Coyote Hart
Misguideful Moniker
Clay Vazquez
kenchin
Kisaki
Uasal
SidTheSkid
Mitchs98
With an agonizing impact to his body, Clay slammed into the van, just in time to see the driver of the cabbie van abandon ship and sprint wildly, his arms rotating in the desperate way that people in panic do. He didn't even bother to park the cabbie before he left.
Awkwardly, there was already a woman sitting next to Clay. He didn't recognize her-- heck, he didn't recognize anyone in the cab. Other than her, there was a wild-looking man with a gigantic pompadour (who seemed to see him as lesser than the white-haired, white-suited girl, which Clay had no problems with), a delicate girl who looked a few years younger than Clay, a blindfolded girl which who Clay immediately knew he would have communication issues with, and a thin looking figure who was slowly leaking blood from a wound. Clay, still disoriented and confused, was in a state of paralysis. All he could do was to hold on for dear life as the cab continued to roll down the street. He couldn't even try to communicate in some way with the strangers, much less try to heal the injured person.
Pompadour-person immediately took authority, hopping into the driver's seat of the cab before the cab was able to roll off too much. The next few minutes were filled with confusion and panic as people continuously fell from the sky. There were strangers, people who looked strikingly familiar to someone Clay would've seen in video games when he was younger, and even an army squadron, which landed with caution and with guns out. It was crazy, crazy, taking the metaphor of "raining cats and dogs" and turning it into "raining people and more people."
The pompadour-man drove like a madman, like someone who obviously understood traffic rules but regarded them with a dull disregard. Stuck in a cab with a bunch of strangers was one thing, but when the driver was exceptionally dangerous, it made Clay feel absolutely terrified.
Then, finally, they arrived at a white-washed building, which identified itself as a hospital by the red cross above the entrance. Immediately, the bloodied man was moved out of the van and into the hospital, probably to be operated on.
The rest of the people were moved into the waiting room. Befitting the silent one, Clay was completely forgotten about by the hospital staff that came out to escort them in. As a result, Clay was left to look around his surroundings.
Nothing really had changed. It was still New York, with gray streets and gray sky. But something had changed. The air felt different as if it was being squeezed out in order to accommodate the existence of something new. The war-stricken wildness by the hands of the Contractor gang was also gone, left with a feeling of mundaneness and peace.
Clay decided that he probably shouldn't continue looking at the streets, and so he turned towards the hospital and walked inside. There was a vending machine, which sold ironically unhealthy food ranging from soda to candy bars to cookies. All of a sudden, Clay realized that he had violently spilled his coffee and dropped his McMuffin when he had fallen out of the sky. Clay additionally realized that he was still hungry.
He fished through his pocket to only find a ten dollar bill, nothing smaller. It was better than nothing, and with it, Clay bought ten of the one dollar chocolate chip cookies that were being sold.
Then Clay decided he was ready to return to the group, all thoughts of school long gone. And when he went in, he was greeted with the most unusual sight ever. A man aggressively petting a potted plant, the blindfolded girl who had her staff across her lap like it was a normal thing to have in a hospital waiting room, the cute little girl who was suddenly being petted like a potted plant, and of course, Pompadour Man. What a weird combination of people to be sitting together.
The hospital room itself was an interesting place. Clay usually strayed far away from such places, as ghost wandered the place, unseen by humankind. Indeed, there were ghosts lurking at every corner, some conversing with each other like their deaths never happened. They were translucent, ignoring the occupants of the room. No doubt about it, they were the ghosts of the people who died in the hospital. How tragic that people decided that bringing their loved ones to a hospital for their final hours of life was a good idea.
Determined to ignore the ghosts as much as the dementia-inflicted man with the potted plant, Clay walked over to the front desk and aggressively slammed his hand onto the hand sanitizer bottle, which fired a shot of sanitizing alcohol into his hand (unknownst to Clay, slamming a hand on a bottle was extremely loud, due to the slamming noise and the sound of the hand sanitizer being forcefully ejected out of the bottle-- but Clay didn't know), which he rubbed around for good measure before he took one of the cookies out of the packaging.
At the same time, the wounded man burst into the waiting room, wearing nothing but a pair of pants, and being chased by doctors and nurses who tried to make him go back inside. His bare chest was corded with muscle and laced with scars. Involuntarily, Clay felt his heart leap, as the man was indeed kinda strongly built.
Immediately, the occupants of the waiting room erupted into sudden speaking, which Clay wasn't able to completely focus on. All that he knew was that everyone was encouraging him to go back to his treatment. Clay agreed wholeheartedly with everyone.
Trying to convince the man to go back, Clay shoved one of the unopened packages of chocolate chip cookies into the man's hands (aka trying to bribe him with a cookie), then gently gripped the taller man by his shoulders and lightly pushed him towards the doctors.
Just... go and listen to the doctors, Clay projected to the man, deciding that whoever he was, he could be trusted with a bit of telepathy, Here's a cookie to make up for your troubles.
kenchin
Kisaki
Uasal
SidTheSkid
Mitchs98
With an agonizing impact to his body, Clay slammed into the van, just in time to see the driver of the cabbie van abandon ship and sprint wildly, his arms rotating in the desperate way that people in panic do. He didn't even bother to park the cabbie before he left.
Awkwardly, there was already a woman sitting next to Clay. He didn't recognize her-- heck, he didn't recognize anyone in the cab. Other than her, there was a wild-looking man with a gigantic pompadour (who seemed to see him as lesser than the white-haired, white-suited girl, which Clay had no problems with), a delicate girl who looked a few years younger than Clay, a blindfolded girl which who Clay immediately knew he would have communication issues with, and a thin looking figure who was slowly leaking blood from a wound. Clay, still disoriented and confused, was in a state of paralysis. All he could do was to hold on for dear life as the cab continued to roll down the street. He couldn't even try to communicate in some way with the strangers, much less try to heal the injured person.
Pompadour-person immediately took authority, hopping into the driver's seat of the cab before the cab was able to roll off too much. The next few minutes were filled with confusion and panic as people continuously fell from the sky. There were strangers, people who looked strikingly familiar to someone Clay would've seen in video games when he was younger, and even an army squadron, which landed with caution and with guns out. It was crazy, crazy, taking the metaphor of "raining cats and dogs" and turning it into "raining people and more people."
The pompadour-man drove like a madman, like someone who obviously understood traffic rules but regarded them with a dull disregard. Stuck in a cab with a bunch of strangers was one thing, but when the driver was exceptionally dangerous, it made Clay feel absolutely terrified.
Then, finally, they arrived at a white-washed building, which identified itself as a hospital by the red cross above the entrance. Immediately, the bloodied man was moved out of the van and into the hospital, probably to be operated on.
The rest of the people were moved into the waiting room. Befitting the silent one, Clay was completely forgotten about by the hospital staff that came out to escort them in. As a result, Clay was left to look around his surroundings.
Nothing really had changed. It was still New York, with gray streets and gray sky. But something had changed. The air felt different as if it was being squeezed out in order to accommodate the existence of something new. The war-stricken wildness by the hands of the Contractor gang was also gone, left with a feeling of mundaneness and peace.
Clay decided that he probably shouldn't continue looking at the streets, and so he turned towards the hospital and walked inside. There was a vending machine, which sold ironically unhealthy food ranging from soda to candy bars to cookies. All of a sudden, Clay realized that he had violently spilled his coffee and dropped his McMuffin when he had fallen out of the sky. Clay additionally realized that he was still hungry.
He fished through his pocket to only find a ten dollar bill, nothing smaller. It was better than nothing, and with it, Clay bought ten of the one dollar chocolate chip cookies that were being sold.
Then Clay decided he was ready to return to the group, all thoughts of school long gone. And when he went in, he was greeted with the most unusual sight ever. A man aggressively petting a potted plant, the blindfolded girl who had her staff across her lap like it was a normal thing to have in a hospital waiting room, the cute little girl who was suddenly being petted like a potted plant, and of course, Pompadour Man. What a weird combination of people to be sitting together.
The hospital room itself was an interesting place. Clay usually strayed far away from such places, as ghost wandered the place, unseen by humankind. Indeed, there were ghosts lurking at every corner, some conversing with each other like their deaths never happened. They were translucent, ignoring the occupants of the room. No doubt about it, they were the ghosts of the people who died in the hospital. How tragic that people decided that bringing their loved ones to a hospital for their final hours of life was a good idea.
Determined to ignore the ghosts as much as the dementia-inflicted man with the potted plant, Clay walked over to the front desk and aggressively slammed his hand onto the hand sanitizer bottle, which fired a shot of sanitizing alcohol into his hand (unknownst to Clay, slamming a hand on a bottle was extremely loud, due to the slamming noise and the sound of the hand sanitizer being forcefully ejected out of the bottle-- but Clay didn't know), which he rubbed around for good measure before he took one of the cookies out of the packaging.
At the same time, the wounded man burst into the waiting room, wearing nothing but a pair of pants, and being chased by doctors and nurses who tried to make him go back inside. His bare chest was corded with muscle and laced with scars. Involuntarily, Clay felt his heart leap, as the man was indeed kinda strongly built.
Immediately, the occupants of the waiting room erupted into sudden speaking, which Clay wasn't able to completely focus on. All that he knew was that everyone was encouraging him to go back to his treatment. Clay agreed wholeheartedly with everyone.
Trying to convince the man to go back, Clay shoved one of the unopened packages of chocolate chip cookies into the man's hands (aka trying to bribe him with a cookie), then gently gripped the taller man by his shoulders and lightly pushed him towards the doctors.
Just... go and listen to the doctors, Clay projected to the man, deciding that whoever he was, he could be trusted with a bit of telepathy, Here's a cookie to make up for your troubles.
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