Thursday, May 1st, 2008

Time	Event
May 1st, 2008	- who. Justice, The First, Azazel // - what.. During the Buffy/Angel thread; Justice has a nightmare that leads to her screaming in fear. When she wakes up, she realizes she isn't at Angel's apartment, but instead an abandoned warehouse, where company awaits for her. // - when. Nighttime // - where. An abandoned warehouse. // - progress. One-shot complete // - note. I've decided to distract myself by threading one-shot completes. But I'll still be taking my hiatus from all my other rpgs, if only because it's too much for me right now. And, yes, this is a character death(I'm feeling dark). But don't feel too sad. Like Azazel said, "I have big plans for you". Withered branches creaked, then stopped, and in the sharp cold air she thought she heard music. The melody stroked timeless symphonies that was too discreet to be modern. She shuddered at how childlike it was; a perfect song for musical toys. It was too beautiful, that allowing someone to sing along lyrics would be an insult and wholly decimate the melody. It was music that belonged in operas that endorsed in quality, instead of quantity. She crept forward, but felt the pebbled-road betrayed her stealth prowl. She hadn't a clue why it was of such great importance to remain quiet, but it seemed like a priority—it seemed like she was being followed. Frantic eyes, filled of sanguine, positive it had detected a fleeting shadows, but caught no evidence to confirm her hypothesis. She decided following this mysterious music would be more satisfying, then chasing a ghost. Or perhaps her burgeoning curiosity would be the death of her. Wasn't it always? So, she carried on further down a road that seemed endless, implausible of any specific apex—there weren't even alleys, just a road. Sure enough, her wandering lead her to an abandoned theater—it all seemed to make sense now. Her fingers trembled with foreign anxiety, until she bit her lip and bided herself the courage to open the door. Leisure advancements lead her to a spectacular architecture of finest decor; lots of rich golds, beiges, browns, and yellows. She must of been too occupied by the scenery, that it took her interest to glance over at the stage and noticed something lying in the middle of the floor. She furrowed her eyebrows, attempting to scrutinize the figure. Something told her to flee at once, and forget this place and simplicity. But that curiosity got the best of her—again. ( No one hears the disturbed )
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May 1st, 2008	who. buffy what. the night after the buffy/angel scene, buffy hears about justice's death. just a good ol' post with mourning, angst, and some goood, old fashioned demon possession. when. the night after justice thread rating. pg-13 status. one-shot Justice Harvelle was dead. Gone. Or at least, that's what the News Reporter was saying on the television screen that Buffy now sat, completely enraptured, in front of. It had been a fire. That's what the press was saying. Buffy knew all too well what that fire meant. It was the reason she had come to Cleveland in the first place. Back in Rome, when Buffy had woken up, only to see the white-hot, smoldering flames licking at her ceiling. That wasn't the worst part. The real terror came from the teenaged Slayer that was positioned right in the middle of the flames. At first, Buffy had thought it was a terrible, terrible nightmare. But as the flamed continued to lick outwards, covering her entire ceiling, and the girl's cries grew louder, it had become painfully obvious that it was no dream. They'd barely been able to get everyone out of the flat before the entire thing erupted in flame. And now it was here in Cleveland. Whatever was causing these fiery deaths was in Cleveland. And it had stolen another Slayer's life. ( something wicked this way comes )
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May 1st, 2008	- who. Justice, Elle(npc)// - what. During the Buffy possession; Justice is back, but something much more dark and sinister. A demon. // - when. Afternoon // - where. Random streets of Cleveland. // - progress. One-shot complete. Death reins. Every minute ticking down to the end of existence. It passes consistently, never ceasing to change to alternatives. It's simplicity oppressing and marathoned. Even exorbitant value architectural regions weren't liberated from this grief. Money would buy no mercy. There was no justice. And ironically, the recent victim of this vice was named Justice. There was hardly any evidence for anyone to identify the body, so they confiscated the remaining bone fragments into a forensics facility. But there was something that held melancholy anguish in this telltale, something incredibly depressing. There would no funeral, because no one grieved for a common whore. They expected she weaseled into a jeopardizing situation, and ended up in the flame that oddly extinguished on it's own volition. Everything about her would remain untouched, and forgotten. She'd be lost in the depths of time. Perhaps it was better that way. But that hadn't mattered, since death was far more rewarding then one could predict. The depths of Hell wasn't pleasing, but it lead to her release. All was needed was a worth replacement—because bones and ashes hardly was a suitable vessel. Elle Sawyer was a college student, attending the finest university Cleveland had to offer. She was beautiful, full of sophomoric buoyancy and animation. Long chocolate tresses spiraled around her shoulder blades, framing a acute heart-shaped face, and emerald eyes that shined like rhinestones. Perfect seemed understated, as if it was insufficient to describe the woman. It was a shame her soul would be consumed by utter darkness, no longer preserving that light that was trapped inside her. ( bringing on the dead )
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