|
Post by Locke on Sept 12, 2006 13:44:00 GMT -5
Name: John Locke Age: I'm pushing 60 at the moment. Just shy. Occupation back home: I was the....I was the Regional collections supervisor at a box company. Appearance:Nationality: American. I spent most of my life in Tustin, California. Residence: Where I'm meant to be. Skills: My tracking abilities and hunting skills. I started hunting with my father, and I guess I loved it too much to ever give it up. I'm definately not dumb, either. I'm a pretty smart guy, and I possess the most powerful thing in the world: faith. Weaknesses/bad habits: I guess I can get a little ahead of myself from time to time, and perhaps I don't always project the best image for other people. Sometimes, I can go.....too far. I will go to great lengths to achieve my ends. Frequent moods/expressions: I'm a generally friendly, mild-mannered, normal guy. I can spout the odd philosophy, and I'm pretty darn perceptive, not to toot my own horn. I help people, sometimes. Help them find their place. Reason for flight: I was looking for something. Item from wreckage: My knives, my hunting gear.
|
|
Jack
Collecting Info for a Census
plg%%Jack, Boone, Ben Henry, Kyle, Neil, Goodwin, Pickett%%
Posts: 1,725
|
Post by Jack on Sept 12, 2006 17:19:25 GMT -5
;DFinally an enemy(Jack)... and a friend (Boone)
|
|
|
Post by ana on Sept 17, 2006 19:49:17 GMT -5
One side is light, one is dark....
|
|
|
Post by Locke on Sept 23, 2006 6:01:51 GMT -5
FLASHBACK
"Mom! Look, look I'm high up!"
John Locke never forgot the enthusiastic (and at times bratty and annoying) sound of his sister's voice. She was always trying to get the attention of their foster mother. Jeannie's real mother, not John's. But he didn't care about that, because he knew what his father would be like, the day he would meet him.
He would be successful, smart, helpful, friendly, a gentleman. Maybe even a hero. One of the many stories a seven-year old believed about the father they didn't know.
Locke reached for more grip on the moneky bars, trying to get higher up, as high as Jeannie. Their mother was reading the newspaper, occassionaly glancing up or saying something to appease Jeannie. But children know when you're not really paying attention, and something in Jeannie's mind must have made her think that if she was the highest she could get on those monkey bars, higher then everyone else, her mother would notice her.
"Wait, wait Jeannie!" he called as she tried to get higher. She put her foot on the highest bar, and that was when she slipped. That got her mother's attention. The sound of her head hitting the back of another bar, falling down through the bars until landing roughly on the cold, gravel ground, followed by a scream of helplessness from Locke as their mother rushed over.
END FLASHBACK
|
|
LostLuverJemmz
Hunting Boar
Nothing is always something plg%%Sun Kwon, Jemima Lynette, Alistair Jones (AJ), Cindy, Camilla %%
Posts: 435
|
Post by LostLuverJemmz on Sept 23, 2006 6:10:32 GMT -5
Great flashback! You wrote that really well!
|
|
|
Post by Hollywood Heidi on Sept 30, 2006 15:18:33 GMT -5
*gasp* That's so sad! I'm glad you played out that scene that he talked about once. Can't wait to see more Locke flashbacks!
|
|
|
Post by JINX on Oct 21, 2006 3:34:46 GMT -5
yay for the Flashback!!
|
|
|
Post by Locke on May 21, 2007 15:42:02 GMT -5
flashback triggered here: abclost.proboards40.com/index.cgi?board=rpggame&action=display&thread=1177059700&page=5#1179779982The sound of a phone ringing, but only briefly. John Locke snapped it up, pressing it urgently to his ear. “Yes?” “Colonel Locke. Is this line secure?” came the professional, firm voice at the other end. Locke briefly glanced around, and then went back to the phone. “Line secure GL12, go ahead.” He whispered conspiratorially. “Target area is acquired. Maneuvers are a go for 13:00 hours. Repeat: we are a go.” “Roger that. We'll convene at the usual rendezvous point at 13:00 hours-” Then came the voice. A loud voice that caused Locke to suddenly drop the phone. “ Locke!” Lines breached. Enemy approaching. Line no longer secure. “I told you I need those TPS reports done by noon today!” Randy Burgess, with floppy dark hair, a little goatee and a sickening smile edged his way around John’s cubicle to stare him in the face. “Not 12:30, not 12:15, noon.” Locke sighed. “I heard you the first time, Randy.” he said irritably. Randy was half his age, and yet, he could order him around. Bully him about. And that condescending tone of voice like he was so much better. “And no personal calls during office hours… colonel.” Locke looked up suddenly, staring as Randy smirked and slithered away. He gritted his teeth, and went back to number crunching.
|
|
|
Post by Locke on Jun 13, 2007 10:26:28 GMT -5
flashback triggered here: abclost.proboards40.com/index.cgi?board=rpggame&action=display&thread=1181285328&page=1#1181725219John Locke patiently watched the small, plastic figures occupying the board. Across from him sat Warren. Good guy, a friend, and certainly shared his interest in games. “Your troops are across enemy lines.” But impatient. Locke smiled a little. “Patience, the quality which you lack, GL12-“ Warren stifled a small, good-natured laugh. “-is the hallmark of a leader.” The lunch room was a good place. Lunch was a…peaceful time. Away from work, punching numbers while constantly being verbally harassed by a man half his age with none of his experience. Who just walked in. “Hallmark, huh? Tell me more about being a leader, Locke.” Warren bowed his head down as Randy sat on the table near John, nosily munching on a chocolate bar. “While you're at it, tell me about this Colonel thing. I cruised your file in human resources. You've never been in any of the armed forces.” “I'm just playing a game, Randy. It's my lunch hour, I can play a game.” Protested Locke, his patience wearing thin very quickly. “Well, tell me, what's a Walkabout?” asked Randy, still holding that disgusting smirk on his face as he held up the brochure. John’s face snapped up to Randy with an expression of impotent rage. But he couldn’t let it out. Couldn’t punch Randy and wipe that stupid smile from his face. So he sat there and simmered. "Experience the dream journeys of the fabled Australian Outback." Said Randy, reading aloud. Locke snatched it off him. “You have no right taking that off my desk.” Muttered John angrily, trying to turn his attention back to the game. Hoping that every time he turned away from Randy, his mean-spirited boss would take the hint and just walk away. “So, you wander around hunting and gathering food, right?” questioned Randy, his mouth full of his chocolate bar. “On foot?” Punching low was not new for Randy. But familiar or not, it stung every time. He looked up to Randy, staring at him and trying his best to be calm, only allowing jabs of rage to emerge from the surface. “Not that you would understand, but a Walkabout is a journey of spiritual renewal, where one derives strength from the earth. And becomes inseparable from it.” Explained Locke, not sure why he was telling the most ignorant person he knew. “I have vacation days, I'm going, Randy. I've already made a reservation.” Warren nodded, impressed. “Wow. John you're really doing it, huh? You tell Helen yet?” Locke quickly shot Warren a look, and then came the expected barb from Randy at the mention of Helen’s name. It was the genuine surprise that hurt most. “Helen? Well, what's this Locke? You've actually got a woman in your life?” “That's none of your business.” “What is it with you Locke? Why do you torture yourself? I mean, imagining you're some hunter? Walkabouts?” As Randy sneered, John simply retreated into his shell. Doing his best to block it out, block out all the jibes and the condescension and humiliation. “Wake up! You can't do any of that.” Spat Randy, standing with a smug smile and moving to the water cooler. Locke muttered something almost incomprehensible under his breath. “ Norman Croucher.” “What? Norman what?” asked Randy, as he got his water. “Norman Croucher.” He repeated. “Norman Croucher, double amputee, no legs. He climbed to the top of Mt. Everest. Why? It was his destiny.” A story Locke knew well, and never ceased to be amazed by. A story that continued to give him hope and faith. A story that, unsurprisingly, Randy didn’t appreciate. “That's what you think you've got, old man? Destiny?” Randy sneered again, and moved off. Grateful that Randy was gone, but with his mood brought considerably down, Locke returned to the game. He muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Randy. “Just…don't tell me what I can't do.”
|
|
|
Post by Locke on Jun 27, 2007 8:54:23 GMT -5
flashback triggered here: abclost.proboards40.com/index.cgi?board=rpggame&action=display&thread=1181285328&page=2#1182952298“I have never felt so alive. Getting to finally tell Randy off was. . . life changing.” He rambled with a gleeful smile. “I mean it, now I'm free to do all those things I ever wanted to do. Things that I know I was destined to do, like we talked about, Helen.” Helen. He liked calling her Helen. It was a good reminder. Kept him going, having someone to talk to. He’d never seen her, but in his mind she looked exactly as his Helen did. “That's wonderful John. I'm happy for you, really.” Came the voice on the other end of the phone. He sat alone in his apartment, lying on the bed. “I haven't even told you the best part.” Replied Locke excitedly, reaching over and switching a machine off next to his bed. He grabbed a pair of tickets. “You remember the authentic aboriginal Walkabout?” “Sure,” laughed Helen. “That's all you've talked about for weeks.” “Yeah, well, I'm going to do it!” he said. He liked saying it. Saying it, knowing it. It would happen, and he wouldn’t be alone in going. “I'm flying to Australia at the end of the week.” The next words came slowly, with slight uncertainty tinged by hope. “And I've, uh. I bought two tickets.” There was a long, pregnant pause. “Helen?” “John, we've talked about this.” Oh no. No, no, no. Not again. “I like you and I've enjoyed talking with you these past few months-“ “ Eight months,” he corrected her, growing irritated. How could she not know it had been eight months? Didn’t she care? “I'm not allowed to meet customers.” Customers. Customers. “Customer? Is that what I am to you?” he asked, his irritation turning to anger and indignation. “This isn't really normal. I mean, it isn't what I do. I don't know, maybe you should find a. . . I don't know. . . a therapist?” “I… have…a therapist.” He said desperately. “John…” “I thought you understood Helen. You know me better than anyone.” He started truthfully, and then the full impact of what he was saying started to hit him. He hadn’t even seen this person. And she knew him better than anyone. Anyone. And now it was becoming apparent she didn’t even care. He began to feel increasingly pathetic. “John, if we talk any longer, I'm going to have to charge you for another hour. That's another $89.95 and-“ “Look, I don't care about the money. I just-!” “I'm sorry John, I've got to go.” There was the click of the hang-up, and Locke’s anger started to bubble over. “Helen, Helen! Helen!” he yelled helplessly down the line. In a move of rage, he slammed the phone down violently several times, before sighing bitterly to himself.
|
|
|
Post by Locke on Sept 3, 2007 14:40:44 GMT -5
triggered here: abclost.proboards40.com/index.cgi?board=rpggame&action=display&thread=1184543431&page=3#1188848404The Australian air was thick with humidity, heat beating down through the windows of the travel agents office. Locke didn’t mind. He’d prepared for the fact there would be considerable heat. Australia, after all. And besides, after all he’d been through, heat was the last thing on his mind. He’d conquered the odds to get here, to be sitting right here. The bus was just outside. His passage to his destiny. Like Ulysses crossing the River Styx. Destiny. And the ferryman was positioned before him, with an incredulous, tired tone and a stubborn line of denial. He had no idea. “The Walkabouts we arrange here are not just a stroll through the park. It's…trekking across vast stretches of desert, rafting bloody treacherous waters-“ “Look, you've got no idea who you're talking to.” Said Locke, exasperated as he rubbed his forehead. “I'm well aware of what's involved, believe me. I probably know more than you on the subject!” “In any case, it's a trying ordeal for someone in peak physical condition, let alone-“ persisted the agent, but Locke once again cut him off. “Look, I booked this tour a month ago, you've already got my money!” snarled Locke. He wasn’t going to budge. Let someone push him aside. Discard him. “Now, I demand a place on that bus.” “You misrepresented yourself-“ “I never lied.” He pointed out. “By omission! Mr Locke.” And he could tell the travel agent was struggling for the right words. The most non-offensive, most politically correct way to say it. “You neglected to tell us about your condition.” “My condition is not an issue. I've lived with it for 4 years. It's never kept me from doing anything.” “Look, unfortunately it is an issue for our insurance company.” Ah. So he’d decided to cut to the point. “ can't keep the bus waiting any longer. It isn't fair to the other people.” That word. That word set him off, the sheer nerve of that word being used. “Hey, don't talk to me about fair!” He slammed his hand down on the desk with a sudden rage, a sudden vehemence for what was happening. The denial. The condition. The teasing of his destiny, just outside, being yanked away from him. The agent was silent for a moment. Perhaps sympathetic. Understanding. John didn’t care. He was the ferryman. And he was denying passage. The agent stood, sighing a little. “I can get you on a plane back to Sydney on our dime. That's the best I can do.” He offered. “No. I don't want to go back to Sydney.” Continued Locke, his gut tightening up in disappointment, anger, humiliation, grief. He felt like crying. Like a child. A child that wasn’t getting what it wanted and he just knew that’s what the agent viewed him as. He looked up, a pleading look in his blue eyes. A determination. “Look I've been preparing for this for years. Just put me on the bus, right now, I can do this!” he stressed. The agent passed a look over him. And then came the dismissal. The dismissal from everyone, that followed him everywhere. “No. You can’t.” It was like a punch in the stomach. No, worse. Like he’d been shot. “Hey, hey, don’t you walk away from me!” But the agent already was. Locke wheeled out from under the desk, his hands moving quickly down the slightly stained wheels that were his mode of transport. “You don't know who you're dealing with! Don't ever tell me what I can't do, ever! This is destiny, this is destiny. This is my destiny!” His voice desperate. Tears starting to sting his eyes, which he held back as best he could. The desperation, the disbelief, the sadness, all rolled into one. Everything pointed to the agent being right. To Randy being right. To everyone being right. He couldn’t do it. But he wouldn’t believe that. He was yelling now. “I'm supposed to do this, dammit! Don't tell me what I can't do! Don't tell me what I can't-!” And then came the realisation that he had long been talking to himself. That the bus was pulling away quickly. That he was alone. Alone, again.
|
|