Not Honest: An Original RPG

thispicture @ 12:01 am: woke like a tree full of bees
Who: Brody/open... sorta :P
Where: Percy's flat
When: Saturday evening

Brody's sleep schedule was pretty messed up. That was, apparently, what happened when you lived with vampires; they didn't rise until the sun rose, and he didn't have a lot to do during the day. He'd gone about looking for a job, but without an identity, without parents, without proof that he belonged here so he wouldn't get his ass deported... well, it was turning out to be a lot harder than it sounded. And the last thing he wanted was to resort to turning tricks again. Way too dangerous, and disgusting to boot.

Maybe he should turn himself in. Get thrown in foster care. What was the worst that could possibly happen...?

Oh, but he knew the answer to that.

The devil you know.

So he stayed, and allowed his sleeping patterns to get completely effed. It was 7 in the evening and he was just now waking up, stirring from under his blanket on the couch and mumbling feverishly to himself in his sleep. (Something about kittens and paint.) When he woke he did so all at once, his eyes suddenly opening and sitting up abruptly like he'd been awake the whole time, but if THAT were true he probably would have paid more attention to how he tossed his head so his hair wouldn't end up sticking up in clumps in every direction, falling in front of his face.

He made a noise and lay back down.

Tags: duke-jeremy "brody" mcadams, open, william percy hastings

endlsobsession @ 07:10 pm: Who: Irie and OPEN
Where: Brent, near Neasden Temple.
When: Tuesday, afternoon.


Irie was drawn to the temple in a way few others would have been. The simple connection the building presented to her home left her longing, weary of her life among the mortal. In truth she felt worse for wear, her weapons left home and her heart no longer truly feeling up to the 'good fight' anymore.

This was the results of a champion long from home. The comforts of her life dragged at her, and the mundane existence that humans led was...taxing. Still, she had comrades here. It was a small comfort to be near her kind, but yet she still felt empty. A deep void that drove a wedge between the loyal and the wavering.

If you hear me, she wondered softly, starting up the steps to the magnificent building, give me the strength...

She needed to focus on her duties, not on the one creature she loathed...and yet was almost afraid to kill. That was what it was, wasn't it? Why her blade never could fall on him? Fear? An intangible, unmistakable taint on her heart that made so little sense it frightened her more.

And to top it off, an angel was found just the other night, badly injured and dying. She'd taken the scroll, if only for safe keeping, but there was little she could do with it. The script was ancient, a text she had never learned, and scholars of the mortal realm posed a pressing problem. How did one address the questions they might, assuming they could read it, come up with?

And what was so important about the scroll that Knights of Order would lash out at one of their God's heavenly messengers? It all left such a better taste on her lips.

Tags: duke-jeremy "brody" mcadams, irieaga moonshadow, open, phineas caldwell

thispicture @ 09:55 pm: been smoking too long
Who: Brody and Raven
Where: Outside a convenience store
When: Friday afternoon

You know what sucks about England? You still have to be 18 to buy cigarettes. And Brody, well, he's got this little baby face, he can't pass for any older than 16, which means he gets carded for everything... if he were a girl, he'd have an easier time, he thinks. Just flash a little boob. Unfortunately, though he can pass as female relatively easily, he's still got a flat chest. Nothing to be done there.

So he goes into a store and asks for a pack of smokes with as much confidence as he can muster, sending out all those 'I AM TOTALLY OF AGE!' vibes, and he still gets shot down. One of these days he'll find that one store clerk who doesn't give a crap and sells them to him anyway--this is not that day. So when he gets turned down he sighs and leaves, and then finds the nearest hobo he can, handing him a tenner and telling him he can keep the change if he gets him a pack of cloves. Hey, it always worked back in Kentucky.

So this is why he's loitering outside the store, looking as inconspicuous as one gets in all-black with artfully messy, dark make up and giant stompy boots of death. He actually folds his arms behind his back and whistles Dixie, hips sticking out. ...If he were in a skirt, he'd look like a baby hooker.

Tags: duke-jeremy "brody" mcadams, open, raven

thispicture @ 12:18 am: steppin' out of ketosis
Who: Brody, open
Where: A general store
When: Monday evening

He should have left.

Of course his life was defined by a series of should-haves and should-have-nots; of course, every decision he'd ever made had been the wrong one. He was still alive, though, so there was that, against all odds--because he'd been half-convinced that after he fell asleep on the man, Percy's, couch, he wasn't going to wake up, and his body would wash up two weeks later and he'd be chilling up there in Heaven or whatever, like, "Dang y'all!" to all the angels. But he did. Wake up, that is. He did that. And he waited.

Nothing happened.

Well, things happened, but none of them involved getting his throat cut and bleeding out in the bathtub like he was half-expecting. No, he woke up, nothing untoward happened, he retained all of his brain function. It was almost like they didn't know what to do with him and he was kind of confused. Why did he stay?

Oh right. Nothing better to do.

He was getting a little better at navigating both English streets, and English money. (What the hell was a pound, and how much was it worth in real money?) He meant to come down to the corner store here to get something to eat, since he hadn't really eaten much of anything since Daniel died--surprisingly, watching five people get slaughtered in front of you was a great way to lose your appetite--so it was probably a good idea to feed himself before he... you know, died.

Of course he got distracted in its paltry make up aisle, missing all the make up he'd left behind in a suitcase in a hotel whose name he didn't know on a street he couldn't remember. Lip gloss, advertised to young girls, was what distracted him, and he picked one off the shelf, staring at it. Cookie Dough? Really? Flavoured?! Good Lord. This was a whole world of lip-covering snack possibilities he'd never considered. What next, edible mascara?

Tags: duke-jeremy "brody" mcadams, jean-julian alexandre marais, open