How to save a life - Printable Version +- 'Souls IPB Archive (November 2007–October 2012) (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb) +-- Forum: Dead IC (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=110) +--- Forum: Dead Topics (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=21) +--- Thread: How to save a life (/showthread.php?tid=10378) |
- Alaine Winters - 04-10-2010 [html] table © Alaine ooc: title is from a song by the fray. was listening to it just now XD sorry for the monster post. 500+
Speak think walk
[/html] - Jefferson Soul - 04-12-2010 [html] Good thing I went looking for this thread, else I would have forgotten you started one. XD He had been back in Phoenix Valley not long before the brute was once again struck with a case of wanderlust. If he could remember nothing else of his childhood, Jefferson was aware that he'd definitely been one for traveling in his youth, long distances or short, and it was an ironic shame that with the loss of his foreleg due to that bitch of a mother bear he lost full capability to walk with comfort. Perhaps it was all for the better good, however; Jefferson's duties as a leader held him tight within the confines of his pack most of the time, and what little free time he got he did not wander too far away. The temptation of four strong, capable legs might have been too much for him, but with the removal of one of them and the intermittent sharp, tight pains that slipped through his muscles, the cyclops was more restricted to the lands where he lived. He had gotten away, however, two-legged and moving despite the rain. It had never really bothered him, though pains in his bad arm seemed to be able to predict oncoming storms and the like. For whatever reason, that ache hadn't daunted him and Jefferson had left anyway as if the knowledge he learned about AniWaya had struck him with the need to learn more about the surrounding world. Perhaps it was Maluki shining through, perhaps it wasn't. Jefferson was not the creature he used to be. The rain became progressively worse, however, and in a village of some sort he found it necessary to slow down and take shelter. The ache in his arm was horrendous, and as he moved along he noticed another soaked but delicate-looking figure in the rain, peering helplessly into an open door. Originally he'd planned to pass straight by her, but his tattered ears picked up her question from the street. What a strange, silly girl. Jefferson stepped behind her soundlessly, his brute voice sudden and booming compared to the patter of the rain. "You know, the humans died out years ago," the cyclops said, typical frown on his wet, soggy face. That door was open, however, and its roof would stop the rain. It would suffice, if she moved. .airplanes b {font-weight:bold; color:#827165; letter-spacing:1px;} .ooctext {font-style:italic; color:#95A0A9; padding:0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-align: right;} .airplanes p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 10px; margin:0px;} .airplanes {margin:0 auto; width:399px; background-color:#EBF1F6; background-image:url(http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g210/ ... etable.png); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #49361E; padding: 0px 0px 110px 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#95A0A9; line-height:12px; letter-spacing:.5px; text-align:justify;} </style>[/html] - Alaine Winters - 04-24-2010 [html] table © Alaine ooc: blargh, sorry for the lateness! been a crazy few weeks :<
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[/html] - Jefferson Soul - 05-03-2010 [html] Yikes, me too! He was used to open-mouth gapes and stares from strangers. He could understand their reactions; he probably would have done the same, had he not been so mellowed out by the things he'd seen and done. Jefferson was quite a sight to behold, really, and he was aware of it--the idiot was littered with scars of varying lengths and depths, and he only had one working eye and one fully functioning arm. Jefferson was on the tall side on top of it all, and he didn't exactly go out of his way to smile and seem social or friendly. No, he was just an ass, in both appearance and manner. He was okay with that. But the reaction she got from this girl was a bit beyond his expectations. She turned and cowered from him like a cornered rabbit, but relaxed somewhat at his words. Jefferson hadn't asked to look the way he did--it was punishment for his crimes, regardless of whether he remembered them or was now, as a different person, still responsible for them. The Patriarch harrumphed and tipped his nose to her, a smile not quite reaching his face, but mild amusement somewhere beneath the surface. It was funny, even if he didn't laugh. "Smelled what? Humans?" If that was the case, he highly doubted it was possible. Jefferson's body stiffened quickly; if a threat of some kind lurked within, she would run away with her tail between her legs if she was lucky enough to escape the enemy. He stepped forward thus, a hand on her shoulder as he brushed past, and moved into the center of the room. Senses keen and snout tipped to the air, he detected nothing but the washing scent of rain. Slowly, he turned to glance his glowing green rune over his shoulder. "...There's nothing in here. You might've seen a rat." .airplanes b {font-weight:bold; color:#827165; letter-spacing:1px;} .ooctext {font-style:italic; color:#95A0A9; padding:0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-align: right;} .airplanes p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 10px; margin:0px;} .airplanes {margin:0 auto; width:399px; background-color:#EBF1F6; background-image:url(http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g210/ ... etable.png); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #49361E; padding: 0px 0px 110px 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#95A0A9; line-height:12px; letter-spacing:.5px; text-align:justify;} </style>[/html] - Alaine Winters - 05-08-2010 [html] table © Alaine ooc: i think being busy is contageous
Speak think walk
[/html] - Jefferson Soul - 05-17-2010 [html] She seemed rather small and fragile, easily jumped by his towering form. He was probably twice her size, after all, and the number of scars (doubled with his unhumored demeanor) didn't help to lower the intimidation factor. None of it was on purpose, however; he didn't choose to be the way he looked, but he chose to exist alongside it. She admitted that humans were not present, but without her agreement that it was only rats, Jefferson was left to wonder. What was it she'd seen or heard? Was it that overwhelming and unreal to freeze her in her steps, struck with curiosity? Clearly it didn't have the same effect on the scarred man. "What, then? Ghosts?" A smirk, hidden from her eyes. He had started to pick up the irregular smell, however, not long before she began to speak of it. The girl brushed past him, his form stiff and unmoving, The stench was nothing pleasant nor familiar, yet did not set off any alarms in the cyclops' head. Jefferson had little experience with dead things, experienced only in being that who brought it. He breathed that terrible smell deep into his lungs without the slightest tinge in his features, flicked his ears, and shrugged. "Dead, molding rats," he muttered, scratching at his ass. "Take a look around, if you're so worried." He didn't say it aloud, but if danger were indeed present, she could consider him a worthy ally and guardian if the need arose. Green eye observed her careless action and sneeze; he chuckled a little and rose a brow, entertained by her antics. What was she trying to accomplish? He sensed no danger there. "Didn't say I was right or wrong," the brute admitted, green eye wandering. "Jefferson, Phoenix Valley. A bit far for girls to be wandering by themselves, don't you think?" She certainly didn't look like she'd be skilled enough to protect herself in the chance of danger, but he chose not to admit that aloud. The smirk still set on his scarred features made evidence of his sarcasm; he was not sexist. He crossed the creaking floorboards to peer into an adjoining room. Only dust seemed to occupy it, and nothing more of interest. "Looks like this place'll fall apart any minute. Might be rotting wood you're smelling." .airplanes b {font-weight:bold; color:#827165; letter-spacing:1px;} .ooctext {font-style:italic; color:#95A0A9; padding:0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-align: right;} .airplanes p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 10px; margin:0px;} .airplanes {margin:0 auto; width:399px; background-color:#EBF1F6; background-image:url(http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g210/ ... etable.png); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #49361E; padding: 0px 0px 110px 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#95A0A9; line-height:12px; letter-spacing:.5px; text-align:justify;} </style>[/html] - Alaine Winters - 05-28-2010 [html] table © Alaine ooc: late post :I
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[/html] - Jefferson Soul - 06-11-2010 [html] Suspicious characters like he? He had to laugh; the hearty, brief burst came from the depths of his chest and were stifled quickly. His green eye glittered with amusement and a smirk crossed his scarred and torn features. Even with that leak of delight—something he released all too little, but had no regrets hiding—he was still a terrifying thing to those who didn't know better. Jefferson could have said he fought a thousand wars and the ignorant would have believed him, biased due to his appearance. "Suspicious characters aren't 'misters,'" he muttered, amusement lingering in his voice. "Jefferson, just Jefferson, and I go where I want." That was basically it. It wasn't often he was queried on his arm or what exactly caused the countless cuts and bruises on his body. Many simply observed in a funny, stunned silence; others chose to ignore it or look past it, believing questions might bring up sore memories or release a breaking point in the unpredictable Patriarch that would unleash some inner fury many strangely thought he had. "Bear," he said, now devoid of prior amusement. Green eye wandered as he stepped about, nose itching from dust in the air. "Cubs thought it was funny to try playing with me; their mother, not so much." The limp, the eternal sting in his leg, the ache accompanying oncoming rainclouds—it was not his fault, much unlike the rest of his scars. The loss of his eye, as well as the fights and attacks that resulted in the majority of his torn skin and fur, he had no recollection of whatsoever. "Don't fuck with them," he grumbled finally, sour. .airplanes b {font-weight:bold; color:#827165; letter-spacing:1px;} .ooctext {font-style:italic; color:#95A0A9; padding:0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-align: right;} .airplanes p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 10px; margin:0px;} .airplanes {margin:0 auto; width:399px; background-color:#EBF1F6; background-image:url(http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g210/ ... etable.png); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #49361E; padding: 0px 0px 110px 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#95A0A9; line-height:12px; letter-spacing:.5px; text-align:justify;} </style>[/html] - Alaine Winters - 07-03-2010 [html] table © Alaine ooc: Well, I suck :V
Speak think walk
[/html] - Jefferson Soul - 07-08-2010 [html] Had she not understood? Jefferson turned his green eye on her slowly, a cutting knife in his one-eyed gaze; did she find his handicap humorous, perhaps, that she sided with the goddamned bear and her goddamned rats for children? The cyclops hardly appreciated it at all, a burning fire sparking in his stomach, but he recognized the girl meant no real harm by the foolish comment. He swallowed a lump in his throat that correspondingly swallowed a shout dying to be released. "They decided to play with me, madam," he said, tone gravelly as his chest burnt and boiled. "I stood still. They bit at my ears and crawled on me, and then their mother decided to do worse." He thinned his eye, a thousand more accusations running through his mind, but instead silenced himself by turning his pointed gaze elsewhere. Jefferson came to realize that he had never asked for nor accepted help when it came to his injuries, especially his wounded arm. The scars there were permanent; the bear had tore his flesh and left him that way, and Jefferson had never sought to fix the pain that shot through when the limb was used. "Nothing," he grunted. "Nobody's done anything to this arm." He made no comment on the pain that plagued him there, but instead turned the sling away from her, as if in defense. .burningout b {font-weight:bold; color:#50473c; letter-spacing:1px;} .burningoutooctext {font-style:italic; color:#50473c; padding:0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-align: right;} .burningout p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 10px; margin:0px;} .burningout {margin:0 auto; width:332px; background-color:#DCD7D1; background-image:url(http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g210/ ... falone.png); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #807261; padding: 0px 0px 140px 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#8a7b69; line-height:12px; letter-spacing:.5px; text-align:justify;} </style>[/html] - Alaine Winters - 07-08-2010 [html] table © Alaine ooc:
Speak think walk
[/html] - Jefferson Soul - 07-10-2010 [html] She offered to help him even after he had already turned away. Jefferson turned his eye over his shoulder, analyzing the girl as if searching for hidden motives, as if he had reason to fear her like he would fear being secretly poisoned. The leg he limped on, the arm across his chest in its sling—it summarized him, in a way, and had always been present at each and every meeting he had ever made. None had offered to help him before; it came across as a shock that someone had any desire to. He was a sinner, after all, and did not try to hide the fact. Perhaps the rest of the world agreed with it and let him be with his scars and pain, but this curly-haired stranger was... different. He thinned his eye at her, searching for reasons against it. The handicap was too old, now; it was very unlikely there was any remedy to rid him of the permanent pain, but he had no reason to argue against trying. The arm was delicate, however, and the touch of it sometimes brought him to hissing. He knew barely anything about Alaine, who cowered like a rabbit at his every word, and yet he found himself pulled to entrust her somehow. Jefferson turned, his scars scowling, and slowly pulled his arm from its sling. It hung rather limply at his side, all strength seeped from his muscles as always. The cyclops cast his cold gaze on her just long enough to silently give permission, and then it sank shamefully to the ground. .burningout b {font-weight:bold; color:#50473c; letter-spacing:1px;} .burningoutooctext {font-style:italic; color:#50473c; padding:0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-align: right;} .burningout p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 10px; margin:0px;} .burningout {margin:0 auto; width:332px; background-color:#DCD7D1; background-image:url(http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g210/ ... falone.png); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #807261; padding: 0px 0px 140px 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#8a7b69; line-height:12px; letter-spacing:.5px; text-align:justify;} </style>[/html] - Alaine Winters - 07-17-2010 [html] table © Alaine ooc: slight pp. i'll change it if neccessary.
Speak think walk
[/html] - Jefferson Soul - 07-26-2010 [html] Why had he allowed her so willingly? Jefferson dipped his head, his eyes to the creaking floorboards and considered it during her continued hesitance; he had met hundreds in his time as a leader, let alone his time as a member of a pack, yet so few had ever expressed interest in his scars and wounds. They had all gaped at the sight of him, as they always would, but so few had questioned what demons he had been plagued with that allowed him to live, a monster in and of himself. And yet he knew that if they asked he would blame it on fights and bears for their ears, but in his mind the blame lay on himself for the sins he had committed, a bodily retribution for the many lives he'd taken or traumatized forever. No amount of scars, no level of ungodly pain in a useless limb could give them back their lives. Finally she reached for the tender skin and scars on his arm; the touch there was foreign and the useless muscles within jerked instinctively, but relaxed them quickly and allowed her to satisfy her curiosities. Not many had dared to ask, let alone touch, that scarred arm that seemed to now define him as a tamed ex-killer, now unable to fight in the ways he once had so brutishly. The scars of his face frowned, but at her touch his green eye eventually wandered back, shadowed, morose, listless. No words came to him, and no words came to her, and just as quickly as she reached for his wounds, she withdrew her hands and backed away. A horror lingered in her eyes that went unsaid, though he chose to read them as he assumed them to be: His arm, his useless scars, were beyond earthly medicine. He had known it all along, and yet Jefferson had allowed her to touch him and inspect. Why? Why had he chosen to hope, even so briefly, that perhaps there was still a chance he would be able to run again, to move without jerking limps and trips? "I should go," he said finally, his voice grim. A shame lingered within it, but the sound was devoid of anger or resentment. She had done nothing to him, fixed nothing of his pain with her medicine, but he harbored no regret. The rain outside had quieted, diminished now to a slight drizzling mist, and Jefferson sauntered stiffly for the door, his shoulders hanging even as he assisted his arm back into its damp sling. .burningout b {font-weight:bold; color:#50473c; letter-spacing:1px;} .burningoutooctext {font-style:italic; color:#50473c; padding:0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-align: right;} .burningout p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 10px; margin:0px;} .burningout {margin:0 auto; width:332px; background-color:#DCD7D1; background-image:url(http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g210/ ... falone.png); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #807261; padding: 0px 0px 140px 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#8a7b69; line-height:12px; letter-spacing:.5px; text-align:justify;} </style>[/html] - Alaine Winters - 07-30-2010 [html] table © Alaine ooc: can finish up here, if you want :3
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[/html] - Jefferson Soul - 08-01-2010 [html] Okay, closing this, and we gonna start a new one! The second he turned, a flurry of thoughts crowded his mind and blinded his gaze. It was unusual that he had allowed her so close, a complete stranger from a differing clan. Had he trusted her, perhaps, because she smelled so strongly of Cour des Miracles? Had he been subconsciously hopeful that somehow, anyhow, she had a connection to the son who hated him? Had she held conversations with Heath, known him as he grew older, befriended him? Had she, did she, know him as a honest creature and not the hateful, unforgiving being that refused to let his father learn anything else? Perhaps it was the gentleness she possessed, the innocence in her eyes, as if she had never known trauma and pain like he, as if she did not know the stain of killing and murder, of blood between fingers. She was delicate like a flower, beautiful, untouched. He was certain this was wrong, in the end—no soul in these lands didn't have a history of pain—but he envied the innocence she projected, for he projected none of it and never had. Her voice cut through his thoughts, breaking the room back to silence like shattered glass. He peered wearily over his shoulder, green eye thinned, and turned only when she extended a handful of herbs at his chest. Medicine? No one had ever offered him such a thing; strangers only offered more and more questions, gaping stares, but never offers of assistance. He didn't want it, and yet he found himself baffled by the friendly extension. The girl barely knew him, and yet she offered her advice selflessly, even if he might not have taken it. Jefferson's stomach lurched. He spoke nothing of the sensation, of the sickly feeling, but raised scarred fingers to delicately pluck the leaves from her palms. He held them to his eye, scowling briefly at their stripes, before delicately tucking them into the chest pocket of his flannel. A pause. "Thank you," he said finally, an unheard of appreciation in his tone. He allowed his eye to glance at her once more and nodded, a slight smile cracking at his scars. "Say hello to Heath," he said quietly, then stopped himself and redirected his words. "N-Not from me, but... just say hello." And before she could ask, he brushed through the door and was gone. .burningout b {font-weight:bold; color:#50473c; letter-spacing:1px;} .burningoutooctext {font-style:italic; color:#50473c; padding:0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:9px; text-align: right;} .burningout p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 10px; margin:0px;} .burningout {margin:0 auto; width:332px; background-color:#DCD7D1; background-image:url(http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g210/ ... falone.png); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #807261; padding: 0px 0px 140px 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size:12px; color:#8a7b69; line-height:12px; letter-spacing:.5px; text-align:justify;} </style>[/html] |