Post by ArkenRennatta on Aug 31, 2007 10:31:05 GMT -5
(I.. totally couldn't read everything in this thread, there was just too much, but I think I got the jist of what is going on. Also, as an interesting side note, I'm insanely tired at the moment so please forgive any mistakes that might be in my post.)
Aged cerulean irises would peer up at the seemingly dilapidated building, attention caught by the flickers of failing light licking out into the open streets through cracks in the various boarded up windows. What little light bled out from the building illuminated the graffiti which stained the outside walls, blanketing the faded bricks in obscure diagrams of pentagrams, lewd stick figures, and perhaps most important of all, the propaganda. What a charming little place, safe heaven of sleepless for those without a home. Certainly wasn't the Ritz. Hell, the Roach Motel had more reputable clientele, but it was hard to argue with running lights and company of the living, and perhaps feminine, variety.
Taking a long, eager stride up the cement steps, he found himself in the archway of the building. Leather clad hand was drawn of from his idle side, fingertips extending forth to take hold. The battle weary metallic door let loose a long, disturbing screech as it was guided along its hinges, the rusted joints crying out in passive protest as force was applied. The sound would undoubtedly catch in the ears of all those who resided in the bar, which of course was a good thing when trying to survive during a Zombie Apocalypse. The imposing barricade was once again set, rather carefully, back into the brick and mortar frame of the buildings entrance. At least that simple act would show that whoever just joined the fun had enough common sense not to let in a draft. Also, hungry undead, though a draft could be just as deadly in some cases.
Heavy leather boots would sweep halfheartedly over the dirt laden floor as the man took a few tentative paces inside, debris crackling as it was crushed under heel. Though the grand revealing of his shape would be delayed a moment as he paused, lingering in the short hallway leading to the bar to study the wrought iron bars which bolstered the defenses of the charming little sanctuary. With an amused scoff he stepped into the open, weathered brow arching skyward as eyes rolled from one darkly lit corner to the next, examining the room from behind the fallen wisps of graying hair which tumbled down onto his features.
Finally, parched lips would twist into a wry grin as the man threw his arms into the air. "So! Who wants to buy me a drink?"
Aged cerulean irises would peer up at the seemingly dilapidated building, attention caught by the flickers of failing light licking out into the open streets through cracks in the various boarded up windows. What little light bled out from the building illuminated the graffiti which stained the outside walls, blanketing the faded bricks in obscure diagrams of pentagrams, lewd stick figures, and perhaps most important of all, the propaganda. What a charming little place, safe heaven of sleepless for those without a home. Certainly wasn't the Ritz. Hell, the Roach Motel had more reputable clientele, but it was hard to argue with running lights and company of the living, and perhaps feminine, variety.
Taking a long, eager stride up the cement steps, he found himself in the archway of the building. Leather clad hand was drawn of from his idle side, fingertips extending forth to take hold. The battle weary metallic door let loose a long, disturbing screech as it was guided along its hinges, the rusted joints crying out in passive protest as force was applied. The sound would undoubtedly catch in the ears of all those who resided in the bar, which of course was a good thing when trying to survive during a Zombie Apocalypse. The imposing barricade was once again set, rather carefully, back into the brick and mortar frame of the buildings entrance. At least that simple act would show that whoever just joined the fun had enough common sense not to let in a draft. Also, hungry undead, though a draft could be just as deadly in some cases.
Heavy leather boots would sweep halfheartedly over the dirt laden floor as the man took a few tentative paces inside, debris crackling as it was crushed under heel. Though the grand revealing of his shape would be delayed a moment as he paused, lingering in the short hallway leading to the bar to study the wrought iron bars which bolstered the defenses of the charming little sanctuary. With an amused scoff he stepped into the open, weathered brow arching skyward as eyes rolled from one darkly lit corner to the next, examining the room from behind the fallen wisps of graying hair which tumbled down onto his features.
Finally, parched lips would twist into a wry grin as the man threw his arms into the air. "So! Who wants to buy me a drink?"