[Closed]
who ; 7, Emile, Whorehay, Juan, Dos y Jack
what ; 7 has a horrifying headwound. Jack is retarded. The Spartans are going to inject her with burning ants and hope for the best.
where ; Sparta
when ; directly following this
warning(s) ; Emile. Gross headwounds. Half naked spartan women getting massaged by burly, half naked, hungarian men.
Jack arrived at the Spartan's base with a very bloody Seven held tightly to his chest. Her hair was matted with blood and debris. Sweat and dust dripped into his eyes, stinging distractedly as he attempted to open the door. He circled around the building, scrambling to remember how many doors down Jorge was from the main room. Two doors? Three? Deciding that he'd wasted enough time debating on it, he shifted his grip on Seven and smashed through the glass with his wrench.
Jack did not bother checking that he had gotten it right, just hoisted the very much unconscious woman through the frame and onto the glass-strewn interior within. “Atlas,” he yelled hoarsely, climbing in after her. He was desperate enough not to realize he had called for the aid of entirely the wrong person.
“Seven?” he touched her face, which was entirely too cold and pale for his liking. He was torn between running off to find someone and staying with her. Space men had to have the aid she needed, right?
what ; 7 has a horrifying headwound. Jack is retarded. The Spartans are going to inject her with burning ants and hope for the best.
where ; Sparta
when ; directly following this
warning(s) ; Emile. Gross headwounds. Half naked spartan women getting massaged by burly, half naked, hungarian men.
Jack arrived at the Spartan's base with a very bloody Seven held tightly to his chest. Her hair was matted with blood and debris. Sweat and dust dripped into his eyes, stinging distractedly as he attempted to open the door. He circled around the building, scrambling to remember how many doors down Jorge was from the main room. Two doors? Three? Deciding that he'd wasted enough time debating on it, he shifted his grip on Seven and smashed through the glass with his wrench.
Jack did not bother checking that he had gotten it right, just hoisted the very much unconscious woman through the frame and onto the glass-strewn interior within. “Atlas,” he yelled hoarsely, climbing in after her. He was desperate enough not to realize he had called for the aid of entirely the wrong person.
“Seven?” he touched her face, which was entirely too cold and pale for his liking. He was torn between running off to find someone and staying with her. Space men had to have the aid she needed, right?