04-29-2018, 03:39 AM
[align=center][div style="background:transparent; width: 600px; text-align: justify; color: black; font-size:12px; line-height: 100%"]Lincoln has major issues with blindly tackling dangerous situations without being actually fully prepared, turns out. Sure, he's been praised a lot by a lot of people for his ability to do anything that's asked of him without a single complaint or any ounce of fear to deter him from his goals, but despite his overflowing courage, that doesn't excuse the fact that he has a massive issue with being far too full of himself sometimes. Or... Well, all the time, really. For example, just a week or so ago, that flaw in his character had put itself into play for the millionth time in his life, and it all started because he has a good heart and a strong moral compass (curse being a good person!). See, while he'd been exploring along a few snowy pines, collecting some wild berries in a bucket to cook for a nice dinner later, a man had suddenly run up to him in a flurry, looking absolutely shaken. Breathlessly, he'd pleaded for Lincoln to get a journal back from a group of bandits who had stolen it only a few days prior. It was a journal written to document the blackout and research ways to bring society back together from the ruins of the days of old, so obviously it was pretty important, and Lincoln knew that. Besides, taking one look at the guy, you couldn't really just say no. His hands had been clasped together, knees knocking in the cold, skin wrinkled and his hair a stark white—he was an old man, and what kind of man would Lincoln be to just say no?
...He's regretting his decision just a little.
Apparently, as he'd found out halfway into this mission, these bandits have guns. Guns! As an old-fashioned sword-and-bow kind of guy, getting into a gunfight spells a very quick death, so the moment he'd gotten the desired book, he'd bolted. But, alas, they'd spotted him at some point, and now he's in this situation, with three guys chasing him with pistols. And that's not great, because they're shooting at him, and though he's metaphorically dodged a bullet multiple times in his life, he doesn't really want to test literally dodging a bullet. Despite his desire to live, a gunshot cracks like a clap of thunder somewhere behind him, and Lincoln doubles over himself instinctively as he runs, one arm throwing itself over his messy blonde hair to create a (sort of useless) protection of his head while the other clutches the priceless journal he'd worked so hard to steal back tightly between his upper arm and torso. He refuses to drop it, despite continuously tripping over the tangling brush that he's currently trying to run through. He hadn't brought his sword to cut the plants because this was meant to be a stealth mission, and that was stupid. Again, unprepared Lincoln strikes again. There's a huge chance that he's going to be hit in these few seconds—there's a chance that this whole return mission will turn out to be a failure despite his best efforts, and he's never going to get to say sorry to the poor man for dying when he promised him he'd get his book back. And yet, by some stroke of luck that he somewhat blames on whatever god is watching over him, the bullet whizzes just past him to bury itself deep within the wood of a tree to his left; though it hadn't physically hit him, the shot still reverberates through his entire body, manifesting itself as a physical flinch. Great Goddess. He's lived another attempt on his life. Silently, he thanks whoever is watching over him a second time.
The flinch slows him briefly as he basks in the accomplishment that his head is still firmly attached to his neck, but everything screams in him to keep moving. Adrenaline rushes through him, and though he should have probably collapsed long ago, the refusal of failure keeps him firmly on his feet. The absolute certainty that he will get away from these people pushes him on, and yet too much confidence can always lead to failure—which that's a bit of a problem for Lincoln, too, considering what he's about to do. After a while of panicked running, he doesn't hear footsteps, nor does he hear any more shouting, and with the apt thought that he's surely far ahead of his slow, gun-wielding chasers, wide blue eyes make the mistake of glancing backward over his shoulder to try and catch a glimpse of the people tailing him. And hey, good news! As he'd thought, they're far behind him—not even visible anymore, actually. They've probably given up on chasing a young man who has a hell of a lot of stamina to keep up with, and to the assumption of his victory, Lincoln feels a need to stop and rest so that his heart doesn't explode. However, his luck has apparently suddenly fallen flat, because the moment he finally slows to a stop to catch his breath, it's then when he steps on his ankle wrong. And, considering he hadn't been looking where he'd been going, he happens to do this right at the edge of a cliff. He wants to curse whatever goddess is above in that moment. He wants to curse her and everything she stands for—he doesn't, because she's saved his ass multiple times, probably, but that doesn't take away from the fact that he wants to. And that's because now he finds that he's no longer running—he's falling. Off the cliff. Which is... Not ideal. A sharp yell rips itself from his lips as he suddenly hits ground a few feet down, and a burning pain shoots up his right wrist, but he bites back the desire to scream like some kind of damsel in distress. And then he keeps rolling, hitting pretty much every single rock on the way down, until finally his body is burning and he can't think straight anymore. As one last blow to his confidence, the last rock he runs into slams right into his head, and with that, he's out like a light, coming to a very pathetic, almost laughable stop.
What a success, eh?
— OOC NOTE: this is a casual character (like all of them) that i won't rp often unless i feel like it, lmao. don't feel the need to match muse! you can powerplay medical and nonviolent actions, and he's currently passed out at the foot of one of the mountains the forest. he's got a lot of bruises and cuts, but nothing too bad aside from a broken wrist on his right hand. feel free to nickname him link, that's the point of his name whoops
...He's regretting his decision just a little.
Apparently, as he'd found out halfway into this mission, these bandits have guns. Guns! As an old-fashioned sword-and-bow kind of guy, getting into a gunfight spells a very quick death, so the moment he'd gotten the desired book, he'd bolted. But, alas, they'd spotted him at some point, and now he's in this situation, with three guys chasing him with pistols. And that's not great, because they're shooting at him, and though he's metaphorically dodged a bullet multiple times in his life, he doesn't really want to test literally dodging a bullet. Despite his desire to live, a gunshot cracks like a clap of thunder somewhere behind him, and Lincoln doubles over himself instinctively as he runs, one arm throwing itself over his messy blonde hair to create a (sort of useless) protection of his head while the other clutches the priceless journal he'd worked so hard to steal back tightly between his upper arm and torso. He refuses to drop it, despite continuously tripping over the tangling brush that he's currently trying to run through. He hadn't brought his sword to cut the plants because this was meant to be a stealth mission, and that was stupid. Again, unprepared Lincoln strikes again. There's a huge chance that he's going to be hit in these few seconds—there's a chance that this whole return mission will turn out to be a failure despite his best efforts, and he's never going to get to say sorry to the poor man for dying when he promised him he'd get his book back. And yet, by some stroke of luck that he somewhat blames on whatever god is watching over him, the bullet whizzes just past him to bury itself deep within the wood of a tree to his left; though it hadn't physically hit him, the shot still reverberates through his entire body, manifesting itself as a physical flinch. Great Goddess. He's lived another attempt on his life. Silently, he thanks whoever is watching over him a second time.
The flinch slows him briefly as he basks in the accomplishment that his head is still firmly attached to his neck, but everything screams in him to keep moving. Adrenaline rushes through him, and though he should have probably collapsed long ago, the refusal of failure keeps him firmly on his feet. The absolute certainty that he will get away from these people pushes him on, and yet too much confidence can always lead to failure—which that's a bit of a problem for Lincoln, too, considering what he's about to do. After a while of panicked running, he doesn't hear footsteps, nor does he hear any more shouting, and with the apt thought that he's surely far ahead of his slow, gun-wielding chasers, wide blue eyes make the mistake of glancing backward over his shoulder to try and catch a glimpse of the people tailing him. And hey, good news! As he'd thought, they're far behind him—not even visible anymore, actually. They've probably given up on chasing a young man who has a hell of a lot of stamina to keep up with, and to the assumption of his victory, Lincoln feels a need to stop and rest so that his heart doesn't explode. However, his luck has apparently suddenly fallen flat, because the moment he finally slows to a stop to catch his breath, it's then when he steps on his ankle wrong. And, considering he hadn't been looking where he'd been going, he happens to do this right at the edge of a cliff. He wants to curse whatever goddess is above in that moment. He wants to curse her and everything she stands for—he doesn't, because she's saved his ass multiple times, probably, but that doesn't take away from the fact that he wants to. And that's because now he finds that he's no longer running—he's falling. Off the cliff. Which is... Not ideal. A sharp yell rips itself from his lips as he suddenly hits ground a few feet down, and a burning pain shoots up his right wrist, but he bites back the desire to scream like some kind of damsel in distress. And then he keeps rolling, hitting pretty much every single rock on the way down, until finally his body is burning and he can't think straight anymore. As one last blow to his confidence, the last rock he runs into slams right into his head, and with that, he's out like a light, coming to a very pathetic, almost laughable stop.
What a success, eh?
— OOC NOTE: this is a casual character (like all of them) that i won't rp often unless i feel like it, lmao. don't feel the need to match muse! you can powerplay medical and nonviolent actions, and he's currently passed out at the foot of one of the mountains the forest. he's got a lot of bruises and cuts, but nothing too bad aside from a broken wrist on his right hand. feel free to nickname him link, that's the point of his name whoops
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CARRY ON MY WAYWARD SON  ⋆⋆⋆
[align=center]*:･ﾟ✦[b] THERE'LL BE PEACE WHEN YOU ARE DONE !