(no subject)

[themidnightson]

Edward had walked straight through the room.
He'd settled into Yrael's white baby grand.








It was some thirty or forty minutes, when he slowed.
And seemed to finally acknowledge there were other people.

(no subject)

[thursdays_angel]

Castiel is standing by Bar, minding his own business, when the note appears.

Being an angel of a curious nature, he picks it up and reads it. And frowns.

“I do not understand.” A second note promptly appears. “No, I understood that,” Castiel says. “But I do not understand why….” A third note, this one apparently being a bit more Thou Shalt in tone, because Castiel acquiesces with only a slight sigh. “Yes. Of course.” A moment later, a fourth note appears, this one bearing helpful bullet points. Castiel reads it carefully. “Yes, I can fulfill these duties.”

In due course, a Specials board is written up in neat block printing:

Milk. 2% (Cow)
El Sol (Beer)
Ice Cucumber Pepsi

And Castiel is standing at attention behind the bar, his tools laid out with careful precision. Measuring cups, measuring spoons, a jigger, a cocktail shaker, a corkscrew, a cup of colorful paper umbrellas, and a large tome of drink recipes.

He looks ready. Wary. But ready.

[OOC: 11:00 PM! I think that may be the fastest three hours I've ever put it. I'll catch slowtags on the flip side.]

(no subject)

[starrydome]

Arwen had left her childhood home with boxes and crates and heavily laden horses. And yet, he still found things that had been hers, as he slowly made his way through the rooms his family had lived in for thousands of years.

Which is the reason he is now sitting at a table in Milliways. With mulled wine (it always takes him back to Lindon and although it had been horrible times, they had occasionally been good as well; as even the worst of times can be when you are young) in front of him. Next to an embroidered, delicate piece of fabric. It's light blue and decorated with graceful branches and colorful birds. Too gaudy by far and with quite uneven stitchwork, at least to an elven eye, but his child had made it and he still remembered the pride in her face when she had shown it to him.

A curse upon the perfect memory of the Firstborn.



(Botherable, though mun is slow as mud as per usual. Open till his next ep goes up)

(no subject)

[ellectrical]

[OOM: the night is quickly passing]

The door opens, but nothing happens at once. A shadow is cast over the floor from the world beyond, but she doesn't move, perhaps teetering on the indecision of whether or not to enter, though this wouldn't be apparent from her stance.

Eventually, however, she does enter. A short figure in tennis shoes, jeans, and a red hooded sweatshirt that's much too big for her, hanging down to nearly her knees and the pulled-up hood entirely obscuring her face. A clear plastic bag swings loosely from her right hand; she moves to close the door again, and then without looking around, with the calm demeanor of one walking through an empty, silent room, she steps to the closest chair she can find, and slips into it.

The apples in the bag are placed on the table in front of her, and very quickly, her knees curl up into her chest, and she pulls her shirt over them, entirely enveloping herself in it.

And then, once again, she doesn't move.




[ooc: Not plotlocked, but any threads will take place prior to the one with X.]