( I can explain any questions you have if you'd like to pm me but ye I'm not looking for really anything specific. It could turn into violence, or we could take it pm if you so desire lol. This isn't set on earth, it's a planet that's sort of a center for all sorts of different aliens. Emerson is in a pickle. Take advantage of that? Help him? SHRUGS??)
There's nothing but blackness when Emerson opens his eyes, the sound of thumping music can be heard from another room and the pungent scent of mothballs hangs stale in the air. In an attic, maybe? As he moves to sit up there's an intense, throbbing pain against the side of his head; painful enough for hot tears to prick at the waterline of his eyes. He reaches back, rather haphazardly, and brushes his fingers over a bump the size of friggin' golf ball on his noggin. He jolts, wincing loudly, tearing his hand away from the sharp pang , "Damnit...God damnit." he hisses through his teeth. There are so many questions circling through his mind, there are two however that stand out in importance among the rest: the how and the why. Emerson takes a deep breath, the smell permeating the space seems to make his head spin, and as he begins to stand he finds himself stumbling into the wall immediately ahead. Emerson braces himself, the surface felt cold against his the skin on his face. Head throbbing and spinning, legs shaking under the weight of his body , ugh, it felt like he was gonna hurl. For sure gonna hurl. Everything was so heavy. He was starting to think it's not the smell of the moth balls that's making him dizzy. Great, a concussion. As sure as he was about puking, a cold sweat breaks his nausea, saving him from making a mess of himself and this room"Oh, thank you..."
Emerson pants under his breath. Where is he? He reaches blindly into the darkness around him, "Can't see shit..." feeling along the wall he fumbles aimlessly, until his wrist bumps into something about mid wall. It makes a little clink upon contact. He grasps it. It's a doorknob! Oh, please don't be locked. Emerson slowly twists the knob, dreading the moment when it would click to a sudden stop, but with a relieved sigh Emerson creaks open the door, allowing just a sliver of light in. He looks through the crack and listens for breathing, speaking, anything. Suppose if anyone were in here they probably would've heard all that racket he was making, so, hoping for the best he swings the door open, finding nothing but an empty room. Completely and totally empty. There are no chairs, no windows. Just a concrete room with only one door, left wide open by who he assumed was whoever had stuffed him in this...He turns around, looking into a closet filled with coats and other garments. Well, that explains the moth ball smell.
So, realistically he probably had a concussion, which isn't the best thing. On the upside, though he at least didn't seem to be trapped in here. Kinda weird actually. Whoever put him in the closet apparently wasn't too worried about him getting out. Emerson drags his hand down his face, brushing across what could only be dried blood concentrated under his nose. Because, you know, why not. Might as well, he's already got the concussion. He looks up at the ceiling, taking note to the music once again, blaring above as he trudged his way to the open door. Stairs leading up, makes sense. What a time for there to be stairs, though, when he's in no condition to be climbing stairs. Even so he treks carefully to the top, the booming of the bass growing louder. There appears to be a corner waiting at the top and as Emerson rounds it there's a door, merely feet away from where he stands. The music was just behind, and there were the sounds of voices too. Oh, boy, this was a club wasn't it...? He steps forward and places his palm against the door, and as soon as he presses it open the music roars out. Emerson groans and steps further in, door closing behind him. Sure enough, it's a club, a really packed one, too. He could swear he felt his hair fly back with the sheer force of the music. It is so time to get the hell out of here and it's that desperate want to get out of this pit of pda and psychadelic drug shenanigans that sends Emerson pushing clumsily through the clusters of people to the exit...Where exactly is the exit?
Okay, okay, it's too damn loud to try and ask for directions, so here goes wandering clueless through this European-esque club. Some people gave him strange looks, whether it was because of what he was or the blood on his face he didn't really care. He just wanted to find the way outside. There's some double doors over there that look promising. Emerson slips past the rest of the dancing patrons, using so much of his remaining focus he doesn't even notice the lovely young lady that gently takes his tail into her hand, letting it run freely through her grasp. No time to be bothered by unwanted affections, he's just ready to figure out what's behind these doors. Emerson wastes no time opening them, and finally the universe smiles upon him and he steps out on the sidewalk of a city. Never thought he'd be able to say that he was happy to be outside in any metropolitan area, but almost anywhere is better than inside the middle of all that chaos. Another sharp pang fills his head and he careens to the nearest wall, slamming his shoulder into the bricks of the building. Where was Myles? What planet was he on? He just needed to lean here for awhile, catch his breath, not pass out. Emerson closes his eyes and rolls to his back, sliding down to sit on the nasty, dirty sidewalk, "aaAAA!?" he yells into his palms. This sucks.
There's nothing but blackness when Emerson opens his eyes, the sound of thumping music can be heard from another room and the pungent scent of mothballs hangs stale in the air. In an attic, maybe? As he moves to sit up there's an intense, throbbing pain against the side of his head; painful enough for hot tears to prick at the waterline of his eyes. He reaches back, rather haphazardly, and brushes his fingers over a bump the size of friggin' golf ball on his noggin. He jolts, wincing loudly, tearing his hand away from the sharp pang , "Damnit...God damnit." he hisses through his teeth. There are so many questions circling through his mind, there are two however that stand out in importance among the rest: the how and the why. Emerson takes a deep breath, the smell permeating the space seems to make his head spin, and as he begins to stand he finds himself stumbling into the wall immediately ahead. Emerson braces himself, the surface felt cold against his the skin on his face. Head throbbing and spinning, legs shaking under the weight of his body , ugh, it felt like he was gonna hurl. For sure gonna hurl. Everything was so heavy. He was starting to think it's not the smell of the moth balls that's making him dizzy. Great, a concussion. As sure as he was about puking, a cold sweat breaks his nausea, saving him from making a mess of himself and this room"Oh, thank you..."
Emerson pants under his breath. Where is he? He reaches blindly into the darkness around him, "Can't see shit..." feeling along the wall he fumbles aimlessly, until his wrist bumps into something about mid wall. It makes a little clink upon contact. He grasps it. It's a doorknob! Oh, please don't be locked. Emerson slowly twists the knob, dreading the moment when it would click to a sudden stop, but with a relieved sigh Emerson creaks open the door, allowing just a sliver of light in. He looks through the crack and listens for breathing, speaking, anything. Suppose if anyone were in here they probably would've heard all that racket he was making, so, hoping for the best he swings the door open, finding nothing but an empty room. Completely and totally empty. There are no chairs, no windows. Just a concrete room with only one door, left wide open by who he assumed was whoever had stuffed him in this...He turns around, looking into a closet filled with coats and other garments. Well, that explains the moth ball smell.
So, realistically he probably had a concussion, which isn't the best thing. On the upside, though he at least didn't seem to be trapped in here. Kinda weird actually. Whoever put him in the closet apparently wasn't too worried about him getting out. Emerson drags his hand down his face, brushing across what could only be dried blood concentrated under his nose. Because, you know, why not. Might as well, he's already got the concussion. He looks up at the ceiling, taking note to the music once again, blaring above as he trudged his way to the open door. Stairs leading up, makes sense. What a time for there to be stairs, though, when he's in no condition to be climbing stairs. Even so he treks carefully to the top, the booming of the bass growing louder. There appears to be a corner waiting at the top and as Emerson rounds it there's a door, merely feet away from where he stands. The music was just behind, and there were the sounds of voices too. Oh, boy, this was a club wasn't it...? He steps forward and places his palm against the door, and as soon as he presses it open the music roars out. Emerson groans and steps further in, door closing behind him. Sure enough, it's a club, a really packed one, too. He could swear he felt his hair fly back with the sheer force of the music. It is so time to get the hell out of here and it's that desperate want to get out of this pit of pda and psychadelic drug shenanigans that sends Emerson pushing clumsily through the clusters of people to the exit...Where exactly is the exit?
Okay, okay, it's too damn loud to try and ask for directions, so here goes wandering clueless through this European-esque club. Some people gave him strange looks, whether it was because of what he was or the blood on his face he didn't really care. He just wanted to find the way outside. There's some double doors over there that look promising. Emerson slips past the rest of the dancing patrons, using so much of his remaining focus he doesn't even notice the lovely young lady that gently takes his tail into her hand, letting it run freely through her grasp. No time to be bothered by unwanted affections, he's just ready to figure out what's behind these doors. Emerson wastes no time opening them, and finally the universe smiles upon him and he steps out on the sidewalk of a city. Never thought he'd be able to say that he was happy to be outside in any metropolitan area, but almost anywhere is better than inside the middle of all that chaos. Another sharp pang fills his head and he careens to the nearest wall, slamming his shoulder into the bricks of the building. Where was Myles? What planet was he on? He just needed to lean here for awhile, catch his breath, not pass out. Emerson closes his eyes and rolls to his back, sliding down to sit on the nasty, dirty sidewalk, "aaAAA!?" he yells into his palms. This sucks.
Marinelli Rosewind wrote:
(( can i hop in? 
))
))(Go for it!
)
Just as Emerson found the outside the sound of shouting and the stampeding of feet as if everyone inside was either running away from or towards something. The sound of a scuffle slowly began to approach the double doors leading outside. Finally there was the sound of a shout and a young alien with brigjt pink skin and silver markings came stumbling out the doors as if they had been kicked through them. He stumbled and backpeadled trying to find his balance but this was a losing endeavor and he fell in a heap in a puddle not far from the exit. He tried to stand but froze when he heard the doors open again.
The person who left the doors this time was in a very different state then the pink skinned alien in the ground. It was, what one could guess a human girl. Her long firey red hair was down with a side part the other side shaved close to her head, one eye was an intense angry blue and she wore a pair of gret cargo pants amd a pale yellow t-shirt. She carried herself inna way that tended to trigger most peoples fight or flight response. There was jo beating around the bush with this woman, she was intense, she was powerful and she was dangerous.
However it wasnt her fierce beauty or the way sje carried herself that grabbed peoples attention. No, what got peoples attention was the other eye, a cold robotic red and one arm metallic and far superior to any prostethics earth currently had. The cyborg approached the alien and proceeded to flip him on his stomach and sit on his back her metal hand painfully knotting in his hair.
"Did you really think that was going to work Kal?" She said her voice not seeming to match eith the anger and violence radiating off her, it sounded almost bored, as if she had better things to be doing.
"I-i'm sorry! Can you f-forgive me?" The man cried out wincing in pain from her grip on his head.
She gave a sigh at that anf rolled her eyes "don't ask stupid questions" she said dryly lifting his head ny the hair and smashing his face into the street and puddle. When she lifted his head again by the hair he was crying and his nose was bleeding. "The keys Kal...give them to me" she said almost sweetly
"I...i dont have the-" he was cut off as his head was once again slammed into the concerete
"I mean it I dont-" another punishing crack his nose definatley broken now
When she lifted his head again he screamed "I DONT HAVE THEM!"
"Then. Who. Does" she didnt shout back, she didnt need to. She was the kind lf woman who was always more frightening when she was quiet
"I-i cant...i-" he didnt get the chance to continue refusing her. Again his head hit the pavement the puddle now marred with blood and what looked like two or three of his now broken teeth. All the while ahe didnt evem appear to break a sweat. She even began picking at the nail beds of her flesh and blood hand
"Tell me Kal" she said perfectly calm, the voice of a woman who knew she would get what she had come for.
"
A-alistair...i gave them to Alistair...he's already left for the Andobar system" he gasped out sobbing in pain
"Now...was that so hard?" With one more punishing smack he fell limp unconscious. She nudged him out of the puddle so he wouldnt drown and stood pushing her hair out of her face and fixing her clothing still looking bored not even having noticed Emerson
The person who left the doors this time was in a very different state then the pink skinned alien in the ground. It was, what one could guess a human girl. Her long firey red hair was down with a side part the other side shaved close to her head, one eye was an intense angry blue and she wore a pair of gret cargo pants amd a pale yellow t-shirt. She carried herself inna way that tended to trigger most peoples fight or flight response. There was jo beating around the bush with this woman, she was intense, she was powerful and she was dangerous.
However it wasnt her fierce beauty or the way sje carried herself that grabbed peoples attention. No, what got peoples attention was the other eye, a cold robotic red and one arm metallic and far superior to any prostethics earth currently had. The cyborg approached the alien and proceeded to flip him on his stomach and sit on his back her metal hand painfully knotting in his hair.
"Did you really think that was going to work Kal?" She said her voice not seeming to match eith the anger and violence radiating off her, it sounded almost bored, as if she had better things to be doing.
"I-i'm sorry! Can you f-forgive me?" The man cried out wincing in pain from her grip on his head.
She gave a sigh at that anf rolled her eyes "don't ask stupid questions" she said dryly lifting his head ny the hair and smashing his face into the street and puddle. When she lifted his head again by the hair he was crying and his nose was bleeding. "The keys Kal...give them to me" she said almost sweetly
"I...i dont have the-" he was cut off as his head was once again slammed into the concerete
"I mean it I dont-" another punishing crack his nose definatley broken now
When she lifted his head again he screamed "I DONT HAVE THEM!"
"Then. Who. Does" she didnt shout back, she didnt need to. She was the kind lf woman who was always more frightening when she was quiet
"I-i cant...i-" he didnt get the chance to continue refusing her. Again his head hit the pavement the puddle now marred with blood and what looked like two or three of his now broken teeth. All the while ahe didnt evem appear to break a sweat. She even began picking at the nail beds of her flesh and blood hand
"Tell me Kal" she said perfectly calm, the voice of a woman who knew she would get what she had come for.
"
A-alistair...i gave them to Alistair...he's already left for the Andobar system" he gasped out sobbing in pain
"Now...was that so hard?" With one more punishing smack he fell limp unconscious. She nudged him out of the puddle so he wouldnt drown and stood pushing her hair out of her face and fixing her clothing still looking bored not even having noticed Emerson
Emerson was resting his head on his knees when the sounds of struggle started up from behind the doors, and just as he turned his head to take a peek at the entrance a colorful alien came staggering out backwards, landing between the curb and the street, right into a nasty city puddle. Emerson propped his chin up on his knees then, watching this stranger struggle to gain his bearings. It looked like he was about to get up, that is until the door opened, stopping him right in his tracks. Emerson shot his heavy-lidded gaze back toward the entrance just in time to see a human girl come striding out from the club, and she didn't look very happy. She makes a bee line straight for that pink skinned guy and flops him around like a damn ragdoll before taking a fistful of his hair, yanking him up to speak all close and personal.
Emerson didn't have the energy to pay a whole lot of attention to what they were saying, nearly drifting in and out of consciousness, but when she started driving the guys face into the puddle he couldn't help but perk up, raising both brows when the guy started screaming. She spoke to him in a hushed voice, and Emerson couldn't catch the rest of what they said but bviously whatever this guy did made her pretty damn mad. Yet, she seemed usettlingly phlegmatic. Basically, Emerson was preparing himself to watch this guy get curb stomped to death. Instead, however, she was merciful and promptly ended their conversation with one final face smash into the asphalt eleciting the dull crack of bone. Emerson sneers his lip up in disgust at the sound as he watched her move him from the murky, reddened water.
"Fatality." He mumbled to himself and rolled his face back into the dark space between his chest and thighs.
Cities were always so full of excitement, and by excitement he meant violence and debauchery. He was used to it at this point. Wasn't the first time he'd seen a fight, and wouldn't be the last. That one actually had been a little less visceral than some of the others he'd had the displeasure of witnessing. That one was actually fairly entertaining, and had taken his mind away from the consistent throbbing in his head for at least a moment. God, he really needed to get up and head somewhere, but where the hell was he gonna go? He had no money on him. Even if he had money he barely even had the motor skills to try and find his way to a hotel. Everything about the whole situation was against him.
"Ugh..." He felt nauseated, like he wanted to cry, but he woudln't. Maybe he could just sleep right here.
Emerson didn't have the energy to pay a whole lot of attention to what they were saying, nearly drifting in and out of consciousness, but when she started driving the guys face into the puddle he couldn't help but perk up, raising both brows when the guy started screaming. She spoke to him in a hushed voice, and Emerson couldn't catch the rest of what they said but bviously whatever this guy did made her pretty damn mad. Yet, she seemed usettlingly phlegmatic. Basically, Emerson was preparing himself to watch this guy get curb stomped to death. Instead, however, she was merciful and promptly ended their conversation with one final face smash into the asphalt eleciting the dull crack of bone. Emerson sneers his lip up in disgust at the sound as he watched her move him from the murky, reddened water.
"Fatality." He mumbled to himself and rolled his face back into the dark space between his chest and thighs.
Cities were always so full of excitement, and by excitement he meant violence and debauchery. He was used to it at this point. Wasn't the first time he'd seen a fight, and wouldn't be the last. That one actually had been a little less visceral than some of the others he'd had the displeasure of witnessing. That one was actually fairly entertaining, and had taken his mind away from the consistent throbbing in his head for at least a moment. God, he really needed to get up and head somewhere, but where the hell was he gonna go? He had no money on him. Even if he had money he barely even had the motor skills to try and find his way to a hotel. Everything about the whole situation was against him.
"Ugh..." He felt nauseated, like he wanted to cry, but he woudln't. Maybe he could just sleep right here.
"Ooooo death..."
Through a filtered voice, those lyrics were sung.
"Oooooo death... won't you spare me over till another year?"
It sounded like it said 'yeah' as opposed to 'year'.
The mystery singer could paint a picture of a black robed man on a pale horse (woe his scythe and icy hand). In fact, the presence of this mysterious singer could bring that robed man over in but a split second. Soon enough, the source revealed itself. Standing tall, stetson and duster adorned, the source walked the footpath, his power-armoured sabatons whirring and hissing with each step. A pair of .45's tucked in his belt in the style of the plainsmen of old (or better yet, Wild Bill Hickok himself). He looked like an Orion Confederate citizen with that damn getup, in fact, he might just as well be.
His head was angled towards the ground, but it was nearly impossible as to where his eyes were pointed with that mask he wore. If one's eyes were keen enough, they'd see through the red-tinted lenses of the source; a blue-tint to his skin and equally blue eyes. His head turned to the poor alien man with his face in the bloody puddle. He stopped.
What the hell's going on here? He hoped there's a good reason for this, cause that poor bastard better be bleeding in a puddle for said reason. He didn't wanna have to deal with that cyborg too upfrontly at this stage. God, look at that woman! It looked like she could split you open with her thumb and pinkie alone! He best play it cool, who knows what that metal arm could do to him?
He turned his body slowly towards her, revealing up front his .45's in his belt. His hands were in his pockets, so as to remain neutral and passive.
"What do we have 'ere?" He inquired, trying to sound almost nonchalant that a guy's face was fractured and bleeding in a filthy puddle. "Best be careful once the Sheriff gets here. Criminal or not, he's gon' be asking questions." He took his left hand out of his duster pocket, it was metal just like the parts of her.
"Who is that guy, anyway?"
Through a filtered voice, those lyrics were sung.
"Oooooo death... won't you spare me over till another year?"
It sounded like it said 'yeah' as opposed to 'year'.
The mystery singer could paint a picture of a black robed man on a pale horse (woe his scythe and icy hand). In fact, the presence of this mysterious singer could bring that robed man over in but a split second. Soon enough, the source revealed itself. Standing tall, stetson and duster adorned, the source walked the footpath, his power-armoured sabatons whirring and hissing with each step. A pair of .45's tucked in his belt in the style of the plainsmen of old (or better yet, Wild Bill Hickok himself). He looked like an Orion Confederate citizen with that damn getup, in fact, he might just as well be.
His head was angled towards the ground, but it was nearly impossible as to where his eyes were pointed with that mask he wore. If one's eyes were keen enough, they'd see through the red-tinted lenses of the source; a blue-tint to his skin and equally blue eyes. His head turned to the poor alien man with his face in the bloody puddle. He stopped.
What the hell's going on here? He hoped there's a good reason for this, cause that poor bastard better be bleeding in a puddle for said reason. He didn't wanna have to deal with that cyborg too upfrontly at this stage. God, look at that woman! It looked like she could split you open with her thumb and pinkie alone! He best play it cool, who knows what that metal arm could do to him?
He turned his body slowly towards her, revealing up front his .45's in his belt. His hands were in his pockets, so as to remain neutral and passive.
"What do we have 'ere?" He inquired, trying to sound almost nonchalant that a guy's face was fractured and bleeding in a filthy puddle. "Best be careful once the Sheriff gets here. Criminal or not, he's gon' be asking questions." He took his left hand out of his duster pocket, it was metal just like the parts of her.
"Who is that guy, anyway?"
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