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Bellum Anon (bellum_anon) wrote in bellumlogs,
@ 2010-03-12 23:02:00

Entry tags:

plot: fables

Fables Plot Public Post!
Who: Public
What: The Open Post for Public Threading for the Epic Fable Plot
Where: Throughout the building.
When: 12:01
Warnings: Any number of crazy things could end up in here.
Notes: Alright! This post is for public threads only, and will be run party style. Anyone can jump into a thread at any time--just use your judgment! Feel free to hop around, go to different parts of the building, and mingle through the madness.

12:01. The beginning of a new day, just broken in, still fresh. Most of the building was sleeping, as decent people ought to be at such an hour.

The building, down at its foundations, was restless. A storm had been gathering for the past week, in its joints and its doorways, in its windows and its keyholes. 12:01, the storm broke over Bellum.

It was as if the building stretched, yawned, shook itself. There was a shudder in reality, as if the air itself was nothing more than a funhouse mirror. Faster than you could snap your fingers and the thing was done, set into motion before the darkest hours of the morning had yet come around.

A twitch, a snap, a static shock.

And then the changes started.

((OOC: Alright guys, go crazy! Feel free to post your location in the header of your comment so people can do a quick visual scan for the right comment and the right location. Mingle! Chat! Fight! Tackle one another!))

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Penthouse Level: 12:00 am

ex_sanguine300
2010-03-13 05:05 am UTC (link)

Everything was normal when Boyd reached the penthouse level. She could see Rosalie waiting for her, and she saw Rosalie raise her hand to knock on Vlad's door. But by the time she reached Vlad's door, everything was different.

Her sundress had transformed into a white babydoll dress, better suited to someone much younger than her, but that wasn't the most remarkable thing. Between the stair and the door, a red cloak had materialized on her shoulders, the hood pulled over her red hair, which was curled into perfect ringlets. The cloak enveloped her, trailing to the floor, and her feet were bare. There was a basket in the crook of her arm, and she stopped a moment, an overwhelming desire to stray and not go all the way to the door, maybe to look at flowers instead.

She frowned.

That wasn't right.

She looked over her shoulder, worried that she was being followed (though not by Vaughn - in fact, she couldn't even remember Vaughn's name without trying), and she shook her head, forcing it clear.

She walked the rest of the way to the blonde that was waiting for her (how she knew that she didn't know), and she stopped in front of her. "I think I'm lost," she said, eyes wide and trusting. A shake of her head, and her memory started to mix in with the unfamiliar ones about mother and grandmother and the woods and the wolf. No, Shane, not wolf. Wolf.

"Rose, knock on the door again, before I forget why I'm here again," she said, a sweet smile taking over the moment of knowledge a second later. The haunt at her shoulder - grandmother - told her to leave the woods.

It talked.

She talked.

Oh, God.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Penthouse Level: 12:00 am -

beaute_endormie, 2010-03-13 05:22 am UTC

Re: Penthouse Level: 12:00 am -

nobleblood, 2010-03-13 05:45 am UTC

Re: Penthouse Level: 12:00 am -

ex_sanguine300, 2010-03-13 05:55 am UTC

Re: Penthouse Level: 12:00 am -

beaute_endormie, 2010-03-13 06:09 am UTC

Re: Penthouse Level: 12:00 am -

nobleblood, 2010-03-13 06:27 am UTC

Re: Penthouse Level: 12:00 am -

ex_sanguine300, 2010-03-13 06:33 am UTC

Re: Penthouse Level: 12:00 am -

beaute_endormie, 2010-03-13 06:53 am UTC

Re: Penthouse Level: 12:00 am -

nobleblood, 2010-03-13 07:03 am UTC

Re: Penthouse Level: 12:00 am -

labete, 2010-03-13 07:22 am UTC

Re: Penthouse Level: 12:00 am -

ex_sanguine300, 2010-03-13 07:29 am UTC

Re: Penthouse Level: 12:00 am -

beaute_endormie, 2010-03-13 07:54 am UTC

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nobleblood, 2010-03-13 08:05 am UTC

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labete, 2010-03-16 03:56 am UTC

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nobleblood, 2010-03-16 04:19 am UTC

Sixth Floor: 12:01 AM

wolfishane
2010-03-13 05:28 am UTC (link)

Shane had not been sleeping. Perhaps he didn't fall into the category of the decent people meant to be asleep, but he'd been on his computer, working on collecting more information for his theoretical report to the police.

Then something flickered--like movement on the edge of his vision--and he was on the floor before he even realized what had happened. It was so sudden, so abrupt, that he hadn't even fully processed the stupidness of falling out of his chair when he realized something hurt. No, not something. Everything. Everything hurt.

There was a snapping sound, and the pain centralized. Had he broken a bone? More snapping, popping noises, and those were bones re-aligning in new, unfamiliar but familiar shapes.

Shane had experienced a decent amount of physical pain in his life. He'd been shot, he'd been stabbed. This was a singular sort of pain, full-body, all over. From somewhere outside his body he noted that his nail beds were itching under the stabbing sensation, and then he had claws, and he knew why.

He thought that he was glad Boyd wasn't still living in the apartment, so she wouldn't hear the cry of agony he gave into the floor, tapering into a high-pitched whine. Sharp teeth collided with a lengthening tongue, and copper seeped into his mouth. Coherent thought had fled by this point, absorbed into the screeching of every muscle and bone in protest.

He didn't know how long it lasted, nor did he realize immediately when it had stopped. The pain was slow to fade, and he lay on the floor, panting lightly.

Then he pushed himself up, steadying on all four paws, thoughts slowing in their tumble and coming to rest. He sniffed at the air, trying to get his bearings. The apartment was a melange of smells. A man, food cooked earlier that day. But what else, what else?

There was a scent under the others, much more interesting, and familiar as well. A woman. A girl. The scent was weeks cold.

He shook himself, a short growl bitten off quickly. Not just any girl. Boyd. Boyd. He clung to her name until it had become like a word said once too many times and lost all meaning. It was an uphill battle. He was Shane, and she was Boyd, and he loved her very much.

He was very, very hungry.

So what was the best thing to do? Follow the scent, of course. The girl (Boyd) might have food. (But he was no pet no dog, he wasn't just going to take her scraps, and when he found her, the girl in the red cloak, he was going to

Yes. Best to follow that scent.

He found the door to the apartment open, and nosed it further ajar before padding into the hallway.

And then there was a wolf in the middle of the sixth floor corridor, heading for the stairs. Black, impossibly large. Big and very bad, with bright blue eyes.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Sixth Floor: 12:01 AM -

blackcatsrbad, 2010-03-13 06:52 am UTC

Re: Sixth Floor: 12:01 AM -

wolfishane, 2010-03-13 07:07 am UTC

Re: Sixth Floor: 12:01 AM -

blackcatsrbad, 2010-03-13 07:13 am UTC

Re: Sixth Floor: 12:01 AM -

jumpingpast, 2010-03-13 07:42 am UTC

Re: Sixth Floor: 12:01 AM -

wolfishane, 2010-03-13 07:49 am UTC

Re: Sixth Floor: 12:01 AM -

blackcatsrbad, 2010-03-13 08:12 am UTC

Re: Sixth Floor: 12:01 AM -

jumpingpast, 2010-03-13 08:32 am UTC

Re: Sixth Floor: 12:01 AM -

blackcatsrbad, 2010-03-13 08:43 am UTC

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wolfishane, 2010-03-13 08:55 am UTC

Re: Sixth Floor: 12:01 AM -

blackcatsrbad, 2010-03-14 05:44 am UTC

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wolfishane, 2010-03-14 10:19 pm UTC

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jumpingpast, 2010-03-15 05:00 am UTC

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wolfishane, 2010-03-15 03:07 pm UTC

Seventh Floor (703): 12:00 AM

wickedwicker
2010-03-13 05:29 am UTC (link)

The snap of the air around her jarred Joanie from an otherwise restful sleep. Wiping her damp forehead, she shook her head, heaving a short sigh. She was tired of waking up in fits. This was the first time in well over a year. After giving up on academic excellence, Joanie had found her body was much happier - she was less tired, slept better, and craved food less. Overall, divebombing her GPA was the best thing that had happened to her.

And now she was feeling that old jittery sensation again.

Gulping, she leapt out of her bed, her legs shaky beneath her as she stumbled towards her bathroom. It was times like this that she bemoaned her forgetfulness - a glass of water by her bed would save her so many late-night trips. But then that would create the need for late-night bathroom trips, and she wasn't about to start peeing in a bucket out of sheer laziness.

She reached the bathroom quickly, leaning against the sink and turning on the faucet. The cold water fell in a torrent against the cool basin, little flecks of water catapulted onto her chest. Dipping her hands in the water, she splashed her face casually, reveling in the wet sensation that crawled down her back. After a moment, she gave pause, realizing that something was off. Blinking away the water, she pushed her dark hair from her face, catching short glimpses of her hands. Something wasn't right. Feeling terror clutch her chest, she slowly straightened up, staring into the mirror.

A beast with her face and a rich green complexion stared back.

She wasn't sure how long she screamed, but she remembered the pain in her chest as the sound went on. Her lungs were on fire, but she couldn't stop. Her skin was emerald, everything from her cheeks to her tongue. Eyes wide, she looked down the back of her green throat, watching her green tonsils bob and clench as she shrieked loudly enough to raise the dead. Her nails dug into her palms as she wailed, her shrill voice slicing through the late-night silence that had blanketed Bellum Letale.

When she finally stopped, Joanie could feel her heart in her throat. She was green. And not sick green, either. Kermit the Frog green. This just wasn't right. This just wasn't fucking right. People didn't turn green overnight. Something was wrong. Something was so terribly wrong.

She rifled through her closet, finding a black turtleneck. God bless the Gothic stage of her life. She yanked it over her head, simultaneously shimmying into a pair of black sweatpants. She scurried across the room, tripping over her own feet as she stuffed them into blue clogs that she should have thrown out weeks ago. Pausing at the jewelry box on her bureau, she wrenched it open and pulled out the first two items she saw.

The lipstick was a relic from years past, and she barely noticed that she was painting her green lips with streaky blue. Hands trembling, she dipped her fingers in a pot of white concealer, raking her nails across her face in a messy attempt to cover up the emerald tone of her skin. She was too frazzled to realize that she looked like a frog that failed clown school, and before she could take another breath she had a baseball cap on her head and had rushed out her door.

She had moved into Bellum Letale the day before, and she had skimmed the forums in her boredom. There were two doctors in this building, and one of them had to be awake. After locking her door, she ran down the hallway, a blur of black and green with her hands stuffed in her pockets. She could've sworn one of those docs was on the eighth floor, so she barreled towards the stairway.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Seventh Floor (703): 12:00 AM -

themegazord, 2010-03-13 06:21 am UTC

Re: Seventh Floor (703): 12:00 AM -

wickedwicker, 2010-03-13 06:38 am UTC

Re: Seventh Floor (703): 12:00 AM -

themegazord, 2010-03-13 07:23 am UTC

Re: Seventh Floor (703): 12:00 AM -

wickedwicker, 2010-03-13 07:29 am UTC

Re: Seventh Floor (703): 12:00 AM -

themegazord, 2010-03-13 08:55 am UTC

Re: Seventh Floor (703): 12:00 AM -

wickedwicker, 2010-03-13 12:10 pm UTC

Re: Seventh Floor (703): 12:00 AM -

themegazord, 2010-03-15 01:54 am UTC

Re: Seventh Floor (703): 12:00 AM -

wickedwicker, 2010-03-15 01:56 am UTC

Deluxe floor: 12:10 am

longedforstill
2010-03-13 05:32 am UTC (link)

She had just put Milo down. It was late, but she and Milo didn't really follow any specific sleep schedule. Day was as good as night, and night was as good as day if you never went outside.

The apartment was cold and quiet and lonely. Finn hated this time of night. Before she'd moved to Bellum, she'd thought she would like it. No Arthur, no hiding from the sounds in the estate, no wondering who was dead, who was being tortured. But now, now she was lonely.

She had just made herself a cup of coffee, had just turned from the kitchen counter, when it happened.

The mug went crashing to the floor, coffee sloshing everywhere, but she didn't even notice.

She forgot Milo completely. She didn't have a baby. Perish the thought. She had a husband, yes, Arthur, yes. But it wasn't him that she wanted. He was too old, couldn't satisfy her (what?) like she needed. It was an arranged marriage, see, not a love match.

And Guinevere wanted love. Guin, yes, and she had seen a knight with black curls and a sure swagger in the great hall. He had looked at her. Maybe she could find him again?

As she left D5, her sweats and t-shirt had changed into a flowing, white gown. Pure as the snow, pure as the purest white. Pure as the aura that glowed ethereally around her. Inside, Guin knew, however, that she was anything but pure. She closed her eyes, and it came to her in a woosh. There were people asleep. Men asleep. She smiled, slow, slow.

And she knew.

She left the door open, and she slipped quietly down the hall, pale blonde hair billowing behind her.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Deluxe floor: 12:10 am -

cyprian, 2010-03-13 09:23 pm UTC

Re: Deluxe floor: 12:10 am -

longedforstill, 2010-03-13 10:32 pm UTC

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cyprian, 2010-03-13 11:55 pm UTC

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longedforstill, 2010-03-14 02:17 am UTC

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cyprian, 2010-03-14 07:45 am UTC

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longedforstill, 2010-03-14 07:56 am UTC

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cyprian, 2010-03-14 08:19 am UTC

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longedforstill, 2010-03-14 08:44 am UTC

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cyprian, 2010-03-14 07:33 pm UTC

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longedforstill, 2010-03-14 09:20 pm UTC

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cyprian, 2010-03-14 11:13 pm UTC

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longedforstill, 2010-03-15 01:03 am UTC

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cyprian, 2010-03-15 01:27 am UTC

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longedforstill, 2010-03-15 01:36 am UTC

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cyprian, 2010-03-15 01:58 am UTC

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longedforstill, 2010-03-15 02:45 am UTC

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cyprian, 2010-03-15 03:47 am UTC

1206 - 12:01 A.M.

still_lotte
2010-03-13 05:39 am UTC (link)

At midnight, Lotte had been still up with her book. She’d flipped to the beginning of Chapter Five, notes settling in beside her when she felt the change. Where she’d been calm and content prior, a confusing book in her hands, she was anything but – her hair rose, her hands shook, and worst of all a deep sense of panic had set in.

The book fell from her hands, but Lotte didn’t notice. Her eyes glanced over the room, waiting for the music to start. She knew it was going to come, he always came – she used to be happy about that. (But when was used to? She wasn’t sure and that made her as scared as the thought of him coming.) Looking about, there was no sign of him and though she strained her ears, she heard nothing.

It didn’t mean she sighed, instead she jumped up moving to the door. It was locked already, but she double checked it. No one could come in – Raoul already had snuck in when she shouldn’t have. She paused, hand on the lock. Raoul? Lotte shook it off, looking for something else to block the door – if anyone got near her, they’d be hurt as well. He’d already attacked Raoul, the chandelier had been his…She shivered then dragged the nearest chair to the door, shoving it under the handle.

She was already off towards the mirror – he could come through there, she didn’t want to go back, even if she’d promised him – when she heard his voice again. She froze, breath caught as the singing began. There was no distinct location, though her eyes fell on the mirror in her bedroom.

Squaring her shoulders, she approached as the singing became louder. It still wasn’t from the mirror, but where else could it come from? A dim voice suggested that it wasn’t there at all, but that was preposterous. Lotte knew that voice, knew who it belonged to and worst of all…

She grabbed a blanket, throwing it over the mirror and desk. The voice didn’t stop but she thought it sounded more muffled.

If he couldn’t watch her, then maybe he couldn’t hurt her. Maybe then, he could move on and find someone else.

As the singing started again, she doubted it. Casting a fearful glance over her shoulder, she ducked into the hallway closet, pulling it shut behind her. Burying her head in her hands, she began pleading, “Please, please, just go – I’ll come back later, don’t hurt them please, please, please…”

The voice only stopped for a moment before beginning again as Lotte screamed.

[ooc: closed; there'll be no replies if one tries to get in.]

(Reply to this)

Second Floor, 10am.

stringthetrail
2010-03-13 05:42 am UTC (link)

He had been writing music again. First just in little bits and pieces, then the pieces flowed together and became songs. There were many benefits of him finding his rhythm, such as being able to walk out, get a cup of coffee and a newspaper, and genuinely relax for a few moments before returning to the apartments.

Something was weird, he could feel that. But other than feeling more energetic, he didn't see the connection nor understood why he couldn't shake that feeling. Regardless, he entered the hallway to his floor and paused to read the front article, vaguely catching a whiff of gingerbread in the air. Huh. Someone must be baking.

(Reply to this)

Deluxe Floor: 12:01 AM

wanderings
2010-03-13 05:47 am UTC (link)

Evelyn was in her room, sitting at her vanity with all the lights off. She was looking at her reflection in the mirror in the moonlight coming in through the window, and at the vintage photos tucked under the mirror's frame. Kings, queens, noblemen. Monarchy, titles.

She rested her head on her hand. When would that be her? When would she get her kingdom?

Something on the vanity twitched, and Evelyn sat straight up.

What was she thinking? She had her title already. Duchess, yes, not as good as Queen, but the old bitch would kick it one of these days and she'd have her spot.

Try to execute her? Evelyn scoffed, standing up, walking into the kitchen. The old hothead couldn't kill her if she tried.

He dress brushed around her ankles, blue silk with a dark blue border, and her head bowed slightly under the weight of a corned hat. Now where was her shaker? That cook was always spreading pepper all around her kitchen, making the little one sneeze. And when he sneezed--

She smirked.

But where was the little brat? Not in the kitchen, certainly, and neither was the help. Idiots, all of them. Well she could take care of the discipline in this house (apartment?) herself. There were going to be some changes now that she'd realized how lax they'd gotten. She'd kick that mangy cat out, she'd keep the pepper always with her (the shaker went into the pocket of her apron) and she'd find that stupid, piggish child and she'd--

What was that? Crying? From the house (apartment) next door?

So the child had tried to escape, and now it was crying for her to come and comfort it? The gall. Oh, if he thought what she did to him when he sneezed was bad...

She walked briskly out of her apartment and down the hall, a serene smile on her face for anyone who might be watching. Once she got behind closed doors, she'd show that whiny little brat exactly what happened when her orders were disobeyed.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Deluxe Floor: 12:01 AM -

tenoversix, 2010-03-13 09:11 am UTC

Re: Deluxe Floor: 12:01 AM -

wanderings, 2010-03-13 04:20 pm UTC

Re: Deluxe Floor: 12:01 AM -

tenoversix, 2010-03-13 06:13 pm UTC

Re: Deluxe Floor: 12:01 AM -

wanderings, 2010-03-13 08:20 pm UTC

Re: Deluxe Floor: 12:01 AM -

tenoversix, 2010-03-14 07:47 am UTC

Re: Deluxe Floor: 12:01 AM -

wanderings, 2010-03-14 07:53 am UTC

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tenoversix, 2010-03-14 08:15 am UTC

Re: Deluxe Floor: 12:01 AM -

snow_bees, 2010-03-16 10:17 pm UTC

Re: Deluxe Floor: 12:01 AM -

wanderings, 2010-03-17 02:03 am UTC

Re: Deluxe Floor: 12:01 AM -

tenoversix, 2010-03-17 02:14 am UTC

Re: Deluxe Floor: 12:01 AM -

snow_bees, 2010-03-17 02:25 am UTC

Re: Deluxe Floor: 12:01 AM -

wanderings, 2010-03-17 02:28 am UTC

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tenoversix, 2010-03-17 02:41 am UTC

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snow_bees, 2010-03-17 03:30 am UTC

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wanderings, 2010-03-17 03:27 pm UTC

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tenoversix, 2010-03-18 12:43 am UTC

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snow_bees, 2010-03-18 03:04 am UTC

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wanderings, 2010-03-18 04:04 pm UTC

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tenoversix, 2010-03-21 04:23 am UTC

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snow_bees, 2010-03-21 04:43 am UTC

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wanderings, 2010-03-22 02:34 am UTC

Elsewhere; 12:00/9:00

onestepcloser
2010-03-13 05:56 am UTC (link)

It was eight forty-five p.m. in Vancouver. It was one of Derek’s favorite cities, right up there with New York. It was his ‘home base’ after all – but it was a new city. A clean one, directly between mountains and water. The perfect combination in his mind, save for the thriving business district.

His father had given him a bear hug when picking him up, before directing him towards the car outside. Aside from the pushing into-the business part of things, Derek liked his father – they could get along, talk more like people then the whole awkward family part he’d seen other kids get stuck with.

Derek had been given the keys to his father’s Porsche and had slid into the front seat when his watch said it was nine fifty-five. He watched his father get stopped by a parking attendant and Derek rolled his eyes, fastening his seatbelt and starting the car.

It was nine and Derek knew he had somewhere else to be. He needed to go, there was a voice - her voice.

The car skidded from the garage and Derek ignored the view in the rear windows. The watery horizon was his goal.

(Reply to this)

Inside 905: 12:05 a.m.

bookshelved
2010-03-13 06:16 am UTC (link)

Daniel was coming back to the building. Well, no, he might already be here.

Ella was sitting in the center of her bed, trying to read about Edmund and Bessa (dear God did she hate Edmund and Bessa), but she wasn't focusing on the words. She was lost in her own thoughts. Daniel wanted her to be less opinionated. He'd said as much in his forum post, but she didn't trust Vlad, and she hated the fact that he (and the others) treated Daniel like a child. She knew the man had problems, but he was also a brilliant writer and so very smart. He still deserved a say in his life, and it drove her mad that they didn't see that.

She acknowledged that she and Vlad did not get on well. Like two tomcats in a barn, her father would say, and it hurt her when Daniel treated her like a child around Vlad. It only gave the man more ammunition, and that was one thing Vlad didn't need.

When the clock struck 12, she had put Edmund and Bessa aside (Edmund's insistence that he would bite Bessa if he kissed her was starting to give her a headache), and she'd gone to make herself a cup of tea. She returned to the room, set the tea on the nightstand, and stopped.

It wasn't a slow thing; not for Ella. One minute, she was herself, with all her walls and guarded things, and the next, she wasn't.

She walked into her closet, unthinking, and she pulled out the butter-yellow empire-waist dress she'd told Daniel about months and months ago, and she slipped it on. A hundred brush strokes to her hair later, she left the apartment behind. The hall was cool, and as she moved, the air around her took on the scent of roses.

She stopped.

She should really call her father.

Turning, she went back into 905, twirling the new ring on her finger unthinkingly. There was something she was forgetting, somewhere she was supposed to be. Somewhere she'd agree to go, but didn't want to. Maybe she wouldn't have to? She was going there for her father, she knew. Maybe he would tell her that wasn't the case anymore.

She called him, and she asked him if she really had to go to the castle? He was drunk, and he told her that if she'd promised, she had to go. She told him that she didn't promise, that he had. He told that if she sent him money in the morning, she didn't have to go anywhere she didn't want to.

She smiled, thanked him for the rose, and disconnected the line.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Inside 905: 12:05 a.m. -

beaute_endormie, 2010-03-14 04:17 pm UTC

Re: Inside 905: 12:05 a.m. -

bookshelved, 2010-03-14 07:01 pm UTC

Re: Inside 905: 12:05 a.m. -

beaute_endormie, 2010-03-14 08:53 pm UTC

Re: Inside 905: 12:05 a.m. -

bookshelved, 2010-03-14 09:10 pm UTC

Re: Inside 905: 12:05 a.m. -

beaute_endormie, 2010-03-14 09:48 pm UTC

Re: Inside 905: 12:05 a.m. -

bookshelved, 2010-03-14 09:58 pm UTC

Re: Inside 905: 12:05 a.m. -

beaute_endormie, 2010-03-14 10:20 pm UTC

Re: Inside 905: 12:05 a.m. -

bookshelved, 2010-03-15 12:09 am UTC

Re: Inside 905: 12:05 a.m. -

beaute_endormie, 2010-03-15 02:17 am UTC

401; 2:05

sentinelstar
2010-03-13 06:52 am UTC (link)

401 was silent, even when the changes occurred. Rising from his chair to get a cup of coffee, Luther suddenly felt constrained. His hand rose to his neck, immediately assuming someone somehow had entered the apartment, tagging him with some sort of paralyzing device. However his hands felt a high collar with a hint of edging. A frown settled on his face as he looked down, finding lace at his wrists and long sleeves.

For all that he read in the forums, Luther was still stunned by the change. It was temporary though, before his mind returned to the task.

Jean Valjean. Of course. Nothing else mattered – his mind returned to his latest piece of information, the newspaper on his table. He moved to take it, eyes scanning over the name before heading out. There was a police stick in his hand he didn’t have before, but he twirled it about his fingers as he set out – not even locking the door behind him.

He had a convict to catch.

[ooc: closed-ish?]

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: 401; 2:05 -

esseule, 2010-03-15 10:26 pm UTC

Re: 401; 2:05 -

esseule, 2010-03-15 10:28 pm UTC

1st floor, 12am.

metrogingham
2010-03-13 07:04 am UTC (link)

Madison loved Fridays. It was the beginning of the weekend, and that meant staying up later than usual and watching silly movies with Rex all the while eating popcorn.

But then, the clock struck midnight. Then it struck 12:01. Her nose twitched. Getting up, she felt compelled to go to her closet, where she found a checkered dress and silver slippers. Putting them on, she looked over at Rex and shrugged her shoulders, before picking him up and deciding the next best option was to sneak out and see what was going on. Getting outside without a peep, she quietly closed the door behind her and stepped out into the hall.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: 1st floor, 12am. -

only_had_a, 2010-03-13 09:42 pm UTC

Re: 1st floor, 12am. -

metrogingham, 2010-03-15 05:26 am UTC

Re: 1st floor, 12am. -

only_had_a, 2010-03-15 04:11 pm UTC

Re: 1st floor, 12am. -

metrogingham, 2010-03-18 12:43 am UTC

The stairwell to the eighth floor, 12:03 AM.

strangecase
2010-03-13 07:30 am UTC (link)

Steps came and went as Emery trudged up to his room. His evening out proved unsuccessful. He wished for time alone, when in return, all he received were pointed glares and brisk shoulders slamming into his own as he made his way down the street. The air was cold and in the pit of his stomach, something was telling him that this evening was not the evening to go out.

With his collar turned up and his brother whispering, whispering, whispering at the back of his mind, he turned back. Are you afraid of the night, mein bruder? "No," he hissed at the turn of the stairwell. His fingers trembled against the banister. His shoulders twitched violently, but no longer due to the chill of the outside. The long coat that trailed his form no longer held its own in keeping him warm. Instead the coat was gone, replaced by a shirt that was not his own.

Running, running, always RUNNING.

"SHUT. UP!" he yelled, his arms tightening at his sides. Emery looked down at those very arms, now draped in the white of a shirt he had never before seen. "What- what is this? What have you done?" He asked no one but himself. He began to walk backwards then, his left foot catching the top step. Emery fell backwards, tumbling down until he landed on the front of his stomach at the nearest area of floor. His pocket watch smiled up at him from the stair above him. He reached forward, but hesitated as he caught his reflection in the silver of the watch. What he saw was grotesque, twisted. It was a glimpse of the monster he always knew lived within him.

He had to run. He had to hide. Hide. Hyde. That's who this was. No, it was Liam. Wasn't it? Of course it was. There was no one else.

Emery grabbed up the pocket watch and crawled up the steps. As he got back to his feet, he darted quickly towards his floor. Which was his again? The eighth.

A hollow "What have you done?" lingered behind him as he attempted to remember.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: The stairwell to the eighth floor, 12:03 AM. -

wickedwicker, 2010-03-13 12:24 pm UTC

Re: The stairwell to the eighth floor, 12:03 AM. -

strangecase, 2010-03-13 06:31 pm UTC

Re: The stairwell to the eighth floor, 12:03 AM. -

wickedwicker, 2010-03-13 08:22 pm UTC

Re: The stairwell to the eighth floor, 12:03 AM. -

strangecase, 2010-03-14 07:04 am UTC

Re: The stairwell to the eighth floor, 12:03 AM. -

wickedwicker, 2010-03-14 03:53 pm UTC

Re: The stairwell to the eighth floor, 12:03 AM. -

strangecase, 2010-03-14 06:56 pm UTC

Re: The stairwell to the eighth floor, 12:03 AM. -

wickedwicker, 2010-03-14 07:45 pm UTC

Re: The stairwell to the eighth floor, 12:03 AM. -

strangecase, 2010-03-15 12:06 am UTC

Re: The stairwell to the eighth floor, 12:03 AM. -

wickedwicker, 2010-03-15 01:04 am UTC

Re: The stairwell to the eighth floor, 12:03 AM. -

strangecase, 2010-03-15 02:10 am UTC

Re: The stairwell to the eighth floor, 12:03 AM. -

themegazord, 2010-03-15 03:03 am UTC

Re: The stairwell to the eighth floor, 12:03 AM. -

wickedwicker, 2010-03-15 04:03 am UTC

Re: The stairwell to the eighth floor, 12:03 AM. -

strangecase, 2010-03-18 02:10 am UTC

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wickedwicker, 2010-03-18 02:36 am UTC

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themegazord, 2010-03-18 10:50 pm UTC

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wickedwicker, 2010-03-19 04:33 am UTC

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themegazord, 2010-03-19 06:23 am UTC

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wickedwicker, 2010-03-19 05:35 pm UTC

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themegazord, 2010-03-20 04:18 am UTC

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wickedwicker, 2010-03-20 04:30 am UTC

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themegazord, 2010-03-20 06:55 am UTC

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wickedwicker, 2010-03-20 04:19 pm UTC

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themegazord, 2010-03-22 05:12 am UTC

1st floor stairwell.

shebringscurses
2010-03-13 07:34 am UTC (link)

Vaughn was regularly marooned to the stairwell. Every time, with a cigarette filter cinched between her fangs and a hoodie drawn up over her crown of bubonic curls. It was a half-assed disguise, Vaughn knew.. but seemed to work well enough thus far. At the bottom of the stairs, she regularly had a head start in awareness for anyone who was coming down from above. And her eyes kept a beeline on the lobby, so she could see if anyone was walking her way.

Although, at midnight, on this night.. the building seemed to be so still. No comings, no goings. Just an eerie kind of calm that radiated down to the bone and made lecherous sinew draw in on itself with a reptile's shudder of enjoyment. The thin carve of Vaughn's shoulders pulled up in a luxurious shrug, and she tightened the thick cotton of her jacket around her body. Deeply satisfied when she slumped against the banister, and blew a thin stream of noxious smoke into the air.

The silence around her deepened, and Vaughn took a keen interest in the curls of smoke as they rose toward the ceiling. A gray calligraphy that mimicked the cruel, haunted color of her eyes. Lifting a spindled fingertip, Vaughn drew her touch across the smoke that lingered. She wrote her name through it with an amused laugh, because as soon as she'd formed the thought that the smoke should be dense enough to write through, it was. It's milky gray yielded to the touch of her hand, and with a twist of her fingers, she collected all of the smoke around her fingertips like a swab of cotton candy. Vaughn curiously pressed her palms together, the flossy smoke inside the cusp of her hands. Closing her eyes with a bemused tilt of her head, she concentrated. When Vaughn uncurled her fingers a moment later, all that rested in her palm was the bud of a freshly picked red rose.

The witch's eyes went wide in a malt blend of alarm and pleasure, but the expression was broken by a sound that echoed several floors above her. It sounded like a muffled, but distinctly horrified scream. Intoxicated by just the lingering reverberation, Vaughn crushed the flower carelessly in her hand. The petals fell one by one between her fingers as she started up the stairs.

The hood that drooped into her eyes was no longer one of threadbare Goodwill cotton, but instead lined with a thick, black fur. The cloak hung heavy, and obscured every visible inch of her body; as black and hopeless as the grim reaper's shadow. It's hem dragged the floor like funeral bells behind Vaughn, and she started to climb.

(Reply to this)

1104 12:02 a.m

old_fashioned
2010-03-13 07:51 am UTC (link)

Helena normally was a deep sleeper but tonight, right at midnight, was when the restlessness began. She was tossing and turning until finally she woke up with a start, sitting upright in her bed and searching the darkness for what disturbed her.

Something was there. She could feel it. Turning her head she looked around the bedroom and she could see nothing out of the ordinary. But she knew. She could feel it: a presence tugging at the edges of her mind. Familiar and foreign all at once. But there was nothing there. Nothing in the bedroom except the man beside her.

"Pete...?" She reached a hand out to his sleeping figure. She didn't want to disturb him but the uneasiness refused to subside. "Pete, are you up?"

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: 1104 12:02 a.m -

nylonghorn, 2010-03-13 08:37 am UTC

Re: 1104 12:02 a.m -

old_fashioned, 2010-03-13 06:39 pm UTC

Re: 1104 12:02 a.m -

lily_like_girl, 2010-03-13 09:52 pm UTC

Re: 1104 12:02 a.m -

nylonghorn, 2010-03-14 08:47 am UTC

Re: 1104 12:02 a.m -

old_fashioned, 2010-03-14 06:58 pm UTC

Re: 1104 12:02 a.m -

lily_like_girl, 2010-03-15 02:34 am UTC

Re: 1104 12:02 a.m -

old_fashioned, 2010-03-15 04:12 am UTC

Re: 1104 12:02 a.m -

lily_like_girl, 2010-03-15 04:48 pm UTC

Re: 1104 12:02 a.m -

nylonghorn, 2010-03-16 03:43 am UTC

Re: 1104 12:02 a.m -

old_fashioned, 2010-03-16 05:48 am UTC

Re: 1104 12:02 a.m -

lily_like_girl, 2010-03-17 12:20 am UTC

Re: 1104 12:02 a.m -

nylonghorn, 2010-03-17 07:58 am UTC

10th floor stairwell, 12:05 am

noglass_slipper
2010-03-13 08:40 am UTC (link)

Hannah had fallen asleep at 11, but she'd barely managed to keep her eyes shut for a full hour before she just couldn't do it anymore. Sighing, she sat up in bed and stared at the ceiling, unaware that the alarm clock beside her read 12:00 am. She didn't notice the change at first, since it was barely a whisper against her skin, but it was the slight pressure on her feet that alerted her to the fact that there was something wrong. It was too dark to see anything, so she slipped off the edge of the bed-- and nearly fell forward.

"What the--" She steadied herself on the night table beside her bed, fingers scrabbling for the lamp. Instead of being pajama-clad and barefoot, she was now wearing a ball gown and... were those glass slippers? Why the hell was she wearing a dress and shoes? She closed her eyes and counted to ten, but when she opened them nothing had changed; which meant she was either hallucinating or crazy, even though the two went hand-in-hand. Wandering out into the living room, she stopped short in the bedroom doorway.

There were mice in her living room. MICE. At least ten of them, and she was pretty sure that big one was a rat. Hannah blinked and edged her way around them towards the door, but they followed her. Literally. She opened the door and stepped outside-- and they followed her into the hallway.

She was in a ball gown, glass slippers that were impossible to walk in; and now she was being stalked by mice. It was official - she'd lost her mind. That, or it was a really bad side effect from her pills.

Running down the stairs didn't work well in her current garb, and she stopped halfway between the 9th and 10th floor to turn on her rodent companions. "Stop following me!"

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: 10th floor stairwell, 12:05 am -

shebringscurses, 2010-03-14 08:07 pm UTC

Re: 10th floor stairwell, 12:05 am -

noglass_slipper, 2010-03-14 08:48 pm UTC

Re: 10th floor stairwell, 12:05 am -

shebringscurses, 2010-03-14 10:38 pm UTC

Re: 10th floor stairwell, 12:05 am -

noglass_slipper, 2010-03-14 11:12 pm UTC

Re: 10th floor stairwell, 12:05 am -

shebringscurses, 2010-03-14 11:36 pm UTC

Re: 10th floor stairwell, 12:05 am -

noglass_slipper, 2010-03-15 01:21 am UTC

Re: 10th floor stairwell, 12:05 am -

shebringscurses, 2010-03-15 01:38 am UTC

Re: 10th floor stairwell, 12:05 am -

noglass_slipper, 2010-03-15 02:18 am UTC

Re: 10th floor stairwell, 12:05 am -

shebringscurses, 2010-03-15 03:34 am UTC

Re: 10th floor stairwell, 12:05 am -

noglass_slipper, 2010-03-15 04:39 am UTC

Re: 10th floor stairwell, 12:05 am -

shebringscurses, 2010-03-15 11:38 am UTC

Re: 10th floor stairwell, 12:05 am -

noglass_slipper, 2010-03-15 09:16 pm UTC

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shebringscurses, 2010-03-16 12:41 am UTC

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noglass_slipper, 2010-03-16 12:55 am UTC

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shebringscurses, 2010-03-16 02:01 am UTC

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noglass_slipper, 2010-03-16 04:45 am UTC

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shebringscurses, 2010-03-16 09:48 pm UTC

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noglass_slipper, 2010-03-17 02:46 am UTC

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noglass_slipper, 2010-03-17 09:04 pm UTC

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shebringscurses, 2010-03-17 10:21 pm UTC

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noglass_slipper, 2010-03-17 10:44 pm UTC

12th floor stairwell, 12:10am

vasilissa
2010-03-13 08:56 am UTC (link)

It had been a long, rather uneventful night at work. She had fallen asleep almost as soon as she hit her bed earlier in the evening, while Stefan was in the room across from hers. To her surprise, Ileana rolled over to wake up with her doll's blank face staring at her impassively. It was completely natural to life the doll when it's (her?) little arms raised to be picked up and tucked safely in to the front of her apron.

Ileana knew where she had to go. The witch would have to give her light for her stepsister and stepmother in exchange for something. If she could just make it through to find the Baba Yaga, she would have to help. Stepping out of her apartment, she made her way down the stairs as the doll in her front pocket slowly moved her head and pointed a little hand to direct Ileana where to go.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: 12th floor stairwell, 12:10am -

redhorse_tea, 2010-03-13 04:17 pm UTC

Re: 12th floor stairwell, 12:10am -

vasilissa, 2010-03-13 08:22 pm UTC

Re: 12th floor stairwell, 12:10am -

redhorse_tea, 2010-03-13 09:08 pm UTC

Re: 12th floor stairwell, 12:10am -

vasilissa, 2010-03-13 09:20 pm UTC

Re: 12th floor stairwell, 12:10am -

redhorse_tea, 2010-03-13 09:30 pm UTC

Re: 12th floor stairwell, 12:10am -

vasilissa, 2010-03-13 10:10 pm UTC

Re: 12th floor stairwell, 12:10am -

redhorse_tea, 2010-03-13 10:37 pm UTC

Re: 12th floor stairwell, 12:10am -

vasilissa, 2010-03-13 11:25 pm UTC

Re: 12th floor stairwell, 12:10am -

redhorse_tea, 2010-03-14 12:01 am UTC

Re: 12th floor stairwell, 12:10am -

vasilissa, 2010-03-14 02:46 am UTC

Re: 12th floor stairwell, 12:10am -

redhorse_tea, 2010-03-14 11:02 pm UTC

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vasilissa, 2010-03-15 06:34 am UTC

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redhorse_tea, 2010-03-16 02:27 am UTC

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vasilissa, 2010-03-16 08:12 pm UTC

5th floor

mostloyallover
2010-03-13 09:06 pm UTC (link)

Daisy woke with a start. She strained in the darkness to hear, her heart pounding. Something was wrong -- but what? Vaguely, outside the castle -- castle? -- there was a ruckus. Movement. Courtiers, perhaps. Courtiers. Daisy reached out to pull back the curtains from around her bed when she stopped herself. Since when did she sleep in a four poster bed?

As she slid out of bed, however, her panic abated a bit. The room wasn't quite right, not really, but it was familiar: cold stone warmed by the low fire smoldering in the fire place. Fur rugs and coverlets and robes to help. She dressed without the help of her maid -- what maid? -- and pulled on her kirtle and cote then one of the sleeveless fur robes. Considerably warmer, Daisy shuffled out of the bedroom and into -- not the living room, but a kind of anteroom. The panic returned. Everything was wrong, but right, but wrong.

Uneasy, she paced the cold, stony space, mentally and physically wringing her hands. If only Robin Hood where here. That's all she could think of, over and over. If he were here, she would be safe; she would know he was safe. Everyone would be safe and she could go back to sleep...

But he wasn't here. That unavoidable fact plagued her until Daisy decided to find him. It was completely inappropriate, of course, for a lady of her standing to seek out a criminal --

Daisy shook her head, trying to get rid of the freaky daydream. Normally she quite enjoyed her medieval Renaissance fantasies but right now they weren't helping. She finally decided Rick might be able to help, even though she felt vaguely nervous about the sheriff, for some reason...

It took some effort to open the door -- the wood didn't quite fit into the jamb, as if it had warped from years of cold winters and wet summers -- but finally, she was in the corridor, and she could see both the plain plaster walls and more cold stone. Strangely, it was bothering her less and less.

Shuffling again -- the layers of skirts were kind of constricting, Daisy thought, and she wondered why she didn't just put jeans on -- she stopped at the room where Rick resided but the weird anxiety kept her from knocking. A woman at a man's door, at this time of night?

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: 5th floor -

ex_peepshows656, 2010-03-13 11:38 pm UTC

Re: 5th floor -

mostloyallover, 2010-03-15 03:50 pm UTC

Re: 5th floor -

ex_peepshows656, 2010-03-15 08:30 pm UTC

Re: 5th floor -

mostloyallover, 2010-03-17 12:12 am UTC

Re: 5th floor -

ex_peepshows656, 2010-03-17 12:43 am UTC

Re: 5th floor -

mostloyallover, 2010-03-17 01:47 am UTC

Re: 5th floor -

ex_peepshows656, 2010-03-17 02:14 am UTC

Re: 5th floor -

mostloyallover, 2010-03-18 09:56 pm UTC

1202, 12:15 am

lostintheforest
2010-03-13 09:13 pm UTC (link)

Evie woke up in a ball under her sheets, curled in upon her stomach in hunger. The hollow feeling in her stomach told her that it was empty in a way it hadn't been since before Evie had first learned to buy groceries and make her own food.

Food. There was no food and there hadn't been for-- days? Weeks? She managed to drag herself up on her bed and recognized the room she was in with its soccer posters and sports equipment. Now Evie could vaguely remember eating dinner just a few hours ago.

But she was so hungry. Holding her stomach protectively as she rolled out of bed, she dragged herself to the kitchen and immediately began looking through it. Cookies, snack cakes, candy, bread; the food that Evie was pulling out all fit into the same categories of sugar and carbs.

Once she had found everything that she was considering to be desirable food at the moment, she tore into the pile. Halfway through a sleeve of cookies, Evie remembered something. She had a brother, didn't she? He would be hungry too.

A brother. Nicky. She said it out loud and the name felt swollen and heavy on her tongue, like it wasn't his name at all. Her attention broken away from the food, Evie managed to stand and leave the kitchen, needing to find him. She peered into his dark room, searching. "Nicky?" It still didn't sound right.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: 1202, 12:15 am -

never_old, 2010-03-13 09:52 pm UTC

Re: 1202, 12:15 am -

floreat_etona, 2010-03-13 10:33 pm UTC

Re: 1202, 12:15 am -

lostintheforest, 2010-03-14 12:08 am UTC

Re: 1202, 12:15 am -

never_old, 2010-03-14 03:18 am UTC

Re: 1202, 12:15 am -

floreat_etona, 2010-03-15 04:34 pm UTC

Re: 1202, 12:15 am -

lostintheforest, 2010-03-15 08:31 pm UTC

Re: 1202, 12:15 am -

never_old, 2010-03-16 08:20 pm UTC

Re: 1202, 12:15 am -

floreat_etona, 2010-03-17 12:07 am UTC

Re: 1202, 12:15 am -

lostintheforest, 2010-03-17 01:31 am UTC

Re: 1202, 12:15 am -

floreat_etona, 2010-03-17 01:52 am UTC

Re: 1202, 12:15 am -

never_old, 2010-03-17 07:31 pm UTC

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lostintheforest, 2010-03-17 08:45 pm UTC

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floreat_etona, 2010-03-18 05:31 pm UTC

Penthouse level: 12:30(?) am

snow_bees
2010-03-13 10:28 pm UTC (link)

Deirdre had gone to bed early, blaming a long week on her exhaustion. She didn't know how long she had been asleep when the dreams started: dreams of her parents' home. She'd barely seen it growing up with how much they traveled, an expansive house that could almost be called a castle. In her dream, it was blanketed by soft, tall mounds of perfect snow. It fell from the sky and she turned her face up to it, smiling in her dream. The flakes hit her skin in pinpricks of ice that felt more real than a dream should. They didn't let up and after a moment, a breeze curled around her, icy against skin. Even with the cold, it was peaceful and silent.

A roar from the waking world woke her up, and she held herself still as she tried to place what had woken her. The room was silent and still, but something wasn't right.

The blanket felt heavier than it usually did, and as she sat up, she found why. The snow, already piled several inches high, spilled down around her when she sat up, some falling to the floor where drifts had started up against the side of her bed. Staring at the ceiling through the dark, she couldn't see anything unusual, but the snow still fell around her, drifting down from nowhere.

She levered herself out of bed in a hurry, the drifts of snow deep enough to cover halfway to her knees as she pulled a robe on over her nightgown. It felt heavier and richer than it usually did, the fabric of it soft to the touch and luxurious, almost a gown in itself, though she remained barefoot and with her hair spilling to her shoulders, held back only by a slim silver band. The chill of the snow didn't seem to bother her much as she hurried toward her bedroom door, pulling it open to discover that the rest of the penthouse was covered in the same deep layer of snow. The gust from opening the door sent the light flakes drifting through the rooms, some pushing out under the crack of her front door to drift into the main corridor.

The sounds that had woken her continued, roars and voices from the opposite side of her front door. Snowflakes swirled around her and caught in her hair as she listened through her door, concerned that there was a wild animal in her castle. She paused for a second and shook her head. Not castle. Penthouse. And why was all the snow there? Her hand lingered on the frost doorknob, unsure if she should open it or not as she could still hear what sounded like a fight outside.

(Reply to this)

Third floor stairwell ; 12.30 AM

arcere
2010-03-13 11:53 pm UTC (link)

For Aiden, sleep was something that happened in the AM hours and only in the AM hours. Even then, it was only a few hours between periods of being awake; he had more than enough to do these days without wasting excess time sleeping. Eventually it was going to take its toll on him and leave him a ruined mess, but he'd been doing well enough so far. No need to fix what wasn't broken. Therefore, just before midnight, Aiden was awake and at his computer, evaluating an hour's worth of shorthand notes and trying to elaborate on them.

Midnight struck. Nothing happened.

When the clock on the computer clicked over to 12:01 a minute later, Aiden was on the floor.

In the span of half a second, an incredible pain had blossomed in his skull. Unlike his normal headaches, which picked a spot and pulsated until the painkillers kicked in, this one seemed to completely engulf every inch of his brain. He couldn't think, he couldn't see; all he could do was lie there and stare at the blank white that had previously been his vision.

Within ten minutes, though, it cleared (the pain still there but starting to throb, his vision returning, his limbs reclaimed) - but something had changed. His clothes were relatively similar but had taken on a worn, older look, and as he slowly stood, a small gold crucifix dislodged itself from his collar and hung with surprising weight against his chest. He looked down at it, vaguely confused. He wasn't very religious. Never had been, though there was always the faint wonder if there was a God out there due to the role religion played in so many occult myths. Agnosticism had fit him pretty well, so then why would he have this? Ah, yes ... because God was the only real way to battle ...

... him.

The memories. The notes. It snapped back into focus in his aching mind and nearly sent Aiden tumbling to the floor again. That bastard, that vampire was here, he knew it - he'd come here to find him, and now it was time to finish the job. He had to save her. Had to save ... no. Get revenge? But she wasn't dead - or was she? A she was in danger, that much he knew, or had been in danger - and either way, getting to that man and finishing him off would not only solve that problem, but cleanse the earth of a creature out of God's sight.

First things first, though. He looked around the room, teeth clenched against the pain, and started to hunt.

Fifteen minutes later, Aiden staggered out of his room, a hastily-carved stake (a chair leg sacrificed to the greater good) in one pocket and his pocketknife in the other. There hadn't been much else to find. He needed to find more, more to protect the people here, to save - to avenge - her. There was a grave danger in this place, and if he couldn't take care of it tonight, he would need to extra help. He headed for the stairwell to go up but paused on the first step, pressing a hand against his eyes to try and assuage the pain.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Third floor stairwell ; 12.30 AM -

takingsides, 2010-03-14 03:00 am UTC

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arcere, 2010-03-14 03:26 am UTC

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takingsides, 2010-03-14 03:39 am UTC

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arcere, 2010-03-14 03:56 am UTC

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arcere, 2010-03-14 05:24 am UTC

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takingsides, 2010-03-14 06:57 am UTC

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arcere, 2010-03-14 07:10 am UTC

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takingsides, 2010-03-14 07:17 am UTC

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arcere, 2010-03-15 11:50 pm UTC

Lobby : 5:00 a.m.

acatalyst
2010-03-15 03:59 pm UTC (link)

Micah was not in the building at midnight.

He was sitting in a classroom at Jackson Hospital in Miami, Florida. He'd hopped a flight that afternoon, when he'd gotten word that his request to take the rivalida early had been approved - the exam medical doctors from other countries had to take in order to practice medicine in the United States.

The exam was in English and his degree was in Forensic Pathology, which meant he needed to take additional specialization tests that were challenging for a non-native English speaker. It wasn't that he didn't know the material; rather, the questions were multiple choice and comprised entirely of grammatical nuance.

He was six hours in when the clock struck midnight, and he was (admittedly) on the road to failure.

The change wasn't immediately physical for him. Instead, it was wholly mental. He knew the material on the page, understood the language perfectly. Every nuance was grasped, every answer corrected. Within the hour, he handed in his examination. Triumphant!

He was also limping heavily, and his shoulder ached.

The flight home was a blur, and when he disembarked the plane, he rubbed his face, trying to get rid of the lethargy that had settled over him.

His fingers touched facial hair.

His fingers touched-

Well, of course they did. He was very proud of his mustache, you see. It was gentlemanly and very well done. He leaned heavily on the cane that had materialized in his hand, doffed his hat to a confused looking woman at baggage claim and summoned forth a taxi ride.

When he entered Bellum, it was easily 5 a.m., and he was wondering what trouble Holmes had managed to get himself into this time.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Lobby : 5:00 a.m. -

redhorse_tea, 2010-03-16 02:44 am UTC

Re: Lobby : 5:00 a.m. -

acatalyst, 2010-03-16 03:17 am UTC

Re: Lobby : 5:00 a.m. -

redhorse_tea, 2010-03-16 05:07 am UTC

Re: Lobby : 5:00 a.m. -

acatalyst, 2010-03-16 05:37 am UTC

Re: Lobby : 5:00 a.m. -

redhorse_tea, 2010-03-16 04:58 pm UTC

Re: Lobby : 5:00 a.m. -

acatalyst, 2010-03-16 07:54 pm UTC

Re: Lobby : 5:00 a.m. -

redhorse_tea, 2010-03-17 01:11 am UTC

Basement: 2:00 a.m.

ex_sanguine300
2010-03-15 04:36 pm UTC (link)

[after this]

She didn't look behind herself as she ran down the spiral stairs. Down and down and down and this was almost like a path. The wolf wasn't supposed to be on the path. Hadn't anyone told him? Mother told her to hush, and Grandmother told her to run, and they were starting to sound like Rosalie and Daniel - the fun killers.

She could still hear him behind her, the wolf, and she decided (immediately) that Mother and Grandmother were wrong. The path was a very bad idea. If she'd just stayed with the vampire, he would have eaten the wolf and everything would have been fine.

This was the last time she was listening to any of the boring people.

When her feet touched the first-floor landing, she made a beeline for the basement. Pools and catacombs had to be safe, didn't they? After all, it wasn't like wolves could swim or anything.

Wait. She stopped.

She slipped the white ribbon off the waist of her dress, and she threw it toward the opposite end of the lobby (distraction!), before heading back toward the basement and down the stone steps.

You are very smart, Red, she told herself.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Basement: 2:00 a.m. -

wolfishane, 2010-03-15 05:37 pm UTC

Re: Basement: 2:00 a.m. -

ex_sanguine300, 2010-03-15 06:01 pm UTC

Re: Basement: 2:00 a.m. -

wolfishane, 2010-03-15 06:07 pm UTC

First floor: 2:15 a.m. -

ex_sanguine300, 2010-03-15 07:03 pm UTC

Re: First floor: 2:15 a.m. -

wolfishane, 2010-03-15 07:09 pm UTC

Re: First floor: 2:15 a.m. -

ex_sanguine300, 2010-03-15 11:05 pm UTC

Re: First floor: 2:15 a.m. -

wolfishane, 2010-03-16 12:43 am UTC

Re: First floor: 2:15 a.m. -

ex_sanguine300, 2010-03-16 12:56 am UTC

Re: First floor: 2:15 a.m. -

wolfishane, 2010-03-16 01:02 am UTC

Re: First floor: 2:15 a.m. -

ex_sanguine300, 2010-03-16 01:22 am UTC

Re: First floor: 2:15 a.m. -

wolfishane, 2010-03-16 01:27 am UTC

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wolfishane, 2010-03-16 08:45 pm UTC

Stairwell, going down from the 12th: 7:00 a.m.

unimpressive
2010-03-16 01:05 am UTC (link)

It was at dawn that he awoke, the sunlight hitting his skin after a long night of fitful dreams. They were strange, lots of moving, lots of changing and when he finally awoke in the morning, he knew this wasn't quite right. His much smaller body didn't phase him, nor did they sudden hunger for insects. No, what bothered him was that he was in bed. Alone.

Where was the princess?

That was the reason he was in a bed and not by the pond anymore. That had to be it. She had promised. He would give her what she wanted and she would do as he asked: feed him from her table, sleep beside him in her bed. But when he awoke, there was no one else to be found, so the curse remained. He tried to think of her face, or even her name, but nothing came to mind. No matter. He would find her, whoever she was.

He leapt from the bed and kept making his way toward the door, slowly but surely, hopping as if he had been doing this his whole life. The front door was open and it gave him pause, thinking that it wasn't quite right. There was someone else who should have been here. They wouldn't have the door open. But just as quickly as the thought came, the thought passed. He couldn't dwell on it now. He had other plans. He slowly hopped and hopped and hopped off into the direction of the stairwell and then down, down, down, down the steps.

He would find his princess.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Stairwell, going down from the 12th: 7:00 a.m. -

beaute_endormie, 2010-03-17 04:25 am UTC

Re: Stairwell, going down from the 12th: 7:00 a.m. -

unimpressive, 2010-03-17 06:31 pm UTC

Re: Stairwell, going down from the 12th: 7:00 a.m. -

beaute_endormie, 2010-03-17 08:31 pm UTC

Re: Stairwell, going down from the 12th: 7:00 a.m. -

unimpressive, 2010-03-17 09:38 pm UTC

Re: Stairwell, going down from the 12th: 7:00 a.m. -

beaute_endormie, 2010-03-17 09:59 pm UTC

Re: Stairwell, going down from the 12th: 7:00 a.m. -

unimpressive, 2010-03-17 10:24 pm UTC

Re: Stairwell, going down from the 12th: 7:00 a.m. -

beaute_endormie, 2010-03-17 10:41 pm UTC

Re: Stairwell, going down from the 12th: 7:00 a.m. -

unimpressive, 2010-03-17 10:57 pm UTC

Re: Stairwell, going down from the 12th: 7:00 a.m. -

beaute_endormie, 2010-03-17 11:26 pm UTC

Re: Stairwell, going down from the 12th: 7:00 a.m. -

unimpressive, 2010-03-18 04:41 pm UTC

Re: Stairwell, going down from the 12th: 7:00 a.m. -

beaute_endormie, 2010-03-18 06:19 pm UTC

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beaute_endormie, 2010-03-22 08:23 pm UTC

Second Floor Stairwell; 3:00 AM

sentinelstar
2010-03-16 03:29 am UTC (link)

Javert – no, Luther - was a patient man. He could search for years, so long as he had a good trail. A path to follow was enough; he was content to follow it, so long as it led somewhere. When his so-called ‘search’ led him to an abandoned wharf, with no sign of anyone having been there in weeks it left him frustrated. He’d taken his anger out on a crate, smashing it with his police stick before returning to Bellum Letale at a brisk pace.

Ignoring all commotion on the lower levels, Javert - Luther - kept moving upwards, intending to return to his apartment. Rereading his sources, find out why he suddenly felt comfortable in clothes not made for practicality and whether this was related to the building were things that needed to be done. Or at least, he thought so until there was a sensing of trouble in the air.

Crime. A rat. Something foul which needed to be taken care of.

Luther kept walking, mind going through the usual suspects, as he moved towards where he instinctively knew the stain on humanity was. Jean Valjean would be preferred the escapee (Escapee, since when had that been the term for him?) or even one of those in Thernardier’s gang who had gotten away again…

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Second Floor Stairwell; 3:00 AM -

esseule, 2010-03-16 03:45 am UTC

Re: Second Floor Stairwell; 3:00 AM -

sentinelstar, 2010-03-16 03:50 am UTC

Re: Second Floor Stairwell; 3:00 AM -

esseule, 2010-03-16 04:07 am UTC

Re: Second Floor Stairwell; 3:00 AM -

sentinelstar, 2010-03-16 04:12 am UTC

Re: Second Floor Stairwell; 3:00 AM -

esseule, 2010-03-16 04:25 am UTC

Re: Second Floor Stairwell; 3:00 AM -

sentinelstar, 2010-03-16 04:29 am UTC

Re: Second Floor Stairwell; 3:00 AM -

esseule, 2010-03-16 04:39 am UTC

Re: Second Floor Stairwell; 3:00 AM -

sentinelstar, 2010-03-16 04:47 am UTC

Re: Second Floor Stairwell; 3:00 AM -

esseule, 2010-03-16 05:16 am UTC

Re: Second Floor Stairwell; 3:00 AM -

sentinelstar, 2010-03-16 12:43 pm UTC

Re: Second Floor Stairwell; 3:00 AM -

esseule, 2010-03-16 06:31 pm UTC

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sentinelstar, 2010-03-16 11:45 pm UTC

Rooftop floor/R1: 3:00 a.m.

bookshelved
2010-03-16 04:40 am UTC (link)

[after this]

Ella kept trying to look down the stairs as Rosalie helped her up to the rooftop level. She wanted to make sure the Beast was okay, even if she didn't want to be trapped in his castle. No, not his castle, R1.

Or was R1 his castle?

She blamed her inability to think straight on the stinging claw marks on her shoulders, and she was thankful of Sleeping Beauty helping her. Sleeping Beauty. "Do you have a name?" she asked when they reached the landing, forgetting Rosalie in that moment and just recognizing her as her fairy tale counterpart.

As they neared the door to R1, she hesitated, her steps slowing. She twisted the ring on her finger, and she looked at Rosalie with a look that combined the pain in her shoulders with trepidation. "I'll be allowed to leave, won't I?" she asked, not hesitant to show her fear (very un-Ella-like).

Still, part of her wanted to stay, and she looked over her shoulder again, hoping the Beast was unharmed. She swayed dizzily a moment, and she tipped her chin defiantly, even as she fought the hallway tilting.

She refused to faint.

(Reply to this) (Thread)

Re: Rooftop floor/R1: 3:00 a.m. -

beaute_endormie, 2010-03-16 04:56 am UTC

Re: Rooftop floor/R1: 3:00 a.m. -

labete, 2010-03-16 05:11 am UTC

Re: Rooftop floor/R1: 3:00 a.m. -

bookshelved, 2010-03-16 05:23 am UTC

Re: Rooftop floor/R1: 3:00 a.m. -

beaute_endormie, 2010-03-16 05:38 am UTC

Re: Rooftop floor/R1: 3:00 a.m. -

labete, 2010-03-16 05:48 am UTC

Re: Rooftop floor/R1: 3:00 a.m. -