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Post by England on Sept 17, 2012 12:56:42 GMT -5
[Nobody's going to leave anyone anytime soon, eh? xD]
"Well I don't see any other ways down, do you?" England crossed his arms and raised a brow, tapping his foot impatiently. The longer they waited, the longer Scotland took to scan their surroundings, the more chances they had of being surrounded by the zombies that were now moaning and screeching in the alleyway next to their building. Hopefully, there wouldn't be many zombies around when they did get down.
"Besides, do you think they'll actually hear the creaking of a metal staircase over the ruckus they're making right now? It's practically deafening." And it was a constant background noise that had England's ears straining to catch other noises that could be signs of imminent danger or not. It never ceased to make England feel on-edge, and he was sure that by the time they got someplace relatively silent, he would still be hearing their cries echoing in his head. The haunting noise would never leave him alone.
He waited for his brother to finish his assessment before joining his side, looking down. It was true that the ladder seemed rickety and rusted, so it would most definitely creak. Did they actually need to concern themselves about it, though?
"Alright, if you suggest it be like that, then we could try." he shrugged, figuring he may as well trust his brother with this. "As long as this 'bait' doesn't involve cutting my arm off and throwing it away for the zombies to chew on while we sneak off."
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Post by Scotland on Sept 18, 2012 11:39:38 GMT -5
[So it seems.]
He ignored a lot of England's whinging and comments while he assessed the situation. He was far too used to them and was pretty good at ignoring the blather that spilled out of his brother's mouth. Criticisms, complaints, orders, pretty much anything he didn't want to hear.
He grinned at England's suggestion of offering some arm candy to the mob below. "Nae, that'd only rile 'em up. Only one o' us really needs go. Th' other can be...bait."
He looked down at the store and then back at the ladders, cupping his chin in his free hand. Then he looked back at England and reached for his face, grabbing for one of England's cheeks with his fingers. "Ye lookin' a mite thin lately, South," he mused, using one of the kinder nicknames in his arsenal. "Ya should eat moor. Eat them hamburgers th' lad makes."
He didn't think he'd have to explain which of their boys he was referring to, as it was pretty obvious who specialized in hamburgers, even if his favorite type was made by a Scottish-via-Ireland family. England had always been too skinny, and he looked even thinner now. It wasn't a good look on him.
Then he tugged on the shoulder strap of the empty duffel he'd managed to retain since it was under his cloak when he dumped the survival pack. "But ya wouldn' know good whisky if it bit ya on th' arse. So yoo're staying here ta be the bait."
[Pause here to let England react]
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Post by England on Sept 19, 2012 8:55:37 GMT -5
As soon as Scotland mentioned the human bait, England became suspicious and tensed. He carefully watched his brother's movements and growled, slapping his hand away when he grabbed one of his cheeks.
"I'll eat whatever I want. Was it unclear that I hate those heart attacks on buns?" Still, in a survival context like this, he couldn't be picky, so food was food. He couldn't afford to be skinny, either, because weak bones and frail limbs wouldn't be able to support him as he ran, fought, and climbed. For once, he did acknowledge that his brother was right, though he refused to admit it. He'd just have to take care of his physique a little more and pretend it wasn't his brother's comment that sparked the initiative.
"Tch. I should have figured you'd go for the booze. Also, I'll have you know I have great taste in alcohol. It just so happens that I blindly pick up whatever guarantees me a good few dead brain cells." England huffed when the decision was made, though there was no point in contesting it. Scotland would never budge.
Instead, he removed his pack and pulled out his own duffel bag, unfolding it and handing it to his brother. "You know what I'm asking for." Rum, sweet rum that he hadn't gotten to taste in a long while. "How about we meet right here in, say... fifteen minutes? I'll take the uglies for a jog around the block." he zipped his pack back up and swung it on his back, adjusting the straps tight and grasping his gun in his hands. "Who knows, maybe we'll all work up an appetite."
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Post by Scotland on Sept 20, 2012 9:50:29 GMT -5
Scotland waited for England to whinge and complain, and accepted the second duffle bag being offered to him. He shoved it inside the duffle already hung on his shoulder. "Aye, I get yer rum. An' one moor thin'...."
Letting the sentence trail off, he reached out to grab for a handful of England's shirt at the base of his throat. "Yer stayin' up here. Can't have ye snappin' in half while they're chasin' ya. Ya'd be shite fer eatin'."
The redhead pointed at the ladders dropped on the ground. "Yer gonna use one o' those an' make a right good racket. Draw everythin to that side."
He then pointed at the side of the building that they had crossed on the ladders. Hopefully the zombies would be so distracted by England making loud noises they wouldn't notice him on the ladder, and wouldn't notice him cross the street either. "If it be too thick when I come oot, I'll get one bike. I'll pull up ta the ladder an' we outrun the crowd, ya ken?"
Having England on the ground was the last thing he wanted. Better he stay up here, out of reach and do his best to look and sound delicious. After the door to the roof was shored up a bit more to ensure no zombies climbed the stairs. Maybe he could jam the second ladder against it.
To Scotland, his plan was ideal. It had a plan B built right in. They wouldn't have survived all this time as Great Britain and established so many colonies if they hadn't been able to work as a team.
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Post by England on Sept 26, 2012 19:00:01 GMT -5
((Omg so late I'm sorry. The worst part is, I totally had the reply written, I just thought I'd replied already ;A; ))
"Stop implying I'm incapable of doing anything!" England growled, clenching his fists. Why wouldn't he trust him? Why wouldn't he let him go down? Scotland had no authority over him, so he could do what he wanted, but he just furiously wondered why he didn't want him on the ground. Did he think he could take care of himself? Did he really have to do something rash to prove to him that he wasn't as weak as he seemed to think he was? And who was he to give him orders? He wanted a say in it, too. He didn't want to stay up on the roof, playing it safe while his brother was down there risking his life. It wasn't anything about being worried, no, of course not. Scotland could take care of himself, England had no doubt. It was just that it frustrated him that Scotland didn't seem to think he was capable of doing what he was doing. Still treating him like the little kid that used to run away from him.
England didn't want to be treated like he was inferior. He could do just as many things as his brother, and he wanted to prove it. Still, he said nothing, not because he felt like victimizing himself, but more because he knew that arguing right now would be unwise. Keep calm, he told himself, keep calm and yell once you're both out of trouble.
"Fine, I'll throw a party and invite the zombies, so get going before I kick you off the building." he put a few steps between them, and then turned around just to glare at him. "And for god's sake, make it quick. I don't want to stay here a second longer than I have to. That, and don't get eaten. Holler if you need someone to come save your sorry arse." he was not concerned, because he was sure that Scotland would be fine, unless the odds turned completely against them. Still, it did give him personal satisfaction that he'd turned Scotland's implications about England's capability to take care of himself against him.
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Post by Scotland on Oct 4, 2012 8:43:36 GMT -5
(You're fine. I was gone anyway, and now so tired/jet-lagged I can't do all my posts at once. I had to put them in priority order with multi-player threads coming first. Finally getting to this one)
"There's no point in me even going back if you don't," Scotland said matter-of-factly as he tried to jam the ladder under the doorknob to the stairwell door. He kicked and kicked the ladder as hard as he could to make sure it was securely jammed into place. His rough treatment bent the ladder in places, but nothing broke. It wouldn't hold forever, but it would definitely slow things down.
"They need ye more than me." He pointed at his own temple, indicating England should think about it. "So shut yer wheesht /shut up/!"
With that, Scotland climbed over the ledge onto the stairway zig-zagging its way down the side of the building. He moved as quietly as his boots meeting metal would let him, not running, but pausing on each landing to wait and see if England's distraction techniques would be effective. It would be easier for both of them to go, as they could be in and out twice as fast with two hands, and with as much as he planned to get, his load leaving was going to be twice as heavy as originally planned. With the amount of zombie attention they had, however, there was no way to get into the store and have the time to loot it without zombies coming in after them.
[ugh, that's the best I can come up with. Yes, he did just tell England to shut his shut up. XD]
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Post by England on Oct 4, 2012 19:13:39 GMT -5
((I think that's hilarious. I was wondering about England having to shut his shut up. Here's the mun translating that confusion into the muse: ))
England watched him go silently, but only because he was momentarily taken aback by his words. Not just the fact that he'd told him to shut his.... shut up?, but also because he'd implied something he never thought he'd hear from someone like Scotland. And the fact that he had heard it coming from him was extremely destabilizing. Hearing confident, smug, strong Scotland imply that he was more important than himself was a lot more disheartening than he thought it would be. In fact he felt only minimally triumphant when his brother said so and left. He'd always wanted the recognition, but not at the expense of anyone else.
It wasn't about Scotland himself. England just didn't want to make anyone feel inferior. He heavily doubted Scotland had an inferiority complex, but just once was enough. Unity was their only advantage in this situation, and unity implied that everyone had to be equal. There would be no talk of one being more important than the other. England wouldn't let that happen. Damn Scotland for pissing him off with everything he said. It was his fault if England did something rash.
Deciding to get started with his mission already, England ran to the edge of the building and grabbed the ladder. It was heavy, but England was not weak, either, so it didn't take him much effort to lean over the edge and slam the metal ladder against the outer brick wall of the building. The shock resonated through his bones, but at least it was loud enough to grab mass attention. England repeated the move a few more times before pulling the ladder back and letting it drop noisily on the ground before swinging his gun around and gripping it tightly in his hands.
"Hey, undead scum!" he yelled, leaning over the side of the building as far as he could go. To his delight, the noise had attracted many of the zombies' attention, and many more were honing in on him, moaning loudly. "Look up at me, don't I look just bloody delicious to eat!?" the answer was a series of plaintive moans and reaching hands. "Then keep looking up here! My brother may be an asshole, but I'm not letting you eat him!" he then clicked the safety off his gun and aimed over the edge of the building at the mob below. Thankfully, from such a high vantage point, his chances of hitting the head by shooting into a crowd were a lot larger than regular. Letting a smirk fall onto his face, he bent into firing position and aimed. "It's just you and me now, you zombie bastards!"
Shots ran out in the air.
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Post by Scotland on Oct 8, 2012 8:54:57 GMT -5
Scotland waited until it appeared that England had indeed grabbed the attention of the crowd below, and then he hurried down the stairs. When he hit the ground, he didn't waste a moment, rapidly disappearing around the corner and out of the view (and hopefully the attention) of the zombies looking up at England as if he were messiah returned to Earth. He didn't even register the insult, he was far too used to them.
He flattened himself against the wall to wait for a late arriving zombie to trudge by the end of the alley, and then rushed forward to reach the edge of the road. Looking right gave him a view of the zombie overflow at the other side of the building, all eyes and hands reached upward towards the nation making all the delicious-sounding noise. When he returned, he could ask England what it felt like to be a rock star. Looking to the left gave him a mostly deserted street as most of the zombies in the area were in the crowd off to his right.
He darted across the street in a beeline for the front of the store and pulled one of the hand axes from his belt. One of the glass doors was smashed until he had an opening large enough for him to pass through. He glanced both right and left to make sure he hadn't attracted any zombies towards himself and ducked through the hole.
Inside were rows of shelves, each stocked with bottles and bottles of liquid comfort. A few shelves had been cleared and bottles were smashed on the floor, likely from looting by store employees before they fled, or the victims of a panic. He quickly watched the length of the store, side to side, looking down each row to check for movement or sound. Finding only a lack of both, he found a shelf of blended malt whisky, put the hand axe on the shelf within easy reach, and began to fill one of the duffle bags.
He took a bit of extra care to try and pack the bottles in snugly with each other so they wouldn't jostle around and possibly break each other in movement. Luckily most hard liquor was in bottles made of thick glass, and often could even survive being dropped on a hard floor. After packing a weight he felt he was comfortable with, with a couple bottles of vodka for good measure, he moved himself and his axe to a shelf of assorted rums. He skipped the the lower grade rums to grab the expensive, premium bottles. Hefting the half-filled duffles, he judged their weight, and then moved carefully to the registers with hand axe in hand. He knew there was always a back room or store room area, and he didn't know how large it or, or what was back there.
Fortunately, behind the registers, were the other prize he sought. Glass cases filled with boxes of cigars and cartons of cigarettes. He had to supply a habit, after all. A terrible, dirty-look-getting, being-grouched-at, unable-to-stop addiction. Scotland had tried to stop smoking once. It hadn't been pretty. A quick smash, and he was filling the upper halves of the duffles with an assortment of his much lighter, first vice. It would be great to have a cigar with a glass of whisky at the end of this trip. Maybe he'd even share one with England for doing such a great job at being a distraction.
Now the thing he had to think about was getting them both out of here. The bike option was looking better and better. He should just get back out to the bikes, weave his way back through the cars, and wait for England to make it down the stairs. He could even provide a distraction in the street to give England time to move. Trying to climb back up to England and trapping them both on the roof again was foolish. Trying to run on foot was just as foolish. Bike it was.
He paused before he stepped out of the store, looking both ways down the street to make sure nothing had come towards the store while he'd looted it.
[Pausing here because that is a lot of actions and good bit of time passing. He'll go for the bike in the next post. I bet England will be out of bullets by the time Scotland gets back]
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Post by England on Oct 11, 2012 10:47:48 GMT -5
England was having... too much fun, for something as dangerous as what he was doing.
Emboldened by the fact that he felt untouchable, up high whilst the zombies crawled around below, he'd swung himself over the edge, sitting on the concrete block that made the railing around the building, feet dangling joyfully in the air. Now the only thing he would possibly be vulnerable to was a zombie grabbing him from behind, but he'd checked the roof enough, and there was no way the zombies were climbing stairs and getting past the barrier they'd set on the door. He felt invincible, standing over the zombies, shooting them down, controlling their lives, as meaningless and tainted as they were, in his hands.
It was a pleasant reminder of when he used to rule the world. But then again, he knew that all things had to come to an end. When his gun finally stopped shooting, the smirk on his face ebbed away, and he pulled out his before-last clip. That gave him a total of 60 rounds to sustain him until he got back to the warehouse. Considering that they'd be fleeing after Scotland came back for him (the damn wanker had better come back...), 60 rounds was a good number.
Clicking the empty clip out and slamming the new one in, he loaded the gun with an expert hand and pointed it back down at the crowd. The zombies were swarming like maggots on rotting flesh, just as disgusting and just as repulsive. England made a 'tch' noise and aimed at one head in particular, shooting the zombie down. The others around it quickly trampled it as it fell, eager to get closer to the nation that was playing god with their unholy lives. England found the entire ordeal disgusting. He wondered if, years from now, he would wake up shooting up and grabbing for the knife hidden under his pillow. If he would have to remind himself that it was all over. If he would have to stay up all night because his nightmares wouldn't let him go back to sleep. He wondered if any of them weren't broken beyond repair yet.
But it didn't matter. Feelings were weakness. England felt like he was on top of the world, and nothing would ruin that for him.
Letting his body slip into automatism again, England did not say a word as he continuously aimed and fired into the moaning crowd.
((I have no knowledge whatsoever with guns. Sorry xD))
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Post by Scotland on Oct 13, 2012 9:24:03 GMT -5
All the zombies in the nearby area were busy worshiping and sacrificing themselves to England, though more were starting to approach from further away. He ducked out of the hole in the broken glass of the door, hearing bottles clink slightly in the bags he was carrying. He ran down one building to his left to get a better look at the mob around the base of the building England was on. Then he ducked down the alley alongside the building to reach the backside of it, scurrying along the back way to avoid being seen by the ever-assembling zombies. Being careful with the bags and hearing the bottles clinking as he moved, he carefully watched his exit from the city. Whenever he spotted a zombie shambling along, he ducked back and waited for it to pass before continuing on his way.
It wasn't long before he came to the frozen river of cars and began to pick his way through them. He tried to move along the edge of the road, keeping his legs away from the cars in case there were immobile zombies under them. At the same time he was checking the surface for holes and debris that could cause trouble for the bike on the way back in. He jumped when a something knocked against the window of a car, and for a moment, he stared at the being trapped inside. Its face was rapidly rotting away, allowing naked teeth to scrape against the glass. Decomposing hands smeared fluids against the inside of the glass as it moaned and teeth knocked repeatedly against the window. Judging by the long, matted hair on its head, it must have been a woman at one point in time. A twinge of mercy made him want to smash open the window and end the woman's suffering. To allow her soul to move on, if it was still trapped in there. He wasn't in a killing mode at the moment, and his sense of humanity was still intact. However, he knew from the studies that her suffering would end soon on its own, and he couldn't take the risk of getting wrapped up in such a distraction. If this was a mission to clear zombies from the city, he would have done it. However, it was not.
There was an echoing howl with the woman's and it was a morbid curiosity that made him move closer. His brain had already processed the noise, assigned it and labeled it, but it was his own conscious disbelief that made him check. The woman had been holding an infant. Now it was down by her feet, moaning its own misery in a fussing pile. Scotland pulled rapidly back, feeling a gagging sensation building in his throat. If the infant had died first, that would have been a mercy. If the woman had died first, she had very likely eaten the infant before it reanimated. He hadn't been able to get a good enough look to tell if the baby had been missing any parts, but his own imagination gave him the worst case scenario.
He retched, heaved a couple times, but didn't have much to bring up. Spitting the taste of bile from his mouth, he ran toward the parked bikes, ignoring the other cars, not daring to look inside any of them, no matter what he heard. When he finally reached the bikes, he put the bags down by England's bike. No point in risking them for the trip back into the city. It wasn't like they were at risk for being looted by zombies. Securing his assorted straps, weapons and cloak down so they won't get into the way, he started his bike up and pulled his riding goggles down over his eyes.
Here goes nothing. He rode the bike up along the side of the road, coming back down the path he'd picked on the way out. He tested how quickly he'd be able to move on the way back out, and found he had to squeeze by some cars as the buildings started. Once past the bottleneck, he found more spaces between the cars and picked up some speed. As he neared the building England was holed up on, he slowed and started noisily revving the engine to notify the other escape was at hand, and to begin the distraction of the zombie mob.
[Looks like we are just about done here. And I had a Zombies Assemble! mental moment while writing this]
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Post by England on Oct 15, 2012 13:41:13 GMT -5
((Iggs has an AK-47. Dunno how many rounds those fire Also, let me just say that your sense of humour is always so amusing xD)) Nonetheless, the feeling did get old quickly. Sitting up on a ledge and shooting down at a mob that never seemed to decrease in numbers was slightly disheartening and boring, and England soon found his mind wandering back to his brother. Had Scotland encountered resistance on his way in or out of the store? Had he gotten what he'd needed? Where was he now? Had he gotten hurt? Had he made it back to the bikes already? The questions were endless. Though when England caught himself pondering about them, he immediately stopped and convinced himself he wasn't worried for Scotland, just worried that if he'd gotten caught, he wouldn't be able to get a ride back out of the city. His musings were cut short when a clicking noise notified him of his lack of ammo. He swore softly under his breath, swinging his pack around to grab his last clip, when he heard the sound of an engine a bit further away from him. Stopping all activity, he froze, listening past the moans of the undead to try and pinpoint the source of the uncommon sound. His heart fluttered as he recognized the sound of a rapidly approaching motorbike, and he reloaded his gun for the last time with a satisfied click. Turning around and swinging himself off the ledge, he landed back on the roof and rushed to the side of the building that faced the streets, trying to spot his brother. He only had to look down for a short time before revving grabbed his attention, and he turned his gaze slightly to find what he was looking for. Scotland on his motorbike. A smirk touched his lips because he was genuinely amused at how well they'd pulled the entire operation off, but then faded as he realized it was not over yet. He was now confronted to one last problem... how to get down. No matter how much noise Scotland made, zombies would tend to stay at the foot of his building for they had seen him first. Even if he did take them for a jog around the block, it would be hard to get all of them to follow him. England's idea was to take the staircase down to the lowest level and jump over the railing on the first floor instead of walking down to ground level, for the zombies had overtaken that side of the building as well and were clogging the foot of the stairs. If he could jump down next to the crowd, he'd still have a few meters of distance to work with, which would be tight, but feasible. He wondered is Scotland had something in mind.
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Post by Scotland on Oct 16, 2012 10:38:38 GMT -5
[AK-47 is a great gun. Standard, it fires a 30 round mag. You find zombie babies humorous? o.o; ]
Scotland idled along, revving the engine to get the attention of both England and the zombies. There was movement on the roof, which was good, and zombie heads were turning towards him, which was also good.
"Come an' get some real meat!" Scotland thumped his fist against his chest. "He ain't good eatin'!"
He spun the bike around in a circle just to drum up more interest with movement and gained some of the mob moving his way. He moved the bike away a bit more, keeping space between him and the moving mob. As long as England stayed quiet up top, Scotland should be able to win the affections of the ever-hungry undead. One of the best ways he knew to grab attention was to use his oh-so-melodious voice in the worst way possible.
"I get knocked doon, but I get up again! Yer never gonna keep me doon!" he sang loudly at the zombie horde. "Pissin' /getting drunk/ th' night away! Pissin' th' night away!"
He moved a little further down the road as more of the zombie hoard were peeling away from the building. It was fortunate zombies were easily distracted by something edible. He kept moving a little further away, howling his own mash up of random songs to maintain interest. It wasn't often he got to forget everyone else's precious hearing and sing at the top of his lungs. It was very refreshing. Even stress-relieving. It reminded him of the days when screaming and howling like a lunatic was a battle tactic and it had worked pretty well when magnified several hundred fold.
He kept luring the zombies away from the building, heading further down the road and out of sight of the target building. It was only the sound of his bike's engine that would give his brother a clue where he was. He couldn't afford to leave many zombies along the side of the building where the stairway was. When he started to run into zombies coming towards him from further into the city, he turned back around and began leading his merry band around the block to head back. He put on speed, hoping England was paying attention, and leaving the crowd following in his dust.
[Pausing here to let England make his plans before Scotland comes back around. Also to see how many zombies you think I managed to win over.]
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Post by England on Oct 18, 2012 9:30:08 GMT -5
((Ah, so Google did not fail me on that. And no, omg, I was talking about the "Zombies Assemble" comment o__o The zombie baby creeped me out ;__; ))
England ducked out of view when he spotted his brother, letting him take over. From where he was, his voice sounded like a whisper, but he knew Scotland was yelling, and loud at that, too. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to hear it at all, from this height. He then closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and concentrated on the noises from down on the ground. His heart skipped a beat when the engine of Scotland's bike revved, and the noise slowly, but surely wafted away.
He let Scotland disappear out of earshot before peeking out slightly from the side of the building. A quick run around the borders proved that the outer ring of zombies had left for the easier prize, but the inner ring was still clawing at the bricks, moaning loudly and trying to spot the prey they'd followed in the first place. England sat back down and pushed his back against the roof's concrete border, thinking and calculating. The ring of zombies around the building had thinned, which meant that if he went through with his plan and jumped off the side of the building, he'd have more maneuvering space between himself and the closest zombie. That would make it easier to run away.
The downside of his situation, though, was the dispersed mass of the outer ring all around the perimeter of the building. Of course, not all the zombies had been able to follow Scotland, and we now lagging behind, stumbling through the streets and on the pavement. This left the immediate perimeter around England's building dotted with undead. The concentration wasn't big enough to cause him problem, but it certainly meant he'd probably have to engage a couple of them on his way towards the streets. And only a couple, if Scotland arrived with perfect timing. If not, he'd probably have to defend himself until he got there.
He could not read his brother's mind, and though sometimes he was glad he couldn't, now was one of those times when his prayed his intuition to make up for his lack of telepathic skills. Taking a deep breath, he counted to five, and then bolted off the ground, going for the staircase. He took the metal steps one by one to avoid making more noise than he was already making, and watched carefully as the zombies at the foot of the stairs turned their eyes to him, moaning louder. He winced, hoping the ones on the other sides of the building wouldn't have the time to react to the noise, and hurried down, even moreso when he heard the distant whirring of a bike coming right back at him. Not wanting to miss his cue, he went even faster, his steps clanking on the metal landings as he rushed down, and only once he was on the very first landing, about a meter above the head of the nearest zombie, did he take a running start, grip the railing, and swing himself over it.
He landed on the ground and rolled, tucking his elbows in, and got up, immediately breaking into a run and leaving behind him the horde of moaning zombie. He avoided the zombies that were converging towards him from each side of the alley and instead ran through the middle, using his gun as a club to smash the head of a zombie that got in his way. The rest of his trip down the alley, into the street was uneventful, and as he made it out into the open street, he turned his head towards the horizon and spotted the quickly incoming shape of his brother on his motorbike. Now all he had to do was fend the enemy off until Scotland got to him, which would be in no time, judging by the speed he was driving at.
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Post by Scotland on Oct 21, 2012 11:49:39 GMT -5
((Ah. I'm sorry, I'm slow. I'm like this ] Scotland watched the buildings going by carefully to make sure he turned one building away from his target so he could pull up near the stairway. He'd left the majority of the zombies behind, though there were scattered zombies around that had fallen off the crowd that followed him, or the ones who hadn't been able to decide whether to follow or stay. He released one of the hand axes off his belt and slowed to pull up to the zombies nearby. When they lunged at him, he planted the edge of the axe in their faces, trying to break their jaws or if he was lucky, sink through their rotting skulls and into the important part of the brain. After that he kicked their bodies away and off his axe before pulling away. When the stairway came into view, he spotted England already making his way down and cursed to himself. This had to happen as he planned or they would both be taken down by the crowd and eaten alive. Maybe England should have magicked himself back to the compound. No more time to second-guess. As England vaulted himself off the stairway, Scotland aimed himself to pull up just beyond the zombies starting to shift their crowd around to the stair-side of the building. Some noticed the sound of his bike and his approach, and others had eyes only for England. He shoved the handle of the handaxe between his teeth and gripped one of handlebars firmly, leaving one hand free. As he approached where England had run out to meet him, he slowed down and extended out his arm for the blonde to grab hold of. He wasn't going to stop moving. He couldn't afford to stop moving. This was going to be a grab and run immediately away. With his mouth otherwise occupied he couldn't call out to his brother, but they had been a team for over 300 years now. A dysfunctional, squabbling, grouchy-at-each-other team; but working together to win was something they excelled at. Even if this was a new situation they had found themselves in, an explanation of what Scotland was expecting shouldn't be necessary. He swerved around a zombie staggering towards him and slowed a bit so he wouldn't run the blonde over. As he came within the last remaining feet, he aimed to scoop the blonde around the waist with his free arm. [In my head, England is going to end up sitting in front (and it'll be an aww moment), but if he wants to monkey climb his way to the back, feel free.]
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Post by England on Oct 27, 2012 11:52:12 GMT -5
((That's actually a pretty freaky picture. High kitten ftw xD))
England kept an eye out for the zombies stumbling towards him, but did not move. They were slowly closing in on him, and with every step they took from every side, "cornering" him more and more towards the street, his heart skipped a beat. His hands were tight around the handle of his gun, ready to swing it like a club if he needed to. Occasionally, he glanced behind him to make sure he wasn't being sneaked up upon, but trusted his hearing to tell him of Scotland's position. It did not fail him. As the whirring of the engine got closer, he took a few steps back again, until he was right in the path of the motorbike. He swung the strap of his gun around his neck and let go of his weapon, turning to the road.
Scotland had his arm out for him to grab, and he watched the movements carefully so he could time it right. Though Scotland swerved around a zombie, momentarily breaking his concentration, but his eyes returned to his target immediately. He was now only a few feet close to him, and England knew he couldn't miss his cue. When he was close enough, he let out the breath he was holding, and jumped towards the motorbike, hand out for stability. He was glad to feel Scotland's arm around his waist as his first foot, and then second, touched the footholds of the motorbike, the motion having served to stabilize him so he wouldn't fall off because of sideways motion.
Unfortunately, with his momentum, the movement of the bike and the momentum of Scotland's scooping motion, England's body jerked and ended its trajectory awkwardly pressed into Scotland's chest. It was a very uncomfortable position, and England groaned his displeasure, curling even more inwards against him to protect his face from the whipping wind.
"Well I can't say that was the most graceful thing we've ever done." he remarked, noting the weapon between Scotland's teeth. He had half a mind to leave it there just for the hell of it, but figured it was getting a bit heavy, so he grabbed it on the flat side of the blade and tugged on it. "Give me that." he ordered, pulling the weapon out and wiping the handle on his clothes before grabbing it by the handle.
"So if you have any smart-ass comments to make, it's now or never." he invited, taking a moment to catch his breath before breaking away from Scotland and carefully moving so that he could sit in front of him. He swung his leg to the other side, careful not to touch the bike handles as not to throw Scotland off, and settled himself on the front of the seat. As space was not ideal to accommodate two people, his back pressed into Scotland's chest with every jerk of the bike, but he found that he didn't mind it.
It was comforting. A sign that their pointlessly perilous adventure was finally coming to an end. A favourable end.
((Is that enough of an awww-moment for you?))
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