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| Quality Time with Friends; The Madsnake returns to the Wastes | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Sep 18 2016, 08:14 AM (143 Views) | |
| FallenSanity | Sep 18 2016, 08:14 AM Post #1 |
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I didn't even know I had this
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"I don't... like that, very much... Or that... Or that... What is this stuff even used for? I thought you were supposed to be a medical caravan, where’s the torturey stuff?" Clattering and crashing reverberated through a rather glum ramshackle structure, its corrugated and mesh walls barely letting in any light through their rust spots and bullet holes. The wooden frame nailed up to keep the whole thing from crashing in on itself was in about as good a condition as someone would expect it to be; the wood was rotting, chipped, mouldy, and in all honesty the structure itself was probably just not safe to be in. Then again, it wasn't made to be safe. Of the few pieces of furniture in the room, including a table, a small barrel with lit coals, and a footlocker, only one had anything of true value in it, and that thing of value was waking up. The young man, who was perhaps older than twenty but no older than thirty, had a mess of hair that was matted to his brow, sweat and blood drying just above his eye, the large red stain vanishing into his black locks. There was no visible bruise on his head, but that didn't mean it wasn't there, or that it didn't hurt like Hell. By the time he was numb to the feeling, he was able to look around, and take in his surroundings. It would have been better if he hadn't, due to his sudden scream being met with a sharp burning feeling on his restrained right hand, and an alcohol-soaked cloth gag being wrapped around his maw. The look on his eyes did more than any sound could. "Oh good, you remember me." The man in his old worn out chair shuffled about, which was the best he could really do right now. His legs were tied to the chair legs by thick, itchy rope, that cut and burned at this ankles, and his hands were tied down to the arms of the chair, with rope around the elbows and the wrists to keep him in place, with the same painful twine holding them down. Every movement grazed and cut, tearing away just enough flesh to leave a painful stinging sensation. The Madsnake had planned that though. This whole ordeal, the shack, the rope, the chair, the furniture, every little thing had been planned out meticulously. The eyes of the poor restrained fellow darted all around the room, as the situation began to properly sink in. To the young man in the chair, it felt like a few hours ago, but to the Madsnake, it had been two days, five hours, and eleven minutes. He'd burst from his silence, one that had lasted months on end, and hurled himself back into the knowledge of the world, beginning with his swift and decisive dismantling of a small trade caravan between Otraid and the Crag. It wasn't quite as hard as he'd expected, really. Their pack mule went down on its own, the fear and burden tipping it, effectively crippling the caravan in its track as flailing limbs took out ankles and knees. With that chaos, the Madsnake had made the best of a good situation. Armed with an old shotgun, and only two slugs, he had to make the first few shots really count. When he blew out the caravan guards brains, and then the caravan leaders right arm, he felt like he'd done the right thing. The whole trade caravan had been a family thing. A father, who ran the caravan, his son, who ran it with him and provided a pack dynamic, and their wives, who dealt with paperwork and provided a point of return back in Otraid. They also had a caravan guard, a well-equipped mercenary who provided a suitable defence against most enemies. Of course, most enemies aren't equipped with a pair 12ga shotgun slugs. That might have been a bit of a helping hand for the Madsnake, and it’s something he had to admit in retrospect. The same couldn’t quite be said for the head of the caravan though; once his arm was out, it only took two to eighteen precise headshots from his bat to put the man down. The mess was just something that he had to deal with. From what he, the man in the chair, could remember of the whole debacle, he’d not even seen the attacks happen. He’d been knocked behind their cattle, and so by the time he’d regained himself he was met by the bloody mess of his father and security person. A twig cracked behind him, he spun around, and got a long view of his attacker, before being smacked around the head by a bat covered in the brains of his own father. He hit the road hard, and the next thing he knew was this moment, this feeling of entrapment, where the only thing he could see was the face of the man who had put him down, and the only thing in his mind was the haunting image of what he and his family had worked for, battered and ruined and spread out across the street. Now, it seemed he’d be joining them all, sooner or later. "Alright, so, let me break this down for you, hm? I’m after some specific information. You know this information, I know you do, because you wouldn’t have any other purpose if you didn’t, and you wouldn’t be alive, in that little, chair, if you didn’t. So we’re gonna play this game, hopefully for some time. And hey, if you get bored, just humour me, hm?" The Madsnake yanked the gag out of his captives mouth, and immediately welcomed a course, painful yell. In his unconscious daze, it seems he inhaled a large amount of sand, and not talking or moving around much has left his throat parched and worn out. The yell, or attempted yell, was on of the more harrowing experiences of the moment, and it turned around instantly into a session of hurling up bile. The Madsnake rolled his eyes, grabbing one of the many items set out on the table behind him, and slowly rotating the tip of it in the lit up coals. The young man didn’t have even a chance to look up at what was being heated before it was whipped out and pressed against the back of his palm. A sharp scream came from his mouth, and once it subsided - or at least, once the worst part of it subsided - the Madsnake spoke again. "You know, I’d prefer we don’t waste time by having you moan and cry until you grow tired, so I’ll let you know it right now. There is no one within earshot of us, and I can promise you that. I wouldn’t want to have you screaming if I thought people could hear it, would I?" The young, burnt, scratched man had to wonder if that was true. If it was, it made sense; this entire torture situation didn’t make sense if people were going to hear him screaming. Still, it wouldn’t be enough to dissuade him. ”Oh, and if you don’t scream again I’ll let you out of the restraints. Only seems fair, you do something nice for me, I do something nice for you. Killing you would just make a mess and I really don’t want to deal with that. All the gore and the gloop, eugh.” The young man hung his head, tears welling up. He fought them off, and cleared his throat as best he could. It was probably a lie, but he didn’t want to risk that now. He still had a mother and a wife to go home to. If he didn’t, there would be none to care for them. He looked up at the man standing over him, and nodded. ”Wonderful! So, what, pleasantries first?” The Madsnake suddenly moved and got his face in close, close enough that the young captive could see the layer of milky white around his pupils, an aftereffect of flash blindness. The scars, the burns, the dirt and the muck that formed a layer of skin over his face, it was all exposed to the terrified boy. For some reason, he had to wonder how many of the scars were caused by any others hands, and not by the Madsnake’s own. Each word said ended in a smile, and it showed off the Madsnake’s teeth - they weren’t dirty. They weren’t exactly clean, but they weren’t dirtied by any means, and they were all there, with rather healthy gums holding them in place. He must eat well, was the last thing that went through his mind before the Madsnake spoke again. ”What’s your name, stranger?” There was a silence. The Madsnake, who had been smiling, slowly stopped, as the waiting time grew longer. Soon, his hands were on the young man’s shoulders, tapping one finger at a time in wait, producing the only noise inside the shack. By the time the young man had tuned back into reality, his captor was well and truly bored, and the young, bound captive could only worry about just what that meant for him in the long run. He cleared his throat, feeling the scratchy, coarse textures grind together, before finally speaking up, for the first time since that moment of terror that was the last thing in his memory. “My names Sam, Samuel... Samuel Alvarez.” The Madsnake let a smile spread back across his face, as he gave his captive, Samuel Alvarez, a curt slap on the cheek, and leant back, standing up overly straight with his arms wide out, as if gesturing to all that was around him - that is to say, rusted iron sheetings, splintered wood, and a few pointless bits of furniture. ”Wonderful! It’s such a lovely change to have someone so accommodating. Really, the last person I had in your position wouldn’t stop, cursing and swearing, throwing mean words for no reason other than to agitate. It was… so rude. So uncalled for. It made me so angry! All I had done was, this very sssame… thing… And they had no appreciation for the effort, the work. It was so ungrateful.” The Madsnake had turned while speaking, returned to facing the table behind him. He grabbed a strip of leather in his hands, twisting and contorting it as his voice grew deeper, more strained, as if it was not just one person talking, and as if there were multiple temperaments and personas all colliding in the moment, fighting over control over the situation. He ran his hands over the tools in front of him, still disappointed in his range but pleased with the uniquely varied toys, for all the things he brushed his hands over were new to him, and he would have much fun learning what they were capable of. The Madsnake turned on his heel, and as Samuel looked up at him, confused, he immediately stopping the fidgeting that had obsessed him ever since the Madsnake turned his back on him in the first place. The captive was confused, of course he was, and he was scared. But, tragically, he had to make an obvious assumption; he wasn’t going to get out of this any time soon, unless he cooperated as best as he possibly could. Perhaps the Madsnake would go easy on him. ”We... are going to, have so, much fun.” |
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Daniel Orton [HC] Lvl 6: Copperhead Cook Rep: -40 Eastern Texas, -250 Texas Rangers, +90 Crag Equipped: Mirrored Sunglasses, Armstrong Hellcat Necklace, Raider Armour, Culture-Clash Jacket, Crag Swag (Jeans), Black Banana Hammock, Leather Belt, Desert Boots, Skullfucker, Death Knell, Combat Knife, Sharp Hatchet, Hannibals Haymaker, Pre-War Mountain Bike Status Effects: Internal Parasite Abilities: Sucker Punch S:6 P:3 E:5 C:5 I:3 A:10 L:8 Elizabeth 'Eli' Stoudemire Lvl 1: Humble Hobo Equipped: Knife, Revolver, Coat S:3 P:8 E:4 C:6 I:4 A:8 L:7 CP: FS has a bachelors degree in poor taste and a masters in bad manners LD: Orton can be whatever Hamiltons version of The Nightman is FP: fs youre like in a very minor minority where cauze youre autistic and gay and an asshole you can say any slur | |
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| FallenSanity | Sep 18 2016, 09:35 AM Post #2 |
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I didn't even know I had this
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For the first time in perhaps a decade, a trade caravan was within earshot of the rusted, rotted, ramshackle hut that sat in the center of the dried out lake, which had become a sort of forward operating position for the Madsnake Daniel Orton as he slowly, but surely, attempted to pursue yet another push east, as far away from the law enforcement of Texas as humanly possible. It was likely he would get involved with the enforcement officers of other states, but that would be an issue to deal with later. For now, the issue of the trade caravan hearing loud screams was more persistent. “They’re coming from down there, near the… what is that? Is that a house?” “Can’ be, ‘o’d live all ‘e way out ‘ere? ‘s a barren fiel’!” “We’ve seen people get by on less than this, I think we should check it out.” The trade caravan was composed of only a few people, but most importantly, two hefty pack animals. Accompanied by a guard each, a trader each, and a herder each, the caravan wasn’t exactly small. In fact, it was quite possibly the largest to have come through this area in quite some time, due to it being a fair bit out of the way of the Otraid-Crag road, which was of course why the Madsnake favoured it. The caravan specialised in arms and armour, and that made it an immediate threat. Thankfully, none of them were all that wise or cunning, and so it was only a few steps of the leader that instantly ensured there would be no further exploration of the lake. A well placed landmine, or a well stepped on landmine, blew the thirty-something caravan leader nearly ten feet in the air, one leg going with him, though separated, and the other blown into multiple pieces across the landscape. That put an abrupt end to the whole endeavour, and soon the entire caravan was moving on, their former leader laying face down on the ground, barely able to move, his spine shattered and his skull fractured, blood seeping from his mouth, nose, chest, back, and legs, and the pain scorching his very spirit. Not far away, in the small rusted shack, the Madsnake waited, in silence, listening to what was going on outside. It took about five minutes before he decided all was dealt with, and returned to his work. He pulled a sopping gag out of his captives mouth, and immediately stuck a nail in it, the flat end on the tongue, and the sharp end set onto the roof of the mouth. It was just long enough to be hard to move, and any movements would be a major inconvenience to the victim. Next, he set up a small glove, sliding it onto Samuel’s right hand, where it forced his fingers to bend into knuckles. A similar glove had already been placed on the other hand, though it did the opposite, stretching all fingers out. The Madsnake stopped, thinking for a moment on what he was going to do next. What he’d just done - the gloves and the nail - were all he had available anymore. That’s why he’d struck a medical caravan, in hopes of getting his hands on more convoluted devices. All they’d had were some pliers, braces, tubing, and drugs. It was the last object on that list that interested him most. He grabbed a handful of chems, and looked them over. Two inhalers of jet, a single needle of Med-X, and two needles of Psycho. Enough to cause a horrid concoction of effects. The Madsnake got to work quickly, grabbing the doctor’s bag that Samuel had been carrying and ripping it open, making use of the leather and string and metal as best he could. First, the two inhalers of Jet were combined, their mouthpieces strapped into a single funnel that led to the medical piping. Next came the Psycho, which was easy enough to deal with; the needles were gently opened, and the Madsnake snapped open the Med-X with them. Pouring equal amounts of painkiller into the Psycho, he taped them back up and set them down, ready on all fronts. The Madsnake looked at his captive. Scars decorated his face and arms, simple things really. Some chunks sliced off of his forearms, small taste tests for the Madsnake more than anything else. The marks on his face were akin to brandings, in case he ever escaped, which he wouldn’t, but it helped to keep the captive filled with false hope. On his forehead read ‘Ortons Property’ and his cheeks had fake fangs carved into them on either side. Not a trademark by any stretch, but a fun jab at the common nickname that Orton had. He wondered where it had come from - did he give it to himself? Or was it something the Rangers conceived in order to make him seem more threatening? Hard to remember, and irrelevant under the circumstances. ”Oh, how ruuude of, me… I never did give you a, proper, introduction did I?” The Madsnake moved around, showing off the combined Jet in one hand, and the Psycho in the other. He let a grin sweep across his face, as he considered what to do. ”To the, enforcement and the civilian... population, I am known, mosssstly, as a Madsnake. I doubt to be… the first, of even the, last, but I am one! I am assss popular as, one might expect me to be, though that is, perhaps not, the fault of others as much as it is my own. I’m not… exactly a, ball of fun at parties or… the like, ah hah. I hope most, dearly and, truly, that you may see past… all of that, though, Samuel.” He put down the drugs, right in his captives lap, and sneered happily, looking at his awkwardly kept little plaything, stuck with nowhere to move and barely even allowed to talk. Saliva pooled in his open mouth, his hands twitched in discomfort every so often, and the look of pain was easy to read on his face. ”May… I call you, Samuel? It doesn’t, really matter, does it… You have no… choice. Now then - where are they?” There was silence, and in a matter of seconds, the Madsnake had his fist right on top of his captives right hand, sandwiching the knuckled hand down. It was awkwardly tucked onto the arm of the chair, meaning it was in further discomfort than before, and now it was hurt at the same time. Samuel had to hold back tears with all his might, even harder holding back the urge to move his tongue or mouth and cause the nail to scratch or shoot up. It was rusted, but more than that, if it got stuck or swallowed, he doubted his captor would try all that hard to save him. ”Simple, questions are all they are!” The Madsnake swung his fist down, slamming into his captives left hand, causing his fingers to attempt to bend, but bringing the whole hand with them, injuring his wrist in the process. What was he meant to do? It didn’t make any sense, but Samuel had embraced the fact that his captor was a lunatic not long ago. He was doomed here, and he had no way of stopping it. ”Don’t just… make me work, around this all, dear Samuel… I’d not like, that very, much. Would… you?” The Madsnake picked up the Psycho/Med-X combinations, grinning to himself, before, and without hesitation, ramming both needles into either side of his captives neck, and letting the horrid mixture within seep into his system. It didn’t take long before Samuel’s body underwent a reaction, and boy was it a reaction. The morphine numbed him, and the Psycho caused his muscles to spasm as he was drowned out by this insane feeling of power. Ticks turned into twitches which turned into full blown spasms, as his body jolted about in the seat, the pain of the nail that was now driven into his head barely felt by him. After it passed, some fifteen minutes later, he was about to pass out. ”No no, not… yet!” The Madsnake yanked his captives head up by the hair, looking into his jaded eyes. The blood from his wound ran down his mouth, filling his jaw up. They were far from done. The Madsnake grabbed a needle from his pocket, and pushed the Stimpak into his victim’s torso, immediately dealing a heavy dose of life-saving medicine to him. Painkiller, antibodies, whatever it was it was going to help him stay alive. After all, the Madsnake was nowhere near done yet. |
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Daniel Orton [HC] Lvl 6: Copperhead Cook Rep: -40 Eastern Texas, -250 Texas Rangers, +90 Crag Equipped: Mirrored Sunglasses, Armstrong Hellcat Necklace, Raider Armour, Culture-Clash Jacket, Crag Swag (Jeans), Black Banana Hammock, Leather Belt, Desert Boots, Skullfucker, Death Knell, Combat Knife, Sharp Hatchet, Hannibals Haymaker, Pre-War Mountain Bike Status Effects: Internal Parasite Abilities: Sucker Punch S:6 P:3 E:5 C:5 I:3 A:10 L:8 Elizabeth 'Eli' Stoudemire Lvl 1: Humble Hobo Equipped: Knife, Revolver, Coat S:3 P:8 E:4 C:6 I:4 A:8 L:7 CP: FS has a bachelors degree in poor taste and a masters in bad manners LD: Orton can be whatever Hamiltons version of The Nightman is FP: fs youre like in a very minor minority where cauze youre autistic and gay and an asshole you can say any slur | |
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| FallenSanity | Sep 19 2016, 10:32 AM Post #3 |
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I didn't even know I had this
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“Wha’ is wrong wi’ you!? P’ease! S’op! P’ease!!” It was almost something sad, hearing this man who was covered in his own blood, unable to move with wrists running red raw and sweat coating his brow and much of his exposed flesh as well as not exposed, now made unable to speak clearly. The one thing he might have had in his favour was now removed, and still his mind was plagued by the strange feelings of horrid chemicals and mixtures swirling within his body. Even the thoughts of escape were clouded, fading in and out of his memory. There was still a sharp stinging, all around Samuel’s neck, and just barely penetrating his chest. The needles holes ached, the force and sudden nature of them lingering in his mind, not helped by his cruel captor gently stabbing the end of a knife against them every so often. No blood was drawn, but the pain still persisted from it all. During it, there was no pause in the tortures of the Madsnake, who carried on like an excited child. ”We have, been over this Samuel, so… many times. Just, tell me, what was upon and in your, caravan… when I, arrived. Simple.” “I’s i’sane!! I can’ remember my caravan’ inven’ory! ‘a’s lu’icrous!! Why ‘o this?!” The Madsnake responded just as he felt was justified, by digging the edge of the knife - though it was technically a shank - deep into his victim’s thigh. Enough rust was left to produce a painful infection, if we ever assumed that Samuel would live long enough to suffer from it. Anyone making an educated bet wouldn’t be in favour of Samuel at this point, as the Madsnake fondled the Jet in his hands, eager to put it to use. It wouldn’t have the same sudden and shocking use as the Psycho/Med-X solution, but it would be fun for a while, that was certain. ”Why do, you walk the caravan trails, Samuel? It is... your, lifeblood, it is your drive. It’s what, wakes you up in, the morning, it is what keeps... the cogs in your, head, clicking together. I am the same as anyone else out, here in... the deserts and, the dust storms. I, have my drive, I have that, thing that... conjures my, spirit and makes me wide... eyed with anticipation, and it is to, produce this feeling in others that, is, unfathomable. This confusion as... feelings they, know, they understand, arise in them again and... they cannot comprehend, it. The ability, to show people that the... littlest things can elicit, the most intense feelings, is something I, pride myself in, and it is what wakes me. I do not... carry some trove of tools like the common, fiends and raiders, because that isn’t true pain. These things I, use? They are yours, that you have relented to, me, so that I may unleash my art upon you. Your lifeblood becomes… your pain, and your drive becomes, your, surrender. That is no easy feat, but I, grin and bare my role without complaint. You ought, to do, the same. A list, Samuel… just rattle, off a list for me. That is all that, I, ask Samuel.” Samuel gasped, panting, blood staining his right pant leg as he sobbed for a moment, trying his best to not break. He wondered if it was weakness that the Madsnake sought, or if he simply found pleasure in the idea of his efforts, but whatever it was this captive would fight it as best as he could. Any sort of insane ramblings would be hard to decipher, but with the pain clouding his mind, and this man’s broken speech growing more incomprehensible, it was impossible. He looked up at the Madsnake, and wracked his mind for anything that he could remember from the caravans inventory, the pain of the nail driven into his gum still ringing as he attempted to speak. “Ahh… Ah… We ha’... we ha’ a small… cra’e of s’impak’s… two me’ical braces… uh… a, uh, a doc’ors bag… a han’ful of assor’e’ chems… syringes… we, uh…“ The Madsnake smirked and nodded, very impressed with all of this. His plaything had been tortured, drugged, and dehydrated, as well as knocked out by blunt force trauma. Still, when the effort was made, he managed to recall a list of items that his caravan, a caravan he likely had not checked the inventory of in some time before being attacked, was in possession of. It made the Madsnake quite pleased with himself, assuming it had been only his torture that had unlocked this deeper mental capability. There was, of course, the very real possibility that it was true. The Madsnake grabbed his bat, which had been set down on the table behind him, and held it in his right hand, the shiv dropped on the floor at this point, as he continued to roll the inhalers in his left hand. “We ha’... oh! We ha’ a set… of me’ical ‘ools, p’iers an’... stuff… I think we… had, uh, clippers or some’ing…” The Madsnake swung his bat down suddenly, shattering his captives left hand in one sordid moment. Samuel let out a wail of pain, feeling the bones in his fingers crack and splinter, much of his flesh forced to split to make way for the sharp edges and confused directions of his bones. He wished he could clench his fist, but he could not, and his fingers were still forced to protrude out, now in odd directions, only slightly comforted by the damage done to the glove worn upon his hand. Then, the Madsnake did the same thing to Samuel’s right, and a much more horrid feeling swept across the young man. His palm was slammed down onto his knuckles, and his fingers, rather violently, exploded outwards, chunks of his index and middle finger splitting the flesh open, drizzling across the arm of his seat, while all other bones were simply busted apart. The whole thing had come out of nowhere, and seemingly, for no good reason. When Samuel looked up to question what had happened, he was met with the funnel of the combined Jet inhalers. ”That will have your, heart, pumping… nicely, I hope.” The inhalers let out a putrid tasting cloud, but the piping was held into his mouth by one of the Madsnake’s hand, while the other held closed his captives nose, forcing him to inhale deeply, providing an almost immediately horrible feeling of euphoria washed over him. The feeling was strange, but more than that, it was too much. Hallucinations danced around Samuel, some peaceful but the majority terrifying, and he felt his heart pounding faster than ever before. Samuel, for a number of brief, horrifying moments, felt as if he was about to die. The sound of a cruel laugh filled his mind. Was it the Madsnakes? Possibly, it made sense, but drug trips rarely made sense. There was this feeling, deep in his body, that made him want to throw up. Perhaps it was just that, the need to throw up, but it felt like more than that. It was all through his body, like it was trying to operate in overdrive, like his muscles and his mind wanted to do everything he could in that moment, but nothing would let him. He began to fidget, the rough ropes around his ankles and wrists cutting his skin and grazing his flesh, as he shook his head around in all directions. He felt like he never had, this mixture of euphoria and agony blending into confusion. The Madsnake was a few feet away, packing up a small bag of items. They were his, some leather, some cards, a few other items. He grabbed one of the cards, slipping it into a pocket as he cleaned everything up. He pulled from his bag a firesteel, one he’d been using for some time now. It was rusted, but it should do the job. He picked up his shiv from the floor, watching as his prey shook and flexed and groaned. He waited, his arms crossed, watching in anticipation, as the whole thing began to die down about five minutes later. It interested him; the mix had increased the severity of the drug, but not in any means the cooldown. The Madsnake moved in on his calm prey, and cut at the restraints that held him in his place. Samuel would have lunged forward, but instead he was simply left to flop to the floor. ”I promised… a freedom. You, have it now.” Samuel looked up at his would-be captor, his body numb. The Madsnake squatted down beside him, and the young man could not feel as the rusted shiv was pressed against his throat, and dragged slowly across it, leaving a rough, unprofessional gash, seeping blood onto the surface below him. His eyes closed slowly enough, and his head fell back to the floor. His heart slowed its beating, and his mind was made clear, for the last time in his life. It was a weight off of him that he had never felt, and in that moment of bliss, he failed to notice that had died. The Madsnake drew the sharp edge around Samuel’s face, remembering calmer days. |
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Daniel Orton [HC] Lvl 6: Copperhead Cook Rep: -40 Eastern Texas, -250 Texas Rangers, +90 Crag Equipped: Mirrored Sunglasses, Armstrong Hellcat Necklace, Raider Armour, Culture-Clash Jacket, Crag Swag (Jeans), Black Banana Hammock, Leather Belt, Desert Boots, Skullfucker, Death Knell, Combat Knife, Sharp Hatchet, Hannibals Haymaker, Pre-War Mountain Bike Status Effects: Internal Parasite Abilities: Sucker Punch S:6 P:3 E:5 C:5 I:3 A:10 L:8 Elizabeth 'Eli' Stoudemire Lvl 1: Humble Hobo Equipped: Knife, Revolver, Coat S:3 P:8 E:4 C:6 I:4 A:8 L:7 CP: FS has a bachelors degree in poor taste and a masters in bad manners LD: Orton can be whatever Hamiltons version of The Nightman is FP: fs youre like in a very minor minority where cauze youre autistic and gay and an asshole you can say any slur | |
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| FallenSanity | Sep 21 2016, 04:29 AM Post #4 |
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I didn't even know I had this
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The occasional violent twitch almost managed to catch the Madsnake off-guard. Samuel’s body, which was in fine shape all things considered, was still suffering from all sorts of things. Muscle spasms were still shaking across his body, possibly aided by the bizarre Psycho/Med-X concoction, though the Madsnake really had no way of knowing for sure; he knew surprisingly little about medicine and biology, instead learning as he went, which he found much more fun. A few times he heard Samuel groan, and wondered what it meant, only to move on when there was no follow up. Soon, the very nature of this ordeal was made clear, as he threw one of Samuel’s arms into the nearby barrel, its embers still fizzing as the flames tried to grow back to their full size. The Madsnake almost distracted himself when the smell of burning flesh wafted over. Soon, a leg and a forearm joined it, before the Madsnake realised he was about to lose his only cutting implement. It would be no good lugging a carcass around when he moved on, and he would prefer to not let this go to waste. More effort than he’d like to admit had gone into the whole endeavour, and now it looked like it’d barely even be worth it, as his prize increasingly became less likely to be able to be toted as it deserved to be - as a meal. He looked at the naked corpse in front of him, letting out a low sigh. The Madsnake had found little on Samuel after the final strip; a few bottle caps, of which he did not see the value, and a letter to his wife, which was promptly added as fuel to the fire. The Madsnake rolled up the fabrics that had once been his captives clothes, preparing them for the fire. He’d pull out the fleshy, cooked limbs soon, and add these soft fibres to help the fire spread, it’d worked before in place of anything better. However, as he readied the packet of clothing, he felt something hard in his right hand. Pressing down, he was able to just barely feel it fit in his hand. Digging in, and locating a pocket, the Madsnake was overjoyed when he came across what was, to his memory, the only weapon that Samuel had on him; a fine little kitchen knife. What luck. The next two hours were less luck-laced. Skinning isn’t hard, not by any means, especially if you know what you have to do, but the whole rush of what was required and what was possible had forced the Madsnake into a precarious position, and now he was forced to make a crummy decision; skin what’s left, or just leave it with the skin on so as to not throw the whole meal into an awkward conundrum. Why did issues like this always have to present themselves to the Madsnake? Was it karma? Or was it just pure dumb misfortune? The latter made more sense in the long run, but that wouldn’t stop a man questioning. Then again, if it was karma, surely it had something better to do to the Madsnake than ruin his dining experience. For now he ignored the tragedy, and made his decision. As a small pile of skin layers piled up next to the Madsnake, the crackling of human flesh filled the room, and the warmth of the fire kept him comfortable. He wondered if he could hear engines revving outside, but he shrugged it off as he returned to his work. Many of his cuttings had been lazy, and it resulted in an imperfect set of meat, but for now it wasn’t an issue. As he set down the last of Samuel’s limbs into the fire, the Madsnake decided it was finally time to see what that explosion outside had been, not long ago. Peering out of an opened panel, his two pale eyes fell onto a corpse not far away, perhaps fifteen meters off. The man, or most of him, was motionless, while a few globules of red and brown could be seen peppered around him, and it was clear to the Madsnake that it had been one of his traps that had gone off. Interestingly, if the caravan merchant had stepped only two feet to the left, he would have been entirely fine; only one trap existed in the entire area, as a way to trick those who might happen to stumble on it. Without the ability to afford much more than that, the Madsnake decided he’d make use of what he had. As it turned out, what he had was more than enough. He paid it no more attention. Returning to his roasting meal, the Madsnake began to take each piece out, splitting them open very carefully and commencing his post-cook deboning. Many people preferred to debone before cooking, and he understood it, but doing such a thing immediately removed the ability of the consumer to keep the food in a single piece. By waiting and determining your eating environment during or after the cooking process, it meant that the consumer could eat either fine, meaty slices, or simply off the bone. Options were what made the Madsnake’s methods so much more appealing, and it’s why in the rare times he’d shared his meals around, he’d been quite heavily complimented. As he sliced and prised the bones from the legs and arms he’d prepared, the Madsnake looked over at the rest of Samuel, sighing to himself. Would he have the time to prepare the torso? That was a large amount of meat, and generally quite hard to prepare. He wasn’t desperate enough yet to eat it raw and off the bone, but at the same time, he wasn’t wasteful. As he tossed aside the last of the bones, the Madsnake wondered if perhaps he could cut the torso up and scatter it around the area for the wildlife. He took a bite of his food, shrugging off the gamey nature, and thought for some time on what was best to do. Only once he was halfway through his second leg did he realise what he could do, and he was rather proud of himself, when he thought about it more. Once he’d finished his meal - which had made him nice and stuffed - he decided it was time now to move on. The sun was setting, and it meant that caravans would become less common, which in itself meant raiders would be less common. Beasts were the major threat at this time, and the Madsnake had no true fear for the beasts he’d met. He’d heard much, mind you, and the ideas proposed to him were quite frightening, but with what he’d met in his time, the most horrifying prospect he’d run into turned out to be no more than a malnourished bear dying of radiation poisoning. As long as you didn’t hesitate, it wasn’t too hard to survive. With his pack over him, the Madsnake made his way out of the hut and the dried out lake, his scraggly beard stained with blood, his hair rolling just down his shoulders, matted and sweat filled, his rags barely clinging to his body at this point, more hanging instead. Before he was even out of the dried up lake he heard a muffled crash, and turned around to see a pack of animals ripping into the wood and metal that had once been a shack. Perfect evidence disposal, as far as the Madsnake was concerned. If any Rangers were still on his tail, they wouldn’t be anymore. The stillness of the night wasn't a common thing. Most nights were peppered with red dots, small fires or sounds all across the Wastes. Shadowy figures and looming beasts. Tonight it was different. The moon was bright, the clouds sparse. The walk south was a long one, and a quiet one. The voices that had been screeching for months on end had been calmed and quelled, and finally, the Madsnake felt alone. |
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Daniel Orton [HC] Lvl 6: Copperhead Cook Rep: -40 Eastern Texas, -250 Texas Rangers, +90 Crag Equipped: Mirrored Sunglasses, Armstrong Hellcat Necklace, Raider Armour, Culture-Clash Jacket, Crag Swag (Jeans), Black Banana Hammock, Leather Belt, Desert Boots, Skullfucker, Death Knell, Combat Knife, Sharp Hatchet, Hannibals Haymaker, Pre-War Mountain Bike Status Effects: Internal Parasite Abilities: Sucker Punch S:6 P:3 E:5 C:5 I:3 A:10 L:8 Elizabeth 'Eli' Stoudemire Lvl 1: Humble Hobo Equipped: Knife, Revolver, Coat S:3 P:8 E:4 C:6 I:4 A:8 L:7 CP: FS has a bachelors degree in poor taste and a masters in bad manners LD: Orton can be whatever Hamiltons version of The Nightman is FP: fs youre like in a very minor minority where cauze youre autistic and gay and an asshole you can say any slur | |
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| FallenSanity | Sep 21 2016, 09:32 PM Post #5 |
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I didn't even know I had this
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FINISHED |
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Daniel Orton [HC] Lvl 6: Copperhead Cook Rep: -40 Eastern Texas, -250 Texas Rangers, +90 Crag Equipped: Mirrored Sunglasses, Armstrong Hellcat Necklace, Raider Armour, Culture-Clash Jacket, Crag Swag (Jeans), Black Banana Hammock, Leather Belt, Desert Boots, Skullfucker, Death Knell, Combat Knife, Sharp Hatchet, Hannibals Haymaker, Pre-War Mountain Bike Status Effects: Internal Parasite Abilities: Sucker Punch S:6 P:3 E:5 C:5 I:3 A:10 L:8 Elizabeth 'Eli' Stoudemire Lvl 1: Humble Hobo Equipped: Knife, Revolver, Coat S:3 P:8 E:4 C:6 I:4 A:8 L:7 CP: FS has a bachelors degree in poor taste and a masters in bad manners LD: Orton can be whatever Hamiltons version of The Nightman is FP: fs youre like in a very minor minority where cauze youre autistic and gay and an asshole you can say any slur | |
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| Triminac | Sep 26 2016, 04:57 AM Post #6 |
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Private Dick
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Hey there, Junior Mod here to steal your lunch money. We talked a bit in the cbox so I’ll try to keep it down to a minimum. Remember your stats. A man with an intelligence of three is a garbage planner and doesn’t always make the best decisions, and he’s a bit well-spoken for an idiot. From what I could tell, the arms caravan getting blown up didn’t really develop the plot at all. It just made Orton look clever, which, again, he isn’t with his stat. Remember that synonyms are your friend. Saying the word caravan again gets choppy in the narrative. I took issue in the second post where there is a shift in Orton’s speech patterns so that he sounds more like a snake. He had already spoken to the victim normally, so why would he change? It’s not like he was going to trick the poor guy. If it’s just his sanity waning a bit, make sure to mention that. When the victim took 15 minutes to pass out, what was Orton doing? Was he just sitting in a white room eating Saltines that whole time? I doubt it. Remember, time skips are great for drama but your character doesn’t seem like the type to just sit in silence for that long. “Even the thoughts of escape were clouded, fading in and out of his memory.” Careful with your sentence structure. It never hurts to proofread. “if we ever assumed that Samuel would live long enough to suffer from it.” The “we” there just changed the narrative style a bit. You hadn’t told the story as a personal conversation this whole time, so starting now breaks up the narrative a little bit. Try to stay consistent. Last thing. I on and off liked that this story was just Daniel bein’ Daniel. I didn’t feel like I watched him grow or accomplish something, but it was a good example of who he was so I’ll certainly take it. Sometimes the downtime between legendary quests and epic character growth is a good thing, and this was one of those times. That’s basically it. The mistakes I found were repeated a few times but that’s not that big a deal. Nothing was story-breaking, I’m mostly just nitpicking. But you’ve probably heard enough out of me. ON TO THE REWARDS:
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Virgil Wakes: Level 4 S(3) P(4) E(2) C(10) I(7) A(5) L(9) Bucket Town Reputation: +174 Roy Reputation: +5 D1-CK: Level 4 S:1 P:10 E:5 C:2 I: 8 A: 9 (+1) L: 5 | |
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6:23 AM Jul 11