[align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: courier; font-size: 9pt;"]At the crack of dawn, a shot can be heard. A single body falls to the ground with a faint thud, collapsing into a small pool of its own blood.
The bullet embedded in its leg feels like nothing but white-hot heat, a painfully warm sensation that slowly spreads throughout its body. It lays in place, stunned, with a blank, wide-eyed look upon its face. It slowly reaches down to touch the wound, coming up with hands full of blood. In spite of the horror on its face, lip trembling, it doesn't make a sound. Glossy eyes turn to search the face of its panicked attacker, now come to its side to tend to the injury. A hand is laid over the wound, pressing its leg flat to the ground while they use the other to search desperately through their bag and pockets. They mumble something about a tourniquet.
"I am so, so sorry—" its attacker is frantic, sounding as though they are on the verge of tears. [b]"I only wanted to scare you off, I thought you were going to attack me—oh, God, the safety was off."
Cue does not respond. It lays its head down on the ground and stares up at the sky, lips pressed into a thin line, feeling displeased. Some primitive instinct in the back of its head urges it to flail and scream, but its body is too disjointed from its own brain to follow the command. Rather it jerks with the pain, seemingly incapable of moving otherwise. Its attacker pauses in its effort to "save" it, tilting their head curiously.
[b][i]"Does—doesn't that hurt?" they ask in a shaky voice.
"Yes, it hurts," Cue says curtly, face straight.
They return to their work, opting to peel their jacket from their body to serve as a makeshift tourniquet. It's tight, and the sensation is unpleasant, but it figures it could not be any worse than having been shot in the leg. It grits its teeth while its muscles spasm around broken bone and empty space, feeling the distinct sensation of something embedded into its flesh. Its attacker makes these panicked, uncertain sounds, little whimpers here and there as they work with unskilled hands. Cue turns its head some to watch, wondering what else that they could possibly do—it seems as though all there is to do now is wait for the wound to heal. Cue knows the process of convalescence well. The memory is fractured into bits and pieces, but it remembers being bed-riden for some time (though not of its own volition.) Some protesting feeling washes over it, and it grumbles incoherently at them, not wanting to be stuck in yet another bed. However, it's too quiet to get much of a response, drowned out by its attacker's own anxiety. Suddenly, two arms slip underneath it, and with little ceremony it is hoisted into the air, thrown over the shoulder of its attacker with some difficulty.
[i]"Sorry, sorry," they say again, holding on tight to Cue's body. It may be lean, but it is certainly not light. [i]"I'm—I'm gonna take you to someone that can actually help, okay? Sorry. Please don't hate me."
Cue says nothing. It allows itself to be carried through the city, leaving smatterings of blood here and there, like a trail of breadcrumbs. Meanwhile, the person hauling it calls out for help, arms braced tight around its body as though they fear they might drop it. It feels stable in their grip, but something about the way their hands are braced against its back feels strange. It provides a scrap of comfort, but it's hardly appreciated. It occurs to Cue, even in its own haze, that it should be slightly more upset, maybe afraid or panicked, having just been shot in the thigh by a stranger in an unfamiliar town. The danger it's in is likely immeasurable, and it could easily fall prey to anyone here, but it feels no sense of panic. Just the trickle of warm blood running down its thigh, the warmth of the body it's braced against, and the soft breeze blowing against the two of them.
text SALEM ENTRY #01 8.15.16 BL ENFORCER [div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 333px; min-height: 347px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; font-family: georgia; font-size: 7pt; color: #000000; line-height: 99%;"]//Got permission to have Salem grab/operate on Cue! CW for blood/alcohol
Salem had considered herself lucky because, since the town was usually under such strict surveillance by the big three, her job was easy. When she heard the gunshot, however, she knew immediately that there was trouble to be found.
Quickly grabbing her emergency first-aid kit that she had begun to compile over the past month, along with a bottle of vodka, she rushed out of the house and in the direction of the gunshot sound. Wandering the town, she had to ask multiple NPCs who had been shot, where the shot had come from, and whether or not it had been deadly. According to a few onlookers, it had been an outsider who was attacked, apparently by a fellow Badlander. Despite what anyone said - any type of warnings to stay away from the situation, that the outsider deserves to bleed out for trespassing - Salem continued to rush towards both the attacker and the victim. Eventually, she found them near the outskirts of the city, with the attacker calling for help.
"Don't worry, I'm a medic." Salem felt strange saying that - she never really expected this to be a part of her job, truth be told. She thought she'd be treating minor scrapes and sicknesses, not pulling a bullet out of a stranger's thigh. After taking Cue from its assailant and putting it down, Salem pulled out the bottle of alcohol and some cotton swabs she had brought with her. Not wanting to waste any time, she didn't even warn it about the pain before she soaked a cotton swab in alcohol and dabbed the wound and the surrounding area, trying her best to ignore the sticky warmth of the blood that now clung to her hands. She repeated this process over and over, caring less about the blood that coated its thigh than the wound itself. Once she was sure the wound was sterile, Salem pulled out a long bandage and quickly secured it under Cue's wound as a tourniquet, hoping this would stop the bleeding. As a child, she had seen others do this to fellow members of the Northstar District whenever they ended up in fights.
"Are you alright? What's your name?" Salem asked once the bleeding had slowed slightly, hoping to keep Cue conscious. "I'm Salem. You're in Badlands territory. Did you get shot for tresspassing?"
VITALS > overall status: 100%
> physical status: stable.
> physical health: 100%
> physical afflictions: none yet.
> minor injuries: none yet.
> major injuries: none yet.
> mental status: stable.
> current status: stable.
> mental health: 100%
> mental illnesses: None
> mental damage: None TAGS ━ ━xGENERAL
> Elisa Barone | "Salem"
> Female
> 23
━ ━xAPPEARANCE
>Human
> Dark brown hair that varies in shade, pale, blue green eyes.
> Carries at least 2 cigars at a time, a small handgun, and a small switchblade.
> tall, lanky and a bit awkward physically.
>
━ ━xABILITIES
> N/A
> N/A
━ ━xCONFRONTATION
> medium physically | easy/medium mentally
> non-violent power-play allowed
> no kill | request maim/capture
> ask to attack in bolded, underlined and italicized black
━ ━xRELATIONSHIPS
> Lionel King x Melissa Barone
> UNBORN CHILD
> Half brother Rafe
> Half niece Gigi
> Cat Chrisanthymum "Chrissy"
>Bisexual | no crush
>
━ ━xOTHER
> this text + this color = this meaning I'VE COME TOO FAR TO SEE THE END NOW ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ even if my way is wrong
[align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: courier; font-size: 9pt;"]Cue has little knowledge of the Badlands, or for that matter much of the region itself. If it had been trespassing, it was not aware. It only planned to pass through this town, collecting whatever food and clothing it could. The clothes on its back now are so worn and tattered, it figures it would be nice to have a change soon. It bears no real attachment to its current outfit, despite this particular jacket and pair of jeans having been with it since it had "woken up." It's been wearing the same thing for at least a year, maybe more, and it's all it's ever had to its name. Something warmer, less hole-y, would be nice.
In any other case, it would have been well aware of the groups residing in the region—these people are not by any means a small, insignificant fleck upon the earth, but a real force to be reckoned with. But the name is unfamiliar, and so is the territory, with buildings that blend together like the backdrop of a painting and people that serve as little more than side characters, unimportant details to the scene. It's hard to focus, even on the small crowd forming around it. Its eyes flit from person to person, all come to gawk, until it is handed from its assailant to another pair of arms like a small child. Cue is unimpressed.
Laid gently out on the ground, it comes face to face with a woman, with a gaze that is impossible to look away from. Salem might be preoccupied with its injury, but Cue finds something about her to be so striking, its eyes are stuck on her face. It only breaks away when it feels the sting of alcohol, mouth twisting into a bland grimace. Ouch. That does hurt. It sits and wallows in its own pain, with no tears or words to express it. Something akin to frustration rises in the pit of its stomach, but that too is muted, kept down by some invisible force within. It scrabbles at pavement below, digging its fingers into gravel and dirt. That is as much of a reaction as Salem will get. By Cue's standards, it might as well be in hysterics.
Had it been shot for trespassing? The guilty party, now free of its bloody burden, seems to have vanished into the crowd, or at least is camoflauged well enough for Cue to miss them. It only bothers to search for a brief moment before it turns back to Salem and offers her a useless shrug. It doesn't know.
"Cue," it says. "My name is Cue." The tone it uses, despite its best attempts to sound anything but, is hopelessly flat, lacking the slightest bit of inflection. It is aware it sounds robotic, but there's little it can do to help it. There's a vague want to not come off as rude or blunt, but obviously there is no other way it could come off. "I don't know why I was shot."
Cue looks down at its leg, inspecting Salem's work. It's better than the jacket that had been loosely tied around its leg, resembling some form of actual medical care. It would have accepted just the jacket, too, but it won't complain about any free service. Of course, now that the wound has been tended to, this must mean it is free to go. With some effort, it pushes itself upright, and makes an attempt to stand on two feet. Of course, it doesn't get farther than a sitting position before a sharp, violent pang of pain shoots up its leg. Something like surprise appears on its face, and it eases itself back down, squeezing its eyes shut to suffer in silence. Ow. Who would have thought bullets hurt so bad?
[align=center] The ringing sound of a sole gunshot had alerted the prospective, who often gets up early anyways, usually to take a stroll down the boardwalk or explore the streets. Nik eliminated the possibility of shooting practice, as it was still pretty early in the morning and most folks were asleep, and only one gunshot led him to believe that someone ( or something ) had been shot.
Nikolai makes his way over towards the scene, dull gaze glowering down at the injured newcomer. Salem is treating its wound, having asked questions but it didn't give much of a solid answer... other than its name was Cue and that it apparently didn't know why it had been shot. "People don't just go wasting their ammo for no reason." Grunts Nikolai. Folks couldn't afford to waste such precious resources these days, so he isn't exactly buying what Cue is saying.
He slightly cocks a brow, huffing, "Considering it's barely light out, there's a number of things someone could have been doing so close to the city ― sneaking around, casing the joint, looking for a place to loot." Nik now furrows his brows, peering down at the injured individual. "So, which is it? Or are you gonna say the trigger was pulled by mistake?" After a few moments, Nikolai quickly glances over his shoulders. He realizes that there is no one with a gun present. "And who even shot you, anyways?" Surely they could give more insight on the situation, but they had seemingly disappeared.
[align=center] * ✰. ━━━━━━━━━━ I MADE A FIST AND NOT A PLAN
CALL ME A RECKLESS WRECKING BALL
[align=center][div style="width: 340pt; font-size: 12px; color: ; font-family: arial; line-height: 15px; letter-spacing: 3px; margin-top: 1pt;"]nikolai ━ made man of the badlands ━ click for tags
text SALEM ENTRY #01 8.15.16 BL ENFORCER [div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 333px; min-height: 347px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; font-family: georgia; font-size: 7pt; color: #000000; line-height: 99%;"]Salem simply observed Cue as it tried to stand up: she knew there was no way it could possibly go anywhere, so making a scene wouldn't do anything productive. As it winced in its newfound sitting position, she nodded slightly. Just as she'd thought: for better or for worse, that bullet had incapacitated it for the time being.
She turned her head towards Nik, realizing that his questions echoed her own lingering curiosities. She had already tried and failed to get answers out of Cue; she wasn't going to push it.
"Whatever the reason, you're stuck here for now," Salem turned her gaze back to the newcomer, pushing herself into a standing position. "We should probably wait for Te-The Administration to come and get answers." Teddy was the one who most often handled newcomers like it, but she couldn't yet bring herself to say his name. She turned red with embarrassment at her slip-up, hoping no one noticed how awkward she seemed when discussing the leaders.
VITALS > overall status: 100%
> physical status: stable.
> physical health: 100%
> physical afflictions: none yet.
> minor injuries: none yet.
> major injuries: none yet.
> mental status: stable.
> current status: stable.
> mental health: 100%
> mental illnesses: None
> mental damage: None TAGS ━ ━xGENERAL
> Elisa Barone | "Salem"
> Female
> 23
━ ━xAPPEARANCE
>Human
> Dark brown hair that varies in shade, pale, blue green eyes.
> Carries at least 2 cigars at a time, a small handgun, and a small switchblade.
> tall, lanky and a bit awkward physically.
>
━ ━xABILITIES
> N/A
> N/A
━ ━xCONFRONTATION
> medium physically | easy/medium mentally
> non-violent power-play allowed
> no kill | request maim/capture
> ask to attack in bolded, underlined and italicized black
━ ━xRELATIONSHIPS
> Lionel King x Melissa Barone
> UNBORN CHILD
> Half brother Rafe
> Half niece Gigi
> Cat Chrisanthymum "Chrissy"
>Bisexual | no crush
>
━ ━xOTHER
> this text + this color = this meaning I'VE COME TOO FAR TO SEE THE END NOW ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ even if my way is wrong
[align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: andale mono; font-size: 6.5pt; letter-spacing: 2.5px; word-spacing: 1px; line-height: 14px; color: #484a4d"]It was not much of an outlandish revelation to find that Badlanders could be notorious for their excessively trigger happy ways. Whilst many were trained specifically as disciplined weapons for The Administration, many were still on their journey to meet the expectations of any higher powers within the dishonourable group. And still this was a fucking joke in Teddy’s mind — he didn’t recruit a bunch of clowns to do his dirty work. He wanted assassins and killers, the intellectual, medically trained personnel, business-savvy workhorses and people petrifying enough to represent The Badlands in a way that depicted the group to be one to stay on the good side of.
After all, Teddy had faked the entirety of his life until he made it here in this seemingly quaint beachside paradise; he was not prepared for this final step in his master plan to swiftly unravel because of some halfwits who couldn’t keep a steady finger over the trigger and a composed mind. He could warp minds with his addictive words, even-tempered façade and mechanical smile that he had practiced in the mirror for hundreds of hours in just short of the three decades he’d spent on earth, but he could never possess the capability to change the innate ways of a jumpy person. In Teddy’s mind, they had quickly become nothing more than a weak place in the grand scheme of things.
Upon hearing the singular gunshot crack in the air, Teddy lifted his head up with mildly suspicious eyes from where he lounged on the terrace outside the casino. He anticipated further gunshots — either a sign of some Badlanders in the practice range or the sign of an imminent attack — but initially Teddy was somewhat unconcerned. But then there were no further signs of either, eventually piquing the Administrator’s interest. ❝ Ya know if anyone headed down to practice their aim? ❞ Teddy enquired, spinning a single coin on the glass bistro table he sat at mindlessly as he awaited response from a Badlander that accompanied him. ❝ Not that I’m aware of, Boss. ❞
With a roll of his eyes, Teddy eventually rose to his feet, sliding his loafers back on before brushing his crisp clothing down effortlessly. ❝ Teddy, it looks like someone’s been shot. ❞ Another Badlander rushed out onto the terrace, heaving breaths from the way he searched high and low for the whereabouts of the boss. ❝ Mais… ❞ Teddy clicked his tongue, giving the shoreline one last glance before turning to follow the NPCs. As he stepped out onto the street, he was met with a trail of blood droplets guiding their feet towards the casualty. A grimace sat on Teddy’s lips, barely pleased at the sight of blood as he blinked hard as if that would erase the sight from his memory. As eyes peeled open once more, the blood still remained. ❝ Someone’s gotta clean dis shit up. My nice pebble streets. ❞
Soon, he was faced with a panicked scene ahead of him. A person that he had never seen before laying on the ground, a gruesome wound on its leg. Salem hunched over, working meticulously on its bleeding leg. An NPC taking heavy breaths a short distance away, looking upon the growing scene of onlookers with guilt. Teddy narrowed his eyes, soon approaching the NPC. ❝ Did ya do this? ❞ Teddy demanded, jabbing his finger towards the commotion nearby as the NPC then explained with a wobbling voice, ❝ I didn’t mean it! I thought they were about to attack me. ❞ Teddy clenched his jaw, looking towards where it was being treated before whipping his head back towards the NPC. ❝ You fuckin’ bastard. ❞ He snarled under his breath, then jabbing his pointer finger at the NPC. ❝ Ya either shoot to kill, or don’t shoot at all. Now we got our medical supplies being wasted on some outsider that deserves none of it! ❞
Teddy’s face twitched, enraged, and he took a small step back before he uttered, ❝ You best pay up for ya mistake, or we’re gonna have a problem. ❞ With that, Teddy turned to wander towards Salem and Nikolai as he stared down at the injured newcomer. ❝ Is it gonna survive? ❞ Teddy questioned Salem, trying to keep his composure as his eyes lingered on it’s wound in horror. ❝ I don’t want all our supplies wasted on it. ❞ After several moments of examining the person, Teddy slowly tilted his head to meet it’s gaze, then asking, ❝ What were you doing around these parts, hey? Do you deserve treatment from us, or were you up to no good? ❞
[align=center][div style="width: 400px; font-family: verdana; text-align: justify; font-size: 6pt; line-height: 1.4; letter-spacing: 0.5px; word-spacing: 2px; margin-bottom: 5px;"] ✧･ﾟ: I'VE BEEN IN LIKE A THOUSAND TIMES, DATED EVERY WOMAN IN THE ATMOSPHERE. I'VE BEEN TO EVERY CONTINENT, BROKEN ALL THE HEARTS IN EVERY HEMISPHERE, AND IF I'M NOT THE TYPE OF GUY YOU LIKE TO CIRCUMVENT, JUST REMEMBER NOT TO LOVE ME WHEN I DISAPPEAR. I GRADUATED AT THE TOP, I LIKE TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THE BOURGEOISIE . . .
[align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: courier; font-size: 9pt;"]The confusion on Cue's face is plain as day. It begins to feel somewhat disoriented, be it from blood loss or the growing crowd. The claustrophobia is kicking in, and so is the urge to get up and flee. Though, it thinks, casting another glance down towards its injured leg (as if to verify that it is, indeed, hurt,) it wouldn't get terribly far. If the bullet hadn't struck bone, maybe it would be able to hobble away. There's a brief twinge of anger in the back of its head, and then nothing but an empty frustration.
There are too many eyes on it. Cue wants nothing more than to melt away. It hardly understands what the big commotion is, why there is so much distrust being directed its way--one glance at it would tell anyone that it isn't much of a threat. Even with two working legs, Cue can barely walk in a straight line. Do these people think it's coordinated enough to be any sort of danger. A frown flickers across its face, dissolving into another blank, neutral expression.
"I was walking," it says plainly to Teddy, no inflection in its tone. "I don't walk well." It's been long enough for Cue to be aware of its own jerky movements, the struggle it is to put one foot in front of another. From a distance, it could certainly be a suspicious character, and judging by how paranoid everybody else seems to be, it makes sense they were deemed to be a threat. But now, up close and personal, the attitude doesn't seem to fade. They are unarmed, carrying nothing but the clothes on their back--and even those have enough holes in them for anyone to see that they have little to hide.
What's the fuss about wasting medical supplies for? "You didn't have to." It isn't as though Cue asked to be treated. Had it not been picked up and dragged into the city by its own assailant, it's sure it would have dealt with the wound on its own. It's well aware it could have very well bled out had Salem not come to its aid, but ... well, the thought doesn't spark much feeling. It's just fact floating about its head. It would have become infected, perhaps, given way to gangrene, but that's what happens to untreated wounds. Cue would have simply suffered.
text SALEM ENTRY #01 8.15.16 BL ENFORCER [div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 333px; min-height: 347px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify; font-family: georgia; font-size: 7pt; color: #000000; line-height: 99%;"]Salem had been admiring her work and searching for any places that still needed to be covered or sterilized when Teddy came over. His presence made her drop her hands and cringe the slightest bit, enough for one to notice if they looked at her hard enough.
"Yes, it will survive. I have a bed set up for patients who can't make it back to their homes, if it wants it can stay there." I don't think it should leave the Badlands before giving us a proper explanation for tresspassing, Salem added to herself. She didn't dare speak, however. She, too was getting a touch claustrophobic, and Teddy's presence was only making it worse. She simply wanted to state the facts and be done. VITALS > overall status: 100%
> physical status: stable.
> physical health: 100%
> physical afflictions: none yet.
> minor injuries: none yet.
> major injuries: none yet.
> mental status: stable.
> current status: stable.
> mental health: 100%
> mental illnesses: None
> mental damage: None TAGS ━ ━xGENERAL
> Elisa Barone | "Salem"
> Female
> 23
━ ━xAPPEARANCE
>Human
> Dark brown hair that varies in shade, pale, blue green eyes.
> Carries at least 2 cigars at a time, a small handgun, and a small switchblade.
> tall, lanky and a bit awkward physically.
>
━ ━xABILITIES
> N/A
> N/A
━ ━xCONFRONTATION
> medium physically | easy/medium mentally
> non-violent power-play allowed
> no kill | request maim/capture
> ask to attack in bolded, underlined and italicized black
━ ━xRELATIONSHIPS
> Lionel King x Melissa Barone
> UNBORN CHILD
> Half brother Rafe
> Half niece Gigi
> Cat Chrisanthymum "Chrissy"
>Bisexual | no crush
>
━ ━xOTHER
> this text + this color = this meaning I'VE COME TOO FAR TO SEE THE END NOW ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ even if my way is wrong
|
