teapotshark Member
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- Old Guild Username: splash13
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- teapotshark 11 yrs ago
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Pre-Guildfall, 2008. Communication is what makes a lasting roleplay.
Most Recent Posts
With this and the other RPs I've displayed interest in, on top of university, I doubt I'll have a whole lot of time for now. But if something should fall through, I'll be around.
Yep! We had an RP about gang warfare going.
Looking a lot more active now, eh? Welcome to MC and Silver Fox.
So let's get an update on the situation. Christina has just dragged Mercy and Olivia out of the general store, and will likely be followed by a horde of walkers. Tony is frozen in panic and fear in the middle of the main road, while Bruiser inspects the store front. Kaylah's a short way down the road, waiting for Bruiser and keeping watch. At the other end, by some houses, Maria introduced herself to Remy and Tamashii, while John watched on from somewhere hidden... but then the "undead version of rush hour traffic" (that was hilarious, by the way) appeared and headed straight for them, including several fast types.
Is that all correct? Handy-dandy updates, courtesy of me. I like how this is going so far. A+ on the continuation of the no "zombie" rule.
So let's get an update on the situation. Christina has just dragged Mercy and Olivia out of the general store, and will likely be followed by a horde of walkers. Tony is frozen in panic and fear in the middle of the main road, while Bruiser inspects the store front. Kaylah's a short way down the road, waiting for Bruiser and keeping watch. At the other end, by some houses, Maria introduced herself to Remy and Tamashii, while John watched on from somewhere hidden... but then the "undead version of rush hour traffic" (that was hilarious, by the way) appeared and headed straight for them, including several fast types.
Is that all correct? Handy-dandy updates, courtesy of me. I like how this is going so far. A+ on the continuation of the no "zombie" rule.
A triplet of walkers shuffled into her path before she could reach the door. “Fuck!” She brought up her baton to meet with the closest's face. The rest of the undead in the store spilled out towards the survivors from all angles, banging against glass, knocking over useless stock, and all that groaning – the street outside would be filled with walkers and sprinters in minutes. Chris struck out with desperate force, but the triplet caged her in. A quick glance around between swings informed her the other two survivors were trapped, too.
No one could get to Tony.
Abandoning all caution, Chris cried out to her friend. “Tony!” She kicked a walker away from her and swung the baton at its companion. The metal sliced into the rotted flesh of its cheek. “Run, Tony!” There were too many for the rifle, now, and repeated strikes to one walker would only increase her vulnerability to the other two.
She wondered if she was going to be responsible for the deaths of the young girl and her older friend. Premature guilt slithered in her gut.
The ever growing noise of the herding undead had Tony pressing his face up against the front windows of the store. He leapt back at the sight of shuffling corpses. He could see one, maybe two groups swarming around something – or someone . . . But though he could hear Christina's shout, he couldn't see her. Tony was neither strong, nor fast, and he barely knew how to use the revolver in his hands; his best chance would be to run. He just couldn't bring himself to move. Christina was family.
He was spared from making a potentially stupid decision by the sound of a dog barking. He jumped farther back from the store and lifted his crowbar as if to strike, only to see the hound sniff at the front door. Its skin still clung to its body, healthy, and it smelled positively not dead.
Yet Tony still refused to move, terrified. Who owned the dog? What would they do when they found him? Christina couldn't protect him. He didn't even know if she would survive escaping the store.
Inside, Chris spun on her heel and knocked another walker to the ground with a sure strike from her baton. With speed and strength fuelled by desperation, she seized the third creature's head and twisted. It tumbled to the floor with a broken neck. Finally she'd cleared a path. She looked around to recover her bearings, and saw a stumbling corpse lurching for the archer woman.
Her hands found the rifle and fired at the creature. The bullet missed its head, but sailed through its neck; the second bullet soared into its head. She spotted the man behind the glass door, a path cleared for him, too, and slung the rifle onto her shoulder again, then retrieved her baton. With more undead making their way to the survivors, she grabbed the archer woman by the arm and made again for the exit as she scanned the store for the girl. The man would have to follow them out. Finding the girl, Chris pulled the pair with her out onto the street.
No one could get to Tony.
Abandoning all caution, Chris cried out to her friend. “Tony!” She kicked a walker away from her and swung the baton at its companion. The metal sliced into the rotted flesh of its cheek. “Run, Tony!” There were too many for the rifle, now, and repeated strikes to one walker would only increase her vulnerability to the other two.
She wondered if she was going to be responsible for the deaths of the young girl and her older friend. Premature guilt slithered in her gut.
The ever growing noise of the herding undead had Tony pressing his face up against the front windows of the store. He leapt back at the sight of shuffling corpses. He could see one, maybe two groups swarming around something – or someone . . . But though he could hear Christina's shout, he couldn't see her. Tony was neither strong, nor fast, and he barely knew how to use the revolver in his hands; his best chance would be to run. He just couldn't bring himself to move. Christina was family.
He was spared from making a potentially stupid decision by the sound of a dog barking. He jumped farther back from the store and lifted his crowbar as if to strike, only to see the hound sniff at the front door. Its skin still clung to its body, healthy, and it smelled positively not dead.
Yet Tony still refused to move, terrified. Who owned the dog? What would they do when they found him? Christina couldn't protect him. He didn't even know if she would survive escaping the store.
Inside, Chris spun on her heel and knocked another walker to the ground with a sure strike from her baton. With speed and strength fuelled by desperation, she seized the third creature's head and twisted. It tumbled to the floor with a broken neck. Finally she'd cleared a path. She looked around to recover her bearings, and saw a stumbling corpse lurching for the archer woman.
Her hands found the rifle and fired at the creature. The bullet missed its head, but sailed through its neck; the second bullet soared into its head. She spotted the man behind the glass door, a path cleared for him, too, and slung the rifle onto her shoulder again, then retrieved her baton. With more undead making their way to the survivors, she grabbed the archer woman by the arm and made again for the exit as she scanned the store for the girl. The man would have to follow them out. Finding the girl, Chris pulled the pair with her out onto the street.
Rarity said 8. I hope to get this about making long term friendships and romances, and following our characters as they interact with each other day by day.
Charlevoix said This isn't really my style, but reading the story and seeing that picture again, (I first saw it on iFunny), I would love to give this a shot.
Mine neither, usually, but I'm very interested in social science so the steady, well-thought-out building of relationships here is what brings me in. So yeah, count me in.
Shortly into her inspection of the store – the suffocating stench of death driving her to work quickly – Chris found a walker stood facing the corner of the room, apparently oblivious to her presence. Wrapping her fingers around the baton again, she stepped closer to deliver a fatal blow, before she heard a whispered voice. Chris forbade herself from losing sight of the walker, and listened.
“Look . . . It's a lurker. Have you seen those type before?”
Chris drew the police baton slowly out of her belt loop. As she listened to the kid talk, she was sure of two things; the girl wasn't alone, and there were more undead cramped into the store among them.
She had seen lurkers a few times before, and they seemed to stick in the places most suitable for shelter, as if they knew where survivors would come looking. Of course, they didn't, they weren't in the least bit smart enough for that. A lurker tried to grab her grandfather as they made to escape the city, and almost succeeded given that he was just an old, tired man. That was the first time Chris killed one of them... the first time she killed anything that didn't have eight legs. Even now, killing wasn't something she did readily, but in a short time it became habit, and instinct.
“Wait . . . I think I hear something behind us . . . Don't go any further inside.”
Once it was out of her belt, she lowered the baton until it straightened. She took another step closer to the looming walker in the corner, turned her body just so, and as the creature turned its sagging face to greet her, her baton collided with its head. Chris ducked forward and pulled it away from the corner before it could hit the wall; she didn't want to alert any more of the undead, nor the other survivors. Still gripping its upper arm, she hit it twice more. Then she eased it to the floor and shuffled around it.
The store wasn't terribly big and she was certain the other survivors would have heard something of her scuffle, so she stepped through the aisles towards the girl's voice. The woman turned into her aisle just as Chris was raising her baton to strike what she thought was another walker.
The woman couldn't have been more than a few years younger than Chris, and carried a hammer in similar fashion to the baton. If not for the woman's abrupt cry, Chris might have attacked on instinct. But while the cry did save the woman from immediate injury, it gave up their position to the multitude of walkers in the store. A chorus of grunts and moans, as though they were waking from a long sleep, erupted from all corners of the room.
“No time,” Chris muttered. She lowered the baton momentarily, in a sign of good faith to the other woman, and pointed it at the store front instead. “Front door. Go!” Slinging the rifle onto her shoulder, Chris jogged back the way she came, to the front of the store; to Tony.
“Look . . . It's a lurker. Have you seen those type before?”
Chris drew the police baton slowly out of her belt loop. As she listened to the kid talk, she was sure of two things; the girl wasn't alone, and there were more undead cramped into the store among them.
She had seen lurkers a few times before, and they seemed to stick in the places most suitable for shelter, as if they knew where survivors would come looking. Of course, they didn't, they weren't in the least bit smart enough for that. A lurker tried to grab her grandfather as they made to escape the city, and almost succeeded given that he was just an old, tired man. That was the first time Chris killed one of them... the first time she killed anything that didn't have eight legs. Even now, killing wasn't something she did readily, but in a short time it became habit, and instinct.
“Wait . . . I think I hear something behind us . . . Don't go any further inside.”
Once it was out of her belt, she lowered the baton until it straightened. She took another step closer to the looming walker in the corner, turned her body just so, and as the creature turned its sagging face to greet her, her baton collided with its head. Chris ducked forward and pulled it away from the corner before it could hit the wall; she didn't want to alert any more of the undead, nor the other survivors. Still gripping its upper arm, she hit it twice more. Then she eased it to the floor and shuffled around it.
The store wasn't terribly big and she was certain the other survivors would have heard something of her scuffle, so she stepped through the aisles towards the girl's voice. The woman turned into her aisle just as Chris was raising her baton to strike what she thought was another walker.
The woman couldn't have been more than a few years younger than Chris, and carried a hammer in similar fashion to the baton. If not for the woman's abrupt cry, Chris might have attacked on instinct. But while the cry did save the woman from immediate injury, it gave up their position to the multitude of walkers in the store. A chorus of grunts and moans, as though they were waking from a long sleep, erupted from all corners of the room.
“No time,” Chris muttered. She lowered the baton momentarily, in a sign of good faith to the other woman, and pointed it at the store front instead. “Front door. Go!” Slinging the rifle onto her shoulder, Chris jogged back the way she came, to the front of the store; to Tony.
In
Zombie apocalyspe survival rp, taking place on an English countryside farm
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Interest Checks
I love that it says "always cold and rainy", and currently we're experiencing one of our hottest summers. XD
Went ahead and posted tonight. Chris and Tony have reached the general store, and Chris is heading right for Mercy. Tadaa!
With the sounds of the undead growing steadily louder, Chris and Tony skirted around the buildings on the street. They avoided the main road, walking through that would make them a glowing, neon painted target with flashing lights and an arrow sign. No, they sifted through the houses on the side of the road. Chris led the approach to the general store, with its colourful signage, her eye trained down the sights of her rifle. For his part, Tony sneaked along behind her, crowbar at his side. The sounds of the shuffling, grunting undead seemed to be coming from the edges of town, with the few odd moans within the nearer vicinity.
Halfway to the store, between a house and a run-down barber's, a walker shuffled out of the brush towards them. What might have been a scream died in Tony's throat as Chris slammed the butt of her rifle into the walker's temple. She released the baton and struck it over the head repeatedly, twisting to avoid the spray of rotting blood.
Tony stepped way back. He hated to watch these encounters; hated looking at the former human being, for fear he might get an idea of who they used to be, who their families were. Seeing Chris attack them was just as horrible. He didn't know if it was rage, protective instinct or pain he saw in her eyes when she struck the walker over, and over, and over again until it stopped moving.
She dropped the baton, then, and slowly turned to Tony for inspection. It was their ritualistic habit – Chris dispatched the undead, then Tony made sure she hadn't injured herself or ingested blood. He checked her for cuts first – all clean there – then glanced into her mouth, ears, eyes, anywhere she could have been splattered.
“You're okay,” he whispered, not ashamed of the relief that slipped into his voice.
Chris nodded, though it wasn't as stern as usual. She was relieved, too, he thought. She wiped the baton on her combats, collapsed it and stuck it back in her belt loop. They continued as before, the rest of the way to the store. Pressing their backs against the glass store front, they checked every angle, ever conscious of the increasing volume of the undead. Chris glanced in through the window and froze.
“There's something in there,” she muttered to Tony, who seized up at the notice. Chris spoke quickly in hushed tones. “Stay by the door, keep watch. If you see something, come get me. Don't be afraid to kill them.” Then, she opened the door just enough for her to slip through, refusing to let the bell above the door announce her arrival, and weaved through the stacks towards the figure.
Halfway to the store, between a house and a run-down barber's, a walker shuffled out of the brush towards them. What might have been a scream died in Tony's throat as Chris slammed the butt of her rifle into the walker's temple. She released the baton and struck it over the head repeatedly, twisting to avoid the spray of rotting blood.
Tony stepped way back. He hated to watch these encounters; hated looking at the former human being, for fear he might get an idea of who they used to be, who their families were. Seeing Chris attack them was just as horrible. He didn't know if it was rage, protective instinct or pain he saw in her eyes when she struck the walker over, and over, and over again until it stopped moving.
She dropped the baton, then, and slowly turned to Tony for inspection. It was their ritualistic habit – Chris dispatched the undead, then Tony made sure she hadn't injured herself or ingested blood. He checked her for cuts first – all clean there – then glanced into her mouth, ears, eyes, anywhere she could have been splattered.
“You're okay,” he whispered, not ashamed of the relief that slipped into his voice.
Chris nodded, though it wasn't as stern as usual. She was relieved, too, he thought. She wiped the baton on her combats, collapsed it and stuck it back in her belt loop. They continued as before, the rest of the way to the store. Pressing their backs against the glass store front, they checked every angle, ever conscious of the increasing volume of the undead. Chris glanced in through the window and froze.
“There's something in there,” she muttered to Tony, who seized up at the notice. Chris spoke quickly in hushed tones. “Stay by the door, keep watch. If you see something, come get me. Don't be afraid to kill them.” Then, she opened the door just enough for her to slip through, refusing to let the bell above the door announce her arrival, and weaved through the stacks towards the figure.
I'm still up for it! I'll make a post tomorrow, it's quite late now, and go on as if Chris and Tony never encountered Joshua (unless he turns up again later).
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