(Untitled)

[fu_noobspeaker]

Well gosh, campers and counselors! April showers just bring May lumps of ice fallin' from the sky! Better get yourselves some helmets, 'cause I've dropped off a few at the mess hall!

[TODAY IN CAMP - hail, hail, hail. there are several hot pink helmets just inside the mess hall, but the hail is coming down hard enough to cause havoc to your roofs

Comments

[crisscrossing]

Fuckow!

[bad_addict]

Would you care for a helmet?

[crisscrossing]

Yeah, uh, my skull is doing a sucky job!

[bad_addict]

*hope that you have good reflexes -- a hot pink helmet from the mess hall is flying your way, at extremely high velocity*

Also, just as a tip, but some aftershave might not hurt, either, though I haven't got any of that on hand to send your way.

[crisscrossing]

Jesus! --Err, aftershave?

[bad_addict]

You've a bit of... scent about you. Might not make the best impression on some types whom are generally better to impress well upon than not.

[crisscrossing]

Oh. Oh. It's--that wouldn't help.

[bad_addict]

Really? Pity. Have you had that looked it?

[crisscrossing]

Ummmmmm.

[bad_addict]

Right, right, medical privacy and all. Well, don't worry about it, I'll ask you another time when it'll be more difficult for you to dodge the question.

*is at his side -- not instantaneously, but quicker than one should have been able to travel that distance, just enough so to seem a bit unnerving -- and holding a hand out*

Corporal Maladict von Borogravia. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.

*is also, by the by, wearing one of the mess hall helmets. it looks like he somehow managed to spraypaint it black or something, though some bits of hot pink still show.*

[crisscrossing]

[h-handshake]

Err! You too... sir? I'm Hanna Cross.

[bad_addict]

Hanna! Been here long?

[crisscrossing]

Three months and hey mind ducking under something maybe? I bruise like the wimpiest banana and ow.

[bad_addict]

But is your peeled skin good for comic effect? A question for another day, I suppose. Shall we see if the nearest barn isn't already filled past legal capacity with the undead?

*and is already sauntering off to peek his head inside*

[crisscrossing]

[WHAT AM I GETTING INTO ahhhh. follows]

[bad_addict]

*just stepping out of the hail with one of your friendly neighbourhood vampires! indeed, Mal heads into the barn and it is pleasantly devoid of the undead. well, the shambling, brain-eating undead, as obviously the fanged, military undead just walked in.

he sits himself down on a bale of hay, somehow looking as elegant and at ease as though he'd just taken a load off in some fancy leather armchair in the mancave of his own castle.*

So, Hanna Cross. How has an easily-bruised fellow such as yourself been doing in this rather bumpy camp for the past months?