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[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.
( ...you're damn lucky you've got a family to hide behind or you'd be on the fucking FLOOR. )
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.
( ...you're damn lucky you've got a family to hide behind or you'd be on the fucking FLOOR. )