Post by Phrost on Mar 1, 2012 0:08:28 GMT -5
"Last call for Blackwater!"
The ferry was already full, the lower class payers nearly being pushed off the edge. The upper class fared no better, being churned around in the crowded sea-vessel.
The ball of condensed gas above their heads beat down on them relentlessly, taking their moral to a new low, and their health even lower. The humidity was high as well.
The passengers began to separate into their own little groups. The smaller children to their own, the bodybuilders to their own, and the others to their respective areas of expertise.
"Do we have an 'Edmund Cooper', here?" an attendance officer called out. No response. "Alright," he muttered, crossing out Cooper's name from the list. "Do we have a 'Darius Jones?" He called out again, mispronouncing "Darius." The officer was scraggly and skinny. The uniform drooping off the sides of his torso.
"Senors!" A Mexican translator was to the side of the attendance officer. He was well built. Not muscular, but you could tell he knew his way around the world. His purpose was unknown to the passengers, but he helped. "Silencio, por favor!" he cried. His plea fell on deaf ears. No one cared about what he had to say. Everyone had their own missions to carry out. Their own purpose. In the ever changing Western Borderstates, that was perfectly perpetual and true.
---
"Hey. You're Cooper, right?" A tall, well built man strutted along towards Edmund, a rifle in his hand. His arms seemed to throb with intimidating force, and a vein was visible through the thin skin of his forehead. The vein stretched across his left forehead, painfully obvious, and probably more painful to him. Pushing pass the other passengers with ease, he came to his target.
---
"Hey, Damus!" a small, yet strong man called out from the croud, "Didn't expect you to be on this!" His clothes were worn and his hands blistered. A farmer. His hair was greasy and scraggly from being out in the sun too long. The uppermost patch was bleached an obviously lighter color than the rest of his scalp.
---
"Dammit," a man scowled, putting out his cigarette butt. His clothes were unusual. An overcoat in this weather was unheard of, as well as an extremely well built hat. His breaths absconded erratically from his respiratory tract. He'd been a smoker for a very, very long time. And he was about fifty-five. "All this new meat, and almost no women. Bruce, why don't you....you know....go spice up the party with your 'dance', hm?"
---
The boats manual rudders began to churn in the water, causing a puff of salty mist to blow over the passengers. The ferry's horn boomed once, followed by a great number of bells. They were off. To a new land. Where they could be anything they wanted to be; their past something that no longer meant anything. Nothing meant anything in these times, anyway.
The ferry was already full, the lower class payers nearly being pushed off the edge. The upper class fared no better, being churned around in the crowded sea-vessel.
The ball of condensed gas above their heads beat down on them relentlessly, taking their moral to a new low, and their health even lower. The humidity was high as well.
The passengers began to separate into their own little groups. The smaller children to their own, the bodybuilders to their own, and the others to their respective areas of expertise.
"Do we have an 'Edmund Cooper', here?" an attendance officer called out. No response. "Alright," he muttered, crossing out Cooper's name from the list. "Do we have a 'Darius Jones?" He called out again, mispronouncing "Darius." The officer was scraggly and skinny. The uniform drooping off the sides of his torso.
"Senors!" A Mexican translator was to the side of the attendance officer. He was well built. Not muscular, but you could tell he knew his way around the world. His purpose was unknown to the passengers, but he helped. "Silencio, por favor!" he cried. His plea fell on deaf ears. No one cared about what he had to say. Everyone had their own missions to carry out. Their own purpose. In the ever changing Western Borderstates, that was perfectly perpetual and true.
---
"Hey. You're Cooper, right?" A tall, well built man strutted along towards Edmund, a rifle in his hand. His arms seemed to throb with intimidating force, and a vein was visible through the thin skin of his forehead. The vein stretched across his left forehead, painfully obvious, and probably more painful to him. Pushing pass the other passengers with ease, he came to his target.
---
"Hey, Damus!" a small, yet strong man called out from the croud, "Didn't expect you to be on this!" His clothes were worn and his hands blistered. A farmer. His hair was greasy and scraggly from being out in the sun too long. The uppermost patch was bleached an obviously lighter color than the rest of his scalp.
---
"Dammit," a man scowled, putting out his cigarette butt. His clothes were unusual. An overcoat in this weather was unheard of, as well as an extremely well built hat. His breaths absconded erratically from his respiratory tract. He'd been a smoker for a very, very long time. And he was about fifty-five. "All this new meat, and almost no women. Bruce, why don't you....you know....go spice up the party with your 'dance', hm?"
---
The boats manual rudders began to churn in the water, causing a puff of salty mist to blow over the passengers. The ferry's horn boomed once, followed by a great number of bells. They were off. To a new land. Where they could be anything they wanted to be; their past something that no longer meant anything. Nothing meant anything in these times, anyway.
