maskormenacelogs | OPEN | It was a supernatural delight

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OPEN | It was a supernatural delight

WHO: BADER and OPEN
WHERE: Residence #002 in De Chima, Virginia + Downtown Heropa
WHEN: Early September
WHAT: Bader goes on a date with Saul. Has a better time with coyotes and back alley murderers.
WARNINGS: Death of a faceless NPC. Violence like a shit load of violence IN DETAIL. There is some sick mess going down in this log please do not engage if squeamish.

I. CLOSED TO WILL GRAHAM and anyone in the area - Surprise! #002 Residence, De Chima

[ Residential Virginia was generally a nice place once you overlooked the intolerably right-wing billboards littering the sides of country roads and the concessional stink of tourists and Civil War enthusiasts. Virginia was not for lovers; it was for middle-class unhappy mothers who had opinions on vineyards despite drinking wine out of boxes and pickups that have never seen a stretch of farmland. Backwater with a lot more pretense, but still Bader found it all alright with her. The neighbors were nice.

Probably because her neighbors were a small clutch of people shy coyotes she absorbed into some sort of stopgap pack in a impulsive bid to make up for her laundry list of cluster fuck rash decisions that ended with her being outed to Will, and an entire house all but leveled. Coyotes weren't wolves but they were canids and something she could easily build a rapport with through supernatural means with only a little show of will and animal ken. Two of the four she had brought with her out of the backwoods looked to even have a little dog in them with their too-soft ears and patches of white in their rounded faces.

In clear violation of being a good roommate protocol, Bader is sitting out on the front porch of the recently renovated assigned house in De Chima with well, her coyotes. They all chirrup and whine around her like a small pack of hairy toddlers with sharper teeth that lick around her boots and fingers. OF course they all smell to high heaven and yip nervously at passing traffic as they huddle close around Bader while she waits. Will should be back from his too clever by half named bait shop, and then they were going to talk. She hadn't spoken to him since the fight, but she already knew they he knew about well- everything. ]

II. CLOSED TO SAUL GOODMAN - Date night - Downtown Heropa

[ Bader is on the corner between a gas station mini mart that smells like stale weed and staler piss and the shadiest looking motel she had seen since coming out of Los Angeles. Free tee shirt guy was supposed to be picking her up for their date on a moderately nice side of town and Bader had only hastily texted him the address of the motel she was supposedly staying at. She definitely was not; she slept in the mornings in an abandoned construction site as a wolf because has standards. Fortunately, she did shower and even apply a decent bit of make up along with snagging a nice cocktail dress with matching shoes before coming out here.

She absolutely planned to drink free tee-shirt mans blood, but when was the last time she got the chance to dress up for a night on the town? And while she waited, only now did the thought cross her mind: Did this Saul character even own a car. Embarrassing. ]

III. OPEN - Downtown Heropa
GORE WARNING

[ Being shot in the chest came as a bit of an upset as Bader hit the cold, foul smelling concrete stretch of the back alley out of shock less because of the actual blow. Face down on concrete that had soaked up decades of vomit and alcohol her heightened senses made it hard not to retch and instead stay perfectly still as the frantic sound of footsteps (two sets, she counted) approached. Muffled words broke through the humid downtown night air above her where she lay, decidedly bleeding out because fuck no would she waste vitae for the sake of performance.

Some reedy male voice forcing too much slang was inconsolable ('You shot them! What the fuck man, who even does shit like this anymore; you said it was unloaded!') Which, Bader was inclined to agree as she huffed in smog wafting up from the ground; it was pretty stupid to do hit and runs in this town, and that was not even counting the almost cartoon levels of villainy to stalk back alleys only to just add murder on your rap sheet when armed robbery would have done just fine. Fucking gangbangers hadn't changed in the last decade at all, and without looking she knew was going to be seeing two pale faces with Lids caps that still had the sticker on the brim. Embarrassing.

When the second person, her assailant, had walked around to drop down by her head did she positively smell the smugness coming off of him in cheap body spray waves that was about as bad as whatever had soaked into the concrete. He sounded flippant about what he had done as he reached over to dig for her wallet which, joke was on him, because she did not have a wallet to speak over. Scream echoed out of the alley when Bader reached out and in one swift motion sliced through his achilles tendon with claws that jutted out of the end of her fingers.

Her attacker writhed on the ground; his foot hanging loose off his ankle like a screen door that had been ripped wide open, bleeding out and sobbing while the other man just stood in mute horror. Bader calmly pointed at the latter and told him to make tracks seeing as he was too chicken shit to be a real threat and consequently not worth her time. That one obliged without a moment of hesitation in what Bader imagined was no comfort to the one on the ground. Alone again with the first one who, she hit the nail on the head with this one, squirmed next his hat that had been knocked off in the fall. Lids cap with the sticker still on the brim.

Bader sank to a crotch beside him looking on, perfectly impassive in the face of his suffering as she adjusted her jacket over the bloodless hole just above her right breast. She remembers what she had told Chilton: Will was safe with her, as were a great many others, but that only extended so far and she held no illusions to who or what she was. Laid out in the alley before her was not a person to her; it was a prey animal that soiled itself in fear as she reached out and smothered its cries as she sank her teeth into its throat and tore. Flesh snagged on her teeth as she ripped up the skin of his neck before sinking back into the exposed jugular with staved fervor.

It had been awhile since she had human. ]

IV. OPEN - Misc.

[ Open prompt night! De Chima and Downtown Heropa. Feel free to ask for a starter or post one of your own with Bader as either a human-shaped thing or a wolf. ]

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[Oh, Saul has a car.

It's not his, but she doesn't need to know that he's not actually the owner of the beautiful, red '65 Shelby he pulls up in. Sorry, wait: pulls up carefully in, because he wasn't expecting to fetch her from a place that reminds him so much of home.

He rolls down the window, leans out, and makes a bit of a face.]

You look way too nice to live in this part of town.

[It's a compliment.]

[ Bader knew she was conventionally 'pretty' even if alive or dead it had never occurred her to fall back on looks when it was easier to slip the knife between the ribs from behind. Maybe it was the Gangrel in her, but it puts her on the spot to be called nice anything as she adjusts the hem of her dress and walks up to the car on heels she should have swapped for flats. ]

Well, this pick up doesn't look suspect. [ During her time as beat cop she would have stopped to ask for ID thinking this was a prostitute corner. The length of her dress was not helping. ]

Evening, I'm taking shotgun. [ What was flirting. ]

[Hey, she said it, not him; even Saul Goodman, three-time-divorcee, knows better than to suggest that his date's giving off the impression of being a prostitute.]

What, did you think I was gonna put you in the trunk?

[...but he does say other stupid things sometimes, anyway.

At least he has the good sense to look like he knows that was dumb.]

I could probably fit. [ She wanted to smile and give off less of an impression of strung out prostitute that happened by a good dress. She was trying. ]

It's going to be a long night if we stand out here. [ She slips into the passengers seat like she owned it and even made a show of how slow she crossed her legs. Fuck, she hoped he would get himself three sheets to the wind drunk tonight. Usually, she could get a secondary high off something like that when they were good and soaked. ]

[Rather than contemplate whether or not she'd fit in the drunk of this borrowed car, Saul takes her hint and — after pausing for a moment to gaze at her legs — gently pulls away from the curb and into the evening's light traffic.]

Make sure you buckle up. Safety first.

[Ward walks.

Really, honestly, trying to put himself together, his emotions in check, just when he's slammed and nearly rolled to the concrete by someone running. He doesn't think he just reacts, slamming a foot out to catch the fleeing figure. Muscle memory takes over, instinct and he's got the guy in a choke hold blubbering and crying.

He adjusts it. He can't do choke holds anymore without killing the guy, so he leaves the man limp and hanging, dragging him back in the direction he'd come from.

Right onto this.

The man's too busy trying to regain his breath but Ward's got a safety grip on him now.

There was a murder here.]

[ Bader had this Thing where it was never the killing but the feeding that made her vision go narrow in the shape of a Tunney, and her situational awareness skewed by blinders. She could reason the back alleys in LA were never a problem and she had rarely came across interlopers even in the heat of a non-lethal feeding.

Someone coming up behind her is lost on her as she bites into a dead artery. ]

[It's a dead body.

Jesus Christ it's a dead body. He's seen enough, known enough, caused enough that he knows he can't save that man.

What he can do is save the one who he tried to grab. He shoves him.]

Go! Run!

[The question is. Does he do the noble thing?

God what he wouldn't have given to get his head together but what he does instead is instinct.

Stop the threat.

SHIELD, HYDRA. Neither one would stand for what is seemingly blatant, senseless...murder.

So he'll make a grab for her once he makes sure the other guy is stumbling away. Super strength versus ...whatever this is? who knows where it'll go?]

[ There is an almost lewd popping sound as teeth detached from dead arteries and Bader pulls up like she is coming up from a breaker to catch air after sinking below the waves. Rising like smoke hot off the tarmac in the late hours of the summer, Bader stands and faces Grant like she could give less of a shit. ]

Your aim better be more on point than the fuck that tried to rob my corpse. [ She pulls aside her jacket where a burnt hole goes through her thin white tee shirt straight through the skin above her right breast. It isn't bleeding, and Bader isn't smiling. She hates interlopers. ]

[He's seen worse. He's seen worse. And there's a real sense of relief as he slips into the emotionless mode, robot mode, terminator mode. He'd welcome a fight to break away from the emotions that race through his system. This was what he was made for, what Garrett made him for.

He raises the weapon.]

...Thought it was a cop's job to handle the robberies. [he looks almost calm and collected as he stands there.] in any capacity. Even when you're robbing a corpse.

Edited (rephrase + added more.) 2014-09-20 04:57 (UTC)

[ Bader had been at the end of everything one could make a list of it; her rope, the smoking end of a sawed off shotgun- you name it. Her enduring, necessitous drive to survive let her pull her weight up over that rope and level what fucker decided to aim for her. Every time, and she walked out standing for another night. ]

Sanctimonious much? [ Bader sniffed. She had been a beat cop; she faced down drugged out, strung out losers that had thrown worse at her and still managed to cling to some semblance of neutrality. ] You fire that peashooter, but it ain't going to do dick.

[Ward's eyes narrowed] We could settle this one on one if you want.

[He'd almost prefer it. Give her a moment to respond, see if she can be reasoned with then he'd consider using the weapon however.

Woman covered with blood usually means murder. He's not a cop, he's registered, he could put her down. Couldn't he?]

Last chance.

Edited 2014-09-20 05:51 (UTC)

Whose? [ Bader asks as she draws her shirt up between her finger to reveal the yawning void of the bullet hole above the uniformly pale skin of her bloodless chest for Grant to see. ]

Whose last chance? [ Bader echoes with her posture supine as if a gunshot would be a kiss over her collarbone. ]

Edited 2014-09-20 07:29 (UTC)

[Will had changed in recent weeks, since the dog fight and various other things, not all because of Bader. He came back to the house, made something to eat (with plenty of leftovers unmarked so no one had to feel bad if they indulged in the enormous bowl of tuna salad or whatever other creature of the sea delights he had stuffed away) if he was hungry, and retired to his room with a regularity that hadn't been there before. Retired to his room with his ridiculous dog and increasing alcoholic thank you presents he had ceased to be as willing to share, spent the weekends in Heropa, tore his time between Virginia and its all problems with Florida and all its problems. The shop, April, the out of tune sextet that seemed to be spoken of as Baltimore, at least with one advanced robotic being. It had stuck, for better or worse, even if three of them were most definitely not from Baltimore in any way shape or form.

He came back today with a cooler held out in front of him, the perfect size to fit two human heads comfortably for anyone with the more morbid outlook on it, for anyone who might have read a few accusations mentioned without his permission. But it didn't contain anything too morbid, fresh fish that could feed a house of five for a day if they so chose was beneficial, and he didn't care to hear anything about meat being murder, about how fish had feelings, how could you!

He hadn't been expecting coyotes, of all things, their particular sounds hitting him before he actually saw them. He stopped, stared briefly from the chirruping things to the undead next to them, hauled up that cooler a little more, and made his way to the porch without hesitation, without fear. The bearded menace of a dog that followed him only managed to follow that lead because Will was good to him, Will would never knowingly put him in danger, Will wouldn't do that—if Will was comfortable with this, Gunther could be, too. He could sniff the air and look worried, but that shaggy, unshaven mess of a guy in his plaid and stupid fishing hat that declared him the WORLD'S OKAYEST FISHERMAN wouldn't do anything to lead them to harm.

He would, however, squat, park that cooler in front of him, and open it up to reveal fish packed on ice, shoving it forward a few inches in the direction of coyote noses. This for that.]

Didn't tell me you'd be bringing company by. I would've shaved this morning.

[As opposed to shaving three mornings later (if at all). He looked up, lips a thin line, trying to stay as neutral as he possibly could, in expression and tone of voice and everything in between. It worked as well as it could have, considering he was recalling bath time and flea and tick dip and enthusiastic petting rubdowns and everything else that did, in fact, change whenever he found out that his undead wolf roommate also had the ability to be.

Well.

Mostly human.]

[ When she was still in the elementary school age group and her father was still alive it was easier and Bader was Deanne; a buck-toothed low income child whose idea of going all out that weekend was piling into a rusted out Ford Pinto. Listening to the low comforting rumble of her father's voice as he explained to her the events playing out on the big screen of the drive-in because their car radio had been jacked that last month. Bader loved strong smoky voices liked she loved anything something without a beating heart only could. The cooing of coyotes flanking her as they whimpered with eager joy to lap up fish and chilled blood, or the slow and easy sound of the voice of a man who had seen too much and still could throw on his best sarcasm like a well worn suit. ]

You know it's funny. [ She can't smile and if she cries it would be vitae red smearing her pale cheeks catching the bad end of a late September chill. ] There is the razor thin line between the sorts of animals I can speak with and those I can't. [ Bader shrugs through he old olive drab army jacket like she isn't speaking to someone who suffered one to many an intimate betrayal. ]

Ace and Gunther fall on both ends of the spectrum; I can't commune with Ace when he is too smart and thinks for himself, and Gunther maybe suffered a lack of oxygen in the womb. No use in trying to hold a conversation with a wall, right?

[ God, she wishes she could cry and it not come out some hideous blood torrent. ]

Welcome home. I didn't name them.

[That fish, he learns quickly enough, isn't going to make it inside. Even if one gets missed, buried at the bottom and the ice deemed too cold to rifle through for long, these coyotes are going to be the ones who benefit instead of Will, instead of whoever might come across the leftovers. That's fine with him.

He watches them rip into heads and fins and gills long enough to make that conclusion before his attention turns to her completely, giving her clothes a cursory glance before he settles on her face. The more she talks, the farther away his eyes falls, from forehead to cheek to chin and then what might be taken as somewhere just past her shoulder. It's not him zoning out, finding her boring, thinking of something else—no, it's realization, a sinking one.

No matter what his reasons were for what could be taken as the silent treatment, as ignoring, as neglect, they don't really matter when it's done damage. It's the idea of damage that makes his standing back up slow, carefully moving around coyotes who are snapping and consuming without second thought so he can sit next to her on the porch. Not quite as close as he'd sit to her in the form he knows best, not close enough to suggest he's about to run his hand over her hair and scratch at her scalp like he's done before.]

You're right about Gunther. His breed's pretty smart. He's not. Oxygen deprivation in the womb. That's why I've got him. [A hint of a smile appears when Will casts a glance at the dog, sitting far enough away that he could have a good start if one came after him, even as he watches the coyotes with interest. Just a moment, and then all focus falls back on Bader.] Where I'm from, there's the dead and there's the living. The times the line between the two get toed are horrific. [Diabetics put into comas and turned to mushrooms, still alive. Just enough to move and silently scream and meet true death in the ambulance, but before that? They had been surrounded by plenty of people with the training necessary to mete out that much before anything else, an injection or a bullet. And yet, that wasn't an option.] I don't know much about the undead other than...stories. [As good a way to put it as any, he supposes, and finally gives her something like a smile. That voice he has no idea she is predisposed to like has something in it that was present during escapades between the two of them as wolf as human: fondness, near adoration.] And you. Maybe Ace smells wrong to you and you smell wrong to Ace, but you've always smelled perfectly fine to me.

[It's not his sense of smell that matters, that really means anything here, and he's aware. He's well aware that his human nose is abysmal, and not just because it's difficult to smell anything over fish, sweat, aftershave with a ship on the bottle. But it's one way to assuage possible thoughts that Will holds her undead nature against her, that he blames her for it and the destruction of the house. How he speaks, how the tension oozes out, how he seems to be falling back into the same way he was with her as a wolf?

He doesn't hold a damn thing against her.]

[It was the tang of fear and pain that drew him, like a vulture to a carcass. The sort of pain and fear that only came with grievous bodily harm, the threat of death, the sudden awareness of your own mortality... the sort of feelings that he was used to causing in others, but had decided to give up.

It stirs a hunger in him. Not a physical one, but the one deep in his mind, the one that used to fill his spark when he had one. The hunger to wrap himself in the horror and agony of others, to bathe his consciousness in its sweet silky touch.

A man rushes past him, spilling terror like a sieve, and Rampage leans toward him as he passes. It's invigorating.

He turns his eyes to the dark alley the man had come from. The pain is coming from there, rising to a crescendo then rapidly fading. If he was smart, he would keep walking, head home, avoid temptation. But he's not feeling smart at the moment. He's feeling curious. He wonders what other monsters stalk the night in this world where he has given up such things.

His shadow spills into the alley to join the rest of the clinging darkness, but there's enough light for him to make out the pair of figures huddled there. Messy noises come from where the moving figure's head meets the other's neck, and it takes little imagination to understand what's happening. How interesting.]

Late night snack?

[ Bader is all coiled up instinct and whatever pleasure she can glean from a nights' feeding that was not coming from whatever stray raccoon wandering too far into city limits she could pick off. This was not some dumb animal whose throat she had just bled like a stuck pig. This was human who had the concept of abstract thought and desire down even if its execution proved faulty.

Bader had just and could very well continue to do so kill and feed off of humans. One ginger-haired Arnold Schwarzenegger that talks like they've seen it all was not the worst upset she could have anticipated. ]

Yeah. And? [ She challenged, her head raised and blood running down her chin in thick rivulets. ]

[ The thought flits through his mind that he's never tasted human before, but he quickly pushes it away. He's certainly not squeamish about cannibalism - is it still cannibalism if he's not truly human? - but dead flesh is hardly any fun. It's not worth breaking taboo for someone else's kill.

So he moves his intense gaze away from the man's torn throat and settles his hands casually into his pockets, heaving a slow shrug. ]

Humans eating humans isn't something you see very often. [ He tilts his head, taking in too-sharp teeth and too-sharp nails. ] But then, perhaps you aren't entirely human.

[ it smells good. No, not good. Heavenly. Like it’s something from his childhood, from the times when his mother cooked for him. His mother’s food. How did his mother’s food taste like, he wonders? It has been so long since he has eaten and tasted food as it’s meant to be. But now, after all that time, it smells great once again; not rancid and disgusting, but delicious and appetizing. Kaneki stops in the middle of the street and he knows his eye is reacting. Underneath the eyepatch, the sclera becomes black and the iris red, and it reacts to that delicious smell. He knows what it means, though. Because it’s not his mother’s food and it’s not a child memory type of thing: it means it’s human flesh.

At the same time, kaneki has to stop for a moment to rethink that. Dead body? Someone being killed? In the city of heroes, really? What are the chances of that? Close to none, he’d imagine. After all, there are no ghouls in this world, the government keeps track of the imports through the tattoo, and –if it IS a dead body – maybe it was an accident. Kaneki is not a hero, though, and given what he is, the best if he doesn’t approach.

He moves away, turns left and then keeps going down the street, while he is slowly drowning in that intoxicating delicious smell.

Last time he ate… two weeks ago, after the ceremony. The one he said he’d be registered to the government in exchange for human flesh. Human flesh. Flesh that has been dead for over weeks. Not fresh, never fresh. It still gives him quite a lot or pleasure, it still feeds him, but it’s not fresh. It smells disgusting, even if tastes blissfully. He is being fed like a dog, he feeds himself like a dog, not even a dog gets fed like this. Scraps. No blood. No guts. Dry meat. It tastes great, but not as much as it should. He only eats a little bit each time, too, hoping to simply curb his hunger and keep the ghoul locked inside. It should be enough to have a small bite or two each two weeks, but it’s not. He needs to eat more. He should eat more. It’s his long waited meal, why can’t he eat more? That’s right, Kaneki should just eat more and more, fresh flesh, just killed, covered in blood, covered in guts.

He is so hungry.

And while Kaneki slowly gets drunk on the smell and his hunger, he doesn’t realize that he took another left and he is going back from the way he came, following the smell of fresh blood and freshly cut flesh. It’s night, so there aren’t many people nearby, but the ones that manage to see Kaneki realize he isn’t all there and avoid him immediately.

Kaneki drools, a hungry smile covers his face, and he is panting like a predator ready to finally have his share. He forgot that he should only feed minimum amount because he eats humans and that is simply disgusting. A ghoul’s hunger is hell, and Kaneki meets it far too often, due to his own inability to accept a ghoul’s need for human nutrients.

So hungry, so hungry, so hungry. Food. Flesh. Guts. Blood. Finally he will eat, finally he will stop this hell, finally-

The boy takes another turn and finally he comes face to face to Bader, the cause of blood being slipped, flesh being ripped, and the delicious smell flooding all around. And though he had just lost himself a moment there, Kaneki suddenly snaps out of it and gasps in terror, nearly falling backwards. Because even then he is still human, even then, a scene like that makes his stomach sink and fear take over him.

GHOUL. ]

[ Nostrils flare as something hits her like basil being tugged fresh of the stem; cumin being sifted through warm fingers. That ubiquitous quantifier that something smells familiar; smells good. Bader raises her head with the strips of dead flesh between her lower row of teeth like the dripping gristle of overcooked meat. Blood slaps against the hard concrete where she jerks her head in the direction of the end of the alley way.

Kaneki stands at the end a shaking silhouette Bader cocks her gore splattered head at and observes with keen and penetrating stare. ]

You smell hungry, kiddo.

[ Kiddo is what the older Kindred used to call her when she, as Smiling Jack had put it, been thrown out into an alley way like a naked babe tossed in the wold wood. She could smell the hesitation, no, anticipating coming off his shaking and slender body in waves. She had seen it in wolf pups that had just learned to feed on solid foods and the tear into the fresh kill of deer game with baby teeth.

Bader had been given a chance with the help of more experience predators and offered the same courtesy with an outstretched hand over the dead body of one of their formally fellow man. ]

It's alright.

[ When she turns her head and Kaneki's eyes meet her face, his whole body only responds with fear. He is visibly shaken - shaking - and the horrified expression on his face only grows to be more obvious at each second.

It's not the first time he has seen a ghoul feeding. As matter o fact, he was almost a ghoul's meal. It's not the first time he sees a dead body. After what he went through at the Gourmet's Restaurant, he certainly is more familiar with death and gore. And he has come to accept that ghouls HAVE to eat, and their food is humans, and it's terrible and scary, but they do. But it still shakes him, it still scares him, it still makes his guts twist and he wants to puke, but he can't tell them not to feed and he no longer calls them monsters, because not all are.

This scene is familiar, and yet still so fucking scary.

It's not alright! Don't talk to him, don't tell him that! He isn't hungry, he ate, he ate! He is not hungry, it's because of the smell! He can't- he is human, HUMAN. ]

N-no. I... ate.

[ he manages to mouth that word and manages to look away. At least Bader isn't like Nishi, who is all about his territory (it's not his) and his prey (they are not preys) and would kill Kaneki just for being there (he couldn't kill Kaneki, anyway). At least Bader offered him something, which means she may not try to kill him like SO MANY ghouls have tried to.

And it'd be great if he wasn't drooling.

Kaneki pauses for a second and realizes that YES, he is drooling from hunger. His stomach feels like it's dissolving way too fast and he is so damn hungry, and his eye is reacting more than before. Under the eyepatch, small red veins appear on Kaneki's skin heading towards the hidden eye. ]

Uhm-

I didn't- mean to bother... you. [ be polite. Maybe you can get away from there without having some ghoul chasing after you for disturbing their meal. ~~Is she even a ghoul? Her eyes are normal~~ ]

[ Bader turns with her body posture open and alert no less easily read as a wagging tail or ears set erect. What was it that one Voreman sister had said of her character when she was new off the streets into the status of the damned and the fallen- You smell new, little girl. Like fabric softener over freshly mowed astroturf. ]

You need help. [ Hand stretched out wider, Bader thought of that Pisha woman would told her it was to be twice damned to need to eat pounds of flesh to maintain the facade of humanity. Bader sympathized where she crouched over the man who had died now several minutes past. ]

Let me help you.

[ Oh please don't force meat down his throat like Touka did. When he hears her offer (it's not a offer. It sounded like a demand.), Kaneki gives one step back almost too shy for his own good, while he wipes his mouth ~~and keeps his hand near his mouth to avoid anything from suddenly going inside~~ ]

I-it's fine! I'm fine...

[ please don't do this to him. He just arrived to this world, he had escaped REALLY scary things happening back home and sure he misses home, but he would rather if this place didn't become like it. ]

Edited 2014-09-20 11:25 (UTC)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

OPEN | It was a supernatural delight

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III

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"smoke hot off the tarmac" is a beautiful line. I just needed to say that.

i took college writing once

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III.

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III

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