From Blizzards, To Storms

Well, here's that individual account and blog I promised.

http://trainforthesickandtwisted.blogspot.co.uk/

Now if you'll pardon me, I have MOAR runner bases to fuck up. :3

~Maddie

Madelyn Arabella Halsey's Base Assault. Hell yaah.

First I sent in a bat to scour the area. A standard Runner hostel, families I think. Some of the little Runner rabbits were asleep, some keeping watch. Naturally, I sent a few more birds out to get a storm cooking. Not a little one, either. Thick, fiery cold clouds billowing. Rain started to slash down. These days I walk through downpours like they're stage curtains. No pain, no cold. Just a show.

Then I hit the lights on. Lightning, if you prefer!!!

SHATTERED the sound barrier. A sonic boom. God I LOVE that sound. Which in turn, SHATTERED the windows of the warehouse. All bulbs out. The spitting of glass. Yells, shouts, frantic prayers to a God who is now probably still deaf.

The water was now up to my ankles. They were running around like their namesake, blocking doors with towels to stop the rain from surging in. Now was as good a time as any to dash up there, sobbing my eyes out, hammering on the door. "Please open in! Let me in! These... these birds. Please just let me in! Oh god, they're coming, they're––––" I cut myself open and screamed as if it actually hurt. A raven writhed out of the bloody mess and flew off. "OH GOD HELP ME, JESUS, JUST PLEASE FUCKING LET ME IN!!!"

A runner opened the door to me and ushered me inside. "Come on, you're safe with us. Being hassled by the Convocation?"

"The who?"

"The birds. Sorry, I don’t have much experience with them, but have you found any way of avoiding them so far?"

I sniffled. "U-underground. In basements. Do you have a basement?"

So, that runner, she ordered all the families in the warehouse to get down into the cellar. It should have come as no surprise to them when I slammed the trapdoor shut and pulled a sofa over it. Then it was a matter of getting the birds to tear leaks in their cellar ceiling. I went around the warehouse turning all the taps and showers on, flushing all the toilets, and eventually linking their big sewage tank to the basement. Rain, tap water, sewage, it was all channelled into that little cellar. I went to the middle floor, found myself a dry bed, and fell asleep to the lullaby of the thunder and shrieking.

Next day, the sewage and water had overflowed into the first floor. The smell was rank. Some of my vultures trying to get into the basement confirmed death, and a lot of it.

There's your base dealt with, Lovett.

I'm going to enjoy this war!!!!!!!!!!!!

~Maddie :)

I am so taking this blog.

It's not a felony to take a dead man's blog or anything, izzit? I'll make my own account soon, though, okayz?

We were after Snowblower for a while, guess Sanna did us a favour. 

Ish. Kill-stealing bitch! Oh well, I love her anyway. I've been watching her for longer than she would know.

Ask me anything you want. I'll answer it.

~Not Snowblind

Lighting The Fuse

Here we go here we go.

I've been silent about this for two days now. I have Amelia right here. As a precaution I had to tie her down. She keeps trying to hang herself otherwise.

I'll email you my location, Alexandria, along with proof that she is here and alive. Barely alive. But alive.

It might be a trap.

I know you won't resist coming along to find out.

A T-Shirt.

I just received one in the post. It's the one advertised in Fracture's shop. The David Fucking Banks one.

Fuck you pHIL.

WOULD YOU GIVE A GIRL THAT T-SHIRT??? NO??? SO WHY AM I ANY DIFFERENT?

YOU FUCK. FUCK YOU pHIL.

Would you give Alexandria a T-shirt of the sort if I did that to her???

WHY DON'T WE FUCKING FIND OUT, YOU FUCK?

BITCHASS.

Yeaaaah, so a nice fit, quality product, 100% cotton. Very nice soft cotton, too. The dye is good quality as well.

FUCK YOU PHILLIP.

Announcements! Nicknames! Fun! BORED!

My proxy girlfriend dumped me by text with a sad face :( at the end.

I dumped her in a construction site with a slit throat.

So now I'm single, ladies. Think about it. I might be dead soon! Think about itttttt.

Look over there, Kelevra has taken to calling me Snegurochka. Uhhh... "snow-something"? The fuck does it mean? Aah, call me what you want, I'm likely going to kill our little Sashura, but I'm sure you're cool with that. Any proxies reading this, bring her in dead or alive, whichever. You might have more luck bringing her in dead. And get back to work, you skiving bastard.

That's all for announcements, I suppose.

Over on aforementioned little girl's blog, I nicknamed Kelevra Mr. Bump on account of his resemblance to Mr. Bump, you know from the Mr Men / Little Miss series. I had a childhood too, you know. So now, since all proxies are required to nickname, I give you a comprehensive list that I shall add to upon request:

Kelevra -- Mr. Bump
Vikady -- Mr. Noisy
pHIL -- Mr. Clever
Veigar -- Mr. Mean
JP -- Mr. Happy
Alexandria -- Little Miss Curious

Med -- Little Miss Brainy

BORING!!!

It's BORING in nigh on captivity. Not that I'm complaining.

I'd love to be out there on the battlefield, though. Or the Path. One day, I'm going to be great at using the Path. You'll see.

I suppose here might be a good time to tell you about me. You know that mook in the background of blogs that gets killed off? I mean there's probably like one sentence devoted to it. That's me. That's who I am. A generic proxy tormentor, and I pride myself on it. Infamy? Now that can go fuck itself! I don't want infamy. I just want... blood and guts. What all the other crazy generic proxies want.

And sight. Seeing. That little bitch took my eye out, and she will pay in blood for it. But seeing, ever since I was a boy, everything is sight.

Achievements. Torture. No glory.

Blood. Pain. Death. Money. That's all I need.

Generic proxy, out.