gorysortofstory | Open Post the Sequel

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!open post

Open Post the Sequel

how to play.

1. Drop a comment with one or more of your muses. It can be empty if you want me to make a scenario, or you can toss one at me. If you want to just give me a prompt (a word, song, lyric, picture, phrase, anything), I can riff off that too.
2. In the subject line, you can specify any of my muses you might want to play with, or you can ask me to pick someone.
3. just rp with me. if something jives really well, maybe we can continue it in another one of these later, sort of like a super casual verse. if it doesn't, it doesn't.

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Repartee is something we think of twenty-four hours too late. -- Mark Twain

Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive. -- Shakespeare

Don't go around saying the world owes you a living. The world owes you nothing. It was here first. -- Mark Twain

You mentioned your name as if I should recognize it, but beyond the obvious facts that you are a bachelor, a solicitor, a freemason, and an asthmatic, I know nothing whatever about you. -- Sherlock Holmes, "The Norwood Builder"

Four be the things I am wiser to know:
Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a foe.
Four be the things I'd been better without:
Love, curiosity, freckles, and doubt.
Three be the things I shall never attain:
Envy, content, and sufficient champagne.

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Elijah has decided that he doesn't like Beacon Hills. Last night was a full moon and he ran into a werewolf or two - which normally for Elijah is no big deal, he can rip out werewolf hearts in his sleep - but of course this one annoying mutt managed to nip his arm before he despatched it.

So now he's suffering the effects of a werewolf bite. It won't kill him. But he is dizzy, sick, and he can't remember where the cabin is. Instead he's wandering through the woods in broad daylight, hallucinating things that aren't there.

Ladies and gentlemen, the Original vampire.

in which rebekah and aidan are engaged and he adores her to bits. he can't really munch on food because it tastes gross, but when she cooks for him, he eats anyways:

and when klaus visits and rebekah's screaming at him, and aidan attempts to butt in, he'll fail at first:

so he sits in the kitchen going:

but worry not! soon enough, he'd tell klaus to go away. he'd pull his scary face:

no. really. see:

bye bye, klaus:

and that's their life so far.

p/s:

It's not really anything he said or anything he did,
It was the feeling that came along with it.
And the crazy thing is I don't know if I'm ever gonna feel that way again.
But I don't know if I should.
I knew his world moved too fast and burned too bright.

Something went wrong. There were dozens of possibilities, a number of ways this could've gone — and while he envisioned himself back at the start in some of them, it wasn't back at the literal start. Not there in the hotel, standing with his hand on the hilt of his favorite sword, as if about to pull it from it's resting place inside the weapons cabinet in the lobby. And it took him a moment to adjust to the setting, to see the hotel as it was in it's prime, and not crumbling beneath the weight of the damage that had been done to it since Los Angeles was cast out of the mortal plane into one that was much darker, and truly governed by those opposite the Powers That Be.

Had Wolfram & Hart sent him back here as some sort of punishment for his defiance, for his constant faith in the people who dared to stand up with him against them? Was this their way of pushing him towards that grim, bleak, supposed definite future of his? Or was this something else entirely, something he was being given because he kept trying and defying, a gift from those who opposed the Senior Partners? It was both sad and practical of him to doubt that possibility, to not think that a reset meant a even more of a rewind than he intended, for he'd been taken back to happier times, just before it all started to go wrong instead of before LA fell.

Wes and Gunn breeze by him without so much as a word or a second glance towards him and his statue-like position before the weapons display. Wes isn't a ghost, and Gunn's not a vampire; they're getting along, talking shop, and heading out to take care of business he's unable to tag along on.

Or so he thinks.

And because he's a doubter, because he has to challenge and defy everything, Angel waits a few minutes, then follows suit. The sword is left behind, and the door to the bright, sunlit outside is drawn open. Angel steps out, expecting to fry—

But it doesn't happen. His skin doesn't tingle, isn't set ablaze. Instead, he only feels the warmth of the sun on his somehow still human skin.

The batarang that catches the criminal's shirt is not among those that are usually left embedded in the wall, and the hand the pries it free certainly doesn't belong to Gotham's famed caped crusader. He doesn't have his suit, but that doesn't make him any less capable. (Okay, so it makes him slightly less capable, but a backpack full of gizmos and gadgets he wasn't supposed to have stuffed with gizmos and gadgets, especially with the intent of hauling it all to school does a guy a world of good.) This kid has yet to be born to this city, but one day, he's going to do a lot for it.

—when he's not sliding across freshly mopped floors ("Crap, crap, crap, crap—!") and into the nearest wall as the criminals he was in pursuit of make a hasty getaway.

"Aw, man."

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surprise me for all of them

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