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    1. QuietThinker 10 yrs ago

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...I spent two days trying to post, and now I've lost it.

Flipping hell.
Thats probably for the best.

Good luck.
Wire

When the first shot had reverberated around the hall, Wire was the first to pull out his gun. Time for him almost ceased to move, as he spun around and saw the fool who had fired his gun in the most idiotic place imaginable. He whipped the handgun round and watched as the laser sight painted him. He pulled the trigger twice, and both of his biceps had bullet wounds. He paused as he hoped beyond hope that that would be the end of it.

It was not. Gunfire erupted all around as the meet was thrown into chaos.

...Perhaps we overestimated their discipline.
Perhaps someone just got shot dead by a small time bossman and now people want blood.
Its like they're sharks.
Try not to die.
Heh.


With his head on a swivel, Wire backed up against the wall, wary of a counterattack from the gang he had just shot at, and wary of any other fools that felt like taking him out. He saw one gun aimed in his general direction, and with a quick step to the side, he was able to avoid being hit: he wasn't fast enough to dodge a bullet, but he was fast enough to dodge a trigger finger. A Korean gangster near him fell backwards as a bullet perforated his lung. Another two bullets shattered the killer's shoulders.

Scanning the room now in full anarchy, he could see that some of the bigger gangs were working together. Or at least, they weren't shooting at one another. Good news: it wasn't full anarchy. Still, as soon as the metas came into play, Wire could see that this was all going to go to hell unless something acted quickly. Until something else came to his attention, that something was going to have to be him. A speedster was heading straight to Marconi, the benefactor of this cauldron of blood. He saw that his partner was shouting something at him, but time was moving too slowly for him to understand his words. There was too much going on. Wire fully stopped time in an effort to calculate his next move. In a millisecond that lasted 10 minutes, Wire planned. He reloaded with pinpoint precision and kept the number 14 in his head. 14 bullets. 14 deaths, or 14 injuries. That was the one decision that he still had to make.

With a running step, the man in the helmet propelled himself forwards and over the table in a corkscrew. His gun blazed 14 times in a circle of semi-automatic fire, raining lead on the out of control metas and whoever had the audacity to bring a machine gun. He did not miss: not with a laser sight. Wire wasn't able to see the effects of his shots because with each, he had to refocus on his next target and decide how best to handle them. But now he was on his back, and sliding off the other end of the table. He knew that he had aimed to shatter the shin bone of the meta with a knife running directly to Marconi, and that he had had 11 targets in total. 3 of them could be taken out with two shots to the shoulders. 2 of them needed a lethal shot: the ice queen Hailstorm, and an electricity wielder who decided it would be a good idea to fly up and fry people. They both took a shot to the neck, as they would not be reasoned with and they would not be put out of action with a simple injury. Other than that, he had aimed to shoot the lighter out of the hand of a fire manipulator, breaking his index finger in the process, and attempted to down 3 of the leading Iranians to try and put them on the retreat. He'd also watched as one of his targets stumbled backwards as a bullet connected with his forehead. As expected, his partner was a frighteningly good shot. Of course, Wire would not know if he was until he could reload and get off the damn table. Looking up, Wire had the displeasure of seeing an angry man ready to put a gun in his face.

He rolled backwards over his head, kicking him square in the jaw with both feet. The man was sent straight backwards to the floor, and Wire landed low, with his back to what he assumed was mahogany. Crouched down below the table kept him from being shot from the other side; only the top of his helmet was showing to the other side. He had burned through his entire clip, and was now facing potential opposition. It was such a mixed bag here, he couldn't judge easily who was actively trying to kill him and who wasn't. And seeing the rather flashy stunt he had just pulled, he figured that he'd find out quickly now.

In fact, he was counting on it. Wire pulled out another magazine.
As much as I like the idea of permanent character death.. which I do.. I think it should be pretty darn forgiving. As in, a character will always have some way to get out of a situation that gets them killed around 2-3 posts before hand, and their owner should definitely be made aware of what could be killing them and why. Of course, they can only work with what their character knows though, so this may mean people are more likely to meta-game without meaning to...

TL;DR

We don't want deaths, but we want the fear of dying.. I'm happy to have it.

And MrD, don't worry about it! RL comes before RP!
Mark Heaton, & Shannon Balore
It was with conflicting feelings that Mark paddled his way back onto the beach. The trek through the jungle back to the school in saltwater soaked jeans wasn't entirely enlightening either. However, when it began to rain, and he ran to his room for a change of clothes, he got some understanding of the emotions he was feeling.
He was livid. Livid but calm due to the immense amount of smug coursing through his veins. He was angry, but elated. It was a curious feeling. He hadn't been proud of anything for a long while, so being forgotten and nearly killed as a result of that was something that he was willing to forgive. At least, for a price.

As to why it took him so long to get his thoughts in order.. he could only imagine it had to do with the use of his new ability. Before, he could change his perception of time with very little thought: it happened accidentally more than it happened on purpose. After exerting himself however, it would he now needed to really focus. He wasn't used to it. It didn't help that his brain needed a good long rest, so putting these thoughts together was an extra effort in and of itself.

Upon entering his room, he closed the door and took off the wet clothes. Too late, he saw his roommates things and remembered that he shared this room with someone else. Like a deer in headlights, he looked down at what he had just taken off for a good few seconds before hastily putting them back on. Mark checked to see if anyone else was in, let a sigh of relief when no one was, and proceeded to change.
A few hours later, after sitting around waiting for the storm to pass, Mark emerged from the room with a growling stomach. He could only ignore it for so long, and when the only thing he really had to do was read or play with his pet, he had run out of excuses to stay indoors. He did not have the focus to read at the moment. His hunger didn't let him sleep. There were only so many times he could ask the quesiton "what does scorpion taste like" before he ended up answering it. On that note, in a red hoodie and black jeans and umbrella, he wandered over to the cafeteria.

He walked in the doors, shook the rain off his body, and went over to order something filling. Mark took a good few seconds to look over the menu; something that he wasn't used to doing. The young man had lost all motivation to waste his mental reserves on such a pointless activity, and upon reflecting briefly on this for a following few seconds, a familiar face came into his peripheral vision.

What was her name again? Sharon? Yeah, that sounds about right. And she is one of the people who left me on that ship. We'll need to have a conversation.

He returned his view to the menu, and pursed his lips. It would appear as though he could not make up his mind. He turned his gaze over to 'Sharon'.

And there is the topic of conversation. Time to say hello.

With a with a frown not of anger, but of mock disappointment, Mark walked over to the girl.

"Forget about someone?" He remarked candidly as he took a seat opposite her.

... And of course someone walked up to this one table, and decided to have a seat. Shannon glared at him as she cut another piece out of her cake, sticking it in her mouth. She was fortunate enough to have been blessed with a good memory. Which is how she quickly knew this guy was the guy they dragged along on their journey who ended up - surprise, surprise - contributing absolutely nothing. She didn't know why he choose her to talk to. Because she immediately assumed he wanted something from her. Sex? Money? Clothes? Well he's in for a disappointment, since Shannon Balore is a master of breaking these boys down.

"Unfortunately, no." Shannon dryly replied as her eyes went down towards her fork as she started shuffling it around in her clear plastic tray. "I thought you had left during that whole endeavor," She started off, immediately assuming what he was talking about. "Your name is.... uhhh, never caught it, but, what do you wish to discuss today?" Shannon put the fork in her tray, and placed her elbows on the table as she put her hands together, intertwining her fingers. Interested in seeing what bullshit this kid could get together in some attempt to be her "friend".

Well that was needlessly mean...

Mark gave a confused frown, raised an eyebrow, and leaned forwards in his chair.

"What do I wish to discuss? Why don't we start with being left on deck while the rest of you dissapear within it without so much as a word?" His words were hushed, but they had an air of passive-agression. "How about the fact that that ship then started imploding, and before I knew it, the rafts were gone and I had to swim back to dry land in a life-ring?"

He ended on an expectant stare with hands firmly together and under his chin.

What an amaaaaaazing subject.... Shannon thought to herself as she rolled her eyes. From the way that Mark was putting it, it all sounded like he was blaming her for his own problems. Just who told him to go wander around on a dangerous ship? No, rhetorical question. He was the little pissant who wandered off. Shannon couldn't help but sneer in response to how this turn of events had gone. "That seems like something you got yourself into. Everyone was marching inside that boat, single-file, and you somehow get separated? Doesn't seem like my fault, now does it?" Shannon was quick to get across that she didn't like this guy. Which was pretty often, because there's few people that she liked to begin with.

Mark leaned back a bit, gave a shrug and crinkled his nose. Taking his gaze off of her for a few seconds, he gave a small gesture as if to defeatedly concede a point.
"Technicalities." He said, brushing that criticism under the rug. "And you didn't have to leave me behind now did you?" He said as he refocused on the young woman in front of him. He was showing a surprising amount of emotion today, and he would reflect on that later. But right now he was fully immersed in the person before him. And he fully intended to try and weasel some form of apology out of her. Best case scenario there would be cake.

Shannon sarcastically smiled at him. It wasn't a regular smile, it was the most cheery smile her facial muscles could push together. It was in a mocking tone, almost sounding like a child, she said, "...Accidents happen!" She did Jazz-hands while she said that, before putting them down and giggling. Shannon wasn't intending on antagonizing him, but she found this whole triad oh so amusing. Putting this kid in his place, then making a fool out of him? Delicious. Just like this cake! If he'd let her finish it in peace...

"Well then I hope you've got third party coverage, because I'd like some compensation." He replied matter-of-factly. His hands were back under his chin, but his eyes had softened. If he seemed hostile before, he certainly didn't now. He was still marginally indignant though.

"... Was that supposed to be a wise-crack, or an attempt at being clever?" Shannon asked as she sneered, glaring at him.

"Well it sure as hell wasn't sarcasm." he sneered in turn, although the slight smile on his face wasn't leaving easily. He played it off with a scrutinising expression.

"Look," Shannon started off, blatantly rolling her eyes. She didn't know how to get rid of this guy. She thought that passive-aggressism would be dick-repellant. But noooo. Mr. Persistent here has to sit here and try to accomplish nothing. "I do not know what you intend to get out of me..."

"Cake."

Oh, no, no, no. This was her celebration cake. She wasn't going to give it to some nobody who cut her off. She quickly snatched the tray, and held it over her head with both hands. "You even think of taking this cake and I'll string you down tighter than a sadomasochist at a BDSM party." She was serious here.

"Not even a little bit?" he pleaded, losing all sense of righteousness his voice may have held before hand (if any). His face was wincing for the obvious answer to his beggery, but he held up a hand with a close index finger and thumb regardless.

"No."

"Worth a shot."

Mark leaned back in his nonchalantly, defeated. He took his vision off her for a millisecond and for the first time in the conversation utilised his power.

That threat was oddly specific. Does that make her the one able to control ropes? I'd say that was kinky, but.. I'd rather not. Jokes seem to be beneath this particular person.

He leant his head slightly to the side as time snapped back for him. It had become tiring.

"Well, at least suggest something from the menu. I'm new here, so I don't have a clue whats good." He was talking to her, but at the ceiling. His fatigue was now rather obvious, and he was playing for sympathy points, even though it was doubtful they'd have any affect on this judge.

What do I look like, a waitress? Shannon thought to herself as she looked around the cafe. Unfortunately, she doesn't eat here too often, the only thing she got was the sweets and some coffee. If she did, she'd probably tell him to get something nasty. So she had to go off of Debby's experiences here. "Get the Chicken Salad. It is delicious."

"Tempting.. but I'm not really feeling it. Any other suggestions?"

"They have... cake?" Shannon remembered that Mark wanted some. "This strawberry cake is quite delicious."

He lazily slid his head so that the menu was in view, squinting slightly.

"You know what, I'm just going to get a bacon roll." Mark declared, putting his hands on his knees and pushing himself out of his seat. "I'd apologise for intruding on you, but I'm still mad about the near-death experience." A small grin played across his face. "Enjoy the cake Sharon."

With that, he left her, grabbed his meal, opened his umbrella and walked back out into the rain. Perhaps she'd have a somewhat positive opinion of him...

...Nah.

Shannon rolled her eyes, and contined eating her cake. This whole conversation was a massive waste of her time, but, hell, at least he knew when to leave.... If only that was five minutes ago. She rolled her eyes yet again as she began eating her cake in peace. The universe had already sent her one annoying moron, and it was probably about to send her two at once.

Because life has never been fair on Shannon.
I'd like to have Mark go to the cafeteria and end up talking to Shannon. You up for it?
I do hope not :|
I didn't say it wasn't valid. I just said that it didn't seem fair..
To be fair, it doesn't seem all that fair to snipe someone with a killing shot in a single turn.
No, he did not get eaten by a shark. He is being pushed out further into the ocean though by a wave made by the falling ship. So thats a thing that needs some resolution. He could swim I suppose, and that's what he'll have to have done if you've dropped Pink :|

And sure, why not. It could rain. It could storm..
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