I thought I would mention this because quite frankly I appear and disappear out of this OOC like some geriatric Batman, but I love all you guys' RPing styles and characters. This is probably the most fun I've had in a while. The dynamic is chef's kiss. Which is perfect for an RP about Power Rangers.
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Lol damn, Sloane just cutting to the point. Love him so much XD
Sloane means business, or more so he doesn't want to see what bright abomination he's going to be strapped into. I'm glad that you guys like him because it sure does hurt to be an ass-nugget to everyone in the IC.
@Potemking I just snorted at "certified sassing machine." Yup, he has his paperwork and everything.
I just saw this thread today, and I was steadily hacking out a CS to try to make it by the deadline (I was at work all day.) Failed to realize I was in a different timezone and the applications are now closed. Super fun idiot move on my part.
Let me know if you get any openings in the future, if it is no bother, as this bad boy was almost finished is finished. I'll tuck it aside for a rainy day. Thanks! And this RP idea is awesome. Good luck.
Let me know if you get any openings in the future, if it is no bother, as this bad boy was almost finished is finished. I'll tuck it aside for a rainy day. Thanks! And this RP idea is awesome. Good luck.
| 𝖫𝖮𝖢𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭 : THE COMMAND CENTER | 𝖨𝖭𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖠𝖢𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭𝖲 : EVERYONE | 𝖬𝖴𝖲𝖨𝖢 : - - |
Sloane had maybe half a second of a smug smile before he felt a stern slap across the side of his head. For a second he saw white as the pain peaked and blossomed across his eyes. Not even a curse word could leave his lips before the woman laid into him again but this time verbally. Fucking shit… was all that passed through his brain as he was lectured. He’d usually have some sort of smart remark to make, but instead, he swallowed it down in lieu of just letting it happen. Apparently, he was on a team now. Great… Yet, while his internal monologue tried to be condescending, he felt something of a relief. Sloane couldn’t tell anyone why, but a familiar feeling of camaraderie was pleasant—even if he didn’t know any of these people. The feeling faded, though, as the woman that assaulted him turned her ire to the Jolly Green Cowboy whose name was apparently Clint. It took everything in his power not to go ”oooo…” at the verbal ass-chewing Clint received.
That spiel was punctuated by the purple ranger—the short one—asking everyone to calm down and then sliding into instruction. So, she was the leader? Honestly, Sloane couldn’t tell, but he’d learned the angry one’s name was Jordan. More like Roar-dan if he’d have anything to say about it. Actually, no, that was a shit nickname. He’d sort it out later.
They were headed to the “Command Center,” because apparently they all took orders from the short one now, and were complicit to join. Sloane looked around. No one seemed interested in leaving or abandoning this position. He glanced at the red crystal in his hand. Quitting wasn’t his style. ”Yeah, no, not riding in the sentient Country Song’s truck. He might run over his beloved dog and get left by his girlfriend on the way there. I’ll see you soon.” He gave a lazy salute and dispersed. The calamity around the center had died down and sirens peeled out loudly in the distance. David was gone, and Sloane left Travis to clean up the mess.
Sometime later he arrived at the “Command Center.” It was the old GENESIS building. Did his dad cut the ribbon to this place? No. But, Sloane was pretty sure he’d stood behind the person that had, clapping and looking as dead on the inside as he was. The building was a far cry from the way it used to look. The empty parking garage only added to the desolation as he pulled in, taking up three spaces. What? he had a classic, bright red Mustang. He wasn’t about to get cozy with everyone else’s jalopies they called cars.
Sloane didn’t exit the car immediately upon arriving. Instead, he leaned over and opened the glove compartment. Inside was a small, orange bottle of pills. He shook it, almost guiltily, and poured a couple into his hand before swallowing. They were just pharmaceutical-grade pain killers, nothing that would alert the presses. He winced as he pushed his seat back. Pulling his pants leg up, he straightened his leg and looked over his knee. It might have seemed like a dirty secret the way he acted, but it was just a prominent chink in his almost pristine armor.
His knee was mostly metal with a thick layer of scar tissue over it. It consumed most of his leg from there down, pale and disfigured. Over the remains of his knee was a form-fitting brace made of material that had the fit and elasticity of latex but the toughness of fiberglass. Sloane didn’t know what it was, but the pins and staples that held it to his knee almost glittered in the light pouring from the window. Honestly, he shouldn’t have been able to walk at all or at least without a prominent limp, but money had bought him a sense of normalcy. He took a long drink of the bottle of water in his car, making a face at the warmth of it, before lowering his pant leg down and exiting his car. He brushed the front of his designer button-up shirt off and tugged at the sleeves of his red coat. There was the sound of ripping as the stitches in the shoulders gave out. Sloane pulled it off and tossed it into the car. He looked better without it, anyway. He locked the thing and moved towards the building.
GENESIS HQ, huh? They’d almost ruined his family, and so it was a bit of poetic justice that he was back. He followed the others, head bobbing around and taking in the sights—or lack thereof. ”A lot of work is an understatement, but abandoned hobo station is a mouth full.” Sloane may have mistrusted the elevator had not it seem to function with the fluidity that it probably had in the beginning. He narrowed his eyes as everyone piled in but followed suit.
As the doors opened to the basement, Sloane let out an impressed whistle. Alright, this seemed more his style. He looked over the red crystal, turning it between his fingers. Was he getting excited at the prospect of being a Ranger… of being an official member of the Spandex Squad? Surely not. Then why was he here? Why was there a smile on his face? He let that fall and followed the others into the room.
The short, bossy one was named Charlie, and the other two were Jordan and Clint. He knew the latter’s names already, but it was refreshing to hear them in a more official capacity. At least he could commit them to memory for the future while trying not to seem too complicit in getting Ross’s name wrong. What? It was funny to see him get upset about it every time. This only became cemented as the screens showed his face along with Vallory and Ross’s, Charlie announcing their names ceremonially. Sloane’s eyes narrowed. Was that his Angel Grove University ID? He placed a hand under his chin and tilted his head to the side. Not his best angle, but it would have to do. His gaze trailed back to Charlie and let her finish up. Everyone started moving about and asking questions. Sloane caught that barbed comment from Ross and his stare. He just smirked.
”Morphin Grid?” he asked, suppressing a laugh. ”Ahem. Sorry. But, yes, I do have a lot of questions. For instance, who cares if you fit your suits or not? What we should be worried about is the reason the Druidon are back. Didn’t the previous Spandex Squad, you guys, finish them off? And, where did that one monster take off to with my and Vallory’s friends… aaaand I’m assuming Ryan’s family?” He shot Ross a look.
That spiel was punctuated by the purple ranger—the short one—asking everyone to calm down and then sliding into instruction. So, she was the leader? Honestly, Sloane couldn’t tell, but he’d learned the angry one’s name was Jordan. More like Roar-dan if he’d have anything to say about it. Actually, no, that was a shit nickname. He’d sort it out later.
They were headed to the “Command Center,” because apparently they all took orders from the short one now, and were complicit to join. Sloane looked around. No one seemed interested in leaving or abandoning this position. He glanced at the red crystal in his hand. Quitting wasn’t his style. ”Yeah, no, not riding in the sentient Country Song’s truck. He might run over his beloved dog and get left by his girlfriend on the way there. I’ll see you soon.” He gave a lazy salute and dispersed. The calamity around the center had died down and sirens peeled out loudly in the distance. David was gone, and Sloane left Travis to clean up the mess.
Sometime later he arrived at the “Command Center.” It was the old GENESIS building. Did his dad cut the ribbon to this place? No. But, Sloane was pretty sure he’d stood behind the person that had, clapping and looking as dead on the inside as he was. The building was a far cry from the way it used to look. The empty parking garage only added to the desolation as he pulled in, taking up three spaces. What? he had a classic, bright red Mustang. He wasn’t about to get cozy with everyone else’s jalopies they called cars.
Sloane didn’t exit the car immediately upon arriving. Instead, he leaned over and opened the glove compartment. Inside was a small, orange bottle of pills. He shook it, almost guiltily, and poured a couple into his hand before swallowing. They were just pharmaceutical-grade pain killers, nothing that would alert the presses. He winced as he pushed his seat back. Pulling his pants leg up, he straightened his leg and looked over his knee. It might have seemed like a dirty secret the way he acted, but it was just a prominent chink in his almost pristine armor.
His knee was mostly metal with a thick layer of scar tissue over it. It consumed most of his leg from there down, pale and disfigured. Over the remains of his knee was a form-fitting brace made of material that had the fit and elasticity of latex but the toughness of fiberglass. Sloane didn’t know what it was, but the pins and staples that held it to his knee almost glittered in the light pouring from the window. Honestly, he shouldn’t have been able to walk at all or at least without a prominent limp, but money had bought him a sense of normalcy. He took a long drink of the bottle of water in his car, making a face at the warmth of it, before lowering his pant leg down and exiting his car. He brushed the front of his designer button-up shirt off and tugged at the sleeves of his red coat. There was the sound of ripping as the stitches in the shoulders gave out. Sloane pulled it off and tossed it into the car. He looked better without it, anyway. He locked the thing and moved towards the building.
GENESIS HQ, huh? They’d almost ruined his family, and so it was a bit of poetic justice that he was back. He followed the others, head bobbing around and taking in the sights—or lack thereof. ”A lot of work is an understatement, but abandoned hobo station is a mouth full.” Sloane may have mistrusted the elevator had not it seem to function with the fluidity that it probably had in the beginning. He narrowed his eyes as everyone piled in but followed suit.
As the doors opened to the basement, Sloane let out an impressed whistle. Alright, this seemed more his style. He looked over the red crystal, turning it between his fingers. Was he getting excited at the prospect of being a Ranger… of being an official member of the Spandex Squad? Surely not. Then why was he here? Why was there a smile on his face? He let that fall and followed the others into the room.
The short, bossy one was named Charlie, and the other two were Jordan and Clint. He knew the latter’s names already, but it was refreshing to hear them in a more official capacity. At least he could commit them to memory for the future while trying not to seem too complicit in getting Ross’s name wrong. What? It was funny to see him get upset about it every time. This only became cemented as the screens showed his face along with Vallory and Ross’s, Charlie announcing their names ceremonially. Sloane’s eyes narrowed. Was that his Angel Grove University ID? He placed a hand under his chin and tilted his head to the side. Not his best angle, but it would have to do. His gaze trailed back to Charlie and let her finish up. Everyone started moving about and asking questions. Sloane caught that barbed comment from Ross and his stare. He just smirked.
”Morphin Grid?” he asked, suppressing a laugh. ”Ahem. Sorry. But, yes, I do have a lot of questions. For instance, who cares if you fit your suits or not? What we should be worried about is the reason the Druidon are back. Didn’t the previous Spandex Squad, you guys, finish them off? And, where did that one monster take off to with my and Vallory’s friends… aaaand I’m assuming Ryan’s family?” He shot Ross a look.
| 𝖳𝖠𝖦(𝖲) : N/A |
So, throw me to the wolves, but I could have sworn I had posted. I would have promised on someone's life (poor them) I had. Sorry about that! Hopefully, this will never happen again, but if it does feel free to dogpile me in notifications. I won't be offended.
I'm just wondering if I didn't post in this dimension... which one did I post in? And how did that go?
I'm just wondering if I didn't post in this dimension... which one did I post in? And how did that go?
| 𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 : Greytry - Etrid | 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 : Leofric & Company | 𝑝𝑖𝑜𝑡𝑟'𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑑 : Still Hungry |
Fyg should have expected the lewd joke. She’d phrased the poultice’s properties to humor the darker parts of one’s mind. Still, she found it amusing. The cities in the Great Plains weren’t like Greytry. They were more skeletal, allowing for much space between the bones of buildings. Yet, she imagined there were brothels here like anywhere else across the lands of men. And she wasn’t one to judge. The grass wytch might have considered giving them a bit of attention herself had she the coin or the time. No, she wanted to see this coronation, and she needed the money for that.
Her back stiffened like the mast of a ship when a guard’s voice piqued above the rest. Piotr let out a disturbed coo. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the time to slink off into the shadows. The guard approached them, asking for the removal of their hoods. Her one visible eye went wide. There was little about her visage that would make anyone give more than a glance. She wasn’t pretty in the way that tailored folk like the guards and the men on horses seemed to enjoy. Hewn from the rough living, her attractiveness was tucked away into her aloofness. The only thing about her that might have raised alarm was the slight curvature of her ears. Yet, Fyg didn’t think herself an elf or elf related. A few people had made comments about them out of interest, and she’d only shrugged. Still, that night on the plains, and the inscrutable eyes of the Inquisitors and their ilk made her fearful.
It only took a moment for her to realize that the guards cared little for her, but instead were interested in the men on horseback. Fyg might have huffed and rolled her eye had pride not shushed her and urged her to move on. There were plenty of other marks to be found in Greytry. She didn't need to further bother these men as they’d announced their affairs, and the guard seemed happy with all that. Yet, there was a clandestine way in which the men spoke. It tickled the curious part of Fyg's mind. So, she slunk alongside them into the city proper. They’d asked for a tavern, and she guessed it wouldn’t hurt to locate someplace for gossip and ale if she needed it in the future. Her mission, now, was most pressing. Fyg wanted to see the Grand Inquisitor himself. She wanted to know what the figurehead behind her mother’s disappearance looked like. She wasn’t a cruel woman, but she enjoyed wearing grudges like the latest fashion.
Fyg looped the potion back on her belt and filed in line, palming her staff in one hand and the sprouted seed in the other. She might still have use for it. The consideration fled, however, when the words MAGIC ignited into the air like a wellspring. Her tanned face went white. She dropped the seed and stomped it, squelching the life within. Quickly, she grabbed her staff with both hands and squeezed. And for the second time that day, she found that she was not the focal point of a guard’s call. Figures breezed past her and she heard calls for people to head to the circus. Her lips twisted. I'm acting like someone that is begging to be caught... dramatically.
Another call of fanfare caught her ears, and she became aware of the coliseum alighting with jubilee. Dammit, the coronation. Piotr scrambled, his small claws grabbing onto the hood of her cloak and dragging it down with his weight as he flipped inside. The curve of his form caused the hood to distend awkwardly. Fyg tugged at it until it straightened, but the shoulder of her cloak covered him like a malformed hump. Fine, she’d be that sort of potion peddler, the type you’d lock see in a bell tower.
”Fine men,” she said. ”I won’t keep you, as you seem to have business and some of it might pressing. In a possible literal sense, but I digress." She cleared her throat. "But to answer your question, it’s the sort of elixir that’ll embolden you and invigorate you from your travels. I’m only asking for a small sum, much less than I’d usually charge.” Piotr let out a muffled coo. Yes, her hump was now talking. ”If you were not aware, the prince’s coronation is today, and I wish to attend. This is less a philanthropic venture of mine and more a trade of services for minor wealth. I’ll even throw in a bit of advice.” She eyed the toddling urchin that was making its way towards the group, followed by a man of large stature and build. Maybe the child's guard or extortionist of sorts? “Types like those will just take your coin by glancing at your handsome faces and assuming you're daft. Use this time to hide your coin purses closer to your chest.” She smiled, tilting her head up and revealing features—younger than one might expect but older than any fair maiden. “That alone is worth the paltry entrance fee to an event that one would be foolish to miss.”
Her back stiffened like the mast of a ship when a guard’s voice piqued above the rest. Piotr let out a disturbed coo. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the time to slink off into the shadows. The guard approached them, asking for the removal of their hoods. Her one visible eye went wide. There was little about her visage that would make anyone give more than a glance. She wasn’t pretty in the way that tailored folk like the guards and the men on horses seemed to enjoy. Hewn from the rough living, her attractiveness was tucked away into her aloofness. The only thing about her that might have raised alarm was the slight curvature of her ears. Yet, Fyg didn’t think herself an elf or elf related. A few people had made comments about them out of interest, and she’d only shrugged. Still, that night on the plains, and the inscrutable eyes of the Inquisitors and their ilk made her fearful.
It only took a moment for her to realize that the guards cared little for her, but instead were interested in the men on horseback. Fyg might have huffed and rolled her eye had pride not shushed her and urged her to move on. There were plenty of other marks to be found in Greytry. She didn't need to further bother these men as they’d announced their affairs, and the guard seemed happy with all that. Yet, there was a clandestine way in which the men spoke. It tickled the curious part of Fyg's mind. So, she slunk alongside them into the city proper. They’d asked for a tavern, and she guessed it wouldn’t hurt to locate someplace for gossip and ale if she needed it in the future. Her mission, now, was most pressing. Fyg wanted to see the Grand Inquisitor himself. She wanted to know what the figurehead behind her mother’s disappearance looked like. She wasn’t a cruel woman, but she enjoyed wearing grudges like the latest fashion.
Fyg looped the potion back on her belt and filed in line, palming her staff in one hand and the sprouted seed in the other. She might still have use for it. The consideration fled, however, when the words MAGIC ignited into the air like a wellspring. Her tanned face went white. She dropped the seed and stomped it, squelching the life within. Quickly, she grabbed her staff with both hands and squeezed. And for the second time that day, she found that she was not the focal point of a guard’s call. Figures breezed past her and she heard calls for people to head to the circus. Her lips twisted. I'm acting like someone that is begging to be caught... dramatically.
Another call of fanfare caught her ears, and she became aware of the coliseum alighting with jubilee. Dammit, the coronation. Piotr scrambled, his small claws grabbing onto the hood of her cloak and dragging it down with his weight as he flipped inside. The curve of his form caused the hood to distend awkwardly. Fyg tugged at it until it straightened, but the shoulder of her cloak covered him like a malformed hump. Fine, she’d be that sort of potion peddler, the type you’d lock see in a bell tower.
”Fine men,” she said. ”I won’t keep you, as you seem to have business and some of it might pressing. In a possible literal sense, but I digress." She cleared her throat. "But to answer your question, it’s the sort of elixir that’ll embolden you and invigorate you from your travels. I’m only asking for a small sum, much less than I’d usually charge.” Piotr let out a muffled coo. Yes, her hump was now talking. ”If you were not aware, the prince’s coronation is today, and I wish to attend. This is less a philanthropic venture of mine and more a trade of services for minor wealth. I’ll even throw in a bit of advice.” She eyed the toddling urchin that was making its way towards the group, followed by a man of large stature and build. Maybe the child's guard or extortionist of sorts? “Types like those will just take your coin by glancing at your handsome faces and assuming you're daft. Use this time to hide your coin purses closer to your chest.” She smiled, tilting her head up and revealing features—younger than one might expect but older than any fair maiden. “That alone is worth the paltry entrance fee to an event that one would be foolish to miss.”
| 𝑡𝑎𝑔(𝑠) : @josephb @Jamesyco |
| 𝖣𝖠𝖳𝖤 : 9 APRIL 2018 | 𝖨𝖭𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖠𝖢𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭𝖲 : UENO EMI-WHO? | 𝖫𝖮𝖢𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭 : HINOTORI HIGH |
The day passed without much fanfare or circumstance. She spent it sitting alone at her desk, working off and on at assignments. Maki wasn’t an idiot. She was just a shitty student. Most of the time, though, she just drew in the margins of her notes. Fantastical sketches of a world far different than this one. Tall buildings, wreathed in inked darkness with a speckling of light from windows—akin to stars. This scene grew and grew until she started to draw the veins of the world underneath. No longer was it picturesque, beautiful buildings bleeding into a beautiful skyline, but instead became more rudimentary. The jagged lines pressed hard into the paper. They were sinister in both their intent and design. Maki had zoned out so much when she’d reached that part of the drawing she barely noticed others were filing out of the room. It was the end of the day. She capped her pen and got her things in order. Her toes bumped against the tips of her slippers once again. A jolt of panic shot right up her spine.
The beginning of the day seemed so far away. The opening ceremony had bled easily into her school day. Maki had only broken away for lunch. She had a hidden spot at the crook of a hall as it turned by the window. The lip was a little uneven and protruded out. Maki may not have noticed had she not decided to do a frame of reference drawing on the corner. After that, she became somewhat enamored with its small imperfection. So, she sat her lunch on that ledge and ate, watching the trees outside. Not to let anyone think that this was a peaceful moment, she wore her headphones. Her music screamed in her ears. It was her moment of solace and nothing more. Maki had even turned off her notifications.
It’d made her forget about her “date” after school. As Maki packed her things, she needed to find a way to handle that. She wasn't too keen on fleeing, as her reputation was already garbage, but she knew Funai wouldn’t be alone. She didn’t outright expect the other girl to beat the living shit out of her, but she knew whatever waited wasn’t going to be great. Maybe Maki could monopolize on that rumor of putting someone in the hospital? She had enough personality to pull it off. Just continue to act fucking crazy, that might do it.
Maki had made up her mind on the plan as her thoughts screeched to a halt. She’d been slow to leave, her planning like mud in the treads of her shoes. Maki was halfway through putting her headphones on when the voice interrupted the silence of the room. Ueno Emiha, if Maki guessed. She didn’t know much about her beyond what everyone else did. She was blind—see cane for reference—, and she was friends with the other student council members that were third years. Was she also on the student council? Maki narrowed her eyes in thought. Why would Ueno ask me for help? Her eyes narrowed further, becoming green slits against her dark eyeshadow.
“Look, I don’t give a flying fuck where the student council room is, especially after these renovations. So, it’d just be the blind leading the blind—figuratively and then literally.” She placed a hand on her hip. “So, I think you can manage. How about I believe that you can get there on your own? Cheer you forward? Goooo… Ueno.” The inflection in her voice wasn’t at all uplifting.
"Now if you'll excuse me," Maki said, trying to push past her.
| 𝖳𝖠𝖦(𝖲) : @Obscene Symphony |
The short-lived Red Ranger antics of Sloane. He had the power for 2.5 seconds.
| 𝖫𝖮𝖢𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭 : ANGEL GROVE COMMUNITY CENTER | 𝖨𝖭𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖠𝖢𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭𝖲 : EVERYONE | 𝖬𝖴𝖲𝖨𝖢 : - - |
Everything was a blur of motion. For a second, Sloane was assured that he’d be dead sooner rather than later. A thought roiled in the back of his mind. They better leave my face alone. I do want an open casket funeral. It was selfish and stupid, but it wasn’t cowardly. He didn’t regret his decision.
It was then that a series of things happened very rapidly. The man he’d been helping gained footing and took one of the creatures down before exhausting himself. The other two were knocked off-kilter, allowing Sloane to take a few steps out of their swiping range. He gripped his bat tighter, ready to take swings to get the guy out of that situation. Much like Sloane, the odds were against him, but considering the fact that the other man was his own draft horse—he’d look like a piece of chicken shit in Sloane's eyes if he wasn’t fighting the Drunn Soldiers. Then there was another person, seemingly unbothered by the goings-on, but still wary about her surroundings. She instructed Sloane to leave. For a moment, he almost rebuffed against that notion. Who was to tell him what? But common sense poked its head in and reminded him that he was in a life or death situation with only a bat and his good looks.
There was then a flash of purple, and the bossy woman was now a… was now a ranger. Oh shit, she did have it. He definitely did not need to be here. Sloane highly doubted that anyone was keeping tabs on him by now, and he bolted back towards the building. Unfortunately, his mad dash was drawn short as someone yelled at him for help. They were trapped under a piece of debris. Sloane let out a groan of annoyance but went to help them. He glanced around, trying to make sure they weren’t going to be ambushed while he did this. It seemed as if the creatures were focused on something else—someone else. He turned away as flashes of blue and green flickered in his periphery, and there was a subsequent cacophony of both excitement and battle. Sloane brought attention back to the trapped person. The brightly colored Spandex Squad could take care of them, he’d just deal with minimizing the mass casualties. The annoyance that he’d be ignored after all this was said and done, due to the Ranger’s return, fueled his actions. Sloane definitely looked like a good Samaritan on the outside, but the inside was a different story.
As the person thanked him and skirted away, Sloane’s attention was grabbed by a voice that seemed to silence the noise around him. He turned to see a nasty creature looming on top of a building, far more imposing than any of the Druidon before. Yet, what Sloane focused on was the fact that David, wet but terrified, was in the creature’s clutches. Whatever inner-grumbling his narcissism had fed him, vanished. Despite the shit that they’d give each other, David was one of his few friends. He stood, ignoring the pain in his leg.
“David!” he yelled, but he was far enough away that his frat brother didn’t seem to hear him. Panicked, he ran towards them. Unfortunately, a few words were spoken between the creature and the Rangers below… and then the creature and his hostages disappeared. “No!” He tightened the grip on the bat, slamming it against a discarded chair. The metallic ring was the only thing he focused on. So, it was no surprise that when a red light vaulted at him—he swung. Fortunately, it was a panicked motion, and he missed. That was a rare occurrence. Because out of every skill that he ballooned to infinite heights, his skill as a batter was not exaggerated.
“What the hell?” he asked, snatching the thing out of the sky. Twisting it in his hand, he slowly realized what this might be. Sloane leaned the bat against the chair he’d just mutilated and ran a hand through his blond locks—pushing them away from his face. He approached the group. There were the three rangers, blue, green, and purple, but there was also Ross and Vallory. They also had glowing crystals in their hands.
“I get why I have one, but why does Ryan over here get the honor. Or are they participation crystals?” Sloane submerged his roiling emotions once again and returned to his usual self. That was the McCabe way.
It was then that a series of things happened very rapidly. The man he’d been helping gained footing and took one of the creatures down before exhausting himself. The other two were knocked off-kilter, allowing Sloane to take a few steps out of their swiping range. He gripped his bat tighter, ready to take swings to get the guy out of that situation. Much like Sloane, the odds were against him, but considering the fact that the other man was his own draft horse—he’d look like a piece of chicken shit in Sloane's eyes if he wasn’t fighting the Drunn Soldiers. Then there was another person, seemingly unbothered by the goings-on, but still wary about her surroundings. She instructed Sloane to leave. For a moment, he almost rebuffed against that notion. Who was to tell him what? But common sense poked its head in and reminded him that he was in a life or death situation with only a bat and his good looks.
There was then a flash of purple, and the bossy woman was now a… was now a ranger. Oh shit, she did have it. He definitely did not need to be here. Sloane highly doubted that anyone was keeping tabs on him by now, and he bolted back towards the building. Unfortunately, his mad dash was drawn short as someone yelled at him for help. They were trapped under a piece of debris. Sloane let out a groan of annoyance but went to help them. He glanced around, trying to make sure they weren’t going to be ambushed while he did this. It seemed as if the creatures were focused on something else—someone else. He turned away as flashes of blue and green flickered in his periphery, and there was a subsequent cacophony of both excitement and battle. Sloane brought attention back to the trapped person. The brightly colored Spandex Squad could take care of them, he’d just deal with minimizing the mass casualties. The annoyance that he’d be ignored after all this was said and done, due to the Ranger’s return, fueled his actions. Sloane definitely looked like a good Samaritan on the outside, but the inside was a different story.
As the person thanked him and skirted away, Sloane’s attention was grabbed by a voice that seemed to silence the noise around him. He turned to see a nasty creature looming on top of a building, far more imposing than any of the Druidon before. Yet, what Sloane focused on was the fact that David, wet but terrified, was in the creature’s clutches. Whatever inner-grumbling his narcissism had fed him, vanished. Despite the shit that they’d give each other, David was one of his few friends. He stood, ignoring the pain in his leg.
“David!” he yelled, but he was far enough away that his frat brother didn’t seem to hear him. Panicked, he ran towards them. Unfortunately, a few words were spoken between the creature and the Rangers below… and then the creature and his hostages disappeared. “No!” He tightened the grip on the bat, slamming it against a discarded chair. The metallic ring was the only thing he focused on. So, it was no surprise that when a red light vaulted at him—he swung. Fortunately, it was a panicked motion, and he missed. That was a rare occurrence. Because out of every skill that he ballooned to infinite heights, his skill as a batter was not exaggerated.
“What the hell?” he asked, snatching the thing out of the sky. Twisting it in his hand, he slowly realized what this might be. Sloane leaned the bat against the chair he’d just mutilated and ran a hand through his blond locks—pushing them away from his face. He approached the group. There were the three rangers, blue, green, and purple, but there was also Ross and Vallory. They also had glowing crystals in their hands.
“I get why I have one, but why does Ryan over here get the honor. Or are they participation crystals?” Sloane submerged his roiling emotions once again and returned to his usual self. That was the McCabe way.
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