Former IC Thread [The Exodus of Fables]

[Honeybucky]

_____ Matthias A. Hatter_____
Being led astray by a Fairy-



Whoa. Whoa, hang on. Hold up just a second. Time needed to shut up and quit twitching, so that Matthias could move the big hand back about three minutes. Bewilderment, mild horror, extreme misunderstanding- things that had flashed upon Matthias' face in a matter of seconds were now all hitting his brain at once. Had... had she seriously just said that? She began to walk away, and not a sound but the hiss of the wind and the soft, rhythmic thumping of music from that odd building could be heard over the click of her heels. Matthias remained rooted on the spot, his mind grasping at straws that did not exist. It was't any good. He honestly could not comprehend what had just happened. Oh, good, googly huffle backs- this woman was crazier than Andrew. He wanted to groan, to smash his head against the wall and call it a night. Why, oh, why did he always have to get the crazy ones? It was like everyone in the world was absolutely bonkers, except for him, of course.


Finally able to force his frozen legs to move, he skipped and hopped after her, trying with fervor to think of how he should communicate with the craziest woman on the planet. Okay. If he spoke slowly, and in tongues, and grabbed that cat he had earlier and put it on his head, maybe she would understand that he was a hat maker, and he needed it to survive? Yes. Cat. Where had that little devil run off too? Desperately darting about the street as he followed her, he wordlessly peeked into garbage cans and around corners, trying to wrangle himself down a stray. Or a dormouse. Devilishly cute, they were. No doubt its inexplicably adorable nature would bedazzle her, and pause her crazy for like, maybe ten minutes. He picked up random articles and rocks as he quickly darted about, and soon he found himself out of breath yet again.


So it wasn't entirely a surprise that, when he tried to elicit his first attempt at recontact with the woman, it came out as nothing more than a garble. And, on his second try, a gobbling noise. A very refined gobbling noise, because he was a man of business. And, if there was anything he was good at, it was communication. So he cleared his throat loudly, and gave it another go- only to find himself akin to a British turkey, what with the low gobble that rumbled from his throat. It may have been a bass tone to start off with, but he found himself rising its pitch to a shrill cry. He had channeled that monocle wearing turkey so well, in fact, that he even surprised himself- and he turned to momentarily search for the elusive bird in question. Getting far too distracted for his own legs, he managed to trip on the curb, and stumbled a bit before he could finally catch himself.


" Jabberwockie!" He cursed, and sighed in relief that he had finally found his voice again. And yet felt slight disappointment in not finding the turkey. Shame, it would have made a wonderful dinner.


" But-" Uh- oh, he was in danger of losing his voice again. He found his hands suddenly shaking, and he lifted the both of them to rub at his cheeks and to rest just over his eyes in exasperation.


" Surely, you must be mistaken! There is nothing more precious, more lustrous, more wanting than mercury! Surely, surely you must have heard? It brings about eternal youth, and fines even the most fine of finest finery! I simply could not call myself a Hatter without it!" He could hear himself almost wail quietly, the very idea of him not being able to function properly causing himself to shudder violently. He finally caught up with her, his chest heaving, and teeth chattering.


" You are an Isabelle, yes? Then that means you have the means to mean it! If you aren't going to mean it, why, you simply just shouldn't mean anything! Because without meaning, what are the means to have meant anything to begin with?" He tried to reason with her. She hadn't said no, right? So she had it? Either that, or she was able to obtain it, and Matthias was willing to do just about anything to get his hands on it. He just needed to get back to what he was doing before. Before he had been locked away in a tiny room, with only a single toilet and sink in a space attached to call home. Because that place didn't make any sense to him, but the rest of his memories did. He wanted it back. That was all- he only just wanted to go back. Enough with the ticking already, his clock wasn't supposed to move.


" I could make you a hat." He mused, his voice going smoother than water pouring from a basin. " Then you co-uld see the t-truth." They had made it quite a distance by now, and he was beginning to shiver horridly. He must still be slightly damp from the rains earlier, he decided, and he frowned, bringing a hand up to try and stop that awful racket from his jaw.

Then that means you have the means to mean it! If you aren't going to mean it, why, you simply just shouldn't mean anything! Because without meaning, what are the means to have meant anything to begin with? Hatter

 

[Snek]

The Chesire Cat

Chess Velices

​

"Why of course, Carrot Cake. Allows us to be off then."


Chess chuckled alongside her, and averted his gaze away from Felicity's rear as he followed her through the air ducts. Once she was out, he dropped into the room silently and helped her search for Alice. Where could the little Unbirthday girl be?


"Oh Honey Dew, where are you hiding today? You are rather fond of games, aren't you? Come now, it is your Unbirthday! And we have brought you some delectable tea."


And there she was, tucked in underneath the bed. Chess figured perhaps she was having trouble sleeping with all of that ridiculous comfortable bedding and sheets and whatnot and decided to opt for the nice, cozy, welcoming concrete floor.


He crossed his arms and smiled at Alice and the unicorn mask that Felicity placed over her eyes.


"I must agree, Carrot Cake, I cannot remember an Unbirthday where she looked any more magnificent. And now we must celebrate! I myself could go for some nice hot tea."


Chess froze when he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. As they drew closer to the door, he vanished underneath the bed and motioned for Felicity to join him. The footsteps came closer...


And closer...


right outside the door...


...and passed right on by down the hallway.


"That was rather close, wasn't it? We'd better hurry and enjoy some tea before it gets cold. We wouldn't want the Queen's Cards ruining our sweet Honey Dew's party."

 

[Elle Joyner]

Isabelle Lockwood

Isabelle's Loft

​

It was a little like walking with a small child. No... it was a lot like walking with a small child. Her apartment was on three blocks from the Ticking Clock, but the trip home felt endless, watching the unusual stranger as he darted back and forth, peeking in trashcans and under dumpsters, around corners. Too many times to count, she had considered simply leaving him, walking away without looking back, but then she would recall those eyes, that expression of abject desperation and she simply couldn't do it. It was a trial, sometimes... humanity. Back in the day, she wouldn't have cared. Back in the day, she might even have found him amusing... Here, though, grounded as she was, he was just sad. Sad and needy, and as luck would have it, he'd caught her in a charitable moment.


When her wonderfully eccentric hobo returned to her side, Isabelle gave him a glance as he garbled... no... gobbled ridiculously for a moment, the sound something she had never heard in any of her previous encounters. A brow rose and Isabelle paused. He continued for a moment to fumble over his words, and then the bizarre searching began again, but only briefly. He startled her, shouting nonsense, rubbing his face, but when he, at last, managed to get the words out, she was certain she understood his period of disconcerting behavior. He was honestly serious... It wasn't street-slang. He'd meant it.


"...Oh, sweetie." She murmured, "...Whoever told you that, they must not've liked you too much. That stuff... it'll..." Frowning, she noticed the shivering, and cautiously, she glanced up the street. They were close... If she could get him inside, get him cleaned up and talk some sense into him, maybe she could stop feeling sorry for him and get over this uncharacteristically compassionate episode.

"Come on. You're freezing... and the least I can do is get you something decent to wear and some coffee... or tea, or whatever. We'll talk about that hat, inside, hmm?"


Shaking her head, she continued towards the apartment complex half a block away. It was an older building, overlaid in worn brick. Many of the windows were broken out, or covered in plywood, but compared to the rest of the block it was a masterpiece of elegance and class. Rifling in her small purse, Isabelle found her key and approaching the door, inserted it into her mail slot, pulling out a small, square package. This, she tucked under her arm, then used a second key to enter the lobby.


Inside, a dusty ceiling fixture flickered pale yellow light around a shabby foyer. Hideous paisley wallpaper, peeling at the corners and a sturdy wooden desk were all that decorated the room, and a threadbare carpet led to a pair of elevators, which appeared to have long since outlived their usefulness. Behind the desk, an older man sat, coke-bottle glasses perched on the end of a monumental nose. A small box-television sat in front of him and he half-conscious waved an arm as Isabelle passed by, heading for a door marked 'STAIRS'.


Gesturing him through, Isabelle followed behind her hobo, "Sorry, the elevators are broken. It's all the way up..."


Eight flights up, in fact.


Her apartment door was marked with LOFT, the T slightly askew. Slightly out of breath, she put a third key into the door slot, before twisting the T into place, frowning as it fell crooked again. Shaking her head, she pushed the door open and stepped aside.


"Make yourself at home..." She offered, then stepped in after him, flicking on the lightswitch.


The apartment appeared small, but then, that might have been largely an illusion created by the massive amounts of furniture and other odds and ends cluttering the one room studio loft. The wall were painted with brilliant blues and purples, oranges and yellows and thick Persian rugs covered the dark wood floor. A kitchenette stood to one side, a small stove, two cabinets, one counter for workspace and a fridge, a bistro table and two chairs. Beside that, a living room, littered with couches and chairs and ottomans, coffee tables, end tables, curio-tables and a bar. Bohemian might have described the brightly colored decor, with it's many textures and fabrics, and endless lamps and candles and bobbles and pictures and plants and mirrors, but none of it seemed entirely intentional... almost as if she simply acquired the majority of it by chance. A small, narrow staircase led to a loft, where a bed sat behind beaded curtains and beyond that, a door led to a brightly colored washroom. In the center of the bedroom was a spiral staircase leading up to a padlocked roof-access hatch.


Closing the door behind her and tossing her purse and blazer on a coat rack near the threshold, Isabelle smiled and shrugged, "Home sweet home. You want something to drink? I've got coffee, OJ, tea, and..." Making her way across the room, she peeked into the cabinet beneath the small teak bar, "...Tequila."

 

[Dusky]

<p><a href="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2014_11/wendy3.png.32984db7ea1aa24da72ef627fb239b3b.png" class="ipsAttachLink ipsAttachLink_image"><img data-fileid="34773" src="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2014_11/wendy3.png.32984db7ea1aa24da72ef627fb239b3b.png" class="ipsImage ipsImage_thumbnailed" alt=""></a></p>

Gwen Darling

The Ticking Clock – Private Room​

She jumps, of course. She could have sworn she locked that door behind her, but open it swings, and in walks, not the imposing figure of James but a small, lithe woman.


Tick, tock, tick, tock…





Gwen jumps up, almost stumbles on her heels – they’re for show, not for practical use, and she’d forgotten she was wearing them. “You’re not the Captain,” she says dumbly. The woman simply casts a cold gaze over her and tells her to leave.


Gwen’s temper flares. “Excuse me? You’re not even supposed to be in here.”


…tick, tock, tick, tock…





But then the brunette is taking measured steps forward, plodding, languid, like the march of a line of bayonettes, like a reptile cutting through the water. Gwen is not scared by the girl as much as this movement, and her expression. Hard, cold, entirely focused. Eyes half shut like a croc’s. Gwen steps backwards, falling back onto the bed.


The walking stops. Gwen’s sigh of relief catches in her throat when the intruder speaks. It’s nonsense, but that wide, grin, the baring of fangs, the blood in her voice… Gwen scrambles back some more, all the way down to the headboard.


…tick, tock, tick, tock…


“Wh-what the hell are you talking about?” she exclaims, and then, as the fear threatens to choke her, she screams. Loudly. Loudly enough to punch through the din of the crowd in the club, if your hearing’s good.


On the surface, she is overreacting to this soft little lady. But Wendy has always been prey, and something inside her knows a predator when she sees one.


…tick, tock, tick, tock….

 

[Teh Frixz]

Mirelle Dylan
The Crocodile

"Not just Crocodile tears"​

It was the scream that did it. Set loose something inside her that brought out that sort of speed that didn't seem possible in her. Leaping onto the bed, crawling on all fours at a point, Mirelle brought her face close to the Wendy. Close enough to smell Hook, the rich salty scent that enthralled her waking moments. The scent that got her to follow Hook's ship for years, eating anything that fell overboard. It took the small sense that told her she wasn't hungry to not lick up the pheromones on the Wendy's face.


Her words are low and forceful. Almost a hiss to be honest.


"Stop screaming. Seriously."


She ever so slowly tilts over, falling beside the Wendy and leaning up on her shoulder. Her eyes are level with the mammals the entirety of the time.


"You know Hook. You know everything about him. Did he tell you about me? About what I am to him or what he is to me?" She kicks off her shoes, letting them clunk down on the ground so her bare feet run over the surface of the bed, violating the safety it represented. "If he didn't he's really letting you down" Her face lopes in close again, taking a deep inhale of the girl. "Not the Pan, Not the Schmee. Lost boy? or are you something else? Tell me and I'll tell you"


Her eyes don't blink, little beads of fluid collecting at the edges of her eyes. It was habit of hers not to blink, as a Croc it didn't matter but as something soft and fleshy, it made tears form. A single drip rolling down her cheek as she smiles and her lips peel back. Her whole body seemed tense and ready to pounce on any information given or even ready to physically assault her. Mirelle had been waiting for an oppertunity like this. A chance to delve into what Hook had been keeping from her. His new personal life. Something to get him to show his....hand...for her. If this Neverland being was the key to Hook, she'd bite down and never let go until she got what she wanted.




 

​

 

[Dusky]

<p><a href="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2014_11/wendy4.png.34704dadaa51adf58de083eac6ab1795.png" class="ipsAttachLink ipsAttachLink_image"><img data-fileid="34780" src="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2014_11/wendy4.png.34704dadaa51adf58de083eac6ab1795.png" class="ipsImage ipsImage_thumbnailed" alt=""></a></p>

Gwen Darling

The Ticking Clock – Private Room​

It was a hiss. And somewhere in the lingering consonants, unspoken but loud and clear, was an “or else.” Gwen promptly shut her mouth, but was unable to control her breathing. The woman was entirely too close for comfort, and Gwen’s own weak gaze was no match for her unblinking stare.


“Wh-what you are to… no, I have no clue who you are! And he’s never never let me down!”


The lady was leaning on her; Gwen wished she wouldn’t. She took her shoes off, brought her face far too close for comfort, spoke.


“Aren’t the Lost Boys that street gang…?” One thing was certain – this girl was out of her mind, talking in riddles.


But she’d rather keep the predator talking than focusing on other things it could do to her. “I’m just Gwen Darling… Pretty sure I’m not a thing.” She watched as a tear rolled from those unflinching eyes, down into a battle grin. The woman was tense. Gwen withered. “I don’t think I know everything about Hook.” Indeed, she knew very little. He was not a complicated man, but he had as many secrets as the ocean.


She took a deep, rattling breath. “I don’t think I can help you, so please, just…”


She trailed off, her head beginning to spin. Something stirred, but then it was gone. All she knew was that set of human teeth looked somehow out of place. Unbidden, she thought of her brothers, and of Peter. They were half-memories now, and sometimes she wondered if she made them all up in her head. But some things… some things can’t be imagined. Like that gleeful crowing, drunk off victory and perhaps rather too pleased with himself, crying bangarang! and romping through the jungle, leaves whipping their faces…


The images are otherworldly and bring on a stabbing headache. She shakes her head violently and holds it between her knees, shirking away from her unwelcome visitor as her breathing speeds up, evidence of her inner turmoil. Where had those memories come from all of a sudden…?

 

[Sol]

The Mulligan Man

Much witnessed his train of thought derail and crash and burn like any normal train accident. The passengers of his thoughts perished as he himself was engulfed in the flames of nostalgia.


The sharp way Lady Marian called his name dragged him centuries back. The only times that ever happened was when he was in trouble with the law again. The law being Lady Marian, the rest of the Merry Men were content to let him do as does throughout the day but it was not the case when the law decided to become a part of their outfit. Whenever he would skip on the vegetables, the law would make doubly sure he would get double the serving whether he liked it or not.


Whether or not he was an outsider and the odd man out, he owed it to everyone gathered to be a part in this partial reunion. Alan couldn't make it and neither could Tuck, Much had to be their representative in all this. Much, the representative of the single men. It had a nice ring to it despite sounding so lonely.


"Good heavens, no, I don't think we'd want you to eat two portions, Lady Marian. In fact, have you prepared three portions? I mean since neither Alan nor Tuck could make it to tonight's arrangement, I was thinking I could have their servings as well as mine own. I'll be there shortly. I was just...checkingonthecar. Yes, checking on the car."


He made his way down the hall to regroup with the rest of the gang that has gathered on such an occasion.


"Well then, quite the gathering we have here. You'll excuse me for not being able to acquire another female member of the Merry Men to bring along as my date for tonight. It seems we have a large surplus of men, unsurprisingly given the name."


A grin played on his face after he had finished speaking. He continued however.


"In any case, Lady Marian, why don't you stay here and catch up with everyone, just point me in the direction of the drinks if you please. A bourbon for Will and some wine for Johnna, I assume the two of you have no need for any drinks on account of that vintage red? I won't take no for an answer, Lady Marian, it's always been my job to grab the grog even in the woods. I already know what Alan and Tuck would have too, or at least a vague idea of it."

 

[Honeybucky]

_____ Matthias A. Hatter_____
In a land of mystics and wonders-



He followed her silently, after that, trying desperately to figure out how to speak in tongues on the fly. How cumbersome insanity was; just how was he supposed to communicate properly with the mentally unsound? Ugh, he thought, and apparently vocalized in the form of groan. He liked this tiny woman, he just wished he knew how to speak her kind of madness. That would make life so much easier. He lifted his eyes to the sky, listening as she spoke, trying to decode her words in his mind as he struggled and shivered along, his hand still about his jaw to prevent his teeth from chattering like maniacs by themselves.


" Must not have liked me?" Matthias changed a bit, then, feeling the spark of something inside the pit of his stomach. Wiggling about where he walked, he had a hard time keeping himself upright as he paused to think. Normally he found this process a bit easier more along the lines of being to the left. " Well, I suppose not, An Isabelle- especially not, I should think. Rightly not, Correctly not- precisely undoubtedly so. Considering it was I who sat my craft upon the heads of nobles due to this ascertainment, and not they." If, that is, he recalled that properly. It was a hard thing to do, remembering. He looked down at himself, pausing to unbutton his jean jacket to pick absentmindedly at the tight fabric of his muscle shirt. He cocked his head to the side and bit down on his lower lip, sighing heavily as he tried to recall the heavier details of this thought provoking question, for all of ten seconds, before he lost interest entirely and dropped it like a bowling ball. In a nurse's outfit. With two tiny little-


"Come on. You're freezing... and the least I can do is get you something decent to wear and some coffee... or tea, or whatever. We'll talk about that hat, inside, hmm?"


The noise that came out of his throat was probably inhuman. The stuttering far worse than his first time falling off the track, he stumbled and nearly took a nose dive, only just barely being saved by his natural lean to the left upon discovering something intriguing. His hand viciously flew out to the left, in an attempt to stabilize himself, and he managed to grasp a good, tight hold of a garbage can. Well, the outer, metallic protective rim around the garbage can. He felt a few brief moments of extreme, undeniable pain course through his palm, but he paid it literally no mind as he righted himself, and hopped almost a foot into the air after her. For the second time tonight, his attempts at communication failed miserably, and for a moment, he swore he spoke perfect Garbledegook. Until his tongue decided to stop doing flips inside him mouth, that is.


" Tea!" He exclaimed, his voice filled with a powerful wonder." Why, we could throw a party!" He mused, his heels clicking against the ground as they came up to a rather run down building. Eyeing it with only mild curiosity, Matthias suddenly found himself simply sprouting with inspiration.


" An extravagant escapade! I'll get the tea, you get the flowers, I'll prepare the rake!" No. He didn't actually mean 'cake'. He legitimately needed a rake for this to work. " Stupendous, my tiny An Isabelle! It simply wont do! You must allow me to plot the planning! First the planning must plot, then the plot for the planning can commence!" Matthias roared with laughter, grabbing at the bottom corners of his now opened jean jacket and flaying them out as if they were wings.


" Then we can execute the planning! Tea, rakes, rattle snakes- mustaches made of fakes, vampires equipped with steaks!" Well, now he was hungry. And he could really use that spot of tea. His ramblings had begun right as she had entered the building, Matthias bouncing excitedly behind her, a grin stretching from ear to ear, and while he had forgotten about how horrifically cold he had been, he certainly remembered it now as the hot air smoldered against his face. The man with the curiously long nose shot him a look of utter confusion. And just as Matthias turned to follow behind An Isabelle, he quickly raised his hand to wave away the look he was receiving from the estranged man with his shiny box.


" What a peculiar device." He commented, and the man's eyebrows drew together, as his eyes darted from Matthias' face to the hand that was waving.


" Hey, wait a secon-" Too late. They were already gone. And up, up, up they go! The more steps he managed to step as he stepped, the more excitement he managed to excitedly excite! Or was it excite excitedly? Bah, he couldn't think straight. Tea and hats were involved. And for the longest time, that was all he had ever wanted. It could very well have possibly been years since he had satisfied his craving. And this tiny woman was offering satisfaction up on a silver platter.


" I've got it! We simply must have a third. Yes, a third! Not a fourth, certainly, but not assuredly a fifth!" He said, nearly whispering as he practically ran the whole way up the stairs, too busy being filled with joy to notice the burn of his lungs. " And An Isabelle to wear the sixth!" Yes. She would be his new model- she had the daintiness for it, and her frame was so tiny, it would be terribly hard not to notice the piece of art sitting upon her crown. Not that Matthias' work went unnoticed to begin with. He hadn't even been aware of his location until An Isabelle fumbled about with her keys, slipping it into the oddly shaped keyhole and cracked the door open a bit.


Dumbfounded, Matthias was brought into a world of curiosity and amazement. Oh, she had the most breathtaking sense of style. Matthias couldn't have decorated it any better if he had merely dumped the necessary items in there himself. The only thing it needed now was a broken, twisted pile of sporks on the floor, and it would be perfect. Suddenly feeling quite bashful, he looked to the floor, shuffling his feet about at the entrance. Yet something was holding him back. The last time he had been in a building with a lock on it... he felt his face scrunch up in thought, and his hands went down to the hem of his jacket and began to fidget.


"Make yourself at home..." Wincing at this, he half nodded and sent her a lopsided grin, not unlike that of a boy, simply unsure of which direction to move in next. Cautiously he stepped inside, allowing An Isabelle to toss her purse aside and head in. He watched her, simply engrossed in his surroundings, before she began to speak yet again.


"Home sweet home. You want something to drink? I've got coffee, OJ, tea, and..."


" Tea." He whispered breathlessly, still unsure what to do with himself- he palmed at his jacket, and he felt his hand throb uncomfortably. Making a face, he slowly kicked off his shoes. Matthias gingerly stepped about, following An Isabelle as if he were a new pet to the home, testing the waters for the first time. Every step was meticulously thought out, though he managed to almost trip on himself twice about his way. He chewed on his lower lip yet again, this time grabbing a fistful of fabric from his jacket, and-


Ugh. The pain was absolutely atrocious. He finally looked down at his hand, bringing it up to his face for closer inspection.


" What a disgusting shade of red." He commented to himself. " Not a single hint of silver." He remembered there being more silver in his blood, and the lack thereof was suddenly extremely concerning. He had a good gash going down his palm, having sliced it open when he had grasped to steady himself. The split ran from the base of his pointer finger down to the center of his palm, and Matthias looked down at his jacket. Perturbed at his discovery, and now exasperated, he made a disapproving sound as he stared at the red that lined his jacket in little prints.

Well, I suppose not, An Isabelle- especially not, I should think. Rightly not, Correctly not- precisely undoubtedly so. Hatter

 

[Elle Joyner]

Isabelle Lockwood

Isabelle's Loft

​

"Tea it is, then, gorgeous." She glanced at him as he slipped off his shoes and smirked. He wasn't uncomfortable, at least... and somehow, that was a plus. She still couldn't be sure why, but she wanted... even felt obligated to help him. He was a little like a lost dog, except that normally, Isabelle couldn't care less about stray animals, either. Certainly, he was attractive, and she'd be lying if she hadn't, at least once enjoyed the refreshing view of his backside in those terribly tight pants. But that wasn't a reason to give him a toothbrush and an empty drawer in her dresser. What a view, though...


Setting the square package down, she made her back into the kitchen. Opening the cabinet above the sink she took down a small copper tea pot and a square tin. The pot she filled with water and set on the stove, before she opened the tin and rifled around inside, eventually selecting Earl Grey for him and a Lemon Verbena for herself. Next, she found a pair of teacups from one of the curio tables, which she rinsed, adding a tea bag to each.


As the water came to a boil, she looked over her shoulder to the man, her lips falling in a frown, catching sight of the grimace. “You okay…?” She asked, before her eyes fell on the blood seeping from his palm. Stepping over, she took his hand and swore, softly, “When did you do this…?”


Shaking her head, she pulled him over to the sink, turning on the tap before running his hand under the stream “…Hope you have all your shots. Have a seat… I’ve got a first aid kit under the counter.”


As he sat, she rummaged beneath the sink, locating a small drug-store kit. Inside was a few bandages, some tape and scissors. These, she removed, along with rubbing alcohol and a few gobs of gauze. Dropping into the other bistro chair, she took hold of his hand again, “If you weren’t running around like a headless chicken out there, this wouldn’t have happened, you know…” She scolded, dabbing the gash with alcohol, “Little sting…”


Blowing softly on the wound, she looked up at him, honey brown gaze tinged with trouble, beneath those long, thick lashes, “Pretty big hands, you’ve got…” She murmured, before reaching for the bandages. She made quick work, wrapping the gash, cutting off the end of the bandage before taping it down in place. As she finished, the teapot gave a shrill, piercing whistle and she rose to remove it from the heat, taking the handle with a towel, pouring water into each cup. Brown swirls rose from the hot water, spiraling out in nonsense patterns. Setting down the pot she took the cups, and a spoon and moved back to the table.


“There’s sugar on the table, if you want it. When you’re finished your tea, I’ll see if I can’t find you something wear. I don’t have much, but I’m sure I’ve got something a little more dignified than that. By the way…” She started, before taking her seat again, “You have a name… or do I just make one up.”

 

[Honeybucky]

_____ Matthias A. Hatter_____
Sitting. Like a Baws-








Gorgeous? Matthias paused curiously, glancing up from his wound to regard her statement. Taking his good right hand and lifting it to the top of his head, he patted it for a moment, slightly confused.


" But, An Isabelle- I am not wearing a hat." How could she possibly be complimenting a hat that simply did not exist? Huh. Crazier than he had originally thought. He hummed quietly to himself, letting his eyes wander about the room, his imagination running wild with the plotting for the planning. That is, until he noticed her finally pulling out the tea. It was an itch that was finally going to get scratched. Upon his unlawful incarceration, those awful


people had denied him any sort of hot beverage, stating it would ' revert his already unstable mental status into its previously chaotic state.' What ever that means. Buncha loonies.


Matthias went into a little tizzy in his mind, and unfortunately missed the first thing to leave An Isabelle's mouth.


" Hmm?"


“When did you do this…?”


" Why, I haven't done any sort of doing!" He proclaimed, allowing her tiny little fingers to encase his hand. He stared at them for a moment, once again wondering how it was that she simply didn't grasp things and break the instant she did. Tilting his head a little bit to the left, he just barely made his feet work in time to get dragged over to a sink. A sink, he realized, that he hadn't tested for strange thought impairing substances. Eyes widening and flying into a panic, Matthias almost ripped his hand away, had she not been a tad bit quicker than he was.


Besides, he thought- it wasn't like he had ingested the stuff. Trying to bat away the butterflies in his stomach- by literally flailing his good hand about in the air- he rolled his shoulders back and tried to ease the tension away. An Isabelle was nothing like the fat lady. In fact, she was quite opposite of the fat lady; therefore she wouldn't want to take his mind away from him. Surely she wouldn't. Slowly feeling his muscles relax, his brows knitting together as she spoke.


“…Hope you have all your shots. Have a seat… I’ve got a first aid kit under the counter.”


" Shots? I wasn't aware we were playing! Is it my turn or yours to bat the flying wargle?" He asked, seating himself. He quietly bounced where he sat, hoping with a flurry of excitement that it was his turn. Watching her retrieve her items, he lifted his right hand to poke at his now wet left, and was interrupted in his current thought process by the utterance of a strange sentence.


“If you weren’t running around like a headless chicken out there, this wouldn’t have happened, you know…” What? A headless chicken? How absurd.


"The headless chicken is an endangered species, you know! I once attended a beheading, next to the very chicken who had lost her head in question! If I recall, she had quite clearly offended-" Wait. His thought process crashed just as quickly as it had come, and suddenly everything to do with the memory ripped itself away from his mind all at once. Huh.


What was he thinking about, again? Well, he would have been able to undoubtedly figure it out, had his left hand not decided then to begin burning. Making a slightly offended noise, he glowered down at the blood red bubbles frothing about his wound. Ugh. He hadn't caught the warning before the sting had hit, and now he was regretting not preparing himself for the pain.


He had almost missed the little comment that left her lips, and Matthias squinted down at his hands, allowing her to fuss over his wound, while he examined the size of them.


" By Gravity, that fiendish devil- you are right, An Isabelle! They are rather large. I must have picked them out at the market myself!" Quite proud of himself, he reached his good hand out and lightly touched his fingers to the tips of An Isabelle's, sightly taken aback by how large the difference was. He left them there for a moment, seeing as she was rather warm, and relished in the heat for a second, before yet again getting distracted. Watching as An Isabelle finished up bandaging his wound, he wiggled his left fingers experimentally, before the most wonderful thing in the world happened.


Suddenly, out of no where, An Isabelle handed him a cup of tea. He felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. His mouth fell slightly agape, his eyebrows rose to shocking heights, and he found his hand removing itself from An Isabelle's. Matthias shakily reached for the cup- how many times had he materialized one out of thin air, while he was stuck in that wretched place? Magic could only get him so far. He needed social interaction. After all, that was a crucial part of the tea party. His mind reeled, and it was like his vision tunnled towards the cup. He was halfway there, now. Now all he needed was a silver lining.


Daintily picking up the cup, his pinky stuck customarily into the air, he brought the nearly vibrating cup up to his lips, before taking a small, slow, experimental sip.


Good lord. That was the stuff. He melted into his chair, literally conforming his muscles to the shape of the seat, and his eyes lidded over in pure comfort. His muscles seemed to give way to all tension. He felt like he was swimming in a world of content, and a small, slurred laugh tickled its way out of his throat. He had only been half listening, as he felt his heart rate finally slow to an acceptable pace. It was like a horrible craving had been sated. Oh, and if Matthias thought this couldn't get any better, suddenly it did.


He was getting a change of clothes. Instantly his eyes shot open as wide as they could, and bewilderment crossed his features, before he decided he would take action. Lifting his cup back up to his lips, he wiggled his currently unused left arm out of his jacket, and twisted his body a bit to the right, allowing the sleeve to fall and hang uselessly off his shoulder. Taking a generous gulp, Matthias rolled his right shoulder so that it was sitting at an angle, and shifted his body so that his jacket began to slip, and it hung a bit on his bicep.


And then he dropped his cup in mid air. Normally, it would have fallen and splashed all over his front, Gravity- that damned fiend, and had Matthias not been an expert at never spilling tea if he didn't very well want to spill it, it surely would have. Except his teeth came down on the glass, making a light 'clink' fill the room, as he balanced the cup between them, and not a single drop even splashed onto his stubble. With his right arm now free, he lifted it and wiggled it out of his jacket, his eyes focused on the cup between his teeth.

Once his jacket fell to the ground, he tilted his head back ever so slightly, and grabbed at the cup with his good hand yet again. This time, though, his abdomen did an odd sort of undulation, and he used his left hand to slip beneath the tight black fabric of his muscle shirt, slowly bringing it up higher and higher. Another generous gulp later, and he found the cup hanging between his teeth perilously yet again, and his left hand went down to join in the task of pulling up his shirt. Only this time, the cup once again was released into the merciless hands of gravity.


Watching as it fell, Matthias leaned to the side, twisting his body a bit. Quickly and expertly he lashed out, snatching the cup mid air, and bringing it back up to his lips for another long draw. He almost had it off, now. Muscle peaking from below, he turned his body so that his front was now facing to the right and away from his legs. Swiftly switching the cup from one hand to the other in the air, Matthias pulled his shirt up so that it was higher on one side than it was on the other. And, finally, he stood- doing a 90 degree turn as he dropped the cup yet again, this time letting it fall from the height of where he was standing at as he yanked his shirt up and over his head.


Just as the cup of liquid started to fall past the top of the table, Matthias reached down and plucked it from its doomed path, bringing it back up, and finishing off its contents. He lightly placed his cup back down onto the table, and that grin slowly slid onto his features yet again. It was a crooked grin, with mischievousness dripping from his slightly narrowed eyes. It was the kind of grin that he would shoot young noble Ladies, the kind that instantly sold his hats to new customers. It gave him the look of a man filled to the brim with devious intent, and yet it held a sort of flare that only a suave business man could muster. Lifting his hand to his head, he gripped at the air as if to pick up his hat, and bent down to An Isabelle's level.


Letting his dark features fall just above hers, he brought his hat down to his chest and bowed ever so slightly closer, reaching his bandaged fingers to gently pick up her hand.


" Matthias! A Hatter. A. Hatter, to be precisely precise. Grandest grandeur in the land! Finest finery fabricator of finely fabricated fabrics. Always at An Isabelle's service, tiny Lady." Bringing her hand up to his lips, he lay the softest, most chaste kiss upon the very tips of her knuckles that he could muster. All the while, looking down at her with that firey gaze that had possibly sold him a dozen deals.

Matthias! A Hatter. A. Hatter, to be precisely precise. Grandest grandeur in the land! Finest finery fabricator of finely fabricated fabrics. Hatter

 

[Elle Joyner]

Isabelle Lockwood

Isabelle's Loft

​

​

The man liked his tea... She enjoyed her share of beverages, most of them a little more spirited than the one she'd currently been sampling, but her hobo... oh, he really, really liked his tea. A brow quirked as Isabelle watched him savor the cup, almost ritualistically so, and she smirked as he sank into his seat with the look of someone who had been engaged in something considerably more intimate. It was, to put it mildly, incredibly hot.


Sitting back, she took a sip of her own tea, watching him over the rim of the cup. Then suddenly, he was moving again, and she almost unseated herself, as he bounced around of his chair with an exclamation of excitement. The wiggling and wriggling confused her, immensely, until the jacket hit the floor, and then she recognized what was happening and laughed, quietly. His wild dance was impressive, particularly considering he hadn't even put his cup down, but her focus wasn't on the tea... Hobo or not, the man was a stunning specimen. Giving him a once over, Isabelle nodded in approval.


His fingers wrapped around hers and she glanced down at their hands, before meeting his gaze, surprised by the sudden clarity she could see there. His lips brushed the back of her hand, but she barely felt it, a heat unconsciously rising up the back of her neck, thoroughly distracting.

Shifting in her seat, she smiled faintly, shaking her head. He was ridiculously cute, and the longer he was around, the less eager she was to send him on his way... "You are gonna be trouble, Matthias... Mmm. Trouble."


Rising, Isabelle looked down at him, "Come on. You can take a shower before we find you clothes... and we'll see if we can't do something about this..." She offered, patting the scruff on his cheeks, before taking him by the hand and tugging him to his feet. She led him across the apartment, upstairs to the loft, where she gestured to the washroom, "Towels are on the shelf above the sink... And..." Moving to the wardrobe, she pulled it open, scavenging around inside, before she found a pair of sweatpants, "You can wear these when you're done, till we can find you something a little nicer."


After shooing him off into the bathroom to shower, Isabelle slipped out of her dress and boots, settling on a pair of black running shorts and a white tank, tugging her hair up into a bun on the top of her head. Once she was dressed, she peeked through her small collection of menswear, selecting a decent pair of pinstriped pants and a grey button down shirt, both of which, at glance, appeared as though they would fit.


A few minutes passed and the bathroom door cracked, then opened, steam roiling out in a fog, Matthias's face peeking through. Isabelle smiled and nodded, "Looking better, already."


Brushing past him, she stepped into the washroom and opened the cabinet beneath the sink, pulling out a small black bag, "An old friend of mine left this here and I thought, hell if I was ever gonna use it, but it might actually come in handy, now."


Pulling herself up on the edge of the vanity, she opened the bag and pulled out a straight razor, a brush and shaving cream. Working up a lather in her hands, she waved him forward, applying the cream to the lower half of his face. Carefully, balancing her legs on either side of his, she worked the razor along the contours of his jaw and chin, using her free hand as a guide. It took, altogether around ten minutes, and Isabelle remained silent as she concentrated. When she'd finished she took a towel, running it under warm water, using it to wipe away the remainder of the shaving cream, "...There... That's better."

 

[Ozmic]

Hunter Madson

Outside, then Home

​

Her light kiss on his lips sent a jolt through him and he smiled, holding her hands as he walked back with the woman in tow, his expression matching her own. For a moment, the problems - no matter how harsh they may have been - were gone. To his surprise, for the first time in as long as he could remember, so was the crippling anger that plagued him.


Trying not to overthink this, he replied to her as they walked. "Well, I'd be lyin' if I said I hated that idea," he said bluntly. "Expertise or not, everyone can learn. It'll take more than a day, 'course, but we'll get you well enough set up with some skill. 'Sides, look who you'll have as a teacher, hmm?"


The squeeze and wink re-assured him as they made their way inside and he felt hope that, together, they would find and end this once and for all. "We all get confused from time to time, kid - the gods know that I have. And don't be so hard on yerself - sometimes these kinda' situations bring out the rashness in our decisions," he explained, tightening the grip on her hand in a comforting gesture. "And yer' not crazy. Take it from crazy."


With a wink, he looked down to find them at his door and the severed hands. She spoke and he sighed, scratching his head. "Well, first off, we're going to take this little gift inside so nobody gets too many eyes on it. After that... huh. I suppose we'll hide or dispose of this gift, an' then we'll go shoppin'. We need to get you some clothes more suited fer' huntin', and I need to get my supplies back in order."


Opening the door, he stepped over the hands and went to get something to pick them up with. "Messy damned business," he mumbled with a curse, grabbing up something that could be disposed of later with relative ease.

 

[Elle Joyner]

Red Copper

Hunter's Apartment

​

​

Stepping inside after Hunter, Red frowned softly, "Our best bet would be to burn them... After that, everything is circumstantial. Does your building have an incinerator? If not, I know a place that's pretty private, with a couple empty oil drums. Most we'll run into is a couple bums, and they don't usually ask questions. I... I dunno though. A part of me feels like maybe we should just drop them off at the police station. Let them sort of it out. At least then, Chris's family can have some closure. I... don't want to think what he did with the rest of the body, but I don't imagine it's just gonna show up somewhere."


A soft sigh escaped and she leaned against the couch, "It's so hard to think about this stuff. It all feels so alien. A few hours ago my biggest concern was who I'd be spending the night with and how much I'd get for it. Now... It's just a lot, in a very short period of time."


Chuckling dryly, she glanced over at Hunter, "I'm not sorry, though. It might be the worst thing that's happened to me in a long time, Wolf showing up again... the note, this... those..." She gestured to the hands, with something of a scowl, "...But I found you, and I wouldn't trade that for anything. So..." Biting her lip, she reached down and collected her clothes from where she had discarded them a few hours earlier, "I will get dressed and then you and I will go shopping... and then we'll get to work."


Stepping over, she reached up and cupped his cheek for a moment, smiling faintly, "...My Hunter. Hmm..."


Turning away, she moved to his room, slipping out of t-shirt and sweats, sliding back into the skirt and sweater she'd put on that morning. Lacing up her boots, she looked around her surroundings, the closed blinds, the rumpled sheets, smiling softly. After everything that had happened, she'd almost forgotten...


Someday, they would have the luxury of days like these, without the violence... without the drama. Someday, she would do nothing but spend an entire weekend lying in bed with that wonderful man...


Leaving his room, she nodded... "Whenever you're ready?"

 

[Teh Frixz]

Mirelle Dylan

How doth the Crocodile...
​

"Just what? Just leave now when I've got a chance to get us all back where we belong?" Mirelle crawls over to the Wendy, sliding her arms around her. Her skin was cool to the touch, gliding gently over Gwen's. "You can feel it too, locked there inside your warm head. We aren't were we need to be and the Hook knows why...it's his ship, he can take us back..."


The Crocodile runs her lips over the back of Wendy's neck, nostrils flaring as the scent of prey hit her reptilian brain. Even her eyes seem to dilate, ready for the kill. If she was herself, this girl, this sack of meat in her hands would be nothing but a snack but that wall. The damnable wall she couldn't get past. Gone were her teeth, gone was the muscle in her body capable of snapping her in half like a twig. So close to food, living soft food, and she couldn't get it.


Her body almost spasms in denial. Her fingers clenching and flexing in the throes of pain. Nothing was the same and it was driving her to a place she didn't want to be. A cage made of her living body. Never before had the Crocodile been captured, her patrols timeless and eternal around Neverland were like clockwork. This existence was torture.


Opening her mouth just enough to give Wendy a slight touch from her teeth, the Crocodile catches herself and pushes herself away. Rolling out of the bed and stomping her feet, she rounds back on the girl.


"You and me are going to talk to Hook. If I don't like what he says, you are coming with me." Mirelle goes to the liquor cabinet, popping the cork off of something expensive looking and pouring herself a glass. "If you don't believe me, ask him where his hand went and where you might find yourself"

 

[Honeybucky]

_____ Matthias A. Hatter_____
Well, that escalated quickly.

( Collab Post)












"You are gonna be trouble, Matthias... Mmm. Trouble."


He was about to say something undeniably filled to the brim with wisdom, when something caught the corner of his eye. Naturally, having an attention span of all of five minutes at a time, his gaze wandered back to the first aid kit that sat about the table. He remembered opening his mouth to spout something exalting, when it came into view. His eyes widened, and he felt a jolt of need rush through his body, and for a split second he found his fingers instinctively reaching-


"Come on. You can take a shower before we find you clothes... and we'll see if we can't do something about this..."


Dainty, warm little fingers followed by a hand lightly patted his cheek, and Matthias managed to snap out of it long enough to return his gaze to An Isabelle. Such small little things, her hands. He found himself thinking about them every time he saw them- wondering why it was that she simply hadn't gone out and purchased new ones yet. Maybe she had nothing for the trade? What a sad thought. Frowning deeply to himself, he hummed out a disapproving noise as she grasped his hand and began to lead him somewhere new. Perhaps he would find something to trade for her, so she could go to the market.


Come to think of it, he did have his stash. All he had to do was make the trek back across the city to retrieve it-


"Towels are on the shelf above the sink... And..."


He blinked at the room he had been lead too, and suddenly he realized what she was talking about. He was... actually allowed to bathe himself here? What a strange custom! His frown transformed as he narrowed his eyes in thought and pursed his lips, so that he sort of resembled a duck, a fleeting moment of suspicion flashing across his features. Trust was such a hard thing for him to find within himself. What if she were to call the fat lady whilst he was indisposed?


"You can wear these when you're done, till we can find you something a little nicer."


No, An Isabelle would never do that, wiping the look from his face and shaking his head, he let a grin fall back onto his features, and decided that the best course of action would be to take her strange custom, least he insult her. Ugh. For some reason, the idea of insulting a strong willed woman seemed to send shivers down his spine, so he grabbed the pants that were being held out to him, and he made his way into the bathroom.


___________________________________________________


"Looking better, already."


He heard an Isabelle call upon his exit of the bathroom, and he smiled curiously at her. Pulling up the hem of his sweatpants a little bit higher upon his hips, he draped the towel over his shoulder, and ran a hand through his clean, damp hair.


" Looking is seeing," He mused, bringing a hand up to rub at his chin whilst he pondered. " And if seeing is looking, what sight might be brought on by not?" He felt himself switch his thought process mid point.


" My vision remains relatively the same, I should think. Or is it better to see while wetter?" He questioned, allowing her to explain something. But.. he wasn't entirely listening, his mind kept nagging him. That kit. It was right there, it was so damn close. He could literally go down there, reach out, and touch it-





Ah! Razor? So, he was getting a groom then? He felt excitement bat away the craving that had once again invaded his mind, and he found himself bouncing again. This time, on the balls of his feet, he paused his habitual ministrations, and glanced down at her from where he was. Leaning in her direction a bit, he forced his muscles to stay still- because while he wasn't the most adept at it, he still knew that he had to remain motionless if he wanted to not get stabbed in the cheek. Well, only a crazy man wouldn't know about that. Good thing that Matthias was perfectly sane, right? Inexplicably pleased with himself, he let the steam billow up around him, and watched as it slowly began to dissipate into the air. Quietly, he observed, wondering where on earth it could possibly be heading at this hour, and what it might possibly be doing. This consumed the majority of his thoughts, and he could just barely feel the cool razor running along the contours of his face.


"...There... That's better."


Finally, he could move again! He instantly spread out both his arms, stretching widely before he glanced into the mirror. A little taken aback, he lifted a hand to feel how finely trimmed he was, drawing his fingers along the dark stubble of his face. It lined him perfectly now, and for the first time in a long time- well, that he could recall, anyways- he started feeling like the man he used to be. His eyes no longer held dark, purple bags beneath them. His cheeks were no longer sunken in. His skin had a healthy glow to it again, and it was particularly soft now due to the hot water. Making an approving face and giving a nod, he looked back over at An Isabelle. And, now that he could move without getting a razor stuck into his cheek, he reached down to grasp as her tiny little hand, yet again. This time, and for the first time in a while, he was actually warmer than she was. His eyes filled with an intense sort of softness, and he brought her fingertips up to the tuft of stubble just under his lower lip.


" An Isabelle with many talents! Surely, most unquestionably, you must be a work of marble. But should you ever consider turning back into stone, I would recommend not. "


Her lips curved in a dry sort of smile and she shrugged, "...My boss tells me I'm a hardass, pretty much on a constant basis. Somehow, it sounds better your way..."


Humming quietly with thought, Matthias briefly wondered how he could reciprocate her kindness. There weren't very many people he had met quite like An Isabelle, so it was hard for him to understand how he was supposed to react. He could throw water all over the floor. He could fashion the towel she had into a hat, and place it upon her head. He could go back to the kitchen and make her a whole pot of tea to herself. Or he could find a way to kill time, and- suddenly, an image of a soft, gentle woman leaning over him came to his mind. Her eyes were such a light blue, they were nearly a grey, and her hair was dark and lustrous. There were faint lines of age along the edges of her eyes, yet her face was supple and streamlined. She smiled such a kind smile, it sent shivers down Matthias' spine; and then she leaned down.


" Ah!" So that would be how he would pay her back for everything. He hadn't had much to trade her in return for all her worth, so this was perfect. Why had he only just remembered this now? The grin that he remembered the woman display slowly found its way upon Matthias' face, his eyes filling to the brim with a warm appreciation that bubbled with kindness and affection. His smile was gentle, and slightly crooked, as he leaned down to her level for the second time this night. Eyes lidded so far that they were nearly closed, he placed a butterfly kiss along the bridge of her nose, before leaning down to place one directly upon her lips. It was completely and utterly silken, the touch so very light, he could feel but her warmth on the tip of his lips. Once he was finished, he leaned back to look at her, his expression never changing. Appreciation did not have to come about through words, he had decided.


___


Shock... and something else, something softer registered in her eyes and she stared at him for a very long while. Then, possibly faster than she'd meant to, but possibly not, her arms came round his shoulders and with intensity, she crushed her mouth to his.


___


He hadn't expected this to happen. Not at all, in fact- he froze where he stood for a moment, his eyes wide as his breath hitched. What? Cats, no! Crowbar. Who- sandwich? Spring! Case, no- wait, most definitely curtains. His brain didn't know WHAT it was supposed to be thinking about, before he figured it was probably a custom of the insane, and he shakily, slowly, inched his arms towards her waist. Cocking his head out of habit to the left, he decided that the best course of action was her course of action, as he was still quite befuddled by the mess. Without really understanding the full details of why, he pressed his lips up against hers yet again, this time with just as much fervor as he had been presented with.


(( Collab post by Miss Elle and Bucky.))

And if seeing is looking, what sight might be brought on by not? Hatter

 

[Elle Joyner]

Isabelle Lockwood

Isabelle's Loft

​

​

Barefoot, wrapped in the sky blue bed sheets, Isabelle tiptoed downstairs to the living room. Running into Matthias, she had almost completely forgotten her entire purpose for heading home, but it had hit her somewhere in the night. Her homework could not be neglected, no matter what strange directions the evening had gone in.


Producing her ledger from where she kept it in a box beneath the coffee table, she opened it and frowned at the jumbled numbers, staring up at her from the pages. At some point, it might have made sense, but looking at the mess of mathematics now, she felt half delirious. She hadn’t had anything to drink, but she felt hazy… the type of hazy that came with finishing an entire bottle of wine on an empty stomach in the span of less than an hour. Something she had experienced more than she cared to admit...


In truth, though, it had nothing to do with the numbers… but the man, currently sound asleep on the cold side of her bed upstairs.


She’d done something incredibly, monumentally stupid. One thing had led to another and a little peck on the bridge of her nose had turned into something she had not anticipated. He was inexperienced, but he was a fast learner, and she hadn’t been disappointed… but in retrospect, it had been a terrible, brash decision that even she didn’t think she was capable of.


The problem was, she didn’t regret it. Not one minute of it.


The bigger problem was, while normally her escapades were enjoyable, but easily forgotten the moment she kicked whomever she’d entertained out to the curb, she had no apparent desire to be rid of the hat-obsessed hobo and that was a terrifying experience.


Bringing the ledger close to her face, Isabelle stared hard at the numbers, trying desperately to force her mind to focus. When after five minutes of staring all she had accomplished was a headache behind her eyes, she threw the ledger across the room and stood up, swearing softly. It wouldn’t do… She would get nothing done in such a miserably distracted state, and it was stupid to sit there trying…


Tightening her bed-sheet toga, she rose and made her way into the kitchen. A peek at the digits on the microwave told her it was UnGodly O’Clock and with a frown, she decided if she was going to be thoroughly dumbstruck by what had happened, she sure as hell wasn’t going to do it alone. Grabbing the tea pot, she refilled it and set it to boil, before dropping to tea bags of Chamomile into tea cups. These, she arranged on a small wooden tray, alongside a sleeve of Milano cookies she found after scavenging around the cabinets. When the pot began to wail, she turned off the heat and poured the water.


The tea began to steep as she carried the tray across the living room and up the stairs to the loft. Sliding the tray across the mattress, she knelt beside it, gently tapping Matthias on the tip of his nose, “Hey, Gorgeous… Midnight snack time. Little late… but who’s counting?”

 

[Ashurbanipal]

Captain Hook"She's here, Captain, and she--" thus speaks the voice in his ear, sight turned to voice turned to waves back to voice becoming wrath, and haste, and action, and deafness--Hook advances as a storm, dark-eyed and dreadful, until the claw-marked door in the back nearly shatters with the force of its thunderclap opening, and in his good hand is a gun, drawn quicker than most can follow. Its muffled report, concealed from the club proper by this backroom distance and the fervor of the music and crowd, nevertheless sings clearly to the three gathered in the back, and the bottle, fresh-poured, answers with a beautiful shatter.


"You never touch a single one of them," the pirate snarls, and Wendy's terrified, tear-stricken face burns itself into his eyes, as hot as the smoking barrel of his gun. "Or the grace of God Himself will not keep me from you."


His heart hammers in his chest, his missing hand aches, and he steels himself in the rush of primordial terror that looms up within him. Once, she was a monster, and she hurt him terribly--once upon a time, she was fat and fed, thanks to that wicked boy and his poor form. But now her tongue cuts deeper than her teeth, and a bullet will kill her dead.


The alcohol has spilled all over the floor, and the pirate lord's gun is now vanished, his hand wrapping around the just poured glass, and he downs it in one fell swoop, slamming it back down.


And then he smiles, all charm and no menace. "My dear Mirelle. You know you're not allowed back here. I'm running a business; don't harass my staff."

 

[Teh Frixz]

Mirelle Dylan

There had always been the threat of guns. Pirate rounds skipping over her armored hide or the occasional lead ball silencing itself in her flesh. Like stinging flies, she brushed them off and thought of greater things. She hadn't been shot in this form but this ugly...hideous....reeking soft shell that hid her true body was not nearly as durable. No, her greatest advantage now was the things she took for granted before.


The gunshot goes off and her eyes remain half lidded, a nonplussed expression on her face. The Wendy no longer mattered.


Her eyes shift off the quietly weeping shell of a girl and onto the force that had entered with such ferocity and pomp but in the air she could smell him. She could smell the thick musk of his fear, the pain of his severed hand. He was a mammal. A soft body of warm supple flesh that had such a rich bouquet of taste. Something inside her clicks, her throat growing wet with saliva.


"Staff? Staff. Is that what she is now. You posing as something your not and dragging us all along for the ride?" Spit drips from her lip before she wipes it off. "You aren't that Hook. You can get us back and I want more leverage to get you to remember. I'm patient but I want to go home"

 

[Erica]

Archer Robert Moore (Robin Hood)

Marian's Home on Citron Court, Emerald City

​

People never change. Not really. Despite their long lives, the Merry Men remained, at heart, the same people. Will, intense and focused, almost to a fault. Johnna, hiding a tender heart under a direct and formidable exterior. Much, seeking to belong and so willing to play the fool to do so. (Although lately, Rob had to wonder if he should add a bubbling anger to the mix.) Alan, muse and musician, filling them with joy and hope. Tuck, their jovial and ever-inebriated friend. And Marian. His Marian, so full of light and grace. He had nearly forgotten how much she enjoyed hosting.


When she summoned Much, he waited with a patient smile for the exchange to be completed. Marian could handle him - well, any of them really - like no one else. He smiled genuinely at her as she greeted him and made a point of including the others. Was that for his sake, or for theirs? Probably a bit of both.


He was still smiling when she gripped the door and seemed to loose her train of thought. “Marian?” he asked quietly as Much returned, concerned for her. But she did not reply. Instead, Much offered an excuse for his delay, then Marian resumed her hostess duties. As if nothing had happened. Rob’s brow creased with mild concern, but he smiled at Much’s enthusiasm to assist. His timing couldn’t be better.


“Thank you, Matthew. You know us well, but water for me, please.” The man would already know that Rob avoided alcohol. It was understandable that he would believe Rob might make an exception when tapping into his private reserve. In truth, the collection served as more of a historical archive now. He would not partake of any of it. Not even for such a special occasion as this. That did not mean his dear friends could not enjoy it, however.


The table was already set. As everyone was getting settled, Rob placed a hand gently on Marian’s elbow, escorting her to the table. Perhaps it was inappropriate, for this was his home, not hers, but that did not occur to him at the time. He dipped his head slightly to speak quietly in her ear. “Are you all right?” Expecting her to feign ignorance, he punctuated the question with a gentle reminder. “That’s twice now you’ve seemed to go somewhere else.” He looked over the room and the others; they might believe he was overreacting, but his instinct told him something was wrong. Or perhaps he was just overprotective, especially given their history.

 

[Brax]

Simin {♛} Bahad


Sinbad the Sailor
​

“I’m sorry it has to be this way. You see… You see, when I woke up this morning, I was surprised to find that one of your men had been snooping around my abode. You can imagine how I took the news.”


Turning back to one of his associates and nodding his head, the rather large man would walk to Simin’s side and place a briefcase on the table before him. The piece of furniture separated the Sailor from one of his associates, whom he had decided to visit. Of course, Simin had only visited because he was forced to. He woke up to the generous present in which the man before him had sent, so Simin gifted him with his presence. Such an exchange was only morally correct, after all. Using one hand to push the briefcase closer to the male, a large grin grew upon his face. “Part of my business proposition.”


At first, the man refused to open the briefcase. He was already aware of the contents. Simin insisted. When the man refused once more, Simin stood up from his chair. He reached into the back part of the waistband belonging to his pants and retrieved a pistol. His right hand found itself placed around the grip while his left cocked the slide back. Simin took a couple of steps over to the side of the man and lifted the barrel of the pistol to his right temple. His right eye winced slightly, the bridge of his nose crinkling up as he parted his lips to speak through gritted teeth. He was displaying a small amount of anger, but it was controlled. “I said, open the fxcking briefcase. Now.” He nudged the cold steel further into the side of the man’s head.


And so, Simin’s associate did so. Upon opening it, he immediately wretched and closed it shut. The contents of the briefcase was the hitman’s heart, whom the rather large Italian before him had sent in his slumber. Simin’s hand fell back to his side, letting out a light cackle as he brought the barrel up to his own head. Scratching the side of it, he continued to speak once more. “You see, I don’t quite understand why you thought making a power play on me would be a good idea. I am extremely disappointed in you. Surely, other powers must be at play for such an old business partner and friend to try and murder me. Would you say that is what is going on?”


Simin sat back down, placing the gun on the table in front of him. He was restless. Both of his hands found one another, fingers interlocking while his elbows rested on the wooden top. He let out a small sigh, staring at the man before him as he decided what will be done. “I don’t want to kill you. I’m going to give you one last chance, Geno.” Simin shrugged, closing his eyes momentarily. “If you try this again, I’m going to paint this house with your fxcking blood. You know that I’ll do it, too. You’re lucky. I swear, I have absolutely no problem raining lead through that thick fxcking skull of yours and then paying off the bill for your mother’s cancer treatment. Now, due to a sudden change in the market, the price has gone up seventy-five percent. You will pay me upfront… As in right now. Dust is not cheap anymore. Not for you.”


The man before him had no choice but to follow directions. He was merely an addict who had come into a large amount of money due to a car accident his wife had been in. They sued for a fortune. Geno had layed out a couple hundred-thousand dollars on the table. One of the larger men behind Simin had grabbed the money as the sailor scooted his seat back and stood up. “Come see me at the Ticking Clock tomorrow morning.” Turning from the table, he walked out of the kitchen and then out of the Geno’s front door. His driver opened the door to the backseat of a rather luxurious vehicle as Simin stepped out, with bodyguards following behind. He stepped into the car, with the rest of his men before driving off.

“I’m going to pay Hook a visit at the Ticking Clock. Drop me off first, then take these two home, please. They deserve the day off, and I’m sure I won’t have any needs for the rest of the night. Split up the money among yourselves, three ways. Consider it a thank you for all your hard work.” The bodyguard beside him gave him a pat on the back, before he began the standard Marijuana-rolling process. Such celebrations were always in order when Simin was victorious.


Vision got hazy. Eyes became heavy. Body was less tense.


After what seemed like the quickest fifteen minutes of his life, Simin stepped out of the car. After shutting the door, he tapped the hood of the vehicle and it sped off. The sailor turned around to the dazzling entrance of his favorite club. After deciding to keep the rest of the Kush-filled cigar for himself upon exit, Simin walked through those extravagant doors while puffing away like a chimney. As soon as he walked in, the sailor was greeted by a significant amount of pixies. They had all flocked to him as though he was one gigantic slut-magnet.


But these girls were better than that, surely! These were the girls he employed, the ones who made his supply of Dust dwindle with swiftness. Of course, they were also employed by Hook. He handed out tips to all the pixies, a small investment in the long run. The cash flow was heavy in the Ticking Clock. Hook was the largest distributor of Dust, and therefore Simin’s only dealer. The sailor had many different dealers for the various substances which he kept at hand, but only one man dealt with Dust directly. Feet led the man up to the bar, one hand running through the side of his hair as he greeted Smee.


The sailor did not need to order his customary bottle of whiskey. He was just greeted with it. Sitting counter-side for a short amount of time, the two engaged in a small conversation. This was nothing new, as Simin believed Smee to be a rather good man. The bartender was in no way involved with his business, so Simin was naturally very happy to speak to the man. He was intelligent and easy to listen to.


“How’re you doing, Smee?” The neck belonging to his bottle of alcohol rested within the grasp of his left hand. His right hand rested on the counter, the marijuana-filled cigar burning away between his index and middle fingers. Brown hues remained fixated on the man, vibrant and filled with life as they always were.


“Same old, Simin.” Just about right. Simin did not offer back a response any further than a nod of his noggin went. Bringing the mouthpiece of the blunt to his mouth, he took a rather deep drag. Letting the smoking apparatus rest near his lips, smoke would erupt from his nostrils alongside slightly parted lips. Honestly, it was good to hear everything was going fine. Simin wondered if such a lifestyle became tedious and boring after such an extended period of time. The sailor was not so sure that he would be able to lead such a repetitive, dull existence.


One of the pixies walked up to the bar, sitting on the stool beside Simin. She laid all the money she had made for the day on the table. This garnished a response from the man, as his attention was diverted from Smee. “Good girl.” She informed him that she was out of product prior to Simin counting the money. After he was finished, he gave a quarter of the earnings to the pixie. Instead of giving straight prices to his workers, Simin cut them into his deals with percentages he believed they earned. Seeing as most of his dealings involved a decent amount of money, this was appropriate for both the worker and Simin. Everyone ended up happy when things were handed this way, so Simin kept the policy. Besides, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.


Reaching into one of his pockets, he grabbed a handful of small bags filled with the powder. He placed them among the counter, not bothering to count them. At this point, he was making so much damn money that he did not care how much was there so long as he got a boatload of cash back. She took them and gave Simin a kiss on the cheek before leaving the bar. Simin watched the woman walk away, before turning back to Smee. The man was staring at the woman’s backside, practically drooling in the process.


“You’re a dirty, old man.” Simin chuckled, opening the bottle of whiskey and taking an ample swig. His smoke had since gone out, so the man would place the rest of the cigar into a nearby ashtray before standing to his feet. Looking out at the large crowd, a wide smile kept plastered among the man’s features. It was going to be a good night.


Profitable.

 

[Syrenrei]

Marian Greene (Maid Marian)

A Not-So-Humble Home on Citron Court, Emerald City

​

"Heavens no, that'd be quite the surplus. Robin told my manager to expect only four or five. Oh, the door over there leads to my cellar. It should be stocked with anything you might want, or at least I hope." She smiled and winked at her friend, glad to see his thoughts returning to the group. It was probably poor form to use this opportunity to further tease and poke fun at poor Robin, but she simply couldn't pass the opportunity. "I do have a few single distant relatives if you'd like me to introduce you. They aren't immortal, but quite a few are privy to our secret and have kept it for generations. Just let me know if you want to see pictures. They could do much worse than a Merry Man in their life!" While it was a very serious offer, she anticipated Robin not yet being able to handle the thought of his previously-undiscovered descendants mixing with his friends. Claire was quite the surprise for the poor man and any more introductions might have to wait until he was... acclimated. It had taken a couple hundred years before she had really accepted her children and grandchildren would have relations and procreate. Such a long life had given her ample time to cope- it was one of the boons she could be sincerely grateful for.


To make certain Much knew which door to which she referred, she glided over to the portal in question and opened it for him. Sturdy stone stairs led downward and the lights immediately turned on when the sensors noted movement. It had been constructed without any turns so as to make carrying casks up and down the stairs easier and more efficient. From their vantage point Much could already see a large room with polished wooden racks filled with bottles. Leaning over she whispered, "Just don't tell Robin how extensive it is or next time he might not bring me a gift." With another dazzling grin she departed his side to return to the counter and her wine glass.


Should he chose to seize the opportunity and immediately investigate, he'd find to his right a few shelves lined with harder liquors- scotch, brandy, whiskey, bourbon, gin, and the like. They had been arranged alphabetically by label though no type had more than a few brands. To the left were several sizable barrels of ale with taps, each clearly labeled with the flavouring and the brewery they were purchased from. Most of the room, however, was consumed by the wooden constructs that homed wine bottles that had been collected over the years. Some were of sentimental value and there were labels describing the gifter and the year they were received. One large rack was clearly intended for consumption and had a wide range of tastes, wineries, and years to offer. It was unlikely that Marian would scold Much for any choice he made.


Fetching a corkscrew from a drawer, she popped open the bottle of red and poured herself a moderate glass. For Robin she retrieved a water glass and filled it while Much was gone so he would not feel so obligated on his return. After she had picked up her drink and passed Robin his, she allowed her husband to escort her to the table. Johnna and Will were still talking amongst themselves and she had not caught the topic of their discussion so much as the emotions it elicited. Hopefully if it was of a serious matter in which she could provide assistance they would relate the discussion to her later.


Although she and Robin had been estranged longer than they had been together, yet his touch still manged to send an electric jolt coursing through her veins. She could not help but be incredibly aware of each movement, each word that departed his lips, each intonation of every syllable. No one since him had ever managed to replace even a fraction of the territory he held in her heart and she was certain that was the reason for her reaction. All the same she was a strong, independent woman that had existed without his affection or attention for centuries. Marian would not allow her tidal wave of attraction and yearning to consume her and render her vulnerable so easily. If she was careless and mistepped they would be more injured than before.


Robin's query interrupted quivering emotions. How appropriate that his simple utterances shot as an arrow through the air and pierced the bulls-eye of her weakness. Struggling to keep her composure and her voice light and even, she countered him with a swift parry. "If there was something the matter, do you think you could solve it when I could not? I appreciate the concern, but there are some problems for which there is no solution. This is much more suited for pillow talk than dinner conversation, don't you think?" Her last tease was not one that she expected him to take seriously at all, but sometimes she couldn't help herself. The Merry Men brought out her playful side even in their darkest moments together. The levity was what kept them aloft during bouts of madness.

 

[Ozmic]

Hunter Madson

His Apartment

​

"Yeah, down in the basement," he replied when she asked about the incinerator. He wanted to get rid of the damned things as fast as he could - hopefully without police involvement. "As much as I'd like to to 'the right thing' and take it to the cops... I dunno just how far corruption runs around here. Risky."


Shrugging, Hunter watched her and gave a nod. "Yea'... I know the feelin'. Well, not exactly yer' same situation, but you get what I mean." He laughed and ran a hand through his hair, letting her talk and collect her clothes. "Sounds good to me."


Returning her smile, his eyes followed her as she moved to the bedroom and he gave a chuckle despite the fact that they were going to go destroy evidence of a murder. "What a day," he said with a sigh and leaned against the couch, waiting for her.


When she re-emerged, he looked over the clothes and smirked. "Not exactly huntin' gear at all, love," he joked with a wink and headed out, holding the door for her before locking it. Moving quickly down the steps like he had nothing to hide, the man made a quick beeline to the building's incinerator and tossed the hands AND the cloth he'd used to wrap them into the flames. Slipping the door shut and relocking it, he sighed and looked around to make sure there weren't any watchful eyes before he made his way back to Red.


"Alright. Done is done, kid. Let's head for some shoppin'. My favorite past-time," he said with a sarcastic eye roll. "Maybe if we have some time, I can get'cha a bow an' give a lesson or two in shootin' it."

 

[Grey]

Peter Holmes

South Emerald, The Blue Caterpillar -> Emerald streets -> The Ticking Clock



​

Spoiler

[media]

[/media]



Smoke describes lazy, graceful curls as it rises, invisibly pushed and pulled by the bodies in motion, the breath in the air, until finally it fades into a fog on the ceiling, dragged into ageing vents. Reclining on a couch with tears in the dusky-blue upholstery, Peter takes a moment to reflect on the ephemeral tableau - and concludes that this is, as promised, some good shit.


Alan reaches out for a share, but Peter pulls away, frowning. "You can't smoke, Al. You smoke, your lungs get bad, your lungs get bad, you can't run, you can't run..." Somewhere between frustration and fear, Alan shrugs and joins his twin at the bar. Peter watches the two for a moment, tokes again, and watches the door. As if on cue, Marko enters, all swagger and chains, and those goddamn sunglasses. He throws himself down beside Peter and holds out a hand. Peter passes without looking.


"Well?"


"Hook, boss. Hook's where it comes from."


"Hook," Peter murmurs, watching Paul on stage through the haze of smoke. "Not Simin. Owns that fancy, uh, Clock place, right?"


"You know 'em?" Marko asks, and Peter frowns.


"No. Know of him. Why?"


"You just... nothin'. So, what do we do?"


"I'll go, take a look. Buy a dose, right?"


"You want I should come along?"


"Yeah. Yeah, let's finish this and go. Get Dwayne to take the others out to that place on Citron."


Marko passes back, stretches, and goes to rally the Lost Boys.


Minutes later, Peter and Marko are slouching crosstown to the Ticking Clock. Peter in his lucky green jacket, Marko with an added row of studs.


"At least take off the goddamn sunglasses, Marko, I swear to Christ..."


"Just mad 'cause I'm stylin' on you, boss."


"Just mad 'cause you look like an idiot."


"If you don't get it yet boss, you never will/"


The line is long, when they arrive, but Peter is patient and Marko hasn't shut up about Django since he finally saw it. It fills the time. The bouncers are the real problem.


"Dress code, son. Get lost."


Marko goes from an easy smile to a black glare.


"This is real leather, you cop-school dropout, and you wanna argue dress codes?"


"Ain't the code. You think this is the 90s or somethin'? Get lost."


"Hell no-" He begins, before the ape in a suit hauls him aside. Peter gives him a look, and moments later, free from their grasp, Marko holds something up.


"Ey, got your wallet!" He yells, grinning, and takes off down the nighttime street, bouncers in pursuit. Peter slips inside.


The music is bad, but that's not the point. The décor, Pete has to admit, is killer. The girls...


Peter fumbles for a few notes in his pocket and weaves his way to the bar.

 

[Dusky]

Gwen Darling

<p><a href="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2014_12/wendy2.png.bbe5d470993c9a6c87a41269b2787e0a.png" class="ipsAttachLink ipsAttachLink_image"><img data-fileid="35889" src="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2014_12/wendy2.png.bbe5d470993c9a6c87a41269b2787e0a.png" class="ipsImage ipsImage_thumbnailed" alt=""></a></p>

The Ticking Clock – Backroom​

It is almost as if the woman is trying to seduce her – the closed distances, the lips, the teeth. Of course, it’s having quite the opposite effect. Gwen can’t stop a sob from escaping her throat as she feels the light pressure of enamel on the back of her neck.


The offender had snaked her way over languidly, but she pulls away sharply.


Gwen takes a deep breath, but the calming technique is negated by the beast’s next words.


“Coming with you… No! No fucking way! What’s wrong with you?”


As if to accentuate this point, the door slams open, the shot rings out, and it does as much to terrify Gwen as it does to defend her. The shattering of glass is lost to Gwen’s shriek is lost to the crack of the handgun, and she scrambles, first away from James and his firearm, then, after the shock passes, towards him. In her haste her heels betray her, and she sprawls at his feet, face going red with humiliation. She looks up at him, but his attention is entirely on the woman he is accosting. She picks herself up slowly, hiding behind his massive frame.


The puddle of rum spreads, dark, as he downs the glass.


Gwen watches the intruder’s non-reaction with shock. The woman – Mirelle, apparently – speaks as if nothing has happened and Gwen’s disbelief mounts until she can’t stand to even be there anymore. She steps backwards, towards the door. Clearly she and the Captain know each other. Another step back. She’s talking nonsense, but…. Her hands scrabble with the doorknob. She seems so sure. Gwen doesn’t know what to believe.


The door gives behind her as she manages to turn the knob, and she flees down the hallway. James will not likely be happy she has left his side. Then again, he might understand. He often does.


She dashes out into the club, then backstage where her work clothes are. In something of a daze, she changes. Sure, she has just experienced memories she isn’t sure what to do with, gotten terrified out of her mind, and been in the same room as a firing gun, but work is the best distraction.


She sits for a moment, holding a hand over her heart, assembling the mask, as she refers to it. Game face. Service smile. What have you. When something resembling normalcy has returned to her, she goes out.


It’s late, just a couple hours until closing she thinks. Nobody’s behind the bar; perhaps they’re short of staff today. She takes up her post, looks down the line. Only one man sits with no drink; the rest look as though they’ve been attended to. She sidles down to him, fixing a grin on her painted lips.


“Hey there,” she says, rather quickly. “Um…” She trails off, just for a second, her mind wandering to the backroom. Should she have stayed? What was going on? She kicks herself back to the present, a snide voice in the back of her head saying, Not as composed as you thought, Gwen? “What can I get you?” she finishes, rather lamely. As she focuses in on the customer’s face, her headache throbs, a sharp stabbing feeling in the recesses of her mind.


Eight little beds and a crib. Empty dinner plates. The ground falling away.


Thimbles.


She clutches the bar and tries not to look too crazy as she prunes the thoughts away.


(( @Grey ))

 

[Shura]

Rebecca Punzel

Emerald Towers Apartment Complex

Apt# 701​

A warm summer breeze swirled through the open balcony doors carrying the shear white curtains with it. Faint sounds of the city rode upon the breeze missing with the melody which had already filled the room. Each note escaped from a MP3 player which sat perched on a polished white night stand, a blue Shuffle connected to the speakers.


Humming along to the melody was a young artist, golden blond hair spun up into a large bun with two paint brushes to hold it in place. A third brush had the tip coated with a murky dark blue, the oils clumping up unevenly as the artist paused to stare at her work. Gently she placed the unpainted end of the brush to her pale pink lips nipping softly at the polished wood. Critical blue-green eyes stared at the landscape searching, analyzing; trying to find a flaw with in the collection of colored oil that had been artfully spread across the canvas.


There had to be something, a fault somewhere. However none jumped out at her. With a heavy sigh Rebecca she set her brush and pallet down then stretched her arms over her head with a long yawn. She had spent eight hours on the painting, nearly ten hours the night before, making sure the painting was perfect, it nearly was. Something was missing but she wasn’t sure what. It was a simple painting of Emerald City at night. Dark colors of night sky and shadows meshed together broken up by brighter ones making shapes of the city which tormented and fascinated her.


The young woman strolled over to her balcony embracing the evening breeze and the view of the city. A deep longing to join the many people below started to surface, alongside it was a fear of what would happen if she did. Her entire life she watched other explore and freely live their lives, feeling as if she were just waiting, biding her time for the right moment to arrive. One that would open the door to the world outside and break the boredom of her life. The moment when her life would really start. What was she waiting for though? A sign? A person? Some glorious fairy to whisk her away? She didn’t know. Hopefully soon she would, for every night that past she was getting more and more restless. So much so she feared it would start to drive her crazy.


She thought that moment had arrived five nights prior.


Rebecca had been perched on her balcony enjoying some fresh air, her radio tuned to a local station as oppose to her I-pod. Music always helped with the loneliness, it was a distraction which filled the silence and made it easier to bare. Becca couldn't help but sing along to the music let it fill her with its up beat energy. She twirled and swayed to the music freely enjoying the moment while it lasted.


The song faded into the usual commercial break trying to sell various items. Becca turned down the volume not really interested in meaningless items or events she could not attend even if she wanted to. The blond hummed softly as she leaned on the metal railing staring out over the city just watching the lights flicker in the dark. The faint sound of near by clubs and bars floated through the air. Becca stared up at the sky for the moment slightly disappointed in the lack of stars out. The city lights made it difficult to see the fainter stars. Somewhere with in her memory she could remember looking up at a sky filled with colors and stars which numbered in the thousands. It was a beautiful site which brought a smile to her lips. There was just one small issue, she couldn't remember where she had seen it. No pictures in books or online matched what she could remember but she couldn't place where she had seen it or even when. It was a Mystery which bugged her from time to time.


Letting her evergreen gaze trail down to the horizon where the buildings met the sky her thoughts drifted to other fragmented memories full of nature and a world untouched by man. Something broke her train of thought, movement from the corner of her eye. Rebecca looked down figuring it was just some bird but to her surprise it was a person on a roof across the street. The other building was at least five stories up so why he was up on the roof with no safety guards or anything was beyond her.


Rebecca leaned upon the railing and squinted to get a better look at the person, she could tell they were male with a mess of brown hair but that was about it. A strong sense of De ja vu struck her at that moment. As if she had been in this exact same situation before up high in a tower looking down a man. It was the same feeling she got when remembering the stars but that couldn't be possible. She had spent the majority of her life isolated only really speaking to family and tutors so when could she have met some strange brunet? The blonde stared down at him feeling some sort of connection.


Before she could ponder much more on the subject of try to get a better look at him she spotted three other figures getting up onto the same roof. She watched in confusion as the mystery boy fled jumping onto another roof top and containing her risky escape his pursuers a building or so behind. She watched strange even until all four disappeared into the night.


Rebecca had thought back to that moment several times over the past several days, trying to place the moment to a distant memory lost somewhere in her mind. Every time she came up empty. Trailing her thoughts back to the present she found herself staring at the same roof top as if the strange roof jumper would appear. To her disappointment it was empty.


Shaking her head she went back inside needing to focus on something else. She moved to stand before the painting staring as it mocked her. Finally she spotted it, the fault that had been hiding from her. A small insignificant of blue mark upon an otherwise straight black line making it ugly and misshapen. A small dab of black to cover the glaring error and the relief calmed her agitated nerves. With a small smile curving her lips she picked up a brush with a lighter blue and marked her watermark onto the bottom right hand corner of the canvas.

@DamagedGlasses