The Twisted Earth (Post-apocalyptic Role play) (Started - Closed)

[StormShaun]

As Shaun reached Mortis's 'Clinic' he was huffing and puffing from the exhaustion from running with the stranger's body, Shaun didn't care about his physical limits right now. Shaun grabbed the body awkward with one hand as he made a swoop with his other hand at one of the table-top surfaces, clearing all surgical equipment on top of it and then placed the stranger's body on top of the surface.

As Shaun finished placing the body on the counter he heard the quiet chuckle of Mortis coming from near by, the thing that angered him the most was the way he called the man's body, "New toys" Shaun heard linger from the mad doctor's mouth.

Shaun had enough of this thing's thinking, he walked over to Mortis quickly and grabbed the scruff of his jacket, "Look here you sadistic asshole, you will make this man better...but if you try anything, and I mean anything. I will decapitate you with this katana and give it Blake as a gift...so get the fuck to work!" Shaun said angrily as his eyes lite up more showing his anger, he then dropped the Doctor and walked to the other side of the surface where the body laid.

 

[Tips_of_Fingers]

A cry from outside stopped Blake before he could tell Irish what he needed. Groaning as he stretched his aching muscles, Blake gestured towards the door. "Better go see what all the fuss is about." Drawing his hunting knife, the grizzled man stepped into the room to see Shaun threatening Mortis.

"Good. If you both kill each other now, It'll save me some much-needed time." Blake laughed at the scene until his body was racked with a coughing fit. Bent double, the mutant-hunter coughed into his hand hard enough to buckle his knees. Once the fit had subsided, he glanced up, anger flashing across his face. "I'm fine." He stood up and pointed his knife at the battered body placed upon the table. "Who's this?" Suddenly, Blake realised the fetid smell of ruptured flesh and warm blood. "...And why does it smell like a slaughterhouse in 'ere? What have you been doin', Ragdoll?"

Holding his knife out threateningly, Blake pushed past Shaun and advanced on the ragged doctor.

 

[Tortilla the Hun]

Irish peered out from the doorway in time to catch Blake speaking of Shaun and Mortis killing each other as well as the man pushing through the young fellow and advancing on the doctor, threateningly with knife in hand. The merchant sighed in mild frusteration and massaged his temples. "Jaysus, 'tis a feckin' mad'ouse 'ere..." he muttered to himself, then returned the journal and pen to his breast pocket. Being careful and stepping around the quarrel, Irish stepped up to the table upon which a stranger now lied. The stranger appeared to be barely grasping onto however much consciousness was left in him and looked like he'd just been mugged. Tapping on his shoulder in an attempt to get the stranger's attention, the merchant spoke up loudly enough to be heard. "Oi, who are ye an' wha' 'appened to ye?"

 

[tobi the good boy]

The glistening of the silver blade pierced the veil of blood-soaked strands of hair that masked his visage, His prey was active, but hardly in prime condition; much like Mortis' assumptions, the episode would leave some potent side effects. The scalpel, now hidden beneath the extended sleeves of his jacket twirled between the gaps of those skeletal appendages, finding the perfect position to slash should this toy attempt to strike.

"The smell can be attributed to a minor... accident, that occurred mere moment after your episode. You ruined my stitch work when you turned rabid and assaulted our passenger... I was unable to put him back together. With my toy broken; I figured I'd open him up and have a look. You accused him of something, I wanted to find out want."

Mortis grinned innocently towards his recently awoken companion, a feeble gesture considering he was covered in a dead man's blood, but it always seemed to amuse the doctor; balancing the fine line between unnerving and antagonizing. Appeased by the wave of disgust that flushed across Blake's features Mortis opted to address the figure adjacent to him, the fool. Those eye's sharpened, their luminous hue shining with an unmeasured fury. However, his body revealed a different tale; the shoulders slightly slumped, his stance 'technically' perfect but accented by faints shivers. A day of fleeing from armed troopers, hard riding and carrying what appeared to be an adult male well over 30 metres had left the marking of fatigue upon his acquaintance.

"Threatening the man in charge of putting you all back together?" A childish giggle echoed behind a hand lifted to hide that signature scar-stitched smile.

"You are a fool." Mortis turned his back to the hunter and the glowing eyed swordsman, and sauntered casually to the counter adjacent the mutilated corpse of their former tag-along. Standing opposite him was the accented salesman looking down with eye's of sincerity at Mortis' new prize. As the doctor approached the merchant lifted his head and hardened his gaze.

"So, my broken toy. How do I fix you?" The figure laid out across the makeshift operating table in the doctors pseudo-clinic was male, roughly twenty solar cycles old and covered in bruises and minor lacerations. His body was cloaked in an overcoat roughly two sizes too large that made it impossible to decipher whether there was internal bleeding or not. Mortis' eyes traced every contour of the barely conscious man's body, looking for problem more challenging to tinker with, the closest being the broken and dislocated fingers arcing off in different directions. The doctor gripped one of the dislocated fingers tenderly.

"What do I call you?" Mortis queried before swiftly twisting the finger back into the socket, sending jolts of pain through the stranger's body and awakening him from his stupor.

 

[Tips_of_Fingers]

"I will never allow you to touch me," Blake growled at Mortis. "Unless," he paused, sheathing his knife, "those evil hands of yours were to be pawing desperately at my face as I squeeze the life from you."

After a while, he hunter, fists clenched, looked at the others questioningly. "Is what the bastard says true? Did I attack the injured man?" Regret seemed to tinge his voice. After what they'd been through to save then man, Blake felt guilty if he had been the one to undo all their effort. Irish nodded softly.

"I-" Blake stammered uncomfortably. He wasn't used to admitting being in the wrong. "I'm sorry. Only to the humans," he put specific emphasis on the word, "that I injured. It happens occasionally." He tried to recall what had happened to cause the rage, but it was no use. He rarely remembered.

 

[Dectomax]

Marcus had followed the commotion and found himself stood next to Blake, he was looking down at the body of a severely injured man. The dim light made it hard to discern any distinguishable features and the mans, for that's what he assumed the body was, chest was covered in a thick dark cloak.

Marcus watched as the doctor re-located the tattered fingers. Trusting the the doctors ability, Marcus returned to the sun drenched front porch of the shop and looked at the Humvee, thinking how to disguise or remove the Foundation star that had been painted onto the side.

 

[Febel]

Pain shot through Hamilton's arm, jolting him instantly from the stupor he'd been in. He vaguely recalled having been grabbed and carried somewhere and now he was lying on a flat surface surrounded by...PEOPLE!
Bandits! Thieves! Mutant Hunters!
He began thrashing on the table, grabbing hold of one edge and pulling himself off.
Runrunrunru- owdammit
His efforts were halted as he fell face-first into the ancient, crusted carpet of the store. His legs flailed and kicked in the air for a few seconds, balanced against the side of the table before falling over, leaving him lying on his back. Plan A having failed spectaculary, he lay on his back looking up at the people circled around him. Two of them seemed somewhat familiar.

 

[StormShaun]

Shaun was surprised with the man's reaction, he could understand how he can be afraid of the people around him, especially Mortis, but he didn't know that he exactly fitted into this group of misfits. He sighed and then lowed himself to the man's level but managed to keep a friendly face all the time.

"You should really keep calm otherwise we can't heal you back up and I don't want to see that, especially after I saved you,. It would be nice to get your name, and why were you traveling near our little shop of horrors" He asked the mysterious stranger with concerned face.

 

[Febel]

"Saved me? How did you save me? All I did was pass out. You just carried me to..." He paused and looked around the store. "Wherever this is and then you oh hey my finger."
Hamilton looked at his hand and flexed it experimentally. He instantly regretted it as the dull throbbing began to course through his arm again.
"Which one of you fixed this?" He asked. None of his pockets seemed to have been emptied and none of the people surrounding him were pointing any of their surprisingly wide variety of weaponry at him so it seemed safe to assume they weren't going to rob him. He felt himself begin to calm down. And if they were mutant hunters...well his coat was still closed and he might be able to slip away without them realizing what he was hiding. He looked up and saw one of them, a tall, pale man with white-black hair. The man was grinning widely at him, an action accented by the pair of scars extending from the corners of his mouth.
Well at least he seems friendly.

 

[StormShaun]

Shaun looked at Hamilton carefully, he was looking at Mortis and showed no fear or anger, That is weird...the first time I met Mortis I was afraid out of my mind... Shaun though and the sighed, "I carried you out of there...by choice, I don't know if anyone else would pick up a stranger and carry them to their secret hideout, I could of killed you, robbed you, injure you worse then you already are and a whole other number of things, so...count yourself lucky I found you first" Shaun huffed angrily and pulled his hat off to show his deep blue glowing eyes on purpose and put it back on and walked out of the store angry.

As Shaun walked towards Marcus near the humvee, still thinking on how to cover up the star, Shaun was thinking and talking out-loud angrily, "Why the fuck do people not say thank you instead of bitching!" He yelled to himself as he walked up to Marcus. He stood behind him and thought for a while, "How about we cover it with blood, I'm sure the Doc will have loads of that?" Shaun asked the pondering Marcus.

 

[tobi the good boy]

Mortis withheld a mocking giggle at the folly of his glowing eyed swordsman, Shaun's use of the informal and collective term of ?we? amused the deranged doctor. To assume anyone in this dimly light room had the capacity to match, let alone assist, Mortis' medical skill was the perfect example of hubris. With those flickering electric blue eyes and charitable features the fool tried to console Mortis' new toy into revealing his identity; a failure. In return a confused stare from the unknown man wandered the room scanning the little gathering of misfits that circled the brutalised lad, his voice still groggy and his body in pain; the stranger still managed to questions Shaun's involvement in his rescue; an obvious attempt to mask the frailty of his current disposition, and perhaps to gauge his 'captors' intents.

Unfortunately, the limits of Shaun's leniency had been tested throughout the day, the strangers remarks did nothing but sharpen the bladesman's gaze, into a venomous glare. The faint smile of that graced his lips contorting into a brief monologue expressing the simpletons displeasure, before storming from the room.

?Tell me your name.? Mortis leaned just a fraction closer as he spoke to the figure in black garb, the movement more of a means of drawing attention than inspection.

 

[Febel]

Hamilton watched as Shaun stormed out of the store.
His eyes. Did I just see...?
He turned back and noticed one of the others leaning towards him.
"Hamil-" He started. As Mortis leaned forward Hamilton noticed the thick liquid dripping from his sleeves, coat and...hair? . "...ton. Is that blood?"

 

[Tortilla the Hun]

The stranger, unfortunate as he may have been to stumble into this particular group, seemed to be holding together fairly well; aside from the episode of panic resulting in him tumbling to the floor, of course. Though now it seemed the doctor was seeing fit to make a lasting impression on the stranger, Hamilton as indicated, of his sanity, or lack thereof. Irish nudged the gangly doctor aside and addressed him like one would a mischievous child. "Go 'way wit' ye, ye're gonna scare the poor fecker off." He turned his attention to the man on the ground and offered him his outstretched hand, as a greeting and offer of assistance. "Well, 'Amilton, 'tis nice to make yer aquaintance. The name's Miles, though ye can call me Irish," he added with a sincere smile.

 

[Febel]

What did he just say? I barely understood a word of...smile and nod, just smile and nod
"Um, hi" Hamilton said, nodding vigorously and grinning, "I'd take your hand but, broken fingers, y'know." With this he pushed an elbow against the ground and managed to bring himself to his feet, stumbling a bit as he did so. As he stood he got a better look at Irish's face and hair. "You seem familiar. Are you from Coleman's river?"
Hamilton looked past Irish and his eyes widened.
"Oh. That's a very nice...dead guy you have there. Very um, very open."
Dissected corpse. Notgoodnotgood. Heard about people like this. More of them than there is of me. Back to Plan A. Run at the first chance I get.
As if in response to this his legs gave out and he fell in a heap at Irish's feet. Directly onto one of his hands. A brief but extremely explicit shout of pain filled the room.

 

[Tortilla the Hun]

"Well, not exactly from the area, I were only..." Irish started off before catching the man looking behind him. The merchant slowly turned his head to see what had caught the man's eyes and practically made them grow twice in size. "Passina'...t'rough..." was all he could finish after noticing the body was in plain sight. "Oh, ye've gotta be feckin' kiddin'..." Next thing he heard was the man speak up and a thud as he collapsed to the ground. Turning his attention back to Hamilton, he reached down and picked the man up by his shoulders and propped him onto his feet. "Alrigh', clearly the open carcass makes for a bad first impression. But I assure ye, ye'll not meet the same fate as tha' man there. Jus' keep yer head up, avoid injury if at all possible 'cause if ye get 'urt, it'll be the doctor 'ere tha'll 'ave to fix ye up. And 'is record ain't the cleanest-" he leaned forward and spoke lowly so only Hamilton could hear him, "zero percent success rate, far as I've seen."

 

[tobi the good boy]

Mortis, having been thrust to the side by the accented merchant, reached out and clasped the counter between his spindly fingers in the hopes of regaining his balance; all this standing and running had begun to tear away at the muscle and flesh in his legs. He could feel the bones at the knee shifting ever so slightly but ignored the feeling; his intrigue captured by the black cloaked man laying crumpled on the floor.

Attack,. Beaten. Brutalised... Multiple people, no more than three. His fingers dislocated and broken but body with minimal damage, why?... A theif!

With his footing once again composed, Mortis began to wander around the counter, his blood flecked eye's like some rabid creature stalking it's prey... cold, unwavering, ready to strike. The darkness was returning, his minds eye tunnelled as he approached the heap on the bloodstained carpet. His strides quickening, left... right.... left... until suddenly, his weight shifted, the sinew in his leg tore and his leg crumbled to the side. Snapped from his blood-lust his body fell onto the counter, with his forehead colliding into the edge.

The sound had drawn the attention of ever soul in the room that now had their glare fixated on the doctor with his leg half torn off.

"Ouch..."

 

[Mr.Ivebeenframed]

Ashe watched from a far and hid her smile beneath her grimy gloves. The stranger that had happened upon them had now seen what this little group had to offer. And not only that but the detachment of Mortis' leg from the rest of him made the entire thing look rather humorous. Ashe tucked her magnum into her holster and went forward.

"Need help?" Ashe asked as she nudged the detached limb towards Mortis with the tip of her boot. He smelt of blood and bile with a hint of the sharp accent that medicine would give off.

 

[Febel]

Hamilton paused as he deciphered what Irish had said, "Avoid injury...?" he said, dangling his hands in front of him meaningfully. "Its a bit late for that. It is nice to know you all aren't going to kill me." He paused for a moment and examined Irish again. "I think... I think you and I passed one another. Up in the northeast. You were with a caravan, right? That's where I think I've seen you. Well, it's a pleasure to meet a fellow friendly merchant."

Hamilton was finally beginning to get over the panic that consumed him when he first awoke. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest and the slowly receding black on the corner of his vision was an uncomfortable reminder of his need to avoid straining himself. A *Thunk* and a muffled "Ouch" drew Hamilton's attention to Mortis. He took a few staggering steps over to the counter, tactfully avoiding looking at the body that lay upon it, and looked down. In the muted light of the shop he failed to get a proper view of what had happened.

"Fake leg? You should get the attachment adjusted in the city. I might even be able to do it for free if you fix my hands." He flinched slightly as a young ...man(?) walked past him to Mortis. He(?) gave the limb a soft kick and asked if the white haired man needed any help. The soft squishing noise from the kick made Hamilton lift his goggles off, fumbling a bit and flinching with every jolt of pain it brought. "That's very realistic looking, though. Whoever did it was an excellent craftsman."

Spoiler: OOC

Finally. Was waiting for a couple others to post before I did again. Also, (?) equals Hamilton's difficulties with Ashe's androgyny.

 

[tobi the good boy]

Mortis lifted his hand to his brow and tenderly slipped his hand across where his forehead had collided with the counters edge. As he withdrew his hand he examined, closely, his fingers; red droplets of 'blood' lined the tips of his fore and middle finger, the table had left a gash underneath the strands of black tipped hair that he had just managed to seal moments after impact.

Words carried across the pungent winds of Mortis' 'operating' room as he inspected his wound, some directed at the newcomer to his humble abode, others directed at him. It mattered little, they were mostly tedious to explain or mocking inquiries from people he had failed to find use in.

?Torn muscle... dislodged knee... snapped sinew.? Mortis muttered aloud, the permanent grin on his face never fading from his lips.

He leaned forward and gripped the base of his black cargo-pants between his long spindly fingers, pulling them just above the knee; their extra girth combined with his thing frame making the endeavour a simple task. Scars of all different shapes and sizes ran up and down his leg, some were jagged, others clean. Some were thick some where thin and some were new and others old. A thrumming radiated from the centre of his chest, it's metronome in synchronisation with his very heartbeat. A crimson fluid poured from the torn flesh before contorting and weaving, it's movements like a spider twirling it's silk, until finally the doctor's leg was back in it's rightful place, the flesh and appendage held together but a blood hue membrane.

?I need to sit down or I'll tear the other one? Mortis mused before pulling himself from the floor, he held his recuperated limb in the air and moved his foot, up and down, left and right, several times before letting the thick black cloth of his pants fall and drape his pale skin.

?Come, I'll put 'Humpty-Dumpty' back together. Ashe, grab my bag and bring it to me in the foyer.? Mortis added before walking into the open room adjacent to his own.

 

[Mr.Ivebeenframed]

Ashe nodded and went to grab the doctor's bag. It was heavy in her hands so she holstered her pistol and picked it up with both hands now. She lugged it to the foyer where she had been told by Mortis to go.

Ashe heard a rattle when she dropped the bag and she remembered that the pills were still in her pocket. She still didn't trust what the doctor had put inside the pills so she neglected to give them to Blake who still was one of the most useful of the group members and if harm was to fall to him then there would be some serious problems.