03-22-2020, 03:46 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
There was something in the air, some sense of foreboding that Mike assumed had only really existed in the movies or literature. But not today, something felt off. And Mike didn't know what it was. He had his hands in his pockets, the chilly morning air surrounded him, as he stood on the porch of his shack.
A tight fitting black shirt framed his muscles nicely (not that he was thinking of that), a pair of dark blue jeans, and worn boots finished off his simplistic look quite nicely. He had a chain around his neck with a cross on it, usually tucked under his shirt, but today exposed, for anyone to see.
There were scars visible on his upper arms and neck, some fresh from the raid, some from previous skirmishes and fights, some fighting with the badlands, and some fighting for himself, or for his country. He had other injuries of course, but those were covered by his clothing, and so, the only really noticeable ones were those on his arms, a large gash right below his sleeve, and another, smaller injury on his forearm, both bandaged.
He inhaled deeply, the crisp morning air, hints of the ocean, driftwood, and some blossoming flowers laced the scent. If it wasn't for that feeling of dread, that something was about to happen, or had just happened, Mike would be balmy. As he walked into the sparse forest, the feeling followed him, and, Mike had the uncanny feeling that there was someone watching him.
But there was nothing around, or at least, nothing he could see. He saw a prone figure on the ground, could be someone sleeping, could be a dead body. Anything was possible these days. Cautiously he approached, looking all directions as he arrived. It was, in fact, a dead body. Shivers went up Mike's spine as he glanced down at the prone form on their stomach, a badlands necklace around their neck.
From the looks of the body, it hadn't been an easy kill, whoever this person had been had put up a fight to their attacker. But, three bullet wounds from the back, long range, seemed to be the cause of death, Mike discovered, as he carefully observed the entry wounds.
After the last body Mike had discovered, with the chilling message carved into his flesh, Mike was afraid to turn this one over, lest there be a similar discovery to find. Best send for Salem and let him deal with it. After all, wasn't that what he wanted? To be in charge? Well, let the bastard be in charge, and deal with this shit.
Mike was getting to old for it. Stooping he began to roll the body over, preparing himself for whatever he would find on the other side. Before the body was fully turned over though, a shot rang out, not far behind him, and he felt a bullet tear through his shoulder, in one side, out the other. Fuck, fuck, that hurt!
He spun, pain seeming to surround his entire person as his eyes locked on a figure running towards him, caulking the gun for a second shot. Before that happened, Mike launched himself at the man, and the grappled for a few seconds, the man clearly getting the upper hand. Shoving Mike backwards, his head hitting a rock.
Mike grabbed the barrel of the gun, which was shoved in his face, and before the trigger could be pulled, the body was ripped from on top of him. A blur of a tall person flashed across his vision, he could only assume it was Lake, who had pulled the man from on top of him. His head felt light, and the blood was pouring from his wound. Undoing his belt, he pulled the shirt partially off him, so it was just hanging over his left shoulder, and with the belt, he cinched it around as tightly as he could.
The pressure was enough to stem the bleeding, but not enough to stop it. He tried to stand, but fell the the ground. His head was spinning, and the warm blood trickled down his chest and back. Well, he had a good run of things.
[please wait for van to post with lake.
]
tw: alcohol, death, lots of blood, profanity, heavy violence, religion
There was something in the air, some sense of foreboding that Mike assumed had only really existed in the movies or literature. But not today, something felt off. And Mike didn't know what it was. He had his hands in his pockets, the chilly morning air surrounded him, as he stood on the porch of his shack.
A tight fitting black shirt framed his muscles nicely (not that he was thinking of that), a pair of dark blue jeans, and worn boots finished off his simplistic look quite nicely. He had a chain around his neck with a cross on it, usually tucked under his shirt, but today exposed, for anyone to see.
There were scars visible on his upper arms and neck, some fresh from the raid, some from previous skirmishes and fights, some fighting with the badlands, and some fighting for himself, or for his country. He had other injuries of course, but those were covered by his clothing, and so, the only really noticeable ones were those on his arms, a large gash right below his sleeve, and another, smaller injury on his forearm, both bandaged.
He inhaled deeply, the crisp morning air, hints of the ocean, driftwood, and some blossoming flowers laced the scent. If it wasn't for that feeling of dread, that something was about to happen, or had just happened, Mike would be balmy. As he walked into the sparse forest, the feeling followed him, and, Mike had the uncanny feeling that there was someone watching him.
But there was nothing around, or at least, nothing he could see. He saw a prone figure on the ground, could be someone sleeping, could be a dead body. Anything was possible these days. Cautiously he approached, looking all directions as he arrived. It was, in fact, a dead body. Shivers went up Mike's spine as he glanced down at the prone form on their stomach, a badlands necklace around their neck.
From the looks of the body, it hadn't been an easy kill, whoever this person had been had put up a fight to their attacker. But, three bullet wounds from the back, long range, seemed to be the cause of death, Mike discovered, as he carefully observed the entry wounds.
After the last body Mike had discovered, with the chilling message carved into his flesh, Mike was afraid to turn this one over, lest there be a similar discovery to find. Best send for Salem and let him deal with it. After all, wasn't that what he wanted? To be in charge? Well, let the bastard be in charge, and deal with this shit.
Mike was getting to old for it. Stooping he began to roll the body over, preparing himself for whatever he would find on the other side. Before the body was fully turned over though, a shot rang out, not far behind him, and he felt a bullet tear through his shoulder, in one side, out the other. Fuck, fuck, that hurt!
He spun, pain seeming to surround his entire person as his eyes locked on a figure running towards him, caulking the gun for a second shot. Before that happened, Mike launched himself at the man, and the grappled for a few seconds, the man clearly getting the upper hand. Shoving Mike backwards, his head hitting a rock.
Mike grabbed the barrel of the gun, which was shoved in his face, and before the trigger could be pulled, the body was ripped from on top of him. A blur of a tall person flashed across his vision, he could only assume it was Lake, who had pulled the man from on top of him. His head felt light, and the blood was pouring from his wound. Undoing his belt, he pulled the shirt partially off him, so it was just hanging over his left shoulder, and with the belt, he cinched it around as tightly as he could.
The pressure was enough to stem the bleeding, but not enough to stop it. He tried to stand, but fell the the ground. His head was spinning, and the warm blood trickled down his chest and back. Well, he had a good run of things.
[please wait for van to post with lake.
]
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MICHAEL FORD
Michael Ford is a 45 year old, man, he's stubbornly loyal to whatever cause he chooses, protective of his family and friends, he's a member of the Badlands. Michael has issues controlling his anger in most situations. He is a difficult opponent and well trained, feel free to power play nonviolent interactions though.