(I know... Still, too late now, right? Consider it a unique part of the RP. Unique spelling, that is.)
Batzuso Gatson
[3] The crowd screamed and yelled as the three traitors were escorted through it. Rocks were thrown at them, most missing but a few hitting their mark. One of their guards, a short man with a scarred face, pointed his AK47 at a makeshift gibbet made out of scrap wood, right in the middle of the square. Someone was tying a rope around it.
"Over there." he said simply.
A traitor with blond hair stared at the gibbet.
"Please, sir!" said a traitor wearing a once grand, now stained suit. "I have done nothing to you! I am just a shopkeeper!"
"You were a tool of the glorious leader." said the guard. "Now get over there before I put a bullet in your bourgeois skull."
The traitors were shoved roughly towards their death. The blondie was shaking like a tree in the wind, while the suit merely kept begging for his life. The third traitor, a tall fellow with a scholarly face and square glasses, stared at the ground like he wasn't sure what was happening and he didn't care for it.
A second guard, a woman, ahemed and then yelled out to the crowd "Tejekovans! Citizens of Gardai! Look at what we have here!". She stepped out in a grand fashion, like a twisted ringleader, holding her rifle to the sky. "Three traitors! Three ropes to hang them with! Each one of them has ruined Tejekov in their own way. Each has sent it to hell. They are cancer! They are a stain! And they must be eliminated.
"Alexei, the one in the suit, polluted Tejekov by supplying money to the regime, earning himself a lovely salary and a nice home! Weleski, the blond, was formerly part of the Ministry of Affirmative Information, also known as the propaganda ministry! Spreading lies to the people. Vekov with the glasses was a writer, probably writing fascist filth and support for the regime! They are all monsters, and they have to die."
The crowd cheered loudly. The scholar began to cry silently, his tears gleaming in the dull light. The woman gestured to the traitors and grinned. "Only one question remains... Who first?" she said.
A thousand voices cried out. The scholar should be first, his writings polluted Tejekov. Alexei, he stole money from the people and took it for himself. Weleski, without his lies Tejekov would be free. Before they could reach a conclusion, a voice cried out.
"Is this what Tejekov has become?"
The crowd looks around, then parted slightly as a tall man with a scarred face stepped forward. He looked around at the crowd with an impassive look that could only come from that face, or a mountain.
"Descending into this madness and barbarity." he said. "Calling for the blood of innocent men just because they happened to be on the wrong side? We all worked for the Glorious Leader! They were just closer then us. What makes them any different from us?"
The female guard stared at the man. "What is your name?"
"Batzuso." said the man.
"You would defend traitors to Tejekov?"
"They aren't traitors. They haven't done anything."
"They betrayed Tejekov! That is enough for them to be worth hanging."
"No it isn't. We all worked for the Glorious Leader. We were all feeding the regime, it's just that some of us decided to take a stand! Who can blame them for not? Anyone who spoke out was taken away by the secret police."
"You're on thin ice, Batzuso. I have half a mind to get you hanged for this! This is against the new, proud Tejekov."
"Who died and made you God?"
"Enough! Men, seize him and bring him here. There's a special place in hell for traitors!"
The guards raised their guns and began to walk to Batzuso. Behind them, the traitors saw their chance and ran like hell away from the gibbet. The female guard pulled out her pistol and fired at them. She managed to get the blondie, but the two managed to get into the crowd and be lost.
The female guard snarled and looked back at Batzuso who was raising his hands in a defensive posture. The guards were pointing their guns at him. He couldn't run like the others. He was trapped.
"So, you managed to save two of the traitors. Good for you." said the female. She raised her pistol.
Batzuso felt some small, hard and very fast hit him in the stomach. He stepped back and fell over, hitting the hard tarmac. He felt dizzy and sick. The girl guard was standing over him, hazy now. The last sight he ever had was seeing the gleam of her pistol, and the brightness of the muzzleflash.
Then it was dark. It was dark for a very, very long time.
Why were you near/in a lynchmob in the first place?
Aiden Dunevant
Lesko tried the handle first. Never doubt that a door may be unlocked, even in emergencies. It wasn't, however, so he smashed the window open.
The street was empty apart from him and Reji. Reji was a spindly, bone-thin man whose clothes always hung off him, and he did not have a hair on him. He was holding a revolver cautiously, looking up and down the street worriedly. Reji guarded while Lesko stole. That's how it went.
"Lesko, get on with it!" Reji said in a loud whisper. Lesko sighed and looked at Reji.
"Listen, there's no-one around. We're alone. And if there is, no-one cares. They're too busy fighting to care about us." Lesko said, as he reached over through the hole he made in the glass. He found the handle on the other side and opened the door, stepping away.
"Christ, man, what if they think we're the enemy?" said Reji. "What then?"
"Then you shoot them, you dolt." Lesko sighed. "Let's go in."
Lesko stepped inside, Reji following close behind. The store smelt of dust and disuse. It must have been locked since the revolution began, but not a box had been moved since then. Lesko took a box of rations (100 rubles, a bargain!) and looked at the sell-by date. Okay, a week or two out of date, but he could take it. Reji was aiming a gun at the open door.
Lesko rolled his eyes and kept going through the store. He put a hand on the counter, and lifted it. There was a fresh print of his hand in the dust. He smirked then climbed over the counter, then opened the cash register. He found a reasonable amount in Tejekov rubles. Too bad it was useless due to inflation. If he could buy anything, he could have probably bought an egg with this amount.
There was a chewing sound at the other end of the store. Lesko felt his ears perk at the sound. It was rapid, with short breaks for breath as if whoever was eating it was trying their best to stuff as much food into their mouth as possible, preventing them from breathing. Lesko walked over to the end of the store as quietly as possible, but he must have been heard as the chewing stopped, and whimpering replaced it. He hid behind an aisle, then took a brief time to wonder what the hell could be making that sound. A feral dog?
Lesko peeked out of the aisle. Then he was thrown to the floor by a small but forceful dark shape that bashed his head against the floor. It began to scrape and slash at his face. In those panicked moments, he thought it must have been a dog, nothing could be that wild. However, his theory was proved incorrect when the shape called out, "Go away!"
There was a gunshot, and the shape fell off him. Lesko couldn't tell what was happening for a while. Then he heard Reji call out, "Oh no. Oh no!"
Lesko sat up, the pain from his face coming back in full force. He could feel a trickle of blood come down from somewhere above his eye and enter his eye, stinging it. He closed it, then looked at where the shape fell. In it's place, there was a child twisting and awfully, disgustingly starved looking. He was bleeding in his shoulder.
Lesko crawled away from the boy, staring and gasping. When he could work up the effort, he said "What the fuck did you do, Reji?"
Reji stared with an open mouth at the boy, then looked at Lesko. "I... I thought... You were being attacked, I ran and I fired... I didn't know! Oh God, Lesko, I just shot a kid!"
"Yes, you did." said Lesko, who then stood up. He looked down at the kid, in his formerly blue, now turning red t-shirt and his blue jeans. He twisted around in pain, quietly mumbling. Lesko walked over and kneeled down, and looked the kid in the eyes.
"Hello." he said. The kid looked at him with fear. "It's okay. It's going to be okay. Everything will be okay."
The kid looked so pale, and it's cheekbones were so hollow from the hunger. It said nothing, it just stared like it wasn't sure if it was seeing anything at all. Lesko held a hand to the kid's cheek, which felt awfully cold. He felt his heartbeat, fast and afraid. Lesko looked at his shoulder and saw the amount of blood pouring from it. It must have hit a artery.
"Reji, hand me the gun." said Lesko, quietly.
"... What are you going to do?" asked Reji.
"He'll die, Reji. No matter what we do, he's going to die. However, with that bullet wound, he's going to die painfully. It wasn't a clean shot. What we can do, Reji, is let him pass on peacefully."
Reji stared at Lesko, then closed his eyes. He opened them again, then gave Lesko the gun.
Lesko smiled at the boy, who smiled back. Obviously, he didn't really understand what had happened to him, and was just happy that someone was there for him.
"Lesko, I don't know if this is the right thing to do..." said Reji, looking away and shaking his head.
"What do you propose we do?" said Lesko.
"... Just do it. Don't let him keep going like this."
Lesko put the gun's cold barrel against the child's forehead. The child stared at it with a understanding only the dead and the dying have. Lesko closed his eyes, then pulled the trigger.
What were you doing in the store?
Stephen Bridger
[1] The night before he found himself in a grave, Stephen managed to get the right leverage with the crowbar, and then he was inside. He hoped no-one was inside. He stepped in, from the darkness of the tenement corridor.
Four weeks ago, he wouldn't have believed he'd be in this situation. But now, everything was different. Tejekov was screwed, the Glorious Leader dead by his own hand, and the Earth salted. Everything was going very, very wrong for Stephen.
Inside the apartment, there was only one lamp on. The walls was covered in flowery, peeling wallpaper and the floor was ratty carpeting. The sole window to the outside was covered with drapes, preventing the moonlight from entering. His heart was pounding in his chest as he walked, but he was sure the occupants had to have left. He began to search the cabinets and the drawers for his objective. It had to be here. It simply had to be.
He sighed as he only found trinkets and mementoes of a life once lived. Happily? He doubted it. Happiness didn't come within a 500 mile radius of Tejekov. Stephen opened a door that led into a dark study. Bingo. He walked over to the desk after waiting for his eyes to adapt, then opened the drawers and rooted through them. He stopped. There was creaking in the apartment.
His heart skipped a beat. His eyes looked around for a good place to hide. He found only an old couch would do. He rushed as quietly as he could to the couch, then ducked behind it. He peeked out. The door opened, revealing light. The barrel of a double-barreled shotgun poked out. Dammit, he thought he was alone here.
"Who's there?" asked the owner of the shotgun. "I know you're here somewhere."
Stephen kept mum.
"Come out now, and I won't kill you." the shotgunner said.
He thought about it. Then he realized who he was dealing with. If he walked out with his hands held up high, he'd get a buckshot haircut in no time at all. That was the exact opposite of what he wanted. Stephen began to cautiously sneak over to the door, staying to the shadows. He stopped just at the crook of the door. If he pushed the door closed hard enough, the shotgunner would stumble back, then he could take him.
The shotgunner stepped into the darkness, pointing the shotgun in every direction except where Stephen was. Missed opportunity. Another presented itself.
Stephen stepped behind the shotgunner then turned around. He began to run, slamming the door behind him. Thus began what felt like the longest ten seconds of Stephen's life. He thought he could reach the door if he just kept running quickly. However, the plan all relied on the fact that the shotgunner would be too slow to open the door before Stephen could get behind cover, maybe even close the front door. The problem revealed itself when the door opened.
Stephen heard something like a thunderclap. The buckshot slammed into his back, He screamed out in pain, and began to fall. However, his momentum kept him propelled forward, and he was at the front door when the shotgun fired. He kept falling forward until he reached one of the many windows of the corridor.
He must have been in a dead sprint, because he slammed against the window and smashed the glass. The air rushed past him in no time at all as he fell, fell, fell a few stories. The ground was approaching unpleasantly fast, and he really, really hoped he wasn't going to die. Even though this was the most likely outcome of the situation, he believed it for a second. Unfortunately, a second was all he had.
Stephen slammed against the ground, chest first. He broke his neck and spine in several, unpleasant places. He gasped, then fell silent.
The next morning, when an unofficial cease-fire happened because both sides had needed to reload, a smiling woman was searching through Stephen's corpse for items of interest. Once she was done extracting all items of interest from his person, she had a fit of morality and felt he looked pretty sad in the street, all broken and dead. The woman stopped smiling and sighed. She could have left him in the streets, yes, but she wasn't exactly in a hurry and since he was a good haul, she might as well do him a favor.
She sighed and grabbed his feet and dragged him. He was surprisingly light for a corpse. She left the street, and the only thing that marked Stephen as being there was a slight bloodstain on the pavement.
What were you looking for in the apartment?
Gunnar Whitkinson
Gunnar held up his hands as he backed away from the squads of rebels. Well, rebels was kinda an odd term now that it was a civil war, with your friends being enemies and so on and so forth. However, they were definitely annoyed at him. He was trapped now. He thought he could lose them in the tenement, but now he found there wasn't a fire escape at the top. That was bad. Bad with a capital B-A-D.
"Okay, 'Glorious Leader'!" said one of the rebel lieutenants, a man wearing a bandana around his face and a uskanka. "It's time you fucking died!"
"You've made a mistake." said Gunnar. "I'm not the Glorious Leader! I don't know why I'm being singled out here, because no-one knows what the Glorious Leader looks like. He was anonymous! That was the--"
"We get it! Quit begging like the dog you are!" said the lieutenant. "It's over for you. We know you're the leader because we saw you exiting the palace when your body double shot himself. Did you think you could pull that shit and live? After you enacted your plan? You thought you could just slip away?"
Gunnar was at the palace. That was the problem. "Look, there's been a serious mistake. The Glorious Leader killed himself. I'm not him. You can ask anybody around here."
"Get on your knees." said the lieutenant, raising his pistol.
Gunnar thought. There had to be a way out of this. His eyes gazed over at the ledge he was backing towards. There was a fire escape, it just didn't go up to here. It had to be on this side. It was above him as he entered, and he had a pretty good bet this was the same side. It'd hurt like hell, but he would rather have a chance of escape rather then get killed facing the barrel.
He took a chance. He turned around and jumped off the edge, barely avoiding a bullet heading straight for him. His guess was right, the fire escape was rapidly coming up. He closed his eyes and readied himself for the blow. The problem was that Gunnar guessed right, but he got the angle wrong. He felt his arm slam off the fire escape's rail, dislocating it, and then he kept going and going into the abyss.
He slammed to the ground hard, legs first. They snapped with a loud, nasty sound, making him fall to the ground. Gunnar cried out, then held out the only arm that wasn't in horrible pain. Adrenaline coursed through his body as he dragged himself toward... whatever he was dragging himself toward. His vision was kinda blurry and he wasn't exactly sure what he was hoping to achieve. He was just hoping he'd get somewhere safe and less horrifically painful.
He simply squeaked as a jackboot crushed his hand, making white-hot agony streak up his arm. Gunnar looked up to see the proud face of the lieutenant staring down at him with a pistol pointed right at him, trigger at the ready and the hammers pulled back.
"Any last words, glorious leader of ours?" said the revolutionary.
Gunnar originally intended to say "Go die in a puddle, you awful prick", but it sounded something more like "Garrrrghhhhhhhh mmmmfph". His tormentor shrugged, as if that was close enough to words for it to not matter. The trigger was pulled, and Gunnar's brains was scattered all over the tarmac.
The revolutionary sighed and looked at his comrades.
"Let's go. It's over." he said. They walked off with him, but then he stopped and looked back at the corpse of Gunnar.
"We need to get him a burial." said the revolutionary. "Tyrants like him don't deserve to be seen ever again. Once we get him into the earth, he'll be gone for good."
The others thought, then nodded at their wise and intelligent comrade. One of them walked over and grabbed Gunnar, then hoisted him up into a carrying position. They left with Gunnar's corpse.
Why were you at the palace?
Sanya Degtyarev
[2] Sanya kept a tight grip on the bathroom window's ledge. It was only a three or four foot fall, meaning she wouldn't get too hurt as long as she didn't freak out, but it was still not ideal. She smashed the window open and then hoisted herself up and half-fell, half-lowered herself into the bathroom. She landed on her feet in a crouch. She stood up and opened the door out of the dingy bathroom and stepped into the store itself.
It was musty and dirt-filled, as if no-one had entered it since the troubles began. They must have left a long time ago. Bad idea. Only madmen, soldiers, and people like Sanya stayed here. The civil war seemed to be everywhere, though, so it was a pointless effort either way. As she looked around, she felt a pang of annoyance when she realized the door was open and she could have just gone through there without going through the window. She ignored it. Split milk was spilt milk, and crying over it was pointless.
Sanya took a shopping trolley nearby and walked through the aisles, looking for useful things. After a brief period of looting, the trolley was now respectably stacked with food items, water bottles, and a few miscellaneous items. She pushed it towards the exit, but stopped as she felt herself step in blood.
She looked down. The floor here was stained with blood. Ugh. She made a face and stepped to the side, pushing the trolley out of the blood. How did that happen? There was no corpse that she could see. Was it moved? Did someone just get a wound and walk away from the store? She stopped thinking about it and kept pushing her trolley to the end of the aisle.
The first thing she noticed was that the door was now closed.
The second was the rapidly approaching baseball bat. The bat hit her right in the nose, making her stumble backwards and fall onto her back. She looked up at her attacker as her nose began to bleed.
The attacker was wearing a dark grey suit with a black tie, with brown dress shoes. He had a chiseled, bearded face that stared down on her with cold, grey eyes. He held the baseball bat with two hands, resting it's head on his left and holding it's handle with his right.
Malcolm.
Not him. Goddammit, he thought he lost him.
She began to scramble away from him. Sanya could hear him casually, carefully walk in her direction. She reached into her pockets and pulled out a 9mm pistol. She had only fired it twice so far. Both times, it hit. Hopefully that streak of luck kept going. She sat up, leaning against the aisle, and raised her gun to where she thought Malcolm would be coming from.
Malcolm came around the corner of the aisle, and she fired. The bullet missed. He looked at her, then raised his baseball bat above his head and then it went down. She dodged out of the way, then kicked at his leg. It connected, slamming into his knee, and he fell down too. She tried to get up to get an advantage, but he managed to grab her throat and slam her to the ground. She gasped in pain, then gasped again as he began to choke her. Sanya began to see black stars as she stared into that impassive, emotionless face.
She raised her gun weakly and fired directly into his stomach. He yelled in pain, the first sign he could feel something, and let go of her. She quickly scrambled away, then managed to get up and get into a run. She slammed the door open as she ran, and for a few seconds she felt home free.
Then Malcolm slammed into her from behind. She fell to the ground and bashed her head against the hard, uncaring dirt. A tooth dislodged in her mouth. Malcolm twisted her around so he could look her in the eye. He punched her hard, then again, and again. A blossom of pain took hold in her face as she was slowly brutalized. Malcolm didn't stop when she died, when he could see her brain matter, when he could see bone. He only stopped when he finally ran out of blood. He slumped to the side, and stared into open space.
Who is Malcolm, and why is he hunting you?
Vincent Aspitos
[5] Fresov always considered himself, if not a good man, a just one.
Tejekov was going straight to hell. No, it had passed hell and was still managing to plunge down into the depths. People like the man lying on the ground weren't helping at all. He had stolen rations from them, and if Fresov did not feed his family they would begin to starve, along with all the families the Tejekov United Front fed. That simply could not stand.
People said to Fresov that if the tables were turned, with Fresov on the ground and the man holding an SKS at him, he'd feel like an injustice had been done to him. However, he always said that if the tables were turned, he wouldn't be on the ground. Because Fresov did not steal.
"Take it, take it..." said the man, pushing the box of rations toward him, looking up in fear. "Please, just don't kill me."
"You have stolen rations from us." Fresov said. "That is the capital crime."
"Capital crime." repeated Grigori beside Fresov.
"This box could feed dozens for a week. Yet you saw fit to steal it rather then wait in line." said Fresov. "That is a crime. And for that crime, you pay."
"I can explain! They turned me away, I had to, I have a wife and four children. I can't let them die... There's not enough food and there was no other option!"
"I have wife too. Two children." said Fresov. "Yet you see fit to starve my children? We're all in this together. We all have to bear the burden."
"What is this?" asked a voice. Fresov looked up, and saw Vincent looking at him from down the street.
"Vincent, what are you doing here?" asked Fresov.
"Shut it, Fresov. Point your weapon somewhere else." said Vincent.
"This man stole rations, Vincent. Justice must be done."
"This isn't justice. Let him go."
The man looked between Fresov and Vincent confusedly, yet hopefully. Fresov frowned at the man. "Vincent, this is not your fight. I told you to get out of Tejekov anyway."
"Fresov, let him go or I'll make you."
"Vincent, get the fuck away from here or I'll be forced to do something about it!"
"He'll be forced to do something about it." said Grigori. "Get the fuck away, Vincent."
Vincent frowned and shook his head. "Fresov, you think you can frighten me with your parrot and your guns? I've seen worse then you when I lift rocks. This is ridiculous."
"Vincent, I'm warning you!"
Vincent stepped forward, which was exactly was Fresov feared he would do. Grigori raised his Mosin Nagrant and fired it, because Fresov couldn't shoot him. Vincent didn't seem to realize he had been shot until he fell to the ground in a heap. Fresov bit his lips and stared at Vincent's now lifeless corpse, then looked down at the man.
He pulled out his pistol and executed the man in the street. His blood pooled, getting between the cracks of the road.
"... What now, boss?" asked Grigori, looking at Fresov.
"We go. Now." said Fresov, as he turned away from the death. "We go now."
"Okay." said Grigori, beginning to walk forward. After a few seconds, Fresov followed him. A lone voice inside wondered if justice had been served. After a few moments of consideration, he ignored it.
How do you know Fresov?
Kyle Johnson
[5] She was half-asleep, but she could hear whoever was creeping around clearly. You had to be sharp to survive now. Before now, before everything changed, it was easier. Not easy by any stretch of the imagination, but easier. You just had to murder any sympathy for your fellow humans and any honor that you had, then you were safe enough. As long as you were really, really paranoid.
Zelda pushed herself off the bed and took Old Lucky from under the bed. That was what Daniel called her combat knife. It was his originally, but... No longer. It was well-kept despite it's age, and it had a mean serrated edge that would give her an advantage when she stuck it in whoever was sneaking out there.
She was in PJs, not exactly threatening but it'd do. With looters, you had to be careful. They were tricky bastards, all hunger and craziness. You let a man starve for a few weeks, you see what happens. Just gut them like a fish. Don't think about the starving orphans left behind, the grieving wives. Just focus on you. The rest can't be saved now. You're the only one that matters.
Zelda opened the door as slowly as she could, then leaned out and looked around. The apartment was as dark as before, and everything was in place. However, a dark shape was in front of the kitchen counter, loading as much food as it could into what seemed to be a backpack.
The dark shape looked back, and it may have been Zelda's fancy, but it seemed like their eyes met. The man took off in a run. Bad move. Zelda was good at running. She sprinted after the looter moving quickly but conservatively. She didn't want to fall over and lose him. When he began to run down the stairs, she leapt over the bannister and landed just behind him. He stumbled backward, then went into a run. He went out the door but she was right on his heels. She must have looked idiotic, but she really really needed that food. She was done for otherwise.
He tried to lose her by grabbing a pipe and climbing up quickly. Zelda cursed under her breath. Vertigo was one of her worst traits. She began to climb up the pipe and tried not to look down. When she finally got up the pipe, her hands felt chafed and her heart was about to explode. She looked up and saw the dark shape running across the rooftop.
She got herself together and kept pursuing. She ran across skylights and clambered over air conditioners, even sliding under one at a certain point, until she found herself staring the intruder in the eyes.
"Fuck." said the looter.
"Guess you're stuck now." said Zelda.
"No, I've got an amazing master plan that shall sail me straight out of this mess of a situation." The looter had a smile that she didn't like one bit. She snorted.
"Cut the crap. Give me the food."
"Thanks but no thanks."
"What exactly is your alternative?"
"This."
The looter stepped backwards, then disappeared from view as he fell away. Zeldra rushed to the edge and looked down. It was a surprisingly short fall, only about four feet. The looter waved sarcastically at her, then ran away from the scene of the crime like a shot. She groaned, then looked around for an alternative. There was a ladder nearby. Bingo. She quickly ran over and climbed down it, ending up on the street again. The looter seemed to be relaxing, leaning against a wall and gasping for air. She stepped out and brandished the knife, walking toward him. He stared at her, then looked down the street. Zelda could see a bridge. Goddammit, would it ever end?
He ran. She followed. It seemed like the whole thing was lost, but then she could see the looter had stopped. Why? The looter was staring at a burnt out tank that blocked off the exit to the bridge. He was trapped entirely. He turned around and looked at her like a deer in the headlights.
"Any smart remarks?" asked Zelda.
"No, but even silence is smarter then you." said the prick, who then leaped off the bridge. Zelda cursed yet again and ran over, looking over the side. He was falling towards the water, safe at last. It seemed like he had won, fair and square. Well, that was until he split his head open on ground below him, because the water was only a few feet deep. He fell to the ground, jerked around aimlessly, then stopped. Zelda rolled her eyes.
"Hey, smartass." she muttered in the direction of the body. "Guess you're more of an ass then smart."
Then she chuckled to herself, in the cold dark night. She walked down a path leading to the water, and fished out the bag, leaving the corpse to drift at a leisurely pace down the canal. She opened the slightly damp backpack then looked inside. There was the food, yes, a few bottles of water, check, but there was also his personal belongings.
There was a revolver, two speedloaders, a book, and a card. She took the card out first and looked at it. It was white and slightly stained from the water, but all of it seemed to have been covered over with black marker pen, except a few spots where she could see words even with the marker.
Kyle Johnson, marker pen, marker pen, CS, marker pen, marker pen, Found Problems, exclamation mark, and that was it. She tossed the card aside and looked at the book.
A History of Tejekovan/Kanskian Folklore by Boris Yakoff
Weird. Who was this guy? She shrugged and put the book in the backpack, then began the long walk back home. Zelda felt tired, but ultimately satisfied. There'd be food on the table after all.
Why do you have a book on Tejekovan folklore and a card that's completely marked out?
Author
Topic: Roll To Remember [A Momento Style RTD] (Read 6358 times)