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+--- Thread: DISTRICT 9 (/showthread.php?tid=5448)
DISTRICT 9 - oriole. - 08-20-2018
Re: DISTRICT 9 - Rialto - 08-26-2018
[table][tr][td][div style="width: 70px; height:70px; background-image:url(https://i.imgbox.com/4XVwGFUK.png); background-size: cover; background-position: top;"][/td][td][div style="width: 100px; text-align: center; font-family: arial; font-size: 7pt; color: #8A8A8A; line-height: 100%; padding-top: 5px; padding-left: 10px; opacity: 0.75; text-transform: lowercase"]Secrets on Broadway to the freeway, you're a keeper of crimes; Fear no conviction, grapes of wrath can only sweeten your wine
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As it so happened, the fae wouldn't have been the only one with a midmorning ritual centred around the beach. For all that Rialto very much liked not to melt, which meant he wisely didn't have any inclination to sunbathe, whenever his materials stock ran thin there was only one place to get them free of charge.
The vampire was huddled down at a corner of the coastal edge with a bucket next to him, plucking shells from amid gritty dirty sand, and his sleeves would be rolled up to the elbow if it weren't for his aforementioned burning in the sun affliction. For once, Rialto's garments shielding him from its rays weren't entirely meant to be a joke; a sunhat left his face in shadow, the band a fraying rope twisted into ribbons as Rialto did nothing half-assed. No one call him out on his lie. Fine, nothing artsy.
He had the bottom third of the container filled with a variety of little chips he'd gathered, smooth and sharp alike with few whole shells in between, and was just standing up and stretching when his ears caught a thud. When Rialto focused, he could even hear the scruff of fingers through fur, every grind of the grains underfoot, water coalescing through the sand - he filtered it as noise with nonchalance, not too entirely concerned, but when clear blue eyes fixed on the scene they brightened. It didn't take even a second for him to shove a gloved hand into his pockets, searching around yet again for anything, except this time Rialto drew out only a blood-infused apple, which he eyed with no little dismay. Did he have anything to bribe a big wolf with? Maybe he should sacrifice himself as a human stick.
Tossing and catching the apple, resigned to just eating it himself in the end, Rialto drew near with an unbridled laugh and his yellow shell bucket hooked over a thin elbow, the soles of his damp flip flops carving shallow imprints with every step. 'How long have you been travelling together?' he asked, arm holding the apple dropping down to his side.
The vampire was huddled down at a corner of the coastal edge with a bucket next to him, plucking shells from amid gritty dirty sand, and his sleeves would be rolled up to the elbow if it weren't for his aforementioned burning in the sun affliction. For once, Rialto's garments shielding him from its rays weren't entirely meant to be a joke; a sunhat left his face in shadow, the band a fraying rope twisted into ribbons as Rialto did nothing half-assed. No one call him out on his lie. Fine, nothing artsy.
He had the bottom third of the container filled with a variety of little chips he'd gathered, smooth and sharp alike with few whole shells in between, and was just standing up and stretching when his ears caught a thud. When Rialto focused, he could even hear the scruff of fingers through fur, every grind of the grains underfoot, water coalescing through the sand - he filtered it as noise with nonchalance, not too entirely concerned, but when clear blue eyes fixed on the scene they brightened. It didn't take even a second for him to shove a gloved hand into his pockets, searching around yet again for anything, except this time Rialto drew out only a blood-infused apple, which he eyed with no little dismay. Did he have anything to bribe a big wolf with? Maybe he should sacrifice himself as a human stick.
Tossing and catching the apple, resigned to just eating it himself in the end, Rialto drew near with an unbridled laugh and his yellow shell bucket hooked over a thin elbow, the soles of his damp flip flops carving shallow imprints with every step. 'How long have you been travelling together?' he asked, arm holding the apple dropping down to his side.
Re: DISTRICT 9 - body - 08-26-2018
[size=10pt][font=verdana]A quick trip to the beach isn't part of Zachariah's morning routine so much as it is an interruption. Usually such a thing wouldn't have happened, especially not so early - and on a weekday, too - given his lack of time and money. Going to the beach would have been a vacation, not a pit stop, and he would never have wanted to go alone. Though this time, he isn't going to have a good time or anything, but rather to... take care of some things.
He looks more like a homeless man rather than a zombie. Dirty and disheveled, decked out in heavy clothing from head to toe, he pretty much fits the bill. The heavy clothing is only meant to try and muffle the ungodly stench of death that permeates from him, and he figures that, being a literal corpse and all, there's no point in trying to make himself look clean or neat. Passersby on the street seem to mistake him for a hobo, but he won't deny it if it means they'll take pity on him and drop a twenty into his hands.
Zachariah is only here because he had forgotten something around here. It's most likely long gone by now, but there's no harm in looking. From a distance, nothing looks wrong, but if one were to get a closer look, it'd be fairly obvious by one of his sleeves flapping in the wind that Zachariah is missing an arm. This wouldn't be the first time a limb has fallen off and he's left it behind, and it definitely isn't the last. He's glad he's started putting his name on things.
One split-second glimpse of Cookie has Zachariah forgetting all about his missing arm. He's not concerned with it as much as he is the big, black wolf zooming around the beach. It warms his dead, rotten heart to see something like that. Zachariah can't remember the last time he's ever seen such a pure sight - though that dog is probably larger than he is, and would most likely think of him as a snack on two legs, it brings a smile to his face. Though Rialto digging through the sand is also quite the spectacle, he's just not as endearing as Cookie. Staggering closer, he remarks, "God, what a good fuckin' dog." He offers a gloved hand for the wolf to sniff, ready to yank it back at any moment should Cookie decide he'd make a good meal. "What's his name?"
He supposes he should at the very least offer Rialto a crisp hello. He would have waved if his only working hand weren't busy. "Ain't it a bit late for you to be out?" Zachariah asks. He doesn't know much about vampires beyond the fact that they suck blood and live forever. When it came to fiction, portrayals of vampires tended to vary. He isn't sure what's true and what isn't, though he can guess by how modestly Rialto is dressed, that whole sunlight allergy might be true. "Shouldn't you be hangin' upside down from the rafters somewhere?"
He looks more like a homeless man rather than a zombie. Dirty and disheveled, decked out in heavy clothing from head to toe, he pretty much fits the bill. The heavy clothing is only meant to try and muffle the ungodly stench of death that permeates from him, and he figures that, being a literal corpse and all, there's no point in trying to make himself look clean or neat. Passersby on the street seem to mistake him for a hobo, but he won't deny it if it means they'll take pity on him and drop a twenty into his hands.
Zachariah is only here because he had forgotten something around here. It's most likely long gone by now, but there's no harm in looking. From a distance, nothing looks wrong, but if one were to get a closer look, it'd be fairly obvious by one of his sleeves flapping in the wind that Zachariah is missing an arm. This wouldn't be the first time a limb has fallen off and he's left it behind, and it definitely isn't the last. He's glad he's started putting his name on things.
One split-second glimpse of Cookie has Zachariah forgetting all about his missing arm. He's not concerned with it as much as he is the big, black wolf zooming around the beach. It warms his dead, rotten heart to see something like that. Zachariah can't remember the last time he's ever seen such a pure sight - though that dog is probably larger than he is, and would most likely think of him as a snack on two legs, it brings a smile to his face. Though Rialto digging through the sand is also quite the spectacle, he's just not as endearing as Cookie. Staggering closer, he remarks, "God, what a good fuckin' dog." He offers a gloved hand for the wolf to sniff, ready to yank it back at any moment should Cookie decide he'd make a good meal. "What's his name?"
He supposes he should at the very least offer Rialto a crisp hello. He would have waved if his only working hand weren't busy. "Ain't it a bit late for you to be out?" Zachariah asks. He doesn't know much about vampires beyond the fact that they suck blood and live forever. When it came to fiction, portrayals of vampires tended to vary. He isn't sure what's true and what isn't, though he can guess by how modestly Rialto is dressed, that whole sunlight allergy might be true. "Shouldn't you be hangin' upside down from the rafters somewhere?"
Re: DISTRICT 9 - alexander - 08-26-2018
[table][tr][td][div style="width: 70px; height:70px; background-image:url(https://i.imgbox.com/W8N8gUDb.png); background-size: cover; background-position: top;"][/td][td][div style="width: 100px; text-align: center; font-family: arial; font-size: 7pt; color: #ff0000; line-height: 100%; padding-top: 6px; padding-left: 6px; opacity: 0.75; text-transform: lowercase;"]my brother's friends explain to me, with breathless words and bloody knees; it's a black eyed trust, respect the pain.
[/td][/tr][/table]Where one vampire was, another was sure to follow. Alexander had agreed to spend the morning at the beach with Rialto, holding an umbrella over the both of them and looking out for anything pretty sticking out in the sand. They usually did more interesting things during the morning, like a rigid skincare routine and rearranging their pillows and blankets for thirty minutes until they were aesthetically ready for them to sleep in.
Collecting seashells with Rialto was okay too, though. It seemed there was something happening on the beach, anyways; namely a wolf knocking someone into the sand every five minutes.
Alex can't help but laugh when Cookie knocks Oriole into the sand again, their face lighting up in a kind of cruel entertainment. Everybody found others' misery funny, though, right? That's why all homemade videos were of poor dads falling off of roofs and ladders.
They stay quiet as they follow Rialto toward the pair, too tired to make their usual snarky remarks, eyes half-lidded and still searching for pretty seashells. They reach down and gather a few shiny rocks and broken shells to dump into the bucket, glancing up when Zachariah speaks. "She is a good dog. Her name is Cookie. Her ears are nice." Alex smiles, peeking behind Rialto's legs to get a better few of the wolf. They wish they had enough bravery to get closer to the wolf, but for now they were content to hide behind their friend and coo at Cookie.
"It is a bit late, but we're collecting new materials for Ri's project. He lives in a ferris wheel carriage, by the way. Too lazy to climb up to sleep in the rafters."
Collecting seashells with Rialto was okay too, though. It seemed there was something happening on the beach, anyways; namely a wolf knocking someone into the sand every five minutes.
Alex can't help but laugh when Cookie knocks Oriole into the sand again, their face lighting up in a kind of cruel entertainment. Everybody found others' misery funny, though, right? That's why all homemade videos were of poor dads falling off of roofs and ladders.
They stay quiet as they follow Rialto toward the pair, too tired to make their usual snarky remarks, eyes half-lidded and still searching for pretty seashells. They reach down and gather a few shiny rocks and broken shells to dump into the bucket, glancing up when Zachariah speaks. "She is a good dog. Her name is Cookie. Her ears are nice." Alex smiles, peeking behind Rialto's legs to get a better few of the wolf. They wish they had enough bravery to get closer to the wolf, but for now they were content to hide behind their friend and coo at Cookie.
"It is a bit late, but we're collecting new materials for Ri's project. He lives in a ferris wheel carriage, by the way. Too lazy to climb up to sleep in the rafters."