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May. 25th, 2014 at 12:24 AM
1. Sex
[It's a no-tell motel, dark and cheap and anonymous. Unmade single bed, locked door (it won't open, but you can try it), a black coat on the floor.
Blood.
It's a dark stain on a dark carpet, creeping closer to your feet. If you look for the source--and you will, won't you?--you'll find a blonde woman sprawled across the floor. She's stripped down to lacy black lingerie. More importantly, she's gasping for breath. Blood trickles out of the corner of her mouth and streams from the gashes in her exposed stomach. She looks at you, scared. Her blood-stained lips move, but all that comes out is a rattling cough. Run. That's what she's trying to say.
Will you try?]
2. Birth
[Everything's bright and white. Sterile. It's a hospital, but no one here is hooked up to IVs or being rushed to surgery. No one is screaming or muttering or talking about the last football game at the intake desk. There's no one at all.
Except for Nathan.
The boy is dressed in a prison jumpsuit--orange, of course--and seated on the white tile floor, cross-legged. There's a bird's nest next to him. It's empty, but a single baby bird, young and covered in downy feathers, is cupped in Nathan's hands. It chirps. The teenager looks up at you, confused and a little distressed. What is he supposed to do with this tiny life?]
3. Death
[It doesn't matter where you are. Maybe it's somewhere in the prison; maybe it's someone's home, or maybe it's nowhere at all. All you see is the blood. It's on your hands and your clothes. It soaks the formerly-white bedspread under you (when did a bed get there?) and speckles a business card sitting just out of reach. The card doesn't say much. Dr. Spencer Reid.
Your blood-slicked fingers are clutching pale arms, trying to keep deep cuts (vertical--you cut vertically when you're serious about killing yourself) from draining the teenager on the bed dry. Nathan is prone on the bed. If the knife in one of his still hands is any indication, those cuts are self-inflicted.
Just in case there was some doubt, Nathan addresses you. He's mumbling, but he appears lucid enough. If you can make out his slurred words, you might get the impression that he's telling you to go--to not save his life.
Whether or not you listen is up to you.]
[ooc: Feel free to pick one as a starting point, but know that one scenario might turn into another if things go that way. Also? Warnings for blood, the murder of prostitutes, and themes of suicide. Oh, and your character might get stabbed. No guarantees, just throwing that out there.]
[It's a no-tell motel, dark and cheap and anonymous. Unmade single bed, locked door (it won't open, but you can try it), a black coat on the floor.
Blood.
It's a dark stain on a dark carpet, creeping closer to your feet. If you look for the source--and you will, won't you?--you'll find a blonde woman sprawled across the floor. She's stripped down to lacy black lingerie. More importantly, she's gasping for breath. Blood trickles out of the corner of her mouth and streams from the gashes in her exposed stomach. She looks at you, scared. Her blood-stained lips move, but all that comes out is a rattling cough. Run. That's what she's trying to say.
Will you try?]
2. Birth
[Everything's bright and white. Sterile. It's a hospital, but no one here is hooked up to IVs or being rushed to surgery. No one is screaming or muttering or talking about the last football game at the intake desk. There's no one at all.
Except for Nathan.
The boy is dressed in a prison jumpsuit--orange, of course--and seated on the white tile floor, cross-legged. There's a bird's nest next to him. It's empty, but a single baby bird, young and covered in downy feathers, is cupped in Nathan's hands. It chirps. The teenager looks up at you, confused and a little distressed. What is he supposed to do with this tiny life?]
3. Death
[It doesn't matter where you are. Maybe it's somewhere in the prison; maybe it's someone's home, or maybe it's nowhere at all. All you see is the blood. It's on your hands and your clothes. It soaks the formerly-white bedspread under you (when did a bed get there?) and speckles a business card sitting just out of reach. The card doesn't say much. Dr. Spencer Reid.
Your blood-slicked fingers are clutching pale arms, trying to keep deep cuts (vertical--you cut vertically when you're serious about killing yourself) from draining the teenager on the bed dry. Nathan is prone on the bed. If the knife in one of his still hands is any indication, those cuts are self-inflicted.
Just in case there was some doubt, Nathan addresses you. He's mumbling, but he appears lucid enough. If you can make out his slurred words, you might get the impression that he's telling you to go--to not save his life.
Whether or not you listen is up to you.]
[ooc: Feel free to pick one as a starting point, but know that one scenario might turn into another if things go that way. Also? Warnings for blood, the murder of prostitutes, and themes of suicide. Oh, and your character might get stabbed. No guarantees, just throwing that out there.]
