Midnight.  Sane people with money in their pockets didn't get on the New York subway at such an hour, but Beau could only lay claim to one of the two criteria.  It helped that his head was filled with classic rock tunes thanks to the headphones in his ears, and that his feet knew the path from the ticket gate to the track.  He kept his hands in pockets rather than touch the grime of the stair rail as he descended to the platform, eyes straight ahead.  Twenty-four stairs.  And an odd silent count of each, as his worn sneakers kept time with the music.

I am just a poor boy but my story's seldom told...I have squandered my resistance for a pocketful of mumbles, such are promises....

Beau didn't need to look around to know the number or type of people who joined him on the platform.  The three minutes passed in solitude as he waited for the D train.  There were two homeless men in the corner along with the persistent smell of urine - Beau considered them the regulars and they knew not to ask him for money.  To his left was couple dressed for dinner or a show, completing their evening. Eye contact could keep crime at bay, or invite conversation and honestly he wasn't much interested in either.  A fight might actually be amusing, at least, if it were evenly matched.   His six-foot-four frame, and wide shoulders, tended to narrow the potential brawl pool.  The slightly crooked nose due to two prior breaks tended to signal experience to the faint hearted.  God forbid that anyone ask 'how that happened'.

Desire had him turning his head and gazing longingly down the dark tracks.  The public address system said the train was approaching, but the white light seemed a bit far in the distance.  Just like home was far, and the apartment he was heading to devoid of warmth.

He flexed his fingers, buried deep in the pocket of his leather jacket.  The movement caused his palm to brush the tear in the fabric and the forgotten need to do some mending.   Not that he kept anything important he could lose in those pockets beyond loose change and his music playing phone.  No drivers license.  No cigarettes.

The push of air ruffled his dark hair as the train made its appearance.  Metal and glass.  Random graffiti announcing in yellow that someone named Zepher had recently painted here.   As the doors slid open, Beau waited for the well dressed couple to proceed him, only because he preferred to sit alone.  Opens were many, and he picked a bench that faced away from the direction the train would drive.  He took a seat as the train started and stretched out his legs, wishful thinking the action would deter anyone from encroaching on his space?

La la lie la lie.

The song he was listening to ended in taped applause.  The old concert was a favorite, taped in Central Park not far from where his train was about to go.   However, Beau wasn't eager to hear the tune a second time.  The familiar guitar strum hinted the song was looping.  He pulled his phone out and studied the screen.

All lies and gest, still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest...

Of course it was only a melody, but the small shiver heightened his senses.  Its manifestation had Beau lifting his gaze away from his phone screen and to the seat across the aisle.  Four hundred stations to chose from.  Four trains each....and you pick this one.

“You haven’t touched your food.”

Neil looked up at the woman across the table.  She wasn’t his mother, but she’d been acting a bit like it since they arrived in Vale.  In truth the trip to the ski resort was her idea, the art agent worried the artist was working too hard.  Now Neil was pushing the lovely grilled salmon around on the china plate.  Surely something was wrong.

“I’m not really hungry.” Neil purred.  The seductive smile on the handsome face might cause the bottle blond to think he had something other than food on his mind, but he wasn’t as attracted to Dalia as he let her think.  He ‘managed’ her, almost as much as she managed him.  To that end he reached a hand across the table and captured hers in his.  He gave the tanned flesh a squeeze.  “Maybe it’s the time change.”

They’d flown in from San Francisco earlier today.  Snow had delayed the flight, but the sun set hours ago.  Normal people didn’t eat dinner at 9 pm.

Dalia blushed and tucked a wave of hair behind her ear.  Her hand turned up, fingers laced with his.  “I’ve known you about a year now and this is the first restaurant you’ve taken me to. You never seem to eat.”

Neil tipped his head to the side.  He was slender, but not overly so.  His tall frame complimented his regal build.  His Italian coloring meant olive colored skin that glowed with health.  “Do you really want to have a conversation about eating disorders?”

She pulled her hand away.  One sensitive topic down without having to fire a shot.  Neil carefully banked the smile.  He took a bite of the fish and forced himself to swallow.  Almost immediately he wanted to gag but he took a sip of water instead.  There, happy? He didn’t plan to be cruel but he wasn’t about to argue with the size zero waif across the table. 

He turned his head toward the window.  The lights from the ski-lift illuminated the snow to a burnished gold.  The view was pretty and the air clear.  He took a breath and let it out.  “I’m sorry, Cara.  You must have been right that I needed a break.  I’m sure my mood will be better in the morning.”

Without thinking more about it he pushed back his chair.  “I’m going to take a walk. Why don’t you get some sleep?”

The waiter instantly appeared at his side.  Neil didn’t think anything of the hurried, “Will there be anything else Mr. Desmond?”  The artist had commanded attention most of his life.  He tried to avoid it, but there was something about the way he walked and talked that drew people to him naturally.  He had the aura of a leader.  Add a touch of fame and the limelight became harsher and harsher each year.

How about a little peace and quiet?

He didn’t voice his thoughts.  A few bills were placed on the table.  Neil took his wine glass and moved off towards the lounge. The fire there might have drawn his attention any other day. Neil liked warm things.  Typically he favored long sleeves and sweaters, almost unnaturally cold, but today he felt a need to move out into the snow, like a storm was coming and he should breathe the air before being trapped inside.  He wore boots for the occasion.  He had his wool coat and scarf rescued from the restaurant coat check.  All he needed was the door.

The hotel catered to skiers, but it wanted you to stay inside.  The lobby was plush, and felt like a cross between a Vegas palace and a rat’s maze.  Leave it to Dalia to choose glitz over practicality.  Neil shook his head and took a final sip of his wine before finding a counter to place it on.  He spied the exit, finally, and turned, only to run into someone in the process.

Of course he hadn’t exactly knocked her over but he felt a need to apologize, arms reaching out to steady the poor woman.  “Do forgive my clumsiness."

"Ancient History"
•Helenus Noblesse uses moon magic to create the armor magic of the Noblesse line.
•Eiji Geminus and Matthew Trill meet and become best friends. Through Eiji, Matthew meets Mael and Reinhart.

Solast War
•Captain Taranis is poisoned. Nathanael Pyrrus is made Captain, an act that changes the course of the war to New Carthage's favor.
•Destiny is born to Alexander Noblesse (?)
•Cane is born in Warston and abandoned in the church there
•Desiree is born to Alexander Noblesse
•Cane and Desiree meet at age 8/7
•Alexander Noblesse dies at the battle of Brenya as Nathanael's reinforcements arrive.

After Alexander's Death; Purge
•Desiree's mother gives Millicent Alexander's sword. Remarries.
* Rivak is blinded as punishment for being an aeromancer
•Iulius Gnaeus joins the guard.
•Cane and Ariel meet. The Pyrrus estate is destroyed
•Hans Geminus is tortured and killed for protecting carnomancers.

Before Desiree Joins Guard; Purge(?)
•Matthew joins the guard.
•Cane meets William and Rowan
•Cane is imprisoned by Matthew for 3 months
•Camiel Pyrrus dies in Warston; Warston burns, most of its inhabitants die.
•King Charles dies, and Phillip takes to the throne (chapt 5 reference)
•Desiree makes a deal with Millicent, retrieves Alexander's sword.

Pre-Royal Errand (Desiree's Career)
•Philips younger brother William leaves New Carthage
•Matthew continues to hunt the occasional aeromancer including using Desiree to kill two young women
* Bennet dies, and Rowan/Cane "create" Evan

Royal Errand
•A scroll is stolen, and a ring is found


(I knew there was a Charles - ha!)

If memory serves, Sept 13, 2013 marks our founding date.

And B-day's mean cake.

Happy Birthday Paragraphite!  And to all our devoted members - party on.

 

He woke face down in the dirt.  His head screamed as he rolled onto his side and pulled his knees towards his chest.  Everything hurt, even the dimming sunlight as he opened his eyes to get his bearings.  Wet, muddy and disoriented, he sat up.  The motion caused him to moan.

Maybe hearing his own voice was a good thing.  He shook his head, but that was a mistake. Instead of clearing his mind it served only to remind him that his brain wasn’t working properly.  His hands went to his neck and felt for something that should have been there – another piece of the puzzle that seemed to be missing.

“Where am I?” 

The sky was overcast and the color pink with the last remains of the day.  The puddles on the ground seemed to indicate it had rained earlier.  There was a certain smell in the air of damp earth and home fires.  This was a road, and he could see a town up ahead, but for now he was alone on the dirt track except for the horse.   The animal didn’t shy away, but rather looked at him with baleful brown eyes as it stood in the knee high grass.  The contents of the saddle pack were strewn about, leaving the man to conclude that he’d not fallen from the horse, but rather been mugged.

He gave a whistle and held out his hand.  The horse didn’t approach.  The man blinked and wondered, What is the horse's name?  The empty response left him to consider,  What’s mine?

The reality that neither question had an answer should have sent him into a panic, but it didn’t.  More cautious than confused, he started to pick up the possessions.  A shirt.  A metal flask and a couple apples.   A knife.  He folded the shirt put the collected items into the leather satchel.   A few golden coins remained in the pack – apparently the aim hadn’t been all about money.

But, something is missing…  Again his hands went to his throat.  His clothing wasn’t ripped, but he sensed that he’d been wearing something else.  Carried something else.   He made a slow circuit around the horse.  He found some rope (not long, but enough to be serviceable), a cup and crushed hat.  He picked them up and tried to punch the straw back into place but it was no good.  He left the remains of the hat on the ground, tossing it aside with a hint of disgust rather than sentiment.  He hadn’t liked the hat and thought aloud, “So much for that disguise.  They knew you were coming.”

He blinked over the thought.  Concentrated.  “Garret.”  A nod and a sigh of relief.  Yes, that was familiar – although whether it was first or last name he couldn’t be sure.  Two syllables was the only hint on the mystery around him.

Garret brushed his muddy hands on his slacks.  He was wearing black, all black, shirt, pants and boots.  His skin was fair, or so he thought beneath the mud.  He found a towel which he suspected would serve to wipe the worst of the dirt from his face and hands.  He studied his fingers and noted the tan line that hinted at a ring.  He rubbed the exposed area, finding that loss the most disturbing.

“What do you think…horse?” he said looking at the animal.  Horse didn’t reply or object when Garret stowed the last of his meager belonging back into the saddle bags.  Garret put his foot in the stirrup and tried to mount, only to feel dizzy over the lift.  He stumbled backwards and wound up sitting in another puddle before he could regain his balance.

He didn’t curse.  Instead, he sat in the puddle for a moment or two and looked up at the sky.  He closed his eyes and found solace in a brief prayer.  A rumble of thunder could have been a response, or the distinct reminder that if he waited much longer he’d be wetter. 

Garret decided there was no shame in walking.  With a hefty sigh, he got to his feet and gathered the reins.  The wind picked up as he walked on towards town, leading the horse.  He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he knew he needed to get there….soon.

He was going to die here.  No one would question how Beckett Warrington ‘knew’ that, but he didn’t share the prediction, keeping the quiet secret to himself as he stared at the stone walls of his prison.  The quartz and limestone mixture was pretty in the morning sunlight.  The rosy dawn cast rainbows in the air and Beckett could reach out a hand and toy with the horseshoe shaped colors if he wished, letting the green and gold weave through his long fingers.  He wasn’t shackled.  In fact, the bed he rested in was quite lovely with its elaborate draperies and soft sheets.

All the better for pleasant dreams.

Of course the one he’d awaken from wasn’t pleasant.  The palpitating heart beat faded and the sweat dried on his pale skin as he watched the color symphony.  What he wanted was some air, so he pushed aside the heavy quilt and stood barefoot on the cold stone floor.  He scratched his scalp and ruffled his ashy blond hair, sending into typical disorder, short enough to not fall in his eyes, but a touch too long to be merchant tidy. 

Not that he’d ever be mistaken for a business man, his roguish smile and desire to dance for no reason would give him away if he tried to pose as the stoic vendor in the market place.  And his voice – well the gravely sound wouldn’t mix if he had to yell ‘dates for sale’ more than a dozen times. Not from around here, they’d say.  And someone would notice the ruby red earring. Ask questions. Then before he knew it…

You’d be right back here.

And yet he knew exactly what he was doing as he gathered the gauzy scarf from the wooden chest in the corner, along with the neutral colored clothing and boots.  The secret stash was on the bottom of the chest, wrapped in a blanket which he returned to the stack of folded, more opulent clothing. 

“An hour,” he quietly promised himself.  Then he might be able to breathe again.  Do what needed to be done with the rest of his day.

Beckett draped the scarf over his head and wrapped the ends around his neck.  A hooded cloak with provide additional concealment and the commoner clothing was softer and more comfortable than the royal white.  For a moment he could sigh with contentment as the worn weave brushed his skin and took some of the burden from his shoulders with an air of make-believe.  However, his eyes caught on hanging dress-robes which awaited his return as he opened the window and they fluttered in the breeze.  The festival was this evening and the queen was quite insistent that he’d accompany her into the city for the New Year.

“An hour,” he repeated as he crawled onto the window ledge.  His agile frame knew how to twist and balance on the narrow row of stone.  He’d done this before, although the occasions were becoming less frequent.  Not because the desire was less, but because his fear of discovery was greater.

Blue eyes glanced down.  The fall would kill him.  The castle was nestled in the clouds but the mist would not break his fall.  The world was far, far below.  He could remember what it looked like, even though it had been two years since he’d been home.

One step and you could end it.

The thought wasn’t the first.  He’d known despair, although these days it was less.  Suicide seemed the cowardly way out after all he’d been through.  For a moment his foot hovered in midair.   He lifted one arm leaving only two points of contact with the stone wall.  It was faith and not fear that pushed the second foot off the ledge.

We need inspiration and music....

--- making my thinking visible from my first song pick (Imagine Dragons, It's TIme), first off I really like the clapping in that song.  Good beat.  The second verse about heaven and hell seems to work with the potential of fighting and journey.  The title really works.

I also saw this interpretation on a website and thought it fit with the character: "It's about growing up and following your heart. Having to walk your own path and letting the people you love follow theirs without holding them back or letting them hold you back. Forgetting about school if it doesn't make sense. Forgetting about a crappy job. In the process of reaching for them we make the hero's journey, going out into the world, telling ourselves we haven't changed despite enormous growth. As time goes on though the relationships begin to break down slowly, each person has grown beyond the place they started"

I'd love for this RP to explore how time changes people, and how they remain the same.

I'm loving the contrast so far - light/dark.  Youth/experience. The trapped, the exiled, the left behind.
***

On another topic I sent Q a couple of ideas on where to start.  Pach's last thought about the hospital might be a good one.  You could see Krystal and wander out.  Pach could have been mentoring you/keeping an eye on you.  Gives a couple links in any case.

I probably will post again tonight because basically I woke up and wrote it...please, please don't feel rushed.

He was supposed to carry his bride across the threshold.  That’s how it worked in story books.  Cane stood alone in front of the small home he’d built on Perceval’s land and wondered where the fairy tale ending was.  There had been a wedding, yes.  Not even Ariel managed to derail the small gathering of friends and family in Kitting.  Enid’s bar had served as their venue and the King performed the ceremony.  God had to look on from a distance because the church thing really hadn’t worked out.

Cane shivered.  He didn’t want to think about churches now, and the odd occurrence two weeks ago.  He’d learned his lesson again, that he should have more faith in Desiree – but sometimes…he worried, that was all.  They’d managed to avoid whatever plot was planned and Kayla the gypsy even told Cane that his troubles were ‘over the horizon’.  The thick engraved gold band on his finger should be proof. He just hoped Kayla didn’t mean his troubles would also rise with the sun.

Indeed, there was trouble of a sort.  Desiree and Cane returned from their honeymoon only to find things in New Carthage in disarray.  The captain of the guard was required to meet with the king and set things in  order, so Cane took his horse and rode on alone.  She’d promised she’d come.  It was growing dark now.  He’d stayed outside the house for hours, not wanting to break tradition, but as the final minutes of twilight passed Cane felt that familiar flicker of loneliness.

Buck was in the barn.  The horse had been treated well in his absence but he often felt the animal was the only family he had.  His mother certainly didn’t claim the role.  Cane put his hands in his pockets and walked away from the cottage on towards the one grave stone on the property.  Perceval hadn’t been much of a father, denying his role in giving Cane life up until the end.  His death was one of those moments Cane wished he’d been conscious for, if only to prevent it and then give him a piece of his mind.

Another sigh as the wind pulled at the brown tunic he wore.  It ruffled his hair in a gesture that Cane might imagine affectionate.

“Well, old man,” Cane said to the gathering dark.  “Looks like it’s just you and me.”

He didn’t expect an answer.  Not all the dead stayed dead in New Carthage, but Perceval hadn’t reappeared since his murder.  The silence stretched and clung.  Cane sighed again, wondering what he’d really expected. 

He turned to go back to the house, but something shiny on the course earth caught his eyes.  He knelt down to see what it was, letting his hands run over the ground.  Loose pebbles ran through his fingers and pinged against the trio of rings on his hand. The flicker didn’t appear again, but the feel of the earth was different. 

Someone dug up the grave.

Feel free to use this thread to discuss upcoming movies - or movies you just discovered and wished you'd seen in the theater.

I'll go first.  While listening to some of our epic playlists, this trailer popped up.  I had no idea this was coming, and while Frankenstein was the Dr. not the monster, it still looks pretty cool.

I, Frankenstein

I love the cape-wings thing in the opening scene.  I definitely need that accessory....and a character that can wear it.

Two paper sacks of groceries in hand, Reed Beaumont walked towards the elevator in the Royal Astaire Apartment building.  He’d been to the market and the handle of one bag had split on his way back.  Now he juggled the broken bag under one arm while he fumbled for the button that would call the old elevator to carry him to the 5th floor.  Normally he’d take the stairs.  A believer in efficiency, Reed knew the stairs were often faster, even if the marble steps were scuffed and the contained hall a bit musty.  Like most old buildings the elevator didn’t always work.  Reed tapped his foot at the delay as the light on the wall indicated the elevator was descending slowly 6,5,4,3.

Hum…  The pause of the elevator on the third floor did not go unnoticed.  Reed shifted the grocery bag with its  routine assortment of canned goods of food he could actually cook (chili, tuna, soup) and pushed the button again.  No one lived on the third floor to his knowledge.  The reason unknown and one he didn’t care to contemplate as he waited for the steel cage to complete the random stop.

Finally, with a ding the elevator doors opened.  Once inside, he leaned forward to awkwardly push the button for the fifth floor and waited for the doors to close behind him.  Indeed, they started to shut, only to retract at the presence of a small dog that wandered across the threshold.  The Pomeranian was well groomed and off leash, it's jeweled collar serving no purpose other than to display status.  Reed shifted his weight from foot to foot as he awaited the arrival of the owner.  The dog stared up at the tall man with the windblown blond hair and blue eyes.  Reed couldn’t help sticking his tongue out at the dog.  He really didn’t like that animal.

{next poster owns a dog}

This will be the place for anyone to post - desiring "hug" as per the title.

I'll go first.   Next poster, please hug me and tell me how wonderful I am.

(I might later retitle this 'random compliment of the day' - will see if the hugs are high quality first)   Bottom line though I've suffered some trama around the death of a character and I'm still shaking.  *eats cake*

Why do they call it a wake?

Reed Blackwood looked at the people who crowded the house, most family, all friends and wondered why they were here.  Jessie was dead.  His older brother wouldn’t be waking anytime soon, and no one should see his body, mutilated as it was.  There was nothing here to celebrate even though someone played hymns in the living room while others swapped plates of food and drank tea.

People were smiling.  That bothered him most of all. Death was tragic and not the joyous passing into another life that the preacher claimed.  If the scriptures were right, Jessie now lived in hell and suffered while his killer roamed free, ready to strike again.  Reed looked out the window, half expecting Bobbie Blackwood to crawl up the driveway and finished what he started.  Since the gravel drive was empty, that meant Reed would need to go look for him.

Fifteen minutes.

No one would believe it, so Reed hadn’t shared what he’d seen in his nightmare, what he suspected his cousin Dolly saw three nights ago when she found Jessie.  The story was type you might read on the back of a glossy paper back:  Bobbie Blackwood went out one night hunting a demon, and disappeared, only now it seemed that he decided to hunt his own. All Reed’s training hadn’t prepared him for the possibility of possession and revenge, but Reed figured he’d find a way to be up for the challenge.  It wasn’t like he needed to grow-up, he’d finished school and held a job, even made a decent living riding rodeo which allowed him to see more than the backwoods or tiny town where he’d grown up.  It wasn’t like he was needed here.  His mom was more than capable to deal with the younger siblings and the farm; she had more family than Reed cared to count.  Although…

Not for the first time he glanced at his watch, the movement subtle as he set the food on the table for all the guests. From here he could see his Chevy pickup out the window, washed and parked at the end of the drive. Escape, yes, but he wasn’t going home.

Ten minutes.