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[OPEN]
Who| Pruna and Marius, Marius and you???
What| Marius is dicking around, and eventually gets robbed and stabbed by a little girl. Today is not his day.
Where| First floor
When| Week 3, after Felicity's attack and death
Warnings/Notes| Blood, violence, etc.; PM me if your character is planning on stealing from/attacking Marius so we can sort something out? :3
Marius blinked rapidly, trying to keep out of his eyes the warm, bright-red blood that oozed from the long and deep incision close to his brows. He was still panting heavily from the sudden encounter with the distraught mademoiselle, his sweat and tears mixing with the blood that trickled down his face and the bridge of his nose.
He watched her die. The thought caused him to choke. He slapped a hand over his mouth and let out a helpless whine, leaning against the cold metal of the elevator. He could not save his friends at the barricades in Paris and he could not save Cosette from Eva's poisoned blade and he could not save this woman, who was bleeding and weak and hysterical and in need of comfort and assistance. Was this the grand fate that the Moirae weaved for him? To simply watch incapably by as sword of Thanatos struck down everyone around him?
No, cease your thoughts on it.
In his other arm, he clutched the bundle of food from sponsors and the crowbar tighter against his chest. He knew he should return to their hide-away in the fourth floor, but he was afraid that if the body of the unknown mademoiselle was still there, he would fall into a sickness he could not recover from. Besides, he had to search for food; the camp was running low on it, and he could not allow them to starve to death.
He recalled that the first floor had a cafe. His attempt to explore may not yield fruit, in retrospect, but it had become something he needed to do. It was a distraction.
The chime signifying his arrival on said floor sounded like thunder in his ears in the silence of the steel box, and he wiped the blood off his brow with his arm, wincing only slightly; the shock from the attack and the death of the woman took over his senses far more than the pain from the knife wound. He shifted his crowbar to his free hand and stumbled out of the elevator: a man with vision blocked every so often by the sticky liquid from his head wound, dizzy and highly distraught, clutching a bag of food against his chest like a lifeline.
What| Marius is dicking around, and eventually gets robbed and stabbed by a little girl. Today is not his day.
Where| First floor
When| Week 3, after Felicity's attack and death
Warnings/Notes| Blood, violence, etc.; PM me if your character is planning on stealing from/attacking Marius so we can sort something out? :3
Marius blinked rapidly, trying to keep out of his eyes the warm, bright-red blood that oozed from the long and deep incision close to his brows. He was still panting heavily from the sudden encounter with the distraught mademoiselle, his sweat and tears mixing with the blood that trickled down his face and the bridge of his nose.
He watched her die. The thought caused him to choke. He slapped a hand over his mouth and let out a helpless whine, leaning against the cold metal of the elevator. He could not save his friends at the barricades in Paris and he could not save Cosette from Eva's poisoned blade and he could not save this woman, who was bleeding and weak and hysterical and in need of comfort and assistance. Was this the grand fate that the Moirae weaved for him? To simply watch incapably by as sword of Thanatos struck down everyone around him?
No, cease your thoughts on it.
In his other arm, he clutched the bundle of food from sponsors and the crowbar tighter against his chest. He knew he should return to their hide-away in the fourth floor, but he was afraid that if the body of the unknown mademoiselle was still there, he would fall into a sickness he could not recover from. Besides, he had to search for food; the camp was running low on it, and he could not allow them to starve to death.
He recalled that the first floor had a cafe. His attempt to explore may not yield fruit, in retrospect, but it had become something he needed to do. It was a distraction.
The chime signifying his arrival on said floor sounded like thunder in his ears in the silence of the steel box, and he wiped the blood off his brow with his arm, wincing only slightly; the shock from the attack and the death of the woman took over his senses far more than the pain from the knife wound. He shifted his crowbar to his free hand and stumbled out of the elevator: a man with vision blocked every so often by the sticky liquid from his head wound, dizzy and highly distraught, clutching a bag of food against his chest like a lifeline.
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