RE: The Atavist's Tryst - Round 1: The Ljinstal Underground (S?)
07-19-2013, 07:30 AM
(This post was last modified: 07-19-2013, 07:33 AM by myw.)
"...Bitch called my hair ridiculous. I'll kill it for that."
The Rider King reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes as he looked around, his massive pompadour swaying with each slow head turn.
"The fuck is this. A subway?" He asked out loud. A moment more of observation told him yes, it was a subway.
With the obvious established, he tried to make sense of the last few minutes. One moment he was rolling into his favorite shithole in the area, and the next...
"Next, some asshole with glow in the dark eyes talks shit about my hair. What a cocksucker. RrrrRRRGGHHHHH!"
In a flash of anger, he swung his head back and forward in a sudden motion, thrusting out with his hair to drive the end of it into the subway wall. Cracks formed at the impact. The Rider King breathed out, slightly less infuriated, and turned his head to face one of the two directions he could go. The injured wall now had a large skull shaped indent, matching the shape at the end of The Rider King's hair.
"So the fucker says something about fighting to the death, and now..."
And now he was here. He drew and lit a cigarette in a well practiced motion, and took a deep breath. The nicotine flooded his lungs, filling him with a hazy, peaceful feeling. He breathed out the smoke in a jet, somewhat calmed.
"Whatever." The Rider King declared, starting his beautiful motorcycle. It roared to life, and echoed loudly throughout the subway. Drawing the accelerator, The Rider King and his steed flew forward into the dark tunnel. In contrast to the speed the mount, The Rider King slowly enjoyed the cigarette. Taking one hand off of the handles, he lightly held the cigarette and puffed out a trail, feeling the drug wash through him. Apparently, the nicotine was bad for him. At least, that's what the label on the cigarette box said. Some nonsense about cancer and some other medical crap.
Whatever the cigarettes were supposed to do, it really didn't matter to him. He was invincible, after all.
The Rider King reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes as he looked around, his massive pompadour swaying with each slow head turn.
"The fuck is this. A subway?" He asked out loud. A moment more of observation told him yes, it was a subway.
With the obvious established, he tried to make sense of the last few minutes. One moment he was rolling into his favorite shithole in the area, and the next...
"Next, some asshole with glow in the dark eyes talks shit about my hair. What a cocksucker. RrrrRRRGGHHHHH!"
In a flash of anger, he swung his head back and forward in a sudden motion, thrusting out with his hair to drive the end of it into the subway wall. Cracks formed at the impact. The Rider King breathed out, slightly less infuriated, and turned his head to face one of the two directions he could go. The injured wall now had a large skull shaped indent, matching the shape at the end of The Rider King's hair.
"So the fucker says something about fighting to the death, and now..."
And now he was here. He drew and lit a cigarette in a well practiced motion, and took a deep breath. The nicotine flooded his lungs, filling him with a hazy, peaceful feeling. He breathed out the smoke in a jet, somewhat calmed.
"Whatever." The Rider King declared, starting his beautiful motorcycle. It roared to life, and echoed loudly throughout the subway. Drawing the accelerator, The Rider King and his steed flew forward into the dark tunnel. In contrast to the speed the mount, The Rider King slowly enjoyed the cigarette. Taking one hand off of the handles, he lightly held the cigarette and puffed out a trail, feeling the drug wash through him. Apparently, the nicotine was bad for him. At least, that's what the label on the cigarette box said. Some nonsense about cancer and some other medical crap.
Whatever the cigarettes were supposed to do, it really didn't matter to him. He was invincible, after all.