Author Topic: A BEAUTIFUL NIGHTMARE / O.  (Read 99 times)

Offline MERGE.

  • Posts: 46
    • View Profile
« on: February 04, 2019, 09:24:54 PM »
tw mentions of drug abuse.

For someone who prides herself as being so book smart, when it comes to her own survival she has just about as much wits as those she despises in associating herself with, the desperation of a couple of weeks without pain reliever driving her far colder than the wind chill ever could. Before she'd stumbled upon the lodge, she'd been exiled from another group with cold temperatures, but ones much colder than this, as when their medicine ran thin so did their patience for her. Maybe she did steal, more times than not she was high when patients timidly visited her with a severe cough and runny nose. And maybe she had lied to them about how much medicine was left to cure her own satisfactions and in turn, a solider or two died. But who the hell died from a common cold? Those whose immune systems were that weak didn't deserve another antidote to waste.

She, she attacked another's people and here she was. Lazily duct taped to a bunk bed that she's too long for like he was the prisoner of a seven year old with a wild imagination rather than a group slowly but surely beginning to build a foundation for itself. Had she been deprived of her sleep, she would have banged against the bed post, cursed to the top of her lungs like a caged animal as sleep deprivation and sobriety rarely was a good mix, but instead she wakes begrudgingly, similarly to how a sweet princess does when locked away in her tower and glances around almost as if it was normal — and it was. It wouldn't be the first time that she'd gotten in a scuffle, wouldn't be the first time she'd lost a fight. Situations like this is often what gets her in a group in the first place, giving her an easy access to their first aid cabinets.

"Anyone?" She calls out, toying with the duct tape that's rather impressively clung to the bed post. It takes several efforts before she's able to break herself free, rubbing at the raw skin, now exposed, taking a moment to scope her clearing. The bedroom, except for beds and the necessities to a bedroom pre-apocalypse, is pristine. No grimy 'Hello Kitty' backpack in sight. As expected. But between the absence of Vicodin in her system ( or any drug she could get her hands on, really ), and this shitty situation her frustrations only escalates. Getting up, she heads to the door, opening it slowly in search for the nearest person in sight; hopefully someone who could take her to whoever ran this shithole.


  • Posts: 849
  • ic opinions ✦ @hootowls
    • View Profile
« Reply #1 on: February 06, 2019, 12:39:09 AM »
sailboats wish that they were stars.
(( tw for mentions of drugs ))

Brendan isn’t a druggie. Granted, that’s pretty fricken obvious, considering he’s fourteen in the middle of some electrical-Apocalypse, but...yeah. Truth be told, drugs don’t interest him, and neither does smoking or drinking beer or whatever; he is fourteen after all, and he has heard of the dangerous side effects that come with all that junk. That being said, he doesn’t understand why people enjoy those so much. Do they make them happy? Is the smell nice? Personally, Brendan really fricken despises the smell of cigarettes and beer, but eh, maybe people like it.

As for death——well, Brendan’s familiar with it. Okay, that sounds edgy as all heck, but it’s true. His parents died, there was that badlands raid, and then that poor flintlocker that was murdered recently. All of those deaths, however, have two things in common: violence, and the victims being innocent. He isn’t so sure why death seems to always prey after the innocent, and then proceed to rob them in the most gruesome way possible, happens, he guesses. And while he’s honestly pissed about the flintlocker (mainly because he thinks the badlanders did it), in a world like this one, death apparently shouldn’t be the most foreign occurrence.

Well, anyways, that’s that.

Today happens to be a bit of a quiet one; nothing too exciting or whatever has happened, and after stomping around outside for a while, Brendan makes his way indoors, the staff in his hand dragging across the floor after him. Kicking any excess snow off of his boots, he pauses, sighing as he takes in the surroundings. There isn’t much he can do at the moment, so maybe he should go back to training...? Yeah, might as well.

Sauntering down the halls, Brendan can’t help but notice a——stranger. Shoulders tensing, he flips his staff into both hands, eyebrows furrowing as he stomps on over.

"who are you?"
i wanna be ten feet tall, i wanna grow big red horns
fingers covered in thorns that pierce everything . tags