With lightning-fast reflexes on constant alert
Characters: Marbles (viva_la_materia), King (firefistasce), Book (books_and_toads), Wolf (sarcasmbender)
Date/Time: December 10th, evening
Location: Somewhere in the residential branches of the Tree
Rating: Strong PG-13, for the fighting and the bleeding and the hoyven glayven.
Summary: Marbles and King get in over their head. Book shows up to help. And then things get really bad...
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Zombies? Hah!
So Marbles was a little out of breath, as she ran nimbly along a high-arching branch, one eye out at the horde of zombies milling below her. So she had a few bumps and bruises from the last few days, maybe a few scraped knuckles and a little blood on her new clothes. So what?
She was being useful out here. She was darn sure of that. There were definitely some civilians whose brains were still nicely stored away in their braincases where they belonged because of her and her trusty, shiny warfan. Heck, yes. So did it really matter if the warfan wasn't so shiny anymore, or if the zombies were kinda getting bigger and faster these last few days, or if sleep and food were maybe sort of not such a major priority lately, or if she hadn't seen her brother in a while?
No. No, it did not, and Marbles was still having the time of her life, darn it. This was awesome, the best thing ever really, and monster-fighting was clearly somewhere in her bloodline or her genes or something, and she wouldn't be missing a minute of it even if she could just stroll back to the barricades in the lower levels without--
--fighting! Marbles froze, grabbing her warfan and dropping low in a combat crouch with her ears straining. Somewhere nearby, somebody was fighting. She could hear it, zombie groans and moans and a weird noise that sounded almost familiar. What was it?
Cautiously, she ran low along the branch, then hopped to another one and sped towards the scene of the action.
Date/Time: December 10th, evening
Location: Somewhere in the residential branches of the Tree
Rating: Strong PG-13, for the fighting and the bleeding and the hoyven glayven.
Summary: Marbles and King get in over their head. Book shows up to help. And then things get really bad...
------
Zombies? Hah!
So Marbles was a little out of breath, as she ran nimbly along a high-arching branch, one eye out at the horde of zombies milling below her. So she had a few bumps and bruises from the last few days, maybe a few scraped knuckles and a little blood on her new clothes. So what?
She was being useful out here. She was darn sure of that. There were definitely some civilians whose brains were still nicely stored away in their braincases where they belonged because of her and her trusty, shiny warfan. Heck, yes. So did it really matter if the warfan wasn't so shiny anymore, or if the zombies were kinda getting bigger and faster these last few days, or if sleep and food were maybe sort of not such a major priority lately, or if she hadn't seen her brother in a while?
No. No, it did not, and Marbles was still having the time of her life, darn it. This was awesome, the best thing ever really, and monster-fighting was clearly somewhere in her bloodline or her genes or something, and she wouldn't be missing a minute of it even if she could just stroll back to the barricades in the lower levels without--
--fighting! Marbles froze, grabbing her warfan and dropping low in a combat crouch with her ears straining. Somewhere nearby, somebody was fighting. She could hear it, zombie groans and moans and a weird noise that sounded almost familiar. What was it?
Cautiously, she ran low along the branch, then hopped to another one and sped towards the scene of the action.