Post by GAMBIT HARRISON SLADE. on Jul 7, 2013 20:54:10 GMT -5
PULL OUT THEIR FRAGILE TEETH,
and clip their tiny wings.
last night's nightmares still had a firm grip around slade's mindset, and hearing the outside streets' traffic from the infected wasn't helping to clear it any. normally, a thirty-six year old who was fully capable of taking care of himself, he was fine after a night of no peaceful sleep. the past few weeks had been rougher on his supplies, and travelling locations, so he was assuming that had something to do with it. even so, being an exiled scar member already on the run was enough to get paranoid about. throwing hallucinations into that mix didn't make for better results.
willing himself out of his makeshift bed he'd thrown together in the early hours of morning, gambit gathered up what things he had to put inside his bag and left the rest for someone else to use. carrying his bag into the employee's bathroom, gambit closed and locked the door, still extra cautious, even two years into this game of survival. probably one of the only reasons why he still had his head attached to his shoulders. leaning the bag against the door, he pulled his muscle shirt off his torso, draping it over the towel rack, ignoring the layer of dust that had collected over the rusting metal. twisting the sink's cold water faucet, he let the air and murky water run out of the pipes before dipping his hands into the cool liquid.
washing them off, he started the slightly annoying process of half-assed bathing. he hadn't had an actual shower in about a week, but he'd made the promise to himself to visit an apartment complex soon with working water in order to do so. so, for now, he made sure he at least looked remotely presentable, and that he didn't smell like the reanimated bodies roaming around. when he was satisfied with how he felt, he wet his hands again, lifting them up to push his mohawk back. flicking his fingers off of any excess water, he grabbed his shirt and pulled it off the rack. ravelling it up to easily put his head back through the material, he stopped mid-motion at the sound of one of the back doors opening to the convenience store. narrowing his eyes at the door, gambit slowly carried through with the action, pulling his shirt fully over his head to quickly shove his arms through.
pressing his ear carefully to the door, he listened to see what kind of noises were being made. at first, he heard nothing, which was more confusing than anything. but then there was a little bit of scuffling. if it'd been an infected, they'd be making more noise. whoever had entered the store was human. dangerous, he had no idea, but these days, he didn't take his chances. his only problem? the only weapon he had on him was his utility knife; his shotgun was still propped against the wall he'd been sleeping beside. with a mental curse, he pulled his knife out of his combat boot, clenching his right hand around the handle. as quietly as possible, he unlatched the lock to the door, hoping that whoever was out there was too busy trying to salvage any supplies leftover to notice the faint click.
after sliding his bag away from the door, gambit slowly turned the doorknob, opening the door against himself to give himself cover. when he didn't hear anything after the door was open, he slowly peered around the corner of the door, the look on his face still noticeably groggy, and rather unimpressed to be intruded upon. when he heard nothing being called out, gambit slowly shifted into the actual doorway, leaning against it with his right shoulder, eyes never leaving their scouting pattern, knife concealed from anyone's view but still very much in play.
"hope y'not 'ere for bullshit," the man called out in a gruff voice, a pinch of his irish accent still noticeable in his speech.
willing himself out of his makeshift bed he'd thrown together in the early hours of morning, gambit gathered up what things he had to put inside his bag and left the rest for someone else to use. carrying his bag into the employee's bathroom, gambit closed and locked the door, still extra cautious, even two years into this game of survival. probably one of the only reasons why he still had his head attached to his shoulders. leaning the bag against the door, he pulled his muscle shirt off his torso, draping it over the towel rack, ignoring the layer of dust that had collected over the rusting metal. twisting the sink's cold water faucet, he let the air and murky water run out of the pipes before dipping his hands into the cool liquid.
washing them off, he started the slightly annoying process of half-assed bathing. he hadn't had an actual shower in about a week, but he'd made the promise to himself to visit an apartment complex soon with working water in order to do so. so, for now, he made sure he at least looked remotely presentable, and that he didn't smell like the reanimated bodies roaming around. when he was satisfied with how he felt, he wet his hands again, lifting them up to push his mohawk back. flicking his fingers off of any excess water, he grabbed his shirt and pulled it off the rack. ravelling it up to easily put his head back through the material, he stopped mid-motion at the sound of one of the back doors opening to the convenience store. narrowing his eyes at the door, gambit slowly carried through with the action, pulling his shirt fully over his head to quickly shove his arms through.
pressing his ear carefully to the door, he listened to see what kind of noises were being made. at first, he heard nothing, which was more confusing than anything. but then there was a little bit of scuffling. if it'd been an infected, they'd be making more noise. whoever had entered the store was human. dangerous, he had no idea, but these days, he didn't take his chances. his only problem? the only weapon he had on him was his utility knife; his shotgun was still propped against the wall he'd been sleeping beside. with a mental curse, he pulled his knife out of his combat boot, clenching his right hand around the handle. as quietly as possible, he unlatched the lock to the door, hoping that whoever was out there was too busy trying to salvage any supplies leftover to notice the faint click.
after sliding his bag away from the door, gambit slowly turned the doorknob, opening the door against himself to give himself cover. when he didn't hear anything after the door was open, he slowly peered around the corner of the door, the look on his face still noticeably groggy, and rather unimpressed to be intruded upon. when he heard nothing being called out, gambit slowly shifted into the actual doorway, leaning against it with his right shoulder, eyes never leaving their scouting pattern, knife concealed from anyone's view but still very much in play.
"hope y'not 'ere for bullshit," the man called out in a gruff voice, a pinch of his irish accent still noticeable in his speech.
open . 654 . first slade pooost. sorry it's not much to work withh.
