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 Posted: Thu Jul 05, 2007 11:30 am
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Posted: Sat Jul 07, 2007 3:43 pm
This is well set up. I wish I weren't so damn busy...
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Posted: Sun Jul 08, 2007 2:07 pm
folchinator This is well set up. I wish I weren't so damn busy... I agree, this is an advanced RP and it is staying in the main forum.
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Posted: Wed Jul 11, 2007 2:49 pm
Bump?
Also, is this still happening? Or am I just being impatient?
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Posted: Wed Jul 11, 2007 4:28 pm
Penden folchinator This is well set up. I wish I weren't so damn busy... I agree, this is an advanced RP and it is staying in the main forum. Thank you for the compliments biggrin And yes, the RP is still going to start soon. It's just that I've been delayed by suddenly made plans that my mom told me about, and I haven't been able to access the Internet much for several days.
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Posted: Thu Jul 12, 2007 9:24 am
((In case anyone didn't know, the Hunt is now open as of July 12th, 2007. And the following RPing has been edited into this post from its original spot on the first page because I believe it hasn't been seen... mad d))
[Mick Avaria]
Long, fragile eyelashes quivered as eyelids fluttered open to reveal fatigued silver-violet orbs. Moaning softly from where she sat, half-lying on the table, Mick shifted her head and closed her eyes again, letting several strands of her long, silken hair sweep into her face in a crimson fall of luscious locks. Sitting up straight, she slid her arms off the table, blinking dazedly before sneaking a quick peek at her watch.
10:00 AM…? I guess I fell asleep at the library… again…
Letting a frown grace her features, Mick stood, stretching languidly, much like a cat, and shook her head, fingering her dark hair distastefully. It always seemed to easily get tangled, especially in her sleep, giving her a sort of “bed-head” look. Little did she know how the look seemed to fit her and frame her face like a halo of messy hair.
Shooting a discreet glance toward the front desk where she noted that the librarian had also fallen asleep, she smirked and swiftly grabbed the books that lay scattered upon the desk and placed them away quickly, before heading over to the exit and trying the doorknob.
Damn. Locked.
Hissing a curse or two under her breath, Mick turned and looked for other options. Noting the presence of a window, the auburn-haired female strode over promptly and stretched to reach it, but failed to because of her short height. Blowing a strand of her hair out of her face in an irritated fashion, Mick muttered under her breath, “How annoying.”
Sticking with doing things the old-fashioned way, she grabbed a chair from a nearby table and set it below the window. Climbing up, the teenager flicked the window’s lock open and pulled it up, letting streams of golden sunlight flow onto her face in a stream of magnificent color. Savoring the warmth, a rare smile quirked at the female’s lips before she used her hands to push the rest of her weight up, heaving herself onto the rickety windowsill before vanishing through the window in mess of hair and clothes.
With a small tap of feet, Mick gracefully landed outside in a crouch, one slender hand just barely touching the cement ground. Her eyes furtively looked to the place over, making sure that it was relatively empty, before she turned around and attempted to shut the window.
Slender eyebrows furrowed in concentration and almost… amusement?
“Still as short as ever, Mick,” she murmured to herself, turning her heel and ignoring the fact that the window lay open wide as before and that the chair she had used was most likely still in the position she left it, but stained with a dark footprint. Oh well.
Letting calculating orbs skim over the face of her watch, Mick cursed again. “Damn… I still have work! And I’m late by… two hours!? I’m going to get fired at this rate!”
Breaking into a sprint, the sixteen-year-old dashed through the streets of Aria, dodging annoyed passersby and tall streetlamps that threatened to give her a head concussion if she wasn’t wary. Many minutes later, Mick soon arrived before a small café, panting heavily. Several early customers stared at her as though she were a Martian who had just disembarked from a UFO and had three heads and ten eyes (that is to say they gave a blank look). Smiling nervously, Mick rushed into the café and to the back room, where she heard—
“And where were you?”
Mick cringed and halted in her tracks with an almost audible screech of brakes. “Um… overslept?” she offered awkwardly, grinning sheepishly.
The manager sighed, and crossed his arms, tapping a foot impatiently. “That’s the third time you’ve been late this week. What’s going on with you? Are you, like, secretly an Avian or something who’s running from the authorities?” he joked, smiling cheerfully.
Mick stiffened.
“Just kidding,” he assured her, grinning. “Just get back to work, ‘kay? I wouldn’t want to fire you; you’re a good employee, you know…”
Once he left, Mick relaxed and unconsciously reached a willowy hand to her back, directly where her shoulder blades were located and rubbed them gingerly. “That guy can be so correct sometimes, I hate him. But he does give me all these chances…” She sighed heavily, soon shivering as she then recalled the sensation of pain that had racked through her when her wings first emerged, and shook her head. “Stop thinking of those things, Mick.”
Grabbing her uniform off a nearby rack, Mick slipped into the restroom, locking the door behind her, and quickly changed neatly into the café’s trademark waitress outfit, which was comprised of a short black dress, white apron, black dress shoes, and a frilly, fancy headband. Personally, she thought the outfit was not a uniform—it was a maid uniform.
Ugh. Yuck.
Shaking her head again in disgust, Mick grabbed her clothes, hanging them carefully on her arm before stepping in front of a mirror to freshen herself up. After several long minutes of doing just that—and hearing the manager yell, "Hurry up!" from outside the door—Mick grabbed her clothes, exited the restroom, and hung them up on the rack in the backroom. Leaving aforementioned backroom, Mick headed to a random customer and pulled out her pen and notepad, preparing to take their order.
She smiled a dazzling, friendly smile—a fake, dazzling, friendly smile—and chirped—rather falsely—“Good morning! How may I help you today?”
Fortunately, the customer didn’t notice her true uneager, unexcited feelings. “Ah, may I have…”
Blah, blah blah, blah blah. Bor-iiiiiiiiing.
Mick almost zoned out as she kept the false smile up and took their order—almost in a bored fashion. Once she was finished, she hurried to the kitchen, gave the cook the orders, and headed back out to serve the other customers.
Ignoring the stares that she caught—especially the stares that somehow made their way to her legs—Mick let her eyes fall half-closed in boredom as she quickly began to clean off a table gracefully. She hated working, but it was the only way to get money. Practically. And this job certainly paid well, so she wasn’t complaining. Mostly.
Mick sighed as she finished wiping off the table, closing her eyes briefly and letting a breeze from an opened window caress her face and toy with her fluttering cascade of hair.
((Mick Avaria – Level One – 1082 Words – 10 TXP Gained – 10 TXP Total))
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Posted: Thu Jul 12, 2007 9:25 am
[Anna Cruxis]
“Stop… please…”
Painful gasps sounded in the air, indicating an incoming death. A little boy sat uncomfortably against a tree, pinned there by a pair of pale, strangling hands at his neck. Gulping desperately for air, his little white wings flapped uselessly at his sides, stirring up dust and the leaves that fluttered around nearby.
His captor, a slender woman with pale ivory skin, long ebony locks of hair, and cruel, silver eyes, tightened her grip around his neck in a painful gradient from tight to very tight. Smirking maliciously, she withdrew one of her hands, clasping the other even tighter around the child’s fragile throat, and tipped his chin up to stare at his terrified eyes.
“Aw… you’re a cutie,” she crooned, caressing his chin lightly as she admired the boy’s slender, heart-shaped face and innocent features. “But it’s too bad… you’re an Avian, I’m a Hunter. But still, you’re so cute I could just eat you up…”
The boy shuddered, pressing his eyes closed in a horrified state of panic, and tried jostling himself free, but to no avail. Not only did the grip around his throat tighten even more—no… can’t breath—but the woman’s malevolent smirk only widened.
“It was fun killing your parents,” she mused aloud, causing the boy to snap his eyes open indignantly and glare daggers at her. “Oh, your mother was begging me to spare you and your father… but she was the most fun to kill. She struggled when I grabbed a kitchen knife and pinned it into her lung… she was gasping for air and sobbing…”
“You monster-!” the boy shrieked, coughing and gasping as he struggled for air. His supply was running out.
“Yes, I know,” the woman, Anna, said dismissively. She shrugged. “And then came your father… he put up quite the fight, but I eventually killed him, surprisingly, with the heel of my shoe. Funny how any ordinary, everyday object can turn into a weapon capable of dealing death…” She marveled in wonder at her statement, sending a swift, but noticeable glance toward her shoe.
“So what’ll it be?” she droned, almost in a sing-song manner. “Suffocation, drowning, or some other painful means? I could always just slice your head off and give you a quick death… but nah… that’s much too simple and painless…”
As she thought aloud, the boy gave one last shudder and went still, his pure white wings flopping lifelessly in a definite droop. As he almost seemed to wither, Anna glanced back at him and restrained herself from pouting. Releasing the dead boy’s bruised neck, she straightened and dusted herself off, stretching lethargically.
“Aw, man…” she whined, “…I didn’t even get a chance to pick… this was less fun than his mom and dad… darn it…”
Anna shrugged, eyes falling half-lidded as she selfishly contemplated how big of a reward she would get for exterminating a family of Avians. “At least one thousand, I presume,” she sang greedily, restraining herself from whistling as she walked away from the boy, unfazed by the lingering scent of death and murder in the air.
Walking past clusters of trees in the formerly peaceful, serene forest, Anna idly pulled out her butterfly knife and fiddled with the blade, swishing it to and fro in a bored manner. “I’ll go back to collect the reward later,” she told herself. “There probably are more Avians hiding out in this forest… pht… such an obvious choice…”
Snorting in regal disdain, Anna stretched once more, recalling the little boy’s death. Her previous pleasure resurfaced, making her grin darkly. Killing was fun, definitely. Especially when the victim was so cute and young…
Licking her lips at the thought of hunting down some more Avians, Anna straightened and walked casually through the forest, her acute, half-as-much-sharper-than-a-regular-human vision sweeping over the curves of the trees in the forest surroundings, analyzing where Avians might be hiding.
Pausing in her steps, the human female took a deep inhale, savoring the cherished, morbid smell of death that still lingered in the air… or seemed to linger in the air, at least. She cast a glance over her shoulder, debating whether or not she should throw the corpse into a nearby body of water for the fishes, bury it so it could decompose, or simply leave it there…
After several moments of consideration, Anna shrugged, deciding to simply leave the Avian’s carcass where it currently was. Feeling amused at imagining the look on the face of the person who found the corpse, Anna soon relaxed her body and continued strolling through the forest, pretending to be a simple lady who enjoyed taking walks and looking at wildlife. The façade certainly helped her catch Avians…
And then a split-second, feral grin curled at her lips as she continued searching for more of those pathetic, winged idiots…
Come out, come out, wherever you are…
((Anna Cruxis – Level One – 816 Words – 8 TXP Gained – 8 TXP Total))
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Posted: Thu Jul 12, 2007 10:01 am
[Llevyr Darque]
Llevyr was having her coffee break when the manager of the small Safeway called her on the intercom. Well, not her specifically, but as she was the only motivated employee he had at the moment, (all the other 'good' employees were at school) she was to do the job.
Some tiny four year old had decided he needed to puke in the entrance, which was always nice, but then some half-blind elderly person had walked in and slipped in it.
"...Damn," the avian muttered, sweat-dropping. She felt annoyed, but it wasn't like the kid had done it on purpose... At least he didn't look like he had. He was bawling his eyes out, his mother hovering behind him, looking embarrassed.
With an inward sigh, she adjusted the uniform shirt and went to get a mop. She'd let the kid's mother deal with the fallen senior.
When she returned, mop in hand, all three were gone. Joseph, a thirty-something man who'd been working there for years smirked at her from behind one of the checkouts, and Llevyr had to resist the urge to punch that stupid smile from his ugly face.
"Takes a real man to stand behind a counter, watching a girl half his age clean up some puke," she remarked, an undertone of sarcasm in her as she slowly wiping the regurgitated, half-digested food up. She paused to brush a strand of pink-dyed hair out of her dark brown eyes, taking the opportunity to watch for his reaction.
"Heh, rather you than me," he replied, "besides, the junior employees have to do all the dirty work anyway." He turned away to serve a customer, which only made her more annoyed. Usually he was easy to goad, but apparently not today.
The girl frowned and finished cleaning up. This day didn't seem to be going well at all.
First, she'd discovered her alarm clock was broken and arrived about half an hour late. Her manager was pretty lenient, so since it was her first time being late, he'd let her off the hook, but on the way to work, she'd seen a Hunter outside the store.
Usually she disliked using her power in broad daylight, but the Hunter had her freaked out and she'd used it to get into the store without his knowledge.
How Llevyr had known he was a Hunter was beyond her, but he had emanated such a bloodthirsty lust that she'd assumed he was one and used her power.
Thinking back, she wasn't so sure about it, but she couldn't very well go back and redo what was already done. Sometimes she wished such things were possible, but they really weren't. She'd spent much of her life wishing such things, and she'd learned a while ago that they were impossible.
Returning to the front, she saw the (possible) Hunter examining a Campbell's soup display. Her heart nearly stopped, but she managed to calm herself and continued walking towards, then past him, and into one of the checkouts.
[Llevyr Darque - Level One - 527 Words - 5 TXP Gained - 5 TXP Total]
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Posted: Thu Jul 12, 2007 10:19 am
(Greg Tovi)
"Here, darling!" a cheerful voice called in a dream world. A tall, slender woman with long black hair and red streaks danced about a small kitchen, grabbing things out of cupboards and happily mixing up doughs and batters for whatever whimsical baking idea she had next. A pair of broad white wings were neatly folded behind her. She offered a plate of cookies to her dreaming son, who eagerly took them and carried them to the table.
"Momma," he began softly, "why do Hunters hate us?"
She laughed, a shimmering, melodic sound. "Because they're narrow-minded idiots, dear," she answered in her light, airy voice. "Maybe if some of them were to finally notice we're not bad people, things wouldn't be so horrible. But that's a long time before something like that could happen. Hunters won't change their ways, no matter what." Her slender hands, now clad in oven mitts, reached into an oven and pulled out a pan of brownies.
That was when the dream began to morph. Coming out of the oven was instead a pan of something blood-red, with feathers sticking out from it. The woman turning toward him, instead of his mother, was a twisted, snarling creature with a sickening smile on her face - the first Hunter he'd ever met.
Pulling a knife from nowhere, the anonymous Hunter flung it at him. His legs refused to move, feeling like they'd been replaced with a ton of lead. The knife tore through one wing, making him cry out in pain. Another was thrown, nicking his side and pinning him to the wall behind him. Yet another blade was headed straight for his chest-
Greg jolted awake, startled by some vague noise. Glancing around at his surroundings, he took in the peaceful wave of the trees in a light wind and relaxed back against his hammock. His small white wings fluttered gently as a breeze ran through the clearing, and suddenly there was a distinct scent -
"Death," he whispered. A sudden fear shot through his tall, slender form. A Hunter? Here? he thought to himself, pulling his cape close around him. "No," he said aloud to reassure himself. "Certainly not..."
In any case, he sat up and swung his long legs off the hammock, slowly pulling himself to his full, towering height. His ears twitched as there was another sound - someone strolling through his forest? His entire body stiffened, wings out and waiting.
"No... if it's a Hunter..." Wincing strongly, he pulled in his wings, blood splashing against the dark fabric of his cape. Biting his lip fiercely, he whimpered, still unused to the pain. He was thankful to have a black cape - several bloodstains now went unnoticed against its overpowering darkness.
And it was time to greet his visitor...
He followed the sounds of footsteps and rustling through the leaves. His cape swirled behind him as he carefully approached a figure, slowly discerning the identity as a woman. Immediately, a crimson blush painted itself across his handsome features. His greatest fear, aside from Hunters? Talking to women.
[Greg Tovi - Level One - 513 Words - 5 TXP Gained - 5 TXP Total]
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Posted: Thu Jul 12, 2007 10:43 am
[Alystar Crowley]
He'd received the message at seven in the morning. Alyster Crowley wasn't really a morning person, and it showed.
The ringing of his cell phone next to his ear woke him up. A bit disoriented for about one and a half seconds, he grabbed the damn thing, check the caller ID and flipped it open.
"What? Do you know what the ******** time is, John?" he barked demandingly, jet black eyes simmering with anger.
"Uh..." There was a pause, presumably so John could check his watch or a clock. "...About seven o'clock, Crow?"
A tic appeared above Crow's left eyebrow, but he bit his tongue and managed to keep in the sharp retort on the tip of his tongue. John was a good informant after all, and he could hold a grudge for a long time, even if he was a little slow. A lot slow, actually.
"What is it?" the Hunter asked in a resigned fashion. He ran a hand through his hair, making his white bangs stick up in all directions. "There had better be a ******** good reason for waking me up so early," he added in a growl.
"Of course, of course," John agreed, his sleaziness practically oozing. Crow imagined it leaking out of the receiver and into his ear, infecting him with John disease. What a horrible fate. "I've received word that an Avian girl is working at a Safeway on insert street name and number here," the other man explained.
"...There's not such street," Crow said coldly, fast losing his good-ish mood.
"Well, you're going to have to pay me," John replied. "Meet me at my place on twenty minutes, with cash, and I'll take you there."
"b*****d," he snarled, and hung up. That ******** called his place, early in the morning, then demanded money?
Somehow he wasn't surprised.
Pulling on a pair of baggy black cargo pants and a clean white t-shirt, Crow stumbled about. He ran a comb through his hair, managing to make a presentable style with the black strands, then fiddled with his white bangs for about five minutes before letting out a frustrated sigh and allowing the stupid thing to hang over one eye.
He grabbed a Mars Bar and ate it as he drove off.
When the Hunter finally got to John's place, the guy was already waiting outside. Crow handed him five twenties, and John smiled that trademark, sleazy smile that Crow knew him for.
"It's actually just down the street over there," John remarked with a smirk. "That Safeway, a couple of blocks down." He pointed, and turned back to Crow.
A fist smashed his nose in, knocking his unconscious.
"Stupid ********," Crow muttered, grabbing his money back. He didn't really need the idiot anyway, he reflected as he strode back to his car, a murderous gleam in his eyes. If there wasn't actually an avian, he would be angry, and John...
Would probably end up dead.
The Hunter smirked to himself and drove into the Safeway parking lot, parking near the entrance. He got out and stood near the doors. Feeling a little conspicuous, he produced a pack of cigarettes and started smoking, until, despite the smoke, he smelled someone walk by. Plus the door opening and closing without any help was a bit of an alert too.
"...Avian," he muttered, and drove off to get something to eat. Somehow they'd managed to sense that he was a Hunter, but they sure hadn't acted rationally, which led him to believe that whoever they were, the Avian must be young.
Perhaps this wouldn't be such a hard job after all. The government paid a flat rate for Avians, unless you brought a bunch in at one time, but for single kills you got the same amount each time, regardless of how much effort was required in the killing.
Smiling coldly, Crow got back into his car and drove off to get something to eat. He could take as long as he wanted to kill this Avian, since they didn't live out in the wild and didn't seem to be too bright.
[Alystar Crowley - Level One - 711 Words - 7 TXP Gained - 7 TXP Total]
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Posted: Thu Jul 12, 2007 11:50 am
[Echo Shae]
"Are you sure you do not need to stay just a day or two more?" Large and glossy, hazel eyes gazed upon the face of a gentleman about to make his departure. Small droplets were forming at the bottom of the shining orbs, and soon she could no longer wait for them to fall. She refrained from sniffling, although she really wanted to do so.
"Yes, Miss Shae. Your hospitality has been more than enough, and I only wish I had something to give you in return."
"You know that my shelter is free, of course you don't have to pay me back! I just think that you aren't ready. I mean, you were suffering from such harsh wounds and I..." The man cut her off with a tight embrace, which only caused more tears to fall from the kind eyes of the young girl. She attempted to wrap her small arms around his large back, but couldn't quite get them around all of the way. She pulled back as quickly as she could, for she knew if they lingered much longer she just wouldn't be able to take it.
"Alright then...Now you take care! If you ever need anything, anything at all, you know exactly where to find me." A great deal of sadness and reluctance was hanging in her voice, and she turned away before he had the chance to say any more. The door of her small shanty closed softly, and Echo collapsed on one of the several bunks in the small room.
She pulled a small leather pouch from her pocket, and poured out the few contents into her small palm. The dirty money was dark against her pale skin. She was running out of money, and fast. However, her heart was even emptier than her wallet. She hadn't had many refugees come through her place in awhile, and she was more broken than ever to let the last one go.
"I'll have to find actual work soon. I can't live off of this little, but there are still people out there who need me..." She poured the coins back into the pouch and replaced it in her pocket. She then stepped outside, locking the door on her way out. Her small facility wasn't luxurious, but it was pretty much the only thing she could afford with her free services.
As she stepped outside, she felt the warm caress of a gentle breeze, and deeply inhaled. A long forest walk would clear her mind for awhile, and perhaps spark an idea of what she could do for some spare money, or more helpless people. As she began to enter the forest, she spread her arms as if embracing everything; the trees, the warmth, the sunlight, the life in the forest...
It wasn't long before her walk of peace turned into one of terror and bitter sadness. She saw a figure, collapsed and abandoned at the foot of a tree, and being who she was, Echo ran to his aid. She could do nothing but gasp, and then cover her mouth to refrain from screaming. Her efforts were to no avail, and she screamed as deeply and loudly as her lungs would allow.
"Help! You have to help here. He's hurt! He's...he's..." The word was flashing across her mind, but it was too shocking, to awful to be able to say. Dead. Dead, he couldn't be! He's so young, so fragile... Her thoughts ran wild as her eyes traced up and down his body. It was only then that she noticed the wings coming from his back. Her eyes widened even greater, and she gasped once more.
An Avian? Oh poor dear...I live so close to where this horrible thing took place and yet...I could do nothing. Are my services really that useless? I live on the edge of the forest, and yet I could not prevent the most horrid of acts... Bile rose in her throat. It wasn't about one thing in particular. The whole thing in itself was such a shock to her system, such a tragic event and her pointless attempts at aid.
A pale hand caressed the cooling face of the Avian boy, as if touching his face would somehow revive him, return the heat to his skin...
[Echo Shae - Level One 744 Words - 7 TXP gained - 7 TXP Total]
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Posted: Thu Jul 12, 2007 1:34 pm
[Anna Cruxis]
Anna was still bored as ever as she strolled absentmindedly through the forest, eyes half-lidded. However, she caught sight of another figure in the corner of her sharp eyes, making her hastily, but discreetly and silently place her butterfly knife away. The dark-haired woman paused, eyes blank, and arched an eyebrow as a young male who was probably not much older than herself approached.
Avian? He doesn’t have wings currently. But it’s possible that he doesn’t have any or he’s simply hiding them. I remember that other time when one of my victims tried doing that…
Inwardly, Anna recalled the time when, long ago, she had spotted a teenage Avian with black wings in the middle of an empty street. The idiot’s wings had been out, which told her already that they were one of those genetically enhanced monsters. The idiot had pulled them in as soon as they saw her, thinking she hadn’t seen them yet. But it had been too late for them. And five seconds later, a corpse had fallen to the cold ground.
Shaking her head to clear her thoughts—honestly, she had to focus on the situation at hand—Anna kept her casual, “harmless” face up, waving to the approaching figure almost lazily, as though tired. Maybe those acting lessons she had taken in the past really were helpful…
“Hey!” she called out graciously, schooling her voice in a friendly tone. “What brings you walking around in the forest so early in the morning?”
And although she looked as though she were merely asking a question, she wasn’t. Deep down, Anna was analyzing the situation, thinking of ways to kill this man if he was an Avian, flee if he turned out too powerful, or leave if he was simply a full-human who was out for a walk.
Inclining her head harmlessly, the female blinked inquiringly, enjoying the passing zephyr that tousled her ebony hair. “Nice day today, isn’t it?” She nodded her head toward the direction the wind had come from, which was where the man had come from.
Questioningly staring at his face, Anna relaxed herself, placing a supple hand against her hip, and asked, “Why are you blushing?”
And then a scream shattered the silence.
Anna turned toward the direction of the scream, eyes wide, gasping. Playing the role of the horrified witness (though she was really only the witness to a scream), she began pacing back and forth worriedly.
“We should help them,” she told the man, sneaking a glance at his back to check if he had hidden his wings. Wing retraction always caused blood spill. Always.
The faintest difference in color at several areas on the man’s cape after squinting carefully but discreetly told her that there was a large possibility he was an Avian. A large possibility. Not was small one, but a large one. And that meant hunting time.
Well, soon, at least.
Pausing in her pacing, Anna pretended to look worriedly at the man, as though scared of going to see what had happened. And so she slipped a hand into her pocket again, catching hold of her butterfly knife, but didn’t take it out.
((Anna Cruxis – Level One – 529 Words – 5 TXP Gained – 13 TXP Total))
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Posted: Thu Jul 12, 2007 2:47 pm
(Greg Tovi)
A shaky, shy smile tugged at Greg's lips, trying to seem polite though he was absolutely terrified of the woman before him. "I, um... Morning person, you know..." he mumbled, deep voice soft and quiet. "And it's calm out here," he continued, "and much more... comfortable than... the busy city, you... you know...?" It wasn't exactly terror that filled his tone, but the quiet shyness of a person withdrawn from society.
"It... um, it is a nice day..." Tugging his cape around himself, he bit his lip softly, pearly teeth pinning the sensitive skin almost adorably. "But I like that.. um... in the forest, you get the warmth from the sun, but plenty of shade." He was beginning to loosen up, his fear diminishing as the woman seemed open and innocent. Of course, then she had to ask the question.
"Erm." The blush she mentioned grew worse, its pink tinge spreading to his delicate ears and down his neck. "I'm... shy..." he mumbled, though this fact was more obvious than a radioactive lighthouse underground. He wrenched his beautiful cerulean eyes shut, trying to force the rushing blood in his cheeks back to an even flow over his towering body. He almost succeeded as it faded from his skin gradually.
The scream that echoed through his forest moments later made him jump, immediately shifting into a battle-ready stance. Whatever rosy hint of his blush there was left disappeared as he paled with alarm. His well-toned muscles were tense and ready for fight or flight. Watching the woman pace, he bit his lip again.
"We should help," he said in agreement, nodding slightly. "Let's go, then..." Turning toward the source of the scream, he began to walk quickly, long legs carrying him with lengthy strides to where a girl was standing over a tiny boy...
A tiny winged boy. An Avian. Oh my god... what happened here...? Rushing to the girl's side, he examined the boy briefly and looked up at the girl.
"Did you... see what happened?" he asked cautiously. "Who killed this child...?" he wondered, voice trembling as he traced two slender fingers along the bruised neck of the tiny corpse.
[Greg Tovi - Level One - 361 Words - 3 TXP Gained - 8 TXP Total]
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Posted: Thu Jul 12, 2007 3:29 pm
((Warren Kane))
It is ten-o'clock ante-meridian, Warren. You have overslept by ninety minutes and have neglected to take your medication.
Warren mumbled something in his sleep as the text scrolled itself onto his vision. It's been happening twice per minute since eight-thirty, and it's no more effective than it was the last hundred seventy nine times it happened, nor will it be any more effective the next hundred seventy nine times. The gentle suggestion route never, ever works on a sleepy teenager.
It is ten-oh-one ante-meridian, Warren. You have overslept by ninety-one minutes and have neglected to take your medication
"Mrrphle... *mumble*," gurgled Warren, talking to no one in particular. He rolled over and put his pillow over his head in a futile attempt to make the letters go away. He knew that, at one hundred minutes, he'll start hearing a blaring noise and seeing a brilliant light piped directly into his brain without going through his eardrums or eyes.
It is ten-oh-two ante-meridian, Warren. You have overslept by ninety-two minutes and have neglected to take your medication.
The ploy to keep the words out of his eyes unsuccessful, Warren thought out different tactics to prevent the impending blast of noise and light. Of course, he could always get up, but that would be admitting defeat. Instead, he racked his brain for solutions to microcomputers implanted in the brainstem. He could always attack his neck with a burst of an electro-magnetic pulse, but that might fry his other cyberware and it would really ruin his day in addition to requiring him to pull himself out of bed and finding himself a nuclear explosion to stand around. Radiation poisoning is a secondary problem to all of this.
It is ten-oh-three ante-meridian, Warren. You have overslept by ninety-three minutes and have neglected to take your medication.
He could remove the computer surgically, gaining him the benefit of no radiation poisoning or the need to find a handy-dandy mushroom cloud, but he would still need to get out of bed to accomplish this, unless he perchance left a scalpel on his bedstand. Feeling around, he discovered no such luck despite several quite promising chopsticks and a butter knife that almost passed muster. His search was not helped by the fact that he was still hiding his head under his pillow and thus couldn't see his bedstand or the contents of its surface.
It is ten-oh-four ante-meridian, Warren. You have overslept by ninety-four minutes and have neglected to take your medication.
Then again, he could construct an exterior mechanism that would enable him to hack into the computer's programming and re-write the program so it would not wake him up, though he would have to build it so he could both scan and connect to the computer in his neck as well as be able to conduct the hacking and programming process. He probably would need to pick up the programming skills necessary to pull this off, but learning something new has never been a problem for Warren. No, the problem with this solution is that he would still have to get out of bed in order to enact this plan.
It is ten-oh-five ante-meridian, Warren. You have overslept by ninety-five minutes and have neglected to take your medication. In five minutes, awakening protocol will execute.
"Mrstfrghl," mumbled Warren, trying to think of the best possible highly impractical solution to his predicament. Transcending his body and becoming a being of pure energy is the current front-runner for avoiding the impending wake-up call, with dying a close second and secretly already being awake a distant third. A little effort later, though, proved to Warren that he was not going to transcend his body in the next five minutes, death seemed hardly forthcoming, and if he is secretly already awake he certainly is doing a good job fooling himself about being asleep.
It is ten-oh-six, ante-meridian, Warren. You have overslept by ninety-six minutes and have neglected to take your medication. You know you are not going to enjoy the alarm.
Warren continued to weigh his options. Perhaps a strong enough blunt trauma to the neck would do it? Sure, he may not survive, but it would prevent the alarm. He soon discarded this course of action, however, since the blows he was attempting to land on his neck using his pillow weren’t making any progress.
It is ten-oh-seven, ante-meridian, Warren. You have overslept by ninety-seven minutes and have neglected to take your medication. You are always irritable and irrational when you have been exposed to the alarm, Warren.
“I’ll irritable your irrational,” mumbled Warren, in his first coherent spoken words of the day. He hefted himself upright and glared out of the window, noting the presence of light as opposed to darkness in case his microcomputer was lying to him, then gave up, fell back down onto the pillows and shut his eyes. He figured that perhaps that show of being awake would satisfy the computer.
It is ten-oh-eight, ante-meridian, Warren. You have overslept by ninety-eight minutes and have neglected to take your medication. This system monitors your vitals, and can tell when you have not reached a full state of wakefulness; nice try.
“I’ll nice your… try. Thing,” said Warren, in a mildly clearer voice. His mind was having a little bit of trouble shifting gears, as he really does not want to experience the 100% No-Fail Auto-Alarm™ (“Modeled on ancient twentieth century torture techniques, this alarm will never fail to awaken you!”), yet he also still had to resolve his want to remain in bed.
It is ten-oh-nine, ante-meridian, Warren. You have overslept by ninety-nine minutes and have neglected to take your medication. Do not complain about not being adequately warned when the alarm goes off.
And then it did, with a brilliant blindingly bright white light spraying itself all across Warren’s vision and a wonderful blaring air horn going off in each ear. Warren, upon being shocked into full wakefulness, yelped and fell to the floor, scattering his blanket and coverlet to opposite sides of the bed, and landed with arms akimbo. Standing up rather abruptly while rubbing his head, he glared angrily at nothing, collected his thoughts, then proceeded to shout at the computer in his head “What the hell? I thought I had another minute, there,” his voice cracking halfway through the sentence.
Really, Warren. It had become obvious that an extra minute would not have altered the course needed to take to wake you, so a shortcut was taken and you were awakened with that one minute to spare. Isn’t that nice? And subvocalize or your neighbors will think you’re crazy. scrolled the text in his sight.
“I don’t care if it worked. I like my extra minutes in bed,” said Warren, petulantly, “And they already think I’m crazy.” He looked around the room to find the bathroom, then detoured across the room to a small dispenser unit that released his daily Attention Deficit Disorder medication. Putting out his hand, he pressed the button that was flashing red to indicate the medication had yet to be removed, received the small paper cup with the pills in it, and watched the light fade to green.
Take your pills, Warren. prompted the computer.
Warren sneered as he walked into the bathroom, picked up a meticulously cleaned glass, filled it with water using the faucet water filter, and washed down his pills. One of them was guaranteed to get him up in the morning and another would keep him going for sixteen hours. A third pill had nothing to do with his disorder, but what it did do was keep the nanomachinery and cyberware in his body working with a fresh infusion of microscopic maintenance robots. Warren swallowed the rest of the water and took off his bedclothes for his morning shower. While still in the nude, he stepped onto a bathroom scale that took a quick diagnostic of his body to make sure he hadn’t gotten cancer overnight, took a leak, and examined his face in the mirror to see if he needed a shave, which he didn’t.
After the mirror, he stepped into the shower and washed up. He didn’t quite remember what the day was supposed to hold, but he wouldn’t have had the alarm set if he didn’t have something important to do. Few people hit themselves with tightly controlled torture for no reason. He washed his red hair, scrubbed his face with an acne preventative, and lathered down his body before a quick rinse and some time with a loofah.
Stepping out of the shower stall, he walked into a chamber that flash-dried him, and he returned to his bedroom to put on some underclothes. He picked out a secondary layer of clothing, a white dress shirt and red –checked cardigan with a black tie with black slacks and a pair of red all-purpose sneakers, which he left by the door out of his apartment for when he decided to leave. A small circular cleaning robot rolled into his bedroom as he walked out, whirring along the floor to make the room every bit as clean and neat as it would have been had no one lived there.
Warren wandered into his kitchen in his sock-clad feet to make himself some breakfast, which entailed taking a package and putting it into a small oven and pressing the appropriate button on the oven’s control pad for it to cook. While he waited the thirty seconds for his breakfast to be ready, he took a super-condensed juice pill, dropped it into a glass full of filtered water and then tapped the coffeemaker to get it started making him his morning cup of java. When the oven dinged, he pulled out the package and opened up his instant eggs-and-bacon/flapjack combo meal, complete with side containers containing syrup and butter, plunked it down on his kitchen counter, grabbed his now-mixed glass of grapefruit juice, and set himself to eating.
One thing never ceases to be confusing, Warren. scrolled the text across his vision.
“What is it?” said Warren whilst chewing on a mouthful of pancake, subvocalizing properly for the first time that morning.
If all you do during the period of time that is spent attempting to rouse you is come up with ingenious ways to prevent you from being roused, why activate the awakening protocol in the first place?
“I dunno,” said Warren, masticating thoughtfully. “It’s probably because it’s something like a tradition. Besides, if I don’t, I’ll stay in bed until mid-afternoon.”
Furthermore, would it not solve your problem to subvocalize a shutdown command?
“That’s no fun,” said Warren, swallowing a bite of delicious bacon and washing it down with juice. “If I took the easy way out, where would the joy of solving the problem lie? Now, did I by any chance say why I wanted to be woken up? I don’t remember having anything to do, and I finished a Hunt not two days ago.”
Another mark has been found. Data specifics would be transmitted, but your onboard computer is currently undergoing repairs.
“Yeah, along with my armor and my Gauss Cannon,” said Warren, once again adopting a look of thoughtfulness. The timing couldn’t be worse, but it’s his job. “The best I can muster right now are some really awesome cooking knives I have yet to use, and I’m not sure it would be a great idea for me to try to take on an Avian using just a Ginsu and my wits.”
Nevertheless, it is your duty. Central Command has sent out a bounty, and as a government-sponsored Hunter your responsibility is to attempt to bring the mark down before freelancers can get to it or before it disappears off of the map.
“Mmm,” hummed Warren. He finished off his plate and downed his juice, making a face as the tartness hits his taste buds, then puts all of his used dishware into the dishwasher. “I guess it can’t be helped. Where do I need to go?” he queried his microcomputer, while packing the knives into their carrying case and putting on his armored trench coat. His hand graces over his uplink shades until he remembers he doesn’t have the necessary software right now to use them, sighs to himself, and loaded up some music to listen to while he traveled.
Get on the underground towards downtown. Your mark’s name is unknown, and you cannot be shown a picture without your uplink. There is a chance that a terrorist event will occur if the target is not neutralized swiftly.
“I’m really flying blind, huh? Well then, I’ll call Headquarters on my way downtown to signify my joining the case. Maybe they can hook me up with some other Hunters who might be a bit better-connected than I.”
You are forgetting something, Warren.
“What is it?” asked Warren, patting himself down. He suddenly realized that he hadn’t made an oath of acceptance, yet. If he didn’t, he couldn’t say he’d accepted the case in a premeditated fashion. “All right. Timestamp; I, Dr. Warren Ian Kane, hereby accept my Hunt number five, in the name of the State and the People,” he said, gravely.
Thank you, Warren, but you are forgetting something else: your wallet.
“I am? Oh, crud, I am! Where did I put it? I need that wallet! Where is it?” said Warren nervously, looking around with some anxiety in an attempt to locate his errant wallet.
It is on the counter, seven o’clock of you.
Warren, taking this cue, turned to his right and looked assiduously in the indicated zone, attempting to find is wallet, which contained not only his money but also his badge, indicating that he is a government-sponsored Hunter and ought to receive the cooperation of law enforcement.
Seven o’clock is to your left, Warren
“Oh. Uhh, thanks,” said Warren, turning and locating his lost wallet. “I, uhh, knew that.”
It is not a problem. Shall we go?
“Right. Let’s get this started!” cheered Warren, as he walked out the door, forgetting to lock it behind him.
((Warren Kane - Level One - 2509 words - 25 TXP gained - 25 TXP total))
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Posted: Thu Jul 12, 2007 4:33 pm
[Anna Cruxis]
As she followed the man (although he seemed more like an innocent child than a man) into the direction of the scream, Anna briefly bore her teeth dangerously, marveling at how many ways she could kill him, too. He seemed so childlike and cute—just the way she liked her victims…
Shaking her head, the woman focused her thoughts back on what was happening, and continued following him to the source of the voice, where she saw, clear as day, the corpse of the young child she had just successfully “hunted” down.
And then she screamed. Loud.
Now, you may be wondering why she screamed. Perhaps Anna is just weird, she suffers from a major bi-polar syndrome that should be cured (if possible), she randomly screams, or—by some strange course of events—she suddenly felt very, very guilty.
If you guessed any of those, you were, unfortunately, wrong. But I digress.
Anna focused on manipulating her voice in a terrified, horrified scream of pure dread and panic—making sure it was believable and realistic at the same time. She clapped one of her free hands over her mouth, successfully muffling the scream by only what felt like a hundredth, continuing her act. Wide eyes—check…paled skin—check… stumbling backwards—check.
She forced herself to cut off the scream—thank god—and swallowed audibly, breathing shakily and making a point to not walk back toward the corpse. In a believably appalled voice, Anna unsteadily whispered, “What happened to that poor boy?”
Pretending to finally notice his white wings, Anna stared at them and said, “An Avian…? A Hunter must have gotten to him…”
Anna stepped forward hesitantly, before gently cupping the pale boy’s face. His once innocent eyes were still open, but frozen with a look of pure fear—and loathing—hidden in their depths. And his once living, breathing body—captured by everlasting slumber… death…
“Poor child…” she said softly as her eyes watered, shimmering, before a single crystalline tear began to cascade its way down the length of her ivory face, briefly clinging to the bottom of her chin and then falling off, plunging to the ground.
As she went on with her pretending, Anna felt not an ounce of guilt for killing him. Not one ounce. She had chosen this job—the job of a Hunter—for herself, and she was planning to continue it. Without interruptions. Especially interruptions that came in the form of emotions such as guilt. But then again, she never did feel any guilt whenever she killed…
Anna pulled her hand back, standing to her feet, and raised her hand to her face, wiping the trail of wetness created by her tear off with the back of her hand. As she did this, the twenty-one-year-old continued to examine the situation, noting the presences of the man and the girl standing nearby.
That girl likely cares about Avians or is one herself… which means she’s definitely on my list of Hunted, and as for that man… Anna pondered, resisting the urge to wrinkle her nose, is likely an Avian, so he’s on the list too… but who should I kill first? Do I need backup?
Yes—despite Anna’s excitement when it came to hunting—she wasn’t an idiot. She knew not to bite off more than she could chew, even though she sometimes did do that…
((Anna Cruxis – Level One – 562 Words – 5 TXP Gained – 18 TXP Total))
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