OOC: I very much approve of having a battle in which we attempt to keep daily or other-daily replies. Letting a battle go too long (my fault as often as other people's) can really kill it sometimes. I'll do my best to keep the battle fresh and exciting, if you'll agree to do this dance.
It was forty degrees above warm. The day was like a windowless room that had left the oven on high all afternoon. The sky had decided it had had quite enough, thank you, and vacated the premesis completely. What plants were left in people's gardens didn't droop, they passed out. Flags that had flown magnificently from flagpoles around town now looked like colored rags that had climbed up and pitifully hung themselves.
A gale of winds suddenly assaulted the small town of Pocatello. It was no northern or easterly wind, but like a wind that swept in from all directions. People sought cover in their houses. First, there had been no oxygen... and now they were being blown over.
A small point of light appeared in the blank, cloudless sky. It grew brighter, until it descended upon the vacant main street. Small hole-in-the-wall shops lined the one-way street, sidewalks having stamped gaping holes in themselves to allow cottonwood trees to poke out. Black antique lampposts sat quietly during the daytime, casting a London-ish appearance about the street. The light dissipated, and a man surveyed these surroundings.
He was quite curious. Young, and thin, he stood about 5'10" tall, wearing surfer clothes, and rope seashell necklace around his neck. The gale of winds continued to sweep through the town, and clouds began to appear in the distance.
[color=lightgreen]"Hmm..." said the man, strolling the vacated street in faded vans. "I wonder when he'll show?"[/color]
OOC: I'm assuming this town is deserted. It seems to arid to sustain life if even the flags are hanging themselves. So, I'll run off that, unless you notify my otherwise, then I'll fix my post.
"Kuma?" Daniel whispers, walking alongside his friend whose appearance, deigned to a bearlike form, seems to struggle against the unrelenting heat. "Where are we?"
They find themselves walking in the shadow of a ghost-town with streets whose guise only seem to reflect a once bustling market activity. Otherwise, they leave nothing to imagination; the place is deserted. Or, rather, it seems deserted.
"I'm not sure where we are, Daniel," Kuma growls, his lumbering frame hulking through the thick humidity [**], "but I am dying of heat overload...well, if I could die."
"Really?" returns Daniel, his long graceful gate gliding to a stop. "I don't feel a thing. Well, not the heat anyway."
Kuma: ???
Daniel; "Up ahead, there, but two streets over. I feel a drifter...or, maybe not a drifter. His energy...it seems to radiate a sense of confinement. Maybe he's our overlord?"
Kuma: "And we're the trespassers?"
Daniel: "I think so. Go scout around for some sustenance. I'll call you when I'm finished. Oh, and try to stay away from the main drag. I can't afford you getting hurt again."
Kuma runs off towards the east, the last of his hulking silhouette disappearing into the solar haze. Surprisingly, his footfalls are completely silent; the blessing of the ****ed, one would suppose. Daniel, however, leaps to the closest rooftop - a shanty bungalow - and heads west a few streets. The small town's rooftops are convenient, considering their proximity is as close as code probably allows. With ease, Daniel comes to the main drag, kneeling atop a bowing shop whose grey awning overhangs the sidewalk. He looks right - no one - and left, finding not a soul.
Daniel: ???
Then, he hears it; breathing, coming from below the awning. "Let's turn up the heat," Daniel whispers to himself, unsheathing his athame. Without hesitation, he plunges the tip of the blade into his palm, releasing a pool of bronze blood on the rooftop, which he then forms into an arcane design. Sealing the magic, his bleeding stops, and the symbol sinks into the rooftop, relinquishing a metallic pop and a faint orange glow. And so, the weather intensifies, adding more heat to this oven of a shanty town.
Daniel looks down, left, and right again, then plunges through the awning, landing on what could be no other than a vintage wood flower cart.
"****!" he can't help but voice it. He owes it to the fact that he's stuck, and the reason he's left looking his opponent square in the eye. It's awkward for Daniel, and for his opponent who looks on in confusion. "Er, hello."
OOC: ** I'm assuming this town would have humidity as, considering it was once a town, there would have been a viable water source which would be evaporating and replenishing through natural mechanism. If not, ignore it.
Nice post by the way. =) To answer your question;
Fair enough. Your go.