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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 31, 2016 1:27:51 GMT -5
{ i'm gonna go to bed p soon, so if you want to reply for mark first feel free as a bird >w< }
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Post by mags on Dec 31, 2016 1:30:29 GMT -5
( have a good night, hon bun!!! <33 & take ur time my sweet lil koi c: )
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Post by koi on Dec 31, 2016 1:31:02 GMT -5
[ alright! my mom is hangin out w/ me rn so they might be up late tonight ]
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Post by mags on Dec 31, 2016 1:43:48 GMT -5
( this bump on my head is gettin' real legit whoops )
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Post by koi on Dec 31, 2016 1:55:17 GMT -5
[ MAG. oh my god ]
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Post by mags on Dec 31, 2016 1:58:12 GMT -5
( I AM SO PROBLEMATIC WHY AM I LIKE THIS. i literally just hit my head AGAIN. but this time on my headboard. like that makes it any better )
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Post by koi on Dec 31, 2016 2:10:34 GMT -5
[ MAG U NEED HELP ]
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Post by mags on Dec 31, 2016 2:12:44 GMT -5
( BRO I NEED MY OWN PERSONAL PARAMEDIC LET'S BE REAL HAHAHA. i literally just surrounded my face with pillows and i have this scarf tied around my head with a beanie over it to protect myself HAHA i'm taking precautionary measures )
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Post by koi on Dec 31, 2016 2:54:14 GMT -5
mark lias group 2, library
Soraya is sort of dying, and--no. Scratch that.
Soraya is, generally, not having the best of times, perhaps even what one could call (and get slapped for it) The Worst of Times. She just sewed herself back together without anything but a pat on the back for support (metaphorical, Mark is a little scared of touching her, scared she’ll lash out like an alleycat with a leg infection if he did, is a little scared of touching anyone, really), and then got reprimanded by a doctor who really seems way too young to be a doctor (but who is Mark to judge, he’s only watched five episodes of Grey’s Anatomy), and then got antibacterial something or other put on the wound (not that Mark even saw this part. He’s just assuming by the hissing noises Soraya made), and now, after all of that, after being in The State She Is In, she is hitting Mark with the funniest piece of sass he has heard all day. He wants that entire conversation put on his back in script form.
So, this sinking-boat deal. Now, if the entire group was strapped to the bow of a sinking boat, he’d just have to save both Hester and Soraya. But that makes him sound like an absolute b*tch because he’d be leaving Dashiell just to, kinda, idk, drown there, like some sort of sad blonde mermaid. Whoops.
And finally, he laughs, because of course he does.
It’s only a short thing, a giggle, really, even though a twenty-six year old man should not be giggling, so in his defense it’s not so much a giggle as it is a short, stunted laugh that he forces himself to cut off. He is not super freaked out by walkers. It’s just sort of his luck that he’d be around during a time where dead people got right back up and tried chomping on Mark’s more-than-fabulous calves. He hiked up his Big Boy Pants™, and got the f*ck over it, swung out a machete and said, “Watch this, man, this is gonna be sick.” And he got to work. Now, some people might think themselves less-than-unlucky that they are stuck in the apocalypse with a man who still has braces, who sings Alanis Morissette songs, who still stretches, nightly, like he’s about to put on a personal production of Giselle the next day and he’s playing the title character, but honestly, he is not the worst fighter on Earth. He is not the best, either, but he has never been the Guaranteed Best at anything he does, so that’s a given.
He, still trying to listen as best he can, gets up and walks back to his sleeping bag, and his backpack, pulls out a roll of sports tape before he starts packing. There’s no way he’s planning on leaving his good ol’ collection of stuff behind. Calling out a playful, albeit tone-of-voice-way-too-light-for-the-impending-doom-of-the-situation quip of “You’re so poetic, Soraya, I want you to speak at my funeral,” he gets to rolling up the legs of his jeans, ripping a few long pieces of sports tape and wrapping them firmly around the anterior section of his muscle, beside his bone. There ain’t no way he’s getting shin splints during all this. He has a section of tape in between his jaws like a cat with a fish when Soraya says the words ‘boom egg’ and, well, it might be from the intensity of hearing the groans of the dead nearby, or maybe the fact that Soraya is in the middle of detailing a plan where Mark could and very likely might get a chunk of one of his limbs violently bitten off, but it has Mark laughing, again. He’s always found laughing to be a good release. He’s always gotten in trouble for laughing gratuitously throughout every moment of his life, because he found things easy to laugh at, people were easy to laugh with, and life was better when most of it was spent with a smile on your face (even if it was forced, but he digresses, and I digress further and apologize for that).
“Sounds safe,” says Mark, once he’s gotten his pants pulled back down over his lower legs, his legs sufficiently taped up and ready to rumble, has his shoes laced up and his bag packed, as if he were agreeing that they should go to Starbucks for a coffee refuel or something and not the fact that he is agreeing to Soraya’s wicked plan of having Mark...run into the wild of walkers and...hijack a car? He’s never done anything like that in his life (which may be a surprise for some), but it’s never too late to start being a criminal in the middle of the apocalypse. He makes sure his machete is still in its sheath, strapped to the outside of his pack, which hangs off his shoulder, feels like the PG 13 version of Timothy Goes to School, and grins (wild and free and teeth glimmering, which would be quite a sight, if the whole ‘smile-shining-silver-in-the-light’ poeticism of it wasn’t due to him having braces at age 26. Is that a word?). “I had no idea we had explosions, like, man, this is one of the best days of my life.”
He reaches up, gives a damn good stretch (hey, it may be his last), yawns, and runs a hand through his hair, greasy and dark and wild. “Hey, Hes, I’m gonna go check out what we’re dealing with. If I can see from one of these windows, that is. Get your boom egg ready, girl.”
Mark takes off, walking (rather briskly) to one of the sections of the library where light shines through and illuminates the ceiling, the top rows of books, ignoring the sounds of walkers, dulled through the walls and the doors and the natural dulling effect of books and books and hey, more books, stuffed row by row like lines of teeth. When he gets to the window, high above his head, he takes his time, like he is wanting something of a comedic-effect (but really, he just has no idea what he is going to see and that worries him), gets onto a desk and peeks his head over the tiny windowsill, is painfully still for a few moments, before hopping down, jogging back to the group.
“There’s a few. Solid handful. Maybe a little more than ten?” he tells them, which is not a few, nor a solid handful, but Mark has always lessened his problems in front of others and it’s not like that will stop now. “I don’t think we can get out of this door, anyhow, unless one of you happens to have a bazooka, which. If you do, speak now, or forever hold your peace until we need one next. No? Sh*t. Well. There’s a backdoor, right? Hes, we can just go through that and sneak around and then, whabam, throw the boom egg, and then book it, look for the car then. Thing is, that noise is gonna attract walkers from all over, so we’re gonna have to do it quick. Probably.”
Crosses his fingers, grins at Hester, then at Soraya, then even at Dash because today is a good day, “Hopefully.”
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Post by koi on Dec 31, 2016 2:55:16 GMT -5
[ YOU ARE UNREAL MAG. i'll work on kamekos now lmao its gonna be little compared to PG 13 Timothy Goes to School ]
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Post by mags on Dec 31, 2016 3:01:07 GMT -5
( mark is a DORK. hahahha i love him!!!! and take ur time lol honestly im barely even awake rn anyway BUT YEAH. IK. U KNOW THS STUFF HAPPENS TO ME LIKE DAILY. i still have a pentagon outline on my leg from running into that fire hydrant yesterday )
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Post by koi on Dec 31, 2016 4:34:59 GMT -5
kameko ikedagroup 1, take me to churchKameko tries to catch on to every word she hears. Western people speak as though spaces between words are nothing, as soon as they are vocalized. It all sounds like one long, complicated word stuck into the air as a sentence Kameko spends her time deciphering. Abuela is the hardest to understand—with no disrespect Kameko thinks this—but it is not entirely Kameko’s own shortcomings in English that inspire this view. Half of what she says comes out in another language. Does she even realize it? She can feel her face screw up, harden like old clay under weathered hands, as she thinks too hard, thinks too fast, tries to catch on, eyebrows furrowing, lips pursed.
(“You are so much nicer when you speak in Japanese,” Sakura tells her, then smiles, an afterthought rather the message behind her words in the first place. “You always sound ready to kill your team, in English.”
“I did have more friends in Osaka, I suppose,” Kameko says, looks away, playing with her food under the plastic fork in her hand.
“Ahh. I see it now. You must have been the life of every party,” Sakura says, airily, and as she watches Kameko’s face screw up, laughs.)
“No directions,” Kameko finds herself repeating. “No directions?”
She supposes that would make things a bit too easy—but goshdarnit, she has no idea why they aren’t discouraged from it if it’ll take an arm and a leg (or two) to get there. She stands, in what could be considered a power-stance, arms crossed over her chest, looking deliriously like a stone-carved statue, and tries to make sense of it in her mind.
But before she can really take the time to do so, Emilio is looking panicked, drops his voice and quiets down, so low Kameko could never dream of picking any of it up, and she watches his grandmother hush him in that sugar-gentle way of hers, as strong as vanilla extract, all the same, and as she turns to walk back to her stuff, on one of the pews, there is a feather-light smile on her lips. There is still something sweet about watching interactions fueled by a maternal sort of love—it hurts, just a little, burns in the centre of her chest. Sakura always wanted children. Desperately, really.
The appearance of Ingrid is startling in a soft sort of way, a nice surprise in a world where the only surprises she gets handed to her, silver-platter notwithstanding, is morbid and covered in blood, usually, or a disappointment all at once. Ingrid is none of that. She is a willowy girl, looks like the type who would have fallen over her own limbs in middle school, gangly and unsure of herself, but she holds herself steady, in front of Kameko, who does not mirror her in any way (her mother always told her she needed to lay off on the calories. Her cheeks were round and tan and freckled and her thighs were strong and thick and her hips were wide. Child-bearing hips, her grandmother said, not the petite ones that her friends had, not that it ever bothered her).
“Oh,” Kameko says, mirrors the smile on Ingrid’s features on her own lips. “Thank you. I think it is more—common-sense, you know,” not trying to be rude, but she is surprised they hadn’t tried before, “Will be hard to get gas, but valuable to shorten the travelling. Can you drive?”
Kameko herself can drive, but knowing how many people could take shifts or potentially drive them out of a situation if Kameko were unable to is a good thing to keep in mind, packing her bag as she talks.
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 31, 2016 12:11:26 GMT -5
{ good morning/afternoon friends! }
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Post by koi on Dec 31, 2016 13:20:38 GMT -5
[ hey hon <3 ]
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 31, 2016 13:40:42 GMT -5
{ good morning, koi <3 i'm working on hester's reply
serv and i are going to a friends house around 7 pm (3 pm your time) and won't be back till later }
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Post by servalstrike on Dec 31, 2016 13:46:34 GMT -5
(Good morning everyone ^^
yea and we won't be getting back til 12:30 at least (9 pm in your world))
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Post by koi on Dec 31, 2016 13:53:53 GMT -5
[ alright!
aw sounds like a fun time! i'll be gone tonight also. hopefully snacking and maybe watching harry potter. and i have ballet earlier so i'll be on and off all day. ]
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Post by mags on Dec 31, 2016 13:57:40 GMT -5
( hi guys c: i have a bump on my head the size of texas this morning whoops but same i'll be on and off all evening. i was supposed to be in the mountains w my friends this weekend but i decided to get the flu yesterday. ugh. but my neighborhood is having a block party tonight & my fam is dragging me to that (': )
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Post by servalstrike on Dec 31, 2016 13:58:00 GMT -5
(I thought you were on break from ballet? also. same. i hear there's going to be lots of food there so i'm hoping it'll be a good time. not that time with our buddy is never not good)
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 31, 2016 13:58:13 GMT -5
Hester Scoresby Group Two
By all accounts, Hester ain’t no genius (good thing she ain't never claimed to be one neither), but it don’t a genius to know that that knocking on the door ain’t no welcoming party looking to whisk them away to the safe house. Hester already knows who’s banging up on a storm on their door before Ray can utter even a syllable. Not two seconds later and Markias and Ray were already hissing quips at each other like an old married couple with nothing left in ‘em but years and sarcasm. Then the quips are giving way to Ray spitting orders and it’s sparking a fire at Hester’s feet, nearly has her dancing on her tip-toes. Suddenly, she’s made less ‘a muscle and sinew strung over bones and more electricity and buzzing excitement. Ain’t nothing better in the world than having a job to do, especially when there ain’t much world left and a having weight to pull means having a pack or howling alone.
It’s the word ‘boom egg’ that slaps some sinew and muscle back onto her. Hester whirls ‘round, looking at Ray like she’d grown two heads, “They’s bombs. And I ain’t wastin’ ‘em on deadheads!” Okay, that weren’t wholly true. Nothing made Hester sing with joy more’n lighting a bomb and chucking it into the world to make its short existence worth something. What Hester meant was she weren’t looking to waste her good bombs on walkers. Walkers can’t appreciate the fine art of a good ‘splosion. All’s they care about is the sound, it’s just more noise for them to start walking towards. It’s already too late for her to start arguing her case. Markias’ starts wrapping up his legs like a Christmas present— which, if you’ve glimpsed his calves, you couldn’t rightfully argue that boy’s legs weren’t a gift from God —and Hester is struck by how odd he is. He weren’t made outta rattlers and sand like Ray, all grit and rough and bite that’ll knock you clean off your feet. He was something else entirely. Possibly a cactus, prickle and stab, but got nothing but survival on his mind. Well, survival and laughing. Dancers. What strange folk.
“They ain’t boom eggs! Bombs!” Hester snaps again, “They’s bombs!”
She ain’t taking a shine to that name ‘boom eggs’. Sounded stupid silly. Bombs weren’t stupid, silly neither. Useful. Fun. But not deserving ‘a name like damn ‘boom egg’. Hester groans, a sound to match the ones piling up outside. Somewhere between Markias jogging away and returning with a report, Hester gives up the argument. S’not worth her time, not when death is knocking on their doorstep and there’s more important matters to deal with. She gathers her things, quick as a jackrabbit. Rifle, knife, and all. Then it’s a matter ‘a finding the right bomb.
Hester ain’t a genius, but she ain’t stupid. Loud’s gonna lure ‘way from the door, but it’ll throw ‘em in hotter water just as easy. She weren’t wasting none ‘a her loud stuff on ‘em. Cherry’d work just fine. Easy making, easy wasting. She grabbed two ‘a from her bag, nothing more than ping pong balls full black powder and a fuse. Sure as spit, she’d be proud to watch ‘em go, but wouldn’t miss ‘em half as much as she miss her good stuff. Her colorful stuff.
She jogs up to Markias’s side, big, fat grin plastered on her face like a kid staring down a cake. She nods as he explains his plan, “Better plan, we do your thing but we light fires ‘long the way, get them walkers looking at something that ain’t us. Distract while we work. Cherry bombs’ll only get us so far, but they ain’t nothing special. Nothing that’ll blow to bits, get it? We got one shot and then it’s plan B and you don’t wanna know plan B.” You do wanna know plan B because there is no plan B.
“Let’s go!” Hester grabs Markias’s wrist, flashing her chompers at Ray and Dashay like the two of them’s leaving for a birthday party ‘stead walking out into danger. Backdoor’s easy enough to find, it was a door, at the back. Pretty simple. Getting out of it was even easier. Back way was completely clear on account of all the action happening out front. Not even a straggler. In one hand are the cherries, in the other is Hester’s lighter and she wastes no time combining the two. Seconds later a pair of fuses are lit and sizzling like hissing snakes in her palms. She makes sure to keep the lighter close at hand, tucking it away in her pocket.
Then. She sprints.
It’s a mad dash, a race between Hester’s legs and the fuses burning in her hands. Only one can win, loser bring a herd of walkers down on ‘em. Her daddy once said she was part jackrabbit, said it was ‘cause ‘a all her energy. Right now, Hester was hoping it was ‘cause ‘a all her speed. She sprints up around the building (stupid big that library felt) and tosses those bombs like she’s throwing, well, bombs.
They go off one at a time, minute they hit the asphalt. BANG! BANG! Like gunshots. Hester don’t stick around to see what came next, she already knew. Seconds later and she was back with Markias, outta breath and buzzing with joy.
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 31, 2016 13:59:18 GMT -5
{ oh wow! everyone's busy today! i'm sorry about your head mag. why does this keep happening to you??? }
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Post by mags on Dec 31, 2016 14:04:28 GMT -5
( idk man. i feel like for christmas i should have asked for a onesie made of bubble wrap. )
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Post by koi on Dec 31, 2016 14:08:31 GMT -5
[ i love hester. love her. did....did dhe just give mark a completely valid reason to sing cherry bomb with no shame? WHERE IS TWELVE YEAR OLD EDEN WHEN YOU NEED HIM ]
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 31, 2016 14:16:50 GMT -5
{ no she did not. because there is never a valid reason to sing cherry bomb with no shame!
just tie pillows around your head, mag! that oughta do something! }
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Post by mags on Dec 31, 2016 14:20:45 GMT -5
( yesterday i tied a scarf around my head and put a beanie over it. but like. that didn't do much so THEN i added a ski hat. y'know like the one mark was wearing in koi's drawing? hahaha that protected me. but MAN my head was heavy last night w all that stuff on it!! )
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Post by koi on Dec 31, 2016 14:40:55 GMT -5
[ there is always a valid reason to sing cherry bomb. always.
and yeah serv i'm still on break BUT i have a solo rehearsal today because my teacher and i both forgot it needs to be done by. by feb. 5th ]
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Post by servalstrike on Dec 31, 2016 14:45:25 GMT -5
Soraya: (Group 2) (Sorry this is such a tiny post) Soraya has never liked feeling helpless. Never enjoyed to feel weak or dependent. As she was formulating her plan on the tip of her tongue while she talked she didn’t feel so helpless. Like she didn’t need the others to look out for her even with her injured leg. But once they started moving and she was glued to the couch she didn’t feel so needed. Soraya tried to push those thoughts away. They were doing what she told them to after all. Resting her chin in her hand she snorted at Mark’s quip, “You’d be lucky to have a funeral, Mark Lias, let alone one where I read you a eulogy. ‘Mark Lias, his excess in legs made up for his lack of brains’.” She tilted her head and gave him a look like she’d just told another joke but wasn’t expecting his appreciation for it. And Mark starts laughing, not at her joke of course but it’s such a strange sound to hear. She wonders if she’s doing the right thing by choosing him to go outside. Too much time cooped up in the library might have been making him lose his mind.
Her “boom eggs” phrase had not been meant to take root as the new word for what Hester called a “bomb”. It had merely been a slip in her English but it was too late now, Mark wouldn’t stop saying it. Her cheeks reddened every time one of them brought it up, reminding her of her silly mistake. “I had only forgotten the original word,” she muttered and turned her head away.
Now Hester and Mark were bustling about like two eager honey bees ready to leave the hive. They both seemed...a little too excited for such a mission. Soraya wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. A lack of fear in the face of death might serve them well. But Soraya learned that just enough fear was a good thing. Too much didn’t leave you think straight, but none at all left you unguarded. Soraya also wasn’t sure if putting Mark and Hester on a team was a good idea either. Hester was a jumble of wires and sparks and Mark was a bucket of water. They each served a separate purpose but when they were combined, the whole world was set ablaze. In that sense Soraya might have been just a twinge jealous of such a partnership. Having someone to laugh in the face of danger with might have made her less like a sour apple. But instead she was left to wait on the couch with Dashiell for her impending doom.
They were both grinning wildly as they left the library. Soraya pulled her lips tight. “Those two are trouble,” she mumbled with her chin still resting in her palm. “I almost feel bad for the walkers out there.” On the bright side, at least the metaphorical fire Hester and Mark left in their wake would get them all out of this situation. Or maybe those two would just run off together and leave Soraya and Dashiell for dead.
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Post by servalstrike on Dec 31, 2016 14:49:09 GMT -5
(Oh mag you gotta stop hurting yourself!
Well good luck with that koi! i believe in you!
so my post is unnecessary but i felt the need to get one up anyways. koi and hon you two can keep rping and i'll rejoin when mark and hester finish their suicide mission or if briar is well enough to come back)
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Post by mags on Dec 31, 2016 15:22:29 GMT -5
( how are u guys doing today <3 )
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 31, 2016 16:19:16 GMT -5
{ doing alright. we don't have much going on until 7 so it's kinda boring >^< wbu? }
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