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| Don't Drop the Soap; Blackout, open | |
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| Topic Started: Jun 9 2009, 02:45 AM (1,173 Views) | |
| Sack | Jul 21 2009, 02:45 AM Post #16 |
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"I'm done. Laters." "Say WHAAAA?!" Sack turned, his blue protoplasmic body turning towards Saint. He lifted his shoulders, hands outstretched for a moment. "Oh come on, man! I didn't even get the right length yet? What are ya? Six? Eight inches? The least you could do is tell me! Hey! Hit me up for some hoops!" Loud, brash, and probably incredibly crude, the blue mutant, grinned, eyes settling on Saint's ass. "Hate it when they leave but I love watchin' them go..." he said, watching as Saint wrapped himself up in the same towel everyone else had. Pity that Saint had to cover that up. Truly, a shame. Why bother hiding something tasty like that? Sack wasn't gay or anything (although, even Sack confused the hell out of himself with all his cock talk), but he knew a good body when he saw one. Seriously, once Sack got his clothes off it was all over for the ladies. Yeah, he was totally ripped. As for Saint... "that makes you just the same as him, and me. Either way, we're all wearing the same clothes." Lost to his ADHD, Sack looked back towards the primary topic of the showers. These two nutjobs. Well, one of them was a nutjob... Sack was kinda one... and the big Sayan was just a dick. So, yeah. One nut, one Sack, and one cock. A beautiful, combination if he did say so himself. "Clothes are for sissies. I only wear them here. It's for good hygene," he commented before the towering shadow of the Sayan came close, beady little commie eyes set on his bead little commie face, standing over the full-time American mutant Sack. Oh man. He made a threat. A threat! Sack's features exploded with a wild-eyed grin, full set of teeth showing between his lips. Ooooh man. He did it. It was on, it was on. Sack didn't even need to stand on his tip toes to try to equalize this. Still standing underneath his showerhead, Sack met the hard face of the Sayan, letting him say his words. Disappointingly, the guy went on to talk to Blackout. Why? Blackout wasn't cool. "Dishing out threats like that is pretty damn ballsy. Man, you must've lost your nerve. Did daddy Ursa give lil' big guy a spanking? First you dismiss my promotion of communism, then you threaten to cut my head off. Who are you, the French? Seriously; guillotining people is so 1700s. That head is part of Gene Nation, white boy. You know making threats like that is bad mojo. Not only that, but you went ahead and pissed on the batshit LD50s with your robot talk. Listen, Terminator, I don't know how long ya been in here, but you just broke the rules." Grinning, Sack stepped back, grabbing his towel and wrapping it around himself. He didn't bother shutting off the shower. "Watch your back, or you'll end up like that pale ass bitch's kidneys from the riot." Kissing his hand, he lifted it with two fingers up. "PEACE BITCHES" <exit Sack Attack> |
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| Blackout | Jul 21 2009, 09:12 PM Post #17 |
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Aww, everyone was leaving the playground, and it had only just gotten interesting. But mm, reactions from the stoic Ruskie, the man who prided himself on his unfailing certitude and that seamless composure. He’d flinched. Lucian didn’t even bother watching Sack as he sneered and shouted his way out of the shower room; the protoplasmic mound of gelatine thrived on attention, and Luc was far more interested in this humanoid Rubix cube. “Love the hippy rendition, very moving. Tell me, did Greenpeace factor all those murders into your application rejection?” God, he wanted to push Rasputin’s buttons. Like poking at a rabid wildcat, dangerous, but far too fun not to try. He wanted to see the Sayan’s rigid defences splinter and warp, those carefully constructed walls bend and totter, because even if Lucian bore the brunt of that explosion, even if the breakwater crashed against his matchstick limbs and snapped them like timber, his resolve was still intact, and then what did the Russian have left but the wilderness of a broken fort, and base survival instinct. If you broke in here, then that was it, and you fell into an inescapable pit, and even if you were released you had become a caged animal, and the institution would never really leave you. So Lucian pressed closer, eyes glinting like chips of granite, smiling ingratiatingly, all tooth and decayed emotion, flat as five-day-old soda, spittle mingling with skeins of water as his tongue caught up against the corner of his mouth. He was a coward, but he was also a sociopath, and these personality quirks clashed with one another, and his arms quaked with just as much fear as adrenaline. The window had cracked a little, now all he had to do was pry at it. “Know what I think? I think you’re so wrapped up in this bubble of ethical superiority, you’re so desperate to make up for what you did you really don’t see how similar we really are. I suppose it’s difficult, being here, wondering how long you’re going to be stuck here. Whether you’re going to spend the rest of your days rotting. You’ve only got fragmented morals to hold onto.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I don’t blame you, you know. Little woodlice get inside, and they reach right around until they’re sucking on the desiccated remnants of your pride, and it just might snnnap right off, and then what, hmm? Are you? You’re coming too close, Piotr, too… fucking… close.” |
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| Colossus | Jul 24 2009, 04:37 AM Post #18 |
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Piotr stood in silence, his back turned to the technopath as he listned to the words sliding over his skin like black ooze. Lucian tried to infect him with whatever disease had done this to his brain, attempting to poison him… make him as cynical and hopeless as he was. Why? Because misery loved company… that’s why. And despite the fact that the only time the Russian had been more miserable than this moment was when he had to endure unbeleivable torture at the hands of Hydra, Colossus was convinced that his unhappiness paled in comparison to Luc’s. Unlike Lucian, Piotr still believed in goodness… that there was something worth fighting and living and dying for. Sure… he couldn’t see it right now, but he knew it was still out there… he had faith in that. All his loved ones were gone, and if you couldn’t give a man love, give him hope… and that’s exactly what Colossus hung onto. It’s what gave him the strength to carry on, no matter how hard it got to coninue. However… hope and faith could only do so much… despite the fact that he would not let Luc’s words taint his soul, Piotr still couldn’t keep his anger in check as Lucian threw those accusations at him. No matter how much those words rolled off his back, they still stung like a bitch. He shuddered slightly, as he tried to repress the anger building at the man’s gaul. Finally, he turned to face Luc, towering over the man in that silent, menacing way he had perfected over the years. “I do not care what you think of me. I do not care about your opinions on snapping or good or evil. I am nothing like you, and I would normally strike you for accusing me of such a thing. You are a worm, Lucian. You are a parasite who offers nothing to the society he lives in. It is people like you who actually make me consider the death sentence, and I am ashamed of myself for doing so, even though it is with good reason.” He shook his head, “I will not strike you, though. I do not want or need the attention, so I ask you to stop talking and finish bathing yourself before I do something we will both regret.” Piotr envisioned taking Luc’s small neck between his hands and strangling the life out of the man during a mass escape attempt. The thought was satisfying, and he considered the fact that the technokinetic would likely not be missed by anyone. He was not a very pleasant man. “Just know that while I do not wish to draw attention to myself on the inside,” Colossus growled, “If we ever meet somewhere else, I will kill you without hesitation. I do not feel guilty for telling you this becaue I believe I would be doing the world a great favor… a service that I would gladely perform.” He turned back to his shower, “You are garbage, Lucian, and I am nothing like you.” Colossus was quite proud of himself for not hitting the man like he wanted to. |
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| Blackout | Jul 26 2009, 06:00 PM Post #19 |
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Lucian stood there watching all the little creases rumble their way across Colossus’ features, how the tensing of his musculature preceded angry glowers and growling threats. The technopath eyed him greedily as though he’d just discovered something new and exciting in an old experiment. Oh, the Sayan liked to pretend Lucian’s words were like the water rolling down his naked back, just dribbling runoff that ultimately swilled away into the recesses of a sewage drain, but those grimy sentences, those slimy syllables, they all hit home, didn’t they. The shudder, the strain in his voice, the grimace that soured his square-set face, all of them congealed into one vivid picture: Piotr was crumbling under his resolve. Feeling very pleased with himself, Lucian inched forward a few more steps, grinning all over his face, which made him look quite mad. He could maintain a certain level of discreetness when he so wished, but right now he didn’t really feel like it, and his true nature plastered itself over the shower stalls like an oil spill, oozing from every pore, and his greasy demeanour immediately doubled. “When it all boils down, when there’s nothing left but caramelised sludge and the remnants of whosever bones got ground in the process… you’d like to think that. You’d like to think a lot of things, wouldn’t you? It’s not really yours to say though is it?” As though he were a stray dog anxiously picking at a carcass, Lucian shrunk back whenever Piotr moved, hesitantly licking his lips, chewing on the inside of them. He wanted the Russian to break, but that meant being injured, and that wasn’t really something he desired, but maybe… maybe it’d be worth it. “You’re not fooling anyone. You think you’re such a saint. Such a martyr. Get over yourself, Piotr. You wish I was dead, yeah…” Lucian snickered. “Then I guess in God’s eyes we’re tarred with the same brush… if you believe in silly nonsense like theological crutches. Have you heard? They don’t serve breakfast in Hell.” |
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| Colossus | Aug 22 2009, 12:18 AM Post #20 |
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“I do not believe in hell,” Piotr said as he continued to wash, not even giving Luc as much as a glance over his shoulder. “But if one exists, then I hope that is where you go once you die.” He desperately wanted to keep his cool… to merely continue serving his time in the CAGE and wait as patiently as he could for some sort of signal that they would be leaving. The more he blended in with the populace… the better the chance Piotr had of surviving this entire ordeal and living to breathe free air again. But it was getting increasingly more difficult with every passing moment; Piotr had so much anger at his life over the past three years… so much frustration and stress. He desperately wanted to visit the Danger Room and work off some of the pent-up emotions he’d bottled for so long. His parents were dead… friends he had grown up and played with… his little sister. Beads of water running down his flesh reminded him of the tears that ran down Illyana’s cheeks when she accidentally smashed her finger in her bureau. Blond hair framed overly-curious blue eyes… <What is that you have, brother?> <A sandwich, flower.> <How does a tractor work?> <We have hired faeries to push it for us.> <Can I have one?> <Faeries? No, but later after I am finished, we will go out and try to find one. If you are very quiet you can sometimes see them.> <Do you promise?> <I promise.> She had been such a lovely little girl with such promise, and she had been robbed it by evil men who only wanted to satisfy their curiosity about his mutation. Because of people like Lucian – who had no regard for life and beautiful things – that the Russian had his entire family… his entire community ripped from him like they were nothing. The soaked cloth between his large fingers slipped out as he suddenly realized he was shaking with fury… how dare this little man cheapen life like this. He suddenly spun, one meaty hand slamming into the reedy, bare chest of his antagonist and bearing him into the cold tiled wall that lined the showers. A loud crash echoed across the room; conversations died and hygienic rituals ground to a halt as all eyes turned on the pair, waiting to see what happened. Colossus fixed a deadly gaze on Lucian, his forearm jammed tight against the smaller man’s upper torso, teeth grinding as their faces hovered within inches of each other. “I do not know what caramelized is, and do not know whether God exists, but none of that matters. The only thing that you need to worry about is that I am here and I do not like you. You talk too much. You breathe air that could go to better men. I can kill you or let you live.” He pulled back his other arm, raising it into a fist ready to strike. “I am your god,” he growled, “and I am telling you to be quiet.” |
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| Blackout | Aug 28 2009, 09:21 PM Post #21 |
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This was the part he’d been waiting for, the payoff, the bittersweet moment of triumph. The part where he got to prove to himself just exactly how much power he had stored inside that clever little head of his, how much control his tongue could spit in comparison to muscle and brawn. That wonderful, disgusting, fleeting moment of jubilation was short-lived; as the hulking Russian bore down upon his scrawny frame, the sickly burst of glee immediately collapsed into a writhing sort of horror. Lucian’s head cracked with a resounding smack against the tiles, rattling his brains around in his skull, his teeth snipping shut with a clip, slicing a few taste buds off the end of his tongue. He exhaled in a violent huff, Piotr’s features now looming massive in front of his own. He could feel breath flush hot against shower-clammy skin, warmer spatters of saliva striking sticky against the cooler condensation. Winded, Lucian started to panic, eyes bulging past their sockets, unable to gulp down on a respectable lungful of air. “Don’t-“ he grated, a pitiful whine wheezing out between short unfulfilled gasps, not really hearing what Piotr was snarling at him. “Wait… don’t.. don’t hurt me!” Something like a snivel bubbled through the hacking, the technopath jabbering like a child who’d dropped their ice-lolly. “I can tell you!” he gabbled, eyes roving like a mad dogs’, a finger jamming towards Colossus’ face in a few quick short stabs, jabbing in futile flails around the meaty arm as though accusatory and attempting to pry himself loose at the same time. “Caramelised is when sugar oxidises during cooking!” |
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| Colossus | Sep 3 2009, 11:42 PM Post #22 |
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A large, meaty fist drove into Luc’s jaw, forcing the technokinetic’s head to snap to the side as the offending weapon of choice followed through. Immediately Colossus lowered his arm from Lucian’s chest, grabbing the smaller man by the hair and yanking him off the wall with the intention of sending him staggering off to the side. Piotr didn’t know where… didn’t really care. He just wanted the offensive little piece of trash away from him. His gaze followed wherever it was Lucian had ended up, lip curled in disgust at the thought that he’d actually had to touch the greasy, stringy, little piece of bacon fat. “You care about things that do not matter, Lucian. I do not need to know what that is. I do not need to know anything you have to say. I do not want to hear anything from you. I am a damned soul for the things I have done in my life, but I am not like you. I have loved and fought for good things, while you have nothing but empty words about the world. I have memories of warm looks, and hard work, and good food. They help me sleep at night, but you do not look like you have slept well since that cursed day you were born.” He turned and grabbed his towel, throwing it over his broad shoulder as he shut off the water… suddenly the shower area felt too dirty to wash in. Turning back, he fixed the Brit with one last glare, jabbing a threatening finger at him, “Do not talk to me again, or I will kill you `suka. I am not lying.” Without another word, he turned and stalked off, not bothering to look at any of the few others in the shower. His chest swelled with pride at how well he had restrained himself for the first time in years, yet there was a little concern mixed with the relief. After all… Lucian was part of a gang, and a physical confrontation with one of them meant a possible confrontation with the others. He would merely have to keep company for the next couple of weeks until he and Mikhail could get it all worked out. Still… a small, satisfied smile threatened to briefly flicker across his lips. Regardless of the cost, it had been a very satisfying punch. |
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| Blackout | Sep 5 2009, 11:43 PM Post #23 |
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The punch came far too quickly for Lucian to react to before he felt pain blossom through his jaw and echo through his skull in pounding aftershocks. He withered like a thread of flax, eyes rolling, but even though his knees buckled and the slick tiling rushed up to meet him in a dizzy blur, he never made it. With a violent twist Piotr snatched a fistful of Luc’s hair, tearing chunks clean from his scalp, wrenching his neck about in a sudden sharp jerk, blood diluted by saliva and shower runoff spattering in a messy drizzle across his cheek. The technopath gurgled something unintelligible, something about stopping, fuck- stop; but the pitiful words were choked off mid sentence, stifled with a careless jag as he was thrown like a tattered shred of towelling. The Russian’s snarled words washed over the fallen Briton like dirty dishwater, like they were polluted with rotten bits of chicken and soggy crusts and raisins engorged on stagnant slime, coming at him as though from the end of a very long tunnel. Lucian waited until his grouchy little friend was quite done; he simply laid there, goosebumps slathering along his arms and sides and skinny thighs in the shower room chill. One of his molars had been knocked loose, he could feel it shifting in its root canal. Lovely. He spat a mouthful of blood. Gingerly tonguing the loose tooth, Lucian wobbled like a sodden lopsided kitten, pushing himself to his hands and knees, hair like dirty rags dripping and dangling in droves and disseminating in a ragged mess over his forehead. A furtive glance at the exit showed him that Piotr was well out of sight and earshot, and he stole himself a swollen smile, lip already puffing. Worth it, maybe, maybe not, who knew, but, either way, he had won, he’d gotten that reaction that was oh so hard to pry loose… and that showed in the way his eyes bunched up into oily little pinpoints of pleasure. “Got you, Mr Rasputin.” |
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7:21 PM Jul 11