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Re: Spirit of Australia
RabidSponge Tue Jun 01, 2010 7:36 am
[Ooc: ACTIVATING MENTIONS OF SAMUEL’S NEW MAGICAL MAGICAL SKILLS. :’D]
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- S A M U E L -
Samuel frowned and trotted towards the two horded team-mates, inspecting with his eyes the damage that had been dealt. The two looked badly beaten, sporting cuts, bruises, and even a black eye on Scott’s behalf. Ouch, that must have hurt like hell…
The Magician was overcome with a wave of guilt, biting his lip at his lack of assistance. He had desperatly wanted to cast a spell, such as Incendia, but the risk of striking the Gunbat and the depressed teenager was far too great.
As much as his mind tried to convince him, he couldn’t help but feel responsible for the injuries that trailed along his companion’s flesh.
“Guys, I’m really sorry,” He apologised softly, his head falling to stare at the ground.
- D A M I E N -
The Hunter shot a glare Christopher’s way, the dark look kind of losing its effect without any eyes to assist. Unlike Samuel and Scott who were too busy listening to the ringing in their ears, Damien’s sharp senses had picked up on the brother’s complaint. Since leaving Keith behind in the care of Miss Lola, Christopher had been a heavy weight settling over the team like a dark storm-cloud, waiting to unleash its anger.
Don’t worry about it, Damien thought, shaking his head and leaning back on his haunches. He’s just missing Keith; that’s all.
He knew the special love for a younger sibling.
He knew the pain of losing them to a cruel society.
- S C O T T -
Scott swallowed thickly, whimpering under his breath from the shock he had just received. The bullet had soared past his ear, clipping his hair and embedding itself in the wilting building behind him. At least the killer’s final resting place wasn’t in his skull…
The black-haired teenager ran a hand through his hair and winced as his hand passed over a gash, turning the blonde roots of his scalp red. That couldn’t possibly have meant anything good.
“Can we get going?” Scott finally asked quietly, anxious to inch towards the next safehouse as quickly as possible. The pain ricocheting through his body was easy to ignore; the anxious boy had dealt with cuts and bruises many times before. Of course, those were self inflicted, and didn’t involve zombies trying to tear you to shreds.
---------
- S A M U E L -
Samuel frowned and trotted towards the two horded team-mates, inspecting with his eyes the damage that had been dealt. The two looked badly beaten, sporting cuts, bruises, and even a black eye on Scott’s behalf. Ouch, that must have hurt like hell…
The Magician was overcome with a wave of guilt, biting his lip at his lack of assistance. He had desperatly wanted to cast a spell, such as Incendia, but the risk of striking the Gunbat and the depressed teenager was far too great.
As much as his mind tried to convince him, he couldn’t help but feel responsible for the injuries that trailed along his companion’s flesh.
“Guys, I’m really sorry,” He apologised softly, his head falling to stare at the ground.
- D A M I E N -
The Hunter shot a glare Christopher’s way, the dark look kind of losing its effect without any eyes to assist. Unlike Samuel and Scott who were too busy listening to the ringing in their ears, Damien’s sharp senses had picked up on the brother’s complaint. Since leaving Keith behind in the care of Miss Lola, Christopher had been a heavy weight settling over the team like a dark storm-cloud, waiting to unleash its anger.
Don’t worry about it, Damien thought, shaking his head and leaning back on his haunches. He’s just missing Keith; that’s all.
He knew the special love for a younger sibling.
He knew the pain of losing them to a cruel society.
- S C O T T -
Scott swallowed thickly, whimpering under his breath from the shock he had just received. The bullet had soared past his ear, clipping his hair and embedding itself in the wilting building behind him. At least the killer’s final resting place wasn’t in his skull…
The black-haired teenager ran a hand through his hair and winced as his hand passed over a gash, turning the blonde roots of his scalp red. That couldn’t possibly have meant anything good.
“Can we get going?” Scott finally asked quietly, anxious to inch towards the next safehouse as quickly as possible. The pain ricocheting through his body was easy to ignore; the anxious boy had dealt with cuts and bruises many times before. Of course, those were self inflicted, and didn’t involve zombies trying to tear you to shreds.
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Re: Spirit of Australia
Poker Face Tue Jun 01, 2010 8:08 am
John
A sigh found it's way through the Army Dog's lips, a sigh he thought he'd hidden so well. The children, the ones he loved like a family, were tainted with a seemingly infinite melancholy.
"Sorry for what?" He answered simply, smiling at the blond magician that stood sadly before him.
John didn't know what had pulled them through so far, against all odds they'd made it here, even though they were a dysfunctional and poorly coordinated team; but whatever it was, the Soldier thanked the merciful stars for it, and could only beg that it would aid them in their tiresome journey to refuge.
"I have to agree." He cast a vague look to the darkening city, "We should probably get moving."
Faith
The brunette was still at the peak of irritation, having to dust the smallest sprays of broken glass and blood from her dirtied, faded jeans. It was strange, she'd cared so much about those very jeans so long ago. Now she didn't have a care in the world about them, as long as they stayed on.
It just goes to show how devastating the Infection was.
"Well," She answered irately, "Unless anyone has a better plan, I say we get moving."
Faith threw a doubtful, hostile glance at Christopher, almost expecting some pessimistic response, dripping with sarcasm and bad intentions. She'd learned not to trust (or even converse) with the man since they'd left Keith in the care of Nurse Lola.
She had to wonder: What had happened?
Christopher
The Alter Ego, and the man locked up dormant within, sighed as one.
His head hurt from the endless complaints, and the river of false hope that seemed never to run dry.
The Alter Ego simply decided: What did he have to lose? The quicker they left, the quicker he could get away from these saps.
And, hey, if the Alter Ego died along the way, he would finally have won the battle that constantly raged for dominance over consciousness, between him and himself. No Keith, no worries.
As far as Christopher was concerned, everything worked out swimmingly for him.
"Meh." He said, in a simple, listless reply.
A sigh found it's way through the Army Dog's lips, a sigh he thought he'd hidden so well. The children, the ones he loved like a family, were tainted with a seemingly infinite melancholy.
"Sorry for what?" He answered simply, smiling at the blond magician that stood sadly before him.
John didn't know what had pulled them through so far, against all odds they'd made it here, even though they were a dysfunctional and poorly coordinated team; but whatever it was, the Soldier thanked the merciful stars for it, and could only beg that it would aid them in their tiresome journey to refuge.
"I have to agree." He cast a vague look to the darkening city, "We should probably get moving."
Faith
The brunette was still at the peak of irritation, having to dust the smallest sprays of broken glass and blood from her dirtied, faded jeans. It was strange, she'd cared so much about those very jeans so long ago. Now she didn't have a care in the world about them, as long as they stayed on.
It just goes to show how devastating the Infection was.
"Well," She answered irately, "Unless anyone has a better plan, I say we get moving."
Faith threw a doubtful, hostile glance at Christopher, almost expecting some pessimistic response, dripping with sarcasm and bad intentions. She'd learned not to trust (or even converse) with the man since they'd left Keith in the care of Nurse Lola.
She had to wonder: What had happened?
Christopher
The Alter Ego, and the man locked up dormant within, sighed as one.
His head hurt from the endless complaints, and the river of false hope that seemed never to run dry.
The Alter Ego simply decided: What did he have to lose? The quicker they left, the quicker he could get away from these saps.
And, hey, if the Alter Ego died along the way, he would finally have won the battle that constantly raged for dominance over consciousness, between him and himself. No Keith, no worries.
As far as Christopher was concerned, everything worked out swimmingly for him.
"Meh." He said, in a simple, listless reply.
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Re: Spirit of Australia
RabidSponge Thu Jun 03, 2010 6:04 am
[Ooc: Crappy post this time around; sorry man. D: Better one next time.]
---------
- S A M U E L -
Samuel’s worn out gaze shifted to the army dog, a look of guilt written upon his bloodied face. He was tired, it was easy to see in his glazed eyes. However, the whole team was exhausted, and Samuel refused to be the one to remind them of that fact.
“I’m sorry for not being able to help,” He explained, shifting uncomfortably and biting his lip. “If I did, then maybe…” Saddened hazel eyes slid swiftly to Faith and Scott, the latter of who was vainly trying to pick the bile from his hair. If he had just gotten control, if he wasn't so scared...
“I could have helped them,” He finished softly, sighing and shaking his head.
- S C O T T -
Scott frowned, unable to pick the vomit from his hair, his skin, his clothes. The horrible substance was being absorbed into the fibres of his shirt, causing the fabric to stick uncomfortably to his chest. The dark-haired boy wished desperately for a shower, or at least some form of water so that he could soak away the bile. Soak away his troubles.
Unwrapping the checkered scarf he wore around his neck, Scott wound the black and white accessory around his head, creating a make-shift bandage for the steadily bleeding wound. He didn’t have a first-aid kit of his own, and he wasn’t going to risk the safety of the others by claiming one of their own. He could make do until he reached the safe-room.
- D A M I E N -
Damien nodded in agreement and trotted forwards, his hands aching beneath his weight as he crawled forwards, ready to lead the team along if need be. The Hunter was exhausted from the leaping and clawing, almost entirely drained of all energy inside of him. His claws ached, dripping with the blood of the fallen. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to travel for, and since becoming Infected, Damien had exceedingly difficult amounts of trouble walking on two legs.
A crutch, that’s what he needed, but he wasn’t willing to ask any of the others for help. He felt selfish, putting himself ahead of the others when they were tired and worn down from countless waves of zombies.
So he hobbled on, swaying side to side, trying not to topple over and collide with the hard ground in fear of falling asleep.
Falling asleep, and never waking up.
---------
- S A M U E L -
Samuel’s worn out gaze shifted to the army dog, a look of guilt written upon his bloodied face. He was tired, it was easy to see in his glazed eyes. However, the whole team was exhausted, and Samuel refused to be the one to remind them of that fact.
“I’m sorry for not being able to help,” He explained, shifting uncomfortably and biting his lip. “If I did, then maybe…” Saddened hazel eyes slid swiftly to Faith and Scott, the latter of who was vainly trying to pick the bile from his hair. If he had just gotten control, if he wasn't so scared...
“I could have helped them,” He finished softly, sighing and shaking his head.
- S C O T T -
Scott frowned, unable to pick the vomit from his hair, his skin, his clothes. The horrible substance was being absorbed into the fibres of his shirt, causing the fabric to stick uncomfortably to his chest. The dark-haired boy wished desperately for a shower, or at least some form of water so that he could soak away the bile. Soak away his troubles.
Unwrapping the checkered scarf he wore around his neck, Scott wound the black and white accessory around his head, creating a make-shift bandage for the steadily bleeding wound. He didn’t have a first-aid kit of his own, and he wasn’t going to risk the safety of the others by claiming one of their own. He could make do until he reached the safe-room.
- D A M I E N -
Damien nodded in agreement and trotted forwards, his hands aching beneath his weight as he crawled forwards, ready to lead the team along if need be. The Hunter was exhausted from the leaping and clawing, almost entirely drained of all energy inside of him. His claws ached, dripping with the blood of the fallen. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to travel for, and since becoming Infected, Damien had exceedingly difficult amounts of trouble walking on two legs.
A crutch, that’s what he needed, but he wasn’t willing to ask any of the others for help. He felt selfish, putting himself ahead of the others when they were tired and worn down from countless waves of zombies.
So he hobbled on, swaying side to side, trying not to topple over and collide with the hard ground in fear of falling asleep.
Falling asleep, and never waking up.
RabidSponge- Awesome
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Re: Spirit of Australia
Poker Face Thu Jul 22, 2010 7:35 am
[Lolsuckypost. Sorryyyyy. Better one next timeee. D:]
John
The Military man sighed, kneeling down a little to be at eye level with the befallen blonde.
"Chin up, Samuel." He smiled, laying a comforting shoulder on the young Magician's shoulder.
"You did fine."
Running an anxious, scanning, scrutinising glance over the epidemic-slain environment that they wallowed in, John spanned his attention to a multitude of things: Get all moody teenagers to somewhere safe where they could bicker to their hearts content, slap the Asshole of an Alter-Ego over the head, pick Samuel up out of the apparent glum gloom he'd stumbled into, and, well, general survival.
Of course, being male, as was the majority of the team they had, he did not have the seemingly magical ability that most women possessed, to grapple multiple tasks all at once. It seemed like Witchcraft. Wi
Christopher
"Jeeez, Damien."
A loud, sarcastic groan came from the disgruntled, sooty-haired man that fiddled with a cigarette, placing it at his lips and letting smoke soar and sail through the smoggy-white air.
"Seems like you feel as bad as Faith looks."
Christopher -that name didn't seem right any more, to him- took it upon himself to make everybody's life that little bit worse. After all, grappling for control over the body he housed himself in always left a bad taste on his mental pallete, and the constant struggle with the original Christopher left him no tolerance for antics like those of the tedious teens he practically babysat.
"Can we just get going already? Seriously."
Faith
Faith froze, a defensive look crossing her face. Instinctively, her mind ran to her automatic 'Punch-the-hell-out-of-this-creep' reflex.
"Hey! Come over here and say that to my face, son of a..."
"I would, but it's so ugly."
"You're one to talk!"
"Yap, yap, yap. Is that all you ever do?"
John
The Military man sighed, kneeling down a little to be at eye level with the befallen blonde.
"Chin up, Samuel." He smiled, laying a comforting shoulder on the young Magician's shoulder.
"You did fine."
Running an anxious, scanning, scrutinising glance over the epidemic-slain environment that they wallowed in, John spanned his attention to a multitude of things: Get all moody teenagers to somewhere safe where they could bicker to their hearts content, slap the Asshole of an Alter-Ego over the head, pick Samuel up out of the apparent glum gloom he'd stumbled into, and, well, general survival.
Of course, being male, as was the majority of the team they had, he did not have the seemingly magical ability that most women possessed, to grapple multiple tasks all at once. It seemed like Witchcraft. Wi
Christopher
"Jeeez, Damien."
A loud, sarcastic groan came from the disgruntled, sooty-haired man that fiddled with a cigarette, placing it at his lips and letting smoke soar and sail through the smoggy-white air.
"Seems like you feel as bad as Faith looks."
Christopher -that name didn't seem right any more, to him- took it upon himself to make everybody's life that little bit worse. After all, grappling for control over the body he housed himself in always left a bad taste on his mental pallete, and the constant struggle with the original Christopher left him no tolerance for antics like those of the tedious teens he practically babysat.
"Can we just get going already? Seriously."
Faith
Faith froze, a defensive look crossing her face. Instinctively, her mind ran to her automatic 'Punch-the-hell-out-of-this-creep' reflex.
"Hey! Come over here and say that to my face, son of a..."
"I would, but it's so ugly."
"You're one to talk!"
"Yap, yap, yap. Is that all you ever do?"
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Re: Spirit of Australia
RabidSponge Thu Jul 22, 2010 10:43 pm
[Ooc: Sucky post was fine. xD
Should we time skip to the safe-room now?
*bashes head against desk due to her crappy post(s)*]
---------
- S A M U E L -
Samuel smiled sadly, his eyes insisting on continuing their staring contest with the bloodstained road beneath their feet. He nodded softly, choosing to accept John’s reassurance, simply unwilling to argue back with the man who seemed to carry the very team.
“Thanks…” He mumbled almost inaudibly, allowing his hazel eyes to slide up, watching the argument that had broken out between Faith and Christopher. The man hadn’t been the same since they had dropped Keith in the care of Miss Lola, and the whole team knew it. Heck, even Christopher knew he had changed. Since leaving his little brother in safety, Christopher had been an ass of mega proportions, often conflicting and arguing with Faith. Needless to say, there had been next to no peace.
Maybe the safe-room would offer some sanctuary.
- D A M I E N -
“It would be wiser not to fight,” Damien growled softly, allowing his glasses to slide cleanly back onto his face. They didn’t need a bigger rift than the one hanging like a thick veil being drawn through their team. Of course, no-one ever listened to the British nerd and his voice of reason, but Damien had simply grown used to it.
Instead he turned to John, looking up with wide, curious eye sockets, his dark hood falling back from his face that little bit.
“We… We should be off.”
- S C O T T -
Scott frowned, his eyebrows drooping and his face disappearing behind his hair. He did that sometimes, withdrawing in on himself using his fringe as a shield. The young Australian boy walked forward quietly, placing a soft hand on Faith’s shoulder, silently asking her to stop. The words flying back and forth were harsh; Scott didn’t want anyone to get hurt anymore than usual. He didn’t know Faith was strong and could take a beating of any sort, he didn’t know Christopher used to be a nice, sweet man who loved his brother. He simply hadn’t been with the dysfunctional team for long enough.
Still, he thought Christopher was being a little unreasonable.
Should we time skip to the safe-room now?
*bashes head against desk due to her crappy post(s)*]
---------
- S A M U E L -
Samuel smiled sadly, his eyes insisting on continuing their staring contest with the bloodstained road beneath their feet. He nodded softly, choosing to accept John’s reassurance, simply unwilling to argue back with the man who seemed to carry the very team.
“Thanks…” He mumbled almost inaudibly, allowing his hazel eyes to slide up, watching the argument that had broken out between Faith and Christopher. The man hadn’t been the same since they had dropped Keith in the care of Miss Lola, and the whole team knew it. Heck, even Christopher knew he had changed. Since leaving his little brother in safety, Christopher had been an ass of mega proportions, often conflicting and arguing with Faith. Needless to say, there had been next to no peace.
Maybe the safe-room would offer some sanctuary.
- D A M I E N -
“It would be wiser not to fight,” Damien growled softly, allowing his glasses to slide cleanly back onto his face. They didn’t need a bigger rift than the one hanging like a thick veil being drawn through their team. Of course, no-one ever listened to the British nerd and his voice of reason, but Damien had simply grown used to it.
Instead he turned to John, looking up with wide, curious eye sockets, his dark hood falling back from his face that little bit.
“We… We should be off.”
- S C O T T -
Scott frowned, his eyebrows drooping and his face disappearing behind his hair. He did that sometimes, withdrawing in on himself using his fringe as a shield. The young Australian boy walked forward quietly, placing a soft hand on Faith’s shoulder, silently asking her to stop. The words flying back and forth were harsh; Scott didn’t want anyone to get hurt anymore than usual. He didn’t know Faith was strong and could take a beating of any sort, he didn’t know Christopher used to be a nice, sweet man who loved his brother. He simply hadn’t been with the dysfunctional team for long enough.
Still, he thought Christopher was being a little unreasonable.
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Re: Spirit of Australia
Poker Face Sat Jul 24, 2010 4:39 am
[Time Skip sounds about right... You wanna do it, or should I? I'm slightly unsure of the geographical details regarding the Safehouses of High Rise, but I can probably get my footing if I need to. XD]
Faith
The brunette furiously opened her mouth to protest, but her voice caught in her throat when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder. She turned her head, momentarily taken aback to see that anybody had actually defied her. Then she saw that it was Scott, whom hadn't yet seen her wrath.
Faith sighed. In any other world, at any other time, she would have gone off at him; but for once, seeing a withdrawn, genuinely... Melancholy face reminded her of the fact that he didn't actually deserve it.
Hello, Human Morals and Reason. She thought, sarcastically, It's been a while.
Rolling her eyes, Faith shrugged Scott's hand off her shoulder as she sighed, giving one last burning glare to Christopher (Whom responded with eyes as dark as coal) before she stubbornly turned her eyes to the sky.
"He started it." She mumbled.
Christopher
The Alter-Ego waited until Faith turned her gaze to the sky to ferociously poke his tongue out at the moody Teenager.
"Sure, whatever you say, nag."
He loved antagonising Faith. Well, he loved antagonising the whole team. But Faith had some of the most entertaining reactions, especially when he called her something along the lines of 'Ogress' or 'Hussy'.
He'd found one word for her he'd particularly liked, floating around Christopher's vocabulary: 'Vituperator'. Of course, the Alter-Ego wasn't quite sure what it meant, but he had a feeling it meant something vaguely close to 'Bitch'.
John
The Military man shook his head with an exasperated groan.
"Stop being an asshat, Christopher."
God, he wished he could hit the man over the head with a grenade sometimes.
Still, it was probably best to get moving.
"Come on. We gotta get up, haul-ass and high-tail it outta here, guys."
With that, he simply continued in the direction they were originally heading.
Faith
The brunette furiously opened her mouth to protest, but her voice caught in her throat when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder. She turned her head, momentarily taken aback to see that anybody had actually defied her. Then she saw that it was Scott, whom hadn't yet seen her wrath.
Faith sighed. In any other world, at any other time, she would have gone off at him; but for once, seeing a withdrawn, genuinely... Melancholy face reminded her of the fact that he didn't actually deserve it.
Hello, Human Morals and Reason. She thought, sarcastically, It's been a while.
Rolling her eyes, Faith shrugged Scott's hand off her shoulder as she sighed, giving one last burning glare to Christopher (Whom responded with eyes as dark as coal) before she stubbornly turned her eyes to the sky.
"He started it." She mumbled.
Christopher
The Alter-Ego waited until Faith turned her gaze to the sky to ferociously poke his tongue out at the moody Teenager.
"Sure, whatever you say, nag."
He loved antagonising Faith. Well, he loved antagonising the whole team. But Faith had some of the most entertaining reactions, especially when he called her something along the lines of 'Ogress' or 'Hussy'.
He'd found one word for her he'd particularly liked, floating around Christopher's vocabulary: 'Vituperator'. Of course, the Alter-Ego wasn't quite sure what it meant, but he had a feeling it meant something vaguely close to 'Bitch'.
John
The Military man shook his head with an exasperated groan.
"Stop being an asshat, Christopher."
God, he wished he could hit the man over the head with a grenade sometimes.
Still, it was probably best to get moving.
"Come on. We gotta get up, haul-ass and high-tail it outta here, guys."
With that, he simply continued in the direction they were originally heading.
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