Re: Petty Squabble [ROUND 1] [Fort Ayers, New Atlantis]
09-08-2011, 02:56 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Een.
Nancy burst from the “whirlybird” like something out of a movie; blonde hair tossing gently in the breeze from the slowed helicopter blades above, clothes disheveled and a little revealing in their disarrayed state, legs slender and swaying, lips slightly parted and eyes wide under thick, smoky lashes. It all looked pretty fabulous.
Then she leaned over and threw up.
This hadn’t been a daydream, her’s or otherwise. There was only so long Nancy could convince herself that the aching of her feet, the sounds of gunfire, and the sensations of flying were just something made up. As the helicopter began to plummet toward the Earth and her heart leapt with fear, she knew that this was undoubtedly and unequivocally real. It was all real.
It was all real and she felt awfully sick.
Wiping off her mouth, Nancy turned and dragged her typewriter case from the helicopter, determined not to leave her most beloved possession behind regardless of her mental state. Her savior had landed the helicopter back on top of the building a small distance away from the door back inside. She stood for a few moments, shivering and unsure, with her eyes resting on it. If this was real, that meant she really was just held at gunpoint. She saw a man evaporated into nothing and by another man with dice for head and a knife for a hand no less. Nancy had flown in the air, seen people made of metal, and run through warzones. She’d seen someone die. She’d nearly died herself, and it was with that thought that genuine panic began bubble to the surface of her consciousness.
As Nancy bolted for the door leading back into the facility, she didn’t even realize that she had begun to scream. Her world, small and uninspiring as it was, was falling down around her. What else could she do? The sound flew from her lips like a bird fluttering from its broken cage. After rushing inside and slamming the door shut behind her it went on, echoing back to her within the enclosed walls. Her ears filled themselves up with the sound of her own terror, the noise so thick she could have gobbled it up and listened to it as it went down. She felt the worst sort of fear, one of unknowing, and every sound seemed amplified in her mind’s emptiness. Her heart beat staccato rolls of thunder against her chest. Her blood pulsed in ocean waves, crashing and roaring on the surf of her veins. Each horrified exhalation came as a monsoon melody, dripping down into the cavernous bellow that boiled in her stomach. It reverberated in a harrowing cacophony of sound, jumbled together and leaping from wall to wall, breath to breath, and ear to ear.
She only stopped when she ran out of air, the sound dwindling into nothingness as her lungs emptied themselves. Feeling drained, Nancy sank down to sit on the floor, her back pressed up against the wall. She put her typewriter case down beside her and drew her knees up to her chest before hiding her face behind them.
There was no noise, now.
And that silence, quietly deafening, was the loudest of all.
Nancy burst from the “whirlybird” like something out of a movie; blonde hair tossing gently in the breeze from the slowed helicopter blades above, clothes disheveled and a little revealing in their disarrayed state, legs slender and swaying, lips slightly parted and eyes wide under thick, smoky lashes. It all looked pretty fabulous.
Then she leaned over and threw up.
This hadn’t been a daydream, her’s or otherwise. There was only so long Nancy could convince herself that the aching of her feet, the sounds of gunfire, and the sensations of flying were just something made up. As the helicopter began to plummet toward the Earth and her heart leapt with fear, she knew that this was undoubtedly and unequivocally real. It was all real.
It was all real and she felt awfully sick.
Wiping off her mouth, Nancy turned and dragged her typewriter case from the helicopter, determined not to leave her most beloved possession behind regardless of her mental state. Her savior had landed the helicopter back on top of the building a small distance away from the door back inside. She stood for a few moments, shivering and unsure, with her eyes resting on it. If this was real, that meant she really was just held at gunpoint. She saw a man evaporated into nothing and by another man with dice for head and a knife for a hand no less. Nancy had flown in the air, seen people made of metal, and run through warzones. She’d seen someone die. She’d nearly died herself, and it was with that thought that genuine panic began bubble to the surface of her consciousness.
As Nancy bolted for the door leading back into the facility, she didn’t even realize that she had begun to scream. Her world, small and uninspiring as it was, was falling down around her. What else could she do? The sound flew from her lips like a bird fluttering from its broken cage. After rushing inside and slamming the door shut behind her it went on, echoing back to her within the enclosed walls. Her ears filled themselves up with the sound of her own terror, the noise so thick she could have gobbled it up and listened to it as it went down. She felt the worst sort of fear, one of unknowing, and every sound seemed amplified in her mind’s emptiness. Her heart beat staccato rolls of thunder against her chest. Her blood pulsed in ocean waves, crashing and roaring on the surf of her veins. Each horrified exhalation came as a monsoon melody, dripping down into the cavernous bellow that boiled in her stomach. It reverberated in a harrowing cacophony of sound, jumbled together and leaping from wall to wall, breath to breath, and ear to ear.
She only stopped when she ran out of air, the sound dwindling into nothingness as her lungs emptied themselves. Feeling drained, Nancy sank down to sit on the floor, her back pressed up against the wall. She put her typewriter case down beside her and drew her knees up to her chest before hiding her face behind them.
There was no noise, now.
And that silence, quietly deafening, was the loudest of all.