Left 4 Dead: Come Hell and High Water {IC}

[LordHyper]

Joseph paced around in the cabin he had been hiding in for the last few hours. He had violently shot his radio when he discovered that the millitary was blocking all communications to all the un-Infected states. "Great." He thought. He was stuck in the South, and what's worse was that it is raining fricking hard. By his estimations, the rain would eventually flood through the window and onto the radio, getting him electrocuted. However it seemed to be a better alternative then heading outside.

A bunch of zombies had attempted to force their way into his cabin, but luckily for him, zombies breathed too, and thus they had drowned in the huge water. However, one managed to get in through the window, and Joseph was lucky enough to get to a drawer, find a shotgun, and shoot the zombie in the head. But that wasn't the end of it. Earlier, he had seen a dog like zombie pouncing a running woman. The dog like zombie, who was called The Hunter, was part of a specialized group of zombies, which was dubbed by the millitary as, "The Special Infected." Now the woman had turned into another fearsome Special Infected, which was called a Witch. As soon as he got outside, the Witch will see him and attack, and if he shoots at the Witch, the Witch will go crazy, break through the wall, and kill him. So either way, he would die horribly. Thinking this through his head, Joseph muttered three simple words.

"Worse. Vacation. Ever."

[murdochrouge]

Rochelle tilted her head slightly to the side, grinning pleasantly at Ellis's short reminiscence about the sanctity that was his band's "'ficial uniform", as he had once excitedly informed her on the dank, grubby floors of one of the many safe-rooms they as well as Nick and Coach had spent the night in. She wouldn't be the one to keep him from such a luxury, especially if it reminded him of his life before the infection ran rampant upon the less than expectant world. The simple concert kiosk bought garment she was wearing at that very moment was a sort of keepsake as well; a product of a drunken weekend spent in the city club hopping and running into all manner of misguided catastrophe in the company of a few coworkers and former fellow college students.

The now rather energetic young woman set her clammy hand upon Ellis's arm, gazing up at him with admiration and a dangerous excitement glistening within the honey stained stratum of her ever encompassing eyes. "And I bet Keith and Dave think the same thing about theirs too; wherever they are." Rochelle spoke unequivocally, as if the all too plausible idea that either of the other two Bull Shifters were already dead or infected hadn't even crossed her mind. It wasn't true in the slightest, though she did hope those boys had survived long enough to reach some sort of safety -- for Ellis's sake, if anything -- but making it through the notoriously tedious, intrepid inner labyrinth lying just beyond the sugarcane fields of the Ducatel Mills would require a high morale, and an even higher capacity for cooperation.

She could easily recall her weighty, frantic breathing when they’d all met back up inside the gas station for the first time, and how terrified she was of being separated from all the others. Everyone fanned out confidently into the near archaic factory, each of them certain without logical reason that they would all be fine on their own anyway. They escaped the mill alive the first time, proven obvious by the three survivors’ current pathetic state of existence, but the trip back would be so much more worse, more nightmarish if anything. There wouldn't be a Coach to lead nor coerce everyone to keep moving forward, and there wouldn't be the unquestionable sense of trust seated soundly with those around her.

It was all hapless last attempt at conquest, really, when she grinned so vehemently and strove further than ever to make just one of her several companions jovial, if even for a short while. Rochelle's ever vigilant hazel eyes wandered quickly from the young southern mechanic's lively, slightly discomforting blues to the potentially dangerous scene unfurling just a few feet away. Robin's ragged, uneven breathing, trembling, sweat and rainwater drenched hands and widened, famished blue eyes practically shouted his ailment to the heavens, though Rochelle was fairly certain she'd been the only other survivor to notice this blatantly deplorable withdrawal, both January and the addict himself set aside.

Her heart slowed in pace as her attention was taken from Ellis -- a notable fact she'd unfortunately need to address at some point in the future, when given the chance to gather her thoughts and not goad over her own survival -- though her firm, confident stance heaved and her knees threatened to give out in fear. They hadn't mentioned that their dear friend Robin was a junkie, a rather useful notion if Rochelle had ever known one. The shaken look on the desperate young man's face forced the former executive to resolve the issue later, determined to tell Nick about their new ally's "condition" and keep those uninformed as untaught as she was able. Dragging Ellis into more unsettling and altogether dismal palaver was more than she was willing to risk, and so much more than the boy could handle with how real things had suddenly become with Coach's untimely departure.

"Hey, Nick's waiting for us down in the sugarcane fields, and I don't wanna risk him getting in trouble. Ellis, you'll lead the way?" Rochelle spoke impulsively, thinking on her toes for the first time without having something to kill, whilst nipping timorously at her ample bottom lip. Her honey laden eyes gazed up once more at the younger man, no longer warmed in attentive contentment but stiffened in tensity and mild anxiety.

January, quirking a darkened brow and situating an amused smirk across his full lips, slipped the syringe from his belt and tossed it carelessly to the man his senior, quaking so extensively that there'd be no way to hide his damned obsession if he didn't have something foul pumping through his long since corrupted veins. It was almost a treat to witness the typically aloof and miserly Robin in such a vulnerable state of both mind and body, really. It brought a wider, sickening grin to the outrageous boy's face the longer he watched the elder survivor wallow in his oh so deprived misery. Cute, he had even dared to think.

"Some kinda hormone shit -- you should be able to get a rise out of it -- and we both know you don't give a rat's ass where I found it. I have it here now, and that's what's important, I'm sure. Don't use it all in one place, Needles." the boy teased whilst cocking his gun and turning his head toward the bedroom door as if to bid it farewell for the first and final time.

((...Nick shall waimpt...for now. Do not worry though, Vio and Niko, you shall be rescued! :D))

[Kruor]

ooc/ It happened again. A second fucking time. My internet stopped working halfway through my post, and I hadn't coppied a thing. I just wasted forty minutes of my life. Seven hundred words down the drain. Somebody kill me. Somebody fucking kill me.

Sorry, y'all. Looks like I'm going to brood angrily again for at least two days before I attempt -- A THIRD TIME -- to respond. T____________T I could spit on a puppy right about now.

[murdochrouge]

ooc//
...THAT'S FUCKING GREAT, ANNA! Hah, I figured you'd have learned by now. I practically never post without stickin' that shit on a word document or some shit like that. Hm. Interesting notion having almost nothing to do with my previous statement, the voice in my head reading as I type now sounds remarkably like Ellis. By the by, I'm sick as a dog over here, probably won't be at school for a couple of days, so I'll have plenty fuckin' time to respond. I haven't even played L4D2 at all today, I'm too BLERGH! feeling to get up. *sigh*

[Kruor]

The lean, young Southerner found it hard not to deliver a resilient grin, finding himself smiling more and more often the further Rochelle encouraged him and engaged in his personal conversations. The way she spoke of and to him, it sounded as if they’d known each other for all but a few years, rather than only the few long, tiresome days since they’d first met. He knew, though he had tried to sway himself into believing the opposite at first, that he was falling for her. It was difficult not to, but Ellis just wished he wouldn’t have to put himself through such strenuous heartbreak. He could see how Rochelle eyed Nick, and how the older, more reputable and mature man gazed back. As far as his foresight went, Ellis could see that Nick was far better fit for a woman of Rochelle’s status. After all, he was just a dumb kid—probably more of a brother to the young beauty than whatever else he may have wanted.

And so, he resisted in placing an arm around her as he felt the gentle touch of her hands against his upper arm, the mere gesture raising goose bumps along his fair skin. His smile faltered and he swore he felt a heat flare in his cheeks, and perhaps his heart had even skipped a beat. He glanced down at her, just a quick look, taking in her lovely frame. He wouldn’t, he promised himself, put his arm around her. He couldn’t, in fear that too much would drive her off; send her fleeing into Nick’s waiting arms. Ellis knew he had to half play hard-to-get, but at the same time show that he was still interested. He blinked at the very thought—dwelling on it only made him more confused. How in the hell was he to do that, anyway? He wasn’t exactly “one with the fairer sex.”

Ellis noticed how she tensed at Robin’s frantic actions. Gritting his teeth, he tentatively slipped his fingers through hers and gave her hand a terse, reassuring squeeze. Damn it all, he sighed inwardly. Don’t come on too strong, or you’ll ruin it all… As quick as he had acted, Ellis’s hand dropped from hers and he lowered his gaze shamefacedly.

“Um, right…” he said to Robin and January both, blinking up at them with a slight anguish in his pale, cerulean eyes. “Adrenaline… CEDA had it all stocked up, an’ whatnot, and after the Infection broke loose, it started spreadin’ over the South, and the public got hold of it, and… Well, if you’re lookin’ for a rush, all you’ll get from that shit is energy. Not euphoria… I don’t suppose you’re an adrenaline junkie…” Ellis chuckled a tad nervously, and then nudged Rochelle in the small of her back, guiding her toward the open doorway with a nod. “Well, anywho… Let’s not leave Nick to die, shall we?”

O_______________________O

Robin watched with a livid glare as the stupid fuck of a pansy pranced off with his stupid fuck of a girlfriend, off to rescue the stupid fuck of a conman who may or may not have gotten himself into illimitable trouble.

His eyes rested on the syringe clutched tight in his paled fingers. He wringed his grip even more tautly around the barrel, and then, out of a spontaneous frustration, hurled the object at the opposite wall, not even cringing when the barrel snapped and shattered, the liquid within trickling down the wallpaper in rapid torrents. Robin bit down on his bottom lip, releasing a trembling breath from his nostrils as he got to his feet and stared after Ellis and Rochelle. Strings of curses bubbled to his lips, and he somehow suppressed every last one before traipsing off after the happy-go-fucking-lucky couple that had just left. He cast a wary glower over his shoulder, throwing out all of the rage and peril he could muster—all in January’s direction.

I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him.

Robin knew that if he left then, his stupid fuck of a brother-in-law would take advantage of his dearest Helena in a matter of moments, and there was no way he could cease the bedlam. He didn’t even know why he even tried—there was no stopping the damn bane of existence, and he should have seen that by then, after countless years of the young man’s tormenting ways.

At that moment, Robin huffed an exasperated sigh, given up. He didn’t want to deal with the shit anymore; he didn’t want the stress, the spite, the goddamn zombie apocalypse, or even his being sober. Maybe he was just too selfish to desire so much, or perhaps he had never gotten a thing his entire life. So, maybe just these few yearnings, for once, would be a nice change after all he had been through.

“God… damn…” he grunted. “Let’s… let’s just go kill some motherfucking zombies.” With that, he shook himself steady and went along after Ellis and Rochelle, muttering to himself and hoping to god that whatever it was January would indubitably do after he had so left wouldn’t seriously traumatize poor Helena.

Good god. What in the hell am I thinking?

O__________________O

It was hard not to feel uncomfortable and nervous when Ellis, Rochelle, and Robin all left the small, dank bedroom. Neal’s gaze landed timidly on the two still perched on the rickety, wooden floor, but as soon as it had, he looked away again, a heavy blush rising to his pallid cheeks. From what he had observed of the couple, Helena and January he believed, it was anything but a treat to be in such a cramped room alone with the two. Frantically, he groped for a topic to present as any form of conversation—anything that would make the situation even slightly less awkward.

“Er—um… D-do either of you know of any…?” Neal glanced down at the hunting rifle laid across his lap. He knew a long-range weapon such as this would do him no good, from what he’d heard the others speaking of. Frankly, he was scared out of his mind already, and a faulty firearm was the last thing he needed. “Do you know of any, like… weapon I could possibly use? I-I mean, this thing won’t do me any good… It has a scope, but long-range won’t exactly…” He cursed himself for fumbling so awfully with his speech. “W-well, I could just use a spare gun, or even… I saw that Ellis guy with an axe, and, and, well…” Just shut up now, Neal.



ooc/ Sorry, Robin’s p.o.v. and on was all written while watching South Park and conversing with two friends at the same time. It really must be crap, but at least I’m responding. :D

“Well, anywho… Let’s not leave Nick to die, shall we?” IT WAS SO HARD NOT TO WRITE LEAVE NICK 4 DEAD 2. Dx

[Vio-Lance]

(/OOC: Ahhhh...it is sooooo good to be home again. The beach is nice, but by far what me, a mountaineer is used to...anyway, I suppose I should get to posting, huh?))


(IC)
Nikotavan roared as the first infected broke through his makeshift defensive barrier. He brough the machete forward, thrusting it roughly at the infected individual running at him. The steel pierced it's chest, and cold, deadened blood began to coat Niko's hands, the ebon-red substance drooling from the wound. He pulled the weapon from it's chest, pushing off hard enough to get it away from him.

The next infected came from the side, trying to grip the russian's arm. Niko quickly retaliated with a five-fingered rejection notice to the zombie's forehead, sending it stumbling to the floor. He took a large step towards it, punting it's head, not really launching it, but filling the air with a nice cracking sound, assumedly it's neck. He whirled the machete, and spun around, delivering a leathal horizontal slash to another one that poured into the hut.

Yet even more undead poured into the building. He brought the machete down hard on one's shoulder, cleaving the dead, infected skin clean off, before shoving it back. Another one he pommeled in the chest, sending it stumbling into another one. Not missing a beat, he slashed at them rapidly, inflicting serious wounds to them. Nikotavan panted heavily as he turned on his heels to be meeted with yet another zombie, clawing and baring it's teeth as it almost grappled him. He pressed his hand's against its soft, rotting chest and kept it away from him. His head turned to avoid the infected's horrid breath that smelt somthing of waterlogged, maggot infected waste, before realizing that basically, that that is what they were.

He took a deep breath and pushed the reanimated corpse from him, and withdrew his USP from his pocket. He pulled the trigger once, causing the zombie to spasm, before dropping limply to the floor. He shoved his gun back in his pocket, shaking off the ringing from the gunshot. He had more shamblers to deal with. Another came dashing into the doorway, with which he booted with a roar. It was moving as he kicked it, so it hit his leg, and fell down at his feet, writhing and trying to regain it's footing. He took a step towards it, and began to bring his foot down again and again, stomping it's chest. "Die, die die die DIE!" He yelled with his smashing.

He took a deep breath before roaring again. Another infected swarmed the doorway, and charged the russian man, it's arms flailing as it awkwardly ran at him. His fingers wrapped around the machete's grip, he thrust his fist forward, the limb crashing into the zombie's nose, and rupturing it's soft, decaying face flesh. It waddled backwards, falling off the step into the sloshing muddy water. He brough his arm around in a horizontal arc, catching one's throat, evicerating it enough just to see the infected man's spine through his wound. He brought his foot up, and pushed off on the zombie's stomach, causing it too to stumble into the water.

Niko panted extremely heavily. It was so tiresome trying to ward off the monsters. And yet, he had to continue. He had to keep pushing on. He was not going to die here!

"Вы никогда не принимают этого человека неинфицированных, суки, зомби! Лезвие на меня, и пусть это будет сделано!" Yelled the russian man, speaking his native tongue agressively. The rage came from his heart, pouring every last drop of hope into the thought that he'd not die in this shack.

[ArcticMonkey]

Got room for another survivor, maybe if only temporary, then we can kill him off sooner or later, it can't hurt right? I promise you won't hate me for being a terrible roleplayer, which I'm not, just interesting in making a character that dies for some reason? We can introduce him and then kill him later?

[Kruor]

ooc/ Feel free to submit a character sheet in the OOC, and we'll see from there... For future references, please don't post in the IC with questions and whatnot, unless the question is followed by an in-character reply... :]