[Thread] Not So Much Valentine Delivering Cookies - But Carmine Delivering Pain
Who: Valentine (maskemotion) and Carmine (red_gear)
What: Valentine has cookies. Carmine wants cookies. Valentine... sort of regretably agrees to share the cookies and goes to find Carmine.
When: April 9th, evening
Where: Fifth Floor
Rating: PG (but will change as needed)
Valentine was not the type to really share cookies, but now he felt sort of obligated. After all, he said he would, and Carmine had gone off to be a very daft idiot and fight zombies just a short while before. Both of those had swayed his judgement towards the 'fine, fine, I'll actually do it' side of the non-existant arguement in his head.
The nineteen year old made his way down the stairs with a sort of urgent pace, as if by lingering it meant that things would go terribly awry. As he went further down, he could hear the sounds of the horde - that was what you called zombies, after all, wasn't it? - a lot more clearer. He didn't particularly like that. Not the least bit.
He sniffed indignantly for a moment then zipped down the remaining few flights of stairs. Floor five, floor five! Why did the fifth floor have to be so far away from the 21st? It was closer than the kitchen, but really, there were so many numbers between five and twenty-one that it made him internally grumble.
Upon reaching the fifth floor, he burst in with a sort of flair only Valentine could seem to possess - like some sort of ability to just make his presense known to anyone unfortunate to be in the room or area when he appeared. It was the sort of flair that belonged only on a stage, during a show.
"Hey, Carmine!" He shouted as he waved a bag around over his own head.
What: Valentine has cookies. Carmine wants cookies. Valentine... sort of regretably agrees to share the cookies and goes to find Carmine.
When: April 9th, evening
Where: Fifth Floor
Rating: PG (but will change as needed)
Valentine was not the type to really share cookies, but now he felt sort of obligated. After all, he said he would, and Carmine had gone off to be a very daft idiot and fight zombies just a short while before. Both of those had swayed his judgement towards the 'fine, fine, I'll actually do it' side of the non-existant arguement in his head.
The nineteen year old made his way down the stairs with a sort of urgent pace, as if by lingering it meant that things would go terribly awry. As he went further down, he could hear the sounds of the horde - that was what you called zombies, after all, wasn't it? - a lot more clearer. He didn't particularly like that. Not the least bit.
He sniffed indignantly for a moment then zipped down the remaining few flights of stairs. Floor five, floor five! Why did the fifth floor have to be so far away from the 21st? It was closer than the kitchen, but really, there were so many numbers between five and twenty-one that it made him internally grumble.
Upon reaching the fifth floor, he burst in with a sort of flair only Valentine could seem to possess - like some sort of ability to just make his presense known to anyone unfortunate to be in the room or area when he appeared. It was the sort of flair that belonged only on a stage, during a show.
"Hey, Carmine!" He shouted as he waved a bag around over his own head.