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World’s End | For Our Country’s Good
Marylise smiled when he spoke of his security system. In truth, it was probably a nearly impenetrable network of spells. If Ralph hadn’t set them himself, she wondered if he could’ve gotten to her chambers at all. She stood close to Ralph, looping an arm in his and looking up at him expectantly. She’d never teleported before, and she was intrigued and excited by the prospect. She tried to reel the latter of the two emotions in, not wanting to look like giddy little girl, but it showed in her eyes. She closed her eyes, only peeking briefly after his hand had passed over them, She was going to say something, perhaps ask him exactly how many times he’d given that little speech, but suddenly he was closer, right up against her. She pulled in a breath from surprise, just as Ralph told her to breathe in. And then suddenly she could feel the cool mist of London rain. She opened her eyes, looking around. It was truly amazing, and she beamed up at Ralph. “Oh, Ralph,” she laughed. “How splendid! To close your eyes in one place and open them in another.” Her hand went to rest on her cheek as she took in the sight of the plane. This was really happening. So odd that it felt like a beautiful dream instead. She’d been on planes before. Often, in fact, but she couldn’t help but smile. This wasn’t some red-eye flight to help mitigate a dispute in Germany. This was an actual leisure trip. A real vacation. “I really cannot thank you enough, Ralph,” she said genuinely, putting a hand on the back of his neck. Impulsively, she pulled him close and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before ascending the stairs that lead into the plane. It was luxurious, as tidy and lush as her own jet. Only this one had the wonderful bonus of not being occupied by royal guards. Marylise set her bag down in one of the empty luggage compartments before picking a seat by the window. There wasn’t much of a view yet, just a dark and rainy tarmac, but she was still grinning from ear to ear. She briefly wondered who was flying the plane. Her mind went to Kasaar, who was never terribly far from Ralph. She quite liked Kasaar. He was a good man, and funny too, and though she knew it was none of her business, it made her happy to think that he was there to watch out for Ralph. Marylise turned when she heard Ralph board the plane. “Ralph, I do hope you’ll forgive me if I fall asleep,” she said, resting her chin on her hand. “I’m so excited now, but it’s quite a long flight to Fiji, and I fear that I will in all likelihood drop out at some point.” |
05/19-13
(7) |
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World’s End | Fancy Meeting You Here
“Don’t worry about it, Henri,” Landry said flatly, hands going to her hips. She was trying very hard not to get too snippy, considering the fact that Henri had saved her life, but it was hard. He was just so… Smug? Arrogant? She wasn’t sure of the exact word that she was looking for, but really the thing that aggravated her the most about Henri Masson was the fact that he was obviously capable of more. He could be funny and honest and a joy to be around, but for some stupid reason he just blundered on like he thought that people wanted him to act like a horse’s ass. Okay, she thought to herself, maybe she was being a bit harsh. But Henri had a way of getting under her skin. “It’s just been a very long day,” she muttered. She pushed a sigh from her lungs, letting her hands drop to her side. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t lose my temper like that. It’s not like you would understand if I explained.” She hadn’t meant anything by that last comment, certainly not anything insulting. But it was hard for her to articulate without sounding like a naive little child. The last thing she needed was for Henri to tease her for believing in true love and marriage and… “But I really am exhausted, so I will go to bed,” she said. “I’ll be just down the hall if you need me for anything.” And with that she started towards the hall that lead to the bedrooms. A part of her felt guilty. She should’ve stayed up with Henri so she could keep an eye on his shoulder. But she was fairly certain that arguing with him any further would cause her to snap, and that would be regrettable. “You can stay up if you want,” she added, pausing and looking back over her shoulder. “But we’ll have to get up early. I’d prefer it if we were gone by the time Carston gets back.” The bodyguard would never say anything about seeing Henri Masson in his apartment, but Landry still felt it would be awkward. |
05/19-13
(38) |
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World’s End | The party don’t start till I walk in
Bastian felt like he was under water. It tended to happen as he was shifting but it was usually over so quickly that he didn’t really notice. But now he felt submerged in his wolfside. It was still his body, his form, but the wolf’s thoughts were covering his own, wrapped around him. His wolfside was trying to shield him, but in this instance the immediate danger of being fangoriously attacked and or sexed to death was too overwhelming. He could hear whimpering, and it took him a moment to realize that it was coming from him. There was nothing human to the sound, just the humiliatingly frightened canine pleas. Drake pinned him, fangs out, the irises of his eyes like the thin cut of a stiletto, glaring down at him. He was speaking, but Bastian was only catching every other word. Language wasn’t the same when his wolfside took over. Tone was infinitely more important, facial expressions. Though Bastian really only understood his name and “follow” and “calm,” he knew what Drake was communicating. He had to calm down, stop fighting or Drake was going to make him stop. The human part of his mind understood completely, but the wolfside was still trying to get them to safety. Bastian felt himself trying to arch his back, buck his hips, anything to give him room to squirm away and run. But there was no real room to move, just enough that his hips rubbed against Drake’s. The added frustration wasn’t very helpful at all. Drake’s hips rolled down, and Bastian stilled, growling softly. His entire body was tense, unsure of whether or not Drake’s offer was just some kind of tease. But he remained still all the same. He had a feeling that Drake’s patience wouldn’t last much longer, and while he’d already made an entire mountain of stupid decisions, he had no intent of driving Drake to actually kill him. Not on purpose, anyway. He huffed out a little breath, trying to fo cus, the white eventually bleeding out of his irises, returning them to their normal, blue color. He bit down on his bottom lip, clearing his throat. He didn’t say anything, didn’t trust himself to, but he took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain as calm as possible. |
05/19-13
(58) |
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World’s End | Reconnaissance Mission I
They’d been out in the woods for almost an hour and a half, but there had been neither hide nor hair of the creatures. A few julachids from the nearby hive had skittered by, but they’d barely paid the hunters any mind. One of them had come up to Remy and seemed to sniff at him. It was almost like it recognized Remy from his full-moon excursions. Remy had knelt and put a hand on the creature’s head, muttering a greeting in French. The julachid had only lingered a few minutes longer before it was on its way again. Remy had just hoped that Jace didn’t think it was odd. But then again, Brie kept a julachid as a pet, and it didn’t seem out of place to anyone aside from Sheppard, who ran scared any time he saw the poor little one. Remy had been trained to hunt and kill monsters his whole life, and at first he’d had little compassion for the things they tracked down, but as time had gone on, he’d realized that he was one of them. After that, it had been only logical to extend basic courtesy to the creatures that didn’t mean any harm. And anyway, Remy was feeling especially calm today. He knew that he’d suggested the mission in the first place, and for the most part he was zero’d in on the job at hand, but there was a part of him that felt.. He didn’t know what the feeling was. But Jace had said that Remy was important to him, that he didn’t want the Frenchman to get hurt. It was like a soft, warm touch to his core, a soothing buzz that made Remy feel light. He kept finding himself glancing over at the Tuatha, wondering how much it would hurt when the day came that the other man realized that Remy was no better than the things they were hunting. He surprised himself with his answer. It would hurt more than anything had in a long time. Remy paused, taking out his canteen and drinking. They were very close to where he chained himself up during the full moon, and he was starting to notice the claw marks on the trees from where the Tasmanian devil had been. Jace would surely notice, and Remy was trying to think of a way to explain the scratches and cracked branches and paw prints in the dirt. They weren’t related to the creatures they were looking for, but he didn’t know how to dismiss them without explaining how he knew that. “Raclatimers,” he suddenly said. Jace had suggested names for the creatures when they’d first set out, but Remy hadn’t been sure how to respond, so he’d merely nodded, an almost-smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. But now seemed like a good time to actually discuss it. Jace seemed to be comfortable working in total silence, but Remy knew that they blonde was a very social person. He wanted to at least try for some light conversation. “Is jamy not what you would put on the toast?” |
05/19-13
(15) |
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Devil’s Trap | You Can’t Carry It With You
Cross could only imagine what was going through Jo’s mind. He knew what he would’ve asked in her shoes. How had it happened? Where had he gone after? Why’d he come back? How? So many hows and whys and wheres, it made his head spin in second-hand anxiety. He felt guilty. He’d been shocked to see her, and retrospectively, he wondered if he could have hidden it. He wasn’t sure that he could. It was one thing to lie on a job. It was for the greater good, and anyway on a job he typically was interviewing someone that wasn’t ever going to see him again. But Jo, whether she had all of her memories or not, was his friend. Cross had a pretty lousy poker face when it came to his friends. Especially friends that were looking at him like the sun would never come up again. Cross looked at Jo’s hand on his. She’d always had such dainty looking hands, but Cross knew that they were also highly capable. He hadn’t been on many hunts with her, but when he had she’d been a force to be reckoned with. Not as experienced, but with a natural sense of the job. She’d been shaping into a pro before the incident in Carthage. Had she lived, she would’ve become one of the best, he had no doubt about it. “It’s not weird,” he said gently, reaching out and putting his hand over hers. His hands practically swallowed hers, the softer pale tone of her skin notably different to his own, which were heavily marred by scars from cuts and burns and scrapes. Neither of his jobs were easy on his hands, he mused. He gave Jo’s hand a soft squeeze. “Like I said before, we were friends. As far as I’m concerned, we’re still friends, if you want to be. You’re welcome to stay here. La mia casa é la tua casa.“ With that he scooted over on the bed, throwing the covers back so that she could climb in and make herself comfortable. It occurred to him a moment later that he only had a pair of cotton sleep pants on. He smiled sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Do you need me to put a shirt on, bella donna? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” |
05/19-13
(33) |
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Devil’s Trap | I don’t think the warranty covers this
Elia didn’t do a lot of hunting anymore. Since the Apocalypse had broken out, she’d found herself quite preoccupied with the newfound duties of her life as a Trickster. Especially after Gabriel had disappeared. Died, she supposed, was the common consensus. That’s what the Winchesters had said, and there’d been a body and everything. Elia wasn’t really sure what to believe. It was a hard sell to paint her former mentor as a necessarily good person. He’d spent the past two millennia on earth causing trouble and killing people. There was a crooked sense of justice to it, if she squinted, but by and large, the Archangel Gabriel, also known as the Trickster God Loki, had done a metric crap ton of bad stuff. Even so, he’d also taken her in and trained her, showed her what she really was and all that she was capable of. He’d protected her, and in the end he’d decided to do the right thing. And now he was probably dead. Elia knew better, though. Where the supernatural was concerned, death was never a solid fact. And in her experience, angels had a way of cheating it. Well, actually, Castiel specifically had a way of cheating it, but she liked to think that somehow, someway, Gabriel was still running free. In the meantime, she had been left with a heaping plate of responsibility. She wasn’t in charge of the Tricksters. Not by a long shot. She was new to the ranks, and as far as power ranking went, she was definitely towards the bottom of the list. But she’d been Loki’s last apprentice, and as such had been sort of adopted into a small cluster of those that remained loyal to his ideal. Reynard the Fox had the best claim in the current war of succession, but so far he’d expressed very little interest in seizing command. And so factions had emerged, and things were starting to get out of hand. Elia spent a whole lot of time helping to make sure that things didn’t erupt into global conflict. The world had barely started to recover from one apocalypse; it hardly needed another. Every now and then, though, she found some spare time to help some of her hunter friends out. She was doing just that, as it happened. Sam and Dean had called her in to help locate some old thing that belonged to some old guy that would help break some old curse. Standard hunter stuff, basically. She hadn’t been able to locate what they needed until a stupid hour of the morning. The sun was starting to think about coming up, and there was just enough light out that Elia could see the outlines of the cars in the parking lot. Luckily, she thought to herself, the Impala was fairly distinctive. She stepped through the lot, envelope of instructions in one hand and scalding hot latte in the other. She could remember a time when the taste of coffee made her pull a face, but that was a distant and laughable memory now. She had just gotten to the Impala when she head the flutter of feathers behind her. Her first thought was that it Castiel, but there was a scent of perfume on the breeze. Her heel ground against the pavement as she turned in place. A woman with brown hair, elegantly dressed, stood a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest.
“Raven,” Elia gasped out, throwing herself to the ground just as a wave of magic flew over her. Ever since she’d began honing her powers, she could see the supposedly invisible blasts of magic. It wasn’t colorful fireworks or sparks of light. It was more like ripples in the air, like heat wafting off of the top of a car in July. Whatever Raven was trying to do had literally flown over Elia’s head. She had no idea why the other woman was there, or what she had up her sleeve. Most tricksters had some kind of specialty; Raven’s seemed to be making Elia’s life difficult. The younger trickster scrambled to her feet. By some miracle, if those even existed, she still had a hold of the envelope, and her latte had barely spilled. Elia decided to celebrate this by hurling the scalding beverage at Raven, sending the cup flying at her face. Predictably, the older trickster easily dodged the improvised Starbucks missile, but it freed up a hand, and in the time it took Raven to turn back, Elia had raised said hand, fingers poised to snap. Not every trickster had to snap to use their powers, but that’s how Elia had learned, something she’d gleaned from Loki. “Try something,” Elia challenged, ready to move if necessary. “Go ahead. One move, and I will call Reynard here.” Raven glared for a moment, but then her gaze shifted, looking over Elia’s shoulder. “Well, it’s not what I was hoping for, but I think that should keep you occupied for now,” she said, quirking an eyebrow. And with that she vanished. Elia blinked to adjust to the sudden absence. It was always a punch to the perception to see something disappear right in front of her eyes, no matter how many times she’d seen it happen. The coast now clear, her mind refocused, and she quickly turned back around. The Impala had been right behind her, and she fully expected to see poor Baby with her rear windshield blown out, or something similarly horrible that would result in Dean having a coronary. what she saw instead was a man lying on the ground. Had he been there the whole time? Elia could’ve sworn that the Impala was behind her, but maybe in all the confusion she’d seen it wrong. She knelt by the man, putting a hand on his shoulder. “H-hey, are you alright?” she asked, hoping that Raven hadn’t killed the poor guy. |
05/14-13
(1) |
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Crack | World’s End | A Little Shy And Sad Of Eye
Solo’s eyes darted to Riley’s, smiling as their fingers twined. He sat up along with Riley, tilting his head curiously. He was still pretty drunk,but he understood what Riley was getting at. It would seem a bit odd to learn how sex worked as he was having sex. And the last thing he wanted was to make things odd with Riley. He leaned back against the hand on his neck and sighed contentedly. “That’s okay,” he said, nodding a little. He moved so that he wasn’t on top of Riley, instead sitting next to him on the bed. He put a hand hand on the other man’s shoulder, nudging him a little so that he would lie down, waiting a minute before falling back on the mattress himself. He curled up next to Riley, stifling a yawn and resting his head to his friend’s shoulder. “I like this a lot,” he said softly. He wrapped his arms around Riley, hugging him gently. “This whole cuddling-sleeping thing. It’s like hugging, but lying down.” A moment of quiet lapsed over them, which Solo promptly broke with a drunken giggle. “So is there like a pamphlet on this stuff?” he asked. “Or is it like one of those slideshow thingies?” He pictured Riley giving a lecture, using a stick to point at charts and diagrams. In his head, the other man had thick-rimmed glasses and an endearing ugly sweater vest. It was so very unRiley that it only made Solo laugh harder. |
05/11-13
(93) |
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World’s End | Reconnaissance Mission I
Remy nodded in agreement as he followed Jace out into the hallway. They would have to at least stay within shouting range, though truth be told Remy intended to remain closer than that. It was unsettling to him, how quickly and quietly the unknown creatures moved. They were almost assuredly predators, and Remy had no doubt in his mind that they were lethal. “I concur,” he said. “It would in fact make me more comfortable if we didn’t leave each other’s sight. The speed of these creatures is disturbing, and I do not wish to endanger you. I have put you at enough risk asking you to come along. I would not risk your safety any further.” Jace was a very capable hunter, and Remy didn’t doubt him. But he couldn’t fathom what he would do if the blonde got hurt all because he agreed to follow Remy into the woods. “I hope that this is not offensive,” he added a moment later, squinting as he peeked into the living room. He half expected Sheppard to lower himself from the ceiling and ask where they were going. It would have been a humorous mental image if it weren’t actually a regular occurrence. “I do not wish to imply that I think you need looking after. You are one of the most presents hunters I have ever seen. I just…” He furrowed his brow and tried to think about how to phrase what he wanted to say. “You are very essential to me,” he said, knowing that that wasn’t exactly the right word. But he felt it would communicate the message effectively enough. Jace was one of the closest people to him; he would be devastated if any harm came to the other man. “If we are attacked in the woods, and if you were to get hurt, then it would be my fault. I do not want that.” He moved through the living room, taking Jace’s hand in his as he went. He’d intended it as a mere signal so they would move together, but his hand remained on Jace’s as they walked through the common area. He glanced at them, noting how much contrast there was between their skin tones. For all the time they spent out in the wild, Jace’s skin had a bronze tone to it. Remy, for his part, couldn’t seem to tan for the life of him. The paleness of his own skin seemed to jump out when butted up against Jace’s. As they came to the side door, Remy lifted his gaze to meet Jace’s eyes. “Are you sure you wish to accompany me? It will be very danger.” |
05/11-13
(15) |
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World’s End | Angel In The Centerfold
Gideon laughed at the thought of him being a secret agent. Sure he was mighty light on his feet, but most gadgets confused him something fierce. Plus he couldn’t drive a car or talk to ladies like the spies in movies could. And he was an awful liar. His brother had tried to teach him how to play poker once or twice, but the concept of a poker face was just beyond his means, and when he tried to bluff, he just couldn’t. Maybe it was just guilt. His mama, after all, had raised him to be a good, honest sort. But any time that he tried to lie, there was a tight feeling in his throat, and his tongue felt like lead in his mouth. He didn’t like it either way. “I know it’s silly of me,” he said, stuffing the final towel into the laundry basket. “I just get so nervous around him. I mean, he’s a big ol’ fella, and I don’t know if I’d make it if I got tossed out of a window.” He lowered his voice at the last part, as if paranoid that someone would overhear. Shep had told him in his letters that Ethan didn’t like people talking about his adventures in defenestration. He looked into the room again, following her gaze. He could see the tear in the suit from the doorway. It was long, but it didn’t look too complicated to fix. In addition to sneaking, he also happened to be pretty handy with a needle and thread. It had been the segue into his CO at the academy recommending him to medical training. “Actually I can sew,” he said, smiling at Layla. “That doesn’t look too bad. I could fix that for you real quick like.” He paused to laugh at himself good-naturedly. “Have no fear, Miss Layla. The Quilting Ninja is on the case.” And with he walked over to the suit, inspecting the tear up close. “Do you have a sewing kit?” |
05/11-13
(10) |
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Devil’s Trap | You Can’t Carry It With You
Cross sat in patient silence, letting Jo talk through her thoughts. It was his experience that sometimes the most helpful thing a person could do was just to listen, especially when they were trying to help someone who’d been through some kind of trauma. He’d heard through the grapevine that at some point down the line, after Jo and Ellen had died, Dean and Sam had died and seen heaven. A friend there had told them that the Harvelles hadn’t passed through the pearly gates. That left only a few other alternatives, and Cross’s very Catholic upbringing had led him to believe that said alternatives were wholly unpleasant. Even if they had been in heaven all along, the actual experience of dying couldn’t have been easy and definitely counted as a trauma. He nodded when she looked at him, though he was fairly certain that the question was rhetorical. As he listened to her, he could feel the inevitability of her oncoming question settle in the room like a fog. He would tell her the truth, of course, but he’d been hoping that he wouldn’t have to be the one to break the bad news to her. It was selfish of him, he knew. Nothing about this situation was truly a matter of what made him uncomfortable. It was all about helping Jo. He moved on the bed so that he was sitting next to her, far enough away to give her space, but close enough that if she wanted or needed a hug, he could quickly oblige. “Bella donna,” he started gently. He faltered. How exactly was he supposed to say this? Somehow, ‘yup, you were dead as a doornail’ didn’t seem to cut it. He took in a breath. “I wish that there was some way I could make this all easier. I’m so sorry.” It was easier with Elia, he thought. With Elia he knew that he could wrap an arm around her and hold her to his chest. He knew that he could pet her hair and tell her that everything was going to be alright, even though they both knew that he had no way of knowing. But with Jo he wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable in any way. With a small sigh, he finally nodded. “Yes,” he confirmed. “You were.” |
05/11-13
(33) |
