the HABIT. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
whocouldwinarabbit) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
capeandcowllogs2012-11-13 06:13 pm
whocouldwinarabbit) wrote in capeandcowllogs2012-11-13 06:13 pm
Entry tags:
- damian wayne | robin,
- gilbert nightray | n/a,
- kanaya maryam | sylph of space,
- kyouko sakura | ophelia,
- minako arisato | the wild card,
- piccolo | n/a,
- rick bradbury | n/a,
- rin tohsaka | n/a,
- † aoi | the laughing man,
- † david xanatos | magnificent bastard,
- † jay | n/a,
- † ladd russo | white suit,
- † lenalee lee | n/a,
- † matt murdock | daredevil,
- † max gibson | batwoman,
- † n/a | the habit,
- † pamela isley | poison ivy,
- † sayaka miki | oktavia,
- † yuma tsukumo | unicorn king
THE GREATEST SHOW UNEARTHED
WHO: The HABIT whocouldwinarabbit and his eighteen lucky Rabbits.
WHERE: Yankee Stadium.
WHEN: Tuesday, November 13 afternoon onward.
WARNINGS: Not for the children. Graphic murder expected.
SUMMARY: THUNDERDOME.
FORMAT: Whatever our contestants would like.
"Rise and fucking shine, campers!" blasts the loudspeaker.
Eighteen bodies. Not a bad turnout. He's hauled them into the locker rooms to wake up together, tied balloon strings to their wrists, the balloons Skittles colors. Angora, some say in sharpie, Flemish Giant. And all have a smile drawn on, bunny ears on top.
"You're probably wondering what the hell you're doing here, right? Wonder no more! Welcome to the Trials, rabbits. Time to feed the HABIT."
The crowd roars in response, their fists in the air. They're not nearly enough to fill the stands, not hardly, the count's barely crawling up to a hundred -- but it's the impassive eyes of the cameras set up around the stadium that matter. These idiots are just for the noise of it.
"Now, see, the rules to this game are real simple. All you gotta do is kill everybody else. That's it! What could be easier, right? Knife in the brain. Sword in the guts. I don't care how you do it, just do it, meat. Look at it this way: the Porter'll bring you back good as new. So... what's keeping you? Besides, hey... the winner gets a prize."
HABIT laughs tinnily through the sound system, over the sound of the crowd. "If one of you makes a break for it -- go ahead! I encourage it, make your move -- but you will notice that there's no escape. Can't have you spoiling my fun, now can we? The good people up there in the stands paid twenty-nine ninety-nine for a show, and by fucking golly, they're gonna get it."
"Now... if you'll look at the balloons for your group assignments. Flemish Giants, why don't you come on out here? No, no, hey, don't be shy. Being first is a big ol' honor. So show us some blood!"
He hits the music, and opens the doors.
whocouldwinarabbit and his eighteen lucky Rabbits.WHERE: Yankee Stadium.
WHEN: Tuesday, November 13 afternoon onward.
WARNINGS: Not for the children. Graphic murder expected.
SUMMARY: THUNDERDOME.
FORMAT: Whatever our contestants would like.
"Rise and fucking shine, campers!" blasts the loudspeaker.
Eighteen bodies. Not a bad turnout. He's hauled them into the locker rooms to wake up together, tied balloon strings to their wrists, the balloons Skittles colors. Angora, some say in sharpie, Flemish Giant. And all have a smile drawn on, bunny ears on top.
"You're probably wondering what the hell you're doing here, right? Wonder no more! Welcome to the Trials, rabbits. Time to feed the HABIT."
The crowd roars in response, their fists in the air. They're not nearly enough to fill the stands, not hardly, the count's barely crawling up to a hundred -- but it's the impassive eyes of the cameras set up around the stadium that matter. These idiots are just for the noise of it.
"Now, see, the rules to this game are real simple. All you gotta do is kill everybody else. That's it! What could be easier, right? Knife in the brain. Sword in the guts. I don't care how you do it, just do it, meat. Look at it this way: the Porter'll bring you back good as new. So... what's keeping you? Besides, hey... the winner gets a prize."
HABIT laughs tinnily through the sound system, over the sound of the crowd. "If one of you makes a break for it -- go ahead! I encourage it, make your move -- but you will notice that there's no escape. Can't have you spoiling my fun, now can we? The good people up there in the stands paid twenty-nine ninety-nine for a show, and by fucking golly, they're gonna get it."
"Now... if you'll look at the balloons for your group assignments. Flemish Giants, why don't you come on out here? No, no, hey, don't be shy. Being first is a big ol' honor. So show us some blood!"
He hits the music, and opens the doors.
no subject
Let me help.
He looks at Damian quickly. It doesn't sound like him. Gil presses his hand to his temple, groaning. ] What did you say?
no subject
She looked out at the crowd that didn't seem any bit placated by Damian's reaction. Then Gil spoke again.
Lenalee turned to look at him. He looked like his head was hurting. She took a step forward, raising a tentative hand to help. ]
Gil? Are you all right?
no subject
What is it? What's wrong with him?
no subject
He shakes his head initially, though he is giving it some thought for some inexplicable reason. They need to get out of here. Every inch of him is desperate to escape this twisted game.
Refusing help seems brash and he's tired and not sure what to do. Maybe if he just lets someone else take the reigns...
As Lenalee draws closer, he finds the bat in his hand again. He has no recollection of picking it up, which sets him off. When we attempts to open his mouth, no words come out. His heart is beating a hundred times faster as he directs the blunt side of the bat toward Lenalee's stomach. ]