Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25686329-20160521052428

He really did regret never properly asking her out.

''Now things seemed... tense. He hadn't seen her much, but no-one's fault but his own. He wished, nay, prayed they'd cross paths again and be able to patch things up.''

It had been months since the paintball incident, when Yankee had a bout with some form of mental sickness (he guessed Borderlind Personality Disorder) and, assuming Nicolette was acting as bait, betraying him, shot her 'dead' in the collarbone.

''And then she vanished, for reasons unknown. Yankee followed suit, for his own reasons, isolating himself and distancing himself from the student body, though he kept semi-abreast of the goings-on. Maybe he just was looking in the wrong places. She was still in the school, right...?''

Maybe Yankee just missed her... in more ways than one. He dreamed of her, a few times.

Yankee's train of thought de-fogged as he staggered out of the Stronghold, eyes adjusting to the afternoon light. Crap, how long had he been down there? Probably approaching the 24 hour mark. He did that more frequently; essentially LIVE in the bunker for a day or two at a time.

The wide, crypt-esk door was open behind him. He heard noise in the underbrush and instinctively drew. He knew the sound of human footsteps when he heard them, and there were VERY few who knew this sanctum existed.

"State your name and business or I'll stick you so full of welts you'll look like the inside of a jam-jar, you honey-sucking brush popper." He spat, then grimaced. His face was sour but his mind was a whirl.

A vain, vain, vain, vain part of him was praying that it might be her... 