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Post by Vespyr on Nov 1, 2011 22:33:31 GMT -8
The End is the Beginning is the End
The abandoned restaurant-turned-fortress had transformed once again; this time, into an emergency room. Or perhaps, a terminal ward. Only time would tell.
Needless to say, there was blood everywhere. While Vespyr feverishly worked, stooped over the counter-turned-operating table, the cats did a fair job of cleaning up the blood that pooled at its base. Gradually, the flow of fresh blood waned as wounds were sealed and cleaned and the shot-through bodies of “Teal” and Marina were stabilized to the best of their surgeon’s ability. Despite her effort, Vespyr held no false hopes and it was with grim finality that she placed the bodies in their respective cots with their arms resting peacefully at their sides.
. . .
She was stunned by the speed at which society collapsed. In the way that the sheer magnitude of a skyscraper becomes an agent in its own destruction when its foundation is demolished, so the seemingly insuperable society did a quick and fair job of leveling itself once its roots were shaken. Surprisingly, this did not come as a blessing to Vespyr: mass destruction was nowhere near as fascinating as slow decay; lawlessness never held much appeal because she was lawless by nature; a panicked population only swarmed like a flooded anthill and was ultimately more bothersome. Not only that, but the new regimes of white-haired freaks and their enforcers threatened to encroach on her freedom as a rogue and the safety of her so-called comrades. While she in particular did not feel hunted or intimidated by them, she felt deep within a foreboding that they would spoil things, and that they had to be stopped.
Vespyr rose to her feet and paced the darkened room in a slow, grave manner. Her arms were folded sternly across her chest with one hand raised to cover her mouth, her face unreadable with only the somber, concentrated look in her deep amethyst eyes to distinguish her from someone who wandered aimlessly in stunned silence. Apart from the grim excitement that the sudden chaos had vomited up, and aside from the lingering pangs of rage and worry over the condition of “Teal”, Vespyr found herself unusually focused. Her thoughts dwelled first on how she might take advantage of the present situation; a propitious time it was for looting, of course, and for the gathering of supplies. She had already sent Tuvlan on his merry way to take care of that, and her mind moved on to the next task: security. In a time like this, her lair would be invaluable as a stronghold. She felt more territorial now than ever before—and rightfully so—when hordes of humans desperately sought safety, the fortress was at high risk. Luckily it was well-protected enough with barbed wire, chained gates, and its sinister appearance to repel all but those who had a death wish.
One problem flirted annoyingly with her, however: the issue of space. If she were to do as she felt strangely obligated to do—to raise rebellion—she would need more space than this to house and train an army. An inkling of a solution came to her and raised a small, quietly whispered question in the back of her mind, causing her to stop walking for a moment. She pushed it away, to be considered later on; now was not the time for any more dangerous escapades, especially not what she had in mind.
She found herself leaning against the counter by the kitchen, running a hand slowly through the russet fur of Fleesh. The feline gazed up at her with a curious amber eye; for he had been out on the streets today and even he could tell that something was very wrong in the world of the humans. For the first time, Vespyr felt a twinge of sadness as she gazed back at her companion, as a small intangible distance settled between them. The subtle differences between their lives were almost never brought to light, but were now juxtaposed by the very simple matter of their species. Fleesh was wholly indifferent to the affairs of humans as long as he remained unrestricted; Vespyr, too, was apathetic—but now she was affected, and he was not. Her hand stopped its somber path across his pelt, and instead massaged him behind his perked ears.
It’s something you could never understand.
She turned to face the others in the room, her face blank as if she’d forgotten they were there. There was Richard Stock, who had driven them here after the missiles started to fall, and there was Tuvlan who had returned with the Twins, who were too stunned to tremble and lay like broken dolls against the far wall, and there was also Gilbert Pike, who stooped in the corner, scowling as if he didn’t want to be there; but he had nowhere else to go. “Teal” and Marina were also there, but not quite present; “Teal” was unconscious in Vespyr’s room and Marina was comatose and lying in a cot behind the counter. . Vespyr’s violet gaze lingered uncertainly on those across from her for several seconds. With nothing to say, she turned and retreated silently into her room.
“Teal”’s cot was at the far side of the room behind her desk, and as she entered into the dark sanctuary she found herself closing her eyes. With silent footsteps she moved around the desk and stood stone-still at the foot of his bed. She opened her eyes and stared emotionlessly for a long while, until a small sound disturbed the silence. Listening closely, she waited to hear it again. Again it came; a faint electronic sound resembling a voice, muffled and distant. It took her a moment to remember that she’d slipped the Bluetooth into the pocket of her trench coat, but she was soon holding the device up to her ear and listening to the buzz of a stranger’s voice on the other end of the line.
“…Hello? …Is anyone still alive?”
. . .
“Richard, I need you to drive us back to the school. Tuvlan, please keep an eye on the wounded and make sure that no one gets in here. Titus, Isaiah, go down to the garage and keep watch for intruders. We will return soon, hopefully. And Gilbert—you’re coming with me.”
Vespyr had re-emerged from her room and walked toward the front door with calm urgency.
Gilbert’s scowl grew in vehemence but he strode after her anyhow, clutching his sword-stick tightly. His blood-colored eyes darted distrustingly across the faces of Richard, Tuvlan, and the Twins, but he said nothing and followed the white-haired girl outside to where the van was parked. The sun was beginning to set, casting a very appropriate blood-red hue over the sky.
Vespyr stood before the open doors, staring at the bloody mess and wheelchair that still remained. Then she stepped in, and turned her commanding gaze to Gilbert, who was hesitating several feet away.
“Get in.”
“Miss—” he began to protest with faux-politeness, but was soon silenced.
“Gilbert Pike, if you do not make yourself useful I will get rid of you.”
The matter was settled. The lanky man raised a spidery leg onto the bumper of the van and pulled himself in. For the entirety of the ride, he glared daggers at Vespyr’s skull until she glanced coldly up at him and he quickly looked elsewhere. He agitatedly cracked the knuckles in his fingers and readjusted the black leather gloves over his thin hands. He hated her. He sometimes thought of ways that he might murder her, but his confidence was weak; he knew her capabilities, and that if he should fail, she would kill him without hesitation. But still he slithered in her footsteps—obeying her commands and wearing the mask of a faithful servant—waiting for an opportunity to strike.
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PLAYED BY OOC NAME
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Post by Vincent. on Nov 2, 2011 15:54:08 GMT -8
[shadow=black,left,300]An Unfamiliar Voice[/shadow]
Vincent was lost.
As he wandered through the decimated carcass of Public High School #259, his gaze trailed from one casualty to another—some of them unrecognizable—with a rapidly diminishing hope. He would pass by the same bodies twice sometimes, and turn aimlessly to walk in another direction. Benumbed by the sudden chaos and devastation, his gait was uncharacteristically slack; he was no longer a taut wire, but a disheveled tangle of frayed ends. His shoulders, even, had forgotten their eternal tension and sloped solemnly downward as he trudged through the wreckage. A sedated expression hung over the features of his pale face, his amethyst eyes dulled.
“Unfettered” had said that his sister was here; where was she now? Where was “Unfettered”?
Vincent passed by a headless body that he’d seen before, so he turned in a new direction and walked on.
. . .
As the daylight was weakening, Vincent found himself walking down what was once a hallway. The building had collapsed on itself and split, crumbling outward in a massive avalanche of cement and debris. A portion of the hallway was open to the sky, the rest still buried beneath the remains of the construction. Vincent stood in the open space and looked around him: a single door frame still stood; the legs of smashed desks protruded here and there from the rubble; a dust-covered body lie in the lee of a cement slab that was propped up on another. The body looked familiar.
Vincent’s shoulders tensed. In an instant he was darting forward, dropping to his knees, his eyes wide with resurging panic.
“…Unfettered. UNFETTERED.”
His shaking hands hovered over the body without cognition of what they were supposed to do. But before Vincent could tell if the German was alive or dead, his frantic eyes spotted the Bluetooth lying nearby. He snatched it up with immediacy and held it to his ear while he checked for a pulse with his other hand. “Unfettered”’s neck was startlingly cold, and Vincent’s heart sank.
“…Is anyone out there?”
Silence.
“…Hello? …Is anyone still alive?”
“I’m alive.” responded an eerily placid female voice.
“Who’s that?... Where are you?”
“This is Vespyr.”
Vincent’s voice caught in his throat as he stared forward, frozen. After a moment he swallowed harshly and gasped with relief—
“Oh my god, you’re alive. Are you safe?”
“Quite. Who is this? Are you with Unfettered and the others?”
“I—I’m with him. He’s been shot. I don’t know where the others are… Where are you, Vespyr?”
“I’m on my way.”
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Post by "Tuvlan" on Nov 4, 2011 2:59:11 GMT -8
OOC: I'll work on "Unfettered's" post after work today.Blankets. Pillows. Various cleaning chemicals. Jerky. Bags of rice. Bags of bags of coffee. Wine. Dried fruits. Various frozen meats. Whole cartons of various cigarettes. Hygiene-based tools. Many sets of mix-matching clothes. The boy's mind whirled with the contents of last night, noting how except for a few exceptions, many of the products they looted last night reflected a lot of the lack thereof in his life. A life he had almost lost.
Run-ins with police.
Avoiding the other looters.
The scuffles.
Fleeing just to loot again.
The boy's left cheek was swollen with a deep cut going down it, a bandage already applied the night before. His knees were exposed through his jeans, being torn through various acts of acrobatics and personalized rough tactics. The goal was to make the truck as full as possible.
Missiles and collapsing buildings almost made that impossible. And while the Twins were competent enough in driving, it was pure, unexplainable miracle that kept them from crashing into anything and losing their payload, much less their lives.
No, the boy was sitting in the same corner he was accustomed to, having already awarded himself---He was wrapped tightly in a cotton blanket, a pillow covered in green propped against the corner. Only the upper part of his neck and on upwards were exposed as the rest of his body was snuggled in a cocoon, recuperating from a day's worth of adrenaline loss. He had even foregone that morning's usual workout routine.
...Yet, it was impossible for sleep to keep its grasp on him for long, his internalized clock waking him, long after. Save for any potential moments if Vespyr had required his services, the boy had left his keeper to her devices, trusting in the dexterity and skill in her hands to work on her patients of that night. They were people who personally did not concern him. The most he felt was a shallow sense of pity for the cute, long-haired one.
The one with teal hair smelled unnatural.
Of that moment, the pillow was pressed up against the wall vertically, the boy leaning against the wall with the cushion behind him. He had on a dull look over his face, his hair a mess and slightly shiny in an unhealthy manner. All he did was watch, perking his ears up only when the Keeper walked herself about or made any such movements. He ignored the disgruntled looking man and the fellow with the constantly pale look over his face. The twins he would acknowledge every now and then with a nod of his head and a swivel of his eye, before turning his attention upward.
Terrible playmates.
But he was grateful enough for their driving---“Richard, I need you to drive us back to the school. Tuvlan, please keep an eye on the wounded and make sure that no one gets in here. Titus, Isaiah, go down to the garage and keep watch for intruders. We will return soon, hopefully. And Gilbert—you’re coming with me.”The boy's eye widened, a yawn stopping halfway up his throat. He had expected things to die down, not liven up again. However, the boy did not move from where he sat comfortably for the immediatly---he argued to himself that he had a good eye on the long-haired one.
...And by technicality, Vespyr forebade him from entering into her room, so he had less of a reason to check up on the suspicious-smelling one.
For her assurance, though, the boy would nod and smile at Vespyr.
"Smash."
He got up and followed after the three half-way, in time to silently laugh to himself over the scolding the disgruntled looking one was receiving. Figuring his station secured but wanting to do well at it, the boy would walk himself back, checking on the Twins to make sure they were in position before checking on the long-haired one specifically.
Faint, but breathing. Barely.
The other could burn in hell.
He had a similar feel to that one.
Satisfied, the boy took back to his corner and settled himself back in again, wrapping his cocoon over his clothes, over his entirety. His ears were perked, breathing in rhythm with the one patient he could keep in check with from afar. His eye stared into the comforting darkness of the dim rooms.
"Smash..."
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Post by "Unfettered" on Nov 5, 2011 0:23:16 GMT -8
OOC: This is part one. More will be added later, but this should be enough to post off of, if you get impatient. Spotlight On A Stock Character Let's take a moment to investigate the condition of Mister Richard Stock. Through and through, he has and probably always will be a side character. A man of "average height," not much older than "Unfettered," the man always seemed just silently and diligently do his work with as few words as humanely possible.
The day prior, he was sure that he had never sweated as much in his life, at some point afraid that his grip on the wheel would be affected, while still trying to drive safely enough through the chaotic streets of Long Beach.
A dream.
This man sat on one of the chairs in the kitchen area, squinting his eyes in the dim light, having only just begun to adjust his sight. He was at a general loss at what to do with himself, his training with Militia primarily oriented towards more auxiliary functions in the group. Transport, watchmen, the fellow who inspected the cleanliness of the weaponry aside from front-line fighting and other forms of directed-upon orders. He was a grunt, through and through.
Rumbling during the night of distant missiles landing continued for a good portion of the evening. What he did understand was that this was indeed declared by the leader as their "last mission" for a reason. Casualties exploded beyond just Militia, the SLF... the amount of destruction that could be observed from driving alone was rampant, driving around too many close calls. Yet he displayed no shock beyond a severe fatigue. Having chosen not to change into any different clothes from the stock that had been looted, Stock began to realize how otherwise insurmountable his role was in comparison to their newly conquered "Black Hoods'" supply work. Was 259 the distraction for this rise of power?
After all, a power vacuum had exploded.
Hours had passed, and Stock slept little, trying not to think too hard. Their second in command was barely stabilized, his poor condition hampering the immediate signs of recovery---not that he could tell from where he sat, as he made no motion to move into this Vespyr's room. Marina, however...
The man shuddered. Out of all of them, "Teal" and Marina supposedly had one of the safest jobs. Unless this is what they had planned for... But as usual, being the grunt, not all of the information had been disclosed to him and the rest within his rank. All he knew was that purpose for being here was...
---Suddenly, all eyes turned towards Vespyr, as crackling noises were heard and she walked out of her room.“Richard, I need you to drive us back to the school. Tuvlan, please keep an eye on the wounded and make sure that no one gets in here. Titus, Isaiah, go down to the garage and keep watch for intruders. We will return soon, hopefully. And Gilbert—you’re coming with me.”"..." Without a word, beyond his otherwise neutral glance, he made no indication other then immediately standing up and walking right behind Vespyr. By all technicality, with the the boss MIA and the second incapacitated, Vespyr held the role of Militia's command in hostage. Her relationship with Militia was rather vague... But seeing as how she was seemingly closely aligned with "Unfettered," there was no personal qualms with Richard as he followed after her.
His hands would go up to his necktie, brushing off the dust from his day old, worn suit. Richard was painted with dark, scruffy blond hair and a pair of otherwise dulled out green eyes. There was none of his leader's charisma in this man, just his notable diligence. He had a purpose-driven, fast-paced gait that took him to the transport as soon as he stepped beyond the door of Vespyr's lair, unlocking the doors with silent unclicking noises to greet them.
Promptly, he would step into the vehicle and as soon as the rather distasteful fellow (Gilbert) and Vespyr got inside, he would drive off without a word through the very path he came in from yesterday.
He would take direction well. Would they go the shortest, fastest route? Would they go completely back the way they came? Would they take a varying driving path that made them hard to tail and their originating location hard to tell from? He would follow Vespyr's orders to the last technicality without fail and four years of varying roles as one of the primary drivers of Militia.* * * * * * * * * * * * * There was so much glass on the streets and the sidewalks. People wandered the streets. There were many phones that were found thrown and smashed through the ground. Many televisions and other similarly-themed products that were originally to be looted were found sitting uselessly outside their respective shops. Debris of brick and shattered concrete, however, was merely the topping.
Emptied out missile shells.
Duds.
The bodies.
As Richard drove as quickly without compromising their safety as much as was possible, the windows remained up the whole time, the A/C being turned on only if done so or ordered by Vespyr or Gilbert.
It was the smell that stuck.
Impossible not to wrinkle his nose at it, the hot afternoon sun would turn the entire area into a biological mess in a few days, if not a few hours if not properly cleaned up. Some pyres throughout the streets were already being established by some of the more practically-minded survivors.
Richard lost track of time on how long he drove for, last night's drive nothing more than a blur in comparison. And then they were there.
The driver would close his eyes and wait. If ordered to come along, he would. If ordered to stay and guard the transport, he would, reaching for a knife he had in the glove compartment. By default, he would do the latter to take in the reality of everything...
...After all, he was normal in comparison and had much to mourn for for what was lost.Confirmed Survivors:
"Teal" - Unconcious, Massive Injury Sustained
Marina Wolf - Coma, Massive Injury Sustained
Richard Stock - Uninjured, DriverRemnants of Militia The ride back had been quiet.
...As quiet as a whole city, much less a nation collapsing all around you could get. Exploding buildings, normal people-turned looters running rampant, actual mayhem occurring all around them...
It had been luck that they got away as well as they did. Luck and a bit of trained experience.
As Tai and Dora jumped down from Building D from the second story, Mr. Bear stayed behind to help cover the two students they had found so that they could jump. For a long ten seconds, the four scrambled to get into Hugh's van as they were attacked all around by a less than-organized mob of people. They waited for Bear to come down. They didn't expect him to fall down backwards from that second story window... riddled with bullets. From there, acting as the rear-guard, Dora proceeded to back into the van, spraying her SMG as conservatively as possible as Tai would weakly pull her in, Hugh driving away in a hurry. Of course, the ones that gunned down Hugh would stop by that window to pop a few at Hugh as he veered out of sight.
It had been... luck that they got away as well as they did. Luck and a bit of trained experience.
When Hugh had finally stopped driving, he had to be immediately patched up. The apartment was in ruin with the top floors literally blown away onto the streets... but the first floor didn't appear to be so occupied by their neighbors anymore. More than a few stray bullets hit their mark as Hugh drove away, and getting out of his seat saw to him falling to the streets on his side, a pool of his own blood in the driver's seat pouring out after him.
Ten minutes later he was sewn up and held over the former owner of Apartment 103's bed, staining it deeply. It took another fifteen before they slowed Hugh's bleeding to a trickle.
They'd nearly lost him.
Almost alive... but nowhere near sustainable. With spare supplies he was bound with what bandages they could muster, a bottle of vodka laying next to him and three sheets from the apartment itself.
With nowhere to go, the two survivors they had taken along with them stuck by, sitting in the corner. One was an orphan. The other was a coward. They would be left alone for the moment as Dora and Tai would attempt to clean themselves up---before the remainder of their comrades would arrive in the form of two vans.
One of the vans was driven by a Crow, the other... by Roger. From the van with the Crow driver would come "Green," Tracey and Lauren. Roger had driven himself with several other Crows inside. One of the crows from Roger's van then took to the helm as Tai went out of the remains of their "stronghold" to greet all of them.
Tai stepped onto the rubble of a broken door entrance, pushing the door away. The door was cracked in half, barely hanging onto its hing by the upper part, the lower bolts bent off onto the door. Various parts of his aviator jacket had been torn off... along with the skin and in some deep cases, the flesh itself, the biggest "scratch" boring down from the left side of his neck all the way down his bicep. Blood and bruises smeared lightly on his face as he would sternly stare out at the returning survivors."Well, fuck, that went pretty fuckin' alright, now, didn'n it?"Rogers was the first one to step up, stepping in with his bulky upper frame. "The hell it didn't."The man gave Tai a punch in the arm---which resulted in a recoiling wince. "The fuck.""Yeah, just frustrated," was the grimace.Rubbing his shoulder, Tai gave them all the once-over."How'd the fuck you guys do?""Fell back as soon as I saw the missiles. Fetty was too far ahead. Went back to Lot A---just in time for the explosions. Bunch of the Crows were already beginning to move out.""Green" raised his hand, walking over to stand next to Roger."Almost died from that damn crack team. Utilized some of the bombs we set up prior to make an escape. Managed to get Tracey and Lauren with me."There was an annoyed look on Tai's face."Fuckin' pussy and a fuckin' faggot get off scott... Well, shit, our numbers have gone down significantly.""Oh yeah? Casualties? I didn't see Taylor on the way out...""Fuck yeah. We fuckin' lost 'Hands' and 'Sword.'""OH SHIT. ARE YOU SERIOUS?""Yeah and...""...Where's 'Unfettered,' Tai?"There was an unnatural calm during the conversation up to this point. Rogers was wearing a forced smile, hands dug deep in his pockets... into fists. Greens words in turn electrified the air with an unspoken sense of dread. Dora took to Tai's left side, hugging herself uncomfortably tight."...""We need to fucking recover first and reorganize our ranks to match our losses so that we avoid confusion. Our fucking second priority is to search---"“…Hello? …Is anyone still alive?”
“I’m alive.”
“Who’s that?... Where are you?”
“This is Vespyr.”
“Oh my god, you’re alive. Are you safe?”
“Quite. Who is this? Are you with Unfettered and the others?”
“I—I’m with him. He’s been shot. I don’t know where the others are… Where are you, Vespyr?”
“I’m on my way.”"Don't fuckin' forget about us. Be there soon."After fumbling with his pants for a bit, Tai managed to pull the tin-foil covered radio from his pants, as it broadcasted to everyone. Pressing the return-broadcast, and speaking into it, he waited for a second for a reply. Regardless, he gave a commanding look Roger. "Get fucking ready to drive. Dora, you're the cunt in charge of communications with the Hoods and getting the wounded tended to. Let's fuckin' move.~"Confirmed Survivor(s):
Tai - Moderate Injuries Sustained, Acting Head Of Militia Remnants' Forces
Dora White - Minor Injuries Sustained
"Green" - Moderate Injuries Sustained
Tracey Elkins - Bedridden, Moderate Injuries Sustained
Lauren Dales - Light Injuries Sustained
Hugh Bottleneck - Unconcious, Massive Injuries Sustained, Heavy Blood Loss
Roger Summers - Minor Injuries Sustained
Four 259 Survivors - Varying Degrees Of Injury, None Severe
Confirmed Deceased:
Hans ‘Hands’ Chu - KIA
Mr. Bear - KIA, Secured The Escape For The Two Kids & Tai & Dora
'Sword' - KIA Crows' Nest Establishment -The Delayed Orders- Black Robbing Hood "Holmes.""No. Fuck you.""ROLLING SHIT, HOLMES.""YES, I REALIZE. I'M LISTENING INTENTLY TO THE RADIO, LEAVE ME ALONE.""Fuck, holmes. FUCK holmes.""Your command of intonations is your ONLY redeeming feature to your AMAZINGLY LIMITED list you call a vocabulary.""Fuck, say, holmes?""Uh... um...""Cap, holmes...?"After politely shaking his head to having his head shot off, Todohiko quietly sat hunched over the desk, listening into the blue tooth. The other black hoods were very content to share in the spoils of their looting, taking on an easy 33% of their total loot for themselves. Most of their share was unevenly divided into stores of booze and raw meats, though the organized Todohiko made sure to even out the split a bit more to increase the Hoods' chance of survivability.
The half-Japanese boy was forced to otherwise sit boredly... and anxiously as he listened on to the increasing amount of chatter since the missile attack. Not only from his comrades but from elsewhere as well---it appeared as though this sort of "terrorist attack" had been incredibly widespread and indiscriminant---the fact that the little liquor store that the hoods had made base in was relatively untouched was outright miraculous. Not even the Coffee Bean across from them survived, the bricks spilling out onto the road.
It didn't matter. "Unfettered" was alive... for now. That meant that his post and his duty would be preserved until his orders were further updated.Confirmed Survivor(s):
Jazz Willis - Light Injuries, Acting Head Of Black Hoods Forces
William “Will” Todohiko - Uninjured, Acting Communication LiasonGround Two-Five-Nine Rocks fall.
Everyone dies.
Volcano erupts.
Everyone dies.
Missiles come crashing from the sky...
...Where the fuck did the missiles come from? The clearance codes? The funding for this technology? The tactics they were using would all be for naught against unpredictible wanton destruction---and by unpredictible, it meant to refer to the lack of an objective the missiles seemed to have as they flew above in the sky. Destruction for destruction's sake, much like in a case of total war---to damage infrastructure and the economy so badly that the morale of the enemy force itself is crushed at the source.
But it was even more random then that.
Not that the German had time to concern himself over that. By the time that "Unfettered" had arrived to Building D, he felt the wet floor. It was perfect... but a touch too late. The German wheeled himself about to come face-to-face with a familiar fellow---"...Patrick...---"The German's body fell to the floor in a pile with three new holes projected through his chest. Two through his left lung, one tearing a whole through his liver. The German was left to die in a bloody mess... Except for the ice that would slowly begin to perfectly isolate itself through the holes. With the German's experiance with Qi, instinctually and defensively his body reacted to the cause of death and delayed it effectively. "Unfettered's" body shut down, waiting for the quick fix...
That was several hours ag...* * * * * * * * * * * * * "Unfettered" woke with a start. And a mouth full of blood. Someone's lukewarm hand was touching him, but his eye could only see a miasma of red in his eye sight---he spat out blood over himself as he struggled for air, the ice poles in his chest having begun to melt. The source of his Qi itself was on its last legs...
The German groped up towards the man's face... pleeding. Waking up into agonizing pain, the German realized that he was probably on the verge of being in a state of dying if not already. Iron continued to fill his mouth... as he may have gripped at the man's collar. There would be a brief moment where his clammy hands regained their ability to feel, bits of crimson frost sticking off his face, drying his lips 'til they cracked. He would only continue to convulse and shudder violently.
---For a moment, his vision cleared."...V...Vinc..."---And then, red. And the violent coughing resumed again... but his grip had begun to weaken...Confirmed Survivor(s): "Unfettered" Winters - Unconcious, Massive Injuries Sustained
Confirmed Deceased:
Taylor Hawkins - KIA, Died Due To Building Collapse
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PLAYED BY OOC NAME
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Post by Vespyr on Nov 28, 2011 21:52:14 GMT -8
Things Left Behind
“Where will I find you?”
“…Uh, I think… I think this is where Building D used to be.”
“Used to? Well, fuck. If anyone else is still out there, meet us where Building D used to be. Don’t bother if you’re severely injured; I don’t have time or room for you.”
Any person who still held onto one of the foil-wrapped devices would hear an impatient click, followed by unsympathetic silence.
. . . The soles of Vespyr’s boots touched down on the broken earth for scarcely a moment before she stalked away quickly, through the rubble and debris and toward the two white-haired figures. As she expected, “Unfettered” was down and looked like a bloody mess; as per her orders, Gilbert scrambled after her, pushing the wheelchair ahead of him and trying unsuccessfully to keep his shoes from getting dirty. He struggled, tripped, and cursed as one wheel of the ersatz gurney was entangled in a heap of the mangled metal legs of broken desks. While he wrestled to free it, Vespyr had reached the body of “Unfettered” and was kneeling aside another white-haired male whom she was not familiar with. He had evidently tried to stop the flow of blood from the German’s bullet-torn chest with his hands, for they were soaked and dripping with the crimson stain. He seemed to back away a little and Vespyr took over, examining the wounds while “Unfettered” coughed and sputtered and continued to die.
There was so much blood that it was hard to tell where it flowed from, but she was quickly able to locate the three holes. She slipped an eerily calm hand into the pocket of her coat and withdrew a few small squares of thin plastic, which she had cut a couple of hours prior to seal up a similar lung wound in “Teal”’s chest. Ripping the rest of the German’s shirt away, she placed one over each hole and held them in place with her fingers. She beckoned the despondent stranger back with her other hand and then slid it beneath the body.
“Help me get him into the wheelchair.”
The young man seemed startled as if awoken from a trance, but was at her side in a moment to aide her with the lifting of the body. Vespyr kept the squares of plastic pressed to “Unfettered”’s wounds as she and Gilbert wheeled him back to the van, with the stranger trailing along behind them, in a daze.
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Post by Edward on Nov 29, 2011 17:47:42 GMT -8
www.youtube.com/watch?v=q3obs4RQ3_MEddie believed he was safe where he was, he had been under the impression that as long as he avoided the workers he wold be perfectly fine avoiding the affairs of the people who lived on the surface. The people up there had been oblivious to his existence and that was how he liked it. Much to his dismay whatever was happening up there was finally going to draw him out. First came the commotion. Many echos of anguish could be heard throughout the cavernous system, however there were also cries of anger, and shouts of joy; there was a cacophony of emotion made metallic and distant. The smell of the waters began to change. This was the most beautiful thing. Things rarely happened that could change the content of a sewer or even a drainage pipe. But he knew that smell, as anybody who lived around here would. It was so poetic he could hardly stand it, the rivers of this city were running red with blood to be washed out to sea. He just knew there would be a red froth on the beach today. Next came the missiles. When they came down they came hard, sometimes cracking the very foundation of his city. They would blast open holes into his sanctuary and the shock wave would travel all along his tunnels punching him softly in the gut and causing synthetic waves of blood, skin and piss to swish around his small legs. Over the course of the attack several tunnels had been collapsed and some had filled with noxious gasses. Eddie had grown weary from scurrying so fervently around his playground, a perfect day for Eddie. He had loved every minute of it. Then came the crowds. 'Of course this day mustn't end on a good note' Eddie thought 'That would be much too convenient wouldn't it?'And so he spent much of the next day avoiding them in small cramped sub-channels. Listening to them and their exploits. They were loud and filthy, they touched things they really ought not to. Several of them died from poor sanitary conditions as well as the dangerous conditions of the tunnels themselves after the missiles. This continued for a while until, Finally came the flood. It was a combination of several different problems, the exit to this particular tunnel had finally collapsed shut. Some idiot brought a match into a tunnel filled with gas from a broken line. This was the final straw and allot of the outlets finally crumbled. Allot of water started building up down there. A water main broke. Eddie wasn't sure how it broke but he could hear the water rushing down his hallways rapidly toward him. He knew that many of the refugees would not make it out alive. He also knew he did not want to be seen when everybody rushed up top. He darted up the nearest ladder he could find, when he got to the surface he took a quick glance around. His luck seemed to be curving back in his favor. A large van was left idling on the street with two of its occupants walking up towards a broken down building. It was once the school. The driver wasn't looking. It was time to make a dash. Flying at top speed he was off, his head flung back from the speed and his arms trailing behind him like streamers. He slid into the back and hid as best he could. He hid as best he could but he knew it wouldn't matter much as right about now about 20 people would emerge from any hole they could find as their campsite flooded and their comrades died. This would cause quite the distraction he thought.
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PLAYED BY OOC NAME
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Post by Vincent. on Nov 29, 2011 17:56:37 GMT -8
[shadow=red,left,300]At Long Last[/shadow]
Vincent’s mind was quickly tearing in two.
He listened desperately to his sister’s voice through the fickle and static-ridden airwaves, tongue-tied and groping frantically for words as she asked him another question.
“…Uh, I think… I think this is where Building D used to be.”
The hollow female voice on the other end of the line faded in and out in an aloof manner and then disappeared altogether at the sound of a click.
“…Wait! Wait! Don’t—”
It was too late; she was gone again. Vincent let the panic seize him for a few moments, trying focus on her imminent arrival with a desperate hopefulness rather than the uncomfortable tightness in his throat. These, however, were not the only feelings that tore at him; as he reopened his eyes, he saw that “Unfettered” was awakening. He was startled and unprepared for the violent coughing that ensued—flecks of blood stained his face as he leaned downward, urged by the weak grip that “Unfettered” had on his collar. A gurgled voice struggled to speak his name, but died out. The hand began to fall. Vincent’s heart suddenly felt pierced by icy remorse for the dying man, though he had only known him a matter of days. His hands pressed uselessly to the man’s chest in attempt to keep the blood from leaving, but it escaped in spite of him. Despite the overwhelming futility of his efforts, Vincent spoke to the man in a pathetic, wavering voice.
“…We’re going to get out of here… S-stay with me… They’ll be here… any minute…”
Those few days had seemed incredibly brief, but the few minutes it took for rescue to arrive felt like an eternity.
. . .
Evening was falling fast when the rumble of the approaching vehicle reached him, and Vincent turned to follow it with his wide violet eyes. To say that his heart began to beat painfully would imply that it hadn’t already been in those excruciating ten minutes; nevertheless, the exhausted organ thudded so violently that he felt his chest would burst. A glimmer of anxious excitement competed with the woe in his eyes as he watched the doors of the van open.
A tall girl with white hair emerged from the dark interior and stepped down from the bumper with finesse and purpose. From the neck down she was dressed in pitch black; visible above the collar of her long trench coat was smooth, deathly pale skin and a somber visage of shadowed eyes and ebonized lips. As she approached Vincent could do nothing but stare at the familiar amethyst hue of her eyes, but her gaze was rooted just beyond him, seemingly unaware of his presence. Without even a glance at her long-lost brother, she knelt down to tend to the bleeding body of “Unfettered”. Vincent found himself backing away, staring at the back of her head in mute awe. Here was the girl he had been seeking for years. The sister he had lost over a decade ago was now within arm’s reach…
But now was not the time. As he was broken from his silent euphoria, he realized that with so much at stake, the last thing he wanted to do was distract Vespyr from saving the strange German’s life. Impatience surged in his chest as they lifted the wheelchair into the back of the van. Vincent remained silent, but his tortured gaze never wavered from the pale girl’s diverted eyes for an instant. Not even when a crowd of screaming people streamed past them.
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Post by "Unfettered" on Nov 30, 2011 14:10:38 GMT -8
OOC: Just wanna say---that is DELIGHTFUL mental imagery of Edward running. An "Attentive" Driver Craggy was the road back and uncomfortably bumpy. Even while driving there, Mr. Stock found himself using alternative roads back to where the school... apparently now once stood. It added increments of time that would potentially kill them, but Mr. Stock was an experienced pressure-driver. He didn't say a word the moment he got into the car, keeping a rather intensive aura about himself, ignoring the rather petite figures and how they might be rumbling about.
His eyes were busy scouring out a smoother path in all the wreckage. Driving through once in the drastically changed environment would not be enough to turn the path into a perfectly carved out road, but there were small subtleties in his driving that suggested that he was constantly adjusting, mentally preparing himself for the trip back. After all, as Vincent had confirmed, they would be driving back an incredibly injured person. It was up to him to do his part, nothing more, nothing less.
It took ten minutes. The rumbling of the vehicle came to side of where Building D used to stand... where the rubble and the bodies of the many were strewn across of so many experiments. A little further in front of him could be seen through the windowpane the cracked blacktop, the chars of the large fire from the day before still stood, scarring the ground. He stopped the vehicle, driving in reverse to get the back of the car facing towards the ruins of Building D."...We're here."* * * * * * * * * * * * * It had scarcely been two minutes when Richard watched the two thin figures in rather Gothic attire trot their way out in a rather determined beeline to someone that Mr. Stock couldn't see when the whole ground beneath them began to quake. Mr. Stock took the liberties of his downtime to reach into his glove compartment to pick out a magazine with scantly clad women covering it, flipping through the contents nonchalantly with a vague look of boredom in his eyes when the magazine when flying out of his hands.
His priorities in a sudden adrenaline became mixed and he bent down between his legs as the whole car slumped behind him with what felt like extra weight. Before he had a chance to look around. Whipping his gaze initially in front of him before reaching to grip his headrest by the side, the man took a stern, but brief look at the open vehicle's back doors and for the look of anything new.
A whole three seconds satisfied him that it was safe enough. He ignored the screaming voices and went onto fixing his visual carnal desires in more distracted apathy."Tch..."* * * * * * * * * * * * * Not more than a few minutes later, Mr. Stock heard the wheeling of the chair as Vespyr undoubtedly had the cargo coming back. The screaming had pressed on, but Mr. Stock had ignored it through its entirety, seeing as how none of the hysterics had come close enough to be a bother.
...Well, that wasn't true.
But throwing various sharp objects through the side windows at the ones that came close seemed to scare them away the more daring ones.
Mr. Stock would scarcely even turn his head all the way back to confirm the new contents of his cargo before starting the engine. The moment the doors slammed closed with a reacquired Vincent and a rather... holey... "Unfettered," Mr. Stock would be off.
With corrective pathing, Mr. Stock would shave off three minutes off his ETA, arriving back at the home base seven minutes later, while producing a significantly smoother drive back.Still Listening Todohiko would be straining his ears as the conversation went on between Vincent and the ever enigmatic Vespyr. And then... silence.
Painful, ear-straining, sile---"---NIG. WHAT GOOD. WORD?""OH GOD FUCKING DAMMIT.""JAZZ WILLIS?""LEAVE ME ALONE."Dora the Controladora "If Hugh doesn't stop bleeding out in two minutes, I will crack your head open."* * * * * * * * * * * * * "I simply adore crying bitches. GetTheFuckOutOfThisRoomPeopleAreDying."* * * * * * * * * * * * * "Shut up, "Green."* * * * * * * * * * * * * "Your girlfriend is manlier then you are. QUIT SQUIRMING."* * * * * * * * * * * * * There was barely anytime for Dora to even listen in on the amazing silence of the blue tooth that was stationed in a corner table as she went on, getting everyone patched up, and directing those that could use their fingers to stitch closed the wounded. During those ten, twenty minutes, they easily went through three bottles of rubbing alcohol, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and an entire roll of gauze and bandages."Stupid Crowd of Screaming People" A very wounded Tai would arrive on the scene at Lot A, with the less-skilled driver, Roger, driving back. They saw the vehicle of Richard Stock in the distance, but before Roger had even put the car to a total stop, Tai stomped to the back doors, threw them open and tried to jump out.
Landing badly on both legs. Standing stunned for a moment, he turned around, gritting his teeth full of profanities to watch a confused Roger slow the car to a halt."FUCKING STAY THERE. I'M GOING TO GO GET 'UNFETTER---"Then, they came.
Twenty people came streaming out, crying, screaming... and trampling over Tai. Roger had to jump out of the car, pushing and shoving people away from the vehicle, trying to reach Tai, the whole procession going on a whole eight minutes before the crowd dispersed, clearly feeling their displacement obvious in their current standing of anomie.
By that time... Richard, Vespyr, Vincent, Gilbert and "Unfettered" would be long gone, disappearing in the cloud of the crowd of swarming people. In disgust, Tai pushed Roger away from him."GUARD THE VAN. I'M GOING TO LOOK AROUND FOR...---OOF."Have inadvertently strode over to the sewers, Tai fell over the battered and bruised body of..."...Kiyoshi Akechi..."..."ROGER. I FOUND THAT 'CROWS' GUY! GIVE ME A HAND HERE!""OH SHIT, ARE YOU SERIOUS!?"From there, Roger would bring out a stretcher and they would "gently" put the body of Kiyoshi on it, bringing him back to the van as quickly as they could. The man was... barely alive? Barely alive. In spite of that, they gave the ruins of 259 a quick once-over... for a good three minutes, before packing up and driving off. Managing to secure the dead bodies of Hans "Hands" Chu, Mr. Bear, 'Sword,' and Taylor Hawkins.
One alive (sorta), four dead.
As they drove on back to their "headquarters," the road full of bumps, cajoling all the "passnegers" quite frequently, Tai could only sigh, grumbling into his right hand."...Fucking amazing day..."
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Post by Deleted on Nov 30, 2011 21:42:24 GMT -8
Kiyoshi was in bad shape, that much was certain. Both of Patrick's shots during the battle at the school had hit their mark, upper chest and stomach, however beyond the massive blood loss the Asian gang leaders was fine. That is to say no major organ's had been damaged by the bullets, a simple case of the devil's luck, which was strong with this one. Another example being the fact that the floor had collapse after the missile strikes to prevent him from being crushed under the collapsing building, unlike his two underlings who'd gone against orders and entered the building. Yes, Kiyoshi had and always would be a perfect example of devil's luck working to keep someone alive though very injured. Add to the gunshot wounds several busted ribs, major internal trauma from the descent into the sewers, a large head gash, and a busted lower left leg... he was a mess drifting in and out of consciousness.
One such drift came when the bump in the road jolted Kiyoshi awake for a moment. If Tai was within reach, he'd grab him by the throat in a rage. If not he'd just be yelling toward the front of the van.
"Find me O'Connor and bring me his head!!!"
Even the most casual glance would see the hell brewing within his eyes and in his soul. As Kiyoshi saw it, war had been declared and that was what he was going to bring to everyone that stood against him. He would tear the world asunder and lay waste to his enemies... no middle ground, no mercy.
After a rather intense moment, Kiyoshi would fall back onto the stretcher with a few pain-filled coughs before drifting out once again.
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PLAYED BY OOC NAME
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Post by Vespyr on Dec 1, 2011 1:12:53 GMT -8
A Job Well Done
For seven minutes Vespyr could do nothing to help “Unfettered” but hold the small plastic squares in place over the bleeding bullet holes in his chest. Upon his every inhale, blood that flooded his lungs and threatened to drown him was expelled from the wound by the intake of air and subsequently squirted from beneath the airtight plastic seals. So the German continued to breathe and live while the van carried them back to the safety of the fortress, time ticking… slowly.
. . .
As the van pulled up to the side of the street closest to the garage as it could, Vespyr had summoned Gilbert with a commanding glance and stood gripping one wheel of the chair, her hand still glued to the German’s chest. The lanky man with ill-tempered, blood-hued eyes rose to his feet as well and gripped the other wheel, so that when the doors were opened they could carry the wheelchair out and set it on the pavement with ease. However, the desired ease was almost not achieved; upon taking his first spidery step toward the open doors, Gilbert’s pointy black shoe collided with a rather peculiar bundle that had been squashed against the inner wall of the van for the entire ride. After nearly tripping, he glared disdainfully down at the heap of matted fabric, which he realized now was not really a heap of matted fabric at all—or at least, not entirely.
“Miss Vespyr. It appears that there is a smallish person curled at my feet.”
Vespyr turned her head and glanced indifferently down at said smallish person on the floor, but she was too preoccupied with the current predicament to really give a damn.
“Stop wasting time, Gilbert.”
Thus, no time was wasted in transporting the wheelchair and its bloody contents to the cement safe house that waited a winding sidewalk, a vast expanse of garage, and a staircase—two brief minutes—away.
. . .
The cats were feasting on blood again.
Vespyr stood a few feet from the body, holding a cigarette between her fingers. Her fingers and hands were bathed completely in crimson. In fact, she was bloody all the way up her forearms. She didn’t mind; it only made the filter of the black cherry clove taste even more delicious.
“Unfettered” would be lying on the counter. Shirtless, covered in blood, stitches in several places across his chest. He seemed to be barely breathing, but he would most likely be breathing. Mission accomplished.
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Post by Edward on Dec 1, 2011 21:05:38 GMT -8
Eddie felt incredibly lucky; these people were in a rush and wanted to get somewhere else fast. They got out before the roads would collapse leaving beautiful asphalt swamps in their place. From where he was he could feel the texture of the road rumbling a foot beneath him. He began to relax and accept his new fate. His life had been intertwined with those of the surface.
‘What could be done?’ he figured
While he lay motionless in his thoughts Eddie could hear a dreadful noise. Someone was struggling to breath and with every intake a small squirt followed shortly. He sounded large… large and tired. There were four people in this van besides him, or at least that was what it sounded like. He hadn’t seen the driver, but he was pretty sure he had seen Vespyr earlier. This excited him, she was the only person he had seen while living down there except for when he emerged at night to steal soaps, and those people weren’t even conscious. He felt an attachment to her more than any other human being, but he was almost certain she had never seen him before. He was always very careful never to be seen. He was not ignorant of what she was capable of and he half expected her to have watched over him some nights.
The sound of a gate snapped him back to reality. The car pulled in and he knew he would be discovered soon. He decided that the best way to be discovered would be to lay still. Any sudden movements and they might perceive him as a threat. He let his body go limp looking like a well-crafted gothic doll. He would take the mask off when they found him. Quite a bit of shuffling was going on and eventually he was kicked in the shoulder. He just stayed limp and the foot made his body slump onto its back. Eddie was sure it was going to bruise, not that he had been hit hard.
“Miss Vespyr. It appears that there is a smallish person curled at my feet.” “Stop wasting time, Gilbert.”
They began to walk away. The life was flushed back into his eyes and he sat up. The thing in the wheelchair looked like it was having a bit of a rough night. Eddie let the gasmask hang around his neck for now and followed them inside. He found a spot on a couch next to a lanky boy that looked more the appropriate age group and resumed his doll-like appearance right there.
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PLAYED BY OOC NAME
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Post by Vincent. on Dec 1, 2011 22:53:04 GMT -8
[shadow=black,left,300]Immersion[/shadow]
Several times within those seven minutes, Vincent nearly lost his will of constraint; more words were on the tip of his tongue than he could handle, and they threatened to come cascading from his mouth along with a gush of tears. Happy tears.
Happy, relieved, distressed, tortured tears that did not fall, but merely made his violet eyes glisten as he continued to stare at sister he had lost, and then found again over ten years later.
When the vehicle stopped, Vincent shifted his position to allow Vespyr and the lanky man through unhindered. He breathed deeply, feeling optimistic. However, anticipation gnawed on his every nerve. When the pair carrying the wheelchair stepped down and away from the van, Vincent turned as if to follow, but stopped abruptly when he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. Mute confusion washed over the features of his face; he could have sworn there was no child in the van when they had set off… but then again, his focus had been elsewhere. Figuring that it was no matter because Vespyr had completely ignored him, Vincent decided he would do the same, and proceeded to step off the bumper and onto the asphalt. His steps were brisk and staccatoed as he hurried to catch up with his sister.
His confusion gradually returned, however, when he followed them into the abandoned parking garage. From what he could see in the dying light, the place was filthy; the floor was littered with broken glass, used needles, scraps of sharp metal and gnarled wires, empty spray paint cans, unidentifiable bones, and grotesque stains. Pitch black shadows loomed in the far corners, waiting to swallow up whatever came near; that is, if something or someone waiting in the darkness didn’t first. Vincent had been under the impression that they were going to a safe place. Not a place that looked considerably more intimidating than the fresh ruins of a school decimated by missiles.
With eager steps, he continued to follow them up the staircase and through the ‘door’ in the chain-link fence that surrounded it. The three of them—four, as Vincent noted the sound of small, childlike footsteps behind him—made their way toward a large, single-story, very prosaic cement building. It was a lifeless structure, with seemingly no windows and no markings on the outside to distinguish it as anything other than a useless gray block sitting atop an empty lot. Once inside, however, Vincent realized that it was very much more than what he had first assumed.
The first thing he noticed was the far wall; even in the dim light, a macabre drawing of something feline-esque stared soullessly at him with the mirth of all that was evil. Even though hollow, the eye sockets seemed to hold him in an impenetrable gaze. Breaking away from it with a strange stirring in his gut, his eyes then fell on two shadowy figures who sat motionless in the corner of the room. Another shadowed figure was tucked into the opposite corner at the other end of the room. Vespyr and the other man, too, had blended in with the darkness and were now two shadows lifting the shadowy body of “Unfettered” onto some countertop.
“Light the fire, Tuvlan.” Vespyr spoke. Vincent had begun to advance through the dark room, but stopped before he tripped over some stones that lined what was evidently the room’s central fire pit. Whichever one if the shadowy figures Tuvlan was would most likely make a move for the fire pit, and Vincent did not want to be there when he did. Not wanting to cause any sort of interference just yet, he backed away and waited against the wall furthest from any of the other shadowy figures. As he watched yet another smallish shadow fleet across the room, he could not help but feel he had entered an entirely different sort of reality.
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Post by "Tuvlan" on Dec 2, 2011 4:16:36 GMT -8
Guard Dog From the shadows, the boy stirred, his eye watchful for the approximate half-hour, forty minutes that the "master" had disappeared. Ordinarily, during this time cravings would overcome him and the boy would dig into something, sleep it off, or go out for a "walk." Owing an order to her, the boy could do none of these things, except watch the shadows of the room play with each other as the placed remained almost completely dead silent. The twins had remained dutifully downstairs, watching the garage, the boy assumed, for he heard nothing stir. And thus, though there were some occasional fits of violent coughing, there was no continuing spasm or reverberating shake to hear that seemed to warrant any attention. The boy happily sat in his corner of the room where he remained for the entirety of the time all of "them" had gone.Warmth and the feeling of his cocoon subdued the boy, but his gaze did not drop, nor did he move, save for the slow rise and fall beneath the sheets, from his quiet, shallow breathing from his nose.
It was too tempting to stare at that... thing on the wall, but if he did, he was afraid he would be far too entranced to pay attention to his duty. Smoking was out of the question---medical thing, he read. Bad for... "patients."---
It was if the shadows themselves shook.
They were back. Even the cats mewled, seeming to understand in some strange archaic tongue that the dark spoke. She was back. She was back. She was back.
...With the scent of two he was unfamiliar with.
The boy was otherwise totally motionless as he reached under his covers for his "Smash" Stick. He would watch. There was the lady and---ugh---her charge, that man, in a wheelchair. Though the scent was different---Perhaps the smell of one dying? It was metallic, rusting, like stale water.
And still, he would watch those two---“Light the fire, Tuvlan.”From the corner of the room, the boy would suddenly spring up, standing at his full 6'2, towering a good three inches over the clumsy one who tripped on the fireplace. In the boy's left hand was a lighter. In his right was a his "Smash" Stick---a quintessential metal pipe. The boy's long red hair showed as a rusting gray in the darkness of the room, his barely visible face clearly venomous and untrusting of these newcomers. Deftly, the boy stalked forward, glared at the man who clambered over it---and suddenly gave him a sniff.
For a moment, the boy's shoulders relaxed, his face softening. It was familiar. Similar, yet not, comparable to...
The boy shook his head, deciding to dismiss this one as a non-threat. He would wait for him to get out of his way before he would bend over, working his hands dexterously. In little over a minute (he was still getting used to his fire-setting duties), the fire was lit. The boy went onto clearing away potential hazards---before he whirled around to the one with the strange mask hanging around his neck.
Threateningly, he raised his lead pipe to the fellow who took on a doll-like appearance. Then, he would lower it, smelling a familiar scent. A smile would take to the boy's face before he would turn around to the fire, bend down onto his knees and get on all fours before reaching into his back pocket for a pack, slipping one of the cylinders into his hands before pushing the pack back again. Using the fire, the boy would gingerly bring the cigarette close to it.
If the master was smoking, it would surely be okay if he did.
In the flames of the fire, the lanky boy's entire form would be revealed. His dirty, dishevelled look, his somewhat (he had been washing a little more than usual) grimy, red hair...
The boy would stand up with his cigarette planted safely in his mouth. He would wait until he was ordered to tend to the twins to go fetch them. Instead, he would look at the one with the similar scent and the unfamiliar one, ignoring Gilbert altogether.
"..."
"If she is not bothered by your presence, you are safe."
"If she is so inclined, I'll snap your necks."
With his position plainly made, the boy would return to his corner, the tip of his cigarette burning slowly, the smoke blending in with the darkness of the room, as he would bury himself in his cocoon of blankets, shrinking to a negligible size.
He would watch these two (Vincent, Edward), carefully, but no anger set to his demeanor---just a matter-o-factness to all of it.
As if to betray it all, one of the cats, having eaten its fill of the blood would trot over to the boy's blanket, directly over his lap, to curl up. The boy did not move.
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Post by "Unfettered" on Dec 2, 2011 5:31:09 GMT -8
"Eh." Richard Stock would arrive at the beck and call. But after making the delivery, Mr. Stock felt not so inclined to follow after them. Instead, he reached into his glove compartment again, pulled out the dirty magazine and got out of the van. Of course, he stopped when he saw the twins, still at their station at the garage.
Rather than feeling concerned for the life of his possibly dying commander, Richard took the time to walk carefully amongst debris of broken glass, leaves, gravel and dirty and over to the twins. He would settle for sitting next to one of them, opening up his magazine, and resume his discontented stare at its contents. If inquired about it, the man would silently raise up the magazine, showing the current page he was on to either of the twins. If one of them made a show to leave/fall back to the inside, Mr. Stock would take it easy.
He was rather tired, willing to give into the flow, today especially. Maybe he was confident in Vespyr's capabilities. Maybe he didn't care. But the sagging skin under his eyes confirmed one thing. And if he wasn't bothered for another ten minutes, the man would fall asleep with a quiet forward lean of his head, a small stream of drool to fall onto the page he was currently looking at.Red Evening Every pothole in the road was like another knife jabbed into his lungs. And "Unfettered" would cough up blood every time as if he had been. The world before him had slowed into a hazy red. So tired, the man wanted to pass out, his form cradling into the seat of the chair, he was incapable of anything. The mask was gone, there was no strength left, just feebleness and dying.
...And that infernal sucking noise that seemed to pop every few seconds, as if to spite him. Every breath he trembled, the weight in his lungs seeming to fill. But just as he seemed like he was about to drown within himself, there was a little more room to fill with fresh air. Thus the pace of his breath picked up and became more erratic, wanting to breath in those small increments.
He wanted to scream.
Those "squirting" noises seemed to be keeping up with him.* * * * * * * * * * * * * Getting out of the car, being picked up by a stick figure of a man with two much hair gel---or excessively anal tendencies---and being dropped? There went a whole quart of blood, straight from his mouth, onto his lap. This wasn't elegant at all. Right now he was fairly gross.* * * * * * * * * * * * * ...
In all of the damned agony, the man seemed to recall something. With barely any air to sustain a syllable, he kept trying to call out for someone. Someone with a V.
...And then he stopped as he realized both their names started with V.
His vision faded. The words failed in his mouth. He wheezed one final time before the darkness t...* * * * * * * * * * * * * ...And In The Darkness... With suddenness, "Teal" awoke. He turned his head to the side. There he was, their leader. In the hands of that woman once again. The smoke wafted up from her figure, the blood on her arms offering slight reflection of the work she had done on him.
But this was not enough strength. His thoughts would have to wait until strength returned to his mind as well.
"Teal" closed his eye and fell through to unconsciousness once more.
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"your hide will make a fine poncho." |
PLAYED BY OOC NAME
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Post by Vespyr on Dec 3, 2011 3:16:59 GMT -8
The Outsider
Vespyr had been gazing at the labored rise and fall of “Unfettered”’s chest for about five minutes when she was suddenly aware of an unfamiliar presence in the room. Her cold violet gaze shifted to inspect the intruders—two of them—and she narrowed her eyes. Silent and scrutinizing, she slowly moved across the room and loomed menacingly over the unwelcome child. For several seconds she stood silent while her eyes smoldered and a few wisps of cigarette smoke curled from the corners of her lips.
“The fuck is this.”
Gilbert stepped in a few paces behind her, pinching his pointed chin between his bony fingers in a charade of concern.
“That is the, ahem, smallish person that I—“ “Where did it come from?”
He stretched his lips back in an apparent grimace.
“I’m afraid I don’t quite know.”
The two grim faces peered down at the peculiar boy who sat motionless on the floor.
“Should I, ahem, remove it, Miss?” “Yes.”
She half-turned but halted as the tendrils of an idea from earlier crept back into her mind. Gilbert had reached down and would attempt to grab the boy by his wrist.
“Wait a minute, no.”
Vespyr strode briskly back to the counter, reached underneath, and withdrew a length of rope as Gilbert stood awkwardly with the boy’s slender arm held up in the air. She swatted his hand away and crouched, tying the rope around the child’s scrawny neck. It was knotted tightly, but not so much as to choke him. Once the leash was fixed, Vespyr stood and handed the end of the rope to a rather confused and agitated Gilbert Pike.
“I need this for something. Tie it to the radiator.” “There is no radiator.” “Tie it to something, Gilbert.”
As told, he took the rope and led away, scowling as soon as his back was turned. The best he could do in the barren room was to feed the end of the rope through the centers of a few cinderblocks lining the fire pit. He would then smooth the tail-end of his long black coat over his absence of a behind and sit down on the ground on the opposite side of the ring. The fire was blazing quietly, warm, luminous, casting a dim flickering glow onto the walls of the room.
Vespyr was left alone looking across the room at the man who had rode back with them from the demolished battlezone.
...And then she looked at him.
The Twins had remained diligently at their post throughout the entire ordeal. The sun had vanished over the smoggy horizon and night had fallen, and the shadows and thick darkness permeated the cavernous structure, but the two identical pairs of eyes had not closed save to blink the weary redness away. She had given them an important task and they were determined not to fail, for they would surely meet their death if they did; but she had not told them when their task was finished, or when they could return to the warmth of the building above. Presumably, they would not return. This was their life now.
Chilled night breezes soon became crisp, biting cold winds that buffeted through the garage and whisked up the dead leaves from the ground so that they hissed as they skipped to and fro, an eerie dance of decay accompanied by the haunting groan of the wind. These morbid sounds sent shivers down the two identical spines, but the Twins remained at their posts regardless. But they were growing tired. They turned, exchanged a look, and Titus nodded to his brother. Isaiah sat down and curled into a ball on the floor, where he would sleep until daybreak, and then resume his shift while Titus rested.
The other glanced at the man who had joined them several hours prior; he, too, was deep in slumber. Titus was alone in the dark. He stared out across the shadowy foliage and at the empty path beyond. The amber in his eyes was muted and cloaked by the darkness of the night. If there were thoughts circling behind them, it was not evident.
But there were thoughts; a sense of self was coming to light. I am Titus, he thought: Protector of the Sleeping and Guardian of the Gate.
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