|
|
Post by Sully the Raptor on Jun 13, 2013 16:03:26 GMT -5
Barker licks his lips after being released from the kiss and smiles dubiously at Husher. He stands and grabs his crotch, spitting at Husher's feet before sauntering over to his bike to take a lean. He cocks his head, his eyes trained on the both of you.
Spice, before I give you any new info, quickly give me a description of your little corner of the maelstrom, the place in the mental plane where you feel safe.
|
|
Boojum
Apocalypse Person 
Currently looking to run a game.
Posts: 52 
|
Post by Boojum on Jun 13, 2013 18:49:59 GMT -5
Spice's little corner of the Maelstrom takes it shape from the stories about the wonders of the Golden Age that she was regaled with as a child. Free flowing water in the middle of the desert. Entertainment of all kinds. Rows of dancers decked out in colorful, luxurious plumage like goddesses of the sky. Large soft beds. Massive tables laden with hundeds of delicacies where you can eat as much as you please. People would come from impossibly far away to lay with the most exquisite lovers in the world. Truly the 'Nevada' of her grandmother's time was a paradise on earth. Amidst the throngs of faceless shades from days gone by walk things that should not be. A man sized scar-faced rattler slowly slithers by briefly shrugging his coils against her tormented shoulder. Venom drips from the socket where his ivory fang used to be. Slowly wilting flowers waft down from the sky, falling upon the soft, warm shadows stroking her gently. A shellcracker swims through the air to hover directly in front of her face. Its mouth opens and there is Husher's face inside the fish's gullet asking if she's okay. In response she begins to dance.
|
|
|
|
Post by Sully the Raptor on Jun 15, 2013 21:42:55 GMT -5
Spice, the Golden Age dancers of the mental realm are costumed as one of their animals, the sheep. Now extinct, you'd heard stories of how they used to perform for humans, jumping over a fence to lull them to sleep. The dancers are doing this for you, putting on a real production of it. You count them, as high as you can count, and start back over at one again. It's quite soothing, and even as your mind slips back into the conscious realm, you can still picture them jumping the white picket fence in the midst of the rolling green hills of your mind.
You've got a bit of sanity left to clutch on to, you're not so worried about babbling. If you don't get some honest to god rest soon, though, you're going to be in some serious pain. If you spend the hours it would take to be carried to town on Husher's shoulder, you're not going to be too happy either. You eye Barker, still grabbing his crotch crudely and leaning on his bike, with its comfy looking little side-car.
Husher, you look back toward the scavengers. They've closed in, and are settling into the area. They're pounding steaks in the ground and tethering their donkeys. Old Craterface looks worried. He's frantically gesturing for you to come over to him with the box. What do you do?
|
|
|
|
Post by govetenko on Jun 18, 2013 2:36:24 GMT -5
Husher looks at the box and to Craterface a couple of times before his paranoia gets the best of him. He starts a faster than normal, but still awkward, gait toward Craterface while he rips the box open and peers inside
|
|
