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|The wasteland.; [ Elias - open ]|
|Topic Started: May 3 2010, 12:20 AM (150 Views)|
|Lone Wanderer||May 3 2010, 12:20 AM Post #1|
Elias James [ Fallout 3 ]
As Elias sat cross-legged on a picnic table and stared to the tall, jagged cityscape down the beach, he narrowed his eyes trying to pick out and identify the buildings. It was dark, but the moonlight and the garish glare from the rides and booths around him threw a glow in the direction of the city. It was only a slight help though.
Elias swore he saw the Washington Monument stabbing up through two of the shorter buildings.
He closed his eyes and shook his head and when he looked back he scanned to the left. There was the Capitol Building down at the end of the--
Inhaling sharply, Elias grimaced. He left the Wasteland. It was behind him. So why was he seeing it everywhere now?
He patted his head briefly, his fingers hitting the tinted glasses, and he pulled them down over his eyes before sprawling out on his back on top of the picnic table and staring to the sky. Elias watched the clouds drift over the moon and kept his ears open for anyone (or anything) that might approach. He was still trying to wrap his head around why he was seeing Wasteland ruins in what clearly wasn't the Capital Wasteland.
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|Cougar of Rothmarlin||May 13 2010, 03:27 PM Post #2|
Kay Brightmore [ The Doctrine of Labyrinths ]
Kay was beginning to learn his way around with painful slowness. He could navigate the inn and bar with ease by now but the rest of this place still took work. He did not like admitting that, any more than he liked asking people to help him find his way around. He'd relied on the kindness of strangers at first, but had abandoned them as soon as he could, pretending he got lost much less often than he did.
In a way he didn't know why he bothered exploring in the first place, since there was not anything for him to see, but even though he would prefer to shut himself away from the world in his room he knew he had to keep up appearances. He'd made it all the way out to the picnic tables tonight, and was about to head back when he heard the sounds. The first was unmistakably that of someone shifting nearby, perhaps laying back or sitting down, but before he could ask who it was the second one reached his ears.
It was mechanical, unmistakably the sound of some great engine shifting slightly, gears grinding and arms moving, the blades on the ends of them ready to strike. He could have sworn he even felt the faint brush of steel against his face before it was gone, shifting away. He wished it had stayed to kill him. He knew that sound; the machine had been the last thing he'd ever seen.
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