Alexander held his hand, missing a finger and bleeding profusely.
"He has to be around, he can barely walk!" an older man carrying a pistol said to one of his companions. Both of them looming over the rubble that Alexander hid behind but neither noticing his presence. As the men tapered off, more blood soaked into his clothes. The severe abrasion on his left leg attracted dirt and dust and each time he limped, he felt them touching different areas on the bloody surface. He grit his teeth and snuck around, slow but careful. Every few minutes there would be a armed person getting too close for comfort.
The war has been difficult, on the civilians and the army. Explosives and gunfire became common sounds, from dusk until dawn. Everyday there were screams, bodies would be dragged from buildings while looters who were once normal people with decently payed jobs had to resort to morally wrong ways to survive. Theft and murder occured daily and if you were lucky, death would come fast and painlessly. That was neer the case. Every living moment was mental anguish. memories and choices along with ghosts of your past haunted your every moment.
The buiding he was in was once a luxury hotel owned by the rich, for the rich. After the war it became a stronghold, a shelter, a looters den and now, nothing more than a roof. Alexander had been running from looters for a while. He had to steal supplies from their den after a child and mother he was staying with had gotten sick and hungry. He himself has not eaten in days but, he still had some water and it was enough for one more day, rationed.
A looter passed him by as he hid behind a pillar. The man paced back and forth a few times before leaving the door exposed to request of a nearby companion. Patience meant survival, these men and women became this way because of the harsh environment they lived in. He cannot be haunted by a ghost... not another one...
"He has to be around, he can barely walk!" an older man carrying a pistol said to one of his companions. Both of them looming over the rubble that Alexander hid behind but neither noticing his presence. As the men tapered off, more blood soaked into his clothes. The severe abrasion on his left leg attracted dirt and dust and each time he limped, he felt them touching different areas on the bloody surface. He grit his teeth and snuck around, slow but careful. Every few minutes there would be a armed person getting too close for comfort.
The war has been difficult, on the civilians and the army. Explosives and gunfire became common sounds, from dusk until dawn. Everyday there were screams, bodies would be dragged from buildings while looters who were once normal people with decently payed jobs had to resort to morally wrong ways to survive. Theft and murder occured daily and if you were lucky, death would come fast and painlessly. That was neer the case. Every living moment was mental anguish. memories and choices along with ghosts of your past haunted your every moment.
The buiding he was in was once a luxury hotel owned by the rich, for the rich. After the war it became a stronghold, a shelter, a looters den and now, nothing more than a roof. Alexander had been running from looters for a while. He had to steal supplies from their den after a child and mother he was staying with had gotten sick and hungry. He himself has not eaten in days but, he still had some water and it was enough for one more day, rationed.
A looter passed him by as he hid behind a pillar. The man paced back and forth a few times before leaving the door exposed to request of a nearby companion. Patience meant survival, these men and women became this way because of the harsh environment they lived in. He cannot be haunted by a ghost... not another one...
((Go ahead and join, this is an improv rp but I would like to keep it as magic scarce as possible. That being said, let's do this, i want this to be memorable and fun as well as tear inducing and sad.
Reply with decent length and at least 3 lines))
Reply with decent length and at least 3 lines))
It was a quiet yet heavy sound, like that of a muffled stapler clack. Three times it sounded from the hallway the door lead into but only once was there a wet gurgling sound that soon faded. It was at that times a figure slowly entered the doorway, a rifle at the ready. The figure was clearly not a looter, the faceplated helmet and distinct uniform a far cry from the ramshackle outfits and arm bands most looting groups wore. The faceplate was down, only showing the persons eyes.
Sweeping around the room from the doorway, the figure seems to stare at the pillars for an uncomfortably long moment before reaching up and clicking a small radio clipped to their left collar. A distinctly female voice whispered "Room clear. No hostiles. Continue the sweep. We know they chased a survivor into the building. Find them, aid them." With little noise, several more figures passed behind her like a group of ghost.
Sweeping around the room from the doorway, the figure seems to stare at the pillars for an uncomfortably long moment before reaching up and clicking a small radio clipped to their left collar. A distinctly female voice whispered "Room clear. No hostiles. Continue the sweep. We know they chased a survivor into the building. Find them, aid them." With little noise, several more figures passed behind her like a group of ghost.
Alexander unknowingly limped towards the new person. They were just beyond his peripheral as he rolled over the receptionist counter and hid.
He laid his leg out to see the abrasion. The dust clung to the wet surface like tiny leech. He bit his lip trying to hold back tears. His missing finger didn't help.
Once he was able to gather whatever he could of himself, he hobble crouched along the counter, getting closer to the person with each weakened step.
He was home free if he could move as fast as he could to the door. He did not calculate the collision with the person with a faceplate.
He laid his leg out to see the abrasion. The dust clung to the wet surface like tiny leech. He bit his lip trying to hold back tears. His missing finger didn't help.
Once he was able to gather whatever he could of himself, he hobble crouched along the counter, getting closer to the person with each weakened step.
He was home free if he could move as fast as he could to the door. He did not calculate the collision with the person with a faceplate.
is it okay if i join
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