[Edward Mars] Whiskey Tango Foxtrot!?
Who: Marshal Edward Mars Sayid & Hugh
Where: Camp Crash
When: Day 20, Late Night, during Raelle's Arrival
Invited: Anyone at Camp Crash (i.e., NPCs) [CLOSED]
Status: Complete
Edward Mars stood near the tide line, his back to the signal fire to preserve his night vision. It was fairly chilly on the beach at this time of night. Fortunately, his suit jacket--stained beyond repair though it was--kept him warm enough. The surf glittered in the moonlight and the roar as it crashed against the shore was almost soothing.
Mars shook himself, annoyed by having succumbed to the hypnotic effect. He was on duty. Guard duty, to be specific. Not that he cared to spend a lot of time thinking about what he was guarding these...civilians from. Ash Williams' preposterous tales of zombies had been bad enough. Then the old fart had started spinning tales of vampires. After that it became a free-for-all.
He'd lost track of all the bullshit he'd been subjected to. Grim reapers, ghosts, souls, magic, witches, medicine men, aliens, psychics, and god knows what else. Mars snorted in disdain. And these weak-minded fools were ready to swallow all that bilge after a few scares by noises in the jungle--but refused to listen to his warnings about the actual, honest-to-god killer in their midst.
On the other hand, they weren't entirely dim. The jungle-dwelling Others were real enough. That poor kid, what was his name--Eric?--had proved that, right enough. Not to mention Amanda's attempted murder of George. Crazy George might well be, but she didn't deserve that. No, this group needed someone level headed to watch over them. And since the self-apponted leaders had decamped for greener pastures, that left Marshal Mars, not that--
Mars' thoughts were interrupted by a high whine that rapidly grew into a scream. He turned to see a--something--arrow down out of the sky. For an instant he thought fighter jet. But it had no wings and the shape was all wrong. It screeched overhead, tracing a curving path that took it briefly out over the water then back over the beach.
Then it was plowing nose first into the sand a hundred yards down the beach, flipping end over end a couple of times and coming to rest facing backwards but right side up, assuming that what looked like a cockpit was in fact the cockpit.
Mars stared for a moment, then took off a run. He hoped the pilot was still alive. But even if not, there might be a working radio....
Where: Camp Crash
When: Day 20, Late Night, during Raelle's Arrival
Invited: Anyone at Camp Crash (i.e., NPCs) [CLOSED]
Status: Complete
Edward Mars stood near the tide line, his back to the signal fire to preserve his night vision. It was fairly chilly on the beach at this time of night. Fortunately, his suit jacket--stained beyond repair though it was--kept him warm enough. The surf glittered in the moonlight and the roar as it crashed against the shore was almost soothing.
Mars shook himself, annoyed by having succumbed to the hypnotic effect. He was on duty. Guard duty, to be specific. Not that he cared to spend a lot of time thinking about what he was guarding these...civilians from. Ash Williams' preposterous tales of zombies had been bad enough. Then the old fart had started spinning tales of vampires. After that it became a free-for-all.
He'd lost track of all the bullshit he'd been subjected to. Grim reapers, ghosts, souls, magic, witches, medicine men, aliens, psychics, and god knows what else. Mars snorted in disdain. And these weak-minded fools were ready to swallow all that bilge after a few scares by noises in the jungle--but refused to listen to his warnings about the actual, honest-to-god killer in their midst.
On the other hand, they weren't entirely dim. The jungle-dwelling Others were real enough. That poor kid, what was his name--Eric?--had proved that, right enough. Not to mention Amanda's attempted murder of George. Crazy George might well be, but she didn't deserve that. No, this group needed someone level headed to watch over them. And since the self-apponted leaders had decamped for greener pastures, that left Marshal Mars, not that--
Mars' thoughts were interrupted by a high whine that rapidly grew into a scream. He turned to see a--something--arrow down out of the sky. For an instant he thought fighter jet. But it had no wings and the shape was all wrong. It screeched overhead, tracing a curving path that took it briefly out over the water then back over the beach.
Then it was plowing nose first into the sand a hundred yards down the beach, flipping end over end a couple of times and coming to rest facing backwards but right side up, assuming that what looked like a cockpit was in fact the cockpit.
Mars stared for a moment, then took off a run. He hoped the pilot was still alive. But even if not, there might be a working radio....