Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5543592-20190904182217/@comment-5543592-20191020173409

The lake swallowed Naomi step by step. The quiet sounds of the Montana wilderness--the bird calls, the gentle breeze through the grass--gave way for the pumping of her own blood and the gurgle of water pressure on steel. Each step sounded like a spike being driven into the ground. The lake water was clear, crystal even, and she could see well enough, even in the sun's refracted like. The lake was deep, and fish--trou, minnows--scattered from her. At the lake's bottom she could see some sort of glass bubble. It was large, it's size equivalent to an upright van. The bubble was clear, and she could see through to the other side of it.

The tribals turned towards Wilkes as they heard him approach and one stood, picking up his machette. The other two remained sitting, hands on their weapons.

"Metal man." The standing tribal hissed. There was a serpentine, lisping pretension to how he spoke. He sniffed the air, it was a dramatic, loud gesture. "Metal man bleeds."

"Blood flavor.  Blood flavor." One of the sitting ones growled, gnashing his teeth. He picked up his machette and began to whack against the side of his own head.

"Skeek wup egh!"  The standing tribal shrieked. "Why come, metal man?  Why come?"

The paint streaking his greasy blond hair was looking less and less like paint and more and mroe like blood.