There was a very, very, very minor pause before Ooryl answered.

"Of course," he said, while the other soldiers stared quizzically at the microwave, the interior of which was suddenly consumed in a completely orange-ish red light. "Must be new model."


****


Killey stood outside on the grass, enjoying what peace and quiet he could attain given the circumstances and watching army personnel mill about. He had become quite bored of sitting around inside, and he'd gotten tired of the medical staff fussing over the gash on his face. Plus he'd seen his buddies stampede into the kitchen and for a multitude of reasons he didn't like watching them eat.

He reached into his BDU pants and unfurled from a pocket a pack of cigarettes. He knocked one out and stuck it in his mouth, then patted himself down for a lighter. When he found it he cupped his other hand around it and moved it towards the cancerstick.

**BANG**

The nearby kitchen window was illuminated for a second in an supernova-orange glow and there was shrieking from several voices he recognized inside and what sounded like metal and plastic crashing all over the place. Only barely moving his head, Killey's eyes focused on the window for several seconds.

"..."

He looked back towards the cigarette and continued lighting it, then took a long drag.

(@ Rusty's post:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8X_Ot0k4XJc)


Indeed, he was clairvoyant of that deafening blast that came from the kitchen. Luckily, Teck was cozy on the very couch from whence he came, his legs folded regally and indulged in his taquito. KABOOM! His ears lowered and he ceased chewing, a chunk of food held in his left swollen cheek... ... ... he continued to chew several seconds later.

"Aaaah, I remember the first time I did that."

OOC: Just a heads up that story progression should be coming tomorrow. I'd rather not fire things into balls-out action again so soon, so don't expect that immediately, but more significant stuff (and hopefully some official character appearances) should come along tomorrow, if other obligations don't get the better of us.

OOC: Yeah, not exactly story progression in this post, but please have patience. Got some additional appearances planned, and also trying to figure out something that can be happening back at the president's house, if anybody else from the current cast is still hanging out there. Just IM me or PM me or something if you've got any specific ideas about where your character might be, or what he or she might be doing, or what sort of interesting thing could happen immediately, before the main "story" itself moves on.




It had been perhaps an hour since Rock left President Towers' abode in search of... whatever it was he was looking for.

Ideas, answers, and solitude in which to seek them. The latter was something he needed absolutely; as he distanced himself further from that noisy building, and arrived into the still, evacuated depths of the city, he found his mind in a state ever more lucid. So, he began to sort his thoughts.

A block-skulled brawler like Rock probably didn't seem like a man of letters, but he in fact kept a very thin memo book of sorts in his jacket pocket, ink pen rubber-banded around it for convenience. As he walked along toward the harbor, past spewing fire hydrants and the occasional rescue crew, he scratched down observations about the day and previous evening. Much was mundane and factual; some was speculative; occasional scribbled pen-sketches appeared, such as one particularly funny looking representation of a giant chicken-legged boat stepping on what looked like a little guy with a pincushion for a head. But that one made him stop for a moment, then abruptly change tone.

He stepped off the sidewalk and sat sideways into the passenger's seat of a gnarled and wrecked police cruiser (which was actually lacking a passenger's side door altogether), and continued writing.

Gotta get my temper back under control. I let some self-centered urchin get me too mad. I already decided before that I was past that. Can't get dragged down again, not after all that's happened.

If anybody had learned more than a whole lifetime's lessons on the consequences of anger, it'd be Rock. Unfortunately, he had double the temper to deal with, too. Morality was always kind of a grey area for the guy; even as he wrote those words on the page with one hand, he was actively looting the glove compartment of the patrol car with the other, perusing for things of use or value.

"... Cool, road flares."

Oh well.

A pair of feet went strolling rather calmly down the sidewalk near Rock. Its distinctive clunk clunking steps should have given the simian a pretty decent idea that he wasn't the only person around his neck of the woods... Even before the figure stopped just at his side, blew a puff of smoke in a half-sigh, and dropped its cigarette to the pavement, snuffing out the flame with a heavy boot.

Ace put his hand on the roof of the car and took a (safely distanced) peek inside with a sly grin-- likely at Rock's thieving antics.

"Nice to be in the front half for once, eh, Rock?"

(OOC: Quickie? What the hell!?)

"...I'd like to keep my retinas, thanks," he said with a smile, and slid the carton back into his jacket pocket. He'd just finished up one, anyway. Any more and he might start to smell like smoke. Caz wouldn't like that... But hey, speaking of.

"...You don't need to worry about Carol, either," he added. "She left her hat way back at Westside."