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Fantasy The Last Judgement
- Thread starter Hell0NHighWater
- Start date
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- Threadmarks
- 88
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Statistics (45 threadmarks, 47k words)
User Total Lekiel 2 Hell0NHighWater 12 Rui 2 Gravitational Force 2 Chise_Robin_ 6 GuavaJuiceXI 3 Lakyr 3 BasiliskVeranda 7 Epiphany 2 Cara 1 Paarthurnax 2 Artificial Angel 3 Threadmarks Reader mode
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Hell0NHighWater
Queen of Hell
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The Storyline
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The World
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The Survivor Classes
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General Info
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"Satan made man dance upon the brink of Hell as though they were on the verge of Heaven."
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[/div] The world ended on a Sunday.
Some saw it coming. Hunters that had always lived in secrecy, trying to protect the world they knew against the one they feared. They’d been fighting and struggling for years against this single eventuality, only to see all their efforts destroyed in front of them.
The Norse called it Ragnarok, the Bible called it Revelations. The realists were waiting for bombs to drop, others for a plague. In the end, the apocalypse came in the form of a cataclysmic event that no one could stop. A gateway to Hell, opening up right in the middle of Time Square in New York City.
This is how it began.
The demons and monsters pouring forth into this world will waste no time in ripping it apart, taking hosts and setting fire to the city around them. New York will only be the first to fall into chaos, soldiers and civilians alike unable to stop the preternatural terrors that have been unleashed on them. The few that knew this was coming, the hunters, the witches, the believers, won’t have the strength alone to stand against the tide.
Death has come to all, and every day that passes will only spread its reach farther.
No one is safe, and there is no such thing as innocent anymore. Only survivors. A small group caught in the first wave are left struggling to stay alive, and the only hope offered to them comes from the mouths of prophets, promising something like hope across the country in California.
[/div][/div] [div class="scrollBox two"] [div class=mainHeader] The World Before [/div] [div class=mainText] [div class="imageBorder"]
[/div] For years, the war against the preternatural was waged in silence. Hunters, Witches and Prophets lived in secrecy, fighting the good fight the best they could...
Wanting to preserve life and the world as they’d always known it. To everyone else, the world went on around them, oblivious to the peril fought beneath their very noses. In recent years, the war became bloodier, more violent and the death toll of those that would guard us against this growing menace of hellspawn and demonic energy grew astronomically.
Doomsayers had begun to become more prevalent, but the world still continued to refuse the possibility. It was an ordinary day in an ordinary world when the cataclysm erupted beneath our feet.
[div class=mainSubheader] Year One [/div]
Once the hell gate opened, it was the picture of apocalypse. Hellfire gutted buildings, entire blocks, reducing them to ash and rubble, skeleton cities. Tendrils of brimstone curled from the dirt, spreading across the city like a growing infection. Those buildings and structures still intact are abandoned ghost towns, inhabitants either killed or enslaved. Groups of survivors begin to pocket within the city as the infrastructure of electricity, water and government begin to break down.
Outside the city, the destruction began to spread with the flood of demons and monsters spilling through streets. The eastern coast is the first to be affected, and the few survivors that pulled themselves from the wreckage of New York are still discovering just how brutal and widespread the damage is.
[div class=mainSubheader] Year Two [/div]
The world hasn’t gotten better. Small civilizations of survivors have started to crop up, but most no longer follow the rules known to humanity. Roving marauders led by witches and demons add to monster infested landscapes. Whole streets, city blocks or even full towns have been taken over by demonic leaders, each with their own agenda and flavor. The world is truly an unpredictable and terrifying place.
Further from New York, the hope of a rescue has died. Buildings that are still in tact have mostly been swept clean of supplies, making it harder to find the essentials like food, medicine, and clean water. The weather has become unpredictable, the cold more bitter, the heat more scorching. Now any survivors must find their food from the still living animals or canned goods that haven’t rotted or festered.
[/div][/div] [div class="coverFlexContainer three"] [div class="coverFlexBox expositionLeft"] [div class="coverExpositionText"] All things truly wicked start from an innocence... [/div][/div] [div class="coverFlexBox coverTitle" style="flex: 1 0 50%"] [div class="coverText coverCenter"] The Last Judgement [/div][/div] [div class="coverFlexBox expositionRight"] [div class="coverExpositionText"] In Character [/div][/div][/div] [div class="scrollBox four"] [div class=mainHeader] The Survivors [/div] [div class=mainText] [div class="imageBorder"]
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H U M A N S
Some have found themselves changing with the onset of the apocalypse, gifted with seeming supernatural abilities or cursed with darker ones. Some woke up with nothing at all to protect them against the rising dead, nothing but quick wits and a propensity for survival.
B A S I C:
H U N T E R S
Hunters have been here for centuries in one form or another. They’ve always fought against the demons and the monsters. Some have only been fueled by training and knowledge, but others were granted the hunter’s mark, giving them strength and skill beyond that of a normal human.
B A S I C : marked hunters possess the following:
W I T C H E S
Much like hunters, witches have existed for centuries. They are imbued with magic passed down through their family line, though it takes practice and ritual to fully master it. Some have fought against the supernatural, some have helped it gain a foothold on earth.
B A S I C:
A F F L I C T E D
The afflicted are humans who’ve found themselves heavily influenced by the release of demonic energy. Their souls are slowly becoming corrupted, becoming closer to demons themselves every day. While it grants them new capabilities, all power comes at a price.
B A S I C : all afflicted possess the following:
B L E S S E D
Much like the afflicted, the blessed are humans who have instead found themselves heavily influenced by angelic energy. Their souls are becoming more divine, granting them abilities and capabilities granted to the holiest of beings.
B A S I C : all blessed possess the following:
P R O P H E T S
Prophets have wandered the earth before, but their numbers have always been small. The opening of the gates to Hell has given rise to new prophets, their minds suddenly haunted by terrible visions of the future and the past.
B A S I C:
[/div][/div] [div class="scrollBox five"] [div class=mainHeader] Expectations [/div] [div class=mainSubheader] The RP [/div] [div class="mainText indent"] This roleplay is difficult to describe. For the most part, The Last Judgement is an apocalyptic, fantasy, supernatural, horror roleplay. Based on an RP I actually found on Tumblr called “The Wasteland”, but of course with my own unique twist. The bare bones of this RP will be focusing on a group of survivors right at the dawn of the apocalypse, this is the story of their journey across a country being ripped to shreds by supernatural forces. [/div] [div class="mainText indent"] On the GM side, I like to think I'm pretty flexible and have had experience running groups before. I’m most effective with smaller groups of three or four. Past that, and uh I’ll need help. So, if this attracts some attention (which I hope it will because I've been wanting to do something like this for a really long time), then I’ll also be looking for co-GMs! I’m also toying with the idea of a simple dice system for combat, and schemes for giving players more of a voice.I am not good with the dice mechanic for this site so if that is a route I decide to go down then a co-GM with some RPN dice experience might be useful.
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Players and Characters
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I ask that players be respectful, and communicate often. If there are enough people who become interested then I might set up a discord. So participate in discord occasionally (TBD), and let me know if you’re unable to post. Simple stuff, but easy to forget about. If you want to participate, then I want you to be prepared to make a small commitment to upholding these two things. This RP has some really dark themes as well so if you are interested in this please understand that there will be violence, gore, or any other things that may be triggering. Please abide by RPN rules that should go without saying, just please fade to black if there is a need to.
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As for characters, I’m allowing an unlimited amount on one condition: You may only select one or two to be main characters, and any others become supporting cast. Why? Because I want you to focus on character arcs, and a smaller main cast is easier to cater the rp around.
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Quality
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I don’t expect to see you rewrite Shakespeare, but I don’t want to see haphazard writing either. We're all human here (at least uh...I hope) so grammar and spelling mistakes are fine as long as you know the difference between 'there', 'they're', and 'their' we're all good. I hate putting a limit on how much people write, but this isn't the sort of thing to have casual one-liners. As for what I would like to see, I really favor a combination of both style and concision. It takes a lot to consistently put that much effort into a post, and its sets a precedent that posts "should" be that long. So just stick to a length that is easy to maintain. That isn't a single sentence.
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Commitment
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I’ll emphasize again that, yes, I know life happens. It’ll inevitably happen for me too. That’s why I’ll keep stressing how important it is to communicate. If that’s something you’re not prepared to do, then this is probably not the place for you. As for the actual commitment, I expect you to follow along with the story and post once or more per week (or let me know if you can't). I am ready to boot you if you’re both inactive and not communicating. I also want to be clear that I will not wait forever for you to post.
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Also if you cannot continue in the RP for whatever reason, please let me know.
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Links
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Discord
Playlist
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Some saw it coming. Hunters that had always lived in secrecy, trying to protect the world they knew against the one they feared. They’d been fighting and struggling for years against this single eventuality, only to see all their efforts destroyed in front of them.
The Norse called it Ragnarok, the Bible called it Revelations. The realists were waiting for bombs to drop, others for a plague. In the end, the apocalypse came in the form of a cataclysmic event that no one could stop. A gateway to Hell, opening up right in the middle of Time Square in New York City.
This is how it began.
The demons and monsters pouring forth into this world will waste no time in ripping it apart, taking hosts and setting fire to the city around them. New York will only be the first to fall into chaos, soldiers and civilians alike unable to stop the preternatural terrors that have been unleashed on them. The few that knew this was coming, the hunters, the witches, the believers, won’t have the strength alone to stand against the tide.
Death has come to all, and every day that passes will only spread its reach farther.
No one is safe, and there is no such thing as innocent anymore. Only survivors. A small group caught in the first wave are left struggling to stay alive, and the only hope offered to them comes from the mouths of prophets, promising something like hope across the country in California.
[/div][/div] [div class="scrollBox two"] [div class=mainHeader] The World Before [/div] [div class=mainText] [div class="imageBorder"]
Wanting to preserve life and the world as they’d always known it. To everyone else, the world went on around them, oblivious to the peril fought beneath their very noses. In recent years, the war became bloodier, more violent and the death toll of those that would guard us against this growing menace of hellspawn and demonic energy grew astronomically.
Doomsayers had begun to become more prevalent, but the world still continued to refuse the possibility. It was an ordinary day in an ordinary world when the cataclysm erupted beneath our feet.
[div class=mainSubheader] Year One [/div]
Once the hell gate opened, it was the picture of apocalypse. Hellfire gutted buildings, entire blocks, reducing them to ash and rubble, skeleton cities. Tendrils of brimstone curled from the dirt, spreading across the city like a growing infection. Those buildings and structures still intact are abandoned ghost towns, inhabitants either killed or enslaved. Groups of survivors begin to pocket within the city as the infrastructure of electricity, water and government begin to break down.
Outside the city, the destruction began to spread with the flood of demons and monsters spilling through streets. The eastern coast is the first to be affected, and the few survivors that pulled themselves from the wreckage of New York are still discovering just how brutal and widespread the damage is.
[div class=mainSubheader] Year Two [/div]
The world hasn’t gotten better. Small civilizations of survivors have started to crop up, but most no longer follow the rules known to humanity. Roving marauders led by witches and demons add to monster infested landscapes. Whole streets, city blocks or even full towns have been taken over by demonic leaders, each with their own agenda and flavor. The world is truly an unpredictable and terrifying place.
Further from New York, the hope of a rescue has died. Buildings that are still in tact have mostly been swept clean of supplies, making it harder to find the essentials like food, medicine, and clean water. The weather has become unpredictable, the cold more bitter, the heat more scorching. Now any survivors must find their food from the still living animals or canned goods that haven’t rotted or festered.
[/div][/div] [div class="coverFlexContainer three"] [div class="coverFlexBox expositionLeft"] [div class="coverExpositionText"] All things truly wicked start from an innocence... [/div][/div] [div class="coverFlexBox coverTitle" style="flex: 1 0 50%"] [div class="coverText coverCenter"] The Last Judgement [/div][/div] [div class="coverFlexBox expositionRight"] [div class="coverExpositionText"] In Character [/div][/div][/div] [div class="scrollBox four"] [div class=mainHeader] The Survivors [/div] [div class=mainText] [div class="imageBorder"]
Some have found themselves changing with the onset of the apocalypse, gifted with seeming supernatural abilities or cursed with darker ones. Some woke up with nothing at all to protect them against the rising dead, nothing but quick wits and a propensity for survival.
B A S I C:
- Any skills and abilities are those they’ve managed to learn without aid of supernatural powers or strengths.
- Capable of becoming afflicted, blessed, or prophets.
- No remarkable change to their psychology, other than those expected when faced with the apocalypse.
- Subject to both demonic and angelic possession, a vampire’s thrall, and infection.
H U N T E R S
Hunters have been here for centuries in one form or another. They’ve always fought against the demons and the monsters. Some have only been fueled by training and knowledge, but others were granted the hunter’s mark, giving them strength and skill beyond that of a normal human.
B A S I C : marked hunters possess the following:
- Stronger and faster, they are brutes to some extent, having a natural affinity for melee weapons and a keen eye when it comes to guns and ranged weapons.
- Heightened senses of sight, hearing, and smell.
- They heal at a much faster rate, possess increased stamina, and are capable of taking substantially more damage than a normal human might survive.
- Mark manifests on the back of their dominant hand.
- No remarkable change to their psychology, other than those expected when faced with the apocalypse.
- Not immune to demonic possession, angelic possession, or infection.
- Resistant to a vampire’s thrall, but not completely immune.
W I T C H E S
Much like hunters, witches have existed for centuries. They are imbued with magic passed down through their family line, though it takes practice and ritual to fully master it. Some have fought against the supernatural, some have helped it gain a foothold on earth.
B A S I C:
- All witches are capable of basic telekinesis without any form of ritual.
- They possess the ability to use magic, however it is usually accompanied by ritual of some form. The branches of spellcasting vary, and each witches specialization is usually determined by how they were raised.
- Schools of magic may include: black magic, white magic, blood magic, elemental magic, enchantment, necromancy, alchemy and voodoo.*
- All witches are at risk for possession, and substantially higher than anyone else. It is possible for them to hear the spirits of the dead, and this can have a detrimental effect on their psychological wellbeing.
- Not immune to either demonic or angelic possession.
- Not immune to either infection or a vampire’s thrall.
- Capable of casting protective spells or enchantments to help ward themselves or others, but cannot cast spells for immediate healing.
A F F L I C T E D
The afflicted are humans who’ve found themselves heavily influenced by the release of demonic energy. Their souls are slowly becoming corrupted, becoming closer to demons themselves every day. While it grants them new capabilities, all power comes at a price.
B A S I C : all afflicted possess the following:
- Faster and stronger than humans, they are capable of taking a lot more damage before being weakened.
- Abilities can manifest as either darkness manipulation, pain inducement and suppression, or telekinesis.
- Manifests itself as what resembles black tattoos underneath the skin, generally starting on the chest and working outwards.
- As affliction progresses, they maybe become subject to some of the same weaknesses as a red-eyed demon.
- Driven more and more by emotion, they are more prone to outbursts of anger or aggression.*
- As their corruption worsens, they are more and more likely to take pleasure in sadistic acts, bloodshed, and violence.*
- Not initially immune to demonic possession, but they become so once their soul has been fully corrupted and they are completely demonic.*
- Immune to angelic possession.
- Immunity against a vampire’s thrall and infection.
- Affliction is permanent, and while it maybe slowed, there is no reversing or curing the soul’s corruption.
B L E S S E D
Much like the afflicted, the blessed are humans who have instead found themselves heavily influenced by angelic energy. Their souls are becoming more divine, granting them abilities and capabilities granted to the holiest of beings.
B A S I C : all blessed possess the following:
- Possess the ability to exorcise and destroy demons. While prayer can help focus this energy, the act of ritual is more habit than necessity.
- Capable of minor healing, though it may gain in strength and potency as they progress towards divine ascendance.
- Capable of manipulating cleansing fire, capable of destroying the unclean by burning them from the inside out, destroying infection in a similar manner, or cleansing the mind of a vampire’s thrall. Cleansing fire only affects the demonically unclean, and has little effect on humans.
- Manifests itself as what resembles ornate, white tattoos under the skin, including markings that resemble wings on their backs.
- The closer someone is towards divine ascendance, their eyes will begin to turn gold or with change to a golden hue upon using their powers.
- The longer they progress, the more aware they become of other heavenly beings, as well as demonic ones. How this affects each blessed varies as it would with anyone.*
- While this affects people differently, all blessed begin to experience a certain disconnect between themselves and the rest of humanity, growing slowly more detached and emotionless.
- Not initially immune to angelic possession, but they become so once their soul has been fully transitioned and they are completely divine.*
- Immune to demonic possession.
- Immunity against a vampire’s thrall and infection.
- Blessings are permanent, and while the effects maybe slowed, the soul’s alteration cannot be stopped or cured.
P R O P H E T S
Prophets have wandered the earth before, but their numbers have always been small. The opening of the gates to Hell has given rise to new prophets, their minds suddenly haunted by terrible visions of the future and the past.
B A S I C:
- All prophets are granted visions of both the future and the past, often without warning. These episodes can manifest as gently as dreams, or as violently as seizures.
- Visions can be played out differently depending on the prophet, either in a trance with a more linear progression of events, quick flashes, or simply impressions of what’s to come.
- While not psychic, prophets have a much higher level of empathy, leaving them much more attuned to the emotions and mannerisms of others.
- Physically they are the same as humans, with the same capabilities as anyone otherwise unafflicted.
- Prophets are much more prone to bouts of psychosis, some reaching a point where they can no longer tell the present from the future.
- They often devolve into episodes of writing or sketching solely to express whatever images have been left in their mind.
- Not immune to either demonic or angelic possession.
- Not immune to either infection or a vampire’s thrall.
[/div][/div] [div class="scrollBox five"] [div class=mainHeader] Expectations [/div] [div class=mainSubheader] The RP [/div] [div class="mainText indent"] This roleplay is difficult to describe. For the most part, The Last Judgement is an apocalyptic, fantasy, supernatural, horror roleplay. Based on an RP I actually found on Tumblr called “The Wasteland”, but of course with my own unique twist. The bare bones of this RP will be focusing on a group of survivors right at the dawn of the apocalypse, this is the story of their journey across a country being ripped to shreds by supernatural forces. [/div] [div class="mainText indent"] On the GM side, I like to think I'm pretty flexible and have had experience running groups before. I’m most effective with smaller groups of three or four. Past that, and uh I’ll need help. So, if this attracts some attention (which I hope it will because I've been wanting to do something like this for a really long time), then I’ll also be looking for co-GMs! I’m also toying with the idea of a simple dice system for combat, and schemes for giving players more of a voice.
Playlist
[/div][/div] [/div][/div] [/div][/div][/div][/div]
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Hell0NHighWater
Queen of Hell
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[/div][div class=statusText]Location: Newark Airport
Date: unknown; sometime in 2068
Tags:
scorpiodragon
Rui
Primordial
Lakyr
Kaas
GuavaJuiceXI
Gravitational Force
BasiliskVeranda
Anise
Lotte
[/div][/div][div class=title]Rhys Contiello[/div][div class=text]
White flecks fell from an ugly grey sky. The street was --to the naked eye-- abandoned, cars littered the area in different stages of decay. The snow was piling into soft plush mounds and painted the landscape a blinding white. The flakes fell slowly and air is almost still, but the flurries are so thick that it almost obscures the view of the abandoned road completely. From the dirty boarded up windows, a pair of clear blue eyes narrowed at the stillness. It had been quiet for days. Ever since the snow started falling it was like the Revenants, that had kept them confined to this tiny airport, had all but disappeared. The temperatures had begun to plummet and with it, the amount of daylight allowed to them. Even now, as the sun began to rise somewhere on the horizon he doubted that there would be much light.
Rhys didn't trust it.
But then again, he didn't trust much of anything anymore.
He turned from the window where he stood vigil, looking off in the direction of the circle of survivors whom had been shut in here with him. There was no way of knowing just how long it had actually been but, he was fairly sure that they needed to get moving soon. A piece of him, the part that was corrupting him, urged towards the more righteous outcome: to help out as many of these poor souls as he could. But realistically?
Rhys wasn't a good man.
That ship had sailed the moment he pumped that asshole full of lead.
A soft glow of light fell across half of his features, those cobalt blues flickering to the lamp that sat a couple feet away. It was always a risk to have a fire or any sort of light...but with the temperatures being what they were a fire was a must. Otherwise they would be just as likely to die from the cold as they would from the devils that invaded their world.
"We have been here for too long! I say we leave before they find us..."
His lips tilted into a fraction of a frown, folding heavily muscled arms across his equally built chest. Rhys wasn't a small man and his height coupled with the muscles he had put long hours into obtaining made him a reasonably intimidating man. Not to mention that his time on the force had programmed him with a certain air of authority. The elder woman who had voiced his thoughts had been thoroughly complaining for the entirety of their stay.The woman had the look of middle-aged housewife gone to seed. Her eye-brows were so thin as to be barely there and her eyelashes were short and stubby. As such her pallid skin aged her beyond her years. She had the misfortune to be a blonde, and no doubt that had been attractive in her youth, but now she simply looked washed out. Her cardigan was tight about her middle, perhaps when new had been loose, but in the light of the lantern it looked worn and shabby. The mid-blue wool had a furry texture and at least two buttons were missing. Her eyes were so washed out that it was hard to tell their hue, and to be frank, no-one cared to look at her long enough to find out.
Rhys could only shake his head lightly at her, "While I agree with your worries, ma'am, there is no where to go."
The woman made a face, her nose crinkling a bit as she looked at him with something that made his insides roll. While she hadn't seemed to like any of the people he had been forced to be around, she had especially hated him. Not that he knew why. Maybe there was something on his face? Rhys glanced at the window again, checking his dirty reflection for any sign of something offensive but when he came up short he turned back towards the woman.
"There is always Pennsylvania."
Rhys pressed his lips together in a thin line. He had heard the rumors (it was impossible not to have at this point) but that didn't mean he believed that they held a shred of truth. "That's hardly a guarantee-"
"California then! Wherever! As long as it is not in this blighted airport!" She threw her hands up in exasperation, her voice carrying rather loudly off the concrete walls. Rhys didn't think she realized that she had practically just yelled, but his body stiffened in response instantly on alert for the sounds of anything coming to check out the disturbance. But after a beat of silence, there was only the huffing of the elderly woman and the sound of snow draping the world.
[/div][div class=text][/div][/div][/div][/div] [class=wrapper] background-color:#5e757c; box-sizing:border-box; color:#FFFFFF; display:inline-block; position:relative; width:100%; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=title] color: #262626; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:3em; font-style:italic; padding:0; text-shadow:0 0 1em; margin-bottom: 10px; [/class] [class=box] margin:2em 1em; padding:2px 4px 0px; position:relative; [/class] [class=boxBg] box-sizing:content-box; height:100%; pointer-events:none; position:absolute; width:100%; [/class] [class=boxBgLarge] top:0; left:-5px; padding:0 4px; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.35); [/class] [class=boxBgTall] top:-8px;left:3px; padding:8px 0; width:calc(100% - 8px); height:100%; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.25); [/class] [class=boxBgMedium] top:-4px; left:-1px; padding:4px 0; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.4); [/class] [class=boxInner] background-color: #5e757c; overflow:hidden; margin:0.5em; [/class] [class=statusBox] box-sizing: border-box; border-right: 3px dotted white; padding: 15px; float: left; max-width: 250px; margin: 0px 15px 15px 0px; [/class] [class=text] padding: 0px 15px 15px 15px; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:0.8em; [/class] [class=statusText] font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.75em; margin-top: 5px; [/class] [class=characterPortrait] box-sizing: border-box; position: relative; border-radius: 20px; overflow: hidden; [/class] [class name=characterPortrait state=hover] opacity: 0.5 [/class]
Date: unknown; sometime in 2068
Tags:
scorpiodragon
Rui
Primordial
Lakyr
Kaas
GuavaJuiceXI
Gravitational Force
BasiliskVeranda
Anise
Lotte
[/div][/div][div class=title]Rhys Contiello[/div][div class=text]White flecks fell from an ugly grey sky. The street was --to the naked eye-- abandoned, cars littered the area in different stages of decay. The snow was piling into soft plush mounds and painted the landscape a blinding white. The flakes fell slowly and air is almost still, but the flurries are so thick that it almost obscures the view of the abandoned road completely. From the dirty boarded up windows, a pair of clear blue eyes narrowed at the stillness. It had been quiet for days. Ever since the snow started falling it was like the Revenants, that had kept them confined to this tiny airport, had all but disappeared. The temperatures had begun to plummet and with it, the amount of daylight allowed to them. Even now, as the sun began to rise somewhere on the horizon he doubted that there would be much light.
Rhys didn't trust it.
But then again, he didn't trust much of anything anymore.
He turned from the window where he stood vigil, looking off in the direction of the circle of survivors whom had been shut in here with him. There was no way of knowing just how long it had actually been but, he was fairly sure that they needed to get moving soon. A piece of him, the part that was corrupting him, urged towards the more righteous outcome: to help out as many of these poor souls as he could. But realistically?
Rhys wasn't a good man.
That ship had sailed the moment he pumped that asshole full of lead.
A soft glow of light fell across half of his features, those cobalt blues flickering to the lamp that sat a couple feet away. It was always a risk to have a fire or any sort of light...but with the temperatures being what they were a fire was a must. Otherwise they would be just as likely to die from the cold as they would from the devils that invaded their world.
"We have been here for too long! I say we leave before they find us..."
His lips tilted into a fraction of a frown, folding heavily muscled arms across his equally built chest. Rhys wasn't a small man and his height coupled with the muscles he had put long hours into obtaining made him a reasonably intimidating man. Not to mention that his time on the force had programmed him with a certain air of authority. The elder woman who had voiced his thoughts had been thoroughly complaining for the entirety of their stay.The woman had the look of middle-aged housewife gone to seed. Her eye-brows were so thin as to be barely there and her eyelashes were short and stubby. As such her pallid skin aged her beyond her years. She had the misfortune to be a blonde, and no doubt that had been attractive in her youth, but now she simply looked washed out. Her cardigan was tight about her middle, perhaps when new had been loose, but in the light of the lantern it looked worn and shabby. The mid-blue wool had a furry texture and at least two buttons were missing. Her eyes were so washed out that it was hard to tell their hue, and to be frank, no-one cared to look at her long enough to find out.
Rhys could only shake his head lightly at her, "While I agree with your worries, ma'am, there is no where to go."
The woman made a face, her nose crinkling a bit as she looked at him with something that made his insides roll. While she hadn't seemed to like any of the people he had been forced to be around, she had especially hated him. Not that he knew why. Maybe there was something on his face? Rhys glanced at the window again, checking his dirty reflection for any sign of something offensive but when he came up short he turned back towards the woman.
"There is always Pennsylvania."
Rhys pressed his lips together in a thin line. He had heard the rumors (it was impossible not to have at this point) but that didn't mean he believed that they held a shred of truth. "That's hardly a guarantee-"
"California then! Wherever! As long as it is not in this blighted airport!" She threw her hands up in exasperation, her voice carrying rather loudly off the concrete walls. Rhys didn't think she realized that she had practically just yelled, but his body stiffened in response instantly on alert for the sounds of anything coming to check out the disturbance. But after a beat of silence, there was only the huffing of the elderly woman and the sound of snow draping the world.
[/div][div class=text][/div][/div][/div][/div] [class=wrapper] background-color:#5e757c; box-sizing:border-box; color:#FFFFFF; display:inline-block; position:relative; width:100%; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=title] color: #262626; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:3em; font-style:italic; padding:0; text-shadow:0 0 1em; margin-bottom: 10px; [/class] [class=box] margin:2em 1em; padding:2px 4px 0px; position:relative; [/class] [class=boxBg] box-sizing:content-box; height:100%; pointer-events:none; position:absolute; width:100%; [/class] [class=boxBgLarge] top:0; left:-5px; padding:0 4px; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.35); [/class] [class=boxBgTall] top:-8px;left:3px; padding:8px 0; width:calc(100% - 8px); height:100%; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.25); [/class] [class=boxBgMedium] top:-4px; left:-1px; padding:4px 0; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.4); [/class] [class=boxInner] background-color: #5e757c; overflow:hidden; margin:0.5em; [/class] [class=statusBox] box-sizing: border-box; border-right: 3px dotted white; padding: 15px; float: left; max-width: 250px; margin: 0px 15px 15px 0px; [/class] [class=text] padding: 0px 15px 15px 15px; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:0.8em; [/class] [class=statusText] font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.75em; margin-top: 5px; [/class] [class=characterPortrait] box-sizing: border-box; position: relative; border-radius: 20px; overflow: hidden; [/class] [class name=characterPortrait state=hover] opacity: 0.5 [/class]
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Rui
Trash
STELLA
The silver haired witch was disturbed from her position in the rafters of the formerly abandoned airport by a most grating voice, yelling to the high (and nonexistent) heavens. The witch giggled, listening to the woman’s labored breath. ‘God, if that measly outburst exerted her, that fat cow wouldn’t last long.’
Stella glanced downwards, trying to control the spastic laughter in her chest. She could imagine the woman with horns, a tail, utters, and the finishing touch, a cow bell! It was too perfect an image. Stella began cracking up, swinging upside down by her legs from the industrial rafter, precariously dangling above a solid concrete floor, a good 20 feet from the group of survivors.
Her silver hair swished like a cat’s tail beneath her, her mismatched eyes closed in bliss as she enjoyed her moment of humor.
Finally, she managed to pull herself together, wiping away a tear from her scarlet irised eye.
Upon the realization she had an audience, a coy kind of smile graced her porcelain features. The small, striking little woman waved shyly, a little blush (from the introduction, or the blood rushing to her head from the position) coloring her cheeks.
“Oh, hello there.”
With that she unlocked her knees and plummeted downwards, headfirst.
The silver haired witch was disturbed from her position in the rafters of the formerly abandoned airport by a most grating voice, yelling to the high (and nonexistent) heavens. The witch giggled, listening to the woman’s labored breath. ‘God, if that measly outburst exerted her, that fat cow wouldn’t last long.’
Stella glanced downwards, trying to control the spastic laughter in her chest. She could imagine the woman with horns, a tail, utters, and the finishing touch, a cow bell! It was too perfect an image. Stella began cracking up, swinging upside down by her legs from the industrial rafter, precariously dangling above a solid concrete floor, a good 20 feet from the group of survivors.
Her silver hair swished like a cat’s tail beneath her, her mismatched eyes closed in bliss as she enjoyed her moment of humor.
Finally, she managed to pull herself together, wiping away a tear from her scarlet irised eye.
Upon the realization she had an audience, a coy kind of smile graced her porcelain features. The small, striking little woman waved shyly, a little blush (from the introduction, or the blood rushing to her head from the position) coloring her cheeks.
“Oh, hello there.”
With that she unlocked her knees and plummeted downwards, headfirst.
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Gravitational Force
Dark Lord of Creativity
Ezra Dunn:
The punk carrying a crowbar and overstuffed backpack on his back somehow managed to keep the tune he was singing going while he bashed through the security doors leading from the airport garage to the main building. His eyes could see in the dark as well as the light, so it was easy for him to make his way through the garage while singing.
"There's a magical land I know,
A place where I grew up.
And I'd make a deal with the devil himself,
To see that place blown up!"
Ezra Dunn saw no reason to not be noisy. He couldn't sense any Demons or other danger nearby and it warmed his heart to see the rodents and other vermin fleeing from the area he was in. Plus he hated New Jersey.
Ezra kept singing, managing to get to the verse about the Danes nuking New Jersey before he broke through the door.
Just as Ezra had hoped, the inside of the main airport was warmer than the outside and he found an intact vending machine half full of snacks (full of the least popular ones too) and realized that putting his crowbar to use again would cause the shattered glass to get into the food. Deciding on a different option, Ezra concentrated for a moment and glared at the machine. The spiral wheels turned as all the snacks in the machine got closer to Ezra before dropping into the holding area.
Ezra quickly deposited the snacks about his person and backpack before turning around and realizing some of the vermin from the parking lot had followed him up. For some reason he decided to take it personally and smashed the vending machine's window. With less than pinpoint but more than accurate enough accuracy Ezra skewered every rodent he could see with a shard of glass.
As Ezra moved on, constantly looking around for anything worth taking, he spotted the escalators that went to the main floor. They were blocked with debris, making the upper floor unreachable. To anyone who couldn't figure out a way through them that is. Taking stock of his resources and the problems at hand Ezra managed to use his telekinesis to shift the debris enough to form a path he could safely use.
Faced with two equally valid directions to go in, Ezra was paralyzed by indecision. Then he heard voices coming from one of them and made up his mind. With catlike tread (which in Ezra's case meant a minimum of noise from his stuff and surprisingly quiet footsteps) he made his way towards what he hoped were people. At this point he was starved for company and if they were Demons he'd be pissed. If they were those annoying airport advertisements that had somehow kept playing after the end he'd find it funny, but still be pissed.
Lotte
What even is a deadline
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[/div][div class=statusText]
Tags:
Rui
[/div][/div][div class=title]Juliet[/div][div class=text]The small window held a modest view, nothing more than snow and the indent of the neighbouring wall. Cold radiated through the thin glass, mixing with Juliet's breath and creating a layer of fog. Juliet drew three horizontal lines with her finger and stared at the outside world through them.
A headache had been cutting through her since the day before, and it didn't feel like it would go away any time soon. She wrapped herself up in a pale lilac sweater and climbed up the support beams. The airport was ''modern'', at least in its prime time, so the beams were made of metal and coated over with a thin layer of white paint. Touching them with her bare feet made her hiss, but it felt much better to be cold than to sit at the fire, surrounded by people, all of which were radiating heat. Heat and her sweaters did not go together well, and she gladly chose her oversized, comfortable, safe sweater over whatever was going on below her.
Once she'd climbed to the top she had to take a break. The sweater was made of a thick, woven material, which made it incredibly heavy and hard to move in. Not to mention the sleeves were so long she couldn't pull them up higher than her mid-forearm without cutting off the blood flow to the rest of her hand. She felt like a pregnant penguin trying to climb up to the windows.
But despite the horrid choice of climbing gear, she managed to get to that holy window and get a look outside. Her breath created new and new layers of fog on the glass, and she pulled her knees closer and tucked them under her sweater. The moisture in the air made her hair frizzy, and the little of it that wasn't stuck under the sweater puffed up and formed a coconut on her head.
The view through the three lines was blurred by a flurry of snow, and the windows and shapes on the other side melted away. Juliet pouted and hugged her knees. She spent a moment gazing through the lines again, and then pressed the tip of her nose against the window. After opening her mouth as wide as she could, she blew out warm air and fogged the window up again.
Just as she was about to start banging her head on the glass, a mess of white strings swooshed by her, and in the bundle she spotted a familiar pattern.
The bluest skies, the deepest waters, shining in the moonlight
The crimson blood, both friend and foe, soaks the ground at midnight
The light the moon had once held dear
Just might become one's biggest fear
So, oh dearest friend of mine,
Let the day of Judgement make it clear
A mix of red and blue blots splashed through Juliet's mind as she pulled her face away from the window, jumped after the figure, and all but whispered;
"Puppy"
[/div][div class=text][/div][/div][/div][/div] [class=wrapper] background-color:#5e5560; box-sizing:border-box; color:#eeeeee; display:inline-block; position:relative; width:100%; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=title] color: #bfbfbf; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:3em; font-style:italic; padding:0; margin-bottom: 10px; [/class] [class=box] margin:2em 1em; padding:2px 4px 0px; position:relative; [/class] [class=boxBg] box-sizing:content-box; height:100%; pointer-events:none; position:absolute; width:100%; [/class] [class=boxBgLarge] top:0; left:-5px; padding:0 4px; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.35); [/class] [class=boxBgTall] top:-8px;left:3px; padding:8px 0; width:calc(100% - 8px); height:100%; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.25); [/class] [class=boxBgMedium] top:-4px; left:-1px; padding:4px 0; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.4); [/class] [class=boxInner] background-color: #5e5560; overflow:hidden; margin:0.5em; [/class] [class=statusBox] box-sizing: border-box; border-right: 3px dotted white; padding: 15px; float: left; max-width: 250px; margin: 0px 15px 15px 0px; [/class] [class=text] padding: 0px 15px 15px 15px; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:0.8em; [/class] [class=statusText] font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.75em; margin-top: 5px; [/class] [class=characterPortrait] box-sizing: border-box; position: relative; border-radius: 20px; overflow: hidden; [/class] [class name=characterPortrait state=hover] opacity: 0.5 [/class]
[/div][div class=statusText]Tags:
Rui
[/div][/div][div class=title]Juliet[/div][div class=text]The small window held a modest view, nothing more than snow and the indent of the neighbouring wall. Cold radiated through the thin glass, mixing with Juliet's breath and creating a layer of fog. Juliet drew three horizontal lines with her finger and stared at the outside world through them.A headache had been cutting through her since the day before, and it didn't feel like it would go away any time soon. She wrapped herself up in a pale lilac sweater and climbed up the support beams. The airport was ''modern'', at least in its prime time, so the beams were made of metal and coated over with a thin layer of white paint. Touching them with her bare feet made her hiss, but it felt much better to be cold than to sit at the fire, surrounded by people, all of which were radiating heat. Heat and her sweaters did not go together well, and she gladly chose her oversized, comfortable, safe sweater over whatever was going on below her.
Once she'd climbed to the top she had to take a break. The sweater was made of a thick, woven material, which made it incredibly heavy and hard to move in. Not to mention the sleeves were so long she couldn't pull them up higher than her mid-forearm without cutting off the blood flow to the rest of her hand. She felt like a pregnant penguin trying to climb up to the windows.
But despite the horrid choice of climbing gear, she managed to get to that holy window and get a look outside. Her breath created new and new layers of fog on the glass, and she pulled her knees closer and tucked them under her sweater. The moisture in the air made her hair frizzy, and the little of it that wasn't stuck under the sweater puffed up and formed a coconut on her head.
The view through the three lines was blurred by a flurry of snow, and the windows and shapes on the other side melted away. Juliet pouted and hugged her knees. She spent a moment gazing through the lines again, and then pressed the tip of her nose against the window. After opening her mouth as wide as she could, she blew out warm air and fogged the window up again.
Just as she was about to start banging her head on the glass, a mess of white strings swooshed by her, and in the bundle she spotted a familiar pattern.
The bluest skies, the deepest waters, shining in the moonlight
The crimson blood, both friend and foe, soaks the ground at midnight
The light the moon had once held dear
Just might become one's biggest fear
So, oh dearest friend of mine,
Let the day of Judgement make it clear
A mix of red and blue blots splashed through Juliet's mind as she pulled her face away from the window, jumped after the figure, and all but whispered;
"Puppy"
[/div][div class=text][/div][/div][/div][/div] [class=wrapper] background-color:#5e5560; box-sizing:border-box; color:#eeeeee; display:inline-block; position:relative; width:100%; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=title] color: #bfbfbf; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:3em; font-style:italic; padding:0; margin-bottom: 10px; [/class] [class=box] margin:2em 1em; padding:2px 4px 0px; position:relative; [/class] [class=boxBg] box-sizing:content-box; height:100%; pointer-events:none; position:absolute; width:100%; [/class] [class=boxBgLarge] top:0; left:-5px; padding:0 4px; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.35); [/class] [class=boxBgTall] top:-8px;left:3px; padding:8px 0; width:calc(100% - 8px); height:100%; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.25); [/class] [class=boxBgMedium] top:-4px; left:-1px; padding:4px 0; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.4); [/class] [class=boxInner] background-color: #5e5560; overflow:hidden; margin:0.5em; [/class] [class=statusBox] box-sizing: border-box; border-right: 3px dotted white; padding: 15px; float: left; max-width: 250px; margin: 0px 15px 15px 0px; [/class] [class=text] padding: 0px 15px 15px 15px; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:0.8em; [/class] [class=statusText] font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.75em; margin-top: 5px; [/class] [class=characterPortrait] box-sizing: border-box; position: relative; border-radius: 20px; overflow: hidden; [/class] [class name=characterPortrait state=hover] opacity: 0.5 [/class]
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BasiliskVeranda
80s Trash
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[/class] [class=handsomedevil] text-align: center; width:30%; margin: 0 auto; float:left; padding:10px; color: #140033; font-weight:100; border-bottom: dotted 1px #140033[/class] [class=speakeasy] border-top: dotted 1px #140033; text-align: center; font-size:10px; background: #fcfbf2; padding:10px; color: #140033; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speaks] padding:10px; text-align: left; float:right; width:60%;[/class]
[div class=biggie]
NIKLAS LIAM VOSS
I̴̧̗̥̝̗̠̰͆̈͌̿̈́̕'̷͈̳͊͂͛͛̆̾l̷̠̻̘̻̟̏̈́̌͆̾̌̎͜ḽ̸̙͖̝̌͆ͅ ̴̰̗̟̲̬̪̿̑͝͠ẗ̷̢͓̪̜͍̘͓́̀e̴̹̮̪̦͈̻̐l̸͉̲̘̬̦̞̓͌͂̕ĺ̶͙͇͕̭̄̈̍ ̷̛͇̪̺̝͆̍́̕͝y̷̨̙̫̦͉̲̹͒̀̄̕͝ǫ̷̞̱̺̖́̅̈̃̏ũ̴̳̦̠̒̚ ̶̧̨͕̙̉͗͑̇s̴̢̝̺͍̺̪͕̄̕ơ̸͎̤̅͒͆̀͝͠m̸͉̥͍͈̊͌̀͂͐̚͠ę̵̛̰̜̪͓̌ͅt̸̢̤̣̮̠̳̄̌̀ͅḫ̸͖͔̠̂͛͘i̴̯͇͖̱͕̙̺̊ṋ̶̨̋̚͝g̸̜͆̏,̵̩̎̊̌̀͌̑ ̷̡̞̻͈͊̒̑I̶̡̳͎̮̰͓͊͛̉̋̈͛̽ ̷͇̜̥̱̬̙͌͌̀̇̑̇a̴̛͈͓̜̬̼̩̍͆̀̕͝m̵̡̲̰̀̀̿̍̇̋ ̵̤͆ã̸̪̞͚͓͇̏̑͐̈́̇͜ ̵͕́̈́͑̑ḋ̸̤̝͋͜e̸͇͈̹̅̋m̶̬͔̭̒̒ò̵͕̞̫̗̻̳̪̌̊͠͝n̵̢̛̬̊̾̚.̷̱̫̩͔̉͌̅͒S̵̻͖̝͕̏͘õ̴̡̎m̸̡̢̛̛̬̜̟̀̈̇̆̾e̷̥̠͎̝̯̹̱̔ ̶̨̜̘̇̄s̷̠͇̹̳͉̆̌̃̑̑͝a̶̺̱̞̅͠y̷̧͈͔̤̗̍̒͂̂ ̶͍̩̳͇̘͔̑͊͑m̶̢̥̦͈̰͙͍̿y̴̟̫̪͙̅̇̆̓̕͘͠ ̸̼̈̂̂̍̀̍b̸͓̝̘̏̔́i̵̢͍̮̱̤̣̺̿̂̅̉͠͝g̴̲̜͎̫̋̒͝g̴̢̻̣̖͙̔͜ễ̶̙͓s̶̢̙̗̖̻̻̓̀͗̆ẗ̵͉̜̻́̏̿ ̶̛̟̞̟͛̌͗͒́͂w̷̡̨̢͕̬̥̯̓͌̿̈̐e̸͉͖̭͒̒ā̸̬̙̽k̶̭͋͊̽̏̔ǹ̶̺̥̙̯̘̞̳ẻ̴̤̝͎̏͑ş̶̙̳͎̤̰͔͆́̓͑͐̒ś̶̫̻̳̾̆͋́͝ͅ.̸̞́̏̕.̶̘͌.̶̢͓̞̯̟̇̾Ì̸̩̞̤̰̮̤̦̊̓̂̀ ̵̧̲̼̱̼̊̽̆͛̒̑͘ĥ̷͔̟̗͈͌̚ã̵̙̮̫͆͋́v̵̭͉̹̣̗̪͗́̀̀͊ë̸̗̎̉̆̑̀͝ ̴̛̺͐̏̐̈́m̶͖̔̀ÿ̷̝͈̘̜͉́ ̶̙̯̘̈́͊̈͑͋̅͝ŕ̷̡̻̻͇͎̪̗͛̆͂́̇̈ę̶̛͈̫̭͉̒̎͠ă̴͕̼̺͎̦̅̆̄͊͐s̸͚͐̈́̃͛̏̈́͗ȯ̸̻͋̅͛n̷̳̮̭̘̮̲̆̈́̀s̵̩͓͐-̵̡͈͉͎͉͊̔̈͘-̴͚̥̖͓̮̏̕ͅĈ̵̦̜̦̖̽̾̚̕̕ǎ̴̛͇̈́͒̈́͋l̸̳̜͈̫͌̓̅̈͆͗͋l̶̬̽̕ͅ ̶̢̹̘̳̪̓̌ị̴̤̱͔̊t̶̰͙̿͠ ̵̫̣̋̎̅̾̿͒͝m̵̬̀͗y̶̲̗̞̫͙̒́̀̒̄ ̴̥̖̪̮̙͂̌̔̀͝͠d̵̡̜̜̫̊̅̚ė̴̦͉̫͕̞̖̦͑̕͝ḟ̷̯̄e̷̪̱͈̓́̄̾̔̄̌n̸̛͎̬̤̥̈́̚s̵͉͉̻͙̰̭̆̚̕ẻ̵̬̟͔͔̣̭̄̌̆̇͝͝.̵͈̖̤̳̌̂ ̶͖̉̍̽B̷̳̥̝̑̎̑̉͑͜e̵͕̺̫͑͌̽̕ ̴̧̼̻̹͐̑̈c̴͉̩͕̪̣̝̤̏͒͐̈́ä̵̬́͑͠͠ͅr̴̡̲̘̺̰͙̀é̴̝̭̠̬̑f̷̧̪̻̣͚͋u̶͍͗͗̑̈́͋̉͠ļ̵̬͆̀̆̀̓́͛͜ ̶̢̝̩̬̳̣͒̿̏͜͝w̵̧̧͚͚͖̠̉̕͝ͅḩ̵̢̗͍̬̭̀̿͒a̸̢̱͙̠̗͖̽́̽̿̍t̸̡̨̛͙̒͛̑̈́͝ ̸̱̥̹̟̐̌͒̈́̆̑͘y̵͔͎͛͂̇͝o̴̞̜̼͓͈͙̔̐ų̸͔̠́̏͛͂̿́̚'̴̪͍̜̝̈͌̓̀̈̚͠r̷̟̟̗̂͛̃̔̀é̶̮ ̸̟͌͆̑w̵̨̖̜̎̇͋̅͝ǐ̷̧̟̥͓̜́̈́͂s̴̢̮̖̀̌̀̂͐h̴̼̬͍̲͗͆͒ï̸̢̖͉̼̮̲ń̶̢͚̪̫͉̖̦̆͌͊̎g̵̨̩̪̯̰̜̑̃̏͌̃̀͝
[div class=speakeasy]“To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's.”[/div]
[div class=handsomedevil]
RUST & STARDUST
I̴̧̗̥̝̗̠̰͆̈͌̿̈́̕'̷͈̳͊͂͛͛̆̾l̷̠̻̘̻̟̏̈́̌͆̾̌̎͜ḽ̸̙͖̝̌͆ͅ ̴̰̗̟̲̬̪̿̑͝͠ẗ̷̢͓̪̜͍̘͓́̀e̴̹̮̪̦͈̻̐l̸͉̲̘̬̦̞̓͌͂̕ĺ̶͙͇͕̭̄̈̍ ̷̛͇̪̺̝͆̍́̕͝y̷̨̙̫̦͉̲̹͒̀̄̕͝ǫ̷̞̱̺̖́̅̈̃̏ũ̴̳̦̠̒̚ ̶̧̨͕̙̉͗͑̇s̴̢̝̺͍̺̪͕̄̕ơ̸͎̤̅͒͆̀͝͠m̸͉̥͍͈̊͌̀͂͐̚͠ę̵̛̰̜̪͓̌ͅt̸̢̤̣̮̠̳̄̌̀ͅḫ̸͖͔̠̂͛͘i̴̯͇͖̱͕̙̺̊ṋ̶̨̋̚͝g̸̜͆̏,̵̩̎̊̌̀͌̑ ̷̡̞̻͈͊̒̑I̶̡̳͎̮̰͓͊͛̉̋̈͛̽ ̷͇̜̥̱̬̙͌͌̀̇̑̇a̴̛͈͓̜̬̼̩̍͆̀̕͝m̵̡̲̰̀̀̿̍̇̋ ̵̤͆ã̸̪̞͚͓͇̏̑͐̈́̇͜ ̵͕́̈́͑̑ḋ̸̤̝͋͜e̸͇͈̹̅̋m̶̬͔̭̒̒ò̵͕̞̫̗̻̳̪̌̊͠͝n̵̢̛̬̊̾̚.̷̱̫̩͔̉͌̅͒S̵̻͖̝͕̏͘õ̴̡̎m̸̡̢̛̛̬̜̟̀̈̇̆̾e̷̥̠͎̝̯̹̱̔ ̶̨̜̘̇̄s̷̠͇̹̳͉̆̌̃̑̑͝a̶̺̱̞̅͠y̷̧͈͔̤̗̍̒͂̂ ̶͍̩̳͇̘͔̑͊͑m̶̢̥̦͈̰͙͍̿y̴̟̫̪͙̅̇̆̓̕͘͠ ̸̼̈̂̂̍̀̍b̸͓̝̘̏̔́i̵̢͍̮̱̤̣̺̿̂̅̉͠͝g̴̲̜͎̫̋̒͝g̴̢̻̣̖͙̔͜ễ̶̙͓s̶̢̙̗̖̻̻̓̀͗̆ẗ̵͉̜̻́̏̿ ̶̛̟̞̟͛̌͗͒́͂w̷̡̨̢͕̬̥̯̓͌̿̈̐e̸͉͖̭͒̒ā̸̬̙̽k̶̭͋͊̽̏̔ǹ̶̺̥̙̯̘̞̳ẻ̴̤̝͎̏͑ş̶̙̳͎̤̰͔͆́̓͑͐̒ś̶̫̻̳̾̆͋́͝ͅ.̸̞́̏̕.̶̘͌.̶̢͓̞̯̟̇̾Ì̸̩̞̤̰̮̤̦̊̓̂̀ ̵̧̲̼̱̼̊̽̆͛̒̑͘ĥ̷͔̟̗͈͌̚ã̵̙̮̫͆͋́v̵̭͉̹̣̗̪͗́̀̀͊ë̸̗̎̉̆̑̀͝ ̴̛̺͐̏̐̈́m̶͖̔̀ÿ̷̝͈̘̜͉́ ̶̙̯̘̈́͊̈͑͋̅͝ŕ̷̡̻̻͇͎̪̗͛̆͂́̇̈ę̶̛͈̫̭͉̒̎͠ă̴͕̼̺͎̦̅̆̄͊͐s̸͚͐̈́̃͛̏̈́͗ȯ̸̻͋̅͛n̷̳̮̭̘̮̲̆̈́̀s̵̩͓͐-̵̡͈͉͎͉͊̔̈͘-̴͚̥̖͓̮̏̕ͅĈ̵̦̜̦̖̽̾̚̕̕ǎ̴̛͇̈́͒̈́͋l̸̳̜͈̫͌̓̅̈͆͗͋l̶̬̽̕ͅ ̶̢̹̘̳̪̓̌ị̴̤̱͔̊t̶̰͙̿͠ ̵̫̣̋̎̅̾̿͒͝m̵̬̀͗y̶̲̗̞̫͙̒́̀̒̄ ̴̥̖̪̮̙͂̌̔̀͝͠d̵̡̜̜̫̊̅̚ė̴̦͉̫͕̞̖̦͑̕͝ḟ̷̯̄e̷̪̱͈̓́̄̾̔̄̌n̸̛͎̬̤̥̈́̚s̵͉͉̻͙̰̭̆̚̕ẻ̵̬̟͔͔̣̭̄̌̆̇͝͝.̵͈̖̤̳̌̂ ̶͖̉̍̽B̷̳̥̝̑̎̑̉͑͜e̵͕̺̫͑͌̽̕ ̴̧̼̻̹͐̑̈c̴͉̩͕̪̣̝̤̏͒͐̈́ä̵̬́͑͠͠ͅr̴̡̲̘̺̰͙̀é̴̝̭̠̬̑f̷̧̪̻̣͚͋u̶͍͗͗̑̈́͋̉͠ļ̵̬͆̀̆̀̓́͛͜ ̶̢̝̩̬̳̣͒̿̏͜͝w̵̧̧͚͚͖̠̉̕͝ͅḩ̵̢̗͍̬̭̀̿͒a̸̢̱͙̠̗͖̽́̽̿̍t̸̡̨̛͙̒͛̑̈́͝ ̸̱̥̹̟̐̌͒̈́̆̑͘y̵͔͎͛͂̇͝o̴̞̜̼͓͈͙̔̐ų̸͔̠́̏͛͂̿́̚'̴̪͍̜̝̈͌̓̀̈̚͠r̷̟̟̗̂͛̃̔̀é̶̮ ̸̟͌͆̑w̵̨̖̜̎̇͋̅͝ǐ̷̧̟̥͓̜́̈́͂s̴̢̮̖̀̌̀̂͐h̴̼̬͍̲͗͆͒ï̸̢̖͉̼̮̲ń̶̢͚̪̫͉̖̦̆͌͊̎g̵̨̩̪̯̰̜̑̃̏͌̃̀͝
[div class=speakeasy]LOCATION: Short-term Parking B > Newark Airport
WITH: xxx
TAGS:
Gravitational Force
(If you want, if not, it's cool.)
BGM: SKY FERREIRA - VOICES CARRY
[/div]
[/div][div class=speaks]When the last ghoulish death rattles of the world echoed across his little corner of it, there were still car rentals, there were still places to fly to, and still bands, and still cigarettes, and still flowers in sills, and dates, and coffees, and hushed lips, and song as bright as fire. Now the only thing he had left was a series of small blades, the ever-dwindling supply of rolled up tobacco sticks in his back pocket, a lighter, and the subsequent sea of cars. Littered like corpses, they stood as a remnant of the prior excesses of humanity. The thin air, the smog, the bumper to bumper traffic. That was all he saw at the moment in the dim light, outside of the snow that had caked into the crevices and swept in like little white bastions of death. Pretty, that, but it wasn't good for the bones.
Niklas flicked off the ash from his cigarette and jammed it between his lips again, the only thing seen in the darkness being that bright light casting oranges and primrose yellows on his pale flesh. And the occasion blur of pewter light bathing the car mirrors when the light caught the hollowed-out windows and entrances just right.
He liked the cold, but this was getting a bit much, even for a man that ran hot even in the worst of tempests.
Nik had found a metal pipe along the way. It was cold on his fingers, heavy, but it felt good. And it felt even better to rear around an antique, baby-pink Cadillac and smash the window. It wasn't that he was intent on attracting attention. No, that wasn't the plan. The plan was to pass the time, and if anything came within his range enough to be a terror he'd be able to escape on the fleetest of feet. Or perhaps stab whatever it was to death. Or, he contemplated to himself, maybe it was finally time to die.
This sea of cars would make a fine enough funeral procession. Especially with the cigarette dangling from between his lips. He'd go out like some sort of wraithish memory of the past. When the world was dark and beautiful and dangerous, but for all the goodness and all the fair play. And now, as it was not, and filled with specters, and witches, and God knows what else, it felt wholly unfair. No fanfare, no blaze of glory, just a gutting on concrete.
There was a fun yet in this dance with the devil, but it had not yet claimed him. He had stopped it, with that lovely woman in Queens. With the fire in her hair, and eyes like a feline. Maybe he should've just let it happen. What had she said to stop him?
"That temptress," he said behind his cigarette to no one in particular, lining up to smash a different car's lights. Which flickered on for the briefest of moments when the pipe cracked against the front bumper. It also made a small bleat, like any other dying mechanisms in this era.
"You're still going strong, hmm? Me too," he added with a cheeky smile. Beating on inanimate objects was growing tiresome already. The man pulled his thick, dark coat around himself and hefted the pipe over his shoulder. He stepped through the lot, the snow having drifted into the entrance. His smart shoes pressed into the snow, leaving visible footprints.
He was unafraid. He had survived this long. Darkness hadn't claimed his soul, although it pressed at him constantly, much like an insistent, yet timid, lover. But it was far too shy, he felt. Better to go for the full jugular if it wanted to lick at his heels. Instead, the angels wept for the man who had the capacity for great good but simply towed the line, skirting into great evil whenever it tickled his fancy.
His footsteps were loud. He was flirting with danger, and it wasn't flirting back. This bored Nik, so he pressed forward with pipe over his shoulder and the cigarette drawing smoke as he walked through the winding maze of entrance, before stopping at the top of a stairwell with an emergency door. It had a heavy door preventing people from smashing through into the main foyer of the airport. Which had apparently been busted open by something rather large. He quirked a brow and poked his head through.
Apparently, he saw no one. Even if they were to see him, he didn't care. It'd be conversation. Or a weapon at his face. Or a sickly maw at his throat, and at least that'd have been interesting. He had no ties, he had no survivors to care for, he had no one. Well, the Witch in Queens, but behaving and being in the presence of someone with Divine attributes wasn't his cup of tea. So, he had left. For darker, deeper pastures. That never came. Funny, that.
Nik moved as if in dance, a gait that reminded those of the time before even the prior girdled, ailing 6 decades. A walk with a swagger, a dip to the hip, the pipe came from its resting spot on his shoulder, and he swung it with his wrist in a mid-speed wield, like a consistent water-wheel. Clinking on the floor, as the other hand perched his cigarette between two lithe fingers. His lips nursed the sweet little death that would never claim him, his dark blue eyes caught the dim light, and he continued on.
He caught the tail-end of someone with dark hair flitter towards what Nik also heard; voices. He stopped for the briefest of moments, and considered if he'd follow the silent-footed, but none-the-less physically visible person to wherever they were wandering. The clinking of his pipe ended and he pulled out the last bits of flame and smoke from his cigarette, and ashed it into a crack in the tiles with his shoe.
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[/class] [class=handsomedevil] text-align: center; width:30%; margin: 0 auto; float:left; padding:10px; color: #140033; font-weight:100; border-bottom: dotted 1px #140033[/class] [class=speakeasy] border-top: dotted 1px #140033; text-align: center; font-size:10px; background: #fcfbf2; padding:10px; color: #140033; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speaks] padding:10px; text-align: left; float:right; width:60%;[/class]
[div class=biggie]
NIKLAS LIAM VOSS
I̴̧̗̥̝̗̠̰͆̈͌̿̈́̕'̷͈̳͊͂͛͛̆̾l̷̠̻̘̻̟̏̈́̌͆̾̌̎͜ḽ̸̙͖̝̌͆ͅ ̴̰̗̟̲̬̪̿̑͝͠ẗ̷̢͓̪̜͍̘͓́̀e̴̹̮̪̦͈̻̐l̸͉̲̘̬̦̞̓͌͂̕ĺ̶͙͇͕̭̄̈̍ ̷̛͇̪̺̝͆̍́̕͝y̷̨̙̫̦͉̲̹͒̀̄̕͝ǫ̷̞̱̺̖́̅̈̃̏ũ̴̳̦̠̒̚ ̶̧̨͕̙̉͗͑̇s̴̢̝̺͍̺̪͕̄̕ơ̸͎̤̅͒͆̀͝͠m̸͉̥͍͈̊͌̀͂͐̚͠ę̵̛̰̜̪͓̌ͅt̸̢̤̣̮̠̳̄̌̀ͅḫ̸͖͔̠̂͛͘i̴̯͇͖̱͕̙̺̊ṋ̶̨̋̚͝g̸̜͆̏,̵̩̎̊̌̀͌̑ ̷̡̞̻͈͊̒̑I̶̡̳͎̮̰͓͊͛̉̋̈͛̽ ̷͇̜̥̱̬̙͌͌̀̇̑̇a̴̛͈͓̜̬̼̩̍͆̀̕͝m̵̡̲̰̀̀̿̍̇̋ ̵̤͆ã̸̪̞͚͓͇̏̑͐̈́̇͜ ̵͕́̈́͑̑ḋ̸̤̝͋͜e̸͇͈̹̅̋m̶̬͔̭̒̒ò̵͕̞̫̗̻̳̪̌̊͠͝n̵̢̛̬̊̾̚.̷̱̫̩͔̉͌̅͒S̵̻͖̝͕̏͘õ̴̡̎m̸̡̢̛̛̬̜̟̀̈̇̆̾e̷̥̠͎̝̯̹̱̔ ̶̨̜̘̇̄s̷̠͇̹̳͉̆̌̃̑̑͝a̶̺̱̞̅͠y̷̧͈͔̤̗̍̒͂̂ ̶͍̩̳͇̘͔̑͊͑m̶̢̥̦͈̰͙͍̿y̴̟̫̪͙̅̇̆̓̕͘͠ ̸̼̈̂̂̍̀̍b̸͓̝̘̏̔́i̵̢͍̮̱̤̣̺̿̂̅̉͠͝g̴̲̜͎̫̋̒͝g̴̢̻̣̖͙̔͜ễ̶̙͓s̶̢̙̗̖̻̻̓̀͗̆ẗ̵͉̜̻́̏̿ ̶̛̟̞̟͛̌͗͒́͂w̷̡̨̢͕̬̥̯̓͌̿̈̐e̸͉͖̭͒̒ā̸̬̙̽k̶̭͋͊̽̏̔ǹ̶̺̥̙̯̘̞̳ẻ̴̤̝͎̏͑ş̶̙̳͎̤̰͔͆́̓͑͐̒ś̶̫̻̳̾̆͋́͝ͅ.̸̞́̏̕.̶̘͌.̶̢͓̞̯̟̇̾Ì̸̩̞̤̰̮̤̦̊̓̂̀ ̵̧̲̼̱̼̊̽̆͛̒̑͘ĥ̷͔̟̗͈͌̚ã̵̙̮̫͆͋́v̵̭͉̹̣̗̪͗́̀̀͊ë̸̗̎̉̆̑̀͝ ̴̛̺͐̏̐̈́m̶͖̔̀ÿ̷̝͈̘̜͉́ ̶̙̯̘̈́͊̈͑͋̅͝ŕ̷̡̻̻͇͎̪̗͛̆͂́̇̈ę̶̛͈̫̭͉̒̎͠ă̴͕̼̺͎̦̅̆̄͊͐s̸͚͐̈́̃͛̏̈́͗ȯ̸̻͋̅͛n̷̳̮̭̘̮̲̆̈́̀s̵̩͓͐-̵̡͈͉͎͉͊̔̈͘-̴͚̥̖͓̮̏̕ͅĈ̵̦̜̦̖̽̾̚̕̕ǎ̴̛͇̈́͒̈́͋l̸̳̜͈̫͌̓̅̈͆͗͋l̶̬̽̕ͅ ̶̢̹̘̳̪̓̌ị̴̤̱͔̊t̶̰͙̿͠ ̵̫̣̋̎̅̾̿͒͝m̵̬̀͗y̶̲̗̞̫͙̒́̀̒̄ ̴̥̖̪̮̙͂̌̔̀͝͠d̵̡̜̜̫̊̅̚ė̴̦͉̫͕̞̖̦͑̕͝ḟ̷̯̄e̷̪̱͈̓́̄̾̔̄̌n̸̛͎̬̤̥̈́̚s̵͉͉̻͙̰̭̆̚̕ẻ̵̬̟͔͔̣̭̄̌̆̇͝͝.̵͈̖̤̳̌̂ ̶͖̉̍̽B̷̳̥̝̑̎̑̉͑͜e̵͕̺̫͑͌̽̕ ̴̧̼̻̹͐̑̈c̴͉̩͕̪̣̝̤̏͒͐̈́ä̵̬́͑͠͠ͅr̴̡̲̘̺̰͙̀é̴̝̭̠̬̑f̷̧̪̻̣͚͋u̶͍͗͗̑̈́͋̉͠ļ̵̬͆̀̆̀̓́͛͜ ̶̢̝̩̬̳̣͒̿̏͜͝w̵̧̧͚͚͖̠̉̕͝ͅḩ̵̢̗͍̬̭̀̿͒a̸̢̱͙̠̗͖̽́̽̿̍t̸̡̨̛͙̒͛̑̈́͝ ̸̱̥̹̟̐̌͒̈́̆̑͘y̵͔͎͛͂̇͝o̴̞̜̼͓͈͙̔̐ų̸͔̠́̏͛͂̿́̚'̴̪͍̜̝̈͌̓̀̈̚͠r̷̟̟̗̂͛̃̔̀é̶̮ ̸̟͌͆̑w̵̨̖̜̎̇͋̅͝ǐ̷̧̟̥͓̜́̈́͂s̴̢̮̖̀̌̀̂͐h̴̼̬͍̲͗͆͒ï̸̢̖͉̼̮̲ń̶̢͚̪̫͉̖̦̆͌͊̎g̵̨̩̪̯̰̜̑̃̏͌̃̀͝
[div class=speakeasy]“To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's.”[/div]
[div class=handsomedevil]
RUST & STARDUST
I̴̧̗̥̝̗̠̰͆̈͌̿̈́̕'̷͈̳͊͂͛͛̆̾l̷̠̻̘̻̟̏̈́̌͆̾̌̎͜ḽ̸̙͖̝̌͆ͅ ̴̰̗̟̲̬̪̿̑͝͠ẗ̷̢͓̪̜͍̘͓́̀e̴̹̮̪̦͈̻̐l̸͉̲̘̬̦̞̓͌͂̕ĺ̶͙͇͕̭̄̈̍ ̷̛͇̪̺̝͆̍́̕͝y̷̨̙̫̦͉̲̹͒̀̄̕͝ǫ̷̞̱̺̖́̅̈̃̏ũ̴̳̦̠̒̚ ̶̧̨͕̙̉͗͑̇s̴̢̝̺͍̺̪͕̄̕ơ̸͎̤̅͒͆̀͝͠m̸͉̥͍͈̊͌̀͂͐̚͠ę̵̛̰̜̪͓̌ͅt̸̢̤̣̮̠̳̄̌̀ͅḫ̸͖͔̠̂͛͘i̴̯͇͖̱͕̙̺̊ṋ̶̨̋̚͝g̸̜͆̏,̵̩̎̊̌̀͌̑ ̷̡̞̻͈͊̒̑I̶̡̳͎̮̰͓͊͛̉̋̈͛̽ ̷͇̜̥̱̬̙͌͌̀̇̑̇a̴̛͈͓̜̬̼̩̍͆̀̕͝m̵̡̲̰̀̀̿̍̇̋ ̵̤͆ã̸̪̞͚͓͇̏̑͐̈́̇͜ ̵͕́̈́͑̑ḋ̸̤̝͋͜e̸͇͈̹̅̋m̶̬͔̭̒̒ò̵͕̞̫̗̻̳̪̌̊͠͝n̵̢̛̬̊̾̚.̷̱̫̩͔̉͌̅͒S̵̻͖̝͕̏͘õ̴̡̎m̸̡̢̛̛̬̜̟̀̈̇̆̾e̷̥̠͎̝̯̹̱̔ ̶̨̜̘̇̄s̷̠͇̹̳͉̆̌̃̑̑͝a̶̺̱̞̅͠y̷̧͈͔̤̗̍̒͂̂ ̶͍̩̳͇̘͔̑͊͑m̶̢̥̦͈̰͙͍̿y̴̟̫̪͙̅̇̆̓̕͘͠ ̸̼̈̂̂̍̀̍b̸͓̝̘̏̔́i̵̢͍̮̱̤̣̺̿̂̅̉͠͝g̴̲̜͎̫̋̒͝g̴̢̻̣̖͙̔͜ễ̶̙͓s̶̢̙̗̖̻̻̓̀͗̆ẗ̵͉̜̻́̏̿ ̶̛̟̞̟͛̌͗͒́͂w̷̡̨̢͕̬̥̯̓͌̿̈̐e̸͉͖̭͒̒ā̸̬̙̽k̶̭͋͊̽̏̔ǹ̶̺̥̙̯̘̞̳ẻ̴̤̝͎̏͑ş̶̙̳͎̤̰͔͆́̓͑͐̒ś̶̫̻̳̾̆͋́͝ͅ.̸̞́̏̕.̶̘͌.̶̢͓̞̯̟̇̾Ì̸̩̞̤̰̮̤̦̊̓̂̀ ̵̧̲̼̱̼̊̽̆͛̒̑͘ĥ̷͔̟̗͈͌̚ã̵̙̮̫͆͋́v̵̭͉̹̣̗̪͗́̀̀͊ë̸̗̎̉̆̑̀͝ ̴̛̺͐̏̐̈́m̶͖̔̀ÿ̷̝͈̘̜͉́ ̶̙̯̘̈́͊̈͑͋̅͝ŕ̷̡̻̻͇͎̪̗͛̆͂́̇̈ę̶̛͈̫̭͉̒̎͠ă̴͕̼̺͎̦̅̆̄͊͐s̸͚͐̈́̃͛̏̈́͗ȯ̸̻͋̅͛n̷̳̮̭̘̮̲̆̈́̀s̵̩͓͐-̵̡͈͉͎͉͊̔̈͘-̴͚̥̖͓̮̏̕ͅĈ̵̦̜̦̖̽̾̚̕̕ǎ̴̛͇̈́͒̈́͋l̸̳̜͈̫͌̓̅̈͆͗͋l̶̬̽̕ͅ ̶̢̹̘̳̪̓̌ị̴̤̱͔̊t̶̰͙̿͠ ̵̫̣̋̎̅̾̿͒͝m̵̬̀͗y̶̲̗̞̫͙̒́̀̒̄ ̴̥̖̪̮̙͂̌̔̀͝͠d̵̡̜̜̫̊̅̚ė̴̦͉̫͕̞̖̦͑̕͝ḟ̷̯̄e̷̪̱͈̓́̄̾̔̄̌n̸̛͎̬̤̥̈́̚s̵͉͉̻͙̰̭̆̚̕ẻ̵̬̟͔͔̣̭̄̌̆̇͝͝.̵͈̖̤̳̌̂ ̶͖̉̍̽B̷̳̥̝̑̎̑̉͑͜e̵͕̺̫͑͌̽̕ ̴̧̼̻̹͐̑̈c̴͉̩͕̪̣̝̤̏͒͐̈́ä̵̬́͑͠͠ͅr̴̡̲̘̺̰͙̀é̴̝̭̠̬̑f̷̧̪̻̣͚͋u̶͍͗͗̑̈́͋̉͠ļ̵̬͆̀̆̀̓́͛͜ ̶̢̝̩̬̳̣͒̿̏͜͝w̵̧̧͚͚͖̠̉̕͝ͅḩ̵̢̗͍̬̭̀̿͒a̸̢̱͙̠̗͖̽́̽̿̍t̸̡̨̛͙̒͛̑̈́͝ ̸̱̥̹̟̐̌͒̈́̆̑͘y̵͔͎͛͂̇͝o̴̞̜̼͓͈͙̔̐ų̸͔̠́̏͛͂̿́̚'̴̪͍̜̝̈͌̓̀̈̚͠r̷̟̟̗̂͛̃̔̀é̶̮ ̸̟͌͆̑w̵̨̖̜̎̇͋̅͝ǐ̷̧̟̥͓̜́̈́͂s̴̢̮̖̀̌̀̂͐h̴̼̬͍̲͗͆͒ï̸̢̖͉̼̮̲ń̶̢͚̪̫͉̖̦̆͌͊̎g̵̨̩̪̯̰̜̑̃̏͌̃̀͝
[div class=speakeasy]LOCATION: Short-term Parking B > Newark Airport
WITH: xxx
TAGS:
Gravitational Force
(If you want, if not, it's cool.)BGM: SKY FERREIRA - VOICES CARRY
[/div]
[/div][div class=speaks]When the last ghoulish death rattles of the world echoed across his little corner of it, there were still car rentals, there were still places to fly to, and still bands, and still cigarettes, and still flowers in sills, and dates, and coffees, and hushed lips, and song as bright as fire. Now the only thing he had left was a series of small blades, the ever-dwindling supply of rolled up tobacco sticks in his back pocket, a lighter, and the subsequent sea of cars. Littered like corpses, they stood as a remnant of the prior excesses of humanity. The thin air, the smog, the bumper to bumper traffic. That was all he saw at the moment in the dim light, outside of the snow that had caked into the crevices and swept in like little white bastions of death. Pretty, that, but it wasn't good for the bones.
Niklas flicked off the ash from his cigarette and jammed it between his lips again, the only thing seen in the darkness being that bright light casting oranges and primrose yellows on his pale flesh. And the occasion blur of pewter light bathing the car mirrors when the light caught the hollowed-out windows and entrances just right.
He liked the cold, but this was getting a bit much, even for a man that ran hot even in the worst of tempests.
Nik had found a metal pipe along the way. It was cold on his fingers, heavy, but it felt good. And it felt even better to rear around an antique, baby-pink Cadillac and smash the window. It wasn't that he was intent on attracting attention. No, that wasn't the plan. The plan was to pass the time, and if anything came within his range enough to be a terror he'd be able to escape on the fleetest of feet. Or perhaps stab whatever it was to death. Or, he contemplated to himself, maybe it was finally time to die.
This sea of cars would make a fine enough funeral procession. Especially with the cigarette dangling from between his lips. He'd go out like some sort of wraithish memory of the past. When the world was dark and beautiful and dangerous, but for all the goodness and all the fair play. And now, as it was not, and filled with specters, and witches, and God knows what else, it felt wholly unfair. No fanfare, no blaze of glory, just a gutting on concrete.
There was a fun yet in this dance with the devil, but it had not yet claimed him. He had stopped it, with that lovely woman in Queens. With the fire in her hair, and eyes like a feline. Maybe he should've just let it happen. What had she said to stop him?
"That temptress," he said behind his cigarette to no one in particular, lining up to smash a different car's lights. Which flickered on for the briefest of moments when the pipe cracked against the front bumper. It also made a small bleat, like any other dying mechanisms in this era.
"You're still going strong, hmm? Me too," he added with a cheeky smile. Beating on inanimate objects was growing tiresome already. The man pulled his thick, dark coat around himself and hefted the pipe over his shoulder. He stepped through the lot, the snow having drifted into the entrance. His smart shoes pressed into the snow, leaving visible footprints.
He was unafraid. He had survived this long. Darkness hadn't claimed his soul, although it pressed at him constantly, much like an insistent, yet timid, lover. But it was far too shy, he felt. Better to go for the full jugular if it wanted to lick at his heels. Instead, the angels wept for the man who had the capacity for great good but simply towed the line, skirting into great evil whenever it tickled his fancy.
His footsteps were loud. He was flirting with danger, and it wasn't flirting back. This bored Nik, so he pressed forward with pipe over his shoulder and the cigarette drawing smoke as he walked through the winding maze of entrance, before stopping at the top of a stairwell with an emergency door. It had a heavy door preventing people from smashing through into the main foyer of the airport. Which had apparently been busted open by something rather large. He quirked a brow and poked his head through.
Apparently, he saw no one. Even if they were to see him, he didn't care. It'd be conversation. Or a weapon at his face. Or a sickly maw at his throat, and at least that'd have been interesting. He had no ties, he had no survivors to care for, he had no one. Well, the Witch in Queens, but behaving and being in the presence of someone with Divine attributes wasn't his cup of tea. So, he had left. For darker, deeper pastures. That never came. Funny, that.
Nik moved as if in dance, a gait that reminded those of the time before even the prior girdled, ailing 6 decades. A walk with a swagger, a dip to the hip, the pipe came from its resting spot on his shoulder, and he swung it with his wrist in a mid-speed wield, like a consistent water-wheel. Clinking on the floor, as the other hand perched his cigarette between two lithe fingers. His lips nursed the sweet little death that would never claim him, his dark blue eyes caught the dim light, and he continued on.
He caught the tail-end of someone with dark hair flitter towards what Nik also heard; voices. He stopped for the briefest of moments, and considered if he'd follow the silent-footed, but none-the-less physically visible person to wherever they were wandering. The clinking of his pipe ended and he pulled out the last bits of flame and smoke from his cigarette, and ashed it into a crack in the tiles with his shoe.
[/div][/div]
Last edited:
GuavaJuiceXI
The Crying One
Luci
And there he sat, With his knees up to his face, teary eyed, and tired. He couldn't get the images out of his head. The more he tried to get rid of those thoughts, the more frequent they became. The images where so vivid, the scene kept replaying in his head. The red eyed demon though, he could see as if it was standing before him this moment. Luci buries his head, and shivers. He couldn't help them, he couldn't save his family. "I-I couldn't..." Luci manages to get out, before sobbing loudly. He tightly clench's a rosery one of the sisters gave him. "I-I'm s-sorry...Maria..." Luci sobs. "Hey kid, shut the hell up" one of the other refugees shout. He was a gruff man, dressed in a dirty leather jacket, with equally dirty jeans. "O-oh.. sorry, sir..." Luci responds apologetically. Luci gets up, wiping the tears off of his light skin. He decides to explore the air port a bit, to take his mind off of the horrible memories. After looking around for a good place to settle down, he decides to sit down underneath some rafter, next to some other survivors. Luci starts to finally calm down. Alas, as soon as they faded from his memory, they come back full force. The gory images of his friends, and his family, being torn apart. The sisters where brutally disposed of. They where eviscerated without hesitation, The thing..The demon, shoved their head back into their torso. Luci eyes widen, and start to tear up. His friends, the other children, they where all eaten. Not whole, either. Bit by bit, starting with the feet, to the calf, then the thigh, then their abdomen, their neck, then finally, he swallowed their head. Luci starts to rock him self back and forth, while tears start streaming down his face. Maria, was... Luci starts gripping his chest, he can feel something, something growing from his chest, devouring part of him. "N-no!" Luci shouts, as he begins to panic. THUNK. Something snaps Luci out of it. Right next to him, is a woman, with...white hair..?
Rui
And there he sat, With his knees up to his face, teary eyed, and tired. He couldn't get the images out of his head. The more he tried to get rid of those thoughts, the more frequent they became. The images where so vivid, the scene kept replaying in his head. The red eyed demon though, he could see as if it was standing before him this moment. Luci buries his head, and shivers. He couldn't help them, he couldn't save his family. "I-I couldn't..." Luci manages to get out, before sobbing loudly. He tightly clench's a rosery one of the sisters gave him. "I-I'm s-sorry...Maria..." Luci sobs. "Hey kid, shut the hell up" one of the other refugees shout. He was a gruff man, dressed in a dirty leather jacket, with equally dirty jeans. "O-oh.. sorry, sir..." Luci responds apologetically. Luci gets up, wiping the tears off of his light skin. He decides to explore the air port a bit, to take his mind off of the horrible memories. After looking around for a good place to settle down, he decides to sit down underneath some rafter, next to some other survivors. Luci starts to finally calm down. Alas, as soon as they faded from his memory, they come back full force. The gory images of his friends, and his family, being torn apart. The sisters where brutally disposed of. They where eviscerated without hesitation, The thing..The demon, shoved their head back into their torso. Luci eyes widen, and start to tear up. His friends, the other children, they where all eaten. Not whole, either. Bit by bit, starting with the feet, to the calf, then the thigh, then their abdomen, their neck, then finally, he swallowed their head. Luci starts to rock him self back and forth, while tears start streaming down his face. Maria, was... Luci starts gripping his chest, he can feel something, something growing from his chest, devouring part of him. "N-no!" Luci shouts, as he begins to panic. THUNK. Something snaps Luci out of it. Right next to him, is a woman, with...white hair..?
Rui
Chise_Robin_
procrastination queen
Last edited:
Hell0NHighWater
Queen of Hell
[div class=wrapper][div class=box][div class="boxBg boxBgLarge"][/div][div class="boxBg boxBgTall"][/div][div class="boxBg boxBgMedium"][/div][div class=boxInner][div class=statusBox][div class=characterPortrait]
[/div][div class=statusText]Location: Newark Airport
Date: unknown; sometime in 2068
Tags:
Rui
Chise_Robin_
Anise
GuavaJuiceXI
[/div][/div][div class=title]Rhys Contiello[/div][div class=text]
He took a breath that was bone deep, fingers caressing the slightly crooked edge to his nose. The older woman sat with an indignant scowl carved across her features and he could only mimic the agitation. Her focus was suddenly shifted to another boy, his words only deepening her scowl. "Well, young man, if we do anymore waiting we might as well be dead already."
She had a point. As much as Rhys hated to think about it, her logic wasn't exactly wrong. There wasn't enough resources here to last them through however long this winter would be. Whether they all agreed to it or not, they would have to leave sooner rather than later.
A flash of silver hair fell in his field of vision and with it a pair of mismatched eyes that held his gaze for a beat too long. She was smiling, obviously finding more amusement in the situation than he did. Then again perhaps she just enjoyed watching the chaos unfold. Cobalt orbs flickered towards the boy who had exited after his brief exchange with the ornery woman. These couple of days hadn't exactly been pleasant and --perhaps by his own fault-- he didn't really know the names of the other survivors. As social as he could be, Rhys was having a hard time finding the need to associate with others. Perhaps it was the growing numbness that began to mend the tattered edges to his soul or the fear of making an attachment that prohibited him from knowing the names of the people who were crammed in here with him. But whatever it was, he decided that he was better off not knowing. There was much less risk in that at least.
Pulled from his thoughts by more movement, he had about a second to react before the woman let go of the rafters above. His eyes widened a fraction, noticing that she made no attempt to correct the trajectory of her fall. Rhys was in motion before he could even stop himself. Her body landed in his arms and he grunted lightly from the force. A frown tugged at the sides of his lips as he tried to hide the concern that had shown on his face mere seconds before.
Ever the hero, Rhys Contiello couldn't allow himself to simply stand by and watch someone get hurt.
The thought caused his expression to sour further and he promptly moved the woman into a standing position before stepping back. There was a mild outcry that shifted his attention towards another boy who sat next to where he caught the crazy woman from the ceiling. What was it with everyone here and making noise? Didn't they know that the building they were in was hardly secure? As if answering his worst fears there was the echoing of a shriek somewhere within the airport.
"It seems like we have overstayed our welcome."
He muttered dryly, shooting the girl with the different color eyes another look. Mentally confirming her safety, Rhys turned to pick up his pack that was nestled against the tiny window.
"That scream could have come form anywhere!" The elderly woman tried to argue, fear creeping into her face as the realization hit her.
Rhys chuckled a little, finding absolutely no amusement in situation save for the fact that she was no trying to rationalize them not moving. He didn't say anything as the sounds of revenants began to move closer. It was hard to tell how many of them there were, but if he had to bet it sounded like a small group. Five maybe, at most. It wouldn't be a problem as long as there wasn't a demon behind the activity...or a vampire.
He heard the woman's voice before he noticed her, his focus still locked on the far side of the hall where he first believed the screeches came from. He was met with a light pair of brown eyes and a sort of mellow seriousness that caught him off guard for a brief moment. The curious part of him wondered who she was, but he dismissed it in favor of anonymity.
"The plan is to leave, it isn't like we have much of a choice now." He whispered back, his already deep voice dropping another octave as he did so.
She was quite correct though. There was no way he could protect them all.
He carried around that painful reminder wherever he went...
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Date: unknown; sometime in 2068
Tags:
Rui
Chise_Robin_
Anise
GuavaJuiceXI
[/div][/div][div class=title]Rhys Contiello[/div][div class=text]He took a breath that was bone deep, fingers caressing the slightly crooked edge to his nose. The older woman sat with an indignant scowl carved across her features and he could only mimic the agitation. Her focus was suddenly shifted to another boy, his words only deepening her scowl. "Well, young man, if we do anymore waiting we might as well be dead already."
She had a point. As much as Rhys hated to think about it, her logic wasn't exactly wrong. There wasn't enough resources here to last them through however long this winter would be. Whether they all agreed to it or not, they would have to leave sooner rather than later.
A flash of silver hair fell in his field of vision and with it a pair of mismatched eyes that held his gaze for a beat too long. She was smiling, obviously finding more amusement in the situation than he did. Then again perhaps she just enjoyed watching the chaos unfold. Cobalt orbs flickered towards the boy who had exited after his brief exchange with the ornery woman. These couple of days hadn't exactly been pleasant and --perhaps by his own fault-- he didn't really know the names of the other survivors. As social as he could be, Rhys was having a hard time finding the need to associate with others. Perhaps it was the growing numbness that began to mend the tattered edges to his soul or the fear of making an attachment that prohibited him from knowing the names of the people who were crammed in here with him. But whatever it was, he decided that he was better off not knowing. There was much less risk in that at least.
Pulled from his thoughts by more movement, he had about a second to react before the woman let go of the rafters above. His eyes widened a fraction, noticing that she made no attempt to correct the trajectory of her fall. Rhys was in motion before he could even stop himself. Her body landed in his arms and he grunted lightly from the force. A frown tugged at the sides of his lips as he tried to hide the concern that had shown on his face mere seconds before.
Ever the hero, Rhys Contiello couldn't allow himself to simply stand by and watch someone get hurt.
The thought caused his expression to sour further and he promptly moved the woman into a standing position before stepping back. There was a mild outcry that shifted his attention towards another boy who sat next to where he caught the crazy woman from the ceiling. What was it with everyone here and making noise? Didn't they know that the building they were in was hardly secure? As if answering his worst fears there was the echoing of a shriek somewhere within the airport.
"It seems like we have overstayed our welcome."
He muttered dryly, shooting the girl with the different color eyes another look. Mentally confirming her safety, Rhys turned to pick up his pack that was nestled against the tiny window.
"That scream could have come form anywhere!" The elderly woman tried to argue, fear creeping into her face as the realization hit her.
Rhys chuckled a little, finding absolutely no amusement in situation save for the fact that she was no trying to rationalize them not moving. He didn't say anything as the sounds of revenants began to move closer. It was hard to tell how many of them there were, but if he had to bet it sounded like a small group. Five maybe, at most. It wouldn't be a problem as long as there wasn't a demon behind the activity...or a vampire.
He heard the woman's voice before he noticed her, his focus still locked on the far side of the hall where he first believed the screeches came from. He was met with a light pair of brown eyes and a sort of mellow seriousness that caught him off guard for a brief moment. The curious part of him wondered who she was, but he dismissed it in favor of anonymity.
"The plan is to leave, it isn't like we have much of a choice now." He whispered back, his already deep voice dropping another octave as he did so.
She was quite correct though. There was no way he could protect them all.
He carried around that painful reminder wherever he went...
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Last edited:
scorpiodragon
Five Thousand Club
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[/div][div class=statusText]Location: Newark Airport
Date: 2 years post Hell or sometime 2068
Tags: Open[/div][/div][div class=title]Wallace Hyde-Born Hunter[/div][div class=text]Fucking New Jersey. At the last minute, he had been sent to New Jersey of all places. They persuaded him, begged him, to join the Order and walk once more through life and death...put him on a plane to Chicago...then diverted said plane to New Jersey. That had been perhaps a week ago or something...maybe longer but upon coming here to this God Forsaken city, and he uttered a silent prayer to the Virgin Mother after such a thought, he had encountered survivors. Survivors who were...for the most part...mostly human. Mostly because he could detect a few were not human anymore or had never been. Like the blond girl who hovered near the brown-haired boy for example by one of the boarded windows, looking at everyone with a distrustful gaze to her.
Who could blame anyone for being distrustful in this climate? Hell had come to earth like the Prophets had said and God wasn't going to save them...it would be up to those who worked in God's service to do His work and hope they saved as many innocent souls as possible. Fate was a cruel mistress and faith was something many were likely losing...faith and hope that anyone would save them, that anything could save them from the unforetold things their simple minds couldn't ever comprehend. To Wallace this was just another war in a long list of wars...perhaps this was a test to judge man worthy of the fruits of the Heavens...yet many would likely fall far from His graces in these troubling times. If this was the Book of Revelation or another of the various Holy Scriptures of other religions...then life would be tough indeed until He chose to end their plight and saved those deemed worth saving.
Wallace pulled his gloved hands out of the pockets of his tattered jeans as he leaned against the wall and watched through the bordered window though there was no movement outside. It didn't give him any sense of peace, quiet was not always a good thing and could mean an ambush or some other form of attack, a false sense of safety to draw out the weak and allow them to think it was safe before striking from the shadows. The snow that fell was also a likely cover but the survivors could not stay here forever. However, Wallace had no illusions that everyone here would survive but they had to move on eventually, otherwise they would run out of supplies. [/div][div class=text][/div][/div][/div][/div] [class=wrapper] background-color:#1B1515; box-sizing:border-box; color:#FFFFFF; display:inline-block; position:relative; width:100%; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=title] color: #f3c662; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:3em; font-style:italic; padding:0; text-shadow:0 0 1em; margin-bottom: 10px; [/class] [class=box] margin:2em 1em; padding:2px 4px 0px; position:relative; [/class] [class=boxBg] box-sizing:content-box; height:100%; pointer-events:none; position:absolute; width:100%; [/class] [class=boxBgLarge] top:0; left:-5px; padding:0 4px; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.35); [/class] [class=boxBgTall] top:-8px;left:3px; padding:8px 0; width:calc(100% - 8px); height:100%; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.25); [/class] [class=boxBgMedium] top:-4px; left:-1px; padding:4px 0; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.4); [/class] [class=boxInner] background-color: #1B1515; overflow:hidden; margin:0.5em; [/class] [class=statusBox] box-sizing: border-box; border-right: 3px dotted white; padding: 15px; float: left; max-width: 250px; margin: 0px 15px 15px 0px; [/class] [class=text] padding: 0px 15px 15px 15px; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:0.8em; [/class] [class=statusText] font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.75em; margin-top: 5px; [/class] [class=characterPortrait] box-sizing: border-box; position: relative; border-radius: 20px; overflow: hidden; [/class] [class name=characterPortrait state=hover] opacity: 0.5 [/class]
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[/div][div class=statusText]Location: Newark Airport
Date: Unknown, 2068
Tags: Micajah[/div][/div][div class=title]Opal Vixen-Witch of Enchanting[/div]
[div class=text]Unlike Micajah who was, in Opal's opinion, hanging too close to one of the boarded windows; Opal was surveying the group silently with her back towards one of the walls. Her eyes briefly lit upon the fire and the people sat around it before glancing to her left to check on her brother, her arms crossed over her chest as her bag rested at her feet. She would need to restock if possible soon before they left and take anything that might be useful though as neither of the twins' could fight, they would be hard pressed to bother considering taking weapons with them when they struck out again. Where they would go when the world was overrun was unknown to Opal but she had to try to protect her brother and that meant eventually leaving the safety of the airport they were within and venturing out into the wilderness. [/div][div class=text][/div][/div][/div][/div] [class=wrapper] background-color:#1B1515; box-sizing:border-box; color:#FFFFFF; display:inline-block; position:relative; width:100%; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=title] color: #f3c662; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:3em; font-style:italic; padding:0; text-shadow:0 0 1em; margin-bottom: 10px; [/class] [class=box] margin:2em 1em; padding:2px 4px 0px; position:relative; [/class] [class=boxBg] box-sizing:content-box; height:100%; pointer-events:none; position:absolute; width:100%; [/class] [class=boxBgLarge] top:0; left:-5px; padding:0 4px; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.35); [/class] [class=boxBgTall] top:-8px;left:3px; padding:8px 0; width:calc(100% - 8px); height:100%; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.25); [/class] [class=boxBgMedium] top:-4px; left:-1px; padding:4px 0; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.4); [/class] [class=boxInner] background-color: #1B1515; overflow:hidden; margin:0.5em; [/class] [class=statusBox] box-sizing: border-box; border-right: 3px dotted white; padding: 15px; float: left; max-width: 250px; margin: 0px 15px 15px 0px; [/class] [class=text] padding: 0px 15px 15px 15px; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:0.8em; [/class] [class=statusText] font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.75em; margin-top: 5px; [/class] [class=characterPortrait] box-sizing: border-box; position: relative; border-radius: 20px; overflow: hidden; [/class] [class name=characterPortrait state=hover] opacity: 0.5 [/class]
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[/div][div class=statusText]Location: Newark Airport
Date: Unknown in year 2068
Tags: Open[/div][/div][div class=title]Micajah Vixen-Human[/div][div class=text]Micajah was snacking on a candy bar he had swiped from one of the vending machines in the airport, a bottle of water next to him as he looked out the window, his sister hovering nearby as always. The teenager listened to the quiet conversations around him and the crackling flames someone had started in an effort to keep the small group of survivors warm. He ignored his sister's hovering, even though it bothered him....Opal was always doing that lately with their running. The twins had been low on supplies when they had arrived within Newark, having made their way from Chicago, mostly by walking as bus and train were out of business thanks to the weird creatures that walked the earth and masqueraded as humans. [/div][div class=text][/div][/div][/div][/div] [class=wrapper] background-color:#1B1515; box-sizing:border-box; color:#FFFFFF; display:inline-block; position:relative; width:100%; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=title] color: #f3c662; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:3em; font-style:italic; padding:0; text-shadow:0 0 1em; margin-bottom: 10px; [/class] [class=box] margin:2em 1em; padding:2px 4px 0px; position:relative; [/class] [class=boxBg] box-sizing:content-box; height:100%; pointer-events:none; position:absolute; width:100%; [/class] [class=boxBgLarge] top:0; left:-5px; padding:0 4px; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.35); [/class] [class=boxBgTall] top:-8px;left:3px; padding:8px 0; width:calc(100% - 8px); height:100%; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.25); [/class] [class=boxBgMedium] top:-4px; left:-1px; padding:4px 0; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.4); [/class] [class=boxInner] background-color: #1B1515; overflow:hidden; margin:0.5em; [/class] [class=statusBox] box-sizing: border-box; border-right: 3px dotted white; padding: 15px; float: left; max-width: 250px; margin: 0px 15px 15px 0px; [/class] [class=text] padding: 0px 15px 15px 15px; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:0.8em; [/class] [class=statusText] font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.75em; margin-top: 5px; [/class] [class=characterPortrait] box-sizing: border-box; position: relative; border-radius: 20px; overflow: hidden; [/class] [class name=characterPortrait state=hover] opacity: 0.5 [/class]
[/div][div class=statusText]Location: Newark AirportDate: 2 years post Hell or sometime 2068
Tags: Open[/div][/div][div class=title]Wallace Hyde-Born Hunter[/div][div class=text]Fucking New Jersey. At the last minute, he had been sent to New Jersey of all places. They persuaded him, begged him, to join the Order and walk once more through life and death...put him on a plane to Chicago...then diverted said plane to New Jersey. That had been perhaps a week ago or something...maybe longer but upon coming here to this God Forsaken city, and he uttered a silent prayer to the Virgin Mother after such a thought, he had encountered survivors. Survivors who were...for the most part...mostly human. Mostly because he could detect a few were not human anymore or had never been. Like the blond girl who hovered near the brown-haired boy for example by one of the boarded windows, looking at everyone with a distrustful gaze to her.
Who could blame anyone for being distrustful in this climate? Hell had come to earth like the Prophets had said and God wasn't going to save them...it would be up to those who worked in God's service to do His work and hope they saved as many innocent souls as possible. Fate was a cruel mistress and faith was something many were likely losing...faith and hope that anyone would save them, that anything could save them from the unforetold things their simple minds couldn't ever comprehend. To Wallace this was just another war in a long list of wars...perhaps this was a test to judge man worthy of the fruits of the Heavens...yet many would likely fall far from His graces in these troubling times. If this was the Book of Revelation or another of the various Holy Scriptures of other religions...then life would be tough indeed until He chose to end their plight and saved those deemed worth saving.
Wallace pulled his gloved hands out of the pockets of his tattered jeans as he leaned against the wall and watched through the bordered window though there was no movement outside. It didn't give him any sense of peace, quiet was not always a good thing and could mean an ambush or some other form of attack, a false sense of safety to draw out the weak and allow them to think it was safe before striking from the shadows. The snow that fell was also a likely cover but the survivors could not stay here forever. However, Wallace had no illusions that everyone here would survive but they had to move on eventually, otherwise they would run out of supplies. [/div][div class=text][/div][/div][/div][/div] [class=wrapper] background-color:#1B1515; box-sizing:border-box; color:#FFFFFF; display:inline-block; position:relative; width:100%; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=title] color: #f3c662; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:3em; font-style:italic; padding:0; text-shadow:0 0 1em; margin-bottom: 10px; [/class] [class=box] margin:2em 1em; padding:2px 4px 0px; position:relative; [/class] [class=boxBg] box-sizing:content-box; height:100%; pointer-events:none; position:absolute; width:100%; [/class] [class=boxBgLarge] top:0; left:-5px; padding:0 4px; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.35); [/class] [class=boxBgTall] top:-8px;left:3px; padding:8px 0; width:calc(100% - 8px); height:100%; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.25); [/class] [class=boxBgMedium] top:-4px; left:-1px; padding:4px 0; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.4); [/class] [class=boxInner] background-color: #1B1515; overflow:hidden; margin:0.5em; [/class] [class=statusBox] box-sizing: border-box; border-right: 3px dotted white; padding: 15px; float: left; max-width: 250px; margin: 0px 15px 15px 0px; [/class] [class=text] padding: 0px 15px 15px 15px; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:0.8em; [/class] [class=statusText] font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.75em; margin-top: 5px; [/class] [class=characterPortrait] box-sizing: border-box; position: relative; border-radius: 20px; overflow: hidden; [/class] [class name=characterPortrait state=hover] opacity: 0.5 [/class]
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[/div][div class=statusText]Location: Newark AirportDate: Unknown, 2068
Tags: Micajah[/div][/div][div class=title]Opal Vixen-Witch of Enchanting[/div]
[div class=text]Unlike Micajah who was, in Opal's opinion, hanging too close to one of the boarded windows; Opal was surveying the group silently with her back towards one of the walls. Her eyes briefly lit upon the fire and the people sat around it before glancing to her left to check on her brother, her arms crossed over her chest as her bag rested at her feet. She would need to restock if possible soon before they left and take anything that might be useful though as neither of the twins' could fight, they would be hard pressed to bother considering taking weapons with them when they struck out again. Where they would go when the world was overrun was unknown to Opal but she had to try to protect her brother and that meant eventually leaving the safety of the airport they were within and venturing out into the wilderness. [/div][div class=text][/div][/div][/div][/div] [class=wrapper] background-color:#1B1515; box-sizing:border-box; color:#FFFFFF; display:inline-block; position:relative; width:100%; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=title] color: #f3c662; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:3em; font-style:italic; padding:0; text-shadow:0 0 1em; margin-bottom: 10px; [/class] [class=box] margin:2em 1em; padding:2px 4px 0px; position:relative; [/class] [class=boxBg] box-sizing:content-box; height:100%; pointer-events:none; position:absolute; width:100%; [/class] [class=boxBgLarge] top:0; left:-5px; padding:0 4px; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.35); [/class] [class=boxBgTall] top:-8px;left:3px; padding:8px 0; width:calc(100% - 8px); height:100%; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.25); [/class] [class=boxBgMedium] top:-4px; left:-1px; padding:4px 0; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.4); [/class] [class=boxInner] background-color: #1B1515; overflow:hidden; margin:0.5em; [/class] [class=statusBox] box-sizing: border-box; border-right: 3px dotted white; padding: 15px; float: left; max-width: 250px; margin: 0px 15px 15px 0px; [/class] [class=text] padding: 0px 15px 15px 15px; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:0.8em; [/class] [class=statusText] font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.75em; margin-top: 5px; [/class] [class=characterPortrait] box-sizing: border-box; position: relative; border-radius: 20px; overflow: hidden; [/class] [class name=characterPortrait state=hover] opacity: 0.5 [/class]
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Date: Unknown in year 2068
Tags: Open[/div][/div][div class=title]Micajah Vixen-Human[/div][div class=text]Micajah was snacking on a candy bar he had swiped from one of the vending machines in the airport, a bottle of water next to him as he looked out the window, his sister hovering nearby as always. The teenager listened to the quiet conversations around him and the crackling flames someone had started in an effort to keep the small group of survivors warm. He ignored his sister's hovering, even though it bothered him....Opal was always doing that lately with their running. The twins had been low on supplies when they had arrived within Newark, having made their way from Chicago, mostly by walking as bus and train were out of business thanks to the weird creatures that walked the earth and masqueraded as humans. [/div][div class=text][/div][/div][/div][/div] [class=wrapper] background-color:#1B1515; box-sizing:border-box; color:#FFFFFF; display:inline-block; position:relative; width:100%; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=title] color: #f3c662; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:3em; font-style:italic; padding:0; text-shadow:0 0 1em; margin-bottom: 10px; [/class] [class=box] margin:2em 1em; padding:2px 4px 0px; position:relative; [/class] [class=boxBg] box-sizing:content-box; height:100%; pointer-events:none; position:absolute; width:100%; [/class] [class=boxBgLarge] top:0; left:-5px; padding:0 4px; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.35); [/class] [class=boxBgTall] top:-8px;left:3px; padding:8px 0; width:calc(100% - 8px); height:100%; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.25); [/class] [class=boxBgMedium] top:-4px; left:-1px; padding:4px 0; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.4); [/class] [class=boxInner] background-color: #1B1515; overflow:hidden; margin:0.5em; [/class] [class=statusBox] box-sizing: border-box; border-right: 3px dotted white; padding: 15px; float: left; max-width: 250px; margin: 0px 15px 15px 0px; [/class] [class=text] padding: 0px 15px 15px 15px; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:0.8em; [/class] [class=statusText] font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.75em; margin-top: 5px; [/class] [class=characterPortrait] box-sizing: border-box; position: relative; border-radius: 20px; overflow: hidden; [/class] [class name=characterPortrait state=hover] opacity: 0.5 [/class]
Gravitational Force
Dark Lord of Creativity
Ezra heard footsteps behind him. A singular set of footsteps. Given the choice between going towards the group of what he was sure were people and waiting for whatever was behind him to catch up he chose to go forward. At this point he was going half-mad from the lack of company but single footsteps usually meant danger. Still no sense in being stupid, Ezra made sure to look around the corner first. They were definitely Human, none of the other things he'd come across could fake this level of fear and grumpiness.
Ezra stepped around the corner and surveyed the varied cast of characters. His eye was caught by a flash of silver and he saw a girl with silver hair. Huh, he didn't know where she'd found hair dye but he liked the look.
Having stowed his crowbar on his belt Ezra held up his hands. "What's up? I come in peace and all that, but there's someone coming up behind me and I don't know who they are."
He quickly moved to position himself so the group would be looking behind him and he could move in and keep them from seeing him as the threat.
Ezra stepped around the corner and surveyed the varied cast of characters. His eye was caught by a flash of silver and he saw a girl with silver hair. Huh, he didn't know where she'd found hair dye but he liked the look.
Having stowed his crowbar on his belt Ezra held up his hands. "What's up? I come in peace and all that, but there's someone coming up behind me and I don't know who they are."
He quickly moved to position himself so the group would be looking behind him and he could move in and keep them from seeing him as the threat.
Lakyr
The Dark Lord of Laziness
James
James was sitting with his back against a wall and with some space between him and most the other survivors in that hall. He tried to ignore their talking and all of that because he wanted some quiet whilst flicking through his comic in reminiscence. He heard the older woman raise her voice, and he understood what she was on about. He'd rather be on the move than sitting in this airport, but right now it seems to be kind of safe here and it was cold outside.
Rhys, one of the few names James was able to remember in this group, was right, staying here as long as possible was the best they could do.
He kept trying to fade out most events around him, just looking up at some sounds a couple of times to see if something important was happening. The appearance of the silver haired girl gave him a faint smile, but that was it. He instantly tensed up as he heard the shrieking from somewhere in the airport and tried to hear where it was coming from as he stuffed the comic back into his backpack and got to his feet. The very same moment the group of survivors started to become even more disquiet a young man stepped around a corner and started talking.
"You're not being followed by those revenants, are you?" James shouted in a subdued voice as he reached for the machete on the side of his backpack.
James was sitting with his back against a wall and with some space between him and most the other survivors in that hall. He tried to ignore their talking and all of that because he wanted some quiet whilst flicking through his comic in reminiscence. He heard the older woman raise her voice, and he understood what she was on about. He'd rather be on the move than sitting in this airport, but right now it seems to be kind of safe here and it was cold outside.
Rhys, one of the few names James was able to remember in this group, was right, staying here as long as possible was the best they could do.
He kept trying to fade out most events around him, just looking up at some sounds a couple of times to see if something important was happening. The appearance of the silver haired girl gave him a faint smile, but that was it. He instantly tensed up as he heard the shrieking from somewhere in the airport and tried to hear where it was coming from as he stuffed the comic back into his backpack and got to his feet. The very same moment the group of survivors started to become even more disquiet a young man stepped around a corner and started talking.
"You're not being followed by those revenants, are you?" James shouted in a subdued voice as he reached for the machete on the side of his backpack.
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Rui
Trash
STELLA:
The petite witch spied a crimson haired girl, a few feet away at best, straddling a rafter and staring intently towards her.
Puppy
As the ground grew closer, the women locked eyes, and oddly enough, Stella’s smile grew, and suddenly, she winked. The next moment she was in the arms of Rhys, who quickly straightened her up. He cast another gaze in her direction, to which she replied with a coy little look of her own.
This little encampment they had was like a bustling city of the old days; it all moved so quickly, like a rube Goldberg, each reaction garnering another, each more memorable than the last. A scream from a frightened boy, some man falling through the floor, and a man with crowbar and heavy footsteps approaching the group. She took a particular interest in him, her eyes studying him intently. She wanted to know what he was thinking, what he had seen out there in these present times. She longed to return to her home in the caverns along the river, beneath the big shiny bridge. It was so dark, so peaceful, so perfect for a nap. Staying awake in the day was such a struggle for the lunar witch, her senses were unaccustomed to its trials.
However dull her senses were, however, the scream was still audible. It sent a shiver of fear and excitement down her spine. Oh, if they didn’t move soon, and goodness, even if they did...there would be blood.
She slowly licked her lips.
How...
Quaint.
However, the witch took pause.
Something stirred her, in an uncomfortable yet memorable fashion.
She felt some form of attachment.
She eyed each member of the camp, and again, her eyes fell upon the man who’d caught her.
Ah, it was he. Poor soul.
She didn’t want to see his blood spilled, however, and thus the small woman glided his way, long silver locks drifting past the others in her stride, as she came to gasp his arm, looking up with a shimmering mismatched gaze.
The petite witch spied a crimson haired girl, a few feet away at best, straddling a rafter and staring intently towards her.
Puppy
As the ground grew closer, the women locked eyes, and oddly enough, Stella’s smile grew, and suddenly, she winked. The next moment she was in the arms of Rhys, who quickly straightened her up. He cast another gaze in her direction, to which she replied with a coy little look of her own.
This little encampment they had was like a bustling city of the old days; it all moved so quickly, like a rube Goldberg, each reaction garnering another, each more memorable than the last. A scream from a frightened boy, some man falling through the floor, and a man with crowbar and heavy footsteps approaching the group. She took a particular interest in him, her eyes studying him intently. She wanted to know what he was thinking, what he had seen out there in these present times. She longed to return to her home in the caverns along the river, beneath the big shiny bridge. It was so dark, so peaceful, so perfect for a nap. Staying awake in the day was such a struggle for the lunar witch, her senses were unaccustomed to its trials.
However dull her senses were, however, the scream was still audible. It sent a shiver of fear and excitement down her spine. Oh, if they didn’t move soon, and goodness, even if they did...there would be blood.
She slowly licked her lips.
How...
Quaint.
However, the witch took pause.
Something stirred her, in an uncomfortable yet memorable fashion.
She felt some form of attachment.
She eyed each member of the camp, and again, her eyes fell upon the man who’d caught her.
Ah, it was he. Poor soul.
She didn’t want to see his blood spilled, however, and thus the small woman glided his way, long silver locks drifting past the others in her stride, as she came to gasp his arm, looking up with a shimmering mismatched gaze.
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Chise_Robin_
procrastination queen
BasiliskVeranda
80s Trash
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[/class] [class=handsomedevil] text-align: center; width:30%; margin: 0 auto; float:left; padding:10px; color: #140033; font-weight:100; border-bottom: dotted 1px #140033[/class] [class=speakeasy] border-top: dotted 1px #140033; text-align: center; font-size:10px; background: #fcfbf2; padding:10px; color: #140033; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speaks] padding:10px; text-align: left; float:right; width:60%;[/class]
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NIKLAS LIAM VOSS
I̴̧̗̥̝̗̠̰͆̈͌̿̈́̕'̷͈̳͊͂͛͛̆̾l̷̠̻̘̻̟̏̈́̌͆̾̌̎͜ḽ̸̙͖̝̌͆ͅ ̴̰̗̟̲̬̪̿̑͝͠ẗ̷̢͓̪̜͍̘͓́̀e̴̹̮̪̦͈̻̐l̸͉̲̘̬̦̞̓͌͂̕ĺ̶͙͇͕̭̄̈̍ ̷̛͇̪̺̝͆̍́̕͝y̷̨̙̫̦͉̲̹͒̀̄̕͝ǫ̷̞̱̺̖́̅̈̃̏ũ̴̳̦̠̒̚ ̶̧̨͕̙̉͗͑̇s̴̢̝̺͍̺̪͕̄̕ơ̸͎̤̅͒͆̀͝͠m̸͉̥͍͈̊͌̀͂͐̚͠ę̵̛̰̜̪͓̌ͅt̸̢̤̣̮̠̳̄̌̀ͅḫ̸͖͔̠̂͛͘i̴̯͇͖̱͕̙̺̊ṋ̶̨̋̚͝g̸̜͆̏,̵̩̎̊̌̀͌̑ ̷̡̞̻͈͊̒̑I̶̡̳͎̮̰͓͊͛̉̋̈͛̽ ̷͇̜̥̱̬̙͌͌̀̇̑̇a̴̛͈͓̜̬̼̩̍͆̀̕͝m̵̡̲̰̀̀̿̍̇̋ ̵̤͆ã̸̪̞͚͓͇̏̑͐̈́̇͜ ̵͕́̈́͑̑ḋ̸̤̝͋͜e̸͇͈̹̅̋m̶̬͔̭̒̒ò̵͕̞̫̗̻̳̪̌̊͠͝n̵̢̛̬̊̾̚.̷̱̫̩͔̉͌̅͒S̵̻͖̝͕̏͘õ̴̡̎m̸̡̢̛̛̬̜̟̀̈̇̆̾e̷̥̠͎̝̯̹̱̔ ̶̨̜̘̇̄s̷̠͇̹̳͉̆̌̃̑̑͝a̶̺̱̞̅͠y̷̧͈͔̤̗̍̒͂̂ ̶͍̩̳͇̘͔̑͊͑m̶̢̥̦͈̰͙͍̿y̴̟̫̪͙̅̇̆̓̕͘͠ ̸̼̈̂̂̍̀̍b̸͓̝̘̏̔́i̵̢͍̮̱̤̣̺̿̂̅̉͠͝g̴̲̜͎̫̋̒͝g̴̢̻̣̖͙̔͜ễ̶̙͓s̶̢̙̗̖̻̻̓̀͗̆ẗ̵͉̜̻́̏̿ ̶̛̟̞̟͛̌͗͒́͂w̷̡̨̢͕̬̥̯̓͌̿̈̐e̸͉͖̭͒̒ā̸̬̙̽k̶̭͋͊̽̏̔ǹ̶̺̥̙̯̘̞̳ẻ̴̤̝͎̏͑ş̶̙̳͎̤̰͔͆́̓͑͐̒ś̶̫̻̳̾̆͋́͝ͅ.̸̞́̏̕.̶̘͌.̶̢͓̞̯̟̇̾Ì̸̩̞̤̰̮̤̦̊̓̂̀ ̵̧̲̼̱̼̊̽̆͛̒̑͘ĥ̷͔̟̗͈͌̚ã̵̙̮̫͆͋́v̵̭͉̹̣̗̪͗́̀̀͊ë̸̗̎̉̆̑̀͝ ̴̛̺͐̏̐̈́m̶͖̔̀ÿ̷̝͈̘̜͉́ ̶̙̯̘̈́͊̈͑͋̅͝ŕ̷̡̻̻͇͎̪̗͛̆͂́̇̈ę̶̛͈̫̭͉̒̎͠ă̴͕̼̺͎̦̅̆̄͊͐s̸͚͐̈́̃͛̏̈́͗ȯ̸̻͋̅͛n̷̳̮̭̘̮̲̆̈́̀s̵̩͓͐-̵̡͈͉͎͉͊̔̈͘-̴͚̥̖͓̮̏̕ͅĈ̵̦̜̦̖̽̾̚̕̕ǎ̴̛͇̈́͒̈́͋l̸̳̜͈̫͌̓̅̈͆͗͋l̶̬̽̕ͅ ̶̢̹̘̳̪̓̌ị̴̤̱͔̊t̶̰͙̿͠ ̵̫̣̋̎̅̾̿͒͝m̵̬̀͗y̶̲̗̞̫͙̒́̀̒̄ ̴̥̖̪̮̙͂̌̔̀͝͠d̵̡̜̜̫̊̅̚ė̴̦͉̫͕̞̖̦͑̕͝ḟ̷̯̄e̷̪̱͈̓́̄̾̔̄̌n̸̛͎̬̤̥̈́̚s̵͉͉̻͙̰̭̆̚̕ẻ̵̬̟͔͔̣̭̄̌̆̇͝͝.̵͈̖̤̳̌̂ ̶͖̉̍̽B̷̳̥̝̑̎̑̉͑͜e̵͕̺̫͑͌̽̕ ̴̧̼̻̹͐̑̈c̴͉̩͕̪̣̝̤̏͒͐̈́ä̵̬́͑͠͠ͅr̴̡̲̘̺̰͙̀é̴̝̭̠̬̑f̷̧̪̻̣͚͋u̶͍͗͗̑̈́͋̉͠ļ̵̬͆̀̆̀̓́͛͜ ̶̢̝̩̬̳̣͒̿̏͜͝w̵̧̧͚͚͖̠̉̕͝ͅḩ̵̢̗͍̬̭̀̿͒a̸̢̱͙̠̗͖̽́̽̿̍t̸̡̨̛͙̒͛̑̈́͝ ̸̱̥̹̟̐̌͒̈́̆̑͘y̵͔͎͛͂̇͝o̴̞̜̼͓͈͙̔̐ų̸͔̠́̏͛͂̿́̚'̴̪͍̜̝̈͌̓̀̈̚͠r̷̟̟̗̂͛̃̔̀é̶̮ ̸̟͌͆̑w̵̨̖̜̎̇͋̅͝ǐ̷̧̟̥͓̜́̈́͂s̴̢̮̖̀̌̀̂͐h̴̼̬͍̲͗͆͒ï̸̢̖͉̼̮̲ń̶̢͚̪̫͉̖̦̆͌͊̎g̵̨̩̪̯̰̜̑̃̏͌̃̀͝
[div class=speakeasy]“To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's.”[/div]
[div class=handsomedevil]
RUST & STARDUST
I̴̧̗̥̝̗̠̰͆̈͌̿̈́̕'̷͈̳͊͂͛͛̆̾l̷̠̻̘̻̟̏̈́̌͆̾̌̎͜ḽ̸̙͖̝̌͆ͅ ̴̰̗̟̲̬̪̿̑͝͠ẗ̷̢͓̪̜͍̘͓́̀e̴̹̮̪̦͈̻̐l̸͉̲̘̬̦̞̓͌͂̕ĺ̶͙͇͕̭̄̈̍ ̷̛͇̪̺̝͆̍́̕͝y̷̨̙̫̦͉̲̹͒̀̄̕͝ǫ̷̞̱̺̖́̅̈̃̏ũ̴̳̦̠̒̚ ̶̧̨͕̙̉͗͑̇s̴̢̝̺͍̺̪͕̄̕ơ̸͎̤̅͒͆̀͝͠m̸͉̥͍͈̊͌̀͂͐̚͠ę̵̛̰̜̪͓̌ͅt̸̢̤̣̮̠̳̄̌̀ͅḫ̸͖͔̠̂͛͘i̴̯͇͖̱͕̙̺̊ṋ̶̨̋̚͝g̸̜͆̏,̵̩̎̊̌̀͌̑ ̷̡̞̻͈͊̒̑I̶̡̳͎̮̰͓͊͛̉̋̈͛̽ ̷͇̜̥̱̬̙͌͌̀̇̑̇a̴̛͈͓̜̬̼̩̍͆̀̕͝m̵̡̲̰̀̀̿̍̇̋ ̵̤͆ã̸̪̞͚͓͇̏̑͐̈́̇͜ ̵͕́̈́͑̑ḋ̸̤̝͋͜e̸͇͈̹̅̋m̶̬͔̭̒̒ò̵͕̞̫̗̻̳̪̌̊͠͝n̵̢̛̬̊̾̚.̷̱̫̩͔̉͌̅͒S̵̻͖̝͕̏͘õ̴̡̎m̸̡̢̛̛̬̜̟̀̈̇̆̾e̷̥̠͎̝̯̹̱̔ ̶̨̜̘̇̄s̷̠͇̹̳͉̆̌̃̑̑͝a̶̺̱̞̅͠y̷̧͈͔̤̗̍̒͂̂ ̶͍̩̳͇̘͔̑͊͑m̶̢̥̦͈̰͙͍̿y̴̟̫̪͙̅̇̆̓̕͘͠ ̸̼̈̂̂̍̀̍b̸͓̝̘̏̔́i̵̢͍̮̱̤̣̺̿̂̅̉͠͝g̴̲̜͎̫̋̒͝g̴̢̻̣̖͙̔͜ễ̶̙͓s̶̢̙̗̖̻̻̓̀͗̆ẗ̵͉̜̻́̏̿ ̶̛̟̞̟͛̌͗͒́͂w̷̡̨̢͕̬̥̯̓͌̿̈̐e̸͉͖̭͒̒ā̸̬̙̽k̶̭͋͊̽̏̔ǹ̶̺̥̙̯̘̞̳ẻ̴̤̝͎̏͑ş̶̙̳͎̤̰͔͆́̓͑͐̒ś̶̫̻̳̾̆͋́͝ͅ.̸̞́̏̕.̶̘͌.̶̢͓̞̯̟̇̾Ì̸̩̞̤̰̮̤̦̊̓̂̀ ̵̧̲̼̱̼̊̽̆͛̒̑͘ĥ̷͔̟̗͈͌̚ã̵̙̮̫͆͋́v̵̭͉̹̣̗̪͗́̀̀͊ë̸̗̎̉̆̑̀͝ ̴̛̺͐̏̐̈́m̶͖̔̀ÿ̷̝͈̘̜͉́ ̶̙̯̘̈́͊̈͑͋̅͝ŕ̷̡̻̻͇͎̪̗͛̆͂́̇̈ę̶̛͈̫̭͉̒̎͠ă̴͕̼̺͎̦̅̆̄͊͐s̸͚͐̈́̃͛̏̈́͗ȯ̸̻͋̅͛n̷̳̮̭̘̮̲̆̈́̀s̵̩͓͐-̵̡͈͉͎͉͊̔̈͘-̴͚̥̖͓̮̏̕ͅĈ̵̦̜̦̖̽̾̚̕̕ǎ̴̛͇̈́͒̈́͋l̸̳̜͈̫͌̓̅̈͆͗͋l̶̬̽̕ͅ ̶̢̹̘̳̪̓̌ị̴̤̱͔̊t̶̰͙̿͠ ̵̫̣̋̎̅̾̿͒͝m̵̬̀͗y̶̲̗̞̫͙̒́̀̒̄ ̴̥̖̪̮̙͂̌̔̀͝͠d̵̡̜̜̫̊̅̚ė̴̦͉̫͕̞̖̦͑̕͝ḟ̷̯̄e̷̪̱͈̓́̄̾̔̄̌n̸̛͎̬̤̥̈́̚s̵͉͉̻͙̰̭̆̚̕ẻ̵̬̟͔͔̣̭̄̌̆̇͝͝.̵͈̖̤̳̌̂ ̶͖̉̍̽B̷̳̥̝̑̎̑̉͑͜e̵͕̺̫͑͌̽̕ ̴̧̼̻̹͐̑̈c̴͉̩͕̪̣̝̤̏͒͐̈́ä̵̬́͑͠͠ͅr̴̡̲̘̺̰͙̀é̴̝̭̠̬̑f̷̧̪̻̣͚͋u̶͍͗͗̑̈́͋̉͠ļ̵̬͆̀̆̀̓́͛͜ ̶̢̝̩̬̳̣͒̿̏͜͝w̵̧̧͚͚͖̠̉̕͝ͅḩ̵̢̗͍̬̭̀̿͒a̸̢̱͙̠̗͖̽́̽̿̍t̸̡̨̛͙̒͛̑̈́͝ ̸̱̥̹̟̐̌͒̈́̆̑͘y̵͔͎͛͂̇͝o̴̞̜̼͓͈͙̔̐ų̸͔̠́̏͛͂̿́̚'̴̪͍̜̝̈͌̓̀̈̚͠r̷̟̟̗̂͛̃̔̀é̶̮ ̸̟͌͆̑w̵̨̖̜̎̇͋̅͝ǐ̷̧̟̥͓̜́̈́͂s̴̢̮̖̀̌̀̂͐h̴̼̬͍̲͗͆͒ï̸̢̖͉̼̮̲ń̶̢͚̪̫͉̖̦̆͌͊̎g̵̨̩̪̯̰̜̑̃̏͌̃̀͝
[div class=speakeasy]LOCATION: Newark Airport, chillin' with the new homeys
WITH: everyboddyy rahhhh
TAGS: (I'm not gonna' tag anybody here, basically everybody at Hotel Airportafornia soo)
BGM: MOLLY NILSSON - I HOPE YOU DIE
[/div]
[/div][div class=speaks]The quasi-devil in the nice coat found himself trailing the dark haired man, but not for want of company. Instead, he simply deigned it the best possible option at the time. It was either walk around and fall prey to whatever had just audibly screeched out like some damnable living hell, or tag along behind the unknown.
The unknown was often a sweeter bliss than being at the beck and call of razored maws—if only because they never continued with the bloody exchange of meat and teeth. Nor did they attempt to drag him back to their lair. The least they could do was finish what they started. Yet, Nik hadn't experienced the truest of terrors out within the waking, walking world. He had been lucky, so far. Or perhaps blessed by the breathtaking Witch of Queens. Or maybe a gentle angel had cooed into the snow-bound air and given him a reprieve for all the loss and pain he had been assuaged by.
Whatever the case, sweet death didn't come, and nor did some debaucherious agreement with a hellbeast, or Lovecraftian master. He mulled the idea over in his mind, his eyebrows raising. He wondered if any other was as fine as he was being subjugate to the deadly powers around them, hanging in the air like an invisible, always threatening, alarmist miasma. Probably not, he deduced. But it was an inevitability that many more, still, would be afflicted or tainted. And that many more, still, would die. For freedoms, life, and liberty—and all that inconsequential human grit.
Because, at the end of the day, if something hellish really, really wanted to kill you, you'd probably be dead. When the world turned, keeled over, and gave up to the powers of light, shadow, and otherwise, humans were more or less doomed. It was smart to make the best out of a poor hand. Dancing with the devil didn't seem so bad when the alternative was being turned into human jerky by some gnarled eight foot monstrosity.
Or dying of heartache. Which was still a possibility for him, no matter how far gone he was.
He made sure he was heard, so as not to startle, and began his slow walk. He heard voices, and soon, he saw figures. The figure of a particular woman holding a very keen looking revolver. He was bad with ranged weapons, though it pained him to admit he did desire the skill. It was admirable. Never having to get close to do damage. And yet, could it also be considered cowardly? Or perhaps, smart? Then, what with lack of bullets...This, he wondered.
"Well, it looks like you have big, bad me, right where you want me," he said with a charismatic—if a bit amused—look on his face. He slowly knelt to the ground to place his steeled, silvered pipe on the ruddy tiles. Rising up on his smart shoes, he held his hands behind his head, in a mock approximation of being held at gunpoint by the "authorities". This was amusing to him, and he was sure no one else was amused. But there had to be a bit of laughter in all this, right? Something to take the edge off of all the longing, disease, and desperation.
"I'm not here to hurt you. I'm just looking for some water," he said behind a real smile. The trouble was, even though it was the truth, his general air was that of someone playing a back-and-forth with a Demogorgon and enjoying it. The tilt of a brow, the small upturn of a half-smile. He did need some water. He probably was also hungry. These were facts he wouldn't deny. But he was also keenly aware of just how outnumbered he was, how new, how green, and how untrusted and untested.
One has to give value, to receive value—business 101.
And he was also aware that whatever hellbeast was scrawling up and down the airport facility was probably growing increasingly aware of the warm bodies he was nearest. Whatever it was, it sounded deadly. And quite possibly, beautiful in a macabre sort of way.
[/div][/div]
[/class] [class=handsomedevil] text-align: center; width:30%; margin: 0 auto; float:left; padding:10px; color: #140033; font-weight:100; border-bottom: dotted 1px #140033[/class] [class=speakeasy] border-top: dotted 1px #140033; text-align: center; font-size:10px; background: #fcfbf2; padding:10px; color: #140033; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speaks] padding:10px; text-align: left; float:right; width:60%;[/class]
[div class=biggie]
NIKLAS LIAM VOSS
I̴̧̗̥̝̗̠̰͆̈͌̿̈́̕'̷͈̳͊͂͛͛̆̾l̷̠̻̘̻̟̏̈́̌͆̾̌̎͜ḽ̸̙͖̝̌͆ͅ ̴̰̗̟̲̬̪̿̑͝͠ẗ̷̢͓̪̜͍̘͓́̀e̴̹̮̪̦͈̻̐l̸͉̲̘̬̦̞̓͌͂̕ĺ̶͙͇͕̭̄̈̍ ̷̛͇̪̺̝͆̍́̕͝y̷̨̙̫̦͉̲̹͒̀̄̕͝ǫ̷̞̱̺̖́̅̈̃̏ũ̴̳̦̠̒̚ ̶̧̨͕̙̉͗͑̇s̴̢̝̺͍̺̪͕̄̕ơ̸͎̤̅͒͆̀͝͠m̸͉̥͍͈̊͌̀͂͐̚͠ę̵̛̰̜̪͓̌ͅt̸̢̤̣̮̠̳̄̌̀ͅḫ̸͖͔̠̂͛͘i̴̯͇͖̱͕̙̺̊ṋ̶̨̋̚͝g̸̜͆̏,̵̩̎̊̌̀͌̑ ̷̡̞̻͈͊̒̑I̶̡̳͎̮̰͓͊͛̉̋̈͛̽ ̷͇̜̥̱̬̙͌͌̀̇̑̇a̴̛͈͓̜̬̼̩̍͆̀̕͝m̵̡̲̰̀̀̿̍̇̋ ̵̤͆ã̸̪̞͚͓͇̏̑͐̈́̇͜ ̵͕́̈́͑̑ḋ̸̤̝͋͜e̸͇͈̹̅̋m̶̬͔̭̒̒ò̵͕̞̫̗̻̳̪̌̊͠͝n̵̢̛̬̊̾̚.̷̱̫̩͔̉͌̅͒S̵̻͖̝͕̏͘õ̴̡̎m̸̡̢̛̛̬̜̟̀̈̇̆̾e̷̥̠͎̝̯̹̱̔ ̶̨̜̘̇̄s̷̠͇̹̳͉̆̌̃̑̑͝a̶̺̱̞̅͠y̷̧͈͔̤̗̍̒͂̂ ̶͍̩̳͇̘͔̑͊͑m̶̢̥̦͈̰͙͍̿y̴̟̫̪͙̅̇̆̓̕͘͠ ̸̼̈̂̂̍̀̍b̸͓̝̘̏̔́i̵̢͍̮̱̤̣̺̿̂̅̉͠͝g̴̲̜͎̫̋̒͝g̴̢̻̣̖͙̔͜ễ̶̙͓s̶̢̙̗̖̻̻̓̀͗̆ẗ̵͉̜̻́̏̿ ̶̛̟̞̟͛̌͗͒́͂w̷̡̨̢͕̬̥̯̓͌̿̈̐e̸͉͖̭͒̒ā̸̬̙̽k̶̭͋͊̽̏̔ǹ̶̺̥̙̯̘̞̳ẻ̴̤̝͎̏͑ş̶̙̳͎̤̰͔͆́̓͑͐̒ś̶̫̻̳̾̆͋́͝ͅ.̸̞́̏̕.̶̘͌.̶̢͓̞̯̟̇̾Ì̸̩̞̤̰̮̤̦̊̓̂̀ ̵̧̲̼̱̼̊̽̆͛̒̑͘ĥ̷͔̟̗͈͌̚ã̵̙̮̫͆͋́v̵̭͉̹̣̗̪͗́̀̀͊ë̸̗̎̉̆̑̀͝ ̴̛̺͐̏̐̈́m̶͖̔̀ÿ̷̝͈̘̜͉́ ̶̙̯̘̈́͊̈͑͋̅͝ŕ̷̡̻̻͇͎̪̗͛̆͂́̇̈ę̶̛͈̫̭͉̒̎͠ă̴͕̼̺͎̦̅̆̄͊͐s̸͚͐̈́̃͛̏̈́͗ȯ̸̻͋̅͛n̷̳̮̭̘̮̲̆̈́̀s̵̩͓͐-̵̡͈͉͎͉͊̔̈͘-̴͚̥̖͓̮̏̕ͅĈ̵̦̜̦̖̽̾̚̕̕ǎ̴̛͇̈́͒̈́͋l̸̳̜͈̫͌̓̅̈͆͗͋l̶̬̽̕ͅ ̶̢̹̘̳̪̓̌ị̴̤̱͔̊t̶̰͙̿͠ ̵̫̣̋̎̅̾̿͒͝m̵̬̀͗y̶̲̗̞̫͙̒́̀̒̄ ̴̥̖̪̮̙͂̌̔̀͝͠d̵̡̜̜̫̊̅̚ė̴̦͉̫͕̞̖̦͑̕͝ḟ̷̯̄e̷̪̱͈̓́̄̾̔̄̌n̸̛͎̬̤̥̈́̚s̵͉͉̻͙̰̭̆̚̕ẻ̵̬̟͔͔̣̭̄̌̆̇͝͝.̵͈̖̤̳̌̂ ̶͖̉̍̽B̷̳̥̝̑̎̑̉͑͜e̵͕̺̫͑͌̽̕ ̴̧̼̻̹͐̑̈c̴͉̩͕̪̣̝̤̏͒͐̈́ä̵̬́͑͠͠ͅr̴̡̲̘̺̰͙̀é̴̝̭̠̬̑f̷̧̪̻̣͚͋u̶͍͗͗̑̈́͋̉͠ļ̵̬͆̀̆̀̓́͛͜ ̶̢̝̩̬̳̣͒̿̏͜͝w̵̧̧͚͚͖̠̉̕͝ͅḩ̵̢̗͍̬̭̀̿͒a̸̢̱͙̠̗͖̽́̽̿̍t̸̡̨̛͙̒͛̑̈́͝ ̸̱̥̹̟̐̌͒̈́̆̑͘y̵͔͎͛͂̇͝o̴̞̜̼͓͈͙̔̐ų̸͔̠́̏͛͂̿́̚'̴̪͍̜̝̈͌̓̀̈̚͠r̷̟̟̗̂͛̃̔̀é̶̮ ̸̟͌͆̑w̵̨̖̜̎̇͋̅͝ǐ̷̧̟̥͓̜́̈́͂s̴̢̮̖̀̌̀̂͐h̴̼̬͍̲͗͆͒ï̸̢̖͉̼̮̲ń̶̢͚̪̫͉̖̦̆͌͊̎g̵̨̩̪̯̰̜̑̃̏͌̃̀͝
[div class=speakeasy]“To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's.”[/div]
[div class=handsomedevil]
RUST & STARDUST
I̴̧̗̥̝̗̠̰͆̈͌̿̈́̕'̷͈̳͊͂͛͛̆̾l̷̠̻̘̻̟̏̈́̌͆̾̌̎͜ḽ̸̙͖̝̌͆ͅ ̴̰̗̟̲̬̪̿̑͝͠ẗ̷̢͓̪̜͍̘͓́̀e̴̹̮̪̦͈̻̐l̸͉̲̘̬̦̞̓͌͂̕ĺ̶͙͇͕̭̄̈̍ ̷̛͇̪̺̝͆̍́̕͝y̷̨̙̫̦͉̲̹͒̀̄̕͝ǫ̷̞̱̺̖́̅̈̃̏ũ̴̳̦̠̒̚ ̶̧̨͕̙̉͗͑̇s̴̢̝̺͍̺̪͕̄̕ơ̸͎̤̅͒͆̀͝͠m̸͉̥͍͈̊͌̀͂͐̚͠ę̵̛̰̜̪͓̌ͅt̸̢̤̣̮̠̳̄̌̀ͅḫ̸͖͔̠̂͛͘i̴̯͇͖̱͕̙̺̊ṋ̶̨̋̚͝g̸̜͆̏,̵̩̎̊̌̀͌̑ ̷̡̞̻͈͊̒̑I̶̡̳͎̮̰͓͊͛̉̋̈͛̽ ̷͇̜̥̱̬̙͌͌̀̇̑̇a̴̛͈͓̜̬̼̩̍͆̀̕͝m̵̡̲̰̀̀̿̍̇̋ ̵̤͆ã̸̪̞͚͓͇̏̑͐̈́̇͜ ̵͕́̈́͑̑ḋ̸̤̝͋͜e̸͇͈̹̅̋m̶̬͔̭̒̒ò̵͕̞̫̗̻̳̪̌̊͠͝n̵̢̛̬̊̾̚.̷̱̫̩͔̉͌̅͒S̵̻͖̝͕̏͘õ̴̡̎m̸̡̢̛̛̬̜̟̀̈̇̆̾e̷̥̠͎̝̯̹̱̔ ̶̨̜̘̇̄s̷̠͇̹̳͉̆̌̃̑̑͝a̶̺̱̞̅͠y̷̧͈͔̤̗̍̒͂̂ ̶͍̩̳͇̘͔̑͊͑m̶̢̥̦͈̰͙͍̿y̴̟̫̪͙̅̇̆̓̕͘͠ ̸̼̈̂̂̍̀̍b̸͓̝̘̏̔́i̵̢͍̮̱̤̣̺̿̂̅̉͠͝g̴̲̜͎̫̋̒͝g̴̢̻̣̖͙̔͜ễ̶̙͓s̶̢̙̗̖̻̻̓̀͗̆ẗ̵͉̜̻́̏̿ ̶̛̟̞̟͛̌͗͒́͂w̷̡̨̢͕̬̥̯̓͌̿̈̐e̸͉͖̭͒̒ā̸̬̙̽k̶̭͋͊̽̏̔ǹ̶̺̥̙̯̘̞̳ẻ̴̤̝͎̏͑ş̶̙̳͎̤̰͔͆́̓͑͐̒ś̶̫̻̳̾̆͋́͝ͅ.̸̞́̏̕.̶̘͌.̶̢͓̞̯̟̇̾Ì̸̩̞̤̰̮̤̦̊̓̂̀ ̵̧̲̼̱̼̊̽̆͛̒̑͘ĥ̷͔̟̗͈͌̚ã̵̙̮̫͆͋́v̵̭͉̹̣̗̪͗́̀̀͊ë̸̗̎̉̆̑̀͝ ̴̛̺͐̏̐̈́m̶͖̔̀ÿ̷̝͈̘̜͉́ ̶̙̯̘̈́͊̈͑͋̅͝ŕ̷̡̻̻͇͎̪̗͛̆͂́̇̈ę̶̛͈̫̭͉̒̎͠ă̴͕̼̺͎̦̅̆̄͊͐s̸͚͐̈́̃͛̏̈́͗ȯ̸̻͋̅͛n̷̳̮̭̘̮̲̆̈́̀s̵̩͓͐-̵̡͈͉͎͉͊̔̈͘-̴͚̥̖͓̮̏̕ͅĈ̵̦̜̦̖̽̾̚̕̕ǎ̴̛͇̈́͒̈́͋l̸̳̜͈̫͌̓̅̈͆͗͋l̶̬̽̕ͅ ̶̢̹̘̳̪̓̌ị̴̤̱͔̊t̶̰͙̿͠ ̵̫̣̋̎̅̾̿͒͝m̵̬̀͗y̶̲̗̞̫͙̒́̀̒̄ ̴̥̖̪̮̙͂̌̔̀͝͠d̵̡̜̜̫̊̅̚ė̴̦͉̫͕̞̖̦͑̕͝ḟ̷̯̄e̷̪̱͈̓́̄̾̔̄̌n̸̛͎̬̤̥̈́̚s̵͉͉̻͙̰̭̆̚̕ẻ̵̬̟͔͔̣̭̄̌̆̇͝͝.̵͈̖̤̳̌̂ ̶͖̉̍̽B̷̳̥̝̑̎̑̉͑͜e̵͕̺̫͑͌̽̕ ̴̧̼̻̹͐̑̈c̴͉̩͕̪̣̝̤̏͒͐̈́ä̵̬́͑͠͠ͅr̴̡̲̘̺̰͙̀é̴̝̭̠̬̑f̷̧̪̻̣͚͋u̶͍͗͗̑̈́͋̉͠ļ̵̬͆̀̆̀̓́͛͜ ̶̢̝̩̬̳̣͒̿̏͜͝w̵̧̧͚͚͖̠̉̕͝ͅḩ̵̢̗͍̬̭̀̿͒a̸̢̱͙̠̗͖̽́̽̿̍t̸̡̨̛͙̒͛̑̈́͝ ̸̱̥̹̟̐̌͒̈́̆̑͘y̵͔͎͛͂̇͝o̴̞̜̼͓͈͙̔̐ų̸͔̠́̏͛͂̿́̚'̴̪͍̜̝̈͌̓̀̈̚͠r̷̟̟̗̂͛̃̔̀é̶̮ ̸̟͌͆̑w̵̨̖̜̎̇͋̅͝ǐ̷̧̟̥͓̜́̈́͂s̴̢̮̖̀̌̀̂͐h̴̼̬͍̲͗͆͒ï̸̢̖͉̼̮̲ń̶̢͚̪̫͉̖̦̆͌͊̎g̵̨̩̪̯̰̜̑̃̏͌̃̀͝
[div class=speakeasy]LOCATION: Newark Airport, chillin' with the new homeys
WITH: everyboddyy rahhhh
TAGS: (I'm not gonna' tag anybody here, basically everybody at Hotel Airportafornia soo)
BGM: MOLLY NILSSON - I HOPE YOU DIE
[/div]
[/div][div class=speaks]The quasi-devil in the nice coat found himself trailing the dark haired man, but not for want of company. Instead, he simply deigned it the best possible option at the time. It was either walk around and fall prey to whatever had just audibly screeched out like some damnable living hell, or tag along behind the unknown.
The unknown was often a sweeter bliss than being at the beck and call of razored maws—if only because they never continued with the bloody exchange of meat and teeth. Nor did they attempt to drag him back to their lair. The least they could do was finish what they started. Yet, Nik hadn't experienced the truest of terrors out within the waking, walking world. He had been lucky, so far. Or perhaps blessed by the breathtaking Witch of Queens. Or maybe a gentle angel had cooed into the snow-bound air and given him a reprieve for all the loss and pain he had been assuaged by.
Whatever the case, sweet death didn't come, and nor did some debaucherious agreement with a hellbeast, or Lovecraftian master. He mulled the idea over in his mind, his eyebrows raising. He wondered if any other was as fine as he was being subjugate to the deadly powers around them, hanging in the air like an invisible, always threatening, alarmist miasma. Probably not, he deduced. But it was an inevitability that many more, still, would be afflicted or tainted. And that many more, still, would die. For freedoms, life, and liberty—and all that inconsequential human grit.
Because, at the end of the day, if something hellish really, really wanted to kill you, you'd probably be dead. When the world turned, keeled over, and gave up to the powers of light, shadow, and otherwise, humans were more or less doomed. It was smart to make the best out of a poor hand. Dancing with the devil didn't seem so bad when the alternative was being turned into human jerky by some gnarled eight foot monstrosity.
Or dying of heartache. Which was still a possibility for him, no matter how far gone he was.
He made sure he was heard, so as not to startle, and began his slow walk. He heard voices, and soon, he saw figures. The figure of a particular woman holding a very keen looking revolver. He was bad with ranged weapons, though it pained him to admit he did desire the skill. It was admirable. Never having to get close to do damage. And yet, could it also be considered cowardly? Or perhaps, smart? Then, what with lack of bullets...This, he wondered.
"Well, it looks like you have big, bad me, right where you want me," he said with a charismatic—if a bit amused—look on his face. He slowly knelt to the ground to place his steeled, silvered pipe on the ruddy tiles. Rising up on his smart shoes, he held his hands behind his head, in a mock approximation of being held at gunpoint by the "authorities". This was amusing to him, and he was sure no one else was amused. But there had to be a bit of laughter in all this, right? Something to take the edge off of all the longing, disease, and desperation.
"I'm not here to hurt you. I'm just looking for some water," he said behind a real smile. The trouble was, even though it was the truth, his general air was that of someone playing a back-and-forth with a Demogorgon and enjoying it. The tilt of a brow, the small upturn of a half-smile. He did need some water. He probably was also hungry. These were facts he wouldn't deny. But he was also keenly aware of just how outnumbered he was, how new, how green, and how untrusted and untested.
One has to give value, to receive value—business 101.
And he was also aware that whatever hellbeast was scrawling up and down the airport facility was probably growing increasingly aware of the warm bodies he was nearest. Whatever it was, it sounded deadly. And quite possibly, beautiful in a macabre sort of way.
[/div][/div]
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GuavaJuiceXI
The Crying One
Luci
Hell0NHighWater
This was quite the strange scene playing out in front of Luci. A woman with silver hair, diving off of a rafter, into the arms of a gloomy, yet manly man. "Wha-" Luci was abruptly cut off by the stoic man. "Seems we have overstayed our welcome." The man states, reminding the group. "Yeah...I guess we do." Luci says. Luci stands up, brushing his pants off. His eyes meets the mans cool, blue eyes. Luci quickly averts his gaze to the side. Mind as well makes some friends in the apocalypse. "H-hello..my names L-luci...may I ask what yours is..?"
Hell0NHighWater
This was quite the strange scene playing out in front of Luci. A woman with silver hair, diving off of a rafter, into the arms of a gloomy, yet manly man. "Wha-" Luci was abruptly cut off by the stoic man. "Seems we have overstayed our welcome." The man states, reminding the group. "Yeah...I guess we do." Luci says. Luci stands up, brushing his pants off. His eyes meets the mans cool, blue eyes. Luci quickly averts his gaze to the side. Mind as well makes some friends in the apocalypse. "H-hello..my names L-luci...may I ask what yours is..?"
Kaas
Aurora Musis amica
[class=Notes]
//So this is an older code that I tried to fix up to look nicer//
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code. // // when typing responses to rps, be aware that when you press ente// // it will not show that you did. you'll have to use the
tags// [/class]
code. // // when typing responses to rps, be aware that when you press ente// // it will not show that you did. you'll have to use the
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Hell0NHighWater
Queen of Hell
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[/div][div class=statusText]Location: Newark Airport
Date: unknown; sometime in 2068
Tags: EVERYONE [/div][/div][div class=title]Rhys Contiello[/div][div class=text]
The taint that came from this man...the stench was like week old socks, rotten eggs, rancid old cheese, like nothing on earth; it was stomach churning, unbelievable, repellent, revolting, gut-wrenching, vomit inducing, grim, gross, brain numbingly foul, and he was unable to ignore it. Rhy's face fell faster than a corpse tied to cement blocks. As if on instinct his fingers twitched towards the gun at his side, ready to shoot even before the man made his desires known.
It was not an unreasonable request. Water was a precious commodity and those left with a heart would have no qualms about sharing it.
Rhys's stare was not intentionally cold, his face somehow lacked the mobility others had, yet when those baby blues landed on that...abomination his gaze fell like an act of violence, an attempt to smite the man from where he stood. There was a trickle of a white hot heat that shot across his very nerves followed by the soft iridescent glow of the lines under his tattoos. His muscles tensed in reaction and he stood almost paralyzed for a moment as his own corruption swirled in response. Never had he met a being whose soul was so damned that he was teetering on the edge of oblivion.
His breath seemed to stutter in his lungs before he let it go, feeling the tension drain from his body. His breathing --which he had unknowingly not been doing-- returned to normal and he felt as if he could think rationally once more. The soft glow under the cotton of his shirt subsided and he turned his attention to the man's words instead. From the look of him, he could be an asset but was it one they could risk having?
"Water will have to wait until we move to a safer location, unless you'd like to ask the revenants for some? I'm sure they'd be more than obliging."
There was no reason for the clipped edge to his voice other than his initial distaste for the man. Deep down he knew that he should maintain an air of neutrality, but that seemed impossible. Perhaps it was because of their natural opposition? Rhys was almost positive that if he could sense this man's corruption then the same could almost be said for him.
A name was whispered at him somewhere from his side. Alaska...
Like the state? He blinked, grateful for the tiny distraction. For the three days they had been cramped in this concrete tomb he had managed to keep his name to himself. It would be rude to ignore her. Even worse to be so flippant in response to such vital information. Names, after all, were very powerful things.
"Rhys." He nodded back, voice low, rule number one broken.
A light touch caused his attention to shift once more, this time to another woman who latched onto his arm without his consent. The corners of his lips tilted into a frown, her mismatched eyes meeting his for far longer than he felt comfortable with. What was her deal? He helped her out once and now she thought she could touch him freely? His brows drew together, displaying a bit of confusion before the shout of the only person he knew filled the air. Adisa came moving at him like a man on a mission, that beastly little serpent hot on his heels.
Rhys tried to swallow but his mouth went dry.
Ignore the snake...ignore the snake...ignore the snake...
The mantra repeated over and over and over again as his eyes slipped closed and he took a deep breath. Moving out of that strange woman's grasp he met the Witch-doctor half way. If he had been confused before, Adisa's ramblings hadn't helped much. Rhys processed the words with a blank face, mentally accounting for what he was saying and adding that to the vague idea that there was something inside the airport as well.
In the midst of thought he locked eyes with another boy across the way, more timid and much younger than the man who had tainted his oxygen. Though the boy still reeked it was more manageable and didn't make him feel like he instantly wanted to punch something. "Luci?" He tested the name out for a moment, giving him a strained smile that didn't quite sit well on his face. "I'm Rhys." There was a pause as his eyes moved from the boy to Adisa then to the rest of the gaggle. Why did it seem like he was the leader here? It was a position he never wanted, yet strangely it was like they had all agreed that's who he was when he wasn't looking. If only they knew what he had done then they might have felt a bit differently about placing so much faith in a murderer.
Still he was troubled, if what Adisa said was true and there were indeed more Revenants outside...then what was in here with them? He didn't believe them to be intelligent enough to come up with a plan to trap them, yet that seemed to be exactly what was happening.
"Can you do something for me kid?" He asked, looking back at Luci. Rhys crouched down a bit so that he was at eye level, making sure that the boy understood just exactly what he needed him to do was important. "I need you to pack whatever supplies we have left," his cobalt orbs switched towards the other two kids that looked to be around the same age as Luci, "make sure they help as well, and get everyone out. There's a gas station about a mile down to the south. Wait there until the rest of us meet up with you. If we aren't back by sunset, move on. You think you can handle all that?"
Rhys straightened, turning his attention now to the guy with the machete. "You're helping them too." The movement of the second new comer, the other that smelled specifically of rotten eggs, forced his focus to him. He didn't realize how many teenagers were in this crowd...a fact he realized after catching sight of two more mingling in the back. "You three, also help with getting to the gas station. The rest of us will deal with the Revenants."
He was in the middle of removing his pistol from his holster when he glanced up towards Adisa, "Make sure they all get there safe, yeah?"
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Date: unknown; sometime in 2068
Tags: EVERYONE [/div][/div][div class=title]Rhys Contiello[/div][div class=text]
The taint that came from this man...the stench was like week old socks, rotten eggs, rancid old cheese, like nothing on earth; it was stomach churning, unbelievable, repellent, revolting, gut-wrenching, vomit inducing, grim, gross, brain numbingly foul, and he was unable to ignore it. Rhy's face fell faster than a corpse tied to cement blocks. As if on instinct his fingers twitched towards the gun at his side, ready to shoot even before the man made his desires known.
It was not an unreasonable request. Water was a precious commodity and those left with a heart would have no qualms about sharing it.
Rhys's stare was not intentionally cold, his face somehow lacked the mobility others had, yet when those baby blues landed on that...abomination his gaze fell like an act of violence, an attempt to smite the man from where he stood. There was a trickle of a white hot heat that shot across his very nerves followed by the soft iridescent glow of the lines under his tattoos. His muscles tensed in reaction and he stood almost paralyzed for a moment as his own corruption swirled in response. Never had he met a being whose soul was so damned that he was teetering on the edge of oblivion.
His breath seemed to stutter in his lungs before he let it go, feeling the tension drain from his body. His breathing --which he had unknowingly not been doing-- returned to normal and he felt as if he could think rationally once more. The soft glow under the cotton of his shirt subsided and he turned his attention to the man's words instead. From the look of him, he could be an asset but was it one they could risk having?
"Water will have to wait until we move to a safer location, unless you'd like to ask the revenants for some? I'm sure they'd be more than obliging."
There was no reason for the clipped edge to his voice other than his initial distaste for the man. Deep down he knew that he should maintain an air of neutrality, but that seemed impossible. Perhaps it was because of their natural opposition? Rhys was almost positive that if he could sense this man's corruption then the same could almost be said for him.
A name was whispered at him somewhere from his side. Alaska...
Like the state? He blinked, grateful for the tiny distraction. For the three days they had been cramped in this concrete tomb he had managed to keep his name to himself. It would be rude to ignore her. Even worse to be so flippant in response to such vital information. Names, after all, were very powerful things.
"Rhys." He nodded back, voice low, rule number one broken.
A light touch caused his attention to shift once more, this time to another woman who latched onto his arm without his consent. The corners of his lips tilted into a frown, her mismatched eyes meeting his for far longer than he felt comfortable with. What was her deal? He helped her out once and now she thought she could touch him freely? His brows drew together, displaying a bit of confusion before the shout of the only person he knew filled the air. Adisa came moving at him like a man on a mission, that beastly little serpent hot on his heels.
Rhys tried to swallow but his mouth went dry.
Ignore the snake...ignore the snake...ignore the snake...
The mantra repeated over and over and over again as his eyes slipped closed and he took a deep breath. Moving out of that strange woman's grasp he met the Witch-doctor half way. If he had been confused before, Adisa's ramblings hadn't helped much. Rhys processed the words with a blank face, mentally accounting for what he was saying and adding that to the vague idea that there was something inside the airport as well.
In the midst of thought he locked eyes with another boy across the way, more timid and much younger than the man who had tainted his oxygen. Though the boy still reeked it was more manageable and didn't make him feel like he instantly wanted to punch something. "Luci?" He tested the name out for a moment, giving him a strained smile that didn't quite sit well on his face. "I'm Rhys." There was a pause as his eyes moved from the boy to Adisa then to the rest of the gaggle. Why did it seem like he was the leader here? It was a position he never wanted, yet strangely it was like they had all agreed that's who he was when he wasn't looking. If only they knew what he had done then they might have felt a bit differently about placing so much faith in a murderer.
Still he was troubled, if what Adisa said was true and there were indeed more Revenants outside...then what was in here with them? He didn't believe them to be intelligent enough to come up with a plan to trap them, yet that seemed to be exactly what was happening.
"Can you do something for me kid?" He asked, looking back at Luci. Rhys crouched down a bit so that he was at eye level, making sure that the boy understood just exactly what he needed him to do was important. "I need you to pack whatever supplies we have left," his cobalt orbs switched towards the other two kids that looked to be around the same age as Luci, "make sure they help as well, and get everyone out. There's a gas station about a mile down to the south. Wait there until the rest of us meet up with you. If we aren't back by sunset, move on. You think you can handle all that?"
Rhys straightened, turning his attention now to the guy with the machete. "You're helping them too." The movement of the second new comer, the other that smelled specifically of rotten eggs, forced his focus to him. He didn't realize how many teenagers were in this crowd...a fact he realized after catching sight of two more mingling in the back. "You three, also help with getting to the gas station. The rest of us will deal with the Revenants."
He was in the middle of removing his pistol from his holster when he glanced up towards Adisa, "Make sure they all get there safe, yeah?"
[/div][div class=text][/div][/div][/div][/div] [class=wrapper] background-color:#5e757c; box-sizing:border-box; color:#FFFFFF; display:inline-block; position:relative; width:100%; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=title] color: #262626; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:3em; font-style:italic; padding:0; text-shadow:0 0 1em; margin-bottom: 10px; [/class] [class=box] margin:2em 1em; padding:2px 4px 0px; position:relative; [/class] [class=boxBg] box-sizing:content-box; height:100%; pointer-events:none; position:absolute; width:100%; [/class] [class=boxBgLarge] top:0; left:-5px; padding:0 4px; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.35); [/class] [class=boxBgTall] top:-8px;left:3px; padding:8px 0; width:calc(100% - 8px); height:100%; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.25); [/class] [class=boxBgMedium] top:-4px; left:-1px; padding:4px 0; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.4); [/class] [class=boxInner] background-color: #5e757c; overflow:hidden; margin:0.5em; [/class] [class=statusBox] box-sizing: border-box; border-right: 3px dotted white; padding: 15px; float: left; max-width: 250px; margin: 0px 15px 15px 0px; [/class] [class=text] padding: 0px 15px 15px 15px; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:0.8em; [/class] [class=statusText] font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.75em; margin-top: 5px; [/class] [class=characterPortrait] box-sizing: border-box; position: relative; border-radius: 20px; overflow: hidden; [/class] [class name=characterPortrait state=hover] opacity: 0.5 [/class]
Lotte
What even is a deadline
[div class=wrapper][div class=box][div class="boxBg boxBgLarge"][/div][div class="boxBg boxBgTall"][/div][div class="boxBg boxBgMedium"][/div][div class=boxInner][div class=statusBox][div class=characterPortrait][/div][div class=statusText]
Tags:
Hell0NHighWater
scorpiodragon
BasiliskVeranda
Rui
Chise_Robin_
[/div][/div][div class=title]Juliet[/div][div class=text]Juliet could barely take her eyes away from the white haired girl. She found her strangely calming to look at, since she felt a bond of familiarity.
Once she had jumped after the silver haired girl, she almost banged her head on a beam and barely managed to land on another one below it. She stumbled and the sleeves of her sweater unrolled, making it even harder to not fall and break like an egg. Being ever so graceful, Juliet succeeded in stepping on her own foot. She huffed in annoyance and stretched down on the beam like a sloth, gripping it with her arms and legs. The metal felt cool against her exposed legs, so she mostly just let them dangle down from the beam.
She let her left arm dangle back and forth as well, while humming quietly and listening to the vibrations echo through the metal. She was disturbed when her fingertips became wet and she shook her hand with a hiss. Her fingers were covered in blood and she could smell the metallic liquid vividly. When she looked straight ahead, a poorly dressed woman was walking on air.
She moved with every deep breath she took, and her arms and legs seemed to be stuck in a cramp. Her clothes were smeared with blood and dust, on top of being torn almost to shreds. The teeth that were poking from her half-opened mouth were pointy and had strings of goop and saliva hanging from them in long, stretchy strings. Next to the woman was a little girl, maybe 5 or 6 years old. She was skipping along happily and was humming some sort of song. A brown bear was clutched tightly between her arms and resting on her chest, standing out against her white sparkly dress and orange crocs. Her hair was tied into two tight buns and matched her dark brown eyes.
She picked her nose and then started skipping faster and faster.
♪ Blue and black and black and blue,
my dearest child will come for you.
You know right now she wants you dead
and by next dawn I'll have your head! ♪
The little girl spun in circles, throwing her teddy bear high into the air and catching it again and again. Juliet sighed as the two faded away and she peered down at where her bag was placed. She could see her bow and quiver - they were so close, yet so far.
She took a deep breath and turned towards those who were gearing up for battle, screaming;
"HEEEELLLOOO DOWN BELOOOOWWWW, can soMEONE THROW ME MY BOW AND ARROWS?"
The scream echoed throughout the airport, beating the earlier monstrous screech in volume.
[/div][div class=text][/div][/div][/div][/div] [class=wrapper] background-color:#5e5560; box-sizing:border-box; color:#eeeeee; display:inline-block; position:relative; width:100%; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=title] color: #bfbfbf; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:3em; font-style:italic; padding:0; margin-bottom: 10px; [/class] [class=box] margin:2em 1em; padding:2px 4px 0px; position:relative; [/class] [class=boxBg] box-sizing:content-box; height:100%; pointer-events:none; position:absolute; width:100%; [/class] [class=boxBgLarge] top:0; left:-5px; padding:0 4px; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.35); [/class] [class=boxBgTall] top:-8px;left:3px; padding:8px 0; width:calc(100% - 8px); height:100%; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.25); [/class] [class=boxBgMedium] top:-4px; left:-1px; padding:4px 0; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.4); [/class] [class=boxInner] background-color: #5e5560; overflow:hidden; margin:0.5em; [/class] [class=statusBox] box-sizing: border-box; border-right: 3px dotted white; padding: 15px; float: left; max-width: 250px; margin: 0px 15px 15px 0px; [/class] [class=text] padding: 0px 15px 15px 15px; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:0.8em; [/class] [class=statusText] font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.75em; margin-top: 5px; [/class] [class=characterPortrait] box-sizing: border-box; position: relative; border-radius: 20px; overflow: hidden; [/class] [class name=characterPortrait state=hover] opacity: 0.5 [/class]
[/div][div class=statusText]Tags:
Hell0NHighWater
scorpiodragon
BasiliskVeranda
Rui
Chise_Robin_
[/div][/div][div class=title]Juliet[/div][div class=text]Juliet could barely take her eyes away from the white haired girl. She found her strangely calming to look at, since she felt a bond of familiarity. Once she had jumped after the silver haired girl, she almost banged her head on a beam and barely managed to land on another one below it. She stumbled and the sleeves of her sweater unrolled, making it even harder to not fall and break like an egg. Being ever so graceful, Juliet succeeded in stepping on her own foot. She huffed in annoyance and stretched down on the beam like a sloth, gripping it with her arms and legs. The metal felt cool against her exposed legs, so she mostly just let them dangle down from the beam.
She let her left arm dangle back and forth as well, while humming quietly and listening to the vibrations echo through the metal. She was disturbed when her fingertips became wet and she shook her hand with a hiss. Her fingers were covered in blood and she could smell the metallic liquid vividly. When she looked straight ahead, a poorly dressed woman was walking on air.
She moved with every deep breath she took, and her arms and legs seemed to be stuck in a cramp. Her clothes were smeared with blood and dust, on top of being torn almost to shreds. The teeth that were poking from her half-opened mouth were pointy and had strings of goop and saliva hanging from them in long, stretchy strings. Next to the woman was a little girl, maybe 5 or 6 years old. She was skipping along happily and was humming some sort of song. A brown bear was clutched tightly between her arms and resting on her chest, standing out against her white sparkly dress and orange crocs. Her hair was tied into two tight buns and matched her dark brown eyes.
She picked her nose and then started skipping faster and faster.
♪ Blue and black and black and blue,
my dearest child will come for you.
You know right now she wants you dead
and by next dawn I'll have your head! ♪
The little girl spun in circles, throwing her teddy bear high into the air and catching it again and again. Juliet sighed as the two faded away and she peered down at where her bag was placed. She could see her bow and quiver - they were so close, yet so far.
She took a deep breath and turned towards those who were gearing up for battle, screaming;
"HEEEELLLOOO DOWN BELOOOOWWWW, can soMEONE THROW ME MY BOW AND ARROWS?"
The scream echoed throughout the airport, beating the earlier monstrous screech in volume.
[/div][div class=text][/div][/div][/div][/div] [class=wrapper] background-color:#5e5560; box-sizing:border-box; color:#eeeeee; display:inline-block; position:relative; width:100%; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=title] color: #bfbfbf; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:3em; font-style:italic; padding:0; margin-bottom: 10px; [/class] [class=box] margin:2em 1em; padding:2px 4px 0px; position:relative; [/class] [class=boxBg] box-sizing:content-box; height:100%; pointer-events:none; position:absolute; width:100%; [/class] [class=boxBgLarge] top:0; left:-5px; padding:0 4px; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.35); [/class] [class=boxBgTall] top:-8px;left:3px; padding:8px 0; width:calc(100% - 8px); height:100%; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.25); [/class] [class=boxBgMedium] top:-4px; left:-1px; padding:4px 0; border:1px solid rgba(255,255,255,.4); [/class] [class=boxInner] background-color: #5e5560; overflow:hidden; margin:0.5em; [/class] [class=statusBox] box-sizing: border-box; border-right: 3px dotted white; padding: 15px; float: left; max-width: 250px; margin: 0px 15px 15px 0px; [/class] [class=text] padding: 0px 15px 15px 15px; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size:0.8em; [/class] [class=statusText] font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.75em; margin-top: 5px; [/class] [class=characterPortrait] box-sizing: border-box; position: relative; border-radius: 20px; overflow: hidden; [/class] [class name=characterPortrait state=hover] opacity: 0.5 [/class]
Lakyr
The Dark Lord of Laziness
James
Things kept happening rather fast as more people joined the group. James eyes were darting around as he tried to keep track on everything important whilst searching for any new signs of danger. He got ready to leave, but waited for some kind of plan.
Listening to the strange man just coming into the room followed by a snake, James was setting his mind on a fight. Rhys started planning for the survivors to get away from the airport and the immediate threat, that's the reason why they viewed him as some kind of leader, James thought. Then Rhys blue eyes were locked with his. James swallowed his protest for the first moments and the other man shifted his attention to others again.
James walked up to him, speaking in a low but audible voice. "Rhys, right?" He waited for a moment until he had his attention again. "I can help fighting and you could need that here if you want to keep the attention away from the rest of the group. Also, this is kinda weird, we can't be sure what's coming."
Things kept happening rather fast as more people joined the group. James eyes were darting around as he tried to keep track on everything important whilst searching for any new signs of danger. He got ready to leave, but waited for some kind of plan.
Listening to the strange man just coming into the room followed by a snake, James was setting his mind on a fight. Rhys started planning for the survivors to get away from the airport and the immediate threat, that's the reason why they viewed him as some kind of leader, James thought. Then Rhys blue eyes were locked with his. James swallowed his protest for the first moments and the other man shifted his attention to others again.
James walked up to him, speaking in a low but audible voice. "Rhys, right?" He waited for a moment until he had his attention again. "I can help fighting and you could need that here if you want to keep the attention away from the rest of the group. Also, this is kinda weird, we can't be sure what's coming."
Chise_Robin_
procrastination queen
Last edited:
Lekiel
Two Thousand Club
❖ ❖
“The psychologists Daniel Kahnerman and Amos Tversky have shown when humans estimate the likelihood or frequency of an event, we make that judgment based not on how often the event has actually occurred, but on how vivid the past examples are.” A soft thoughtful hum escaped her throat, cutting through the quiet of the dilapidated bookstore. A couple of years back, Hudson Booksellers would've been situated in a prime location, right by one of the ground floor entryways, poised in a strategic location for passing travelers to take advantage of its printed paperbacks. Our errant solivagant looked up from her copy of "The Intelligent Investor" (well it wasn't really hers, she just happened to be holding it as our narrative joins hers) at the messy smattering of shelves lined haphazardly before her and wondered why people had the time to barge into bookshelves in their efforts to survive in this God forsaken land. I mean seriously, couldn't they just have left the books to rot in peace?
Cold grey light flitted in from between gaps in the boarded up windows to her back, bringing with it the chilling bite of the very creature that had chased the young woman indoors to seek temporary shelter. The light illuminated a laminated sign hanging from the ceiling, faded print barely legible but still enough for her to make out the letters: 'Closing Down Sale - $1/book'. A pity really. Two years back, and for the longest time, brick-and-mortar outlets were being run out of business particularly that of the print industry. Online retail was booming coupled with the increasing readership preference for digital books; fighting on two fronts in a losing battle the era of the retail bookstore was a tragic tale awaiting its inevitable conclusion. Reverie's lips curled into a smirk as she took a whiff of Benjamin Graham's yellowed pages, allowing the crinkled sheets and moldy aroma to fill her nostrils. Ah, the little comforts... Arms clutching the book to her chest, she moved further along the shelves eyes scanning the mass of titles. The irony of it, was that these very books outlasted their virtual counterparts.
The retail stretch of the airport was veiled in shadows, and though many of its broad windows had been boarded up by previous occupants, some had fallen off allowing light to filter in just enough to shroud the place with a layer of grayscale; the only thing of colour was perhaps the book clutched in the young woman's hands. Reverie was in the midst of learning about the folly of compulsive speculative investments when a shiny glint out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Wait... could it be? The brunette shut the book with a snap. There, tucked in a corner by a shattered potted plant and rusted metal cooler was a large vending machine. And in it... Reverie took tentative steps closer.
"No way!" She hissed into the still air. The brown packaging with red trimmed edges and the bold white font emblazoned across the front. 'HERSHEY'S Special Dark'. Christmas had come early.
Reverie took long strides, making a beeline over toppled benches and overturned airport trolleys until she was pressed up against the cold glass cover. Should she risk it? The woman cast wary glances into the darkened recesses of the departure hall, scrutinizing every corner for a trace of those wretched monsters. There was nothing of course. Reverie pursed her lips, a frown creasing her forehead. Perhaps she should see if today was her lucky day. Turning back to the vending machine, she concentrated on the coiled metal rack, willing it to turn. Nothing happened. Dammit! She bopped the glass with her fist out of frustration. Then she heard a click. She sucked in a suspense filled breath as the coil slowly rotated dropping the package into the shuttered pocket.
"Ooh!" Reverie couldn't help but let out a little squeal of delight, reaching through the machine doorway to retrieve her prize. As soon as her fingers closed on the packaging, she knew she'd been duped. "The fuck!" Reverie cursed as she stared at the empty foil clutched in her hands. She had rolled the unlucky lottery and won the jackpot. Cursing the idiot person in charge of Hershey's Quality Control two years in the past, she whirled around and was about to stomp off when she locked eyes with three pairs of bloodshot hungry gazes. They stood about twenty yards across the divide, hungrily staring at her with putrid spittle slobbering out from between foul rotting teeth.
"Oh hell no..." Reverie swore again under her breath. She had to do something about her obsession with those brown bean products, or they would be the death of her if not already.
code by Ri.a
Last edited:
BasiliskVeranda
80s Trash
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[/class] [class=handsomedevil] text-align: center; width:30%; margin: 0 auto; float:left; padding:10px; color: #140033; font-weight:100; border-bottom: dotted 1px #140033[/class] [class=speakeasy] border-top: dotted 1px #140033; text-align: center; font-size:10px; background: #fcfbf2; padding:10px; color: #140033; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speaks] padding:10px; text-align: left; float:right; width:60%;[/class]
[div class=biggie]
NIKLAS LIAM VOSS
I̴̧̗̥̝̗̠̰͆̈͌̿̈́̕'̷͈̳͊͂͛͛̆̾l̷̠̻̘̻̟̏̈́̌͆̾̌̎͜ḽ̸̙͖̝̌͆ͅ ̴̰̗̟̲̬̪̿̑͝͠ẗ̷̢͓̪̜͍̘͓́̀e̴̹̮̪̦͈̻̐l̸͉̲̘̬̦̞̓͌͂̕ĺ̶͙͇͕̭̄̈̍ ̷̛͇̪̺̝͆̍́̕͝y̷̨̙̫̦͉̲̹͒̀̄̕͝ǫ̷̞̱̺̖́̅̈̃̏ũ̴̳̦̠̒̚ ̶̧̨͕̙̉͗͑̇s̴̢̝̺͍̺̪͕̄̕ơ̸͎̤̅͒͆̀͝͠m̸͉̥͍͈̊͌̀͂͐̚͠ę̵̛̰̜̪͓̌ͅt̸̢̤̣̮̠̳̄̌̀ͅḫ̸͖͔̠̂͛͘i̴̯͇͖̱͕̙̺̊ṋ̶̨̋̚͝g̸̜͆̏,̵̩̎̊̌̀͌̑ ̷̡̞̻͈͊̒̑I̶̡̳͎̮̰͓͊͛̉̋̈͛̽ ̷͇̜̥̱̬̙͌͌̀̇̑̇a̴̛͈͓̜̬̼̩̍͆̀̕͝m̵̡̲̰̀̀̿̍̇̋ ̵̤͆ã̸̪̞͚͓͇̏̑͐̈́̇͜ ̵͕́̈́͑̑ḋ̸̤̝͋͜e̸͇͈̹̅̋m̶̬͔̭̒̒ò̵͕̞̫̗̻̳̪̌̊͠͝n̵̢̛̬̊̾̚.̷̱̫̩͔̉͌̅͒S̵̻͖̝͕̏͘õ̴̡̎m̸̡̢̛̛̬̜̟̀̈̇̆̾e̷̥̠͎̝̯̹̱̔ ̶̨̜̘̇̄s̷̠͇̹̳͉̆̌̃̑̑͝a̶̺̱̞̅͠y̷̧͈͔̤̗̍̒͂̂ ̶͍̩̳͇̘͔̑͊͑m̶̢̥̦͈̰͙͍̿y̴̟̫̪͙̅̇̆̓̕͘͠ ̸̼̈̂̂̍̀̍b̸͓̝̘̏̔́i̵̢͍̮̱̤̣̺̿̂̅̉͠͝g̴̲̜͎̫̋̒͝g̴̢̻̣̖͙̔͜ễ̶̙͓s̶̢̙̗̖̻̻̓̀͗̆ẗ̵͉̜̻́̏̿ ̶̛̟̞̟͛̌͗͒́͂w̷̡̨̢͕̬̥̯̓͌̿̈̐e̸͉͖̭͒̒ā̸̬̙̽k̶̭͋͊̽̏̔ǹ̶̺̥̙̯̘̞̳ẻ̴̤̝͎̏͑ş̶̙̳͎̤̰͔͆́̓͑͐̒ś̶̫̻̳̾̆͋́͝ͅ.̸̞́̏̕.̶̘͌.̶̢͓̞̯̟̇̾Ì̸̩̞̤̰̮̤̦̊̓̂̀ ̵̧̲̼̱̼̊̽̆͛̒̑͘ĥ̷͔̟̗͈͌̚ã̵̙̮̫͆͋́v̵̭͉̹̣̗̪͗́̀̀͊ë̸̗̎̉̆̑̀͝ ̴̛̺͐̏̐̈́m̶͖̔̀ÿ̷̝͈̘̜͉́ ̶̙̯̘̈́͊̈͑͋̅͝ŕ̷̡̻̻͇͎̪̗͛̆͂́̇̈ę̶̛͈̫̭͉̒̎͠ă̴͕̼̺͎̦̅̆̄͊͐s̸͚͐̈́̃͛̏̈́͗ȯ̸̻͋̅͛n̷̳̮̭̘̮̲̆̈́̀s̵̩͓͐-̵̡͈͉͎͉͊̔̈͘-̴͚̥̖͓̮̏̕ͅĈ̵̦̜̦̖̽̾̚̕̕ǎ̴̛͇̈́͒̈́͋l̸̳̜͈̫͌̓̅̈͆͗͋l̶̬̽̕ͅ ̶̢̹̘̳̪̓̌ị̴̤̱͔̊t̶̰͙̿͠ ̵̫̣̋̎̅̾̿͒͝m̵̬̀͗y̶̲̗̞̫͙̒́̀̒̄ ̴̥̖̪̮̙͂̌̔̀͝͠d̵̡̜̜̫̊̅̚ė̴̦͉̫͕̞̖̦͑̕͝ḟ̷̯̄e̷̪̱͈̓́̄̾̔̄̌n̸̛͎̬̤̥̈́̚s̵͉͉̻͙̰̭̆̚̕ẻ̵̬̟͔͔̣̭̄̌̆̇͝͝.̵͈̖̤̳̌̂ ̶͖̉̍̽B̷̳̥̝̑̎̑̉͑͜e̵͕̺̫͑͌̽̕ ̴̧̼̻̹͐̑̈c̴͉̩͕̪̣̝̤̏͒͐̈́ä̵̬́͑͠͠ͅr̴̡̲̘̺̰͙̀é̴̝̭̠̬̑f̷̧̪̻̣͚͋u̶͍͗͗̑̈́͋̉͠ļ̵̬͆̀̆̀̓́͛͜ ̶̢̝̩̬̳̣͒̿̏͜͝w̵̧̧͚͚͖̠̉̕͝ͅḩ̵̢̗͍̬̭̀̿͒a̸̢̱͙̠̗͖̽́̽̿̍t̸̡̨̛͙̒͛̑̈́͝ ̸̱̥̹̟̐̌͒̈́̆̑͘y̵͔͎͛͂̇͝o̴̞̜̼͓͈͙̔̐ų̸͔̠́̏͛͂̿́̚'̴̪͍̜̝̈͌̓̀̈̚͠r̷̟̟̗̂͛̃̔̀é̶̮ ̸̟͌͆̑w̵̨̖̜̎̇͋̅͝ǐ̷̧̟̥͓̜́̈́͂s̴̢̮̖̀̌̀̂͐h̴̼̬͍̲͗͆͒ï̸̢̖͉̼̮̲ń̶̢͚̪̫͉̖̦̆͌͊̎g̵̨̩̪̯̰̜̑̃̏͌̃̀͝
[div class=speakeasy]“To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's.”[/div]
[div class=handsomedevil]
RUST & STARDUST
I̴̧̗̥̝̗̠̰͆̈͌̿̈́̕'̷͈̳͊͂͛͛̆̾l̷̠̻̘̻̟̏̈́̌͆̾̌̎͜ḽ̸̙͖̝̌͆ͅ ̴̰̗̟̲̬̪̿̑͝͠ẗ̷̢͓̪̜͍̘͓́̀e̴̹̮̪̦͈̻̐l̸͉̲̘̬̦̞̓͌͂̕ĺ̶͙͇͕̭̄̈̍ ̷̛͇̪̺̝͆̍́̕͝y̷̨̙̫̦͉̲̹͒̀̄̕͝ǫ̷̞̱̺̖́̅̈̃̏ũ̴̳̦̠̒̚ ̶̧̨͕̙̉͗͑̇s̴̢̝̺͍̺̪͕̄̕ơ̸͎̤̅͒͆̀͝͠m̸͉̥͍͈̊͌̀͂͐̚͠ę̵̛̰̜̪͓̌ͅt̸̢̤̣̮̠̳̄̌̀ͅḫ̸͖͔̠̂͛͘i̴̯͇͖̱͕̙̺̊ṋ̶̨̋̚͝g̸̜͆̏,̵̩̎̊̌̀͌̑ ̷̡̞̻͈͊̒̑I̶̡̳͎̮̰͓͊͛̉̋̈͛̽ ̷͇̜̥̱̬̙͌͌̀̇̑̇a̴̛͈͓̜̬̼̩̍͆̀̕͝m̵̡̲̰̀̀̿̍̇̋ ̵̤͆ã̸̪̞͚͓͇̏̑͐̈́̇͜ ̵͕́̈́͑̑ḋ̸̤̝͋͜e̸͇͈̹̅̋m̶̬͔̭̒̒ò̵͕̞̫̗̻̳̪̌̊͠͝n̵̢̛̬̊̾̚.̷̱̫̩͔̉͌̅͒S̵̻͖̝͕̏͘õ̴̡̎m̸̡̢̛̛̬̜̟̀̈̇̆̾e̷̥̠͎̝̯̹̱̔ ̶̨̜̘̇̄s̷̠͇̹̳͉̆̌̃̑̑͝a̶̺̱̞̅͠y̷̧͈͔̤̗̍̒͂̂ ̶͍̩̳͇̘͔̑͊͑m̶̢̥̦͈̰͙͍̿y̴̟̫̪͙̅̇̆̓̕͘͠ ̸̼̈̂̂̍̀̍b̸͓̝̘̏̔́i̵̢͍̮̱̤̣̺̿̂̅̉͠͝g̴̲̜͎̫̋̒͝g̴̢̻̣̖͙̔͜ễ̶̙͓s̶̢̙̗̖̻̻̓̀͗̆ẗ̵͉̜̻́̏̿ ̶̛̟̞̟͛̌͗͒́͂w̷̡̨̢͕̬̥̯̓͌̿̈̐e̸͉͖̭͒̒ā̸̬̙̽k̶̭͋͊̽̏̔ǹ̶̺̥̙̯̘̞̳ẻ̴̤̝͎̏͑ş̶̙̳͎̤̰͔͆́̓͑͐̒ś̶̫̻̳̾̆͋́͝ͅ.̸̞́̏̕.̶̘͌.̶̢͓̞̯̟̇̾Ì̸̩̞̤̰̮̤̦̊̓̂̀ ̵̧̲̼̱̼̊̽̆͛̒̑͘ĥ̷͔̟̗͈͌̚ã̵̙̮̫͆͋́v̵̭͉̹̣̗̪͗́̀̀͊ë̸̗̎̉̆̑̀͝ ̴̛̺͐̏̐̈́m̶͖̔̀ÿ̷̝͈̘̜͉́ ̶̙̯̘̈́͊̈͑͋̅͝ŕ̷̡̻̻͇͎̪̗͛̆͂́̇̈ę̶̛͈̫̭͉̒̎͠ă̴͕̼̺͎̦̅̆̄͊͐s̸͚͐̈́̃͛̏̈́͗ȯ̸̻͋̅͛n̷̳̮̭̘̮̲̆̈́̀s̵̩͓͐-̵̡͈͉͎͉͊̔̈͘-̴͚̥̖͓̮̏̕ͅĈ̵̦̜̦̖̽̾̚̕̕ǎ̴̛͇̈́͒̈́͋l̸̳̜͈̫͌̓̅̈͆͗͋l̶̬̽̕ͅ ̶̢̹̘̳̪̓̌ị̴̤̱͔̊t̶̰͙̿͠ ̵̫̣̋̎̅̾̿͒͝m̵̬̀͗y̶̲̗̞̫͙̒́̀̒̄ ̴̥̖̪̮̙͂̌̔̀͝͠d̵̡̜̜̫̊̅̚ė̴̦͉̫͕̞̖̦͑̕͝ḟ̷̯̄e̷̪̱͈̓́̄̾̔̄̌n̸̛͎̬̤̥̈́̚s̵͉͉̻͙̰̭̆̚̕ẻ̵̬̟͔͔̣̭̄̌̆̇͝͝.̵͈̖̤̳̌̂ ̶͖̉̍̽B̷̳̥̝̑̎̑̉͑͜e̵͕̺̫͑͌̽̕ ̴̧̼̻̹͐̑̈c̴͉̩͕̪̣̝̤̏͒͐̈́ä̵̬́͑͠͠ͅr̴̡̲̘̺̰͙̀é̴̝̭̠̬̑f̷̧̪̻̣͚͋u̶͍͗͗̑̈́͋̉͠ļ̵̬͆̀̆̀̓́͛͜ ̶̢̝̩̬̳̣͒̿̏͜͝w̵̧̧͚͚͖̠̉̕͝ͅḩ̵̢̗͍̬̭̀̿͒a̸̢̱͙̠̗͖̽́̽̿̍t̸̡̨̛͙̒͛̑̈́͝ ̸̱̥̹̟̐̌͒̈́̆̑͘y̵͔͎͛͂̇͝o̴̞̜̼͓͈͙̔̐ų̸͔̠́̏͛͂̿́̚'̴̪͍̜̝̈͌̓̀̈̚͠r̷̟̟̗̂͛̃̔̀é̶̮ ̸̟͌͆̑w̵̨̖̜̎̇͋̅͝ǐ̷̧̟̥͓̜́̈́͂s̴̢̮̖̀̌̀̂͐h̴̼̬͍̲͗͆͒ï̸̢̖͉̼̮̲ń̶̢͚̪̫͉̖̦̆͌͊̎g̵̨̩̪̯̰̜̑̃̏͌̃̀͝
[div class=speakeasy]LOCATION: Newark Airport, chillin' with the new homeys
WITH: everyboddyy rahhhh
TAGS: (I'm not gonna' tag anybody here, basically everybody at Hotel Airportafornia soo)
BGM: TWO ONE SIX - WET
[/div]
[/div][div class=speaks]The first thing that came to his mind, when surveying the offerings of able bodies, was the hackneyed batch of survivors. It reminded him much of an assortment of candies in a too-tight jar, perhaps threatening to burst under the pressure of the cold outside. Shattered glass, splintering them all. And the actual cause of the shatter, the thin sliver, stick in your skin, cut your teeth serration? Revenants—the bastard children of Vampires who couldn't quite commit to the entire event. He hoped hell wouldn't befall these survivors, though he would be lying if he said he wouldn't enjoy the spectacle. He still had a heart in there, even if encased in some higher power's bony, blackened fingers. And so, he hoped they'd live.
Niklas raised his brows as the survivors spoke, namely the one who circled around his speech, like a possibly dangerous toy spinning the drain of demise with a smile painted on its face. This one was one to watch. There was something there that licked his senses.
"I see something outside. Those things ya call 'Revenants'. You know, big and scary with teeth and no brains in their heads. I bet you they'll kill us if they get in, I bet you."
The same went for their de facto leader, who it seemed everyone turned to for support. Who was also talking, and even threw a phrase his way. There was a light there, something smelling like clean linens, rose water, sage, and something else he couldn't place. It stung Niklas' skin, but he didn't protest or writhe around in agony like the Revenants would must likely undulate. Quite pointedly, because he was attractive. And Nik would linger around beautiful things and people, even if the Divine crawled up his arms and split the skin. The Witch in Queens was the same. Her hair full of flame extended to her warmed hands, and he did so like those hands. Even if it bit him, even if the light of divinity ached his muscles. He still kept her in his confidence...that temptress.
His vices were numerous, and engaging with the beautiful was a pleasant pastime. For an artist, there was no greater pursuit than the raw, bleeding entrails of beauty. At least for him, that is. His painting were gone, torched, or ripped to shreds when the world fell into nothing. As was the woman he loved, and the child he would've loved equally—or perhaps more. As fathers and mothers are apt to do with their little blessings.
So what he had left were sweet things. Even pitch black sweet things, like rotten fruit. He could wait for a persimmon. And in this cold it was easier to freeze it and wait for the rot, to sup on whatever heady sugars it provided. But he guessed this one, this de facto leader, would rather chew rocks than let the only somewhat evil, part-time abomination shave off his time for simple pleasant conversation. And idling dark blue eyes to gaze, maybe a banter. That was hopeless.
"Water will have to wait until we move to a safer location, unless you'd like to ask the revenants for some? I'm sure they'd be more than obliging."
"Of course," was all Nik said before slowly dropped his hands from behind his head, so as not to startle. He barely heard a few names, he'd have to ask for those later. After they dealt with the issue at hand, which were the rovers and the maws, the bleating, broiling offspring of much smarter creatures.
He didn't miss the snake in the air, or the power that vibrated off of some of the survivors, or the shutter from the girl with the revolver. He just cataloged them in the back of his mind. They weren't such strange things, since the world was wholly strange now. Stranger than fiction, this. He wondered what the girl knew, what made her shiver. He wondered what the snake was, but it wasn't too bothering.
Not when demons cleaved souls. Not when hellfire consumed his home. This wasn't surprising for him. And perhaps, it should've been. But he had always liked the darkness, in sick slips of shade, it felt natural. Yet he would be vilified till the ends of time for being fine with it. He was sure, in some small way, that it wasn't quite darkness. But, instead, differentness.
"I'll help, if you'll let me," he said to the other survivors as he knelt to grab his pipe, again, slowly. But mostly the de facto leader, with the rose water and other such pleasant smells. His gaze locked the other man's, and a half-smile graced his lips. He rose, pipe in hand, and turned on smart shoes. The screams grew closer, rippling off of the architecture. The acoustics were pretty daft, being that it was an airport.
"I'm pretty handy, where killing is concerned," he said over his shoulder, with a warm, very human smile. As if it was a joke, but it wasn't. The pipe was old and brittled, and he had struck plenty of cars with it, and other things. It'd possibly clank and bend down at more violence, but that was why he had the thin, long, penetrative blades. Though cutting through the vertebrae was hard, he could down some chunks of brain matter and calcification, then possibly cut through the meat of the neck.
He began his usual swing with the pipe, waving in a single motion, a medium speed. That would then explode into pure havoc and unrelenting carnage when it was time to defend...strangers.
"At least this is about to get interesting. Try not to die just yet, I'd like to hydrate myself before the day is over."
[/div][/div]
[/class] [class=handsomedevil] text-align: center; width:30%; margin: 0 auto; float:left; padding:10px; color: #140033; font-weight:100; border-bottom: dotted 1px #140033[/class] [class=speakeasy] border-top: dotted 1px #140033; text-align: center; font-size:10px; background: #fcfbf2; padding:10px; color: #140033; font-weight:100; [/class] [class=speaks] padding:10px; text-align: left; float:right; width:60%;[/class]
[div class=biggie]
NIKLAS LIAM VOSS
I̴̧̗̥̝̗̠̰͆̈͌̿̈́̕'̷͈̳͊͂͛͛̆̾l̷̠̻̘̻̟̏̈́̌͆̾̌̎͜ḽ̸̙͖̝̌͆ͅ ̴̰̗̟̲̬̪̿̑͝͠ẗ̷̢͓̪̜͍̘͓́̀e̴̹̮̪̦͈̻̐l̸͉̲̘̬̦̞̓͌͂̕ĺ̶͙͇͕̭̄̈̍ ̷̛͇̪̺̝͆̍́̕͝y̷̨̙̫̦͉̲̹͒̀̄̕͝ǫ̷̞̱̺̖́̅̈̃̏ũ̴̳̦̠̒̚ ̶̧̨͕̙̉͗͑̇s̴̢̝̺͍̺̪͕̄̕ơ̸͎̤̅͒͆̀͝͠m̸͉̥͍͈̊͌̀͂͐̚͠ę̵̛̰̜̪͓̌ͅt̸̢̤̣̮̠̳̄̌̀ͅḫ̸͖͔̠̂͛͘i̴̯͇͖̱͕̙̺̊ṋ̶̨̋̚͝g̸̜͆̏,̵̩̎̊̌̀͌̑ ̷̡̞̻͈͊̒̑I̶̡̳͎̮̰͓͊͛̉̋̈͛̽ ̷͇̜̥̱̬̙͌͌̀̇̑̇a̴̛͈͓̜̬̼̩̍͆̀̕͝m̵̡̲̰̀̀̿̍̇̋ ̵̤͆ã̸̪̞͚͓͇̏̑͐̈́̇͜ ̵͕́̈́͑̑ḋ̸̤̝͋͜e̸͇͈̹̅̋m̶̬͔̭̒̒ò̵͕̞̫̗̻̳̪̌̊͠͝n̵̢̛̬̊̾̚.̷̱̫̩͔̉͌̅͒S̵̻͖̝͕̏͘õ̴̡̎m̸̡̢̛̛̬̜̟̀̈̇̆̾e̷̥̠͎̝̯̹̱̔ ̶̨̜̘̇̄s̷̠͇̹̳͉̆̌̃̑̑͝a̶̺̱̞̅͠y̷̧͈͔̤̗̍̒͂̂ ̶͍̩̳͇̘͔̑͊͑m̶̢̥̦͈̰͙͍̿y̴̟̫̪͙̅̇̆̓̕͘͠ ̸̼̈̂̂̍̀̍b̸͓̝̘̏̔́i̵̢͍̮̱̤̣̺̿̂̅̉͠͝g̴̲̜͎̫̋̒͝g̴̢̻̣̖͙̔͜ễ̶̙͓s̶̢̙̗̖̻̻̓̀͗̆ẗ̵͉̜̻́̏̿ ̶̛̟̞̟͛̌͗͒́͂w̷̡̨̢͕̬̥̯̓͌̿̈̐e̸͉͖̭͒̒ā̸̬̙̽k̶̭͋͊̽̏̔ǹ̶̺̥̙̯̘̞̳ẻ̴̤̝͎̏͑ş̶̙̳͎̤̰͔͆́̓͑͐̒ś̶̫̻̳̾̆͋́͝ͅ.̸̞́̏̕.̶̘͌.̶̢͓̞̯̟̇̾Ì̸̩̞̤̰̮̤̦̊̓̂̀ ̵̧̲̼̱̼̊̽̆͛̒̑͘ĥ̷͔̟̗͈͌̚ã̵̙̮̫͆͋́v̵̭͉̹̣̗̪͗́̀̀͊ë̸̗̎̉̆̑̀͝ ̴̛̺͐̏̐̈́m̶͖̔̀ÿ̷̝͈̘̜͉́ ̶̙̯̘̈́͊̈͑͋̅͝ŕ̷̡̻̻͇͎̪̗͛̆͂́̇̈ę̶̛͈̫̭͉̒̎͠ă̴͕̼̺͎̦̅̆̄͊͐s̸͚͐̈́̃͛̏̈́͗ȯ̸̻͋̅͛n̷̳̮̭̘̮̲̆̈́̀s̵̩͓͐-̵̡͈͉͎͉͊̔̈͘-̴͚̥̖͓̮̏̕ͅĈ̵̦̜̦̖̽̾̚̕̕ǎ̴̛͇̈́͒̈́͋l̸̳̜͈̫͌̓̅̈͆͗͋l̶̬̽̕ͅ ̶̢̹̘̳̪̓̌ị̴̤̱͔̊t̶̰͙̿͠ ̵̫̣̋̎̅̾̿͒͝m̵̬̀͗y̶̲̗̞̫͙̒́̀̒̄ ̴̥̖̪̮̙͂̌̔̀͝͠d̵̡̜̜̫̊̅̚ė̴̦͉̫͕̞̖̦͑̕͝ḟ̷̯̄e̷̪̱͈̓́̄̾̔̄̌n̸̛͎̬̤̥̈́̚s̵͉͉̻͙̰̭̆̚̕ẻ̵̬̟͔͔̣̭̄̌̆̇͝͝.̵͈̖̤̳̌̂ ̶͖̉̍̽B̷̳̥̝̑̎̑̉͑͜e̵͕̺̫͑͌̽̕ ̴̧̼̻̹͐̑̈c̴͉̩͕̪̣̝̤̏͒͐̈́ä̵̬́͑͠͠ͅr̴̡̲̘̺̰͙̀é̴̝̭̠̬̑f̷̧̪̻̣͚͋u̶͍͗͗̑̈́͋̉͠ļ̵̬͆̀̆̀̓́͛͜ ̶̢̝̩̬̳̣͒̿̏͜͝w̵̧̧͚͚͖̠̉̕͝ͅḩ̵̢̗͍̬̭̀̿͒a̸̢̱͙̠̗͖̽́̽̿̍t̸̡̨̛͙̒͛̑̈́͝ ̸̱̥̹̟̐̌͒̈́̆̑͘y̵͔͎͛͂̇͝o̴̞̜̼͓͈͙̔̐ų̸͔̠́̏͛͂̿́̚'̴̪͍̜̝̈͌̓̀̈̚͠r̷̟̟̗̂͛̃̔̀é̶̮ ̸̟͌͆̑w̵̨̖̜̎̇͋̅͝ǐ̷̧̟̥͓̜́̈́͂s̴̢̮̖̀̌̀̂͐h̴̼̬͍̲͗͆͒ï̸̢̖͉̼̮̲ń̶̢͚̪̫͉̖̦̆͌͊̎g̵̨̩̪̯̰̜̑̃̏͌̃̀͝
[div class=speakeasy]“To go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's.”[/div]
[div class=handsomedevil]
RUST & STARDUST
I̴̧̗̥̝̗̠̰͆̈͌̿̈́̕'̷͈̳͊͂͛͛̆̾l̷̠̻̘̻̟̏̈́̌͆̾̌̎͜ḽ̸̙͖̝̌͆ͅ ̴̰̗̟̲̬̪̿̑͝͠ẗ̷̢͓̪̜͍̘͓́̀e̴̹̮̪̦͈̻̐l̸͉̲̘̬̦̞̓͌͂̕ĺ̶͙͇͕̭̄̈̍ ̷̛͇̪̺̝͆̍́̕͝y̷̨̙̫̦͉̲̹͒̀̄̕͝ǫ̷̞̱̺̖́̅̈̃̏ũ̴̳̦̠̒̚ ̶̧̨͕̙̉͗͑̇s̴̢̝̺͍̺̪͕̄̕ơ̸͎̤̅͒͆̀͝͠m̸͉̥͍͈̊͌̀͂͐̚͠ę̵̛̰̜̪͓̌ͅt̸̢̤̣̮̠̳̄̌̀ͅḫ̸͖͔̠̂͛͘i̴̯͇͖̱͕̙̺̊ṋ̶̨̋̚͝g̸̜͆̏,̵̩̎̊̌̀͌̑ ̷̡̞̻͈͊̒̑I̶̡̳͎̮̰͓͊͛̉̋̈͛̽ ̷͇̜̥̱̬̙͌͌̀̇̑̇a̴̛͈͓̜̬̼̩̍͆̀̕͝m̵̡̲̰̀̀̿̍̇̋ ̵̤͆ã̸̪̞͚͓͇̏̑͐̈́̇͜ ̵͕́̈́͑̑ḋ̸̤̝͋͜e̸͇͈̹̅̋m̶̬͔̭̒̒ò̵͕̞̫̗̻̳̪̌̊͠͝n̵̢̛̬̊̾̚.̷̱̫̩͔̉͌̅͒S̵̻͖̝͕̏͘õ̴̡̎m̸̡̢̛̛̬̜̟̀̈̇̆̾e̷̥̠͎̝̯̹̱̔ ̶̨̜̘̇̄s̷̠͇̹̳͉̆̌̃̑̑͝a̶̺̱̞̅͠y̷̧͈͔̤̗̍̒͂̂ ̶͍̩̳͇̘͔̑͊͑m̶̢̥̦͈̰͙͍̿y̴̟̫̪͙̅̇̆̓̕͘͠ ̸̼̈̂̂̍̀̍b̸͓̝̘̏̔́i̵̢͍̮̱̤̣̺̿̂̅̉͠͝g̴̲̜͎̫̋̒͝g̴̢̻̣̖͙̔͜ễ̶̙͓s̶̢̙̗̖̻̻̓̀͗̆ẗ̵͉̜̻́̏̿ ̶̛̟̞̟͛̌͗͒́͂w̷̡̨̢͕̬̥̯̓͌̿̈̐e̸͉͖̭͒̒ā̸̬̙̽k̶̭͋͊̽̏̔ǹ̶̺̥̙̯̘̞̳ẻ̴̤̝͎̏͑ş̶̙̳͎̤̰͔͆́̓͑͐̒ś̶̫̻̳̾̆͋́͝ͅ.̸̞́̏̕.̶̘͌.̶̢͓̞̯̟̇̾Ì̸̩̞̤̰̮̤̦̊̓̂̀ ̵̧̲̼̱̼̊̽̆͛̒̑͘ĥ̷͔̟̗͈͌̚ã̵̙̮̫͆͋́v̵̭͉̹̣̗̪͗́̀̀͊ë̸̗̎̉̆̑̀͝ ̴̛̺͐̏̐̈́m̶͖̔̀ÿ̷̝͈̘̜͉́ ̶̙̯̘̈́͊̈͑͋̅͝ŕ̷̡̻̻͇͎̪̗͛̆͂́̇̈ę̶̛͈̫̭͉̒̎͠ă̴͕̼̺͎̦̅̆̄͊͐s̸͚͐̈́̃͛̏̈́͗ȯ̸̻͋̅͛n̷̳̮̭̘̮̲̆̈́̀s̵̩͓͐-̵̡͈͉͎͉͊̔̈͘-̴͚̥̖͓̮̏̕ͅĈ̵̦̜̦̖̽̾̚̕̕ǎ̴̛͇̈́͒̈́͋l̸̳̜͈̫͌̓̅̈͆͗͋l̶̬̽̕ͅ ̶̢̹̘̳̪̓̌ị̴̤̱͔̊t̶̰͙̿͠ ̵̫̣̋̎̅̾̿͒͝m̵̬̀͗y̶̲̗̞̫͙̒́̀̒̄ ̴̥̖̪̮̙͂̌̔̀͝͠d̵̡̜̜̫̊̅̚ė̴̦͉̫͕̞̖̦͑̕͝ḟ̷̯̄e̷̪̱͈̓́̄̾̔̄̌n̸̛͎̬̤̥̈́̚s̵͉͉̻͙̰̭̆̚̕ẻ̵̬̟͔͔̣̭̄̌̆̇͝͝.̵͈̖̤̳̌̂ ̶͖̉̍̽B̷̳̥̝̑̎̑̉͑͜e̵͕̺̫͑͌̽̕ ̴̧̼̻̹͐̑̈c̴͉̩͕̪̣̝̤̏͒͐̈́ä̵̬́͑͠͠ͅr̴̡̲̘̺̰͙̀é̴̝̭̠̬̑f̷̧̪̻̣͚͋u̶͍͗͗̑̈́͋̉͠ļ̵̬͆̀̆̀̓́͛͜ ̶̢̝̩̬̳̣͒̿̏͜͝w̵̧̧͚͚͖̠̉̕͝ͅḩ̵̢̗͍̬̭̀̿͒a̸̢̱͙̠̗͖̽́̽̿̍t̸̡̨̛͙̒͛̑̈́͝ ̸̱̥̹̟̐̌͒̈́̆̑͘y̵͔͎͛͂̇͝o̴̞̜̼͓͈͙̔̐ų̸͔̠́̏͛͂̿́̚'̴̪͍̜̝̈͌̓̀̈̚͠r̷̟̟̗̂͛̃̔̀é̶̮ ̸̟͌͆̑w̵̨̖̜̎̇͋̅͝ǐ̷̧̟̥͓̜́̈́͂s̴̢̮̖̀̌̀̂͐h̴̼̬͍̲͗͆͒ï̸̢̖͉̼̮̲ń̶̢͚̪̫͉̖̦̆͌͊̎g̵̨̩̪̯̰̜̑̃̏͌̃̀͝
[div class=speakeasy]LOCATION: Newark Airport, chillin' with the new homeys
WITH: everyboddyy rahhhh
TAGS: (I'm not gonna' tag anybody here, basically everybody at Hotel Airportafornia soo)
BGM: TWO ONE SIX - WET
[/div]
[/div][div class=speaks]The first thing that came to his mind, when surveying the offerings of able bodies, was the hackneyed batch of survivors. It reminded him much of an assortment of candies in a too-tight jar, perhaps threatening to burst under the pressure of the cold outside. Shattered glass, splintering them all. And the actual cause of the shatter, the thin sliver, stick in your skin, cut your teeth serration? Revenants—the bastard children of Vampires who couldn't quite commit to the entire event. He hoped hell wouldn't befall these survivors, though he would be lying if he said he wouldn't enjoy the spectacle. He still had a heart in there, even if encased in some higher power's bony, blackened fingers. And so, he hoped they'd live.
Niklas raised his brows as the survivors spoke, namely the one who circled around his speech, like a possibly dangerous toy spinning the drain of demise with a smile painted on its face. This one was one to watch. There was something there that licked his senses.
"I see something outside. Those things ya call 'Revenants'. You know, big and scary with teeth and no brains in their heads. I bet you they'll kill us if they get in, I bet you."
The same went for their de facto leader, who it seemed everyone turned to for support. Who was also talking, and even threw a phrase his way. There was a light there, something smelling like clean linens, rose water, sage, and something else he couldn't place. It stung Niklas' skin, but he didn't protest or writhe around in agony like the Revenants would must likely undulate. Quite pointedly, because he was attractive. And Nik would linger around beautiful things and people, even if the Divine crawled up his arms and split the skin. The Witch in Queens was the same. Her hair full of flame extended to her warmed hands, and he did so like those hands. Even if it bit him, even if the light of divinity ached his muscles. He still kept her in his confidence...that temptress.
His vices were numerous, and engaging with the beautiful was a pleasant pastime. For an artist, there was no greater pursuit than the raw, bleeding entrails of beauty. At least for him, that is. His painting were gone, torched, or ripped to shreds when the world fell into nothing. As was the woman he loved, and the child he would've loved equally—or perhaps more. As fathers and mothers are apt to do with their little blessings.
So what he had left were sweet things. Even pitch black sweet things, like rotten fruit. He could wait for a persimmon. And in this cold it was easier to freeze it and wait for the rot, to sup on whatever heady sugars it provided. But he guessed this one, this de facto leader, would rather chew rocks than let the only somewhat evil, part-time abomination shave off his time for simple pleasant conversation. And idling dark blue eyes to gaze, maybe a banter. That was hopeless.
"Water will have to wait until we move to a safer location, unless you'd like to ask the revenants for some? I'm sure they'd be more than obliging."
"Of course," was all Nik said before slowly dropped his hands from behind his head, so as not to startle. He barely heard a few names, he'd have to ask for those later. After they dealt with the issue at hand, which were the rovers and the maws, the bleating, broiling offspring of much smarter creatures.
He didn't miss the snake in the air, or the power that vibrated off of some of the survivors, or the shutter from the girl with the revolver. He just cataloged them in the back of his mind. They weren't such strange things, since the world was wholly strange now. Stranger than fiction, this. He wondered what the girl knew, what made her shiver. He wondered what the snake was, but it wasn't too bothering.
Not when demons cleaved souls. Not when hellfire consumed his home. This wasn't surprising for him. And perhaps, it should've been. But he had always liked the darkness, in sick slips of shade, it felt natural. Yet he would be vilified till the ends of time for being fine with it. He was sure, in some small way, that it wasn't quite darkness. But, instead, differentness.
"I'll help, if you'll let me," he said to the other survivors as he knelt to grab his pipe, again, slowly. But mostly the de facto leader, with the rose water and other such pleasant smells. His gaze locked the other man's, and a half-smile graced his lips. He rose, pipe in hand, and turned on smart shoes. The screams grew closer, rippling off of the architecture. The acoustics were pretty daft, being that it was an airport.
"I'm pretty handy, where killing is concerned," he said over his shoulder, with a warm, very human smile. As if it was a joke, but it wasn't. The pipe was old and brittled, and he had struck plenty of cars with it, and other things. It'd possibly clank and bend down at more violence, but that was why he had the thin, long, penetrative blades. Though cutting through the vertebrae was hard, he could down some chunks of brain matter and calcification, then possibly cut through the meat of the neck.
He began his usual swing with the pipe, waving in a single motion, a medium speed. That would then explode into pure havoc and unrelenting carnage when it was time to defend...strangers.
"At least this is about to get interesting. Try not to die just yet, I'd like to hydrate myself before the day is over."
[/div][/div]
Last edited:
Hell0NHighWater
Queen of Hell
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[/div][div class=statusText]Location: Newark Airport
Date: unknown; sometime in 2068
Tags:
BasiliskVeranda
Lakyr
[/div][/div][div class=title]Rhys Contiello[/div][div class=text]
He arched an eyebrow, cloudless sky blue orbs shifting towards the boy who had called out his name. Rhys recognized him as the kid with the machete and he nodded a little in confirmation that he was, in fact, Rhys. He focused his attention on the gun that he was holding, a high ammo capacity Glock 40 model 22. It was worn on the hand grip from years of being used in the range and on the force. Plus the onyx sheen didn't really seem to pop like it once did, but it got the job done. He knew how to use it and he was a wicked shot.
Rhys glanced up again with a sigh, checking the chamber before flipping the safety off. "You're right, we can't be sure what's coming. But we also don't know what's out there or at that gas station and Adisa is going to need all the help he can get." There was a pause as he looked between the boy and the second half of the group. If he really wanted to join them was there really any harm in it? The kid did have a point, but both groups were equally vital. He wouldn't pretend that there wouldn't be any dangers on either path, so if it was fighting he was looking for he would get it anyway.
For a moment he looked up again, locking eyes with another pair of dark cyan --though in the shadows they appeared to be more of a hazel than blue. Rhys's upper lip curled only slightly as the stench of old socks and sulfur wafted past his nostrils once more. The expression of disgust was brief and lasted about as quickly as his attention was diverted back to the boy beside him.
"I'm not going to dictate where you can --or can't-- go. You can stay with us and hold off whatever is coming or leave the airport with the rest. The decision is up to you."
He ran his free hand across the back of his neck, rubbing out the tension in his muscles. He needed to relax otherwise if worse came to worse he might not maintain that 'cool head' he was famed for. Rhys's lips twitched, finding mild amusement in his own internal sarcasm. Cut abruptly from his own musings, Rhys looked at the dirty blonde with an expression that could rival stone. Perhaps he hadn't heard him well enough before, but the charisma that oozed from him was a little unnerving. It wasn't what he said that made Rhys stare a little longer than called for, it was his words. They were like vanilla pudding, sweet in their ordinary sort of way, but it was the richness of his tones that had given him pause –- luxurious and warm.
An interesting juxtaposition for a man who smelled like hell itself.
Rhys gave him a curt nod, not about to refuse help when it was offered. Besides, this man hadn't done anything (yet) that would suggest he was a threat. The ex-cop stepped up towards the man, taking a position at his side as he aimed his gun at the other end of the long hall. The moving walkways were no longer in motion, but he wondered briefly if they could be used as a funnel point? It depended on how many horrors were about to be upon them. Worse case he could always try and distract the revenants for as long as possible...at least so that the kids could get out. He wouldn't have any teenagers dying on his watch.
The left side of his faint red lip tugged upwards creating a sinister smirk on his god like face, "I don't doubt it."
A figure dragged itself out of the shadows, bloodshot onyx eyes, a mouth full of fangs and spittle and blood, and long hair matted with god knows what. Pop.
It's body fell flat to the floor, a pool of thick red oozing from the wound in the head. That wouldn't kill it, but at least it should slow it down for the time being.
Rhys cast a glance at the man out of the corner of his eye, a bit of smugness crawling into his features as if to say 'I won't be the one dying today.'
Looking back at the Revenant, he waited for more to come sprinting out of the shadows. He didn't know if he was relieved or a little annoyed that nothing happened. Usually when there's one though....there is a lot more...they hardly traveled by themselves.
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Date: unknown; sometime in 2068
Tags:
BasiliskVeranda
Lakyr
[/div][/div][div class=title]Rhys Contiello[/div][div class=text]He arched an eyebrow, cloudless sky blue orbs shifting towards the boy who had called out his name. Rhys recognized him as the kid with the machete and he nodded a little in confirmation that he was, in fact, Rhys. He focused his attention on the gun that he was holding, a high ammo capacity Glock 40 model 22. It was worn on the hand grip from years of being used in the range and on the force. Plus the onyx sheen didn't really seem to pop like it once did, but it got the job done. He knew how to use it and he was a wicked shot.
Rhys glanced up again with a sigh, checking the chamber before flipping the safety off. "You're right, we can't be sure what's coming. But we also don't know what's out there or at that gas station and Adisa is going to need all the help he can get." There was a pause as he looked between the boy and the second half of the group. If he really wanted to join them was there really any harm in it? The kid did have a point, but both groups were equally vital. He wouldn't pretend that there wouldn't be any dangers on either path, so if it was fighting he was looking for he would get it anyway.
For a moment he looked up again, locking eyes with another pair of dark cyan --though in the shadows they appeared to be more of a hazel than blue. Rhys's upper lip curled only slightly as the stench of old socks and sulfur wafted past his nostrils once more. The expression of disgust was brief and lasted about as quickly as his attention was diverted back to the boy beside him.
"I'm not going to dictate where you can --or can't-- go. You can stay with us and hold off whatever is coming or leave the airport with the rest. The decision is up to you."
He ran his free hand across the back of his neck, rubbing out the tension in his muscles. He needed to relax otherwise if worse came to worse he might not maintain that 'cool head' he was famed for. Rhys's lips twitched, finding mild amusement in his own internal sarcasm. Cut abruptly from his own musings, Rhys looked at the dirty blonde with an expression that could rival stone. Perhaps he hadn't heard him well enough before, but the charisma that oozed from him was a little unnerving. It wasn't what he said that made Rhys stare a little longer than called for, it was his words. They were like vanilla pudding, sweet in their ordinary sort of way, but it was the richness of his tones that had given him pause –- luxurious and warm.
An interesting juxtaposition for a man who smelled like hell itself.
Rhys gave him a curt nod, not about to refuse help when it was offered. Besides, this man hadn't done anything (yet) that would suggest he was a threat. The ex-cop stepped up towards the man, taking a position at his side as he aimed his gun at the other end of the long hall. The moving walkways were no longer in motion, but he wondered briefly if they could be used as a funnel point? It depended on how many horrors were about to be upon them. Worse case he could always try and distract the revenants for as long as possible...at least so that the kids could get out. He wouldn't have any teenagers dying on his watch.
The left side of his faint red lip tugged upwards creating a sinister smirk on his god like face, "I don't doubt it."
A figure dragged itself out of the shadows, bloodshot onyx eyes, a mouth full of fangs and spittle and blood, and long hair matted with god knows what. Pop.
It's body fell flat to the floor, a pool of thick red oozing from the wound in the head. That wouldn't kill it, but at least it should slow it down for the time being.
Rhys cast a glance at the man out of the corner of his eye, a bit of smugness crawling into his features as if to say 'I won't be the one dying today.'
Looking back at the Revenant, he waited for more to come sprinting out of the shadows. He didn't know if he was relieved or a little annoyed that nothing happened. Usually when there's one though....there is a lot more...they hardly traveled by themselves.
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Gravitational Force
Dark Lord of Creativity
Ezra:
"Thanks for the assist." Ezra ran alongside those who the group had chosen to split off from the defenders. No sense risking his skin when he could just join the group that had been told to go to the gas station. Discretion being the better part of valor or however that Shakespeare quote went. He'd have to reread the collection of Shakespeare's plays he was carrying.There was no sense in letting slip his Afflicted status, so Ezra didn't use his telekinesis like he would if he were alone. Right now this group was a better chance at survival he didn't want to lose.
Ezra had only had to deal with Revenants twice so far. The first time he'd just impaled one on a pipe and ran while it tried to lift itself off it. The second he'd managed to crush under an AC unit he'd pulled off a window with telekinesis. They were tough, fast, and absurdly OP for what amounted to better zombies. He'd heard from other survivors that there were Vampires, but that sounded absurd. It was probably someone with powers like him or just a Revenant that could do something new. The weird Demons might be different, some looked Human many didn't.
What Ezra did know was that he needed an "in" with the new rulers of the Earth. Right now survival was the best option available but he knew he could get more out of the end of the world.
