|
Post by Reilly Alexander on Jan 31, 2010 13:06:44 GMT -5
The first thing he remembered feeling was pain.
His back felt shattered; shards of glass seemed to be stuck along his spine and shoulders, scraping at every small movement. His head was pounding, and even within this darkness crimson flooded his gaze with every beat of his heart. For a seeming eturnity he struggled on line between worlds, fighting the murky depths until, finally, he breached the surface. Brilliant cerulean eyes flashed open, and Reilly dragged in a long, choking gasp.
He was lying face down in a confined area about five yards long and three wide, tall enough for him to only crouch without knocking his head. His hands and face were dusted with a white construction powder and flecked with blood; dizzily, he gingerly pushed himself up into an awkward hunch, cringing as he back spasmed in wild protest.
"Bugger," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his head and glancing around at his confinements. Shuffling over to one of the walls, he pressed up against it gave a heave, loosening another shower of dust but otherwise doing nothing. Rocking back on his heels, the young man ran a hand through his hair.
"Righ'," he said, sizing up his opponent. "How 'bout this, then? Well, s'pose it can't be helped...."
And, doing the only thing left he could thing of, Reilly made himself as comfortable as he was able, cleared his throat, and began yelling for anyone in the vicinity to help.
|
|
The Director
New Member
"Anything else would be simply unprofessional."
Posts: 33
|
Post by The Director on Feb 1, 2010 22:35:55 GMT -5
The Director could have picked a thousand better places to wind up. A small shopping district, for example. Perhaps a mall. Even a simple WalMart would do. Honestly, of all his choices, there was one that stood out as being particularly beneficial: a gas station.
Instead, he found himself outside a large airport with no gas station in sight and a needle on his car mocking him with the single letter ‘E’. Frowning at this course of events, he recovered the supplies he’d packed (his magnum, first-aid kit, and a makeshift grenade he’d found in his car for some arbitrary reason) and set off for the airport. At the very least, he could check for supplies before searching for a gas station.
The glass doors at the front were brutally shattered. The Director grimaced at the mess before him before cautiously stepping through the shards. The last thing he wanted was to be wounded not by the infected, but by a stationary piece of glass. He’d never hear the end of it from his coworkers. (That is, if they’d survived. He hadn’t spared the time to check.)
As he took slow, measured steps into the facility, noting that the walls were already sprayed with blood and paint (some pleas for help, other meeting places, supposed information about the zombies, etcetera) and the population was mostly corpses, rather than infected. He’d just begun his circumspect look-around when he felt a peculiar pain in his ankle.
He looked down towards his attacker: what used to be a young woman, now with one leg broken and the other missing, had begun an admirable attempt at injuring him. He grimaced, realizing that she’d ruined his pant leg and sunk her teeth through his skin, before tearing his leg away brusquely and backing away. Before the creature could crawl into a five-foot-radius of his new position, he’d flipped out his magnum and put her out of whatever misery infected minds could hold. (His research hadn’t reached that point yet.)
Just as he’d begun a cursory examination of his wound (if it was even severe enough to be called so), he was interrupted by a very faint yelling. It sounded like a boy, less in the sense of a nine-to-twelve-year-old and more in the sense of someone younger than Director himself. He stopped to consider the possibilities before taking action.
Obviously, the coherent, understandable shouts for assistance meant that the shouter was human, rather than infected. Whether or not the boy was immune was another question but, for the time being, the kid was healthy. Requiring assistance meant that the boy was either injured or stuck, both of which would require some of the Director’s ever-precious time.
However, the Director recalled, in the event of a Hunter or Smoker attack, something that couldn’t be resolved alone, an accomplice would prove quite helpful.
Satisfied with his reasoning, the Director calmly strode towards the direction of the sound, giving a call of his own in response: “Hello,” he said, raising his voice slightly above an indoor-tone, but nowhere near a shout. (Fortunately he was heading in the right direction, else the child would never hear.) He followed with a few inquiries: “Where are you? Have you sustained any injuries? Do you yet know if you are immune or a Carrier?”
|
|
Luigi Martin
Junior Member
"If zombies are real, then does that count for vampires?"
Posts: 52
|
Post by Luigi Martin on Feb 2, 2010 22:02:38 GMT -5
“Whoa oh! Whoa whoa oh! Why do I put myself in these situations? Whoa oh! Whoa whoa oh! I keep pushing myself even though I can’t take it at all.”
The whimsical singing came from a brown-haired survivor that looked to be a sixteen-year-old. He had brown hair that was somewhat wavy, but genuinely straight except for a few curls located here and there. He donned a long-sleeved, button-up green shirt that had a few blood spots here and there. Very bright blue eyes made up his eyes.
He was cautiously navigating his way through an abandoned airport he happened upon; shooting infected with his submachine gun like it was the world’s greatest shooting range. The teenager decided to sing a little song to himself, hoping to brighten the depressed, horror movie-like atmosphere. Unbeknownst to him was that all his singing was attracting more and more zombies until eventually a horde made its appearance. Smirking, the boy reached into his pant pocket to reveal a pipe bomb waiting patiently to be thrown. Maybe that was his plan the whole time: to sing and draw out all the zombies in the unfamiliar area or maybe not. Either way, it seemed like a smart idea.
“Throwing the zombie chew toy!” he hollered, throwing the beeping object emitting a red, blinking light. He scarcely seemed to remember that he had no one to warn about the thrown explosive until he suddenly realized it.
A frown fixated itself onto his features as he watched the infected surrounded the pipe bomb trying to mutilate it. Heartbeats later, it exploded and sent corpses flying everywhere. The teenager didn’t seem to notice the one dead zombie corpse that zipped past him as he studied the airport.
This sorta reminds me of the airport back in Philadelphia. Luigi thought to himself as he reminisced about the epic struggle all the way from the greenhouse where their journey first started, to the crane where in order to proceed forward they had to activate the crane to lower a dumpster and get onto another rooftop. By doing this they had alerted a horde, luckily Zoey had been smart enough to put the two available gas cans to use. The next of their adventure had taken the group of six survivors to the terminal. Here they had to fight through a series of office and break rooms to reach the lobby of the terminal. From there the survivors had to start a crashed van that breaks through a gate and leads them to the next area, of course this had alerted a horde as well. Next they had to navigate their way through the baggage handling area of the airport and eventually end up in the security checkpoint. Unbeknownst to Francis, who had stupidly walked through a metal detector, the alarm had alerted a horde–a really big one at that.
After spending the next fifteen or maybe even more minutes trying to kill off the horde, and Francis occasionally protesting that it wasn’t his fault, they worked their way through the waiting area and the next safe room. From there the group had known that they were almost out of the hell-hole as they reached the airport runway. At first they were dismayed and shocked to find that the military had ended up bombing the place and, if Luigi remembered correctly, Louis had said something along the lines of, ‘They really trashed this place.’ to which he responded, ‘No shit business man!’
On top of that, the survivors had also arrived in time to see a Commercial airplane literally crash. Everyone had gaped at the sight until Bill got them heading off again. They met up with a waiting Lockheed C-130 Hercules transport on the runway and, after making contact with the pilot via radio, they had to open a valve on a connected fuel tanker to re-fuel the plane as well as holding against the waves of infected and several tanks. Eventually the plane got re-filled and the survivors bundled onto the plane from the opened hatch at the rear, evading a final rush of infected. The plane gave a successful departure and the groups of six immune humans were finally safe…
Or so they thought.
As Luigi remembered the events, he hadn’t realized that whimpering and soft crying could be heard. He tilted his head to the side as he listened, wondering if it was a witch. At first his initial instinct was to stay as far away from the area as possible, but curiosity got the better of him as he turned off his flashlight and began his search.
The expedition had taken him deep inside the airport. Luigi froze as the whimpering and crying was loudest in the new area he was in. The sound seemed to be coming from a nearby restaurant–a nice and particularly fancy-looking one. He tip-toed his way over to the restaurant, slightly opening the front doors and poking his head inside.
It was dark and some pieces of the furniture were turned over. The whimpering and crying from earlier was especially loud here. Luigi then brought his whole body into the vicinity, looking around with his bright blue eyes alert and watchful. The brown-haired teenager followed the depressed noises all the way to the back of the restaurant.
Imagine his surprise as he looked behind a ground shelf and discovered, not a witch, but a crying little girl. His eyes grew as wide as an owl’s as he stared at the frightened child. She looked lonely, scared, and lost. He felt immense sympathy for her. After all, he knew what it felt like to be lonely, scared, and lost as well.
Who the fuck leaves a freaking little girl alone in a zombie apocalypse? He wondered.
Putting on the best and friendliest smile he could put in his dismayed state, Luigi said to the girl, “Hello.”
|
|
|
Post by Dahlia Breaker on Feb 2, 2010 22:28:16 GMT -5
He had told her to stay put. She hadn't. She had to though, the scary hooded monster was looking for her, what else was she to do? At least she lost it, along with all the other scary-people-who-were'nt-people.
But now she was even more afraid. The airport was loud and big and scary, everthing that a 9-year old hated.
Dahlia had taken refuge in a restaurant, behind one of the shelves. It seemed to be a good idea at the time, there were no scary men there. Although, there was a really gross fat man, but he went somewhere else.
Currently, however, she was in an uncontrollable fit of crying. She couldn't stop, it was altogether too much for her young mind to handle alone.
How she missed her Mom and Dad..... Her daddy wasn't scared of anything! Not even the monsters under her bed!
However, her sobbing was interrupted by a voice. Giving a startled gasp, she looked up at the person. He looked pretty young, and he was smiling, but..... What if he was a bad person? The possibility sent her into a fresh round of panic.
"No! No no no no no no! Stay away!" She cried, pushing herself farther back, trying to get away.
|
|
Luigi Martin
Junior Member
"If zombies are real, then does that count for vampires?"
Posts: 52
|
Post by Luigi Martin on Feb 2, 2010 22:50:11 GMT -5
Now Luigi knew a few things about kids after being forced from one of his friends to join the Parenting class in school. The little girl he had just discovered went into an extra dose of freak-out mode, yelling and crying harder than before as she pushed herself farther back.
“Wahh!” Luigi freaked as well. “I’m not Michael Jackson, I swear!”
Defeat started to flood over him as he watched the crying girl. He then drew up some determination as he reached out a hand towards the little girl.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” he whispered in a sincere tone and smiled again. “I’m not one of those…” He paused wondering if he should use the word zombie, but thought better of it. “…scary people. I’m as human as they come. Now, please stop crying. You’re safe with me, I promise. I won’t hurt you.” He paused again. “In fact…I won’t let anything hurt you. Can you tell me your name and what you are doing out here all alone?”
|
|
|
Post by Reilly Alexander on Feb 2, 2010 23:26:46 GMT -5
Reilly's head was now resting on his arms, crossed over his knees with his back against the furthest wall of his prison. His shoutings had subsided into occasional calls for help; the first pinpricks of doubt began to chip away at him.
Then, after another bout of attempts, a voice.
"Ah... shite," the Aussie's head snapped up sharply, smacking painfully against the roof. Bent in an awkward, vertical fetal-position, he rubbed at the sore spot and returned the call.
"Oi! I'm here!" he shouted, crawling to where one of the many breaches in the rubble gave a crack of fresh air. "Beneath this mess!" Weathered hands began again to press on the barriers with renewed vigor; his ears strained to hear the man's string of speech.
"I'm, uh... not badly hurt, few scrapes is all... and, blimey, didn't even consider me bein' a Carrier. Rightly not infected tho, yeah."
|
|
|
Post by Dahlia Breaker on Feb 3, 2010 17:41:14 GMT -5
Dahlia's panic slowly settled. Slowly. It took some time for her to actually grasp what she was being told, and more time for her to slow her crying to a soft whimper, her arm still raised in an attempted defense. His smile and words sounded sincire, and he hadn't tried anything yet. Still, she was cautious, and so she slowly started to make her way out of her hiding spot.
He had asked her name and why she was here. "M-my n-n-names D-Dahlia." She whimpered, still wiping away some tears from her dirty face. "Daddy tried to save us from the scary people, but then the car crashed. Mommy's gone, I th-thought Daddy w-was too, so I-I had to run from the scary people.... A-and then...."
She felt another bout of tears threatening to come about again.
|
|
The Director
New Member
"Anything else would be simply unprofessional."
Posts: 33
|
Post by The Director on Feb 3, 2010 17:50:34 GMT -5
The Director had just begun to assume that the boy was bleeding to death (due to the growing lack of shouts) when he was informed of the kid’s vitality through a solid ‘thump’ of skull against rock. Shortly after, the noise was followed by a distinctly Australian-accented response. Apparently, the kid was underneath rubble, not too injured, definitely not infected, possibly a Carrier, and very likely to answer a stranger’s inquiries. (The last quality could be positive or negative; the Director hadn’t yet decided.)
And of course, the kid had to be buried under a pile of disgusting rocks that could have been puked on or bled on by any number of shambling infected. The Director cringed, but assured himself that the attack on his hygiene would be worth it once he made it through a Hunter attack (or two; it depended on whether or not the rocks ruined any part of his suit).
Reluctantly, Director reached for one of the rocks that seemed to be shifting from the boy’s attempt at escape. Between the two men, the chunk (which Director then realized was a piece of the ceiling) came away, rolling away from the mound and opening up a hole just big enough for someone to squeeze through.
The Director stared down at his rescue-ee,: still a kid by Director standards but not quite a child, the boy looked to be a teenager, or at least close, and was covered in white dust and specks of dark-red blood. The powder coating made Director flinch and check his own hands, which were now also turning the pale white. Letting out a slight sigh of disappointment, he held his hand out to assist the boy, figuring that his hands were already a mess and wouldn’t suffer too much from whatever dust the kid had picked up.
|
|
|
Post by Paul "Big Paulie" Viperelli on Feb 3, 2010 18:23:44 GMT -5
'Huh... he must've changed suits... why the hell is this guy still here anyway? Ain't he supposed to be a TRAVELING con artist?' The large Italian chuckled to himself, crouched as the Suit began to clear away some rubble Trench knives secured around his knuckles, he inched almost sliently closer to his target. 'The new Don wants him dead, no matter what circumstances...'
His black hair, carefully slicked back (and now hardened into a near shell by the grease-sweat-blood ratio in his lovely raven locks) was furrled by a throughtful tap to his temple. The new Don was lucky. He'd already been evacuated when the Don turned... Paulie had been in the same room. After hearing the other italian man groan, Paulie had been vomited on and brutally assaulted by random zombies. After cutting down his former boss and the encroaching zombies, Paulie had taken time only to shine his hoes before taking off for an evac point.
Almost not thinking, he saw the white-faced man being pulled out of the rubble and lept from his crouch. Seeing the dust rise off the mans chest as he hit the ground, Paulie jumped back up and turned to Nick...
Who was not Nick...
"Fa' shits sake, how many dudes in a freakin' Apocalypse wear goddamn suits?" Dumbfounded by his mistake, Paulie rubbed the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly. "'Ey, sorry bout that guys. Names Paulie Viperelli... thought you were dis guy i was supposed to... well, y'know... knock off. Sorry there Suit. An' uh... you there... sorry for the uh... y'know flyin tackle business. Ma' bad, 'right?" Offering out his hand to the youth on the ground (whose yelling had attracted him to this very scene) he forgot completely about the Trench Knife secured to his fingers.
|
|
|
Post by Reilly Alexander on Feb 3, 2010 22:26:45 GMT -5
Finally the slab of wall came loose and Reilly tumbled out into the fresh air, cringing as his spine flared with pain. Shite, feel like I'm eighty. Rubbing a smear of dust from his face, the young man glanced up, his cerulean eyes at violent contrast with the film of white dust that veiled his skin.
His savior came in the form of a well-to-do man in a suit, who was examining his hands with the fainest disdainful look. His gaze lingered to Reilly, and he extended one of said hands, which was, too, coated in the powder. Before the Aussie could accept his help, however, there was another man on top of them.
"Fa' shits sake, how many dudes in a freaken' Apocalypse wear goddamn suits?" the new arrival exclaimed in a heavily accented voice, stopping dead and assessing them with a sheepish look; rocking back on his heels, back curved in the least offensive way to his nerves, Reilly raked hair out of his face and studied him. He was a big fellow- in a strong, intimidating sort of way- and the unfriendly-looking contraption strapped to his fingers furthered this image. After spending the previous night fleeing a horde of the undead, however, this guy looked damn near cuddly.
Well...almost.
"Er...thanks mate," Reilly said, nodding to the bladed contraption attached to his hand. "I'm good though. An' thanks for coming to my rescue," he turned his attention back to the first man, rubbing again at his face, which was now streaked with lines of white dust. "That was a bit of a fix, wasn't it?"
Feeling he could not accept the hand of either man after being offered assistance from each, Reilly got slowly to his feet by his own power. "Ah, feels good to stretch, dunnit? Reilly Alexandah, mates...you uh, haven't seen a rifle lyin' around, have ya?"
|
|
The Director
New Member
"Anything else would be simply unprofessional."
Posts: 33
|
Post by The Director on Feb 3, 2010 22:58:25 GMT -5
The Director had been patiently awaiting the acceptance of his assistance when he suddenly felt an enormous form barrel into his side. Immediately, he felt all the wind knocked out of his lungs, and grunted as he was tackled to the ground. Fortunately, the lumbering bear who’d instigated the attack didn’t bother to sit on him and crush the suited man’s air supply.
"Fa' shits sake, how many dudes in a freakin' Apocalypse wear goddamn suits?"
Calm and collected as he may be, the Director couldn’t hold in a sneer. “I didn’t bother to count,” he seethed. “Honestly, if I had know I would be thrown into the midst of a viral infection–” He put particular emphasis on the word, correcting the average ‘Zombie-apocalypse’ perspective. “–I would have chosen more practical attire to wear to work.”
Replacing his apathetic mask, the Director pulled himself to his feet, removed a small handkerchief from his pocket (a gift from his wife he’d been unable to toss), and wiped of his hands before beginning to fastidiously dust off his suit.
“No harsh feelings, then,” he said in response to the bigger man’s apology and explanation. He took a moment to assess his company from behind his shades while keeping up the facade of suit cleaning. Both of them looked fit enough to prove valuable teammates. He’d have to see how this mutual relationship would work out; as a start, he would continue the introductions.
“I am the Director of the Civil Emergency Defense Agency,” he proclaimed, showing no signs of pride or boasting. “Mr. Viperelli, Mr. Alexander,” he greeted, nodding to each man respectively. “Pleasure to become acquainted with you.”
In response to Mr. Alexander’s inquiry about a rifle, the Director took an initial glance towards the rubble. From the sunlight breaking in through a hole in the ceiling, he could spot the tiniest glimmer of metal within the pile, wedged between two chunks of ceiling. He raised a brow and motioned to the stack of rocks. “Have you checked your previous location?”
|
|
Luigi Martin
Junior Member
"If zombies are real, then does that count for vampires?"
Posts: 52
|
Post by Luigi Martin on Feb 3, 2010 23:17:07 GMT -5
The sympathy Luigi felt earlier for the little girl welled up again until he felt like he was going to choke on it. Honestly, if he thought he was too young to be going through this zombie apocalypse he was wrong. Way wrong. This lonely, frightened girl shouldn’t be going through this. She was too young to even be witnessing this.
Suddenly Luigi felt closer to this little girl than ever. She and him shared similar things. For one, she had lost her mother to the infection. He had lost his identical twin brother to the infection. Second, she had been separated from her father and has no clue if he was alive or not. He had been separated from his big brother after the military had saved them back down south and he had no idea if Mario was alive, doing okay, or not.
He sighed and, not knowing if he was taking a huge risk or not, pulled the little girl into an embrace, patting her back comfortingly. After all, everyone deserved some comfort in this hell-hole.
“You’re name is Dahlia, right?” Luigi asked. “What a pretty name. My friend back at school was named Dahlia.” He looked down at her. “I know exactly how you feel. My twin brother is gone too. The scary people killed him, my big brother and I saw it with our own eyes. We-we thought his was dead, but it turns out he’s not. He…well, he’s one of those,” He paused wondering if Dahlia would know what a hunter was. Then again, considering how young she was, she probably wouldn’t know. “He’s one of those scary hooded monsters now. But he doesn’t act like one of them. You see, he somehow managed to keep humanity after turning into a scary hooded monster. He can talk, feel emotions, and do stuff normal humans do.”
A silence hung over the two as Luigi stopped talking for a minute. Sadness crashed over him like a giant wave and he almost cried, but he knew he had to be strong for Dahlia. Such weakness can discourage anyone, especially a little girl who probably needs your help. But even though he was determined not to cry, tears still leaked from the corner of his bright blue eyes as he continued talking.
“I-I had to kill him though,” the brown-haired survivor confessed with a little sob. “It wasn’t because he was bad or anything; it was the only way to kill the other scary hooded monster. Now this one, even though he had humanity himself, was evil. He could have killed all of us if Dylan hadn’t been there. To kill the other scary hooded monster I had to kill Dylan as well.” He waited a little to let Dahlia take in all what he had said before continuing. “On top of this I was separated from my big brother, Mario. After we got rescued by the military they brought me to some camp here in Illinois.” A snort of disgust escaped him. “That place was bogus! I didn’t even stay there that long before the scary people overrun the whole place! I was lucky to get out of there in one piece!”
His explanation was done and he smiled down at Dahlia. His bright blue eyes glowed magnificently as he tilted his head to the side curiously.
“I told you what happened to me,” Luigi began. “Now you finish telling me about you.”
|
|
|
Post by Dahlia Breaker on Feb 4, 2010 21:50:59 GMT -5
Initially, when Dahlia was pulled into the rather sudden embrace, she wriggled around for a few moments, mostly out of discomfort than anything else. Some of it was out of fearfulness, but it was mostly just out of discomfort.
She did, however, listen to Luigi's story with wide eyes, taking in (almost) every word. Some parts, including the part about his brother who was one of the scary growling people but still acted like a normal person. That part just flew right past her.
Then he asked her to finish her story. She swished her legs around a few times, looking at the ground. She didn't really want to, but he was being nice to her, she should at least "return the favor", as her Daddy called it.
"Ummmm..... " She began, trying to recall where she left off. "Oh yeah! So, I was running from the scary people, and I almost ran to the Police station, but I remembered that a lot of scary people were coming from that direction, so I went left!" Dahlia had very little concept of the compass directions. "I kept going and going and going untill I got really tired, and then I saw this place!" She paused, thinking for a moment. "Then once I found I nice hiding place, I waited and waited and then Daddy called me with this!"
Wriggling from Luigi's grasp, she crawled back into her hiding spot, coming back out with small two-way radio.
She stared at her new friend for a moment, before noticing something. Behind Luigi, there was a figure, waddling about between the tables. It didn't seem to be towards them, just wandering around aimlessly. However, Dahlia couldn't supress a small frightened whimper when she realized who it was. The fat man from earlier was back!
|
|
Luigi Martin
Junior Member
"If zombies are real, then does that count for vampires?"
Posts: 52
|
Post by Luigi Martin on Feb 5, 2010 20:24:17 GMT -5
Luigi stiffened as he heard the familiar gurgling of none other than a boomer. His eyes instinctively fixed on the obese special infected. He then swiveled his gaze back to Dahlia. She was frightened again, small whimpering escaping her lips.
“Go back into your hiding place,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of the…” he trailed off, once again wondering if she would know what a boomer was. “…gross fat man.”
When Dahlia complied, he searched around for a little bit. After finding a cardboard box, he tip-toed over, picked it up, and shoved it in front of Dahlia’s hiding spot. That done he gripped his submachine gun tight, his knuckles turning white. He crept stealthily towards the place where the boomer was idle waddling around. Once Luigi was inches away did he jump out in a super special awesome fashion.
“Hey fat and ugly!” the teenager yelled at it, sticking his tongue out childishly. “Come get some!”
The boomer whipped around with a loud groan. Luigi barely had time to dodge as a stream of puke came flying towards him. He smacked the special infected away from him with the hilt of his gun before firing madly on it. When the boomer died with a loud boom, he gave a disdainful sniff down at its corpse before heading back to Dahlia. He smiled a toothy smile as he removed the cardboard box covering the entrance to her hiding spot.
“Gross fat man is gone!” Luigi informed. “Nobody messes with Weegee…or Dahlia man!”
And with that he decided to give her a peace sign.
|
|
|
Post by Dahlia Breaker on Feb 5, 2010 20:40:47 GMT -5
Dahlia blinked a few times when the cardboard box was lifted away. She was, however, relieved to hear that the nasty fat man was gone. He was nasty. And smelly. And gross.
She giggled slightly at Luigi's exclamation, flashing her own peace sign (Although not really understanding what it meant). Crawling back out of her hiding place, she stood next to Luigi, humming to herself. It had been a while since Daddy had called..... Hopefully he was still alright.
Trying her best to stay strong, she sniffled only a few times before wiping her eyes. And that's when she heard them.
Voices. Of other people!
Excitedly, she tugged on Luigi's leg, pointing out of the resturant. "Luigi, Luigi! I hear someone! Not scary people, neither!"
She was rather excited. Maybe Daddy was with them...... In her excitement, she almost ran off with out him, but stopped when she realized that she wouldn't be safe from the scary people without someone bigger than her. With that thought in mind, she went back to Luigi, gazing at him expectantly.
|
|