Terezi Pyrope
Peasant
1 C4UGHT YOUR 3Y3 >:? FUNNY 1 C4NT S4Y TH3 S4M3 4BOUT YOU H3H3
Posts: 6
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Post by Terezi Pyrope on Sept 24, 2012 2:52:50 GMT -5
What a day to be blind! Terezi thought bitterly. The sun was smiling, the birds were chirping and everything sounded positively wonderful! If only she could see it all. One could only see so much with an arm's length of vision, even then it was a poor excuse for sight. Central Park was loud with the excited buzz of children playing and parents bitching about said kids. Saturday's were always like this; full of life. The young not-red-red-head smiled idly to herself and leaned back in her park bench, eyes fixated up. While she couldn't see a thing, she could imagine. A clear, blue, sky, untouched by any clouds. Beautiful.
By her side, Pyralspite sat obediently, head twitching from side to side, taking in the surroundings, presumably watching something. Reaching out a hand, Terezi found the top of her head and gave it scratch. "Still here, Pyral?" The dog barked happily in response and a wide grin split Terezi's face in two. She laughed alongside it's happy barking and leaned down, fur growing clearer and clearer and kissed the top of her head. "Good girl! Hehe!" Rising to her feet, Terezi took the leash into her hand and tugged. Where would they go today? Wander around the park? Go home and roleplay? Maybe pack her bag for her first day of school on Monday? Pfft. Unlikely.
Terezi quickly opted for a walk, no particularly wanting to go home to an empty apartment and linger around with nothing to do and no one to see. Pun not intended. So, with leash in hand and Pyralspite happily leading the way, Terezi began the long process of meandering around the park till the sun sunk behind the horizon and she grew tired and weary. As she walked, Terezi wondered what her new school would be like. From speaking with a few students in the very large chat, she gathered it would be loud, noisy and not shy of several arguements.
That should be more interesting than the school she previously came from. Everyone was quiet and organized and every single person there was allegedly "friends". In truth, everyone hated each other and on weekends they went wild and went to parties and got so smashed that they couldn't remember everything. There was more than a few times that there was so vicious backstabbing (that we no longer mention, fyi.) Not that Terezi was ever apart of it.
Who could be bothered with that lifestyle? Certainly not her. No, Terezi opted for internet friends over real life friends. Coke over beer and actual confrontation rather than bitchy backstabbing. Needless to say, she was lonely at her old school. Perhaps her new school would be better.
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Post by Eridan Ampora on Sept 24, 2012 21:19:48 GMT -5
((If you want someone else to respond I can delete this, just figured I hadn't posted anything yet.)
Eridan was monologuing into his phone. Pacing around a fountain somewhere in the middle of Central park, holding his phone in one hand, and his mobile typewriter in the other. He was disappointed in the noisiness of the area, having hoped that it'd be a nice place to speak in peace; however, everyone was milling about, talking, uneducated commoners and the like; but interestingly enough, the ignorance in the air fueled Eridan's hatred, inciting him to drive his topics to the core, REALLY blame the bastards and the rich and the ignorant. He was just on the topic of totalitarianism in School systems and rule setting, the illusion of control, when he realized how late it was getting.
He walked with the crowd of businessmen, bankers, bastards, whores, and wankers. He hated it here, he was raised on honour, and familial respect, he bet half these bastards'd sell their own grandmothers if it meant their stocks would go up. He made sure to keep recording all this: Amongst the crowd, no one could hear him swearing and deeply insulting all within his ring of observational judgement; Fuckers probably were trained out of it, They learned to stop noticing his kind, the young, free, liberal type: The dangerous type, quoth the Cars. Of course that's not what the song was about, but hey, paraphrasing.
He stopped a while when the crowd from his area cleared. He was in a new section of park, 'Good god this hell hole is massive.' he thought to himself idly. The thoughts were idle, but the subject wasn't; Eridan paused the recording and swept over the area visually: Parents and their loud, rambunctious spawn. Why people were always so proud of their wiggling, ugly sacks of flesh he could never tell, maybe it was a sense of accomplishment, familial duty, or maybe it came with the pain of childbirth. His thoughts trailed off, and he thought to sharpen his quota. He set down the suitcase that cased his typewriter, and pulled out a short cigarette holder, maybe 2 or 3 inches in length, and loaded it. 'These people surely are too obsessed over their spawn to notice my non-conformity' he thought, with a distinct tongue-in-cheek accent in his brain. Parents, even though they'd notice you, your tall figure, your greasy hair, the cigarette, the gun in your pants... They'd not question it. He picked up the suitcase, and continued the memo on his phone, now delving into the topic of anarchistic society. His pace quickened and soon he had gone through this patch of park, funnily enough, he could've sworn he'd heard some one moving, seen someone get up from their seat, felt someone listening to his rant. He turned around, spooked by the sensation of being followed, but there was no one interesting behind him, no one as fed up with the world as he; just a herd of rambunctious children and their stupidly young guardians. He'd dismissed the thought by the time he'd entered another group of businessmen.
He looked around once more, he noticed a distinct difference between him and his surroundings: All these men, in Navy suits, women in grey with their hair back in bobs; and then him, Turquoise Hawaiian shirt, decked out in red flowers and covered in palm trees, and bright white short shorts. This strange man, talking into his phone without pauses, and holding what looks like a suitcase. Not to mention the reflective Aviators and the fact that he was openly smoking. These people, however, failed to notice his peculiar attire and behavior. Exactly what he had been talking about earlier. Amongst the chatter, and sound of movement, he could talk with no listeners-in; what he was saying was interesting, and attention grabbing, or would've been if anyone could hear or if the bastards surrounding him's attention wasn't grabbed only by thin sheets of green. Hell, you'd have to have super hearing, perhaps by cause of being blind, just to get a good hard listen on the strict non-conformity being dropped all on this voice-memo app. And by this fact Eridan was pleased, he didn't need the judgement of anyone at this time of day, he hadn't even had dinner yet.
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Post by jj1234321 on Sept 28, 2012 15:47:54 GMT -5
(Sorry about the length, got carried away during the bird hunt scene. The relevant bits are in paragraph 8 and onwards as he leaps out of the treeline and into the park)
A small smile touched the lips of the young man in the brush, one knee on the ground and the other sticking straight up as he looked in the trees. Central Park was more than just a park… It had a forested area that while yes, had many trails, also had many clear patches. This was where the Hunter hunted, the one who collected game in the middle of the wilderness. He was what one would think of as the lowest in society, without family or status. A street rat. However, he was a special kind of street rat; one who was above the thoughts of a street rat and was clever enough to survive in that way.
He slowly reached a hand outwards, his eyes narrowing at the birds hanging around the special feeder he had made for them. He knew of the dangers of using a feeder when it came to birds; however, these birds would never get the chance to become addicted to human comfort. That was one thing that Jake English made sure of whenever he hunted; using his knowledge of beasts to never majorly harm them. He smiled behind his glasses, still undetected.
Oh very well, all but for this. He thought as his outstretched hand pulled on the green line he had set up, invisible to the birds. Instantly, the trap was afoot as out of the bird feeder's sides shot many bladed pieces of metal, which then snapped towards the feeder itself as gears within the mechanism whirred. There were two birds in his trap; which was all Jake thought he was likely to get. One of the birds died instantly, near-painlessly as its head was removed from its shoulders. However, the other was not so lucky as it had half of its wing chopped off. It screeched as it wriggled out of the trap, beginning to fly off.
Jake knew the game was afoot; but more than that, that an innocent animal was undergoing massive amounts of pain. He got up quickly, his hands quickly shooting into the pockets of his dark green windbreaker as he gripped both of his M9 pistols. He ran out of the underbrush that was his hiding place, his eyes locked on the bird. He had performed an incomplete hunt; he had failed the animal as well as himself. He needed to rectify it. He merely left the other bird in the trap; knowing where the trap was when he would have to retrieve it.
Fat pigeons that grew large off of the birdseed of the numerous populace of new york might be slow on the uptake, but once they get going are hard to stop. Granted, this one had lost half a wing; but even so it was flapping its wings so hard it was going anyway. Jake's eyes had a small difficulty in remaining locked onto the bird. He didn't even have to look down as he swiveled by his waist, spinning three fourths of the way as he dodged around a large stump; he knew this area better than the back of his hands. In addition, due to the fact he was wearing cargo shorts, it would be kind of bad if he were to scrape against a stump.
He knew the brushline of the last few trees was, and his eyes narrowed. His right hand shot forwards, his shoes coming to a halt. His entire body was lined up with the gun, the outside of his right foot pointing towards the fleeing bird just as surely as his gun was. He closed his eyes, almost solemnly, as he pulled the trigger. The bullet fired out, spinning through the air as the bird kept fleeing. However, Jake had the bird's flight pattern in his head, as well as where exactly the bullet would go.
His body righted itself towards running forwards once more as the bullet passed through the bird's brain. The shock alone was enough to cause it to fall down; not to mention it would completely die very soon. Jake ran forwards, realizing he would not be able to catch his prize in time like this as his eyes narrowed. He pushed off his feet, throwing both arms forwards, arms outstretched and hands cupped as the little bird fell into his grasp.
(8) He clutched the bird to himself as he brought his torso forwards, coming out into a roll into the people's part of the park. He himself had little to no place here, being far under any of the people here on the social class. However, they had all heard the shot, and for just a moment they thought they saw the flash that was Jake coming out of the trees. However, he quickly melded himself along with the crowd, keeping his head down. It would take someone with very good senses to have detected what exactly it was he had just done; he had a thought about his other bird and trap, the one he held now underneath his shirt. If anyone asked about the blood on his shirt he would merely say a blood nose; and the bird's weight made his tucked in shirt merely look like he had a normal sized belly; as he was normally very wiry due to his lifestyle.
His mind was still like that of a hunters, as all of his senses were kicked into overdrive. He could smell all the disgusting scents of false cologne, human body odor, perfumes; they were all around him and it nearly made him sick. His ears were hit with the wall of sound that came with being around such people, and he dearly wanted to hold his hands over his ears to make the noises stop. His eyes darted all around, seeing the same grays, the same colors, the fake colors, having lost the sight of the calming green of the woods; it was nearly enough to make any person insane. Any true, normal person would go mad… If they hadn't grown up in this environment.
However, there was one thing he noticed. There was one person, around his age in the crowd. He was so easy to see that Jake nearly laughed; talking his head off in ways of vulgarity that the people around him ignored, his bright shirt exposing him to the rest of the world. Jake had realized he would need some kind of excuse why he was here; he hated being nabbed by the park cops. It made him have to do some very tiring escapades: coming up with a false name, looking for a chance to bolt, staying low not to be found again, and always keeping his head down for days afterwards. So much energy.
However, as he saw this young man he realized a way out of it. He kept his head down as he sidled over next to the man, his dark green windbreaker and cargo pants not as conspicuous as the man's hawaiian shirt, but still radically different from the people around them. He listened to what the young man was saying directly into his phone, planning to walk next to him for several minutes, wondering when he would be noticed. However, after only a few moments, he couldn't help it any longer as his right hand shot up, faster than any normal person of his age, gripping the igarette by its tip and pulling it out of the man's mouth, throwing it back onto the ground so fast his hand was merely a pale blur. His foot walked right over the cigarette, adding a little grind to the step to make sure it wouldn't harm the park.
"Smoking is bad for your health. I mean frappery, you'll probably lose a lung in the next five years. It's just stupid." He whispered softly, just enough for the man next to him to hear him. More than likely the stranger would be stunned or have a delayed reaction; Jake's hand still tingled as blood tried to rush back into it and his muscles stopped flexing from the exertion. However, he could not keep the lightest of smiles on his face as he walked next to the man, Jake English the Hunter, known quite well around these parts by the underworld due to making his own way for himself as only a street rat. And in the end, to society, that was all he really was.
A really simple street rat.
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Post by Eridan Ampora on Sept 28, 2012 19:06:25 GMT -5
"Smoking is bad for your health. I mean frappery, you'll probably lose a lung in the next five years. It's just stupid."
Eridan registered the action the second it occurred, the man was muttering something to him. Probably a threat on his life, something about losing lungs. The nerve of most New Yorkers was astounding, really, just walk up and be some kind of rude dickwad like this douche beside him. He'd had enough. Eridan lowered his case to the ground, and pocketed his phone. He turned slowly, and closely with his firearm. Getting close enough that the man might not see it. A he turned, he quickly analyzed his prosecutor; tall, tan, stronger than he. Broad face, bespectacled, and armed. The firearms changed the scenario, Eridan didn't want bloodshed, not in public with all these witnesses. Even the Gambino family wouldn't be able to clean up a murder at point blank range in broad daylight. So Eridan tossed up his chances: Depending on prescription, knocking off this man's glasses could render his firearms useless. But he seemed like the type to make blind punches, that could essentially take out Eridan in one swing. Eridan was better off working with intimidation, use the gun, then command him to unload his arms. It was risky, but he's not leaving till he's shown this stranger that you can't be a tactless prick to just anyone.
"Thanks for the tip buddy, here's a little moral for ya though," Eridan pressed the barrel of his 6-inch silver .44 magnum into the man's stomach. "Dickin with strangers is bad for yer health, I mean shit, ya could lose all yer digits in the course a five days. It's just common fucking sense." Eridan gave him violent smirk, and cocked the hammer. "Why don't'cha empty yer little friends down there so we don't get any trouble, huh? Any sudden movements and yer intestines are gonna fuckin decorate these god-damn trees like it's dumbass-who-fucked-with-the-wrong-guy-mas."
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