Post by Leon Silverblood on Jul 20, 2007 22:45:00 GMT -5
Having somehow been moved to the roof and then ignominiously cast overboard, Leon's cage flies through the air with the greatest of ease, accompanied by a brief and puzzled "Unh?". It crashes to the ground and rods, bars, nuts, bolts, and various other shiny things including a metal plate from some part of his anatomy cast themselves in a myriad of directions like so much shrapnel.
The zed lies in a crumpled heap for a few moments as if dead, but being undead, he bemoans his fate and begins to drag himself to his feet. Parts of his face are now perfectly flat, possibly improving his grey, decayed looks by squishing bits and pieces of loose skin firmly against various open sores and wounds, though not necessarily into their proper places. Leon's dry eyes, greyed over by thousands of tiny scratches from dust, really aren't much for expressiveness these days, but if he could and would think, he could and would think "Next time I get a concrete facelift, I'm demanding some anesthetic."
Finally erect after much groaning and very slow, painful looking levering and dragging of his own body in such a way as to represent a marionette more than a human, or even a corpse, he turns and turns, observing the bright, bright new world he's been unleashed on twice in one day.
What remains of his lips attempt to curl, but necrotic tissue seems to prefer twisting and flapping, so his grin looks like a collage of 1-inch square bits of origami paper. Time to take a hint. Time to have some fun.
The zed lies in a crumpled heap for a few moments as if dead, but being undead, he bemoans his fate and begins to drag himself to his feet. Parts of his face are now perfectly flat, possibly improving his grey, decayed looks by squishing bits and pieces of loose skin firmly against various open sores and wounds, though not necessarily into their proper places. Leon's dry eyes, greyed over by thousands of tiny scratches from dust, really aren't much for expressiveness these days, but if he could and would think, he could and would think "Next time I get a concrete facelift, I'm demanding some anesthetic."
Finally erect after much groaning and very slow, painful looking levering and dragging of his own body in such a way as to represent a marionette more than a human, or even a corpse, he turns and turns, observing the bright, bright new world he's been unleashed on twice in one day.
What remains of his lips attempt to curl, but necrotic tissue seems to prefer twisting and flapping, so his grin looks like a collage of 1-inch square bits of origami paper. Time to take a hint. Time to have some fun.
