05-10-2007, 09:15 PM
OOC: Resurrected on earth by Koola.
There was an idle rapping, that drove everyones nerves. It pulsed steadily, a sharp rapping, tapping that glided over the silence. No one said anything to the changeling, who effortlessly managed overlook everyone whenever he assumed his fully erect posture. Instead they endured the bane of his frustrations.
"Why do you need my weight again?" he was louder than he needed to be, having separated from the crowd and been whisked off to a quieter wing of the onsite signup center. There was an attendant, who quickly adapted to his socially unaware needs.
"Its for statistics, sir." She grumbled, growing impatient with his outrageous demands despite his previously hypnotic charm. Afterall, he was sitting on an intern who had hunched over and made himself the best damn makeshift chair he could manage to be.
King Cold nodded mechanically, jotting down a lie for his weight and considering shaving an inch or two off of his 'height' of 5'9". Adapting to societies whims and beckoning seemed... well, unreasonable to the former lordship. It was when he'd awoken, disoriented and in an unforeseen union with his son--Coola--that he'd decided to take a more, what he felt was a genuinely laid back demeanor. It was something about the entire atmosphere that dropped an overall gloom on the changelings shoulders; but nothing less should've been expected from the promise of an eternity in Hell.
Now Koola was nowhere to be found and the corporate-able man beneath him seemed to lose his enthusiasm. Cold wondered what Coola had been up to during these times of awkward exchanges and television programming. It wasn't premediated, it just drifted through his ponderings; but he hadn't expected Koola to whisk him from the lust-filled chambers he was within. Hell just did not live up to its Hollywoods portrayal.
"I think I'm just about done," Cold pressed himself up to the intimidating stature that kept his unjust actions as they were. He looked back to their intern, who did his best at flattering his unkempt appearance. "You okay down there, man?"
"Uhmm, yeah. Not a big deal... you needed a chair and, uh... I gave you one." He was sheepish with his response, but Cold hadn't bothered to tempt him into animosity. He was more than aware that picking on the weak usually lead to revolts and pickets.
"You'll get that... attendent... job you always wanted..." he was speaking, but his attention was on the attendant that sat behind her desk. She was a brunette and attractive, from what he could see, but that wasn't why he was staring. With an uncalculated slap atop the desk and a brash roar, he managed to frighten her after the wood (or whatever it was made out of) folded around his hand. "You're gonna take this away from me, right?" King Cold flaunted the application in from of her fear-filled eyes, tauntingly.
She received the paper, still stunned by his ecstatic behavior and began fingering her keyboard with a short-lived, rapid pace.
"Do that again." Cold said, his eyebrows slowly rising.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, seriously concerned for her well-being. "Sir, you're making me nervous.." She fingered the keyboard again, aware of the changeling hovering over her. "King Cold... Cold Dynasty... age is apparently undisclosable... you are not five-foot-nine, a hundred and twenty something pounds... I'm five-foot-nine and a hundred and twenty something pounds..."
"I guess that I wasn't that far off." He shrugged. She rolled her eyes.
"You were in the Dante's Abyss spinoff, Conquest... impress me, show me some moves or something." She said, resting her visage on her hand.
"Some moves?" he took but a moment to ponder, before his hand glided forward and submerged into a riff in mid-air. A clap behind them prompted the attendant to get to her feet and witness the intern picking himself up, holding the side of his face. "That's one."
The entire room then took a deep, sanguine shade as windswept papers began to encircle the focused changeling. Flailing her arms wildly, the attendant somehow managed to break his developing trance before her work became more picking up paperwork than clicking and recruiting fighters.
"Okay, that's it. Just step into the teleporters off to the side, we've got everything we need." She managed, nodding to the photographers who they kept onhand for events such as King Cold.
"You sure they caught my good side?" he called back, as he stepped into the whirring lights. He never did get that answer, but he was asking questions he already knew the answers to.
There was an idle rapping, that drove everyones nerves. It pulsed steadily, a sharp rapping, tapping that glided over the silence. No one said anything to the changeling, who effortlessly managed overlook everyone whenever he assumed his fully erect posture. Instead they endured the bane of his frustrations.
"Why do you need my weight again?" he was louder than he needed to be, having separated from the crowd and been whisked off to a quieter wing of the onsite signup center. There was an attendant, who quickly adapted to his socially unaware needs.
"Its for statistics, sir." She grumbled, growing impatient with his outrageous demands despite his previously hypnotic charm. Afterall, he was sitting on an intern who had hunched over and made himself the best damn makeshift chair he could manage to be.
King Cold nodded mechanically, jotting down a lie for his weight and considering shaving an inch or two off of his 'height' of 5'9". Adapting to societies whims and beckoning seemed... well, unreasonable to the former lordship. It was when he'd awoken, disoriented and in an unforeseen union with his son--Coola--that he'd decided to take a more, what he felt was a genuinely laid back demeanor. It was something about the entire atmosphere that dropped an overall gloom on the changelings shoulders; but nothing less should've been expected from the promise of an eternity in Hell.
Now Koola was nowhere to be found and the corporate-able man beneath him seemed to lose his enthusiasm. Cold wondered what Coola had been up to during these times of awkward exchanges and television programming. It wasn't premediated, it just drifted through his ponderings; but he hadn't expected Koola to whisk him from the lust-filled chambers he was within. Hell just did not live up to its Hollywoods portrayal.
"I think I'm just about done," Cold pressed himself up to the intimidating stature that kept his unjust actions as they were. He looked back to their intern, who did his best at flattering his unkempt appearance. "You okay down there, man?"
"Uhmm, yeah. Not a big deal... you needed a chair and, uh... I gave you one." He was sheepish with his response, but Cold hadn't bothered to tempt him into animosity. He was more than aware that picking on the weak usually lead to revolts and pickets.
"You'll get that... attendent... job you always wanted..." he was speaking, but his attention was on the attendant that sat behind her desk. She was a brunette and attractive, from what he could see, but that wasn't why he was staring. With an uncalculated slap atop the desk and a brash roar, he managed to frighten her after the wood (or whatever it was made out of) folded around his hand. "You're gonna take this away from me, right?" King Cold flaunted the application in from of her fear-filled eyes, tauntingly.
She received the paper, still stunned by his ecstatic behavior and began fingering her keyboard with a short-lived, rapid pace.
"Do that again." Cold said, his eyebrows slowly rising.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, seriously concerned for her well-being. "Sir, you're making me nervous.." She fingered the keyboard again, aware of the changeling hovering over her. "King Cold... Cold Dynasty... age is apparently undisclosable... you are not five-foot-nine, a hundred and twenty something pounds... I'm five-foot-nine and a hundred and twenty something pounds..."
"I guess that I wasn't that far off." He shrugged. She rolled her eyes.
"You were in the Dante's Abyss spinoff, Conquest... impress me, show me some moves or something." She said, resting her visage on her hand.
"Some moves?" he took but a moment to ponder, before his hand glided forward and submerged into a riff in mid-air. A clap behind them prompted the attendant to get to her feet and witness the intern picking himself up, holding the side of his face. "That's one."
The entire room then took a deep, sanguine shade as windswept papers began to encircle the focused changeling. Flailing her arms wildly, the attendant somehow managed to break his developing trance before her work became more picking up paperwork than clicking and recruiting fighters.
"Okay, that's it. Just step into the teleporters off to the side, we've got everything we need." She managed, nodding to the photographers who they kept onhand for events such as King Cold.
"You sure they caught my good side?" he called back, as he stepped into the whirring lights. He never did get that answer, but he was asking questions he already knew the answers to.