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the_five_signs ([info]the_five_signs) wrote in [info]vas_captio_rpg,
@ 2009-07-18 00:59:00

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Entry tags:!complete, day 16, location: thrift store, remus lupin, rose tyler

Who: Remus Lupin & Rose Tyler
What: The werewolf inspects his new surroundings..
Where: Near the Thrift Store.
When: Day 16, 9:38am
Rating: PG (Rose & Remus.. Come ON! This isn't Jack & Jones)
Status: Complete

Remus had woken in the forest with strange people. He'd been polite enough but hadn't been particularly interested in sticking around to chat. He didn't have his wand and he felt a little sick to his stomach, and he was exhausted, and all he wanted to do was find a place to sleep. But he couldn't. He had no idea where he was, but he was relatively sure that it was muggle, because there wasn't anything magic around here, none of those people had wands.. and though the dark-haired man had looked like some sort of nymph, he certainly hadn't acted like one. So the werewolf had taken his leave and decided to explore on his own. He'd passed slowly by buildings, looking like a victim from some big-name zombie movie. His face had a patch of gauze over the cheek, taped into place, there was a cut over his opposite eyebrow, a little bit of brusing there along his jaw. One of his hands had gauze on the back and a few fingers had bandages. There were more of those patched wounds under his pale blue, white-spotted cotton PJs. They had long sleeves and long pants, and sock-covered feet were now dirty from walking on the road, and he'd come to a slow stop in front of the thrift store, looking up at the sign. Maybe he could find shoes in there, but then again, he didn't have any money to buy them with.

Where was he? He'd been asleep in his bed in the hospital wing, then he was suddenly waking in the forest with those people and.. the sixteen year old boy let out a breath and lifted an injured hand to ruffle through mouse-brown (sometimes dirty blonde, in the right light) hair, causing the small streaks of gray to spread out a little and become somewhat less noticable.

Now what?


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[info]jeopardysfriend
2009-07-19 04:55 am UTC (link)
Rose ducked her head and smiled shyly, shrugging her shoulders. Unfortunately, being nice wasn't always considered a good thing. "Sometimes I get told I'm too nice," she admitted, studying his hazel eyes. They were lighter than her own, but very nice. Where hers were more brown with green, his seemed barely speckled with the darker colour. They were an interesting combination, and she liked it. Not that she was getting close enough to a sixteen year-old to find out. Adam was one thing. Jack was another. But she was pretty sure the Doctor would put his foot down at her dragging around someone barely out of primary.

She pulled her eyes from him, then, to look towards the racks of men's shirts. "Oh, there's plenty here. We should be able to get you suited up in no time. And no worries about paying for it," she reprimanded. "If anyone says anything, we'll work it off somehow. But I doubt that's going to happen. Everyone here seems to use this place and I promise you, not one of them has money."

Of course, what was stopping them from coming in and taking everything, she didn't know. But she liked the honour system the city was under. Sure, some of them seemed a bit sketchy. But for the most part, they were just survivors, trying to find their way around.

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[info]the_five_signs
2009-07-19 05:08 am UTC (link)
"If everyone jumped off of a bridge, Rose, would you do it as well?" The younger man questioned her with a bit of a lift to his eyebrows. Oh, look at that. It was a Tiny Doctor! Too old to be as young as he looked. But all the same, he was smiling some and nodding, moving away and towards the rack of men's shirts that she'd settled her eyes on. They were all large, pointy-collared, with garish or earthy, swirling patterns. And all of them, save a few, were polyester. There were a few, of course, that were work-shirts.. but he wasn't reaching for one of those. He was reaching for a brown, toupe, cream and dingy yellow one, with swirling patterns.

Could you tell he was from the seventies? And he was looking at the size on the tag, then nodding once and taking it off the hangar, before carefully replacing said hangar, and moving slowly for the pants. A pair of wide-legged jeans were picked out, they'd sit low on his hips like everything in that era did, but the shirt was long enough to cover any flesh that might have been exposed. And once he had them both, he was looking around for a dressing room, modest boy (she was a girl!). And upon finding it, he headed that way.. but alas, there was no curtain. No door. Just hinges. And the young man let out a slow breath and went inside anyway. The pants and shirt were set down and he was unbuttoning his PJs, his back facing towards her, but he was facing a mirror. And if Rose looked, she'd be treated to a well-toned back and torso.. but his arms were bloody and bandaged, and though his back was only bruised up, his chest had butter-fly bandages holding together three slices, each about ten inches long, over his chest. He looked like someone had thrown him into a cage with a wild animal.

If only she knew.

He tugged on the long-sleeve shirt, but didn't button it up immediately, only stepped out of the cotton pants (which legs were bruised, and he had a few small cuts, and one semi-large gash on one thing, also closed with butter-fly bandages), but then he was stepping into the jeans and pulling them up. Perfect fit. If only Remus had that sort of luck all the time.

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