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[Aug. 8th, 2008|11:15 pm]
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Who: The Joker and whoever wants to talk to him, God help you.
Where: Prison! Jail, actually.
When: Just post the epic Kicking Ass and Taking Names thread. He got his ass kicked, but not his name taken.
What: An Open Post! Shocker. Want to kick his ass and call him naughty names and beg him to spare your family? Go for it. Want to talk to him one on one just for kicks? Go right ahead. This for the people who wanted to talk to him in person, but haven't been able to yet.
Warnings: So far? Swearing.

I am an anti-Christ, and I am an anarchist. )
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The scariest thing in the world. [Jul. 13th, 2008|07:19 pm]
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Who: Donald W. Blackburn & Jonathan Crane
Where: Jonathan's apartment
Why: Snuggles?
Rating: Probably naughty.

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[Mar. 3rd, 2008|12:31 am]
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Who: Donald and Jonathan
What: Confessions.
Where: Jonathan's apartment.
Warnings: Cuteness. Beware.

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I believe this meeting may be laced with fate. [Feb. 17th, 2008|01:44 am]
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Who: Donald W. Blackburn and Jonathan Crane
Where: Outsde that cafe. You know the one.
When: Early afternoon
What: First, formal meeting.

It was week three, and Donald had been in the same spot, predictably, every day. The seat by the fence was always vacant, and he couldn't figure out why--it was the best spot on the deck. It let the sun in, the flowers were right nearby, everything about it was perfect.

Plus, the view was nice.

As a matter of fact, he was checking it out right now--his eyes were just barely over the top line of a book that he wasn't reading. That guy was here again. He had been every afternoon, like clockwork, and every day, Donald had to stare. He was so...interesting? Pretty?

Ew, scratch that. Donald didn't like boys.

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[Feb. 16th, 2008|03:06 pm]
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Who: Donald W. Blackburn and Wolfwood
What: A meeting.
When: Today.
Where: The street.

Donald had spent almost the entire week since his arrival to the city spending more money than he had in his lifetime. It was mostly on ice cream, sweaters that he'd never wear, and flowers for strangers--it always got a smile, or at least usually did. He was now leaning against a newsstand, thumbing through the newest issue of Esquire with no particular meter.

But he wasn't reading--he didn't know how to read. His eyes were hovering over the line of the magazine, watching everyone that passed by. He was lonely--he hadn't held a proper conversation with anyone in days. He was just trying to find someone to talk to.
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