[ Agent Maine is not a particularly imaginative person. Not when he's awake, and not when he's asleep. So when he dreams of a giant fucking rabbit called The Storyteller, he's pretty sure that it's the fault of painkillers or a fever — though he doesn't remember getting hurt or sick. In any case, it's entirely out of the norm, which is why he's so disoriented when he opens his eyes…
Then he sees trees prodding him, and Maine immediately jumps to two conclusions. The first: he's either been drugged, or he's losing his mind. The second: this hallucination needs to back the fuck off. Now.
The Freelancer snarls, low and barely human-sounding, and shoves himself to his feet. Fully armored, he stands at 7'4" and is almost of a height with the curious Roaka. The tree-creature begins to back off; Maine reaches over his shoulder for the weapon at his back, though whether he intends to use it or just wants it in hand is anyone's guess. ]
ii. bury me low
[ There's not a whole lot that can knock someone as solid as Maine off his feet. The earthquake does the job. He staggers and hits the ground hard. Waits until the shaking ceases before attempting to stand.
Maine's been thrown to the ground a few too many times recently. Advanced as his armor is, that shit still leaves bruises.
Once he's moving again, Maine gravitates toward the fallen rocks more out of curiosity than a desire to save the day. But if he happens to hear the voice of someone trapped, he'll start dragging boulders out of the way with what seems to be frightening ease. ]
iii. repairs
[ Once the chaos from the quakes has calmed, Maine can be found trying to fix his armor's heads-up display. He's removed his helmet and is holding it in his hands, exposing a shaved head and a mildly annoyed expression on his usually stoic face.
It's not that he doesn't know how to maintain his armor. He knows it like the back of his hand, or maybe even better. He just can't figure out what the problem is. ]
iv. wildcard
(( ooc: go nuts! preference for present tense, will match brackets or prose. please read maine's info & permissions before tagging, since he comes with some warnings. if you'd like to plot something specific, check here for ways to contact me. ))
agent maine | ota — new arrival!
[ Agent Maine is not a particularly imaginative person. Not when he's awake, and not when he's asleep. So when he dreams of a giant fucking rabbit called The Storyteller, he's pretty sure that it's the fault of painkillers or a fever — though he doesn't remember getting hurt or sick. In any case, it's entirely out of the norm, which is why he's so disoriented when he opens his eyes…
Then he sees trees prodding him, and Maine immediately jumps to two conclusions. The first: he's either been drugged, or he's losing his mind. The second: this hallucination needs to back the fuck off. Now.
The Freelancer snarls, low and barely human-sounding, and shoves himself to his feet. Fully armored, he stands at 7'4" and is almost of a height with the curious Roaka. The tree-creature begins to back off; Maine reaches over his shoulder for the weapon at his back, though whether he intends to use it or just wants it in hand is anyone's guess. ]
ii. bury me low
[ There's not a whole lot that can knock someone as solid as Maine off his feet. The earthquake does the job. He staggers and hits the ground hard. Waits until the shaking ceases before attempting to stand.
Maine's been thrown to the ground a few too many times recently. Advanced as his armor is, that shit still leaves bruises.
Once he's moving again, Maine gravitates toward the fallen rocks more out of curiosity than a desire to save the day. But if he happens to hear the voice of someone trapped, he'll start dragging boulders out of the way with what seems to be frightening ease. ]
iii. repairs
[ Once the chaos from the quakes has calmed, Maine can be found trying to fix his armor's heads-up display. He's removed his helmet and is holding it in his hands, exposing a shaved head and a mildly annoyed expression on his usually stoic face.
It's not that he doesn't know how to maintain his armor. He knows it like the back of his hand, or maybe even better. He just can't figure out what the problem is. ]
iv. wildcard
(( ooc: go nuts! preference for present tense, will match brackets or prose. please read maine's info & permissions before tagging, since he comes with some warnings. if you'd like to plot something specific, check here for ways to contact me. ))