06-07-2008, 02:22 AM
“You’re gonna be okay!”
No response.
“We just have to get away from that fucker, and somewhere safe!”
No response.
Aero leapt from tree to tree, escaping deeper into the confines of the forest. His transformation, though not powerful enough to topple—or even harm, for that matter—the saiyan, proved to be fast enough to escape him. His feline ears heard nothing but the branches that he leapt from.
Celipa was carried on his shoulder, almost unconscious. Her vision blurred in and out as faint wheezes were the only sounds coming from her mouth. She was lucky to be alive. A three-pronged injury just a few inches from her heart left her in a critical, but stable state. Her lung, however, had been fucked like a Vietnamese prostitute. Blood ran from the wound and down onto Aero’s shoulder and arm.
No clearings were in sight. Only trees, upon trees, upon trees. It was perfect for their getaway and concealment. Aero jumped down onto the soil (it was moist from the dew the night before) and placed Celipa against a tree. He peaked around; making sure that the saiyan was no longer visible. The last thing that could have entirely made Aero’s day was this man to be faster than he was. No one was around.
Celipa hacked up blood, placing a hand over her wound as he shoved his hand into his pocket and retrieved all that he had gathered from Vazko’s bag before Reijin ransacked it—a compass, a map, and a small container of Bourbon. Aero drank, and knew that alcohol like Bourbon could clean the wound.
“This is going to hurt like hell,” he muttered, ripping a piece of his sleeve off and soaking it with the liquor. “But hey, better to hurt like hell than be in hell, right?” He moved Celipa’s hand out of the way and placed the soaked makeshift rag over the room, applying pressure.
Celipa cringed, her face twisting into the visage of a weeping dog. It was a burning pain that she would have preferred to live without, but Aero insisted, applying more pressure. She cringed more.
“You’re doing good, baby,” Aero remarked, taking the sleeve remnant and flinging it into the forest. “You’re probably in a lot of pain, but you’ll live. We just need to report back to the rest of the group and we should be able to fix you up there.” He picked her back up—she yelped as he tossed her over his shoulder. He then cut through the forest’s trees, relying on his speed to save her.
No response.
“We just have to get away from that fucker, and somewhere safe!”
No response.
Aero leapt from tree to tree, escaping deeper into the confines of the forest. His transformation, though not powerful enough to topple—or even harm, for that matter—the saiyan, proved to be fast enough to escape him. His feline ears heard nothing but the branches that he leapt from.
Celipa was carried on his shoulder, almost unconscious. Her vision blurred in and out as faint wheezes were the only sounds coming from her mouth. She was lucky to be alive. A three-pronged injury just a few inches from her heart left her in a critical, but stable state. Her lung, however, had been fucked like a Vietnamese prostitute. Blood ran from the wound and down onto Aero’s shoulder and arm.
No clearings were in sight. Only trees, upon trees, upon trees. It was perfect for their getaway and concealment. Aero jumped down onto the soil (it was moist from the dew the night before) and placed Celipa against a tree. He peaked around; making sure that the saiyan was no longer visible. The last thing that could have entirely made Aero’s day was this man to be faster than he was. No one was around.
Celipa hacked up blood, placing a hand over her wound as he shoved his hand into his pocket and retrieved all that he had gathered from Vazko’s bag before Reijin ransacked it—a compass, a map, and a small container of Bourbon. Aero drank, and knew that alcohol like Bourbon could clean the wound.
“This is going to hurt like hell,” he muttered, ripping a piece of his sleeve off and soaking it with the liquor. “But hey, better to hurt like hell than be in hell, right?” He moved Celipa’s hand out of the way and placed the soaked makeshift rag over the room, applying pressure.
Celipa cringed, her face twisting into the visage of a weeping dog. It was a burning pain that she would have preferred to live without, but Aero insisted, applying more pressure. She cringed more.
“You’re doing good, baby,” Aero remarked, taking the sleeve remnant and flinging it into the forest. “You’re probably in a lot of pain, but you’ll live. We just need to report back to the rest of the group and we should be able to fix you up there.” He picked her back up—she yelped as he tossed her over his shoulder. He then cut through the forest’s trees, relying on his speed to save her.
![[Image: 1stAerosig.png]](http://i137.photobucket.com/albums/q218/Aerogfx/sigs/1stAerosig.png)
Placed 3rd in Dante's Abyss 08