teapotshark Member
- Last Seen: 8 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: splash13
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 482 (0.12 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- teapotshark 11 yrs ago
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
Pre-Guildfall, 2008. Communication is what makes a lasting roleplay.
Most Recent Posts
He'll be up there in my next post, broom and all!
Tony's likely to completely forget they're up in the attic and go there looking for broken electronics!
And so the survivors begin the mingle, and set their goals, and... sweep things. Tony's apparently only able to form a friendship with a broom.
Waking to an empty room, Tony's first reaction was to panic. As he regained his senses, he noted the open rucksack on his friend's bed, and the unmade state of it. Still, he worried, for Chris had slept almost an entire twenty-four hours. She would be confused, and concerned, and things he couldn't predict. The farm was the first to offer them peace in a long time, though, and he daren't interrupt whatever moment she was taking for herself. In silence he made their beds, and re-packed the rucksack, showered, dressed and went to fetch his broom.
Not that it was his, but he liked to think the chores were designated, too. It made things feel more like home, and cleaning calmed his nerves.
The odd door opened and closed, and birds were twittering from somewhere outside, yet all else was quiet. He found the kitchen exactly as he left it the night before; as clean as half a day's work could make it, and still tidy. With his broom in hand, he worked from the kitchen out, searching all the while for remnants of electrical systems he might pair with his own collection and, hopefully, create a form of communication.
Out in the steadily rising sun, Christina's semi-logical thoughts scattered as the singing drifted to her. At first she considered not investigating, but as the soft singing went on, she was drawn to it. No one sang since the world fell apart, there had been no music, and what replaced it was a tense air and an off-key chorus of groans. To hear music again, though faint, encouraged an unfamiliar nervousness. Not the kind she felt when she had to be alert, but something she wasn't sure how to describe. Chris followed the sounds until they grew loud enough to lead her to the barn.
She allowed herself a quick peak inside, then ducked back out. In those few seconds she formed a rough image of the barn in her head, the animals and the woman in it. Snapshot looks were another habit, though it not born from the infection epidemic. She was conditioned to look wherever she went, as a firefighter, and take in as much of her surroundings as possible in limited time. But doing so now felt wrong. Almost like sneaking around; she didn't want to sneak, to have the others think she couldn't be trusted.
So it came about that she took some few, careful steps into the barn with her hands in her pockets. Mercy didn't seem to notice, though, as she conversed with the horses. Chris waited, puzzling over what she could say. Eventually, she decided honesty would pave the way to a conversation. “That's the first singing I've heard in a long time. Thanks.”
Not that it was his, but he liked to think the chores were designated, too. It made things feel more like home, and cleaning calmed his nerves.
The odd door opened and closed, and birds were twittering from somewhere outside, yet all else was quiet. He found the kitchen exactly as he left it the night before; as clean as half a day's work could make it, and still tidy. With his broom in hand, he worked from the kitchen out, searching all the while for remnants of electrical systems he might pair with his own collection and, hopefully, create a form of communication.
Out in the steadily rising sun, Christina's semi-logical thoughts scattered as the singing drifted to her. At first she considered not investigating, but as the soft singing went on, she was drawn to it. No one sang since the world fell apart, there had been no music, and what replaced it was a tense air and an off-key chorus of groans. To hear music again, though faint, encouraged an unfamiliar nervousness. Not the kind she felt when she had to be alert, but something she wasn't sure how to describe. Chris followed the sounds until they grew loud enough to lead her to the barn.
She allowed herself a quick peak inside, then ducked back out. In those few seconds she formed a rough image of the barn in her head, the animals and the woman in it. Snapshot looks were another habit, though it not born from the infection epidemic. She was conditioned to look wherever she went, as a firefighter, and take in as much of her surroundings as possible in limited time. But doing so now felt wrong. Almost like sneaking around; she didn't want to sneak, to have the others think she couldn't be trusted.
So it came about that she took some few, careful steps into the barn with her hands in her pockets. Mercy didn't seem to notice, though, as she conversed with the horses. Chris waited, puzzling over what she could say. Eventually, she decided honesty would pave the way to a conversation. “That's the first singing I've heard in a long time. Thanks.”
Well damn, would you look at that? I'm ready to post again.
After clearing the house of the infected and ridding it of their corpses, Chris and Tony stashed their rucksacks with their gifted clothes. Chris took Tony's bag and slid both of them underneath the bed she had been assigned; she wanted to be packed and ready to go should they need to make a quick exit. The moment she stopped moving, she all but passed out. Tony caught her as she wavered and guided her to her bed. By the time he had her lying down, she was fast asleep. She slept through the first day of their stay at the farm.
Tony spent the first day at Mathew's Farm tidying the house. The survivors had cleared it of the dead and reinforced the fence keeping the grounds safe, but little had been done about the old, empty house itself. It was the very least he could do to repay Lloyd's kindness. He found a broom in the kitchen and set about sweeping the floors and removing cobwebs from out-of-reach places. He glided around the house with a preoccupied look on his face, regularly checking on Christina.
Every few hours she would change positions and groan in pain or scrunch up her face, and he would wait until she relaxed again, then slip out of their shared room to finish what he started. The farmhouse was surprisingly well stocked, but it had clearly been empty for a short while. Tony worked long into the evening hours making the house seem like a home again, and smiled at everyone he saw. He desperately wanted to get along with them all.
As the sun rose on the second day, Christina awoke. The piercing pains in her legs receded to a dull ache, the kind felt after a good workout. For the first time in weeks she felt well rested, and the realisation of where she was and who she had met settled in quickly. Sitting up, she watched Tony sleep for as long as it took to know he was alive and well, then looked at the third bed. Empty.
In the time it took to clear the house two days ago, she only briefly engaged with her roommate. That was all she needed to figure the girl was a dancer, and that might explain where she had gone so early.
The room had been cleaned, she soon realised; Tony's work, no doubt. Quietly, she slid out of bed and pulled one of the rucksacks from beneath it. She took spare clothes from her bag – she wasn't yet comfortable wearing the new ones, so she produced her own; the fire department logo printed on the left breast of the navy shirt and in the label of her combats – and slipped into the bathroom.
If the shower was a person, she would have hugged it. She washed away dirt and pain of days spent constantly moving, wasting not a second of the luxury. Once dressed, she marched through the house to the outside.
Christina soaked in the morning air. Even knowing the fence was reinforced and seeing no signs of the dead, she remained a little tense. It had become habit, now. She felt strange at having a distance between herself and Tony... and yet she could not decide whether the feeling was negative or not. She leaned on the well and braided her dark hair, watching the grounds. How long had she slept?
Tony spent the first day at Mathew's Farm tidying the house. The survivors had cleared it of the dead and reinforced the fence keeping the grounds safe, but little had been done about the old, empty house itself. It was the very least he could do to repay Lloyd's kindness. He found a broom in the kitchen and set about sweeping the floors and removing cobwebs from out-of-reach places. He glided around the house with a preoccupied look on his face, regularly checking on Christina.
Every few hours she would change positions and groan in pain or scrunch up her face, and he would wait until she relaxed again, then slip out of their shared room to finish what he started. The farmhouse was surprisingly well stocked, but it had clearly been empty for a short while. Tony worked long into the evening hours making the house seem like a home again, and smiled at everyone he saw. He desperately wanted to get along with them all.
As the sun rose on the second day, Christina awoke. The piercing pains in her legs receded to a dull ache, the kind felt after a good workout. For the first time in weeks she felt well rested, and the realisation of where she was and who she had met settled in quickly. Sitting up, she watched Tony sleep for as long as it took to know he was alive and well, then looked at the third bed. Empty.
In the time it took to clear the house two days ago, she only briefly engaged with her roommate. That was all she needed to figure the girl was a dancer, and that might explain where she had gone so early.
The room had been cleaned, she soon realised; Tony's work, no doubt. Quietly, she slid out of bed and pulled one of the rucksacks from beneath it. She took spare clothes from her bag – she wasn't yet comfortable wearing the new ones, so she produced her own; the fire department logo printed on the left breast of the navy shirt and in the label of her combats – and slipped into the bathroom.
If the shower was a person, she would have hugged it. She washed away dirt and pain of days spent constantly moving, wasting not a second of the luxury. Once dressed, she marched through the house to the outside.
Christina soaked in the morning air. Even knowing the fence was reinforced and seeing no signs of the dead, she remained a little tense. It had become habit, now. She felt strange at having a distance between herself and Tony... and yet she could not decide whether the feeling was negative or not. She leaned on the well and braided her dark hair, watching the grounds. How long had she slept?
I'm happy to post again to help set the ball rolling on the timeskip.
Edit: Tadaa. Poor little Christina, confused and unsure about so many things.
Edit: Tadaa. Poor little Christina, confused and unsure about so many things.
That short film is great, I love it.
I'll start writing my next post and have it up when the rules allow. If it matters, Chris would've been asleep for a large portion of the first day, after helping clear the house.
I'll start writing my next post and have it up when the rules allow. If it matters, Chris would've been asleep for a large portion of the first day, after helping clear the house.
Tadaa. I'll have a post up for Elijah at some point, too.
All morning long, young Shades flitted about like hungry chicks, craving explanations to things Dianus had discovered for herself hundreds of years before. A small flock of them bustled around her perch at the top of an old church; their questions centred on the denominations of Christianity. She led them to the church in the hopes they would seek their own answers and leave her time to explore the city. Instead, they pestered her and the poor Catholics until the afternoon, when they grew predictably tired of learning.
She would never understand that.
Dianus let her wings carry her over the city for a good while, delighting in the refreshing air. A new adventure began today. New to the city by less than a week, she had yet to decide where to start. Accents came easy with years of practice, she could be a businesswoman, or an immigrant, or a holidaymaker. Perhaps the easiest option was to play a local. She landed softly behind a closed deli and donned her façade.
She strolled into the high street as a gorgeous brunette, and like all other Shades, drew plenty of attention. Dianus cared little for the wolf-whistles and appreciative stares. They had no depth, and were therefore uninteresting. Still, she smiled at all who looked, for at least when they tripped over their own feet, it was amusing.
Around her shoulders hung a small satchel, carried by both her façade and her Shade form, which usually contained the latest in hundreds of journals detailing her research. She kept the rest stashed in hiding places around the world. Today, she needed a new journal. So upon clocking the nearest chain book store, she slipped inside.
A shiver trickled down her back as she swept past the air conditioning and caught that distinctive scent of new books. Briefly eyeing the non-fiction, Dianus found her way to the notebook section. She liked to have an entirely different journal every time she started a new project, and fortunately, the humans kept supplying her with new styles. She plucked from the collection the very first that caught her eye; leather bound and shaped to depict a brick wall, complemented by an antique key.
“Hello,” she greeted the cashier with a smile. The young man behind the desk openly stared. “I just moved here from out of town, and I was wondering where the best place to get a coffee might be?” Regaining his composure, the young man babbled out a list, from which Dianus caught but one name, and fumbled through her checkout. She delivered more than the required payment, winked and breezed out of the store. With currency being so easy to come by for a Shade, she used to wonder why they weren't all filthy rich. Humans seemed to like that idea, especially in the United States of America. They called it “the American Dream”. Immortality had to have something to do with Shades' indifference towards money, she decided.
Doffing her façade as soon as she travelled beyond the high street, she flew into the clouds, allowing the wind to turn the pages of her newest journal.
She would never understand that.
Dianus let her wings carry her over the city for a good while, delighting in the refreshing air. A new adventure began today. New to the city by less than a week, she had yet to decide where to start. Accents came easy with years of practice, she could be a businesswoman, or an immigrant, or a holidaymaker. Perhaps the easiest option was to play a local. She landed softly behind a closed deli and donned her façade.
She strolled into the high street as a gorgeous brunette, and like all other Shades, drew plenty of attention. Dianus cared little for the wolf-whistles and appreciative stares. They had no depth, and were therefore uninteresting. Still, she smiled at all who looked, for at least when they tripped over their own feet, it was amusing.
Around her shoulders hung a small satchel, carried by both her façade and her Shade form, which usually contained the latest in hundreds of journals detailing her research. She kept the rest stashed in hiding places around the world. Today, she needed a new journal. So upon clocking the nearest chain book store, she slipped inside.
A shiver trickled down her back as she swept past the air conditioning and caught that distinctive scent of new books. Briefly eyeing the non-fiction, Dianus found her way to the notebook section. She liked to have an entirely different journal every time she started a new project, and fortunately, the humans kept supplying her with new styles. She plucked from the collection the very first that caught her eye; leather bound and shaped to depict a brick wall, complemented by an antique key.
“Hello,” she greeted the cashier with a smile. The young man behind the desk openly stared. “I just moved here from out of town, and I was wondering where the best place to get a coffee might be?” Regaining his composure, the young man babbled out a list, from which Dianus caught but one name, and fumbled through her checkout. She delivered more than the required payment, winked and breezed out of the store. With currency being so easy to come by for a Shade, she used to wonder why they weren't all filthy rich. Humans seemed to like that idea, especially in the United States of America. They called it “the American Dream”. Immortality had to have something to do with Shades' indifference towards money, she decided.
Doffing her façade as soon as she travelled beyond the high street, she flew into the clouds, allowing the wind to turn the pages of her newest journal.
© 2007-2024