Post by viso on Sept 24, 2015 18:02:53 GMT
Blackness began to fade away, as Malcolm would slowly open up his eyes. He felt a little odd, almost groggy as he slowly squinted, the bright light stabbing through his eyes. He'd gotten drunk once, and he remembered the next morning felt somewhat like this. But, he had been much more careful about not getting that drunk again, he wouldn't have, besides, he was standing up. God, his feet felt weird, that wasn't normal. What had happened? Last thing that he remembered was sitting at the desk with his computer, making a character, and waiting for the area to load.
The light was becoming a little less harsh, but it was still awfully bright. His eyes would open wider, taking in what was around him. It looked different, the colors brighter, but as he looked around, his mouth fell open slowly. This was definitely not his room. His hand tightened on an object, which seemed to be supporting some of his weight. He was standing in the middle of a cobblestone street, feeling the pebbles beneath his street. His eyes would trail up towards the buildings. Some were intact, but most of them were ruined, as if they had been empty for a long long time. They were overgrown with plant life, moss infesting every crack. Some of the buildings even had trees growing among them, or even in them. His mouth gaped open, his head swiveling around to look around, only to see more before a taller structure drew his attention. A rather tall clock tower, one with a distinctive look about it.
“Big... Ben?” Was this... London? No, it couldn't be, this place looked like it hadn't been inhabited in ages. But, Big Ben. Where was he? And what was he wearing? He felt funny, heavy. He'd look down, to find that his clothing had drastically changed. His face brushed against a high collar, orange, while his torso seemed to be covered in chainmail, and he'd reach up to touch it, to feel the metal rings beneath his fingers. Which seemed to be covered in fur. What on earth was going on? His mind was starting to piece things together, but it was coming together in a terrifying manner. His hand let go of the staff he was holding, the bells tingling as the object clattered to the ground, the both of them reaching up slowly. They slowly closed on a pair of short ears jutting out of his skull, which set his eyes widening in terror. His breath caught on itself as his hands shakily felt over his face. It had changed, covered in fur, the face pushed out a little into a muzzle. He'd give a low whimper, checking his feet. They weren't feet anymore, but rather paws, with pads on the bottom, his fingers running over the tough substance.
It was enough to finally link some things together. Right before he'd blacked out, he'd been working on a character for this Elder Tales game that had everyone vaguely interested in video games in a tizzy. Frankly, he'd just let it pass him by if it hadn't been for his friend going crazy about it. He remembered the character he was making, and while he couldn't be certain without a mirror.... he was almost positive that what had been on his screen was what he was now. Oh, no no no no no. His hands gripped at his head, looking around frantically. What the neep was happening, oh god, now. He could see others scattered around, just as confused, some panicking like him, others taking it much more calmly.
He had to go, now.
Malcolm would stoop over, picking up the staff, before hustling off. He kept tripping over his own feet, no, paws. Those first few steps were wobbly, on the edge of falling over. If it wasn't for the staff, propping him up, he would have landed face first on the ground. He kept wanting to put his whole foot on the ground, rather than just the toes, which kept threatening to tumble him The recent werecat wasn't very familiar with the city, which was more convoluted than a game would have been. He didn't live in London, so needless to say, he got lost a couple of times. Finally, he made his way to one stretch of the road. He couldn't be sure, but... it looked like the place, maybe?
Malcolm knew it was futile, that he was waiting on something that would likely never happen. This was where he was supposed to meet his friend. He knew the other wouldn't be showing up, but hope was a survivalist, even if there should be none, it persisted. His friend had been held up at work, and Malcolm had decided to just go ahead an make the character so that he could familiarize himself with the controls. He wasn't going to come for him, he was alone here. But... But...
He sank down, simply sitting in the middle of the street as he waited, knees pulled up to his chest and his staff lying across them.
Word Count: 853
The light was becoming a little less harsh, but it was still awfully bright. His eyes would open wider, taking in what was around him. It looked different, the colors brighter, but as he looked around, his mouth fell open slowly. This was definitely not his room. His hand tightened on an object, which seemed to be supporting some of his weight. He was standing in the middle of a cobblestone street, feeling the pebbles beneath his street. His eyes would trail up towards the buildings. Some were intact, but most of them were ruined, as if they had been empty for a long long time. They were overgrown with plant life, moss infesting every crack. Some of the buildings even had trees growing among them, or even in them. His mouth gaped open, his head swiveling around to look around, only to see more before a taller structure drew his attention. A rather tall clock tower, one with a distinctive look about it.
“Big... Ben?” Was this... London? No, it couldn't be, this place looked like it hadn't been inhabited in ages. But, Big Ben. Where was he? And what was he wearing? He felt funny, heavy. He'd look down, to find that his clothing had drastically changed. His face brushed against a high collar, orange, while his torso seemed to be covered in chainmail, and he'd reach up to touch it, to feel the metal rings beneath his fingers. Which seemed to be covered in fur. What on earth was going on? His mind was starting to piece things together, but it was coming together in a terrifying manner. His hand let go of the staff he was holding, the bells tingling as the object clattered to the ground, the both of them reaching up slowly. They slowly closed on a pair of short ears jutting out of his skull, which set his eyes widening in terror. His breath caught on itself as his hands shakily felt over his face. It had changed, covered in fur, the face pushed out a little into a muzzle. He'd give a low whimper, checking his feet. They weren't feet anymore, but rather paws, with pads on the bottom, his fingers running over the tough substance.
It was enough to finally link some things together. Right before he'd blacked out, he'd been working on a character for this Elder Tales game that had everyone vaguely interested in video games in a tizzy. Frankly, he'd just let it pass him by if it hadn't been for his friend going crazy about it. He remembered the character he was making, and while he couldn't be certain without a mirror.... he was almost positive that what had been on his screen was what he was now. Oh, no no no no no. His hands gripped at his head, looking around frantically. What the neep was happening, oh god, now. He could see others scattered around, just as confused, some panicking like him, others taking it much more calmly.
He had to go, now.
Malcolm would stoop over, picking up the staff, before hustling off. He kept tripping over his own feet, no, paws. Those first few steps were wobbly, on the edge of falling over. If it wasn't for the staff, propping him up, he would have landed face first on the ground. He kept wanting to put his whole foot on the ground, rather than just the toes, which kept threatening to tumble him The recent werecat wasn't very familiar with the city, which was more convoluted than a game would have been. He didn't live in London, so needless to say, he got lost a couple of times. Finally, he made his way to one stretch of the road. He couldn't be sure, but... it looked like the place, maybe?
Malcolm knew it was futile, that he was waiting on something that would likely never happen. This was where he was supposed to meet his friend. He knew the other wouldn't be showing up, but hope was a survivalist, even if there should be none, it persisted. His friend had been held up at work, and Malcolm had decided to just go ahead an make the character so that he could familiarize himself with the controls. He wasn't going to come for him, he was alone here. But... But...
He sank down, simply sitting in the middle of the street as he waited, knees pulled up to his chest and his staff lying across them.
Word Count: 853
