PLAYED BY OOC NAME
PLAYED BY Nevy
| How can I live knowing hate and fear surrounds me |
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Post by matthew devoir on Jun 11, 2015 7:48:55 GMT
| THESE ARE THE DAYS WHEN I HATE THE WORLD HATE THE RICH, HATE THE HAPPY, HATE THE COMPLACENT. TV WATCHERS, BEER DRINKERS, THE SATISFIED ONES. BECAUSE I KNOW I CAN BE ALL THOSE LITTLE HATEFUL THINGS AND THEN I HATE MYSELF FOR REALIZING THAT. BE SAFE, BE SAFE. | | he couldn't quite remember how long it had been since he had left his home in citadel. it was only by luck that he managed to actually get out of the heavily guarded city, only because of his family name.. since the guards hadn't known that he had actually run away or that he supported the rebellion of the empire. yet the boy could only make it so far on the supplies that he had packed for himself and with what he did have, he just couldn't take the stress on his weak body.
it was a surprise he had made it as far as he had all the way to the beaches of whitecoast. it had been some time in the early morning, something he couldn't quite remember, that he had finally collapsed in the sand of the normally perfect beaches. it probably wasn't normal for someone to simply pass out in the presence of a place that was filled with the rich and wealthy. if it had been anywhere else he was sure that he would have been arrested perhaps, as a suspicious person ... or even as a sympathizer ... since an empire civilian probably wouldn't have passed out as he had.
a slight fever plagued the male, from his normally sick and frail body. the early hours of the morning were beginning to show as the sun started to creep its way into the horizon and warm not only the sand that the runaway laid on but the black waters that ebbed slowly at the beach. it probably wouldn't be long before someone noticed that he was there, something that wasn't supposed to exist upon the normally spotless beach. and that person could ultimately be his savior, or send him right back to the place he had been running from to begin with. |
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PLAYED BY OOC NAME
PLAYED BY Toad
| won't look down won't open my eyes |
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Post by Grace Winters on Jun 12, 2015 1:54:34 GMT
NO NAME NO VOICE  ► Her morning had begun as usual. She woke before the crack of dawn, Houndour yawning small tufts of fire as she scurried about. The petite woman skipped her way downstairs. When she was a child, the cafe had been a single story, stand-alone building. But when she had moved out and gained her trust fund she had used the money to build a second story. With the new development she created her own little loft. It was cozy, two bedrooms, but no kitchen. What would have been the point in doing up a kitchen when she had the best one just down the stairs? In the kitchen of her cafe she fried up two gourmet omelets with a glass of orange juice for herself. The routine she set herself in was cathartic. When her mind was busy, she didn't have time to dwell. Back upstairs in her loft, she paused, bare feet kissing the cold hardwood floor. A grand white piano sat, untouched, in the corner of her living room. It had been so long since she had touched the ivories. Her fingers yearned for it. But her muse had up and left her. Now when she sat before the instrument her hands fell like iron clad fists, like those of a Machoke. Her elegance had abandoned her. A lump rose in her throat, swelling and heating up, burning her from the inside out. A soft whine came from the bedroom, and the noise had violently, yet thankfully, ripped her from her sorrow. Amer eyes furiously blinked away the water that threatened to pour over as she entered the bedroom. She and Houndour ate in silence. It was odd, against their routine. Typically she would go on and on to him about her dreams, trying to analyze them and decipher them. He, like always, would lay their patiently and happily, listening to her with full attention. While he was clearly upset by the sudden change in the atmosphere, he accepted it and ate his food. When they had finished and she had cleaned their dishes, she dove into her closet to put on her sweat shorts and a black tank top. Slipping her green sneakers on, her hair now neatly in pigtails, her and Houndour headed out. Every morning, faithfully, the two of them ran. On the beach mostly, but there had been the odd day where they would keep off the sand. Today was not an odd day. They approached the beach at a good pace and began their workout. Cardio was important, as her father had always said. His words rang in his mind as a haunted memory until Houndour suddenly took off. The act was so unlike him that she stopped immediately, but gained her senses back and sprinted after him. Her pokemon had stopped a few feet from a man. He was laying disheveled in the sand, looking all sorts of unwell. Quickly her amber eyes ran out to the area around them but they found nothing. He was here alone. There had been a few thoughts in her mind to try and explain why he was here. He could have been a drunk, passed out in a mess. Or he could have been homeless. Although for her part of the region, homeless people weren't common. She shook her head. Jumping to conclusions wouldn't get her anywhere. Kneeling, she looked at him, brow furrowed in worry. “Hey...hey are you okay?” |
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