|
|
Post by Thy Dungyeon Maestyr on Oct 31, 2012 21:35:24 GMT -8
In this thread, post a short story or just a few words describing whatever you did to survive the rest of the night, and describe how your following day began. Remember to not put word's in NPC mouths too much, and on Saturday don't take events past, oh, ten AM.
|
|
DKender
Only One Skeleton has the Power to Control both Life and Death, Light and Dark, Words and Blank Space, Our Humble Lives Continue Only by the Grace and Magnanimity of This Skeleton
Nay, let us walk from fire unto firey skeleton ...
Posts: 9,204
Gender: Unknown Skeleton
|
Post by DKender on Oct 31, 2012 22:23:59 GMT -8
 After her parents took her home from the slumber party, Rudi removed her turtle from his aquarium and held him as she cried in a corner. She couldn't sleep that night and instead spent the long hours wrapped up in revenge fantasies. At 4 AM, Rudi Bedazzled Julie's name in red rhinestones under the eagle on her jacket. At around 5 AM, she hid a hunting knife (it technically belonged to her father) in her secret backpack pocket. At around 6 AM, she added mace (it technically belonged to her mother). At around 7 AM, she had a moment of clarity and removed the weapons, replacing them with her usual slingshot and ammo. At 8 AM, she changed her mind and put the hunting knife and mace back in her backpack. At 9 AM, Rudi left the house without a word to her parents, armed to the teeth, but unsure why (she didn't even know who to blame for Julie's death). There was no school, but she felt like a walk and wandered aimlessly around her neighborhood. Rudi wore her jacket over a black mourning shirt. |
|
|
|
Post by kilnarak on Oct 31, 2012 22:26:03 GMT -8
 Leon waited near Richie's unmoving figure well into the night, until he came down again and Zazz reappeared. Albert stayed with him a while, but eventually booked it for home, and once Zazz reappeared, Leon decided to flee as well - but not before Richie made certain to warn him to keep his goddamned mouth shut. The trek home was painful, but fairly uneventful, and Leon eventually made it back to his house and hobbled in the door. His mother, being a mother, threw a fit - he was supposed to have walked Kenneth home! And what had happened to his leg?! Had he been fighting again?! Leon eventually placated his mother into leaving him alone, and went to bed. His dreams were distressing and amorphous, and he couldn't recall them well when he awoke - the white world, the not-cars, and the thing that Richie had become. When he woke his leg was stiff and it hurt, but he was eventually able to stretch it and get out of bed. He woke up only a bit before 10, and was immediately confronted with the usual household sounds, as well as a fairly large pile of his brother's candy. He grimaced at the pile, wanting nothing to do with it after the previous night, and headed out. He grabbed some toast for breakfast, and all but snuck out of the household - his mother would likely throw a fit again later, but he wanted to check up on Albert and Zazz... |
|
|
|
Post by Thy Dungyeon Maestyr on Oct 31, 2012 23:52:54 GMT -8
Alright, folks ... I'm sure everyone needs some sleep and such ... We really wanted to be finished with the whole plot by the end o' the night Halloween in our time zone, but, y'know, it was educational.
We'll be back on sometime tomorrow (whatever that is from the time I post this) for more hijinx. Will people spew blood and die in their sleep? Will Colin ever be a thing of beauty again? And will Andrew make out with every boy? You know it, baby.
|
|
|
|
Post by Kristi is prescribed skeletons on Nov 1, 2012 0:04:55 GMT -8
 Even though she wouldn't have been able to change the tragic circumstances hadn't she dismissed the other girls worries, Ms. Hassan's mind was flooded with guilt. There were no fun or cute stories to tell Cheryl that night. |
|
|
|
Post by Kristi is prescribed skeletons on Nov 1, 2012 0:10:31 GMT -8
 Zazz now considered Richie to be one of the few human beings or... monster things... that he should be thankful to (this group of people includes his favorite therapist). Not that Zazz would necessarily return the favor, but he was amazed to have a relative stranger successfully help him through one of his rough patches. |
|
|
|
Post by Dr. Maneep Pamplemousse on Nov 1, 2012 8:09:28 GMT -8
 Mona cried. Her parents came to take her home, but she wouldn't leave Julie's side until they loaded the body into the van to take her to the morgue. Her father had to pick her up and carry her to the car because she couldn't muster the will to move under her own power. Her mom and dad tried to talk to her, but she didn't really hear them. When she got home, she ran to her room and buried her head in her pillow and cried herself to sleep. She slept fitfully, with dark nightmares of Rudi's sheet world and Julie barfing blood for days. She woke with a start at about 4 AM. She lay in bed, shivering, for half an hour, then got up and dressed. Lavender jeans, plain yellow t-shirt, red sneakers, and a million glow-in-the-dark bracelets. She pulled out her denim jacket and stared at it for a minute. Her parents bought her a Bedazzler a few years ago, but she never used it. This seemed like the time. Julie would've liked it. She used a ball point pen to write out her friend's name in flowing, curling, girly script, then she methodically bedazzled it, with a gradient of pink at the top and red on the bottom. She was never really artsy, but this looked really good. She started crying again. Around seven, she snuck into her dad's office. She was sure he had a gun in here somewhere. She searched for what seemed like forever, finding only pain pills and a fifth of Jack Daniels. She took the pills and the liquor and went back to her room. She gathered up her guitar and left the house. She walked towards the park, then changed directions towards Rudi's house, then eventually found her way to Julie's house instead. The car was gone, she figured they were probably still at the hospital or maybe they went to church. She sat on the porch and took out her guitar. Spanish Caravan seemed appropriately sad and longing. She played for what seemed like forever, her voice soft but ragged as she sang and her face damp with tears. |
|
|
|
Post by Audrey Siddons on Nov 1, 2012 11:44:54 GMT -8
 After an excruciating few hours and he was finally released, Luka ended up in his car, forehead pressed against his steering wheel. He accidentally triggered the horn a few times, but he didn't have the energy to be embarrassed; How could he possibly care? At some point during the cop's constant, unerring dismissal, he'd developed a small tremor. He sat there for hours staring at nothing but, occasionally, the shaking of his hand. He'd had a cigarette between his lips, but never lit it. Never even touched the lighter. He had talked briefly with Josh, but he couldn't make himself chat. He found out that the rest had left for Ian's, though, and thought , blankly, that maybe he ought to go meet them. Did they know he was alive? It was near midnight. He drove home. The house was cavernous, silent and empty. His footsteps echoed and he wanted to scream. They hadn't left a note, but that wasn't surprising. He wouldn't know where it'd be if they had. He called his father's office and switched it to speaker. He lowered himself down in the middle of the room, letting the cold floor soak through him, his cheek pressed against chilled granite. " 'Allo, You've reached Pasha Fyodorov, chief executive officer at Golden Mountain Media..." Pasha's voice was gruff, but happy as it reverberated through the room, and Luka curled in on himself and tucked his knees beneath his chin, fetal. "...and October 30th through November 3rd, I will be out of the office for international negotiations. I'm sorry for the late notice. Please leave your name, telephone number, and a detailed message, and I will reach you when I return. If it is urgent..." Luka called a few more times, living in the sound of his voice, waiting. He waited, not for him to answer, but for him to say it again. "-tiations. I'm sorry for-" "-sorry for the la-" "-national negotiations. I'm sorry-" "-I'm sorry-" Luka couldn't cry. He'd been trying. This had happened to him before, after Hotchkiss, and after Mr. Whelan, with his well-cut suit and leery eyes. He couldn't tell then if he had hated them for what they'd done to him or himself for inciting it. Or inviting it. He missed the way he used to look, corn hair past his shoulders and airy, pretty clothes, but it was so much a part of that. He'd sat here then, too, wracked with dry sobs as his mother screeched, the scissors a silver blur in the air as she tried to fix him. The floor was covered that night in ripped cloth and hair like young birds' feathers, downy and discarded. Everything felt distant. He felt too far away, delayed and broken. This night, this night. He couldn't even... he didn't even know if he was real anymore. It hit him quickly, that feeling that had grown and paralyzed him for hours. He didn't feel alive. He pulled himself up slowly, his eyes dragging across the room for a target. The stuff he'd brought in was strewn across the couch haphazardly and he glared at it, reminded of death and the choking, moving heat of cloth. He opened the case carefully, let his fingers trail along the soft lining. He stared down at it for a few minutes, the ghost of the feeling it gave him a cheap shadow in his chest. He howled, the pain of what was now yesterday ripping through him. He ripped the violin out of its case and clawed at it, hysteric, the metal strings burning and cutting his skin as he tried to rend them from neck. His hands bled, painting the wood. He whirled around, swung, and smashed it into the wall, pieces splintering and covering the floor. He swung a few more times, his heart hammering in his ears, until he held just the neck in his hand. He... stunned, he backed away, staring at the broken remnants and the gashes on his hands. He... couldn't be alone. Not now. He felt nauseous and empty when he wrapped his hands in tape and changed his clothes. The white shirt had longer sleeves, and he carefully avoided bloodying them as he rolled them up to his elbows. He pulled out of the driveway cautiously, his blinders startling in early am dark. Nothing had really happened in hours, not anything he hadn't done to himself, but a baseball bat filled the passenger seat anyway. Ian's house wasn't too far away, he didn't think. |
|
|
|
Post by Thy Dungyeon Maestyr on Nov 1, 2012 15:50:25 GMT -8
MI- We'll assume Mi as at her house until you decide to post anything, at which point she should probably start calling girls up or deciding on places to go, wherever.
ZAZZ- Same, or if you think he's avoiding home, wherever you decide to put him, etc. We won't initiate anything Mi-ish or Zazz-y until you show up again.
MONA- Go to "The Streets- Mona" !
|
|
