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dotskip317 · 12 years

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John Baker

Name: John Baker

Age: 14

Height: 5'2"

Weight: 132 lbs

Hair color and style: Brown, fairly short, unstyled.

Eye color: Blue

Complexion and skin tone: He is white. The middle-European mixture of infinite countries white that defines most americans. He freckles when exposed to the sun but it's not nearly as prevalent or permanent as Jones'.

Character's body build: Super average. Not buff, not skinny, not fat.

Identifying marks: NONE.

Facial features: Has a rather impressive nose and thick eyebrows that are the same brown as his hair. He has a nice smile, but he doesn't use it often.

Hand features: None of note.

Mannerisms or gestures: Very stiff and proper in all his actions, but loosens up slowly once Tav and Jones start to get to him. Doesn't use contractions while speaking and emphasizes. Each. Word. When. He. Is. Upset.

Strongest personality traits: Conviction. When he believes something he stands behind it and remains unshakable. This is to the point of ignoring valid arguments from opposing viewpoints and refusing to admit when he's wrong. It also applies to people, which makes him a loyal friend and a great person to have on your side in a fight.

Weakest personality traits: Crippling insecurity when introduced into situations where powers are expected, manifesting as spite and rudeness.

Needs of the character: To extract himself from the whole superpowers scene. All he wants is to be around people like himself who aren't expected to fly or shoot lasers from their eyes or turn milk into cheese by looking at it. This would be easy, but since his parents are heroes he's automatically shoehorned into the "super" category.

Ambitions: Wants to be a programmer, and is pretty good at it. He designs video games and hacking programs in his spare time.

Father's name: James Baker "Dynamight"

Age: 38

Physical appearance: Strong-jawed and the picture of stereotypical superhuman justice. He has John's impressive nose. Can turn any kinetic energy that is applied to him into an equal amount of strength.

Mother's name: Julia Baker "Flashbang"

Age: 38

Physical appearance: Curvy and deadly gorgeous, with long, wavy brown hair and soft features. Can emit loud, concussive sound accompanied by sudden, blindingly bright light that renders everyone else temporarily blind and deaf.

Sibling's names and descriptions: Jessica "Jesse" Baker, 12, has her mother's bubbly personality and natural roundness of figure as well as her button nose, but her father's spiky gold-blonde hair. Shows no outside signs of power and looks up to her big brother like he hung the sky.

Favorite sayings:

Interests and hobbies: Loves computers and computer games and would almost rather be picking apart a game's coding than actually playing it. He regularly kicks Jones and Tav's butts in any game they play, which is is small revenge for the intense physical activities they make a point of including him in.

Favorite foods: The cheap fast food junk his parents won't let him eat, and his little sister's cookies.

Favorite colors: Soft grey and green.

Pets: There's his sister's cat, who he hates, and the one kitten from its first litter they got to keep, who he pretends to hate.

Education: Just starting at JEMSIS but already passing computer courses at the community college.

Religion: Justice. [Their family celebrates Christmas so he assumes one or both of his parents are Christian, but they never talk about it and there's no other indication so he's not entirely sure.]

Financial situation: Comfortable middle-class, SES-wise. They're purposely average, to perpetuate their secret identities.

Future plans: Anything to get out of the hero business. Wants to graduate high school as soon as possible and go to college far, far away. Maybe make video games or work for Oogle [Because that is as close to stealing Google as I am willing to venture].

Possessions this character values most: His computer, hands-down.

What drives your character: Strives to be the best, to find a place in a world and setting that is clearly not designed to let him excel.

How does your character handle conflict: Angrily. Has a tendency to Nerd Rage and defend his position despite contradictory evidence and lack of support by popular opinion or reality.

What is standing in your character's way: As a non-powered freshman at a high school for super powered teenagers, everything from his parents' legacy to the social hierarchy to his own stubbornness and refusal to adapt his stance on even the simplest of subjects.

What is their favorite room and why: The room with the most a) computers or b) non-powered individuals.

What vehicle do they drive: Can't drive yet, but when they get old enough probably something crappy and embarrassing.

Favorite sport(s): Is actually decent at soccer. He goes out for the team under his dad's urging and makes it without much trouble, but it's unclear how much this is due to his ability and how much is because half the people who tried out were dismissed due to having power advantages on the field.

What are your character's prejudices: Tends to think that the more "powerful" a person's given powers are the less intelligent they will be. Not a fan of superheroes in general, but completely disregards the merit of everything said or done by those with villainous leanings. As such he and Tav clash constantly.

How does your character feel about love: He's fourteen. He thinks love is for old people and stupid teenagers who wouldn't know a real relationship if it bit them on the ass.

About crime: Hates crime, not criminals, and is more likely to sympathize with the non-powered criminal than the superhero who captured them in any given scenario.

What is their neighborhood like: Suburbia. Intentionally boring.

What is your character's philosophy on life: He's fourteen. It involves finding ways to do the rings you love and avoiding getting caught staring at girls.

What is your character's family life like: He gets along better with his mom than his dad but both of them are supportive of him and his interests while trying to be good parents. He thinks his parents are secretly disappointed that he doesn't have powers and is reclusive and edgy around them, but he's terrified of being a letdown and pushed himself twice as hard at things he knows they're proud of him for, which is why he's still on the soccer team. He and his sister get along fairly well, and although he pretends to be annoyed by her like he's "supposed to be" he cares for her as she does for him and they have stuck together all their lives while living in a primarily power-dominated subculture. Jesse is starting to show powers but is determined to keep them bottled up and secret from everyone, including her parents and brother, afraid of losing her closeness with John if he finds out that she's just another "one of those".

Additional Stuff:

"It is the most advanced RPG they have released yet, and it is two years old. Whatever they come out with next is going to be wicked." "It's dumb."

"Because it is stupid or because you cannot play it?"

"Both."

Locks himself in his room for days on end when he doesn't have school, drowning himself in data streams and coding, and generally only comes out when he has to go to school or Jesse bribes him with unhealthy food.

Continually put down and discredited because he doesn't have powers, which is what draws Jones and Tav to him in the first place.

Assumes neither of them have powers at first and is a little reluctant to continue being friends with them once he finds out until he realizes that they're just as ostracized as he is.

For a little while considers going to the "Medicine Man" [man who claims to be able to give people powers] so he won't be so left out of every aspect of his life, but decides he would rather just be his regular non-powered self and wait out high school until he can rejoin the "real world" where not everyone can do superhuman things.

#John Baker #fact sheet #character studies

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dotskip317 · 12 years

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Octavian Torres

Name: Octavian Torres, "Tav"

Age: 15

Height: 5'4" (Or he would be, if he had his legs and wasn't in the chair.)

Weight: 110 lbs (Again, hard to calculate with missing body parts.)

Hair color and style: Very dark brown and wavy, kind of long and always pushed back from his face in a sort of windswept way from going too fast.

Eye color: Light brown.

Complexion and skin tone: Deep tan skin (4 on Fitzpatrick scale) that doesn't freckle and stays fairly clear.

Character's body build: Exceptionally strong upper body and arms, but it doesn't show very well.

Identifying marks: ...

Facial features: Rounded jawline and low bridged nose

Hand features: Super muscular and very calloused. He wears a pair of fingerless gloves all the time.

Mannerisms or gestures: Speaks quickly and brusquely and does not take kindly to being interrupted. Generally tries to hide his [South California] accent, especially because he's one of the only ones of his siblings who still has it, but slips back into Spanish when angered.

Strongest personality traits: Extremely motivated in everything he does, determined to excel in spite of his wheelchair-ridden self and up for anything. Attached at the proverbial hip to Jones and quickly accepting of the shortcomings of others.

Weakest personality traits: Easily angered by bullies and those who look down on him and his friends, continually frustrated and likely to lash out when his chair keeps him from participating in something.

Needs of the character: He wants terribly to be noticed and treated as an equal and an individual, not as a cripple or a part of a familial set, and Jones was one of the first people to see him this way.

Ambitions: Wants to be superhero like his older siblings but is continually overshadowed by both their success and his parents' villainous past. In the meantime he wants to be noticed for something other than the fact that he is in a wheelchair, leading him to pull larger and crazier stunts with Jones' help.

Father's name: Ricardo Torres

Age: 60

Physical appearance: Luis Guzman, with a very impressive mustache.

Mother's name: Cala Torres

Age: 58

Physical appearance: Tall and svelte, with black hair, lighter skin than her husband, and slightly Greek facial features (a little like Sofia Milos).

Sibling's names and descriptions: In order of descending age; Hasana, sister, 28, rapid cell regeneration ["zombie powers"] - Thomas, brother, 28, invulnerability - Trey, brother, 26, flight/strength/being a dick - Delta, sister, 24, human calculator - Penthia, sister, 22, weather control - Sextus, brother, 18, none - Septimus, brother, 17, [lactokinesis] - [Octavian] - Nona, sister, 13, individual heightened senses - Decio, brother, 10, super speed - Elfter, sister, 10, chamelea - Xii, brother, 7, none/unknown

Favorite sayings:

Interests and hobbies: Extreme sports, do-it-yourself stunts and challenge courses. Plays a drum set Jones rigged so he could hit all the drums and often accompanies his grandiose mop-mike jam sessions.

Favorite foods: Well-made enchiladas

Favorite colors: Red and orange

Pets: None.

Education: Goes to JEMSIS with Sextus and Septimus and in the same grade as Jones.

Religion: Some kind of agnostic.

Financial situation: His parents are very well off through a combination of smart investing and ill-gotten gains. Their house is huge, as at one point all fourteen of them were living under the same roof, and has been modified with tube-like elevators that reach all levels of the building so Tav can get around in his chair. Tav kind of resents that his family has so much from doing evil when Jones and his dad have so little as a result of only ever doing the right thing.

Future plans: Wants desperately to be accepted into the Justice Elite or one of the lesser superhero organizations but keeps getting passed over for their training programs either because of the chair or his parents [or, more recently, because Decio's super speed will surpass his by the time he gets to Tav's current age and they're holding out for the "full model"].

Possessions this character values most: Doesn't really get attached to objects, but he still keeps the stuffed bull he had as a baby hidden in his room.

What drives your character: The need to stand out, to be a force to be reckoned with.

How does your character handle conflict: Head-on and with confidence, determined to resolve any issues and keep moving forward. He loves a challenge.

What is standing in your character's way: On a personal level, his temper. In a more general sense, the universe [me] just likes screwing with him.

What is their favorite room and why: Wherever Jones is. They act as stabilizing forces for one another.

What vehicle do they drive: None.

Favorite sport(s): Football, but not allowed to play because his powers apply to the necessary skill set [same as super strength, preternatural accuracy, immovability, or anything else that would give someone an unfair advantage] so he plays goalie for Jones in tech hockey.

What are your character's prejudices: Instantly dislikes the "in" crowd and anyone who sees him as a kid in a wheelchair first, to the point of refusing to speak to them after the initial mistake is made unless Jones can talk him out of the silent treatment.

How does your character feel about love: That it happens to everyone eventually, and that it will happen to him when someone finally realizes that he's not useless. He'd like to get married someday, and have fewer that twelve children.

About crime: Sees it as deplorable and unnecessary, but is often sidelined on the discussion because of his parents' profession.

What is their neighborhood like: Super posh gated community for super powered families. He kind of hates it.

What is your character's philosophy on life: Make something of yourself, or you were never really living in the first place.

What is your character's family life like: He is crowded and jammed and lumped in with his siblings by everyone but his parents, who see them as individuals and are doing their best to keep up with the interests and daily lives of the children still under their roof. He gets along okay with most of his older siblings, especially Sextus, and fairly well with his younger siblings. He has a one-sided rivalry with Decio [who is constantly trying to be faster than him and whose attempts at contention he mostly ignores] and Xii looks up to him the most out of all the older siblings he has to choose from. Xii was born after Tav lost his legs, so as far as Xii knows the chair is just a part of what he is and has never been questioned or thought of as strange.

Additional Stuff:

"Hey! My eyes are up here!"

Most people who don't know the details consider his speed to have been rendered moot by the loss of his legs, but he simply applies it to his arms instead and uses it to power his chair to speeds rivaling professional race cars.

He has trouble turning when going at particularly high speeds, so most of the tracks he and Jones lay out are fairly one-directional.

Lets Jones ride on the bar on the back of his chair occasionally, and the two have this form of jousting down to an art.

Not nearly as much of a dork as Jones, but can be roped into his antics with very little persuasion. He's lumped in on the same social tier as Jones by association, but it's one of the only proximity assumptions he doesn't mind.

He met Jones late in elementary school at the principle's office. Tav was in for purposely running over another kid's feet with his chair after being called a freak and Jones was waiting for his dad to come in for another conference about accidental misuse of corrosive liquids.

#Octavian Torres #fact sheet #character studies #Tav

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dotskip317 · 12 years

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Killigan Christie-Jones

Because character fact sheets make everything easier (more under cut).

Name: Killigan Christie-Jones, "Jones"

Age: 16

Height: 6'0"

Weight: 140 lbs

Hair color and style: Bright red, so much so that it looks unnatural - has to be cut fairly short, sticks up all over the place

Eye color: Grey

Complexion and skin tone: Pale and freckly

Character's body build: Boney and long-limbed, like he was assembled using coat hangers and pivot pins

Identifying marks: None to speak of,

Facial features: Long, thin nose and sharp chin. His mouth is too big for his face, as are his eyes, and has a group of tightly clustered freckles directly across the bridge of his nose. Perfect teeth and huge, goofy smile.

Hand features: His hands are huge and knuckle-y, but probably wouldn't look quite so silly if he wasn't so thin. He keeps his nails super short and his knuckles and fingertips are always pink from overexposure to industrial cleaners.

Mannerisms or gestures: Everything is large and flail-y, like he is unaware of exactly how huge his gestures are. He tends to look a little bit ridiculous when explaining things.

Strongest personality traits: Loyal to his friends and family and endlessly optimistic about everything else.

Weakest personality traits: Has an almost nonexistent bullshit-ometer, overly trusting and frankly kind of a pushover.

Needs of the character: While he can entertain himself fairly easily due to having an endless supply of distractions simply by existing, he craves personal interaction and more than anything wants the respect and companionship of other people his age.

Ambitions: Wants to be good at something. He's just not sure what that "something" is yet.

Father's name: Albemarle Christie, "Al"

Age: 38

Physical appearance: Same unruly hair (brown instead of red), freckles and pointed nose. More heavy-set and shorter but same overarching exuberance, tempered with experience and disappointment.

Mother's name: "Jones"

Age: ??

Physical appearance: No one knows, but apparently someone in her gene pool had red hair and was absurdly tall.

Sibling's names and descriptions: Only child.

Favorite sayings:

Interests and hobbies: Air guitar and singing, tagging along with Tav on his stunt missions, dancing in secret, teaching himself how to play everyday objects as musical instruments, exercising his mastery over the cleaning arts. He likes to read but can't concentrate on a single thing for extended periods of time so it takes him a while to get through things.

Favorite foods: Anything with large amounts of cheese.

Favorite colors: Blue

Pets: None [there was a fish at one point, but they don't talk about that]

Education: Currently enrolled at the Justice Elite Magnet School for Individual Specialization [JEMSIS] due to his telekinesis and his dad's aquakinesis.

Religion:

Financial situation: Al probably would have made it big as a superhero, but when Jones happened and he had to give it up he was left without a college degree and no real non-crime-fighting skills. He took a job as a janitor at the local high school and when the Justice Elite founded JEMSIS they brought him on as the head of their maintenance staff, partly out of pity and camaraderie and partly because he's really good at his job. Jones helps out when he can by busing tables at different restaurants around town. The two of them aren't particularly well off but they manage to get by.

Future plans: Jones wants to do something different every week and despite pressure from all sides to commit to a professional track he's determined to not decide until he's found something that he really loves.

Possessions this character values most: His mother left his dad with a single blue ribbon, which Jones now wears somewhere on his person at all times.

What drives your character: Complete exhilaration over nearly every situation he is presented with. He wants to learn everything and do everything and he is behind everything his friends decide to do 100%, even if it's a really bad idea.

How does your character handle conflict: From a technical standpoint very well, he enjoys the challenges and they present opportunities to set into motion his many rather unfeasible plans-of-action. He's not very good with personal conflict, preferring to ignore or avoid any potential interpersonal dilemmas by becoming a distraction or physically removing himself from the situation.

What is standing in your character's way: His distractibility and inability to commit to a single life track. His enthusiasm can be taken as annoying and inane by others and he is a humongous dork.

What is their favorite room and why: His bedroom or any supply closets, anywhere he can geek out and act like an idiot to his heart's content without being judged harshly for it.

What vehicle do they drive: Rides his bike or the back of Tav's wheelchair.

Favorite sport(s): He's hopeless at all regular sports due to incomplete control over his limbs and habitually tripping over his own feet, but he's really good as tech hockey.

What are your character's prejudices: Pretty much unprejudiced.

How does your character feel about love: Frankly he tries not to think about it.

About crime: He has a very loose opinion on crime and criminals, because it's possible his mother was a villain. While he tries to understand why someone would commit a crime, he can't abide by anyone getting hurt in the process, even if it's by the "good guys".

What is their neighborhood like: Completely sketch. His apartment building is home to all the low-rent villains who can't make it in the major leagues and the buildings around his are broken into, vandalized, and condemned at least once a week [the building on the right has been scheduled to be torn down six times but no one has had the guts to do it yet because it's full of super-powered villains].

What is your character's philosophy on life: Do and make and learn until you've done and made and learned everything... or you're dead. Whichever comes first.

What is your character's family life like: He and his dad are very close and openly affectionate to one another, although their tendency to refer to each other as "Jones" and "Al" makes them seem impersonal to those who don't know them. Jones is one of the only characters who doesn't lie to his parental units about the things he does, keeping Al informed on all the crazy things he and his friends get up to. Because of this he doesn't get in nearly as much trouble for doing stupid things and his dad generally trusts him to make the right decisions and not get himself or anyone else killed.

Additional things:

Has general telekinesis, but can only readily apply it to cleaning implements and supplies.

Occasionally hangs out after school to help out his dad and practice his powers on the school's cleaning supplies.

Weapon of choice is an old-school mop he recovered from one of the supply closets freshman year.

Severely ADD but his family can't afford medication that doesn't make his powers go haywire.

Super best friends with Tav

#Killigan Christie-Jones #Jones #Albemarle Christie #character studies #fact sheet

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dotskip317 · 12 years

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More robots...

The sky was white.

Maybe?

Or was that just...

A hand reached out - her hand reached out - and touched the frosty glass domed over her head. The whiteness smudged under her fingers and through the streaks she could see darkness.

She coughed, the steam filling her lungs with unwanted water and making her gag.

“WHAT ELSE WOULD SHE BE, S0UNDING LIKE THAT?” Came the gruff response.

Blinking as light invaded the confines of her tinted bubble, she pushed at the glass, her hand slipping and marking streaky patterns in the white coating.

A bubbly, halting voice floated up through the cracks the steam had found. “oH dear, i tHink she’s... tRying to get- gEt out.”

“WELL HELP HER! I’M N0T EXACTLY BUILT F0R FINESSE.”

“oH... oKay, iF- iF you’re sure.” The dome jerked forward, then lifted slightly, the fog dispersing as more warm air flooded her icy cocoon. Slender fingers hooked through the edge of the glass near her feet. They must have belonged to one of the voices, because the vaulted sheet of glass pivoted from the opposite end and the sliver of light the opening provided was growing. Something snapped and the tentative creeping slice of light pounced on her face. She flinched and turned her face, throwing up her hand to ward of the intangible predator. “uM... dOn’t be- fRightened.” She lowered her arm, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the glare and the details of the awkward silhouette hanging over her came into focus. A single, huge eye, more like a camera lens than an actual eyeball, looked down at her from a boxy head. A thin screen directly above it showed the image of an eyebrow scrunched in concentration and concern. “aRe you... aLright?” The voice came from the direction of the head, although there was no indication of a mouth or speaker that she could see. The eye cast a pleasant golden glow over her face that she could feel even though the light should not have emitted enough heat to be discernible from the surrounding air. The eyebrow arched downward and the camera-lens pupil expanded with obvious fear as the box-head whipped around to look at something off to the side. “sHe, uH- sHe’s not responding.”

“THEN GET HER 0UT HERE. S0ME0NE WILL KN0W WHAT T0 D0.” The golden pupil contracted sharply at the suggestion and looked back at her warily.

Silver hands extended toward her. “oKay, i- i aM going to... pIck you up now. i aM not go- gOing to hurt you.” the nervous voice soothed. She reached toward the body, gripping one jagged shoulder before trying to lift the other arm and failing. A sharp cry sounded in the tense silence and the golden eye shrank even further. “oH- oH dear-” The body the voice was attached to dropped one knee into the space next to her hip and scooped her up in its arms, one behind her knees and the other supporting her back. It straightened up and stepped out of the glass coffin, muttering apologies so low and quick that the words overlapped into a senseless buzz.

She turned her head when the second voice rose again. “DIDN’T THINK Y0U HAD IT IN Y0U.” The hard, hollow sound came from a second large eye, this one more spherical and suspended below a metal body that looked as it if had been ripped from the side of a tank. The rectangular arch was supported by sets of wheels holding it a few feet above the floor and two tubular arms ending in claws were jointed to the top corners. The crosshairs that made up it iris focused on her face. “SHE D0ESN’T L00K S0 BAD T0 ME.”

The concern was evident in the voice of the one that was holding her. “sHe, uH... she was- iNjured in the... cOllapse.” She looked around, the ruin surrounding them suddenly evident. Lights hung, sparking, from a cracked and caved in ceiling and tile and ash covered the floor. The only thing that was not blackened or broken was the still-visible inside of the smooth white cradle in which she had awoken. A set of footprints led to and from the pod and ended where her rescuer now stood. “i tHink she’s miss- mIssing a part.” She looked up sharply at that. According to her personal inventory she wasn’t missing anything.

The eye on wheels let out what could only be considered an exaggerated sigh. “C0ME 0N THEN, WE’LL SEE WHAT A C0MPETENT INDIVIDUAL HAS T0 SAY WHEN WE GET BACK T0 THE SURFACE.” It turned and started rolling away, its multiple sets of freestanding wheels easily adapting to the uneven terrain.

The golden one moved to follow, still holding her securely in its arms. “i wOuld appreciate if you... dId not put me down in- iN front of... hEr.” it stated awkwardly, sliding sideways through a hole in the wall that together they only barely squeezed through. “i wOuld not mind but... i oNly get to make one first- iMpression.”

“WHY D0 Y0U CARE?” the tank called back from up ahead. “SHE ALREADY KN0WS Y0U’RE A STAMMERING F00L.”

The figure carrying her took a shuddering not-breath. “i sUppose- tHis is... tRue.”

#robots #information droid #defense droid #mute #writing #copy/paste

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dotskip317 · 12 years

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I should probably break up the walls of text and unrelated vignettes with some character designs. I even have a few sketched out, along with the first page of a comic I might make happen eventually. The only problem is, if I want the images to come out any good I have to scan them in instead of just taking a picture, and that will take far too long. So... tomorrow. I'll do it tomorrow.

#excuses

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dotskip317 · 12 years

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Beta

Deeks backed away, keeping his eyes on the other teenager as he mentally catalogued his body parts and listened for Beta's drooling pant under the bed. Convinced that they were both whole for the moment and that his contender was asleep, he directed his full attention at the one who had attacked him. She sneered at him. "What, never seen a girl before?" she taunted.

"Not one my age, no." Deeks replied levelly, positioning himself in front of where he knew Beta would be to shield his movements from her gaze.

Deeks gestured to the ceiling. "The Academy only accepts boys. I've lived here all twelve offered years." he shrugged. "The rest of the city is adults."

The girl leaned back at scrutinized him with narrowed eyes. Deeks awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back until she stuck out her hand toward him. "Dian Ruchest." she said.

Deeks took the proffered hand and shook it. The action was stiff and restrained. "Uh, Deeks."

Dian looked slightly askance at him. "Deeks?"

"Yeah. Well… Charlie Deekson, but, um… Deeks." he explained haltingly. He rubbed the back of his neck. There was a subtle change in the snuffling breath coming from under the bed. Beta was waking up.

Dian crossed her arms in front of her. "So, Deeks, you're my competition for the Games?"

Deeks shuffled his feet. "Not- not really. Marcus Flynn is the real-" he never got to finish his sentence.

Beta, having awoken from a restless nap under his mother's bed, noted a new scent in the room. After determining that this other small stick-beast was not going to attack his mother and did not look to be dangerous, Beta concluded that it must be a friend and decided to greet it accordingly.

A mass of fur, scales, and eagerness barreled out from under Deeks' bed and plowed straight into Dian. "Beta! Don't!" Deeks cried as Beta braced his paws on Dian's shoulders and dragged a huge tongue over her face. To her credit she did not scream, but the tiny yelp of shock was higher than anything Deeks had heard another human produce. Deeks grabbed Beta by the furry scruff of his neck and tackled him to the ground. Beta rolled over and panted happily, his long tail thumping the floor. Deeks pushed himself up on one elbow, an arm and a leg pinned under Beta's considerable bulk. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Dian sat up, wiping slobber from her face with the front of her jacket. "Gross." she muttered. She pushed her hands back over her head from her face and the residual drool made the front of her hair stand up. She looked at Deeks and the beast laying belly-up on the floor beside him with disbelief. "That is your contender?" she asked, bewildered.

Deeks scratched Beta's underbelly and the creature gazed up at him adoringly with all four of its wet, black eyes. "Um… Yes." He pulled his arm out from under the contender and Beta rolled to his feet, promptly plopping back on his hind legs and rubbing his face into Deeks' chest. "This is Beta." Beta made a soft woofing sound and walked over to head butt Dian's legs. "He is very pleased to meet you." Deeks added wryly.

Dian backed off quickly. "What is it doing?"

"Saying hello." Deeks said, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Beta plopped down with his head in Deeks' lap. Deeks' scratched his ears absently. Dian walked over and gingerly took a seat on the floor nearby. "Like I said, Marcus has the real competition."

#Beta #Deeks #Dian #writing #copy/paste #contender

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dotskip317 · 12 years

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State of Constant

[[Quickly! Post something before you miss another day! Even if it's a story that's going to be told backwards!]]

Reid stood with his hands clasped tightly in front of him. His handcuffs jingled slightly as the ring they were threaded through slipped over a couple links in the chain. He was shaking, his entire body vibrating with yet unrealized fear. It almost would have been enough to leave him like this, his self-inflicted torture spiking his biology with anticipatory images of gore and grief. Still, the sliver of hope remained that the warden would walk out of his office, look him over and decide the inventions of his own mind were enough for today. That fragment was enough to ensure such a thing would never happen.

The vizor-clad guard unhooked the leash clipped to his belt and fastened it to the center of Reid's bindings. Reid’s forced stillness took on an additional level of rigidity. This wasn’t right. Even if the warden decided to send someone else to set him under they never used the leashes this far inside the compound. Reid’s chains jingled slightly as his internal vibrations made themselves known.

The guard wordlessly turned, attempting to lead Reid back the way he came. The leash went taut and Reid stumbled but held his ground, forcing the guard to stop lest his quarry fall and be dragged along behind him. They paused and glanced back with an air of irritation. The wrongness of the situation gnawed at Reid’s gut and he held his ground, his eyes still wide with unstopped anticipation of the fear he was preparing to be drenched in. The guard yanked the leash and he fell forward another few feet but stopped himself as soon as he could.

A green glove grabbed his face and pulled him toward the tinted mask before he could register its movement. “Walk.” the guard hissed. A little shove set Reid off balance and he nearly crashed to his knees when the guard yanked at the cord connecting them again. He dutifully shuffled after the helmeted creature, his mind implementing a layover of the human in front of him with some skull-headed beast from the back of him mind. Its knuckles dragged the ground and Reid had to hunch forward to prevent being pulled off balance by the leash’s proximity to the ground.

The shiny white floor reflected a dim, mutated version of himself back from below his feet. The blinding florescence smiling down on them from the ceiling kept the prisoners bathed in interminable daylight, but every time Reid glanced up at guard leading him the hallway in front of him was a curling, swampy mess. Reid wondered if perhaps he was already strapped into his session and had simply forgotten the interaction with Innkeeper beforehand.

A particularly fierce tug at the leash caught his attention and he met the silent, shielded glare of the guard with bleary eyes. The open cells that lined the walls were no more terrifying than usual, the brilliantly pale surfaces reflecting every artificial ray the ceiling supplied. Reid returned his gaze to his dull, blobby mirror image, secure in the knowledge that his mind was simply getting away from him.

“Reid.”

His name floated across the bright space on the barely audible whispers of the inmates the guard and his prey passed. Reid could hear what they were saying, but his ears picked up on the incongruent syllable of his name even when the context was lost on him. The strains of conversation sounded agitated, but Reid brushed it off as his own disconcertion personified.

“Run!” The command was sharp and full-voiced and came from somewhere over Reid’s left shoulder. He froze. The tenuous line keeping the inmates from speaking above a whisper snapped and suddenly it was very, very loud. The leash was pulled taut and he had no choice but to follow the shouted pleas for him to keep moving that echoed and rang even over the blaring alarms. The chains made it impossible to keep any sort of speed without stumbling and Reid was so busy looking at his feet, trying not to trip, that he couldn’t see where they were going. A wave of light and heat hit his face and he hissed, trying to turn away from the unwanted sensory input. He only managed to fall on his face, arms gripping all of his extremities and lifting him off the ground a moment later. He flailed against their hold, everything too bright to see and too loud to hear and panic gripping his overworked fight-or-flight response. He was dumped in the bottom of a small skiff that rocked when his captors jumped in and the roar of an outboard motor joined the ringing in his ears. He tried to scramble away and ended up half-hanging over the side of the boat. As the his eyes adjusted he saw the windowless, white building he called home disappear into the swampy embrace of the trees around it.

A hand patted his shoulder soothingly and he jumped, flinching away from the touch, darkness crackling behind his eyes. The young woman the hand belonged to smiled at him. “Don’t worry, Reid, you’re safe now.”

Reid shivered.

#fear #Reid #writing #prison #copy/paste

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dotskip317 · 12 years

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Laserbro [hospital]

Lazarus came awake with a gasp that shook his entire body, his entire body crying out in pain as he shot upright, panting. “He’s awake. He’s awake!” Lazarus felt arms holding him back against the bed and flailed, sheets tangling around his body. “Easy, easy! Lazarus! You’re in the hospital. You’re fine. Just settle down.”

Lazarus looked frantically around the white-walled room, clutching the wrists of the nurse that held him. Flashes of light and color and pain flickered across his memory. The truck coming out of nowhere and then- “Chico,” he said, focusing his eyes on the man above him and stilling his thrashing. “Wh-where’s-”

Lazarus swung himself over the side of the bed before the nurse could stop him and his feet hit the tiled floor with a dull slap.

Or.

They should have.

Lazarus collapsed on the floor, his heart racing and wires of pain tightening through his lower abdomen. This was not right. “Oh god, they told me not to tell you.” His arms were lifted slightly as the man hooked his biceps around Lazarus’ torso and hauled him back onto the bed. “Are you okay?”

A doctor rushed into the room and found them struggling, lending a hand to get Lazarus back on the bed while berating the nurse. “You let him up?!”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know he would jump out like that!” The nurse said frantically.

Lazarus grabbed the doctor’s arm as soon as he was back on the mattress. “N-need to- to- s-see-” he coughed, his head spinning. “Oth- other guy in c-car-”

The doctor placed a hand on his head, guiding him back to the pillows. “Miguel Nevaro?” Lazarus nodded eagerly. “He’s in a separate room. You can see him once he wakes up.”

Lazarus’ nod turned into fierce head-shaking. “N-no! Need to- see him!” he said, choking on the words. The feeling that something was gravely not right had him more jittery than normal.

“Not right now, we need to check you out.” she said, trying to loosen his grip from her sleeve. “I’ll talk to his parents, but you’ll need to get their permission before-”

“It’s okay.” Lazarus had to be held back against the bed again at the sound of Mrs. Nevaro’s voice. She looked exhausted and was leaning on the doorframe like her life depended on it. Mr. Nevaro stood at her side, one hand resting on her shoulder. “He should be there when Chico wakes up. He’ll be happy to-” she hesitated, something dark flickering behind her eyes. “He’ll be happiest if Lazarus is nearby.” She smiled tiredly at the boy in the bed in front of her. “I’ll call your parents. Tell them you’re awake.”

Lazarus watched the florescent lights flicker past above him. The nurse had insisted he stay horizontal for the trip as he was wheeled down the hall to Chico’s room. That didn’t stop him from pushing himself up on his elbows as soon as he was through the door, straining to catch sight of the other boy. Chico was lying perfectly still on the bed, heart monitor beeping steadily next to him while an IV tube fed clear liquid into his arm. Lazarus wondered how long they had been there.

When it was clear Lazarus was going to find a way across the room by himself otherwise, the nurse shoved the beds as close together as he could get them. Lazarus reached out without thinking and grabbed Chico’s left hand in his right. He was far too focused on studying the Asian kid’s face to be bothered by the odd looks he was getting from the nurse. Chico was only a little banged up, the cuts littering his skin still red and new but no worse than those from the car bomb or wiping out on his bike. Two pads of white gauze were taped over his eyes, covering part of his face but leaving the split lip and the dirt ground into his hairline in plain sight. Lazarus’ hand swallowed Chico’s completely, but he still brought the other around to add to his hold. Two fingers and a thumb came to rest over the other four and one, the space where his pinky and ring finger should have been replaced by more layers of bandages. Lazarus swallowed hard and gripped Chico’s hand tighter.

You claimed him. He’s yours to protect now. And you’ll both have to give something up in order for this to work.

Lazarus rested his face on the stack of tangled fingers. This was his fault. He wasn’t entirely sure how, but in some way this was his fault.

“Dude... ow...” Lazarus snapped upright and the nurse sprang to attention. “Damn... What hit me?” Chico turned his head and the nurse sprinted for the door, calling for the doctor who had left the two teens in his care. Lazarus could see Chico’s forehead wrinkle as his eyebrows knit together under the padding. “Lazarus?” he called softly. A hint of panic colored his voice.

Without thinking Lazarus reached up and placed his right hand over Chico’s face, his huge palm covering the white blank spaces and most of his forehead.

Chico’s face split into a grin. “Ha. Knew it was you.” He paused, the hand Lazarus didn’t still have a hold on finding its way to rest on top of the other. “Um, is there a reason I can’t see?”

“D-don’t know. Just- j-just woke u-up.” Lazarus stated, keeping his mitt on Chico’s forehead when his best friend didn’t complain.

Chico patted his hand. “No problem, man, just wondering.” He must have become aware of the excess binding on Lazarus’ left hand, because he took it in his own and a frown formed on the corners of his mouth. “What about you? Are you okay?”

Lazarus looked down at himself for the first time since he awoke. “Y-yeah. Fine.”

He decided not to mention that one of his legs was missing.

#Laserbro #Chico #car accident #writing #copy/paste

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dotskip317 · 12 years

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Talq

Talq’s wide feet sank into the soft sand. Everything was hot but the lack of a direct light source beating down on him said it was night. Daela had fallen silent some time ago and Talq hoped that she was merely sleeping. He couldn’t stop to check on her, because if he turned around he might not keep going in the same direction when he started out again. The stars that were supposedly guiding their progress were dark to him. Daela had been his eyes for the extent of journey, but now without her direction Talq had no choice but to keep walking forward and hope he didn’t drift off track.

Wind tore at his back and he stood stock still to let it pass so its direction would not influence his path. The hot breath spat sand across his rough, scale-like skin and he swayed slightly, feet planted securely ankle-deep in the grains. Exhaustion tugged at his limbs and the next step he forced himself to take was more difficult than the hundred before put together. Three paces later the ground stopped giving in to his feet. Solid earth came up to meet his steps and when the platform he was harnessed to found the solid surface the wooden runners scraped roughly over the ground and confirmed its existence. Talq exhaled heavily and kept walking the pads of his feet complained loudly to his mind about the sudden harshness of the terrain, but but he was happy not to be slogging through dunes. The first rays of sun tickled his face. He hadn’t had a coherent thought other than sand and water and Daela in days but he still somehow noted the ticking past of the sun.

Another gust of air buffeted his face and he stopped again, this time in surprise. It was cool. Talq almost thought for a moment that he was imagining things. That the intense desert sun had finally slow cooked his brain into a well seasoned mush, but as he slowly inhale the fingers of breeze he could taste the familiar tinge of shadows on leaves and fresh tilled dirt.

Talq sucked in a shuddering breath, the coating of sand on the inside of his throat and mouth shaking loose and making him cough. He exhaled a puff of dust. He shook his head and kept walking. His limbs felt heavy and dead but he kept pushing, urging himself to keep moving. There were no settlements in the Expanse, but if they made it to the edge then maybe, just maybe... Talq stumbled, the sled lurching behind him. He heard a small groan and his heart pounded. At least she was alive. Talq tilted his head toward the expansive sky, thanking Lona for small favors. The wind picked up behind him and he pushed himself faster. A low moan of whipping sand slowly grew in volume to a pitch-less scream. All logic said he should stop, take whatever cover he could find, and start up again once the sandstorm had passed, but he knew if he did so he would never regain his direction.

Although he wouldn’t have seen it anyway, Talq still felt a stab of embarrassment when he tripped over an outcropping of stone and landed heavily on his knees. His hands scraped roughly over the flat stone in front of him, cutting the palms of his hands. He moved to stand but froze when the wind whipping around him nearly ripped him from the ground. He huddled as close to the ground as he could without moving and tugged the thin fabric mask hanging in front of his mouth up over his nose. His eyes were already bound tight and padded shut and there was nothing more he could do for Daela, who was bound to the pallet and fully hooded. She should be able to breathe even if she was unconscious.

Talq hugged the hard ground, his fingers digging into grooves in the rock and his tail wrapped around his legs for support. Sand stung his bare back and he tucked his head down close to his chest, making it harder to breathe but protecting what little of his face was still exposed from the elements. He shook slightly, wondering if he would be able to pry himself off the ground once the storm blew over. Every muscle in his body was tensed expectantly and they were beginning to stiffen into that position. He felt the wind abate and hauled himself to his knees. He turned his face to the sky again, feeling for the location of the sun. The sand still hung in the sky but he could feel it filtering down directly overhead.

Talq didn’t know how long he knelt there, face tilted toward the heavens and sand drifting down around him, but it was long enough that he felt the sun move across the sky. He needed to move. He knew that, but every time the logical part of his circular train of though swung around he tiredly pleaded for five more minutes and promptly forgot about it.

He finally hauled himself to his feet, the ground tilting haphazardly beneath him. He steadied himself and pulled himself and his cargo forward, pausing only to help the sled over the outcropping of rock with his tail. The stone he was walking on was surprisingly smooth, though grainy with sand and dust, and he wondered vaguely if he had miraculously stumbled onto a well traveled road. If so, all he would need to do was keep the same texture under his feet and he would, eventually, come to some form of civilization.

A wave of nausea washed over him suddenly and he braced his feet apart, fighting for balance. He sucked in air though the cloth over his mouth and sand invaded his airways. Coughing, he yanked the offending fabric away and tried again. This time a hint of coolness touched his tongue, the promise of plant life somewhere up ahead making itself know through the air. Talq coughed up another puff of dust and his knees buckled. His lungs expanded to full capacity but for some reason he couldn’t get enough air. A sharp pain down the side of his body and the sudden shift in the way gravity was acting on him were the only indications that he was on the ground. His chest heaved but there was not enough oxygen in the world to revive his drifting mind.

Something cool lightly brushed his face and he shuddered. It passed over his forehead and he recognized the lithe instruments as fingers. He pushed himself up on one forearm, his body screeching at him to stay down. “Help her.” he croaked, his tongue flat and useless in his dust-coated mouth. The words didn’t sound anything like Common to his ears so when the hand simply pressed more firmly to his head he shot out a hand and grabbed their wrist. As weak as he was his grip was still impossibly tight. “Help. Her.” he demanded, the words barely a whisper and still deadly clear.

He pointed toward the pallet he knew was behind him and released the arm he was holding. He listened to the shuffle of feet and the rustling of clothing as the stranger moved behind him and a stifled gasp as they realized what it was he was carrying. “Aye!” The man called out, his voice carrying over Talq’s slumped form to the road ahead. “Al’te ukirre! D’kiro un prrestchet jirryut ah sh’k!”

Talq’s knowledge of H’irut was limited at best, but the man’s inflection carried all the panic Talq was too numb to feel and for that he was grateful. He pulled his knees under his torso and rocked back so he was positioned in a crouch instead of sprawled on the ground.

The cool hands grabbed him to hold him steady as more feet padded past him to the pallet. Soft murmurs of H’irut dialogue could be made out over the shuffle of feet. “Stay down. We’ll take care of her.”

Talq nodded and reached up to take one of the hands holding his shoulder, not sure if his voice was functional enough to convey his thanks. He squeezed the smaller hand as lightly as he could, feeling the five delicate digits curl around his own wider four. He felt the ropes harnessing him to the sled slacken and moved to stand, only barely held back by the man at his side.

“No!” they chastised. “Stay. We are going to untie you and move her onto one of our carts.”

Talq’s grip tightened on the other’s hand. “With her.” he croaked. “Stay with her.”

There was only a moment of hesitation before the man stood. “Seh’va!” he called. Another set of feet approached the space where Talq knelt, broken off from the scurrying few who tended to Daela. “Ij sh’k al t’veh jyrrit uhn tsevast’a. Ts’ve uy’n?”

Talq realized he was holding fast to his unknown savior’s hand but did not let go. Right now he was far too sick with his culture to bend to what their pride demanded. A new set of hands, these only slightly less delicate than the first, wound their way under his upper arm, joined by the first pair on the opposite side. The two lifted Talq to his feet, unaware of the wave of vertigo that swept through his stomach at the action. He felt so light without the harness keeping him down.

The newcomer whispered something to the man on his other side, who shushed him. He cleared his throat and directed himself to Talq in Common. “We will lead you to her. Move slowly.” Talq nodded gingerly and allowed himself to be led in the direction the strangers had come from.

The going was painfully slow and a welcome change from the constant state of full exertion Talq had found himself in the past few days. A shadow blocked out the all-seeing eye of the sun and many, many hands touched and pulled him as he was assisted into the wooden cart. He remained as close to the outside as they would allow him, sitting only once he had found Daela’s hand and confirmed her presence among their rescuers. The stranger knelt near him, his deft fingers once again resting on Talq’s forehead. Talq turned his sightless face toward the touch. “How is she?” he murmured, his voice coming out as though it had been run over by a tank.

“She will be fine. We are cooling her as best as we can.” The cart lurched and Talq grabbed the man’s arm for support. He scooted closer and pressed Talq into leaning back on the side of the seat. “Here. Drink this.” Talq found a hand pressed to his mouth, swiftly followed by the lip of a canteen. He clenched his jaw and turned his face away. “Please, you need water.” Talq kept his face stubbornly to the side, more out of habit than conscious choice. There was a moment of quiet from the man, where only the other people’s fussing over Daela could be heard, and then he leaned in as close to Talq’s ear as he could in the rattling confines of the wagon and whispered in his ear so as not to be overheard. “If we were going to kill you we would have left you in the road, and if we mean you harm now you are in no condition to stop us.” The man pulled away, his voice returning to normal. “Please, drink.” Talq felt a smile tug at his face and allowed the stranger to turn his head back, his hand fitting itself over the other’s as he assisted Talq in drinking.

The cart jostled and the water spilled a little. Talq wiped it from his chin and coughed, his throat feeling slick and oddly loose. “I’m sorry.” he said quietly, his voice rumbling out in its usual timbre, although far more abused.

He heard a sharp intake of breath from the man at his side and felt the man stiffen. There was a beat of silence between them in which Talq wondered if he was about to be thrown out of the wagon. “Say again?” the man requested softly.

“I’m sorry.” Talq repeated, a touch confused. “For inconveniencing you and your companions.”

The stranger touched his shoulder gently. “It is no trouble. We would do the same for any.” The man turned to exchange words briefly with another passenger before turning back to Talq. “If I may ask,” he said politely after practically forcing Talq to take more water, “From where do you hail? I know of no Jjdune towns this side of the Expanse.

“There are none.” Talq said simply. “I am from Heriath, as is my sister. We crossed through the deserts in order to reach this side.”

“Surely there are less hazardous ways to reach one’s destination.” the man said, taken aback.

Talq tilted his head in the direction Daela lay. “Yes, but none so expedient.”

There was a pause and Talq knew the stranger was watching his sister as he himself could not. “I take it time is weighing heavily in this.” Talq nodded mutely, exhaustion taking over. Cool hands once again found his face. “It will be dusk before we reach our destination.” the man informed him. “We are heading for Korai L’nojh. What is your intended destination?”

Talq shook his head bitterly. “G’nok.”

“Oh.” There was a moment of silence in which the stranger processed Talq’s one word response. “Oh.”

#Talq #Daela #desert #I'm really uncreative about naming things #writing #copy/paste

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dotskip317 · 12 years

Text

Laserbro [car bomb]

Lazarus was quite sure that he had never reacted so quickly in his life, spinning to shield Chico from the flash of light and immediately dropping to the ground. His leg brace couldn’t handle the angle he forced it into as he turned and the snapping of the cushion spring next to his knee was added to the concussive symphony of the Honda across from them biting the dust.

“They rigged your car.” Chico said from the ground, not looking at the boy next to him.

Lazarus felt Chico sit up and let the other teen lean against him for support. “Dude. Was, uh, th-that was-” he cut himself off and coughed, his throat stinging. “M-my...” he trailed off, his voice faltering.

Chico’s hand was on top of his head, and Lazarus become aware of a hot trickle of liquid running down the back of his neck. Chico patted his head and coughed and Lazarus looked over at him. His face was a little scratched up from where Lazarus had shoved him to the ground, but he was otherwise uninjured. “Have I mentioned how much I love you?” he asked breathlessly, his face pulled into a wide, bewildered smile.

Lazarus let out a surprised laugh and let Chico pull him into a headlock that doubled as a one-armed hug. “Uh, a-are you... o-okay?”

“I’m fine.” he grabbed the back of Lazarus’ shirt and pushed him forward a little. “Dude, you’re bleeding.”

Lazarus brought a hand up to the back of his head. His short hair was damp and full of dirt and glass and the skin felt raw against his fingers. His fingertips came away red and his stomach clenched with sudden panic. It wasn’t the blood, it was the fact that he hadn’t noticed it, and his head was still ringing, and his car was in flames and there were people running toward them and sirens somewhere in the background and it was all too much for him to handle. He grabbed Chico’s shoulder and held on as if his life depended on it.

Someone grabbed the two of them and hauled them to their feet, Lazarus still clinging to Chico and using him a replacement for the leg brace that was currently failing him. He was going to have to find a replacement spring before tonight. At some point an ambulance pulled up, followed by a fire truck and several police cars. When the paramedics attempted to separate them Lazarus simply clung to Chico’s shirt and silently refused to be removed. He might have been embarrassed, but the all the noise and attention focused on him was making it difficult to register anything at all.

Eventually Lazarus came to his senses, blinking dazedly at the police officer standing in front of him. He was perched on the back of the ambulance, his hands bandaged and a pad of something soft lining the back of his neck. The officer was looking at him expectantly. He had probably just asked him a question. “W-what?” Lazarus asked, flushing a little when he couldn’t recall what he was supposed to be saying.

“We’re going over what happened,” the officer explained patiently. “You said you were walking out of the school?” he prompted.

Lazarus dropped his eyes. “Yes, uh, we... I-I was giving Chico a ride h-home, and-” he swallowed, blinking as the memory of the blast filled his vision. “Um, th-there was this, b-b-b-” he mashed his lips together, stopping the word before it got any more mangled. “This beeping. And, uh, Chico, said it- it- smelled. Like g-gas.” Lazarus felt himself shrinking as he strung together the events. It was still so loud. “Then th-there was...” he pressed his hands over his eyes, trying to remember. “Light. Um, and a- a click. Clicking. Uh...” Lazarus looked down at his hands. The gauze covering them was fluffy and bright white, now smudged from the dirt on his face. “There w-was heat, and I- I grabbed him and we hit the- h-hit the ground.”

“Easy there, you’re doing fine.” the officer said, scribbling notes on the tiny pad he was holding. “Is there anything else? Did you see any suspicious looking cars, people, anything?”

Lazarus shook his head, then stopped when a wave dizziness washed over him. “N-no. Wh-where’s-”

“Your parents will be here soon.” he said, cutting off Lazarus’ stuttered query.

“No, I mean-” Chico bounced over and onto the edge of the ambulance bed before he could finish his sentence.

The police officer and the paramedic he had managed to elude paused when they saw that he wasn’t about to go any further and hovered just close enough to keep an eye on him. Chico grinned. “Glad to see you’re not dead yet!” he said brightly.

Lazarus nodded gingerly, the knots in his stomach unwinding slowly. “Yes, that is, uh, a good thing.” He glanced sideways at his best friend. “A-and you?”

Chico flexed his skinny arms with false bravado. “Better than ever!” He peered curiously at Lazarus, ignoring the officer whose interview he had interrupted. “You don’t look so hot, though.”

Lazarus shifted on the metal seat, uncomfortable aware of the scrutiny being directed toward them. “N-no?”

“Nope. I think you might be allergic.”

Lazarus’ gaze flicked over to the officer standing above them before returning to Chico’s exaggeratedly concerned expression. “Al-allergic?”

“Yes.”

“To- to what?”

“Explosions.”

Lazarus paused to process this before responding, aware that everything he said was being cataloged. “Explosions.” he repeated, just to make sure he heard correctly.

“Yes. Specifically car bombs, but we can’t rule anything out just yet. Not that an allergy of this nature lends itself to controlled evaluation. You should probably avoid explosive situations as much as possible in the future until we have more data.” Chico said, his flippant rambling not quite covering for the genuine concern in his voice. “Fires too, just to be on the safe side.”

Lazarus felt a smile tug at his lips. “Okay, if you’re s-sure.”

“Absolutely.” Chico said with a sharp nod. He crossed his arms with an air of finality. “You can never be too careful with a condition like this. You’re lucky you have me looking out for you.”

“T-true that.”

#Laserbro #Chico #car bomb #writing #copy/paste

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dotskip317 · 12 years

Text

Laserbro

It was only ten-thirty in the morning and Dale was already on her way to detention, three of her best friends and half her physics class in tow. Not bad for a Tuesday. There would probably be less tagalongs on another day, but the surprise redistricting caused by a fire in one of their sister schools had resulted in plenty of displaced students and not enough teachers to handle them. The staff that knew the building best and could be trusted with large groups of unruly teens were charged with showing those who would be calling the school “home” exactly what they were getting into. Dale’s third period physics class was being covered by a substitute who didn’t know how to tell the guilty parties from innocent passersby so everyone involved was being shipped down to the basement until they could “get this mess sorted out.”

The boy looked down at his hands, clearly uncomfortable with her proximity. She rolled her eyes and tried to make the best of the situation, leaning over the desk and sticking out her hand toward him in a gesture of greeting. The boy jerked away at the sudden movement, rocking the desk and making the kids around him snicker. He managed to sink further into the molded plastic chair. “Dale Christie,” Dale drawled, hand still outstretched, “And you are?”

Shaking, the boy took the proffered limb and shook it. His grip was weak but his hand was so huge it nearly swallowed hers whole. “Uh...” he sputtered slightly, like he was afraid of his own voice. “Lazarus.” He cleared his throat and dropped her hand, realizing he had been holding it far too long. “But, um, m-my friends just call me...” his words trailed off into mumbling and the final word was lost completely as Lazarus returned his gaze to the ground.

“Call you what, chief?” Dale inquired, resting her hip on the plastic-covered plywood so she was half-sitting on the tilted square. She ignored the tittering of the group of students hemming them in. Lazarus’ nervous air made them feel closer than they actually were.

Lazarus swallowed hard. “N-never mind. Just, anything works.”

Dale brought her legs up and around and crossed them so she was sitting completely on top of Lazarus’ desk. “Not anything, right?”

“W-well...” Lazarus didn’t seem to factor in how literally his words were going to be taken.

“I mean, you wouldn’t want me to start calling you Ponyboy.” Dale said, checking her nails nonchalantly.

Lazarus shrank and stuttered. “No, but-”

“Or Anne Marie, or Fishtits.” she continued, her lazy drone covering the not-so-subtle mirth bubbling in the desks around them. His desk was her stage and even if her unwilling partner didn’t know it they were putting on one heck of a show.

“No!” his entire body retracted inward at the single, more normal-volumed syllable and Dale wondered if he really was afraid of his own voice. “Just, I-I mean... w-within reason.”

Dale flashed him a smile. “Better. Now, what do your friends call you?”

The classroom door flew open with a bang and another student popped in. He looked frantically around the room until his gaze fell on the boy in the seat below Dale. His entire face lit up. “Laserbro!

Lazarus grabbed his backpack from the floor and stood, his face burning, making it a total of two steps before the other boy bounded across the room and seized his wrist. “Come on! We’re gonna miss the rest of the tour!” he exclaimed, half-dragging the hobbled youth out the door.

Dale turned and rested one foot on the back of the chair to better watch them leave. She looked sideways at Butch and arched an eyebrow. “Laserbro?”

Butch shrugged.

#Laserbro #writing #Dale Christie #copy/paste

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