[ this isn't home. this isn't near his town. in fact, it's not anywhere even remotely recognizable. all he can see is trash and trash and more trash, and the stench is strong enough to give him a headache, and he can hear the sounds of too much machinery whirring away in the distance, and ... it's raining.
how does he even begin to process this.
one might find lop sitting right in the midst of a scattered garbage heap, water slowly dribbling down his hair. it's obvious he hasn't moved an inch since he was dumped down here, and he seems to be staring into the distance in some sort of shell-shocked trance.
though if anyone steps too close, he'll turn to face them in an instant, eyes wide and breaths coming shallow. your stereotypical deer -- or rabbit? -- in the headlights. ]
phase iii.
[ to most people, it would be obvious that the conveyor belt headed towards the raging inferno is barely moving at a crawl. but the adrenaline rush of sheer panic does a lot to dull one's thinking, and in his state of absolute terror, lop feels like he's being carried towards the incinerator at a mile a minute.
anyone located a bit further down the line's just going to hear the tap-tap-tap of rapidfire footsteps before lop comes barreling into them at an almost inhuman speed; he's failed to watch where he was going, whoops. but almost as soon as both people have toppled over, lop's back on his feet, tugging at his unfortunate victim's arm. ]
Quick -- we have to run --
[ might be a good idea to alert him to the slow pace of the incinerator belt, unless you like getting dragged behind a panicked rabbit. ]
phase iv.
Um ... excuse me?
[ if someone looks over at the sound of that meek call, they'll find lop standing there looking incredibly troubled. his left arm's missing, the sleeve of his shirt tied into a knot to keep the fabric from flapping around, and in his right hand, he's holding ... half of an acoustic guitar.
sure, it's relatively light and not too much trouble to drag around. but when you've only got one hand in the first place, having it occupied is a little troublesome.
lop manages a watery smile, sounding as fretful and nervous as he looks. ]
I'm sorry to bother you, but. I, ah ... I think I accidentally grabbed something with glue on it. Could I ask for your help in pulling it off? I'm afraid I couldn't find anywhere I could wedge it in to to pull it off myself ...
lop underbrush | oc | ota!
[ this isn't home. this isn't near his town. in fact, it's not anywhere even remotely recognizable. all he can see is trash and trash and more trash, and the stench is strong enough to give him a headache, and he can hear the sounds of too much machinery whirring away in the distance, and ... it's raining.
how does he even begin to process this.
one might find lop sitting right in the midst of a scattered garbage heap, water slowly dribbling down his hair. it's obvious he hasn't moved an inch since he was dumped down here, and he seems to be staring into the distance in some sort of shell-shocked trance.
though if anyone steps too close, he'll turn to face them in an instant, eyes wide and breaths coming shallow. your stereotypical deer -- or rabbit? -- in the headlights. ]
phase iii.
[ to most people, it would be obvious that the conveyor belt headed towards the raging inferno is barely moving at a crawl. but the adrenaline rush of sheer panic does a lot to dull one's thinking, and in his state of absolute terror, lop feels like he's being carried towards the incinerator at a mile a minute.
anyone located a bit further down the line's just going to hear the tap-tap-tap of rapidfire footsteps before lop comes barreling into them at an almost inhuman speed; he's failed to watch where he was going, whoops. but almost as soon as both people have toppled over, lop's back on his feet, tugging at his unfortunate victim's arm. ]
Quick -- we have to run --
[ might be a good idea to alert him to the slow pace of the incinerator belt, unless you like getting dragged behind a panicked rabbit. ]
phase iv.
Um ... excuse me?
[ if someone looks over at the sound of that meek call, they'll find lop standing there looking incredibly troubled. his left arm's missing, the sleeve of his shirt tied into a knot to keep the fabric from flapping around, and in his right hand, he's holding ... half of an acoustic guitar.
sure, it's relatively light and not too much trouble to drag around. but when you've only got one hand in the first place, having it occupied is a little troublesome.
lop manages a watery smile, sounding as fretful and nervous as he looks. ]
I'm sorry to bother you, but. I, ah ... I think I accidentally grabbed something with glue on it. Could I ask for your help in pulling it off? I'm afraid I couldn't find anywhere I could wedge it in to to pull it off myself ...
wildcard.
[ anything else ... ?! ]