#peevishanchor

    …Everywhere?

    Tired eyes flickered toward the woman who asked him the question. He was littered with cuts, tares in his clothing, bruises. It was hard to pinpoint at the moment. Honestly, he was still trying to process everything that was happening, the soldiers…was this really over? The Bakers were dead outside of the daughter, who was laying on a table in the room across from him, talking lowly with a roughed up man he’d never seen before. Counting his losses—Andre, Clancy, his sanity…was it really worth feeling some relief over? Pete took a heavy blink, willing himself to focus enough for an answer.

    “I don’t…I don’t fuckin’ know…” he replied, rubbing at his temples slightly, “My head?”

   Lips would tug ever so slightly into a subtle grin, as brows quirked almost gratefully at that answer. Right... she definitely could have phrased that better. Blame it on her nerves, really. Or perhaps, a silly IMPULSIVE habit that had never truly died, after all these years. It was a miracle, that he had actually made it out of there alive. With so many believing that the last that they would have seen of him, was through that very last recording. Through that REHEARSAL GONE WRONG. There were just so many questions, but Claire knew that this needed to be taken slowly.

   A frantic holler of: “I will met you guys back there!”, and a silent plea that they have actually heard him, before he was making his way back to the OLD HOUSE itself. Even with a weapon still in hand, there was only so much it can to keep them at bay. And now that he didn’t necessarily have any of those two at his back (Let’s be real, none of them would have gotten far if they hadn’t STAYED TOGETHER), here’s hoping he will be able to avoid any other MOLDED in the meantime while making his way there...

   “... guys?”

   THE DOOR WAS AJAR... so... they must have gone on in there. Quick was he to assume through rattled nerves. Marguerite had... died, after all. Died just before he had been separated from the other two. Emitted that tormenting, gurgling noise that signified her very end-- before Clancy himself would find himself unfortunately lying upon a pile of debris on the first floor itself... and in another room that would only lead back to here. So, who else other than them by this stage, really?  

   WHEN NO REPLY CAME, he would call out to them once more. “Guys!” It was quiet, much too quiet... he swore the last thing he ever heard were Claire and Pete’s muffled voices back at the greenhouse itself... Not even the grotesque SLOSH of an arriving MOLDED, for that matter. Or heck, even a call from that woman, right then (He really didn’t mind getting one, right about now...). He had nearly jumped right out of his own skin, the moment that stupid lamp holder gave a subtle CREAK beside him, causing the cameraman to heave a deep sigh in an attempt to break this uncomfortable SILENCE... “God dammit, c’mon...” They couldn’t have gone on THAT far ahead of him, right?

   As he spared the hallway behind him one final glance, Clancy would turn back to the opened door itself... hand readjusting its sweaty grip upon his weapon-- before he finally headed right in... And the moment he had taken two steps into the DARKNESS itself.

   “Hello, big brother.”

   The door would slam itself shut.

    He blinked rather groggily at the cameraman, or…former cameraman?     Maybe not. They’d be former something if they didn’t get the hell out     of there soon. Pete seemed a little slowed down, tired, though he was     pretty sure that was the head trauma and being chased around finally     settling in. He was trying to keep it together, he really was, but he felt     like he was two steps away from a panic attack since stepping foot     into the place.

    Oh, shit, what had they gotten themselves into? Andre…

    Pete’s attention seemed to come back once Clancy’s words sunk in,     the shorter man pivoting slightly in his crouched position to shoot     him a look.

    “Look,” he started, his volume only just above a whisper, “I may not     have trusted your camera work in the beginning, but as far as I’m     aware Sewer Gators is–is fuckin’ dead. I’m not a fucking heartless     bastard, believe it or not. I care about the both of us not dying in this     swamp. Let’s just get the hell out of here, alright?”

   FORMER ROLES WOULD LEAD TO NEW ONES. Not surprising, really, that he had been all too RELIEVED to have crossed paths with the other, once more. The sight of ANDRE’S own mutilated face still barely a foggy memory. He didn’t exactly known how much time had passed since then. Not when none of the damn clocks in this house were actually working, the gears of his own wristwatch long since busted, with the number of times he had been thrown around.

   Was this really the time to crack a SMILE, Clancy? Either way, one would helplessly make its way upon exhausted features as he had made that statement. Whether it was noticeable or not. Not that it mattered. Own form not necessarily crouching as much as Pete’s. Not with the SHOTGUN that was still held firmly within his bloodied grasp, then.

Another 100 Random RP Starters

Accepting!

   HANDS HAVE RAISED QUICKLY in mock surrender then, as he took at least two steps away from that equipment. Equipment that he should be getting adjusted before they got started on filming. Not surprising really that he would still earn a major STINK EYE from this man despite his compliance. For as often as he had kept his mouth shut around this man (As Andre had lightly suggested he did), it still wasn’t enough to keep most of that temper at bay. 

   Eh, it could have been worse, he supposed. You gotta expect the worse from these types of jobs, really. From the shitty little ‘horror stories’ that he had heard back in college, from the even smaller jobs that he had applied for around that time (For the sake of experience and of course, savings). There was going to be that ONE GUY you would have to work for, eventually. If you could work with him, you know you were going to do just fine, from then on out.

   So just take a deep breath, and, let it go. It was times like these when Clancy was grateful that he was an EVEN-TEMPERED sort of guy. To a certain extent. The guy could have been cursing his ass off at him by this stage (Something that could still happen at any second), what with that look he’s still giving him. It made one wonder how long their previous cameraman had to deal with all of this.

   He would leave that stuff alone, just as the man wanted, until Andre decided to intervene.