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Author Topic: NejraTu's SAMPLE RP posts and short stories  (Read 808 times)

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Offline NejraTuTopic starter

NejraTu's SAMPLE RP posts and short stories
« on: July 16, 2012, 01:27:36 AM »

((Baseline: The character (Nejra) is making friends with a foreign prince to gain information for her Baroness but too, for her ultimate quest to better humanity through those with the power to change it; she is an Atlas and a Badlander. Long stories short an Atlas is bred to protect the earth by bettering humanity. They are trained in many arts and often considered savants if sometimes a little crazy. A Badlander is a cult that believes only the fittest should survive because soon humanity will face something far more dangerous and they'll need the strongest so they're trained and tested up to death so they can be reborn without fear of death. Both I made up based on some historical and cultural realities and some things I just thought might make sense. Ask if you want more intel on either. Nejra was unlucky(fortunate) enough to endure both.))

Sample Message Board Entry type post:
::T r u s t i n g Nejra comes easy to most people. Perhaps it's her open charm and insatiable curiosity met with a respectful understanding that often seems to exceed the surface necessities. Or, the way she listens unassuming and non-judging to what others have to say. That thousand-yard stare, with the potential to set ill hearts at ease as if the language barrier didn't. What ever the reason, trusting Nejra comes easy to most people.

It can be difficult to imagine, being happy in the service of others let alone to the depth the Atlas seemed to take it. No request to small nor too large when it comes to the Kanduan-Shazerian Badlander. Even those not verbally made. What good would a servant of humanity be if she cannot a n t i c i p a t e the needs and desires of those she serves? That isn't to say the Salacious Siren doesn't take liberties...

The Castle was hardly impenetrable; not for an eleven bar-branded Badlander but she wasn't here to assassinate the Prince, rather to bring him breakfast. Moving with purpose, no one stopped her or questioned her; After all, Kane was diligent if nothing else and the Prince's inclination to allowances for the foreign woman was known among his men. Besides, who among them didn't wish to be in the Prince's place in those moments. The air of bacon sizzling, eggs still steaming over easy and drizzled in exquisite cheese with diced onions and peppers littering the top not to be overshadowed by the hand-cut hashbrowns lightly seasoned to the side nestled against two sausage links as she strode past was enough to make their mouths water. Throw in that sultry sway to the sirens song in her veins and the allure of those all concealing robes which only kept her skin from view, not the seductive way she moved beneath them and his men were doing well just not to stare. Black silk over leather worked soft before being dyed and stitched on either side of a metal mesh dress that served to protect her chest, back, and sides from blades for there was only a thin layer of cotton beneath that; her every move was like oil spilling from her head around startling oasis blue eyes framed by blach-ashed lashes before washing over the entire length of her body to fingertips and toes.

With such a distraction that admitted everything and nothing, they had no idea Nejra had a k e y. Where she got it was anyone's guess but on impulse she shifted the tray to her right hand and simply tried the door that would take her into the private suite of Prince's and found it unlocked. Moving as if she had expected it to be just so gave the guards a sense of ease, for by outward appearances it seemed the Prince was expecting her. No one had to know about the key. In she went and closed the door near silently behind her before taking in the luxurious sitting room and beyond it to the two doors that lead off of it. One to the bedroom and one to the private bath. Clearly she wouldn't be taking His Highness' breakfast into the loo...

Nejra didn't creep in and lurk, for she's not creepy, but walked with self assured and swift steps beneath those ample robes and into the bedroom of the Prince just as the sun peeked over the horizon outside his curtained window. The darkness shrouding the four-poster bed didn't allow her to quite make out his form but the stillness and lack of rustling indicated he slept or watched in silence. In either case she set the tray complete with a large mug of milk, glass of orange juice, and a goblet of water -since she had never before served his breakfast- upon a table near the fire place opposite the bed. Between them, opposite the door, was the window she sought next.

In the hush of the room, it was possible to hear the quick and pitter-patter pads of her feet across the floor and the gentle whisper of the fabric caressing it before and after as if in preparation and worship of her every step. In the silence, her intent had t a n g i b i l i t y that pulls through the body like a warm cord of promise. The quiet sound of effort that punctuated her breath as she stood on her toes to grip the towering waterfall of cloth that covered the window gave warning to the symphony of air that carried her across it's width. Both the heavy cloth and the rings that supported them sang in their low and high notes as the robed woman gave welcome to the dim rays of dawn. Encouraging, nae- d e m a n d i n g they bring light to the murky depths of the Prince's bedroom.

Her pulse sped not for the effort of opening a curtain, even one as monstrous as this, but for the knowledge that when she turned again, she would fall eyes on the Royal Shazerian who was not consciously expecting her audience, especially before he's even roused himself from sleep. Alas, the Atlas had a duty to become familiar with this mans mind and motives  both for the cause she was bred for and that her Baroness sent her on this morning
s p e c i f i c a l l y.::
EDIT 20120721 1341 EST: added image
« Last Edit: July 21, 2012, 12:41:43 PM by NejraTu »

Offline NejraTuTopic starter

Real Time Sample Posts
« Reply #1 on: July 16, 2012, 09:29:28 AM »

((Scene: Nikki Nolan (the character) last remembered signing in agreement to a classified mission and now is waking up four years later with no memory of what happened in between. While she was in the US Coast Guard at the time, she finds herself waking in the desert, far from anywhere she'd expect to be. This was an intro post.))

Epicurean Drive [02:50]: :: Nicholas Owen Nolan was the name on her dog-tags, US Coast Guard MST Rescue Swimmer with "Other" as her religion and O+ blood type. She was dressed in torn and sun-baked blue cargo pants and service issue boots laced up right proper but just as dirty and long past needing a shine. Around her left thigh was a holster for a dive knife she didn't have and the gray t-shirt she wore had been taken off and wrapped around her head leaving her in a tank top and sports bra stained by the sand and dirt kicked up by

Epicurean Drive [02:52]: the hot winds against the dampness that clung to her body from her sweating. In her back pocket was her discharge papers for medical reasons explaining bouts of paranoid insomnia. The listed paranoia was never waking up after falling sleep. She didn't remember any of that. Didn't remember how she ended up in the ditch on the side of the road in the middle of freak'n no where. Her navigational expertise put her in the Midwest, the desert landscape and baking dry heat put her somewhere in Arizona probably. As a US Coast Guard, well,

Epicurean Drive [02:57]: former Coastie, Nikki Nolan was a long way from the sea. Was this some sort of twisted initiation into the classified assignment? That was the last thing she remembered, signing her new deployment. With a house in the distance -or at least she hoped it was real- her excitement at the thought of water and answers had her dry mouth salivating and her

Epicurean Drive [02:59]: shuffling footsteps quickening stupidly. She was weak from the heat, lack of water and whatever else and tripped; hands scraping the gravel road and knocking her t-shirt toweled head on a rock that didn't kill her but put her lights out. So close and yet so far away, the five-six Cuban-American woman might have seemed a little too broad in the shoulders if not for the width of her hips, both of which were equally balanced by the fullness of her bosom and round firmness of her rump. If she wasn't so

Epicurean Drive [03:01]: dirty and bruised with those scrapes and dried blood on her exposed arms and hands from a couple of falls, she might have even been hot. Alas, she was belly down, right cheek to the ground, hands on either side in a failed attempt to brace her fall and because head wounds bleed, a small dribble of her blood on the rock and ground below it. Her barbed wire scars getting a tan from around the tank top in their gruesome hug across her upper-back and shoulders while she waited to wake or for Fate to intervene. ::-d

((Scene: Nikki Nolan later takes on truck driving as a way to combat her insomnia and in this scene she just got off a long haul and stepped inside a bar for a drink. It was near closing and the owner approached her thinking she was a cop trying to catch them off guard and after he realized she wasn't, he asked her why she was here and this is my reply post at the time of play.))

Epicurean Drive [13:33]: ::Take their conversation out of context and it was utter nonsense. Take the woman away from the words and you lose almost everything. She was an ever shifting painting of expression and story unrestricted by self-consciousness and unrestrained by apparent morality. She used to jump out of helicopters into forty foot swells in questionable flying conditions to save idiots who don't read weather reports. A regular chemical cocktail junkie with a direct connect from the brain and the ingenuity to keep the

Epicurean Drive [13:36]: the supply going. Keep her alert, awake, aware, excited. She set her drink on a coaster if there was one on the bar as she watched him considering his own thoughts. Taking her mind from fantasy to the man in front of her. To the subtle expression changes around his eyes and mouth that betrayed his relaxation and hinted at a pleasure he couldn't identify. So she upped the anty, not even realizing she was playing until that moment. Perhaps deciding since he didn't know who or what she was, she could be anyone

Epicurean Drive [13:39]: and no one was more thrilling than herself. Sleek legs uncrossed and her hips slid, dragging the hem of her dress up her thighs as she let herself drip off the stool like honey. Slow and indulgent. Unique to the region on your tongue but rarely disappointing. Sensations, she ate them up and soon drew herself to a stand so close to him, seated on that stool, it was almost unnatural she wasn't touching him. And then she did; Reaching out with her right hand and a suddenly serious but epicurean expression that

Epicurean Drive [13:41]: offered a warning of her intent to touch him, she wasn't asking and seriously? Who would mind? She wasn't armed, not a cop or a working girl and clearly dancing under the subtle strings of his charming personality. Her hand was cool from her drink as it touched the crisp but wrinkled fabric of his shirt on the hard muscle of his pecs. A deep breath drew through her lips and tightened her chest, making her shiver and release it in a shuddering exhale that dragged her hand lower, palming his nipple through

Epicurean Drive [13:44]: the fabric and biting her lip to stop a sound inappropriate for public. Her eyes lifted to his face, away from her hand and she forgot the question, replayed it and then smiled oh so slowly.:: Whispers on the edge of reality, I never know until I find it.

((I welcome questions or comments about my writing, even requests if you want to see me write something specific, otherwise I'll just keep posting a few samples I like with variety.))
EDIT 20120721 1411 EST: added images
« Last Edit: July 21, 2012, 01:14:35 PM by NejraTu »

Offline NejraTuTopic starter

Short Story Samples
« Reply #2 on: July 16, 2012, 09:40:04 AM »
(Written as a sample of satire, the subject was given to me and this is how I spun it.)

Dainty feet with bright red toes wrapped like a gift in strappy heels meant to enhance shapely legs and sultry hips; a slinkly black dress with a dangerously low neckline designed to frame freely swaying and perky breasts that manage to steal the attention from the string of glittering diamonds around her delicate neck; you weren't the only one looking. You'd hit on her, with those long dark lashes, pale blue eyes and platinum blonde hair even if she does wear a little too much make-up. That is until you focus back and see the old man who has her on his arm, a stark contrast to her youthful vitality. Gold digger. A regular Peggy Hopkins Joyce-The original for those who don't know.

You can think it and you know you do; the classic cliche' of beauty meets almost-dead with a fortune. Let's face it, a little companionship for a few years at max in trade for a lifetime of luxury, who wouldn't think about it? Don't be jealous, do something about it. Dance that fine line between prostitution and companionship and set yourself up for life! It's a charitable venture, be assured...and to help you along in your quest of spreading joy, here's five basic tips.

1) Dress the part! Look clean, sharp and expensive. Know what your best features are and emphasize them but be sure to pay attention to what your "friend" likes.

2) Ask important questions. You need to know if you're wasting your time so learn about their financial status quick by observing their wardrobe, car, and asking simple questions like where they enjoy dining, if they own their own home or have children. No one likes competition.

3) Suggest ways for your friend to make more money and emphasize your own financial woes. You'll plant the seeds of worry over your well being in such a positive light they wont even notice!

4) Perhaps most importantly offer as much of yourself as you can. We don't mean whore yourself, we mean offer to spend time with them doing things that are boring. You'll show them you're in it for the long haul!

5) Finally, when your roots are set in and are ready to seal the deal, ask for help making ends meet. We all know you'll be spending your earned money on the finer things in life, and you're such good friends now that surely they wont want to see you homeless!

It's that simple! So go on, stop drooling and wishing; go enrich your life. You deserve it.

"If Walls Could Talk: From the Floors Perspective"
If walls could talk...This general assumption that they have the best ears and eyes is hardly realistic. Certainly it's the floor with the best story to tell. You may not agree, but I'll explain why it's so. You see, I'm the first thing to support you when you get up in the morning; I'm always there to catch you when you trip up during the day; I am the first one that greets our guests when you open the door; I'm the platform for the very walls that hold your house together and I'm the base of your livelihood and relaxation. For centuries I'll lay quietly as various feet, hands, and knees move across my face. Can you imagine what secrets I could tell? The walls have no idea of the weight people carry, nor the pain that hobbles their steps. In the grains of my wooden face are ground the stories of those who step upon me, tracking in with them their daily trespasses. From beneath your dressers and chairs I lay, listening in silence while you debate on cleaning under there. I hear the arguments, the love, and sometimes feel both upon my expanse. It is the floor which holds the secrets, not the walls which are torn down and built again, which are painted over or covered with wallpaper. It is the floor which bids you goodnight as you lift your feet into the bed and it is the floor which will lay in waiting for morning to rise again.

"Wayward ChapStick"
(I was listening to Pandora and an ad played for ChapStick that wondered where all the lost ChapSticks go, was it something we said? Pandora listeners were encouraged to post our stories so; My name is Mandy and this is my "Wayward ChapStick Story")

Here in Florida, we're so used to the moist hot air, when winter rolls into town and makes everything cold and dry we'd be lost without our ChapStick! Plus, those of us who live beach side need them year round for all the salt in the air can dry you out. Well, as it happens, I like a ChapStick everywhere I go. I have one in my car, one in my backpack, one in my purse, one at my desk, and one beside my bed. You would think with all these usual places to find a ChapStick I wouldn't have to keep buying them before I use them up but I do! Where do they go?!

Well, I was thinking: maybe it's the suspense of suspecting I'm using other ChapStick but never really seeing it. You know, sitting there in their little hidey holes waiting for me to need them but obviously only being used when I'm in town (their location.) Perhaps they got too curious, had to know what other ChapStick was keeping my lips moist when it wasn't them. I can see it hitching a ride in my pocket, using those "You'll need me later!"-ChapStick-mind-tricks on me. Next thing I know, I'm picking up one of my ready-to-use-in-a-handy-place ChapSticks and the other one sees! Oh the treachery! Weaseling it's way out of my pocket in abandonment of it's duties to my lips, my wayward ChapStick goes missing and unnoticed until I return for it in need of moisture once again. The irony of me waiting there then, wishing I had ChapStick to use and making a mental note to go buy another. The End.

"The Muse"
(A concept piece I did in an attempt to pour some of the stuff in my mind onto a page.)

The Muse thrives without ego and has an obsession with sensation, luxury of the senses, indulgence and pleasure. She chooses the food and drink to assault her taste buds in the most delightful and complimentary to contrasting ways as much as she may choose seemingly plain clothing for the luxury of texture and comfort. The Muse is an elusive and treasured source of inspiration but we seldom realize what inspiration of the world, and those in it, are to the Muse herself. What, pray tell, is quite as exciting and inspiring as man?

There is a reason everyone knows the phrase "it's the little things that count" for a Muse, it isn't just a proverb to make you feel better, it was a way of life. Observing things down to the detail of which way your laces crossed over and how your expressions and replies reveal more about you than the subject by the passion in which you articulate your mind.

These and more are all keys to the people behind the masks of social order and it's those pieces of the chosen mask by which she might deduce what motivates them; Get their goals, help them reach them, better humanity through those with the power to do it. The Muse is simply a tool but one with the intelligence, ingenuity and freedom to take every advantage and pleasure along the way. As she might say, the only ones who don't enjoy her company are those unwilling to indulge in it.

Offline NejraTuTopic starter

Scenario Sample Intros
« Reply #3 on: July 18, 2012, 12:34:22 PM »

((Scenario: The Chinese have invaded the USA and in four days managed to take hold to the Mississippi river with a few pockets of American resistance here and there and so the American Military fights back too.))

:: Lisa had come to America to avoid war and conflict, trusting the borders of the gleaming country that was putting on a show to hide the corruption, economic trouble and civil unrest. She escaped to the forests of the west, working her way up to a Ranger on her work visa and becoming a citizen of the US just three months before making full Ranger. These were her forests, she had tried to protect them but she couldn't have known they would be invaded by the Chinese. She didn't even have time (or desire) to escape across the country, across the Mississippi River to the fragile safety of protected American soil. No, the only thing she'd been able to do was the same damn thing she'd run from in Romania, gorilla warfare, hiding, running, and trying to stay alive or take as many bastards with her as she could before she died.

She'd heard the fight in the distance as the Americans struck a near by Chinese supply depot; Lisa finding inner glee that the Americans were still in the fight, not giving up on their land or the people trapped under the new rule. Her forest had been declared a no-go-zone by the Red Army, unfamiliar with the trees and the mountain side they climbed up, they lost more men than it was worth to booby traps and lucky sniping. She was getting better and better, her kill count making her sick but survival making her smile. Fear slammed into her as she'd heard the S.A.M. hit the chopper headed back toward The River, it's propellers suddenly muffled by the impact and then the s c r e e c h of heated, twisted metal hushed in a whack against the tree tops before splintering her ears with the sounds of its crash and burn.

Hiding her entrance to the cave network she'd been hunkered down in, Lisa whistled for her horse, miraculously still alive and staying with her despite not ever being tied up; the horse didn't even have a saddle and the bit and reins he normally wore was long gone, leaving him naked and wild looking in his painted pattern of browns and whites perfect for the patchy snowy ground of the forest floor. Simon was his name, Simon and Lisa had been partners for her entire time here, four years, and in that time they knew each other. Backpack with basic medical supplies raided from the watch towers (currently booby trapped to prevent the Chinese from using the radios as she did to catch up on news across The River), and her rifle with her sniper rifle slung over her shoulder and across her back, revolver on her hip, desert eagle in a shoulder holster, she obviously found some guns outside the ranger station. Also tucked into her belt was a couple leather strips and a pouch with stones in it along side a couple strings with stones tied to the ends. A mix of primitive weapons and modern weapons, the green cargo pant wearing Ranger in the dirty wife beater and half-way buttoned matching green service shirt with the long sleeves rolled up to her elbows under the thicker bomber jacket she'd confiscated from her former human partner killed in the first attack on the forest in the late night of the first day of attacks on the coast only six days ago; Lisa Rubles was a one woman rescue team.

At a confident run, the horse bolted through the forest toward the wreckage, a keen understanding of the mountain and where it sounded like it went down, where it was burning, she prayed the invaders wouldn't send in a clean-up team. It was only five minutes that he laid there after the wreck, the first sixty-seconds he was probably unconscious for. The snow collecting in her black curls even as she tried to keep them restrained in a bun at the back of her head held tight with a strip of leather. Simon got itchy as they approached the flames, feeling her thighs gripping his sides, guiding him which way to go and encouraging him to continue closer he'd feel when she finally eased up and he slowed, their body language doing the communicating, protecting them from the enemy so the horse didn't have to be risked getting snagged on anything.

Throwing her leg over she hopped down and trusted the horse to stay close, frowning deeply at the mangled wreckage and slew of bodies. Unable to help it, she cried silent rivers of tears to think of their lives so hopeful moments ago with celebration of victory and retreat to fight again... only now they couldn't. Her boots laced up over her pants and had a couple knives fitted into them but it was her riffle she had in hand, ground-ward, finger over the trigger guard and ready to shift at a moments instinct while her rare and pale jade eyes swept across the burning fire.

At first, she didn't see anyone moving but his breath was hot and steamed into the air above his face, the fire illuminating it from behind and shifting her steps into a trot in his direction. Quietly her Romanian accent filtered through in a smokey whisper:: Sir! Sir, are you awake? ::Shifting the rifle to her side on its strap, she'd take it off and set it along side her, the sniper rifle joining it so she could take her backpack off with worry creased in her fine dark brows:: Can you hear me, Sir? My name is Lisa Rubles, I am... was, a park ranger here...Where are you hurt? ::Mini flashlight taken out to blind him in the eyes and test his pupil reaction as she asked him where he was hurt. If it wasn't too bad, she'd throw something over his open wound and get him on the horse (at five-four she'd have to ask Simon to bow and help her out) so she could look for more survivors and they could get the hell out of here. Lisa could look for usable parts and equipment in the daylight.::-d

((Scenario: Resident Evil with a little creative liberty in the partner Company River Renewable Energies that assisted in power requirements and the self sufficiency of the underground cities and so on. In this scenario, the former CEO of said company has survived the outbreak and the near dead planet... and she's not alone.))

::It is an exhausting life, that of the superstitious. Every day a new look into the universe. Every thing wrought with deep meaning and insight into the grand plan; it's exhausting, to live such a life. As the CEO of a cutting edge Energy conglomerate, Raven River had entrusted her spirituality to guide her in some of the toughest, and eventually most profitable business ventures and technological advances of her time. Perhaps she got greedy and twisted, her concentration less pure, her interpretations of the Spirits guidance corrupted by her desire for success. What ever the reason, she had begun to see the signs of her destruction. She ignored them at first, but in the end, it was undeniable. The Umbrella Corporation, which she had allied with, was corrupting her and worse, the world.

All titans eventually fall, it's the nature of the beast and India, the name she had adopted, was now reduced to a self sufficient drifter in a desolate world of flesh eating zombies and cut throat survivors. Armed only with cunning wit, survivalists instinct, and finely honed paranoia, the Native American woman managed to stay alive and well provided for in exchange with her services to the Spirits. Doing what they require without her own pretenses. Delusional? Maybe, but then, in a time of the Apocalypse everyone needed hope.

India didn't pretend to understand the motives of others and when the unknown woman at the Sporting Goods store had set out water and an MRE for her, without any request for a return, it did cross her mind that it was poisoned. It seemed unlikely since she and the man who had accompanied her seemed to leave without looking back but India wouldn't put it past them to circle around when they were sure she'd be dead or incapacitated and steal what was left; so, she didn't take it. Neither did she say she didn't need it. That would give too much information. Out in the desert wasteland, it'd be difficult to follow the lumbering horse without being noticed so the CEO was confident she hadn't been followed after her short raid of the sporting goods store. Two rolls of fishing line and a pair of biking gloves which were a little lose but she could fix that.

As she approached her camp, a light shimmered through the cracks of the barn, alerting her to the intruder. With her jaw clenched her heart suddenly lept in her chest. The Native American was a thinking woman not a fighting woman and she came to hate these unknown situations! Sliding off the horse with ease, landing on her cowboy booted feet with the grace of a feline she hushed her horse and prompted him to stay where he was. Quietly as she could manage, which was pretty quiet but not assassin quiet, India paused to the far side of the barn. Bow lifted, string drawn to her cheek, the motion lifted the maroon dyed leather vest that was tightly laced around her torso to reveal just a thin line of her abdomen before the thick brown leather belt held her blue jeans to her hips. Faded and patched, they looked like they could use a wash too even tucked into her boots as they were the way boots were supposed to be warn; protecting her from unwanted visitors up the pant-leg among other things. The long braids normally laid across the swell of her bosom were carefully shifted behind her, across her back to lick across her waist.

She lifted her voice in warning, calm and lightly accented by her native Kiowa tongue but carefully articulated by years of precisely spoken English and engineering.:: Please keep your light aimed at the ground and exit the barn with your hands where I can see them. ::Raven might not be a CEO anymore but she still knew how to throw calm command in her voice and keep her breath calm and her aim steady as those dark pools of her eyes set in naturally dark and sun-reddened skin upon the whole of the barn encase there was more than one coming from anywhere. Praying to the Spirits for a peaceful outcome.::-d-

((Scenario: Scientists tried to use genetic tampering to better foods and accidentally caused a rapid evolutionary mutation in the worlds flora and fauna. In a desperate attempt to save the world without having the time to do so, they estimated the hundred years it would take for the evolution to slow and for any chance to overtaking it to be had and froze a team of experts and guardians until such a time when they'd have a chance to combat the evolution. What they didn't count on was the chaos or the intensity of the evolution which effected humanity through the food and made humanities evolution inevitable but not all were accepting of this reality. Purists took over cities and built vasts walls to combat the world taking everything back and leaving the evo's (evolved beings) to fend for themselves in the outlands (anywhere outside a city). In this scenario it's been closer to five hundred years and my character is among a line of the scientists that froze the team and has devoted her life to finding the chamber to set the saviors free only through time there's only one left.))

::Rumor grabbed one of the old swivel chairs and ripped the spine off of it to jam it in the door handles in her vain attempt to keep the uglies from busting through. The loud thuds ricocheted off the steel walls and vibrated through the grated floor accented by the heavy footfalls of her own weighted boots. The outlander didn't hesitate as she ran right up to the port hole and jerked the lid upward only enough to allow her five and a half foot frame decked out in her too big jump suit and utility belt slung low on her hips and full of odd-ball things down the shoot. Her satchel strapped cross-body to keep the pack itself secure at the small of her back. Finger-less gloved hands grasped the ladder as she released the door and slid down the sides old-school Navy style to avoid being hit in the head with the heavy door that automatically locked behind her. She'd worry about getting out once she confirmed the Saviors were here.

Dropping to the ground with a heavy pant she brushed dark brown hair that needed a good washing, back from her face and took a moment to look around as she retied her braid-bun as it threatened to undo and stood upright sliding her hands across the wide curve of her hips not at all flattered by the shapeless drape of the man's jumpsuit she wore and patched in a variety of greens, blues, purples and pinks. Unlikely but prudent camouflage believe it or not and this room wasn't what she expected? So many consoles with more buttons and switches, screens and lights that held no power it left the Evo a little daunted. The room was not that large but office supplies were aged and scattered everywhere; chairs over turned, and a few blood splatters said the exit hadn't been orderly at all. At least there weren't any bodies.

Rumor grabbed her satchel and swung it to her front as she looked at the north side of the room where a large glass wall separated the cryo chamber. Rows of empty slots spanned for at least fifty-feet. Some she could tell had failed and the people who were held inside died a long time ago. She was glad that the pods themselves didn't break or this place would wreak of stale death! Getting out the book that had brought her here, the tanned skinned woman stepped up to the only console on the same wall as the cryo chamber, which looked complete with lockers and showers for the newly awoken. Following the step-by step instructions, she powered up the console and punched in the sequence and pod numbers to start the thaw. Only one responded with some error warnings about failures with the others that she didn't understand since she wasn't actually literate. The book had pictures and her family had made it their mission to pass down the need to free the saviors through the passage of the operations manual with hand-written and drawn notes of instruction so all she had to do was match button for button in order. As a result, her dried lips prayed for a blessing; this was the first piece of tech she'd ever touched aside from a good laser pistol.:: 'ere goh's nuut'n ::She sighed as she pushed the final acceptance button and lifted her bio-luminescent blue eyes to watch, waiting to see what the surviving savoir looked like.::

EDIT 20120721 1415 EST: Added images
« Last Edit: July 21, 2012, 01:36:07 PM by NejraTu »