[Eames had a bag of frozen peas pressed to his left eye, and a bottle of whiskey in his other. His latest hunt had been a bit of a doozy leaving him with more bruises and cuts than he's had in a long time, but at least he'd gotten the creepy ass creature. He really wished he had a better source of research, because it never said it was going to be that fugly. Taking a long drag on the whiskey he crossed over to the lumpy motel mattress and sat down, still covered in dirt and blood, too tired to pick himself up and take a shower like he should.]
{He more crashes into the room than lands, stumbling as he appears, scattering the notes Eames had been taking on the creature and letting out a groan as he runs solidly into the table and stumbles, landing on his knees and struggling to rise. His wings are spread wide behind him, their normal white splendor seemingly dulled, near the bottom, and a slick of matte black is spreading out from the bands of black, leaving them looking dead in its wake} Eames--
[Eames is instantly standing with a gun in his hand, aimed at the place where Arthur had landed completely out of reflex. The next moment had him crossing to the angel, the gun tucked into the back of his waist band as he checked him over for injuries.] What the hell happened to you?
[It started out small, the itching, just a random twinge across the shoulders or tickle between the scapula. Steve barely noticed and it wasn't like it was all that strange; everyone got an itch, right? Manageable irritations, really. And if he happened to be backed up against jutting section of wall and rubbing his back against it in an effort to alleviate the sensation more often than not, well that wasn't worrying at all.]
Eleven - ►Mistakes We've Made◄ 1/2civilagentMay 27 2012, 04:38:52 UTC
There had been rumors circulating the wires about a underground facility in the Catskills. No one really knew what the place was being used for but they all knew it was there and told tales of imagined horrors that befell unlucky urchins grabbed off the streets, from back alleys, and hikers plucked straight from the trails if they ventured too close. It was all very modern day urban legend...except that it was real
( ... )
The initial search for the missing turned up records and files on over eighty tests subjects. Most of those listed had been greyed out denoting their status as "No Longer Viable" which was a clinical definition for deceased. There were only ten names that still flashed green and all listed as being in the 'holding pens on Section C-5'. Phil left McKinney and Rolling in charge topside while he took three men from their backup and headed to C-5.
That part of the facility was older than the rest, slightly unkempt, and wholly terrifying. When they forced their way past the security doors they were met with an overwhelming smell of filth and decomposition. One of the agents retreated out of the doors to retch but fell back into step behind the rest moments later. He wouldn't have been missed since it didn't seem like any of the others aside from Coulson had moved, too horror-struck to continue forward.
The walls were lined with what looked like over-sized kennels, half a dozen cages and all filled with what could only be the ten viable
( ... )
1/2| marry me. (also, trigger!warning for extensive captivity descriptn., human testing, death) stillnotlegolasMay 27 2012, 05:37:50 UTC
There were times Clint regretted leaving the circus. And times he regretted leaving the orphanage. And times he regretted his parents getting in a fucking car wreck in the middle of the night on a rainy street. The orphanage was run like a prison, tight rations and women who were in it for the state money instead of the children, and the circus meant everything from Trick Shot to Swordsman to Barney and a fall from a tight rope that nearly left him crippled. But there were times he regretted his choice, nights when he didn't have any place warm to sleep, couldn't scrounge up food for lack of work for a drifter, or times he had to take missions he didn't want--employ his skills for people he hated just to get a paycheck and keep on living. But he'd never regretted leaving the circus more than when he'd been fucking nabbed out of a back alley in New York City by some thugs who looked like they bench-pressed railroad ties for fun and he'd ended up here in what was basically the world's sickest science experiment gone wrong
( ... )
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{ooc; Hybrid world or...?}
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{ooc; Not on purpose! Er, mostly. D:}
[It started out small, the itching, just a random twinge across the shoulders or tickle between the scapula. Steve barely noticed and it wasn't like it was all that strange; everyone got an itch, right? Manageable irritations, really. And if he happened to be backed up against jutting section of wall and rubbing his back against it in an effort to alleviate the sensation more often than not, well that wasn't worrying at all.]
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That part of the facility was older than the rest, slightly unkempt, and wholly terrifying. When they forced their way past the security doors they were met with an overwhelming smell of filth and decomposition. One of the agents retreated out of the doors to retch but fell back into step behind the rest moments later. He wouldn't have been missed since it didn't seem like any of the others aside from Coulson had moved, too horror-struck to continue forward.
The walls were lined with what looked like over-sized kennels, half a dozen cages and all filled with what could only be the ten viable ( ... )
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