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paixaorpg2007-10-23 05:08 am
estaunsinterius.livejournal.com) wrote in paixaorpg2007-10-23 05:08 am
The beginning...
Character(s): Sephiroth, Resistance members
Content: The plot thickens!
Setting: An abandoned warehouse
Time: Midnight
Warnings: Plotting, cursing likely, fighting possible. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
The scene: A smallish empty warehouse, no larger than a hangar for a two-seat aircraft. Several small, empty crates, loose boards, and other such detritus have been arranged into passable, if slightly uncomfortable, seating. At the center of the room stands a small table with a projector, of the sort one might see in a classroom. There is a small bucket with many different colored markers sitting nearby, along with what looks to be a barstool.
Standing by that projector, waiting, Sephiroth watched the entrance. The windows had long since been covered, presumably by the gypsies, and there was a large screen at the open end of the room.
Gone was the easygoing man who had so easily handed over his sword at the fairground gate. There was nothing easy in the rigid military stance, the hard-set, glowing, glacial eyes, or that scowl. This was the precursor, if he was right, to war.
And a general is never easygoing in front of the troops.
A signal had been sent out to those he had spoken to, and those who were deemed trustworthy enough to know of this meeting. He was expecting quite an unique group, one which would necessarily be sworn to the highest secrecy.
There would, inevitably, be loose lips. He knew and expected this.
The question was, would his countermeasures be enough? There were four distinct seating areas, and... well, to say more would give away the game.
Sephiroth stood, and waited. The appointed hour drew near.
Content: The plot thickens!
Setting: An abandoned warehouse
Time: Midnight
Warnings: Plotting, cursing likely, fighting possible. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
The scene: A smallish empty warehouse, no larger than a hangar for a two-seat aircraft. Several small, empty crates, loose boards, and other such detritus have been arranged into passable, if slightly uncomfortable, seating. At the center of the room stands a small table with a projector, of the sort one might see in a classroom. There is a small bucket with many different colored markers sitting nearby, along with what looks to be a barstool.
Standing by that projector, waiting, Sephiroth watched the entrance. The windows had long since been covered, presumably by the gypsies, and there was a large screen at the open end of the room.
Gone was the easygoing man who had so easily handed over his sword at the fairground gate. There was nothing easy in the rigid military stance, the hard-set, glowing, glacial eyes, or that scowl. This was the precursor, if he was right, to war.
And a general is never easygoing in front of the troops.
A signal had been sent out to those he had spoken to, and those who were deemed trustworthy enough to know of this meeting. He was expecting quite an unique group, one which would necessarily be sworn to the highest secrecy.
There would, inevitably, be loose lips. He knew and expected this.
The question was, would his countermeasures be enough? There were four distinct seating areas, and... well, to say more would give away the game.
Sephiroth stood, and waited. The appointed hour drew near.