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01 ☣ video/action for NBT
[ The audio turns on with the hiss of static, it lasts about half a second before— ]
Stuck? Stuck?! Bullshit!
[ Whoever's speaking, they're clearly angry. There's the sound of paper getting pushed aside and metal hitting the floor, followed swiftly thereafter by glass breaking and plastic getting crushed. The horrified gasps of a few scientists fill in the ensuing silence. ]
Kyrie...she's in danger, I have to...
[ The yelling voice seems to have slowed and quieted to a low growl. The thudding of boots marks heavy, erratic pacing; the crunch of plastic indicates the violence isn't quite over.
It's here the video turns on; a big blue snout blocks the view, before the head pans out to reveal a Bagon, looking upset. The small creature turns the 'gear around, capturing the scene:
Elm's lab is trashed.
Papers litter the floor, broken glass and torn plastic casings strewn in the wake of whole workstations being knocked down. Chairs are on their sides, tables half-emptied of their contents, shattered vials releasing fluids onto the linoleum. A group of scientists—strangely, none of them hurt—are watching with wide, frightened eyes as a young man paces. 'Young man' is perhaps generous: half-man, half-snarl, flashing teeth that feel as though they should be pointed. He can't seem to contain himself, his eyes stare ahead emptily, focused on something that isn't there; every other movement he's whirling, stopping, starting again, hands raised, hands down, flexing and touching his right hand over and over. There's blood on that fist; it's easy to connect the dots to the hole in one of the computer monitors. Finally, after about a minute, he spins deftly on his heel and grabs Elm by the collar of his labcoat. Tiny flowers of blood bloom on the white fabric. ]
I have to get back!
[ He shakes Elm for good measure, as the poor harried researcher can only hang on and blubber apologies. Nero snarls. ]
Answer me!
[ The Bagon puts down the gear and leans over it worriedly, making a soft keening noise. Come calm his trainer down, please, somebody! Anybody? ]
[[OOC: all characters who signed up and any who didn't are welcome to come crash the party and help Elm get away from the rampaging teenager. Video/audio responses will come chronologically after he calms down. ]]
Stuck? Stuck?! Bullshit!
[ Whoever's speaking, they're clearly angry. There's the sound of paper getting pushed aside and metal hitting the floor, followed swiftly thereafter by glass breaking and plastic getting crushed. The horrified gasps of a few scientists fill in the ensuing silence. ]
Kyrie...she's in danger, I have to...
[ The yelling voice seems to have slowed and quieted to a low growl. The thudding of boots marks heavy, erratic pacing; the crunch of plastic indicates the violence isn't quite over.
It's here the video turns on; a big blue snout blocks the view, before the head pans out to reveal a Bagon, looking upset. The small creature turns the 'gear around, capturing the scene:
Elm's lab is trashed.
Papers litter the floor, broken glass and torn plastic casings strewn in the wake of whole workstations being knocked down. Chairs are on their sides, tables half-emptied of their contents, shattered vials releasing fluids onto the linoleum. A group of scientists—strangely, none of them hurt—are watching with wide, frightened eyes as a young man paces. 'Young man' is perhaps generous: half-man, half-snarl, flashing teeth that feel as though they should be pointed. He can't seem to contain himself, his eyes stare ahead emptily, focused on something that isn't there; every other movement he's whirling, stopping, starting again, hands raised, hands down, flexing and touching his right hand over and over. There's blood on that fist; it's easy to connect the dots to the hole in one of the computer monitors. Finally, after about a minute, he spins deftly on his heel and grabs Elm by the collar of his labcoat. Tiny flowers of blood bloom on the white fabric. ]
I have to get back!
[ He shakes Elm for good measure, as the poor harried researcher can only hang on and blubber apologies. Nero snarls. ]
Answer me!
[ The Bagon puts down the gear and leans over it worriedly, making a soft keening noise. Come calm his trainer down, please, somebody! Anybody? ]
[[OOC: all characters who signed up and any who didn't are welcome to come crash the party and help Elm get away from the rampaging teenager. Video/audio responses will come chronologically after he calms down. ]]
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[ A very slow, dangerous curl to his lip. Stalking closer... ]
I want to get back to Fortuna. Half an hour ago.
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[As usual, Natsuki is ignoring all things bad and dark. Besides, nothing's happening yet. He takes a step back but that's it for now.]
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I don't care--
[ Reaching out to grab Natsuki and slam him against the nearest available wall, just to rattle his cage. ]
--about any of that! Start talking, or get out!
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Natsuki gets slammed against a wall, knocking his glasses off his face. He glares at his assailant.
Everything looks fuzzy whenever the glasses come off. Satsuki wasn't sure if it's because of Natsuki's vision or if it's because of the rage that should normally come with getting slammed against a wall.]
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Get out of my sight.
[ And turns his back, before he's made his point and this guy's completely innoffensive, right? ]
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Having been let go, he's going to teach this man a lesson-- starting with aiming a punch at his face.]
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So you do have something to say.
[ If that means talking with their fists, Nero's fine with it. He lunges for Satsuki, aiming a punch to the gut. ]
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[Satsuki manages to catch that punch with his hand but that barely blocked anything. No one punches that hard back home. The impact of the punch pushes him a few steps back. The idea of Natsuki having to regain control of this body only to discover a bruise on his palm-- as if Satsuki couldn't get more pissed]
Clean up your trash, trash.
[And with that, Satsuki tries to aim a kick to Nero's face.]
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Bring it on. ]
Good thing you're giving me something to wipe the floor with!
[ Nero only narrow dodges Satsuki's leg, bringing his good arm up to catch him at the calf and use the momentum to swing him over and send him crashing. ]
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Nero likes that. ]
You got style--but no substance!
[ What he means is, chucking the smaller chair might have been the more fortuitous choice: as flashy as swinging the table is, its larger size makes it more unwieldy. Nero agilely vaults over it as it heads his way, heading towards Satsuki with a full-body tackle. ]
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Instead he turns around, still swinging the table in an attempt to hit Nero mid-tackle.]
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He gets back up though, putting some distance between them as he rolls his shoulder. He stays at a distance, watching Satsuki, recalculating. The ball's in the other guy's court for now. ]