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Post by servalstrike on Dec 28, 2016 21:45:49 GMT -5
(people need to be nice to emilio! he's a good kid with a good heart! who cares if he's a little...squishy
soraya and sadja are my babies and as much as i love them i'm going to keep hurting them
Dr. Dad. he has a ph.d in parenthood)
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Post by koi on Dec 28, 2016 21:48:13 GMT -5
[ more like Dr. Daddy ]
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 28, 2016 21:51:23 GMT -5
{ get out koi. you're no longer welcome here. ever again. }
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Post by servalstrike on Dec 28, 2016 21:55:41 GMT -5
(Koi. Stop. banned. blocked. reported.)
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Dec 28, 2016 22:01:55 GMT -5
EZRA MACLAURIN
Sometimes Ezra wondered if Emilio was actually an overfed puppy who had been cursed to occupy a human body. The way he stood staring (ogling) at the map was perfectly reminiscent of a young lab staring at the treat jar; dark-chocolate eyes all intense and lightly creased, tail quivering slightly as the gears of its mind worked out possible ways to reach what it wanted. In this case the treat jar was Edgemont (like, did Emilio actually think Ezra didn’t know what the town was called? It was a reference. Like, was it that hard to get? Did Emilio think he was stupid? I mean, yeah, Ezra didn’t exactly come across as God’s Gift To Intelligent Life, but, well, sh*t man, if he could do theoretical calculus he should at least be able to remember a word. Right? Right?) Though, digression aside, Ezra didn’t think Emilio would say no to the treat jar either.
“From there were just kind of wing it”, Ezra shrugged, completing the sentence. He moved a hand and started itching the side of his face again, as if he could scratch the stubble right off. He must look like a wild man right about now. He furled his eyebrows together at the thought, gray-blue eyes narrowing slightly, unintentionally casting a slightly concerned look at Emilio, as if he was worried about the other boy’s map reading skills. Oh well. “Cool beans.”
He was about ready to walk away, go start the tedium that was squishing camp into a series of bags and such, when Emilio decided it was a great idea to keep talking. Noice. He didn’t respond to Emilio’s first question not because he wouldn’t have, he wasn’t like, particularly rude, just a bit irritable, but because the boy literally gave him no time to put in a word otherwise. So he just responded in his head. Said, “slept like a baby, Millie, appreciate you asking”, and “ah, you’re welcome, sweetie, I love hearing about how your night was” and “I care so much about icing cupcakes wow Mills you're just making my morning”. Ezra’s subconscious was a little bit of a b*tch. Instead of vocalizing any of that, though, he just stood in silence, arms back down at his sides, and added a, “that’s cool”, to the end of the other boys spiel.
It’s suffice to say that Ezra was quite glad when Abuela showed up. “It’s Ez-” he started, for what must be the fifth time but felt like the millionth, to correct her pronunciation before just giving up. “Nah, ‘Millie here is never a bother. He was just telling me about these cool cupcakes he saw in San Fran”, Ezra smiles, all teeth and soft blue eyes, “he also told me we’re planning on making it to Hedgefund later today.”
Ezra didn’t even pause before going into. “You still think it’s a good idea to go there? Not questioning your judgement or anything, Abuela, but - okay, I totally am - because there is no way that place is legit? You know as well as I do how every proposed safe zone ended up just getting overrun, so what would make this one any different?” He scratches his cheek again. It was probably red at this point. “It just gives me weird vibes, you know. I understand that it seems like hope for like, a new start, but. With all the stuff they’re saying about, you know, those crazy cult people; it seems like a bad idea to go anywhere where there might be a lot of people.”
Ezra looked her down. “I mean, that’s just me though.”
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Dec 28, 2016 22:06:15 GMT -5
(emilio is a saint, cute bbe, i want to hug him. ezra is just a d*ck. ALSO. SADJA REFERENCES. DIDN'T SADJA KNOW A DANCER I'M DED, D E A D, SPELL IT OUT. GOD. SORAYA IS GR8 TOO WHAT A PRINCESS. dr. daddy murder me lmao. )
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Post by koi on Dec 28, 2016 22:23:25 GMT -5
[ problems: 1. mark lias has a really dirty mouth and i can't have an entire wall of text censored out. but god his entire dialogue is b*tching and swearing i h a t e m a r k l i a s ]
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Dec 28, 2016 22:39:28 GMT -5
[not problems: i love mark lias.
edit: but also again consider: chat page. hon. i srs. mainly just because the front page of this rp keeps crashing my browser. still. and i want a place to post all the art i have from the rp so far. ]
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 28, 2016 22:45:10 GMT -5
Eepers Sorry for my massive poof { that's okay robin~ have you figured out what characters you want to use? }
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Post by servalstrike on Dec 28, 2016 22:57:36 GMT -5
( "Sometimes Ezra wondered if Emilio was actually an overfed puppy who had been cursed to occupy a human body." yea that about sums up emilio )
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 28, 2016 22:59:22 GMT -5
Yeah but I'm on a mobile so I can't really do nice forms rn { that's fine! who did you decide on? }
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Post by koi on Dec 28, 2016 23:01:53 GMT -5
mark lias group 2, library
Injuries are, like, super strange. Mark always found that when his pain was especially bad, in that sudden, awful way, things were a helluva lot—sharper, emotions were higher, what was that, adrenaline, maybe? He didn’t know. But Soraya starts laughing, even though Mark didn’t say anything especially hilarious, and he still doesn’t know, but can relate in a not-so-extreme way. Mark was, is, oftentimes, unreliable to an extent: y’see, even back in his good ol’ baby ballet school performance Nutcracker days, he was always That One Kid who came down with the flu before the first show, gave himself a concussion backstage, remembers Gio muttering “please don’t throw up on me,” when he looked especially nauseous right before the curtains drew across, because he had no one to replace him, and he’d always been double-casted since then, because Mark takes after his mother (who he’s never really met, and he can’t even get an image of her when her name comes to his mind, because he’s never been fond of seeing pictures of her, either, and when he looked her up on Facebook when he was fourteen, she only had pictures of things like, “The view in my backyard!”) when it comes to being a reliable figure in people’s lives.
And Mark feels as much now, unreliable, can feel his eyebrows rise further and further up to meet his hairline (which is greasy, and he feels like a super grody vomit puddle in the middle of Ass-F*ck Nowhere, British Columbia, but then again everyone and everything looks pretty gross right now, pretty damn nasty, like a cesspool on a weekend in the middle of a field and I feel like Mark has been to some pretty sketchy parties to keep having these images pop into his head), “There are lamer ways to die, y’know,” he says, voice airy, like he has no idea what he’s saying (and probably doesn’t even hear himself) “This one time I had a guinea pig that died from constipation.”
The wound is still fresh, so it does not look as if her leg is walker flesh or something when she peels her makeshift bandage away, but it sure as hell does not look like a clean surgical incision, or anything resembling a cat scratch (which are the only two things Mark knows how to deal with. That, and, shin splints. He has sports tape in his bag for a reason). Mark isn’t super squicked out by things but--yeah, he’s super squicked out by stuff like this, god knows why, almost cried when he was told he needed to have his wisdom teeth out, like, what? So maybe he sort of has a fear of surgery, but this isn’t a big thing, it’s not like Sadja is going to start sewing herself up.
Count Mark down as being absolutely goddamn wrong.
“Holy f*cking hopscotch what the bloody f*ck are you doing,” comes Mark’s voice, a suddenly hushed, seething whisper, averting his eyes, can’t look at it, can’t even look at Soraya’s face, contorting, “Dude. I could just, like, go get, y’know, the literal doctor that is in this building or something? Um. Holy f*ck. You definitely just earned ‘most hardcore person I’ve ever met’ title,” and he’s talking so fast he feels numb, or feels so numb he’s talking too fast, whatever came first, egg or chicken, chicken or egg.
And as they usually say, speak of the blond devil and he will appear, and so he does, about five minutes and five stitches too late.
“Is this your idea of being fashionably late?” he says, as if Soraya was a stoppable force when even if she had seen Dash approaching she probably would’ve just hissed at him and finished the job she started. Dash sends him a glance that is on the edge of a glare, and Mark is pettier than hell, is so petty it should be the new 8th Deadly Sin, and so he sends one back, eyebrows furrowed, the epitome of Fight Me, Seriously, Wanna See What Happens (really, though, mark, please don’t fight your group’s only doctor).
And then Mark actually hears what Mr. Doctor Man is saying and manages to spit out, “Oh my god. She just sewed her leg up without anaesthetic, don’t be f*cking rude,” in one rushed breath, and may I reiterate: Mark, please don't fight your group’s only doctor.
It’s not like Mark hates Dash, or anything, and as David Lias would say, “Hate’s a strong word, Markie,” but Mark...is not 100% on the Dashiell Shay train, partly because he can’t stop thinking about Soraya’s cat comparison and it’s gonna make him crack up at the worst of times and he knows it because it’s accurate as hell. And Mark snorts, rising to his feet, because as awfully timed as his thoughts are, Dashiell’s words are more so. He can hear himself repeating “make yourself useful. What a guy,” under his breath, illegible, thinking to himself that he’s surprised Dashiell didn’t say “would you be a dear” in the same breath, because, come on. He wouldn’t have been surprised.
He is surprised, however, that the first aid kit is at least sort of where Dashiell described it being—he tries to fetch it pretty quick, though the Petty™ side of him would love to take his time, he doesn’t want Soraya to suffer further, so he brings it back to Dashiell fast, kneels by his side, shoves it near him, unceremonious. “Here,” he says, then, “Don’t f*ck it up,” trying to be at least kinda lighthearted, but it comes out as cruelly teasing, because, well. Mark isn’t a shining beam of light, y’know.
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Post by 𝓑𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫 ♥ on Dec 28, 2016 23:14:53 GMT -5
[ mark lias is petty goals "as if Soraya was a stoppable force" i love this. ]
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Post by servalstrike on Dec 28, 2016 23:29:02 GMT -5
(so petty it should be the 8th deadliest sin. mark. what a guy)
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Post by servalstrike on Dec 28, 2016 23:41:21 GMT -5
Soraya: (Group 2) Soraya felt like her head was spinning and she could really use a nap. But naps could wait until the dark hours! There was so little time they had during the day and the dead still walked outside. She paused a moment and panted her eyes meeting Mark’s “Your vocabulary consists of many cusses, I should wash your mouth out with soap.” She spoke as if she didn’t just pull her flesh back together with a fishing line and sewing needle.
She direct her attention to the doctor now and sent him a look that conveyed her feelings for him rather well. “I don’t see why not a sewing needle and fishing line. Needles stitch clothes why not skin? And fishing line is strong, it will keep the wound closed.” She tilted her chin up and crossed her arms like a disobedient child that was getting scolded. “I only have so much blood in my body, Doctor, while you were off sulking I took matters into my own hands so I would not die.” Her leg wouldn’t stop shaking, it hurt so bad.
Her gaze narrowed and gave him a venomous stare, she raised her good leg and put her foot on his chest. “If you so much as touch those stitches I will take that very needle and fishing line and sew your mouth shut. You don’t need to speak to do your job.” Curling her hand into a fist. It wasn’t that she didn’t want his help, but she was dirty and hurt and tired and hungry so her mood shifted and turned like the tides of the ocean. She knew that him ripping out her stitches would hurt like hell and, well, she was a little too proud to admit she had done something wrong. Every second of that morning had worn Soraya down like a river on a stone. She was like a wild animal, relying on base instincts And that first instinct was to not let anyone hurt her. Not even a doctor who knew more about injuries than she did.
Tilting her head back she looked up at the ceiling. “I was heading back here when I got caught in a herd. I climb up a ladder but cut my leg on a nail.” At his next question she just shrugged “Everything hurts, my leg burns.” She shot another weary glare at Mark when he returned with the Doctor’s first aid kit, as if he were to blame for even helping the man who wanted only to help her.
She looked between the two of them and pressed her mouth into a hard line, keeping her foot on Dash’s chest, daring them to try and rip out her stitches.
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 28, 2016 23:49:34 GMT -5
Hester Scoresby Group Two
These days, sleep’s a damn coward. A tricksy coward, but a coward nonetheless.
Sleep don’t come like it used to for Hester no more. You gotta snare it these days. Snare it just like you would snare any other wily prey. Baiting the trap was the hard part. See, Hester knew what little critters wanted. She knew what the squirrel and the fox were looking for out there in the woods. But she didn’t know what sleep wanted when it stalked the edges of her brain. She tried all them tricks her daddy taught her when she was a young’un. Counting sheep. Telling herself stories. Heck! If she had milk she would ‘a warmed it right up and guzzled it down. But sleep weren’t interested in none of her tricks. It just came creeping and crawling like a shy beast and at the far corners where Hester couldn’t reach. She felt its weight, though. She felt it heavy and solid in her bones. Like it were dragging her down but never far enough.
When sleep finally did pounce on Hester it was quick and quiet-like. There and gone before she knew what hit her. Like a tick come sucking up her blood and falling off afore she had the chance to snag it. That’s what last night was. Sleep caught Hester off guard, it knocked her out and then dashed off like a phantom. She woke up, dazed, drowsy and damning that bastard sleep to hell and back. She kicked off her blanket and stretched her arms wide.
The earliest bits of the morning had passed by now, creeping strands of dawn were drying up the veils of mist and birds were starting up their song. And over that cheerful chorus was one heck of a ruckus. She bundled up her blanket into a nice little roll and stuffed into her pack; wouldn’t be needed it till nightfall so’s what’s the point in keeping it out?
That done, she ventured out from her little corner of the library, dipping and diving through all those big tall stacks ‘a books. Libraries. Hester loved libraries, couldn’t ‘a picked a better place to spend the night if they holed themselves up in a bunker made ‘a marshmallows and twizzlers. She had two books ‘a her own in her pack, a souvenir from home. They were swell choices to bring with her into the apocalypse if she said so herself, and she sure as heck did.
The first was a literary classic and one ‘a Hester’s prized possessions (aside from the pictures ‘a her folks): Twilight by Stephanie Meyer. There weren’t nothing in this world Hester loved more than sitting down and reading through that book. Bella was so much like herself. A teenager from Arizona shipped off to Washington and feeling mite outta place. ‘Cept instead ‘a sexy vampires looking to take a bite outta her, Hester was stuck with walkers. Thankfully, she weren’t as defenseless as poor Bella Swan. Fact, Hester reckoned herself one heck of a shot and even better with a knife.
The second book she kept on her person was an en-cyc-lo-pedia. Handy thing to have when the world’s gone to hell in a hand-basket. Reminds of your humanity, of all them little things the world ain’t gonna see no more. Like kimonos and Russian cathedrals and didgeridoos. Sure as spit, Hester was gonna miss it all.
“Ooooh! So it’s all you all causing that racket!” Hester chimed even before she can make out what’s going on. As she’s approaching, all she can see is this: Doctor Dashay and Markias huddled ‘round a couch what’s only contents is a cross ‘tween a very mean girl and a half-drowned cat made meaner by nearly being drowned. “Ray! You ain’t looking too dandy. You go for a swim? Careful, water’s got bite to it this time ‘a year; just a sniff up from icy.”
She was beaming, plopped down next to Soraya like they was about to have a chitchat ‘bout the weather. She didn’t bother with greeting Dashiell, figured it weren’t worth distracting him from fixing up the mess Soraya had made ‘a her leg. “So, what happened out there? Got anything---” Her sentence drops into a chasm ‘a silence the second Hester’s eyes fell on the big ol’ basket ‘a fish that she could only guess was Soraya’s work.
She whistled, soft and low and full ‘a hungry. “Well, well, what we got here? You didn’t even invite me? Whatever happened to ‘you get a line, I’ll get a pole’?” Plenty ‘a things Hester loved in this world. Reading. Magic ‘a chemistry. Cacti. Coyotes. Ain’t nothing she loved more though than fishing. Not many fishing holes in Arizona, you mind. But plenty enough for her daddy to take her out whenever he got the chance. Good place to read, right there on the bank with a pole propped ‘tween your legs and a big ol’ sunhat on your head.
Well, now, she's just being plain ol' rude. Just 'cause she can't take a couple 'a verbal swipes at the good doctor don't mean she gotta ignore the other fella in the room. With that internal scolding, Hester finger-guns at Mark Lias, "Markias, looking swell as hell, sleep well? I can tell." She only stopped talking once she ran outta rhymes. There had to be more words that rhyme with 'swell', right? Bell, fell, dwell, bombshell, bluebell. See? There we go. Plenty 'a rhymes. She picks up a fish from Ray's basket once she's finished greeting Mark. Can't tell what kinda fish it is, nothing Hester'd see afore. Best guess: trout. Couldn't be much else. 'Cept salmon. Hester ain't never been salmon fishing but it sure sounded like a time to be had.
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 28, 2016 23:50:29 GMT -5
{ aaaaand i've thrown hester into the mix for the sake of it.... you can't tell me no! }
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Post by servalstrike on Dec 28, 2016 23:58:11 GMT -5
(HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESTER! THE JACKRABBIT MADE HUMAN! my precious baby! i love how she talks and the names she gives people)
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Post by mags on Dec 29, 2016 0:07:29 GMT -5
( YOU. GUYS. i poofed for like. a few hours. and i come back to this madness. this beautiful madness. omg imma cry mark is my soul this is so problematic. and don't even get me started abt MY LIL SQUISHY EMILIO WHO IS SUCH A CUTIE IM CRYING. and soraya's comparison between americans and horses is so accurate tbh. 10/10. i love. i. love.
anywayyy im gonna try to get smth up for ingrid tonight ;D GET READY PALS
edit: this quote killed me: "sometimes ezra wondered if emilio was actually an overfed puppy who had been cursed to occupy a human body" BRI IM IRL CACKLING RN )
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 29, 2016 0:08:54 GMT -5
{ I'M READY MAG! I'M READY TO RIDE THE INGRID TRAIN! CHOO CHOO! }
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Post by servalstrike on Dec 29, 2016 0:10:24 GMT -5
(YO MAG WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU! BRING US INGRID!)
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Post by mags on Dec 29, 2016 0:12:22 GMT -5
( SHES COMIN AND SHES DORKY AS EVER BC LITERALLY I HAVE SOME BG INFO WRITEN UP THAT IS GOING INTO HER STARTER AND LIKE. THIS IS BOUTTA GET REAL. shes gonna have her butter knife in her pocket tho bc she wants to feel #legit
edit: ALSO i have a new nugget i wanna toss in hehehe i'll make her form tonight since the muse is good. (; she's a gem. i think. hahaha )
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Post by koi on Dec 29, 2016 0:19:09 GMT -5
[ i fell asleep again and almost threw up when i woke up. typical koi things. i love hester ]
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Post by 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋 on Dec 29, 2016 0:26:22 GMT -5
{ you okay koifish? }
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Post by koi on Dec 29, 2016 0:32:42 GMT -5
[ the nausea is slowly leaving me.... i need a cracker or something ]
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Post by servalstrike on Dec 29, 2016 0:33:18 GMT -5
(oh sugar pie i hope you feel better)
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Post by mags on Dec 29, 2016 0:34:31 GMT -5
( awww poor sweet koi. if ur nauseous, maybe try zofran if u have it? ik that has helped a lot of my friends w nausea :/ if not, maybe just go to bed early if u can and try to sleep it off. i'm so sorry bro - that's the worst! )
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Post by koi on Dec 29, 2016 0:42:48 GMT -5
[ ohhhh boy i could go for some zofran rn. i don't have any unfortunately tho :/ i will...possibly just have a cracker. one singular cracker. this will help, i know it ]
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