rolo » two
who » Rolo and whomever~
where » Noon. A more run-down sector of Somni surrounded by old warehouses
style » 3rd
status » On-going
The sound of gunfire was unlike the tinkle of the wind chimes he'd passed two streets over, the sounds of which swept into his ears gracefully and without the painful ringing that accompanied the bullet. Not that he didn't treasure the sound of precious recoil. On the contrary. It was the most comforting thing he'd heard since his brother's untimely - not to be confused with unwelcome, for Rolo had rarely been as happy as he'd been that day - arrival a few weeks prior. His blood gushed like liquid electricity through his body, pumping to every inch of his body and filling him with pleasurable adrenaline. He fired two more rounds, each hitting the target dead-center. Not like he'd expected any less. He never missed a shot. Ever.
Emotionlessly, Rolo walked towards the scarecrow, it's stuffed limbs arranged crudely on an ivy grid he'd found in one of the gardens of Espior's many cottages. The creature twitched lamely as he plucked the crushed bullets from its face and bent down to collect the shell casings from the cold concrete below. As far as transportation went these dolls didn't leave much to be desired. He'd simply walked through one of the corn fields, hefted the thing up and off of its perch, slung it over his shoulder, and carried it all the way back to the city. This desolate industrial area was completely deserted during this time of day - rather, it was deserted at all times of day - so Rolo had claimed it for his own purposes.
Like a child he moved over towards a series of stacked crates, across which sat an impressive display of weaponry. Knives, swords, firearms, arrows, and weapons of a more exotic variety sat along side Rolo's Dreamberry and packed lunch for the day. Leftover pizza. As usual. Suppressing an agitated sigh, the pale-haired boy picked up one of the magazines and reloaded his pistol, shivering with delight as it clicked into place. That was what he liked to hear. Not the muted whispers of phantoms roaming the streets, or the chatter of people at an overcrowded cafe. No. Here Rolo was in his element. Here he was - and this was ironic given he was surrounded by objects with the potential to mutilate any number of persons - totally safe.
where » Noon. A more run-down sector of Somni surrounded by old warehouses
style » 3rd
status » On-going
The sound of gunfire was unlike the tinkle of the wind chimes he'd passed two streets over, the sounds of which swept into his ears gracefully and without the painful ringing that accompanied the bullet. Not that he didn't treasure the sound of precious recoil. On the contrary. It was the most comforting thing he'd heard since his brother's untimely - not to be confused with unwelcome, for Rolo had rarely been as happy as he'd been that day - arrival a few weeks prior. His blood gushed like liquid electricity through his body, pumping to every inch of his body and filling him with pleasurable adrenaline. He fired two more rounds, each hitting the target dead-center. Not like he'd expected any less. He never missed a shot. Ever.
Emotionlessly, Rolo walked towards the scarecrow, it's stuffed limbs arranged crudely on an ivy grid he'd found in one of the gardens of Espior's many cottages. The creature twitched lamely as he plucked the crushed bullets from its face and bent down to collect the shell casings from the cold concrete below. As far as transportation went these dolls didn't leave much to be desired. He'd simply walked through one of the corn fields, hefted the thing up and off of its perch, slung it over his shoulder, and carried it all the way back to the city. This desolate industrial area was completely deserted during this time of day - rather, it was deserted at all times of day - so Rolo had claimed it for his own purposes.
Like a child he moved over towards a series of stacked crates, across which sat an impressive display of weaponry. Knives, swords, firearms, arrows, and weapons of a more exotic variety sat along side Rolo's Dreamberry and packed lunch for the day. Leftover pizza. As usual. Suppressing an agitated sigh, the pale-haired boy picked up one of the magazines and reloaded his pistol, shivering with delight as it clicked into place. That was what he liked to hear. Not the muted whispers of phantoms roaming the streets, or the chatter of people at an overcrowded cafe. No. Here Rolo was in his element. Here he was - and this was ironic given he was surrounded by objects with the potential to mutilate any number of persons - totally safe.