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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. ]]
Re: [Action] sa'right
[Harry's standing his ground, glaring down at Nero. Not out of a particular personal dislike, he's just really tall.]
Kid, I've tangled with stuff that'd give Freddy nightmares.
[And usually gotten his ass kicked in the process, but Nero doesn't need to know that.]
You wanna turn this into a fight that's fine, but I'm don't respond well to threats.
[Action]
[ Nero thumbs the bridge of his nose thoughtfully, giving Harry a once-over. Buster turns to Lara: this is gonna get good! ]
Let's tangle.
[ Here is a fist--the good one--heading for your face, Harry. Have fun with that. ]
Re: [Action]
[Action]
[ 'I ain't betting a berry I'm gonna lose.' ]
[ For his part, Nero is more than happy to step back to avoid the incoming knee; it gives him momentum to spring back in and attempt to sweep Harry's remaining leg out from under him. ]
Re: [Action]
is from a fighting-based franchisehas a lot MORE experience, and attacks before Harry can successfully react.][He falls hard, and rolls away from whatever Nero's next attack is, springing to his feet and getting into a basic stance.]
[Action]
All right, so you're less of a pushover than I gave you credit for.
[ Which means he's gonna have to get creative. The obvious answer to this is to hook a foot in a nearby chair and swiveling it into his grasp so he can chuck it at Harry's face. ]
Re: [Action] late tag, blargh
Talking too much is MY thing, man.
[Rather than try to play dodgeball with a heavy wooden object, Harry's gonna try to close whatever distance he's managed to gain and plant a couple quick right-jabs to Nero's ribs. This is Harry getting a bit desperate, tactically speaking. Close-range fighting's really not his thing.]
[For one thing, close range means most of his usual opponents could just crush him one-fisted, like an empty beer can.]