Roleplay
Tell stories and roleplay in the world of Flight Rising.
TOPIC | && We Are Radioactive [closed]
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[center][font=papyrus][size=7][color=#08db0c][i]&& We Are Radioactive.[/i][/color][/size][/font] [img]http://imgur.com/Xi0nTau.jpeg[/img] ---------- [size=2]@Generation. @SwootleDootle.[/size][/center] ---------- [font=orator std][size=5][b]Plot[/b][/size] [size=4]This is the apocalypse: not begun by a bang, not begun by a stray solar flare, and not begun by a mutated disease that spontaneously creates zombies, but by a colossal chemical failure on the part of some government. Biological warfare rose in popularity as a Third World War - another cold war, brewed in the shadows... stewing... stewing... until somebody, somewhere, messed up big time. The result? A world poisoned by radioactive chemicals, synthesized in a laboratory and originally meant to be used as biological warfare. Yeah, you messed up. This is the apocalypse: a world ravaged by radioactivity, water polluted, plants and animals contaminated, untouched resources scarce. A world where humans are hesitant to trust each other, where gangs have risen and taken control of the major resources left, and where precious few relief sites still run with the attempt to feed, clothe, and shelter those in need- and those relief sites that are running are often ransacked and looted. This is the apocalypse: a world were zombies don't exist, no, but something worse does - radioactive monsters - both human and animal. Monsters contaminated to a level past what their bodies can handle and filter out, changed and mutated into radioactive creatures with little reservation to kill. Monsters that are, arguably, more dangerous than zombies ever could be - fast, lethal, and retaining much of their previous abilities, they are predators that can hunt, retain some of their former intelligence, and have the ability to contaminate others. This is the apocalypse: will you survive?[/size] [size=5][b]Characters[/b][/size] [size=4]Jasper, 27 years old. Hansel Braun, 31 years old.[/size]
&& We Are Radioactive.

Xi0nTau.jpeg


@Generation. @SwootleDootle.



Plot
This is the apocalypse: not begun by a bang, not begun by a stray solar flare, and not begun by a mutated disease that spontaneously creates zombies, but by a colossal chemical failure on the part of some government. Biological warfare rose in popularity as a Third World War - another cold war, brewed in the shadows... stewing... stewing... until somebody, somewhere, messed up big time. The result? A world poisoned by radioactive chemicals, synthesized in a laboratory and originally meant to be used as biological warfare. Yeah, you messed up.

This is the apocalypse: a world ravaged by radioactivity, water polluted, plants and animals contaminated, untouched resources scarce. A world where humans are hesitant to trust each other, where gangs have risen and taken control of the major resources left, and where precious few relief sites still run with the attempt to feed, clothe, and shelter those in need- and those relief sites that are running are often ransacked and looted.

This is the apocalypse: a world were zombies don't exist, no, but something worse does - radioactive monsters - both human and animal. Monsters contaminated to a level past what their bodies can handle and filter out, changed and mutated into radioactive creatures with little reservation to kill. Monsters that are, arguably, more dangerous than zombies ever could be - fast, lethal, and retaining much of their previous abilities, they are predators that can hunt, retain some of their former intelligence, and have the ability to contaminate others.

This is the apocalypse: will you survive?


Characters
Jasper, 27 years old.
Hansel Braun, 31 years old.
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It felt as if he had been running for days on end, no breaks, no stopping, just going and going until he could run no more. But- what was he running from? Glancing back behind him, the dark haired male let out a long, shaken sigh upon seeing that the strange beast was no longer following his trail. He hadn't the slightest idea where that beast came from, but the man, Jasper, was glad to see that it was finally gone.

Gradually slowing to a halt, Jasper placed one of his gloved hands upon the nearest trunk of a moss-covered tree… But was it really just moss? He couldn't be sure. But that didn't seem to matter much, as the dark haired male was more worried about trying to catch his breath.

Practically ripping off the mask that covered his scarred visage, Jasper brushed his jet hued hair from his forehead, his breaths gradually beginning to calm to a more even, quiet rhythm. What in Gods name was that? A deer with two heads, seriously? Get a grip, Jasper… If it hadn't been for a lack of energy and resources, I would've slaughtered it where it stood. The dark haired male thought to himself, biting down on his bottom lip as he muttered curses under his breath.

He hated having to be constantly on the run, unable to eat, and unable to sleep; it left him more vulnerable and desperate, and in a world like this, that was the quickest way to get yourself killed.

Suddenly, another thought crossed Jasper’s mind… When was the last time he had seen another human that wasn't absolutely riddled by the radioactivity that plagued the land? Then came forth the thought of, what if he was the last human? No, that was impossible. Shaking his head to and fro, the dark haired male gripped his dark hued mask in his gloved metal hand whilst his other gloved hand slowly slid down from the tree.

I’d better keep moving, I'll find something, or someone, eventually. Jasper told himself, nodding his head as if he agreed with his own thoughts. He wasn't going to break, and it didn't matter if even everything went south, Jasper was determined to remain strong, even if death was staring him in the face like a lion awaiting it’s next meal. Allowing another sigh to escape past his parted lips, the dark haired male nonetheless kept to his word, and pressed onwards through the land ravaged by radioactivity. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, a common beat that he was used to by now.
It felt as if he had been running for days on end, no breaks, no stopping, just going and going until he could run no more. But- what was he running from? Glancing back behind him, the dark haired male let out a long, shaken sigh upon seeing that the strange beast was no longer following his trail. He hadn't the slightest idea where that beast came from, but the man, Jasper, was glad to see that it was finally gone.

Gradually slowing to a halt, Jasper placed one of his gloved hands upon the nearest trunk of a moss-covered tree… But was it really just moss? He couldn't be sure. But that didn't seem to matter much, as the dark haired male was more worried about trying to catch his breath.

Practically ripping off the mask that covered his scarred visage, Jasper brushed his jet hued hair from his forehead, his breaths gradually beginning to calm to a more even, quiet rhythm. What in Gods name was that? A deer with two heads, seriously? Get a grip, Jasper… If it hadn't been for a lack of energy and resources, I would've slaughtered it where it stood. The dark haired male thought to himself, biting down on his bottom lip as he muttered curses under his breath.

He hated having to be constantly on the run, unable to eat, and unable to sleep; it left him more vulnerable and desperate, and in a world like this, that was the quickest way to get yourself killed.

Suddenly, another thought crossed Jasper’s mind… When was the last time he had seen another human that wasn't absolutely riddled by the radioactivity that plagued the land? Then came forth the thought of, what if he was the last human? No, that was impossible. Shaking his head to and fro, the dark haired male gripped his dark hued mask in his gloved metal hand whilst his other gloved hand slowly slid down from the tree.

I’d better keep moving, I'll find something, or someone, eventually. Jasper told himself, nodding his head as if he agreed with his own thoughts. He wasn't going to break, and it didn't matter if even everything went south, Jasper was determined to remain strong, even if death was staring him in the face like a lion awaiting it’s next meal. Allowing another sigh to escape past his parted lips, the dark haired male nonetheless kept to his word, and pressed onwards through the land ravaged by radioactivity. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, a common beat that he was used to by now.
Kaim | She/They | FR+2 | Gay rights alone will save our clan
U58SZuw.jpg
Amaranth. Boiled to remove dangerous quantities of oxalic acid, nitrates and radioactive chemicals, the weed was edible. There was a stark, sour taste to it along with prickly spines that stung the tongue if accidentally ingested and a bitterness that could pucker his Oma's lips - but it was not poisonous; digestible when worst came to worst. Along with the burdock he'd found - traces of chemical contamination visible in the purple veins tracing the leaves - it would make for a good stew.

Of course, the initial water used to boil both the amaranth and the burdock would have to be tossed - contaminated and lethal if ingested, so it would take two times the amount of pure water to create the concoction. A risk, a potential waste, if the burdock proved to be too contaminated to be purified, but one he'd have to take. Not to mention the stew itself would be bitter enough to make even a grown man's eyes water. But it was food. Nutritious food.

Something that he was running preciously low on.

Fingers gingerly plucked the weed from the swampy soil, carefully avoiding the bioluminescent moss that littered the base of the plant. He'd caught the growth early enough, it hadn't sunk its tendrils into the weed, still freshly mutated. Hopefully, if some of the seeds weren't yet contaminated either, Hansel could add amaranth to his garden. Another bitter plant - yet they seemed to survive the best; proving to be the most resistant to the pollution and the quickest to adapt to the new environment. Yet the German would be an idealist if he said that it wasn't coming down to worst.

His only food source remained the nature around him. Scavenging was survival, it was all he had left. He refused to murder others for his sustenance - though he wasn't above killing those who tried to steal from him. He refused to enter the gang wars that occurred within the city limits, refused to beg at the doors of the remaining relief sites. Refused to murder others - even if they were radioactive monster. At least the monsters he faced in the woods were mutated animals - at least they didn't look human, like the ones that inhabited the cities. And besides, the woods were his home.

The man knew these woods like the back of his hand; years of guiding tourists and alpine mountain explorations lending detail to a meticulous mind map of the wilds. Granted, back then it had been more of a backwoods paradise and less of a swampland of rotting vegetation and mutated plant life, yet it remained recognizable to him. Removed and untamed wilds nestled against the outskirts of civilization, yet not - the woods used to be his haven. Now they would most likely be where his unmarked grave would rest; unknown to those who had mattered most to him.

Ruins of conservation buildings littered the lower slopes of the area - his destination. Yet something seemed off - the call of the birds, deranged songs from minds driven into a state near that of rabies due to radioactive poisoning, were silent. The songs had been haunting and devastating at first, screeches of desperation and insanity from creatures that should know the feel of neither emotion - yet over time, they'd become reassuring. Familiar. Just like the forest. Their silence meant only one thing: There was something near, something they weren't used to.

Remaining in a crouch low to the ground, concealed partially by the foliage around him, the German's eyes flitted around the area searching for the disturbance. Fingers stained with dirty gently tucked the weed into a back pocket as his other fingers grazed against the grass near his feet, skimming over the handle of a well-polished wood ax.
Amaranth. Boiled to remove dangerous quantities of oxalic acid, nitrates and radioactive chemicals, the weed was edible. There was a stark, sour taste to it along with prickly spines that stung the tongue if accidentally ingested and a bitterness that could pucker his Oma's lips - but it was not poisonous; digestible when worst came to worst. Along with the burdock he'd found - traces of chemical contamination visible in the purple veins tracing the leaves - it would make for a good stew.

Of course, the initial water used to boil both the amaranth and the burdock would have to be tossed - contaminated and lethal if ingested, so it would take two times the amount of pure water to create the concoction. A risk, a potential waste, if the burdock proved to be too contaminated to be purified, but one he'd have to take. Not to mention the stew itself would be bitter enough to make even a grown man's eyes water. But it was food. Nutritious food.

Something that he was running preciously low on.

Fingers gingerly plucked the weed from the swampy soil, carefully avoiding the bioluminescent moss that littered the base of the plant. He'd caught the growth early enough, it hadn't sunk its tendrils into the weed, still freshly mutated. Hopefully, if some of the seeds weren't yet contaminated either, Hansel could add amaranth to his garden. Another bitter plant - yet they seemed to survive the best; proving to be the most resistant to the pollution and the quickest to adapt to the new environment. Yet the German would be an idealist if he said that it wasn't coming down to worst.

His only food source remained the nature around him. Scavenging was survival, it was all he had left. He refused to murder others for his sustenance - though he wasn't above killing those who tried to steal from him. He refused to enter the gang wars that occurred within the city limits, refused to beg at the doors of the remaining relief sites. Refused to murder others - even if they were radioactive monster. At least the monsters he faced in the woods were mutated animals - at least they didn't look human, like the ones that inhabited the cities. And besides, the woods were his home.

The man knew these woods like the back of his hand; years of guiding tourists and alpine mountain explorations lending detail to a meticulous mind map of the wilds. Granted, back then it had been more of a backwoods paradise and less of a swampland of rotting vegetation and mutated plant life, yet it remained recognizable to him. Removed and untamed wilds nestled against the outskirts of civilization, yet not - the woods used to be his haven. Now they would most likely be where his unmarked grave would rest; unknown to those who had mattered most to him.

Ruins of conservation buildings littered the lower slopes of the area - his destination. Yet something seemed off - the call of the birds, deranged songs from minds driven into a state near that of rabies due to radioactive poisoning, were silent. The songs had been haunting and devastating at first, screeches of desperation and insanity from creatures that should know the feel of neither emotion - yet over time, they'd become reassuring. Familiar. Just like the forest. Their silence meant only one thing: There was something near, something they weren't used to.

Remaining in a crouch low to the ground, concealed partially by the foliage around him, the German's eyes flitted around the area searching for the disturbance. Fingers stained with dirty gently tucked the weed into a back pocket as his other fingers grazed against the grass near his feet, skimming over the handle of a well-polished wood ax.
vjV8ZMm.gif
Seeming to be full of regret for ever choosing to leave the gang he was previously with- the highest powered gang that resides within the cities of the chemically plagued land, as Jasper knew of its abundance of food and water. They had even promised protection, and what did he do? He blew it. Ruined every good that occurred within his miserable life. It was sickening, having to be constantly reminded of the mistakes that he made… He should have been dead, and he knew that all too well.

Glancing down at his gloved hand that held a tear at the palm, Jasper was unable to help but frown when he saw the faint shine of metal reflect through the tear. The memories were vivid, fresh in his mind even though they had occurred only a few years back.

The haunting memory of being practically eaten alive by that beast- a Chimera, he called it, watching in paralyzed terror as he could do nothing but allow the beast to eat away at him… The dark haired male wasn't all too sure when he had given up trying to struggle.

The last thing about that memory that Jasper could remember distinctly was when he had awoken at a conservatory, where he was rescued and practically brought back to life… It was all too soon destroyed, and Jasper remembered the screams of anguish and terror, the blood and bodies that stained the ground and the walls- it had become a real version of the Underworld itself, and that thought alone was enough to send chills down the dark haired male’s back.

Those memories prevented him from having a peaceful sleep. Those memories robbed him of every ounce of innocence he had left in his young mind.

Having to pause just to slam his metallic gloved hand against the trunk of a nearby tree in a manner that clearly reflected the anger he felt that was beginning to burn up inside of him, the dark haired male uttered a few colorful words through his gritted teeth, ignoring how the tree now had a very noticeable dent along its trunk, and the few fungi that littered the tree squished with a very unpleasant squelch sound, and Jasper was suddenly very glad he wore gloves.

However, he took note of the sudden, and rather unpleasant silence that washed over the forest… It didn't seem like a good sign, considering he rarely knew about the woods, as all he knew was stories of the beasts and immense amount of radioactivity that touched the land. Jasper was, at the very least, surprised he hadn't come across too many terrifying creatures on his trek. But where was he going? An unanswered question, at best, as the dark haired male wasn't entirely sure himself, having been wandering for god knows how long.

Clutching his dark hued mask in his gloved hand, Jasper began to walk just a tad slower, his steps showing clear caution as he was abruptly very on guard… The forest was unpredictable, and the creatures that lurked within said forest was even more so, both not good signs that would lead to anything at all lovely. At best, it would lead to death if anyone was to take the wrong step at the wrong time. It was unfortunate, but sadly, was a reality for some.

Then, he spotted something- no, someone. Was this some sort of unheard miracle? Jasper had to blink a few times, stopping dead in his tracks with his scarred mouth partially agape. He simply couldn't believe it, after all this time, were the Gods truly listening to his prayers? Just as the dark haired male was about to take a step forward, he paused, hesitant.

How do I know this is a human who won't kill me on sight or some sort of weird… Creature? Jasper asked himself, tightly knitting his dark eyebrows together as he internally sought for an answer. However, he couldn't quite make out a clear picture of this stranger that was in the distance, as he only saw but a faint silhouette.

But that was the issue- Jasper realized he wouldn't know until he approached, and if death was at his doorstep, so be it. He wouldn't go down without a fight, anyways.

Taking a deep breath to ease his nerves and attempt to steady his racing heart, the dark haired male took a few more cautious steps forward, his gloved, metallic hand resting horizontally by his chest, ready to unsheathe his built-in knife if he so had to.

“Friend or foe?” Jasper called out, staying just a few feet away, using a nearby tree as some cover, gazing at this ax-wielding stranger with a soul-piercing stare with his cyan eyes.
Seeming to be full of regret for ever choosing to leave the gang he was previously with- the highest powered gang that resides within the cities of the chemically plagued land, as Jasper knew of its abundance of food and water. They had even promised protection, and what did he do? He blew it. Ruined every good that occurred within his miserable life. It was sickening, having to be constantly reminded of the mistakes that he made… He should have been dead, and he knew that all too well.

Glancing down at his gloved hand that held a tear at the palm, Jasper was unable to help but frown when he saw the faint shine of metal reflect through the tear. The memories were vivid, fresh in his mind even though they had occurred only a few years back.

The haunting memory of being practically eaten alive by that beast- a Chimera, he called it, watching in paralyzed terror as he could do nothing but allow the beast to eat away at him… The dark haired male wasn't all too sure when he had given up trying to struggle.

The last thing about that memory that Jasper could remember distinctly was when he had awoken at a conservatory, where he was rescued and practically brought back to life… It was all too soon destroyed, and Jasper remembered the screams of anguish and terror, the blood and bodies that stained the ground and the walls- it had become a real version of the Underworld itself, and that thought alone was enough to send chills down the dark haired male’s back.

Those memories prevented him from having a peaceful sleep. Those memories robbed him of every ounce of innocence he had left in his young mind.

Having to pause just to slam his metallic gloved hand against the trunk of a nearby tree in a manner that clearly reflected the anger he felt that was beginning to burn up inside of him, the dark haired male uttered a few colorful words through his gritted teeth, ignoring how the tree now had a very noticeable dent along its trunk, and the few fungi that littered the tree squished with a very unpleasant squelch sound, and Jasper was suddenly very glad he wore gloves.

However, he took note of the sudden, and rather unpleasant silence that washed over the forest… It didn't seem like a good sign, considering he rarely knew about the woods, as all he knew was stories of the beasts and immense amount of radioactivity that touched the land. Jasper was, at the very least, surprised he hadn't come across too many terrifying creatures on his trek. But where was he going? An unanswered question, at best, as the dark haired male wasn't entirely sure himself, having been wandering for god knows how long.

Clutching his dark hued mask in his gloved hand, Jasper began to walk just a tad slower, his steps showing clear caution as he was abruptly very on guard… The forest was unpredictable, and the creatures that lurked within said forest was even more so, both not good signs that would lead to anything at all lovely. At best, it would lead to death if anyone was to take the wrong step at the wrong time. It was unfortunate, but sadly, was a reality for some.

Then, he spotted something- no, someone. Was this some sort of unheard miracle? Jasper had to blink a few times, stopping dead in his tracks with his scarred mouth partially agape. He simply couldn't believe it, after all this time, were the Gods truly listening to his prayers? Just as the dark haired male was about to take a step forward, he paused, hesitant.

How do I know this is a human who won't kill me on sight or some sort of weird… Creature? Jasper asked himself, tightly knitting his dark eyebrows together as he internally sought for an answer. However, he couldn't quite make out a clear picture of this stranger that was in the distance, as he only saw but a faint silhouette.

But that was the issue- Jasper realized he wouldn't know until he approached, and if death was at his doorstep, so be it. He wouldn't go down without a fight, anyways.

Taking a deep breath to ease his nerves and attempt to steady his racing heart, the dark haired male took a few more cautious steps forward, his gloved, metallic hand resting horizontally by his chest, ready to unsheathe his built-in knife if he so had to.

“Friend or foe?” Jasper called out, staying just a few feet away, using a nearby tree as some cover, gazing at this ax-wielding stranger with a soul-piercing stare with his cyan eyes.
Kaim | She/They | FR+2 | Gay rights alone will save our clan
U58SZuw.jpg
Encroaching on the dominant animal's lands was dangerous - a sign of challenge, a call to violence in the wilderness that slowly chipped away at the civilization and humanity of those who chose to reside within it's leafy shelter. Approaching a malnourished beast on its own lands - the unprovoked, unannounced arrival of a foreign creature who demands answers as if it were the one in its homeland - extremely dangerous. A dangerous game to play, a dangerous situation - especially in times like these, where even the food in the concrete jungle was getting scarce and those demons who roamed metal and rubble would soon come hunting on his turf.

Had that time finally come?

The man's approach registered to sharp, wood-stained eyes as hesitant, uncertain - as much out of his comfort zone as a spooked deer, registering the watching eyes of a predator ready to pounce. These days, even spooked deer held the raw, feral ability to tear a wolf apart if they were infected with contamination.

The stranger seemed nervous, trying to sense out the potential danger of the situation, weighing the pros and cons of continuing forwards or falling back. Ultimately, these days, there was no option of falling back if one wanted to survive. Backwards meant retracing a trail you'd previously left your scent on - a trail that could easily be picked up by a mutated beast, skills honed for the kill. Going back wasn't an option for the stranger if he had half a brain - he'd been chased right to Hansel, running from something worse than the idea of being murdered by the creature of these lands (friend or foe indeed).

Yet the man's demeanor did not seem threatening - though Hansel doubted that the man was unarmed. Nobody traveled unarmed anymore, not if they didn't have a death wish. This man, calling for friend or foe, hesitant to expose himself to a possible threat - those mannerisms did not point to a death wish. Self-preservation bled through those words like a raw wound; a longing that the German could not fault the other for having. Self-preservation was the only thing that kept the scraps of mankind alive after what had happened.

Not that he'd seen anyone in quite some time; the last stranger to have passed through his self-claimed territory having been... her. The girl of twelve, if not a day older, who'd begged him for help, who had claimed that her mother had been gored by one of the wild, mutated boars in the lower hills before the mountain. The girl that he'd taken in, who he'd treated the wounds of, who he'd fed...

Only to be awoken that night by her scream as the contamination took hold; a poison bled into her bloodstream through the wound she'd endured, the wound that he hadn't cleaned in time. A wound not inflicted by a boar, but by a knife - the knife of a gang member who was hunting the girl for her thievery.

He'd had no choice but to kill her - she was feral, she'd attacked him, left him with no choice between survival or mercy - and he'd given her body to the man who had come looking for her in exchange for a shaky truce. The man would remain alive and take the child's body back with him: his kind would not come searching for Hansel, would not know Hansel existed. A truce he hadn't trusted - slotting an arrow cleanly between the man's shoulder blades when the man, girl in his arms, was walking away.

The memory of his last contact with humanity left a bitter taste in his mouth - bitter like bile, worse than any amaranth or burdock could instill. A girl fated to suffer for the mistakes of others and die for the pains of an empty stomach and a conniving boy ready to murder a child for her hunger.

Strangers hadn't bode well for him in the past.

His hand rose slowly, showing the ax clutched by strong fingers - the fingers of a man who'd been raised in the wild, who'd chopped wood and climbed rocks for a living.

"That depends on whether or not your planning on using that weapon of yours, boy." His voice came out gruff and thick with accent; unfamiliar to his own ears. He hadn't had a reason to speak harshly for quite some time - since his last visitor, he'd suspect - and his ears had gotten used to the melodic tune that his throat rung when singing with the birds. But speaking? He hadn't had a reason to speak in a while.

He hadn't had someone to speak to in a while.
Encroaching on the dominant animal's lands was dangerous - a sign of challenge, a call to violence in the wilderness that slowly chipped away at the civilization and humanity of those who chose to reside within it's leafy shelter. Approaching a malnourished beast on its own lands - the unprovoked, unannounced arrival of a foreign creature who demands answers as if it were the one in its homeland - extremely dangerous. A dangerous game to play, a dangerous situation - especially in times like these, where even the food in the concrete jungle was getting scarce and those demons who roamed metal and rubble would soon come hunting on his turf.

Had that time finally come?

The man's approach registered to sharp, wood-stained eyes as hesitant, uncertain - as much out of his comfort zone as a spooked deer, registering the watching eyes of a predator ready to pounce. These days, even spooked deer held the raw, feral ability to tear a wolf apart if they were infected with contamination.

The stranger seemed nervous, trying to sense out the potential danger of the situation, weighing the pros and cons of continuing forwards or falling back. Ultimately, these days, there was no option of falling back if one wanted to survive. Backwards meant retracing a trail you'd previously left your scent on - a trail that could easily be picked up by a mutated beast, skills honed for the kill. Going back wasn't an option for the stranger if he had half a brain - he'd been chased right to Hansel, running from something worse than the idea of being murdered by the creature of these lands (friend or foe indeed).

Yet the man's demeanor did not seem threatening - though Hansel doubted that the man was unarmed. Nobody traveled unarmed anymore, not if they didn't have a death wish. This man, calling for friend or foe, hesitant to expose himself to a possible threat - those mannerisms did not point to a death wish. Self-preservation bled through those words like a raw wound; a longing that the German could not fault the other for having. Self-preservation was the only thing that kept the scraps of mankind alive after what had happened.

Not that he'd seen anyone in quite some time; the last stranger to have passed through his self-claimed territory having been... her. The girl of twelve, if not a day older, who'd begged him for help, who had claimed that her mother had been gored by one of the wild, mutated boars in the lower hills before the mountain. The girl that he'd taken in, who he'd treated the wounds of, who he'd fed...

Only to be awoken that night by her scream as the contamination took hold; a poison bled into her bloodstream through the wound she'd endured, the wound that he hadn't cleaned in time. A wound not inflicted by a boar, but by a knife - the knife of a gang member who was hunting the girl for her thievery.

He'd had no choice but to kill her - she was feral, she'd attacked him, left him with no choice between survival or mercy - and he'd given her body to the man who had come looking for her in exchange for a shaky truce. The man would remain alive and take the child's body back with him: his kind would not come searching for Hansel, would not know Hansel existed. A truce he hadn't trusted - slotting an arrow cleanly between the man's shoulder blades when the man, girl in his arms, was walking away.

The memory of his last contact with humanity left a bitter taste in his mouth - bitter like bile, worse than any amaranth or burdock could instill. A girl fated to suffer for the mistakes of others and die for the pains of an empty stomach and a conniving boy ready to murder a child for her hunger.

Strangers hadn't bode well for him in the past.

His hand rose slowly, showing the ax clutched by strong fingers - the fingers of a man who'd been raised in the wild, who'd chopped wood and climbed rocks for a living.

"That depends on whether or not your planning on using that weapon of yours, boy." His voice came out gruff and thick with accent; unfamiliar to his own ears. He hadn't had a reason to speak harshly for quite some time - since his last visitor, he'd suspect - and his ears had gotten used to the melodic tune that his throat rung when singing with the birds. But speaking? He hadn't had a reason to speak in a while.

He hadn't had someone to speak to in a while.
vjV8ZMm.gif
Emitting a hushed growl through gritted teeth, Jasper found that this stranger had a point. Even though it may seem like he was unarmed, the blade the rested inside of his prosthetic arm clearly said otherwise, and he let his metallic arm fall back to his side, defeated.

Taking a step to the side so that he wasn't covered by the tree any longer -though the provided shade left him some cover from the exposing light- the dark haired male simply clutched his dark hued mask in his hand, his cyan gaze burning with a fiery determination that scorched his very soul. He had to try his hardest to not feel even the least bit intimidated, as he knew he was capable of doing just about anything, so long as he refused to let his iron will be crumbled, crushed into a million tiny pieces- much like how his hope was when it shattered the day he should have died.

Clenching his metallic and fleshy hand alike into a tight fist, Jasper kept his cyan gaze locked firmly on the stranger ahead, keeping up his defensive demeanor as he wasn't sure how unpredictable this man could be. He had to be prepared at all times.

“Since when is a poor souls prosthetic arm a weapon?” The dark haired male spoke in a more sarcastic manner, yet it also seemed to linger with a hint of hostility in his thick French accent. Slowly raising his cloth-covered arms, Jasper simply let his hands rest on the back of his head, almost as if he was trying to convey that he wasn't as deadly as he could be. It wasn't quite fair, how was it that he had to appear as if he was defenseless, but yet this other male could wield an ax with no issues whatsoever? There was something he didn't know- and that was common, Jasper didn't know much about anybody that lived in this mess of a plagued land.

What a shame, too, as the land was once beautiful, healthy, and people were able to show their true emotions, not have to hide behind an empty mask of fear and become a hollow shell of what they used to be… Jasper was one of those people… He used to be happy as a child growing up, but once the wars began and the radioactivity swept across the entire Earth, he was robbed. Robbed of his family, his friends, even his own emotions.

For a long time, the dark haired male had forgotten who he was. He had grown accustomed to the cruel fates and having to constantly act aggressive just so he could stay alive… What was it like to be happy?

“Just who are you, ax-wielder? Why do you roam the forests instead of seeking refuge in the towns ahead?” Sure, the questions sounded rather personal and definitely not something to ask to someone you've only known for about a minute -that felt like an eternity- but Jasper was used to having to question people. He had to be personal with people in order to get information, though some of these situations involved using an unpleasant amount of force and threats.

However, a part of him was genuinely curious, but it was greatly overthrown by his on-guard demeanor and reserved nature. The dark haired male couldn't quite recall the last time he had ever seen a human wandering the woods, and when he did, they were either being chased, near death, or transformed into those horrid monsters. This may have been the first time that Jasper had seen a real person in the forest.
Emitting a hushed growl through gritted teeth, Jasper found that this stranger had a point. Even though it may seem like he was unarmed, the blade the rested inside of his prosthetic arm clearly said otherwise, and he let his metallic arm fall back to his side, defeated.

Taking a step to the side so that he wasn't covered by the tree any longer -though the provided shade left him some cover from the exposing light- the dark haired male simply clutched his dark hued mask in his hand, his cyan gaze burning with a fiery determination that scorched his very soul. He had to try his hardest to not feel even the least bit intimidated, as he knew he was capable of doing just about anything, so long as he refused to let his iron will be crumbled, crushed into a million tiny pieces- much like how his hope was when it shattered the day he should have died.

Clenching his metallic and fleshy hand alike into a tight fist, Jasper kept his cyan gaze locked firmly on the stranger ahead, keeping up his defensive demeanor as he wasn't sure how unpredictable this man could be. He had to be prepared at all times.

“Since when is a poor souls prosthetic arm a weapon?” The dark haired male spoke in a more sarcastic manner, yet it also seemed to linger with a hint of hostility in his thick French accent. Slowly raising his cloth-covered arms, Jasper simply let his hands rest on the back of his head, almost as if he was trying to convey that he wasn't as deadly as he could be. It wasn't quite fair, how was it that he had to appear as if he was defenseless, but yet this other male could wield an ax with no issues whatsoever? There was something he didn't know- and that was common, Jasper didn't know much about anybody that lived in this mess of a plagued land.

What a shame, too, as the land was once beautiful, healthy, and people were able to show their true emotions, not have to hide behind an empty mask of fear and become a hollow shell of what they used to be… Jasper was one of those people… He used to be happy as a child growing up, but once the wars began and the radioactivity swept across the entire Earth, he was robbed. Robbed of his family, his friends, even his own emotions.

For a long time, the dark haired male had forgotten who he was. He had grown accustomed to the cruel fates and having to constantly act aggressive just so he could stay alive… What was it like to be happy?

“Just who are you, ax-wielder? Why do you roam the forests instead of seeking refuge in the towns ahead?” Sure, the questions sounded rather personal and definitely not something to ask to someone you've only known for about a minute -that felt like an eternity- but Jasper was used to having to question people. He had to be personal with people in order to get information, though some of these situations involved using an unpleasant amount of force and threats.

However, a part of him was genuinely curious, but it was greatly overthrown by his on-guard demeanor and reserved nature. The dark haired male couldn't quite recall the last time he had ever seen a human wandering the woods, and when he did, they were either being chased, near death, or transformed into those horrid monsters. This may have been the first time that Jasper had seen a real person in the forest.
Kaim | She/They | FR+2 | Gay rights alone will save our clan
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He could not help himself - the corners of his lips quirked up in bemusement at the stranger's blatant sarcasm, hostility noted in the way that Hansel's hackles rose from unseen provocation that fell to tones made to be unheard. Since when, indeed. Around the same time that humans abandoned their humanity to a scientist's catastrophic failure and began to use their teeth and nails as weapons.

"Since it became survival of the fittest. Bone breaks before treated, worked metal does when under pressure." A keen gaze took in the newly revealed features of the stranger as he spoke, words as much of an answer to the man's question as a stalling tactic, ensuring that words drove as distractions and filled a silence while an upper hand was attempted to be gained; woodland predator appraising the subject in front of him.

Thick, dark eyebrows rose at the stranger's submissive movements caught the German by surprise, hazel eyes watching with disbelief as hands - one metallic, most likely strong enough to crush his windpipe with ease should he want to - raised up, clasping behind his head -- those scars. They stood in stark contrast to the unmarred flesh that they outnumbered, markings of stories that told brutal endings and painful sufferings. Scars that he'd never once imagined he'd see marring a single individual - there were so many. So... many.

What had the younger man been through? What had he SURVIVED through?

Submission was not expected yet Hansel read it as what he assumed it to be: a truce of a sort, a momentary promise to avoid violence, if only to illuminate the mystery surrounding both, stranger to stranger. His paranoia, momentarily subdued by the discovery of the maps tracing the stranger's skin, gave way to his next action.

Against every fiber of his survival instincts, Hansel glanced away from the younger man and drove his ax into the ground at his own feet, straightening up and showing the other man his now-empty hands. It left him vulnerable - human flesh and bone against an arm of metal was a severe disadvantage - yet it eased the conscious within him that still existed: he refused to cause anymore unneeded pain or suffering to someone who had obviously been through so much already.

Maybe his humanity would be the death of him yet, but then at least Hansel would be able to die saying that he'd not been a complete monster.

"I could ask you the same question." Hansel couldn't find it in himself to drive the same threatening bite into his words as before - the existence of those scars seared into his mind. "These are my lands. Always have been, always will be. These river waters flow in my veins, the trunks of these trees straighten my spine, the moss beneath your feet has written into it my very history."

If fondness crept into his voice, accent thickening with emotion that he hid behind a mask of stoicism - none was the wiser. Memories of thick foliage and healthy trees, of a younger sister chasing her older brother barefoot through the unseen paths, of a family happy, showing outsiders the magic found within their little realm of nature paradise.

"Why would I want to go to a city full of corpses faking humanity when I could remain here, where nothing pretends to be what it isn't? Life is simple here... as simple as it can be."
He could not help himself - the corners of his lips quirked up in bemusement at the stranger's blatant sarcasm, hostility noted in the way that Hansel's hackles rose from unseen provocation that fell to tones made to be unheard. Since when, indeed. Around the same time that humans abandoned their humanity to a scientist's catastrophic failure and began to use their teeth and nails as weapons.

"Since it became survival of the fittest. Bone breaks before treated, worked metal does when under pressure." A keen gaze took in the newly revealed features of the stranger as he spoke, words as much of an answer to the man's question as a stalling tactic, ensuring that words drove as distractions and filled a silence while an upper hand was attempted to be gained; woodland predator appraising the subject in front of him.

Thick, dark eyebrows rose at the stranger's submissive movements caught the German by surprise, hazel eyes watching with disbelief as hands - one metallic, most likely strong enough to crush his windpipe with ease should he want to - raised up, clasping behind his head -- those scars. They stood in stark contrast to the unmarred flesh that they outnumbered, markings of stories that told brutal endings and painful sufferings. Scars that he'd never once imagined he'd see marring a single individual - there were so many. So... many.

What had the younger man been through? What had he SURVIVED through?

Submission was not expected yet Hansel read it as what he assumed it to be: a truce of a sort, a momentary promise to avoid violence, if only to illuminate the mystery surrounding both, stranger to stranger. His paranoia, momentarily subdued by the discovery of the maps tracing the stranger's skin, gave way to his next action.

Against every fiber of his survival instincts, Hansel glanced away from the younger man and drove his ax into the ground at his own feet, straightening up and showing the other man his now-empty hands. It left him vulnerable - human flesh and bone against an arm of metal was a severe disadvantage - yet it eased the conscious within him that still existed: he refused to cause anymore unneeded pain or suffering to someone who had obviously been through so much already.

Maybe his humanity would be the death of him yet, but then at least Hansel would be able to die saying that he'd not been a complete monster.

"I could ask you the same question." Hansel couldn't find it in himself to drive the same threatening bite into his words as before - the existence of those scars seared into his mind. "These are my lands. Always have been, always will be. These river waters flow in my veins, the trunks of these trees straighten my spine, the moss beneath your feet has written into it my very history."

If fondness crept into his voice, accent thickening with emotion that he hid behind a mask of stoicism - none was the wiser. Memories of thick foliage and healthy trees, of a younger sister chasing her older brother barefoot through the unseen paths, of a family happy, showing outsiders the magic found within their little realm of nature paradise.

"Why would I want to go to a city full of corpses faking humanity when I could remain here, where nothing pretends to be what it isn't? Life is simple here... as simple as it can be."
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Biting down on his lower lip upon hearing the stranger speak, Jasper couldn't help but understand that he had a point… The towns were lifeless, and lies became the new truths.

The townspeople were excellent liars- and Jasper knew that more than anyone. He had heard the same things, ‘I won't hurt you’, ‘You’re safe with me’, those words rang in his ears, empty lies… All of them. He should have known better back then, it would have prevented so many issues… And the dark haired male thought that he knew better when the gang introduced him into their group, their headquarters… They promised protection as long as Jasper played his part- a cruel part, one he prefers to not speak of.

There was blood on his hands. So much blood from the lives of innocents who failed to follow the rules… The dark haired male was lifeless at that time, blindly following orders from an unnamed master like a lowly dog; it was cruel, ending so many lives. Jasper was called a wide array of colorful names for what he had done, and it all came back to him the day the gang sent their ‘precious’ Chimera after him.

A shaken sigh escaped past his parted lips. More fond memories to keep me up at night. Jasper thought to himself, irritation nipping at his composed well-being.

After all he had done, it was a wonder how anybody could possibly trust him.

Still, Jasper was unable to grow just a tad defensive with the place he grew up being called lifeless, untrustworthy... Beings he perhaps once could call his friends, or even his family.

In a more defensive manner, the dark haired male pointed his metallic finger in the other male’s general direction, narrowing his cyan eyes as they burned with hostility. Trying to be friendly was proving to be rather difficult.

“Watch it, those towns were once full of an abundance of life. Before those wars started-” And he cut himself off, balling his prosthetic hand into a tight fist. I was once happy. He finished in his mind, another shaken sigh rolling off of his tongue.

It was as if his past was coming back to him full force with absolutely no remorse- he remembered when his father was sent off into battle and never returned, he remembered his mother who never smiled, he remembered his friends, battered and bruised and bloodied when the contamination spread like wildfire throughout the nations.

How has he been the only one in his town to survive for so long?

“Look, all I need is some food and rest, that's all I've been searching for… Aside from a place to call home.” The dark haired male spoke a bit quietly as he remembered the gang, despite being amongst one of the cruelest group of people to come out of a radioactive contamination, treated him with kindness and hospitality. Jasper knew that they still accepted him as one of their own, and he knew that nothing in this new age would be picture perfect- at least, not in the way that it was before. You couldn't join a group of people without there being extreme consequences and actions that had to be done.

Jasper was ready for those responsibilities, or so he thought. Never in his twenty-seven years of living would he have imagined having to ever slaughtered people who broke one rule, nor did he think he would still be haunted by their agonizing screaming two years later.
Biting down on his lower lip upon hearing the stranger speak, Jasper couldn't help but understand that he had a point… The towns were lifeless, and lies became the new truths.

The townspeople were excellent liars- and Jasper knew that more than anyone. He had heard the same things, ‘I won't hurt you’, ‘You’re safe with me’, those words rang in his ears, empty lies… All of them. He should have known better back then, it would have prevented so many issues… And the dark haired male thought that he knew better when the gang introduced him into their group, their headquarters… They promised protection as long as Jasper played his part- a cruel part, one he prefers to not speak of.

There was blood on his hands. So much blood from the lives of innocents who failed to follow the rules… The dark haired male was lifeless at that time, blindly following orders from an unnamed master like a lowly dog; it was cruel, ending so many lives. Jasper was called a wide array of colorful names for what he had done, and it all came back to him the day the gang sent their ‘precious’ Chimera after him.

A shaken sigh escaped past his parted lips. More fond memories to keep me up at night. Jasper thought to himself, irritation nipping at his composed well-being.

After all he had done, it was a wonder how anybody could possibly trust him.

Still, Jasper was unable to grow just a tad defensive with the place he grew up being called lifeless, untrustworthy... Beings he perhaps once could call his friends, or even his family.

In a more defensive manner, the dark haired male pointed his metallic finger in the other male’s general direction, narrowing his cyan eyes as they burned with hostility. Trying to be friendly was proving to be rather difficult.

“Watch it, those towns were once full of an abundance of life. Before those wars started-” And he cut himself off, balling his prosthetic hand into a tight fist. I was once happy. He finished in his mind, another shaken sigh rolling off of his tongue.

It was as if his past was coming back to him full force with absolutely no remorse- he remembered when his father was sent off into battle and never returned, he remembered his mother who never smiled, he remembered his friends, battered and bruised and bloodied when the contamination spread like wildfire throughout the nations.

How has he been the only one in his town to survive for so long?

“Look, all I need is some food and rest, that's all I've been searching for… Aside from a place to call home.” The dark haired male spoke a bit quietly as he remembered the gang, despite being amongst one of the cruelest group of people to come out of a radioactive contamination, treated him with kindness and hospitality. Jasper knew that they still accepted him as one of their own, and he knew that nothing in this new age would be picture perfect- at least, not in the way that it was before. You couldn't join a group of people without there being extreme consequences and actions that had to be done.

Jasper was ready for those responsibilities, or so he thought. Never in his twenty-seven years of living would he have imagined having to ever slaughtered people who broke one rule, nor did he think he would still be haunted by their agonizing screaming two years later.
Kaim | She/They | FR+2 | Gay rights alone will save our clan
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Lips pursed in rekindled agitation, eyes narrowing on the stranger as a finger pointed his way. The action wasn't one of danger, per say, yet it had the German's shoulders tightening and raising up to his ears, ready for an act of aggression from the other. And he'd thought that they were getting along well (well enough that they hadn't tried to kill each other yet).

He'd tried to show the younger a spark of kindness; tried to offer the man a sign that he wouldn't hurt him - that he was safe, at least for the time being - at least until the man gave him any reason not to be. He'd thrown down his weapon and bared empty hands in a show of vulnerability seeking trust. And how had he responded? Defensively.

Ungrateful little... who could blame him, though? Hansel certainly couldn't, despite the tight ridge of his lips and the arms that rose to cross across his chest in a stance that, had his younger sister been around, she would have described as his 'I'm not impressed' look. Judging by the stranger's current complexion: the scars, the out-of-breath way he'd stumbled into the German's lands, the fact that he'd dared to venture into the forest of mutated animals alone suggested that the younger man had seen his fair share of unfriendly strangers in the past - how was he to know if Hansel was any different? The stranger certainly had his fair share of scars, his fair share of memories, if the haunted look in his eyes was anything to go off of.

No, there was no fault to be found in a reaction of self-defense, even if it was frustrating.

Hansel wouldn't waste words arguing with the younger man on what had once existed. It was pointless; towns had once been filled to the brim with bubbling, joyous life, but that life was now nowhere to be seen. Stamped out by the brutality and merciless endeavors that survival called for. By the worst aspects of humanity: selfishness, aggression, cruelty, murder. The past wasn't perfect, but compared to the world they inhabited now, it was paradise.

A hand rose to rub a forehead wrinkled by scrunched eyebrows in the attempt to rid himself of the headache he was sure would build soon, unintentionally smearing dirt across it in the process. Humans. He'd forgotten how vexing it could be when dealing with them; miscommunications, misconceptions, assumptions. Dancing around the topic, veiled threats, wild emotions. Suddenly he was glad that he hadn't had anyone stick around with him over the years - glad, tainted by the barest pinprick of slow, stewing loneliness that he disregarded.

He'd be lying if he said that he hadn't missed the companionship of another human being the last little while, but he'd also be lying if he said that he hadn't completely not missed it. Humans had their pros and cons, just as the nature around him did.

"That's a lot of ask for in a time like this." His words were softer, less harsh as he gave the other man a final stare before leaning down and yanking his ax out of the soil that he'd buried it in. There was little point to the display he'd offered - the stranger hadn't been receptive of it, so he might as well not go unarmed any longer than necessary. Yet he was still mindful of the other's possible perception of the situation; carefully keeping his eyes off of the younger man as he secured the ax in its holder at his waste and then knelt back down, fingers carefully prodding the ground where he'd pulled the amaranth up, searching for signs of another weed at its seedling stage - a possible food source in the future.

"People don't leave the city without good reason. The only other person that has come through here in the last two years was running from a past she couldn't escape, hunted down by the gang murderers that still call themselves humans."

The words were said casually, eyebrows knitting together upon the ooze of a mossy clump near, causing the quick withdrawal of his hand and his admitted defeat that there was nothing edible left in this patch.

"Why should I help you?"
Lips pursed in rekindled agitation, eyes narrowing on the stranger as a finger pointed his way. The action wasn't one of danger, per say, yet it had the German's shoulders tightening and raising up to his ears, ready for an act of aggression from the other. And he'd thought that they were getting along well (well enough that they hadn't tried to kill each other yet).

He'd tried to show the younger a spark of kindness; tried to offer the man a sign that he wouldn't hurt him - that he was safe, at least for the time being - at least until the man gave him any reason not to be. He'd thrown down his weapon and bared empty hands in a show of vulnerability seeking trust. And how had he responded? Defensively.

Ungrateful little... who could blame him, though? Hansel certainly couldn't, despite the tight ridge of his lips and the arms that rose to cross across his chest in a stance that, had his younger sister been around, she would have described as his 'I'm not impressed' look. Judging by the stranger's current complexion: the scars, the out-of-breath way he'd stumbled into the German's lands, the fact that he'd dared to venture into the forest of mutated animals alone suggested that the younger man had seen his fair share of unfriendly strangers in the past - how was he to know if Hansel was any different? The stranger certainly had his fair share of scars, his fair share of memories, if the haunted look in his eyes was anything to go off of.

No, there was no fault to be found in a reaction of self-defense, even if it was frustrating.

Hansel wouldn't waste words arguing with the younger man on what had once existed. It was pointless; towns had once been filled to the brim with bubbling, joyous life, but that life was now nowhere to be seen. Stamped out by the brutality and merciless endeavors that survival called for. By the worst aspects of humanity: selfishness, aggression, cruelty, murder. The past wasn't perfect, but compared to the world they inhabited now, it was paradise.

A hand rose to rub a forehead wrinkled by scrunched eyebrows in the attempt to rid himself of the headache he was sure would build soon, unintentionally smearing dirt across it in the process. Humans. He'd forgotten how vexing it could be when dealing with them; miscommunications, misconceptions, assumptions. Dancing around the topic, veiled threats, wild emotions. Suddenly he was glad that he hadn't had anyone stick around with him over the years - glad, tainted by the barest pinprick of slow, stewing loneliness that he disregarded.

He'd be lying if he said that he hadn't missed the companionship of another human being the last little while, but he'd also be lying if he said that he hadn't completely not missed it. Humans had their pros and cons, just as the nature around him did.

"That's a lot of ask for in a time like this." His words were softer, less harsh as he gave the other man a final stare before leaning down and yanking his ax out of the soil that he'd buried it in. There was little point to the display he'd offered - the stranger hadn't been receptive of it, so he might as well not go unarmed any longer than necessary. Yet he was still mindful of the other's possible perception of the situation; carefully keeping his eyes off of the younger man as he secured the ax in its holder at his waste and then knelt back down, fingers carefully prodding the ground where he'd pulled the amaranth up, searching for signs of another weed at its seedling stage - a possible food source in the future.

"People don't leave the city without good reason. The only other person that has come through here in the last two years was running from a past she couldn't escape, hunted down by the gang murderers that still call themselves humans."

The words were said casually, eyebrows knitting together upon the ooze of a mossy clump near, causing the quick withdrawal of his hand and his admitted defeat that there was nothing edible left in this patch.

"Why should I help you?"
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He knew he had messed up at that point- and that only made the dark haired male even more irritated. Allowing his hands to fall loosely down at his side, the dark hued mask in his fleshy hand clutched tightly, digging his blunt nails into the soft fabric of his mask that began to lightly dig into his soft flesh.

Jasper knew very well what he was asking for could be something he wasn't deserving of- he was better off trying to beg his old gang for forgiveness, even if it meant risking his life for safety and lies to fill his mind.

I shouldn't have decided to speak, I should've just kept my mouth shut. An irritated sigh rolled off of his tongue, and the dark haired male reached his prosthetic up to lightly grip at his jet hued hair that stuck to his forehead. He wished he hadn't developed a naturally aggressive attitude, as it prevented him from making potential truces with other people who hadn't lost their sanity to the contamination and starvation that ravaged the land.

When was the last time he was genuinely kind? When was the last time he smiled?

“If you offer me even a little bit of help, I'll be out of your hair by tomorrow.” Sure, it wasn't the most convincing thing he had to offer, but Jasper knew very well that if he continued his extremely hostile nature that even ‘a little bit’ of help would be close to impossible. He had to do something, and there wasn't much to steal from… Besides, Jasper couldn't say he actually knew the land of the wood all too well. He was only told that the plants were toxic and unsafe to eat… But that was another lie, it seemed.

Did they say that lie just so he wouldn't try to escape? From their grasp?

Shaking his head a few times, the dark haired male almost appeared as if he was defeated. Where had his willpower gone so soon? Was it because of his lack of energy, his starvation and dehydration that was mixed in what he assumed was an open scar along his back that caused his determined persona to evaporate into thin air? This wasn't a good sign, it only meant Jasper was weaker, and especially so alone.

“I don't plan on hurting you unless I have a valid reason to. And so far, I don't.” Jasper explained, a bit of a sour taste in his tone as he spoke, dark eyebrows knitting together in a manner that reflected his internal conflict and turmoil that corrupted his being, the being that could be accepting and welcoming with open arms.

He couldn't be that man anymore, and he didn't want to hurt anyone who was innocent any longer.

“Would it be too much to ask for a name?” Were the last words to roll off of the dark haired male’s tongue, as if he was attempting to come off as even a little bit friendly as opposed to his usual nature.
He knew he had messed up at that point- and that only made the dark haired male even more irritated. Allowing his hands to fall loosely down at his side, the dark hued mask in his fleshy hand clutched tightly, digging his blunt nails into the soft fabric of his mask that began to lightly dig into his soft flesh.

Jasper knew very well what he was asking for could be something he wasn't deserving of- he was better off trying to beg his old gang for forgiveness, even if it meant risking his life for safety and lies to fill his mind.

I shouldn't have decided to speak, I should've just kept my mouth shut. An irritated sigh rolled off of his tongue, and the dark haired male reached his prosthetic up to lightly grip at his jet hued hair that stuck to his forehead. He wished he hadn't developed a naturally aggressive attitude, as it prevented him from making potential truces with other people who hadn't lost their sanity to the contamination and starvation that ravaged the land.

When was the last time he was genuinely kind? When was the last time he smiled?

“If you offer me even a little bit of help, I'll be out of your hair by tomorrow.” Sure, it wasn't the most convincing thing he had to offer, but Jasper knew very well that if he continued his extremely hostile nature that even ‘a little bit’ of help would be close to impossible. He had to do something, and there wasn't much to steal from… Besides, Jasper couldn't say he actually knew the land of the wood all too well. He was only told that the plants were toxic and unsafe to eat… But that was another lie, it seemed.

Did they say that lie just so he wouldn't try to escape? From their grasp?

Shaking his head a few times, the dark haired male almost appeared as if he was defeated. Where had his willpower gone so soon? Was it because of his lack of energy, his starvation and dehydration that was mixed in what he assumed was an open scar along his back that caused his determined persona to evaporate into thin air? This wasn't a good sign, it only meant Jasper was weaker, and especially so alone.

“I don't plan on hurting you unless I have a valid reason to. And so far, I don't.” Jasper explained, a bit of a sour taste in his tone as he spoke, dark eyebrows knitting together in a manner that reflected his internal conflict and turmoil that corrupted his being, the being that could be accepting and welcoming with open arms.

He couldn't be that man anymore, and he didn't want to hurt anyone who was innocent any longer.

“Would it be too much to ask for a name?” Were the last words to roll off of the dark haired male’s tongue, as if he was attempting to come off as even a little bit friendly as opposed to his usual nature.
Kaim | She/They | FR+2 | Gay rights alone will save our clan
U58SZuw.jpg
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