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capthepoint2013-07-03 10:11 am
bloodonmysuit.livejournal.com) wrote in capthepoint2013-07-03 10:11 am
Open RP Thread - Never Any Good News
Who: Civilian, Open
Where: Just outside of HQ
When: Late Morning - end of June
What: Civy goes through his mail and finds something rather disheartening. People can then poke at him.
So far removed from any major city, and with carriers often prevented from delivering due to sudden onsets of highly inconvenient robot attacks, the mail did not always arrive to the mercenaries in Coal Town with any great regularity. When it did come, the Civilian was always quite eager to greet it, standing with a cordial smile on his face as the driver, nervously gripping their steering wheel on the approach to their base while their eyes frantically searched for anything metallic and mobile, came rumbling along down the bumpy dirty road. The mail was often a welcome diversion, a healthy source of news from the rest of the world, and perhaps most importantly, it was a primary line of communication for Civy and his job.
On this particular day, he was indeed ready for their latest delivery; he smiled and waved at their arrival, but became immediately engrossed when he took hold of the letters and began to sort through each one. In fact, he barely even noticed when, far off in the distance, the faintest sound of the mailcarrier emitting a shrill scream and jamming down on the gas pedal could be heard along with some strange, tinny mumbling.
Underneath the shade of an awning on the path next to the base itself, Civy stood reading one particular bit of correspondence. It was a short letter, printed on very crisp, stiff paper, and the message itself was marked with a stamp at the bottom instead of an actual signature. He had been quite excited to find it among the mail, but strangely, it seemed that the further down its body he read, the more tense Civilian became. His features gradually growing more distraught, he gripped the paper harder and harder as his frown eventually turned into a full-fledged scowl.
Finally, when he was done, he crumpled up the page between his hands in a fit, then tossed the little ball as far as he could.
"...of all the shortsighted, brainless, witless...! A simple request! And you could not even give me a real response!?"
Spitting, seething, his teeth grit so tightly that he could have crushed coal into diamonds, Civilian apparently wasn't satisfied by simply destroying the letter. He bitterly kicked at the dust around his feet, still crossly cursing aloud, tossed the rest of the day's mail into the air into a fluttering flurry, and suddenly, when he felt like he could no longer bottle up his frustrations, he wheeled around with startling precision and kicked at a wooden beam supporting the awning. It splintered immediately against his heel, collapsing inward, and the entire structure came crashing down in front of him into a pile of wood, old tiles, and dust. A lot of dust.
Once it had settled, Civilian seemed to have calmed down, at least for the most part. With a smooth flick of his hands, he swept away some debris from the surface of his vest, then stooped down and began to collect the rest of the mail again from where it had scattered.
Where: Just outside of HQ
When: Late Morning - end of June
What: Civy goes through his mail and finds something rather disheartening. People can then poke at him.
So far removed from any major city, and with carriers often prevented from delivering due to sudden onsets of highly inconvenient robot attacks, the mail did not always arrive to the mercenaries in Coal Town with any great regularity. When it did come, the Civilian was always quite eager to greet it, standing with a cordial smile on his face as the driver, nervously gripping their steering wheel on the approach to their base while their eyes frantically searched for anything metallic and mobile, came rumbling along down the bumpy dirty road. The mail was often a welcome diversion, a healthy source of news from the rest of the world, and perhaps most importantly, it was a primary line of communication for Civy and his job.
On this particular day, he was indeed ready for their latest delivery; he smiled and waved at their arrival, but became immediately engrossed when he took hold of the letters and began to sort through each one. In fact, he barely even noticed when, far off in the distance, the faintest sound of the mailcarrier emitting a shrill scream and jamming down on the gas pedal could be heard along with some strange, tinny mumbling.
Underneath the shade of an awning on the path next to the base itself, Civy stood reading one particular bit of correspondence. It was a short letter, printed on very crisp, stiff paper, and the message itself was marked with a stamp at the bottom instead of an actual signature. He had been quite excited to find it among the mail, but strangely, it seemed that the further down its body he read, the more tense Civilian became. His features gradually growing more distraught, he gripped the paper harder and harder as his frown eventually turned into a full-fledged scowl.
Finally, when he was done, he crumpled up the page between his hands in a fit, then tossed the little ball as far as he could.
"...of all the shortsighted, brainless, witless...! A simple request! And you could not even give me a real response!?"
Spitting, seething, his teeth grit so tightly that he could have crushed coal into diamonds, Civilian apparently wasn't satisfied by simply destroying the letter. He bitterly kicked at the dust around his feet, still crossly cursing aloud, tossed the rest of the day's mail into the air into a fluttering flurry, and suddenly, when he felt like he could no longer bottle up his frustrations, he wheeled around with startling precision and kicked at a wooden beam supporting the awning. It splintered immediately against his heel, collapsing inward, and the entire structure came crashing down in front of him into a pile of wood, old tiles, and dust. A lot of dust.
Once it had settled, Civilian seemed to have calmed down, at least for the most part. With a smooth flick of his hands, he swept away some debris from the surface of his vest, then stooped down and began to collect the rest of the mail again from where it had scattered.