(no subject)
Characters: Grif (wheelwork), Church (snipinggod), Hellboy (redrighthanded), Shirley (moerines)
Setting/Location: In the forest near District 2.
Date & Time: Day 0, night.
Warnings: None, really? Probably some language.
Summary: The RESCUE GRIF party is on the move. Or maybe it's the LOOT GRIF party.
It had taken Grif at least an hour to wriggle half a forearm out of the webbing wrapped tightly around his body. By some miraculous stroke of luck, it was the same hand that had a grip on his Junogam. Flipping the thing open was a chore in itself, as was getting to the posting screen without dropping it. Once he actually managed to do so, he discovered he was stuck with text communication. Every time he tried to reach for the record button, he felt the device begin to slip from his fingers.
Frustrating.
Of course, texting and navigating with one hand made his arm ache something terrible after the first five minutes. He gave up eventually, deciding he had got his message out well enough. He deserved a break. So, he let his arm flop bonelessly against the ground as he heaved out a loud sigh.
Now he only had to wait for help.
And maybe pass time by firing up another round of loud, horribly off-key singing (otherwise known as "butchering") of oldies songs.
Setting/Location: In the forest near District 2.
Date & Time: Day 0, night.
Warnings: None, really? Probably some language.
Summary: The RESCUE GRIF party is on the move. Or maybe it's the LOOT GRIF party.
It had taken Grif at least an hour to wriggle half a forearm out of the webbing wrapped tightly around his body. By some miraculous stroke of luck, it was the same hand that had a grip on his Junogam. Flipping the thing open was a chore in itself, as was getting to the posting screen without dropping it. Once he actually managed to do so, he discovered he was stuck with text communication. Every time he tried to reach for the record button, he felt the device begin to slip from his fingers.
Frustrating.
Of course, texting and navigating with one hand made his arm ache something terrible after the first five minutes. He gave up eventually, deciding he had got his message out well enough. He deserved a break. So, he let his arm flop bonelessly against the ground as he heaved out a loud sigh.
Now he only had to wait for help.
And maybe pass time by firing up another round of loud, horribly off-key singing (otherwise known as "butchering") of oldies songs.