I'm not saying I'm one for violence - 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: I'm not saying I'm one for violence (/showthread.php?tid=29220) |
||||||||
- Max Klein - 07-05-2012 [html]<style>#sieLoc td {vertical-align:top; text-align:center; padding:3px; font-size:11px; } #sieLoc td.header { font-size:15px; } #sieLoc #location{background-image:url('http://www.soulsrpg.com/images/BSMapPixels_subterr.jpg'); width:100px;height:100px;border:1px solid #000000;background-position:58% 36%;} #sieLoc #pushpin{position:relative;left:45px;top:45px;}</style>
(450) Max is sulking and has been MIA for about two weeks, lololol. Don't mind his angst. It had been exactly two weeks and the anger in his chest had finally settled to a dull roar. Ezekiel is gone, Myrika had said. He’s left. His perception of the world had shattered with her voice and he had tripped over himself running back to the caves. He had gone through Ezekiel’s home and looked for something--anything--to explain why he had gone. There was nothing. In a fury, he had torn apart the place. He had cut his hand pretty badly and the pad ached sorely, but he wouldn’t see a medic. Not that he could, he had thought bitterly. Enkiel was gone too. Why had Zeke taken him and not Max? Why hadn’t he even said goodbye? So for two weeks, Max wallowed in despair. He rode his horse hard and looked for fights, even when there were no threats to be found. New scars came to join the large one on his side. The freshest of these was a gaping cut above his eye, just to the right of it, where a dagger had cut nearly to the bone. It had been a stupid fight and he didn’t remember much about it, but the wound was angry and deep and had bled for hours before he had finally gone to Rémy. The coy-dog had cursed him up and down, ranting on his funny way of speaking, and stitched him up as best he could able. After being swatted around and called several hundred names, Max had been told to earn his keep and help feed the clan. That was why, with fresh stitches on his head, Max was sulking and trailing after the older coy-dog. They were on foot and in the forest behind the Mansion, and Max’s angry gaze was locked on the patch of black that formed an amorphous shape along Rémy’s shoulders. The crossbow was slung over his back and a quiver hung from his hip. Rémy had his stick and a large leather sack, but they were far from proper hunting grounds and as such, the endless drawl was trailing back from his companion. “…I jes sayin’, Maxie, t’ain’t nuttin’ personal, but you ain’t doin’ no good t’anyone actin’ like a cat wit its tail stuck in a door.” Max said nothing, but a low growl reverberated through his chest. Rémy shook his head and waved a free hand in a loose motion, as if he was batting a fly. “Oooh I’m real a'scared,” he chided. “Maybe we go use you as bait n’see if we can fine us some-tin’ that likes t’eat pourri.” The white dog considered loosening an arrow right into the Cajun’s back, but thought better of it. #maxpose { font-family:'georgia', tahoma, geneva, sans-serif; font-size:12px; width:95%; margin:0px auto; line-height:18px; } #maxpose p { text-indent:50px; padding:0; margin:10px 0; } #maxpose p.maxImage { text-align:center; text-indent:0; font-size:11px; font-style:italic; float:right; margin:5px; } #maxpose .txtooc { text-align:left; font-size:11px; font-family:georgia, serif text-transform:none; font-style:italic; line-height:16px; font-weight:normal; } #maxpose .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;} #maxpose b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; } #maxpose u { text-decoration: underline; } #maxpose b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; } </style>[/html] - Sparrow - 07-11-2012 [html] (375) I hope you don't mind a sociable Sparrow![/html] - Max Klein - 07-15-2012 [html] (335) Yaaaaay Despite his adolescent fury, even Max had to admit that Rémy had a set of skills well suited for the clan. It explained why Ezekiel had picked him up out in a blizzard or whatever it had been. Rémy was a man made for tracking; his skills in it were remarkable, enough so that he picked up on signs even a well-versed hunter might miss. He was talented with spices and stave combat, and Max had seen him hit a bird with a throwing knife. The coydog was in fact carrying all of these things—he held the stick so that it rested along the back end of his upper arm, a stance that looked relaxed. Training told Max otherwise. Woe to those who underestimated the length of oak or the black-mouthed dog that carried it. He nearly ran into Rémy as the older man turned, ears high, and Max frowned and followed his gaze. The sour expression on his face shifted (but only slightly) at Sparrow’s arrival, though he didn’t return her greeting with anything more than a low grunt. His companion, on the other hand, was smiling toothily and already making a fuss about the matter. “Oh cher, what a wonderful surprise! I thought I was gonna be stuck with dis here tahyo all by my lonesome. Allons!” he called, and gestured for them both. “Tree always betta fo’ huntin’, we gonna round us up sometin'.” He eased back into the lead, long legs giving him a fair stride to—as Max suspected—put some distance between himself and the other two. The white coydog grunted again and looked over at Sparrow. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want,” he offered, and lifted one hand to gingerly brush his hair away from his fresh stitches. It was a subconscious gesture; up until now he had all but forgotten about them, but being around someone else—especially a girl—made him all too aware of how banged up he must have looked. #maxpose { font-family:'georgia', tahoma, geneva, sans-serif; font-size:12px; width:95%; margin:0px auto; line-height:18px; } #maxpose p { text-indent:50px; padding:0; margin:10px 0; } #maxpose p.maxImage { text-align:center; text-indent:0; font-size:11px; font-style:italic; float:right; margin:5px; } #maxpose .txtooc { text-align:left; font-size:11px; font-family:georgia, serif text-transform:none; font-style:italic; line-height:16px; font-weight:normal; } #maxpose .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;} #maxpose b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; } #maxpose u { text-decoration: underline; } #maxpose b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; } </style>[/html] - Sparrow - 07-15-2012 [html] :3 ~~[/html] - Max Klein - 07-19-2012 [html]
As his companion’s back became further distanced and his ramblings quieted, Max tell into step with Sparrow. He was comfortable around her, as apparent in his loose-limbed walk, but even that did not change the sour expression on his face. He frowned at her question, looked at his feet, and was incredibly sorry he had not thought about the consequences of coming home bruised and bloodied (though he had no blood on him presently, of course). He wanted to tell her he had been angry, and taken out his troubles on strangers. He wanted to boast about some border attack where he fought off five or six wolves, but the lie would not come. Instead he shrugged, jostling the crossbow so that it brushed against the tips of his arrows. “I’m fine,” he lied. His voice remained even and careful; controlled. “Just got into a scrap with a wolf. A big one. With a knife,” he added, hoping this might make the story sound more reasonable. “You should see him,” he added, and offered a crooked smirk. It fell short of his eyes, which were still hollow and sad. #maxpose { font-family:'georgia', tahoma, geneva, sans-serif; font-size:12px; width:95%; margin:0px auto; line-height:18px; } #maxpose p { text-indent:50px; padding:0; margin:10px 0; } #maxpose p.maxImage { text-align:center; text-indent:0; font-size:11px; font-style:italic; float:right; margin:5px; } #maxpose .txtooc { text-align:left; font-size:11px; font-family:georgia, serif text-transform:none; font-style:italic; line-height:16px; font-weight:normal; } #maxpose .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;} #maxpose b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; } #maxpose u { text-decoration: underline; } #maxpose b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; } </style>[/html] - Sparrow - 07-27-2012 [html] short post, but they are always the best, no? |