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The Long Road Home; semi-private; PM to join
Topic Started: Nov 23 2010, 12:04 AM (3,648 Views)
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Where modesty's ill manners, 'tis but fit that impudence and malice pass for wit.
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((Alright, my pretties, time to clear out! I'm going to do a slight bit of GMing to save Roland, hope you don't mind.))

As soon as Roland heard that voice, he turned around. Logically, he should have been scared shitless by the sight of a guy armed with a knife standing close enough for his unarmed ass to breathe on. But several thing prevented that.

First, the asshole with the knife had the voice of an officer who only got his job because daddy pulled some strings. Roland doubted that even Dutchy would get scared of that shit.

Second, the guy was rail-thin, sixty percent of Roland's weight at best. If he really tried, Roland could snap this pencil-neck, needle dick son of a bitch over his knee.

Third, Roland's anger had risen far too high to allow for any other sort of emotion to butt in. He glared hard enough to boil stones as the knife guy backed down immediately, seeing how he got the wrong idea about Dutchy. Roland barely noticed what he said, trying his hardest to keep himself from doing something he might regret. One more complication-

"No, really, what the hell is going on?"

Roland moved his hands faster than he ever thought he could, grabbing the harpoon he discarded when he saw what became of Dutchy and pointing it squarely at knife boy's face. "Get out!" he shrieked, the fury in his body making the harpoon's wicked point tremble inches away from soft, vulnerable skin. "Both of you fuckers get out before I cut you open!"

It wasn't long before both of the fuckers had indeed gotten out, and Roland was left alone with Dutchy again. He could still hear Dutchy mumbling incoherently, and to his horror, he thought he could hear Dutchy's voice getting quieter. Roland pinched Dutchy's cheek hard. "Stay with me, Dutchy. Stay with me. Don't you fall asleep now, don't you fucking dare!" Dutchy asleep = concussion = Marcus Roddy = finish the job = NO! Not to Dutchy. Not to him or Lily or anyone else. Never!

He had to get back with Sarah and Bridget, had to get back with them and do SOMETHING else! They couldn't stay here anymore, had to get out before another pissant with a knife showed up. In a series of rushed, deliberate motions, Roland hefted his daypack onto his shoulder, then hefted Dutchy's onto the other shoulder. He did his best to fit his harpoon into his bag, as long and sharp as it was, making it stick up a couple of feet above his head, then moved to do the same to his abandoned tennis racket before he reconsidered. Who gave a fuck about a tennis racket at this point? Honestly.

He got himself geared up, then reached down and pulled Dutchy up. "Come on man, come on. NGGGGH! I don't, I don't think I can carry you. You gotta walk. Come on, please, come on. Oh god oh god come on." Thankfully Dutchy had a clear enough mind to get up on his feet and start walking, even if his balance faltered and he tripped over his own feet from time to time.

The two of them were all set to leave when Roland realized that Sarah and Bridget would be coming back to that house to get them. He sighed and looked in his bag for a scrap of paper and something to write with.

Five minutes later, the two of them started a slow, difficult trek away from the house, Roland encumbered with goods, and Dutchy addled by his self-inflicted injury. They left behind them a roughly scrawled note on a table, a quick, impatient message directing Roland's comrades to another place entirely.

((Roland Hayes and Dutchy Ayers continued in Make Your Own Kind of Music))
Edited by Solitair, Apr 24 2011, 03:42 PM.
WickedIcon: i just launched a baby wearing a denim jacket and a bowler hat across a hospital, through a window, killing several patients, destroying thousands of dollars of equipment, and finally coming to rest on the body of a presumably dead clown
WickedIcon: this is the best dollar i've spent in several years

chitoryu12I have yet to find gay sex that involves the men punching each other. I must not be on the internet enough

Turning Pages: Read some books along with me, why don't you?

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Arthur Wells: The Artist ... ... ... ... ?
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Ilya Volkov: The Wrestler ... ... ... ... !
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(( GMing is approved by Lim))

Alan and Joe were taken aback by the sudden yelling and demanding nature of the other boy. Obviously cornering in his own hide out hadn't been the best idea, and with Dutchy wounded the stakes had been raised. Roland rose dramatically, advancing menacingly towards Alan and Joe, towering over the pair, 6 feet tall and over 250 pounds. His message couldn't have been more clear.

"Get out!"

They were happy to oblige.

Alan watched Joe leave before turning back towards the house. He wanted to go back inside, clear things up with Dutchy and Roland. He'd barged in abruptly, eager to save Dutchy, but in the end he'd come out looking more like a villain. No good would come from pestering the pair, at least for the moment. Perhaps there would be time later. But whatever the matter, Roland wouldn't be happy to see him sticking around just outside the door.

Alan headed down the road, shouldering his pack. He had a lot of thinking to do.

((Alan Rickhall continued in Our Last Days as Children))
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Oswaldo Marx --> "Chicks dig scars? Yeah, I'm calling bullshit." --> Cicada Nights
Mikko "Mike" Korhonen --> "Interesting, very interesting!" --> A Casual Question
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((Oh shit narrowly dodging danger zone.))

Apparently Joe wasn't wanted anymore.

"Fair enough," he muttered under his breath as he walked off. These people were clearly either not very bright or completely nuts, and he'd had his fill of insane idiots in the past couple days. Staying here wasn't gonna be good for his health whether he was wanted or not, and as such leaving wasn't the worst thing that could be forced on him.

((Joe Rios continued in Anthem for Doomed Youth))
Edited by Sean, Jun 14 2011, 11:46 PM.
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Quoth Super Llama:
One day, the fabled Ragnarok will come, and as the gods descend to earth and wage war while the world dies around them, WickedIcon will lead the charge, a 12-gauge shotgun in his right hand, and a bottle of Jack Daniels in his left as he rides a steed made of fire and pain.

And the masses will look upon him and weep at the beauty of it all.

[19:25] Hallucinogenic: it's not like i wanna put my anus on parade

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