Post by Murdoc on Oct 19, 2005 11:47:49 GMT -5
Note: This occured on the evening of Trauma [23]
YOU'RE A DEAD MAN, PROPHET!!!
Wha--?
{The simple, one word question is cut short by the feeling of wetness on the back of the neck. A rather close splashing sound erupting around his ears, The Prophet naturally moves a single hand to the back of his neck to investigate. Pulling the hand back in front of his face, he sees that it is covered with what appears to be Coca-Cola or Pepsi, maybe Dr. Pepper. He didn't care, he wasn't much concerned with finding out.}
Why you've got some nerve, I oughta--!
{Turning on his heels to face back to the direction from which the soda was thrown, The Prophet has grown a bit angry as he turns around, but the thoughts of anger and revenge are replaced as soon as he looks upon the person that threw the soda. The person...and the angry mob behind him.}
You oughta what, big man?! You RUINED two of the matches on the Trauma card tonight, not to mention you're trying to mess with Angelica!
Whoa whoa whoa...take it easy, fella. She may be FAST, but she hates me. She wouldn't give me the time of day, and I intend to keep it that way! Besides, it'd be kind of hard to kick her teeth in if she and I were riding the hobby-horse...
[The Prophet chuckling at his own wit in light of a semi-precarious situation, the angry mob didn't seem to be enjoying his verbiage. A light little chuckle and the Prophet raises his hands and tries to calm the crowd by backing away slowly.}
Look, I can see you're upset, so I'm just gonna extract myself from this scenario and let you work out your anger on...well, anyone but ME.
We want our money back! And if you won't give it to us, we'll just have to take it!
{The Prophet's eyes growing wide at this point, the crowd erputs into a racous throng, the anger undulating underneath them as they begin to advance upon the Prophet's singular form.}
LOOK! DEAD BIRD!
{With this, The Prophet points into the air behind the crowd. A few actually take the opportunity to look, most don't however. Even without getting the crowd to look away for a split-second, The Prophet breaks out into a dash in the opposite direction, the crowd screaming behind him and moving after him.}
<Ohboyohboyohboy. This...is NOT good. What the hell am I gonna do?!>
{The Prophet's thoughts moving much like him, a mile a minute, he ducks around the corner of some nameless building and slips down the alleyway. Spotting a ladder, he smiles and laughs to himself slightly as he moves to it. However, in his way...a rather large dumpster. Shaking his head at this, The Prophet hears the sounds of angry mob brutality heading his way. Scaling the outside of the dumpster, The Prophet makes it to the ladder and begins to climb. Climbing for all he's worth, The Prophet makes it to about mid-way, the fourth or fifth rung before he begins to hear a light creaking sound. Looking up to the top of the ladder, then casting his gaze down at the ground where one or two people are waiting for him, The Prophet quickly looks back up again.}
Oh no...you've gotta be KIDDING me!
{The Prophet can't help but curse loudly as the left side of the ladder begins to sag, the top brace having broken free from its' support and was now steadily working on the otherside. Still, there was a chance to make it. Continuing to climb, the Prophet climbs for all he's worth, like a scalded dog up the ladder. Violent, metallic gnashing sounds piercing the air, The Prophet begins to think that he may actually make it to the roof of this building.}
POP!
(The loud POP echoing around him, The Prophet looks up and sees the good support is in the process of separating itself from the building. Sighing heavily, the Prophet feels the ladder underneath him give way and begin to plummet towards the ground. Letting go of the rungs, the Prophet lets his body fall. A small freefall, but a fall nonetheless. The sickening thump of The Prophet's body onto the top of the dumpster stops all those around him. The mob suddenly growing incredibly concerned, and not to mention afraid for their own innocence, scatter....none remaining to help. The Prophet lies there, in obvious pain. Looking up at the nighttime sky, the Prophet can see something on the fringes of his vision. Lifting his head ever so slightly, he spots the ladder before it falls onto him, his arms instinctively raising to cover his vital organs.}
Ohhhh. What...ELSE...can go wrong?!
{With that, an unspoken answer to his question, as the light pitter-patter of raindrops on him, and the world around him. Sniffling once or twice in light of the cold and beating rain on him, The Prophet closes his eyes a bit and doesn't laugh. He can't. After all, you have to breathe to laugh. And at the moment, there is a metal ladder on the Prophet's chest. The absolute wrong time for laughter. But...
The Rainfall Continues.}
PS: Sorry about the lateness. Being busy PLUS having extreme writer's block...that's the pits, man.
YOU'RE A DEAD MAN, PROPHET!!!
Wha--?
{The simple, one word question is cut short by the feeling of wetness on the back of the neck. A rather close splashing sound erupting around his ears, The Prophet naturally moves a single hand to the back of his neck to investigate. Pulling the hand back in front of his face, he sees that it is covered with what appears to be Coca-Cola or Pepsi, maybe Dr. Pepper. He didn't care, he wasn't much concerned with finding out.}
Why you've got some nerve, I oughta--!
{Turning on his heels to face back to the direction from which the soda was thrown, The Prophet has grown a bit angry as he turns around, but the thoughts of anger and revenge are replaced as soon as he looks upon the person that threw the soda. The person...and the angry mob behind him.}
You oughta what, big man?! You RUINED two of the matches on the Trauma card tonight, not to mention you're trying to mess with Angelica!
Whoa whoa whoa...take it easy, fella. She may be FAST, but she hates me. She wouldn't give me the time of day, and I intend to keep it that way! Besides, it'd be kind of hard to kick her teeth in if she and I were riding the hobby-horse...
[The Prophet chuckling at his own wit in light of a semi-precarious situation, the angry mob didn't seem to be enjoying his verbiage. A light little chuckle and the Prophet raises his hands and tries to calm the crowd by backing away slowly.}
Look, I can see you're upset, so I'm just gonna extract myself from this scenario and let you work out your anger on...well, anyone but ME.
We want our money back! And if you won't give it to us, we'll just have to take it!
{The Prophet's eyes growing wide at this point, the crowd erputs into a racous throng, the anger undulating underneath them as they begin to advance upon the Prophet's singular form.}
LOOK! DEAD BIRD!
{With this, The Prophet points into the air behind the crowd. A few actually take the opportunity to look, most don't however. Even without getting the crowd to look away for a split-second, The Prophet breaks out into a dash in the opposite direction, the crowd screaming behind him and moving after him.}
<Ohboyohboyohboy. This...is NOT good. What the hell am I gonna do?!>
{The Prophet's thoughts moving much like him, a mile a minute, he ducks around the corner of some nameless building and slips down the alleyway. Spotting a ladder, he smiles and laughs to himself slightly as he moves to it. However, in his way...a rather large dumpster. Shaking his head at this, The Prophet hears the sounds of angry mob brutality heading his way. Scaling the outside of the dumpster, The Prophet makes it to the ladder and begins to climb. Climbing for all he's worth, The Prophet makes it to about mid-way, the fourth or fifth rung before he begins to hear a light creaking sound. Looking up to the top of the ladder, then casting his gaze down at the ground where one or two people are waiting for him, The Prophet quickly looks back up again.}
Oh no...you've gotta be KIDDING me!
{The Prophet can't help but curse loudly as the left side of the ladder begins to sag, the top brace having broken free from its' support and was now steadily working on the otherside. Still, there was a chance to make it. Continuing to climb, the Prophet climbs for all he's worth, like a scalded dog up the ladder. Violent, metallic gnashing sounds piercing the air, The Prophet begins to think that he may actually make it to the roof of this building.}
POP!
(The loud POP echoing around him, The Prophet looks up and sees the good support is in the process of separating itself from the building. Sighing heavily, the Prophet feels the ladder underneath him give way and begin to plummet towards the ground. Letting go of the rungs, the Prophet lets his body fall. A small freefall, but a fall nonetheless. The sickening thump of The Prophet's body onto the top of the dumpster stops all those around him. The mob suddenly growing incredibly concerned, and not to mention afraid for their own innocence, scatter....none remaining to help. The Prophet lies there, in obvious pain. Looking up at the nighttime sky, the Prophet can see something on the fringes of his vision. Lifting his head ever so slightly, he spots the ladder before it falls onto him, his arms instinctively raising to cover his vital organs.}
Ohhhh. What...ELSE...can go wrong?!
{With that, an unspoken answer to his question, as the light pitter-patter of raindrops on him, and the world around him. Sniffling once or twice in light of the cold and beating rain on him, The Prophet closes his eyes a bit and doesn't laugh. He can't. After all, you have to breathe to laugh. And at the moment, there is a metal ladder on the Prophet's chest. The absolute wrong time for laughter. But...
The Rainfall Continues.}
PS: Sorry about the lateness. Being busy PLUS having extreme writer's block...that's the pits, man.
