[005] armageddon.
A) remainders of 1648 Albright Lane;
[the smell in the air -- fire and smoke and something chemical; the creaking of unstable wreckage; the slight haze in front of his eyes... these are all terrible and familiar things. before he can so much as acknowledge what's happened, his mind is snapping back with painful clarity to the event known simply as 'armageddon' to the humans left populating his world at home.
Abel stands in the wreckage of the living room where he'd been sleeping, a look of utter surprise on his face as if he were having a nightmare and quite aware of that fact, dumb struck and staring at the stark change in his home. ...clearly, he doesn't quite believe that this is real - or perhaps he's simply imploring himself to be convinced as much.
he is slowly stumbling over debris, making his way toward the bedrooms... coughing and lifting the nightshirt over his mouth to drown out some of the smoke and thick smog in the air... this feels... too real. this feels too real.
no dream could be this vivid.
if it could, his nightmares would be ten times worse for it.
shock is starting to fade into fear as his footsteps become less unsteady and more urgent-- surely this is just a bad dream. his senses are tricking him. this is a side-effect of too much sugar right before dozing off on the couch despite his best intentions to play watchdog, tonight, following that unnerving phone call. surely... this isn't... real. it can't be real, can it?
the next choked sound in his throat is not from the dust and smoke in the air as he's gunning it, now, for his little brother's bedroom. he is outright panicking, the oppressive haze everywhere suffocating in a way that was more in his head than of any physical ailment. this was... war. this... this was what war had done and did and will do again. this was it, exactly. this was nuclear warfare. this was armageddon.]
--CAIN!
B) action; streets of Mayfield. OPEN.
[Abel has kinships tight in his arms with no intention of letting go, and any traces of the jovial derp have been utterly replaced with a decidedly shaken and pale-faced man with much older, hunted eyes. he is looking for familiar faces (maybe one or two in particular) as he traverses the streets in search of a safe-house of sorts... bump into them? it's dusty and a little hard to see -- or maybe you were just busy gawking at the hole where your home used to be. either way, it's not like they really have anywhere to go in a hurry...]
[ooc: A is for anyone in the house! B is for anyone at all who wants to run into Cain and Abel -- tags will come from both of them!]
[the smell in the air -- fire and smoke and something chemical; the creaking of unstable wreckage; the slight haze in front of his eyes... these are all terrible and familiar things. before he can so much as acknowledge what's happened, his mind is snapping back with painful clarity to the event known simply as 'armageddon' to the humans left populating his world at home.
Abel stands in the wreckage of the living room where he'd been sleeping, a look of utter surprise on his face as if he were having a nightmare and quite aware of that fact, dumb struck and staring at the stark change in his home. ...clearly, he doesn't quite believe that this is real - or perhaps he's simply imploring himself to be convinced as much.
he is slowly stumbling over debris, making his way toward the bedrooms... coughing and lifting the nightshirt over his mouth to drown out some of the smoke and thick smog in the air... this feels... too real. this feels too real.
no dream could be this vivid.
if it could, his nightmares would be ten times worse for it.
shock is starting to fade into fear as his footsteps become less unsteady and more urgent-- surely this is just a bad dream. his senses are tricking him. this is a side-effect of too much sugar right before dozing off on the couch despite his best intentions to play watchdog, tonight, following that unnerving phone call. surely... this isn't... real. it can't be real, can it?
the next choked sound in his throat is not from the dust and smoke in the air as he's gunning it, now, for his little brother's bedroom. he is outright panicking, the oppressive haze everywhere suffocating in a way that was more in his head than of any physical ailment. this was... war. this... this was what war had done and did and will do again. this was it, exactly. this was nuclear warfare. this was armageddon.]
--CAIN!
B) action; streets of Mayfield. OPEN.
[Abel has kinships tight in his arms with no intention of letting go, and any traces of the jovial derp have been utterly replaced with a decidedly shaken and pale-faced man with much older, hunted eyes. he is looking for familiar faces (maybe one or two in particular) as he traverses the streets in search of a safe-house of sorts... bump into them? it's dusty and a little hard to see -- or maybe you were just busy gawking at the hole where your home used to be. either way, it's not like they really have anywhere to go in a hurry...]
[ooc: A is for anyone in the house! B is for anyone at all who wants to run into Cain and Abel -- tags will come from both of them!]