Sep. 12th, 2016
(no subject)
Sep. 12th, 2016 11:35 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aaaaaaaagh_skyPeople say things about winning and everyone remembering and losing and nobody ever forgetting. Or the other way around. It depends on who you're talking to and what's at stake. Generally, though, most of those statements about winning and losing are made by people who have not actually been through whatever contest of sport or contest of arms or combination thereof they happen to be discussing. And generally, they still have their original teeth.
This is relevant.
Ellen's back from Philadelphia, bruised and bandaged and looking as if she'd like to spit. She'll settle for beer, though. Or whiskey. It's been that kind of day.
This is relevant.
Ellen's back from Philadelphia, bruised and bandaged and looking as if she'd like to spit. She'll settle for beer, though. Or whiskey. It's been that kind of day.
i_am_your_host[ The Master of Ceremonies enters injured and distressed, before Sinric helps him up to his room where they spend the night talking. (Warnings for descriptions of abuse.)
Some time after, he meets a vampire outside, who heals him, because it's just the practical thing to do. (Warnings for blood, vampirism, rough sex, nearly non-consensual biting. But other than that....) ]
Some time after, he meets a vampire outside, who heals him, because it's just the practical thing to do. (Warnings for blood, vampirism, rough sex, nearly non-consensual biting. But other than that....) ]
(no subject)
Sep. 12th, 2016 07:57 pmi_am_your_hostEmcee comes downstairs looking like his usual self again, wearing a clean white sleeveless undershirt, black trousers cut off at the knee, and punk rock-looking combat boots (they have actually been through combat, but not by him) with the idiosyncratic flair of sock garters.
His face is one-hundred percent healed. And his makeup is flawlessly fabulous.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," he mutters when something in the rafters explodes. He glances around and spots a boy who looks like Jim shooting at things. He frowns a little, and immediately goes about his business at the bar.
Which is, to drop off a folded note, and to fetch a bottle of gin.
The note reads:
( Abe-san... )
Emcee takes the bottle of gin out onto the back porch to drink in the cool evening air. He's spending far more time outside here than before.
His face is one-hundred percent healed. And his makeup is flawlessly fabulous.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," he mutters when something in the rafters explodes. He glances around and spots a boy who looks like Jim shooting at things. He frowns a little, and immediately goes about his business at the bar.
Which is, to drop off a folded note, and to fetch a bottle of gin.
The note reads:
( Abe-san... )Emcee takes the bottle of gin out onto the back porch to drink in the cool evening air. He's spending far more time outside here than before.
(no subject)
Sep. 12th, 2016 08:34 pmjust_cant_loseIn a fit of enterprise (and boredom), a youthful Jim Moriarty has spent the last two days hacking into his older self's workshop upstairs. On finding what looked like some kind of gun sitting on top of its manual, he decided to get creative with a drone or two, some metal, a timer and maybe, maayyyyyybe, a small amount of explosive.
And so this evening he can be found slouched on a sofa by the Observation Window, flying a drone through the rafters and shooting at it with the harpoon gun. If he doesn't shoot it before that clicking noise stops, well...
...oh. Apparently it explodes.
Jim snickers, and sends another one up in the air.
(The explosion is only big enough to destroy the drone, but a distraction might be useful before his boredom decides things should escalate.)
