Watching the English boy try to stare her down, she smirked slightly--down, tiger--as he broke the contact and relaxed back into her seat. If Richard seemed like the golden boy until he broke out his grisly contractor, Roman seemed more than a little skittish. What place could there be in war for a boy who could barely stand on his own with his comrades? Perhaps infiltration really was best for him, he certainly looked as though he wished to disappear now. There had to be something there, though--you didn't kill someone or something that didn't know you were there without having a bit of steel in you.
Though they were grounded for a reason.
Watching them all, it was interesting to see how the others bullied their American comrade. She wondered idly how deep his skittish streak ran, whether or not they were trying to cure it or what on earth could have got him here. Admittedly in the reports there was an indication of a behavioral change, but still... there was a lot of ground that needed covering. The boys of course, took the first opportunity to lay down their lines in the sand, but that was only to be expected. No matter what anyone said, men were children in the end--toy soldiers, scared little boys, proud little bullies, white knights... she hadn't met one yet she couldn't figure out. It was women that bothered her, hid things, kept secrets, worked in layers, and so it was Thessalia that she found herself keeping an eye on. For all Richard's name-dropping and Feuer's bluster, it was she that seemed to have the real command in their little--
What the devil was that on the German's neck?!
"Neural integration system..." she hummed, eyeing it with a raised eyebrow and crossing her arms over her chest. Now that was interesting--like what they'd done with her Ulanova, if a bit more direct. She wondered if it would be harder to do with her own sensory integration and mapping, working in so many more levels in such radically different methods of perception, but shrugged the thought off. "Interesting. Let's hope there's something more than speed to it, or you'll get to the fight without anything to fire!"
Chuckling, she leaned back in the chair like a cat, stretching her legs out and letting her head fall back, long platinum hair falling over the back of the couch as her arms stretched in front of her. "Just don't expect me to keep up, the Ulanova's a bull of a machine. I had thought when I first started piloting that they would have put me in something light, maneuverable, but not so. No one else seemed to have the coordination to make the damn thing move like it needed to. It was not so long ago as you--my family was not exactly as corporate as the rest of yours, if your files are any indication--but I can make the old girl dance when I have to."
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Zan's grandfather didn't believe in the kiai. It was a Japanese custom, he would explain, and it went against his sensibility that a guardian should be humble. It was an ostentatious display, he said, the effects of which could be accomplished with simple mastery rather than 'karate gimmicks'.
But how are you supposed to flying kick a zombie in the face without shouting something?
He'd been watching for quite some time--it was rare for another hunter to show up at all, let alone beat him to the scene. It almost took something away from it to him, he enjoyed the 'lone hero' vibe, but when it became evident that the younger of the two could use a little help he found himself ready for the challenge. Best to wait until his pistol was empty--no need to jump into a bullet--time the motion and--
"Hi-yah!"
He'd come at a full run, pushed off from a gravestone and took the zombie full in the side of it's skull. It crushed like a melon, the green energy flaring out the other side before going out. His other foot rode the sternum down to the ground with a satisfying crack and before it hit dirt he was back in stance, a slight smirk on his face.
Zombies. Of anything he had to fight, zombies worried him the least.
They were slow. They were predictable. Strong, yes, but uncoordinated--no brain meant no discipline, which meant child's play. Forget guns, Zan had fists, and a long day of frustration meant he was ready to use them. The second of the three lurched forwards but Zan was ready, his fists already moving between the lunge of the creature's arms. His grandfather would have been disappointed, as one blow should have been more than sufficient, but instead there was a blur and the creature's chest exploded like it had been hit from Nathan's shotgun, shattered bone and pulped flesh spraying out behind it along with whatever animating energy it held. The head was dealt with, as the top of the body fell, by a simple sharp snap to the side with the back of his wrist.
Another egg-shell crack, another light went out. Goodnight.
The final zombie was closer than he'd thought, however--preoccupied as he was, it had managed to close behind him and it's putrid fingers were already swimming through his pony-tail. With a quick twist he ducked beneath the lunge, caught what was left of an exposed rib--gross, by the way, why had he thought that would be a good idea?--and sent it sailing through the air into one of the gravestones. On it before it could stand, there would be no nonsense this time. A quick heel to the forehead left whatever it was that was left in there a stain on the ground...
And on his new shoes.
"Eugh, gross..." He muttered, looking to the mess on his hands and feet before standing up straight and looking to Nathan, straining to hear for more moaning and groaning.
"Do you hear more? I didn't see any."
For someone who flew out of nowhere into a zombie gunfight and took out the remaining three with his bare hands, he didn't seem particularly out of place in the situation.
But how are you supposed to flying kick a zombie in the face without shouting something?
He'd been watching for quite some time--it was rare for another hunter to show up at all, let alone beat him to the scene. It almost took something away from it to him, he enjoyed the 'lone hero' vibe, but when it became evident that the younger of the two could use a little help he found himself ready for the challenge. Best to wait until his pistol was empty--no need to jump into a bullet--time the motion and--
"Hi-yah!"
He'd come at a full run, pushed off from a gravestone and took the zombie full in the side of it's skull. It crushed like a melon, the green energy flaring out the other side before going out. His other foot rode the sternum down to the ground with a satisfying crack and before it hit dirt he was back in stance, a slight smirk on his face.
Zombies. Of anything he had to fight, zombies worried him the least.
They were slow. They were predictable. Strong, yes, but uncoordinated--no brain meant no discipline, which meant child's play. Forget guns, Zan had fists, and a long day of frustration meant he was ready to use them. The second of the three lurched forwards but Zan was ready, his fists already moving between the lunge of the creature's arms. His grandfather would have been disappointed, as one blow should have been more than sufficient, but instead there was a blur and the creature's chest exploded like it had been hit from Nathan's shotgun, shattered bone and pulped flesh spraying out behind it along with whatever animating energy it held. The head was dealt with, as the top of the body fell, by a simple sharp snap to the side with the back of his wrist.
Another egg-shell crack, another light went out. Goodnight.
The final zombie was closer than he'd thought, however--preoccupied as he was, it had managed to close behind him and it's putrid fingers were already swimming through his pony-tail. With a quick twist he ducked beneath the lunge, caught what was left of an exposed rib--gross, by the way, why had he thought that would be a good idea?--and sent it sailing through the air into one of the gravestones. On it before it could stand, there would be no nonsense this time. A quick heel to the forehead left whatever it was that was left in there a stain on the ground...
And on his new shoes.
"Eugh, gross..." He muttered, looking to the mess on his hands and feet before standing up straight and looking to Nathan, straining to hear for more moaning and groaning.
"Do you hear more? I didn't see any."
For someone who flew out of nowhere into a zombie gunfight and took out the remaining three with his bare hands, he didn't seem particularly out of place in the situation.
In
Dungeons and Discourse: Philosophical Dungeon Crawl Roleplay. [IC/OOC]
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
I'll get a profile up at some point soon, definitely still interested.
I'll see if I can't find something more sufficiently '80's, but I'll stick to those fashions IC. I'm terrible at finding pictures.
Name: Zan Zheng-Zhi
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Species: Dragon-Skinned
Appearance: Tall for his age and with a wiry, muscled build that just can't keep on fat. In school uniform he's relatively put together. Out of it, he punks it up and has what fun he can with what he looks like and still be able to pull it back together the next school day.
Awfully put together, this little changeling he'd run across. He'd heard she had a level head underneath all that purple, but he hadn't expected it to be on quite so straight. Whether a good thing or a bad thing he wasn't sure yet—Needle seemed to deal best with the people who were a little cracked, he certainly fit in better—but either way he had her attention and she was ready to follow him, and that wasn't nothing.
“Let's get you out of this room first, lovely. This is where they're expecting to find you and this is where you've got nowhere to run—take it from a pixie, hiding in plain sight and public view will keep you safe more than skulking in your own little quarters.” His wings buzzed to life behind him, dragging his little feet forward as he propelled himself up onto her hand. He walked as though he was comfortable on flesh, little pin-prick heels dimpling the skin as he strutted up her arm. That damn song... this was not the place he needed a hotbed of activity tonight, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Making his way up to her elbow, he took hold of her sleeve with one hand and gestured with his needle to the table.
“Black sheep, black sheep, have you any ink? I've a letter to write our darling matriarch and I can't very well do it in gore, can I? That's a message I don't wish to send, not yet, she's not exactly the forgiving sort and I'd rather keep off her naughty list for a time. Besides, there's no reason she can't be the best of friends so long as she keeps her fucking elf claws out of my head...”
Looking to her with a wide grin, he snapped the needle against the cauldron. “Tick tock. I'll write, you pack. We've got to get you out of this little shoebox of yours before the foot comes down.”
“Let's get you out of this room first, lovely. This is where they're expecting to find you and this is where you've got nowhere to run—take it from a pixie, hiding in plain sight and public view will keep you safe more than skulking in your own little quarters.” His wings buzzed to life behind him, dragging his little feet forward as he propelled himself up onto her hand. He walked as though he was comfortable on flesh, little pin-prick heels dimpling the skin as he strutted up her arm. That damn song... this was not the place he needed a hotbed of activity tonight, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Making his way up to her elbow, he took hold of her sleeve with one hand and gestured with his needle to the table.
“Black sheep, black sheep, have you any ink? I've a letter to write our darling matriarch and I can't very well do it in gore, can I? That's a message I don't wish to send, not yet, she's not exactly the forgiving sort and I'd rather keep off her naughty list for a time. Besides, there's no reason she can't be the best of friends so long as she keeps her fucking elf claws out of my head...”
Looking to her with a wide grin, he snapped the needle against the cauldron. “Tick tock. I'll write, you pack. We've got to get you out of this little shoebox of yours before the foot comes down.”
As a firm believer of good writing being a matter of quality over quantity, with brevity being an important principle to apply, I think it might be good for 'em.
But that's just me.
But that's just me.
Double post was doubled.
I don't do much with fandoms either, but this has been rolling around in my head for a while after getting back into the series so I figured I'd give it a shot. We'll see how it goes.
I'll probably shoot a CS your way for funzies, though it depends partially on the size of the game. Too many people gets too cluttered for my tastes, but we shall see!
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