Like playing Russian Roulette with a full clip [ Active / Closed ]
Characters: B and Mello
Content: Mello's out looking for some weapons when he runs into an old acquaintance.
Location: somewhere in East Village
Time of day: evening, a day before this
Warnings: tba
The Log:
The sun was setting, its last rays painting violent yellows and oranges on the sky and the buildings, making everything seem gilded and a lot more beautiful than it was. Mello was walking down the street, his pace fast as though he was in a hurry. Everything was quiet, devoid of life, the only sounds he could hear being his own footsteps.
This place was starting to creep him out and he was seriously considering screaming, just so there'd be noise, just so there'd be something disturbing the eerie silence of the streets. He hated the stillness, he hated the inactivity and he hated this feeling that there was something out there watching him from the shadows, weighting his every action and finding him to be-- what? An idiot for going out into the open like that? Just ripe for killing? A sitting duck?
He hated this. He hated it and he wished there was someone there -- someone or something that he could use as an outlet for his frustration.
Content: Mello's out looking for some weapons when he runs into an old acquaintance.
Location: somewhere in East Village
Time of day: evening, a day before this
Warnings: tba
The Log:
The sun was setting, its last rays painting violent yellows and oranges on the sky and the buildings, making everything seem gilded and a lot more beautiful than it was. Mello was walking down the street, his pace fast as though he was in a hurry. Everything was quiet, devoid of life, the only sounds he could hear being his own footsteps.
This place was starting to creep him out and he was seriously considering screaming, just so there'd be noise, just so there'd be something disturbing the eerie silence of the streets. He hated the stillness, he hated the inactivity and he hated this feeling that there was something out there watching him from the shadows, weighting his every action and finding him to be-- what? An idiot for going out into the open like that? Just ripe for killing? A sitting duck?
He hated this. He hated it and he wished there was someone there -- someone or something that he could use as an outlet for his frustration.