishing. He seemed so relaxed about all this, how did he pull that off? Of course he was terrified inside, each and everyone of us had to be. Some just seemed to handle it so well.

"I'm Venus, like the planet. My mom was into astrology."

"Tarrion, my folks liked the name."

Tarrion, not Tarris. I would have to mentally note that for later. I wouldn't want to go around calling him Tarris. I don't think that's even a name. Though, that would be kind of a cool name. I was starting to forget why I was scared at all. A quick look around reminded me.

"Tarrion, are we going to die?" I asked quietly, looking back down to the ground.

Seth~

Bored, that was the best way Seth could describe his mood. He looked over at his brother who was scarfing down a pudding cup. He rolled his eyes, and wondered how he could be related to the boy, yet alone be his twin. He had never gotten around to doing a DNA test, but it was something he'd have to look into.

Well at least his brother wasn't freaking out like some of the other pathetic souls around him. He observed each one with a wary eyes; ugly, ugly, boring, weird, ugly. Obviously had not expected to find anyone on his level of attractiveness, but he had had hoped someone was a little bit attractive. He really would not rate any of the girls here above a six. He made a quick note of the boys as well. None of them matched up to him, or even came close for that matter. Well, one he couldn't see very well, because they had a blanket over them.

Seth glanced at his brother again when he saw him licking his spoon.

"How are we related?" Seth asked.

Sidney stopped eating his pudding, and looked up with wide surprised eyes. Seth was surprised that Sid had the forethought to whisper back. "Did dad not give you the talk? Wait, you were there when I had the talk. Well, when a man loves a women, they....."

"That's not what I meant, Sid." Sometimes it took so much will power, not to slap the mess out of his brother.

"Oh, good. I didn't want to describe it. It's kind of nasty, and I'd rather not puke up good pudding."

This exchange hopefully went unnoticed by the other people. With one of the girls having collapsed, and another boy acting like a hermit crab; he doubted he would have to worry about anyone paying the twins any attention. Seth was also confident that the two of them looked different enough that no one would see the family resemblance. He'd rather not be connected to pudding boy.

He got up and brushed off his pants. He could care less about the drama queen of girl on the ground, plus it looked like the ape looking guy was taking care of her. Birds of a feather flock together, and they were some ugly birds. He however was curious about the person under the blanket. He had made his judgments on everyone else, and he would not let a single person escape his notice.

To his annoyance, somebody had beaten him to the bounty. It was a girl, or at least he thought she was girl. Now that he was closer he could get a better look. Holy crap her lips were so huge, they looked like two slugs had crawled on to her face to die. The next thing he noted was her fashion sense; it looked like she went into a a Goodwill and dressed blind folded. Three, she was a three. Honestly that was generous. He had only given her the three, because her big slug lips probably felt good to kiss, even if the were repulsive to look at.

She seemed to be trying to coax the person from under the blanket; lame. He bent over and yanked the blanket away. "How about you join the rest of use out here. We don't bite, " he tilted his head. He glanced at the dog by the boys side. Seth never liked animals. That was Sid's thing, he was the one that always wanted a pet.


Sidney~

As his brother left, Sid continued to eat his pudding. It was almost gone. He looked mournfully down at the quickly diminishing pudding. He had packed several packs, but seeing a empty pudding cup always made him sad. His spoon hit the bottom of the cup and he pouted. He was tempted to eat another, but knew he had to ration them out. He also needed to share if he had to. Sharing was caring. He knew he would not have to share with Seth. Seth hated pudding. In fact, his brother hated most of the things Sid liked.

He decided to go over to the girl that had collapsed, maybe he should share with her. He pulled out a fresh cup of pudding and ambled over to where she was. Another guy was already there, apparently comforting her. He overheard the last bit of the conversation. He broke in before the boy could answer.

"Oh we are not going die, well maybe if we contract a virus that makes internal organs bleed, or have animals rip flesh from our bones," he shook his head. "That's not very likely though." He managed to say all of this with a cheery smile on his face, as if he were talking about pudding. "Want some pudding? I suppose another away we could all die, is by starvation to the point some of us become cannibals, and bash in each others skulls to feed on our livers. " He looked at the girl and boy. "It's banana flavored, " he said with a nod.

Rogue

And the monster was awake. Rogue began her job to keep it at bay. Instead of punching him in the nose -which is what she logically should have done, considering her past experience- she just narrowed her eyes and set her jaw.

"Do you have a problem with blankets, sir?" She spat out every word with every drop of venomous sarcasm in her body. She glanced down at the hunched figure beneath her. It was a guy, definitely. "If the boy wants to stay under there, he stays under there." In two sharp movements, she had grabbed the blanket and pulled it over its owner again. That same hand went to fondle the dog's head.

The Angry Rogue's awakener didn't look like the type of guy who'd last long against her. Good muscle build, yes, but by how well groomed he was? He'd probably cover his face before he threw a punch. She hated guys like that. Some voice in the back of her head chided her- stop making judgments, maybe he was just trying to take a more direct approach. He's probably not that bad.

Well, Angry Rogue didn't like that kind of thinking. It was so... optimistic.

To distract herself quickly, she looked away from him, attaching her eyes on anyone else. The boy who was talking to the panicked looking girl- good for him. A boy who looked remarkably like the one across from her was sitting next to a girl in a heap. There were a few others that she couldn't quite make out, and a dark haired guy walking around, looking at the trees, and writing things down. She couldn't say it was the weirdest she'd seen.

She felt the dog lean into her, but her eyes didn't soften at all. She had a target now. The beast had been brought back to life.

Tarrion

Tarrion stared at the blonde boy. On any other day, in any other situation, he would have been thoroughly amused. But it was today, and it was this situation, and he was far from amused.

"Thank you, so much, for being so reassuring." The sarcasm was painfully obvious, and he wasn't going to make any attempts at hiding it. "Save the pudding, by the way. Who knows how long we'll be here." He turned back to Venus, expression far more serious now. "But Pudding-boy is right. We're not going to die... and please, disregard everything else he just said, okay?"

"Okay." She only looked half-convinced, if that. Well, half-convinced was better than not convinced at all.

Tarrion pushed himself back to his feet, helping Venus up as he went. If they weren't going to die, they'd need to get organized, wouldn't they? That made sense. "Speaking of which, we should probably make shelters or something, shouldn't we? I don't know if we're gonna be here over night or not but if we are, it'll be nice to have somewhere relatively dry to sleep."

He stole a quuick glance over his shoulder, frowning at the back of a dark-haired boy with a notebook. He wouldn't be much help. Then there was the group of three with the dog and the blue blanket- also unhelpful. A red-head, a dirty-blonde and another boy with brown hair. What were the chances that they were all having mental breakdowns and just hiding it really well? Maybe he'd give them a few minutes to themselves.

"You two feel up to building something?" Probably not, but it was worth a shot, right? Tarrion was in desperate need of something to do- something to distract himself with. Panic was crawling back on him, and it was taking more effort than it should be to hold it back.

Brady

Brady didn't move. He didn't speak, and he tried not to breathe for as long as he could. The other boy was like Keith... or he reminded Brady of Keith somehow, he wasn't sure exactly why. But maybe, if he stayed under here, completely still and silent for a little bit, things really would be normal again. Maybe he had fallen over and hurt himself... he did have a bit of a headache.

But he didn't remember falling. Did you remember falling after going into a coma because you fell? He couldn't remember for sure, but he was willing to assume that he would have. So he wasn't unconscious. He was very awake, and he was in a forest, and these people were probably not going to go away any time soon.

Brady gripped the edges of his blanket. He didn't want it to be yanked off his head again- there was too much going on out there. Way too much. He liked it under here, where he could at least pretend that he was back at the Fry's, and the girl sitting next to him was one of the twins, and he was just really tired so he was going to take a nap. That's why he had covered himself with the blanket. In twenty minutes exactly, Mrs. Fry was going to wake him up for supper.

Pretending only worked for so long. In Brady's case, that was about thirty seconds. He twisted his neck so that the side of his head was resting on his knees, which were still pulled up tightly against his chest, and lifted the blanket away from his face ever so slightly. He was staring at the girl, deciding to ignore the fact that the other boy was probably still there, looming over him with what Brady imagined would be a sour expression. He watched the girl instead, hardly noticing the fact that she was glaring off into space, obviously not happy.

Blue nudged her arm and made a quiet whining noise that made Brady smile a bit. "Blue thinks you're nice," he whispered, not wanting the other boy to hear him if he was still there. The girl turned to look at him, which only made Brady smile more. "My name's Brady." He should have thanked her for giving him his blanket back, but he could do that later. He wanted to know her name, or the thank-you wouldn't sound right.

"I like your hair, too." He did. Not that he knew why, but it was different, and that was the sort of different that Brady liked. Small differences that didn't have any impact on his life. People with different hair or eyes were two of them.

Rogue

Rogue's fingers inchwormed to behind the dog's ears. Blue- that was its name. "Thanks, Brady. I'm Rogue." Finally, she could get a proper look at him. He looked so... innocent. She'd never seen eyes that sweet before. She glanced at the dog before looking back at Brady. Now that she thought of it, that was the first name she'd learned here. Everyone else here was... nameless. "Blue's a pretty dog."

She heard a noise coming from the pretty boy's direction that sounded... not to her liking. Or, not to the Beast's liking. She felt her fingers curl into a fist and she felt her arm shoot forward, but she didn't make the connection that she was the one doing it. She didn't realize she'd punched him, square in the nose, until she felt her fist return and relax. She wiggled her fingers and moved her wrist in circles. At least it had been a straight throw.

She looked up quickly, wondering how many of the others had seen or heard the punch. She was in bad trouble if she'd been caught. Blast the things Angry Rogue got up to.

Micah

Micah stopped and pointed the end of his pen at one of the trees surrounding them. There was something off about it. It was like... oh, he didn't know. It was just off. He found a distinguishing trait -moss on the roots except for one- and scribbled down his gut feeling. Clean root tree: suspicious. He turned again and started walking back towards where he started- or, he was, until he tripped over something.

He crouched immediately, his pen poised to poke if necessary. It was a good way to gauge reactions. It was a body, looked to be female. The middle was rising and falling, at least- breathing. That was good. Life was a good thing- that was what he'd been told. He wasn't so sure. He licked his lips, and with shaking fingers, pushed the pen forward.

Before it touched her, she made some sort of noise. Micah yelped (quietly; he was not a loud person) and scrambled back, holding his pen above the paper, ready to start writing notes when the need arose. There was motion under her eyelids. She was waking up.

"I'm s-sorry," Micah was saying. He was apologizing before she could even see him. That was the best way to go- seek forgiveness first thing.

That was what his father had taught him, anyway.