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Stock Problems

The Need for Company

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[mp3]http://puu.sh/ht0Oe/4e448a7a0e.mp3[/mp3]

Why do they always FUCKING RUN?!

Rick tries to write more, then sighs a strained sigh of exasperation, standing to pace around the small, wooden-floored room. He picks up a chair, and throws it against the wall, and for a moment his lust for exertion is sated, until he recoils at the sound of Pedro's hurried hushing from downstairs. Subdued, Rick slumps, once more, into a corner.

They always run, and when they do, there is no getting them back. I put in so much effort, make up so many stories. My name has been Samuel or Jonas or Harry more times that it has ever been Rick.

And Pedro!? Well, Pedro does what he wants. Pedro can say what he likes, it doesn't matter to him. Why am I the one quiet, upstairs? Why aren't I sitting with him, waiting for someone to burst in so that we can make peace? All Pedro could do would be put a bullet through their brain. I guess that's enough for some.

I'm his lawyer, but I can never tell if this has stretched it too far, if all this time I've been wandering this wonderland with him, the firm has been trying to contact me. Or maybe my family. Maybe without Pedro, I could get home.

Rick reminds himself that that could never happen. Who would shoot the walkers? Goddamn it, who would shoot the people? The people who came to close to uncovering them, or the people who tried to tie them up or put their heads in bags, the people ceaselessly muttering behind them, waiting for their time to jump? He reminds himself that Pedro can recognise a situation brewing; its his skill, and now its his job, and he does it well.

But I'm not thinking straight. Michael pissed me off anyway, he could never have joined us. At least that's what I keep telling myself, that I didn't like any of them. I always mutter afterwards, when the guy or gal jogs off into a field or forest, that we were better alone anyway. Pedro shrugs his shoulders, usually spits, then turns round. He knows the area better than me, so he calls the shots. He always knows where we are going next.

Pedro always complains I am too tetchy. Am I? I just want to- no, I need to keep him safe. His family back home are still paying me, right? I fuckin' well hope so. Chernarus isn't worth my life, and I won't let it have it.

-----

THE PEN CHANGES. A FEW DAYS HAVE PASSED.

-----

This last one I told we were a travelling circus. Wait, is that what I said? Something like that, comedy duo. I'vehad enough of the hikers and the Chernarussian country lads, those characters do get boring. But you want to know how this one left? Pedro scared him off. I leave to Novy for five minutes to look for a cooking pot, and Pedro opens himself up, shouting and screaming, and by the time I arrive back up at the camp Pedro is cursing, looking down the hill, looking at the slowly disappearing figure of our next would-be initiate. Yet again, Pedro ruins everything.

Now we are sitting here, by the same fire, and my back aches. These benches are made of wood and you get more support from leaning than sitting. It rained a few hours ago, and this books still a bit damp, as are the pine needles underneath my blistered feet.

We still have 4 steaks left over from the man who ran, which I guess is a bonus. I love it when they leave stuff behind, gives me something I should remember them by. Maybe I should write down their names?

Rick looks up at the darkening sky, scratching his head. He looks over to Pedro, nodding off against a tree trunk. Rick coughs loudly, urging Pedro out of his slumber, and the latter jolts, raising his rifle and scanning the quiet forest, anxiously. Good, thinks Rick.

I can't remember all of them, can't remember near any of them. I'll never forget one though. The prison uniform, the tainted past. Pedro saw his face clear as day, even though the sun was setting.

Once more Rick sighs.

They beat him, you know. They hurt him bad. We had to stay on the island for two weeks while Pedro's leg healed, they'd hurt him that badly. Its no easy task swimming with an injury, I can tell you that. The fuckers didn't even look back, they just left us there. There were fourteen prisoners left over after OREL fled. Fourteen starving, reckless, criminals. And then there was me.

Why did I even come to Chernarus? Was Pedro worth it?

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SatansNightOut    105

Uhm, what?!

Haha, I gotta say: I loved this. It was so well-written, yet obscure that it made me tilt my head more than a few times to wonder what the hell is truly going on with Rick (and Pedro). The thought process in the POV just makes Rick seem so scattered, and yet you get to sort of see exactly what he's feeling and thinking.

Now, the constructive criticism:

1st-person POVs are always fun to write, but I suggest adding some dialogue to the scenes. Even if it's just a couple snippets of conversation between two characters. With that said, I know how hard dialogue can be a practiced thing, but it's always fun to "hear" the characters speak... so to speak. ;)

Loved it. <3

Write more, I'll read more. :)

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Uhm, what?!

Haha, I gotta say: I loved this. It was so well-written, yet obscure that it made me tilt my head more than a few times to wonder what the hell is truly going on with Rick (and Pedro). The thought process in the POV just makes Rick seem so scattered, and yet you get to sort of see exactly what he's feeling and thinking.

Now, the constructive criticism:

1st-person POVs are always fun to write, but I suggest adding some dialogue to the scenes. Even if it's just a couple snippets of conversation between two characters. With that said, I know how hard dialogue can be a practiced thing, but it's always fun to "hear" the characters speak... so to speak. ;)

Loved it. <3

Write more, I'll read more. :)

Yay! xD All mystery intended, but reading through it now after a quick break looks like I could have revealed a bit more.

I understand your criticism completely. The main reason I avoided is because Pedro and Rick are so separated, but I agree it would be nice to get some dialogue in.

Thanks so much. :)

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Hessian    11

Nice work, mang. Keep it up.

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SatansNightOut    105

Uhm, what?!

Haha, I gotta say: I loved this. It was so well-written, yet obscure that it made me tilt my head more than a few times to wonder what the hell is truly going on with Rick (and Pedro). The thought process in the POV just makes Rick seem so scattered, and yet you get to sort of see exactly what he's feeling and thinking.

Now, the constructive criticism:

1st-person POVs are always fun to write, but I suggest adding some dialogue to the scenes. Even if it's just a couple snippets of conversation between two characters. With that said, I know how hard dialogue can be a practiced thing, but it's always fun to "hear" the characters speak... so to speak. ;)

Loved it. <3

Write more, I'll read more. :)

Yay! xD All mystery intended, but reading through it now after a quick break looks like I could have revealed a bit more.

I understand your criticism completely. The main reason I avoided is because Pedro and Rick are so separated, but I agree it would be nice to get some dialogue in.

Thanks so much. :)

CONSTRUCTIVE critique. Don't take that the wrong way, dude. :D I totally meant to gush on this awesome first entry. I love what you've written.

Keep the mystery. You can always reveal more as you get more RP ideas and expand the story itself... at least, IMO. Of course, everyone has their own way of doing things, so you should keep doing what you do, 'cause I lurve it.

as I like to say: It's not what you say, it's HOW you say it. ;)

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as I like to say: It's not what you say, it's HOW you say it. ;)

^This. You are basically Raymond Carver, which is so cool. But yeah, constructive, of course :)

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[mp3]http://puu.sh/ht1VS/79f5d7ec93.mp3[/mp3]

Pedro raised his face, beaming, from his work. They had dragged it about twenty metres so that they were partially obscured by the treeline, but even for Rick the trail of deer's blood was a blazing giveaway as to their location. The strangest thing was that this wasn't their kill. It was not ten or twenty minutes dead, and it wasn't their bullet, and so without hesitation, Rick jumped to conclusions.

While we sit here, wasting our time, gutting this stupid animal, someone is running away. They're running away from us now, is that it? Jesus-

Rick stops writing, exhausted. They had practically galloped across the wide, open field to secure the deer's body, and it had really taken the life out of him.

We could have talked to them, they could have been great to us. But instead now they're running north, south- Hell, I don't know. For all I can tell, they could be watching us right now.

And with that, Rick starts. He raises his head, apprehensively watching the wooded scene around him, drinking in every detail. His restless lookout is interrupted.

'Almost done. We gonna move along, you know?'

Inwardly, Rick sighs. 'Yes, I guess we'd better. Eyes peeled though, I don't want anyone creeping out of the bush, got it?'

'Yup.'

The men move at a fast pace up the hill, leaving the depleted remains of the animal to grow stale in the cold. They make their way North West, passing, down a hill to their left, a town that Pedro tells Rick is Grishino. The former steers them right little, up a short incline, met by a clearing dominated by a huge stone structure, the ruins of a castle.

'Make a fire. Here, on the ground. We're not heading inside until morning.' Rick tells Pedro.

'Don't go in. Ok.' He replies sullenly.

Pedro swiftly strikes up a fire from twigs and sticks nearby, proceeding to set up the cooking pot that Rick brought back from Novy. Rick is still angry, angry that Pedro wasted yet another of their chances. Pedro, absorbed in his work, does not notice Rick flip open a small, blue book.

If you ask me, it was Pedro who fucked up again, not me. He was the run who sprinted across the field for some animal carcass. If we had left it, watched it, I'm sure we could have found someone lurking around to talk to. Pedro has done himself proud.

I wonder how he thinks. Does he see the world in terms of opportunities to make loud noises, or windows to piss people off, 'cause it definitely seems that way. Sure, hes been through some tough shit. Those cell bunk beds couldn't even fit a child in them. But does it excuse... well, all this?

Rick cracks his knuckles, then twists his torso to crack his back. A satisfying series of crunches ensue. Pedro jolts at the sound, looking up, and Rick smirks, then picks up where he left off.

I feel like I write down more than I say out loud these days. Thats probably a bad thing. I need to stay practiced, right. Keep myself in shape, so to speak. Where would we be without my quick wit, huh?

He chuckles.

Imagine I lost my voice. Imagine Pedro had to do the talking. What a situation we would be in. I remember learning a little Russian from the security officers who helped me at the airport. I remember spah-see-bah. It means thank-you, though I've never had the chance to use it. They told me a longer one, which involved ang-lees-kyah, which was English, but I've had to use that one even less, so I just forgot it completely.

Rick frowns into the page.

That was the thing that really took it out of me. They were all Chernarussian. The guards, at least. I didn't hear English for a good four weeks. I remember working with a translator called Pavel. At least I could ask for a glass of water with him around.

I wonder where Pavel is now?

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Not to necro, but I just found these again and decided to add audio. Would love some feedback! The accents aren't perfect, but I'm working on 'em.

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It has been two months.

-Ricks sighs, his pen jittering as his unsteady hand wavers an inch above the damp grey page. Water hits his cheek, seeping slowly through the tent's leaking roof. It slides down his jaw, untouched, soaking up grime, and drops from his chin, unhindered, to his right thigh. He stares down at it as it soaks into the fabric.-

I've travelled north. Rumor has it that you can find safety up here. Friends. I have seen no one in a week. It's all lies. Up here, its just as lonely as anywhere else.

-Again, he stops, with a jagged and laboured exchange of breath. The cold wriggles through his coat, into his bones.-

I taught myself to shoot too. The rain doesn't do too well for the sliding bolt, but I manage. I can kill things faster now. Deer and walkers mostly.

Last week I hunted for the first time. I took down a deer about a kilometre South of here. Spent three days skinning it. I can still taste it under my nails when I bite them.

I remember it was always him who skinned them. I couldn't wait for the meat, that was all I ever cared about. I made a big fuss of the cooking-

-He smirks. The smirk fades as his eyes stare-

He would be proud of me now, I think. He always looked down on me, I could sense that much, but I think if he could see me now..

Who am I kidding?

-Rick sniffs once. He blinks, then scratches his face with the back of his hand, still holding the pen. His head slumps back, and he runs one slick palm through his matted, damp hair. His head still pivoted, he flicks his eyes outside the tent. It is still raining-

It is still raining. Makes it hard to climb up the hill, even on the dirt track. I should have pitched on the concrete, closer to the lodge.

Sometimes the tent soaks up the water, and I get soaked too. Better cold and wet than dead in comfort. No one will find me up here.

-He coughs. His throat is hoarse.-

Can't lose my voice now. That would be a shame.

-Turning his eyes, once again, to the dull blue canvas, a tear forms in his eye. Like rain, it runs smoothly across his face.-

I still remember the crack his skull made. Like a hundred people hawking up spit. Cracked his mask too. I saw his skin on the other side of the rolling tire. I left his body on the tarmac, I didn't want to touch it.

-Rick had watched the corpse for three days from the trees. No one had passed. So he had left.-

I think he'd be proud of me now, wouldn't he?

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