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Avatar The Last Airbender RPG

737 years after the fall of Ozai, and the world is once again on the brink of collapse. Sudden, random rebellions supported by unknown parties have sprung up across all nations. With the next Avatar undiscovered, the world's hope begins to crumble.
 
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 Seraphim - A Maximum Ride Fanfic

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LadyKura
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PostSubject: Seraphim - A Maximum Ride Fanfic   Thu Aug 16, 2012 8:12 am

    Let's Try This Again

    I swear I had typed this all down before, but the site wanted to be a butthead and completely annihilate my progress somehow. I was so discouraged I just gave up and decided to try again another day.

    This is me trying again. Because Kura doesn't give up for shit.

    This is a story based on Maximum Ride by James Patterson. Most of you know stories like this to be fan fiction. It's when you 'borrow' another person's characters and/or setting, and make a seperate story unlike the official one. Like if I wanted to write a story about Harry Potter being the Dursley's actual son instead of nephew. This summary was probably unneeded, but I felt like typing it, so blah! =P

    I'm posting this here because I feel really comfortable writing on the site. I'm not sure what it is, but my narration flows easier to me when I'm RP'ing. I feel like if I pretend I'm RP'ing, and keep you guys in mind, I can right an amazing ass story for once in my life!

    Sound good? You follow me?

    So with no further adieu, I'm just going to continue.




    OVERVIEW

    World
    Maximum Ride

    Summary
    Fang is captured by Itex, but this particular branch has even more issues regarding its morality. Will Maximum and the others make it in time to save him?

    Genres
    Action, Adventure, Sci-Fi, Hurt/Comfort

    Warnings
    Will be violence. And blood. Fang's blood, because I'm a sadist. Also includes an OC, but this story is mainly about Fang. OC is included to add realistic purposes, and also to fuel my attachment when it comes to little boy characters. (^_^)




    TABLE OF CONTENTS

    PART ONE
    1. Chapter One: Transient Global Amnesia

_________________
"No matter how hard you try, you can't f*ck with this." - Awesome Kurapika AMV

IMAGE OF THE WEEK:

[center]
Pictured above (from left to right) are Kurapika, Bakura, and Kurama. These three are the reason why my forum name has been 'LadyKura' from day one. Cute, excellent strategists with a dark side and extremely hard edges, all of these characters are very similar in one way or another. In fact, the longer I think, the more things I can come up with these guys have in common.[/center]


Last edited by LadyKura on Sat Aug 18, 2012 1:03 am; edited 2 times in total
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PostSubject: Re: Seraphim - A Maximum Ride Fanfic   Thu Aug 16, 2012 8:18 am

    Part I: Chapter One
    Transient Global Amnesia


    There were flashes of light digging deep into his brain. He could swear he heard women singing somewhere. Miscellaneous voices prattled on through his head. Some idiot stole his blanket; it was cold. He swore his fingers were growing numb. Who the hell put quicksand in his sleeping bag? It was like he was sinking. To where, he had no idea. Nudge was going to hear about this. Why Nudge, he was not sure either. Where the F*ck was the food? He was hungry.

    Fang's drowsy tangent was forgotten as a sharp stab of pain cut straight into his skull and sliced a white hot line down his face.

    This definitely wasn’t the most pleasant feeling to wake up to.

    And the hunger too. That was impossible to forget.

    Fang groaned, attempting to fight the stars in his vision. He’d made the very unwise decision to open his eyes to take in his surroundings, not at all expecting the sudden intake of light to cause so much damage to his retinas. In spite of the pulsing migraine carving its way across his face and into his brain, the bird kid forced himself to reopen his eyes.

    Because waking up bound to a surgeon’s table was never any good, especially when you were a mutant bird-kid on the run from an organization that had an excellent supply of surgeon tables. And dog cages. And Erasers.

    The harsh scent of antiseptic and blood was everywhere. Fang grimaced, too familiar with the smell.

    As Fang struggled to figure out what the hell happened to him, the dark blotches in his vision threatened to blind him in darkness once more. As if the nausea wasn't bad enough, too, there was a particular tightness around his skull that had nothing to do with his migraine, although Fang was a bit hesitant to find out what its purpose was exactly.

    He didn't have to wonder for long; the smell of blood oozed from there. Fang immediately put two and two together and got the sense that someone smashed his cranium real good. Someone had also had bandaged it. Tightly.

    Knowledge of the flock's medical practices and unpleasant memories of the School coursed through him. A concussion would very well explain the migraine and the bandages. And if he did have a concussion, the fact he was thinking somewhat coherently at the moment spoke volumes for his special bird-kid DNA. Apparently having an extraordinarily thick skull had consequences other than having an extra-bad crick in your neck when you slept without a pillow. Positive consequences, you know?

    But then it occurred to him that he had no freaking idea as to who struck him, and how the hell he’d gotten there in the first place, and his sense of serendipity faded. What’s more? He couldn’t even remember the last thing he’d eaten for breakfast, or the last time he’d gone to sleep, or even the last thing he said before he’d somehow fallen asleep or, ahem, got knocked out and woke up here.

    A faint trickle of panic sliced through him. His breath quickened, and a sudden dose of claustrophobia set in. F*ck.

    F*ck. F*ck. F*ck.

    Maximum might throttle him for such language, but cursing helped him feel better. Hell, it helped him feel a lot better. And although it didn’t help his situation in its entirety, he was able to calm down a little bit to focus, which, he supposed, was actually pretty damn important.

    Fang tested his restrains. The boy soon discerned that they, indeed, were made out of steel. The ‘cuffs’, as he dubbed them, were fastened seamlessly to the metallic surface he was lying on, with a tight opening only just large enough to secure his wrists and ankles, and the bases were maybe molded in with the table itself. Well, one thing was for sure; it was a table made especially for mutant avian hybrid teenage bird kids. Probably customized just for him. How flattering. He felt like a freaking insane asylum patient.

    But that was only a secondary issue.

    What the hell was wrong with his memories?

    Fang frowned. He’d almost panicked trying to recall what he didn’t remember, so supposed it was best to begin this time with what he did know. Slowly.

    His name was Fang. He was 98% human and 2% bird. The 2% of his DNA that was bird DNA granted him wings, among other things. He could use those wings to fly. He had powerful muscles and hollow bones. His skull, however, was thick. He belonged with the Flock.

    Simple enough. He felt better knowing he wasn’t a complete amnesiac. He wouldn’t have to deal with that ‘who am I?’ crap in those cliché movies Jeb used to have them watch.

    He grimaced, and not because of the migraine. Any time he thought about Jeb, it was always a pleasant memory at first. He’d start off remembering Jeb based on a memory back when they were younger and they lived at the ‘E’ house and they watched stupid movies all day without a care in the world. Jeb would bandage their scrapes and encourage them to do better. He taught them almost everything they knew. And then he would remember how they all thought Jeb was dead, and everyone but himself had cried. Because, you know, someone had to keep it together. Max couldn’t do everything.

    But then the memory turned ugly. Jeb had actually betrayed them for Itex, the organization responsible for ‘creating’ them, and then torturing them with experiments for half their lives. When the six of them escaped with Jeb’s help, they’d formed a flock. The Flock.

    The Flock consisted of Max, Nudge, Iggy, Gazzy, and Angel, all bird-kids like him. Oh, and now maybe that stupid dog Angel adopted. What was his name? Total? Yeah, him too.

    Fang was actually surprised at how seamless these thoughts flowed. He felt himself relaxing, content in knowing that his long-term memory hadn’t dived off a cliff chasing his short-term and his brain was still at least majorly intact.

    He was at the School. That fact was almost certain. What other place smelled this bad and would bind him to a damn operation table? With a concussion no less? Only the School. He highly doubted Max and the others would have taken him to a hospital. The hospitals on TV didn’t even carry tables like this. And patients slept on beds, not tables. Moreover, avoiding hospitals was pretty high up on their list of ‘Things to Never Ever Do Ever’, right under avoiding the School. Because, honestly, how far apart were they?
    But now he was here. How was he going to get out?

    Fang shoved down the fear the wanted to rise inside of him again. He felt his hackles rising, the downy hair on his arms and legs rose, too. He stubbornly forced himself to calm down. ‘You can do no good if you panic,’ he thought. ‘So stop being a scaredy-cat and man-up.’

    Man-up, huh? He was still just a kid.

    Well, it was clear he wasn’t going to be let off this table any time soon. Already his highly attuned senses was calculating angles, listening for any footsteps nearby and attempting to draw formulas in spite of his stubborn, ‘I-Am-Going-to-Kill-You’ migraine. But the more he thought, the more afraid he got. He felt as if he’d been tugged through space and time somehow, all orientation forgotten. It felt like hours had slipped out of his grasp, so he quickly gave up attempting to discern the time. He obviously hadn’t slipped into a coma, but he had no idea how to judge how long he’d been asleep.

    So Fang did what he had no choice to do. He had to heal.

    So he went back to sleep.

_________________
"No matter how hard you try, you can't f*ck with this." - Awesome Kurapika AMV

IMAGE OF THE WEEK:

[center]
Pictured above (from left to right) are Kurapika, Bakura, and Kurama. These three are the reason why my forum name has been 'LadyKura' from day one. Cute, excellent strategists with a dark side and extremely hard edges, all of these characters are very similar in one way or another. In fact, the longer I think, the more things I can come up with these guys have in common.[/center]
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