Current Residence: New York
Favourite genre of music: Classic Rock!
Favourite style of art: Cartoony
MP3 player of choice: You mean there's something other than an iPod?
Skin of choice: ...*Pinches elbow*
Oh, the IronyA shadowy figure bolted through the alley. Old wrappers and garbage crunched under his dirty sneakers. He splashed through a filthy puddle that hopefully had water in it. If it were day, one would see the puddle tinged red. Blood from his shoes.Oh, the Irony by ~Mikeywolf
Other than the normal sounds of the city at night--An argument here, a car alarm there--the only sounds were the slap-smack of his shoes on the ground and the man's terrified panting. A shot from a pistol, fired right behind him. The bullet missed, embedding itself into the brick wall. The man screamed and ran faster. Behind him a woman sprinted, desperate to catch up. Fury had taken over her. She ignored the commands from the hand radio at her belt.
The man jumped and grabbed onto the ladder on the bottom of a fire escape, then climbed up the fire escape to the roof, a notable feat. Then again, running for your life has an effect on the body and adrenal glands. The woman took a breath, then leaped to the ladder and pulled herself up. Th
Morty's childhoodMorty lay on his back, looking up at the starry expanse of sky. Or he would be, if he wasn't in a tent. Fading in and out of the medicine-induced delirium, visions fluttered past him. Ghosts of his past wavered in and out of his view, superimposed on the blank dark canvas of the tent wall. Morty closed his eyes and finally fell asleep, though the visions still haunted him. And one in particular...Morty's childhood by ~Mikeywolf
In Tobeem, it was always cold. The sun never shone. The grass never grew. For ten months of the year, the world was locked in white snow and ice. For the other two months, one could drown in slush and mud. It was a hard world. The soft and weak could never survive. To survive, one had to become harder, tougher, colder than the ice which built their world.
This is where Mortimer was born. This is where Mortimer lived.
It is almost April. The temperature is ten degrees below freezing, unusually warm for this time of year. The ice usually doesn't start to melt until mid-May. Snowbanks twenty,
Inside Mark Leon's head...Ahh, it's good to be back in Laria Castle. Even with someone, it's never fun when you're away from home. Especially when you're spying on a hostile foreign secret society. Full of thieves, assassins, and other...Unsavory fellows. And you have almost no lead. And you have to infiltrate this place to uncover multiple assassination plots on your government. And report the information. And get out alive and intact. Without anyone on your trail.Inside Mark Leon's head... by ~Mikeywolf
Isn't spying fun?
But yeah, after about four months or so, Maia and I finally got back. Nearly died too. Of course, the Fly (That's me, because I'm so good at sneaking around and getting information) and the Hawk (That would be Maia, since she's absolutely fantastic at seeing stuff that others don't and connecting the dots--Her intuition is unmatched) haven't failed yet. We're a tag-team. A duet. We work together and are practically unstoppable that way. We've been like this since we were about...Ten or so.
I guess it was inevitable that we'd