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 What do you plan on doing in fifteen years?, Fifteen years after SOTF
Posted: Jan 29 2006, 06:47 AM

Princess of Highland

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Posts: 647
Member No.: 71
Joined: 26-October 05

Frowning a bit, Lyndi found herself quite taken aback with Fred's seemingly less-than-enthusiastic response to her sudden appearance. Perhaps it had not been the wisest of decisions on her part after all. Things with them had not ended badly, persay, but they had ended quite abruptly. Even then, that was over a decade ago. So then, what would make you think he would even want to see you again, you dolt?

Forcing a smile onto her face, she tried to make the best out of the current situation. She shrugged her shoulders slightly in response to his question. What had she been up to? Well, everything and nothing, really. Even pursuing a career as a model had not changed herself much, she was still simply Lyndi. Not that he would know.

"Well... to make a long story short, I'm modeling now," she replied simply.

She had mused over the thought every once in a while even back in high school. Of course, back then, it seemed like a silly dream. However, as she grew older, and especially after the incident called Survival of the Fittest, her chances skyrocketted. By then, she was well-known, and it did not take long after that for her to establish something more out of the fiasco.

"I've... uhm... I've seen you on television and stuff now. Been to a couple games, too. I'm... glad things worked out for you."

Stupid, stupid girl.

"Anyway," she emphasized the word in an attempt to change the subject rather quickly. "You look like you're doing well."

Casting a quick glance toward Glenn, her attention hurridly turned back to Fred, and she forced yet another smile, still somewhat kicking herself inwardly. Part of her wondered why she had even come to this conference. What was the purpose? To relive a past that she had tried desperately to forget? Well, I'm here now... no turning back.
Posted: Mar 17 2006, 12:31 AM

I Hate, Therefore i Am

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Posts: 479
Member No.: 38
Joined: 2-August 05

The helicopters came and the terrorists were killed. They came down like angels to put an end to this hellish onslaught. The kids were saved and all sent back to their families. Celebrations were held and the bets that had been placed on the winner were paid back. Life was normal again.


The van pulled up alongside the large building, well hidden in the luminous city of partys and good times. The two men in the front seats were conversing with each other. Having a final cigarette beofre they would have to enter the building. Something they dreaded from the time they told to go along.

"Rich, your turn to open it" The smaller and 'cleaner' of the spoke with an annoyed voice. "Alright little bitch, Just keep an eye out yeah?"

The two opened there doors and slammed them shut Shaking the black transit slightly.
The larger of the two would twist his cap so it lay on his head backwards before rustling his keychain, looking for the big silver one.
On the inside of the van it was dark. Nothing but a small stream of light to illuminate the area. He could hear the key being placed into the door and just waited silently, like he had done for 14 years now.
As phill unlocked the side door of the transit, rich took hold of the handle and swung it open, letting street lamps and neon signs shine through.

The man inside was quick to cover his squinting eyes, peeping through fingers as he let his eyes adjust.
Its been a while since ive seen shit like this

The two van drivers looked on, Looked up and the large figure sitting in the van comfortably. "Fella's" He would simply say in that defined english accent as he slowly worked his way outand into the city.
He'd certainly gotten big since he was a contestant in SOTF. His hair was Long, Reaching towards the middle of his back. And the shabby dreadlocks were held back in a loose ponytail. An uncombed beard covered a large portion of his face now. that goatee had certainly come along way in 15 years.

He brought his cuffed hands up to his tie and he undid a couple of his shirt buttons, then loosened the tie. He was wearing a suit yes, Looked more like a tramp had mugged an executive of some sort. It wasnt his choice of garments though, He would of been happy with the orange boiler suit but the warden had picked out his wardobe for the trip.


It was summer 2005, and he'd recently been rescued and escorted back to his adoptive american parents. He walked through that large oak door and much to his surprise, There they were, Making a scene, one he did not appreciate at all. People he didnt even know were there to greet him, probally all here for the camera crew. The people surrounded him and most of them hugged him, and despite his hatrid for them all, He hugged back.
For a while they talked, Asking about people on the island, who killed, who he killed, what was it like to be shot, all these fucking pointless questions. Only encourage that psychopathic streak that flared up once in a while.
He went to the kitchen, in there he was alone, alone with his thoughts, voices, inner demons, whatever you want to call it but he just wanted to play. He'd been taken away from his favourite game.
"Hey blood boy"
he said with a smile on his face. No, it wasnt peri barclay, It was someone else, a very tall man in breeches and a ski mask.
"You know it, i know it, were still in the game, Just a trick, danya's just testing us and we need to make sure we dont fail. You remember failure dont you?" The figment rubbed his hand over stevans arm, The arms witched beared so many scars, Beautiful pink slices decorating him.

"No." stevan said in a calm voice, "Im not gonna fail again" he said as that smile appeared, flashing those pearly whites, and his eyes growing ever so much bigger. He gripped onto that steak knife like a childs toy.

Marty, His adoptive familys 13 year old son entered the room. Looking as much the jock as ever and he spoke.
"Hey steve, you looking for something?"

"Yeah......Something" He elegently spoke. Turning around with that knife in hand, and the look on martys face made it even more worth while.


The Man shook his head as if shaking the memorys of the bloodbath out of his mind, 16 people had died that night, The rest were smart enough to run. He walked along and took in the sights smells and sounds. "Come on freak" one of the gaurds would say while pressing that police baton into his back.
"Never threaten fuckface" he said before a playful laugh. He did mean it, given the chance he would boil this guys testicles and feed him to his wife With the back wards cap here.

One of the guards gave the old freak some of that good old cancer. He placed a cigarette in his mouth and lit it.
"Oi, watch the beard" freak said, as he puffed on the white stick, helping the small spark to ignite.

The three of them walked into the hotel. It was a busy place, there were the odd reporter that was invited to the event and bell boys taking bags left right and center. Everyone of them given stevan weird and uncomfortable looks. Everyone of them would be returned with a smile or a aknoweldging nod.

"Alright pricks....Im ready to meet the people"

((OOC:Ok, heres my shitty post, i did it a long time ago but it got lost in the internet airwaves. It was a lot better than this one but i couldent just let the opputunity to to develop stevan some more.))
Posted: Mar 20 2006, 06:03 AM

Such a shame that I didn't know by now

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As he half-assedly munched on the second slice of pizza that he'd removed from the greasy box, Adam Dodd couldn't help but realize that he'd essentially spoiled himself for the past fifteen years. Living alone in Norway had given him an excuse to learn how to cook, and every single slice of pizza that he'd eaten in the past fifteen years had been home-cooked, made right from scratch. Adam knew that at least, to his standards, his pizza was pretty good, and the stuff that he was eating right now really...wasn't. Tossing the slice of pizza down onto the paper plate that the delivery-man had afforded him, he sauntered over to the window again, and looked down onto the busy street below. His room was on the eighth floor, and while it wasn't as high (or as low, he wasn't sure) as he knew the rest of the rooms for the SOTF conference were, he certainly had quite a view of the city.

The silence that filled the room was deafening. As Adam looked out, seeing the cars, and the people that bustled around, performing their ordinary tasks in their ordinary day-to-day lives, he couldn't help but feel guilty. Years ago, he'd made a single decision, a single choice to abandon all that he held dear. His friends, his parents, his school - everything. He'd been a sixteen-year old who'd simply up and gone. What had been the most frightening thing of all was how easy that it had been to do so. He'd gone to great lengths to get everything together, getting a fake passport, identification, the works. He'd been Shawn Brown for as long as he could possibly remember. The locals in Norway knew him as Shawn. Any travellers that he had ever let stay in his home while they hiked through the thick woods that surrounded his home - they'd known Shawn, not Adam. For all intents and purposes, Adam had been dead for years - to everyone, but him.

But as I ran away from everything, as I fled from anything that reminded me of Survival of the Fittest, what was it that I was doing to my parents, to my friends? Fifteen years have passed since I've even spoken with any family member, since I've even heard any news about any of them. How hard must it have been on them, to go through that - to see me, kidnapped, and forced to play for my life, get a second chance on it all, and have me run away...Goddamn...

Adam had thought about this many a time, and inwardly, he cursed himself for falling back into the trap once again. He'd almost become an alcoholic during the first few years, establishing himself hadn't been easy - nor had dealing with the pain. The mental anguish had, at times, been too much for Adam to handle, and too many times than he could count, he had contemplated just putting his head to his hunting rifle and eating a bullet. Of course, he had always come back to reality, and realized - what good would it do? He had been given a second chance at living, and to kill himself would simply waste that opportunity.

So as he looked down at people living out their lives, Adam Dodd sighed a little. Here he was, back into the middle of things, back into what was essentially a national fray. Every single major American, Canadian, and British news station would be carrying the coverage of the conference, the interviews, and the presentation. Once he did what he needed to do, which was step out of the shadows and into the limelight, his life alone would essentially be over. That is, if anyone even cared still about the 'Adam Dodd mystery' as it had been dubbed. He'd read so many internet message boards and Wikipedia entries on it, he'd seen the television specials on Survival of the Fittest, he'd even read a few of the books that had been published on the horrific incident, and he'd almost been amused at the different theories that had been offered up. While SOTF had happened fifteen years ago, it still seemed to be a subject that intrigued a great many people around the world. There was a large internet message board that was maintained on it, that - much to Adam's amusement, he occasionally posted on and offered up his 'own' theories.

It's odd, as much as I say that I've tried to distance myself from it, I've never been able to escape it, and it's all my own doing. It's not like I get asked about it, and it's certainly not forefront on the minds of people up where I live,'s always my own damned curiousity that gets me...

It wasn't that Adam never had anything to do, of course. While he lived in Norway in his own cabin far out in the woods, he had more than enough money (thanks to the ten thousand that he'd withdrawn from the bank, which he'd then placed in a bank in Norway, that had grown over the years to literally millions of dollars) and he'd definitely amassed quite a collection of skills. Aside from being a half-way decent cook (something that his old friends would never believe in a million years, he mused to himself), he was fluent in Swedish, Finnish, Norweigan, Dutch, and French, and had become relatively proficient in many different types of construction. He'd built his log cabin with his own hands, and had also designed (and funded) a church in the small town to which he was essentially adjacent to. In his spare time, he found himself either studying languages, to help himself deal with the multitude of people that he met in his travels around Europe, or working odd jobs in the town. All in all, it had been a rewarding existance, for someone who wouldn't have been burdened with the kind of past that Adam was. He'd travelled around a lot in the fifteen years, backpacking through much of Europe before finally settling down.

Aside from the relentless drinking I did for the first five years, yeah, it hasn't been too bad...

Scratching absentmindedly at his face, he sighed a little. For the past six years, he'd worn a full beard and shoulder-length hair. Immediately prior to his trip, he'd gone into the local barber shop and had it all shaved and cut off. He figured that if he were going back to the United States, if he were ACTUALLY going to go and come to this conference, or whatever it was, he would need to blend in. Sure, with the beard, he blended in perfectly in the scarce land of Norway, but in a big-city hotel, he'd stick out like a sore thumb.

And so, here he was, staring out of a window, cooped up in his hotel room, just like he was before, eating shitty pizza and drinking sugary Pepsi. It was almost as though he were hiding, refusing to acknowledge the fact that he'd dragged himself away from his tiny little corner of the world. Shaking his head a little, he sighed to himself. He knew that he'd have to get out sooner or later, though he didn't want to cause a scene if he were to run into anyone he knew. Crossing the room from the window, he ruffled through his bag and removed a pair of dark sunglasses, putting them on. Removing his tan undershirt, he grabbed a black hooded sweatshirt out from his bag and tossed the tan shirt onto his bed. Shuffling his bag around some more, he took out an old baseball cap and put it on his head, obscuring the majority of his hair. The hat was an old Toronto Blue Jays cap that he'd picked up at a sporting goods store in Stockholm, Sweden. Amazed that he'd found a Toronto Blue Jays hat, of all things, he'd immediately purchased it.

Putting on the sunglasses, he opened up his wallet, and removed the wad of cash that he had within. He'd converted some money to American so that when he got to the city, he wouldn't be strapped if he needed it, and as such had more than he'd preferred to carry around with him. Taking five twenty-dollar bills out of his wallet, he folded them and placed them back in the wallet, taking the rest of the wad and tucking it in his pack, which he replaced under his bed. Opening the door to his room, he looked around and sighed, stepping out into the brightly lit hallway and shutting the door behind him.

This pizza bullshit just isn't doing it for me...maybe I can find a decent sandwich shop or something...

Walking over to the stairs, he hesitated a moment before shakng his head a little and stepping over to the elevators. At this point, it didn't seem as though there'd be a crowd of people choosing to go DOWN, as opposed to coming up to their rooms. As such, he took a deep breath and pressed the button marked with a downward arrow.

What's this, Adam...have you become slightly agrophobic in your isolation? Getting a little nervous, are we? Thinking maybe this wasn't such a good idea? Too. Fucking. Bad. You're here, and you're going to see this through, you're going to walk back to all the people you left behind, and you're going to apologize to every last one of them.

Scratching his cheek again, Adam waited - somewhat impatiently, for the elevator to come to his floor. Finally, after what seemed like hours (though it was actually under a minute), the soft 'dong' sound let him know that his car had, indeed, arrived at his floor. As the doors opened, Adam was relieved to see that the car was empty. Stepping inside and pressing the 'G' button, he slipped his sunglasses on and looked intently at the floor, hoping not to meet eyes with anyone who might be waiting on the bottom floor.


Indeed, Adam had reason to be wary of meeting eyes with anyone waiting at the bottom floor, in the lobby, especially if he were looking to avoid those who he was once close with. As it was, Amanda Jones and Sidney Crosby both stood, awkwardly waiting for the elevator that seemed not to be coming.


As the elevator doors slid open, Adam quickly stepped out, staring at the floor, walking in a straight line towards the lobby exit. Avoiding eye contact with anyone in the entire hotel, he swung through the revolving door and almost bounded onto the sidewalk outside. Exhaling slowly, Adam looked up and down the sidewalk, and began to walk to his right, not even knowing where he would be going, only looking for anything that might provide something to settle the uneasy feeling in his stomach that he was misinterperting (or simply pretending to feel) as hunger.


As the elevator doors slid open, Amanda Jones was deep in thought. She was actually staring intently at the floor herself, paying almost no attention to the NHL superstar standing beside her. While the expression on Crosby's face didn't warrant him being approached by anyone, fans or not, Amanda could imagine that she held a very similar expression on her face. As she stepped into the elevator, putting her bags down on the floor, she hit the number eight, in accordance to the floor she was on. Madelaine had mentioned that she was on the same floor when they'd spoken earlier on, something that Amanda was frankly rather grateful for. The luggage that she'd packed hadn't exactly been large, and only consisted of bag that she'd packed with all of her clothes in it, and a long case that held her trombone in it. She was scheduled to perform a concert in the same city in a week, and she figured that she'd just take everything with her, and stay in the city until then, and as such she was lugging the large instrument around.

That's yet another reason that this ...thing with Harrison just isn't going to work, because I'm never around...and he knows it...


As the elevator doors slid open, Sidney Crosby sighed to himself. By the expression on the girl who stood next to him's face, she was undoubtedly one of the SOTF alumnus who had gathered for the conference. Of course, Sidney could tell that much like himself, who'd been trying to avoid all forms of press since he'd arrived, the girl did not want to be bothered, and as such, he decided against striking up a conversation. She WAS quite attractive, that much, he had to admit to himself, and while ordinarily he was relatively smooth when, if ever, he decided to go for the ladies, his heart just wasn't in it at the moment. Picking up his suitcase, he stepped into the elevator, and pressed the number six, the number that corresponded to the floor that his room was on.


As Sidney Crosby stepped out of the elevator, Amanda Jones blinked, finding her way out of her own delerium. She'd been recalling her time on the island, and the times that she'd had with Madelaine and Hawley following it. She couldn't help but admit to herself that she felt better to be back with the two of them, for they had been close friends to her through the years that followed. She'd also run through her tour schedule for the next few months, one that wasn't relatively heavy, but was enough of a load to probably tire her out, enough to let her settle down and record another album. As the doors closed behind Crosby, Amanda sighed, and picked up her bag, readying herself to step out of the elevator. As she did so, she frowned, and set her bag back down. Sitting on the floor of the elevator was what looked like a keycard for a room. The number on it read '877' so she knew that it wasn't hers, for she was in 880. Shrugging to herself, she picked it up and put it in her pocket, figuring that she'd return it to whomever it was that had dropped it.

Probably that guy who came bursting out of the elevator on the bottom. Poor bastard seemed like he was in a hurry.

Stepping out of the elevator, she wandered down the hall, and easily found her room, 880. Sliding the keycard in, she opened the door and looked around the room. It looked fairly ordinary, especially for a hotel room, and she'd stayed in many before, so the sight didn't really faze her, one way or another. Depositing her things on the bed, she grabbed her keycard and stepped out of her hotel room. Walking down the hallway, she passed a whole bunch of rooms, 879, 877, 875, and on, before she finally arrived at room 822. Knocking on the door sharply, she called out with a small grin on her face: "Room service! I have your porno magazines and your ...'unmentionables' here, Mrs. Faust..."

Grinning to herself, she waited for either Madelaine or Hawley to come to the door. Right now, she needed some company, or at least, to tell them that she was just down the hall.
Posted: Mar 20 2006, 06:41 AM

K08y0-67cv ;f09358234905h4et9069rghop3490t834000y954y-0hnrgu83ty

Group: Admin
Posts: 8,388,607
Member No.: 28
Joined: 1-July 05

OOC: Guess I'll get back into the swing of things...
IC: The rattling sound of machinegun fire went off through the quiet city streets, followed by all sorts of other sounds of battle. Men screamed, grenades exploded, and blood splashed. It was all familiar to David Jackson. It had been an experience on the deadly island of SOTF, and it was an experience in the Marine Corps. His unit, the 37th Marine Battalion, had been assigned to clear out a nearby city on the way to the enemy countrys capital. Like all grunts, they followed their orders to the letter, not minding casualites or even politics. They all knew why they fought, to stop the madman known as Mr. Danya, and for some it was a personal revenge. In a twist of fate, many of the SOTF survivors who joined the Marines had been put into the 37th, hence the unit nickname of "the Battle Royalists". The instant they showed up in the city, they were under fire. An enemy rocket propelled grenade hit the truck in front of the one David was in, utterly destroying it and flinging dead and wounded men all over. Following the shouted orders of his Staff Sergeant, he ran out of the vehicle to a nearby alley, crouched down to avoid the AK-47 fire ringing around them. He, the Sergeant and four others were huddled behind the wall, trying to wait out the enemy fire. It was chaos incarnate, Sergeant Williams quickly sticking his head out and going back as a volley of fire filled where his head was a second ago. Leaning his gun around the corner, he fired off several shots before looking to David.
"You hit Corporal?" he asked.
"No, Sergeant." David replied in a panicked tone.
"Then stop looking like you're gonna shit yourself! You, Redifeld and Andrews go over to that alley across from us and try to flank them. If we can divide that attack groups fire, we might actually survive past the entrance to this shithole of a city!" nodding at his orders, David turned to the still hawkfaced Jason Andrews and the unimposing Aaron Redfield and made a hand gesture. Just like he had, they nodded and raised their rifles, Jason saying something unintelligible due to the noise of battle. Quickly strafing, David burst from the alley, the other two former baseball players and SOTF survivors shortly behind. While he ran, David raised his rifle and continually fired at the enemy soldiers, trying to keep them down (and shooting them dead when they showed their faces. His pitching helped his accuracy with a gun tremendously). Once all three were in the alley, both groups (that of David and Sergeant Williams) leaned out of the alley and opened fire, aiming to surpress. With the enemy keeping their heads down, David Aaron and Jason ran to a wrecked car, aiming to use it for cover. That was when they heard the whistling.
"Incoming!" one Marine shouted. David, having reached and crouched behind the car, turned to see Aaron and Jason running towards him. Then a cylindrical object fell between them and there was a large explosion as the mortar impacted. Aaron screamed as he was thrown all the way to Davids side, his legs bloody and rendered useless, but himself alive. However, Jason was thrown into the air by the blast (which also blew off his feet), spraying blood everywhere. He was about to cry out in pain when some enemy sharpshooter fired, riddling him with bullets and killing him in the air. Jasons corpse hit the street with a wet plop, David having only been able to watch his death in horror.

Davids eyes shot open as his breathing slowed down from the nightmare, trying desperately to calm down from the memory. It was ridiculous. He hadn't gotten a peaceful sleep since the day before his fateful trip, one night nightmares of SOTF, the other the war, it didn't matter. He just couldn't get rid of it.
"Fuck, I need some air." he muttered, walking out of 875 (his room, obviously) and glaring in the direction of the shouting girl before moving to the elevator.
"Can you keep it down? Some people actually want to rest before the conference." he said in a gruff manner to her. It wasn't anything personal, indeed, if he knew who she was he would've held his tongue, it was just that he was always in a foul tempermant after attacks of PTSD.

David was not the only war vet to come to the hotel or the conference, neither was he the only Jarhead who served in the 37th to be there. After almost being bowled over by someone he did not recognise as Adam Dodd, the still unimposing but much bigger form of Aaron Redfield struggled to walk in through the hotel doors, his prosthetic legs making it painful and barely possible to move. Nearly falling over several times on the way to the reception desk, he was finally able to fill out the form and get the room keys.
"Um, do you need help, sir?" the receptionist asked, to which Aaron grinned and shook his head.
"Nah, I'll be alright." he responded, still walking awkwardly. Indeed, it had been a while since his real legs were amputated after a mortar wound, so he was getting used to it.
Posted: Mar 21 2006, 02:00 AM

just another daydream...

Group: Admin
Posts: 8,388,607
Member No.: 20
Joined: 28-June 05

“That so?” Fred mused, smiling a bit as he listened to Lyndi as she replied. “Hope you didn’t see the one where I broke my arm, that was a bit embarrassing. That or the one when my first wife came on the field to about beat me senseless, and then tell me she was divorcing me.” He muttered, sighing and rubbing the back of his head, “Then I again, I suppose that was better than what Sara did… but least she didn’t beat me on national TV. So I guess all is well that ends in beatings, I saw one of your shows a year or so back… One of the ones in London, Sara liked the designer I was a bit surprised to see your name in the program. Tried to speak to you after the show, but those guys you have as bodyguards are bleeding bastards.”

As he finished he felt a yawn break through, shaking his head a bit as it ended. “Sorry if I seem a bit out of it, jet-lag always gets the better of me after those long plane rides.” He said, lifting a hand in order to remove his sunglasses seeing as there really wasn’t much of a point to wearing them in the filtered light of the lobby, placing them in the pocket of his jacket as he blinked a bit trying adjust to the new light. Though found another yawn breaking through after a moment, “Yeah really gets the better of me.”


“Thanks, like I said… she’s a handful, Fred makes sure of that. But there really is nothing better than having her, she’s something special.” Glenn replied as he replaced his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans, breathing in a bit as he folded his arms over his chest a bit. “But like you said, this is a good opportunity to see everyone we haven’t had a chance to see after the game, or after graduating… even if the cause of it is a rather painful subject for some. I believe a lot of good came out of it as well… so this shouldn’t all to bad.”

Sifting off his left leg somewhat, the slight pain setting in that normally did when he stood for too long. He sighing just a bit, and bending in some, before glancing back toward Mallory. “But still, but be a bit tiring at times being that pregnant. But yeah, if you ever need any help while we’re here just ask, okay, it’ll be fun to speak with you again after the whole not speaking for thirteen years thing.”


Hawley mused, smiling a little. “I think my mother was crying when I told her.” He said, if there was another good thing that had came out of the whole Survival of the Fittest game was the fact he was actually able to finally able to meet his real mother. And though they didn’t get a chance to meet on the best of terms, Hawley still in the hospital recovering from his infection and other wounds he got on the island, so not being in the best physical shape got his mother crying and hugging even harder than she was before.

This also meant he got a younger half-brother Edgar, he’d only been two when the game had happened and was now getting ready for his final year of high school. Though he too had taken after their mother in red hair, and freckles he was quite the opposite of what Hawley had been in high school. He was a quite the carefree teenager, played guitar and the drums and was active in everything he could get in. Popular amongst the other students in his school, quite different from how withdrawn Hawley had remained throughout school, expect around those like Amanda and Madelaine that he was able to open too.

Though nonetheless, like his father’s side of the family his mother had almost immediately latched on to his wife even before the idea of marriage was brought up, and almost saw her as a daughter, happy for them both and had made it tradition to call at least once a week to check and make sure everything was going good.

“I got yelled at by Edgar because he thought I said something mean to her, but once I told him what had happened he said congrats and said he’ll send something closer to when the time comes. Mom says she’ll make sure to come visit after the baby is born, mostly to make sure I’m treating you right, like a new mother should be treated.” He said lightly, sifting lightly before settling back against the bed, though sudden knocking against their room door had him sitting out a bit as he glanced toward Madelaine as the “room service” made mentioned of what the person had brought, grinning lightly at his wife.

“Something you forgot to mention?" He questioned laughing a bit, "Well, Shall I get the door, or would you like too?”

((Mah, quick post but I wanted to but something up here. Now, I'm going to probably pass out.))
Posted: Mar 21 2006, 05:48 AM

Savage Intent.

Group: 20
Posts: 755
Member No.: 32
Joined: 20-July 05

Shifting her position on the bed a little, Madelaine smiled a bit as Hawley mused a bit, making mention of his mother. His real mother to be exact. Hard to believe that there could possibly yet another good thing about coming out of SOTF, but there it was. And as Madelaine married Hawley, she suddenly found herself with not one more, but rather, two more mothers, along with a half-brother-in-law. Hawley was making mention of him as well. And now here they were, waiting for the baby to come...the newest addition to their already large family.

"That sounds sweet, would be nice to have everyone visit once the time comes." She smiled playfully at Hawley. "But you always treat me right."

Within only a few minutes time, the peaceful atmosphere of the room, isolated from the noise and crowdedness of the lobby, was on the verge of lulling Madelaine into a light, dreamless sleep as she lay curled up on the bed next to her husband. However, it wasn't long until the relaxing silence in the room was interrupted by the sound of a sharp, brisk rapping on the door. Madelaine awoke with a start, eyes blinking rapidly with a rather bemused and disoriented expression on her face. She blinked again, looking towards Hawley with a blank look on her face as she heard the voice, clear-cut even behind the barrier that was the door, ringing out.

An awkward silence settled in the room as Madelaine blinked with utter bewilderment towards Hawley, raising her eyebrows at him. Porno magazines? Unmentionables?

Bewilderment changed into mild amusement as she laughed a bit with Hawley. "Are you sure it isn't for you?" she said with a grin.

"I'll go get it," she told him, slidding off of the side of the bed. Shaking her head with incredulity, Madelaine briskly made her way over to the door that led to their corridor and opened it. Of course, by now, she had already predicted who was standing outside their door, and as she had expected, her predictions were right.

She grinned at the form of Amanda, her long-lost closest friend, who was standing at the doorway in front of her. “You haven’t changed at all, you." Of course, Madelaine was more than happy to see her right now, more than eager to catch up on all the time they had spent missing eachother up until now.

Noticing another figure standing in the corridor, voicing his complaint, she blinked in surprise, recognizing this familiar form. Like Amanda, she had seen this particular person only recently, while they were all still in the lobby. Despite not having actually talked to this person in particular for several years, Madelaine couldn't help but recognize a friend of the past, now a war hero.

"David Jackson, isn't it?" she asked. "Wow, are we all on the same floor? Why don't you two come in? I could make tea, or coffee...they really set us up nicely you know?" Madelaine added enthusiastically. "They even gave us our own china cabinet!"

She directed her voice over to where her husband was. "Hawley, it's Amanda and David come to visit!"
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