| |
[Feb. 2nd, 2008|02:20 am] |
Who: Dick and Carrie
What: Nightwinging and Robining
When: The End of the World
It was cold and wet and there was chaos everywhere. Nightwing had that feeling behind his eyes informing him that he needed sleep. It had progressed to the point that even if he did lie down, it would probably keep him awake anything, so he soldiered on. Besides, there was always something else to do.
"There's a shelter ten blocks down. Stay in groups. If you see anyone talking to themselves, stay the hell away from them. Go." He'd been repeating this phrase in various ways for the past twenty-four hours. He and Robin had been separated during the chaos more than once, but now they were together and she was visible in the distance. |
|
|
| |
[Feb. 2nd, 2008|10:31 am] |
Who: Weevil and Lilly Kane
When: Backdated to night she got here
Where: Bar in Mexico
Why: Reunion and Lilly's rise from teh dead.
Warning: Lilly is a flirty slut? Sometimes?
|
|
|
| |
[Feb. 2nd, 2008|02:56 pm] |
Who: Captain America, Belladonna Boudreaux, Spider-Man, Kate Pryde, The Wasp, Iron Man, Ms. Marvel, Zelos Wilder
Where: Starts out in the Hearst Building, but we’re fighting Apocalypse, so we might end up halfway across the city.
What: Showing Apocalypse that his name is just a really big cliché. (Cap hopes. >.>)
When: Pretty much nowish.
Rating: Probably more than a little foul language and superhero violence.
((OOC: Posting order will be in the order that characters replied to Cap's original post, exception being if you want to combine multiple characters into one post, i.e. Peter/Zelos and Kate/Jan/Carol. So it should look like: Cap, Bella, Peter/Zelos, Kate/Jan/Carol, Tony.))
( Fe fi fo fum... ) |
|
|
| |
[Feb. 2nd, 2008|05:35 pm] |
Who: Thomas Lang and Alexandra Cabot
What: Phone call
When: The morning of the apocalyptic plot
Where: He's at home, she's at work
Note: Follows this
When Alex's signal died in the middle of a message, Thomas could only assume the worst. He paced several minutes, obsessively checking his messenger for another message from Alex. He felt like a caged tiger, pacing the floor of his bedroom.
And then it occurred to him to call her. Sometime even intelligence fails, when it comes to simple things. Thomas sat on the edge of his bed to dial Alex's office number. He didn't know what he'd do if she didn't answer. |
|
|
| |
[Feb. 2nd, 2008|08:04 pm] |
Who: Shane McCutcheon and Dani Reese
What: Hanging out. With looting going on not far away. More announcements later.
When: Saturday afternoon
Warnings: Mentions of drug use, because Shane and the wagon? Not really best buds right now.
Shane sat on the steps of her house with her sunglasses on, wearing the clothes she'd passed out in. Whenever that was. Probably Friday. At least, she hoped it had been Friday she passed out on. Dani'd probably mr pissed at her for getting more drugs, but maybe the woman wouldn't notice.
She sighed and watched as someone liberated a set of tires from the Jiffy Lube. Apparently she'd missed some kind of natural disaster. Great. She stretched her legs and lit a cigarette, then glanced around for Dani's car. |
|
|
| |
[Feb. 2nd, 2008|10:07 pm] |
Who Dame SIR Jack Dent, Julien and House
What Hauling Sir Jack's ass out of the mess he fell under
Where What used to be the grocery store down the street from Jules/Jack homestead
When After This
It was getting harder and harder to type and keep his eyes open and just focus for Jack and he was on the verge of giving up when he heard someone calling down his aisle and he looked up to see a bright light. Which really just pissed him off as he whimpered and flinched away from it, saying a raspy "Do fuck off with the lights, dear," as he felt dizzy from the efforts. A rustling followed, not helping his headache, and then there were the sounds of men and he blinked a bit. He was waiting for men. Greg and Jules.
"Jules?" He called, coughing slightly and whiping at his forehead, feeling very sweaty, though dismayed to find his sleeve come back with blood, "Oh, that stains," He muttered, laying back and looking at the ceiling, "Jules?" He called weakly, "Greg?"
Then the shelving unit that was on his arm shifted. Without warning. Jack was a screamer during films, and you could be damn sure he screamed when in pain. Letting out the loudest one he could imagine-and sadly, the girliest one in pitch, making his head throb-Jack finished it off with a pathetic sounding sob and a "Fuck off with the moving, too" before he curled up on himself and closed his eyes, trying to shut it all out and hope beyond hope Jules or Greg would arrive and save the day. |
|
|