a pocketful of serotonin --- open, raid

capt. salem · 03-04-2020, 04:46 AM

| | | YOU'RE A VILLAINOUS THING
AND WE CAN'T HAVE YOU LIVING A LIE

He said there'd be a raid, and he meant there'd be a fucking raid. He wanted to test the combat capabilities of his members, and why not strike at a particularly bountiful community about twenty miles north of the Badlands? Sure it took a lot of traveling, which was where the horses in the stables came in handy, but they were going to strike and they were going to win.

"Alright, debrief before we charge in. I want you all bringing back things that prove your prowess and specialties; whether that be defeating and capturing people, stealing valuable things or causing general mayhem. So there's your objective, and if you've got any questions save them for after the raid, eh?"

They struck at midday. With the sun high overhead and the small fishing village alive with activity as many people went about their daily lives, with only a smattering of armed guards to defend the general populace. The town stunk with the smell of fish and incense as cooks prepared the fish brought in by the fishermen and many people lit sticks of incense to drive away the smell.

The Badlands swept down from the hills in a disorganized but deadly quick assault. In a flash a kind but small community made up of working families was thrown into complete chaos, armed guards drawing what weapons they had to fend off vicious attackers while unarmed adults dragged children into small shanty huts and barred the doors with their own bodies.

Salem rode down on his horse, a fine mare he'd already forgotten the name of and who he'd likely never ride again after this raid was complete. He hadn't picked a target among the swirl of chaos and fighting yet, and was happy to act more as a figurehead; a beacon of serenity among the bloodshed.

[justify]Waste no worry for the world, [abbr=Goes by Salem or Monty | He/Him or They/Them Pronouns | 28yrs Old | 6'3"| Leader of the Badlands | Former pirate captain | Sexuality is a unlabeled free for all; Panromantic and attracted solely to people who radiate power]&[/abbr]
Let it be a tragedy of love and glory, [abbr=Medium-Hard Physically | Hard Mentally | Attacks with whip, scimitar or revolver | Open to maim if requested / discussed prior | Not open for death or capture | Difficult but not impossible to defeat or subdue]&[/abbr]
While they wait by gates of pearl, [abbr=Guy Fieri aesthetic | Choppy short dull brownish-grey hair | Bright green eyes | Three piercings on both ears (two on top cartilage, one large on lobe), and a lip piercing | Scruffy beard starting to grow in | Both pinky fingers cut off | Walks with noticeable limp, favors his right leg]&[/abbr]
We'll be building palaces in purgatory, [abbr=There are no extra tags this is just for aesthetic]&[/abbr]
(IC Opinions)[/justify]

LAKE · (This post was last modified: 03-18-2020, 10:15 PM by LAKE.)

[align=center][div style="width: 480px; text-align: justify; font-family: calibri; font-size: 8pt; color: #484848; word-spacing: 4px; line-height: 22px;"]trigger warning for violence, blood, murder, injury, and everything else you'd expect from lake in a raid.

this was where lake shone. in violence, in bloodshed, in chaos. she'd tried so hard to be good, to be better, and where had it gotten her? miserable and contained, forced to be something she wasn't, something she couldn't be. she'd grown up wild, and wild was the state of being she belonged in. others rode horses, but she didn't bother. her size, her stature, a horse would do little more than waste time. hell, she might break it. so she moves steadily alongside the badlanders on foot, face devoid of emotion. she's donning her usual black attire as of late, no weapon in sight, lips pressed into a firm line.

as they entered the village, she didn't hesitate.

the violence she moved with was far more precise than one might expect. she isn't calculated, but this is her first nature, not second. each body she comes upon, she swings quickly and hard, bringing them to their knees before ending their lives. for the first time in a long time, there's a feeling reflected in those hazy blue eyes; excitement. she uses no weapons, but blood still splatters, and every droplet that flies through the air only excites her further, bringing her to life.

one man (the fifth or sixth she comes upon) swings a knife at her. it's a little paring knife, and he swings it overhand, burying it into the flesh of her exposed shoulder. there's no bravery on his face, only horror and anxiety; he doesn't regard the creature before him as human, as he shouldn't. lake's eyes shift to the wound, then back to the man, pulling it out without any regard or hesitation. [color=#894230]"nice try." she says simply, before swinging the weapon back at him, burying it into his neck.

she's almost shaking from the adrenaline pumping through her veins, entirely within her element. too long, she'd tried to contain herself, and it left her hungry, all but foaming from the mouth. her eyes land on salem atop his horse for a heartbeat, and she manages to give him a lame two-fingered salute before turning to a house, the door barricaded, and swinging at the window. the glass shatters, as does the flesh on her hand, but it doesn't stop her from propelling herself within.

MICHAEL. · 03-19-2020, 02:25 AM

[align=center]

[div style="borderwidth; width: 400px; padding: 1px; text-align: justify; color: #4B3E2D; line-height: 14px; font-size: 11pt; font-family:timesnewroman"]"speech" 'thought' text
tw: alcohol, death, lots of blood, profanity, heavy violence, religion

Michael had partaken in raids before, though not under Salem's prerogative. And in truth, he couldn't say he was too thrilled with his leadership. Then again, Mike was certain that he wasn't cut out for leading anymore. There were a few times he had done so, and most had ended terribly. Eyes looked around, he had his hands in his pockets, as he slipped into the shadows. He didn't know quite what he was going to do.

He could just awkwardly stand there, out of the way, not really detectable unless someone was looking for him in the deep shadows. He wasn't exactly for this raid, but the best way to make sure things didn't get out of hands was to be there himself... theft was one thing... assault another. And murder, that was an entirely different something.

He was about to slink away from everything and stash away some things for the group to find after his had left (not exactly what the raid was about, eh.) When his eyes caught on a shiny metal object held in a man's hand. It was a gun, it was not a badlander's gun, it was a weapon pointed at Lake.

Without a second thought, Mike jumped from the shadow's he'd been skulking in, and launched himself at the wielder of the weapon. Bod slamming into him, but before he could wrestle the gun from his hand, a shot rang out, loud and clear. Fingers closing around the weapon, Mike finally managed to pull it away from the man, slamming the hilt repeatedly into his face.

God damn it. He had lost his cool again. As the red faded from his vision, he saw a prone form beneath him, no longer breathing, possibly not having breathed in a while, how much time had passed? It seemed as though very little had, which was probably a good thing. He removed the bullets from the revolver, and pocketed them, tossing the gun aside. Well, that had been an interesting turn of events.

His head turned and he looked to where Lake was, where was that tall girl? You'd think he'd see the young woman right away rather than having to search for her like that... she was basically as tall as a chimney.

capt. salem · 03-21-2020, 12:05 AM

| | | YOU'RE A VILLAINOUS THING
AND WE CAN'T HAVE YOU LIVING A LIE

tw: descriptions of violence, death, general raid stuff

Lake descended upon the town like an angel of death, Mike descended upon the field like... Wait, where was Mike? Salem didn't bother looking beyond a courtesy scan, and didn't see him; well whatever, the man could take care of himself.

Hopefully he could take care of himself. Salem didn't want to return to the Badlands with somebody in a bodybag.

His incredibly important thinking session was interrupted by a flash of silver in front of his face, cutting a strand of hair that'd drifted over his forehead. Salem snarled and drew his scimitar, pulling on the mare's reins to make her back up as he assessed the danger in front of him.

Kitchen knife, sharpened to an overly dangerous extent, somewhat crazed man in his thirties wielding it; his shirt was already stained with blood but Salem couldn't figure out if it was the man's blood or somebody else's.

Still, he didn't much appreciate the impromptu haircut. He rode forward slightly and swung his scimitar down, ignoring the hot flash of pain as the kitchen knife slashed his leg and continued his swing to cut into the man's shoulder. If Salem was stronger, or on sturdier footing, he perhaps could've taken the man's head off; instead the blade buried deep into his shoulder and he howled with pain.

Salem scowled and yanked on the blade, twisting it deeper into the man's body until his arm fell limp and the knife clattered to the ground. His non-paralyzed arm was grabbing wildly at the scimitar, trying to pull it out but never getting enough leverage without cutting his hand.

In one quick motion Salem ripped the scimitar out of the man's shoulder and came around again to elbow him in the head and send him clattering to the ground- wait, clattering?

Salem swung around, his vision immediately seeing Mike tossing aside a gun while a figure lay unmoving on the ground before him. Salem hadn't heard a gunshot, so maybe Mike brought a gun with no bullets; kind of a stupid move, especially throwing it away in frustration, but who was he to judge.

He encouraged the mare to trot towards Mike, and Salem stopped just as he was close enough that dismounting would likely mean toppling onto Mike or the dead body. He grinned down, still holding his scimitar loosely in one hand as it dripped blood.

"Good job," Salem commented, giving Mike an adrenaline-drunk grin. Maybe he underestimated the broody, quiet man. Perhaps with a little work he could be as battle-crazed as Lake- though it appeared as though she'd leapt through a window in her frenzy, so maybe not.

[justify]Waste no worry for the world, [abbr=Goes by Salem or Monty | He/Him or They/Them Pronouns | 28yrs Old | 6'3"| Leader of the Badlands | Former pirate captain | Sexuality is a unlabeled free for all; Panromantic and attracted solely to people who radiate power]&[/abbr]
Let it be a tragedy of love and glory, [abbr=Medium-Hard Physically | Hard Mentally | Attacks with whip, scimitar or revolver | Open to maim if requested / discussed prior | Not open for death or capture | Difficult but not impossible to defeat or subdue]&[/abbr]
While they wait by gates of pearl, [abbr=Guy Fieri aesthetic | Choppy short dull brownish-grey hair | Bright green eyes | Three piercings on both ears (two on top cartilage, one large on lobe), and a lip piercing | Scruffy beard starting to grow in | Both pinky fingers cut off | Walks with noticeable limp, favors his right leg]&[/abbr]
We'll be building palaces in purgatory, [abbr=There are no extra tags this is just for aesthetic]&[/abbr]
(IC Opinions)[/justify]

LAKE · 03-22-2020, 03:53 PM

[align=center][div style="width: 480px; text-align: justify; font-family: calibri; font-size: 8pt; color: #484848; word-spacing: 4px; line-height: 22px;"]trigger warning for blood, gore, injury, and lake yeeting a bullet out of herself.

she's inside the house, standing in front of the broken window, hoping to find bodies but instead only an empty building. there are things in there, and she lifts a pan to look at it, holding it in front of the windowlight to view it. sure enough, it glimmers in the sun, beautiful to her eyes. and it's when she's holding this that she's distracted, pain searing through her chest.

lowering the pan, she glances out to see a wet spot fan out along her lower chest. squinting, the blonde yanks her shirt off, left in the bathing suit top, and along her lowest rib is a hole, blood leaking out. no pain registers on her face, and the only shift in her expression is her eyes shrinking to narrow lines as she squints at it. when she looks up, suddenly mike is fighting a man, and it occurs to her that this man had been the one who shot her. she frowns deeper, lifting the pan and turning and approaching the door; it's locked, and rather than unlocking it, she opts to kick it in, stepping out.

the blood is still flowing steadily from the wound, and she marches toward salem, pan in one hand, and with the other, she prods at the wound before pulling the bullet out, seemingly unbothered by it, and stops before the boss and his horse.

[color=#894230]"is this valuable?" she inquires with a quirked brow, wiping the bullet off on her pants before dropping it into her pocket, letting it join the other failed bullets.