11-09-2009, 07:04 PM
Shou chuckled to himself, his homebrewed cackle bouncing off the tiles around him in an acoustic manner. It was at Corey's expense, of course. Both hands had their turn at the levers and stopped the flow of the cool water. Something didn't quite sit right, however... Something he neglected or completely forgot to do. So he gave it some consideration.
Kill Knucklehead? Work in progress.. Favor for Greyhound and Donny, check. Wasn't their Mr. Big though.. Uhmm, Samantha Button.. Got off of Mercy.. What am I forgetting?
The paramilitary prodigy hadn't given much thought to the escort or why he woke here, drunken and unsure of himself. Instead he jumped into some clean underwear and started throwing on layers of soiled clothing: wraps for his hands and feet first, then the lavender kimono and trousers—secured both at the shins, forearms, and middle with more wraps. He fastened his utility belt and harness, and stepped into his tabi.
As he opened his door and sought to return to one of his favored pastimes, it seemed two musclebound men had other ideas. Shou sized them up and decided that it wasn't the best idea to get into a scuffle then and there.
"Kid, Mr. Dukes would like to meet with you..." the bigger musclehead grunted, patting his rifle and giving Shou a once over.
Guess they found out that I'm not who they think I am... Shou toyed around with the idea in his head.
"C'mon, short stuff, we don't got all day..." the other piped in, his barotone much like that of the burlier man beside him.
Shou surrendered to their will, escorted through an unfamiliar labyrinth of corridors. As they walked through the lobby and past the bar he noted several others being escorted —two musclebounds to a person— as he was. He caught wind of familiar faces from his trip to the forsaken planet and couldn't help but cock a brow and nudge the black shirt nearest to him.
"How do they choose, invites an' all, who makes it here?" Shou asked, recalling what it was that he neglected to do. He reached down the breast of his kimono and removed the envelope, opting to confirm his suspicions.
As expected, the goon shrugged. "Dukes has a system, it works. I mean you're here."
Shou didn't know how he could overlook the fact that the letter was addressed to him, personally. It deeply regretted to inform him that he was swindled into believing he hoodwinked into this years Dante's Abyss. It all went downhill from there; that was to be as expected as the fumes that made Shou consider buying a rebreather as-soon-as-it-was-possible.
"Winter!" Shou awoke with a headstart. The emerald hue of his right eye met the jagged landscape that stretched out, against the horizon. It was obvious dawn had broken not too long ago, but Shou felt as though he had the most restful slumber he'd had in weeks. He noticed something else.
"Why am I.. floating?" he was sitting, cross-legged, on the wind with a rifle (much like the ones that ushered him down here) in his grasp. Giving no thought to the impulsive preservation of his identity, he wrenched his scarf and the 'kerchief he wore beneath that free. Oxygen devoid of industrialized pollutions flooded his lungs and gave his head a light buzz.
On his cue his psychokinetic hold released him and he caught himself on the gravel-coated incline and considered a career in sales. It was just a thought, given circumstances he found due to the nature of his work.
He tried to remember much of what went on before the ol' reverse-ventilation setup, only it was to no avail. Instead his memories wandered much further back to a time just before he wore these pairs of scars on his face —one running from the corner of his jaw to stop somewhere beneath his brown eye, the other faint with age and extended downside his right eye. Neither stretched high enough to be seen when he donned his disguise, but his thumbs brushed against the older groove and the fresher upraise as it had been some time since he'd given them much notice. He'd been carefree and innocent back then.
A scratching sound caught him off guard, prompting him to conceal his more notable feature. No one really connnected with his eyes long enough to notice the heterochromia, they were more concerned with his scarf or their perception of his image. But there it was again! It jumped up and looked for something to grasp, a grappling hook, time and time again until he decided to lower his gun and direct it somewhere where it would hold sturdy. Shou didn't know who was on the other side nor their intention, but he knew he wasn't sticking around anyway.
Looking around for an anchor point he found a noteworthy cliff in the distance and shifted over a hundred-and-say-fifty yards in the blink of an eye. Instead of the killer migraine there was nothing, just fresh air. The young saiyan overlooked a valley from this vantage point and could see a building in the distance, hidden by trees on one side with its roof low and seeping into the earth around it.
"Maybe there's food." he rationalized. His stomach grumbled in agreement.
Kill Knucklehead? Work in progress.. Favor for Greyhound and Donny, check. Wasn't their Mr. Big though.. Uhmm, Samantha Button.. Got off of Mercy.. What am I forgetting?
The paramilitary prodigy hadn't given much thought to the escort or why he woke here, drunken and unsure of himself. Instead he jumped into some clean underwear and started throwing on layers of soiled clothing: wraps for his hands and feet first, then the lavender kimono and trousers—secured both at the shins, forearms, and middle with more wraps. He fastened his utility belt and harness, and stepped into his tabi.
As he opened his door and sought to return to one of his favored pastimes, it seemed two musclebound men had other ideas. Shou sized them up and decided that it wasn't the best idea to get into a scuffle then and there.
"Kid, Mr. Dukes would like to meet with you..." the bigger musclehead grunted, patting his rifle and giving Shou a once over.
Guess they found out that I'm not who they think I am... Shou toyed around with the idea in his head.
"C'mon, short stuff, we don't got all day..." the other piped in, his barotone much like that of the burlier man beside him.
Shou surrendered to their will, escorted through an unfamiliar labyrinth of corridors. As they walked through the lobby and past the bar he noted several others being escorted —two musclebounds to a person— as he was. He caught wind of familiar faces from his trip to the forsaken planet and couldn't help but cock a brow and nudge the black shirt nearest to him.
"How do they choose, invites an' all, who makes it here?" Shou asked, recalling what it was that he neglected to do. He reached down the breast of his kimono and removed the envelope, opting to confirm his suspicions.
As expected, the goon shrugged. "Dukes has a system, it works. I mean you're here."
Shou didn't know how he could overlook the fact that the letter was addressed to him, personally. It deeply regretted to inform him that he was swindled into believing he hoodwinked into this years Dante's Abyss. It all went downhill from there; that was to be as expected as the fumes that made Shou consider buying a rebreather as-soon-as-it-was-possible.
"Winter!" Shou awoke with a headstart. The emerald hue of his right eye met the jagged landscape that stretched out, against the horizon. It was obvious dawn had broken not too long ago, but Shou felt as though he had the most restful slumber he'd had in weeks. He noticed something else.
"Why am I.. floating?" he was sitting, cross-legged, on the wind with a rifle (much like the ones that ushered him down here) in his grasp. Giving no thought to the impulsive preservation of his identity, he wrenched his scarf and the 'kerchief he wore beneath that free. Oxygen devoid of industrialized pollutions flooded his lungs and gave his head a light buzz.
On his cue his psychokinetic hold released him and he caught himself on the gravel-coated incline and considered a career in sales. It was just a thought, given circumstances he found due to the nature of his work.
He tried to remember much of what went on before the ol' reverse-ventilation setup, only it was to no avail. Instead his memories wandered much further back to a time just before he wore these pairs of scars on his face —one running from the corner of his jaw to stop somewhere beneath his brown eye, the other faint with age and extended downside his right eye. Neither stretched high enough to be seen when he donned his disguise, but his thumbs brushed against the older groove and the fresher upraise as it had been some time since he'd given them much notice. He'd been carefree and innocent back then.
A scratching sound caught him off guard, prompting him to conceal his more notable feature. No one really connnected with his eyes long enough to notice the heterochromia, they were more concerned with his scarf or their perception of his image. But there it was again! It jumped up and looked for something to grasp, a grappling hook, time and time again until he decided to lower his gun and direct it somewhere where it would hold sturdy. Shou didn't know who was on the other side nor their intention, but he knew he wasn't sticking around anyway.
Looking around for an anchor point he found a noteworthy cliff in the distance and shifted over a hundred-and-say-fifty yards in the blink of an eye. Instead of the killer migraine there was nothing, just fresh air. The young saiyan overlooked a valley from this vantage point and could see a building in the distance, hidden by trees on one side with its roof low and seeping into the earth around it.
"Maybe there's food." he rationalized. His stomach grumbled in agreement.
Quote:Shou enters the Mountain Sector bunker