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[b][abbr=biography && tags in signature]cecil winters[/abbr] &― he covered up my teary eyes ,
[div style="bgcolor=; border: none; width: 375px; padding: 0px; line-height: 13px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; color: #262626; font-family: arial; text-transform:lowercase; margin-top:0px; padding-bottom:20px; margin-top:-2px;"]Cecil doesn't know what to do, but the moment a gun is drawn and pressed to Wolfbite's head, he freezes up, appearing to become slightly paler. No. No, he can't just let this happen. If Wolf died he wouldn't know what the fuck to do with himself. Quietly, the man stumbles off. He has to find a gun. He has to save Wolfbite. He's silent as he ducks through the halls, going toward the secret place where they kept their weapons, making sure to repeatedly check that no one had followed him. They hadn't, thankfully. He and their weapons were safe. He ducks down, pulling a pistol from the neatly stacked weapons, and makes sure it's loaded for a moment before shakily cocking it. He's never used a gun, but he hopes he can now. The white-haired man sucks in a breath to steel his nerves, then stands and dashes back to the action, his feet light and quick, not making any noise. He pauses behind a shelf, and takes aim, the one hand he can use slightly trembling. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. He's got his gun aimed at Dylan's hand; if he can just injure his hands, only a little, then he can't use his gun. As he shoots, the crack of his own gun startles him, and he shakes just a little more. If it hit, it would force him to drop his gun, even if it was more likely to just graze the fingers of his uninjured hand due to how much the young man was trembling.

/ just an fyi that i don't want cecil shot at all whoops forgot to make his battle tags

[div style="background=transparent; borderwidth=0px; bordercolor=; width: 300px; font-size: 7pt; line-height: 100%; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; color: black"]—  "I HOPE YOU KNOW THAT EVERY TIME I TELL YOU TO GET HOME SAFE, STAY WARM, HAVE A GOOD DAY, OR SLEEP WELL WHAT I'M REALLY SAYING IS "I LOVE YOU." I LOVE YOU SO MUCH THAT IT'S STARTING TO STEAL OTHER WORDS' MEANINGS. I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT. I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT YOU'RE VALID." CECIL WINTERS / NORTHSTAR / ½ WOLFBUCK  —
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#13
"Hey!"

Charlie's head immediately whipped around, his features completely stunned. Fuck! Someone else was there, and he was pretty sure that it wasn't the call of one of his crew members. He didn't recognize the voice. Had they been spotted? Well, his question was answered when the Italian was sent backward onto his back in a sudden shove. Charlie grunted as he landed, now face-to-face with another individual. As the other demanded an answer from him, Charlie tried to control his breathing as he observed this stranger's facial features. Brown eyes, brown hair, a face decorated with scars. This wasn't the Northerner that he had interrogated, obviously. He was much stronger and Jesus, he was as tall as a tower. Even Charlie was dwarfed by him, which only further frustrated him. Finally, the New Yorker would answer in a deep, thick accent, "Luciano," He let a soft pant escape his mouth, as he was still trying to regain the wind that had been knocked out of him. "Lucky Luciano." That was the first time that he had revealed his nickname to anybody, including his own comrades, who had just witnessed the sudden attack. And speaking of which, he had to get this motherfucker off of him.

Before he could do anything though, Margaux had come along to try and create some distance between the two men. Oh, Jesus. Charlie didn't want her to get involved in this; this guy was violent as it was. They didn't need a casualty, especially if it was Margaux, someone who he had admittedly formed something of a friendship with. "You- stay outta' this." Charlie told Margaux in a commanding tone, his brown eyes sharpened with intensity. He didn't expect her to argue with him, because this was his goddamned mission and she was expected to do what he told her. Besides, he was only looking out for her safety and the safety of the other Badlanders. He'd get his ass skinned if anything happened to his comrades, or even worse, they'd all be slaughtered. "Get the shit 'n go."

He turned to Dylan, who was ready to back him up. What would this guy do now? Would his brains get blown out right in front of them all? Charlie had heard another voice call his attacker by the name of "Wolf". So, this was his name? Well, he was about to beat the shit out-

He flinched as a gunshot rang through the walls of the building.

What in the fuck was that? Charlie's gaze darted towards the source of the sound, and holding the gun was... oh. The white-haired British fuck. His mind went back to him immediately. Even though they had arrived late on the raid, Charlie had still expected his orders to be followed. Had he deliberately disobeyed him? "Fucker!" Charlie shouted, staring daggers at Cecil. He attempted to suddenly shove Wolfbite off of him and get to his feet. If he succeeded, he ran for Cecil and aimed to tackle him to the ground in a fit of anger. Fucking punk, how dare he expose them? How dare he shoot at Dylan? This was his goddamned fault!


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THERE'S NO RETURN FROM WHERE I'VE BEEN
❝ TRIED TO PRETEND THAT I'M AROUND . . .
————————— BIOGRAPHY / FORMER BOSS OF THE BADLANDS
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#14
[align=center][div style="background:; border: 0px; width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12.5px;"]"Lucky Luciano." That was an idiotic name. Ironic given his current situation. A bitch's name. Stiffening, his eyes widened a little at the gunshot that rang within the warehouse, giving off a painful ringing in both his ears. His head turned to face the source, to see the white-hair he dreaded to see in a time like this. "Ceci-" The sentence wasn't going to be finished, he falls to the side as Charlie shoves him, launching himself after Cecil. Oh, fuck no. Quickly, the Overseer picks himself off the ground to race after the Warchief, reaching for the back of his collar, attempting to yank him back roughly and hopefully cut off some of his air supply. "Don't you fucking touch him. I'll kill you." he spat, eyes wide and flashing with a feral glint that made his chocolate rises shimmer.

Twisting around to face Dylan, the male's face was a blanket of stoicism, his dark brown gaze now frozen pools of inky ice. "Shoot me, ты сука," he hisses through clenched teeth, eyebrows furrowing as he defiantly stares back at the Badlander. His mother language rolls smoothly off his tongue, though it was rough, he hadn't used it in months, restricted to English since it was the most generic language around the country. "It'll be the last thing you ever do."


[align=center][div style="font-size:14.1pt;line-height:0.9;color:#000;font-family:arial black"]—  I DON'T EVER MIND SHARING OXYGEN  —
I JUST WANNA GET LOST IN YOUR LUNGS [div style="font-size:8.6pt;line-height:1;color:#000;font-family:arial;margin-top:1px"]WOLFBITE VOLKOV. ½ WOLFBUCK; DATING. BROKEN, BEATEN, BARELY ALIVE
﷽-——-–-  PINTEREST  &   STORAGE   &  BIOGRAPHY  --–-——﷽
as part of bearbones, you have been vored
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#15
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[abbr=biography && tags in signature]cecil winters[/abbr] &― he covered up my teary eyes ,
[div style="bgcolor=; border: none; width: 375px; padding: 0px; line-height: 13px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; color: #262626; font-family: arial; text-transform:lowercase; margin-top:0px; padding-bottom:20px; margin-top:-2px;"]The moment Charlie's eyes snapped toward him, sharp and enraged, the gun quickly slid from Cecil's fingers, clattering to the floor. He hardly processed that he was getting closer. His knees became weak, arms heavy, there's vomit on his sweater already: Mom's spaghetti. and he took a few steps backward, but he didn't get anywhere before the other man had been stopped by Wolfbite, jerked backward by his collar. The white-haired man is panicking, his heart thrumming in his chest as he continues to stumble backward a ways, his blue eyes wide, locked onto Charlie's face. The same expression he'd been making earlier has made its way onto his features once more. It's clear that this specific man terrifies him most of all. [b]"He hur—" he tries to call to Wolf, his voice cutting out and wavering, though he presses on, "—t me..!"

[div style="background=transparent; borderwidth=0px; bordercolor=; width: 300px; font-size: 7pt; line-height: 100%; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; color: black"]—  "I HOPE YOU KNOW THAT EVERY TIME I TELL YOU TO GET HOME SAFE, STAY WARM, HAVE A GOOD DAY, OR SLEEP WELL WHAT I'M REALLY SAYING IS "I LOVE YOU." I LOVE YOU SO MUCH THAT IT'S STARTING TO STEAL OTHER WORDS' MEANINGS. I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT. I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT YOU'RE VALID." CECIL WINTERS / NORTHSTAR / ½ WOLFBUCK  —
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#16
[align=center][size=8pt]Advay's eyes narrowed and he snapped his fingers, sending all three dogs down at the Badlanders. They went after the furthest one, an NPC running off with some canned food. With dead green eyes in the late light, he watched as Atlantis gave an angry bark, and his teeth latched onto the back of the NPC Badlander's thigh. Aruba was next, up on his arm, and Africa was last, a set of razor sharp fangs against the NPC's throat. It was how they hunted large creatures, but Africa would have killed him immeidately.

Looking down at Wolfbite, he called, "Permission to kill?" It was a rather dead sounding question, something Advay didn't often have to ask. Sadly, he apparently knew nothing of the rules here. Next, he told himself, he would send his dogs after Margaux or Dylan, two people he recognized.


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[size=8pt][color=#877361][ biography ] • [ tags ] • [ plotting ]
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#17
[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 450px; color: black; text-align: justify; margin-top: 5px"][color=black]Cecil shooting Dylan was the biggest plot twist I've ever since on this site alskfhsjfjs

BANG. White, hot, blazing pain exploded in Dylan's pinky finger as the bullet barely grazed the precious skin - fucking hell, could he ever catch a break? First his right hand got all messed up, a pack of coyotes jumped him and now this shit? He didn't have the patience. The tall boy dropped to the ground instantly, shooting forward to grab the AK once again. Now on the ground, he positioned the weapon straight towards Advay. Guilt, such a powerful, life destroying emotion. It would be such a shame if Cecil and Wolfbite were the cause of their group-mates loving dogs unfortunate demise, wouldn't it? Without a second thought, he pulled the trigger and let a rain of bullets in Advay and his dogs directions, but whether they hit him or not was up to his roleplayer. He let out a hiss of pain as he shook off droplets of blood from his pinky, which was now throbbing out of control and bleeding all down his new jeans. Motherfucker. He was going to kill Cecil, that little bitch.

Dylan ignored Wolfbite's words of threat and made a beeline for Cecil, tossing the gun behind him at hopefully Clover or Margaux for safe keeping, and instead pulling out two of his throwing stars. Charlie and Wolfbite were still locked together and he had enough time to approach the weaker boy without a hitch. Dylan tossed the first star towards Cecil, hopefully nicking his nearest ear if successful. Upon hearing his words, it took a moment for him to register this was the rat, the one who gave all the information to Charlie. "You fucking bitch, wanna fuck up my only hand anymore, huh? To think I would go easy on you, little snake." He snapped in fury as he arrived in front of the Northener, towering over him with ease; it had been so long since he'd gotten into a fight and his head and heart were pounding with excitement and pain. He was bleeding everywhere but didn't stop as he made a grab to attack Cecil in a headlock, if succeeding he would be pressing one of the throwing stars against his neck without breaking the skin.


[align=center][div style="font-size:14.4pt;line-height:.9;color:#000;font-family:arial black;padding:4px"]HEART MADE OF GLASS, MY MIND OF STONE
TEAR ME TO PIECES, SKIN AND BONE [color=transparent]— ——-

HELLO, WELCOME HOME [color=transparent]— ———-—-————--
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#18
/this action would not hurt cecil, she's just gonna point the gun at him :^) [member=2274]CECIL—[/member] edit: ninjad

mar would take note of the fact that wolfsburg didn't like them trying to hurt this guy- he seemed to frail, gentle.. the perfect bate. she would rush to cecil, taking her gun out and aiming it at his head. "if you let us take what we want, i won't pull thugs trigger, and this guy will be just fine." mar had horrible aim, for one, but she also only had a single bullet.


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AND NOW I SEE THE SUNLIGHT
I FEEL GLORIOUS, GLORIOUS
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#19
[align=center]
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[abbr=biography && tags in signature]cecil winters[/abbr] &― he covered up my teary eyes ,
[div style="bgcolor=; border: none; width: 375px; padding: 0px; line-height: 13px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; color: #262626; font-family: arial; text-transform:lowercase; margin-top:0px; padding-bottom:20px; margin-top:-2px;"]Though Cecil's eyes are firmly locked onto Charlie and Wolfbite, he's not forgotten that there are other threats surrounding him—other Badlanders. Dylan's angry cursing only forces his eyes to snap toward him, and in a moment of panic, the man ducks to the side, grabbing the gun that he'd dropped, which at least gets him out of the way of Margaux's line of fire. A throwing star nicks his ear as he falls to the ground, but he only clenches his teeth, struggling to ignore the pain. He's not going to die here. He needs to live, for Wolf. He's gotten them into this mess, and he isn't going to be a casualty because of that. As the tall man lunges for him to try and put him in a headlock, [b]Cecil lifts his gun and pulls the trigger at what he hopes is his shoulder. At this close range, he has no time to aim, though the bullet has a high chance of hitting somewhere. He just doesn't know where. After that, the white-haired man scoots backward, stumbling to his feet, where he moves back into the shelving slightly for cover from Margaux's gun, his face filled with panic. Again, he lifts his own gun. If Dylan is to move any closer, he isn't afraid to shoot him in the head."St-Stay—" he struggles to force words out of his tightened throat, "—away!"

[div style="background=transparent; borderwidth=0px; bordercolor=; width: 300px; font-size: 7pt; line-height: 100%; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; color: black"]—  "I HOPE YOU KNOW THAT EVERY TIME I TELL YOU TO GET HOME SAFE, STAY WARM, HAVE A GOOD DAY, OR SLEEP WELL WHAT I'M REALLY SAYING IS "I LOVE YOU." I LOVE YOU SO MUCH THAT IT'S STARTING TO STEAL OTHER WORDS' MEANINGS. I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT. I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT YOU'RE VALID." CECIL WINTERS / NORTHSTAR / ½ WOLFBUCK  —
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#20
[align=center][size=8pt]God. Damn. It. Advay winced, throwing himself against the siding of the fire-escape rails, just int time to flip over and get fucking nicked. He let out a cry of pain and dropped, hard. He landed on his hip weird, his back screamed at the streak that was now bleeding raw across it. Cursing, he shouted to his dogs, "Kill," without a single second to spare, the dogs, since they were around fifty yards off with one of the Badland's NPC in their jaws, crushed the kid's throat, and charged back towards Dylan, while Advay struggled to stand, breathing hard.

Africa did her best to jump up and latch onto Margaux's wrist, to pull her gun arm down, and force her to drop it.


[member=3338]MARGAUX D.[/member]


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[size=8pt][color=#877361][ biography ] • [ tags ] • [ plotting ]
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CHAMPAGNE, COCAINE, GASOLINE / OPEN, BADLANDS RAID
#11
[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 450px; color: black; text-align: justify; margin-top: 5px"][color=black]Well, just like he had expected it to, the plan had gone to shit. Dylan wanted to be surprised when Wolfbite appeared out of thin air but the emotion never came; it wasn't surprise, annoyance of fear, just disappointment. A failed attempt to steal that would 100% lead to conflict and zero supplies for the Badlands. The tall male was plastered to a nearby wall when the Northstar Leader approached; his dark hoodie had helped him blend in, until he stepped forward into show with his AK-47 pointed in Wolf's face. "Get off him." Dylan spat in anger as he watched the two tussle. He didn't fire the gun yet as he he positioned the automatic weapon on the older man's face, one hazel eye squinted and his mouth drawn back in an animal like snarl. Behind him he could hear Clover and other Badlanders getting to work at unloading whatever was inside. "Everyone step the fuck away and put your hands above your head or I swear to God I'm going to blow your heads off." He might not have enough bullets to kill them all if he missed, but after practicing with his throwing stars the other morning and shooting the coyotes he was sure he wouldn't be too rusty.


[align=center][div style="font-size:14.4pt;line-height:.9;color:#000;font-family:arial black;padding:4px"]HEART MADE OF GLASS, MY MIND OF STONE
TEAR ME TO PIECES, SKIN AND BONE [color=transparent]— ——-

HELLO, WELCOME HOME [color=transparent]— ———-—-————--
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#12
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