Less fortunate ones
Date: Summer 2012
Characters: Wanda Maximoff, Peter Petrelli
Summary: Everyone thought after New York, the world was saved. Turns out New York isn't the world. When the world burned, a part of every soul died. Some lost more of it than others.
Status: In progress
Open to any in New York
The broken gravel that was once a paved road was blacker now than any tar coat could have achieved. Here and there a few shawled individuals darted through the shadows on quests known only to them, and hoarse coughing echoed off of the walls of the buildings.
Dark clouds hung over the shattered cityscape, blotting out the stars, and affording only the barest light whether day or night. A few pale lights flickered in the darker corners of the alleyways, whether flame or something else was unknown to the lone figure striding in silent purpose down the ruined path.
Footsteps rang clear through the sounds of pained moans and rattling wheezings, and ivory skin gleamed in the pale light of the city as she walked, oblivious of the carnage around her. She was one of the lucky ones, one that had access to medication to keep her hair and color. She was lucky enough to have only a mild dose of the poison still not thinning in the air.
So many had been unlucky.
It was going on five years now, since the first salvo had been fired. No one knew how, no one knew who caused it. Most people used to think it was just a techinical malfunction. It would figure that a technical malfunction would bring about armageddon and the end of the world. Most knew now that it was anything but a technical malfunction. Few believed it was an accident. All but a few learned it the hard way.
Every great institution, every great house, home, capital building, farmhouse. The world was razed in a matter of days, leaving behind dust and fragments. And for those unfortunate enough to survive the initial horror, life as they had known it would never come again.
Dark eyes narrowed as the figure approached a huddled form. Blank blue eyes stared upward, tears running tracks through dirt and grime, and a nonsensical prayer filtered through the air over and over.
There was a 'tsk', and the figure knelt down to eye level, speaking in a cool and reasonable feminine voice. "You shouldn't have run away like that, Smith."
The form, a young woman no older than 14, flinched as the older woman ran a soothing hand through matted hair. "...Please..."
The older one made a shushing sound, pressing a finger to chapped and split lips. "Its almost over."
"No..." Blue eyes widened in sudden panic. "No...Miss Wanda...!"
The older, Wanda, stood, and walked away from the huddled young woman. "You're the lucky one."
There was a crash of bricks and glass behind her, and at least one of the sobs resounding through the hollow streets finally silenced.
Characters: Wanda Maximoff, Peter Petrelli
Summary: Everyone thought after New York, the world was saved. Turns out New York isn't the world. When the world burned, a part of every soul died. Some lost more of it than others.
Status: In progress
Open to any in New York
The broken gravel that was once a paved road was blacker now than any tar coat could have achieved. Here and there a few shawled individuals darted through the shadows on quests known only to them, and hoarse coughing echoed off of the walls of the buildings.
Dark clouds hung over the shattered cityscape, blotting out the stars, and affording only the barest light whether day or night. A few pale lights flickered in the darker corners of the alleyways, whether flame or something else was unknown to the lone figure striding in silent purpose down the ruined path.
Footsteps rang clear through the sounds of pained moans and rattling wheezings, and ivory skin gleamed in the pale light of the city as she walked, oblivious of the carnage around her. She was one of the lucky ones, one that had access to medication to keep her hair and color. She was lucky enough to have only a mild dose of the poison still not thinning in the air.
So many had been unlucky.
It was going on five years now, since the first salvo had been fired. No one knew how, no one knew who caused it. Most people used to think it was just a techinical malfunction. It would figure that a technical malfunction would bring about armageddon and the end of the world. Most knew now that it was anything but a technical malfunction. Few believed it was an accident. All but a few learned it the hard way.
Every great institution, every great house, home, capital building, farmhouse. The world was razed in a matter of days, leaving behind dust and fragments. And for those unfortunate enough to survive the initial horror, life as they had known it would never come again.
Dark eyes narrowed as the figure approached a huddled form. Blank blue eyes stared upward, tears running tracks through dirt and grime, and a nonsensical prayer filtered through the air over and over.
There was a 'tsk', and the figure knelt down to eye level, speaking in a cool and reasonable feminine voice. "You shouldn't have run away like that, Smith."
The form, a young woman no older than 14, flinched as the older woman ran a soothing hand through matted hair. "...Please..."
The older one made a shushing sound, pressing a finger to chapped and split lips. "Its almost over."
"No..." Blue eyes widened in sudden panic. "No...Miss Wanda...!"
The older, Wanda, stood, and walked away from the huddled young woman. "You're the lucky one."
There was a crash of bricks and glass behind her, and at least one of the sobs resounding through the hollow streets finally silenced.