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Post by TrueBlue© on Jun 20, 2008 11:11:32 GMT -5
The head butt knocked the air out of the alien's lungs and bent her over. He took her a short distance before she did flip, over and landing hard on her back; the move was certainly enough to bring her claws out of his arm.
She'd still marked him. Rush rolled over, sucking air, but gained her feet and dashed after his back, quite inhuman, herself, one arm a blade from the elbow down and poised to stab.
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Post by Kagetsuki on Jul 2, 2008 12:19:50 GMT -5
(Permission from True to auto a little.)
By now, though, the Catcher was ignoring Rush; having fought her to the floor, it was apparently enough of a sign of defeat for him to lose interest. His eyes were back on the slave, who was stumbling down the ruined hall behind the druggie Damein, his friend and 592, shrieking hysterically in a whole rabble of different languages (probably begging some divine being or another for his life). From his side, once more, he drew a firearm and raised it towards the slave...
And was, again, promptly stopped by Rush, who drove a blade into his back.
The Catcher reeled, spasming, pulling the trigger of the firearm quite accidentally; the man who stood beside Damein crumpled without a sound, an ugly and bleeding bullet wound in his skull where the stray bullet had decided to make its home. Damein's shout of shock and disgust joined the slave's shrieking to create a rather unpleasant cacophony, and then the the Catcher was yelling, too, more enraged than in pain, really quite a surprise considering he'd just been stabbed in the back. "Koira! Szajha! Mina ubiti ty!" What he was saying exactly was a mystery, but it was safe to assume he was cursing Rush. That wasn't so bad.
He was not dead or writhing in agony, though. And, that was bad.
The Catcher's hand shot around his shoulder to grab Rush's blade-arm. He gripped it hard, hard enough that it cut into his hand and he began to bleed; he pulled, the muscles in his arms bulging. Shlip, went the blade as it pulled free of his skin, dark with blood. Whoosh, went the Catcher as he whirled on Rush. Pch! was the sound of his hand striking, gripping her face.
CRASH! was the sound Rush's body made when he threw her across the room and into a wall like she was a ragdoll.
The Catcher calmly bent to pick up his gun, which he'd dropped after firing the accidental shot. Bleeding from his back, his face set in an ugly grimace of pain, he raised it a third time towards the stumbling slave who was still in sight down the hall. This time, there was nobody close enough to stop him. It was perhaps lucky that his hand was shaking a little when he pulled the trigger, but that didn't stop the bullet from flying true. It zipped past Damein and 592, the former still looking terrified but now digging in the pockets of the dead man beside him, to strike the blubbering slave in the back (not the head, compliments of the Catcher's shaking hand); the poor man fell with a scream of agony, still alive, but given his already fragile bodily state, without a doctor he was probably going to die in minutes.
Minutes were apparently good enough for the Catcher, though, because he holstered his weapon and made no move towards the slave to finish the job. Grunting and grimacing, he now turned his eyes on everybody else in the room. There was a pause, during which he was probably trying to figure out what to do with everybody, and then he let out a gruff chuckle. "Get into a line, all of you," he said, back to English, "Now." It was a ridiculous order, one they couldn't possibly expect to follow considering what had just happened, but the man was entirely serious about it. Likely, he thought he might have scared them enough for them to obey, and perhaps he had for some of them...
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Post by TrueBlue© on Jul 2, 2008 13:43:43 GMT -5
By the time Lucubro had half of a writhing, obsidian anaconda in hand and the opening was available, the fight was over. Of course, he completely ignored the Catcher, moving instead to help his friend.
He had the forethought, at least, to step into the derelict wall he was nearest and come out of the one against Rush's back, beside her, as opposed to just going around the Catcher.
The alien was cupping her face with her hands, eyes shut tight, navy blood draining out down her wrists. Mostly, the witch observed, it was just her pride that was injured. Everything else was cosmetic, nothing broken. Well, maybe her nose. Maybe some teeth.
"Lemme see." Lucubro mumbled, still watching the Catcher. Rush didn't pull her hands away, though, and when he tried to half-pry them off she just swatted at him, so he let her be.
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zandyne
Full Member
This is NOT Zetsu. DX
Posts: 1,037
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Post by zandyne on Jul 3, 2008 0:37:23 GMT -5
She’d watched the entire scene in slack-jawed horror, gripping her umbrella and lantern with white-knuckled tightness. She’d seen the poor howling man brought down with the quickness and mannerism one would do to vermin- she could still see and hear him suffering as the life bled out of him, and to be frank, it was the first time she’d seen a man so coldly, brutally brought down.
‘Perhaps he is something like the Reaper.’ The thought echoed in her mind, it was all she could surmise for his actions and how he had such terrible power.
It frightened her more than anything. Her shaking body only proved this point more.
With reluctance or pure dread and a fatal amount of anxiety, she forced her feet to move into the ‘line’ as the monster of a man had told them to. There was nothing she could do against him, and with quailing hope she direly wished she wouldn’t end up as the poor fellow before her eyes.
(In case anyone is confused, Roslin’s never seen a gun in action before, the closest would be a canon that shoots canon balls. However if this needs to be changed I can alter it.)
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Post by Ninmast on Jul 5, 2008 16:26:11 GMT -5
The girl sat there as the bullet flew into the old man's head, not even batting an eye. Then again as the second bullet flew between her and the druggie, still not flinching. She might have been a statue had the breeze off the bullet not been so close to her as to stir her hair. As the large man shouted at them, she made no effort to get up into the line, only sitting there. She had been watching the druggie dig through the pockets, but now, she just watched the strangely powerful man that had just killed a person and taken down two others, that stone about her neck glowing faintly.
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Post by taishou on Jul 22, 2008 2:24:48 GMT -5
The man gave a slight twist of his lips. Pride. Glorious pride. He, the great Rage Gressel, get in line at the beck and call of this piece of crap? Doubtful. He had several options open to him at the moment. A grenade was hooked behind his belt as well as a revolver with four bullets. He had white magic at his disposal, ready to either aide the dying masochist or break the bones of the cowboy sadist. A mental coin flipped in his mind- Rage the killer or Rage the savior?
The loan shark chose to go after its catch. He began to twitch his pale fingers behind his back, slowly moving towards the line where the others stood. He started to curl his fingers around something behind his back. As if he were holding the cervical spine of the Catcher himself, he began to wring the air to grasp it. Tighter, tighter, seeming to near snap the invisible vertebrae.
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Post by Kagetsuki on Oct 13, 2008 13:39:34 GMT -5
" Geras, geras...," The Catcher's dark eyes were on Roslin now, his mouth curved into a tiny, cruel smirk. She couldn't tell outright, but it would be safe to assume that the combination of her fear and obedience pleased him, as though she were the model 'student' for the others in the room. In fact, he walked right up to her, laying a heavy hand on one of her shoulders and grinning down at her, chuckling, " You mun vynést a mare kaina, eh?" That didn't tell her anything at all, except that he was referring to her, but it probably wasn't meant that she understand, and she likely didn't want to, anyway. Patting her shoulder and letting out another gruff chuckle, he turned away, eyes sweeping the rest of the room to see if the others were complying with his orders. First there was Rage, slowly moving towards Roslin. That produced a nod of satisfaction, and no more note. Then there was Rush and Lucubro, and just like that his smirk was gone. Sighing exasperatedly, the bulky man unholstered his gun again and shouted threateningly, " Ei! You. Dark one. Leave the woman bitch on the floor and get in line. She will be dealt with shortly. I am not playing games; if you stay there I will teach you a lesson much like--" He stopped mid-sentence, mouth open. Blinking once, then twice, the Catcher's eyebrows slowly scrunched together in confusion. He rolled his shoulders back, apparently trying to do something, but when that didn't seem to produce the desirable effect he shook his head, reaching back to feel at his spine. When that didn't help whatever it was he was trying to remedy, a look of anger came to his face, and he turned around to look at Roslin, 592, Damein, and Rage, his anger heightening with each look. "Who is doing that?!" He shouted, rolling his shoulders again, gritting his teeth. Lucky for Rage, the man hadn't noticed him twitching his fingers behind his back. Why hadn't his spine snapped, though? The Catcher gave them all another look, expectant, furious. "Who is doing that?! Answer now!" (Note: For my own reference, I'll translate what the Catcher is saying from now on. By no means does this mean any of your characters will have a clue as to his words, but it will help me for later. Plus it'll be interesting for you guys. So in this post, he said: "Good, good...You will fetch a high price, eh?")
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Post by Ninmast on Oct 13, 2008 13:50:04 GMT -5
Now, the girl with the green hair was watching the Catcher directly, the glowing crystal around her neck seeming to almost hover before her, but not quite. It might almost seem like it was the girl's doing from the way her blank but focused gaze laid on him with an almost palpable weight.
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Post by TrueBlue© on Oct 13, 2008 22:46:44 GMT -5
The Catcher was facing away, shouting at the others about something. One link at a time, the Darkchain slid down Lucubro's sleeve as the Pyran stood up and stalked forward, one fatally silent step. Two.
On three he lunged, his weapon alive as he flung it out to catch the Catcher's throat. It shifted as it flew, thinning and spiking out into mean barbed wire.
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zandyne
Full Member
This is NOT Zetsu. DX
Posts: 1,037
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Post by zandyne on Oct 13, 2008 23:47:10 GMT -5
Roslin didn't know what the horrible man was saying, the words sounded just as coarse as him even if it carried a slightly satisfied tone, they still disturbed her. She said nothing, she most likely wasn't going to say anything unless an opportunity of escape miraculously presented itself which seemed highly unlikely.
At his abrupt and even angrier questioning it took most of her willpower not to flinch at the rage that bubbled in his accent. It was so very hard to not look suspicious even if she was an innocent party in all this. She curled up even closer to her umbrella handle and lantern. Shaking her head would just draw suspicion.
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Post by Kagetsuki on Aug 27, 2009 22:03:17 GMT -5
(Note: Rage has now entered cardboard cutout mode! This meaning, as long as Taishou isn't posting her character will be considered there, but inactive. More along-for-the-ride, if you know what I mean. This being the case his actions towards the Catcher will be nullified with this post via some autoing. Nothing big though.)
The Catcher's gaze had settled suspiciously on young 592 when the Darkchain slid 'round his throat, the barbs immediately digging into his skin as the weapon tightened and his eyes grew wide above a growing frown. He'd been about to go for the child, based on the almost-hovering and most definitely glowing crystal hanging at her neck; an attack from the dark one whose comrade he'd just thrown into a wall had been completely unexpected. Certainly, a few of the quarries he'd gone after before had fought back but when they came in twos it was usually enough to take one out to break the other's spirit.
How annoying, to think that wasn't working here. Annoying and...exciting.
He turned slowly towards Lucubro, a wide, cruel grin beginning to replace the shocked frown. There was already blood on his front, a steadily-growing stain that threatened to permanently change the color of his white shirt. Indeed, turning towards his assailant only forced the weapon deeper, displacing precious life to make room. It was a chilling sight. It must have been very painful.
The Catcher didn't care.
If any pain was felt it was being ignored by some unearthly willpower, and truth be told the original source of his discomfort had vanished. Rage must have stopped, perhaps also in shock at Lucubro's attack. The large man's attention was focused fully on the alien and he spoke as he began to walk close, throat undulating with every syllable, leaking more and more dark red that was steadily turning black.
"You wens te desafia un Kērējs? You wens te vera gras?" His tone was smug, condescending, laughing, and he let out a gruff, unsettling chuckle to go with it. Raising a hand he made a come-here motion at Lucubro, crossing his tan arms over his soaked shirt. He did not appear very impressed, nor did he seem to be expecting much.
(What he said: "You wish to challenge a Catcher? You wish to be bold?")
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Post by TrueBlue© on Aug 28, 2009 12:04:10 GMT -5
(That's what she said.)
When a humanoid creature, be they white or blue or black, is brutally stabbed through their back, that creature is sure to die. Sure to die are they also when their spine is broken, and when their throat is cut, and when they are strangled. All of these things are sure to kill any mortal beast.
And so Lucubro was stricken with the religious fear ingrained in him, shocked by the Catcher's immortality. No, he'd rather not be brave. His teammate was behind him, though, her eyes shut tight and her thin fingers pinching her nose, bravely rearranging the broken bone.
The witch stepped forward, then, his dark lips curling back over his white fangs. "I will devour your flesh, big man," he trilled in a guttural ritual, his shoulders hunched and his elbows back, his scarred hands tensed like claws. "I will consume your marrow in a broth of your dark blood."
Lucubro was never very good at banter, but the barbed wire around the Catcher's neck thickened, and squeezed him on it's own, growing until it's diameter was half the length of his neck, an enormous black snake. Its huge head glided from the coils, black mouth agape, and it struck at the Catcher's face.
The witch vanished in the dimness, but his presence was made known when the Catcher could feel pressure on his sides and an insignificant weight on his back. Invisible fingers were clawing at his face, clawing for his eyes.
(I hope that is not too autoy. D8)
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Post by Kagetsuki on Sept 15, 2009 3:00:59 GMT -5
(Happy Teensy Bit Belated Birthday, True! Even though I already told you earlier. Anyway, in this post I assume the snake is still ACTUALLY just barbed wire, because I forgot what you'd told me in our conversation on the subject. Sorry if it's wrong! Also, it's up to you whether the Catcher gets Lucubro or not. I have a response either way.) The Catcher managed, just barely, to catch the 'snake' before it really dug into his face, its fangs cutting open, to be sure, but not digging in. He pulled it away even as its now-hidden barbs dug into his palm, black blood spilling down its length and dripping to the floor, then endeavored to pull it apart, ignoring any pain that came with the action. Pain was stupid, simple; to pay attention to it was to give in to the insistent nagging of a small child--in other words, pointless. Then--of course, how could he have expected any less?--he felt the weight on his back and the invisible clawing, that only inciting a flare of irritated rage. Dropping the black 'snake' he attempted to grab at the hands on his face and to break them, his grip crushing, unforgiving. Failing that, or even succeeding, he began to flail like a bull to get Lucubro off of him, a sight that might have struck many as humorous if not for the fact that the Catcher himself also saw it as such, laughing gruffly, wildly. That made it far more frightening. There was blood staining his front, blood staining his back, blood on his face...but he thought it was funny. And all the while, the downed slave was dying. Was probably already dead, judging by the lack of terrified whimpers coming from his direction. Damein was still digging through the belongings of the dead man he'd walked into the room with, pulling out little bag after little bag of what was probably drugs and utterly lost to the fight that was taking place. Why pay attention to something so unpleasant, after all, when there was something so euphoric and wonderful in front of his face? Minus the bullet wound in the body's head, of course. This was an opportunity he'd never had before and he was frantically taking advantage of it-- sure the man whose body he was pilfering had been his friend, but he would have liked to think, should he had been given a chance to write a will, that some of his treasure trove, at least, would have been entrusted to him. Come to think of it, this was even better than a will. Something like that would have made it all half price, not free.
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Post by Ninmast on Sept 15, 2009 12:45:50 GMT -5
Meanwhile, the odd girl with the green hair just watched the battle rage for a bit, then when the druggie began rifling through the dead man's pockets, she turned to him, watching, observing, studying, but silent, completely silent as that stone about her neck glowed sickly green in the darkness.
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Post by TrueBlue© on Sept 15, 2009 14:05:57 GMT -5
(Yah, no mas barbs, but it's better that it does has barbs b-cuz he is bleedings? So is good.[/English?] And thank you again! ^_^ Ride 'em, cowboy! ) The barbed snake stretched in the Catcher's hands like putty, never snapping, pulling away in his fingers like black bubblegum. He threw it down, and the coils drooped over his bloody gut like mardi gras breads. Lucubro deserved some credit, at least, as the Catcher reached up and crushed every delicate bone in his scarred hands. Combined, the witch believed, there were about forty such bones. His white fangs flashed, and he bit clean through his own lower lip, but he did not cry out. Admittedly, he had never tried breaking his hands before; It just hadn't occurred to him. The pain traveled and hurt in his elbows and his shoulders, and centered in his burning lungs, for he'd been holding his breath, and then the Catcher started bucking like some crazed demon minotaur beast. " Moggosa de tin erla!" He shrieked, frozen and in so much motion at the same time. " Ti plori du hellah! Rush! HELLAH! God, SOMEBODY!" His hollering was only an echo to the Catcher's raucous guffawing. Lucubro might have laughed, too—Hell, he would probably be laughing as soon as he was off this horrible man—but his hands had just been broken, and he was probably going to die if he didn't hang on.
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