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Post by Mason Breaker on Jan 21, 2010 16:48:49 GMT -5
As soon as the Boomer puked all over Keith and Roy, hell broke loose throughout the Wal-Mart. The common infected burst into the store, beating and clawing for a chance at the two bile covered survivors, and the Boomer didn't seem to pleased that Mason had evaded it's puke. With a gurgle, it started to waddle towards Mason. He didn't wait for it to get into barfing range, shooting it the moment he wasn't getting swarmed. In a stroke of pure luck, the Boomer's explosion forced the infected back, knocking over any misfortunate enough to be next to it.
And then there was..... A bullet in his ass. Wait, what?
"Yeow! Watch where you fire that thing!" He shouted at whoever did it. He wasn't sure who, and it was really directed to all of them. However, it wasn't very deep, it'd probably just fall out once he started running.
And then there was the Jockey. The nutty headhumper was already taking Roy for a joy-ride, leading him into the mass of infected. Keith seemed to be doing alright, but just to be safe, he fired several bucks into the crowd around the hobo. He'd have to fend for himself until the Jockey was dealt with.
Speaking of which, it was still in his range, but firing his shotgun at it would endanger Roy. He'd have to risk getting close to pull it off with his hands. Shooting and shoving the frenzied common, he had to actively shut out the pain of the clawing infected as they decided he was a better target.
Once he reached Roy, he lunged for the Jockey, grabbing it by it's spindly shoulders and throwing it at the crowd. It didn't go without a fight, flailing out with it's claws and leaving some nasty looking cuts down Mason's arms.
"Damn little creep! Aughh.. That's gonna sting later.."
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Post by Keith the Great on Jan 21, 2010 17:32:42 GMT -5
Though there were still a crapload of zombies racing into the store, Keith felt quite proud of himself. So far, he was still alive, no unconscious, and was handling the situation pretty well. (Granted, Mason had apparently been shot by someone, but that was entirely accidental.) He felt a few stronger scratches at one point (in fact, Keith was sure that some zombie had managed to jab a fingernail into his forearm and get it stuck there), but he wasn’t severely injured.
However, as the attack went on, Keith felt he needed to use his eyesight if he really wanted to make himself useful. He swiftly shifted his hunting rifle to use as a make-shift bat before swinging out at the entire row of zombies in front of him. It didn’t do much damage, but it served its purpose: all the nearby undead stumbled back a few feet, giving Keith the time to wipe the puke off his eyes and take a look around.
The first thing he did was search for his teammates. He was just in time to spot the little backhumper thing being flung into the crowd. Keith didn’t waste a moment.
“I got it!” he exclaimed, gunning it down like Mustachio in the Whisperin’ Oaks Peanut Gallery. The limp corpse flew backwards and out of the store, knocking down a few members of mob of zombies, a group which was just now beginning to thin out. Once that problem was dealt with, Keith went right back to covering his own butt. “Are these damn zombies almost done?”
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Tara Luketic
Junior Member
Witch Hunter and Pack Rat
Posts: 71
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Post by Tara Luketic on Jan 22, 2010 18:39:30 GMT -5
((I'm incredibly bored, because the main thread is moving so slowly. Since you guys are on a lot like me, I'm gonna join this fiasco. Because you guys said I could and I know the perfect entrance. Besides, you guys obviously need a girl's touch, if you're attracting such a horde...))
Beep beep. Clink. Beep. Clank. Beep, clinkety clank clink. Beep beep beep beep.
It was the unmistakable sound of a pipe bomb, and instantly what was left of the horde- which was a good amount- turned their attention to said explosive. Only a few stayed by the three survivors, blinded by their bloodlust. The beeping continued for a few long seconds as the infected screeched and flailed around the bomb, desperate to mutilate the inanimate object. Then-
BOOM!!!
Blood, limbs, and guts went spewing all over the place, staining everything- including the survivors- a gruesome red. A few well-aimed pistol shots killed off the handful of infected that made up the tail end of the horde, leaving only those few who still beat on each survivor. None other than Tara stepped through the gore, pistols in hand and looking a little worse for the wear herself. She had gotten rid of her hoody because it was so soaked in blood, and now wore the blue jean jacket she'd been carrying around instead. Leaving it unbuttoned, her white T-shirt could be seen, both splattered with fresh blood.
"Man, we leave you guys alone for less than an hour, and you're getting your asses whipped by a horde. Why am I not surprised? At least I know my woman's intuition was right and I didn't walk all the way over here for nothing." Tara stated, slipping the pistols back into her satchel and tightening her ponytail out of habit. "Are you guys mortally wounded or just scratched up? I brought over a first-aid kit and a bottle of pills; we found a few stashed away in the security guards' offices." As she spoke, she pulled out said items, though her smug feeling from saving the guys' butts was obvious.
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Roy Bivenmeijer
Junior Member
"Because I'm used to killing animals"
Posts: 76
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Post by Roy Bivenmeijer on Jan 22, 2010 19:28:46 GMT -5
"It's just a flesh wound..." Taking a shot at the last of the horde, he turned to Tara and wiped the last of the puke and blood from his eyes.
"Well then, how're you?" He asked, laughing half from humor and half from bloodloss, the cut on his head barely hurting him with the lack of blood. "Where the hell did you come from, anywho? Are we back in the mall yet?" He asked dreakily, laughing at Mason's shot bum and Tara's bloodstains.
"Doo da doo... Got barfed on... Where's my knife??" Upset at the lack of pointy things on his belt , he dropped to his knees and began calling softly to his knife. The Machete was about five feet from him when he fell over and started singing softly to himself. For such a psychopathic wierdo, he had a lovely baritone.
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Post by Mason Breaker on Jan 22, 2010 19:54:24 GMT -5
Mason grunted as the pipebomb went off, being covered in various guts and gore. And blood. Lots of blood.
Turning to Tara, he scoffed at her accusition. "Us? In trouble?" He changed his expression to one of mock seriousness. "And I need PILLS. Now, if you don't mind. Mah ass is startin' to really sting. And something to wrap up mah arms, if you have it."
Turning his attention to Keith and Roy.....
"Roy? The hell are ya doing, lad?" He was, of course, significantly put off by Roy's..... Odd behavior, but he attributed that to blood loss.
Keith seemed to be better off, but just to be sure, he decided it might be worth asking. "Ya doin' alright there Keith?"
As he waited for an answer he felt something tugging at his leg. Looking down, he realized that it was the torso of one of the infected. Somehow, it was still alive..... Odd. Still, he felt that he should do it a favor, and crushed it's skull under his boot.
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Post by Keith the Great on Jan 22, 2010 20:24:34 GMT -5
“Yeah, m’fine,” Keith replied with a grin. “Lived this one helluva lot better than th’ last.” He pushed himself off the ground and, in the process, caught sight of his now-ruined Midnight Riders T-shirt. “Aw, hell!” he groaned. “This was my favorite shirt! I had it since the Midnight Riders were puttin’ out good songs!” Frowing, he tried to rub some of the puke and blood off, to no avail. “Y’all think we could drop by the appliance section? I need a washin’ machine.”
He had just begun walking over when a not-so-terrifying shriek rose up from the hall previously occupied by the Boomer. Seconds later, a gray shape barreled out of the shadows, kicked Roy in the gut while he was at it before dashing right past and tacking Keith to the ground like an over-excited football-player. (A/N: FOOTBALL, YEAH!)
“Agh!” Keith yelped, realizing that he was once more being tackled to the ground. “It’s a gangsta! Gangst–” He stopped, realizing that his chest wasn’t being ripped to bloody shreds. In fact, he was just getting mildly scratched by very short, very human fingernails. Immediately calming down, Keith called out, “It’s okay, guys! Jus’ a li’l not-zombie kid!”
“I AM NOT!” the attacker shrieked, clawing even harder now (though Keith was still unfazed). “I’m a Hunter! I’m Robert, the best Hunter the world will ever see and you’re gonna die! I’m gonna eat you!”
“Erm...” Keith paused, at a loss for words. He squirmed a bit, trying to push the kid’s weight off him but not quite succeeding. “Can ya finish this up? I’ve had gals scratch hard ‘n you, so ‘less you’re gonna put on some fake fingernails, this ain’t goin’ nowhere.” When Robert refused to budge, Keith looked over to his teammates with an uneasy expression. “Y’all wanna pull ‘im off?”
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Tara Luketic
Junior Member
Witch Hunter and Pack Rat
Posts: 71
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Post by Tara Luketic on Jan 22, 2010 20:37:36 GMT -5
Tara stared at Roy curiously, watching him flounder about like an idiot until Mason finally spoke up and got her attention again. "Oh. Yeah, sure. Here's the pills, and let me wrap those arms for you..." she mumbled, glancing once more at Roy. Going over to Mason, she handed him the bottle and then pulled a roll of bandages out of the medkit. Tara carefully wrapped up each arm with the gauze, using it all up by the time she'd finished. "There. Now, we should probably take care of Ro- HUNTER!!"
Like Keith, she instantly thought the tackler was a Hunter, and whipped out her pistols again. She was just running over to kick the special infected off when her fellow survivor shouted that it was just a kid, making her skid to a halting stop. "What? Oh, you have got to be kidding (PUN) me. I hate kids..." Tara threw the pistols back into her bag, obviously disappointed as she stepped over to the two. Frowning harshly, she glared at Robert's back before plowing the flat of her shoe into his side.
"OFF. NOW. Don't make me give you an atomic wedgie, brat! I had a brother your age, and I used to kick his scrawny ass all the time."
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Post by Keith the Great on Jan 22, 2010 20:54:36 GMT -5
Tara’s sharp, sibling-rivalry-powered kick easily knocked away poor Robert, who was but a thirteen-year-old brat. He rolled away, tumbling like a tumbleweed in a cowboy movie.
Keith took his chance to sit up, scurry over to Roy, and press his only bottle of Emergency Pills into the stumbling hunter’s (not the zombie kind) searching hand, figuring their mildly-psychopathic might want to be a little more conscious for this event.
“Thanks, Tar, girl,” Keith said with an appreciative nod before turning back to Robert. The kid was already pushing himself back into a sitting position while muttering a string of curses that no boy his age should know. “Lil’ sprout must be crazy. What’ll we do with ‘im?”
Robert, meanwhile, sprung back into a crouching position and growled. “You can’t do that to me!” he exclaimed. “I’ll f***ing kill you, b****!” Recalling that his previous attempts on Keith’s life hadn’t done much, he snatched up the machete that had been left on the ground and leapt towards Tara with an attempt at a Hunter’s cry.
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Post by Mason Breaker on Jan 22, 2010 21:18:53 GMT -5
As Robert was in mid leap, Mason quickly lunged out with his hand and caught the wannabe Hunter by the scruff of his neck, forcing him to let go of the blade and having the expression of 'Dear lord this kid's a twit.'
Remembering his manners, he turned to Tara. "Thanks for tha' first-aid, Tara. Needed it."
Returning his attention to the squirming boy, who had renewed his string of curses, he gave him several good shakes in an attempt to shut him up.
"Keep squirmin', tiny. I ain't lettin' go, and there's really no way you can make me. So ye' might as well STOP CURSIN'!" He yelled loudly. Not loud enough to attract unwanted attention, but enough to (Hopefully) intimidate the boy.
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Roy Bivenmeijer
Junior Member
"Because I'm used to killing animals"
Posts: 76
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Post by Roy Bivenmeijer on Jan 22, 2010 21:50:31 GMT -5
Swallowing the pills (probably way to many to be healthy) he was mildly more concious of events. "Hey Tar- SHIT MY MACHETE!" Diving for the oversized knife, he caught it just before it hit the ground. "What's up with... the little... Punk?" He asked, mpanting slightly at the sudden exertion. Apparently the pils hadn't hit his gut yet.
"Let go of me you giant fucking drunk!" The little hunter-wannabe threw his elbows and feet back into the larger irishman with a renewed vigor (obviously his "distaste for authority" phase had kicked in). "I'mma claw your face to SHIT, I SWEAR!" The child was at this point, screaming. He apparently didn't understand that teh zombies were always looking for a small bite. Literally.
"YOUR MOTHER WAS A FILTHY GODDAMN WHORE!" At the top of his lungs, he screamed into Tara's face. Roy looked around, listening intently for the crying. He could faintly hear it, but apparently, thankfully, the witch was out of earshot. A few more elbows went into Mason's chest, but Robert quickly tired and just kind of hung there... cussing.
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Tara Luketic
Junior Member
Witch Hunter and Pack Rat
Posts: 71
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Post by Tara Luketic on Jan 22, 2010 22:04:50 GMT -5
"No problem. I have experience in dealing with scrawny punks who think they're all that," Tara replied with a smirk, hands on her hips. "I say we just leave the brat to his insanity. He's obviously not going to be any help to us, so-" She paused mid-sentence as Robert screamed obscenities at her and grabbed a machete, running at her like a crazed Witch. Had Mason not interfered, she would have performed a similar move on the Hunter-wannabe; except hers would include an atomic wedgie.
Tara was actually a little disappointed that Mason had gotten to him first, but she supposed it was for the best. "You're welcome." She listened as Robert continued to scream and curse, watching him flail uselessly in the large man's grasp. It was extremely entertaining and satisfying, though she still had to get him back for calling her mother a whore. Taking a moment to crack her knuckles, Tara held her smirk as she punched the kid in the balls without hesitation.
"Insult my mother again, you scrawny wimp. I dare ya," she growled venemously. She had been known to scare many a guy back at her old high school, and she'd likely do the same now. However, it was then that Tara caught the sound she would recognize anywhere, even ten years from now. Her eyes got a slightly crazed look to them as she pulled out a pistol and whipped around, smirk becoming a wild grin. "I hear a Witch bitch. Perfect! Now I can take out my frustrations on someone my own size..."
Without even waiting for the others' reactions, she began making her way towards the sound, brushing passed Keith and Roy without a second thought.
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Post by Mason Breaker on Jan 22, 2010 22:24:39 GMT -5
Mason kept an even, calm look on his face as the youth threw curse after curse. On the inside, however, he was pulling more curses in more creative ways than that kid could ever dream of. As the kid stuggled more, however, Mason decided to tighten his grip more. And the kid's attempts to harm Mason would up being..... Pathetic.
Until Tara punched the kid's balls like a punching bag. Said action earned a raised eyebrow from him, sending himself back to the days when he used to bicker with his siblings. Memories....
He was snapped out of said Keith-like moment when Tara declared she was off to kill the Witch nearby. Mason had no qualms about said action. He then turned his attention to his young captive, who was whimpering in pain and twitching slightly. Considering the kid's circumstances, he felt only a small degree of pity for his situation, but it was obvious that this kid either grew up spoiled or in some seriously bad company.
Now it was time to get his attention, Mason-style. Dropping him to the floor, he set his bloody boot on top of the kid's back before he could scramble away. Not enough pressure to brake anything, but enough to keep him in place.
"Now listen good, ya' half-twit." Mason growled, "I suggest you start showen' some manners, or you'll end up like that chump." He turned the boy to face the zombie that Mason had crushed with his foot.
This would be interesting.....
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Post by Keith the Great on Jan 22, 2010 22:39:50 GMT -5
Robert had just begun adjusting to the trauma of a nut-punch when he suddenly found himself released. Though his nearly-cat-like reflexes let him react quick enough to nearly crawl out of the way, he was trapped unfortunately quickly by a strong boot to his back.
Despite the threats, the little punk continued to claw at the floor for his freedom, growling all the while. “Hunters don’t have manners!” he argued, squirming with all his might. “I’ll kill you! Just watch! JUST WATCH!”
More determined than a small puppy, he kept at his escape attempt until he fully realized that he was going nowhere. Defeated, he glared at Mason through his peripheral vision. “...Get the hell off me so I can murder you.”
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Roy Bivenmeijer
Junior Member
"Because I'm used to killing animals"
Posts: 76
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Post by Roy Bivenmeijer on Jan 23, 2010 0:04:16 GMT -5
Now twirling his newly re-aquired blade, Roy stood up. The pills had gone down like shit, but they'd kicked in, and he was rarin to get back at this little bastard. Little punk had touched HIS blade. And what was the deal with this whole "i love Zombies" bullcrap? But more importantly, WHY had he toughed the MACHETE?!
"Hold him there Mason..." Roy knelt down, stepping on the nearest arm so as to not get hit in the face. "Listen you little shit" He whispered, voice taking on an almost feral, cold as the winters 'round northern Alaska, " if you ever touch my blade again i swear to god I'll chop you up so fine the zombies will have a hard time eating you."
With the lightning percision and speed of someone of his trade, he cut the hood off the child's hoodie (and also a thin line down his neck). "Now. Where the hell have you been hiding, and why don't you look like the fuckin toothpick you should be?" He snarled, his sociopathy allowing for these kinds of interrogations to come second nature to him. "You better 'fess up, or Mason'll let ME have at you, little shitface." And with that last cuss, Roy stood up and sheathed the blade, moving on to sifting through ammo in a corner.
"Oh, Mason. There's a .45 longbarrel in here if you want it. Cowboy style, y'know?"
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Post by Keith the Great on Jan 23, 2010 12:24:31 GMT -5
Robert merely glared up at the new stranger, a freakin’ weirdo with an obsession for his dumb knife. The threats didn’t really mean anything to him. (They scared him a bit, but then he recalled that Hunters didn’t take crap from nobody.) “Go ahead and try it!” he yelled back, trying even harder to escape despite the use of only one arm.
However, the last straw was the removal of his hoodie. Once he felt the cut on his neck and the fabric peeling away, all he could do was sit there, mouth agape, as his mussed, blood-ridden blonde hair was exposed to the florescent lights. “Y-You can’t do that!” he shrieked, now using all his strength to escape. In fact, he could actually feel himself slipping out just the slightest bit. “You can’t! Lemme go! Get off! I’ll kill all of you! Right now!”
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