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Estee 44384 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold" 07-10-06, 02:27 PM (EST) "Survivor: The Society Islands: Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Prophecy." LAST EDITED ON 07-15-06 AT 05:42 AM (EST) After ------------------------------------------------------------ The police sergeant working the front desk didn't like me. I could tell by the way his reddened nostrils flared when he looked me over. The way his thick eyebrows kept trying to merge in the middle of his forehead was also something of a hint. But mostly, it was the way he outright told me. "I saw you on that show last night," he judged from on high. This was one of those old-fashioned front desks which you normally only get in ancient cartoons, with the top drawer well above my head and the officer somewhere near the ceiling. They're good for exactly one thing: looking down on people. I didn't think this one needed the extra help. "I'm sure CBS appreciates your fraction of a ratings point," I told him. When trouble is this obvious, there's no point in trying to alleviate it. You just get to the bad part as quickly as possible. "I need to report an assault --" Another look, possibly checking for blood. With none to find, he probably decided it was safe to stall for a while longer. "I suppose you think you were being cute?" Well, no. I was trying to bring down Western civilization, all by myself. If you don't believe me, ask the new members on my forum. "I had an incident with a thrown bottle a few minutes ago. I got the license plate number, so if you can --" And cut off again. "Someone threw a bottle at you?" I nodded. "Did it hit you?" Head shake. "Pity." Muscles tightening fast, "I don't care how you feel about it." And that came out exactly the way I meant it to. Fine: he didn't like me. We'd established that. "It's not your job to like me. It's your job to help me. Someone just tried to take my head off with a few ounces of Corona graveyard, it's an illegal act, I'm also carrying a few megabytes of death and rape threats on me that I just happened to receive before someone decided to express their feelings with the help of the cheapest available liquor store. I'm asking you to do something about it." His lips peeled back slightly, revealing tobacco-stained yellow with coffee browns. "I don't give out medals." Enough. I took a deep breath, threw my head back, and screamed. As loud as I could make it, as high-pitched as I could get it without straining something, one long pitch of anger that echoed through the room and bounced into the corridors. The sergeant's eyes went wide, and he immediately started to clamber down the stairs that would put him on a temporary level with the mortals, but it was already too late. Any police officer worth a tenth of their paycheck will automatically move towards screams, and the footsteps pounding up the hallways told me I'd gotten the direct attention of at least half the station, with the other half calling down to see if anyone needed backup. Within seconds, I had two -- no, six -- make that eleven uniforms gathered in the lobby, two of whom had drawn weapons, one frozen a single stair from the bottom, his eyes openly wishing for his very own bottle and an elephant gun to fire it from. "I'm sorry," I lied. "Having my rights trampled on that hard hurts." Turned to the new arrivals on my left. "Hello. I need to report an assault..." Anger, confusion, not-so-hidden looks at the desk sergeant, trying to work out just what was going on -- and a voice behind me. "I should have known we'd get you in here today." Female, always a little weary, breathing perpetually off from trying to push oxygen past layers of tar buildup. She'd said she was going to quit. She always said she was going to quit, next week for certain, and the last next week had been scheduled for years ago and had apparently never come... "I'll take her, boys." Probably looking at the desk sergeant now. "You and I are going to talk, Malley. Right after I get done with her. Don't go anywhere, don't even think about going anywhere -- hell, don't even bother moving up or down those stairs. I like you just where you are." Voice focused back on me. "Come on, Alex. I think you remember the trail." Without looking, "I'm a little old for you now." One very quick burst of laughter, just long enough to register as one before it turned into a smoker's cough. "I'm not working with Child Protection Services any more. Promoted up and out. You're still my problem, damn it... and are you coming or not?" The same old insistence. Probably the same old patented Officer Ramirez lack of ability to go with it, too. I went. ---------------------------------------------------------- {Topic title: Anyone watch the news today?} {Guess who the Moral Minority's after now?} {I saw it. Quick summary: we can't have people doing that sort of thing on television, it's disrespectful, we demand a public apology, we demand a public accounting, and we don't demand a public hanging, but if anyone would be willing to go out and do it without having been inspired by us in any way because that would be bad, we'll hardly mind. I also went to their website, and they've got a protest form up to send to CBS, another one for sending to Alex, and just in case you've got a little extra time on your hands, Mary-Jane was showing too much skin for their taste, blurs mean nothing, and how about an FCC fine? The heathens must be punished, but in order to properly punish them, they need some more donations, please transfer your funds to the following account...} {Looks like the Cause Celeb' has been replaced by the Cause DAW.} {They've got to know CBS isn't going to do anything, right? Some of them are probably the same people who wanted Kaysar out of the hamster cage because having a Muslim on television who wasn't trying to blow up the country lent aid and comfort to our enemies by luring us into a false trust.} {No, virtually all of them are the same people. But they brought reinforcements.} {CBS won't do anything, and I really doubt Alex is going to speak in public before the Reunion show airs. I wonder how much of this she's seeing?} {Plenty. Go to her website when you get the chance and check out her forum. Wear something fire-retardant and keep an extinguisher next to your monitor.} {It's going to get worse before it gets better. AFA just updated: they're now encouraging their members to go on Alex's site, register, protest, and flood the server with the voice of righteous Americans -- let her personally see how the true citizens of this country feel about her. Or in other words: get her shut down by overloading her account: they're just not going to say it in those words. Cute. Real cute.} {Fine. If that's the way they're playing it, I'm fighting fire with banners. #$%%, as long as I'm here, I think I'll buy this book. Oh, and this T-shirt looks interesting, maybe I'll get one of those, too. Hey, what's the going rate on a personalized piece of art? Seriously? Man, that's reasonable. And only that much more for one in color? I can probably make that back on eBay five minutes after I get it, add ten dollars for every thousand people on the protest petition. Controversy sells...} {You're seriously going to support her? Did you watch that episode? Did you see what the rest of us saw? That was a direct attack!} {It. Was. A. Cross. I can look back in the historical records and find you a thousand instances where hollowed-out jewelry -- including religious symbols -- and very much including Christian religious symbols -- was used to carry messages for Our Side. She used a cross to start a fire. I may have missed the part where she then turned around and single-handedly destroyed America's moral fiber, but I'll need some evidence instead of just taking your word for it. And if you show me some, I'll be more impressed than angry. One little twenty-something single-handedly destroying a country with five minutes of television footage? Who needs nukes? Launch the Cole!} {It's called 'righteous cause', dimwit. Appearing on a reality show doesn't count as one.} {And suppressing her right to make a living does?} {That's the funny thing about 'free speech'. You always wind up paying for it in the end.} --------------------------------------------------------- The office hadn't changed much. A few new pictures of her children, with none of the old ones gone. Some of the Wanted posters down, new ones in their place. Fresh green curtains that had about two more seconds before the tobacco stench which coated the office permanently sank into them, too. Lousy lighting, which made the main source of illumination into the computer monitor, with all the sick glows and shadows that implied. Same old fake leather wheeled chair with the same patches of duct tape holding the tears together. Same occupant, but with a extra fifteen pounds or so added to her legs and rear. Desk jobs come with their own price, taken out of your body in twelve-donut increments. Being on the street is almost the same, except that it comes out of your sanity. She pointed me to my chair. I shook my head. "I'll stand." "Oh, you will, will you?" she said with a false lightness as she took her seat, her rear fitting exactly into the hours-molded contours. "I don't have to sit any more," I told her. She looked up at me -- then sighed. "It's a royal bitch to try and read your eyes, you know that?" One hand to the keyboard, the other on the mouse. "No, you don't have to do what I tell you to, because you're an adult now. You did have to do what I told you to before and I'm guessing there's a couple of times when it actually happened, but they were probably all coincidence. Alex, after that little stunt out there and with Malley spreading every lie he can think of while I'm busy with you, I may be one of six officers in this precinct willing to do anything with you other than locking you in a holding cell for disturbing our peace. And I'll have to re-educate the other five. I want to help you, but you have to let me --" It took us both a second to realize that my hand had gone to the doorknob. I'd only just caught myself in mid-twist. Silence. "I've said that before," she said. I nodded. "I can do more about it this time." "I can't think of a single reason to believe you." Okay, maybe my hand had gotten there without my notice, but I liked its initiative. Back to turning. "Because you're an adult," she said. Sighed. "It's easier with adults. Now -- please sit down?" Eight seconds, nine, ten, nine again because the clock over her desk still skipped backwards whenever it felt like it, but especially when I wanted to leave and it knew it could keep me here... I sat. "Now," she said, calm mostly forced, "tell me what happened." It didn't take long, plus a few minutes for filling out forms, and she ran the search on the license plate while I was wrapping up. "Reported stolen last night. Sounds like a joyride theft. We'll probably find it in a supermarket parking lot somewhere, filled with more of those beer bottles. Did you save the pieces?" Save the pieces of a broken beer bottle? "No." She sighed again. "I'll get someone out to look. We probably can't get any usable fingerprints off them, but it's worth a try." Oh. Okay, that made sense: I'd just been in a hurry to get out of the area and hadn't had a bag with me if I'd somehow thought of it. "Can I have that DVD?" I turned it over. She flipped the thin plastic case over in her hands a few times. "This..." Long pause. "Internet stuff can be hard to deal with. Virtually everything here probably crosses state lines, and anything in Jersey probably goes over the township border. Some of it might even be FBI stuff: it's not my department to know about. We can probably send warnings, alert the towns this came from, but prosecuting every single one -- no one's got time for that. At best, we might be able to scare some people." Slowly, "I'm not trying to talk you out of doing even that much, Alex. I'm just telling you that realistically, the system isn't set up to handle all of it as a criminal matter. And we can't do much with the untraceables to start with." "I understand." I'd thought a lot of it out on the way down. "But any official response will scare a few of them into stopping." "And probably send more of them looking for masking software." Officer Ramirez hit a few more keys. "Alex, there's a good chance that what happened to you wasn't related to the show. We've been getting incidents here and there -- attacks on Caucasians. Some of the newer arrivals want you guys out of the neighborhood. They think you belong on the other side of the hill. A few of the college students have been having problems going through to Paterson, too." Echo, echo, echo... "I understand." "So this could be a bias crime," she concluded, "but either way... hang on." A quick phone call, sending a car out to the sidewalk to recover bits of bottle. "And you've said that before." Softly, "You always used to say 'I understand' when it was something you didn't think anyone could fix." No answer. Very carefully, measuring each word before releasing it into the yellowish air, "If there's anything that happened out there besides the cross stuff -- anything I should know about that might be contributing to this -- you'd better tell me now." "You watched?" Honestly curious. I knew there'd been a mini-notice in some of the local papers. Local Girl Gets On Television: details if she goes far enough for us to give a damn. She nodded. "Saw the Early Show preview, waited ever since. I couldn't believe you even went out for it. I really couldn't believe they picked you -- and then when I saw..." Trailed off, tried to take a deep breath, failed to drive half of it past the Marlboro Legacy Museum, coughed. "No, I'm not offended, Alex. I guess I could be, and I can see why some people want to be, but there's people out there with knives that jump out of the bottom of their crosses. All you did was start a fire so damn far outside my jurisdiction that I couldn't register a complaint with a satellite." Double-clicked her mouse. "So?" "I need your hat." She blinked hard, twice, then stared at me. I met her gaze. "Your hat. Now." Slowly, she opened a desk drawer, took out the uniform cap, and handed it to me. It smelled like cigarette smoke, too: the scent of futility and slow suicide. I handed it back. "That should work." "Work for what?" Cautious. She knew I was going somewhere she wouldn't like, and her ability to make me regret it was mostly gone. "Donations. You take that out into the building and start passing it around. When you get up to five million dollars, come back. I'll help you check the count, and if it's right, I'll tell you everything about what happened on the show." Voice hard and neutral. We really hadn't gone anywhere since I'd last seen her. "Just make sure you get it all down, because if you miss a detail and have to call me back in, we might need another five million to pay for the review. I'm honestly not sure if it's a one-time fine for breaking the secrecy contract or a per-incident payout. I'll have to check." Holding back nothing, "If you start in the drug enforcement section, you should be halfway there in about ten minutes. What would that be, five hours' worth of graft?" She stopped typing, stopped clicking, almost stopped breathing. I waited. "You," she said with as much lack of speed as she could force, "are damn lucky I know you well enough to understand that." "There's nothing to understand," I told her. "That's the fine. Five million dollars in fines for divulging details of the show in advance. I don't have it. You don't have it. I'm not talking." "You must be so happy," she half-snorted. "At least it finally gives you an excuse -- really five million?" "Really." Cross the t's, dot the i's, and hope to get to a bankruptcy court before the final judgment could be handed down. "Who do you talk to about it?" Honestly curious. I shrugged. "Jeff on the Reunion show, the morning show people when my time comes around. Nothing to anyone else." Another cough. "It can't be that hard on you." Deliberate pause. "You're used to keeping secrets." Not even worth responding to. I got up. "I'll call you when I hear anything." Closing in on the doorknob, this time with full awareness and permission. "We will work on this, Alex. I promise you." Grip and turn. "But -- you might want to stay off the streets for a while." Stop. Turn. Look right at her. "No," I told her. "Because I have to eat, I have to earn a living, I have books to mail, and I do all of that by getting out of my apartment and walking until I reach the places where I can get things done. They either get me out here or they starve me in there. Ignoring the problem never works. Just because I can't do anything about it by contract this time doesn't change the rules of that game." Slowly, "Here's something else I used to say. 'Why does it matter? It won't change anything...' Still applies, doesn't it?" She had no answer. She still had no answer: just a blank stare, the one that said she understood perfectly but couldn't sleep at night unless she pretended not to. I'd given her years to work on a vocal response and all she could do was sit there in her patched-up chair and keep tearing herself apart from the inside out. I left. Malley was no longer on the front desk when I went past it. There was a new officer, female, younger, not completely broken yet. I used to hate her. "And now?" Jeff, chiming in just as I cleared the door. Pity. I looked at that word, surprised at its mere existence, let alone the place it had decided to turn up. Jeff chuckled. "Alex making progress whether she wants to or not!" "Oh, shut up," I muttered, finished going down the stairs, and headed up the sidewalk. The fact that someone might try to shatter my skull on the way to the Post Office did not remove the need to go to the Post Office. Onwards. A chance of death doesn't keep from life going on. There's always a chance that death will be lurking somewhere in the deck. Whether you want to see it or not... --------------------------------------------------------- Before ---------------------------------------------------------- {And the summary of your blind guesses as to who's going second... Alex: 109 votes Elmore: 47 votes Trina: 28 votes Denadi: 12 votes All other contestants with a total of 19 votes. Just for the record: I'd take these results a lot more seriously if roughly 106 of you hadn't registered in the past week.} -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- {Welcome to Week #2, where someone will go home! Or save themselves with the hidden idol, or switch tribes, or quit, or have God strike them down with lightning because they dared to try and play the game... you know, one of those...} {I'm glad to see you're all still finding it so amusing.} {I see you're with us tonight! Taking an hour off from constantly refreshing Alex's website? -- which I can't help but notice is still up...} {I was there this morning. She's shunted all the hate threads into their own forum subsection, added the few support threads, titled it Show Discussion And Police Record Creation, then left it alone. But the FAQ now says 'Say whatever you want to, but I'm taking all threats to the authorities.'} {Sounds like her foot just came down.} {Can she actually get anywhere with that kind of statement?} {Some. Depends on how many idiots gave out their full information when they registered, or how much the police can run down. If she is turning in every threat -- and there was some really vicious stuff -- then some of the bad boys and girls will at least receive nasty warnings in their Inboxes. Fight bulk mail with bulk mail.} {We just got another riddle over on Sucks: 'Truth to tell, but truth without an end.' Very nice of our mystery man, especially since Riddle #1 hasn't worked out yet. Seriously: I hate this guy. Would someone buy him Plain English For Morons?} {We'd have to get someone to read it to him...} {Trina, maybe? Tell=fortune teller?} {Could be, but I think that's too easy for this jerk.} {And we're off!} {Recrap, recrap... Tony loves Angela, Connie hates Alex, here's why Connie hates Alex, shelter bad, shelter good, nude Mary-Jane just in case you forgot what most of the audience tuned in for, Turare wins Immunity, Elmore should go home, Elmore will go home, Elmore will not go home. Oh, and mood shots of the Cliffs and the black-sand beaches, just in case you forgot where we were.} {And with all that vomited onto our screens -- roll opening credits for a record-breaking second week in a row...} --------------------------------------------------------------- During --------------------------------------------------------------- I pick my way across the shelter floor and onto the bare ground: we've cleared pretty much all the dead leaves out of the camp area, just in case of stray embers. No need to put shoes on, since I've been sleeping in them. It's that much more protection from bugs, and the first bites are starting to appear on everyone who isn't making a full-time effort to cover up -- except for Mary-Jane. I don't understand that. Maybe the clear-coat lipstick she brought is actually a repellent -- except that I've seen her putting it on her lips, and that stuff's usually poisonous... Behind me, Trooper lightly snores, leading to some still-asleep mutters from the others. I'm the first one up, rising as the stars fade out in the canopy windows, velvet black going to mist gray as the sun starts to make its approach. Off to the left, in the camera shelter, a bleary-eyed member of the production crew mutters "Oh, Cole's out..." and staggers to her feet. I don't think we're filmed throughout the night -- look, someone's on their right side instead of their left: what can that mean for the alliances? -- but there's always people around, just in case two of us get up to find a clear potential bathroom spot in the middle of the night and somehow turn it into a strategy discussion. We all owe a lot to Blake that way, or at least the males do. I'm sure they don't appreciate the extra tracking. As for me -- women generally discuss things over sinks, not toilets or substitutes therefore, plus we avoid each other during such situations, period, pun occasionally intended. And right now, there's no one to talk to anyway. I'm very quiet around camp: moving softly among sleeping numbers is an old skill that hasn't faded from recent disuse. Sliding my feet instead of planting them, skating instead of walking. I don't think I need as much sleep as the others do, and they'll need their strength for the Reward challenge today. Presumably that's today. We all guess based on what's gone before, but sticking to a Reward-Immunity-Hunt cycle for a while makes sense, especially if they want to give serious camera time to the searches along with a real chance for those mini-quests to pan out. Right now, what I know is that no one's gotten us up for a dawn challenge and my sleepy camera operator isn't gesturing at the Tree Mail path, so there's nothing going on right now. We may even have a little time for shelter improvement ideas before we have to go. I glance back at the shelter. The final-for-now form looks something like an oversized version of a fruit store display, complete with awning: about ten feet deep, fifteen wide, a floor, three walls, and a ceiling that's highest at the back -- twelve feet -- and then slants down to just over seven at the front, with the edge of the ceiling two feet in front of the floor. The sleeping pallets form the shelves for displaying goods, and I almost expect to see 'Votes For Sale: Cheap' hung under some of them. The shelter is mostly thick branches and vines, but we've been packing the many cracks with mud, letting it dry out, and then placing the biggest leaves we can find over that. Desmond says we're not watertight, but we're at least resistant, and so far, rain hasn't been a problem. We can't possibly stay dry the whole time, though, and he really wants to win a tarp. He also wanted to install a primitive hinge and place a fold-down section over the awning, allowing us to swing a final wall into place in case of driving rain or wind -- but that's when production stepped in. We are not allowed to block off all sides of the shelter. They must always have a way to film the interior without actually being in there with us, and their needs take priority over our comfort. If we get a high wind or pounding storm at just the right angle, we can sit and suffer while they cozy up under ponchos and rain huts to watch us sit and suffer. That was an order, and Desmond enjoys giving those a lot more than he likes taking them. He was still frustrated when he finally went to bed. It's still a good shelter, though -- the best I've seen since the untouched-by-player-hands Hilton on Palau. We have space to sleep, to sit in the middle and talk, hang laundry... it should hold up for the duration of the filming, even if we don't. Desmond is now thinking about the add-ons that make a place closer to livable, and not just the currently root-strangled bathroom idea. Tables, chairs, footstools... whatever he can design and teach us to execute. I really do admire him a little. I could imagine all this, and drawing it wouldn't be a problem, but turning into reality and guiding others to help manifest it is his special gift. If only he wasn't so -- determined about it. His paranoia about the women of our tribe doesn't help, either. Gary had told me he was determined to get rid of us first if we started losing, and I doubt that's changed in the last couple of days. I'm starting to think Desmond might be channeling older issues into his gameplay: he is divorced, and his face goes ugly when the others talk about relationships: it's clear he wants no part of that ever again and doesn't understand why anyone else would. He's had to go through a little by proxy, though: as predicted, Frank tried to flirt with Mary-Jane again, and as promised, she's been playing him along this time. Frank either doesn't seem to realize he's been played or he's enjoying it too much to complain. The positive side of this is that I'm free to ignore Frank's now very casual asides to me. He'd probably still love to be the Casanova of the show with a girl on every pallet, but I think the mere idea that someone who looks like Mary-Jane will be visibly interested in him on national television -- well, that's like getting his all-time favorite bar bull session in the flesh, with a special bonus of televised proof and a chance of people paying to capture his romantic prowess on a DVD set. It's a watered-down temporary immortality he can settle for, and he probably will. I get the empty water container and set off down the wide trail, stopping about halfway along (and forty feet back) for morning necessities. As long as I'm up anyway, I might as well make sure there's plenty of fresh water to boil in the cooking pot when the others get up. We could really use a extra pot. We could really use a lot of things, and not many of them can be carved out of wood... Bathing is getting no easier, but at least there's only one camera operator watching now, and she's yawning too much to have any real idea of what she's looking at. And using the lake at this hour means no interruptions -- so I wash up, dry off, dress, fill the container, and start hauling forty pounds of water back towards the camp. It's a workout and then some, but either someone does it or we all go thirsty. Mary-Jane meets me about five minutes down the trail, still blinking away sleep as she half-staggers towards the lake. Flirting is high-energy work. She's carrying a change of clothes: she likes to be clean too, although she's not doing much about drying off. I think she lies on the diving rock and airs out. "Morning..." she mutters, seemingly not quite sure who she's talking to. Or we could be speaking again. "Morning." That snaps her focus in on the spot: she stops just as she passes me, almost stumbling off to the side from the sheer force of hitting the brakes so hard. Her camera operator, trailing ten feet back, has plenty of time to veer off and avoid the collision. "Hey -- hold up!" I stop and set the water down. "Something's up?" "Yeah." She turns around: I face her. "I've got a question for you." Oh, great, here we go... I brace myself. "Go ahead." She nods solemnly, eyes fixed on my face. "What's Alex short for?" Huh? Immediately, "Alex is short for a total lack of the genes that would lead to greater height." She groans, somehow finding the lungpower to make it last for several breaths. "It's too early for this... your name. What's your name short for? Alexis? Alexandra?" "Nothing." Before she can groan again, "It's just Alex. That's all that's on the birth certificate." Somewhere off to the right of the trail, some birds cry out a morning protest at all the noise, apparently with every intention of keeping it up until nightfall. We've heard them a couple of times before, but never gotten close enough to see one. They have deep, throaty voices and the ability to complain-chatter for five minutes on a single breath. Trooper named them 'Alicias'. "Seriously?" I nod assent. "Why?" "I don't know." And I want this topic over with, now. Much to my surprise, Mary-Jane complies. I just should have been more specific in the wording of the wish... "Okay. Guess what?" I wait instead of guessing. "We're talking. So what the hell happened at the challenge?" It's amazing. She's actually found something I want to talk about less. "We won. You were there. I'd think you'd remember." One sharp exhale. "I get it. When you're on the defensive, you get sarcastic. I'll remember that for later... What happened during that hug, okay?" No, when I'm angry, I get sarcastic. When I'm on the defensive, I defend. "You grabbed me and I wasn't ready for it. I'm not great with unexpected contact. I tensed up. It happens. I would have had the same reaction if anyone had done that, so it was nothing personal. Just 'Hey, someone's got me, let go!' And --" wincing with remembered discomfort "-- you hug tight." Really tight. Rib-caving tight. Instant reduction tight. She just looks at me, waiting for me to flinch, or change expression, or something. She's being patient. Fine: I can be patient right back. I look at her and wait. Mary-Jane concedes with a sigh. "Right. Sorry. So approach you from the front, and --" she winces as another brain cell kicks into partial activity "-- not so tight. Sorry..." That one with a note of realization. "I didn't mean to hurt you." Why are you so good at finding things I don't want to talk about? "I'm okay. You just came out of nowhere. You pratically picked me up. You startled me. It's over." A longer look, this one tinged with worry. "Alex -- you have to believe me. I wasn't trying to hurt or scare you. I was just celebrating." What part of 'it's over' is she having so much trouble with? "We're fine," I half-repeat, and hope it sticks. "Okay." She looks relieved. I guess it's sinking in. "Um... how are you doing with the guys?" "Not great." I spread my hands. "It's like you said: the only real possibility is Frank, and you've pretty much gotten him wrapped up." Right around the little finger of your choice. She smiles. "Yeah, he's coming along. But I wish we could get another one of the guys." And I wish I knew what she was thinking when she says 'we.' "If it came down to it, and you had the numbers -- which one would you vote out first?" Given the way this morning is going, I fully expect her to say 'Gary'. The birds finally take a breath. "Desmond," she immediately replies. "We got the shelter, so he's done his part. He's the oldest, so he'll probably be the slowest in challenges, and if you want to look really far down the line, I think he might be one of those Roger types who'd never vote for a woman to win. I definitely want him gone pre-jury. How about you?" Well... "Not Gardener, obviously." We need his strength in the tribal stage. We might even need his strength to help us keep any fantasized majority after the merge, although the threat of a Terry-like run is present and waving signs behind Mary-Jane's head. "Trooper and Gary have been solid so far... For personality, I guess it would be Frank or Desmond, and it can't be Frank because that ruins your plan, so..." I shrug. Mary-Jane seems to find this amusing. "You don't like Frank?" "He tries too hard." Instant, honest, sincere. "And he's -- well -- all over the place. First he's energetic, then he's tired..." "One leads to the other," Mary-Jane points out. Then, with a wink, "Usually in places where the camera is not going to go." And thank you for that image. "Okay, so we're looking at four-four, and maybe we can get someone later. Or maybe we can even avoid the need for another few days, who knows? Thanks for catching me up." She starts off down the trail again. I pick up the water and start hauling it back towards camp. In defiance of all laws of physics and volume capacity, it's actually managed to get heavier since I set it down. "Alex?" Oh, for... "What?" Without turning around. Maybe if we're not looking at each other, she can keep it brief. Cautiously, all the worry dropped back into her voice, "You're sure we're okay?" "Positive." I am one hundred percent dead positive that I want this conversation to go away and never come back. Mary-Jane has the option of going with it. "All right." Still kind of dubious, but on the path to acceptance and no longer looking for the first available side trail. "And I really am sorry. I must have been really hurting you there." Slowly, sadly, tinged with self-loathing at her own lack of consideration. "When I first saw your face, it looked like you wanted to kill me..." And footsteps heading away, uneven and with frequent pauses, as if she was stopping every few paces to look back. I don't check. I just pick the water up for the third time and head for camp. The sun isn't even all the way up yet, and it's already been a very long day... ------------------------------------------------------------- . . . . . . . . . (And more to come, with the episode hopefully complete by Thursday night. You still have plenty of time to make your PTTE on Cahaya's thread if you want to try it. (For obvious reasons, I can't play. Now I know how Burnett must feel. Except that he can probably try to find an offshore casino to bet with...))   Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

Subject     Author     Message Date     ID    Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Pro... Estee 07-13-06 1  Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Pro... Estee 07-13-06 2    RE: Episode #2: I Don't Believe In... Belle Book 01-04-09 20  Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Pro... Estee 07-14-06 3    RE: Episode #2: I Don't Believe In... Belle Book 02-01-10 23  Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Pro... Estee 07-14-06 4    RE: Episode #2: I Don't Believe In... Belle Book 01-04-09 21  Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Pro... Estee 07-14-06 5    RE: Episode #2: I Don't Believe In... Belle Book 01-04-09 22  RE: Survivor: The Society Islands:... vince3 07-14-06 6    RE: Survivor: The Society Islands:... cahaya 07-15-06 8    RE: Survivor: The Society Islands:... Colonel Zoidberg 07-15-06 9    The missing second confessional. Estee 07-16-06 10        RE: The missing second confessional... cahaya 07-16-06 11    RE: Survivor: The Society Islands:... cahaya 07-17-06 16    RE: Survivor: The Society Islands:... Belle Book 02-01-10 24  RE: Survivor: The Society Islands:... xwraith27 07-15-06 7  RE: Survivor: The Society Islands:... michel 07-16-06 12    RE: Survivor: The Society Islands:... vince3 07-16-06 13        RE: Survivor: The Society Islands:... cahaya 07-17-06 14            RE: Survivor: The Society Islands:... vince3 07-17-06 15                RE: Survivor: The Society Islands:... cahaya 07-17-06 17                    RE: Survivor: The Society Islands:... vince3 07-17-06 18                        RE: Survivor: The Society Islands:... michel 07-17-06 19

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Estee 44384 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold" 07-13-06, 12:44 PM (EST) 1. "Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Prophecy: Part II" LAST EDITED ON 07-15-06 AT 07:42 AM (EST) {And good morning, Haraiki! Angela gets the first confessional in, and bitter much? She doesn't want Elmore gone because he's a challenge drag. She wants Elmore gone because he not only flaunted the hidden idol, but manipulated the entire tribe before he got it, and bragged about it all the way back from TC. I suppose that's progress.} {Some of Elmore's bragging, and now we know why he's so overweight: the man is so full of himself that it's bulging out the sides. He gets second confessional and says you don't need strength, speed, or stamina to win the game: you just need brains. And you also need a little something called 'the social element', but he's never heard of that.} {The man has successfully united his entire tribe -- against him. Even Phillip and Tony are sick of him.} {Almost the entire tribe. Connie's still fuming about Alex. But she is glaring at Elmore in her spare time, which she seems to have a lot of. Not the hardest worker around the camp.} {Meanwhile, over at Turare, where the shelter is solid and the all-female alliance has a hole in it, Alex gets up early to go get water, and gets a side order of Mary-Jane on top of it. Aw, they've kissed and made up. Well, not really, because then the protest letters would triple overnight, but at least we've gotten things settled.} {I don't know... that's not the look I read on Alex's face.} {Dude, if you can read anything off her face, you are wasting a major talent. The girl looks like she's five seconds away from the final table at the World Series Of Poker.} {The rest of the tribe stretches and groans and tries to come alive, with Frank staggering well behind the others, and it almost looks like we're in real time, because here comes the water... and there goes Gardener to fill the second container, with Alex right behind him. That's weird. Why does it take two people to carry one container? Gardener could probably get both on his shoulders and make it most of the way by himself.} {It doesn't. Apparently Alex is going to be spending the next part of her morning in confessional.} {Let's hope there's a priest there, so she won't be back for thirty-six days.} ------------------------------------------------------------------- After ------------------------------------------------------------------- (From the CBS website, Survivor Gold section: Alex's third confessional, unedited for premium subscribers.) {ALEX enters the lemon grove starting with light, easy footsteps that become heavier thuds the instant she passes the point where anyone could see her from the lakeshore. The remainder of the walk to the tree she originally used is more of a march, and she sits down hard against the base of the trunk.} "Okay, what? If you wanted a confessional so badly, you could have just had me leave the water in the path and trust Mary-Jane would stagger it in later." {Off-camera voice prompt, female: 'I thought you might want to talk about it.'} {frustrated} "Talk about what?" {'Mary-Jane.'} "Oh, for..." {exasperated} "We settled the issue. There barely was an issue. She shouldn't sneak up on people and she has to be careful about nearly fracturing their ribs. It could have been worse. It could have been Gardener. Can I get back, please? We were going to talk tables this morning, and Tree Mail's probably due any minute." {'I won't let you miss it. But don't you think Mary-Jane's overstepping her bounds?'} {ALEX looks wary for a moment, then returns to her accustomed position of examining the sky.} "In what sense?" {'Unless we've missed something, she's never asked you for an alliance. But she still acts like she expects you to follow her lead.'} {ALEX closes her eyes for a second and takes a slow breath.} "You noticed." {tired} "I don't think she's noticed. She just automatically assumes that we're on the same side because we're both female. She figures I'll do whatever she says because..." {trails off} {'Because what?'} {long pause, then:} "Because she's pretty. Because she's gorgeous. Because people don't say no to Mary-Jane. Come on -- look at her. She was probably at the head of every clique in high school and she doesn't think anything's changed since. She was popular, she was in high demand, she twitched a lip and half the school fell at her feet to find out what was upsetting Her Highness. And anyone who didn't do exactly what she said two seconds before she said it would be on the outs with the local universe for the rest of their years, which was especially bad because the local universe began and ended with Mary-Jane. So she's at the head of everything because she assumes things are working just the way they've always worked, and everyone here will cheerfully battle to the death to see who can make her happiest, which would have to end with people arguing over which one had been the million-dollar vote." {stops, stares straight ahead into camera} "Can you use any of that, or do I have to pretend some more fake venom into existence?" {'So that's not how you really feel?'} {ALEX sighs.} "Look -- I think Mary-Jane is used to people doing things for her, and she's good at getting them to volunteer. Look at Frank. She assumes people naturally want to please her, and most of the time, she's probably right. But -- she assumes. No, she's never asked me for an alliance. I don't think she ever will. She figures we're both girls, so we have to work together, and what we're working on is getting her to the Final Two, because..." {trails off again, then resumes a few seconds later} "Because that's probably what's been happening all her life. I don't even know if she's aware she's doing it. She knows she's using Frank, she planned that part out, but... whether she's consciously aware that she's using me and probably Trina -- I don't know. And the worst part is that with Desmond on the other side of the gender line, there's two votes for making it men versus women -- and that means we'll probably never drop the issue until one or both of them are gone." {pauses} "You know, I'm really starting to see the appeal there." {'Of gender wars?'} "Of voting people out." {used in episode} "Imagine having Tribal Councils in real life. Your neighbor is annoying you: get four other tenants together and remove him from the building. The cashier on this line is slow: everyone waiting in line decides to send her to the deli section. Mary-Jane irritated me a little, and with this new option available, my fresh first instinct is..." {end episode-used exert} "It's a power, and like all power, it can corrupt really easily. But... it's an overreaction. Mary-Jane didn't do anything worth sending her out over. And part of me still wants to say 'She was a vital piece of the tribe for the last six days, but she stumbled once: dump her!'" {pauses, sighs} "But then you find out that's how everything else is thinking, and if you protest it too much, they'll switch to you... You can really see how pettiness becomes a force in this game. You can almost instantly avenge anything you see as an insult, as long as you get enough people to agree with you. It's probably not a power anyone should have in real life. It would get abused too much." {thoughtfully} "We've all seen examples of what happens with the people who can do it, and half of them don't even need an excuse to seek agreement, while the other half have yes-men ready to provide it." {'So you won't get rid of Mary-Jane at the first opportunity?'} {ALEX shakes her head.} "It's hard to see how that could work. Even if I really wanted to, I'd need four other people. Desmond might go along with it, maybe Gary, but Frank doesn't want to lose his flirting partner. Gardener likes looking too much to get rid of the best eye candy in the store window. Trina might say 'Anyone who isn't me.' Trooper... I don't know." {'With Trooper, it would be five.'} {ALEX closes her eyes again.} "We're not at that stage yet." {'Earlier, you said that if you were serious about the game, you were always worried about being voted out.'} "So?" {'If you're serious, shouldn't you also always be worried about who's going out instead of you?'} "Yes." {'...and?'} "And I've been out here too long." {pushes herself to her feet with an abrupt arm thrust} "Are we done?" {'For now.'} "Yeah." {neutral} "The difference between you and me there is that I'm not counting on a later." {walks out} ------------------------------------------------------ My phone number is unlisted and I'm on the Do Not Call list: between the two, I don't get many messages. The print shop telling me my order is ready, political announcements working from autodialers, wrong numbers -- an alert telling me to be at my door shortly, because a package was coming that I'd have to sign for, and the second it arrived, my life would change -- nothing more. Apparently no one in my new fan club was able to crack the unlisted directory or willing to pay the money for someone else to do it, so none of my nine messages were rape, death, or soul threats. I had interview requests: the Record, the Ledger, a few networks, talk shows, and, just because they really wanted to know, ETW. All of them had left numbers to call back. I spent an instructive hour practicing the fine art and subtle science of saying 'No', mostly in the hopes that it would keep me from having to say it again to the same people later. For the most part, the newspapers understood and backed off, saying it had just been a courtesy call and they would have been neglectful if they hadn't made it. All of the conversations with the television people went along the same lines. "Hi. This is Alex Cole, returning your call --" Hi, Alex! When can we expect to have you on? Actually, if you hold on the line, I'll tell the host you're with us and as soon as we clear a few minutes, we'll introduce you -- "--no. I'm calling to say that I can't be on your show. I'm under contract and by the terms of that contract, I can't discuss the series until my part in it finishes airing, and then only after I do the rounds of their media list. There's a five million dollar fine for violating that contract, which I am freely allowed to tell people about, and in case you haven't guessed, I can't afford it. I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait." Oh, they don't really mean that fine. They're just trying to scare you so you won't talk to us. "Yes, they do. And it worked." Things would be a lot easier for you if you talked to us. "No, they wouldn't. Things would be a lot more expensive for me if I talked to you." If you don't talk to us, we're free to say 'She had no comment' and spin it any way we like. Is that really what you want? "That's also what you would do if I talked to you, only you'd do it while I was talking and refuse to let me finish any sentences. Pass." You're giving us an open license to go after the story. "Especially since there's nothing else going on in the world that requires your attention." Now wait a minute! You can't talk to us like that! Don't you know who we are --! *click* Repetitive, annoying, and informative in that 'Here's something you already knew, but never really wanted to get confirmed' kind of way. I logged back onto my site -- traffic flow somewhat increased since the morning, but still in the current safety range -- and gave my poor overworked moderators a helping hand by creating a new sub-section, shunting all applicable threads into it, and updating my FAQ with a question that no one had asked, but everyone needed answered. There were also a couple of thousand new Emails to deal with, but I decided to ignore them in favor of getting some work done on the new commissions. I couldn't spend my entire life sorting out death threats. Once a day was enough. Maybe once a week if they slowed down a little. And I really didn't want to go back to the police station just yet anyway... The walk home had been uncomfortable. No attacks and only a few open insults, but there had been -- -- eyes. I'm used to being stared at. People aren't accustomed to seeing walkers along the shoulders of major roads, so that gets attention and the occasional blare of a horn from someone who wants to see if they can make me jump, and in which direction. My appearance isn't 100% within the field of the acceptable average: that gets looks, too. As Officer Ramirez pointed out, I'm not exactly in the majority population for my district, and that'll draw the occasional focused gaze through narrowed eyes. But all of that is familiar, and I'm equally known to most of the people who do the staring. Oh, there's that woman again. We don't know her, or we don't know her and still don't approve of her, or we know a little and see no point to learning more, but what we do know is that she's here. She's been here for years. She's not a part of the neighborhood that we like, but we accept that she's present and there probably isn't much we can do about it. But now, the stares had familiarity riding along their waves. These people knew me -- or at least, had convinced themselves they did. I was no longer just a passer-by on the cracked sidewalk. Now I was someone who'd been on television, and that made me more real to them. Familiarity breeds contempt, and the only reason contempt hadn't given immediate birth to screams of outrage was that I'd moved as quickly as I could, semi-sprinting past people with the full intent of paying the price in aches later, trying to clear through before they realized exactly who'd just passed among them. Most of the stares had been at my retreating back. Paranoia, yes. They weren't out there just to see if I came by, they weren't waiting for the chance to make their comment and possibly throw a bottle or two. But... ...maybe now they were getting ready to do something about it. I wondered if this was what celebrity felt like. If it is, they can keep it. I pulled out my drawing pad and got to work. The bills still had to be paid, until death did us part... ------------------------------------------------------------------------- During ------------------------------------------------------------------------- I lightly fume all the way back from confessional, but at least I don't have to pass Mary-Jane on the way back. She was in the water and on full display again, any chance, any excuse, at least I try to stay under the surface as much as possible when I was led into my grove, but gone by the time I exited. I get the whole trail to myself, just me and my camera operator, who's probably wondering just how much of that footage she can actually use, and the scents from the jungle are lost in the virtual steam rising from my ears. Stupid Mary-Jane with her stupid assumptions and her stupid hugs... As it turns out, I'm starting to make a habit out of having the tribe wait on me. Once again, the production people have been pointing down the sticker trail, and everyone was just stalling on my arrival before anyone went down it to fetch our Tree Mail. They take my entrance into the clearing as the signal to start, which sends Gary and Desmond easing their way between what branches remain after Gardener's first visit. I hurry up to Trooper. "Were you waiting long?" He shrugs. "Maybe five minutes. Don't worry about it. They're getting us all with these confessional hikes." I start towards the sticker plants, but a camera operator puts out a halting hand: apparently they only want two people in the shot this time. "So what do you think it is?" Frank eagerly asks. He's definitely fully awake now, and he's also found something to eat: there's little bits of green around his teeth. "Reward," Trina says. "I really hope it's mattresses and blankets." Frank laughs. "Too early. This far through, it's probably fishing gear. Maybe rice, maybe beans... but I don't think they'll start passing out the camp enhancers for a few days." Mary-Jane sighs. "I know we need the fishing gear, but I'd love some soap..." I wonder why we've never seen individual items other than food going up for bids in the occasional auctions. I get the feeling that in a few days, any of us would be willing to pay five hundred dollars for a poncho. The weather has stayed dry so far, but it can't last: we're not in Africa and we're not going to get through the entire season without being drenched at least once. Assuming any of us get through the entire season. I'm making a pretty big assumption in thinking I might be around for Day Seven of it. "I think that's more of a Day Ten reward." Frank looks at me. "Well, that's kind of the pattern, isn't it? Like you said: fire first, then either food or something to catch it with, then something to improve the shelter with, and after that, maybe more personal stuff." Frank looks a little wary. I think he's very glad Mary-Jane's taken him up on his interests, because flirting with me is being done purely on autopilot. He has to try, and I'm not sure he can stop -- but he hasn't been completely enjoying it since the cross first came out. I don't think he likes how well most of us seem to know the show, either: he was probably expecting to come in as the series expert, using his fan knowledge to predict twists and turns a step ahead of the rest of us. Of course, he already blew it with the hidden idols -- as did everyone else... "Yeah, that sounds about right... maybe we'll get the Daily Double and hit fishing gear and food. We need starches. You know: winner gets this stuff and a bag of rice, loser doesn't get the stuff and a smaller bag of rice." One of the production people twitches. Yes, you are that predictable this early. No, it's probably too late to change it. "Could be... here comes Desmond." Naturally, he's got the scroll, with Gary trailing and looking slightly frustrated: the no-share policy is starting to get on everyone's nerves. We circle the wagons and wait. Desmond removes the tie for what's probably the second time and magnanimously passes it to Trooper for his growing collection. "Listen up, people: 'Fruit you'll find aplenty, and the water's all but free. But lead your troops into battle, or miss what comes from the sea.' We're going for fishing gear!" "What was your first clue?" Gardener mutters -- Mary-Jane and I may be the only ones close enough to pick it up -- then speaks a little more loudly. "Leading troops... want to bet we need a caller?" His grin is wide and insincere. "Hey, Alex, if I got that one right, you don't vote me out at the first Council?" "No one's voting you out at the first Council," I distractedly reply. Right now, it would be like voting out the cooking pot. You might be able to go on without it, but why get rid of such an essential piece of equipment? It's not as if you really want to test the theory. "Sling spear, maybe, hooks, lines..." We've been working on the second and third. The hooks are pretty much ready -- really primitive, way too large, and we're basically hoping for a big-mouth bass just to get half of them swallowed, but they can at least take a trial run. (The billionaire may have worked wonders with the plant life, but I don't think he did anything similar with the fish.) The vines make lousy fishing lines, and while Trooper now has his second tie to weave into his homemade-in-progress, the point may wind up becoming moot. If we're lucky, which Gardener is quick to remind us of. "Thanks," he tells me with more than a little sarcasm, and follows it up with "So this one's for most of the marbles. I can't keep using the Immunity spear -- Jeff will probably dissolve the tribe if I break it." Because 1. his manly thrusts could shatter steel and he wants everyone to know it plus 2. he's only caught the one fish. "We're going to have to give this one everything we've got..." Gary grins. "Unless I missed something, none of us are named Burton. We're not throwing one. Come on, people -- someone grab the challenge flag, and let's get to the beach." --------------------------------------------------------------------- {Looks like we've got a little fracture in the theoretical Turare female alliance.} {Looks like we've got another fishing Reward, too. Insert contestant A into slot B...} {Since when did this thread go to Big Brother discussion?} {They both need it. Who wants it more? Who can really focus their desires and make their dreams reality? Why am I supposed to care? This doesn't mean anything to me until someone gets hurt!} {Stand by. If Gardener's right...} --------------------------------------------------------------------- Naturally, 'someone' turns out to be Desmond. As the winners of the first Immunity, we're given the privilege of being the first ones onto the beach and our mat -- although not without what's quickly becoming the mandatory waiting period first. Either Haraiki is a lot farther from Challenge Beach than we are, or they're a very slow tribe. We all get to wonder which one it is while we shuffle our feet and listen through the bird calls for the first sounds of approaching voices, and then we're finally ushered onto the black sand. Jeff is waiting for us, his eyes mostly shaded by a wide-brimmed hat. He gives us all a very careful once-over from his place next to the covered table (which has some large lumps under the cloth) as we step into position, pausing for a moment as his gaze crosses Frank, who had turned his foot shuffling into an all-out jogging in place, and doesn't stop until ten breaths after the rest of us find our positions. A few seconds later, Haraiki is brought in -- and Jeff gets to express our shock. "Turare getting their first look at the new Haraiki," he says, sounding just a little bit disgusted. "Michelle bounced out at the first Tribal Council." And we all catch his wording: bounced. She wasn't voted out, she was the victim of a reflected torch snuff, sent to Sequesterville because the idol was played. It takes about one extra heartbeat to realize who played it: Elmore is shifting his considerable weight from foot to foot in a modified, very localized victory dance, smirking all the while. The rest of his tribe looks utterly disgusted. Even Connie, although in her case, it's more of a temporary shift in focus: as soon as she sees me looking at her, she goes right back to her favorite target. Jeff gives us all a minute or so to think it over, then says "Today's challenge is for Reward." And then he drops out of On The Air mode. "You may have noticed that the only things on the beach right now are two large empty frames." I have, at least: ten feet square, one in each tribe color. "That's because this is one of those challenges we have to set up after we explain the details to you. Right now, I need you all to look like the course is complete and waiting for you: we'll put it together after we talk, and we'll try not to keep you waiting too long." Fair enough -- and back into the richer voice. "Scattered around the edges of the beach and half-buried in the sand itself are a number of puzzle pieces. You'll be sent out to recover the pieces of your own tribe color, bring them back to the frame, and assemble them into a complete image." Frank looks around, pretending everything's already set in place and he's trying to memorize the positions. "Naturally, that's a little too easy for a Reward challenge -- so six members of each tribe will be blindfolded." We're four days in and already this season has an unhealthy fascination with blindfolds. "You'll have to take instructions from your leader, who will guide you to the pieces -- and around each other -- and back to the frame. Hunting parties have to stay coordinated, so we're going to add a special feature to this game. One person on each team will also have their ears plugged with a Nextel mobile phone. The leader can communicate with that person by Nextel walkie-talkie, and they won't be able to hear anything else. You usually get bell-clear audio of the person you're talking to and the environment with a Nextel, but we've modified this one a little. Your lead searcher may be able to work better without distractions." Jeff pauses, notices some of us staring, and drops into an aside. "Where did you think the million came from?" Phillip laughs, rich and hearty. Jeff nods to the frames, set far enough apart that we won't be able to look over each other's shoulders without a sprint first. "Once all your pieces are in the square, you can take off your blindfolds and assemble them. First tribe with a complete picture wins Reward. Want to know what you're playing for?" Do I want to know what we're playing for? I want to know if padded suits come with this challenge. This is a series favorite: watch the blindfolded fools stumble around the course! Watch them stub their toes on the puzzle pieces, on the frame, on rocks that materialized just for this challenge and which will never be seen again! Watch them hit trees, the leader's elevated stand, and each other! All very amusing when you're watching it on television. All suddenly sounding very, very painful when you're a few minutes away from doing it yourself. And there's no way I'm going to get a word in edgewise for being the caller... My reaction isn't unique: people on both tribes are wincing, with Denadi in particular looking as if she's just been shown the prison's new electric chair and asked if she wants to give it the official test run -- low voltage, just enough to make your skin tingle, would we lie to you? Robin's hands have automatically moved up to protectively cover her nose, and Elmore looks about as happy as you'd expect. Our amusement at the suffering of others is about to come back to haunt us, and the ghosts are gathering at speed. Jeff looks us all over, then patiently repeats 'Want to know what you're playing for?" We all belatedly nod, realize as a group that it's not going to be enough, force out a "Yes, Jeff," and have to do it two more times before the production staff has a take they're happy with. Jeff removes the cloth from the table, and Gardener looks like he wants to drool. So does Tony. "The winning tribe will receive a Hawaiian sling spear, two hook-and-line assemblies with spare hooks, two diving masks, two pairs of diving fins, and two snorkels. You'll also get a large bag of rice." It looks like it's about thirty pounds: not enough to feed a tribe with for the duration of the series, but it's meant as a supplement to a fruit-and-fish diet, not as the be-all and end-all of our consumption. "The losing tribe will still receive this." And that bag is, at best, five pounds. Between Elmore and Phillip, that may qualify as a light snack. "In addition, should Haraiki win, they'll get their flint. Does everyone understand the challenge?" Robin, almost jumping the question mark. "Do we get protective gear?" Jeff, sounding as if he's given the same answer for every version of this challenge over the seasons. "No." Completely unflavored. No one before you ever got protective gear. You don't get protective gear. You also don't get a million dollars just for showing up. What were you expecting? "Anyone else?" Connie: "How large are the pieces?" Jeff's willing to take that one. "They're not so big that some of you won't be able to carry them at all, but the weaker tribe members may struggle with the larger pieces. The leaders should keep that in mind when directing their troops." He checks our side for queries. Trooper obliges him. "What about injuries?" And Jeff's been waiting for that one. "We expect some of you will get bumped and bruised in this challenge: it's almost inevitable. If anyone's too hurt to continue, they'll get medical attention, but their tribe will continue the challenge down one member. Turare, you can't swap in your sitting player in case of an injury, because there's an equal chance for anyone in the field to get hurt and the injury risk is a natural part of the challenge. It's the leader's job to keep the others from getting hurt. If you don't want to be down a tribemate, watch out for them." Slightly harsh, but very direct. This is what we signed on for, and if we didn't realize it at the time, tough. No one else has a question. Jeff nods. "Turare, you have one extra member: you're sitting someone out -- and remember: the same person can't sit out consecutive challenges. Who's it going to be?" Into private mode: "Go ahead and talk it over for a minute. We'll edit it into something smoother later." We huddle. Virtually everyone looks at Trina. Including Trina. "I don't know," she says. "From what Jeff said, I can carry the pieces, and the Immunity challenge might be something I'm better off sitting out. We need the ability to pay attention out there, and we need attention to detail and a really loud voice leading..." "We also need durability out there," Trooper points out. "Someone who can take a hit if the caller messes up." Trina shrugs. "I'm from New York, Trooper. Taking a hit is not a problem." "I still think you should sit this one out," Desmond says. "We can't expose all three of you at once," and I'm starting to wonder if his divorce was triggered by a severe case of overprotection. "Besides, none of us are as physically weak as Elmore -- as long as he's still on their tribe, we'll have the edge in the challenges." I want to tell him that some of the challenges will be mental -- this one's halfway there once you get the blindfolds off -- and we can't underestimate the guy who beat the first idol hunt, but I don't get the chance: Trina cuts me off with a shrug. "Fine. I'll sit this one out." We break the huddle, resume our positions, and report to Jeff. "All right," Jeff tells us. "Tribes, decide who's calling and who's got the radio link -- then we'll get started." ---------------------------------------------------------- . . . . . . . . (More to come. Next up: the Reward challenge, and lots of pain...)   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

Estee 44384 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold" 07-13-06, 04:12 PM (EST) 2. "Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Prophecy: Part III" LAST EDITED ON 07-14-06 AT 08:50 AM (EST) {In the immortal words of Jim Murray: gentlemen, start your coffins.} {Hit Cole! Hit Cole! Hit her again, hit her again, harder, harder!} {I don't suppose there's any point in asking you to make out a full Love List?} {Turare sitting Trina out. Haraiki wishing they could sit Elmore out. Robin looking like she wants to sit the entire game out.} {i'm new. what are the chances of injury here?} {Moderate. We've always had some near-concussions, but no one's ever been put out of the game from this challenge. Just a lot of sore DAWs in the morning,} {I'm also new, and I feel so let down.} ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The argument takes a while, and this time, Desmond really fights for it: he's a foreman, he gives directions all the time, and even though he's not saying it, we all know he'd rather be on the calling platform than on the field. Gardener wants the position because Gardener wants the position, and besides, he's louder, so why does Desmond have a problem with this? I personally think Trooper might be the person to do this since he probably has experience in coordinating radio directions and moving people around hazardous scenes, but he volunteers to take the Nextel link. Both Desmond and Gardener can agree on that, so the option of having Trooper direct is closed. Eventually, Gardener wins the argument based on sheer yelling volume -- he just shouts Desmond down -- and we're sent back onto our approach paths to wait and be blindfolded. I stand as patiently as I can while the calling platforms are brought in -- we can see them above the production staff's heads -- and the pieces are placed, then grit my teeth and allow my sight to be temporarily blocked for the second time in a week. There's a little hiss next to me as another blindfold goes on: Desmond doesn't like this. I'm not sure if he's afraid of the dark or bracing himself against having to listen to someone else. Far too much waiting later, most of it conducted after the blindfolds are on, members of the production staff lead us one-by-one onto the beach -- after one last twist, and this one's literal: I'm spun around a few times to make me even more disoriented than what they're hoping I already am. It doesn't completely take me out of things: I have a pretty good mental map of the beach in place, and I know how many steps I took onto it and in what directions -- but it does send me reeling to the left as I take the final steps, and I have to be stopped before my shoulder crashes into the calling station. No injuries before the challenge, thank you. The sound of stumbling footsteps and sudden stops tells me some of the others are having the same problem, and it's coming from both tribes. Finally, we're all lined up, presumably far enough apart that we won't step into each other on the first stride -- and Jeff gives us the word. "For Haraiki: Angela calling, Phillip with the Nextel headgear! For Turare: Gardener leading, Trooper wired! Survivors ready --" Well, no. But thanks for asking. "-- go!" This is the first time I've heard Angela's voice, and it's clear I'm going to be hearing a lot of it. For the first few seconds, it's hard to hear much else. "Tony, turn left and go straight that way: don't deviate! Connie, forward! Elmore, forward! Denadi, I need you to make a half-turn right and start shuffling forward: your piece is close!" No accent, no slurring, lots and lots of volume. She's loud. Were megaphones allowed as luxury items? She's yelling at everyone, giving them directions, switching vocal focus from one player to the next without so much as a blink in between. But from the sound of it, she's going too fast. I can break down her words, but some of the others are losing their specific instructions in the sheer volume -- both senses -- of yelling, and the next clear sound I get, about twelve seconds after she starts, is a collision. One person has just stepped into another, and apparently it's because they couldn't find their marching orders within the chaos. Oh, and one of them may have been waiting for instructions and not moving from their spot. "Sorry, Robin!" A little more quietly, "Phillip, I need you to take one step back..." I get to hear all this so very clearly because Gardener hasn't said a word yet, and I realize why. He's letting the other tribe scatter a little to make sure we won't walk into them. Once they've moved past us, we'll have better shots at our puzzle pieces: delayed start, but faster movement because some of the potential obstacles will have departed. He's also being more careful about how he deploys us in general, as I find out when he starts calling out instructions. "Frank: ten steps forward, then turn left and count off twenty steps. Yell back when you get there. Mary-Jane: turn right, count off eighteen paces, stop, then call back. Alex: straight ahead and keep going: listen for the water and stop when you feel damp sand, then wait on me." His voice drops: presumably talking to Trooper. I'm on the move. It's not easy. I have to trust Gardener. I don't trust him with my life and I sure don't trust him on any vote, but I know he wants this fishing gear and I don't think he's going to try and hurt anyone. While lingering injuries might help him in the individual competition stage, they're going to kill the tribe during group and get him tossed if anyone believes he did it on purpose. But if I could think of it -- well, that's why I'm having trouble keeping the hesitation out of my steps. I'm also concentrating on my hearing. The only thing I can see is a vague purple fuzz: no light, no shadow. I have to keep track of the others on audio, and right now, some Jeff commentary would be a big help in that department. Naturally, this is the time which Jeff has chosen for going silent. We already have two voices competing for our attention, and he's not willing to make it three just yet. The first words I get from him are "Denadi first to her piece!" and now Angela has to get her to the frame, which has got to be some distance away. I have a pretty good idea where the rest of Turare is because I know where most of them were lined up relative to me, but while I think I have Haraiki's calling station pinned down, I don't know where their tribe members started or how they proceeded. The grain of the sand under my step has changed: I'm on a damp surface, and stop. Gardener quickly notices. "Frank, shuffle your grip up: there's a prong you can get your arms around -- Alex, take three large steps to the left, then kneel down and put your arms forward. It's half in the sand: you'll have to pull." He's not yelling. He's very loud, but I get the idea he could be a lot louder than this if he wanted to. He's going with just enough volume to break through Angela -- -- and Jeff, who decides to report in. "And Gary meets the first of the trees!" I wince, then take the steps, kneel, and reach. There it is, slick with new paint and oddly hot to the touch: whatever they put on it soaks up the sun in a hurry. I get a grip and push with my legs as I come up. A sound of falling sand clumps and a sudden weight to bear are my rewards. I feel the piece over quickly while Gardener shouts me up the beach: dense and heavy, but not too large. I can carry it straight-armed in front of me. It sounds like we're starting to make progress: Angela is busy trying to guide Elmore away from a patch of bushes, where he's apparently gotten stuck: she's sounding very frustrated with him, and Jeff's now providing color commentary. "Elmore looking for something to fill in the cracks between pieces!" A good-sized hedge would do it -- -- "Alex, hold up!" Gardner yells. I stop. "Frank, angle yourself to the left, then try coming forward again!" Soft footsteps pass in front of me, and I stand frozen in shock. I never heard him. I was paying attention to Jeff and Angela, and missed Frank. It's hard to pick out strides on sand, but still... I had hours on the ship to sort sounds out, I only have minutes here with more distractions, and I'd better use those minutes to recover the new skill, or I could be in major trouble. Other people already are in major trouble: this collision almost leaves an echo. Jeff fills me in on the details. "Desmond and Tony just had a meeting of the minds!" and I'm guessing mutual headbutt. Gardener's rattling off instructions to Desmond, reeling him in to the calling station. He may be very hurt. Tony seems to have gotten right back up and staggered off in a daze: Angela's trying to get his attention. I move forward, following my last ordered course. Ears open, but there goes Angela again. Connie has a piece and she's carrying it towards the Haraiki frame, no worries there, but Angela has another problem. "No, Tony! To the left! The left!" "I'm trying to go left!" "Your other left!" My steps are more hesitant. Where is everyone? People are shouting back for help -- there's Gary's voice, calling out "Don't worry: I can keep going!" and I hope he's okay because we can't afford to be down another one, and I feel like I'm wandering off to the right, my steps aren't completely in the straight line I need, the bumps in the sand are throwing me off and so is all the noise... Gardener notices. "Alex, stop!" I stop. "You're close to the other team's frame. Start slowly turning right." I do so. I can really feel the piece's weight now, but hugging it close to my body would just look and feel so stupid... "Am I okay?" "A little more," Gardener calls -- and then hard breathing on my left, getting faster, footsteps still soft but the force driving them getting louder fast, getting closer, and Gardener yells for the first time. "Alex, hit the dirt!" I don't ask. I don't question. I just throw the piece forward and send myself after it, taking the impact on the soft sand with elbows and knees, unwilling to go front-first into the beach in one go, I can get lower in a second -- -- which I don't have. Something collides with my side -- it feels like a knee -- and then there's an outraged female screech as the rest of the unseen person goes up and over me, the sound seeming to carry the body. The piece lands first: a distinct flat thud into the sand. The opponent hits second, and she doesn't get as lucky: part of her very loudly knocks against the wood. The screech turns into a yell of pain, and I know who it is before it resolves into words. "You little --" and cuts herself off. "OW!" Gardener takes over from there. "Jeff!" he yells. "That was a charge on one of my people! That was clear intent to injure!" "What?" Connie protests. "I heard him say she was next to our frame! I made a run for it to save time!" A brief moan. "This hurts..." The entire field goes silent for a moment -- and then Jeff says "Alex was near the frame: if Connie got a clue from what Gardener said, there's nothing wrong with her homing in on it." He sounds serious. He does not sound happy. Apparently this is going to be the season of loopholes, and Connie just ran through her first one. It feels like she nearly took one of my kidneys with her. Jeff notices. "Alex, are you okay?" "I'm fine..." Or I will be after a good night's sleep. On a good mattress. In an air-conditioned room. Ouch. I inch forward, patting the ground in front of me until I feel the piece. "Her?" Connie screams. "I'm hurt out here!" Jeff smoothly replies "You were talking, Alex wasn't." Very neutral. I grip the piece and get back up. "Gardener -- which way?" My breathing is getting steadier. "Turn right..." I do. Connie is slowly getting up behind me, so I guess she's not that hurt. She's muttering under her breath. Gardener gets me oriented and moving as Angela returns to calling: the game is clearly back under way. Not that Connie cares. "I'm injured!" she loudly insists. Angela may or may not care: her tone makes it hard to tell. "Then come here and sit the rest out, or shake it off and let me direct you to another piece!" I get away from the argument as fast as I can: it's slowing Haraiki down, and we can make up some time here. Under Gardener's direction, I stop just short of a toe-stubbing, drop my piece off, and head to the edge of the beach for one that's apparently stuck in a low tree branch. Connie is still yelling at Angela, who's now ignoring her in favor of directing the others. From the sound of it, we may have a tiny lead. I get to the tree, scrapping my arm a little on the bushes next to it -- but I'm still in airy long sleeves, no extra harm done -- and then Gardener calls out "Alex, one step back." I immediately retreat and hear someone step in front of me. "Trooper, say hello." "Hello," Trooper says, sounding somewhat amused. "Alex, I know you're here: let's get this piece down..." Between us, with Gardener doing a magnificent job of coordinating both our grips and just when we try to pull, we work the piece free. From the sound of it, Haraiki has a similar jam to work out, and Angela can't quite get Tony and Robin to cooperate on it. I wonder where Philip is: since his instructions are softer, we can't hear where he's being told to go, and he could be anywhere on the course. But we've got our piece, and with Angela's frustration providing a sweet background chorus, we bring it in, stopping once to let Gary go by with his. A drop into the frame, and a welcome sound: "Everyone, blindfolds off!" I can't get mine removed fast enough: the world crashes back into my vision. I'm just a little away from the frame, facing the ocean: the ten pieces are scattered in and on the wood, with a few on top of each other. I glance at the nearest one, then at the next: there's a pattern there, and I'm pretty sure -- yes, those edges will go next to each other, there's fourteen pieces to match up, just swirls and geometric shapes, no real image lurking in the middle of an abstract design... "Get them separated!" I call out. I need to see the full patterns on each piece. Trooper, who's just gotten free of his blindfold, glances at me -- then catches on at the same instant that Angela yells to Haraiki to bring their sight back. We have an edge, and Trooper is looking at it. I don't know what anyone on Haraiki does for a living, but I really doubt we have two artists of any stripe in a single season, a cartoonist is still an artist no matter what some people might think, and artists see patterns. I'm our advantage, and an aching side doesn't do a thing to impede working sight. The others run up to me, including Gardener. I'm already giving directions. "Trooper, that one, upper left corner towards the ocean -- Mary-Jane, that one's lower right, Gary --" he has a small cut on his left bicep: nothing worth worrying about "-- that one is right next to Trooper's." No one questions me. Gardener doesn't try to take over, and Desmond is -- not here. I can't risk a glance back just yet. "Gardener, that big one -- right above Mary-Jane's..." He nods, grabs it, and moves. The tribe is moving at my beck and call. I am not going to let myself get used to it. "Frank, the small one, lower left, Gary, center..." Pointing, not grabbing anything, just looking, matching the edges and patterns in my head, telling them the results. They listen, act, move on to the next as I tell them to. I don't want to get used to this. It feels too good to be a regular thing. Twelve pieces. No idea how Haraiki is doing. There's sounds behind me, very urgent voices, and Jeff is yelling "Haraiki still wants to be in this!" and I have my doubts about one person there, but I'm not looking. Thirteen pieces -- and now only one left. "Gardener, yours!" He grabs it and slams it into place. And the voice most worth paying attention to: "Turare! Wins Reward!" Frank laughs. Gardener lets go of another roar. Mary-Jane jumps to her feet and takes a step towards me -- then stops, and moves to hug Frank. I look back and find our calling station: Desmond is sitting against the base of it, pressing a bundle of ice against his forehead. He manages a small smile when he sees me looking at him, but he's clearly not feeling all that well. Another look farther along finds Connie, but she's facing away from me, staring at her tribe, which has stopped with -- I check -- four pieces to go. Gardener steps up to me. "Lift your blouse." Apparently the celebration is seriously over. "This wasn't the World Cup." He frowns. "Look, Alex -- I'm not a doctor, but an athletic trainer learns to recognize the severity of injuries in a hurry. Let me see your side, okay?" I can feel my jaw clenching without conscious orders, but I reach down and lift it just enough to let him see the impacted area. He bends down, looks, then softly whistles. "Damn... she almost really got you. Another inch, with the impact more across your back, and I'd be worried about that kidney." Straightens up. "As is, you'll be feeling that for a few days, but you should be fine. If you want to call for Medical --" "-- no." I cut him off right there. I'd rather take his word for it than call for Medical. Medical has the power to remove people from the game, no protests allowed, and I've already angered a few people on the production staff. This is not bad enough to call for Medical and take a chance on someone doing a favor for a friend. It's just a bad bruise in the making. "How's Desmond?" "Skull crack," Gardener tells me. "He and Tony went right into each other." I look back and find Tony, who's sitting on the edge of his frame, looking despondent. He has a baby egg rising from his forehead. "They were fine until Angela brought him around Elmore, and that put him into Desmond. I think they're both okay." His eyes darken. "Not that I give much of a damn as to whether Tony's okay. Or Connie. I know that was deliberate." Mary-Jane stops hugging Frank and looks over. "It sounded pretty bad." "It was," Gardener says. "I'd love to hear her say she's too hurt to continue. Let her or Tony quit: we'll be up two. Her and Tony, and it's three..." And Jeff calls out to us. "Turare, your Reward awaits." Haraiki assembles on their mat, and I get a clear look at Connie as we pass them on our way to the table. She has a long scrape along her right calf -- shorts have their hazards, and road rash is high on the list -- along with a small bleeding cut on her left forearm. Maybe she rammed the edge of a shell or something. Neither injury looks bad enough to warrant her removal from the game. Too bad. I wouldn't mind her going out either -- and the glare she gives me shows that the feeling is still mutual. Jeff gets us in order in front of the table. "Load up, guys," he says, and we divide up our Reward for carrying back to camp: I wind up with the diving fins. Trina, who clearly wants to do something here, gets the small box of hooks. "Haraiki, all I've got for you is this --" and he casually flips the small bag of rice to Phillip. "You won't get your flint until you win a challenge -- and that's two in a row lost now. You'd better work on breaking that streak, or I'll be seeing you in two nights." He looks around at both tribes. "I'll see you all tomorrow, and we'll figure out which tribe is going to be my guest at Council. Head on back." We head off down our trail, and Frank spontaneously breaks into song, heading right for the first resort of all musical scoundrels: Queen. A very badly rendered version of We are the champions rings through the Yanini jungle for what's probably the first time ever, at least until Desmond, who's really starting to feel the headache and who had to give the ice back as soon as he was in camera frame again, crossly tells him to shut up. And I carry the gear, and wince at the pain from my side, and think about how abruptly the original song cuts off... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ {...okay, I need an aspirin, and that's just from watching it.} {Carnage count: Gary with a small cut, Connie with beach rash and another cut, Tony with a lump, Desmond with a bigger lump, Alex with a bruise, Elmore with several scrapes from the bushes, Phillip with a temple cut from where his head went into that branch and I'm not sure he ever noticed, and Angela with majorly elevated blood pressure. Do you think she's figured out her new boyfriend's an idiot yet?} {If she did, it was right around the third 'other left'. How many lefts can one man have?} {Left -- left -- left, right, left -- four. No, wait. That was Sarge.} {Go, Connie! Take her out!} {And naturally, he approves of that.} {You're all so happy Cole found a loophole? Connie found one, too. Aw... feels different when it's against your side, isn't it?} {You think we're on someone's side? Wow...} {The cuteness continues to mount, doesn't it? I'm rooting for either a tribe switch or for both of them to make the merge. Preferably the first: can you imagine having them trying to work together?} {Okay, fine. One for Alex, one for Connie. Is it even now?} {Not as long as Cole's still in the game.} ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Table design is off the schedule: Desmond just wants to lie down for a while, and none of us can blame him. We let him retreat into the shelter, then move away from it so he can get some rest. Gardener is looking over the fishing gear with a small, slightly vicious grin on his face: death will soon be coming to swimming things, and he's happy about it. At the moment, he's giving the fishing line a few tugs, testing its strength. "Maybe twenty pounds," he announces -- fairly quietly: we're all giving Desmond some peace. "I'm going to give the spear the first test. Trooper, you want to take one of the lines?" Trooper nods and comes over. "Alex, got a second?" Me? Well -- yeah, but... I come over. Gardener hands me one of the masks, a snorkel, and a pair of fins. "You I want in the lake. The water's cool enough that it'll soothe the bruise a little, and unless someone's found a willow tree, we don't have any other natural painkillers." Frank overhears that and very quickly says "Nothing yet." "And as long as you're in the lake," Gardener continues, "take a look around. It's artificial -- might be worth seeing where the drainage holes are. Bring back fruit when you're done. I just want someone with you in case your side gives you trouble -- Gary, go with her?" Gary nods and comes over. "We're fine for water, so don't worry about bringing any back. Drink some before you go, though." He looks at me and frowns. "What?" I'm staring up at him with just enough disbelief to let a hint of it out into the open. "We're doing this now? Fine. No, you're not my favorite person in the world. That would be my wife. But you're part of my damn tribe, you're a contributing part, and I need you in some kind of shape for when we run Immunity tomorrow, so I want you in the cool water for a while. You going?" Feeling a little stunned, I nod and get a sarcastic "Bye." I get a drink, retrieve my swimsuit -- I can change in the lemon grove -- and go. Gary follows. As soon as we're out of earshot, he says "Well, that's convenient." Too convenient flits across my mind before being discarded for lack of evidence. "How's your arm?" He gives the injury a critical look. "Fine. It's a small cut. I cleaned it out and it's already crusted over. How's your side?" I sigh a little. "It hurts, but Gardener's right: it'll be okay in a day or two." "Gardener's angrier about it than he sounds," Gary says, looking off into the trees as a bird sings out repeated shock at our passage. You'd think they'd be getting used to us by now. "Yeah, he wishes it was worse and I was going home. He's really disappointed." Slightly bitter. Gary stares down at me. "That's what you think? Look, he doesn't exactly love you, but he meant what he said. At this stage, it's all about the team, and he's spent his whole life in team sports. Ask him about his college football playing days sometime. You're part of the team. He's going to yell at you and he's going to resent you and he's going to clash with you for playing time, which works out to 'camera' right now -- but he's also going to try and clobber anyone who goes after you, because he doesn't want his team weakened. He wants to win. Right now, that means winning as a unit. Later..." He shrugs. "Besides, he needs you healthy because he can't dump you first." A grin. "He's feeling just a little hamstrung by that promise." I shrug. Uh-huh. Gardener intends to keep that promise. This would definitely qualify as news. "So who does he want to go first?" Gary laughs. "If he had his way? Still not you. I think Frank annoys him. But it's all about the winning, so -- Trina." Just like Mary-Jane figured. And not only that, because Gary continues with "Which is hard to debate. Unless we see more from her, she's arguably the weakest link right now." "We'll see more tomorrow." This is aching. "I think Desmond will be sitting out." "Probably. I saw Tony -- Desmond took the worst of that hit." We go silent for a while and stay that way until we reach the lake. I slip into the grove -- Gary doesn't try to follow or watch -- get changed, then come back and slip into the water at one of the shallow points. There's a slight improvement, but my changing was probably a mistake: the swimsuit is more of a barrier than my clothing would have been. I just don't want to be in front of the others in a wet outfit again. No one really used their chance on the raft -- we were a little busy during the scramble and we were all dry by the time we got to shore -- but... I soak for a while. The bruise feels better the longer I'm in the water. Of course, that could just be because I'm not moving any more. Gary watches me quietly. "Mind if I take the swim gear?" "Go ahead..." I'm okay where I am. Gary gears up, then walks around to the diving rock and goes off it into the water. Decent form. He's under for about a minute, then announces his emergence with a huge jet of water blown out of the snorkel. "I found one of the outlets," he calls out. "Down near the bottom, set on a diagonal. It's actually got a screen over it -- large bars and spaces. The outlet's maybe a yard across." He swims a little, goes down again, stays under, surfaces, and repeats the routine three more times before he reaches me. "They're pretty regular," he says. "I'm glad we're boiling our water, though. Take a look at this." He opens his right hand. There's a bone in it, a few inches long. Scraps of washed-out meat are clinging to it. "This hasn't been in the water long," he says. "I think. I'm no forensics expert. It was caught just right against the screen." A small, graveyard smile. "Not human. Not much to alert anyone about there." I look at it. It's hard to stop looking at it. I'm very familiar with the human skeleton -- artistic anatomy studies, self-taught -- and no, I don't think the bone was ever part of one either. But the little pale scraps of meat, just barely clinging to the bone, are strange to see. I wouldn't think anything about it if I'd just picked it up off my plate: I'd be gnawing at it, trying to get every last penny of value into my system. This is different. Maybe because the death is so much fresher. Because there's no package involved, no pricing. The sense that this once belonged to something alive is much stronger. "Well -- Jeff said there were small mammals. That still includes predators." "Yeah," Gary says without humor. "Us." He sets the bone down on shore. "Who are the women thinking about voting out?" "Mary-Jane would go for Desmond if she could," I admit. We're supposed to be allies, right? And it's not as if anyone has the numbers to make that work anyway. "I haven't really gotten to talk to Trina." Part of the same conversations, but no direct one-to-ones. Mary-Jane is practically our go-between. "She may get her wish," Gary considers. "If he's really hurt, we might wind up giving him a mercy vote. He refused medical attention beyond the quick look-over and the ice. I think he'll be okay, though..." He shrugs. "Win tomorrow and it's a moot point. I want to postpone this issue as long as possible. I'd like to see this group intact on Day Seven." "I wasn't sure I'd see Day Four." Gary gives me a look. "Seriously. I knew there was a chance they'd kick me out when I used the cross and bring in one of the alternates, or just say 'One down: no Council in this cycle.' And if we'd lost..." Gary shakes his head. "You still brought it, they didn't, we didn't, we wouldn't have voted you out just then --" which is the part I'm not sure I believe "-- and you're still here. Trust that promise. You'll see Day Nine, if nothing else." "Trust?" I raise an eyebrow and look up at him. "Here?" "If only until then," he qualifies with a smile. "I believe the others will keep that one. Even if you don't." He moves his feet around in the water. "I'll tell you this -- I'll miss this place when we're gone." He's gazing at the waterfall. "Artificial, rammed together -- doesn't matter, and the rumors are false until confirmed. The man built a hell of an island." "Yeah," I say, but it's fairly non-committal. The botany, that I can appreciate. The hunting aspect -- even if it never included humans -- bothers me a little, and I'm not sure why. I'm no vegetarian. Maybe because it's hard to see death as art, with the island constructed as the perfect frame for the portrait. I look at the bone. With all the meat removed, clean and white, it's a tool. With the scraps still attached, it's a reminder. Things have died here. I wonder what the bone belonged to. I wonder if it ever knew what hit it. I wonder if it screamed...   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

Belle Book 1925 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Herbal Healing Drugs Endorser" 01-04-09, 08:35 PM (EST) 20. "RE: Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Prophecy: Part III" LAST EDITED ON 01-04-09 AT 08:36 PM (EST) I agree with Gardner -- I think Connie charged Alex on purpose. BTW, I wouldn't mind getting in on the action. All you have to do is blindfold Connie and either have me see her or have me be directed as to where she is. I'd be happy to charge her with a clear intent to injure! Maybe I'd even succeed. Belle Book   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

Estee 44384 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold" 07-14-06, 12:33 PM (EST) 3. "Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Prophecy: Part IV" LAST EDITED ON 07-17-06 AT 08:15 PM (EST) {Apparently EPMB's having trouble finding live animals for his mood shots, so we're going to use bits of dead ones.} {Later, after the commercial break, Gary asks Gardener why he wants the outlets checked, and Gardener says he's looking for water flow patterns -- hoping for a single outlet, maybe dig down and tap a pipe closer to camp. Good luck. From the sound of it, the island has to be honeycombed with water tunnels. Interesting bit... what does it say about Gardener that he's willing to try and break into the plumbing?} {It probably says he likes geysers.} {No code there.} {Over at Haraiki, we get the usual moping after a challenge loss, with Angela taking special time to yell at Elmore because no one's going to defend him at this point, fuss over Tony because no one else would care ever, and -- isn't this interesting? -- challenge Connie, asking her directly if she was trying to take Alex out of the game. Connie just smiles and says "What do you think?", then tries to walk away. Angela follows, but Connie says "Jeff made his ruling -- again," and leaves. Any questions about what Connie is?} {A hard competitor offends you. I guess that's 'cute'.} {Sunset, sunrise, bird shots, woodpecker -- woodpecker?} {Next morning, and everyone's still hurting. Desmond's moaning his way around the camp. Guess who's sitting out Immunity?} {Haraiki gets Tree Mail -- Angela and Tony pick it up as a couple -- and this week's second stupid poem: 'Run and weave, dodge and sprint, dig and scramble, do. Do it all, don't get stopped -- and safety comes to you.' Ye gods. Who writes this stuff?} {A race to find things, with lots of running and other players trying to stop you? Like the sandbags thing from ExI?} {Could be... Here they come.} --------------------------------------------------------- We're leaving later this time: the sun is about halfway on its down arc by the time we head out of camp. Desmond is trailing at the back of the pack: his lump is down a little, but it's an interesting assortment of Easter colors. We've already had the discussion: unless the challenge is competitive house-building, he's sitting out. His current semi-KOed status is letting a few things happen in our tribe for the first time. Trina got to retrieve and read off the Tree Mail. Trooper's carrying the challenge flag. Gardener, as threatened, is bearing the Immunity spear. My side feels a little better today, but I'm sporting my own abstract painting in the impact zone. I think I can ignore it long enough for the challenge, but it probably will slow me down a little, especially if I wind up having to lean to the side for something. I'm hoping this challenge doesn't involve competitive swaying, or I'm in real trouble. It's a good thing we got the extra time in camp before we left, because some of us had to use it for sleep: we were up later than we've ever been before. Gardener caught two fish -- they didn't add up to his first snag for weight, but it was enough for all of us to get some -- and Trooper, who came up empty, did the cooking. It was a long, almost luxurious dinner, especially with the addition of the rice. (I never believed I'd miss basic starches so much after only four days, and I didn't know I was missing them until I took the first mouthful.) Everyone was in the mood to talk -- and what we mostly talked about was Haraiki. Not the day's challenge, not the upcoming one: the tribe we were up against in them. We're starting to get a better sense of who they are. Gardener was the most direct in his assessments, delivered over the pineapple. "In short: Elmore's pissing them off. Either he finds that thing every time or he's their automatic boot. You could see it on their mat, and you could hear it in the way Angela was screaming at him. Angela may actually be their leader, but I'm not sure they know it yet. Phillip's got to be their workhorse. Not sure what Tony's good for. Denadi will last only as long as they can carry her: gone right after Elmore. Robin's still hard to read. And Connie is the queen high bitch of the island." He'd snorted. "No question on that last one." No, no question there. And I've been designated as the queen high bitches' whipping girl. I wish I'd let her flounder in the waves. I wish I'd let the rescue divers have a chance to earn their pay, so maybe she'd hate them. I'm wishing for a chance to meet her in a one-on-one competition. Direct physical contact. Just to work some of this out. Both tribes are more or less on time for once, so this wait is short. We still get to enter first -- but Trooper freezes just after he gets through the gap, and the rest of us have to work around him before we can get a full look at the objects of his obsession. It doesn't take long to figure out what's got his attention. We're looking at an obstacle course of sorts, with some of the usual show features spread out along a two hundred yard sprint of beach. There's a series of wooden staples to crawl under, a wall to climb over, a balance beam to walk across, and a water hazard to swing past. But large orange and purple rectangles are marking the spaces between the obstacles -- and there's two wooden towers on each side of the two-lane course: about twenty-five feet high, with a ladder leading up to a little crow's nest. Either the camera operators are going to be shooting us from above today, or those towers are part of the challenge. Trooper thinks it's the later -- and he thinks he knows what the towers are for. "Sniper perch," he says, sounding more than a little angry about it. Gary blinks. "...what?" "Sniper perch," Trooper repeats. "We had more expensive versions on the police training course. You got up in the tower and went for the targets as they popped up. Anyone going for SWAT had to take a turn on it. The rest of us just snuck up during our off hours and played for points." He shakes his head. "That's what it looks like, and I'm betting that's what it is, but I can't believe they'd have us shooting at each other..." Multiple images of guns, bullets, Connie, and bloodstained sand rapid-fire through my mind before being dismissed for lack of hope. "Paintballs?" That would make some sense given the season's theme, but... "Could be," Trooper says, finally moving again for the mat. "Or mercy bullets, although those hurt. Paintballs just sting." Another head shake. "I came here to take a few weeks off from shooting and being shot at, and look what I get." Mary-Jane doesn't seem to be looking forward to this. "But we have to put you up in the tower if one of us is doing the shooting." Trooper sighs. "I didn't make SWAT and I usually wound up buying the beer. I might still be better than anyone else here, but..." We reach our mat, and the production staff shushes us. No more talking until after Jeff gets some in. He's standing nearby, checking out the towers and looking rather pleased with himself. I'm guessing at least part of this challenge was his idea, and I have a pretty good idea which part it was. Haraiki comes in, takes their minute to stare and mutter, and finally has to be shooed onto their mat to make it stop. Jeff gives everyone a moment to settle in, then approaches Gardener. "Give it up, big man." Gardener hands over the spear with an expression that suggests he expected his hand to come with it. Jeff goes back to his own mat and plants the spear in the sand on the right, letting it stand on its own. "Immunity -- back up for grabs. Today's challenge is going to be a new twist on an old favorite. We're going to have you run an obstacle course, playing against each other in pairs -- but while you're doing that, you're going to be running for your lives." He points at the closest of the towers: it's decorated in orange flags. "Two of your tribemates will be stationed in those towers, armed with paintball rifles." Trooper lets go of the breath he was holding. "One will cover the right side of the course, the other will take the left. They'll be shooting at the opposition's track." Another gesture, this one purely for the cameras -- someone will probably insert a fly-by shot of the course later. "You can only shoot at someone when they're in between the obstacles, within the outlined zones -- and only two shots per zone." I take another look at the course: there's a final zone just before the finish line. It's small, but a quick trigger could get a hit in. "If you shoot at someone when they're on an obstacle, the victimized tribe automatically wins the heat. We'll play to best of five: first tribe to win three heats wins Immunity. The match-ups will be randomly assigned, and you'll draw for order --" Oh, great. This could put Trina against Tony, or me against Phillip. The luck of the draw could finish this challenge before it starts. "-- after you decide which two of your tribe members will be up in the towers." Jeff looks over Haraiki one by one, then turns to us. "You can't knock anyone out of the game with a direct hit: the shooting is only meant to distract people and slow them down. The paintballs will sting, but they won't break the skin. You'll want to avoid the shots because they do hurt, but you're not out if you get hit -- no matter how many shots you take." Actually, no. Maybe we don't want to avoid the shots. Maybe we just want to charge straight through, take whatever we're hit with, and keep going. Broken-field running can only slow us down. "Does everyone understand the challenge?" This time, no one has any questions. "Turare, you've still got one extra member, and Trina can't sit out of this one. Who's not participating?" We gather to discuss it. Trooper asks the first question. "Desmond, can you shoot? We can just stick you in a tower for this one -- you don't have to run the course." Desmond shakes his head. "I've never ever used a gun -- real or paintball. My number never came up." Gardener frowns. "I can shoot a little, but I might be better off running the course. Trooper, I'd rather have you down on the sand than up there for speed, but a few good shots could really take Haraiki out of their runs." Trooper rolls his eyes. "Just because I'm a police officer doesn't mean I'm a great shot. I passed my basic tests. That's it." "You're still better than anyone else we've got," Trina says. "I can't use a gun, either." "Okay, who can shoot?" Trooper asks, sounding exasperated. Frank raises his hand. So does Mary-Jane. Everyone looks at them. Frank says "Twenty-four hour pharmacy," and leaves it at that. Mary-Jane says "Los Angeles," and sees no need for further commentary. A long pause -- and then "Okay, Frank," decided by Trooper, who apparently gets the lead on this one. Mary-Jane looks miffed. "But we may switch once we see who they're putting up -- those random matchups could kill us." We break, and Trooper gives Jeff the news: Desmond is sitting out. Jeff nods -- and gives us a break. "Haraiki, you've been talking it over. Who's in the towers?" This turns out to be Phillip and Angela, who looks disgusted with the whole thing -- although nowhere near as much as Denadi does. She keeps shooting angry looks at Elmore, probably wishing he could handle a gun and stay off the course. I'm surprised they didn't put him up there anyway. The guns may not make that much of a difference in the challenge -- does it matter if one person in a tower really doesn't know how to handle one? Trooper immediately says "We're putting up Frank and myself," without consulting the rest of us. Gardener very softly groans. Jeff looks like he wants to question everyone's decisions, but it's not his place to do so -- at least, not here. "Okay. We'll draw for matchups and order, and then we'll get started." ---------------------------------------------------------------- {Does anyone else feel outright loved right now? Replace the paint with real bullets, and this is my dream season.} {Sounds like lots of people are getting their wishes right now: both Alex and Connie are going to be shot at.} {Please, please, please let everyone in the towers go four for four...} ---------------------------------------------------------------- Jeff lets us in on the results. "First heat: Gardener vs. Tony. Second heat: Denadi vs. Mary-Jane. Third heat: Alex vs. Robin. Fourth heat: Elmore vs. Gary. Last heat: Trina vs. Connie." That was a random draw? And a little frustration: I so want to go directly up against Connie and beat her into the sand... "First pair to the starting line." Gardener and Tony take a moment to size each other up through the protective goggles we all have to wear, then move out. We're sitting in portable spectator stands, watching from a good vantage point: the entire course is easily visible, and Haraiki has an equally good view gazing from forty feet to our left. I don't know about this matchup. Gardener has plenty of raw strength, but he's not a runner: raw mass is a liability in a speed competition. On the other hand, he may be better able to ignore the direct hits. Both men take their starting positions: knees bent, one hand down on the sand. I don't know about this, either. It's not the steadiest of surfaces to try and get a push from. "Survivors ready --" -- I don't think this is an automatic win for us, and if we lose -- "-- go!" They go. Sure enough, both men have trouble getting a firm push off the sand, and Gardener stumbles a little getting out of the gate. Tony is adjusting faster, he has to be some kind of athlete, and he's the first to the crawl course by a few steps, with Frank's second shot staining the sand behind him as he exits the shooting zone. From there, he has less trouble getting under -- Gardener, as the bigger of the two men, doesn't have as much room to maneuver -- and Tony exits first, having widened his lead a little. Gardener comes out, steps into the target zone -- and takes Angela's first shot in his right shoulder. He hisses, a quick, sharp exhalation of pain, then pushes himself off the crawl roof to get a boost. He only gets halfway across before Angela's next shot takes him in the other shoulder. Tony hasn't taken a hit yet, and he's already at the wall: twelve feet high with a rope on one side, which he's using to climb over the thing. Gardener has to scramble to catch up -- but at this point, he not only has more mass to carry, he has more mass to lift: getting his bulk over the wall isn't easy, and he's not getting it done with any speed. Tony's dashing for the balance beam, no one's hit him yet, he gets all the way across without falling off and he's halfway to the rope swing before Gardener reaches the beam -- -- just like that, we're down one-nothing. I look up at the towers to find Trooper and Frank exchanging unhappy glances. Neither of them hit a thing, and Gardener's sporting four shots: three from Angela, one from Phillip. There's orange stains in his minimal hair and on the back of his shorts to go with the matching shoulder set, and we weren't just beaten, we were shown up. Gardener looks us over as he returns, and says something I never thought I'd hear him say. "Sorry, guys." He plops down onto the sand, looking a lot older than he is. "I'm a linebacker, and I get to go up against a running back..." I think he's more of an outfielder. Desmond just shakes his head: words of comfort aren't his thing. Gary sighs. "Not your fault. We would have put you up against someone else if we could have. Relax -- it's not over yet." He manages a grin. "In fact, I can almost guarantee you we're about to be tied." Gary should have gone for the sure thing, because the next race is almost a classic overmatch. Denadi's got thirty-plus years on Mary-Jane, and Mary-Jane has nearly a foot of height on Denadi. This still isn't enough to let our men in the towers get their first full hits in -- Denadi takes one graze to her right thigh in the first zone, and a fly-by past the small of her back in the second -- and it doesn't save Mary-Jane from acquiring temporary orange tattoos to mark the white of her swimsuit top, with another splash zone directly across her cottontail, But Mary-Jane doesn't slow down when she's hit. She just lets out little yelps and keeps going. Denadi stumbles her way to the wall, and while Mary-Jane is clambering up it without too much trouble, using her arms and legs in equal measure, Denadi gets hung up for double Mary-Jane's crossing time. This lets Mary-Jane reach the finish line an obstacle and a half ahead (with no additional hits -- I see Phillip raise his rifle, not seeing the point in another shot, and Angela glaring at him for it), and we are tied. I'm up next. Robin looks like it's Christmas and there's a new Ferrari peeking out from under the wrapping paper. She can't stop looking at me as I approach the line, and I can see her composing the thank-you card in her head. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me..." she grins. The Bronx accent is stronger than before. "Just give it to me now and save yourself some embarrassment, Alex." A small, sarcastic laugh. "You guys are down two-one before you even start." Oh, really? "Then we're still tied after Elmore's done," I say without looking at her, stretching a little and being careful not to compress the skin around the bruise. "And if you're wrong, we win on the spot." I check her expression. Her mostly-plucked eyebrows knit together. Definitely a natural redhead, and one who knows full well that even if she's right, it's going down to the last heat. And if she's wrong... "We'll see, bag job." That takes a second to translate -- it's a new term -- but then I disregard it. I've heard nearly all of it before, it's all wrong, and besides -- "Sure we will, ski jump nose." Which hits home: Robin's eyes go wide, then angry, focus on me instead of the course, and who's out of their game now? "We'll see on the other side of the finish line..." I take my starting position. I'm not going to try for a sprinter's push, and neither is Robin: we both saw Denadi slip in the sand a few minutes ago. Wait for it -- wait -- and the starting gun sounds. My vision goes tunnel. I don't care about the shots, I'm not going to try and dodge a thing. I'm going to keep moving forward and ignore whatever hits me -- -- and then something hits me: a blow against my right elbow. It feels like the biggest bee sting in the world, and I make a hiss to match Gardener's. Someone's applauding in the stands, and I think I know exactly who it is, but it doesn't matter right now. I keep moving, and hear something go into the sand behind me -- but that could be Frank missing badly. I'm at the crawl zone, and it's not a pleasant sight: less than two feet of clearance, wet sand underneath the wooden staples to slow us down still further, and cameras everywhere, ready to capture the look of humiliation at my having to drag myself through it... ...and they can keep waiting. I had two races to think about this. I drop, go on my back, and start hauling myself through with my hands on the smooth wood of the staples, treating the crawl zone like a no-room set of monkey bars. I don't think Robin can see it: she's probably a little ahead of me. Everyone else definitely saw it, and someone's not happy about it, because there goes Connie again. "Jeff!" Jeff -- laughs. It's not something I've ever really heard before. He never does it on the show. He has a good laugh, steady, with a twinkle lurking around the corners. "Whatever isn't forbidden, Connie! No one's ever said you had to go through on your stomach!" No, they haven't. And I think it's letting me pick up speed. I can't risk a glance at Robin, but I don't need one: a very loud, very sincere curse tells me she's taken a look at me as we both cleared the crawl zones at about the same time. Sprint for the wall, let the custom work do its job, don't think about where she is, she'll tell you, she can't not speak and this time, both paintballs miss. I think Frank just picked up a hit: it sounds like Robin stumbled a little, but she probably gained ground overall. Up the wall. I saw what Mary-Jane did, I'm using my legs and doing a climb-pull for the upper body, a shimmy-push for the lower, and I know I'm stronger than Robin: she's got good muscles in her legs, but mine are better and I've got stronger arms. I'm probably gaining ground again, and every time Robin looks over, she loses time, that last curse told me she just glanced across again and found out this is the last thing she wanted it to be: a race... ...over the wall, dangle down, let the sand and my knees absorb a seven-foot drop, move for the balance beam, and Phillip gets me in the left shoulder to little avail because he got strap and that's not really relaying much impact, second shot misses, getting a close look at the beam, it's maybe four inches wide and thirty feet long, a yard off the beach with steps at each end, if we fall off, we go back and start over, and nothing's been decided here in the last two races, but -- -- Connie feels the need to get a word in. "Bet you wish you could see your feet now!" she half-cackles, and that's not exactly original, and it's also wrong. I know where the beam is and I know where my feet are: I don't need anything else. Robin, who wasted a breath on a quick laugh, blows another on a small gasp: she's still making the mistake of checking to see where I am, and what she's seeing is me going down the beam at speed. It's just like getting past narrow curbs when the plants overgrow the trails, I think, and fight the urge to add something about whomp rats, whatever they are. The balance beam is not a problem, and I'm clear of it, Connie isn't saying a word, into the next target zone and Phillip misses in front of me this time, diagonal shot, I almost run right into it and see the ball of orange flash past my eyes, keep going, the second one thuds into my right thigh, up two steps, grab the rope, push off and -- I'm Jane of the jungle, I'm staying just ahead of rampaging baboons, I'll be okay if I can make the trading post -- land on the other side, down the steps, and sprint, the last shot misses -- -- "Robin just wins!" Jeff cries out. "Alex nearly beat her!" I lost. I lost. I lost, and now we're down two-one, that's almost a promise of two-two after Gary and Elmore run, but I lost, we're one step closer to a Council trip, and it's my fault... My shoulders sag, and the effort catches up to me all at once: I can feel my breathing going ragged, and my heartbeat seems to sink as it slows. I finally look over at Robin, who's stained in four places with purple: right cheek, chest, shoulder blades, left buttock. She looks exactly as triumphant as I thought she was going to. Except that there's something else there mixed in with it, calling for attention. "You --" she pants, then starts over. "You're better than you look..." Oh, sure. She can give out a meaningless, insincere lie of a compliment. She won. "Thanks..." I say without even remotely meaning it, and plod off back to the stands. Jeff was probably talking the whole time. I managed to block him out. I wonder what he was saying. I know what Connie's saying: her catcalls follow me all the way to Turare. None of them are worth listening to. I just take my seat and close my eyes. I don't want to listen to anyone. If I'd won, we would have had a death grip on the spear. It's slipping from our grasp, and it's all because of me... "You almost had her." Mary-Jane, sympathetic. "It was that close, Alex. One step. She thought she was going to get you by two obstacles, and you made her work for it." "Horseshoes and hand grenades," I reply. Close doesn't count in this game. Trina now. "Don't worry so much. You know we've got the next one." "I thought I could beat her." Underestimation, getting her a little mad before we started when she'd tried to do it to me and failed, giving it everything I had... and I'd still lost. "If I'd beaten her, we'd win right now..." Gardener says nothing, which surprises me, but who's complaining? Desmond has no comment, which doesn't surprise me, and I'm still not complaining. Trina and Mary-Jane don't see the need to say anything else, and since nothing they could say would make me have won that match, fine, good, leave me alone. I finally open my eyes when the starting gun goes off for Elmore and Gary -- which means I get to see one of the comedy highlights in series history. Gary gets off to a good start, doesn't get hit by either paintball, and goes under the crawl course, adopting my method of pulling himself along via the braces. Elmore gets hit by both of Frank's shots -- stomach and the first goggle hit, right at the bridge, with most of the splash going onto his forehead -- and then goes down onto his stomach to get through the crawl. He wriggles, twists, and foot-thrusts his way into the minimal clearance, taking a lot of time just to completely enter that section. Gary emerges and heads for the wall. Elmore's body doesn't come out. His voice, on the other hand, has a huge lead. "I'm stuck!" Cursing, and lots of it. "Someone get me out! I can't move! I can't get through this!" Gardener may be trying to help. "Hollow the dirt out from under your belly!" he calls out. "Take a really deep breath and see if you can push a depression into the sand!" More cursing. "I can't move, you overpumped piece of --" Jeff cuts him off. "Elmore, are you quitting?" "Hell yes, I'm quitting! Get me out of here, damn it!" Gary, sitting on top of the wall and watching all this, is visibly trying to keep from laughing. No one else on Turare is making the effort. Gardener has abandoned advice in favor of gales of mirth, Trina is just about doubled over with helpless gasps, and looking up, I can see Trooper on the verge of tears in his tower. Mary-Jane is actually pounding the edge of her seat, and Frank is going to have to breathe really soon... I just watch. Sure, it's sort of funny, there's even some people on Haraiki snickering, and Angela's pretty much completely lost it in her tower. But it's not that funny, because it's still just two-two, and if I'd won my heat, we'd have the spear. We wouldn't have to worry about Council. We'd be safe -- -- I'd be safe -- -- and this would be over. Mary-Jane looks at me. "Oh, come on!" she encourages. "This is the best thing since Colin's ox!" Elmore is still swearing, the production staff is trying to yank him out by his feet with no success, and they're now talking about disassembling that part of the course around him just to have any chance to freeing him in less than two hours. Two camera operators are arguing for trying to blast him out with either the fire hose or a well-placed paintball, whichever would be faster. "He's humiliated," I quietly answer. The cursing can't completely cover up the pain. "He never thought this would happen, he doesn't know how to fix it or laugh it off, and he'd rather die than be here right now." The look changes to a stare. My voice was very soft: I think she's the only one who completely heard me. "But -- this means we're tied." "I know." I just didn't want it like this. More cursing, more discussion, and they finally free Elmore by pulling up the staples around him. He marches back to his stands, his girth shaking with every too-hard step, glaring about and visibly daring anyone to say anything. Frank's still having a giggle fit in his tower, but the others have laughed themselves out. Trina and Connie go to the starting line. It wasn't funny at all... There's a pause for putting the course back together, the last two finally take their positions to start the final heat, and the starting gun goes off. I want to believe we have hope. I want to have faith in Trina, to think she has hidden reserves, that under the coating of fat are muscles of steel waiting to be shown off, springs holding on a signal to uncoil. I want to think the whole thing wasn't decided the instant I lost, and I want to be sitting around the fire tonight listening to someone else talk about their job while wondering how much of it is truth, and follow that by going off to sketch tomorrow morning, and maybe Desmond will feel well enough to direct us on that proposed table by afternoon. I want to believe all of that, and I don't. Trina's nowhere near as fit as Connie. Trina spends time trying to dodge the shots. Trina gets hit five times anyway before Connie crosses the finish line, sending Haraiki into paroxysms of joy, with Phillips scooping her up the second he's down from the tower, swinging her around, and while she looks less than happy about that part of it, she's more than willing to put up with it. Tony and Angela hug as soon as she's down, Elmore is pretending to enjoy it just as much as the others, but there's something sad in his eyes. Robin's whooping, Denadi's applauding them all... ...and we lost. Jeff summons them to the spear and presents it to Connie, who smiles widely as she takes it. I don't pay attention to his words as it's being handed over. Fine, whatever, we all know our winning streak is over, and they don't have to go to Council tomorrow. It was old news before he said it. But I have to listen when he looks to us, still sitting quietly in our places, Frank and Trooper having just joined us, their faces downcast and Frank as quiet as he's ever been. "Turare," Jeff says, "Your hidden idol is now active, and the clue will be waiting for you in camp. Some of you will need to look for it more than others." He's not looking directly at me when he says this. He should be. "I'll see you tomorrow night. So long for now." We get up and walk away. No chatter, no song: just a silent single-file line letting gravity pull it back to where it naturally belongs: the lowest point. We lost. I lost for all of us.   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

Belle Book 1925 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Herbal Healing Drugs Endorser" 02-01-10, 07:28 PM (EST) 23. "RE: Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Prophecy: Part IV" I understand why Alex might think that, but I don't think she was really responsible for her loss. Maybe they should've put Trina and Gardner in the towers and had Trooper and Frank down on the sand. And besides, Alex gave Robin a run for her money, even if she lost. So Alex didn't lose it for Turare.   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

Estee 44384 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold" 07-14-06, 03:57 PM (EST) 4. "Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Prophecy: Part V" LAST EDITED ON 07-19-06 AT 04:08 PM (EST) --------------------------------------------------------- {I hate these random draws, but someone tell me a better way.} {Are the guns really a factor here?} {I think Haraiki has this won before it starts. Nothing's a factor here.} {There's the first heat -- and ow, ouch, oof, and ye-ow! Gardener's just been turned into a Pollock work!} {Tony gets revenge for the kayak, and Angela's applauding in the tower...} {No contest here.} {Can someone explain to me why Mary-Jane wears that bikini at pretty much every available opportunity?} {Sure. DAW stands for --} {Well, that was embarrassing. Denadi executed a perfect half-Scout.} {Prediction: Alex does more-or-less fine until she reaches the balance beam, and then she jiggles herself off no less than six times.} {Yeah, this one's a walk for Robin. Haraiki's finally got one wrapped up.} {...or not.} {Are we going to have a rulebook left after this season, or just a collection of tatters?} {Damn, that was close! Alex nearly caught up -- another twenty feet of acceleration and she would have had it!} {Aw, look, she's depressed...} {She should be. She's going to be voted out tonight, and good riddance.} {And now for the pointless part of our program.} {I have just looked at my above statement and would like to retract it now.} {Can't -- stop -- laughing...} {Note to self: put softer carpet around chair.} {Tell me someone got a vidcap. In the name of God, did anyone get a vidcap!} {Here you go. And I want to nominate whoever placed that minicam in the crawl track for an Emmy.} {No, we don't want a 'Someone feels bad' shot: we want a replay in slow motion!} {Last heat. Is there any chance Turare can pull this out?} {Why do you even ask these questions?} {And guess what? Connie never took a shot. Aw, you all must feel so bad...} {The spear to Haraiki, Turare to their camp and the hunt for the mini-idol, and at least Elmore can't grab this one. Not that he needs to. Execution postponed.} {And that's probably all we see of Haraiki for tonight -- looks like Turare finally has to get some real work done...} --------------------------------------------------------- By the time we get back to camp, the sun is almost down. There's just enough light left to let us spot the clue, which is pinned to the side of the shelter. Gardener reaches it first and reads it without removing it. They're the first words any of us have said since we left the challenge. "'Empty, hollowed, but now containing salvation.' Well, that's a lot of goddamn help." He snorts and turns away from it. "The rest of you can search if you want. I've only got a little daylight left to try and catch dinner in." He heads for the fishing gear. I move in closer to look at the clue. It says exactly what he read out. It makes no more sense to see than to hear. No one else seems to have much of an idea what to do with it, beyond the suddenly-popular 'clueless stare' option. If anyone's had a light bulb manifest over their heads, the wattage is too low to spot. "Well," Trooper shrugs. "We don't have a lot of daylight. If anyone wants to look, go ahead, but you may be better off waiting until tomorrow morning." Sure. He can say that. He's safe. I would go looking right now, except that I need a place to start, can't think of one, and I can't just hope to stumble across it by accident. Not realistically. "I'll get the fire going..." Maybe something will come to me while I'm doing it. And maybe someone else will stumble across the thing while I'm working on the fire. Desmond distractedly nods. "You do that." He reads the clue again. Still no sudden flashes of light illuminating his hair. I start the fire, and Trina wanders off for a while, then comes back ten minutes after Gardener returns, frustrated and empty-handed. It's rice and fruit tonight, and it all tastes bitter on my tongue. There's no conversation. No one talks about the challenge. No one talks about anything. We're not accusing each other. We're not placing blame. We all know where the blame goes, and it all belongs to me. One step. One lousy, stinking step away from seeing Day Nine. I could be out tomorrow, and I can't think of a reason why anyone would want me to stay. I want to find one and argue it, and I don't even know why. I don't understand why I care at all. I just met these people five days ago. This isn't a tribe, not in the real sense. We have not lived and worked and fought together for all our lives. We still barely know each other. I shouldn't care about being the first one to leave them. Why would I want to be near them? The only thing I should be mourning is the loss of a million dollars, and I never had a chance at that anyway, so what's to miss? The fifteenth-place check will more than cover what I spent and lost to come here, and there'll be an actual reserve in my bank account for the first time since I got my own apartment. In that sense, I accomplished my goal. I wasn't the first out of the game, even if I wind up being the first out of the tribe, and I didn't lose money to be here. Plus I'll have a month-long plus vacation waiting for me in Sequesterville, I can save whatever expense money they give me, and it'll probably be somewhere beautiful that I'd never get to visit on my own... But I don't want to go. And I don't know why. I couldn't blame them if they voted me out. I lost that challenge for us. It was all my fault... "Turquoise bicycle shoe fins actualize radishes greenly." I abruptly look up. Gary's the one who said it, and everyone is staring at him, the others because it made no sense, and me because I know where it came from and it makes no sense for him to know it. "Well," Gary shrugs, "it's the most random thing I know how to say." Frank manages a small laugh. "Geez, dude, that's a weird one..." "It's better than silence," Gary says. "Let's not be one of those completely underground tribes, okay? We can do better than waiting to slip off and pass notes back and forth. I know there's going to be alliances and wheels inside wheels, but we can at least pretend to talk about things in the open, right?" Gardener nods. "So who wants to talk first?" There's a pair of golden rules in the tribal stage of this game. The first one says Never apologize: you only give people a reason to blame you. The second is Always apologize: people love giving second chances, and you'll look like a jerk if you don't. Everyone knows they contradict each other, and no one knows what to do about it. I look at them both through the firelight while the silence holds, and finally decide that if I'm going out, I'm going out following the second trail. "I'm sorry, guys." Immediate center of attention. "That was me. I screwed that one up." "The hell you did," Gardener shoots back. "The random draw screwed us up. You would have beaten Connie. You were faster up the rope and she fell off the beam twice." "And then someone else has to beat Robin," Frank says, sounding uncommonly rational about it. "And there's the same five people on the ground to choose from. Hell, I don't know -- maybe we should have put the slowest people in the towers, for all the good the shooting did for anyone." Gardener prods the fire with a stick. "Alex, I had us down for losing that thing as soon as I saw what our draw pool was. I thought I had a small chance to beat Tony and pull it out, but I had to figure he was faster than me. I had you down for losing to Robin by an obstacle or two, and if you'd had a little more running room, we wouldn't be facing this damn vote. Frank's right: we lost that challenge on the tower assignment. We should have just ranked it as a non-factor and gone with our strongest on the ground." And I'd thought of it, and hadn't said anything in the split-second between the idea and Trooper's announcement. But I can't bring myself to say that. It'll sound too much like hindsight. "Blame yourself if you want to, Alex, but hold the pity party somewhere else." "I don't want pity." The strength of my voice rings out across the clearing. "I'm accepting responsibility." Gardener shrugs. "And you're taking it when you shouldn't have it. When you're ready to be blamed, you'll know it. I'll be the one blaming you." His eyes are hard and piercing. "Let it go. You can get them at the next challenge." What next challenge? You'll be voting me out! resounds in my head and doesn't make it to the air. Desmond seems uncomfortable. "Are we really going to talk about -- the next part -- right here?" That gets a laugh from Mary-Jane. "'The next part'? You mean the one where we decide who's going home? Why, does that bother you?" It clearly does: Desmond is squirming a little, and anyone who's looking right at him can pick it up. Right now, that's everyone. "It doesn't feel right, doing it that way..." "Better than scurrying around in the dark, at least right now," Trooper says. "Gary's right: the first vote usually isn't about alliances, if we've even got any yet. It's about strengthening the tribe. If we held a vote right now, among ourselves, paper slips..." Gardener's amused by that. "Trial runs are only my thing back home, but if you really want to give it a shot..." "Don't bother." Trina. "I think we all know already, don't we?" And that's the end of the conversation for the night, because we do all know. Or at least think we know what the others are thinking. Even if we don't believe it... -------------------------------------------------------------- {Huh. Interesting bit there. I'm starting to get used to this extended episode format. We're getting a better look at tribal dynamics.} {I never expected Alex to step up and take the blame there.} {One episode too late for an apology.} {I thought you said she could never apologize.} {Who runs this tribe? Desmond directs them when they're working, but from what we've seen, it's Gardener at the challenges... I don't know if a leader's emerged yet. No alpha male with a target on his back.} {Gardener knows he has a target, I'm sure of it. But he also knows it only goes visible when the jury appears on the horizon.} {Aww, poor Desmond, not wanting to commit to anything in the open... And listen to Trooper, pretending there's no alliances yet.} {We've got a lot of time left -- I think we'll be looking at a long hunt after the commercials.} {Wrong.} ---------------------------------------------------------- Day Six, and I've looked at the clue over and over. I've written the sentence down, torn it into its component words, and shuffled them. I've said it out loud in semi-private moments to see if it helps any. Nothing. I don't know where the hidden idol is, and I haven't stumbled across it. Not many people are looking. Gardener is secure in his position, and he doesn't have to worry about a bounce unless someone finds it -- which seems like a longshot right now, given the mass confusion around camp. (Everyone can't be that good an actor.) Similarly, Trooper has few concerns, Desmond has spent most of the morning thinking about furniture because his headache is finally gone and he's sure he has construction time, Frank has been in and out of camp, but he's just bringing in food... It's just the women who are looking. Or thinking about looking. And failing. Mary-Jane isn't even doing much of that: she vanished for an hour early in the morning, and shrugged at me when she came back. Trina spent the longest out in the jungle, absent until the sun was at its peak, but she retreated into the shelter when she returned and hasn't come out since. I wonder if stumbling across it is starting to become a realistic option. No one else has real stumbling potential right now. Gardener's fishing, Desmond's looking for the parts for his design, Gary is on the beach (and I hope we get a moment to talk -- the day hasn't worked out that way, and if it's coming, I'd like to know), Mary-Jane's bathing, I think -- -- I look around. Me. Some camera operators. Trina. This is as close to 'alone' as the game usually gets. I stand up from my position near the exit to the beach, pocket the word scraps, and walk over to the shelter. Trina is sitting on the floor, dealing cards onto one of the sleeping pallets. She's giving them an unfocused look, seemingly only half-interested in what she's doing. It could almost be a solitaire deal, except that these aren't normal cards. They're all face-down right now, anyway -- and she picks them up and shuffles them. "Hey." "Hi." I step inside and sit down on a pallet. "Any luck out there?" She laughs, very lightly, a little insincere. "I shouldn't tell you if I had any, and I should lie if I hadn't. But -- no. I didn't find it. I don't know what the clue means, and the cards won't tell me." She looks up at me, then shuffles the deck again and starts dealing a line of cards, face-down. "That works for you?" A little surprised. I'd thought a fortune teller who believed in her own abilities would be like a drug dealer sampling his own product: not the best idea in the long run... Another glance up at me. "Non-believer. I'm not surprised." I shrug. "I don't believe in prophecy. The future being -- fixed -- doesn't make any sense." "It's not." She deals a fourth card. "Not all the time, anyway, and never completely. But for some people, at certain points in their lives, things are just -- meant to go in a given direction. They may not like the trip, and the destination isn't theirs to pick, but -- things happen, and they go with what the cards say." Fifth card. "Or maybe people do make their own futures somehow, and I just pick it up." "So is it you or the cards?" At least it's something to talk about other than the vote. "Me." This laugh is a little bitter. "Sometimes. Don't ask me how it works, okay? Maybe I have a precognitive talent and it just expresses itself through the deck. I sure don't have anything else. I don't get the little shivers my grandma always said she did around ghosts, and I don't pick up flashes from people's minds the way my grandpa lied about... I can't even make the cards work out more than they don't. Sometimes I'll get the feeling, and the cards will come up true, and even if I don't understand what they meant when I dealt them -- and there's so many ways to read them that things can get confused even on a clear call -- they always make sense looking back. Other times, I've got nothing. Most of the time, I've got nothing, and I have to put them out anyway and think of something to tell the customer that'll make sense for them." Very bitter. "And for most of the people in my profession, saying this much would be like giving away state secrets, but I tell my customers. I tell them it doesn't always work. But they're convinced that they're the ones it works for..." She sighs. Sixth card, seventh, eighth, and stop. I don't believe half of it. "But there's times when you do get something?" She shrugs. "Yeah. But not enough." Direct eye contact. "Believe me, if I could do it whenever I wanted to, I wouldn't be here. I'd be picking up my million-dollar check from the James Randi Foundation before hanging out my new shingle as career consultant to the stars. Do go with that script, don't date that guy, watch out for that photographer in the bushes..." A long sigh. "I could do that for the rest of my life and be happy. But..." Pauses. "I dealt the cards for myself before I applied for the show, and I thought I had the feeling then. It's always hardest to judge when I'm dealing for myself, but I was sure I had it. I only applied because of what the cards said, and when I got on, I was sure I'd done it..." Blink. "What did they say?" Another laugh. "That I'd find my fortune through the show -- and yeah, if it works, we can read for ourselves and make money off it without offending some cosmic overseer, don't let anyone tell you different. I'd get my dreams if I applied, but --" She frowns. "The cards were weird. There were about six ways to read them, and it felt like I'd get on, and I did -- but it didn't feel like I was going to win. And I was still going to get what I wanted. Financial security, respect..." A side glance at me. "Not much of either of those, going out first from the tribe." "You're assuming." "I know." She flips over the first card, blinks hard, and immediately moves on to the second. "No reading there. Just instinct." Flip and look, staying with it longer this time. I look. The card shows a young man in a casual hiking uniform, an old-fashioned hobo sack carried over one shoulder on a stick. He seems intent on the path ahead of him, staring off at the horizon as if it has to hold something better than the place he's in, and he's determined to find out what it is. There may be a problem with that, though, because the next place he's going will be straight down. He's in the middle of stepping off a cliff. One foot is already hanging off into the air, and the other is just barely planted on what's left of the ground. A small dog is tugging on the cliff-heel, trying to hold him back from what's probably his last mistake, but it's clear the man hasn't noticed. I glance at the bottom of the card and read 0: The Fool. "That's all of us, all right..." I mutter. Trina hears it. "Actually, that's you." And now we're at insults. I start to get up. "Hold it." I pause -- then settle back onto the pallet. "You don't know the Tarot, do you?" I shake my head. "The Fool -- again, there's a ton of meanings, and part of them even depend on whether the card is bottom-side facing me or not -- but most of the time, he means adventure and choices. New beginnings. You always step off the cliff when you make a decision. Maybe there's a ledge a foot down, and a path that leads to a diamond mine. Maybe you drop onto the rocks. You don't know. See the way the card is painted? There's no way to tell what's down there, or even how far it goes. The dog can mean self-doubt: stay with what you know, don't take risks. And sometimes it's right, and sometimes it's wrong -- but any time you start something new, you're at the cliff. That's The Fool, and that's your present. Who you are right now." The chance she's making all this up off the top of her head is close to a hundred percent. The remainder consists of the possibility that this is part of what the card really means, and she's just trotting out the bits that might fit me. "If you say so... I don't have to like the name, though." I look at the six face-down cards. "If that's the present --" "-- then those are the future," Trina finishes. "It's not a standard configuration, but when I get the feeling, I just deal until my hands say 'Stop'. One for the past, one for the present, six for what's to come." And again, the direct focus. Her eyes are large and dark, and I don't like the way they're trying to lock on mine. "You sat down next to me, and I felt it. When I feel it, I don't ignore it. This is your reading." Sure it is. This is my official escort down Bull Lane. "So that one's my past?" I ask, trying to pretend I care. I look at the first card -- and freeze. A woman is lying on the ground. She can't get up. She will probably never get up again, because nine rusted swords pierce her body: torso, neck, limbs. Blood is flowing from each cut in a crimson river, running off her tattered clothing without staining it and soaking into the ground. Thistles spring up wherever the life river touches the soil. Her eyes are wide and staring, her left hand seems to twitch, and she's still alive, she's still alive and the swords are holding her to life, they won't let her die, they want her to bleed forever with no hope for release... "Sorrow," Trina softly says. "I hate seeing the nine of swords come out of the deck unless it's top side towards me -- and there's no reversing it here." She quietly looks up at me. "You didn't have the best childhood, did you?" I want to stand up. I want to leave. I want to take the cards and throw them into the fire. I want Trina to go in after them. But I stay where I am, I look at the card, I want to look away -- and I can't, until Trina moves again. "In the future..." she quietly continues, and flips the third card. A skeleton. Wearing a black robe, carrying a scythe, blue points of light dancing in the hollows where eyes had once been. It's standing in a field of corn, and the blade has just finished a single long cut: the stalks lie on the ground, waiting to be collected. The blue seems to be looking ahead at the rest of the field, anticipating the rest of the harvest. The glance for the title only serves to confirm what I had already guessed: 13: Death. I find my voice. "So the next thing that happens in the future -- is that I die." I try to make it light. It comes out hollow. "That pretty much renders the other five cards moot, doesn't it?" She sighs again. "The Death card doesn't always mean death itself. It means a transition from one state to the next. Growth, change, transformation. Reversed, it's stagnation." "But sometimes --" and these words emerge forced "-- it means death." Trina nods. "Sometimes." And before that should be able to sink in and long after it actually does, she turns over the next card. Blackened skin, peeling off in crusts, a laughing face that's just barely identifiable as one, horns of bone emerging from a ragged skull. Flames all around, lakes of lava, smoke curling through the scene. Taloned hands hold chains that lead to the necks of a naked man and women, both on their knees from the pain of the red-hot metal. They are begging for supplication, and the ground itself has begun to scorch through their legs, tendons and bone aflame. 15: The Devil. After far too long, I look away and let the anger come out. "So here's my future, Trina. I die. Then I go to Hell. Really, why do I have any interest in what happens next? What's the next card out? 16: The Gang Rape?" Oh, she's good at cards, all right. She can deal herself an ace in poker whenever she wants to, she thinks she's going home tonight and she's out to shake me up as punishment for it not being me when it is going to be me, she'll tell me I can change my fate if I just work to keep her in the game... "Number sixteen in the Major Arcana," Trina says calmly, "is The Tower. The devil card doesn't always mean the devil. In this facing, it can mean temptation, things of the material world. It can also mean evil influences entering your life. Sometimes it means all of them at once. It all depends on who you ask, and when." Another attempt to lock in. "And I wasn't thinking about your long-term future, Alex. I was looking at you and thinking about the game. What would happen to you on the show after I left. I was wondering that for all of you, but then you sat down and -- it was there." And before I can leave, the fifth card goes face-up. A young woman on her knees in front of a narrow stream, washing her hands. The moon hangs heavy over her head, bright and full and layered in mystery, close enough to touch, impossible to reach. It dominates the sky, takes over the scene, and for a second, it's all you can look at -- until you see the red running into the stream, and realize the woman is washing off blood. 18: The Moon. "A lot of Major Arcana here..." Trina muses. "In this context... I think it's the trouble you don't see coming, the event you never expected or wanted. It can also mean madness, but that's more of a classical definition." I want to say something, I need to say something, but she doesn't give me a chance. She just turns over the sixth card. As promised. A skyscraper, straining against a stormy sky. There is heavy rain pounding the air, and lightning flashing through it. One of those bolts has just struck the building. Several windows have shattered, and people are falling. They are falling to their deaths, clutching at briefcases and papers, mouths open to scream, the wind of the storm taking their last words for itself. 16: The Tower. My shoulders are tight, and my hands feel like they want to shake. This is a con game, she's delivering it like an expert, and the knowledge should remove the emotion, but it's not happening... "This card was originally patterned after the Tower Of Babel: climb too high, and get knocked back down," she says. "It's lost that meaning over the years. Now it's conflict. Things fall apart. Confrontation and anger. Loss of control." A quick glance at me. "Which brings us to --" and the seventh card is flipped. A courtroom. A man standing in front of a high bench, the shadow of the unseen gavel across his features. His hands are cuffed behind his back. A bailiff is approaching from behind. There are two doors leading out: one into sun, one into shadow. The man is clearly about to go to through one of them after the gavel comes down. The bailiff is going to be the escort. The cuffs may come off in the sunlight, or chains will be added in the dark. There's no way to tell. None at all. The man's face has no hope or despair in it: just patience -- and the bailiff has been at this for far too long. 20: Judgment. I stand up. Trina glances over. "Alex --" "I don't care." The fury is all the way into my words now, and I have to get away from her before it looks for another outlet. "What's the con, Trina? I'm doomed unless I save you? I'm going to be punished because you're going home? Pick one and stick with it, but it doesn't matter, because all you did here is guarantee my vote tonight. It probably won't be enough and I'll be out of here anyway, but at least you'll know you weren't able to fool me." I have to get out of here, I have to. And anger from her. "I'm not trying to trick you into doing anything! This is a true reading! I don't control which cards come up and I'm not trying to get you to do something because of them! The cards work out on their own -- the future comes out by itself! And it doesn't mean anything until the reading's complete, because you don't have the full story! The last card --" -- which she can't flip. Because my hand is on top of it. "Don't." Our eyes are locked. Neither of us is willing to look away, her in what has to be faked confusion mixed with real anger, me because there's no way I want to see what that last card shows. Death. Damnation. Madness. Falling. Sentenced. What the hell is in that deck that's worse than all of those already put together? I can hear the camera operators closing in, see the edges of an urgent signal for backup, they clearly think a fight is about to start, but I don't care and I'm not moving. I do not want to see the last card. Nothing they can do will make me look at it. The production staff starts to emerge -- and Trina carefully says "Hands off my luxury item." I choose to hear it as 'reading over', and remove my hand. Trina nods at me, just once. I start to leave the shelter. "Alex." I'm not going to look back. "I understand why you're upset. I'm not taking it personally. People can take readings hard." Whatever. I keep going. I feel like I need a very hot bath just to scrub the slime off. I almost wish I was being voted out tonight just so I could get one. The waterfall is all there is, and I won't stumble across the hidden idol by washing up... The sound, very soft, just barely noticeable, of a card turning over. I hesitate. I don't want to, but I do. I still don't look back. Softly, "I'm keeping this," Trina tells me. "I won't show it to you now, and I won't show it tonight. You'll see it at the Reunion -- and when you see it, at the very end -- you'll tell me I was right. And I'll understand. I won't forgive you for getting angry then, because I've already done that. But I'll forgive you for not wanting to believe..." I can't take any more. I leave. And there isn't enough water in the lake to make me feel clean again. --------------------------------------------------------------- {Whoa.} {Okay. It's a hell of a scene, but -- why were we shown it? We've never seen anything like that before. Arguably Burnett just handed us the boot again: Trina's got to be going tonight. The others must have been leaning towards it already, and now Alex will move hell and high water to dump her. But... why the reading? Unless...} {Unless what? Finish the post, why don't you?} {Unless it actually means something for the rest of the game. Sorry: hit the wrong button.} {Yeah, right. Alex dies, goes to hell, comes back, goes insane, gets hit by lightning, and then our new friend's dreams come true because she's sentenced to life in prison under the freshly-passed Twenty-Ninth Amendment: misuse of cross. Forgive me if I have my doubts.} {Personally, I'll settle for death and damnation, but since we already know she made it back, I guess Trina's just another witchcraft Satanist wanna-be instead of the real thing.} {Three -- two -- one -- cue Wiccan attack. Your private mailbox is going to be full for a while...} {I don't think Burnett's going to alter the game just to match a few cards, no matter how 'interesting' the scene was. Maybe some things that happened really vaguely reflect those cards, but deliberate images? Good luck, editing team. You're going to need it.} {He probably wants to keep us watching to see if anything comes up that relates. And I bet nothing will. All this'll do is get some of the screaming up to the next level: witchcraft! Magic! Someone might be reading Harry Potter!} {Fine. Just tell me the last time we weren't shown something for a reason and I'll shut up.} {Look, I agree there's a reason. I just don't know what it is yet. I think it's going to be some really fancy editing that won't work. And you think --?} {I'm with Alex. It was a very long con job. The last words out of Trina's mouth were going to be 'Save me, or else it all comes true.'} {You all know how I feel about Cole, and I'll still agree with her on this. That was a pack of lies. Or a deck.} {I -- don't know.} {Yet.} ----------------------------------------------------------------   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

Belle Book 1925 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Herbal Healing Drugs Endorser" 01-04-09, 08:56 PM (EST) 21. "RE: Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Prophecy: Part V" Whoa! Good thing I never got my fortune told -- or ever really wanted to! Belle Book   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

Estee 44384 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold" 07-14-06, 06:51 PM (EST) 5. "Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Prophecy: Conclusion." LAST EDITED ON 07-19-06 AT 04:42 PM (EST) I spend the rest of the day staying away from Trina. I film the world's angriest confessional before I get into the lake, and I'm sure none of it will ever make the air. I try to clean up, and it doesn't help. I help Desmond look for materials, we find some, I work under his direction and get part of the future table together almost by myself, and it doesn't make me feel better. The only thing that relieves me at all is Gary approaching me late in the day. I've gone out to the beach, sketching the ocean view from our landing point, one more vision to take with me in case I'm going home tonight. And then Gary gives me the news. "Trina," he says softly. "The men have been discussing it in stages. I'm telling you officially and they know I'm telling you. Desmond's telling Mary-Jane. We want to present a united front at Council." "No problem." I'd tried to casually feel Desmond out on the idea while we were building, and he hadn't exactly seemed to be against it. Throw in what appears to be his complete lack of acting ability, and I'd been starting to feel a tiny fraction of security about having a chance of not leaving. Not completely, never completely unless the spear was in camp or the idol was in my hands, and maybe not even then. But at least a little bit of hope. "Does Trina know?" Gary hesitates. "I think so," he says. "She seems to know, anyway -- I don't think anyone's directly told her." Fine. Don't tell her. Let it come as a surprise. No courtesy earned there. Of course, Gary ruins my whole day. "I'll let her know." "Fine." That manages to come out neutral. "It's best, not being blindsided." He nods. "I'd rather know, personally. Preferably in time to try and do something about it..." He turns to leave. "Gary?" He stops. "Two things. First: Tina." He blinks -- then catches on and nods. I'm glad he knows the show that well. I'm also worried about his knowing the show that well. "Second -- I know you read webstrips and I can name one of them." He grins. "Do you read mine?" A long pause -- and then he shakes his head. "Sorry, Alex. You know how it is. There's thousands of the things, and you never have time to do more than scratch the surface. I wouldn't even read that one except for one of the guys in the office, and he has to explain half the jokes to me. But I'll check yours out when we all get home." I believe him on both counts, and let him go. An early dinner, one last meal as a full group that I wish I didn't have to be at because Trina keeps giving me sad looks that give a lot of credit to her acting ability and none to whatever qualities she should have had as a person and somehow completely missed, the sun starts to set -- and finally, we're allowed to leave for Tribal Council. As Gardener guessed, we take the side trail before we have to head up the Cliffs. It's not a short walk, and it takes us through a variety of plants we've never seen before on the island -- including, much to Frank's surprise, a willow tree. "Not that I have a chemical plant in my back pocket," he says, "but I think it works if you just stew the bark into a tea." It sounds horrible, and I hope we don't have to try it. The willow's drooping branches seem to set the theme for the trail: most of the plants dip under their own weight, and the scents are delicate. I spot myrrh, and remember: Myrrh is mine its bitter perfume spells a life of gathering doom suffering, sighing, bleeding, dying sealed in this stone-cold tomb Shadows here, especially at sunset. The rocks blend into their own castings, making edges hard to pick out. No bright colors, and no one speaks with very much volume. The world is muted here, almost retreating from itself. Waiting. We walk through all this, alone with our thoughts -- and then we see the Tribal Council set. The mood isn't so much broken as slammed with a sledgehammer. "Oh, come on!" Frank laughs, and the mirth spreads from there. We are looking at a hunting lodge nestled into a tiny valley, or at least five-sixths of one: a wall has been removed, and the camera crew is set up outside, taking most of the interior shots from that point. (There's spaces all over the lodge for more of them, and several are already in position -- but the wide-angle shots, facing us, will come from outside.) There's a huge open-front fireplace blazing in one corner, what has to be Jeff's seat turns out to be one of those richly upholstered chairs that you expect to see on the movie set for the stuffiest men's club ever imagined, fake animal heads on the wall, fake guns on the wall, and sixteen empty wood plaques with our names on them below a pair of fake brass hooks. One is occupied by a snuffed torch, and the name on the dedication plate reads 'Michelle'. We are supposed to sit on stools made to look like severed elephant's legs. It's so overdone it's verging on parody, and may have tipped all the way over into hilarity. Gardener's openly laughing, and even Trina manages a smile. The rest of the group is having far too much fun with this, the production crew isn't taking it well -- and not only that, but a couple of them are openly wearing 'What, again?' looks on their faces, which tells me Haraiki did the same thing, possibly louder. I'm just gazing at the rich red padding on Jeff's chair, which may have to be redescribed as 'Jeff's throne'. "All right, that's enough!" one of the older men on the crew barks. "Go back up the trail and don't come back until you can enter looking serious and sober!" We go back up, and we stay there for a few minutes because Mary-Jane's having serious trouble getting her giggling under control, but the rest of the tribe finally musters their masks into place. We march back into view of the set, keeping straight faces all the way in. The effort doesn't come without cost: Frank looks like he's strained something. Fortunately, that passes for serious and sober. Jeff walks in as we cross into the set itself -- I guess the shots that make him look like he watched us come up the trail will be added later -- and takes his position on a barely visible mark. We stop at the production staff's direction, waiting. We all know what's coming next. "Welcome to Tribal Council," Jeff says. "If you'll look behind you --" and we all looked on the way in "-- you'll find your torches. Go over and get fire." We do. The torches are already marked with our names, burned into the wood above the grip points. The fireplace is large enough to let us light them in groups of four: random draw puts me there with Desmond, Gardener, and Mary-Jane. Jeff keeps speaking: the words will probably be edited into their proper place later. "Fire is life in this game. When your fire is gone -- so are you." I light my torch and hold it in front of me. It's actually a little taller than I am, and the flames are bright. Fire has a built-in fascination -- ask any pyromaniac. There's a moment where I can almost understand that interest. The first sparks back at camp were a plot, a plan that worked out: personal, but once created, shared. This torch is my fire: no one else's. It is light in my possession -- -- but not under my control. And when it's gone -- so am I. The others light their torches, and we place them in the holders a couple of paces behind our seats: most of the camera shots will make it look like they're right behind us, but the production staff has to worry about wind gusts, so we're getting some distance. The little ceremonial moment ends with that placement, and we take our seats. Gary knew what I meant when I said 'Tina'. Watch the seating at Tribal Council. It gives away more than you'd think. Allies tend to sit next to each other, alliances group themselves together. As such, I place myself at the left end of the front row, and Gary goes to the right side of the elevated back. That should help keep us off the radar for a while. Mary-Jane sits on my right, Trina next to her, and Trooper finishes out the row. Gardener is behind me, followed by Frank and Desmond. We're ready. So is Jeff -- but he's not ready to go on the air yet. "I know you've all probably watched a lot of these," he says, "but they don't work in quite the way you see on television." He settles into his throne and leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, fingers laced together. "There are times when we're here for a few hours, and the minutes you see on the show are just the highlights of the proceedings. There have been other times when we've gotten through the whole thing in minutes, but they're rare. Expect things to go for the long side, but it's never a guarantee." A slight smile. "First Councils can be a feeling-out session -- and that's for the show, not for the tribe." Sure it is. "We'll talk about how you're doing as a tribe, how things are coming along in camp -- lighter stuff than what comes ahead. I have to get to know you and what's going on with your group." Because he doesn't get hourly updates, truly he doesn't. "It won't be painless -- it practically never is -- but it'll hurt less than what's ahead." His voice deepens. "At this stage of the game, you do not want to be here. Every visit to this lodge represents a failure for your tribe. If you reach the individual stage, every trip will be a small triumph: one more period that you got through. But right now, you're here because you lost." He knows exactly who he's going after. "Gardener, how does that make you feel?" "Pissed," Gardener says almost on top of Jeff's question. Frank laughs. "We read the challenge wrong. We should have placed less importance on the tower positions and more on who was running the course. If we'd done that, Haraiki would be here tonight. I think we've got better people than they do." Jeff goes for the segue. "Desmond, do you agree with that? Is this a good tribe?" Desmond looks very uncomfortable again, and the seat-squirming is just a few seconds away. "Well, I don't know the other people yet to speak of, but I think we've got a pretty good group here." And there he goes. "The men do a lot of work around camp, the women throw in their part... no one's lazy, everyone does a share." "Speaking of doing a share," Jeff smoothly cuts in, "let's talk about that first day. Alex, I've been waiting to ask you this." Oh, great... "That cross. What were you thinking?" Some of the others manage a laugh: Gardener and Desmond don't join in. Is this seat hot? "Well -- smuggling matches doesn't work..." That gets a bark of mirth from Gardener. Jeff grins. "And you just know we'll have to edit that out. Start over." Yeah, I kind of figured. "It comes down to water -- and shelter -- and cooked food. Everything starts with fire. Fire's the first edge in the game, everyone's initial goal. Get fire, and in time, you'll have everything else. We've all seen tribes struggle because they couldn't get a flame going and were afraid to drink untreated water. Once that happens, your strength starts to go, your drive -- and then you get the first loss." I shrugged. "All I ever wanted to do was give us that initial edge. Get fire on Day One, stay strong, maybe be stronger than the other tribe. The cross was the best way to do it." "Can I see it?" This one surprises me, but I take it off, get up, and walk it over to Jeff, then stand back a little and wait. He unlocks it, separates the layers, looks them over, then puts it back together and hands it back. I return to my elephant leg. "Ingenious. That was your idea?" I nod. "I even put a patent on it, just in case." There's a tiny fraction of a second where Desmond's face has a weird look to it. Maybe he was thinking of sending it in when he got home. Or maybe he just thought I bought it somewhere, and the thought that I can design isn't giving him any comfort. "Why a cross, though?" Jeff will not let this go. "Because..." Because it was the shape most likely to be given nothing more than a casual glance. Because the inspectors would probably look at it and go 'Oh, a cross,' and let it through with no further thought. It was just bad luck and maybe my dry tone that brought it as close to examination as it did come. Because a star or a crescent would have gotten more looks. Because... "...it went with the chain." No mirth at that one: just Jeff looking at me. "Right," he says carefully, and leaves it at that. For now. "So it's Day One, you have fire -- what comes next?" We all talk for a while. We're not talking about the vote. Jeff is walking us through the first few days, prodding here, questioning there, seeing what comes out. For the most part, we're a pretty cagey bunch. Desmond admits to his building leadership, but doesn't talk about his tendencies to hog everything he can -- although I'm not sure he's aware of them -- choosing to discuss what went into the selection and creation of the level, which is an interesting subject, even if he makes it sound like a week-old piece of toast. Gardener confesses a love of fishing. "I'd better be the provider. I've got too much else working against me." Mary-Jane plays it light. "Well, you know -- someone's got to be the lure for that all-important young male demographic..." She lightly laughs. "I'm doing my job. I'm just trying to make sure I get all the aspects of it in." Frank's questioning is surprisingly brief. Jeff goes back to me, and we talk about the beauty of the island and my sketchbook. "I can draw straight, and I'm keeping it realistic for anything I capture here. I want to take this place with me when I go. Like you said -- none of us will probably ever see it in this condition again." He accepts that. Trooper gets equally light treatment -- is he keeping an eye on us, does his police training give him an edge in reading us -- and Gary talks about being away from the office. "Frankly, this is only half the vacation I thought it would be. All the hard work like the job, the exact same hours -- but with higher pay and only half the backstabbing." Must be an interesting accounting department. Trina's last, and I brace myself for questions about the reading, which Jeff has to know about -- but they don't come. Instead, after a few friendly queries, it takes us back to the lost Immunity challenge. "Trina, do you blame yourself for that?" "Not completely," she replies. "I feel bad that I lost the final heat, but the random draw hurt me. If I'd been up against Denadi -- well, it would have hurt a little, taking down a sister believer, but I think I could have dealt with it. Since who I faced wasn't under my control, I can't take all of the blame." Frank pipes up. He has a remarkable talent for doing this at the exact moment when it would make me want to strangle him. "Alex tried taking the blame last night." "Oh?" Jeff looks far too interested. "Alex, do you feel your tribe being here tonight is your fault?" Inhale. Suppress urge to kill. Exhale. "I think I should have beaten Robin. If I'd been a little faster, done things a bit differently, we wouldn't be here tonight. Elmore would have still gotten stuck, we would have taken the heats three to one, and that's it: one of them is going home. But again -- part of it was random draw." Jeff actually nods at that. "Two more steps and we would have had to freeze-frame and check the tape for the winner. Four, and you would have passed her. She was at her best speed and you were still accelerating. But as you said -- it was your loss." Gardener breaks into that. "Alex is still convinced she's going home." Jeff's interest could not be any higher with the help of hard drugs. "Alex?" I spread my hands. "Any time you're at Tribal Council and you're not holding the hidden idol -- or, if you get that far, wearing the necklace or carrying the token..." A semi-elaborate scheme to blindside me out could easily be in progress. Gardener snorts. "Yeah, right. Jeff, she made us all promise that if she got the fire going on the first day, we wouldn't vote her out at our first Council." Jeff focuses on Gardener. "And that means she's safe tonight?" Gardener nods. "It's just good for this vote, but -- we promised. I don't think anyone here means to break it. I sure don't. I gave my word, and my word is good." And that, Jeff may have heard a few too many times to have full faith in: his face has a 'For now' quality lurking in the corners of his eyes. "Alex, feel any safer?" I nod, which is all I trust myself to do. "So if it's not Alex -- then who's going home tonight?" Trina actually raises her hand. "Me." Jeff looks around at all of us. "It's a group decision? Trina's going?" Desmond still doesn't look too happy about talking, but if he wants to take the lead, he has little choice. "We've all talked it over, we let her know... that's just the way it works. Right now, she's the weakest person for the challenges. We need Alex and Mary-Jane more." Oh, great: he just gave away the entire plan -- and while the others know it and look appropriately disgruntled or disgusted, he hasn't caught on to his blunder. If anyone here isn't a fan, it's Desmond. "That doesn't rule out a blindside vote," Jeff points out. "You all say you're going for Trina, your real target feels comfortable, and then..." The trail-off is deliberate, and I wish he hadn't done it. My stomach is churning enough. "This time, it does," Gary firmly says. "We decided on Trina, we're voting for Trina, and Trina knows it. We're going to operate in the open for as long as we can." "You don't think you can keep that open stance up for the entire game, do you?" Jeff asks. Gary's smile is much thinner than usual. "Will the game let us?" Jeff just looks amused. "Probably not. And with that said -- it is time to vote." Voice change. "In case you were wondering -- just under two hours." The shock passes across the group in a wave. "Time flies, doesn't it?" And back towards the camera. "Let's see what the veracity rating for this tribe is. Gardener, you're first up." Gardner eases out of his spot and walks away. The trail to the vote, pointed to by the production people, goes in front of me and off to the right, crossing past Jeff's throne. There's a door in the wall: Gardener opens it, steps through, and gets clear just before a gust of wind slams it shut behind him. I count under my breath. One hundred, one hundred and twenty, one hundred and forty -- and then he's back, expressionless as he takes his seat again. Mary-Jane. Desmond. Trina. Frank. Me. I get up and follow the path, closing the door behind me for the illusion of extra privacy. There are stairs leading up and out to a small hut. It looks like a picture I once saw of a deer blind, just lower to the ground and much better-lit. I climb up, and find five things. A tiny writing desk, looking for all the world as if it was stolen from an expedition into Darkest Africa. A quill pen with an exotic red feather sprouting from the end. Parchment -- real parchment. What looks like either a small time capsule or a vastly oversized shell casing: a silver cylinder with curving grooves along the sides that extend into the lid. And a camera pointed directly at my face. "Write down your vote," the operator instructs me. "Then hold it in front of you, say a few words about why you're voting that way, and head back." I nod, then write. It doesn't take long. Only five letters, but I have to force myself to use print large enough for the camera to read: I usually have very small handwriting. The vote is raised for the camera. I have no idea what to say. The venom came out in confessional. I don't want to repeat it here. I don't know if the reading will make the episode. And maybe she really does believe in the cards and one day, she'll think she has a 'true' reading and they'll still let her down... I don't want to be the villain today. "I hope you find your fortune someday," I tell a Trina who'll be watching in a future that seems very distant, fold the vote, place it in the cylinder, and leave. Trooper votes. Gary votes. We're almost done. One of us is nearly gone. I wonder where the 'us' keeps coming from. I barely know these people. I keep telling myself that. We're not a tribe. We're just a group of contestants playing a game... ...but if nothing else, the team we're currently playing against is about to catch up. Jeff nods once. "I'll go tally the votes." He leaves. This time, the count reaches three hundred. I'm convinced he's using part of that to rearrange the votes in the cylinder for maximum drama. Whatever there can be of it, if Trina really is leaving tonight. If my budding paranoia isn't temporarily justified... Finally, he comes back in, and the wind slams the door shut behind him. A few of us jump a little, and even Jeff twitches a bit. "You guys are going to have a storm tonight," he says. "Feel the dampness dropping into the air?" I can, and even if I couldn't, the way my hair is starting to rebel would have given me the clue. "After I read the votes, the person voted out will be asked to leave the Tribal Council area immediately." Most of us nod. "I'll read the votes." Opens the cylinder, reaches in for the parchment he's already seen, pulls it out. "Trina." Pause, wait five beats, repeat. "Desmond." Desmond starts. He hadn't seen that one coming. It's probably just Trina's vote, there's no way she could vote for herself, and my stomach will settle down with just a few more pieces of parchment -- but until that moment, I don't think Desmond ever really believed anyone would vote for him. Surprise... Jeff notes the size of the twitch with a small side glance, then goes back to the cylinder. "Third vote: Trina." Pauses. "Normally, I'd be recapping the prior votes here, but I assume you all can count." Some weak, nervous smiles. The camera operators are focusing on our faces in turns, looking for nervousness, doubt, fear, acceptance... "Fourth vote: Trina. That's three votes Trina, one vote Desmond." A grin. "Or maybe I like doing it." Yes, this council is pretty loose, and that third vote for Trina brought me that much closer to seeing Day Seven... "Fifth vote: Trina." I can't have a majority. The others kept their promise. I have another sunrise, another challenge, fourteenth place locked up, a larger check... Jeff takes another piece of parchment out, opens it, and pauses. He looks at us. We know. We all know, and her face is serene. "The second person voted out of the Society Islands -- Trina. Five votes: that's enough. The other votes will remain a mystery --" -- and I know what's coming: if words were honored across the board, then Desmond just went on the block -- "-- unless Trina can show me the hidden idol." I'm looking right at Desmond. I get to see the exact moment when his heart almost stops. Trina gets up, very slowly, reaches into her small packed bag -- very small: she left a lot of stuff back at camp and told us to use it, the show could get it back to her later, she took the deck with her and its outline is visible pressing against the side of the bag -- -- removes her empty hand, and shakes her head. Desmond starts breathing again. "Trina," Jeff gently says. "You need to bring me your torch." She does, places it in front of him, and watches as the snuffer comes out: an ancient, oversized candle-killing style. "Trina -- the tribe has spoken." He uses the snuffer, and the flame vanishes in a single stroke. A tiny curl of smoke comes out from under the silver -- and then nothing. Trina turns to us. "I'll see you later," she promises -- then focuses on me. "All of you." The production staff is pointing at another door: Trina opens it, steps through -- -- and that's it. She's gone. We are seven. Jeff surveys us, not saying anything for a few seconds. I'm not sure all of us have noticed his attentions. I wanted her gone, I don't want to think about those cards ever again and I won't get that wish, I wanted to avenge that anger, I was petty, I used that power in concert with the others -- and she's gone. It's just a game. It's just one player out. It is, as Jeff might say, a simple improvement in odds to a theoretical and impossible one-in-fourteen chance at a million dollars. Why doesn't it feel like it? Jeff nods to himself, and says "We've learned that this tribe can be trusted to keep its word -- for a given value of one promise." Pauses. "In this game, we have almost always reached a point where words are only given so they can be believed before they're broken. We'll see how long you can avoid that." A shorter gap. "This is just to give you an idea of how the clues can sometimes work: the hidden idol was in a shallow depression under a pile of empty beechnut shells." Mary-Jane groans. "Head on back to camp and try to get in before the storm hits. I'll see you tomorrow." Dismissed. We stand up, gather our torches, and head down the path. The winds are getting stronger: the storm could hit at any minute, and the odds are very good that we're going to arrive at camp completely soaked. Desmond takes the lead, visibly careful about his torch as he enters the jungle again. I want her gone, and it happens. Seven of us left, and seven of them. It has to become six on their side if I'm going to see Day Ten. It has to. ---------------------------------------------------------------- After ---------------------------------------------------------------- I watched again, but the reason was different this time. There was only one thing I wanted to see. I had to go through a lot to get there. They showed some more of the Haraiki fun, and I finally got a look at Elmore's relentless bragging. The conversation with Mary-Jane was there, along with a tiny part of the confessional that had followed. The Reward challenge, and I had phantom pains in my side halfway through. I could finally see the look on Connie's face when she'd made up her mind to try the charge, and it was far too easy to read the malice in the set of her chin... Angela trying to police Haraiki, with limited success. Gary and I on camera together for the first time: no alliance talk, just the bone, of course they were going to show the bone. The Immunity challenge. My failure, and now I knew how close it had really been. Some of Trina's searching: she seemed to have been following the 'Look around long enough and maybe it'll come to me' strategy, with no success. And -- the reading. Virtually every last second of the reading. Nothing held back, nothing removed, but sorry: the last card will have to remain a mystery, because Trina shielded it from the camera with a length of skirt. I'm not surprised they included it. I was expecting them to. I didn't think any of the confessional that followed it would make it in, and it didn't. Neither one is what I'm waiting for. I want Trina's last words. Dinner, Tribal Council, and then she's in front of the camera, with the wind very strong now. It's pushing all her hair to one side, and I can finally see a bit of the roots: black. She has to speak up for the words to be caught at all, and there's probably still some digital enhancement going on. It's enough: I can hear all of it. "I want to thank the producers for giving me this opportunity, my family for believing in me, and my tribe for giving me a dignified exit by letting me know. Desmond, your attitude is going to get you in trouble." She stops, looks directly at the lens. "Alex -- you'll see. I know you will." Production company logo. A Mark Burnett production. Tune in next week. I turned off the ancient set. Color, ultrasound remote that I'd never been able to find, fifteen-inch screen. Recovered from the curb on a garbage collection day, carried home and plugged in. It worked fine, although it hadn't been easy to find an actual antenna. The previous owners had just upgraded. The box for the new set had also been at the curb. I hated you. Not just because I thought you were trying to con me. I hated you for sending my imagination into overdrive. Because I kept picturing things where all those cards would come true. The Fool. Death. The Devil. The Moon. The Tower. Judgment. I hated you because you gave me a future filled with torment, and you made me see all of it. But I thought I overreacted, I decided you were just playing the game the best way you knew how, and I started to forgive you. And then I hated you all over again. I hated you when it all started to come true... ------------------------------------------------------------- . . . . . . . . . . (End of Episode #2. Everyone in the game work out your PTTE scores, anyone can sign up if they want to, those currently there can revise -- and get ready for the storm.)   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

Belle Book 1925 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Herbal Healing Drugs Endorser" 01-04-09, 09:40 PM (EST) 22. "RE: Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Prophecy: Conclusion." Here is my Love List for Episode 2: 1. Gary -- still like him. And he had the decency to tell Trina she was going. Although maybe he should've kept her in the dark, she knew she was going anyway. 2. Mary-Jane -- I'm glad she was sympathetic enough to approach Alex after that hug. 3. Alex -- can't really blame her for getting mad over the Tarot card reading. She did great with the puzzle and I'm mad at Connie for what she did during the Reward Challenge. 4. Phillip -- still like him most out of the Hariki people. 5. Robin -- at least she isn't so cocky that she wasn't able to appreciate how good Alex was! 6. Trooper -- not sure about him this episode. He should have chosen differently with the tower assignments. But I still like him. 7. Angela -- she did a good job in the towers. 8. Gardner -- at least he realized his mistake in the Immunity Challenge. And he was a good caller in the Reward one. 9. Tony -- plus: he beat Gardner in the Immunity Challenge. Minus: he needs help with directions! 10. Frank -- maybe Mary-Jane should've been put up in the tower, not him. Still, he did his best. 11. Denadi -- who? 12. Desmond -- my least favorite Turare. But I felt for him after that mutual head-butt with Tony. 13. Elmore -- he's still a challenge drag! But he gave me a good laugh in the crawl-through! (laughing out loud) 14. Connie -- okay, she's now my least favorite. Charging someone with clear intent to hurt -- she should've been thrown out of the challenge! Out: Trina. She was just the weakest one left. She had to go. Belle Book   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

vince3 15726 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold" 07-14-06, 11:49 PM (EST) 6. "RE: Survivor: The Society Islands: Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Prophecy." LAST EDITED ON 07-14-06 AT 11:51 PM (EST) This will be about the first two episodes, since I was too chicken sh!t to post in Ep 1 before you started this one. First off great job! I like how Survivor-TV-experienced the tribe seems to be so far.... although I'm sure the production crew is wincing every step of the way. It does seem eerily odd that both you and the Col. picked a blinfold-calling challenge as the Ep 2 reward challenge, hmph, odd coincidence, or are they THAT damn predictable????? I REALLY had to contain myself when Elmore got stuck, since I read it at work, and it wasn't easy, and I was with the tribe in both rolling my eyes and laughing at the "Hunter's Lodge" Tribal Council set, ay yai yai!! I see now through the OT grocery thread where Alex's attitude came from in the preview part. I think I have a pretty good idea about the ID of the mystery contestant correspondent, but this Ep gave me a doubt, which I'm not surprised. I think I have an idea about the mystery tarot card, but that one's WAY harder to actually predict, except that it's probably another higher eschelon(? or whatever she called it) card like the Fool and Death, only this one is probably a good card to see..... It doesn't surprise me at all that Connie went for a blindfolded kill shot in the puzzle challenge, but thankfully she missed the intended target. I like how Alex is challenging the rules of the game by forcing them to close loopholes in the rules, (the cross/flint and now the monkey bar beach crawl when they were obviously looking for a dangeling boobie shot.) For a while there I was regretting putting Desomd in the higher of my two Gary slots that I had, but now it doesn't matter yet, does it? Trina was a minor loss and I am about even with the others, although I'm probably going to have to change my list eventually..... {just like some of the RTVW-like peeps} Speaking of the RTVW-like peeps, I'm surprised that: 1. Alex hasn't visited our little neck of the woods yet on her little web tours back home, 2. That there hasn't been a post from the editing-like peeps yet, although this episode my cause them to go boom...... and I'm pleasantly surprised that 3. An Estee-like peep is helping to support Alex's website by buying some of her stuff (to re-sell on Ebay, but I digress.......) I am looking forward to seeing what happens to them next and now I have a prediction: a gross-food challenge is in the near future...... Oh, and BTW this series has re-inspired me to complete the Surreal Life 6 summaries. I think I have 3 left to do..... Fortunately they're all on tape, and I know where the tape is, I just got to watch it and type it. Although external things still get in the way (work, RTVW, KoL, house chores, etc.....) I just remembered a question for you: What happened to Alex's second confessional for the internet subscribers? This Ep has the third and the first Ep has the first....... Because 3 Vinces are better than one.   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

cahaya 14104 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold" 07-15-06, 01:37 PM (EST) 8. "RE: Survivor: The Society Islands: Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Prophecy." LAST EDITED ON 07-16-06 AT 12:27 PM (EST) I think I have an idea about the mystery tarot card, but that one's WAY harder to actually predict, except that it's probably another higher eschelon(? or whatever she called it) card like the Fool and Death, only this one is probably a good card to see..... Yeah, I was wondering the same thing. What you're refering to when you mention 'higher echelon' is one of the 22 Major Arcana cards, which are listed here: * 0 - The Fool * I - The Magician * II - The High Priestess (or The Papess) * III - The Empress * IV - The Emperor * V - The Hierophant (or The Pope) * VI - The Lovers * VII - The Chariot * VIII - Strength * IX - The Hermit * X - Wheel of Fortune (sometimes just The Wheel, or Fortune) * XI - Justice * XII - The Hanged Man * XIII - Death * XIV - Temperance * XV - The Devil * XVI - The Tower * XVII - The Star * XVIII - The Moon * XIX - The Sun * XX - Judgement * XXI - The World (or The Universe) There are also 56 Minor Arcana Cards, from which the first one played for Alex by Trina (the Nine of Swords) comes. An Arkie Asian creation, with Foo dog images by Bob. I've narrowed my guess to three of the remaining 16 undrawn Majors, but some of the Minors are worth a second look.   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

Colonel Zoidberg 3370 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Car Show Celebrity" 07-15-06, 02:32 PM (EST) 9. "RE: Survivor: The Society Islands: Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Prophecy." Aww, come on, vince3; gimme some credit. I did the blindfold challenge for immunity, not reward...though yes, it is that predictable. I put it there because it was the same challenge as the Vanuatu second IC. I would have done it for reward, but since my writing has three tribes, it seemed unfair to do the lockbox challenge for immunity. So far, I like both stories, though this one has a very different feel to it. I've never seen anything like it.   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

Estee 44384 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold" 07-16-06, 07:05 AM (EST) 10. "The missing second confessional." Alex filmed it on Day Three, expecting it would never be used because Haraiki's being at TC was more important for the show. She was right, and it wasn't. (It's mentioned towards the end of Episode #1.) Not all the confessionals will make the Survivor Gold program. Sometimes, even EPMB goes to the fish tank.   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

cahaya 14104 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold" 07-16-06, 12:31 PM (EST) 11. "RE: The missing second confessional." Yeah, I gathered that after reading from Ep. 1: "I also have to film a confessional, but I suspect nothing from it will be used. The camera is locked into Haraiki now." An Arkie Asian creation, with Foo dog images by Bob.   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

cahaya 14104 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold" 07-17-06, 03:54 PM (EST) 16. "RE: Survivor: The Society Islands: Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Prophecy." the ID of the mystery contestant correspondent Initially, I guessed Gary, and this episode reinforces that guess. He seems to be the only one who can really connect with Alex. Tribephyl's 'wayang kulit' puppet show. And he's #2 on my Love List.   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

Belle Book 1925 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Herbal Healing Drugs Endorser" 02-01-10, 08:32 PM (EST) 24. "RE: Survivor: The Society Islands: Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Prophecy." I was laughing at Elmore as well. It was really hilarious -- even if Alex was too depressed to find any amusement.   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

xwraith27 1136 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Politically Incorrect Guest" 07-15-06, 09:05 AM (EST) 7. "RE: Survivor: The Society Islands: Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Prophecy." Wow, Estee! I don't normally reply to fanfic threads but this is great stuff! Much much better than the book I'm currently reading (or not reading, come to think of it). Parts III until the conclusion got me completely hooked. Amazing.   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

michel 6689 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold" 07-16-06, 06:36 PM (EST) 12. "RE: Survivor: The Society Islands: Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Prophecy." {When we heard "Trina still playing her cards" during the pre-season, I thought Burnett had made another mistake and given us a glimpse into the final 4 again. There goes my PTTE. I knew I should've stuck with the editing thread instead of imagining spoilers! Do you suppose we'll have another Outcast twist?} I enjoy reading this Estee, keep it coming!   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

vince3 15726 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold" 07-16-06, 09:10 PM (EST) 13. "RE: Survivor: The Society Islands: Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Prophecy." For some odd reason that thought was occuring through my head but that's because Alex was dealt a Death card, then more came.... (You know fire=life, torch snuff=dead player) so it's possible she is considering it, since it was the most.hated.twist.ever in Survivor history, and her version of the RTVW peeps would just first have a party at Alex's demise, then have a corronary if she returns (and possibly wins) via the Outcast route. I'm not going to change my PTTE, though, until something dramatic appears to be coming, and it's still possible that Angela may go on another bounce, since Elmore seems to be SO good at puzzles being a computer geek and all..... A gift from Cygnus!   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

cahaya 14104 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold" 07-17-06, 03:47 PM (EST) 14. "RE: Survivor: The Society Islands: Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Prophecy." Given the strength of Alex's tribe, Trina seemed to be a logical weak one to vote out. Unless Elmore shows some extraordinary brilliance (aside from finding immunity idols), he's almost sure to get voted out by his tribe after the obstacle course fiasco. I went by gut feeling, rather than too much analysis of clues in the making up the PTTE. The primary factor is how the author might keep certain contestants in the game for conflict entertainment value. For that reason alone, as worthless as Connie might be, it seems that there will be some kind of Alex-Connie showdown to culminate near the end of the season, and we've only seen Round 2 of the bout with this episode. Still, it's only two episodes in, and more unforeseen surprises are certain to pop up. Tribephyl's 'wayang kulit' puppet show. And Alex is definitely on the top of my Love List! Connie's in the dungeon.   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

vince3 15726 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold" 07-17-06, 03:53 PM (EST) 15. "RE: Survivor: The Society Islands: Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Prophecy." I believe I have Elmore at 11 based on the early look, and I had Angela out next because I didn't think she became the leader of her tribe. And Connie......? Look at the top 3 for me: It's a love-hate-??? triangle of Alex, Connie and M-J. Because 3 Vinces are better than one. And all are so jealous of the new sigs.   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

cahaya 14104 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold" 07-17-06, 04:08 PM (EST) 17. "RE: Survivor: The Society Islands: Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Prophecy." Well, all of us have M-J way up there (3, 3, 5, and 6), as we all think she'll have flirt-alliance and perhaps more than just a little eye-candy value (think of the ratings, there's a Baywatch-viewer demographic). There seems to be a good chance that Angela's got the b-factor that will see M-J out a little earlier. I think I misplaced Gary at #2, though. The final vote scenario has got to be dramatic, and it won't likely happen with both Alex and Gary as the final two (but who knows?). We've both got Connie at #3 and that seems like the right place for the final scratch-and-bite physical challenge showdown between Alex and Connie which we've gotten a taste of. I'm predicting that Alex's post-show injuries come from Connie in a fit of rage. But still... it's way early and we don't know much yet about the other tribe members, as Alex hasn't interacted much with them aside from the challenges. Tribephyl's 'wayang kulit' puppet show.   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

vince3 15726 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold" 07-17-06, 04:13 PM (EST) 18. "RE: Survivor: The Society Islands: Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Prophecy." I'm predicting that Alex's post-show injuries come from Connie in a fit of rage. She was a hurting pup on her way home, wasn't she? A gift from Cygnus!   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

michel 6689 desperate attention whore postings DAW Level: "Playboy Centerfold" 07-17-06, 05:13 PM (EST) 19. "RE: Survivor: The Society Islands: Episode #2: I Don't Believe In Prophecy." {THE EDITING THREAD} {It would be typical foreshadowing for Connie, Alex and Gary to be on the same tribe either after a tribal switch or after the merge. It would make sense to have Connie target Alex but have Gary save her just like on the way to the rafts.} {What about Alex and Gary? They haven't had much time together but after the way they first started, you'd expect more interactions, wouldn't you?} {You know how alliance revealed never succeed. Maybe we are being prevented from seeing their talks for a reason. F2 alliance perhaps!?} {I like that idea. It's much better than the one about the Outcast twist. Every season since Pearl Island someone comes with that idea. Newbies!!}   Remove | Alert Edit | Reply | Reply With Quote | Top

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