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taxonomites2011-02-19 02:13 am
imperial-long.livejournal.com) wrote in taxonomites2011-02-19 02:13 am
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[Accidental Visual] (the man who fell to earth)
[[Backdated to day four of Zombie Hell]
Again the tablet is displaying at an odd angle, incorporated into Oolong's bracelet as it is. The city sweeps by in disorienting swatches of building rooftops, building walls, pavement seeming to rush towards the screen, then shots of the skyline and shots of the sky-- repeated over and over as the dragon loops through the air, flying over the streets and trying to find accumulated groups of zombies to vent his fires on.
Or just sit on. This also works.
Of course, he can pick them off one by one, and he has done so, but it's not the most efficient use of his time and energies. He's experimented with simply laying down in the street and using his own body to form a barrier to herd them, but this takes time, because the abominations are slow, plodding things, and he sees less reason to be patient, in this form.
So he hunts out groups of them, swarming around buildings or milling in open spaces. Fire is satisfying, but there is usually at least one or two on the outer edges that isn't destroyed, and they often stagger off into a building, and then he has to attempt to put that out....
So squishing works. It's disgusting, and coats his claws and hands and formerly-spotless scales with a bloody, rotten, oozing sort of pulp that he ends up washing off himself with gouts of fire because it stinks, by Buddha! ...but it gets the job done, so to speak.
The hunting has been getting scarcer; the vermin are taking to hiding, now. He comes across a group of four of them and sighs; by yesterday's standards, hardly enough to bother with, but today...
The dragon sweeps closer, jaws opened to spray an immolating death from above as the corpses stop and stare dumbly up.
Instead the universe suddenly expands.
It wrenches, twists on him even as it grows. The buildings are magnified a hundred-fold; the rotting vermin are suddenly no longer vermin but beings his own size, and he has an indescribable sickening feeling of all that he is being crammed down into a shoe whether it will fit or not, shoved in, shoved into the little skin of leather and hide and hair--
This is followed by a sensation of falling.
The pavement hits him hard, bruising on knees and palms, and he can't even cry out due to the massive disorientation from the shift. The broadcast is now a grounds-level view of the pavement stretching away, and the bloody, rotting feet and legs of four zombies shuffling closer to the dinner that has so obligingly appeared before them, unarmed, naked, and dazed.
OOC: Oolong is Long again! no more dragony funtimes for him. sadface. The tablet will once more display his name and location as Mayland Long though.
Again the tablet is displaying at an odd angle, incorporated into Oolong's bracelet as it is. The city sweeps by in disorienting swatches of building rooftops, building walls, pavement seeming to rush towards the screen, then shots of the skyline and shots of the sky-- repeated over and over as the dragon loops through the air, flying over the streets and trying to find accumulated groups of zombies to vent his fires on.
Or just sit on. This also works.
Of course, he can pick them off one by one, and he has done so, but it's not the most efficient use of his time and energies. He's experimented with simply laying down in the street and using his own body to form a barrier to herd them, but this takes time, because the abominations are slow, plodding things, and he sees less reason to be patient, in this form.
So he hunts out groups of them, swarming around buildings or milling in open spaces. Fire is satisfying, but there is usually at least one or two on the outer edges that isn't destroyed, and they often stagger off into a building, and then he has to attempt to put that out....
So squishing works. It's disgusting, and coats his claws and hands and formerly-spotless scales with a bloody, rotten, oozing sort of pulp that he ends up washing off himself with gouts of fire because it stinks, by Buddha! ...but it gets the job done, so to speak.
The hunting has been getting scarcer; the vermin are taking to hiding, now. He comes across a group of four of them and sighs; by yesterday's standards, hardly enough to bother with, but today...
The dragon sweeps closer, jaws opened to spray an immolating death from above as the corpses stop and stare dumbly up.
Instead the universe suddenly expands.
It wrenches, twists on him even as it grows. The buildings are magnified a hundred-fold; the rotting vermin are suddenly no longer vermin but beings his own size, and he has an indescribable sickening feeling of all that he is being crammed down into a shoe whether it will fit or not, shoved in, shoved into the little skin of leather and hide and hair--
This is followed by a sensation of falling.
The pavement hits him hard, bruising on knees and palms, and he can't even cry out due to the massive disorientation from the shift. The broadcast is now a grounds-level view of the pavement stretching away, and the bloody, rotting feet and legs of four zombies shuffling closer to the dinner that has so obligingly appeared before them, unarmed, naked, and dazed.
OOC: Oolong is Long again! no more dragony funtimes for him. sadface. The tablet will once more display his name and location as Mayland Long though.