Nicholas D. Wolfwood (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
notabluesbro) wrote2010-12-25 04:52 pm
notabluesbro) wrote2010-12-25 04:52 pm
Entry tags:
12th Confession [Action]
[Time for personal confetti because
~Wolfwood's back~
...Sort of.
Rather, he's smaller. Shorter. Even more scruffy and disorganized than before.
He'd woken up in a forest and spent a good 3 hours raking his mind over just what he was seeing—snow, actual snow. Of course, none of that was important for the meanwhile when he realized he was cold. Holy shit, was it freezing out here. At least whoever left him here gave him some clothes and... a gun in a holster?
Slipping on the way-too-big black jacket, he examines the handgun. Of course, Wolfwood always carried it on him, but... he's eight at the moment, so this information is just going over his head. It's not as though he's never used one, of course. He just never had such a nice holster to go with it!
But what doesn't go over his head is the fact that he has wings. Wings! What the hell is going on here? Where is he? Surely he's not... well, y'know.
He rushes around the dense for a for hours, stumbling and tripping in the groggy morning light, until he finds... ah, there are rooms in this building that aren't used? Maybe if he's sneaky, he can just stay in one of these here. Once that's done with, he wanders around town for a few hours with astolen jacket sloppy thrown over his old collared shirt. Looking paranoid as he stalks through crowds. All right, Nick. You're in a strange place, but you cannot forget the number one rule: just survive.
Too many people around to steal from the stores. Stomach rumbling. Wait until night, then find a window, a door even, to sneak into.
When cold, black night eventually hits, he lassos the holster around his waist (hey, no more tucking into the side of his pants), under his shirt, and sets out, sneaking into whatever apartment or house he can. Perhaps sorting through your drawers, cabinets, or refrigerators. Hey, you can't expect him to know about all that free stuff, right? Despite him being as quiet as possible, there may be an occasional falling down of something—a pan, perhaps a glass. In case your character is a heavy sleeper. 8|]
[OOC: You can run into him any part of his day listed above! Replies will be from very very obvious journals~! Time and space is kicked often.
He might draw that gun in any robbery attempt, but he won't shoot at anyone. Unless they're trying to kill him. |Db]
~Wolfwood's back~
...Sort of.
Rather, he's smaller. Shorter. Even more scruffy and disorganized than before.
He'd woken up in a forest and spent a good 3 hours raking his mind over just what he was seeing—snow, actual snow. Of course, none of that was important for the meanwhile when he realized he was cold. Holy shit, was it freezing out here. At least whoever left him here gave him some clothes and... a gun in a holster?
Slipping on the way-too-big black jacket, he examines the handgun. Of course, Wolfwood always carried it on him, but... he's eight at the moment, so this information is just going over his head. It's not as though he's never used one, of course. He just never had such a nice holster to go with it!
But what doesn't go over his head is the fact that he has wings. Wings! What the hell is going on here? Where is he? Surely he's not... well, y'know.
He rushes around the dense for a for hours, stumbling and tripping in the groggy morning light, until he finds... ah, there are rooms in this building that aren't used? Maybe if he's sneaky, he can just stay in one of these here. Once that's done with, he wanders around town for a few hours with a
Too many people around to steal from the stores. Stomach rumbling. Wait until night, then find a window, a door even, to sneak into.
When cold, black night eventually hits, he lassos the holster around his waist (hey, no more tucking into the side of his pants), under his shirt, and sets out, sneaking into whatever apartment or house he can. Perhaps sorting through your drawers, cabinets, or refrigerators. Hey, you can't expect him to know about all that free stuff, right? Despite him being as quiet as possible, there may be an occasional falling down of something—a pan, perhaps a glass. In case your character is a heavy sleeper. 8|]
[OOC: You can run into him any part of his day listed above! Replies will be from very very obvious journals~! Time and space is kicked often.
He might draw that gun in any robbery attempt, but he won't shoot at anyone. Unless they're trying to kill him. |Db]
>:| You tease.
I can eat up here?
[He backtracks, thinks about the last house he'd been in, as a real 'home'. And it makes him grip his once bruised arm tightly. But this guy wasn't like that. He wasn't the same guy, so it wasn't fair to compare them.
He fixed up his arm—he set mouse traps.
He offered food—could be poisoned.
He gave you his name—so did uncle.]