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Post by KUN SHUI WEI on Sept 18, 2013 19:51:38 GMT -8
tagged: Event time: May 16. Noon. speech: kun shui. notes: - - - One of Kun Shui’s greatest attributes was his ability to put a single-minded focus on something. He heard the banging at the doors and windows, the screaming people all desperately trying to get out and somewhere else, the crunch of something being broken. Bones? A frame? Something solid that was meant to hold things together. Something. He didn’t know. He didn’t care. He just wanted to find something and stop it. Could he, though? No time for self-doubt, but he was doing so anyway, despite his vision seeming to have tunnelled down to that one objective.
He almost completely forgot about Lucien. He was bolting down the hall, sometimes opening doors and peering in before slamming them shut again. No painter, no paintbrush, and objective still incomplete. He had no idea where the guy even was, let alone how he was going to do anything about it.
Jun Shi ran past a pale haired woman and for some reason, she noticed her eyes. Blue eyes. That stood out in his addled brain, the headache beginning to throb again right against the bridge of his nose, like a beast threatening to scramble out of his eye sockets much like the bulldog monster did. Fuck, he had no time for this.
There was the report of a gun, and all the sudden, he remembered that he had two of his own; one was tucked against his side in a shoulder strap under his coat, and another against the opposite hip.
Something, someone, grabbed his sleeve. His first reaction was always to fight, or reason, but reason wasn’t an option right now. He swirled around and in one fluid movement, he had the gun at his hip out and levelled with whatever it was.
Lucien. Poor little Lucien.
And for just a second, perhaps he entertained the thought. He was pushed much too far by what was going on; stresses were not ideal, after all. Perhaps he was channeling his inner Jun Shi, or something; they were twins, after all. Wasn’t Lucien miserable here, anyways? Didn’t he ever want it to all stop? It’d just take a second.
No, not that. He slowly lowered the gun. Slowly. Despite the chaos around him, he moved with a perfect sort of calm.
”Upstairs… alright.” Monsters... He barely noticed them. He was surrounded by them much too often. |
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Post by CANIS MINOR on Sept 21, 2013 9:09:51 GMT -8
Fear gripped his insides, a malevolent hand curling around his beating heart. His blood ran cold. Sweat was beginning to trickle down the side of his face, and the hairs at the back of his neck stood erect.
His eyes burned holes into the spindly monster tossing around bodies like rag dolls, and the urge to throw up came down on him. Eyeing the bodies against his will, he thought that the rules of the body would disallow them to be sprawled in the way they were. After the realization dawned on him, he turned away, unable to look at them without keeping his digesting sandwich down.
Instead, they turned to the police officer, whose finger was busy coming down on the trigger. The sounds of the gunshots reverberated throughout the cavernous hall, coming out over the sounds of banshee-like shrieking. He didn’t like this. There had to be some way to stop the monsters that had emerged from the paintings. The artist must have been a psycho.
Canis’s eyes narrowed into slits. The artist. Something about him struck a chord inside him, but it wasn’t fully realized, and it left Canis with the hollow feeling of knowing only part of the big picture. He ground his teeth together, irritated.
Meanwhile, the police officer was trying to usher him to the second floor, telling him to stick with her. That was something Canis wasn’t going to argue about—she was the one with the gun.
Except the gun didn’t work.
Canis watched as the bullet swam into the larger, bull-like monster, and disappeared into the murky, inky substance that made him up. Why was it that he seemed so much like liquid barely holding itself together, yet could throttle the ground with its enormous fists, sending vibrations that Canis could feel through the soles of his shoes? It was magic.
His eyes were running around like a madman. They landed, very briefly, on everything in sight—the woman in the flowing red dress being trampled by the unforgiving wave of people, the overturned tables that once held good food and drink, the painting that the spindly one had come out of.
And there it was. An urge to see inside. To be a Peeping Tom, only with his life very much at stake.
His throat was dry, and at the very thought of peering in, his breathing raced. He couldn’t. He had to stay with the cop, and the cop wanted him upstairs.
Another woman, looking as grief-stricken as the rest, stumbled across them, asking for them to wait for her. Of course. It only made sense for people to want to stay with the one who retained a smidgen of authority, but he—and probably the cop, too—knew that the gun was next to useless.
The uselessness of the situation had begun to sink in, and with it, his anger began to rise. He hated this. He almost thought that sharing the same fate as the splayed figures on the tiled floor would be nice. The eyes that landed on the big, stupid monster were alight with fury.
“Give me that.” He held out an impatient hand toward the blonde woman, gesturing to her tray. His mouth was turned downwards into an ugly snarl. He wasn't even looking at the blonde, his eyes on the monster that had broken free of his cage. He wasn't going to stand for any of this.
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KYOKO SHIOMI
Civilian  
LAPD OFFICER
When did a large, monstrous dog start following me?
Posts: 111
MINI INFO - GENDER: Female
MINI INFO - D.O.B.: 23 AUGUST 1985
MINI INFO - OCCUPATION: LAPD OFFICER
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Post by KYOKO SHIOMI on Sept 21, 2013 20:28:31 GMT -8
Bull. Shit. "I swear to-" The bullet hit, but it did nothing. At least with the rats they had at least propelled back. This time, it just hit the arm and the monster just absorbed it. It took all of her effort not to swear in front of the little boy. "Are you kidding me?!" Now the monster was slamming his arm and all Kyoko could think was that she angered it and she was in deep shit now. She had a gun, but the handgun seemed to do jack shit. If there was any time for swearing it was now, but all she could do was release a frustrated grunt as she kept moving. But she kept steady, there were still more bullets to fire in this round, and damn if she wasn't going to put them into use. She noticed that the bullet she fired after real-life slenderman hadn't hit, and if she was going to let that sit with her, she'll be damned.
It would have been nice if she could request backup, but obviously, she couldn't. Guns didn't do much, and she certainly didn't want to risk anyone else's life. It would just be nice if there was another person who could cover her while she reloaded. People were running, Kyoko was finding it hard to avoid accidentally shooting one of them, much less trying to get an aim of monstrously long-limbed monster over there. Aside from swearing though, they were getting nowhere. They weren't really making much process with moving either. She wanted to get upstairs and investigate. Despite, well, investigating never being her strong point.
Her first thought when the woman came up to them made Kyoko feel horrible. She didn't need another person to take care of, not right now. She immediately tossed that thought out, looking at her, who seemed so desperate for help when in actuality, Kyoko couldn't help much either. The bullets weren't doing anything. "Stay close." They needed to get out, but more importantly, Kyoko needed to find this thing that would stop the monsters. Fat chance she would find it, seeing as she didn't know anything about it but the fact that it existed and she knew it in her gut but was it really a good idea to make these people stick by her?
She wanted to protect them. She just did not want this to be a repeat of the undead rats. There was already little Morris that had been scarred, Canis who was here now, and Sheryl in the coma. Kyoko did not want to deal with this, she didn't want to know the suffering, she just wanted peace. But she grunted, fired another two shots at the monster that was blocking the only unlocked door in a vain attempt at trying to clear a way before looking towards the stairs. "Something's causing this to happen..."
A jumble of thoughts and Kyoko could only comprehended she wanted to get up, she wanted to shoot monsters, but she also wanted to stop whatever the hell was causing this shitstorm to happen. "We're going upstairs." It was fairly obvious, but if the woman wanted to stay with them, she was going to need to know where they were going. "And get something to protect yourselves with, I can't cover both of you from all sides." Hell, without her partner, she couldn't cover herself from all sides. Why... why the hell did she think it was a good idea to go alone to an art gallery?! Kei was going to give her hell for this, she just knew it. So what, Kyoko didn't think that Kei would mind her going to a boring art gallery to see art! And then this happened!
The exasperation and downright annoyance at the whole situation than the actual fear she was supposed to be feeling emanated from her as she moved towards the upstairs area, where other people were going as well. And then the arm monster popped out of the painting. And Kyoko was displeased, because it was huge and it was coming towards them. It wasn't just an arm too, and it was going after something, although Kyoko didn't know. She did know that there were people being trampled, and she couldn't deal with that right now because she needed to find the source of power she was sure was upstairs. And once she shut down the monster attack, she'll deal with the other people. "Run, get away from that thing, and dear god, do not do anything stupid."
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Post by EMMELINE EVANS on Sept 22, 2013 14:52:25 GMT -8
| rabbit - hearted I look around, but I can't find you If only I could see your face Instead of rushing towards the skyline I wish that I could just be brave I must become a lion hearted girl Ready for a fight Before I make the final sacrifice We raise it up, this offering We raise it up This is a gift, it comes with a price Who is the lamb and who is the knife? Midas is king and he holds me so tight And turns me to gold in the sunlight And in the spring I shed my skin And it blows away with the changing wind The waters turn from blue to red As --- There was so much screaming and pain. It was overwhelming all of Emmeline’s senses. She almost lost her focus for a few seconds when someone fell at her feet, but she skirted politely around them and continued toward her goal—the small boy and his escort with the gun. Normally Emmeline would be a little concerned as to why this lady was carrying a gun (but would try her best not to judge) but in this circumstance, that was the least of her worries.
Thankfully she reached them before the crowd got too out of hand. She was panting quite a bit, a small sheen of sweat slicking her forehead, but was otherwise intact. Physically, at least. Mentally she was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and a whole lot of fear—and she’d dropped her purse at some point in the chaos so she didn’t even have her medication to help calm her down.
No one complained. That was the one thing that Emmeline was worried about, but besides a wild look on the boy’s face, the two didn’t seem to mind that she was going to be their timid little shadow. The woman even addressed her, telling her to stay close. Emmeline nodded frantically so she knew she understood and got a little closer to the pair, holding the tray close to her chest. She didn’t really know what she was going to do with it, but it made her feel better for some reason, just having it to hold onto.
It wasn’t like she could grab gun-lady and hold on to her like she would have her mother.
So far se had only spotted the two monsters, but screams from the other rooms told her that there were more. One was that weird stick-bug-slenderman-icky thing that had trapped some poor man into the painting and then some giant beast just now managing to pry itself free—Emmeline had a fleeting thought that the thing looked like some dark, mutated version of Flopsie from Avatar, but she pretty knew that it wasn’t going to be as cuddly as Flopsie.
The woman told her to get something to protect herself—well, she told her and the boy—but Emmeline only had her little tray, and that was good enough for her. However, the boy seemed like he wanted it. Emmeline stared at him for a brief second, mouth slightly open and eyes wide with fear. He wanted her tray? But—but she needed it.
All she could manage was a quick shake of her head. Her arms tightened around the dirty tray—bits of food were staining her jacket sleeves, but she didn’t care. Stains in her clothes were nothing compared to missing limbs if one of the monsters got a hold of her. Emmeline swallowed hard and looked away from the boy. It broke her and made her tremble even worse, telling this boy no, but she needed that tray. Not only was it a make-shift shield that would probably only protect her for a few seconds at best, it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart at the seams.
He was going to hate her, she just knew it. He was going to think terribly of her and he was probably going to throw her at one of the beasts as soon as he got the chance, but she couldn’t bring herself to give it up.
Thankfully the freed Flopsie-beast came as a distraction. The gun-lady told them all to run, not to do anything stupid, and they headed upstairs. Emmeline was about spent, her legs and sides aching, but adrenaline and the need to survive kept her from collapsing or giving up. They pushed through the crowd, and Emmeline kept a tight grip on that tray. She made a fleeting look at the door and muttered “But. . . but we need to get out. . . ,” in the tiniest voice ever.
That was their only way out. Why were they running upstairs? She didn’t care what was causing this calamity. She didn’t want to stop it. Leave that to someone else.
Emmeline just wanted to go home.
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Lucien + kun + Canis + Kyoko • 674 • May 16, 2013 • THANKS ♥ |
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EVENTS
UNKNOWN ENTITY
Reasons Have No Meaning
Posts: 51
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Post by EVENTS on Sept 24, 2013 18:34:11 GMT -8
| | | The Stroke of a Master’s Brush
A path cleared. Well. It cleared after Drivel trampled half of the people standing between him and his prize. That gave Lucien and Kun Shui some time, but not much. He roared with triumph when it happened though—one final warning—his glacier white eyes flaring and then he shot forward in a heavy lope, moving with alarming, thunderous speed. For some reason, his catch had frozen ahead, stopped for a few breaths by the eye of a gun and a man he might have trusted to keep him safe. If Drivel were inclined to think about it more, he might have enjoyed watching them all panic and squirm this way, former protectors turned hysterical, addled enemies. A mind like Quid Pro Quo’s would have appreciated the show, but Drivel unfortunately, could not wrap his ridiculously small brain around such irony or give them any time to work through it. Drivel was much more interested in how easily he could grab Lucien now and finally win that delicious red; he would crush it out of him if he had to. In fact, he intended to. The other man might as well have been yet another irritable gnat, likely to be squashed or beaten under Drivel's rage if he kept stealing the red-haired human away from him. He must have been ten or so feet from his quarry when Drivel leapt at Lucien’s back. They might barely have had time to work out what just happened between them. If no one moved, Drivel would be on top of them. He might crash right into Lucien and knock Kun Shui aside for good measure. If anyone planned to go anywhere in this breath of a second, they had best do so now. That woman—the cop—was going to be a problem. She gathered lost lambs at an alarming rate, and that gun had potential, even if it didn't quite work on he or his siblings. There were always other means to tackle a situation, and Quid Pro Quo suspected she intended to find it. He flexed his longer fingers at his sides, contemplating. There was more drive in her than he originally gave her credit for, and he could see the fire burning in her gaze when she looked his way. The boy too. He had seen the way the boy glanced at a painting, Quid Pro Quo could almost see the wheels turning in his head. No matter. They wouldn't figure it out quick enough. He settled into position at the door, unwilling to take after anyone. He would not leave his post unless it was absolutely necessary. But Skewer, Drivel and Tinct were free, and his siblings had much more leeway granted them. Skewer especially, had taken a keen interest in Kyoko's growing gang. Soon, very soon now, it would be too late for these humans to do anything. Quid Pro Quo shuddered—power was thick on the air, and its focal point was upstairs. He could feel it crackling across his skin in little jolts of energy. Oh, things were coming to a head now. He might be summoned away from his post soon, but Quid had to wait first. He watched as the panic careened out of control, as one man pulled a gun on another, as people pushed and shoved and trampled. Most of all, he noticed the tapering of screams upstairs. Unseen by most, Tinct and Skewer were working their magic. The humans dropped like deadweight. Some were no longer alive. Last breaths, or the sighs of some poor soul before the deep sleep rose to his ears like a chorus. He enjoyed the symphony. But Quid Pro Quo let them go where they pleased. Upstairs—yes. Some of them, his master whispered, needed to be there.For those that have, or will, reach the second floor of the gallery, an uncomfortable silence seems to have descended upon this level of the building. The cacophony of shrieks and screams, the people clawing and banging at the windows to get out, the tears, the sheer panic—it’s all gone eerily quiet up here. Mind the unconscious bodies that litter the floors; they’ve fallen in droves around each other, some still barely breathing. Others will never wake, though none of them appear to bear any physical wounds. The paintings up here are lopsided on the walls or have fallen to the floors. The branches of a gnarled tree, the top half of a flickering street light, the brisk breeze of an autumn wind, fluttering white moths, the stench of city sewers—all of these things and more used to be part of the depictions, caged within their paintings. Now they have burst through their frames and overwhelmed the room with sights and smells that shouldn’t be. The cold is especially prevalent. In the deathly silence, the moths stand out, their fluttering wings as delicate as heartbeats. Where, oh where, is the one who did this? And is it still here? I Am Holding On, Still Holding On Miguel DeTorres has his back to the chaos that has befallen this room, and of course, it is impossible for him to notice the people coming up the stairwell because of it. Many of the individuals clamoring to get to this level of the building have taken one look at what’s happened up here, and have either frozen in place or turned tail to retreat back downstairs. Goosebumps, caused by the cold that has leaked through one of the paintings, crawl across his skin, but he diligently continues his work, unaware of the new, decorative changes that someone has made while he is busy. Even now, he is cordoned off from the rest of the room; there is at least a good ten feet of clear, untouched space surrounding him and his canvas. It is as if tragedy and death has blossomed out of his corner, with him at the center of this malevolent flower, each new body a petal, a testament to a growth in power. His wrist twitches. Miguel slides a swath of new color over his canvas. A tree branch jutting from one of the paintings crackles as if in answer. The flickering street lamp blows out entirely. He chuckles into the silence, working. Always working.
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Post by LUCIEN MARGAUX on Sept 24, 2013 19:56:22 GMT -8
tagged: name. time: date & time. notes: notes. Lucien did not know if he'd have described himself as 'frightened' until Kun Shui pulled the gun on him. Yes, people had died. Yes, a hulking gargoyle had tried to take his head off with one massive, meaty arm. He had accepted those things and moved on, pushing them into the back of his mind. It was like when he'd been young, and someone had tried to kill him and his father--almost routine and certainly not worth panicking over. If he'd panicked, he'd have died, and that instinct had won out, even years after the last actual attempt on his life by a paid hitman. It had let him push on, ignoring the almost certain death that would come if the beast caught up to him, and he hadn't expected the reality of his situation to hit him until hours later when he was safe in his room.
It all came crushing forward a lot faster then he had expected when he found himself facing down the barrel of a gun. Not any gun though--he could have managed any gun. This gun was Kun Shui's gun, and that made all the difference. He was a deer in the headlights for several horrible seconds, and it was only when Kun Shui lowered the gun that his mind restarted. His head flicked back, eyes running over the room, and he realized what was about to happen almost too late.
The monster was coming for them. He didn't wait, didn't think--just shoved Kun Shui hard to the left and dove to the right himself, skidding along the floor as he frantically pushed himself upright. There was no way for him to know who it was going for, and he had no reason to suspect it was actually aiming for his red hair, as opposed to going after the pair of them. He scrambled to his feet, hoping the beasts momentum would carry him far enough away to give them a head start, and bolted towards the stairs.
"Upstairs!" He yelled, glancing frantically over his shoulder, hoping that Kun Shui would be doing the same. |
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Post by KUN SHUI WEI on Sept 29, 2013 14:58:53 GMT -8
tagged: Event time: May 16. Noon. speech: kun shui. notes: - - - Kun Shui saw that flash in Lucien’s eyes as he stared down the barrel of his gun. A deer in headlights, or something like that. Staring at him with wide eyes and a sort of helplessness that only came from being in a very immediate, real danger. As if the monsters weren’t actual danger, right? Realistically, the monsters were worse than the gun, but he quickly lowered his weapon anyways. He was focused on Lucien and was oddly out of touch with what was around him until Lucien’s gaze shifted, and he followed it.
Not a moment too soon, he was very suddenly shoved out of the way of the oncoming whaling death machine. It was a flash right past him, and he really had no idea where Lucien had scuttled off to for a second. It didn’t really matter, anyways. Some part of him told him he wasn’t going to be safe until he could stop the paintbrush, and he couldn’t do that until he found it in the first place.
Kun Shui scrambled to his feet, breathing hard, grabbing at the gun that he’d dropped when he was pushed out of the way. ”Lucien?” He called out, glancing quickly around the room. He was looking for red hair, not realizing that was the target of the beast, as well.
His gaze swept up towards the stairs where Lucien’s voice came from, and there he was, glancing over his shoulder at him. Damn, he was fast, wasn’t he? ”Coming!” He bolted in his direction, the safety pulled off his gun and glancing over his own shoulder every once in a while to keep an eye on whatever rampaging beast that was after them. There looked to be more than one, right?
It was the second floor that finally seemed to strike a chord with him. Mismatched items from different parts of the world, all gnarled branches of trees and crooked sign posts and… were those moths? He didn’t know, but he glanced them briefly, feeling the slightly cooler air up there, and wondering where oh where they had gone.
Kun Shui’s pace slowed, and he glanced around the disheveled room as if admiring the works now scattered about, tossed to the floor and hanging lopsided on their nails.
”…Lucien? Do you know what we’re looking for?”
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Post by CANIS MINOR on Sept 30, 2013 17:34:51 GMT -8
Canis simmered under his skin, pulling his hand back and allowing it to fall slack at his side.
“Whatever,” he said, shooting a fiery glare at the frail woman, his mood soured. He, however, didn’t let the fact that she’d prevented him from doing something very dangerous escape him. He needed to calm down, or it would end up like the cellar all over again.
He ignored the officer, instead weaving through the howling crowd ahead of the two. He could learn to tolerate the police officer, but he’d decided that he disliked the blonde woman. People like her were bound to be killed amidst the discord, trampled under the feet of the growing mass of panicked citizens.
He stopped in front of a staircase, assuming it was the way to the second floor, their solace. Glancing backwards into the sea of fear and ataxia for only a moment, he pulled himself onto the first step and began to climb. He couldn’t wait for the other two. They’d follow.
As he stumbled onto the second floor, he was hit by the deafening wave of . . . overwhelming silence. The quiescence was like a lingering buzz at the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite detect, and it left him feeling strange and incomplete. The calm before a storm.
A lump formed in his throat.
Bodies lay sprawled across the floors of white, unmoving. They somehow struck Canis as serene, as if they were only sleeping. Canis couldn’t even tell if they were sleeping. The cold pinched his skin, and a moth fluttered by, looking strangely like a leave floating down upon autumn winds.
There were other people. But Canis couldn’t bring himself to care. He only cared about the paintings that lay in scattered disarray, and the irresistible urge to investigate them.
KYOKO SHIOMI
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KYOKO SHIOMI
Civilian
LAPD OFFICER
When did a large, monstrous dog start following me?
Posts: 111
MINI INFO - GENDER: Female
MINI INFO - D.O.B.: 23 AUGUST 1985
MINI INFO - OCCUPATION: LAPD OFFICER
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Post by KYOKO SHIOMI on Oct 1, 2013 18:29:21 GMT -8
There was almost nothing Kyoko could do about the situation, only try to get the two of them to safety. Which was a feat that of itself. Slenderman over there was blocking the only exit that she could see, and while this girl was probably concern with trying to get out, she wasn’t. Even if she wanted to protect her, if she chose to go through with trying to leave and fight that monster, then so be it. All attempts at shooting it had proved mostly futile. Kyoko was more concerned about trying to get to the source of their power and shutting it down. “I can’t protect you if you go.”
Though Canis’ actions were inexcusable, but Kyoko decided that she couldn’t exactly be the mother in this situation and chide him. Just make sure that he made it out alive and maybe if they did, teach him some etiquette or something. Then he went up ahead.
Kyoko decided it was time to stop hanging around useless and go upstairs for once. This woman requested help, Kyoko was going to help her, whether she wanted to go with her roundabout way of giving help or not. The cop literally took hold of her and dragged her from her somewhat dormant position towards the upstairs area.
After all, this was probably the prime time to get up there , and Kyoko didn’t feel right abandoning her. “There might be some… windows upstairs? We can break out through there.” It was the only way she could think of trying to calm the woman down, because she seemed to be a bit dazed. In all honestly, she didn’t remember what the exterior of the building looked like.
She followed Canis up towards the stairs, unable to let him go up there himself while taking the woman with her. “Canis don’t-” Kyoko couldn’t even remember what she was saying by the time she realized that there was no more chaos of people screaming. Too suspicious. It was cold. If Kyoko had paid more attention, she probably would have noticed that the scenes were from the pictures, but right now she was more concerned about where the monster that caused this was, and how to get rid of it.
She readied her gun, just in case. “Canis get back here.” Of course the first thing she noticed was the artist. Who was still painting despite of the horrors that occurred here. Was he the one causing all of this? It didn’t feel right, for some reason, he wasn’t the source of all this. At least, not the source she was looking for. Second - the moths. How did they get in here, again? And what exactly was she supposed to do?
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Post by EMMELINE EVANS on Oct 2, 2013 10:27:37 GMT -8
| rabbit - hearted I look around, but I can't find you If only I could see your face Instead of rushing towards the skyline I wish that I could just be brave I must become a lion hearted girl Ready for a fight Before I make the final sacrifice We raise it up, this offering We raise it up This is a gift, it comes with a price Who is the lamb and who is the knife? Midas is king and he holds me so tight And turns me to gold in the sunlight And in the spring I shed my skin And it blows away with the changing wind The waters turn from blue to red As --- Oh god he was mad. He was very mad. Emmeline suddenly regretted ever denying him his request—what was she going to do with the thing? Just clutch it against her chest like it was a life preserver, a floatation device. Maybe the kid had wanted to do something with it, use it to their advantage—but it was just a food tray!
Panic set in and she turned this way and that, trying to find something, anything—she didn’t even know what she was looking for but she felt like she needed to look for something. Emmeline felt like she needed to do something, anything, but what? Her heart pounded in her chest so hard it vibrated her ribs and she couldn’t stop trembling. What was she going to do? They were going up, she just wanted to leave, but they didn’t want to fight the monster, they thought there was an exit upstairs, but this was the way she’d gone in and it was the way she wanted to go out—
She screeched in surprise when the gun-lady grabbed her and hauled her sorry ass up the stairs. Emmeline didn’t even initially resist at all: if it was a monster, what could she do? It was just going to eat her anyway—but it was just the lady. Emmeline’s legs started working again and she hustled up the stairs, doing a weird sideways run while the lady pulled her by the arm and Emmeline tried desperately to keep a hold of the tray.
They left the screaming behind and the silence was the first thing she noticed. It was like they had passed through a sound-proof door. All of the screaming stopped, the sounds of blood shed—all gone. It was relieving. Maybe it was better up here.
That thought was stripped away as soon as they hit the landing.
Somehow, Emmeline was pretty certain that the scene before it was not some gimmick planned by the gallery. For a brief second she had entertained the thought that they were props to wow the audience, but no. The atmosphere and the chill on this floor was enough to tell her that her thought was false hope at best. Fresh tears beaded at her eyelids as her gaze swept the masses of dead—no, no some were still moving, even if just barely—bodies lying on the ground.
The cold and her own remaining panic made her trembling start fresh and more violent. This wasn’t just fear, she was absolutely terrified out of her mind. Her body was practically paralyzed with fear and she wanted nothing more than to bolt back down the stairs, but it was worse down there. She hated the sound of screaming and death—this eerie silence and the scenery that had burst into life up here. . . .
It was still frightening, but she could deal a little better. Less sounds to fuddle her mind. These sights were strange and the scents were confusing, but it was undeniably better than a monster trying to eat her.
But still, she would rather be leaving.
Her eyes swept the room diligently, looking for those windows this lady had promised. It was hard to see anything through the branches of the tree, and a sound caught her attention—there was a man in the corner, seemingly oblivious to what was going on. Or maybe he didn’t care. He was hunched over, working on a canvas. Was this the artist? Well—it couldn’t really be anyone else, right? Emmeline swallowed and thought about calling to him, but fear kept her mouth tightly shut.
He moved his brush over the painting and Emmeline started violently when the tree creaked at the same time, and a small gasp escaped her when the misplaced street lamp blew out.
“I want to leave I want to leave I want to leave,” she whispered quietly to herself. She realized and understood how pathetic she sounded, how selfish and scared she must have come across as, but she couldn't help it. What were they going to do to stop any of this? There couldn't be anything they could do--they should just leave and let the authorities handle it. They were just normal people!
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Lucien + kun + Canis + Kyoko • 711 • May 16, 2013 • THANKS ♥ |
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EVENTS
UNKNOWN ENTITY
Reasons Have No Meaning
Posts: 51
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Post by EVENTS on Oct 4, 2013 16:07:19 GMT -8
| | | The Stroke of a Master’s Brush
Poor Lucien. First shoving Kun Shui, the man who had “stolen” Drivel’s prize, out of the way, robbing the monster of a fierce vengeance, and then narrowly dodging Drivel’s leap himself—the claws on his clubbed fingers ghosting across Lucien’s sleeve, tearing into nothing but fabric—it left all the wrong impressions on Drivel’s small, small brain. Propelled forward by his heavy gait, Drivel sailed well beyond Lucien and his friend; he crashed in fact, lost in his own momentum, into one of the many banquet tables, releasing an enormous, instant roar as glass plates, punch bowls and wine bottles shattered, their shards biting his skin like teeth as they exploded under his girth and force. The table itself snapped in half. Bite sized appetizers were flung everywhere as Drivel floundered in his own mess; Kun Shui and Lucien fled. No one dared stay behind long enough—everyone charged upstairs—and they missed the instant hiss and pop of Drivel’s skin because of it. His wails followed them upstairs though, saturated with raw, angry pain as his body attempted to adapt to whatever had harmed him so. But one thing was clear: he hobbled after Kun Shui and Lucien, tossing his head back and forth, pieces of glass glittering in the light where they jutted from his arms, fists and feet. He was hurt. But as he dragged himself after them, his breaths grew short and fast—full of rage. His glowing white eyes grew brighter; he shook from head to toe, racked with his suffering yes, but much, much more angry than he was before. No more games. He would kill Lucien, that defiant thing, if he ran into him again. For now, the great behemoth slumped at the end of the stairs, quivering with fury, catching his breath, waiting for some strength to return. Now. It was now, or never. Quid Pro Quo jerked his head up, his fingers twitching, knuckles crackling; it was time. The rumbling chord of his master’s call sent shudder rippling down his pale, arched back; that growl thrummed straight to the core of his knocking skeleton. Quid Pro Quo wasn’t needed here anymore, it said, and he could expect Skewer to take care of the trickle of men and women still breathing on the bottom floor. Only a scant few might be left alive by the end of the day. Not even Quid Pro Quo could say how or why—not yet. But he had greater matters to attend to now, and opted to leave his post instantly. He stretched up and out of his crouched position, making for the stairs and walking nonchalantly past his suffering, slowly healing sibling at the base of it. The only effort Quid Pro Quo made at all was a precursory glance up those stairs as he strolled by, making sure the last of the humans had made their way to the endgame. They had; anyone else would have to pass Drivel on their way down, though it wasn’t all that hard to distract the ugly bastard. His sibling would need some time to fully recover from his little mishap, but not too much. Ironically enough, no one had really ventured back downstairs, or noticed Drivel’s little incident, which made it much easier for Quid Pro Quo in the long run. Needless to say, the front doors were abandoned—the easiest way out of this hellhole—and without saying a word, Quid Pro Quo stalked up to a nearby painting, reached in, and began to climb through. Now or never, he thought cheerfully. DeTorres is quiet. He is vaguely aware of an audience, but calls distantly over his shoulder, smirking, “There are refreshments over there,” and he points, paintbrush in hand, toward a spot formerly filled by a banquet table. It is now upturned; the food and beverages are broken or scattered amongst the human casualties that have fallen close by. As coolly as he can, he returns to work and says nothing else. A tree branch creaks; the windows up here are coated in a thick yellow mucus that has dried and sealed them shut—not only to keep those without from looking in, but to trap those inside from getting out. A moth settles on a pane; the street lamp groans and pitches forward a bit before snagging on the frame of its painting. A flash of something large scuttles by in that same painting, so quick it’s gone again in half a second. You might have glimpsed a segmented tail in the brief second it was there, arched heavily over its broad back, but nothing else. In the opposite corner of DeTorres, a jungle seems to be flourishing, birthed by a painting that leaked into the main room. Draped in carpets of loamy moss with branches curtained by greenery, the tree’s great, black roots now rest cozy among a cluster of corpses. Its leaves rustle as if touched by a humid wind, but not a single insect buzzes around the many colored flowers dotting its trunk or roots. There is nothing inviting about that corner at all, in fact, it stinks of something putrid. But there is a painting on the floor close to it, a piece that has fallen from its perch and landed flat on its face. A dull scratching sound emits from below; curiously it seems to shift subtly, but it cannot manage to turn itself over. The room is still cold. The silence is still heavy. And of course, as always, you are left to deal with each other. There are no monsters here. No immediate signs of danger. Your small group of five, drawn to the second floor for various—sometimes conflicting—reasons, is completely surrounded by nothing but the sleeping dead, each other, and of course, graced by the presence of Miguel DeTorres at the very back of this room. Perhaps, for a few seconds, this unexpected peace from the monsters is a blessing. Or a curse—it frees you up to examine things more thoroughly. Look very carefully at your companions too. Do you attempt anything at all? Do you talk? Is this a trap? Or is it your one last chance to act?
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Post by LUCIEN MARGAUX on Oct 4, 2013 16:30:41 GMT -8
tagged: name. time: date & time. notes: notes. If Lucien had the time to sit down and think about things, he'd have realized that there was a problem in his thinking. His logic was clear enough, but it relied on an unfounded assumption. He had seen a vision, and the vision had told him what to do. He knew exactly what to do, and when it had become obvious that Kun Shui had also had a vision, he'd assumed that they shared that vision. They simply needed to find the painter who he'd seen, hunched over his desk doing his work. He knew exactly what he needed to do.
Unfortunately that was the problem, because he knew where the man was. He knew what the man looked like. Kun Shui did not. Kun Shui had to ask, to inquire what they were looking for. If he'd had the same vision, he would know.
But Lucien was not clearly thinking things through. He was certainly calmer than most of the people in the gallery (especially the ground floor, because the upper floor was filled with nothing but the dead and the artist), but his mind was still racing, still jumping from option to option. The upper floor was a disaster zone, and everything seemed to hold danger. The moths floated around, something raced through the paintings, and the tree in the corner held some kind of deadly trap. The painting on the floor could be either good or bad, but Lucien was taking a firm stance that anything like that was bad.
It didn't matter though. He could see the painter, and they needed only get to him. He disregarded the three who had made it up the stairs with them, having never been particularly good at caring for people he'd never spoke a word to. Unless they spoke to him firs,t he was content to do his own thing, and he did it almost immediately after they reached the top of the stairs. He pointed at the painter, trying to focus on him even while glancing at Kun Shui. "Him. He's the painter. We need to get to him." He responded quickly, only vaguely wondering why it was that Kun Shui didn't already know it. |
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Post by KUN SHUI WEI on Oct 7, 2013 6:19:32 GMT -8
tagged: Event time: May 16. Noon. speech: kun shui. notes: - - - The place was almost a sanctuary. Compared to the downstairs floor, the serenity of this place pressed down on top of him like an invisible weight. Compared to a place like, say, a garden, this place was a war zone. Compared to the war zone downstairs, corpses strewn about and wild beasts rampaging, up here seemed completely fine. There were indicators that things weren’t quite right, but Kun Shui found himself accepting and almost unbothered by it all.
There were a couple of people, besides Lucien and himself that had made it up the stairs and survived the initial onslaught of chaos. There was that blue-eyed girl he’d seen from before, but other than that, everybody was utterly disregarded. Kun Shui took another deep, slow breath. The wailing of the large brute of a monster downstairs, along with the screaming, felt like a whole different world to him.
His eye was drawn by the moths, still fluttering about the cooled room, and the creaking trees that seemed to grow out of one corner. There’s the faint vibration of a clattering frame on the ground, squirming as if something was caught underneath that brings his attention for just a second, before he was released from that, too. Was that a songbird he heard, or was that just more screaming from downstairs?
Lucien pointed, and his gaze followed it to the painter standing in the very back of the room, surrounded by a mishmash of foliage and moths and cracked streetlamps. His eyes flicked down towards the paintbrush and he took a slow breath.
”The painter…” He’d seen the painter, hadn’t he? In that flash where his headache felt like it was going to burst through his skull.
He drew his gun, holding it by his side as everything in his mind started narrowing down. He could shoot him from across the room for sure; he was armed specifically for various situations like this, or unlike this. He’d never been armed for monsters.
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Post by CANIS MINOR on Oct 10, 2013 17:28:39 GMT -8
Canis paid no mind to the other four strangers; not even the artist in the corner was worthy enough to warrant his attention. His eyes scanned the silent hall, locked onto a painting that hung on a white-washed wall, and padded toward it. The black frame was crooked. Standing before it, Canis couldn’t help but feel as though something ominous were emanating from it and that he should take a step backward and think things through. But he was tired of being a coward—or at least, being what he thought defined cowardice. It depicted a vase filled to the brim with flowers that battled and clashed for Canis’ attention. One was wilted and the colour of burnt charcoal, but beside it, a bright yellow flower sprouted erect. A blue flower with a long, winding stem curled itself around a red rose that was shedding its petals. It was an impressive amalgamation of shapes, colour, and size. But that was only brushing the surface. Canis squinted, and leaned a little closer. The black on the burnt flower felt dangerous. The bright yellow—how had he not seen it before?—let off a distinct, sickly green hue that made Canis’ stomach churn. The stem of the blue flower was laced with thorns, and Canis thought that the petals of the rose bore a striking resemblance to blood. It was all . . . wrong. Canis shivered, but he leaned in closer still. KYOKO SHIOMI
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KYOKO SHIOMI
Civilian
LAPD OFFICER
When did a large, monstrous dog start following me?
Posts: 111
MINI INFO - GENDER: Female
MINI INFO - D.O.B.: 23 AUGUST 1985
MINI INFO - OCCUPATION: LAPD OFFICER
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Post by KYOKO SHIOMI on Oct 10, 2013 19:11:50 GMT -8
Kyoko didn't like people crying, or panicking, or anything. Perhaps when they were a little tiny baby kid, it was alright, but there was only so much she could handle even on that point. She was lucky Canis wasn't like that, but this other woman... What the hell was she supposed to do with her?! She understood that she wanted to get out of here, she understood that this was probably a terrifying situation, but if she kept acting like that, she was going to die, could she see that? "Get a hold of yourself! Things will be fine, if we try to leave we might die." Probably not the best way to knock sense into her, but the only other alternative was hitting her, and she was not going to do that. Not when this was a stranger and she didn't know how the woman would react. She realized that there were windows, as she had hoped, but they were sealed shut. Just her luck, right?
And then there was Canis, that little brat, doing his own thing. For a moment Kyoko was torn between investigating the artist or taking care of Canis. Unsurprisingly, she chose Canis because he was a child, and he was a bratty child who got himself into sticky situations. And she just happened to be there for two of them. And she wasn't the most responsible adult for sure, but she felt responsible for his well being. "Canis, I swear, if you don't get back here..." A painting, of all things! He was distracted by a painting. And here was for that impending feeling that something was gonna jump out an attack him in some odd stroke of coincidence because that's what horror movies did.
Kyo had half the mind to grab his shirt and get him the hell away from the painting before she saw it - it was just a painting of some flowers. Harmless enough, fine - he could continue to look at the painting, and the woman could do whatever she wanted so long as she didn't tip over and die suddenly. She, however, was going to look for the source, and she had a hunch that the artist had something to do with it. Crazed as he looked right now. It didn't even seem like he noticed anything. She wanted to get closer, of course, but she didn't want to stray too far from her little rag-tag group.
It was kind of getting on her nerves, though, that there was nothing right now. Something was definitely wrong with this, and she wasn't talking about the bodies on the floor. It was the paintings literally leaking out. And she was convinced if she destroyed the source - whatever the source of power was that created this painting disaster - everything could go back to normal and she could pretend like nothing was happening. And of course, she refused to call for backup. What could they do against a monster immune to bullets?
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Post by EMMELINE EVANS on Oct 11, 2013 10:40:37 GMT -8
| rabbit - hearted I look around, but I can't find you If only I could see your face Instead of rushing towards the skyline I wish that I could just be brave I must become a lion hearted girl Ready for a fight Before I make the final sacrifice We raise it up, this offering We raise it up This is a gift, it comes with a price Who is the lamb and who is the knife? Midas is king and he holds me so tight And turns me to gold in the sunlight And in the spring I shed my skin And it blows away with the changing wind The waters turn from blue to red As --- Emmeline flinched as if gun-lady had hit her when her harsh voice struck out. She was right, of course, she had to get a hold of herself. Panicking was not good, right? But there was nothing going on out here, and though the lady had promised an escape upstairs, it looked like there was none. Now she was stuck up here, and she couldn’t leave.
Downstairs there was at least a door.
An open door.
Suddenly, Emmeline felt like the only intelligent person in the room—except for maybe the men, but she wasn’t sure what they were doing up here anyway—even though she was obviously the most terrified. But that’s what was needed, right? This was a terrifying situation, and if you were anything but scared out of your mind, then there was something wrong with you. You were supposed to be terrified when your life was in danger, right? Her reaction was normal, right?
Apparently not. She was the only one in tears. She was the only one clinging to a dirty food tray like it was going to save her life. Everyone else looked only a little uneasy, and that boy—that boy didn’t seem to understand what was going on at all.
Still, she apologized for her behavior. She didn’t want to look weak, they’d drop her like a hot potato if they thought she was going to drag them down. “S-sorry,” she muttered, pushing her back against a wall.
She didn’t want anything sneaking up on her.
A thought donned on her suddenly as she looked around the room at all of the paintings that had seemingly leaked out. It all looked so surreal, so—strange. Her memories flashed to all of those pranking shows she saw clips of on Youtube, and one in particular she used to watch when she was a little younger—Scare Tactics. This was pretty much the point of the show, wasn’t it? Set up a bunch of scary sets, make monsters, fill a room with actors and then let a few strangers wander in only to get the living scared out of them.
Was this one of those?
After looking around more, Emmeline couldn’t help but hope this was that. There could be hidden cameras anywhere, right? Emmeline swallowed her fear—it was probably just denial, but she was no convinced she was just on one of those shows. She needed it to be that. If this was real—if this was reality—then she didn’t think she’d be able to handle it. Tentatively, she took a step forward. It made her nervous, speaking out loud, but she had to bring it up. What if these other people really believed it?
She spoke loudly enough for the four other people to hear her, but her eyes strained to the painter who hadn’t looked at them yet. Yes—yes this all smelled very suspicious. It had to be a prank. There were probably more strangers down stairs still “fighting” those monsters, and this room was full of “dead” actors—heck, one of these four others could be actors! Maybe gun-lady was an actor!
“Is—is this one of those—hidden camera prank shows?” she asked hopefully, but as soon as the words left her mouth she realized how stupid she sounded. That monster coming out of the painting—she could wish that memory away all she wanted, but that was real. It looked real, it had felt real, and where had that guy gone? Emmeline thought that maybe it was a really elaborate magic trick with smoke and mirrors and projected images or something but—but deep down she knew what was going on.
But she clung to the thought of a prank show like her mental stability depended on it.
Which it did.
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Lucien + kun + Canis + Kyoko • 635 • May 16, 2013 • THANKS ♥ |
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EVENTS
UNKNOWN ENTITY
Reasons Have No Meaning
Posts: 51
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Post by EVENTS on Oct 17, 2013 20:26:03 GMT -8
| | | The Stroke of a Master’s Brush
Drivel hacked onto the stairwell in front of him, staggering to all fours and leaning heavily on his thick knuckles. A trail of black sludge dripped from his forehead and down one side of his face, like a candle sweating wax; it slopped to the floor in opalescent puddles as he climbed the stairs, breath haggard, rhythm broken. One step. Two. Three and four. Hack. The behemoth had obviously not recovered fully, perhaps he was even worse now for waiting as long as he did, but he pushed forward anyway, beckoned by a force his simple mind could not comprehend. Forced to stop at each step, he dragged his limbs unwillingly and slowly, as if wading through uncompromising mire and muck. His skin still glistened, and he occasionally shook his head to slough off entire puddles of it; it would splatter to the floor or splotch the walls in globs of mess that reeked of paint. He would reach the second floor slowly, but when he did, there would only be seconds before the monster careened into a ballistic rampage. Perhaps unintentionally, he would coax them all into more drastic action. Fight or die. Run or hide. Do anything to survive. Hack. His chest wheezed. Ten steps left. Nine, now. Eight… Hack. They would all hear him too, as he slouched and marched upward after them. It was difficult to miss the sound of his wet coughs. Clearly, they were running out of time. DeTorres hissed sharply around his teeth, switching the paintbrush in his right hand to his left and flexing his fingers. All this fast paced work was beginning to take its toll. He scrubbed his bruised—yes, bruised—knuckles with his thumb, as if he could erase the angry, purple marks that clouded his skin like quarrelsome thunderheads. But the fingers of his right hand were rubbed raw and red too. For the first time since the madness began, worry glistened in his eyes. As he pulled his hands apart and pushed his tinted glasses further up his nose, his fingers shook and fumbled. His glasses fell and clattered to the floor. DeTorres left them there. He was beginning to sweat too; he pinched the front of his shirt and brought it to his forehead to dab some of the moisture away from his eyes, even though the room itself was still unnaturally cold. Finally, his smile returned—wavering, of course, but there. His gaze shifted back to the painting, unaware of any sense of danger. Compelled to speak, he said, “You’re going to die, you know.” Whether they listened or not was their own business. His masterpiece was almost done. A few touch ups and some minor details, and it would be complete. Desperation lit in his eyes. He switched the paintbrush back to his dominant hand, ignoring the strain in his fingers, and set to work again. Almost.
Almost done. Second Floor Oddities Pt. 2 The stillness lengthens with the meager conversation, perturbed only by the occasional snappish remark or sudden movement of an individual. Drivel’s grunts and heavy pants are growing closer now, closing in. The painting, so casually thrown onto its face near the base of the lush tree, quiets; it ceased its fidgeting only seconds before, forgotten. The scritch and scratch of some small creature hiding below its surface abruptly stopped. Though muffled by the floor, a yapping bark, followed closely by a pleading whine, breaks from below. It is a desperate sound, but ceases quickly, replaced instead by a noise not unlike the grating scrape of metal against concrete. And then - Thud.The painting actually jumps up with the force of the blow. A tiny creature darts out, scrambling for cover as another animal squeals with pain. The same painting clatters to the floor on its frame; something red and wet pools out from below. Blood. The other animal, clever enough slip through before its companion could, skitters onto one of the corpses. It looks almost exactly like a sugar glider and is about the same size, but its fur is such a deep shade of black that it is also filled with ribbons of color when the light kisses its pelt just right; each hue streams and reflects off his thin coat and inky eyes. Without thinking, the little sugar glider jumps, gliding as far as it can across the room to escape its former enemy and leaving behind its lost companion. Its tiny chest heaves with fear and its eyes bead with intelligence, but in its panicked state it latches onto the first thing it can—Lucien’s right leg. Not knowing it has landed on something very much alive and too frightened to move, it clings with all its might. The flowers, meanwhile, sit and twitch in their vase. They wheel around to face Canis, each blossom opening as if in greeting; they wait for him to lean in. Closer. And closer. And when they are reasonable satisfied with the distance, they release a long, ear splitting shriek that goes on, and on, and on. A prank indeed.
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Post by LUCIEN MARGAUX on Oct 18, 2013 14:53:15 GMT -8
tagged: name. time: date & time. notes: notes. The serenity was eerie. It was so quiet, so peaceful, save for the group at the top of the stairs, his own voice. If it weren't for the dead bodies lying on the floor, it might have even been considered serene, the sort of place you'd go and sit down to meditate and think to yourself. Or it was, for the brief moments before someone spoke up, seeming to address not just the woman and boy she'd come with, but Kun Shui and Lucien as well. He had no particular feelings towards the woman--girl, really--but he glanced quickly over his shoulder to answer her question.
"No." Simple as that, no elaboration necessary. It wasn't a prank. Lucien felt entirely, absolutely sure of that. No one would prank Kun Shui. He was an unknown, but Kun Shui had to be fairly high on the list of 'people you do not prank'. Pranking him could get you killed, especially in this sort of life or death situation. He was open to the possibility of it being a dream, or that they might have been drugged, but he couldn't bring himself to really believe that. He'd felt drugs before, and this was completely unlike what he'd experienced. He felt like he'd know, or at least guess, and he certainly wasn't.
All of a sudden there was too much going on. There was a thud on the other side of him, the way that the boy had wandered. He turned, and before he could even see what was going on there, his vision passed over Kun Shui--Kun Shui with his gun out and drawn, pointed at the painter. His eyes widened, the contradiction his mind had been overlooking finally snapping into place. Something else. Kun Shui had not gotten the same vision. He hadn't known who the painter was or where he was, and a part of Lucien wanted to jump forward, to stop him from firing out of fear.
Lucien had damned good gun safety instincts though. They'd been drilled into him from a very young age, and if there was only one thing to take away from all those lessons, it was 'don't move in front of a loaded gun that' ready to fire'. He still tried to intervene though, shaking his head and trying to signal to Kun Shui no. He couldn't shoot. He couldn't, because if he did everything would go wrong.
"Kun Shui, No-" He would have continued if not for the sudden impact against his leg, small but noticeable. He didn't even have time to look down at it (something small and black he couldn't begin to identify) before something else started to shriek.
It had gone from silence to chaos in a moment. |
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Post by KUN SHUI WEI on Oct 18, 2013 16:44:21 GMT -8
tagged: Event time: May 16. Noon. speech: kun shui. notes: - - - Kun Shui remained tense, taking short breaths. Every muscle in his body was trembling taut, and one false move could send a spray of bullets into whatever he found necessary. Of course, things were all quiet and serene now, but shit tended to hit the fan very quickly when things got like that. The monsters downstairs still hadn’t been subdued, and he really thought he should’ve taken a few cracks at it before he bolted up the stairs.
That’s when he heard the heavy thuds from down the stairs. There were a couple at a time, ending with a low wheezing noise before they started again. The hair on the nape of his neck stood on end, and he took his eyes off the painter for just a second as he glanced over his shoulder. That thing was coming, wasn’t it? Stupid, ape-like beast. He had no time for gracelessness at the moment.
Just as predicted, there was another breath of a pause before everything went up in a symphony of chaos. There was a din, a splatter, shrieking from every corner that accompanied the thuds from the stairs. Every part of his body tensed, tight as a wire, and realistically he didn’t care what the artist had to say. Hell, he didn’t even care what Lucien had to say at the moment.
Kun Shui took a couple of steps forward, the gun pointed right at the base of the painter’s skull. Part of it was self-preservation, and the other half was that odd flash in his head that caused his headache to clear for the first time in days.
5 rounds and an almost empty semi-automatic later, Kun Shui finally took a deep breath, lowering his gun just a hair to look the damage over.
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Post by CANIS MINOR on Oct 22, 2013 18:41:32 GMT -8
Canis swore and jumped backwards, arms flailing like the propellers of an erratic speedboat. “Stupid freaking flower paintings!” He rooted himself to the ground, eyeing the shrieking flowers. A plethora of emotions fought for dominance on his face. He cheated, and settled for an amalgamation of fear, wariness, and confused anger. He jumped from one to the other, an actor switching masks. Eventually, the angst faded into oblivion, revealing raw animosity, his teeth bared and knees bent. The painting was suddenly a more prominent enemy than the painter in the corner, or the tub of black lard that was barely hauling itself up the stairs, breaths ragged and wretched. As his rearing mind grew accustomed to the dissonant, teeth-grinding howls, he turned around and peeked over the stairs and watched as the black thug of an animal lumbered closer, and closer, and closer still. Not happening. What happened next was impulsive and surprised even Canis, who walked back to the wailing painting and, backed by emotions that were hot as they were utterly capricious, threw his fist into the middle of it. Glass shattered around his white knuckles and drew blood, sending shivers of stinging pain throughout his arm. He’d hoped it would stop the flowers from screeching, or maybe the pain would register and he’d realize he was being hasty. But, as usual, he felt nothing but a torrent of confused emotions that he couldn't quite label as only anger. It was fierce; feral. And then he unhinged the painting, walked back to the stairs, and threw it down at the monster. And, as soon as he’d thrown the painting, he flinched as a gunshot sounded. His mind reared and came to a complete stop; the shot had sobered him. At first, he thought it was the sound of the painting crashing into the monster’s head—a short, sporadic wave of satisfaction flew through him at the thought. But when he turned his head, he saw the painter on the floor, blood pooling at his head. His shoulders sagged. He supposed he only had to worry about the tub of lard. If it was still alive. KYOKO SHIOMI
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