Zach (ex_bridges_b70) wrote in regulation, @ 2008-03-30 00:02:00 |
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Current music: | "Staring at the Sun" : TV on the Radio |
Entry tags: | backstory, christopher warrington, zacharias smith |
[Reflections, part 2] "There's lightning in your teeth..."
Who: Christopher Warrington, Zacharias Smith and a billion NPCs
What: An artist with a broken wand begins to unintentionally embed magic into his art, channeling the thoughts of those who have disappeared, expressed through whispers in the glass itself. Warrington finds one of these pieces and begins to investigate.
When: February - March, 2008. It takes place directly after this RP.
Where: Mainly wizarding and muggle London
Rating: R for language and violence
Status: Closed; complete
Notes: This is less a true RP than a series of collaborative drabbles. The story arc in this RP will continue later on and may arise in other RPs. Part 2 of 2 because IJ says this is too long to post in one post. Sorry, all.
"Fuck off and die, Miguel," Zach spat as he saw the other artist coming towards him. He noticed the shrinking back of the man as he neared, a slow pause to his step before he turned and darted back to the safety of the crowd. Zach hated openings. He hated the whole sense that he was there, not to sell a piece of work but to sell himself. It was why he'd told Jude not to bother listing his name with the pieces. If they were already sold, there was no point in making himself a whore for the people who came to these things, smoking long, thin cigarettes and talking about the Meaning of it all.
Fuck meaning, he thought. Meaning wasn't what they thought it was. Ever.
Just then he felt a bump against his knee. Glancing down, he saw a child, her wide dark eyes furrowed as her head craned around the crowd. If there was one thing Smith had learned during the war, it was how to spot a child who believed they were lost, that wide-eyed panic right before the tears. He knelt quickly, remembering that the best thing to do was to distract. Catch their attention with something, before tears could erase their ability to name their parents.
"Hey, Bug," he said. Her eyes reminded him of the spots on a ladybug's shell, shiny and black as the lights glanced off them. "Looking for something?"
"Mummy," Andrea said, blinking at the man who'd knelt in front of her. "I held a stranger's hand by accident but I thought it was hers..." She paused, then frowned again, her expression becoming something akin to contrite, as though she'd just realised he, too, was a stranger. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." She tugged at the hem of her skirt, then scratched at the lace around the collar. "It itches," she muttered.