http://estaunsinterius.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
estaunsinterius.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
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.
no subject
He felt as if he'd walked in at an awkward time, watching the reactions of the others present. Some acknowledged his presence, others didn't. But for once, that didn't bother him. They had been late and their attention was likely focused on some matter that had been brought up before he and Pumbaa had made their entrance.
The warthogs ears were given a light tug, Timon seated once again on Pumbaa's back to steer him toward Death, the being he was most familiar with in the warehouse. On the way, he found himself being hesitantly presented with one of the booklet the white haired man had spoken of. It enticed his curiosity as he opened it up, looking over the unfamiliar words written inside. It looked like they'd have to stay after to find out what it said, not being able to read and all, of course. For the time being, looking at the pictures would have to suffice.
Quickly climbing down onto his friends snout, the rodent flipped through the pages slowly while allowing Pumbaa to look at the images too. He tried his best to keep tuned in on the conversation being held, but he couldn't help but question what the 'leader', Sephiroth, was truly up to. The chance of him working with the mayor was still likely. He couldn't help but be suspicious.
"Boy, are these guys ugly." Timon commented quietly to the warthog, pointing to the picture of a Dusk in the booklet. "He could definitely use more sun."
[ooc: *fails at posting ^^'*]