Anonymous 03/18/14(Tue)13:27 No.59962666 Replies: >59963670 59971728 File: 1395163663213 ipg-(210 KB, 1015x608, image jpg) GI Idea popped in while l was in the workshop, I'm on lunch right now so I'll finish this at home It has been years since humanity nearly fell to the grim. The Zone cares not what happens outside of it. Here, the only changes are the horrible, black beasts that have joined the assorted horrors that hide in The Zone It's a quiet night. No bloodsuckers, no bandits. The only light for miles out is your glowing campfire. Tossing in another log, you return to squatting by the flames, keeping warm in the unforgiving wasteland Hour pass. Then a sound joins the crackling of the fire. Footsteps. Your hand goes to your rifle, you wait until you see who, or what is out there 墬Anonymous 03/18/14(Tue) 1 9:36 No. 59971 728 Replies: >259973637 >>59962666 >59963670 You pinpoint the source of the footsteps and yell out in your thick Slavic accent, "WHO IS THERE?" Meters away you see a figure come closer, walking arms to their side. At the least they should not have a large weapon ready judging by the way their hands are The figure comes closer and you work a firm grip on your rifle. The campfire light finally reaches them and you see who they are, Anonymous 03/18/14(Tue)20:43 No.59973637 Replies: >5997473059977239 >>59971728 Carefully looking over the person coming to you, you note the lack of weapons. Is it a loner with a death wish? Surely no sane person would walk into The Zone without means of protecting themselves. You ease your grip off of your nugget, but still hold on. The loner walks about a bit, the cloak hiding their face and most of their person, you still cannot be sure if they are unarmed or alone. He or she or whomever, finally decides to sit at pile of rocks, just several feet away from you. Your watchful eye scanning the horizon for more outlines of people or monsters. Then, the stranger unhoods them self and places the quickly folded cloak next to them. You cannot believe your eyes, in the cold and cruel Zone, a young girl has survived! You look again, especially at her facial features. Judging from the lack of wrinkles, bags and scars, you assure yourself that she cannot be older than roughly 17 or 18. She looks back at you and smiles. Surely she cannot be of any danger rig Anonymous 03/18/14(Tue)22:49 No.59977239 Replies: 59978519 File: 1395197377266 ipg-(217 KB, 1440x900, loner_playing_a_sad_song jpg) G >59974730 (You >>59973637 ht. But you can never sure in The Zone. You sit for a while, not knowing what to do next, cautious of her and the darkness all around. Deciding that eventually The Zone will claim either of you some day, you betray your experience and let go of the nugget and pick up your guitar. You play songs taught to you by other STALKERS in your years of traveling. The beaten and tarnished acoustic guitar still plays well for its condition and you play as best you can for the loner. You sit cross legged, guitar on your lap. The campfire crackles harmoniously with the notes and chords, strums and plucks. Across from you, the girl sits on rocks, listening to your playing. When you finish your third song, you notice something different about her. "Something is the matter?" you ask her Yes, it's..." the girl looks at your weary but willing instrument, "may I play your guitar, mister? You pause for a moment, curious at what she will play. Variety is the spice of life, perhaps something other than the familiar progression of chords of the locals will grace your ears □ Anonymous 03/18/14(Tue)23:37 No.59978519 Replies: 2259978744269979354 >>59977239 (finally getting to what i actually thought of at the workshop) Oh but of course" as you hand her the guitar. You walk over, guitar in hand and notice she has already laid her cloak over her lap. How nice. You sit down next to her and wait. She tests the strings and how out of tune they are before adjusting them. Taking a deep breathe, she begins to play A slow melody of notes come, the sound of which you have never heard before. Perhaps it was in the song itself or maybe it was something else, but soon her voice joins in. shiver down your spine. A pleasant shiver of the spine, a sensation near never felt by a STALKER who's spine only shivers when death is imminent. It is nice, very relaxing. After the melody, her strumming changed to accompany the chords that swung and parried around your ears, surely of origin from the west, only such spirited music can be found there. The song slowed, chords became minors that felt unsettling, she carefully plucked each string on the last strum down. Suddenly, her hands danced along the frets, her plucking became that of lightnight and faster than anything Simonov could ever play. The music became familiar again, it was a livelier version of the opening melody! Finally reaching the crescendo, the girl finishes off with a strong strum of one final chord (i think im taking too long with this) ." the angelic way it echoed off into the night sent a □ Anonymous 03/19/14(Wed)00:12 No.59979354 Replies: >>59979661259980400 File: 1395202361376 ipg-(Spoiler Image, 7 KB, 174x198) GD >>59978519 You sit there in awe, your ears graced by the melody of this song. You look back to the girl and you notice she's visibly upset. It was either the way she looked off into the fire longingly or how she wrapped herself in the cloak again, hood barely covering her head "Is there something wrong?" you ask her It's just," she starts, "that song " "It was wonderful Oh, thank you." She smiles, but it fades. That song was my best friend's song. She taught it to me." Your best friend's?" Yes, but..." She looks like she's on the verge of tears at this point. "She's-she's gone now "t is hard feeling, but you can get through this." "Have, have you ever had a best friend?" "I have," you reply. "And I cannot go a day without the guilt of not being able to save them." "l miss my friend too. All I have left is her cloak, her song, and our memories. The both of you sit watching the campfire. Fatigue from previous nights of unrest and running from bandits take their toll on you. Without consent, sleep takes you. You awake to the smell of smoke and a eerie silence. "Good morning..."you groggily spill the words out of your mouth. No response "Hello?" Once more silence answers you. The girl with the short orange hair is gone and once more you are alone. Such is life in The Anonymous 03/19/14(Wed)00:25 No.59979661 Replies: >>59979679 59980400 >59979354 "nooo anon, it needs to end rwby related!" Sitting up, you take a look around. The campfire died out and yet you feel something warm. Then it dawns upon you as you realize the top of your vision is blocked. You push back whatever it is on your head and you realize it is the the cloak from the girl last night and that she must have left it with you as a present. You take the cloak off and look at it more closely. It feels soft despite what it has been through, and smells rather good as well. You gaze once more at the fabric on your lap. You think to yourself that maybe she will survive The Zone, maybe she will find a way out of this forsaken wasteland, maybe you will one day join your friend in a land where happiness is abundant like flowers in the fields and misery a far off past. You look once more at the cloak, it's colour brilliant in the bleak wasteland comforting you. It's red, like roses

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Anonymous 03/18/14(Tue)13:27 No.59962666 Replies: >59963670 59971728 File: 1395163663213 ipg-(210 KB, 1015x608, image jpg) GI Idea popped in while l was in the workshop, I'm on lunch right now so I'll finish this at home It has been years since humanity nearly fell to the grim. The Zone cares not what happens outside of it. Here, the only changes are the horrible, black beasts that have joined the assorted horrors that hide in The Zone It's a quiet night. No bloodsuckers, no bandits. The only light for miles out is your glowing campfire. Tossing in another log, you return to squatting by the flames, keeping warm in the unforgiving wasteland Hour pass. Then a sound joins the crackling of the fire. Footsteps. Your hand goes to your rifle, you wait until you see who, or what is out there 墬Anonymous 03/18/14(Tue) 1 9:36 No. 59971 728 Replies: >259973637 >>59962666 >59963670 You pinpoint the source of the footsteps and yell out in your thick Slavic accent, "WHO IS THERE?" Meters away you see a figure come closer, walking arms to their side. At the least they should not have a large weapon ready judging by the way their hands are The figure comes closer and you work a firm grip on your rifle. The campfire light finally reaches them and you see who they are, Anonymous 03/18/14(Tue)20:43 No.59973637 Replies: >5997473059977239 >>59971728 Carefully looking over the person coming to you, you note the lack of weapons. Is it a loner with a death wish? Surely no sane person would walk into The Zone without means of protecting themselves. You ease your grip off of your nugget, but still hold on. The loner walks about a bit, the cloak hiding their face and most of their person, you still cannot be sure if they are unarmed or alone. He or she or whomever, finally decides to sit at pile of rocks, just several feet away from you. Your watchful eye scanning the horizon for more outlines of people or monsters. Then, the stranger unhoods them self and places the quickly folded cloak next to them. You cannot believe your eyes, in the cold and cruel Zone, a young girl has survived! You look again, especially at her facial features. Judging from the lack of wrinkles, bags and scars, you assure yourself that she cannot be older than roughly 17 or 18. She looks back at you and smiles. Surely she cannot be of any danger rig Anonymous 03/18/14(Tue)22:49 No.59977239 Replies: 59978519 File: 1395197377266 ipg-(217 KB, 1440x900, loner_playing_a_sad_song jpg) G >59974730 (You >>59973637 ht. But you can never sure in The Zone. You sit for a while, not knowing what to do next, cautious of her and the darkness all around. Deciding that eventually The Zone will claim either of you some day, you betray your experience and let go of the nugget and pick up your guitar. You play songs taught to you by other STALKERS in your years of traveling. The beaten and tarnished acoustic guitar still plays well for its condition and you play as best you can for the loner. You sit cross legged, guitar on your lap. The campfire crackles harmoniously with the notes and chords, strums and plucks. Across from you, the girl sits on rocks, listening to your playing. When you finish your third song, you notice something different about her. "Something is the matter?" you ask her Yes, it's..." the girl looks at your weary but willing instrument, "may I play your guitar, mister? You pause for a moment, curious at what she will play. Variety is the spice of life, perhaps something other than the familiar progression of chords of the locals will grace your ears □ Anonymous 03/18/14(Tue)23:37 No.59978519 Replies: 2259978744269979354 >>59977239 (finally getting to what i actually thought of at the workshop) Oh but of course" as you hand her the guitar. You walk over, guitar in hand and notice she has already laid her cloak over her lap. How nice. You sit down next to her and wait. She tests the strings and how out of tune they are before adjusting them. Taking a deep breathe, she begins to play A slow melody of notes come, the sound of which you have never heard before. Perhaps it was in the song itself or maybe it was something else, but soon her voice joins in. shiver down your spine. A pleasant shiver of the spine, a sensation near never felt by a STALKER who's spine only shivers when death is imminent. It is nice, very relaxing. After the melody, her strumming changed to accompany the chords that swung and parried around your ears, surely of origin from the west, only such spirited music can be found there. The song slowed, chords became minors that felt unsettling, she carefully plucked each string on the last strum down. Suddenly, her hands danced along the frets, her plucking became that of lightnight and faster than anything Simonov could ever play. The music became familiar again, it was a livelier version of the opening melody! Finally reaching the crescendo, the girl finishes off with a strong strum of one final chord (i think im taking too long with this) ." the angelic way it echoed off into the night sent a □ Anonymous 03/19/14(Wed)00:12 No.59979354 Replies: >>59979661259980400 File: 1395202361376 ipg-(Spoiler Image, 7 KB, 174x198) GD >>59978519 You sit there in awe, your ears graced by the melody of this song. You look back to the girl and you notice she's visibly upset. It was either the way she looked off into the fire longingly or how she wrapped herself in the cloak again, hood barely covering her head "Is there something wrong?" you ask her It's just," she starts, "that song " "It was wonderful Oh, thank you." She smiles, but it fades. That song was my best friend's song. She taught it to me." Your best friend's?" Yes, but..." She looks like she's on the verge of tears at this point. "She's-she's gone now "t is hard feeling, but you can get through this." "Have, have you ever had a best friend?" "I have," you reply. "And I cannot go a day without the guilt of not being able to save them." "l miss my friend too. All I have left is her cloak, her song, and our memories. The both of you sit watching the campfire. Fatigue from previous nights of unrest and running from bandits take their toll on you. Without consent, sleep takes you. You awake to the smell of smoke and a eerie silence. "Good morning..."you groggily spill the words out of your mouth. No response "Hello?" Once more silence answers you. The girl with the short orange hair is gone and once more you are alone. Such is life in The Anonymous 03/19/14(Wed)00:25 No.59979661 Replies: >>59979679 59980400 >59979354 "nooo anon, it needs to end rwby related!" Sitting up, you take a look around. The campfire died out and yet you feel something warm. Then it dawns upon you as you realize the top of your vision is blocked. You push back whatever it is on your head and you realize it is the the cloak from the girl last night and that she must have left it with you as a present. You take the cloak off and look at it more closely. It feels soft despite what it has been through, and smells rather good as well. You gaze once more at the fabric on your lap. You think to yourself that maybe she will survive The Zone, maybe she will find a way out of this forsaken wasteland, maybe you will one day join your friend in a land where happiness is abundant like flowers in the fields and misery a far off past. You look once more at the cloak, it's colour brilliant in the bleak wasteland comforting you. It's red, like roses

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