Trunks Briefs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fighting4afuture) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
caughtinanetwork2012-04-25 02:43 pm
fighting4afuture) wrote in caughtinanetwork2012-04-25 02:43 pm
Entry tags:
[dream//INTERACTIVE]
[oh look it's another one of those dreams. and it's traumatizing. my, how original.
The city--the sky--it's all burning. Acrid smoke and dust from destroyed buildings fills the air, coats the lungs, makes it difficult to breathe. For a city, everything is oddly quiet--there's no sounds of people, of the screaming and crying that might be expected in a scene of such destruction.
Everyone left living knows better, they know to stay out of sight, stay quiet. The creatures responsible for the destruction can't find you if you hide.
There's only one person out in the streets, a young boy crouched in the ruins of a collapsed building with dust and blood in his light-colored hair and a sword across his back, looking at once determined and hopeless.
There's two people floating above him--young adults by the look of them, one black haired and one blonde, their faceless heads turning this way and that as they search the rubble. Search for him.
Trunks' hand clenches in the dirt for a brief moment, and then he's flying--streaking through the air to attack in a flurry of kicks and punches that ends with him being tossed backwards, crashing through another crumbling building.
Maybe he lands at your feet, battered, dazed, and bleeding. Maybe he just rolls over and tries again, an aura like fire exploding around him and hair spiking upward and turning brilliant gold, only to be repelled again just as easily, the fight--if you can call this exercise in futility that--just repeating, ad-nauseum.
That depends on one thing. Are you watching, or are you there?]
((ooc: Interactive dream, go wild. There will be things exploding.))
The city--the sky--it's all burning. Acrid smoke and dust from destroyed buildings fills the air, coats the lungs, makes it difficult to breathe. For a city, everything is oddly quiet--there's no sounds of people, of the screaming and crying that might be expected in a scene of such destruction.
Everyone left living knows better, they know to stay out of sight, stay quiet. The creatures responsible for the destruction can't find you if you hide.
There's only one person out in the streets, a young boy crouched in the ruins of a collapsed building with dust and blood in his light-colored hair and a sword across his back, looking at once determined and hopeless.
There's two people floating above him--young adults by the look of them, one black haired and one blonde, their faceless heads turning this way and that as they search the rubble. Search for him.
Trunks' hand clenches in the dirt for a brief moment, and then he's flying--streaking through the air to attack in a flurry of kicks and punches that ends with him being tossed backwards, crashing through another crumbling building.
Maybe he lands at your feet, battered, dazed, and bleeding. Maybe he just rolls over and tries again, an aura like fire exploding around him and hair spiking upward and turning brilliant gold, only to be repelled again just as easily, the fight--if you can call this exercise in futility that--just repeating, ad-nauseum.
That depends on one thing. Are you watching, or are you there?]
((ooc: Interactive dream, go wild. There will be things exploding.))
no subject
[Without even checking to see if they're defeated, the blue-haired boy goes over to the purple-haired one, holding a hand out to him and casting a healing spell over him.]
Come on. Let's get you out of here.
sorry I am derping all over the place
Well, aside from the usual.]
...it's fine. They won't kill me. Probably. You should leave, it's dangerous.
[...boy that sounds weird coming out of a kid with a 13 year old face.]
It's okay.
[He looks up to stare at where the figures were before. If they're still there he'll charge up a ball of energy and throw it towards them, letting it explode on contact.]
no subject
Not as fast as them, trust me.
[As for being carried? He doesn't need it. He gets to his feet, bits of dust and rubble falling from his hair and clothing--eyes tracking that ball of energy, because indeed they are still up there and looking distinctly unruffled, if they had faces to look unruffled with.
This is going fantastically. And if those heads turning directly at their hiding spot is any indication, hands going up and glowing with violent red energy, it's about to get even better.]
Get down!