InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "I threw my pie for you."

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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Re: Deluxe Floor: 12:01 AM

tenoversix
2010-03-13 09:11 am UTC (link)

Hats tumbled their way down from his closet. Pink hats, yellow hats, hats with lapels, and hats made entirely out of feathers: one after the other, they zoomed from the doorway and into the already cluttered mass of everything that seemed to make up the floor of Max's room. Inside the closet, was the man himself. He was dressed in only a pair of white boxers flecked with numerous teacups in an array of different colors. His brow was contorted in concentration. He simply did not have the time for this. Time was very fickle and he enjoyed running rather fast. If he didn't keep up with Time, he would run straight over him. And that just wouldn't do again.

The kettle hissed at the top of its lungs as Max finally found what he was looking for. Ten over six, that's what the said on the slip of paper tucked into the side. He twirled the brim 'round his fingers tips, silk brushing skin, until he set it atop his head. "Now, now," he told the kettle over his shoulder, "You mustn't be rude! Wait your turn."

Next came the attire. He was on his way out, but to where? Where, indeed!

Max stalked over to the right side of his closet (the right side being for pleasure, the left for business - or was it the other way around?) and pulled out his outfit for the evening. Was it the morning? He glanced down at his hand, now holding a large watch meant for a pocket, but a size that told another tale, which told him that it was the the day after when he thought it was. A clock that told the day? Where had he gotten that?

With a soft shrug, he instead dressed from head to toe in an outfit made of green, plaid, and stripes that didn't quite seem to fit. Heels clicked and clacked across his kitchen floor as he disregarded a teacup. He simply set his teabags inside of the kettle and lifted it from the stove. With the chain of his watch now hanging from the center of his bodice, he started for the door. "Excellent, excellent," he told himself.

Max glanced around his floor curiously. It was empty minus only one. His mouth set into a broad grin as he took a step forward. "Going somewhere interesting? That way doesn't seem very interesting at all," He wouldn't recommend going that way. But as he stirred his kettle with only a few rotating circles of his wrist, he doesn't know which way he would recommend going himself.