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Post by Seth Andras on Dec 27, 2007 10:05:50 GMT -5
Some things are predictable to a certain degree: train schedules, Friday traffic, your best friend's habits, the behavior of the very young. Some things are damned unpredictable, but because they're the majority we never think of it as such. We instead focus on what we already can master and gloat over it. Seth Andras had taken to narrowing his list of predictable elements. Years of dealing with the uncertainty of his immediate surroundings soured him on the idea that the world was his to control. It was a humbling, fatalistic realization, but once owned he felt a measure of composure that he hadn't felt before. Simply realizing that you didn't know it all was strangely freeing. Until you tripped over something ankle-high seconds later. Then you knew life was just fucking with you.
Zoe could be predictable. Headstrong, bitter, fond of stimulants and depressants, and all but giddy when it came to tormenting him. To be true, he had earned some of her ire. Maybe most. Who knew? He didn't keep track (Well, very accurately), but currently she was ahead. Something about searching for your walking cane in a cemetery which just rings Them 1, You, 0. He didn't intend to become humble over this insight though. No, he tended to get even. Competitive, for sure.
The minutes passed, the din coming from inside the parlor filling the air slightly, like a distant smoke from a bonfire. It was very difficult to discern anything from inside, and those in the doorway usually were too busy saying hello to everything that crawled past, so nothing there. With patience he only half felt, he forced himself to sit back and just let time pass. Eventually, something would come to him.
Figures Zoe didn't last very long, he thought as he heard the tell-tale clatter of her boots on the stone steps, the murmuring of that familiar voice, distracted. No doubt she'd plunged back into the outside environment as if emerging from a house fire of raging voices. She had stomped off into the parlor like a Queen Sheba, and came out trembling and flustered like John Forbes Nash. A rare smile lit up his pale face. Self-owned. Make that score Them 1, You 1. Much better. He tapped his cane on the bench deliberately and slowly, in Morse code.
'". _ _ _ . _ _ _"
He grinned and hoped she could sort that kind of signal through her monstrous schitzo moment. Either way, he knew that eventually she would come and get him so he could work interference and she could skulk about on the fringe of all human contact.
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Post by Darcy Valde on Dec 28, 2007 1:16:16 GMT -5
Technically Darcy wasn’t supposed to own a computer... or have internet access. Of any kind. Not until 2011, but Darcy figured what the FBI didn’t know couldn’t hurt them, and they wouldn’t know, not this time, this time he had been smart. It was all a matter of clearing away the tracks in the sand.
It didn’t take Darcy long to hack Emily’s E-Mail, he felt a twinge of guilt, but his friend had died, It may seem insubstantial to anyone else, but Darcy knew that they were friends, over the internet or not. There wasn’t much to go by, but it gave him a link to her sister’s email and her friends. Again nothing new, until of course he hacked his way into two girls emails, friends of Emily’s Kate and Sarah.
They argued back and forth, guilt ridden and in pain, they had lost a friend too, but there was something iffy about the way they spoke, they knew something. They spoke about someone, or something, it was involved in Emily’s death perhaps? It was hard to tell, it was like coming into a novel at the last page, but it didn’t take too long for a clear name to start appearing, grudgingly.
Bloody Mary...
Darcy felt a chill run up his spine, she wasn’t real of course... but then Darcy lived in New Storm City, everything that went bump in the night was real here, why not in the rest of the world.
The Police files were the hardest to get too, he had to keep clearing his tracks and taking what he could, he printed off the police files and stored them safely in his bag with his laptop, it was probably too late for the funeral, but at least he’d be able to see his friends final resting place.
He scrawled a note to his mother ‘gone to Pete’s place, be gone all weekend, don’t worry, love you’
Changing out of his clothes and into new ones Darcy stepped into his living room, cell phone in his hand. He wore a simple black t-shirt over a white and black striped long sleeve t-shirt. Black jeans and his famous, much loved black leather ‘all stars’.
He dialed a number into his phone and cleared his throat; he felt the familiar sting of his tattoo being scorched into his skin by magic. Whenever he even thought of his friend he could still feel the tingle, he scratched the tattoo.
‘Caelyn? It’s Darcy I need a hand...’
The world shimmered for a split second. It wasn’t all flashy and smoky like every one thought it would be, teleportation was all about tweaking time and space, just a little bit. That of course didn’t stop the nausea. Magic affected his own abilities too, he could feel his eyes darken, he breathed heavily and felt himself change ever so slightly, his mood darkened and his black tattoo glowed.
‘Not cool...’
Darcy muttered as he ‘arrived’ on stone steps, the nausea hit him like a ton of bricks, of course it didn’t help that he was more or less an inch away from the whitest, palest man he had ever seen in his whole life.
‘Not cool...’
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Post by Zoe Sekhmet on Jan 2, 2008 13:46:19 GMT -5
~*For a creepy, blind albino, Seth could convey smug like no other. He was, in fact, infuriatingly good at it. Little twerp. As if her head didn’t hurt enough, he was banging his cane- which she should have broken in half before throwing- against the bench he was warming with his lazy ass. With him there was always more to “it” than met the eye and ear, but Zoe was in no mood to play games. His games, anyways. Whatever he was up to, it was about to stop. Abruptly. A last sip of the sludge in her cup brought about an idea so nasty and brilliant it would wipe that miserable grin off his face for hours. Until he dried out, that is. The fight to control the victory whoop that sprang to her throat kept her occupied and the remaining voices at bay. Since her departure from the building, they’d settled considerably. This funeral home and cemetery business was crap. The knowledge there would be no such crowd of mourners on her own death sat in the back of her mind, wrapped up tight and unexplored. Did it bother her that the people she cared nothing about cared perhaps even less about her? She didn’t know. She didn’t even want to know. A mental image of the pasty-faced dweeb hovering over her fresh plot with something smart ass to say had her vicious smile widening. What was family for?
He knew she was coming and would be clutching his cane just a little bit closer. It was almost a shame he couldn’t see how happy he made her. With effort, she kept the bounce from her step and managed a slight stagger that suggested she was still in the throes of her internal hell. She kept the silence cold, for to say anything at all would be out of character for her when defeated by anything and too pissed and frustrated to admit it. To her credit, she understood well enough the changes that took over her during the bad times. She stumbled to a stop before him, angled to avoid the stick he would likely start swinging yet in the way enough to prevent him wanting to rise immediately, and huffed right on cue. Rather than try anything sudden that those ridiculously keen ears of his would be sure to catch, her next move was painfully slow and timed to the variety of sound around them. His favored fog coat had fallen open just enough in his seated position to allow her entrance to the less-than-waterproof clothes beneath. He’d be regretting his decision to neglect full body leather any second. The cup she held was a quarter full of coffee too cold and gross to drink, but it had other uses. But a flick of her wrist emptied its chilly contents across his lap. She was already deftly stepping back from the range of any blows he might take as the liquid spread over his pants and, if she’d aimed correctly, right down into No-Man’s Land. Laughing now would ruin the effect she was hoping for when he stood up with the front of him soiled, so she choked it down. She crushed the quickly drying Styrofoam and it disappeared into her jacket pocket. Under her breath and dripping with malicious glee, she finally addressed him.*~Payback is a bitch named Sekhmet, you ass. You have nothing to look smug about.
~*Louder now and flooded with false concern, for anyone within hearing distance.*~ Awh, Sethie, couldn’t you find the restroom? There now, I’ll help you. We have much too much to do for you to be lazing around out here. Up you get. You’re needed inside. I think you’ll be able to hide it with the coat if you want to let me button you up. No need for a scene.
~*Well aware he could pull back and clock her, she risked reaching for his arm to haul him off the bench if he hadn’t leapt to his feet by then. All part of the act. He wouldn’t accept it, of course. If he didn’t hit her outright there’d be an elbow or a knee, maybe both, in her near future. So worth it. The mask of feigned sympathy hid her evil delight from anyone bored enough to be watching them. Darcy, who she noticed only now that she wasn't plotting, seemed to be having his own problems and was watching Seth close enough to have seen at least something. Maybe everything. Damn.*~
(Going with the slightly more obnoxious gold for text as it seems to show up on all skins, not just the default one.)
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Post by Seth Andras on Jan 3, 2008 10:06:05 GMT -5
Not much touched these atrophied eyes, so when he saw the sparks in his field of 'vision', Seth was immediately on guard. In his sense, the sparks looked like some sort of popping and bursting flame, as if someone had held the fabric of reality over a candle and the heat was starting to rip through. He started to stand, bracing himself with his cane, when Miss Cyclone '07 came stalking up. The crackle of the appearing individual was incredibly bright to him, and he shielded his eyes for a few seconds while Darcy appeared. Just enough time for the Bitchy One to get her revenge.
Dignity. He thought. It's one of those things life can't guarantee you. But at least there's karma. The coffee was wretched cold, even in the moderate heat of the day, and he scowled viciously, his face twisted up, pale features overemphasized in the light. His cane came darting about like a fencer's foil, feeling for that twisted little schitzo in hopes of knocking her on the head. There was something distinctly catlike about her hunting approach, stalking slowly when she was finally focused, and pouncing with vicious intent. But unlike most domestic cats, she was content to bite and then fall back, watching the prey bleed out before she finished them off. She then fired off a one-liner which would have made all angry women stand up and kick the man next to them in glee. Ass.
As if this wasn't enough of an insult, she then offered him help. The bitch offered him an arm-up. This was a bigger slap in the face then her Starbucks assault, and his resulting glare was truly awful. He tensed, his body going rigid to match his mood as he stood without her help. It took a few seconds to become the master of himself again before he offered a cool smile, the tension suddenly gone. Of course, this was about the same time he had patted Zoe's shoulder with his glove laden with bird shit, and then smeared it diagonally across her coat.
"My dear, dear Zoe, why so angry? You're looking a bit shitty today. Perhaps you should lay off of the hooch and get some chips off your shoulder." He pulled his coat together, still forcing that wretchedly gleaming smile. He then made sure to rub the remainder of the bird shit on her pant leg too, just for good measure. "Sorry about that; my gloves must have hit some of this precious bird guano. At least it's not too runny. So did you find anything out besides how disabled you are when it comes to a basic human gathering? Or were you too busy choking on this motor oil and fighting your inner drama?" He paused a moment for her to reply before continuing. He cast a sidelong glance in the direction of the teleportee, his ire at Zoe making him momentarily forget about the occasion. All business, this could be something... bad. The new arrival hadn’t moved much or said a word. What was there? Who was there? He was more than a bit concerned.
Still, he’d be a fool if he thought Zoe was going to live down her shitty mood. He nudged her deliberately in the direction of the newcomer, clearing his throat in a meaningful way, not that she was really good at picking up signals. And here he thought it was men who were supposed to have that weakness.
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Post by Diana Herme on Jan 4, 2008 4:09:10 GMT -5
*Her mouth dropped open and Diana stepped back, almost falling over in shock as the man identified himself as a government agent. The fact that the local cops had been so quick to dismiss her sisters death as a suicide and hadn’t even bothered to treat her family with any semblance of sympathy, meant that a police officer was the last person she had expected to see. And here, standing before her was the F.B.I. Everything and everyone around her paled into insignificance as her glare softened slightly, though her eyes were still narrowed.
~The F.B.I?~ Diana almost laughed in shock. ~Why the hell would the F.B.I be at my sisters funeral when the local police told us it was a suicide? You’re “going to catch whoever did this to my sister", are you Agent…..?~ She waited long enough to see if he would offer a name, then proceeded regardless.
~This suggests to me that not only was my sister murdered, but she was obviously murdered by someone or something worthy of the governments attention, would you say that is a safe assumption to make?~
She stood with her arms crossed across her chest, the black cardigan wrapped tightly around her lithe frame, as she ignored his attempt to leave.
~I demand to know the name of your superiors. If my sisters death is the subject of an investigation, then we as her family have the right to read any files bearing her name.~
She moved slightly to the right so that she was almost blocking his way. *
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Post by Averill Thade on Jan 4, 2008 18:00:58 GMT -5
She didn't like to call it "sneaking around", but when it came to it, that's exactly what it was. Pretty much the only thing that masked Averill's appearance of what she really was, was her choice of clothes. Averill looked like any other art student at college with her goth-ish lime-green and black striped apparel.
Something strange was going on in the college. Several paranormal readings had escaped from the building in the past few years, but the only thing that stopped P.O.E. from coming to the place for an examination was the lack of people with "the gift".
After striding down a subdued blue hall, Averill came to a sort of common room, surrounded in crime scene tape. The deep green room was devoid of people, and the only thing residing there now was a gaggle of very tasteful pieces of furniture.
"Ah... here it is." Averill spoke softly, the scene of the supposed suicide was deathly quiet, so she felt she should be the same. To make sure that it was the right place, Averill slipped under the crime tape and over to one of the walls. A glint pierced her vision as she approaced a door. On the floor was a piece of glass.
This was the place.
It was too bad that she couldn't stay. Bloody Mary was a force to be reckoned with, Averill would need more that one person in her endeavor.
She whipped out a small device and turned it on via small button on the top. In the LCD screen that took up most of the space on the screen, she saw a map of the surrounding area that seemed to be dyed green. Several red dots beeped on a building not far away, just down the street.
And so she strode back down the hall to her destination.
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Post by Darcy Valde on Jan 8, 2008 9:53:37 GMT -5
Darcy was... to put it mildly very confused, and a little disgusted. The Woman with eyes that could obviously pierce human flesh took advantage of the obvious blind man, by pouring something on his crouch. Darcy thought that would be the end of it, until of course the blind man hit back.
Darcy could do little but stare, he was generally a calm and collected kid, but he was (possibly for the first time) completely and utterly speechless. Were they friends? Husband and wife? Father and daughter... no there was something distinctly similar about the two of them, even though they were vastly different in appearance, they each held themselves in a certain... manner.
‘Um... Emily Rose? Funeral... This is...’
He said a little disjointed, realizing quickly they were both looking at him, he took a deep breath and tried to take control of his speech, he also noticed for the first time where we was, it looked vaguely like the place he was supposed to be, a mausoleum hid the sun in the distance, and it wasn’t a golf course.
‘And thank you Caelyn’
He said dusting his black jeans off with one hand, his nausea was starting to vanish slowly, his black eyes began to change back to their normal colour, the tattoo around his wrist buzzed with tiny flicks of electricity, he waited for his new ‘friends’ reply.
As odd as they were.
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Post by Zoe Sekhmet on Jan 11, 2008 21:34:44 GMT -5
~*Seth’s scowl made Zoe’s day. His glare, the kind that scorched not only the flesh it grazed but the muscle and bone beneath, was her reason for living. She could feel the tingle of it inside and savored every second. The cane swipe came on cue and she positively beamed as it missed by at least ten miles. Score. Her offer to help had been just the slap he’d taken it for and as he went rigid, suffering visibly, she knew she’d met her mark. Score. This was too easy, but she wasn’t above it. And Hell, it felt so good. Or it did until he was reaching for her, which was never a good sign. Not in the least. That his smile could freeze oxygen didn’t help her suspicion that revenge was coming quick. Because Seth was physically incapable of an affectionate, brotherly pat, his gloved hands had no place on her- specifically when he was pissed. She’d moved in too close to avoid all of it while gloating and would now face the consequences.
The slight pressure jarred her and she ducked under it instinctively, smelling the bird crap before she identified the smudge on her coat. The evasive maneuver had spared her a steady streak but his vengeance still ended in a dotted line of shit. She could take a hit, field any insult he could muster, and triumph beautifully over a wide variety of other retaliations, but one did not touch the leather. His death was imminent. Right here, right now, in front of the staring kid and all of the others hanging around to mourn death but probably not ready to witness it. She could toss him in on top of Emily and spare herself the expense of disposing of his pasty, pale ass. But for reasons she wasn’t willing to think about- ever, eternity would be even longer and colder without him. Damnit. He’d live to not see another sunrise, but she didn’t have to like it.
He was talking as much shit as he’d gotten on her jacket, though her mind was so busy with what to do about the offense that she caught only every other word. In a mind like hers it was impossible not to get lost from time to time. The gods, or whoever looked after her kind, were with her when Seth finally looked away and she was aware enough to notice. His eyes on Darcy, his hand just leaving her thigh with a healthy layer of bird droppings, she moved without thinking and without sound. She didn’t need to step so much as turn and did so gracefully, driving the pant leg he’d smeared and the knee under it up and in and sharing the mess with his own coat. She used the coffee spot as a target- No Man’s Land- and aimed well. There would likely be no children in his future. The world would undoubtedly sleep better knowing it.*~ You talk too much.
~*He might come forward, bending in what she hoped to be excruciating agony. He might stagger back and sit down to contemplate what it was like to no longer be a man in the traditional sense. He might suck it up for the moment and come at her in truly blind fury. Whatever he tried, she was ready. He didn’t need to nudge her to bring at least a little of her attention back to Darcy. The boy, who had yet to master the English language, appeared to be fishing the words he wanted out of a hat in the wrong order when speaking with them; however, strung sentences together perfectly when directing them at his invisible buddy. Black eyes and a wrist tattoo that acted like a live wire, sparks and all, revealed him to be 100% freak. Though his eyes abandoned their darkness, it just made him a freak in disguise. All the signs pointed at something she ought to be killing, but his aura gave him up as a newbie. Nothing dead on his record that he should be gutted for. Yet. She wondered if there were points for getting them before they got someone else. Hip cocked, hand on it and one slender brow arched right on up into her tousled auburn hair, she smirked down at him.*~
Oh, yes. You found Emily. He’s right here, looking every bit as dead as his funeral implies he should, wouldn’t you say? Now if only he’d stop walking around.
~*She left Seth to his pain and sauntered towards Darcy with the slightest hint of a predatory air. First impressions could always be wrong. Nervousness could be feigned. Perhaps the noob thing was an act and she’d finally met a creature who could cloak his aura to such a basic reading. Be that as it may, there’d be no hiding the voices. Not from her. If the real Emily was out there screaming from beyond the grave at this magical, little brat, she wanted to hear it. She hooked her thumbs in the pockets of her jeans in what could be construed as an unthreatening position on her approach. If he was indeed the killer or just someone worth owning, it was worth a closer look. And it was ultimately easier to pin one down on its own rather than poking around in a crowd.*~ You don’t look like a Caelyn, so we’ll pretend you’re not talking to yourself. Friend of the deceased?
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Post by Sebastian Marlin on Jan 13, 2008 22:22:20 GMT -5
"Agent Simmons," he offered during Diana's rant. He felt the need for a new cigarette coming on.
"Nope," was the next answer to her question, but she just kept it coming. It was never safe to assume, what with wild donkeys already running rampant.
As she stood there defiantly, making demands, he casually reached into his coat, pulling out a pair of shades, and in the process showing her his sidearm. He slid the dark sunglasses over his face and covered his eyes. It matched the black suit completely now.
"Sorry, matter of National Security. I've already told you too much, really. If you make a scene, I'm going to have to detain you for 24 hours."
Now that was a threat. She would either scream her head off like a brat, or shut up and leave him alone. One way or the other would get her off his case. He didn't need the firearm to 'detain' her, he knew all manners of incapacitating a human being with just a few flicks of the wrist, and even more flicks of the wrist that could kill in varying degrees.
However, now was the time to be diplomatic. She was on the ropes of desperation, even trying to bully him, thinking she had legal rights against him! If he really were an FBI agent, she might, but as it was, he'd have a very hard time explaining it to the real FBI if she started making phone calls. So instead, he smiled politely.
"Again, I'm sorry for your loss. If you have any information that might be relevant to our investigation, or if you need anything, I'm only a phone call away," he produced a business card from his jacket pocket. It was plain, and very simple. No logo, no fancy script or ID number, just the name Agent R. Simmons, and a DC area code phone number. The text was embossed and centered very neatly in the center of the card, so while it might be suspicious, the quality was still expensive.
"Please don't be discouraged, Diana, your government is working very hard to make sure we bring this killer to justice." Now he made his attempt to leave.
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Post by Averill Thade on Jan 14, 2008 21:26:50 GMT -5
After a several minute long stroll, Averill came upon a scene of such warming sisterly love that she had to laugh, if only a little bit. On a bench sat a man, apparently blind, and an auburn-haired woman that appeared to be his sister, judging by the sweet way she addressed and interacted with him. Standing just a few feet away was a boy, who was clearly different. Of course nothing but a glowing black tattoo would have indicated that.
A couple of beeps issued from her pocket as she pulled out her device. It beeped even faster and more loudly as she neared the three. The two other dots were on the other side of the building, but as she watched, on of them walked away.
"Darn." Well, that must've sounded awkward, as she had just arrived and it was bound that the three in front of her would look over and give her a look of the utmost "what the heck". She stifled it as best as she could.
Now how to go about this? It would be convincingly wierd if she just walked over to them and said, "I need you to come with me, for supernatural reasons that nobody is completely sure of."
Well there was an other way to say it, without sounding like a TOTAL lunatic. "I was wondering if you... um... could come with me for a bit. I could use somebody's help. All of you would do. It's sort of... big."
Maybe it was just a little bit creepy that a goth girl just walked up to three random strangers to ask for help.
(Hope that's better. It does sound a whole lot more rational and keeps some of the mystery.)
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Post by Seth Andras on Jan 19, 2008 11:04:12 GMT -5
He could almost feel her inner rage, like heat rolling off of her in waves. Heat wasn't too shabby a comparison when you consider how she must have been boiling. His own blood was a bit heated, but normally it was cool and sluggish, and it took only a bit for it to calm back down. But this time he knew he pushed her a good bit too far, and retaliation- physical, no doubt- was in order. He imagined it was a channeling of all that internal drama that she could not sort out, but Zoe had always been physically aggressive, anxious, and abusive. Triple As for any working basket case. And she was no exception. Still, he had to admire her reflexes as she snapped forward. Intuition more than conscious recognition of his mistake in trying to fix attention on the newcomer saved him a bit of dignity, as his hand hovered close to her leg, giving him a bit of time to stagger back. Leaning on his cane, he huffed, fighting down the sensation of a close contact as she resumed her pensive stance.
Cursing his Maker, he took a moment to steady his breath, the blood once again rising to a sufficient boil. The blue veins at his temple as visible as the shades he wore. The urge to throw himself at her, fists and cane flying like some demented albino whirlwind he subdued with a gritting of his teeth and a good bit of will power. He would just look ridiculous, and less the victim here. Sure, a bit of male dignity demand that he beat her up enough to make a southern gentleman proud, but dignity was cheap. Easily taken away. And besides, there were times when you could just play up the victim role and make other people look shitty by comparison. The last thing his dear schitzo would truly want would be attention called to her violence in this place, with so many witnesses...
No, now was not the time. As much as he absolutely hated taking that blow without so much as a good clubbing to the skull, it would have to wait. She was notoriously distracted, and his time would come. He contented himself with several mental visions of tripping her down stairs with his cane, breaking it over her head, switching her booze with rubbing alcohol, or perhaps inviting random people into their hotel room, telling them she's a prostitute. Either one of those scenarios would give him a bit of mirth to cool the blood.
In his contemplation, she had walked off to stalk the newcomer. He recognized that tone before, and for the time being he realized she wasn't focused on him. She must have been extremely agitated, as she hadn't even bothered to wipe her new streak off before going to harass the newcomer. While not exactly tempted to assist the boy out of any sense of altruism, he knew there was something odd about this one's appearance. Little made its way into his field of vision, and almost all of it was supernatural in origin. This one was more than he 'appeared' to be to others. Of course, Zoe likely wasn't the cautious, subtle type. She was just as likely to beat information out of him as beguile it from him.
He opened his mouth, to say what, he couldn't be sure, when Lydia Deetz from Beetlejuice strolled up to them.
"I need you to come with me and fight an evil woman trapped in a mirror who just murdered the woman you're all here mourning."
What the hell? Trapped in a mirror? Who was this person? Scowling, he turned his attention to her. "What are you talking about, child? And just who are you?" Inwardly, he was thinking- Since when do I mourn the dead?
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Post by Averill Thade on Jan 19, 2008 18:42:21 GMT -5
((OOC: Lydia Deetz, that's a good one!))
Okay, that was a really bad start to an even worse situation.
"Well..." Averill didn't know how to do this, it wasn't covered in the school. She would just have to wing it. " I'm talking about... an old kid's game that I want to play, none of my friends want to. I'm Averill Thade, if that helps."
Averill hoped that would get them to come with her, but added in another comment before finishing. "I need you three, because you have, well, you look like you'd be good at it."
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Post by Diana Herme on Jan 27, 2008 20:20:41 GMT -5
*The black crocheted sleeves of her cardigan caressed her alabaster skin in a pattern similar to a spider’s web as she pushed the right one up slightly to house the business card that she accepted from “Agent Simmons.” Without so much as a glance, the card disappeared into the soft murky darkness that she considered to be her amour from the outside world. She rolled her eyes as he offered her the usual “matter of national security” and the fact that he had “already said too much”. Wrapping her cardigan even tighter around her, Diana let out a long low breath as she narrowed her eyes at “Agent Simmons.”
“My government is a joke, Agent Simmons. As you appear to work for them, then that would make you the punch line would it not?!~
Exhausted beyond belief, Diana decided that detaining this man any further would just be a waste of both their time. Judging by his eagerness to leave, Diana decided to just let him go. Dismissing him with a wave of her hand, Diana cast one last look back at the woman and man she had seen earlier in the gazebo. They had now been joined by a boy and what appeared to be a woman, though she had difficulty making them out due to their distance away. Figuring them to be mourners unrelated to her sister, Diana took a deep breath and walked slowly towards the door of the funeral parlor. Pulling the door open, Diana took another deep breath to steady her nerves before stepping inside.
Her mother found her immediately, and after several minutes of being chastised for not being there when she was needed most, Diana was then released to accept the condolences from relatives and friends. Despite the tears that continued to flow from everyone except a select few, Diana’s cheeks remained dry; her eyes cold and hard. She forced a calm smile to her lips as her head nodded and she thanked people with a few choice words.
The agony of the wake went for what seemed to be hours, until finally Diana was released to the comfort of her Jeep. Further tormenting herself by listening to Emily’s favourite CD while she drove, Diana wiped angrily at a few tears that dared to escape while she was driving home. Although she had promised her parents she would go straight home, Diana could not shake the memory of what Kate and Sarah had said. Combined with the appearance of Agent Simmons, Diana knew that something terrible had happened to her sister, and she was determined to find out what it was. After a few minutes of wrestling with herself, Diana finally pulled over to the side of the road, took a few minutes to compose herself and then did a U turn so that she was now driving towards the university campus where Emily Rose had died. Hopefully there she would find some answers. *
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Post by Darcy Valde on Jan 27, 2008 21:51:14 GMT -5
This was a bad idea...
Darcy squirmed uncomfortably; he was not a short kid. His spine began to ache, he shifted, his shoulder rubbed against the back seat audibly, he stopped, stopped breathing stopped moving. The woman had stopped singing now.
This was seriously a bad idea....
Darcy could feel the woman move in the seat in front of him, she stretched. He felt a delicate hand thud him gently on top of his skull, she screamed. Darcy screamed.
If he wasn’t so terrified of being killed in a car crash he would have laughed. He propped himself up, waving his hands in the air to show Diana he wasn’t a murderer.
‘Wait, its cool, don’t crash!’
She swerved off the road.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t know what else to do!’
He pleaded with the screaming woman.
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((Sorry it’s so short Mori, I didn’t know what else I could do! LOL))
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Post by Diana Herme on Feb 23, 2008 19:40:32 GMT -5
*As she drove towards the college campus, the dark sky above her finally released its hold on the churning clouds that had been racing above her head while Diana had mourned her sister in her freshly dug grave. Flicking on her wipers to clear the windscreen of the sudden water fall that fell quickly over the jeep, Diana finally turned Emily’s favourite CD off in favour of the local radio station. Smiling despite her pain at the beginning strains of Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart”, Diana cranked the stereo up several more decibels as she began to sing along in a husky voice, made even more so by the unshed tears that tightened around her vocal cords in a constrictive vice.
~Turnaround, …. every now and then I get a
little bit lonely and you're never coming around…
Turnaround,…. Every now and then I get a
little bit tired of listening to the sound of my tears…
Turnaround, ….Every now and then I get a
little bit nervous that the best of all the years have gone by….
Turnaround,…. Every now and then I get a
little bit terrified and then I see the look in your eyes ….
Turnaround bright eyes,.. Every now and
then I fall apart
Turnaround bright eyes, Every now and
then I fall apart… ~
As she burst into the chorus, she chuckled to herself as she remembered a scene from a horror movie she had watched a few months ago with Emily. Although Diana was a sucker for the traditional B grade horror movies that were usually centred around a summer camp or a psycho wearing a hockey mask, Emily was usually the one hiding her face behind a pillow and begging Diana to change the channel. During this particular sisterly bonding movie moment, both Emily and Diana had been singing along with Bonnie as the female victim to be drove her car in a storm similar to the one that Diana was now driving in. The female was singing along shakily, having been spooked by the attendant at the gas station she had just stopped at to refuel. Despite the attendant trying to warn her that someone was in the back seat of her car, the hapless girl had driven off in a fright, comforting herself with Bonnies husky vocals and warnings to “turn around..”. When the girl did finally look in the review mirror, she had just enough time to glance upon her assailant before he made sure that she would never sing again. Diana shivered as she remembered how Emily had screamed at that particular moment, and she glanced up at her own rear-view mirror as the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Of course the only sight that greeted her was the dark stormy sky beyond the back seat of her jeep, and Diana shook her head slightly as she continued to sing.
~Turnaround bright eyes….
Turnaround bright eyes …
Turnaround, …every now and then I know
you'll never be the boy you always you wanted to be
Turnaround, every now and then I know….~
She stopped short as a sound separate from her superior singing skills reached her ears. Turning down the volume of her stereo, Diana’s ears strained to hear the noise she had heard above the radio, the hissing of her windscreen wipers, the cars engine and the pounding rain. After a few minutes of driving silently, she heard the noise again; a faint rustling noise that seemed to be coming directly from behind the drivers seat. With one hand on the steering wheel, she reached around with her other hand to feel behind the seat. Expecting to find a loose object of some kind that had somehow rubbed up against the back of her seat, Diana screamed as her hand touched what felt to be a human head. As her fingers grasped a hold of what felt to be silky soft hair, Diana screamed again and jerked her hand away quickly, inadvertedly knocking the steering wheel sideways and lurching the jeep into a dangerous sideways slide. *
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