teapotshark Member
- Last Seen: 8 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: splash13
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
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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
Tadaa. This is how I imagine the chicken coop, by the way.
Tony clamped his mouth shut to keep from squeaking when the puppy twin pounced on him. His arms trapped, he could do nothing but submit to the gratuitous cuddling. As the twin snuggled into him, he started to feel almost... comfortable. When did he last hug anyone? Long before the infection broke out – he could be very selective about who touched him, sometimes – and Chris kept herself so occupied ensuring their survival she never considered how comforting a simple hug could be. But the very moment Tony became used to the hug, it was over and Dog bounced away, closing the door on the way out of the attic.
Alone with the quieter, far more terrifying twin, Tony looked everywhere but directly at him. Suddenly the floorboards were of great interest to him. In short time, "Cat" began to deliver disused electronic equipment exactly suited to Tony's needs; cables wrapped in yellow, white and orange rubber and a computer from the late nineties. The similarity to a house cat presenting its family with dead birds and mice wasn't lost on him. Still avoiding the man's gaze, Tony went to his knees by the box and carefully rifled through the cables. I need tools... wire strippers, screwdrivers... a soldering iron. That's not likely.
He was acutely aware of the unwavering stare of the man towering over him; the height difference made even more obvious when Tony knelt on the floor. He tried to keep his mind on the task, and not dwell on the many hundreds of ways this man could torture him. Summoning all the courage he possessed, Tony lifted his head to ask for the man's help once more, and instead froze again when Cat moved, raising his right hand and revealing an iPod.
I'm going to need more screwdrivers. Slowly, Tony lifted his hand and, being careful not to make any sudden movements, picked the iPod out of Cat's palm. “Thank you,” he said quietly, but clear enough for Cat to hear. “This is, um... very helpful.” He held the device lightly so it was easy enough for the other man to snatch it back if he didn't want Tony to have it. “Do you know if there are tools up here?”
“Yeah, maybe,” Chris replied, cautiously poking a finger in through the mesh and stroking the neck feathers of a particularly friendly hen. Another came along soon enough to nip at her finger, mistaking it for food, and she pulled her hand out of the mesh quick. A small cut, almost a pinprick, bled at the tip of her finger; she sucked it into her mouth before the blood could drop and cause concern. She gave Mercy a sheepish, that-was-my-fault look.
Mercy's restless steps struck her as odd, but only when the other woman asked Chris to feed the chickens while she snuck into the hen house did Chris understand what the problem was. She considered asking outright, “are you afraid of chickens?” but decided that might be a tad nosy. Instead she opted to express her understanding with action. “I'll do both, if you like. Feed them and get the eggs.” You don't have to do it if you don't want to, her tone implied.
She stood and collected the bucket of chicken feed. Dipping her hand in, she scooped out a handful of grits and sprinkled them in through the mesh. The chickens flocked to her side of the coop and the first handful of feed disappeared in moments. Chris crouched again and tipped the bucket from the bottom, drawing a heaped line in feed at the edge of the coop. With the bucket half empty and the chickens feasting, she moved around to the small door in the coop and slipped inside. In fluid motions she retrieved the two grain dispensers and ducked back out of the coop. She filled them with the remaining grain and slipped them back into the coop behind the chickens.
Chris stood straight again, dusting grass and grain off her knees. “Tadaa,” she gestured like a game show host to the coop. She looked at Mercy, trying to offer a supportive smile – though she knew not why she felt the need to support this woman. “Want me to grab those eggs?”
Code names? That seemed a little odd. As “Cat” continued to explain, Tony became increasingly sympathetic to the pair, which in turn unnerved him even further. Should he really be feeling sympathy for them? Would anyone else? No one else has bothered to talk to them, though, he reminded himself. It struck him that he might ask if they wanted to have normal names, yet he neglected to ask upon realising that perhaps the twins didn't want to be normal.
Dog proved his theory only seconds after her thought it up. Following that, they maybe unknowingly mocked his own name. The twins were fast-paced even when they weren't moving and spoke softly, Tony's thoughts bounced from one theory to the next but never came up with a successful explanation for the two. Like a cell signal darting about to avoid tracking systems. What did he come up to the attic for, again?
“Heeeeey buddy could you do me a huge favor? Could you watch Cat here while I get some water?”
His eyes shot back to the girl in front of him, widening at the mere mention of being left alone with the spookier twin. He started to protest, but all that came out were “ums” and “ahs” as the girl went on, rambling about her brother. The beaten infected dog flashed to the forefront of his mind, and he shuddered. Dog looked at him like... well, like a dog, a really cute one, and before he knew what he was doing, Tony nodded.
He slid his attention over to Cat, finding his mouth dry. Desperately meaning to say something and distract the man from whatever thoughts were running through his mind, Tony mumbled out, “Electronics.”
Chris elected not to dwell on Mercy's response to the first question. Fortunately, the other woman changed the subject before a blush could arise. The horse must have sensed the need for a distraction, too, for he snorted water at the pair of them. Instinctively, Chris raised an arm to cover her face, but the horse managed to leave droplets along her other arm. Suppressing a snicker, she wiped her arms dry. Bandit was cool, she decided. Grandpa would've liked him, too.
It grew harder not to laugh when the horse snatched up a mouthful of hay and promptly turned his head back towards them for more petting. Chris didn't notice the smile that crept onto her features, though she felt a flicker of her former self rise out of the place she'd buried it. She knew spending a prolonged time at the farm, where their worries shifted from the undead to how much food they had, and they needn't be moving constantly, she would see more of that person. But who she was now kept her and Tony safe. She could not afford to lose that.
Mercy's words snapped her out of her thoughts, the request surprising her. Someone asking for her company felt... weird, after so long. Even stranger was Mercy's demeanour when she asked; did she look nervous or had Chris' imagination taken the blushing and ran with it?
“Yeah, sure. I'll come,” she said, giving the horse a final few strokes. Mercy was the least convincing person Chris had ever met; her smile screamed her true intentions, if her eyes hadn't already managed to get the message across. Chris couldn't blame her, though, in this new world of little freedom, getting to ride a horse again would be as thrilling as a rollercoaster in the old world. She took Bandit back to his stall – at least she hoped it was his, she guessed – with a fistful of hay. “Later, Bandit.”
Returning to Mercy, Chris gestured to the barn entrance and jogged out. Though she still wasn't exactly sure how long she slept, she remembered roughly the layout of the farm. Out of habit, she look in every direction as she walked the short way to the chicken coop. Chris crouched outside the heavy duty mesh and peered in. The healthy flock clucked and peeped around the coop until they saw her there, then hobbled over, apparently recognising humans as food-givers. “Do people bother naming chickens when there's so many?” she wondered aloud, before remembering she wasn't alone and looking around for Mercy.
"She barked at him". The cat and dog jokes are never going to end and I love it.
If the abrupt realisation of having barged in on the twins had not been horrifying enough, the girl leaping to her feet with her fists up only added to the terror. The man's unwavering gaze unnerved Tony even further. He knew from the others just what that man had done, and saw with his own eyes how violently strange the pair were. Whether or not they wanted to hurt him, Tony wanted to bolt out of the attic as quick as his legs could manage. But he couldn't; like a deer in headlights he dare not move.
The girl came bounding at him, and Tony's heart stopped beating for a moment, only to kick back up again at twice the pace when the man's hand dragged back his sister. The thud of her head hitting the floor made Tony hop back a step. After that, the girl didn't move, and he was sure she had a broken nose or a split lip or something. She rose again, unhurt, and scolded her brother. Confusion painted itself across Tony's features, temporarily disguising his nerves. What, exactly, was wrong with the two of them?
While they conversed, in calm tones as if this was a normal experience for them, Tony's eyes darted from one twin to the other, trying to decipher their intentions. By the time the girl began to approach him again, he still hadn't figured it out. He tried to watch her and keep an eye on her brother at the same time, but he was never as good as Chris at multitasking. He couldn't help but flinch at the jazzhands, either.
The reference to the cartoon managed to briefly distract his thoughts, but curiosity brought him back to the present. “...Don't you, uh... have real names?” he whispered, squeezing the broom handle.
Mercy didn't seem to be recovering from the blush at all. Chris offered her an apologetic look, but she had turned away to cover her cheeks. At least she didn't seem angry at being embarrassed. Chris allowed herself to relax a little more; the muscles in her back, shoulders and arms had been tense since she woke, ready to react to the slightest sign of danger.
She smirked at the puff of air from the horse and obediently scratched his forehead.
“Hey, Bandit,” she said, straightening as if to introduce herself formally to the horse. “Comet.” She nodded in greeting to his companion. “Good names.” Relief settled in, calming her nerves, when she learned Bandit was indeed a boy, and that she hadn't just made an idiot of herself in front of this almost-stranger. Chris wondered why she cared so much whether or not she came across as an idiot. She didn't plan on staying at the farmhouse for long, anyway. Right?
She felt her features contort to a frown and hastily turned her attention back to the horse, and to Mercy. “Has he been neglected for ages, or am I just irresistible?” she asked, then immediately considered what might be made of such a comment. She added, clearing her throat, “Uh, to horses. I mean.” Narrowly avoiding another frown, she reached for her baton. In the aftermath of the infection, touching the weapon became a comfort, even when she didn't intend to use it. She found it gone from her belt, having forgotten, in her sleep-dulled mind, to take it with her when she woke up.
Chris sought stability in Bandit instead, fulfilling each of his not so subtle requests. “My grandfather loved horses,” she said in answer to Mercy's question, her tone audibly lower. An image of her plump, grey-bearded grandfather leading a blue roan horse around a field fluttered across her mind.
Eyeing the woman again when she began to mention the store in Karn, Chris recalled the reunion she witnessed between Mercy and her friend, Ash. Only after a moment of silence did she realise she hadn't responded or given the other woman her name. She couldn't recall if Tony had told anyone, and the last hour or so before she passed out was blurred in her memory. “Yeah, I heard your friend say it. I'm Christina.” My friends call me Chris, she wanted to add, but decided it was too familiar a nickname to be handing out if she intended to leave soon. “And don't worry about it. Any decent human being would've done it.”
Fantastic. I'll make up Tony's response in my next post.
Silver Fox said Yay I shall get a post up xD
Oh boy, I look forward to it. I'll just wait here, rubbing my hands together and cackling.
There! I posted so Fox's twins can play with Tony. Have fun with that!
The flush of the other woman's cheeks amused Chris enough to make her smile, almost. The corner of her mouth twitched up in a lopsided half-smile for the briefest of moments. Just as no one sang any more, no one blushed, either. They were such oddities, like rare jewels that ought to be cherished. “I'm feeling better,” she replied, but even then, her voice had a sleepy rasp to it. The words were true, though; the more she moved now, the more strength returned to her muscles. “Sorry I scared you, I didn't want to freak you out.”
Chris shifted her attention to the desperately fidgeting horse, figuring Mercy would appreciate the chance to cool her cheeks. Chris needed to stop staring, too, if she was going to maintain her impression of stoic hardbody.
The horse's straining movements coupled with Mercy's quiet laugh made it harder not to smile, or at least smirk.
“He's beautiful,” she murmured, barely aware of her own words. She stepped closer to the horse, standing opposite Mercy and pulling her hands from her pockets to stroke his long face. “Hey, boy,” she said quietly, running one hand over his coat, while the other gently held his head still. Marvelling at the healthy, wholesome look about him, she wondered how he managed to survive the infected. Lloyd's poor dogs hadn't, and that made the horses, and the cow, and all the animals that much more important. Chris chanced a look at Mercy. “What's his name? It is a boy horse, right?”
Tony coursed through the house in his mission to find whatever might be useful to communications. He swept, mopped, wiped and tidied as he went, and slowly the house started to gleam. But his search yielded nothing. Whoever holed up in the farmhouse prior to their arrival – Lloyd's family, he assumed with a wave of unnecessary remorse – they only thought to stockpile food and all that was vital to keep living. There was an old, broken computer and a radio, but without tools they were almost useless. It so happened that Tony couldn't find any tools, either.
He made his way slowly to the attic, armed with his broom, for there were sure to be plenty of cobwebs. In no particular hurry, and still getting used to that feeling, he paused to sweep the second floor halls and the stairs, and give the banister a wipe down. For a tiny moment, he wondered if his efforts were something to be proud of, or if he was wasting time. Refusing to think such things, he flung open the door to the attic and strode in.
Oh dear. He forgot about the twins.
Standing a few strides forward of the doorway with a broom in his hand and an array of cloths tucked into his belt, vulnerability seeped from his every pore. The sudden attack of uneasiness and perhaps even fear became painfully obvious in his eyes, his tightened grip on the broom handle, and the shiver that ran over his back. He faced the twins and uttered, “H-Hello?”
Chris shifted her attention to the desperately fidgeting horse, figuring Mercy would appreciate the chance to cool her cheeks. Chris needed to stop staring, too, if she was going to maintain her impression of stoic hardbody.
The horse's straining movements coupled with Mercy's quiet laugh made it harder not to smile, or at least smirk.
“He's beautiful,” she murmured, barely aware of her own words. She stepped closer to the horse, standing opposite Mercy and pulling her hands from her pockets to stroke his long face. “Hey, boy,” she said quietly, running one hand over his coat, while the other gently held his head still. Marvelling at the healthy, wholesome look about him, she wondered how he managed to survive the infected. Lloyd's poor dogs hadn't, and that made the horses, and the cow, and all the animals that much more important. Chris chanced a look at Mercy. “What's his name? It is a boy horse, right?”
Tony coursed through the house in his mission to find whatever might be useful to communications. He swept, mopped, wiped and tidied as he went, and slowly the house started to gleam. But his search yielded nothing. Whoever holed up in the farmhouse prior to their arrival – Lloyd's family, he assumed with a wave of unnecessary remorse – they only thought to stockpile food and all that was vital to keep living. There was an old, broken computer and a radio, but without tools they were almost useless. It so happened that Tony couldn't find any tools, either.
He made his way slowly to the attic, armed with his broom, for there were sure to be plenty of cobwebs. In no particular hurry, and still getting used to that feeling, he paused to sweep the second floor halls and the stairs, and give the banister a wipe down. For a tiny moment, he wondered if his efforts were something to be proud of, or if he was wasting time. Refusing to think such things, he flung open the door to the attic and strode in.
Oh dear. He forgot about the twins.
Standing a few strides forward of the doorway with a broom in his hand and an array of cloths tucked into his belt, vulnerability seeped from his every pore. The sudden attack of uneasiness and perhaps even fear became painfully obvious in his eyes, his tightened grip on the broom handle, and the shiver that ran over his back. He faced the twins and uttered, “H-Hello?”
Elijah walked up and down the edge of the soccer pitch, shouting encouragement to the kids on the field. The season begun a few weeks before, but their full-time coach already injured himself trying to show off. Still, Elijah happily stepped in to coach on his own. The team consisted of fourteen boys and girls, now in brand new red and blue uniforms. An anonymous donor sponsored them after their win last season, paying for a range of new kit. The kids loved it, of course, but Elijah was intent on finding out who the sponsor was.
One of the kids sent the ball soaring into the net and immediately began showboating. “Keep focused, Danny!” he called out amidst a round of groans from the rest of the team. Typical behaviour for the star player, and they all knew it. Elijah raised his voice to be heard over the cheering of the soccer moms edging the field. “The game doesn't pause because you scored a goal, get back in there!”
The boy jolted out of his ridiculous act and raced back down the field after the ball. After ten minutes more, during which time the score was evened by one of the girls, Elijah blew the whistle for half time. The kids poured into the crowd of parents to accept juice boxes and snacks, all except one. At ten years old, Steven was the smallest kid on the team, but not the youngest, and he struggled to make friends. Given the chance, he could be an excellent player. Elijah picked up a juice box and an apple and made his way onto the field.
“Hey kid, you hungry?” Steven nodded and put out his hand, saying nothing. Elijah handed him the apple and popped the straw in the juice for him. “Don't you want to come say hi to your fans?” Elijah offered, nodding his head to indicate the parents on the sidelines. No one ever came to watch the game or wait for Steven, he walked to and from the field every week by himself, and his father was a single parent who worked double shifts.
Still silent, Steven gave a tiny, hesitant nod. “Great, I'll introduce you to Hope's parents, they're really nice.” Elijah smiled and led the boy from the field. Hope's parents were his favourites, they cared about the whole team, rather than just their own kid. If anyone would help bring Steven out of his shell, it would be them. He found them talking to their daughter and two of her friends. “Mr and Mrs Solo, this is Steven.”
Flying soothed Dianus the way rocking soothed a human infant, or floating in a pool soothed the aquatic types. She often questioned how humans could be so happy not having wings. Of course, they had those enormous, metal flying machines, but sitting in one of those was nothing like real flying. She swirled around skyscrapers, swan dived from the clouds, and flew low to the sea, dipping her hand in the water. When she arrived at the coffee shop in her façade, she felt refreshed.
She flashed her trademark smile at the barista and ordered a summer berry slushie. Taking her drink to the back of the shop, where she would have the best view of its customers, she settled into a booth seat and opened her new journal. As she looked up, pencil held delicately in her hand, she spied quite an interesting sight: another Shade, at the front of the store with a laptop. Though dressed in her façade, Dianus could see what she really was. She leaned back in her seat to watch the Shade, idly sketching the interior of the coffee shop between looks.
One of the kids sent the ball soaring into the net and immediately began showboating. “Keep focused, Danny!” he called out amidst a round of groans from the rest of the team. Typical behaviour for the star player, and they all knew it. Elijah raised his voice to be heard over the cheering of the soccer moms edging the field. “The game doesn't pause because you scored a goal, get back in there!”
The boy jolted out of his ridiculous act and raced back down the field after the ball. After ten minutes more, during which time the score was evened by one of the girls, Elijah blew the whistle for half time. The kids poured into the crowd of parents to accept juice boxes and snacks, all except one. At ten years old, Steven was the smallest kid on the team, but not the youngest, and he struggled to make friends. Given the chance, he could be an excellent player. Elijah picked up a juice box and an apple and made his way onto the field.
“Hey kid, you hungry?” Steven nodded and put out his hand, saying nothing. Elijah handed him the apple and popped the straw in the juice for him. “Don't you want to come say hi to your fans?” Elijah offered, nodding his head to indicate the parents on the sidelines. No one ever came to watch the game or wait for Steven, he walked to and from the field every week by himself, and his father was a single parent who worked double shifts.
Still silent, Steven gave a tiny, hesitant nod. “Great, I'll introduce you to Hope's parents, they're really nice.” Elijah smiled and led the boy from the field. Hope's parents were his favourites, they cared about the whole team, rather than just their own kid. If anyone would help bring Steven out of his shell, it would be them. He found them talking to their daughter and two of her friends. “Mr and Mrs Solo, this is Steven.”
Flying soothed Dianus the way rocking soothed a human infant, or floating in a pool soothed the aquatic types. She often questioned how humans could be so happy not having wings. Of course, they had those enormous, metal flying machines, but sitting in one of those was nothing like real flying. She swirled around skyscrapers, swan dived from the clouds, and flew low to the sea, dipping her hand in the water. When she arrived at the coffee shop in her façade, she felt refreshed.
She flashed her trademark smile at the barista and ordered a summer berry slushie. Taking her drink to the back of the shop, where she would have the best view of its customers, she settled into a booth seat and opened her new journal. As she looked up, pencil held delicately in her hand, she spied quite an interesting sight: another Shade, at the front of the store with a laptop. Though dressed in her façade, Dianus could see what she really was. She leaned back in her seat to watch the Shade, idly sketching the interior of the coffee shop between looks.
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