Bang bang! I shot you down. [Complete]
Character(s): Player D (Rafe).
Content: The Turk arrives to Vanaheim's gates, only to lock himself into the booth because of the Nobody attack.
Setting: Vanaheim entrance
Time: Early evening.
Warnings: None...really.
After grueling tracking, Mr. Squirrel just had the luck of breaking into a new world. Or rather a city, to be more precise. He examined its high walls and intricate gate design from where he had crash-landed after tackling into the leafy wall (which was gone, of course). Those were palm trees, weren't they? That provided a little amusement--but not for long when blue eyes spotted a gleaming white...thing slither into those gates. By number too. He flattened himself within the shade, focusing his eyes upon the creatures. Were they creatures? He'd never seen anything like that. They contorted in the most appalling positions, they paused in midair and slid down like a rollecoaster descending from a peak, and when they stood, they bounced and swayed like those air-filled punchable clowns he used to deflate.
It was all so weird and left him raising am arced brow.
Grunting, Rafael pulled both pistols from their holsters. He kept his fingers on the triggers, waiting for a break in the line of monsters.
There! The march ended and all of them were inside, allowing him to dash to the guardhouse. He made it to the door when out of thin air, one of them exploded behind him, nicking his arm; but just as quickly, the legendary gunman put dozens of bullets into his assaulter's head. It screeched as it slumped down dramatically--all in slow-motion. The last finger touched the ground, and the creature vanished. The Turk blinked, wide-eyed and holding his breath. He scurried into the booth and locked the door, reinforcing it with the closest thing to him.
Glancing past the plastic window, he was able to view part of the city. There were no people, but he watched as the crowd of White Things ravaged about like wild monkeys, spiraling up a lamp post or dangling from a tree branch with one foot. It was ridiculous. Then his wound stung. He favored his shoulder, frowning.
"....It ripped my suit!"
Content: The Turk arrives to Vanaheim's gates, only to lock himself into the booth because of the Nobody attack.
Setting: Vanaheim entrance
Time: Early evening.
Warnings: None...really.
After grueling tracking, Mr. Squirrel just had the luck of breaking into a new world. Or rather a city, to be more precise. He examined its high walls and intricate gate design from where he had crash-landed after tackling into the leafy wall (which was gone, of course). Those were palm trees, weren't they? That provided a little amusement--but not for long when blue eyes spotted a gleaming white...thing slither into those gates. By number too. He flattened himself within the shade, focusing his eyes upon the creatures. Were they creatures? He'd never seen anything like that. They contorted in the most appalling positions, they paused in midair and slid down like a rollecoaster descending from a peak, and when they stood, they bounced and swayed like those air-filled punchable clowns he used to deflate.
It was all so weird and left him raising am arced brow.
Grunting, Rafael pulled both pistols from their holsters. He kept his fingers on the triggers, waiting for a break in the line of monsters.
There! The march ended and all of them were inside, allowing him to dash to the guardhouse. He made it to the door when out of thin air, one of them exploded behind him, nicking his arm; but just as quickly, the legendary gunman put dozens of bullets into his assaulter's head. It screeched as it slumped down dramatically--all in slow-motion. The last finger touched the ground, and the creature vanished. The Turk blinked, wide-eyed and holding his breath. He scurried into the booth and locked the door, reinforcing it with the closest thing to him.
Glancing past the plastic window, he was able to view part of the city. There were no people, but he watched as the crowd of White Things ravaged about like wild monkeys, spiraling up a lamp post or dangling from a tree branch with one foot. It was ridiculous. Then his wound stung. He favored his shoulder, frowning.
"....It ripped my suit!"