<Snipped quote by Gentlemanvaultboy>
please explain?
Before going to her seat she tried to commune with any electronics that controlled the door. It's all in my post.
Gentlemanvaultboy Member
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- Gentlemanvaultboy 12 yrs ago
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I guess my comfort zone is "eccentric side character."
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Before going to her seat she tried to commune with any electronics that controlled the door. It's all in my post.
So Allison didn't get anything from the door?
In
|| The Endless Halls | A Dark Fantasy World | Accepting Characters||
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10 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
Gish turned to Rose, a look of confusion on her face. "But you're the one that said she was a good wit-" she started, but the accusatory interruption died in her throat as the scarecrows burst in. Gish yelped and scrambled in a half mad dash behind the chair, daring only to peak around the side. They were carrying one of their own between them. They were speaking. They were people.
Her stomach dropped out when she realized what must have caused this, and her eyes bored into the back of Luciel's head with frantic worry. He'd shot it. He'd shot a people. Oh Mother. Oh mother oh mother oh mother. She wanted nothing more than to run from this, press herself into the wall, sink into the ground, just get away.
But he didn't run. Luciel stepped forward, placed his hand over the wound, demanding to know the persons names. She only had a moment to consider why when he began to speak again, but this time was different. Something rough. Something unpleasant. Something familiar. She didn't understand it, but at the same time she knew it. It pulled at her like the tides of the ocean and before she knew what was happening she she had crept out of her hiding place. Everything but the words seemed distant, numb and blurry, and she choked in choking breaths like a drowning woman. Then he began to waver, slumped over, and the spell was over. Whatever cautious awe that held her broke as she rushed forward and put herself under Luciel's arm to help keep him steady.
"Where did you hear that!?" she said in a desperate, worrisome whisper. "How do you know that!? What did you say!?"
Her stomach dropped out when she realized what must have caused this, and her eyes bored into the back of Luciel's head with frantic worry. He'd shot it. He'd shot a people. Oh Mother. Oh mother oh mother oh mother. She wanted nothing more than to run from this, press herself into the wall, sink into the ground, just get away.
But he didn't run. Luciel stepped forward, placed his hand over the wound, demanding to know the persons names. She only had a moment to consider why when he began to speak again, but this time was different. Something rough. Something unpleasant. Something familiar. She didn't understand it, but at the same time she knew it. It pulled at her like the tides of the ocean and before she knew what was happening she she had crept out of her hiding place. Everything but the words seemed distant, numb and blurry, and she choked in choking breaths like a drowning woman. Then he began to waver, slumped over, and the spell was over. Whatever cautious awe that held her broke as she rushed forward and put herself under Luciel's arm to help keep him steady.
"Where did you hear that!?" she said in a desperate, worrisome whisper. "How do you know that!? What did you say!?"
I can't see where you slowed things down thew first time. The last batch of posts came last night and trickled in over the course of something like 13 hours.
Phone Freak didn't enter right away. This latest show of theatrics was even more comforting than the last, be despite that she spent some time in the doorway letting the others pass her by as she ran her fingers slowly along the door frame. Occasionally she let a tiny spark, like static electricity, leap from the tips of her fingers into the door frame as she reached out with her will. This door was obviously controlled electronically, but she wasn't trying to subvert or undermine it. Just establish contact, see if she could get a read on its...state of mind, for lack of a better word. Machines had them. Most things had them, really, especially things built my humans. Life tended to rub off on things, and usually resulted in what could be considered a very simple emotional state. Doors, for example, tended to enjoy being used and built up loyalty to those that used them often. Normally this loyalty had no bearing on whether or not the door opened for someone, but if it was new and it's master didn't frequently make use of it or wasn't around often enough to make any impressions on it that would make it more open to, well, opening up for some kind technomancer who was locked in a room slowly filling with deadly poison spiders. The little sparks were like entreaties, more effective if she could get at the wires directly, meant to establish trust in the symbolic way that the ritualistic sharing of blood often did among people.
When it came to magic symbolic gestures were often the most important ones. It really was the thought that counted.
No matter what she discovered about the door she would eventually do as she was told and take her seat, picking out the one nearest the computer and claiming it as her own. After all, it wasn't like she had much choice. She had to trust that, even if they were suddenly locked in, there was enough of them here that they could find a way to escape before they were waist deep in horrible hairy spiders. She looked around and could swear that their number kept growing by the minute. There must be some combination here that could save them if things went pear shaped.
When it came to magic symbolic gestures were often the most important ones. It really was the thought that counted.
No matter what she discovered about the door she would eventually do as she was told and take her seat, picking out the one nearest the computer and claiming it as her own. After all, it wasn't like she had much choice. She had to trust that, even if they were suddenly locked in, there was enough of them here that they could find a way to escape before they were waist deep in horrible hairy spiders. She looked around and could swear that their number kept growing by the minute. There must be some combination here that could save them if things went pear shaped.
I need to figure out how to use titanpad lol
Left box is where you write. Right box and where you talk to your collaborators.
She looked over at the older boy. "You haven't been to many villain meets then. You interact with enough supervillains and you come to appreciate it when they're able to get through the gloating and just tell you what they want you to do. He only reminded us he has absolute power over our fate twice in that message. That sort of restraint is admirable." She said, voice not dripping entirely with sarcasm. Then, more seriously, she said, "Honestly, I'd be put off if there wasn't at least a little gloating or theatrics. It means he's a fellow bad guy. So long as you're useful you have some wiggle room with that, maybe enough to wiggle free. If he was a good man, we'd all be in prison right now. That or dead."
@SimpleD
@SimpleD
"At least he's straightforward." Phone Freak said. Straightforward and dangerous. She thrown every resource she had at trying to discover something about the strange voice on the phone. Sent out every trace, called in every favor, spent days listening to the lines trying to get something, anything, any sort of clue. Nothing. She'd spent a long time trying to keep everything about herself concealed, but this guy made her look like a rank amateur.
"Thank you for your punctuality." She called up at the ceiling as she entered the warehouse, trying her best to ignore how much it felt like stepping into a mouth, and followed Talbot and Tereska down the hallway. At least she wouldn't be eaten first.
"Thank you for your punctuality." She called up at the ceiling as she entered the warehouse, trying her best to ignore how much it felt like stepping into a mouth, and followed Talbot and Tereska down the hallway. At least she wouldn't be eaten first.
@Xikari chan
Just so two or more people that want to write a scene together can do so as one big post instead of a bunch of smaller ones.
Just so two or more people that want to write a scene together can do so as one big post instead of a bunch of smaller ones.
8:00 PM, Thursday.
The helmet sharply clicked into place with a press and a twist, the cool metal feeling nice against her skin despite everything. She listened to the comforting hum of the cooling system before the screen snapped on in front of her, giving her a view of the dingy alleyway she'd slipped into to change. She moved her head from side to side, the world orienting itself nicely and the neck of the helmet moving fluidly. Despite everything, she felt good having an excuse to wear a mask again after four months of near constant research and development. It made her feel at home.
It was a cold comfort, though. Mostly, she felt like a wooden limb. Stiff, ineffectual, not in control of her own actions, and liable the catch fire and burn someone to death.
She slipped her shirt into her bag, pulling on a figure concealing grey sweater that honestly didn't have much hard work ahead of it. A long blue coat went on over that, and from one of its many pockets she pulled a pair of glove which she slipped on. She caught her reflection in the busted remains of a window, noting with satisfaction that none of her skin was visible under the ensemble. No one had any idea who Phone Freak was. If she played her cards right and danced like a good little wood puppet, it might stay that way.
She kicked the bag she'd carried her costume in under a garbage bin, buttoned her coat, and went on her way toward this meeting.
The helmet sharply clicked into place with a press and a twist, the cool metal feeling nice against her skin despite everything. She listened to the comforting hum of the cooling system before the screen snapped on in front of her, giving her a view of the dingy alleyway she'd slipped into to change. She moved her head from side to side, the world orienting itself nicely and the neck of the helmet moving fluidly. Despite everything, she felt good having an excuse to wear a mask again after four months of near constant research and development. It made her feel at home.
It was a cold comfort, though. Mostly, she felt like a wooden limb. Stiff, ineffectual, not in control of her own actions, and liable the catch fire and burn someone to death.
She slipped her shirt into her bag, pulling on a figure concealing grey sweater that honestly didn't have much hard work ahead of it. A long blue coat went on over that, and from one of its many pockets she pulled a pair of glove which she slipped on. She caught her reflection in the busted remains of a window, noting with satisfaction that none of her skin was visible under the ensemble. No one had any idea who Phone Freak was. If she played her cards right and danced like a good little wood puppet, it might stay that way.
She kicked the bag she'd carried her costume in under a garbage bin, buttoned her coat, and went on her way toward this meeting.
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