harper jones is on the run (jonesycakes) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2012-09-01 02:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | #solo, 2009-09-16, harper |
man, you really freak me out
WHO | Harper & NPC’s
WHERE | Sherry's Bakery → Police Car
WHEN | Morning
"Purple smells funny,” was the very last thing that Harper Jones managed to spit out before she totally passed out on her sofa. Somehow, she had enough forethought to change into her pajamas. Or maybe that was because Crayola had swore at her for running around the apartment/bakery in the nude. ‘If you’re ever going to be closed down for something, it would be this right here.’ Regardless, she stumbled into her pj’s and those monkey socks that felt like heaven orgasmed on her feet. Seriously, that fluff going in between her toes was the best feeling in the world and she never wanted it to stop. She also didn’t care that her familiar was hissing and pawing at her, claws and all, because she kept insisting that David Bowie was the undisputed king of the universe and wanted Crayola to be his cat-hat. ‘If you pick me up again, I will bite you. I don’t care how stoned you are.’ And then she had fallen asleep to the angry rumbling that came from the gray cat as she snuggled him against the cushion of the couch, no matter how much he scratched at her arms. ‘I hate you so much right now.’ But what good were his words when his elemental was so far gone that she didn’t even know which way was up? About the time the sun started peeking through the windows, all hell broke loose. What sounded like an explosion downstairs startled the cat (and God, he was so pissed that Harper had drooled on him. He’d get her back for that, oh he would.) to the point that he wormed his way out of her arms and disappeared into the bedroom, under the bed. The sound barely registered to the elemental, her eyes opening lazily and shutting again with displeasure. Yeah, awake was not what she wanted to be right now. Or ever. She groaned and tried to bury herself into the couch more, but it suddenly sounded like the god of thunder decided to smash in her door. It flew off it’s hinges, banging into the wall behind it and sending splinters throughout the room. Harper jumped and flailed uncontrollably, causing her to land on the floor with a hard thump and a loud moan of god-i-hate-the-world-and-all-that’s-in-i “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?” She cried out, her hands covering her face to shield her from God’s fury and the angry lights. Cold and tight hands grabbed her arms, wrenching them behind her. “Miss Jones?” Someone bent down in front of her, his wrinkled face looking completely horrific. He was like the Eraserhead baby on steroids. At least, that’s what Harper’s still glitter-addled mind saw. “OH PLEASE DON’T HURT ME,” She started shaking in fear and wanted to curl back up on the couch. If she could close her eyes and hug her cat, the ugliness in the world would go away, right? The man stood up and shook his head, said something about tripping balls (only in a much more intelligent sounding way), and walked out of the room. Next thing she knew, someone had frozen her wrists. It was like they had strapped two icy bracelets around her arms. Who knew handcuffs could be so cold? Harper didn’t and she most certainly did not like that feeling. “GET OFF OF ME!” She screamed, fire bursting from her fingertips. She could not handle this. Not even a little bit. Papers on the table caught fire and the people around her started screaming and stamping at them. Shouts were flying across the room, causing Harper’s head to pound even worse with panic and her hangover. She tried to stand up, but a forceful gloved hand shoved her back down onto the ground. She was so confused and scared. None of this even made sense! She started to cry which made her feel even worse. She couldn’t move and now she had to sit here and get wet and deal with the fact that she was so unbelievably lost in the chaos around her. Two hands hooked beneath her arms and pulled her to her feet, ordering her to walk to the door. “Can’t I just go back to bed?” She cried, wincing once she was out into the bakery and the full light of the sun was glaring off of the tile. She saw yellow crime scene tape crossing over the bakery door. The remnants of her fun with the pretty redhead from last night were being boxed up; every crumb, every smear of icing that was on the counter and all the berries that had not been used were being dumped into clear, plastic bags. She cried to herself, still pleading with her captors to let her go, that she just wanted to go back to sleep. She was pushed roughly down into the backseat of a car whose lights really needed to shut the fuck up. Seriously, it was a wonder she didn’t have a seizure from the constant flashing. Plus, they kept laughing at her. When she was being pushed into the car, the person behind her grabbed her head roughly. “Oh hell no,” Harper turned and looked at the... woman? Geez she needed some serious work. “You don’t touch my motherfucking hair.” Her tears had halted for the moment in her flash of rage. “The GodKing will be furious when he finds out about this.” She shouted through the window when the door was slammed in her face. Bitch wasn’t getting away with touching her hair and being rude. “Purple,” She muttered to herself as she looked around the car. “I didn’t mean to be so mean. I really like you and don’t think you smell all that funny. Promise.” Because the only thing that made any sense was that she was being punished for thinking terrible things about the color. |