WHO: Edgard and YOU WHAT:One Job, and some opens WHEN: NOW WHERE: various places NOTES:Goat herding hijinks closed to whoever gets there first i guess (run!), everything else open! All in comments. Wildcards also welcome.
Regaining his balance after getting nearly shoved off his feet, Edgard's eyebrow raises. This is rather unexpected. For one very long moment of hesitation, he considers it.
But as the shrill voice rebounds from the walls of the courtyard, he knows there is only one course. He leans onto the foot in the mud, kicks Dumas in the shins with the other and then runs for it, mud splashing in his wake.
Giants lobbing boulders at adventurers is a trope for a reason.
Dumas stoops (faltering on his fresh-kicked shin) to heft a fish-sized lump of loose stone from the yard, and follows through to hurl it with deadly force at Edgard’s fleeing back. Fortunately he does not have deadly aim -- it explodes against the flagstone in a shower of gravel and dust well off to one side.
“THIS IS AN ISLAND YOU FILTHY RAG,” recedes in bellowed volume as Edgard runs -- Sylvester isn’t giving chase, limping round in a circle to work through the red hot spike of anguish through his bone instead. Tears sting his eyes, half from the throbbing pain, and half from the laugh he’s struggling to stifle while he weighs the benefits of self-administered amputation:
Edgard dodges out of the way of the debris and runs full speed towards the other side of the courtyard. Once he is what he deems is a safe distance away, he stops to catch his breath. As Dumas bellows, Edgard shuffles a little on his feet (unbalanced from one shoe being on and the other off). He's definitely created a big problem for himself.
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But as the shrill voice rebounds from the walls of the courtyard, he knows there is only one course. He leans onto the foot in the mud, kicks Dumas in the shins with the other and then runs for it, mud splashing in his wake.
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Giants lobbing boulders at adventurers is a trope for a reason.
Dumas stoops (faltering on his fresh-kicked shin) to heft a fish-sized lump of loose stone from the yard, and follows through to hurl it with deadly force at Edgard’s fleeing back. Fortunately he does not have deadly aim -- it explodes against the flagstone in a shower of gravel and dust well off to one side.
“THIS IS AN ISLAND YOU FILTHY RAG,” recedes in bellowed volume as Edgard runs -- Sylvester isn’t giving chase, limping round in a circle to work through the red hot spike of anguish through his bone instead. Tears sting his eyes, half from the throbbing pain, and half from the laugh he’s struggling to stifle while he weighs the benefits of self-administered amputation:
“Do you think I won’t find you?”
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"uh, nice meeting you!" He calls.
Probably too little too late.