I'm highly animated even though I'm decomposin'
Characters: Marbles {viva_la_materia), Sven (skimpysandwich)
Date/Time: December 7th, afternoon
Location: Somewhere in the residential district.
Rating: PG-13 at the worst. This is Sven.
Summary: Sven is never where he should be and currently in over his head. Marbles tosses him a line...sort of.
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All right! Twenty down, aaand... Planting a foot on the zombie's twitching body, Marbles yanked her warfan free--it had done a good job of severing most of its neck but had gotten a little hung up on the spine--and blew out a satisfied sigh, glancing around. There were no signs of other zombies yet, but something was definitely shambling around somewhere in the branches. She could hear it. About a million to go.
Grinning from ear to ear, she ran lightly down the branch, all of her senses tingling on full alert. Marbles the Great, the hero of the hurricane and now the scourge of the undead! Forget all of her brother's bellyaching worrywartfaced complaining. This was living!
True, she wasn't technically a Watchwoman or a Guard, but the journals were swarming with requests for help out there, and clearly a real hero was needed. She'd been roaming the upper branches of the Tree since the day before, keeping an eye out for citizens in need of a dashing rescue and relieving every zombie she met of as many limbs, noggins, and small personal belongings as she could reach.
Speaking of which...Marbles paused, tilting her head to listen. Her eyes went wide, then narrowed eagerly. That was definitely a squawk of distress. Excellent.
...well, not excellent, but. Oh, whatever.
Clipping her fan into its carry-harness on her back, Marbles hopped down to the next branch over and began to run. Time to make a dramatic entrance!
Date/Time: December 7th, afternoon
Location: Somewhere in the residential district.
Rating: PG-13 at the worst. This is Sven.
Summary: Sven is never where he should be and currently in over his head. Marbles tosses him a line...sort of.
------
All right! Twenty down, aaand... Planting a foot on the zombie's twitching body, Marbles yanked her warfan free--it had done a good job of severing most of its neck but had gotten a little hung up on the spine--and blew out a satisfied sigh, glancing around. There were no signs of other zombies yet, but something was definitely shambling around somewhere in the branches. She could hear it. About a million to go.
Grinning from ear to ear, she ran lightly down the branch, all of her senses tingling on full alert. Marbles the Great, the hero of the hurricane and now the scourge of the undead! Forget all of her brother's bellyaching worrywartfaced complaining. This was living!
True, she wasn't technically a Watchwoman or a Guard, but the journals were swarming with requests for help out there, and clearly a real hero was needed. She'd been roaming the upper branches of the Tree since the day before, keeping an eye out for citizens in need of a dashing rescue and relieving every zombie she met of as many limbs, noggins, and small personal belongings as she could reach.
Speaking of which...Marbles paused, tilting her head to listen. Her eyes went wide, then narrowed eagerly. That was definitely a squawk of distress. Excellent.
...well, not excellent, but. Oh, whatever.
Clipping her fan into its carry-harness on her back, Marbles hopped down to the next branch over and began to run. Time to make a dramatic entrance!