About that time, Zinzie strode in and plopped himself down on the edge of the pool by them. He dangled his feet into the water and smiled. "Having a nice bath?" He asked, "I think I feel like a new man, myself." He didn't seem too concerned with the lack of clothing on either of them. His people's culture was one that didn't breed shame of the body. They bathed whenever they got the chance, often in rivers or lake water. Men and women bathed together and, because most of them had done so their whole lives, they had few problems.
"Did you figure out the plans you were hoping to make?" He wasn't sure what they wanted to do about this whole 'wish fountain' thing, but if they were willing to help him, he was up for anything. He was just happy to be able to enjoy freedom once more. Perhaps the days between him and his reunion with his people would finally be numbered.
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The heavy footsteps grew closer, and Orren was in full panic. He grabbed Douglas under the arms and drug him away, cursing and swearing all the while. The patient, who he had been so sure was coming after them, turned off into a room, disappearing into the darkness. Orren paused, letting out a sigh of relief. He didn't let his guard down long, however. He rearranged his hold on his coworker and continued to drag the unconscious man into a different room, closing the door behind them.
"Okay. Fuck. What are we gonna' do? You know this would be a lot easier if you'd wake the fuck up." He shot a dirty glance at Douglas, then sighed. "Alright, I guess I'm gonna' have to handle this myself. You...stay here and hide, I guess." He looked around, then spotted a locker off in the corner. Orren grabbed Douglas and hoisted him up, shoving his limp form into the locket and closing the door. "That should keep you out of sight until I can get some help..." Orren looked around for anything useful. Why was it so dark in here? "Oh, wait a second." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys, which had a little mini flashlight on the keychain. Orren knew it would be useful some day.
"Well...I guess I'm gonna go...get help. Just stay in there and fucking sleep, I guess." He felt bad for leaving Douglas there to fend for himself, but what could he do? They were a sitting duck here. At least Douglas had that video camera thing he'd used to gather evidence. All Orren had was a lousy flashlight. Clearly he was the one who had gotten the short end of the stick.
Orren turned back to the door and braced himself. He crept up to it and pressed his ear to the wood. He couldn't hear anything; maybe the coast was clear. He cracked the door open and slipped out, only to come face to face with one of the many variants. The patient's face was mutilated and deformed, a broad grin on his face. Orren let out a rather feminine shriek before turning and hauling ass out of there.
The hospital seemed quiet today. Dylan slunk through the darkness as if he belonged there. Perhaps he did. With no sign of company or danger, he slowly let his guard down. He was headed to visit one of his favorite places in the asylum: the breakroom. The soft, blue glow of the Pepsi machine had an almost therapeutic calm to it. It hummed softly; and the side of it was warm. Dylan had found himself frequenting the machine during the winters, when the asylum was sometimes so cold that the blood on the floors froze. He would curl up in the dark corner beside the machine, huddled in a blanket. With the door closed, he sometimes felt safe.
Dylan rounded the corner and was met by the glowing, beat up machine. He lumbered over to his corner and plopped down, leaning his head against the side of it. Another variant occasional visited this room; a friend. Dylan hadn't seen him in a while. He figured the guy was probably dead. Maybe Frank ate him.
"Okay. Fuck. What are we gonna' do? You know this would be a lot easier if you'd wake the fuck up." He shot a dirty glance at Douglas, then sighed. "Alright, I guess I'm gonna' have to handle this myself. You...stay here and hide, I guess." He looked around, then spotted a locker off in the corner. Orren grabbed Douglas and hoisted him up, shoving his limp form into the locket and closing the door. "That should keep you out of sight until I can get some help..." Orren looked around for anything useful. Why was it so dark in here? "Oh, wait a second." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys, which had a little mini flashlight on the keychain. Orren knew it would be useful some day.
"Well...I guess I'm gonna go...get help. Just stay in there and fucking sleep, I guess." He felt bad for leaving Douglas there to fend for himself, but what could he do? They were a sitting duck here. At least Douglas had that video camera thing he'd used to gather evidence. All Orren had was a lousy flashlight. Clearly he was the one who had gotten the short end of the stick.
Orren turned back to the door and braced himself. He crept up to it and pressed his ear to the wood. He couldn't hear anything; maybe the coast was clear. He cracked the door open and slipped out, only to come face to face with one of the many variants. The patient's face was mutilated and deformed, a broad grin on his face. Orren let out a rather feminine shriek before turning and hauling ass out of there.
The hospital seemed quiet today. Dylan slunk through the darkness as if he belonged there. Perhaps he did. With no sign of company or danger, he slowly let his guard down. He was headed to visit one of his favorite places in the asylum: the breakroom. The soft, blue glow of the Pepsi machine had an almost therapeutic calm to it. It hummed softly; and the side of it was warm. Dylan had found himself frequenting the machine during the winters, when the asylum was sometimes so cold that the blood on the floors froze. He would curl up in the dark corner beside the machine, huddled in a blanket. With the door closed, he sometimes felt safe.
Dylan rounded the corner and was met by the glowing, beat up machine. He lumbered over to his corner and plopped down, leaning his head against the side of it. Another variant occasional visited this room; a friend. Dylan hadn't seen him in a while. He figured the guy was probably dead. Maybe Frank ate him.
If vic doesnt post by the time i get home from class, imma go ahead and post again.
Once Zinzie was scrubbed free of dirt, he let himself relax. He sat against the wall of the pool, arms rested on the edge. He looked very pleased. Zinzie only a cracked his eyes open to smile and nod at Aerrea and Kayetan as they walked by. He didn't have much interest in venture planing. He was more willing to go with whatever they planned than to leave the hot water and follow them.
However, he did have to leave eventually. When Zinzie got out, he got his towel and wrapped it around himself. He grabbed his shabby pair of pants as he headed to find somewhere to wash them. It didn't take him long to find one of the young maids that worked there. He asked her about a clothes washing room, to which she blushed slightly and led him off to. Zinzie, unaware that his naked and towel wrapped state may make other people uncomfortable, followed her as he was.
The maid was kind enough to offer to wash the pants for him. Zinzie smiled and let her do so. He sat back down to rest again and watch. When she finished and set the pants out to dry, the maid happened to turn and notice one of his wounds.
"That looks pretty bad. Do you want me to bandage it for you?" Zinzie glanced down at it, then back at her.
"If you don't mind. I have several more."
The maid led him to another room where he could sit down while she fetched bandages and alcohol. Zinzie was very disappointed to find that the alcohol was for his wounds, not him. He tried not to squirm and make a fuss as the maid cleaned and wrapped his wounds, although it was pretty hard. The alcohol stung like a thousand ants. When she was done, Zinzie asked if he could borrow the scissors she had used to cut the bandages; he wanted to cut his hair. The maid smiled and offered to do it for him, so he let her. When she finished, Zinzie stood and thanked her for her kindness. He gave a kiss on both cheeks, a sign of appreciation among his people. This made the maid turn a bright shade of red.
"I don't have anything to pay you with," He said. "But thank you for helping me." She only giggled and dismissed his concern for her payment. The young maid flitted off to find her friends, perhaps to gossip and giggle some more. Zinzie didn't know. He re-adjusted his towel and went to join the other two in the seawater room. With his hair cut, skin clean, and wounds bandaged, he was starting to look like his old self. All he needed was to fill in his bony form some more and he'd be good as new.
However, he did have to leave eventually. When Zinzie got out, he got his towel and wrapped it around himself. He grabbed his shabby pair of pants as he headed to find somewhere to wash them. It didn't take him long to find one of the young maids that worked there. He asked her about a clothes washing room, to which she blushed slightly and led him off to. Zinzie, unaware that his naked and towel wrapped state may make other people uncomfortable, followed her as he was.
The maid was kind enough to offer to wash the pants for him. Zinzie smiled and let her do so. He sat back down to rest again and watch. When she finished and set the pants out to dry, the maid happened to turn and notice one of his wounds.
"That looks pretty bad. Do you want me to bandage it for you?" Zinzie glanced down at it, then back at her.
"If you don't mind. I have several more."
The maid led him to another room where he could sit down while she fetched bandages and alcohol. Zinzie was very disappointed to find that the alcohol was for his wounds, not him. He tried not to squirm and make a fuss as the maid cleaned and wrapped his wounds, although it was pretty hard. The alcohol stung like a thousand ants. When she was done, Zinzie asked if he could borrow the scissors she had used to cut the bandages; he wanted to cut his hair. The maid smiled and offered to do it for him, so he let her. When she finished, Zinzie stood and thanked her for her kindness. He gave a kiss on both cheeks, a sign of appreciation among his people. This made the maid turn a bright shade of red.
"I don't have anything to pay you with," He said. "But thank you for helping me." She only giggled and dismissed his concern for her payment. The young maid flitted off to find her friends, perhaps to gossip and giggle some more. Zinzie didn't know. He re-adjusted his towel and went to join the other two in the seawater room. With his hair cut, skin clean, and wounds bandaged, he was starting to look like his old self. All he needed was to fill in his bony form some more and he'd be good as new.
I don't think Dylan will care too much :P He DID just leave the guy there, after all.
First IC post is up. I hope that gave you enough to work with, Vic :P
He never meant to die this way: sprawled out on the floor, helpless and at the mercy of a couple thousand maniacs. Orren's head still hurt from the Maglite one the asshole guards had used to knock him out. He was pretty sure a lump approximately the size of Texas was forming on the back of his head. His skull felt as tiny marching band was slowly drilling through it, banging their drums and cymbals all the way. When he cracked his eyes open, the world above him looked hazy and out of focus.
Orren let out a pitiful moan as he began to stir. He slowly sat up, gathering his senses. The hallway he found himself in was dark, dirty, and he was pretty sure that there was a corpse laying at the end of it. No...wait...it was definitely still moving. Orren's heart jumped and his stomach took a dive; he was in the asylum. He was in the madhouse. The bloodbath. The loony hotel. He was in the asylum. The creature -he refused to call it a human being anymore- at the end of the hall was slowly getting up and staggering towards him. Orren began to panic as he looked around. He knew he wasn't alone; where was-
Orren turned to see Douglas laying in an equally uncomfortable position close by. He looked as though he was still out cold. Orren let out a stream of curses as he got up on his hands and knees and crawled over to him.
"Doug!" He whispered loudly, harshly. "Doug, wake up. This isn't fucking naptime, man. Comeoncomeoncomeonfuckfuckfuck. Get up!" Orren shook his unconscious coworker senselessly, desperate to wake him before the lumbering psychopath slowly making his way over split their heads in two and sucked out their brains. It sounded ridiculous, but Orren had seen worse things happen.
Zebra Cakes and chocolate milk.
Dylan used to love Zebra Cakes; what with their cheap, waxy icing and dry yellow cake. He had been particularly fond of dipping them in chocolate milk. He remembered the days when he was younger, sitting in the kitchen in a dark house, waiting for his parents to get home, eating junk food because no one was there to stop him. He'd almost forgotten what his parents had been like. They'd been kind enough, he supposed. They hadn't been around a whole lot. They'd always worked late; he was usually asleep by the time they got home. He guessed he kind of missed them. But to be honest, the company of a box of Zebra Cake sounded more tempting.
When patients like him were pushed to the side, forgotten and left to rot, feeding time didn't come so regularly. He was usually left to scrounge. He knew his way down to the kitchen, where food occasionally appeared. He knew where to stash things where they wouldn't be found. But old loaves of bread and stale potato chips did get tiring after a while. Dylan stared off into space as he thought about it.
Suddenly, the patient beside him gave a sudden yelp, causing Dylan to jump. He looked over at the guy, who had been curled up in a corner, crying for the past couple hours. He did this fairly often. Dylan somehow found it comforting to sit next to him. Something about knowing that his "friend" wouldn't try to kill put him at ease. Dylan had several friends around the hospital. He didn't know any of their names, or even really talk to them, but in his mind, they were friends. They passed each other in the hall, occasionally grunted at each other, and sometimes they even escaped from Frank together. Frank most certainly was not one of Dylan's friends.
The patient went back to huddling up and crying. Dylan was about to continue his mental autobiography when he heard something scrape in the room across the hall from them. A chair against the floor? A door creaking open? A led pipe being picked up? Dylan wasn't about to stick around and find out. He got up and slithered off down the hall to find somewhere else to stare off into space. Maybe he'd come back and visit his distraught friend later.
Orren let out a pitiful moan as he began to stir. He slowly sat up, gathering his senses. The hallway he found himself in was dark, dirty, and he was pretty sure that there was a corpse laying at the end of it. No...wait...it was definitely still moving. Orren's heart jumped and his stomach took a dive; he was in the asylum. He was in the madhouse. The bloodbath. The loony hotel. He was in the asylum. The creature -he refused to call it a human being anymore- at the end of the hall was slowly getting up and staggering towards him. Orren began to panic as he looked around. He knew he wasn't alone; where was-
Orren turned to see Douglas laying in an equally uncomfortable position close by. He looked as though he was still out cold. Orren let out a stream of curses as he got up on his hands and knees and crawled over to him.
"Doug!" He whispered loudly, harshly. "Doug, wake up. This isn't fucking naptime, man. Comeoncomeoncomeonfuckfuckfuck. Get up!" Orren shook his unconscious coworker senselessly, desperate to wake him before the lumbering psychopath slowly making his way over split their heads in two and sucked out their brains. It sounded ridiculous, but Orren had seen worse things happen.
Zebra Cakes and chocolate milk.
Dylan used to love Zebra Cakes; what with their cheap, waxy icing and dry yellow cake. He had been particularly fond of dipping them in chocolate milk. He remembered the days when he was younger, sitting in the kitchen in a dark house, waiting for his parents to get home, eating junk food because no one was there to stop him. He'd almost forgotten what his parents had been like. They'd been kind enough, he supposed. They hadn't been around a whole lot. They'd always worked late; he was usually asleep by the time they got home. He guessed he kind of missed them. But to be honest, the company of a box of Zebra Cake sounded more tempting.
When patients like him were pushed to the side, forgotten and left to rot, feeding time didn't come so regularly. He was usually left to scrounge. He knew his way down to the kitchen, where food occasionally appeared. He knew where to stash things where they wouldn't be found. But old loaves of bread and stale potato chips did get tiring after a while. Dylan stared off into space as he thought about it.
Suddenly, the patient beside him gave a sudden yelp, causing Dylan to jump. He looked over at the guy, who had been curled up in a corner, crying for the past couple hours. He did this fairly often. Dylan somehow found it comforting to sit next to him. Something about knowing that his "friend" wouldn't try to kill put him at ease. Dylan had several friends around the hospital. He didn't know any of their names, or even really talk to them, but in his mind, they were friends. They passed each other in the hall, occasionally grunted at each other, and sometimes they even escaped from Frank together. Frank most certainly was not one of Dylan's friends.
The patient went back to huddling up and crying. Dylan was about to continue his mental autobiography when he heard something scrape in the room across the hall from them. A chair against the floor? A door creaking open? A led pipe being picked up? Dylan wasn't about to stick around and find out. He got up and slithered off down the hall to find somewhere else to stare off into space. Maybe he'd come back and visit his distraught friend later.
I'm not sure actually. Maybe right after they are caught and tossed in the lion's den?
What do you guys think?
What do you guys think?
Bumping.
Hoping for one more person before the IC goes up tonight.
Hoping for one more person before the IC goes up tonight.
Anyways, I'm sorry to anyone who had to witness that, but as a GM, I believe I have the right to protect the quality of my RP.
We have two characters other than my own, and I believe that in the interest check, my intent was to reach three. I'll be starting the RP tonight whether or not anyone else joins because I'm pretty excited for this.
We have two characters other than my own, and I believe that in the interest check, my intent was to reach three. I'll be starting the RP tonight whether or not anyone else joins because I'm pretty excited for this.
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