05-13-2007, 03:08 PM
Stumbling out of the receiving end of the teleporter, K.C. did the best he could to regain his composure. There was just something about being destroyed, beamed across the galaxy, and rebuilt that caused slight disorientation. At least it wasn't as painful as when he'd been regranted his life... because that was a lot worse than a dip in one of the lava springs in Purgatory.
Sounds of activity had seized his attention, dispite his vision being hazy and his footing not quite as stable as he needed it to be. He treaded forward through the labyrinth of corridors, unable to find any sign of where he was headed. Not that it mattered much, but the sounds of life began to die as he proceeded.
"W-where the fu... where am I?" he managed, and imagined someone who witnessed him in this state would take it for weakness. Although that wouldn't be a bad idea, feigned weakness.
Amidst another labyrinth of corridors, where exhibitons were on display. Weapons from past competitions lined the walls, alongside monitors displaying combatants in their final moments. More importantly, combatants in their prime. Cold had sobered up by now, either by the intrigue of history or the wealth of information that happened to be contained in these chambers. Approaching a display, he found that it sprung to life and a crisp, british accent had greeted him.
"In Dante's Abyss you'll come to encounter persons pushed into this world of deception, mistrust and tyranny." It was that of a female. "Despite the promise of death, fighters of the Abyss have been known to put their reliance in one another during times of dire need. Some of these relationships have dissolved in the worst of times," at this an angry, long-haired fighter beared down upon a young girl with a chainsaw, ripping through her navel and spattering the camera with dripping sanguine. It seemed personal.
Cold's attention had been drawn to a monitor, scrolling the past profiles and statistics of fighters. It was a goldmine down here, but Cold had known better than to rely on obsolete information such as this. There would be new contestants, and his adaptability would be challenged. Besides, the museum was boring without the conflict and drama that could've been found elsewhere.
"Where's Koola?" his voice echoed through the desert corridors. He was getting bored, and he was sure Cooler's company would help pass the time.
OOC: Gone to the bar
Sounds of activity had seized his attention, dispite his vision being hazy and his footing not quite as stable as he needed it to be. He treaded forward through the labyrinth of corridors, unable to find any sign of where he was headed. Not that it mattered much, but the sounds of life began to die as he proceeded.
"W-where the fu... where am I?" he managed, and imagined someone who witnessed him in this state would take it for weakness. Although that wouldn't be a bad idea, feigned weakness.
Amidst another labyrinth of corridors, where exhibitons were on display. Weapons from past competitions lined the walls, alongside monitors displaying combatants in their final moments. More importantly, combatants in their prime. Cold had sobered up by now, either by the intrigue of history or the wealth of information that happened to be contained in these chambers. Approaching a display, he found that it sprung to life and a crisp, british accent had greeted him.
"In Dante's Abyss you'll come to encounter persons pushed into this world of deception, mistrust and tyranny." It was that of a female. "Despite the promise of death, fighters of the Abyss have been known to put their reliance in one another during times of dire need. Some of these relationships have dissolved in the worst of times," at this an angry, long-haired fighter beared down upon a young girl with a chainsaw, ripping through her navel and spattering the camera with dripping sanguine. It seemed personal.
Cold's attention had been drawn to a monitor, scrolling the past profiles and statistics of fighters. It was a goldmine down here, but Cold had known better than to rely on obsolete information such as this. There would be new contestants, and his adaptability would be challenged. Besides, the museum was boring without the conflict and drama that could've been found elsewhere.
"Where's Koola?" his voice echoed through the desert corridors. He was getting bored, and he was sure Cooler's company would help pass the time.
OOC: Gone to the bar