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Unread 03-21-2005, 10:27 PM   #71
Archbio
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Weir had stopped a moment longer on the roof. Taking another look around the night's sky, she spoke one line from a song:

"Eight miles straight up,
downtown,
somewhere."

Then, she went in. Her pace as she climbed down the stairs could also have been called normal, it was even a bit on the stroll side: she was in no hurry to arrive to the surface, and was content to follow and see where the others were going, for now.
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Unread 03-21-2005, 11:21 PM   #72
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"Okay, I don't know what power you're talking about. And would people please stop violating my perception of reality?"

Greg shook his head and kept going.
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Unread 03-22-2005, 12:31 AM   #73
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Their antics bored him. They were new of the power and were lucky that there were no observers but themselves around.

Vergil adjusted his watch again. Then he opened the door...

...and stepped out of the one at the long stairway's base. The cold street air filled his lugns, and he leaned against a nearby wall as he waited for them to stop playing.
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Unread 03-22-2005, 03:05 AM   #74
Funka Genocide
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While the group made their way down the stair case an even odder group had begun to assemble at its base. Dante could see them amassing across the street in a dark alley way, shadows somehow darker than the dirty streets they seemingly sprung from. They seemed to be men, or at least manlike, as they ambled about in the darkness.

near the top of the stair case, janet felt she needed to be at the bottom, she felt a pang of urgency. The others felt something too, but they were at a loss to describe exactly what it was, a nagging at the back of their minds. An impending something, that f they could just reach a little further would be made clear.

The shadowy group left the alley and began to make its way towards Vergil. They were dressed in black raggedy cloaks, all their faces obscured by hoods. They all seemd to look about nervously from side to side, almost paranoid.

They were getting closer...
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Unread 03-22-2005, 07:14 AM   #75
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OOC: Make up your mind, Funka. Am I Vergil or Dante?

Vergil folded his arms and leaned lightly against the wall. He closed his eyes of flesh, but his mind's eye reached out, and he sensed them as they neared, shifting points on a three-dimensional map of the surroundings, the ripples of their approaching existence disturbing the hitherto serene fabric of existence.

He prepared to call his weapon to him. It seemed prudent.
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Unread 03-22-2005, 08:07 AM   #76
Funka Genocide
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ooc: well, normally I would take full credit for my slip up, but you're the one who named your character and his brother after not only your user name, but the same game that currently owns my soul! I can't be held respnsible for this madness!

sorry...


ic: There wasomething irregular in these creatures physical forms, at a glance they appeared to be of normal size for a mna, yet they left trails of motion behind them is much larger areas. They seemed to have a much greater mass than they would apper, a greater permanence, substance.

That was true of most demons, part of them existed Elsewhere most of the time. Yet one could feel the ripples in space time if one knew how to look.
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Unread 03-22-2005, 04:30 PM   #77
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As Nick reached the bottom of the stairs, he sensed something... unusual outside. Concerned, he placed the kid behind the bottom stairwell. It was then that it hit again. That nagging pain at the base of his neck.

Something was out there. And Nick meant to find out what.

He cautiously came out of the bottom door and immediately noticed the forms heading towards him and Vergil. Somethin' wasn't right about them. Something... sinister.

Nick prepared himself for a fight, if necessary.
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Unread 03-22-2005, 09:15 PM   #78
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Daniel's mind slowly became muddled. There was something here that was messing up his concentration. Something that had no place being here.
He noticed the men beside him were assuming a battle stance. His eyes followed their stare, coming upon strange cloaked figures. They moved as a colossus, yet were sized as men. The disturbance he had felt seemed to stem from these creatures. The silent language spoken by his surroundings told of an inevitable clash between men and...things.

He lit up a fag and took a nervous drag from it. His actual fighting skills were little, however, he had often imitated movies and games. What he lacked in physical ability, he made up with instinct and the supernatural at his will.
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Unread 03-24-2005, 10:37 PM   #79
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Janet Weir waited until she had reached the first landing down from the roof to pay attention to the impression goading at her mind, pushing her to go faster. Still, she stopped. She had to be down there, and she had to be down there now.

But here, far from Vegas, the balance had shifted against her, and she felt that what was down there wasn't harmless happenstance. How could she face what she was beginning to be sure was a cusp, and a potentially perilous one at that? The fact that she was also practically blind to the events unfolding wasn't helping, either.

What could she use? As she wondered, her hands did too, searching her suit for helpful things. Her hands closed on a little packet wrapped in cloth. There were some things she always carried with her, fortunately.

Taking her clenched fist out of her vest, she begun muttering a simple incantation, a few syllables, repeating them over and over again; inaudibly for the most part.

A shadow then lept from her feet, in defiance of the electric illumination, and coursed down the stairs. The darkness took on a shape as it passed the others and sprinted out of the door at the very bottom. That shape didn't seem entierely unfamiliar. Out of its quasi-substance, the cut a suit, identical to Weir's, could be recognized. As it planted itself just outside of the door, facing the creeping figures, its hands, as it held its arms akimbo, could bee seen to be mere skeletal frames. Even in the night the presence of the shadow could be felt, immensily sepulchral and radiating emptiness.

One of its hands was clenched into a fist.
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Unread 03-24-2005, 10:58 PM   #80
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Greg, however, felt an odd compulsion to put his hand around the rosary he always carried in his pocket.

He had the willies. That usually foretold trouble.
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