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Post by Mason Breaker on Jan 23, 2010 13:56:03 GMT -5
Mason grinned broadly at the offer of his own .44. "Why, you'd think I'd pass up on an offer like that, boyo? Lemme' see the beut'!"
Downing some of the pills Tara had given him, he looked back down at the young twit, who was now worked up in a frenzy to escape (And actually wiggled his way out a bit). He put more of his wieght down onto him, halting his chances.
Then an idea hit.
"You know what I've done, kiddo? I've taken on Hunters that were bigger, had sharper claws, and were more intimidating than you. I've taken on Hunters like that with my bare hands. No guns, no blades, just these two fists." He leaned down, resting an arm on his knee. "You know what else? You don't have claws. You have no razor-teeth. You're the lousiestHunter the world has ever seen. Hell, my daughter could make a better Hunter than you."
The quick gasp from the twerp signified that Mason struck home.
He paused thoughtfully. "Come to think of it, she'd make a better Hunter than me too." He also came to wonder again where she was. Hopefully alright....
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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 23, 2010 18:18:49 GMT -5
((I got this idea as soon as the Witch was mentioned, and I'm not letting it go now. It's too funny.))
By the time Roy had finished with his sociopathic rant and Robert was screeching like a banshee again, Tara had found her prey. She could just hear the Hunter-wannabe off in the distance, and she rolled her eyes in annoyance. At least he wasn't being loud enough to alert the Witch, who was sitting on the ground and sobbing because it was nighttime. That just made it easier for Tara, who wouldn't have to watch her movements and try to discover the best time to attack. Creeping forward across the tile, the only sounds she made were her sneakers sliding along the ground and her bags shifting against her clothes.
Her pistol was raised and trained on the Witch's head, finger ready to squeeze the trigger and blow her brains in. Tara knew this would be an easy kill, and didn't take her eyes off the special infected; which, in retrospect, was a bad idea. The floor was strewn with used and discarded objects taken from the shelves, including a rotting, slimy banana peel. 'I've got you now, Witch bi- SHIT!!' she thought. Tara's last step had landed on the remains of said fruit, making her foot slip out from under her and send her body flying backwards.
Eyes wide, mouth agape in shock, her finger squeezed the trigger and fired a bullet up into the ceiling. The loud noise cut through the dense silence like a thunderclap, and as if that wasn't enough to get the Witch's attention, part of the ceiling dropped onto her head. Stopping mid-wail, she whipped her head around in time to take Tara's flying foot directly to the face, leaving a nice imprint on her graying skin. Both women hit the floor with a simultaneous crash, the survivor groaning while the special infected growled. Hearing it, the Witch hunter instantly realized the situation she was in and sat up in time to meet the red, blazing eyes of a every pissed off Witch.
For one long, agonizing moment the two stared at each other, neither making the first move as the undead girl growled louder and louder. ".......Fuck." That word was like the gunshot to start off the race, as Tara and the Witch both scrambled to stand up. Either out of luck or God's pity, the survivor got to her feet first and was off so fast that her hat nearly flew off. Grasping it with one hand, she gripped her pistol in the other and focused entirely on running; by now she knew trying to shoot the speed demon would only result in getting caught and pinned faster.
By the time she made it back to where the guys were grouped, she was out of breath and the Witch was only a foot away, shrieking bloody murder. "GOD! DAMNIT! I! HATE! BANANAS!! A LITTLE HELP WOULD BE NICE!! SERIOUSLY!!!"
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Post by Keith the Great on Jan 23, 2010 19:28:16 GMT -5
The added pressure soon halted Robert’s escape attempt, crushing him to the point that he nearly choked. However, the worse pain came from the insults. Robert blanched upon hearing them, unable to suppress a gasp. “That...That is NOT F***ING TRUE!” he cried, pounding the ground with his fists and kicking with all his might, throwing an all-out temper tantrum. His escape attempts brought him nowhere, but he continued nevertheless, pulling on an endless supply of hatred-fueled energy. “I’m WAY better than any piece of s*** little girl! I killed a guy once! Really!” He wasn’t a particularly good liar, but he didn’t even care.
In the meantime, Keith had taken to picking at the small wound in his forearm. What he’d thought was a very determined zombie attack was actually a spare piece of shotgun shell. It wasn’t anything huge and, compared to his previous injuries, didn’t feel like much at all. Nevertheless, he poked around at it, even going so far as to reach in and yank the shrapnel shard out.
“Man, this kinda hurts,” he mused to no particular person, frowning when he couldn’t reach the agonizing metal piece. “Hurts like that one time I got stabbed by a ghost an’–”
At that moment, he heard a loud shriek from the direction of the sobbing zombie. Remembering Tara’s excited stress-reliever, he glanced up to check on her. He looked just in time to see Tara sprint into the store with a pale blur on her tail. His recent memory-recall skewed his vision, however, and he let out a gasp.
“It’s the ghost that stabbed me an’ stole my wallet!” he yelled, springing into action. Not bothering to consider his actions, he leapt forward and tackled the ‘ghost’ to the ground. He turned to glare at his victim and, at the same time, realized that a ghost wouldn’t have been able to be tackled. Shortly after, he noticed that his ‘ghost’ was actually an angry little zombie-girl.
Keith let out a shrike of his own before dive-rolling over her head. While he hadn’t done anything damage-wise, he’d at least slowed her down, allowing Tara a few spare seconds to put in some distance. Planning to do all he could in case the menace came after him next, Keith whipped out his hunting rifle and planted some well-placed shots into her chest. The pain stumbled her a bit, but Keith could already tell he couldn’t do enough damage on his own.
“Watch out! Angry chick!”
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Post by Moro Ashford on Jan 24, 2010 18:24:47 GMT -5
(Mind if I join in?...)
Four loud bangs resonated around the small space. In the center of the children's department, the witch gave an agonized shriek, stumbled into a rack of clothing, which spilled over, and disappeared beneath the pile of Hannah Montana T-Shirts.
Moro released her breath and lowered the hunting rifle she held, her fingers faintly trembling. It had been her decision to stay in the mall and scavenge supplies, but after a few hours of wandering the place, the young woman had become antsy. Against better judgment, she had carefully made her way to where she knew the other group had congregated, a very destroyed and overrun Walmart. Fortunately for her, her path had been mostly cleared, as the hoard had swarmed to their destination.
Slinging the weapon over her back and flexing her fingers, Moro jogged over to where the Witch had fallen, careful to keep her distance. Its head and upper torso had been covered by the clothes; one long hand stretched eerily up from the rack, held aloft by one of the metal crossbars. The infected was a pale violet hue- Moro had never seen her before.
"Tara?" she called, wandering in the direction she had seen her flee. Her attention still on the corpse, she didn't realize there was someone else there until her foot collided with his side and she nearly went tumbling over him.
"Shi- oh, jeez, sorry Keith," she paused and extended a hand. "Looks like you guys bit off more than you can chew, huh?"
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Post by Mason Breaker on Jan 24, 2010 18:50:14 GMT -5
Mason's eyes bulged at the insult to his daughter. No one ever. Calls his daughter. A peice of shit.
No one.
Not really caring about the prospect of the .44 now, or the risk of attracting more infected, he took of his foot and grabbed the youth by the neck with both hands, shaking him violently.
"You. Will. Not. EVER! INSULT MY DAUGHTER TO MY FACE YOU PUNK! YOU GOT THAT YOU SPOILED LITTLE BRAT?! DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT!? He screamed. For Mason, it was rare for him to get this angry. Disrespecting his daughter, however, was a sure fire way to piss him off.
However, just as luck would have it, the brat's screaming wouldn't attract more infected from the store, but Mason's bellowing would. It wasn't a Horde, but it was still enough to cause Mason to forgo his raging, throw the kid to the side (Taking pleasure in the following whump), take out his shotgun, and begin blowing away the mindless infected.
"Keep an eye on the dumb-ass-twit, Roy. I still 'ave a few words to have with im'!" He yelled, blowing away the diminishing group.
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Post by Keith the Great on Jan 24, 2010 20:24:22 GMT -5
Robert had almost managed to scramble away from the man’s grasp when he felt two tough, callused hands wrap around his throat. He had a moment for a small, terrified squeak before he was lifted off the ground and shaken like a Polaroid picture. He was a little too dazed to understand the man’s words, but it wasn’t hard to guess what had him so worked up. A little devil within Robert’s head smirked: This was the perfect opportunity to push buttons.
Before he could begin a new tirade, the roar of infected (though the roar was, by comparison, from a smaller group) distracted his attacker. Before he could give a snarky comment on how his zombie friends were coming to back him up, he was chucked back into a nearby wall, where he knocked down a display of shotguns. He didn’t let this stop him, however.
Springing to his feet with pretend-hunter agility, he leapt forward, latched himself onto the bigger man’s back, and clawed determinedly at the man’s shoulders and neck. At the same time, unwilling to go halfway with his efforts, he decided to press his luck. “YOUR DAUGHTER IS A FAT WHORE WHO WEARS COMBAT BOOTS! SHE’S DUMBER THAN BLONDES IN BLONDE JOKES! HER FACE LOOKS LIKE SHE GOT MAULED BY A TIGER!”
---
Keith had nearly jumped through the roof when four shots followed his, finishing off the screeching harpy. He took a few deep breaths and stared at the dead thing’s corpse before deciding that the floor wasn’t the best place to be sitting. He’d just started to push himself to his feet when he felt a foot, one that obviously hadn’t expected there to be a Keith on the floor, drive into his gut.
He gagged in pain a moment, grasping his stomach, an organ that wasn’t as protected as it should be thanks to multiple days in the hospital and the lack of food that being a hobo (albeit a professional one) came with. However, soon enough he recovered and reached out to accept the helping hand. “S’okay,” he said, forcing a grin. Absently, he noticed that he’d been doing absolutely fine until the girls showed up. He marked it down to the same curse that had inspired previous girlfriends to make attempts on his life.
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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 24, 2010 22:09:45 GMT -5
The butt of the .44 flew, colliding with the shoulder of the pretend-hunter-crazy-little-cussmonkey. WIthout a second thought, he brought a foot up and caught the falling teen in the ribs while spinning the .44 to bear on the zombies and letting a few rounds go.
Contented that Mason could deal with the rest of the common infected, he once again lowered himself to the little twerp's level.
Planting his knee firmly in the child's stomach, he felt the little hooded freak deflate. Whipping out his machete, he poked the runt in the stomach with it, watching as a tiny amount of blood began to seep through.
"I swear to God child, I'll let you bleed out right the fuck here. And I promise it will not be quick, and it will be more painful then if I'd dropped you to the horde." With that, he also thought it might be fun to remove Robert's nails. He'd managed to pry off three before the little bastard stopped squirming under his knee. "Remember, I've got 7 more to cut up. You'd best be quiet..."
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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 24, 2010 22:17:20 GMT -5
Tara, hearing Keith yell something about a ghost stealing his wallet, glanced over her shoulder in time to see him tackle the Witch. Shocked that anyone would have the balls to do such a thing, she couldn't tear her wide-eyed gaze from the sight. As such, she wound up running straight into one of the many pillars scattered throughout the store. Anyone watching would have winced and said the instinctive "ouch" as Tara stumbled backward, spitting out some blood. She'd bit her tongue when she hit, and the red stuff was turning her lips a pretty shade.
"Ugh... who put that... wall there...?" With that said, she hit the floor for a second time, knocked out in a classic K.O. Were this a cartoon, little mini-Witches would be running around and around her head.
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Post by Mason Breaker on Jan 24, 2010 22:31:11 GMT -5
Mason lost it.
Purely, ridiculously, lost it.
Not really noticing that Roy had knocked the punk off his back, or had shot several of the remaining infected, he blew away the last few and whipped around, yelling like a madman, and at this point, it was impossible to understand half of it, but it mostly sounded like he was swearing enough to make a sailor pale. Roy was already jabbing the kid, but Mason wasn't satisfied. But he wasn't gonna kill him. Yet. So he might as well store for later.
Taking several steps over to the two, he grunted a quick "Pardon' me." to Roy, and slugged the pain in the ass in the face (Not Roy, mind you, but Robert). The kid was out like a light.
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Post by Moro Ashford on Jan 25, 2010 18:12:31 GMT -5
Pulling Keith to his feet, Moro noticed a limp figure sprawled out across the tile, a curtain of brown hair veiling her features. Even without, however, the young woman instantly recognized her near-twin.
Leaving the man without so much as a word, the mechanic skirted past him and over to where Tara lay. An offending pillar, bearing an incriminating crimson splotch, seemed to be the culprit; a sudden confused urge to laugh mingled with a sigh and the shake of her head. She bent and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Its not the moving ones we have to look out for you, is it?" she asked, a faint smirk shadowing her lips. "Its the inanimate objects you need to..." she cut off, suddenly, her attention drawn to her outstretched hand. Her veins stood out violently against her skin, an icy blue against a backdrop of unusual pallid tone. She flexed her hand; no change.
Was this normal?
At precisely that instant two things happened at once. There was a hacking, wheezing cough behind her, and then something firm wrapped around her waist and chest, and Moro was being dragged across the tile, one arm pinned helplessly by her side while the other scraped at the floor for purchase that wasn't there. Her rifle was fastened securely to her back, out of range.
In general, Moro wasn't much of a screamer. And, in this instance, she needn't be, as the smoker's path dragged her directly through a line of shopping carts, which collided and overturned with a large crash.
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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 25, 2010 21:23:54 GMT -5
"You're excused big guy," Roy sneered, laughing as the child crumpled in upon himself like a leaf in the fire. "just remember we need him to figure out where the food is, so you can't break him..."
It was at this point in his maniacle tirade of hack-slashing that he heard the metallics of six shopping carts colliding and toppling. Whirring around so as to see what the source of the sound was (which, in this place, could never be a good one), he watched as a Smoker dragged Moro through the Walmart. "Where the hell's a Greeter when you need one..."
Dropping the .44, he unholstered the .45 Longcolt from his belt. Two shots with the long parreled revolver hit home, one in the Smoker's mouth, and the other severing it's tongue closer to Moro. Thank god for shootin squirrels in his back yard as a kid... That and shooting big game in almost every state in the Union.
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Devon Jameson
New Member
"Anyone need a gun? Flare Gun? BB Gun? Raccoon Gun?"
Posts: 11
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Post by Devon Jameson on Jan 27, 2010 19:33:33 GMT -5
Devon sighs, having been sleeping atop one of the many product-holding shelves, he was awoken by the sound of a loud crash. Slowly turning his head from it's relaxed location, to find the sound, the image of a woman being dragged through shopping carts forces him from his state of rest. He slowly rolls to the side, falling from the shelf, landing on his feet with a grunt. An M16 hangs limply by a sling at his side.
"Fucking-" Devon sighs, cutting himself short, and turning around to where the woman was dragged. He attempts to run out into the opening, doing so in a sluggish manner. Reaching the opening, he turns to the attacker and the victim, one arm reaching for his weapon, grabbing for the strap.
With a successful tug, the weapon comes to his front, and with a small smirk, he brings it to eye level, taking aim towards the Smoker. Or more-so, his tongue. However, at the sound of a gun being fired, he watches the smoker go limp, his head being caved in by a bullet. He grins.
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Post by Keith the Great on Jan 28, 2010 21:33:08 GMT -5
Keith watched, seeing quickly that Roy had the situation in hand. (The less work Keith got, the better.) However, he did take a moment to give Roy some cheery (if slightly mocking) applause for the nice shot.
At the same time he enjoyed the sharpshooting display, he spotted the visitor. He might not have noticed the guy at all if not for the fancy-pantsy suit that no normal human being would wear to a Wal-Mart. Keith’s first fear was that it was a tax collector, traveling to the ends of the apocalypse to make a pro-hobo pay his bills. However, that was just plain ol’ dumb (even he could tell that), so he settled for his secondary guess.
“Hey, Lawyer-Guy!” he called out, jogging to the door and waving the stranger down. “You okay over there? You a zombie?”
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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 28, 2010 21:43:46 GMT -5
By this point, Tara had finally regained consciousness, and she coughed up some of the blood that had pooled in her mouth. Groaning, she opened her hazel eyes and sat up, placing a hand to her forehead. "Ergh... ow..." She spit out most of the blood onto the floor, grimacing at the sight and hissing slightly at the sharp pain on her tongue. Grabbing a nearby T-shirt, Tara quickly wiped her mouth clean of blood and shakily got to her feet. Glancing around, she caught sight of the remnants of a Smoker and a newcomer as well.
"Man, figures I miss all the action when I'm out. You okay there, Moro?" she called, walking over to her near-twin. Tara unraveled the tongue with a quick yank, then held out her hand to help the older woman up. "And who's that guy? Another survivor?"
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Devon Jameson
New Member
"Anyone need a gun? Flare Gun? BB Gun? Raccoon Gun?"
Posts: 11
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Post by Devon Jameson on Jan 28, 2010 22:01:39 GMT -5
Devon's head snaps to stare at Keith, he sighs. With a shake of his head, his hand slams up, his thumb pointing to the cieling.
"I'm good, broski!" Devon quickly shouts, his M16 shuffling slightly with the movement. With another turn of his head, he surveys the small area, taking in each individual person. His eyes stop on Tara, his head craning to study her. With a brief nod, he smirks.
"Well, what've we got here?" He whispers to himself, wondering if he should step closer, or stand his ground. He decides with the former, approaching Keith.
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