@Pundii Exactly what I'll be doing if you don't post! ;) Kidding, of course...
Morose Member
✨Krakoan Prince✨
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7 yrs ago
My power grows exponentially each day as we come nearer to Halloween.
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@Pundii They may be posting amnesty, but you're on day 6. ;) If you can get a reply in before noon tomorrow (evening right now), then I can update before things get incredibly hectic.
Jack Hudson
Location: Building 7 (Rec Center) ---> Front Outer Wall
Jack had started to take off after Tati, and he nearly slapped himself on the head. They'd been forced to undergo mandatory sensitivity training back on the force, and disabilities were (supposedly) included in that. He gripped the handles of Sophia's wheelchair, smiling pleasantly at her, though anyone could see the worry etched into his face. Either way, Tatiana would end at one extreme. She would either be ridiculously happy or incredibly crestfallen. "'Course," Jack replied, obliging the girl. He quickly wheeled her outside into the streets, catching sight of Tatiana as she began to run towards the inner gate.
"Dunno if this was what you had in mind an' all," Jack apologized, as he continued to push Sophia's chair, consistently running about thirty seconds behind Tatiana. While he could've easily cleared the distance himself, the pressure on the chair's handles only aggravated his wounded hand, and additionally, he didn't want Sophia to fall out from sudden starts and stops. The gatekeeper seemed to shake their head at the two of them, and Jack awkwardly smiled.
"I'm, uh, I'm with the Russian gal," he explained, before dashing through with Sophia, taking care not to let the wheels get caught on any rocks or stones in their path. He was fairly certain the sensitivity training mentioned something about not further injuring the disabled. Seeing Tatiana dash up a flight of stairs, Jack slowed down, now walking Sophia towards the wall. He'd feel like an ass if he abandoned her at the bottom, and he doubted she'd take kindly to him carrying her up there. Setting the chair to a stop, Jack smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head.
"Her, uh, her friend went missin'," he explained to Sophia. "Been 'bout a month since Tati saw the gal." His smile faded into a grimace. He knew that with each passing day, the odds that Tatiana would ever find Davi again diminished. He'd racked his brains for a logical explanation that involved Davi escaping the DMV and simply not finding them for a month, but he couldn't come up with one. She was likely dead--something he knew Tatiana couldn't face yet. "Do, uh, do tons of people show up all the time like this?" he asked.
Édouard Riviere
Location: Dans La Rue
He continued to frown, pulling out his cutlass. The pain in his leg was forgotten, becoming something of the past. He ignored Amelia's shrieking words, making a mental note, however, to work with her on pronunciation. She was slaughtering the beautiful language, the language of love and of power. "Ma sœeur, Alisanne...Elle saurait qu'est-ce que c'est..." he stroked his hands over his mustache briefly, tapping the spikes with his sword. Walkers didn't drive cars. There was no reason for spikes to be placed in the road. As he saw Lana pull out her gun, Édouard's suspicions were confirmed.
This had to be an attack against la mafia française! He took up his rapier in his other hand, prepared to show off perhaps the only thing in the world he was good at, beyond putting too much product in his hair. "Amélie, Lana, je suis dans la mafia française," Édouard explained, his stare dramatic and tense. "Courez. Ils me veulent."
Checking his 3 in 1 survival whistle, Édouard frowned at it. It continued to read something upwards of ninety degrees, and he stared at his skin. Perhaps they were in hell, none of this had been real. He wouldn't have put it past Alisanne to murder him, in order to secure her succession to leader of la mafia française. From his backpack, he pulled out the battered French-English dictionary, a majority of its pages illegible. He handed it over to Amélie.
"Lisez ça," Édouard instructed. "Ton français occasionne mes oreille saignent."
...Are you sure a bezoar isn't the correct method of treatment? :P
@Witch Cat Both, actually. ;)
The rolls for the next update are brought to you by Jet Lagged Morose and her bag of dice. I actually bought dice that looked like they had blood on them, because I thought it was thematically appropriate. Sometimes though, I use random.org. And I don't cackle. I usually just text Blue with frustration whenever someone dies. XD
Also...It's as hot as hell here, lol. Wouldn't be too surprised to find Daniyal and Jade.
(She, btw ;) )
The rolls for the next update are brought to you by Jet Lagged Morose and her bag of dice. I actually bought dice that looked like they had blood on them, because I thought it was thematically appropriate. Sometimes though, I use random.org. And I don't cackle. I usually just text Blue with frustration whenever someone dies. XD
Also...It's as hot as hell here, lol. Wouldn't be too surprised to find Daniyal and Jade.
(She, btw ;) )
Cecily Ashworth
Location: Justice Memorial; Front Entrance ---> Taqueria
Cecily raised an eyebrow, hearing Gregory call her his partner. The man had made a reputation for himself of never taking a partner, of working cases solo. She nearly chuckled, the way he reminded her of every fictional character ever, with his need to work alone. However, a more disturbing thought came to her mind. Her eyes widened, recalling a crucial issue of Harley Quinn: the New 52. Poison Ivy had sprayed Harley with a special serum, causing everyone nearby to fall madly in love with the former psychiatrist. Her mind flickered back to the stolen kiss from the night before, and now, to Gregory calling her his partner.
No, that type of serum can't exist, Cecily reassured herself. If it had been a thing, someone in Justice would've been killed from it, and she would've learned all about it in a toxicology report. Calming herself from that scare, Cecily clung to Caesar's belt, as instructed. "If it's a corpse, I'm not technically qualified to perform autopsies..." Cecily said awkwardly, nodding at the tacos. Her stomach would've practically nodded for her if she hadn't.
She clung to dear life, her eyes squeezed tightly the entire trip. The contraption, as she thought of it, seemed like a death trap waiting to happen. And given that her car was a death trap, it was saying something. Everything about Caesar seemed to contain an aura of death and Mexican cheese, of souls screaming for escape and Creepy Rob Lowe. It sent a shiver down her spine, as she wouldn't have wanted anything more than to curl up in the corner of a comic book store, and read until she forgot about reality.
Thankful for the nearness of other people at the tiny restaurant, she recalled the place Riley and her had gone to the previous night. It had been odd, with random paperweights, unlabeled alcohol, and fireworks. Truthfully, only the name of the place had any connection, as far as Cecily figured, to this place. Both sounded hispanic to her. The television set provided a further distraction, and Cecily grimaced at the news.
"Wonder who they'll get to fill in for Wallace..." Cecily pondered. She ordered herself some food and a drink, intending not to consume it until she helped Caesar with whatever it was. A stickler for the rules, she hardly believed that being tipsy would help her analyze anything properly. She nodded at his explanation, a bit surprised he hadn't asked Roy about that.
"Yeah, I'll take a look before I drink," Cecily explained, glancing around the room. She lifted up her drink, peering at it, as if it would have some sort of bug as well. Truthfully, she couldn't have looked any sillier, a paranoid nerd staring at pieces of gum underneath a table as if they might kill her as well. "Wallace, the coroner, was murdered," Cecily responded quietly. "This morning, we had a robbery as well. Armed assault. Got shot at." Her voice varied in tone, fluctuating from serious to mildly amused constantly. To anyone looking at her, it was obvious she was shaken up from all of it, struggling to process emotionally what had occurred that day.
Chloe "Tuesday" Ridgeway
Location: Riley's Car (Outside the Sporting Goods Store)
Tuesday raised an eyebrow. Whoever was behind all of the crimes, she figured they weren't a common criminal. To attack in broad day light, with dozens of witnesses, would be insane. An intelligent criminal -- a sadistic serial killer -- wouldn't be so stupid as to do that. "No one's got the balls to come and kill us in the car," Tuesday observed. She saw Riley send a text, but she figured it was better not to question it. Most of her current friends got calls and messages they didn't want anyone to know about. She'd give Riley her privacy.
At the sight of the hulking blonde man, Tuesday couldn't help but feel skeptical. She'd never seen the man before, and he didn't seem to be a cop. The sight of his gun, though, caused her eyes to go wide. She ran a hand through her hair, letting out a breath. "Fucking hell..." she murmured, watching as the man ran towards the Sporting Goods store.
Aware of Cynthia's rocking and muttering, Tuesday was running out of ideas to calm her down. She couldn't exactly tell Cynthia to just calm down and smoke a joint, the remedy that usually worked among her friends. This was far too serious for that, and she knew that Cynthia probably feared going back to Shady Pines. "Marc and Tim'll catch the perv," Tuesday promised, smiling thinly. There'd be cameras in the store, someone would have caught a glimpse of whoever propped Trent up like a fucking trophy.
"There'll be security footage on whoever did this," Tuesday explained. "And the blonde guy with the gun looks like he's probably spotted the perp."
You're welcome and thank you. :) I've got one portion of the trip down, flying the last leg on Friday. Spending a few days with extended family.
Édouard Riviere
Location: Dans La Rue
Completely oblivious to Amelia's frantic shouting behind him, Édouard continued to whack at the speedometer. Truthfully, he knew that Svetlana couldn't understand him--but he didn't think playing charades while driving was a particularly good idea. Even he wasn't that reckless. Instead, he continued to prattle on, not once regretting his decision to skip his English lessons as a child. The language was la merde des cochons. At least with Italian, he could take a boat over to Italy for the week, and amuse himself however he liked. Everyone had to bend to his will, it was the way he was raised. No one ever told Édouard Gautier Riviere no...Aside from his parents and his sisters, of course. Alisanne in particular enjoyed chewing him out, while Darcey didn't even have the patience to deal with him.
He frowned at Svetlana, attempting to work through the words. Ve más despacio? Slowly, his mind attempted to come up with a translation for it, relying on similar sounds and words. V....mass...un....? He shrugged helplessly at Svetlana, taking his eyes away from the road. The speedometer continued to tell him he was going 30, no matter how much he sped up or slowed down. Letting out a sigh of frustration, he couldn't believe it. The apocalypse wasn't supposed to involve broken speedometers--he hadn't signed up for that!
"It...iz...mal..." Édouard explained, hitting the thing again. He had picked up a small bit of English, but even that simple phrase took a lot of effort. He couldn't help but grin slightly as he felt the car shake and bounce, assuming that the speedometer had corrected itself. That was, of course, until his head hit the ceiling repeatedly. Each crash caused his vision to spin, disorienting him beyond the ability to complain. Reflexes took over and Édouard hit the breaks, bringing the car to a halt.
Glancing around, Édouard braced himself, prepared for Svetlana to beat him. But it wasn't his fault that the speedometer was faulty! He peered at it, prepared to defend himself, before he noticed something peculiar. "M....P....H?" Édouard said slowly, before his eyes widened with comprehension. It wasn't broken after all! He laughed slightly at himself, rubbing his own head. "Ce n'est pas en kilomètre à l'heure!" Édouard exclaimed, acting like he'd just won the bloody Noble Prize. He opened the door of the truck and hoped out, admiring the damage caused. It wasn't nearly as bad as what Svetlana did, and his pride swelled.
"Amélie!" Édouard called out, realizing the girl had been in the back. He awkwardly limped over to her, his leg bothering him still from the previous car crash. "Tu es en bonne santé?" he asked, rubbing the back of his head. He then glanced down at the spikes in the road behind them, frowning slightly. "Qu'est-ce que c'est?" he pondered, glancing between the spikes and Amelia.
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