You got me dancing and flying
Jag är nästan, nästan klar med del två. Nästan. Måste bara lyckas med ett litet avslut. Inte lika bra (flytande : D) som del ett men den får duga.
Ish har börjat sketcha upp sidor, det betyder att det snart är dags för mig att sätta ord. Och experimentera med ljud. Sandy, du sa att du hade en sida med ljudeffekter?
Det betyder dock också att jag snarast måste börja skriva ett fighting-manus, eftersom kapitel två av serien är en fightingscen och Ish behöver tydliga direktioner för vad hon ska rita.
He hissed at her, but she only grinned confidently. “So you‘re the one everyone‘s so afraid of?” she asked loudly, the grin carrying over to her voice. “Nothing but a fuckin‘ zombie.” She sniggered at the enraged expression on his face, the blood that stained the pale skin, the red hair tangled and wild, the eyes… burning with rage, hatred.
Alex grinned again, gun held tight in her hands. She had never met an undead before - they couldn’t be that big of a deal. Her superior in L.A. had talked about meeting one, how he’d gotten it down easy, no worse then a zombie, except it talked.
When he first looked at her, she had almost staggered with shock. The eyes weren’t dead at all, they were living. William had discussed this with her, how the undead had a soul still, bound to the deceased and often decaying body. But she still hadn’t expected the eyes to look so human. At first, he had paid her no particular attention, until he noticed that she was stalking him. Then he had noticed her outfit, the standard Hunter’s gear, and he had stopped, instantly angry.
And here they were, just staring at each other. Alex had her gun raised at him, and he had a baseball bat ready to swing. That almost made her laugh. At the same time, her confidence was lessened, a gut feeling telling her to be wary, to not be over-confident. Her senses were tensed, she noticed every movement he made.
“Don‘t fucking call me that,” he growled and it sent chills down her spine. Undiluted rage burnt in his voice. But rage made one careless, less calculative and more impulsive. She had to walk the thin line just before he was pushed over the edge. She smirked and leaned back, standing on her heels. “Call you what, zombie?” she asked, sounding careless. She wanted him to underestimate her.
He growled again, louder, more like an animal, his shoulders hunching forward. Her muscles tensed and the hairs on her arms stood on end. Then he lunged at her, bat held high. She rolled away, dodging, and the clanging sound of the aluminum against the floor, the crack that followed, told her that there was enough force behind that swing to break her bones. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sound filling her head violently, telling her to be careful.
She took half a second to aim, then fired three shots into his body; it jerked from the force of the bullets, and he was pushed over. Then he moved to stand up like nothing had happened, and she hurried to not remain on her knees. Then she fired two more shots, slower this time, into his neck. Something snapped with a disgusting sound and she saw a grin in his eyes. Then he pulled off the scarf.
Even though she had seen much more disgusting things, her stomach wanted to reel at the sight. The upper row of teeth were there, but that was all. The tongue lolled lazily against his throat, or what was left of it. It was like someone had ripped off his lower jaw entirely, leaving nothing but rotted, decaying flesh. She lifted her gun again and fired straight into this dark abyss.
A low, throaty, dangerous laughter rose from his chest as he lunged out. Again, she dodged out of the way, hastily reloading her weapon. She was not sure of what to do here, and she couldn’t pause to call for backup. It had been stupid to not call this in before she had started following him. She bit her tongue, but then thought better of it.
Another lunge at her just as she popped the magazine back into the gun. She ducked and rolled again, but the tip of the bat stroked her shoulder with a sick crack. Pain seared through her but was quickly dulled by the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
“Not so tough now, are you,” Edward hissed, leaning the bat to his shoulder as she got to her feet again, panting heavily. His tongue didn’t move as he spoke; in fact, his voice didn’t seem to be coming from where his mouth should be at all. It came from his chest. “Thought you were stronger then you really are, didn‘t you? Get away from me. Leave me alone.” There was a nearly pleading tone to his voice as he said this, but Alex spat at the ground.
“I don‘t run, freak,” she growled back at him, aiming her gun at his face and then, as he started at her again, she shot twice at his right knee. Both bullets pierced right through and his knee caved in, forcing him to one knee. She shot twice at the other - one missed and the other shot straight through like the first two. Hesitantly, she walked closer, gun steadied over her other arm, aimed at his head. He was growling dangerously, so she made sure to keep at a bat’s distance from him.
She exhaled. It hurt her shoulder. “What are you doing here?” she asked, but he merely growled in response. “What‘s your fucking purpose? Where‘s your necromancer?” how she wouldn’t love to take down a necromancer, one of the causes for these abnormal creeps. “Answer me, zombie!”
“I‘m not,” he growled, glaring up at her, his iris almost glowing now, red filling his eyes, “A zombie.”
It happened so quickly. One second, he was down on his knees with her gun in his face. The next, he had pulled her off her feet, she had kicked him in the face but that had barely stopped him, she had emptied her magazine in him and rolled away but he was too quick, her shoulder burned against the hard floor and then there was a sickening crack that echoed in her head, bouncing between the walls of her skull painfully.
Everything went black, but she was still conscious. She heard a low growling, then footsteps. Her heart echoed with the pounding in her skull, and something warm drizzled down her neck. Maybe it was more like gushing, she thought, but thinking hurt. The footsteps stopped, and she felt something nudge her shoulder. An unwilling whimper escaped her, and then the footsteps pounded hard against the floor. Was he running away?
She was unsure how much time passed before she could open her eyes again. Everything was blurry. Her mouth tasted of blood - coughing, she spat it out, trying to push herself up. Her shoulder seared with pain, and it distracted her from the pounding in her head. It felt like a terrible migraine. She managed to pull herself to sitting position, but everything spun around her. She couldn’t find her gun, but she didn’t have the strength to look around properly either.
With shaky hands, she managed to grab her radio and pulled it to her mouth. “This… is Jones,” she murmured, her throat burning from the blood she had swallowed. Her lip must have broken. “I‘m… I need medical… attention…” everything was spinning badly, and she felt like she would be sick. Had she swallowed that much blood? “Anyone listening?”
“Jones,” it wasn’t William’s voice that answered. “What‘s your location?” she slurred it out, hoping for the best. But whose voice was it? “Roger that.” The unfamiliar voice said, and the static stopped. The silence hurt her head even more and she leaned against her knees, wondering how bad it was. Her memory was foggy, but the adrenalin was going out of her body. She would be feeling the full onslaught soon enough.
Again, she wasn’t sure how much time passed when she heard the clamp of boots again. She had found her gun, unwilling to remain defenseless when there could still be zombies left walking. Her head snapped up at the footsteps, but she regretted it immediately when pain shot through her head and neck.
“Sit still,” a voice commanded. She raised the gun, unsure of what to do, but her arm shook from the strain it caused. Something touched her hand and she instinctively twitched it away, but something held her arm firmly and took the gun from her. “You‘re a mess,” the voice grunted, and she looked up, more carefully this time. It was the gun master, free from his underground lair and out in a field mission. She tried to laugh, but her throat wouldn’t work with her.
The grip on her wrist loosened and gently but firmly moved its way up her arm. She was only wearing a vest, because her jacket had been torn earlier when a bunch of zombie had tried to overwhelm her. Some of them could be… smart wasn’t the right word, but the best she could come up with now. “What happened?” the gun master grunted at her, poking at her damaged shoulder. She held back a pained whimper.
“Undead,” she grunted instead, trying not to wince as he moved her shoulder. “That… augh… Edward guy.” Tony was quiet for a while, keeping on with her shoulder.
“Then you‘re lucky,” he said finally, a slightly different tone in his voice. “Shoulder‘s out of place,” he grunted quietly. “Where‘s all the blood…” he trailed off and she glanced at him. He was looking at her head. “Sit still,” he ordered again and, more gently then she thought his large, rough hands were capable of, he touched her hair, pushing it out of place.
Then he stood up. “Jones, I need to get you out now. Can you stand?” she tried to push herself up; pain seared through her upper body. “I‘m going to lift you up, okay?” he asked, but it wasn’t so much an actual question. Everything spun too much for her to protest anyway. She tried lifting her other arm to feel the back of her head, to find out what had caused the sudden hint of alarm, but he held down her hand. “Don‘t,” he said, looking her in the eyes for the first time in the three months she had been there. His eyes were brown, she thought. Or, realized. It was an odd thought.
He lifted her easily, which wasn’t surprising to her because she had seen him working on those huge guns that were more bombs then firearms. She had also seen him in the gym a few times, and he lifted crazy numbers. She almost giggled at that, feeling rather dazed. His arms were gentle despite their strength, but she barely shook as he jogged to the vans.
“Is it that bad?” she asked dully, hearing the slur of her lips. If only things would stop spinning she would be able to concentrate again. He just grunted non-responsively and picked up his pace. It was almost too soon that the little joyride in Tony’s arms was over, and she saw the Hunter’s vans closing in. Tony muttered something, but it was getting a lot harder to pay attention now. Her head was threatening to implode and she was increasingly dizzy.
“Relax,” his voice said close to her ear, warm and soft. She closed her eyes, and was placed on a gurney inside the med van. She didn’t have to see to know Bob was fussing over her now, feeling his hands on her head, the needle pricking her arm to make sure she hadn’t been infected. “She lost a lot of blood,” Bob said quietly, and someone grunted as a response. A silent pause while she felt his hands move along her injuries, then, nervously, “You don‘t have to stick around you know.”
Another grunt, and she heard footsteps leaving. She could only assume it was Tony.
Ugh. Slutet blev förhastat och allmänt blä. Tror jag kommer skriva om någon annan nästa gång. Måste fixa en ordentlig bild på Alex också, har en i mitt sketchblock men scannern fungerar inte för tillfället. Ah well.
Nu ska jag gå och lägga mig, eftersom jag inte kan komma på något annat att göra. Även om klockan bara är halv två på morgonen. Helt otroligt.
Jag lär väl öppna Twilight igen och fastna tills det ljusnar!
(Musik: Random techno)
Ish har börjat sketcha upp sidor, det betyder att det snart är dags för mig att sätta ord. Och experimentera med ljud. Sandy, du sa att du hade en sida med ljudeffekter?
Det betyder dock också att jag snarast måste börja skriva ett fighting-manus, eftersom kapitel två av serien är en fightingscen och Ish behöver tydliga direktioner för vad hon ska rita.
He hissed at her, but she only grinned confidently. “So you‘re the one everyone‘s so afraid of?” she asked loudly, the grin carrying over to her voice. “Nothing but a fuckin‘ zombie.” She sniggered at the enraged expression on his face, the blood that stained the pale skin, the red hair tangled and wild, the eyes… burning with rage, hatred.
Alex grinned again, gun held tight in her hands. She had never met an undead before - they couldn’t be that big of a deal. Her superior in L.A. had talked about meeting one, how he’d gotten it down easy, no worse then a zombie, except it talked.
When he first looked at her, she had almost staggered with shock. The eyes weren’t dead at all, they were living. William had discussed this with her, how the undead had a soul still, bound to the deceased and often decaying body. But she still hadn’t expected the eyes to look so human. At first, he had paid her no particular attention, until he noticed that she was stalking him. Then he had noticed her outfit, the standard Hunter’s gear, and he had stopped, instantly angry.
And here they were, just staring at each other. Alex had her gun raised at him, and he had a baseball bat ready to swing. That almost made her laugh. At the same time, her confidence was lessened, a gut feeling telling her to be wary, to not be over-confident. Her senses were tensed, she noticed every movement he made.
“Don‘t fucking call me that,” he growled and it sent chills down her spine. Undiluted rage burnt in his voice. But rage made one careless, less calculative and more impulsive. She had to walk the thin line just before he was pushed over the edge. She smirked and leaned back, standing on her heels. “Call you what, zombie?” she asked, sounding careless. She wanted him to underestimate her.
He growled again, louder, more like an animal, his shoulders hunching forward. Her muscles tensed and the hairs on her arms stood on end. Then he lunged at her, bat held high. She rolled away, dodging, and the clanging sound of the aluminum against the floor, the crack that followed, told her that there was enough force behind that swing to break her bones. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sound filling her head violently, telling her to be careful.
She took half a second to aim, then fired three shots into his body; it jerked from the force of the bullets, and he was pushed over. Then he moved to stand up like nothing had happened, and she hurried to not remain on her knees. Then she fired two more shots, slower this time, into his neck. Something snapped with a disgusting sound and she saw a grin in his eyes. Then he pulled off the scarf.
Even though she had seen much more disgusting things, her stomach wanted to reel at the sight. The upper row of teeth were there, but that was all. The tongue lolled lazily against his throat, or what was left of it. It was like someone had ripped off his lower jaw entirely, leaving nothing but rotted, decaying flesh. She lifted her gun again and fired straight into this dark abyss.
A low, throaty, dangerous laughter rose from his chest as he lunged out. Again, she dodged out of the way, hastily reloading her weapon. She was not sure of what to do here, and she couldn’t pause to call for backup. It had been stupid to not call this in before she had started following him. She bit her tongue, but then thought better of it.
Another lunge at her just as she popped the magazine back into the gun. She ducked and rolled again, but the tip of the bat stroked her shoulder with a sick crack. Pain seared through her but was quickly dulled by the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
“Not so tough now, are you,” Edward hissed, leaning the bat to his shoulder as she got to her feet again, panting heavily. His tongue didn’t move as he spoke; in fact, his voice didn’t seem to be coming from where his mouth should be at all. It came from his chest. “Thought you were stronger then you really are, didn‘t you? Get away from me. Leave me alone.” There was a nearly pleading tone to his voice as he said this, but Alex spat at the ground.
“I don‘t run, freak,” she growled back at him, aiming her gun at his face and then, as he started at her again, she shot twice at his right knee. Both bullets pierced right through and his knee caved in, forcing him to one knee. She shot twice at the other - one missed and the other shot straight through like the first two. Hesitantly, she walked closer, gun steadied over her other arm, aimed at his head. He was growling dangerously, so she made sure to keep at a bat’s distance from him.
She exhaled. It hurt her shoulder. “What are you doing here?” she asked, but he merely growled in response. “What‘s your fucking purpose? Where‘s your necromancer?” how she wouldn’t love to take down a necromancer, one of the causes for these abnormal creeps. “Answer me, zombie!”
“I‘m not,” he growled, glaring up at her, his iris almost glowing now, red filling his eyes, “A zombie.”
It happened so quickly. One second, he was down on his knees with her gun in his face. The next, he had pulled her off her feet, she had kicked him in the face but that had barely stopped him, she had emptied her magazine in him and rolled away but he was too quick, her shoulder burned against the hard floor and then there was a sickening crack that echoed in her head, bouncing between the walls of her skull painfully.
Everything went black, but she was still conscious. She heard a low growling, then footsteps. Her heart echoed with the pounding in her skull, and something warm drizzled down her neck. Maybe it was more like gushing, she thought, but thinking hurt. The footsteps stopped, and she felt something nudge her shoulder. An unwilling whimper escaped her, and then the footsteps pounded hard against the floor. Was he running away?
She was unsure how much time passed before she could open her eyes again. Everything was blurry. Her mouth tasted of blood - coughing, she spat it out, trying to push herself up. Her shoulder seared with pain, and it distracted her from the pounding in her head. It felt like a terrible migraine. She managed to pull herself to sitting position, but everything spun around her. She couldn’t find her gun, but she didn’t have the strength to look around properly either.
With shaky hands, she managed to grab her radio and pulled it to her mouth. “This… is Jones,” she murmured, her throat burning from the blood she had swallowed. Her lip must have broken. “I‘m… I need medical… attention…” everything was spinning badly, and she felt like she would be sick. Had she swallowed that much blood? “Anyone listening?”
“Jones,” it wasn’t William’s voice that answered. “What‘s your location?” she slurred it out, hoping for the best. But whose voice was it? “Roger that.” The unfamiliar voice said, and the static stopped. The silence hurt her head even more and she leaned against her knees, wondering how bad it was. Her memory was foggy, but the adrenalin was going out of her body. She would be feeling the full onslaught soon enough.
Again, she wasn’t sure how much time passed when she heard the clamp of boots again. She had found her gun, unwilling to remain defenseless when there could still be zombies left walking. Her head snapped up at the footsteps, but she regretted it immediately when pain shot through her head and neck.
“Sit still,” a voice commanded. She raised the gun, unsure of what to do, but her arm shook from the strain it caused. Something touched her hand and she instinctively twitched it away, but something held her arm firmly and took the gun from her. “You‘re a mess,” the voice grunted, and she looked up, more carefully this time. It was the gun master, free from his underground lair and out in a field mission. She tried to laugh, but her throat wouldn’t work with her.
The grip on her wrist loosened and gently but firmly moved its way up her arm. She was only wearing a vest, because her jacket had been torn earlier when a bunch of zombie had tried to overwhelm her. Some of them could be… smart wasn’t the right word, but the best she could come up with now. “What happened?” the gun master grunted at her, poking at her damaged shoulder. She held back a pained whimper.
“Undead,” she grunted instead, trying not to wince as he moved her shoulder. “That… augh… Edward guy.” Tony was quiet for a while, keeping on with her shoulder.
“Then you‘re lucky,” he said finally, a slightly different tone in his voice. “Shoulder‘s out of place,” he grunted quietly. “Where‘s all the blood…” he trailed off and she glanced at him. He was looking at her head. “Sit still,” he ordered again and, more gently then she thought his large, rough hands were capable of, he touched her hair, pushing it out of place.
Then he stood up. “Jones, I need to get you out now. Can you stand?” she tried to push herself up; pain seared through her upper body. “I‘m going to lift you up, okay?” he asked, but it wasn’t so much an actual question. Everything spun too much for her to protest anyway. She tried lifting her other arm to feel the back of her head, to find out what had caused the sudden hint of alarm, but he held down her hand. “Don‘t,” he said, looking her in the eyes for the first time in the three months she had been there. His eyes were brown, she thought. Or, realized. It was an odd thought.
He lifted her easily, which wasn’t surprising to her because she had seen him working on those huge guns that were more bombs then firearms. She had also seen him in the gym a few times, and he lifted crazy numbers. She almost giggled at that, feeling rather dazed. His arms were gentle despite their strength, but she barely shook as he jogged to the vans.
“Is it that bad?” she asked dully, hearing the slur of her lips. If only things would stop spinning she would be able to concentrate again. He just grunted non-responsively and picked up his pace. It was almost too soon that the little joyride in Tony’s arms was over, and she saw the Hunter’s vans closing in. Tony muttered something, but it was getting a lot harder to pay attention now. Her head was threatening to implode and she was increasingly dizzy.
“Relax,” his voice said close to her ear, warm and soft. She closed her eyes, and was placed on a gurney inside the med van. She didn’t have to see to know Bob was fussing over her now, feeling his hands on her head, the needle pricking her arm to make sure she hadn’t been infected. “She lost a lot of blood,” Bob said quietly, and someone grunted as a response. A silent pause while she felt his hands move along her injuries, then, nervously, “You don‘t have to stick around you know.”
Another grunt, and she heard footsteps leaving. She could only assume it was Tony.
Ugh. Slutet blev förhastat och allmänt blä. Tror jag kommer skriva om någon annan nästa gång. Måste fixa en ordentlig bild på Alex också, har en i mitt sketchblock men scannern fungerar inte för tillfället. Ah well.
Nu ska jag gå och lägga mig, eftersom jag inte kan komma på något annat att göra. Även om klockan bara är halv två på morgonen. Helt otroligt.
Jag lär väl öppna Twilight igen och fastna tills det ljusnar!
(Musik: Random techno)
Kommentarer
Postat av: Doughie
ujuj... jag tror jag blandar ihop killarna lite. fick först för mig att hon diggade den första killen, men sen slog ju han henne sönder och samman. Synd bara att vissa ord inte förstås av min hjärna, må träna!
Postat av: Zoftis
I lurb this so much. Allting flyter på snabbt och actionpackat när det behövs.
Det är nästan lika svårt att skriva "snabba händelser" som dialog men du lyckas.
Av nån anledning så skrattade han riktigt...fuktigt i min hjärna jag vet inte...Det är inte alls kritik, bara en rolig grej som visuliserades i mitt huvud när det berättades att hans röst inte kom från hans mun.
Jag fick bara för mig att om man skrattar på det sättet skulle det studsa runt i insidan av kroppen och låta fuktigt...
I dunno... :S
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