Finally i can be arsed to write the next section
Mark sat down on his bed and stared blankly at the television. It was an old machine, all tv's were old now, but this one had been old for much longer than most machines.
He methodically opened one of his suitcases and pulled out a very tiny dvd player. He loved all those relics. Even if the inhabitants of "The cradle of Hope", looked upon these objects with scorn, deeming them pointless entertainment detracting the mind from the true path, Mark's own mother had initiated him to the pleasures the past could offer.
Mark, grinning from ear to ear, hooked up his precious machinery. He'd been waiting for such a moment for way to long.
As the excitement started to work its effect on the young man, he very slowly keeled over onto the bed, gripping his head in his hands.
"Damn you. Not now.", he muttered.
Panicking he started to undress, but he could feel it. He'd already felt it many times and he knew what it ment.
He staggered, still undressing, towards the shower. Suddenly he belted out "Mark! LISTEN!", at that moment Mark slumped forwards, activating the shower and falling flat in its basin.
The Innkeeper stepped outside his inn. Seven mutants waving pitchforks and other garden implements (mainly because these were actually soldered, grafted or even wielded to their body), were standing there shouting...well pretty much just shouting.
"Traitor!" bellowed one of them.
"Huh. Stop disturbing any potentiel customers."
"You told Mr Cook you're renting to a...fucking Villager! Traitor!" shouted another mutant.
"What! That was less than five minutes ago!" replied the annoyed inkeeper.
"Yeah well turn him over to us."
"He's a paying customer. Damn it!"
A few more mutants had arrived now, rumours travel fast in these kind of mountain villages.
"Then you won't complain when we trash the place!"
Well I am fed up now, who the heck knows when i will righ the next section.
He methodically opened one of his suitcases and pulled out a very tiny dvd player. He loved all those relics. Even if the inhabitants of "The cradle of Hope", looked upon these objects with scorn, deeming them pointless entertainment detracting the mind from the true path, Mark's own mother had initiated him to the pleasures the past could offer.
Mark, grinning from ear to ear, hooked up his precious machinery. He'd been waiting for such a moment for way to long.
As the excitement started to work its effect on the young man, he very slowly keeled over onto the bed, gripping his head in his hands.
"Damn you. Not now.", he muttered.
Panicking he started to undress, but he could feel it. He'd already felt it many times and he knew what it ment.
He staggered, still undressing, towards the shower. Suddenly he belted out "Mark! LISTEN!", at that moment Mark slumped forwards, activating the shower and falling flat in its basin.
The Innkeeper stepped outside his inn. Seven mutants waving pitchforks and other garden implements (mainly because these were actually soldered, grafted or even wielded to their body), were standing there shouting...well pretty much just shouting.
"Traitor!" bellowed one of them.
"Huh. Stop disturbing any potentiel customers."
"You told Mr Cook you're renting to a...fucking Villager! Traitor!" shouted another mutant.
"What! That was less than five minutes ago!" replied the annoyed inkeeper.
"Yeah well turn him over to us."
"He's a paying customer. Damn it!"
A few more mutants had arrived now, rumours travel fast in these kind of mountain villages.
"Then you won't complain when we trash the place!"
Well I am fed up now, who the heck knows when i will righ the next section.