Post by Zacharie on Dec 6, 2012 18:49:20 GMT -6
(( Sorry that I took this post down a few days ago. I’m putting it back up again!
Essentially I made this post as an opportunity for any REDs not currently involved with the plot to well… get involved! The catch is really you will have to come up with what your character was doing that night. If you wanna ask me any questions hit me up on steam or send me a message! ))
It was already some time past dawn since the incident in the basement occurred, those who were at the base that night didn’t sleep a wink. In fact most of the RED team had sat in the medical ward until sunrise, unable to sleep and unable to speak of what just happened to them. Now that the sun had decided to show itself, Zacharie had emerged from the medical ward to try and get his fix of caffeine and nicotine. The spy was mindful enough not to light up while in the ward, he was certainly aching for a cigarette by the time he left.
He made his way groggily into the common’s kitchen, wasting no time in getting his cravings under control. The spy stood idly by the coffee pot and waited for it to fill, trying to enjoy his long awaited cigarette. It was certainly a chore to do everything one handed, especially since he only had mobility in his left arm. His right arm was in a splint and sling and his eye covered with a patch to keep any irritating light out. He felt out of sorts, not solely due to the injuries and lack of sleep, he was dressed down to his socks, pants and a dress shirt. It was a very rare sight to see him this way and frankly he didn’t care anymore. He was glad that he was alive and that his team, for the most part, where alright.
Zacharie reflected momentarily on the events for what had to be, what, the hundredth time. How easily where they made fools of, toys slung around by an amused spirit who saw it fit to play with them. The mercenaries didn’t know how to deal with it; they couldn’t even bring themselves to speak about it for the rest of the evening. Just how does one deal with that kind of intangible force? How unfair was it that it could hurt them so easily but remain unaffected by physical attacks? The spy ran his hand down the side of his face, eyes closed as he tried to think. Nothing came to him, he was too short on sleep, nicotine and caffeine. He needed his fixes.
The warmth and the aroma of coffee began to waft through the air, he opened his eyes to find that the coffee pot was already halfway full. Great. If he were lucky the smell would possibly bring out the rest of his comrades from hiding. Zacharie didn’t want to admit it, but he still felt slightly uneasy about being alone.
Essentially I made this post as an opportunity for any REDs not currently involved with the plot to well… get involved! The catch is really you will have to come up with what your character was doing that night. If you wanna ask me any questions hit me up on steam or send me a message! ))
It was already some time past dawn since the incident in the basement occurred, those who were at the base that night didn’t sleep a wink. In fact most of the RED team had sat in the medical ward until sunrise, unable to sleep and unable to speak of what just happened to them. Now that the sun had decided to show itself, Zacharie had emerged from the medical ward to try and get his fix of caffeine and nicotine. The spy was mindful enough not to light up while in the ward, he was certainly aching for a cigarette by the time he left.
He made his way groggily into the common’s kitchen, wasting no time in getting his cravings under control. The spy stood idly by the coffee pot and waited for it to fill, trying to enjoy his long awaited cigarette. It was certainly a chore to do everything one handed, especially since he only had mobility in his left arm. His right arm was in a splint and sling and his eye covered with a patch to keep any irritating light out. He felt out of sorts, not solely due to the injuries and lack of sleep, he was dressed down to his socks, pants and a dress shirt. It was a very rare sight to see him this way and frankly he didn’t care anymore. He was glad that he was alive and that his team, for the most part, where alright.
Zacharie reflected momentarily on the events for what had to be, what, the hundredth time. How easily where they made fools of, toys slung around by an amused spirit who saw it fit to play with them. The mercenaries didn’t know how to deal with it; they couldn’t even bring themselves to speak about it for the rest of the evening. Just how does one deal with that kind of intangible force? How unfair was it that it could hurt them so easily but remain unaffected by physical attacks? The spy ran his hand down the side of his face, eyes closed as he tried to think. Nothing came to him, he was too short on sleep, nicotine and caffeine. He needed his fixes.
The warmth and the aroma of coffee began to waft through the air, he opened his eyes to find that the coffee pot was already halfway full. Great. If he were lucky the smell would possibly bring out the rest of his comrades from hiding. Zacharie didn’t want to admit it, but he still felt slightly uneasy about being alone.
