InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "This sucks."

Letale Narrator--The Bellum Letale Mod Journal (letalenarrator) wrote in bellumlogs,
@ 2010-05-01 23:58:00

Entry tags:

plot: fables

End of the Fables plot
Who: Everyone who wants to participate!
What: The End of the Fables plot. Post your change backs here if you so choose!
Where: Bellum Letale
When: Sunrise
Warnings: All sorts?

As the sun rose over New York, the building twitched again, shuddering and shaking through time and space, a shift so quick that it was nearly invisible. Stories, fairy tales, and fables began to go back into their boxes, closed off from where they'd bled into reality, into the selves of the tenants. The building righted itself as brightness enveloped the city.

Things began to revert to their normal selves, whether they liked it or not. First the hallways, then the doors, and then the people, one by one. Rich finery spun back into 100% cotton, rage melted into confusion and despair. Only the memories stayed, unchanged by the building's influence. And, despite the fights and and the strangeness and the magic of the night, the memories the evening left behind may have been the worst of the aftermath.

[Note: If the sun has not yet neared rising for your character in the Transformation Log feel free to take as much time as you need to finish. The overall building, however, will be moving forward as of this post.]

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LOBBY

onestepcloser
2010-05-02 04:01 am UTC (link)

Internal clocks and trans-Atlantic flights led to Derek sleeping through most of the Full Moon. He only noticed the change when he was woken by his father shaking his shoulder, after the plane had landed. There was a brief moment of confusion over where he was and where the voice was, before Derek realized what was happening.

He swore, jumping from the seat and grabbing his bags. Though they flew first-class - thank you inheritance money – he had to shove his way to the front, tripping several people to get out the door first. His parents’ behavior didn’t matter – the memory of their reaction from last time was fresh, but it didn’t matter. Derek knew more this time; he needed to get to Bellum before midnight.

Because clearly this had started only a few hours ago and he still had twenty-four hours to go. It was how it worked last time, after-all.

The overwhelming urge to find the voice and the restlessness that consumed him made him run from customs to a taxi. He didn’t care about his bags, they were considered inconsequential. Gifts for people – what did it matter? He needed to find her, the woman who had saved him, before it was too late. Derek could barely keep up with the Prince, mentally reassuring him as the taxi wove through the streets that if the owner of the voice lived, they could find her at the building. Hopefully.

He tipped the taxi driver more than necessary, bursting from the car and into the building. There was only a brief moment to debate taking the elevator or stairs before beginning his search when the sudden ache and desire to search vanished. Derek paused hands rising to his head, fighting it for a moment. The Prince was gone and he was left, just as himself. Restless as always, but with less of a direction.

The loss was only made worse by the fact that somehow, he’d missed the chance to fix everything by seconds. His eyes shut and his hands curled into fists at his side. A silent, wordless scream echoed through his mind, upwards and throughout the building.

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Catacombs

still_lotte
2010-05-02 04:02 am UTC (link)

She woke a few minutes after sunrise, though she didn’t know it. With her eyes squeezed shut, as she realized there was a pain in her neck, Lotte wasn’t in a position to guess it. A groan escaped her as she tried to figure out why she was upright. Bits and pieces of memory crossed her mind – the masked man and descent. She reached to rub at the back of her neck, eyes still closed. It almost seemed like a dream, until she continued to press at the memories, clinging to it like one did with all important dreams. She’d been in the dream, she’d been Christine and in Bellum which meant…

“Oh god,” was whispered before her eyes flashed open. She was suddenly upright in her chair, pressed back into it and taking in the room she was in. Her breathing grew heavy as she looked to her clothes – sweat suit again, her bag was miraculously on the ground next to her – and then her right hand. She could barely make it out, but it didn’t matter. The memory of another hand was enough and she almost felt like it had been contaminated.

He was here. The Phantom - Erik - had been there, after all her worrying and fears, he was here and he’d taken her - Christine - down here and Lotte didn’t even know if he’d let her go. The fact that she knew nothing at all was enough to make her breathing hysterical. Any effort to calm herself, think rationally was impossible – she simply looked up, unsure of who it would be there.

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Re: Catacombs

lemortvivant
2010-05-02 04:33 am UTC (link)

Bran hadn't slept the entire night, mainly because he would never allow himself to do such a thing and leave Christine unguarded, particularly in a place he hadn't quite figured out yet. He continued to play the violin even as she slept, for his own benefit as well as to keep her asleep. He saw no need to worry about dawn, since Erik had no idea about the change that had occurred and the one that was still to come.

With the rising sun came a strange feeling, as though the part of him that was Erik were being pulled into a deep, dreamless sleep and the part of him that was Bran finally awoke. The mask and black clothing disappeared, replaced by the hooded sweatshirt and hat he'd been wearing before. Bran jerked away from the wall he'd been leaning against with a start, glancing wildly around the candlelit room with frantic confusion. What was he doing down here? The last thing he remembered was being on the stairs, and then...

No. He'd met Christine - Lotte - in the stairwell and taken her down to the catacombs, where he'd played her to sleep. Which meant she was still here, and he turned towards her sleeping form for a moment before backing away. No, no; she couldn't see what he looked like. In desperation he pulled the hood over his head, tightening the drawstrings as much as he could. He couldn't just leave her here in the dark, but how would she react when she awoke?

A moment later, when he saw her stir, Bran knew he was about to get his answer. He kept his face turned away from her, turning his voice into something low and gruff. "You've awakened." His tone was flat, and all he wanted to do was get her out of here and hide somewhere so he could figure out what the hell just happened. "You shouldn't be here. We need to leave."

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Re: Catacombs

still_lotte
2010-05-02 04:53 am UTC (link)

Her hands dug into the seat of the chair as he spoke. It wasn’t the voice but…it had to be him. She recognized the clothing at least from the stairwell and if she went through Christine’s memories, she caught a glimpse of the change. No one else could be here, after all. Not like this. She took a moment to take a deep breath, which did very little good and pushed herself from the chair. There was a brief moment of wobbling and taking in the manner he turned away, before she regained her balance. It was enough to make an educated guess for why he hid; and even Christine’s memories didn’t destroy her desire to pull his hood down.

“I get to go back to my apartment, right?” There was an uncertainty, even if he said that she shouldn’t be there. It could mean a variety of things, wherever he lived in the building…Lotte shivered, still watching him. “I mean – not that this wasn’t er, an adventure but I need to go back. Go home.”

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Re: Catacombs

lemortvivant
2010-05-02 05:07 am UTC (link)

Bran knew that Lotte had to realize it was him, that he was Erik, and now she would warn everyone in the building. He was dangerous, that was no secret - he'd tortured a woman all on his own - but now everyone would be that much more careful. Things were not going to be easy from now on, but he refused to give in to panic and tried to keep calm. This would have happened eventually, and Erik hadn't hurt her; so maybe she wouldn't hate him. She had to know he wouldn't hurt her either, didn't she? Didn't she?

He couldn't think with her so close, and he instinctively moved away when she stood. Of course - Erik would have wanted to keep her here, but he wasn't Erik. He hadn't designed a series of tunnels and labyrinths in the walls of this building to suit his needs; he didn't command a salary from the managers and keep everyone else on their toes with myths of the Opera Ghost. He nodded, even though the movement was minimal. It was true, she shouldn't be here... not yet, at least.

"You can go back to your apartment, yes." Bran hesitated. "I can get you out of here, but the lobby is as far as I'll take you." He wasn't going to have her follow him to see where he lived. He glanced at the lit candle, a hand darting out to pick it up before he turned his face away again. "You can follow the light," he added, already moving out of the room.

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Re: Catacombs -

still_lotte, 2010-05-02 05:17 am UTC

Re: Catacombs -

lemortvivant, 2010-05-03 01:36 am UTC

Re: Catacombs -

still_lotte, 2010-05-03 01:53 am UTC

Re: Catacombs -

lemortvivant, 2010-05-03 03:07 am UTC

Re: Catacombs -

still_lotte, 2010-05-03 03:19 am UTC

Re: Catacombs -

lemortvivant, 2010-05-03 03:35 am UTC

Re: Catacombs -

still_lotte, 2010-05-03 03:57 am UTC

204

sultana
2010-05-02 04:04 am UTC (link)

Any other morning would have had Joss in bed at sunrise. She was good for crawling into bed around four a.m., she could rely on that. Maybe it wasn’t always her bed, but it was somewhere good and where she could conk out for a few hours. But on the night of the Full Moon, she’d left the club early in utter disgust. Worse, she wasn’t sure if it was because she’d been grabbed by a man in the alley, no one believed her when she said her father would make them all pay, or that everyone in the club was filthy.

Frankly, it was annoying how her own instincts wouldn’t suit her. She’d called a cab in a huff and had settled there for a few hours. She went through half a pack of cigarettes, trying to remember how to light them and smoke properly. Finally she dropped them in a huff, kicking to them to the opposite end of her tiled kitchen floor. Somehow she knew her father wouldn’t get her more (and the person who was supposed to be her father, wasn’t the preacher figure that usually came to mind.)

It wasn’t that she was dumb. No, Joss could figure what was going on. Drugs, hallucinations – the whole building had seemed bonkers. She still liked it better than back home, but it didn’t mean that it was sane. Next time she wanted a warning for whatever drug they were going to put her on beforehand. She could find an apothecary afterwards or get an herbal remedy from someone…

Or she could just think straight. Joss groaned, raising a hand to her head. Seeing would be good too – her reflection in the mirror hadn’t looked right either. Maybe she needed glasses which she would hate. Ruin her image entirely except…who cared how she looked?

Joss scowled. It mattered, it did, because people always judged by that and any idea otherwise was simply, utterly and positively…And just as the sun began to peak through her window, it didn’t matter. A wide beatific grin spread on her face that was positively her, rather than some girl concerned with what her father thought and would do.

She pushed herself up from the floor, heading to the bathroom. There was a wink at her reflection, normal again (her eyes were fine.) One shower, bed, and come morning? If she still even cared she’d try and figure this out then.

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First Floor

wolfishane
2010-05-02 04:20 am UTC (link)

[After this.]

The Wolf had gone looking for Red again after his prey had been denied to him. He hoped that the Witch would be with her-he could vent his anger on her. Somehow he felt that things would go in his favor this time around, conveniently forgetting that she could still slam him into walls if she so chose.

He didn't catch a fresh trail of Red's scent until he reached the first floor and came off the stairs close to the elevator. Then, there it was, leading into 104. He nudged the door open with his nose, peering inside, stepping over fallen police tape on his way in.

The Witch had been here, but she wasn't anymore. The scent was a few hours old and mingled with Red's, and he had tracked it to a closet door when the sun finally peeked over the horizon.

Per usual, he was transforming before he even knew what was happening. The change hurt by itself, but it wasn't helped by being covered in rapidly darkening bruises, which only made the his stretching skin hurt more. He screamed into the floor as soon as he had voice to do so, not caring who heard.

When claws had finally receded into nails and his spine, at last, sank into place with a bone-shattering crack, he lay face down on the floor. It took a long, long minute to convince his muscles to move, and when he got up, just to his knees at first, he winced. Everything hurt. There was blood matted in his hair, he was naked, and he was covered in bruises, but the fact that Boyd might be behind the closet door in front of him took priority over everything else. He took hold of the door frame to pull himself up, then pulled the door open, trying not to dread what he'd find inside.

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Re: First Floor

ex_sanguine300
2010-05-02 04:40 am UTC (link)

Red had tired herself hours earlier by trying to scream through the duct tape. She'd managed to get the tape off her mouth after screaming futilely, but freeing her hands had turned out to be impossible, and she'd only managed to wind the duct tape tighter. The closet door was locked from the outside, so when she had managed to get up and pull on the knob, it had turned out to be useless. In the end, she had sat in the corner angrily and waited on the Wolf to come save her. (He would, she knew)

As the hours passed, however, she became very displeased with her Wolf.

She'd fallen asleep near sunrise, and it wasn't until the door opened that she'd woken. She was still Red for one second, for just the briefest, briefest moment, and she looked at Shane, who was naked and covered in blood and bruises. "You look like you had loads more fun than I did, sugar," Red said sleepily.

Then the cape disappeared into nothing, and her hair lightened somewhat, the perfect curls fading into a ponytail at the nape of her neck; dress replaced by Briton's borrowed clothes, and she jumped up to her feet and held her wrists out.

"You are in so much trouble, Shane Cassidy."

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Re: First Floor

wolfishane
2010-05-02 04:44 am UTC (link)

More than anything he was just grateful to see that she was alive. She was bound, but as far as he could tell she was unharmed. Being locked in a closet couldn't have been fun, but judging by Red's parting shot, she might in fact had been better off where she couldn't get into any more trouble.

He pulled the tape off of her wrists after a few failed attempts catching the end under his nail, tossing it aside. "Are you alright?" Best to be sure. She could always be hurt somewhere he couldn't see.

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Re: First Floor

ex_sanguine300
2010-05-02 04:49 am UTC (link)

She ignored his concern, and she shook her hands once he'd freed them. She grabbed a skirt from over her shoulder and went to hand it to him, but then she realized what it was. A skirt? She had been sure this was a man's closet. She grabbed for another item of clothing, unable to see much in the dark of the closet, but what she ended up holding out to him was a pair of leather jeans. "I'm fine. Get dressed. I gotta get to a computer, since Red spent the night runnin' her mouth. Then I gotta lecture you while I patch you up, and then I gotta hide." Her hand grabbed for a shirt - black netting - and she held that out to him as well.

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Re: First Floor -

wolfishane, 2010-05-02 04:58 am UTC

Re: First Floor -

ex_sanguine300, 2010-05-02 05:03 am UTC

Re: First Floor -

wolfishane, 2010-05-02 05:10 am UTC

Re: First Floor -

ex_sanguine300, 2010-05-02 05:12 am UTC

The Morgue

acatalyst
2010-05-02 04:27 am UTC (link)

After the incident with the lion and the wolf, Watson had returned to the one place he thought might contain information of value: The Medical Examiner's office. He'd noticed a lock on the drawer in the office he'd awoken in, and it stood to reason that there was information in that office.

The walk back across the city was balmy, but he was so taken with the elements of the city around him that he barely noticed the cold or the aching of his bones. This place was amazing. He wished he could return home and tell Holmes of everything he had seen, but he knew now that it would not happen that way. He would not see his Mary; he would not discuss these matters with his best friend. No. He would simply cease until this happened again. The realization was sobering, and it was a quiet, thoughtful man that walked into the office belonging to Micah Braden. Perhaps Aaron was better off, he thought, even though he knew that was not so. Still, it was the same, was it not? Effectively, they would all be dead for a month.

He slid behind the desk, his shoulder aching as he set aside his cane. The office was nondescript, and as he glanced down at the locked drawer he sighed. What was the point? In the end, he pulled out pen and paper, and he penned a note to Micah.

If there is a way out of this ordeal, please do find it. Signed, John Watson.

He'd just set the pen down when the sun rose over his shoulder. There was no pain and no fanfare. His cane disappeared, and he sat up straighter, and all of the memories of the night played over in his mind.

It was Micah who picked up the paper in front of him, and he read it.

Micah didn't return to the building for hours, and when he did he looked stress, tense and grim. In his bag, he had all the required items to preserve Aaron's body, and in his pocket, folded into a very small square, was Watson's note.

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Stairwell - 6th Floor Landing

sneakingaround
2010-05-02 04:37 am UTC (link)

That blow to the head had been worse than he thought. Archer had tried climbing the stairs, but reached only the sixth floor before he fell to his knees, clutching his lion fur sample in one hand and his head in the other.

"Get up," Griffin urged. "Don't waste this opportunity."

But he hadn't! He had gotten the sample, hadn't he? That was progress. That was something to be proud of. He sat on the landing for a long time, though he didn't know specifically. His body had already been weakened by chronic malnutrition, a pathological neglect of basic eating schedules. He could feel his bones shake every time he tried to drag himself to his feet, and so he eventually stopped bothering.

The longer he stayed awake, the weaker he felt. Throughout the night, he dozed in and out, swinging between reality and a dream world. Sometimes, when he woke, he could have sworn that somebody was talking to him. That must have been Griffin, he imagined. Why wasn't he climbing the stairs? Why wasn't he in one of the penthouse suites? All these questions nagged at him, bothered him so, but he couldn't bear to move.

Without warning, Archer felt everything in his body contort. With a gasp that swept into a whimper, he gripped the bars of the banister, feeling every cell in his body cringe with terror and pain.

"Don't leave me behind!" Griffin barked in his ear, the sound intensifying the pain. "Don't forget the gift I've given you!" Coughing, Archer pulled his knees to his chest, gripping the bars of the banister until his knuckles turned white.

White.

Eyes open, he stared at his hands. They were bony and thin, shaking beneath papery skin. But they had skin. They were visible. Gasping, he looked down at himself, seeing his thin, nude form. He looked to the small clump of lion hair in his hand, then at his body, then down the stairs. He was in quite the predicament.

Sweat beading on his temples, he launched forward, ignoring the trembling in his legs as he forced himself to run down the stairs, trying desperately to reach his apartment before running into any other inhabitants of Bellum.

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reclamation
2010-05-02 05:53 am UTC (link)

The night had gone poorly. Having sought out so many and been able to find so few, William had lurked in shadowed corners with eyes fixed on the stairwells - a place where luck had given him the very man he sought most of all. Certainly people passed, and he even nearly was able to go after them - but they moved swiftly, or in groups, and for all his power, here he had no desire to fight those that appeared in threes and fours.

And so he was unsuccessful. Though anger was not something he much felt any more, he knew that he had done so little and it caused him to despise insofar as he could all those within the building. With the rising sun cutting into the black of his world, he imagined that going for one last hunt would be good enough, would at least give him something as a prize for his night's work - and there on the landing of the floor below he heard more than saw something. A thump, and a disturbance in his empty bleak world ...

The sun rose. Pain filled the world. Will opened his eyes and staggered, leaning hard against the nearest wall and clutching to the banister as if it would save his life. And it might have, since falling down the stairs generally didn't help you live very long.

When his vision finally cleared and he'd gotten hold of himself, he saw a flash of pale skin as someone staggered for the stairs, trying to run.

... someone naked.

"Hey!" he said, sharply, trying to reconcile his brain with the memories he had from the night. "Hey, hold on!"

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sneakingaround
2010-05-02 05:58 am UTC (link)

There was somebody on the stairs. Just ignore him. Just keep on past, maybe he wouldn't notice. Or maybe he was blind. Archer increased his speed as he rounded the circle that was the staircase, feeling his feet slip and slide over the slick steps. Everything was going well.

And then it wasn't anymore.

The man's voice took his concentration and shattered it over his knee. Archer felt his feet going in twelve different directions, and before he knew it, he had slipped and fallen hard on his rear. The power of the fall sent him sliding a few steps down, as if he were riding a sled down a snowy mountain. Only instead of a sled, it was his butt. And instead of a mountain, it was a staircase of pain and humiliation.

Tightening his grip around the hairs he had stolen from the lion during the night, he forced himself to his feet, awkwardly trying to cover himself as he glanced upwards towards the man. His face was marred by panic, embarrassment, confusion, and fear. Looking up at the stranger, he let out a low whimper as shivers ran down his spine. "Yes?" he asked weakly. "What is it?"

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reclamation, 2010-05-02 06:05 am UTC

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sneakingaround, 2010-05-02 06:10 am UTC

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reclamation, 2010-05-02 06:17 am UTC

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sneakingaround, 2010-05-02 06:22 am UTC

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reclamation, 2010-05-02 06:31 am UTC

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sneakingaround, 2010-05-02 06:36 am UTC

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reclamation, 2010-05-02 05:14 pm UTC

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sneakingaround, 2010-05-02 07:54 pm UTC

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sneakingaround, 2010-05-02 08:22 pm UTC

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sneakingaround, 2010-05-02 11:36 pm UTC

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reclamation, 2010-05-03 12:01 am UTC

108

thimbledarling
2010-05-02 04:40 am UTC (link)

Peter had taken them out of the window and up into the sky, flying over the building and venturing farther out over other blocks. After a while, Wendy had become used to the height and the wind, and had been able to relax and enjoy the experience. By the time they were done, hours later, she had grown comfortable enough to simply hold onto Peter's hand, their laced fingers the only thing keeping her in the air.

When they returned to the building, climbing back through her window, her hair was knotted and wild around her face. A look at Peter made her laugh, because his was no better, standing straight on end in places. She tried to smooth it down with her hand, but it stubbornly refused to lay flat.

Wendy checked on her brothers, poking her head into their room. Michael had crawled over into John's bed, small though it was, and John had a hand protectively on Michael's shoulder, as if they'd fallen asleep like that. Wendy smiled to herself and closed the door gently.

Peter was still in her room when she returned, sitting cross-legged on her bed. Some part of her knew that it wasn't exactly proper for him to be there, but she dashed over and bounced on the bed facing him, still exhilarated from their flying.

"Tell me a story, Wendy. Like you tell your brothers." Peter's voice was rough from shouting over the wind, demanding like it always was, but Wendy just smiled at him and laughed softly.

"Alright," she said, settling herself comfortably against her pillows, and only somewhat surprised when Peter shifted as well, ending up with his head in her lap as she started her story. It was a tale as exciting as any that she told her brothers, full of adventure and action, but after a bit, she looked down to see Peter's eyes closed, a peaceful look on his face. "Peter?" She kept her voice soft, but he didn't show signs of stirring at his name. She smiled a bit, reaching for a blanket she had close by, and covering him as best as she could. She propped another pillow behind herself so that she wouldn't have to wake him to lay down, and closed her eyes, her hand automatically resting on his wild hair.

"Goodnight, Peter," she whispered.

The two of them slept until the sun rose, even then lost in dreams until something jolted Tegan awake with a gasp.

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Re: 108

never_old
2010-05-02 06:16 am UTC (link)

Peter didn't want the night to end.

His Wendy was here -- a glowing, warm presence against a dark night. Brighter than the north star and just within reach. When he dozed, listening to her soft voice telling him stories of adventure that he just slipped away into the back corners of his mind. As the sun rose, the door unlocked in his head and Nick was back in control of himself.

When he woke with a start, he spoke his first words in days since his attack, "What happened?" Nick sat up, looking baffled and surprised that his pain was less than before.

Nick currently knew three things: 1. He was Peter Pan for the night and met Wendy. 2. He jumped out a hospital window. 3. He was in a hospital gown with no pants on.

"Oh man..."

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Re: 108

thimbledarling
2010-05-02 06:29 am UTC (link)

Tegan stared at the boy in her bed, trying to make her thoughts and memories fit back together. He seemed so familiar to her, even more than just a night as two other people should make him, she thought. He seemed somehow larger than he'd been the night before, limbs awkward instead of sure and strong.

"I... 'm not really sure? I think we - flew?" It seemed ridiculous to say, but it was equally ridiculous that he'd be sitting near her, close enough that she could still feel how warm he was. It took a moment for her to realize that he was in a hospital gown, blinking as she recalled helping him feel better the night before. "Are you okay?"

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Re: 108 -

never_old, 2010-05-02 06:53 am UTC

Re: 108 -

thimbledarling, 2010-05-02 06:57 am UTC

Re: 108 -

never_old, 2010-05-02 07:06 am UTC

Re: 108 -

thimbledarling, 2010-05-02 07:11 am UTC

Re: 108 -

never_old, 2010-05-02 07:13 am UTC

Re: 108 -

thimbledarling, 2010-05-02 07:18 am UTC

Re: 108 -

never_old, 2010-05-02 07:22 am UTC

Re: 108 -

thimbledarling, 2010-05-02 03:20 pm UTC

Re: 108 -

never_old, 2010-05-02 03:35 pm UTC

Re: 108 -

thimbledarling, 2010-05-02 03:46 pm UTC

12th floor stairway up to P1

snow_bees
2010-05-02 05:26 am UTC (link)

The Snow Queen had been about to descend the many steps to the ground floor, intent on venturing out of the building to explore and perhaps find a child that would accompany her back to her castle. She'd reached the landing of the 12th floor when the sun rose just enough to bring Deirdre back to herself. She paused, one hand on a stomach that clenched and turned, the other tight on the railing, a few remaining snowflakes falling around her. She had to close her eyes against the wave of nausea that threatened her, and breathed slowly through her nose.

When the moment had passed, she opened her eyes again to look around. She was in the same casual (for her) clothing that she'd been wearing the day before, looking as if nothing had happened. She shook her head as the memories settled into place, frowning as she turned to make her way back up the stairs, bare feet leaving footprints in the snow, Deirdre barely feeling the cold of it still.

She reached her penthouse with no event, letting herself back inside and frowning at the thick blanketing of snow that was starting to melt on her floors, countertops, furniture. Locking the door behind herself, she set to work trying to clear the snow away, starting the hot water in her shower so that she could simply have the snow melt away down the drain. The number for the cleaning company that would mop up the rest of the dampness was still sitting to the side of her desk, waiting for her to admit that she needed their help again.

It would take hours for her to even come close to getting rid of the snow. She focused on the cleaning instead of her thoughts, feeling brittle from being torn between two personalities, neither one seeming to be the right one any more. She tried not to think of the memories in her head, encounters in the hallway and plans to steal children. The more she thought, the more intensely she tried to clean away the snow.

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802

blackcatsrbad
2010-05-02 06:59 am UTC (link)

Cole had dozed off once or twice throughout the night, but thoughts of the Horseman kept snapping him right back into wakefulness. Aaron didn't change much, and really just sat there on the couch staring at nothing. There were a few times when he thought the boy might have actually died for good, but every time he was mistaken.

When the sun rose, Ichabod slipped away easily - one minute he was there, and the next it was Cole, blinking in confusion. It took a few seconds to realize what had happened, and he let out a sigh that turned into a strangled cry when he remembered the Horseman. Fuck, there was actually a Headless Horseman in the building. That was just what he needed, to worry about a headless thing trying to behead him--

In the midst of his panic, he suddenly remembered Aaron. He leapt to his feet, gazing upon the decomposing body across from him in disbelief and horror. "Shit-- Aaron?" Cole approached him quickly, trying to figure out if he was still alive or not. "Please, don't be dead, there has to be a way to fix this..." There was no response from the body, and with sickening horror he realized it was too late. They changed back, which meant the thing on his couch was just a corpse. It wasn't Aaron, not anymore. He'd been here but Cole hadn't, and now it was too late. Always too late.

"It's not fair," he said numbly, shaking his head and backing away from the body. "It shouldn't be like this... you weren't supposed to die. If Sam were still here, his machine, it could have..." He trailed off, remembering what had happened to Jude. No, nothing could save the dead. Things like machines and this fable shit could pretend to, but it was a lie.

Cole sat down on the floor, not needing the note to know that Aaron needed to be preserved. Maybe Micah would come soon, maybe he wouldn't. But he was going to wait anyway. Not even the gashes on his arm mattered right now. If he couldn't take care of Aaron, the least he could do was take care of his body.

(Reply to this)

1203

unimpressive
2010-05-02 06:29 pm UTC (link)

Stefan had stayed in the apartment all night long. Ileana was in her room, or so he thought, and Rosalie had been by his side. There was no need (or way) to pursue the witch on his own so instead he awaited her arrival, should she come looking for Ileana. He watched Rosalie fight off sleep for most of the night, quietly touched that she wanted to wait up with him.

What he didn't know what would happen once she fell asleep. One minute, he was watching her yawn, about to reassure her that it would be okay for her to slumber on his watch. Then the next, he was waking up, sprawled out on the floor of the living room where he had been pacing. The sunlight trickled through the window as he woke up just a few minutes after dawn. His head and chin hurt, as if he had fallen over abruptly, and he wondered what had made him trip and knock himself out in early morning hours before sunrise.

"Rose?" he mumbled sleepily. He rubbed his eyes as he looked over to where he last her, but she wasn't lying there. She must have woken up before he did.

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Re: 1203

beaute_endormie
2010-05-02 07:00 pm UTC (link)

"Here," she answered him quietly, touching his shoulder lightly from behind him and trying not to do anything startling. Rosalie had woken up several minutes ago, right as the dawn stole back her princess clothes, leaving her in her borrowed sweatshirt and skirt once again. It hadn't taken her long to realize what must have happened. "I think I-" she bit her lip, looking apologetic. "I'm sorry. You're not hurt or anything are you?"

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Re: 1203

unimpressive
2010-05-02 11:52 pm UTC (link)

His hand immediately sought hers, resting atop it with a heavy grip immediately loosening. He let out another yawn and shook his head. "No I'm fine." His tongue ran over his teeth and then slid over a cut on the inside of his cheek. He flinched just a little at the irritated wound, realizing he must have bit and cut himself when he hit the ground. "Guess I was more tired than I thought," he mumbled, although he was irritated as he hadn't felt that tired last night. All nighters normally weren't a problem with him. "You sleep okay?"

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Re: 1203 -

beaute_endormie, 2010-05-03 02:26 am UTC

Re: 1203 -

unimpressive, 2010-05-03 05:26 am UTC

Re: 1203 -

beaute_endormie, 2010-05-03 05:41 am UTC

Re: 1203 -

unimpressive, 2010-05-03 06:21 am UTC

Re: 1203 -

beaute_endormie, 2010-05-03 07:12 am UTC

Re: 1203 -

unimpressive, 2010-05-03 04:43 pm UTC

Re: 1203 -

beaute_endormie, 2010-05-03 10:51 pm UTC

Re: 1203 -

unimpressive, 2010-05-03 11:22 pm UTC

Re: 1203 -

beaute_endormie, 2010-05-03 11:45 pm UTC

Re: 1203 -

unimpressive, 2010-05-04 01:21 am UTC

Re: 1203 -

beaute_endormie, 2010-05-04 02:29 am UTC

Re: 1203 -

unimpressive, 2010-05-04 05:47 am UTC

Re: 1203 -

beaute_endormie, 2010-05-04 11:32 am UTC

Re: 1203 -

unimpressive, 2010-05-04 04:27 pm UTC

Lobby.

cyprian
2010-05-03 05:35 am UTC (link)

Trenton's senses returned to him in a slow phase. First, there was the echo of distant, blaring car horns that were embedded in traffic. The sound rattled around unpleasantly in his skull, and pierced the vague dream he'd been in the midst of. He swallowed, finding his tongue dry and stale with a bitter taste that he did not recognize. Unfortunately for Trenton, who probably woke up to the taste of grain alcohol and hooker spit on a regular occasion, this wasn't too uncommon.

"Ugghff," he fought off consciousness with a growl and a grimace, turning into the soft, yielding pillow at his side. He tried to slip back into the blissful dream, but very quickly was forced to accept the fact that his pillow was breathing. Frowning, Trenton wrenched open one eye and looked around. It was difficult to see anything, as a bedsheet -- one he recognized as coming from his own room -- was tented above his head. He cautiously pulled the sheet loose from the chaise couch it had been tacked to, and he squinted against the fresh light.

"Fuck.." This was not his penthouse. This was not any apartment at all. He sat up slowly, surveying the ceiling and curling staircase on the opposite side of the large room. He was in the lobby, and judging by the couple of chairs and couches that were positioned around him, he'd constructed some kind of furniture & bedsheet fort in the night. It was a nice fort, he was a little saddened by the realization that he did not remember building it. Glancing to his side, he saw Isobel -- his pillow -- still dozing soundlessly. She stirred with a dreamy whimper before burying her face against her arm.

And why was he covered in dirt? Trenton's frown of confusion quickly escalated into something akin to disgust when he glanced down at himself. He wore boxers of a deep gray silk and nothing else but a thin veil of potting soil. Spotting the source of the dirt, Trenton realized he'd knocked over a couple of those cute little ficus trees that were positioned around the lobby, and had apparently found it comfortable to sleep in the grungy remains.

"Isobel, wake up," he nudged her and dusted himself off with a hiss of hungover impatience.

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Lobby.

nineteen_stars
2010-05-03 06:29 pm UTC (link)

Isobel herself was not in much of a better state. She was specked with the same soil that covered Trenton, some of it even darkening her blond hair. Matching panties and bra were all that she wore, and when Trenton nudged her out of the comfort of dream land, a little groan of annoyance escaped her. "Sleepy," she mumbled, grabbing out blindly towards him to try and pull him back in towards her. It was that grab that threw her off balance, hand hitting the sheet above her head and confusing a muddled, sleepy mind.

Blue eyes opened slowly, blinking blearily at the sheet that Trenton had pulled away from the furniture, and slowly, awareness started to come back to her. "What are we..." Words trailed off and she pushed herself off, looking to the side towards Trenton.

"Are we in the lobby? In our..." A quick check of herself saw the bra and panties, and Trenton's dirtied boxers when she looked at him. An embarrassed squeal left her and she grabbed for the sheet to pull it back towards her, covering her not-so-indecent self. "In our underwear?!" she finished with a hiss, clutching the sheet to her chest.

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Lobby.

cyprian
2010-05-03 07:53 pm UTC (link)

Her girlish squeal of surprise left Trenton wincing and surrendering the small corner of some sheet he'd claimed as his own when Isobel dragged it toward herself like a shield. Were they in the lobby? In their underwear? "Looks like it," he murmured with the nonchalance of a doomed man who'd had a rough week. Compared to recent events, waking up half naked in the lobby could have been considered a cakewalk for Trenton.

Our boy had the experience of a five star general when it came to waking up in strange places, so he didn't seem too surprised. Not even particularly worried as he glanced around. When one has had to bury a dead body, and deal with the razor sharp end of a hunting knife recently.. the small stuff just seemed less daunting.

Finally, his tired attention wavered back to Isobel. He noted the dirt and small leaves caked in her hair, and was unable to suppress a grin. "Ohhhhman," the words ran together on a sigh of laughter. Trenton covered his face with a hand to rub at the sockets of his eyes and the unshaven edge of his jaw to try and fight for a bit of clarity. How had he gotten down here?

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Lobby. -

nineteen_stars, 2010-05-03 10:07 pm UTC

Lobby. -

cyprian, 2010-05-04 12:00 am UTC

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nineteen_stars, 2010-05-04 12:15 am UTC

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cyprian, 2010-05-04 12:45 am UTC

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nineteen_stars, 2010-05-04 12:59 am UTC

Lobby. -