Dixie Fiend

The Walking Dead: Los Angeles

Prepare for the greatest application we've ever seen.

The Walking Dead: Los Angeles

I thought this RP revolved around surviving, and zombies though... Not cheesy teenage romances... Lol..

The Walking Dead: Los Angeles

Mark

"Fffsk!" Mark yelped, making one of those sharp inhalations through gritted teeth. "Ahhh..." He exhaled now, much like a scene in Family Guy, painfully rubbing his hands and fingers together as cold water washed over his red beaten hands. On the floor beside him was an empty bottle of soap whose top had been pulled off, and the whole thing of soap had been poured into the sink. Have you ever done that once? Got the water running in the sink and then poured a whole bottle of soap into it... Bubbles. Everywhere.

Bubbles were foaming out of the drain like a volcano, soaking through Mark's torn up long sleeves and swallowing his hands whole. It burned like hell, but he knew it was helping to remove some of the loose fiberglass splinters. He paused for a moment, grunting and brushing an itch at the corner of his eye with the back of his wrist. His face felt hot and heavy, but the cold water soak he had earlier did good to expel some of the annoying stinging. However that dry California air was pounding down on him in the tiny bathroom which lacked air conditioning, causing him to sweat bullets.

Bringing his hands back up to his face, Mark splashed some of the flowing water onto his cheeks again and gently rubbed away what was left of the dry blood from his lips and nose. He closed his eyes briefly at the bliss, his head dipping forward thankfully as he felt the cold seeping into his pores and washing away the blood, sweat, and tears. He then stopped, lowering his hands shakily into the flowing cloud of soap that poured out the edges of the sink bowl and he looked into the smudged mirror blankly. Mark thumbed a few strands of dark wet hair from his eyes, tucking the long locks away behind his ears as he stared at himself. There was still a miniscule amount of drywall dust peppering his face, mostly contrasting in the thick stubble he was mistakenly cultivating. The grey of the gritty powder made him look much older than he really was, giving his thinly beard a salty speckle.

He sighed, and Mark flicked some of the soapy bubbles from his fingers before raking his hand through his stubble briefly; dispelling the dust and grime before stepping away from the vanity. He looked at himself one last time before frowning, and turning on his heel out of the bathroom and into a hallway that was pretty much the crossroads of the compact condominium. Right off of where he stood was the living room, kitchen, bedroom, and front door - the front door which gave an occasional thump and muffled groan as cold bodies pushed up against it.

Mark stood there. Looking, and listening. There was an unending hum in the air, an orchestra of groans and stumbles that tumbled through the California suburban jungle. Every hour or so, there may have been an occasional scream or gunshot... But tonight it was relatively quiet.

He stared on through the living room, eyeing the blood smeared sliding glass door as he watched the jumble of furniture fidget and shiver as a shoulder-to-shoulder line of walkers tried relentlessly to walk up the blocked stairway. I didn't think even the dead could be that oblivious. Was there an animal on earth, other than maybe a fish in an aquarium tank, that was that stupid? Did it not see, or even understand for that matter, that there was something in its way...

But those thoughts as humorous as they were, terrified Mark. Deep down he was praying they remained oblivious to the world around them. It was ironic in a way; you know how people go about their lives thinking, "Why is the world so god damn stupid sometimes?" We all think that. Well now people were completely bat shit, and Mark couldn't explain how thankful he was that they couldn't pull together the brain cells needed to reach over and simply untangle the mess of furniture.

He stepped through the space like a ghost, cautiously yet seemingly effortlessly as he droned into the kitchen and stopped at the refrigerator. Held to the face of the fridge by a circular magnet was a picture of some guy unusually close to another guy, arms around one another, sunglasses on at the beach and sipping Starbucks. He wasn't sure why he was coming to a certain conclusion, but maybe it was the offensive graffiti on the wall of the living room that said, "Burn in HELL faggot!". Mark glanced at another magnet on the fridge, which was the logo of the Philadelphia Eagles. He approved.

Opening the fridge, it was hard to see in the relative darkness. The smell was pretty bad. It was terrible actually. Anything good had been looted, and what was left was an open bottle of spoiled milk. There was a good amount of mold covering the packaging of everything else he could make out in the dimness. But one treasure was salvageable, the only beer he could stand to drink, which was a single bottle of Heineken. It's not half-bad when it's warm too, making it the perfect beer to store a bottle or two in your tackle box when you go out fishing for a bit.

He pulled it out of the shelf and shimmied it into the back pocket of his jeans, shoving it past his dead phone and some loose change. He immediately moved to the pantry, unknowingly humming to the buzzing tune of walkers shuffling around outside the building. But it really wasn't a tune, it was just random mumbling. Mark was too exhausted to search thoroughly, and it was getting harder and harder to keep focus and see. He did make out a small box of Slim Jims, or believed he did. With a dip and sway, he reached out for the box and stole away the greatest American snack - lucky enough, it actually was a box of Slim Jims.

Although he didn't feel hungry, he knew somehow that he was starving and running off fumes. He tore the box open as he walked to the couch, slumping down onto the comfortable cushions. The guy knew how to pick furniture. Not trying to be stereotypical, but it was true. Although the condominium was obviously small and meant for someone with a poor job, it felt homely and... Rich. Mark leaned back into the couch with a heavy sigh, staring across the room at the black flat screen as he chewed a Slim Jim slowly - relaxing beneath the "Burn in HELL faggot!" as he watched the blank TV.

Mark knew this was going to be a really long night, lack of sleep or peace. He was too on edge, it wasn't safe to close his eyes despite the exhaustion. But, at least he had his favorite show to keep him company.

I guess.

The Walking Dead: Los Angeles

I'm here. I was planning on tumbling into the group after the day had gone by. I'll begin wrapping up Mark's evening now, may take me half an hour or so.

The Walking Dead: Los Angeles

Ugh... I keep finding more and more errors in my post every time I read it lol. I guess it really has been awhile, this is monstrous.

The Walking Dead: Los Angeles

It was terrifying, really. Exhilarating at the same time. It reminded him of tag as a kid, and tag was an awesome game... You never knew if you'd outrun the person that was it when they were right on your heels. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the danger growing stronger - fate inching closer and closer to Mark as he wedged his shoulder between a deep gash in the wall of the living room, trying to see if he could fit through it now.. But, could not. He reared back, tears streaming down his face as the dust from the busted up drywall made his eyes burn like the hot intensity of a thousand suns. It coated him now, in his nose and mouth, all in his hair. And let me tell you from experience, dry wall does not taste good.

He steadied his footing, blinking out the pain as he wrenched his arms back and heaved the cheaply designed vacuum cleaner clear through the wall. It busted through bits of broken wall, tore through some fluff of insulation, but stopped hard against a structural element within the wall of the condominium. It had to be some wooden beam, like a 2x4. He was lucky he wasn't hitting any electrical wiring, but... His luck only went so far.

Mark had the couch shoved up against the sliding glass door to the balcony of the second floor condominium, but it was barely an obstacle for the determined mob of walkers throwing themselves against the already pretty-much shattered glass panes, and going head first over the spine of the couch. Mark threw his gaze violently to the intruding zombies, glancing for only a moment before crying out and slamming the vacuum cleaner into the wall again. The vacuum was wrecked harder than a DUI crash, and stuck between a beam and part of the drywall. It didn't matter though, Mark wasn't a fatass and he didn't have particularly broad shoulders, so it would do.

He charged the makeshift opening, going shoulder first through the urban crevice into depths unknown... Not really, it was just another shitty condominium loft on the other side of the wall he could hide in. The only thing unknown about it was the raunchy smell that hit him. Uncoordinated as he was, he banged his head going through, and despite trying to keep calm he was flailing and writhing between the opening of the wall as he tried to slither through.

Fuck.

That's when the burning hit. Immediately, every exposed part of his body - specifically his face and hands - that were going through that wall were on fire. Not like, literal fire, no. He didn't freaking combust. I'm talking about something even worse. Fiberglass insulation. That shit was eating him away now as he brushed through the pink fluff that seemed so comforting, so cloud-like. He knew this feeling all too well.

Then things got worse. Something grabbed his ankle just as his shoulder wiggled through into the other room, and he was halfway through the wall. Mark let out a panicked scream, and tried to push off with his heels through the wall, growing more and more desperate with every passing moment. It felt like he'd been in the situation for hours, but really it was maybe thirty seconds and he was already about to piss all over himself. But in spite of all he persevered, although unable to turn his head back around to see what had grabbed him in the tight space. He knew all too well what it was though. Mark continued to kick violently, finally slipping free as he wrenched through and crashed on top of the coffee table in the center of the living room. It was hard to see, and he still was tearing up from the dust in his eyes. His cheeks burned from fiberglass splinters.

Mark rolled over onto his back, groaning from the obviously very traumatic experience; and leaned up on his elbow as he went to get on his hands and knees, stumbling up to what looked like a tall bookshelf at the other side of the room. He walked into the wall beside the bookshelf, hitting his thigh against the edge of an end-table as he did so, and gripped the side of the bookshelf. Hastily, he began dragging it across the room with much effort - knocking vases, pottery, pictures, books, and all kinds of stuff all over the room in his wake as he hauled ass to get that bookshelf across the room. He tripped as he finally got the corner of the bookshelf against the other side of the wall, hammering his nose against something in his fall - hands outstretched awkwardly as he came down against the wall near the crevice he had made. Instantly he was cupping the bridge of his nose - or should I say clasping his whole face painfully - as blood streamed down all over himself, and he struggled to get the bookshelf against the hole... Mark shouldered and hip bumped the shit out of it until it budged up against the wall, breaking the fingers of a walker that was reaching through against the edge of an exposed 2x4.

It wasn't over just yet though, he had to take care of the balcony door of this condominium now. He stumbled and swayed to the crippled coffee table which had a fractured leg after hitting it coming into the room, and dragged it through the open glass door of the balcony. With his hand no longer cupping his bleeding nose, he heaved the table out onto the concrete patio and shoved it between the wrought iron railing descending down to the ground below. He was only outside for a split second, but even then he got a glimpse of the scattered group of walkers shuffling through the grassy courtyard of the gated condominium community - specifically the place where everyone takes their lap dogs to shit - and they were coming towards his building.

Mark hurried back inside, nearly whimpering as he went as he just wanted all this stress to end. He looked for something to barricade the stairs more with, and then went for an end table.. Mark grabbed it by the legs, tipping over everything on top of it over onto the floor in a tumble before waddling it over onto the balcony; and stacks it behind the coffee table...

[OOC:]
I'm going to stop here and post, then continue after.

The Walking Dead: Los Angeles

So is it safe to assume the majority of the RP is taking place within the suburbs around LA? I saw Wayne post a really useful map earlier, but only his character shows up on it so I have no idea what's going down n where.

The Walking Dead: Los Angeles

Hope I don't get sniped here, or snipe anyone else, but I was referring to Wayne Travers on the first page(who's avatar is also Trevor from GTA V).

I guess I'll begin thinking up an intro, but it may take half an hour or so.

The Walking Dead: Los Angeles

@Wired: Thanks, I sort of just winged it lol. I'm a little out of practice when it comes to Roleplaying.

@StuartM: Yeah, I'm kinda waiting I guess. I would probably be preparing an intro post already, but I don't want to start working on something if new IC posts are made and the situation changes - plus, I'm still under review.

Also, if it's not too much to ask... What's the code of conduct when it comes to NPC's? Or steering the storyline/other characters? In every RP I've been in, it's always been a taboo for a player to start making decisions outside of their own characters fate that seriously affect the storyline/events/other characters without being a GM/having GM permission... So I'm not sure what can or can't be done off the top of my head.

EDIT: Agh! I've been post-sniped xD

Let's Make The Biggest Garry Sue : Fantasy Version : (Stricter Rules)!!!

Removed because I read the thread and it said no posting past page 2 D: