Nails on a Chalkboard - Return from WT, O

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[align=center][size=8pt]Trevor had nearly collapsed back at the general border area of the Badlands. He was having an increasingly difficult time with breathing, and he was almost certain that in his rush to escape the fire he'd set, he'd run through an entire field of flowers. He looked a mess and he knew it. He was sweating, with his side still bandaged from his trap injury. His arms and legs were beet red and had scratches all over them from Trevor itching at his new rash, and he'd singed the front of his shirt. All the same, he managed his way back to his little home, and sat down in front of it, struggling to down some fruit due to the churning of his stomach. He probably smelled like smoke too... he felt gross. He'd probably go bathe.

[ here's the LINK to the thread! ]

[ashen]

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going to the discotheque -- getting high and getting wrecked

"Oh, my." The warchief's words seemed a bit concerned, and more than a but curious as he approached the border, eyes fixed on Trevor. "Are you....hurt? What on earth have you been up to?"

NOTES ; mettaton ;; warchief ;; other tags here

＃forsaken

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[align=center][size=8pt]Trevor winced and looked up to Mettaton, his eyes still wide from the adrenaline of what he did. "T-tatiana told me to cause trouble," he whispered, "S-so I lit a forest on fire, and ran here as fast as I could... I thought someone might try to catch me." He frowned, reaching down to itch at his legs with a whine. Everything burned at the moment. Between the rash and his scratching and his lungs burning. Yeah, everything burned. He looked over to Mettaton. "I think I ran through a bunch of flowers..." Mettaton might have been the only one to witness his carefulness when it came to flowers. Whether the war chief put his allergies together or not was another question.

[ashen]

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going to the discotheque -- getting high and getting wrecked

"Oh--oh, darling!" The warchief seemed particularly concerned as he crouched, trying to get a look at the boy's...injuries? Scrapes? "How brave--I'm sure she'll be pleased that you took her to heart. You'll make a wonderful badlander," He reassured, clucking his tongue at the rash. He scoffed at the idea that someone might catch him, though. "No, no, don't worry. We'll meet them with lots of..." He paused. "Doom." He settled on, grinning. "No one's going to hurt you--you were on Badlands business, so we're not going to just let you get killed, my dear." As he continued to run his eyes up and down poor Trevor's legs. "Are you..." He paused, realizing what that must mean. "Oh no! Oh dear, you need--ointment!" Did they have that? No. They didn't. "Or..aloe. We have aloe somewhere around--it grows outside the border, I might even have a pot for it? I'm sure it'll help some."

NOTES ; mettaton ;; warchief ;; other tags here

＃forsaken

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[align=center][size=9pt]Trevor frowned, shaking his head at Mettaton with a small 'no' under his breath. "I've got some, um," he stuffed another bite of food into his mouth, his stomach growling unhappily. "In here," he pointed awkwardly to the little house behind him, almost like a shack that was standing only due to the bigger building next to it. "Y-you think she'll be proud?" It was the whole reason he thought he'd be able to do that. And he did, which was... nice. but what if she didn't like it or something? Would he get beat?

He didn't think that hey'd beat him, more or less just send him away or kill him but... He stood up and shuffled through the crooked door of the little home, shuffling around his stocks of herbs and returning with a good handful of aloe. He gathered so much trying to find food each day, and he only knew what half of the plants did but... Aloe he knew what it did... "How do you use it?"

[DYLAN,]

[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 460px; color: black; font-size: 9pt; line-height:115%; text-align: justify; margin-top: 5px"]Nearby was the grunt of war, walking down an empty street with a broken phone being tossed between his hands. Boredom was running wild in his mind, causing any activity to instantly become the better alternative. Just as he neared the street corner, a familar scent washed over his body like cold water. Smoke.

The sloshing of gasoline. A young voice muttering the jovial tune of "Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me." The snap of a match being lit. Screaming. Laughing. The crackling of flames and the clouds of smoke. Freedom.

Oh God, not here. Dylan rubbed his temples and exhaled heavily. Stop overreacting he snapped at himself, self-hatred running its full course through his system. He swallowed a painful breath and quickened his pace. Although his mind was roaring with alarm bells and sirens, the not-knowing sensation was driving him insane. What was happening? He had to know, but at the same time he didn't want to know. Dylan had lit hundreds of cigarettes since his fourteenth birthday, he had breathed in the smoke and he had relished in the satisfaction, but this was different. This brought fear to every inch of his skin. He rounded the corner quickly and almost ran into Mettaton and Trevor, but instant relief washed over his tall frame at the sight of no flames or a can of gasoline. "What's going on?" Dylan asked, breathless and woozy. His heart was still pounding and his hands inside his hoodie's sleeves were clammy from worry; had it been a false alarm? That didn't settle his unease but it didn't worsen it, either.

this post is kind of all over the place, sorry!!

[JOHN WHISKERS]

[justify]Smoke didn't freak John out, not anymore. He'd had that fear beaten out of him a long time ago, with a group of other cowards. Though it was still an odd scent to pick up, and it made him very curious.

He hadn't been doing anything anyways, just taking a walk. He changed his course towards the smell until he eventually came upon a small crowd; Dylan, Mettaton and a Trevor who looked worse for wear. Anger sparked in his chest, fiery and vicious. Did these two do this? He'd fucking kill them both- Well, probably not Mettaton, but he'd beat Dylan to a pulp.

Before he could overreact however, he noticed Metta's fretting and realized this probably wasn't a situation where his Grunt of Prey was getting pushed around by the War branch. He trotted up, a flare of concern in his cold eyes. This was from Tatiana's task, wasn't it? Ugh, he would be way more pissed if she'd forced Trevor to run off and get himself killed.

"Fucking hell." John said under his breath as he surveyed the situation. He looked at Mettaton, waiting for the more medically inclined man to answer Trevor's question.[/justify]

we're swimming with the sharks until we drown

[ashen]

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going to the discotheque -- getting high and getting wrecked

The warchief hovered over him like a hummingbird as he moved into his shack, getting a good look at the clutter and the rather ramshackle building--but at least he had a home. Mettaton made sure he didn't just fall over, but he tried not to touch Trevor, realizing that might hurt him with how much of his skin seemed rather...sensitive at the moment. He took the aloe, beaming at his compliance. He saw Dylan approaching, and gave a quick wave. "Hello, dear! I'm just helping patch Trevor up, nothing to worry about!" He paused, glancing down at the boy. "Well--he's been quite brave, really." He took out his pocket knife. "Trevor, dear--these have a sort of..well, goop. It'll help with the itching and redness, I know--I've used it for quite a lot--but if we can wash you off a bit--or you can--just sort of get a wet cloth, make sure there's not much dirt on your arms and legs, this will go on much nicer, all right?"

He looked over to John, giving him a cheerful wink. Though Trevor didn't look in great shape, he wanted to keep a positive attitude to mask just how much concern he felt for the guy. "And--yes, I do. She's a bit prickly, so she might not just come out and say it--but you did a good job. She'll know that."

NOTES ; mettaton ;; warchief ;; other tags here

＃forsaken