Locked in Time (Peregrine x Shizuochan)

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
Original poster
SECURITY DEPARTMENT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
“We’re getting close to last call, gents.” The bartender smiled at the two people seated at the end of the bar, before gesturing towards the tap. “One more glass?”

Destiny Harmon sighed, clasping her fingers around the nearly-empty glass in front of her, before tossing her head to the side to move some of her curls off of her forehead. A moment later, and she was all smiles again.

“Bottoms up!” she proclaimed, lifting the glass in a half-cheer towards the man who was sitting next to her. A moment later and she brought the glass up to her mouth, tipping the last of it back in one quick swallow. She followed up the motion with a nod in the direction of the barkeeper, who promptly brought over another glass.

This was the first time Des had gone out drinking in over a month, and she was way over her tolerance level. She wasn’t a lightweight, the woman was too much muscle for that, but three drinks would leave her slightly over buzzed. This evening, though, it hadn’t taken much for her to slip over the edge. She’d just downed her fifth glass, and was already a couple swigs into her sixth. Only the bean burger and giant basket of fries she’d consumed an hour ago kept the room from spinning around her, and her arms carefully under her own control.

It wasn’t normal for the woman to consume this much drink, but as far as she was concerned, she’d more than earned it. Des and her partner Jean-Paul were both homicide detectives, and tonight marked the successful conclusion of a case of a murdered woman, killed by her husband in a jealous fit of rage. For the first time in over two weeks, they wouldn’t be working overtime, and they’d been given the rest of the weekend off to enjoy themselves. For Des, at least, enjoying herself this evening happened to include a few too many glasses of beer.

She turned to look at her partner, offering a slightly crooked smile. “Another for you, fom?” she asked, wiggling the glass around in her hands, causing a few droplets of the amber liquid to slop over the sides. “One more in celebration?”

She turned to her own glass after that, taking another couple of gulps, swishing the liquid around over her tongue. The clock continued to tick onwards, and soon enough Des’ glass was once more empty. She glanced at the bartender again, shaking her glass back and forth. He shook his head instead, gestuing towards the clock. Des sighed, setting down her glass once more, before looking over at JP.

“Whaddayay say, Jay Pay,” she intoned in a sing-song voice, the slur in her words far more intentional than any side effect of inebriation. “Time to call it a night? Or shall we head off to some moonlit park, like the conquering champions that we are?”
 

Aero Blue

he hears his master's voice
Posting Speed
One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
5-11 EST weekdays, anytime weekends.
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks, Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Androgynous, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Switches have more fun
Favorite Genres
Superhero, urban fantasy, space opera, crime thriller, supernatural
“Angela James is a conquering champion,” Jean-Paul Seri spoke, even in celebration, with the vague lilt of lethargy, “You and I, Des, are more like the Raptors; we celebrate making the Finals and then… suddenly everything’s all same old.”

“Didn’t make the finals though, did they?”

JP snorted at the bartender’s input and took to shrugging, refocusing his attentions on the picturesque bed of foam atop his glass. His hand, of calluses and nails trimmed unevenly, reached for the beverage before diverting and diving into a small wicker serving basket instead; fried mushrooms that had been around since about the fifteenth minute of their stay, their batter-shell now softened and ruined. Jean-Paul would take his sweet time finishing up, he decided, teach the bartender a lesson (of questionable value) about ruining someone’s sports analogy.

But then, it was really more about lethargy again, some excuse to remain still for the moment. Spite was reserved for people other than reasonably well-mannered bartenders. In any case, Jean-Paul quickly realized, pushing the basket further away, that the fried somethings were hardly salvageable.

“Well shit, Des, a little late, and not late enough for me. Maria’ll have my balls if she catches a whiff of this stuff.” he lamented, nodding at the last beer, stare lingering as if he expected the foamy film to inexplicably slip free from atop the glass.

Soon enough, ‘this stuff’ found itself hurtling down Jean-Paul’s throat, the detective mercifully deciding to let the bartender off the hook. His thick torso stretched uncomfortably at the edges of his shirt as he drank like a olden-day warrior might have, pressing upon the fabric and applying a thin, new sheen of perspiration. In recent years his athletic form had diminished, formerly hardened flesh repurposed for entering the burgeoning stages of newly, but perceptibly, overweight. Complacent meat that spread itself across the confines of a broad frame, creating the simple illusion of fitness.

He slammed the glass, depleted, down.

“So: park it is. First, hole-in-the-wall just down the ways. Found out that old couple don’t just play mahjong until four in the morn’; make dumplings too. Gotta stink the booze over with chive. And you can still pick up a thing or two about how I manage my inconstant sobriety, case it gets you too.”
 
Last edited:

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
Original poster
SECURITY DEPARTMENT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
“What you on about now?” Des tilted her head to the side, giving JP an entirely bemused look even as she laughed slightly. Despite her apparent confusion, that didn’t stop her hands from fishing around in her jacket, fumbling out a wallet, and ultimately dropping a few twenties on the table. That should be more than enough to cover the cost of their drinks and snacks, and she couldn’t be bothered to collect proper change at the moment and leaving whatever was over as a tip for the bartender. She’d been working more than enough overtime on this last case to pay for the slop.

It took her a couple of tries to shove her wallet back into her pocket. It was a very good thing she’d planned to take the subway home tonight. “Fine, Romeo. Let’s go get you that cilantro, so that Maria doesn’t make you my next case.”

She shoved the bar stool back under the counter with one foot, nearly tipping the thing over in the process, before waving a somewhat awkward and apologetic farewell to the bartender. They hadn’t been bad customers by any stretch of a tavern’s figuring, but Des wasn’t fond of making messes, and that included nearly making messes. Which she’d done more than once tonight. She assumed the twenties would make up for it, assuming they hadn’t landed in some puddle of beer or grease.

It was a relatively warm night, and slightly polluted city air rushed into the bar when Des pushed the door open. She held it open for JP, making sure he had more than enough time to get through, and she wouldn’t accidentally end up closing it on him. The sound of muffled traffic noise drifted through the air, and in the distance Des thought she could make out the sound of a siren. Someone was still on the job. She was lucky enough that she’d never been assigned night work when she was still new enough on the job to be doing general patrol work, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t worked her fair share of nights. Crime never slept, as they said, and there were more nights than she could count off the top of her head when she’d been woken up by the sound of her phone ringing and who knew what ungodly hour, ushering her off to some crime scene or another.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, she’d be able to sleep in as late as she wanted. They’d been promised the whole weekend off, and the boss wouldn’t be quick to break such a promise.

She finally allowed the door to swing closed, before turning around and glancing up and down the street. “Which was we going again?” she finally asked, a few moments later, when she realized there were more than enough hole-in-the-wall shops within eyesight that she would be far more likely to walk in the wrong direction than the right one.
 

Aero Blue

he hears his master's voice
Posting Speed
One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
5-11 EST weekdays, anytime weekends.
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks, Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Androgynous, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Switches have more fun
Favorite Genres
Superhero, urban fantasy, space opera, crime thriller, supernatural
“That… ‘sa good question.”

JP stared, almost cross-eyed, out into the expanse of tucked away establishments. A frown slowly formed on his blush visage, the mahjong-playing couple having eluded his sights. He trudged onward with palpable sloth, form slouched and step heavy. The drink slowed his step, although by only a smidgeon; on the streets, JP had always carried himself at leisurely, almost lazy, pace. His father would often, after a long day at work, stand still for long moments in the comfort of his own living room, simply to muse, reflect, rest. For JP, this was much the same, except he was, even in his stupor, searching for something.

A badly obfuscated notice of some sort barely adhered to a glass door, its written contents scrawled over in parts; a failed food service inspection, dated some time ago.

JP opened the door, greeted by bell-tune, and this time held it for Des. The slight stench of pollutant co-mingled all at once with the medicinal scent of herbs, and the - as far as JP was concerned - vaguely obscene stench of chive. An elderly man sat in the innermost corner, fan swaying in hand, face utterly still and unreactive. The old lady proprietor’s wrinkles smoothed over, pulled taut in an expression approaching surprise - a common occurrence whenever the establishment found itself a visitor. Bundles of minor, vivid details, enough to bring about all the good, warm feelings of familiarity, and none of its ills.

He found himself wondering if he could stay hereabouts for hours more. Wondering If he was really so taken by the place and its charms, or if was the thought of home frightening him. JP had agreed readily enough to the prospect of living with Maria even after divorce, citing the cost of living and relocation. It may have even been his idea. Not his brightest moment, in retrospect.

“You know, it’s funny.” JP suppressed a belch as he spoke, rendering his first few words almost a groan, “If Maria did kill me, maybe all sneaky-like, poison and all, I’d never get to solve the case of my own murder. Be a damn shame, really.”

He had the self-awareness to recognize the morbidity in his statements (perhaps even by homicide detective standards), but not the cognition to course-correct with his next, “If a special someone were to murder you, how do you think they’d do it, Des?”
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
Original poster
SECURITY DEPARTMENT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
Des followed along a couple of steps behind JP, his lethargic movement countered almost perfectly by her quick step. Many people still considered the two and odd pair, JP's frequent laziness standing in direct contrast to Des' lithe, muscled form and near single-minded focus, but somehow they had become fast friends and reliable partners. Their energy seemed to balance off of each other, settling into something comfortable, rather than getting on each other's nerves.

That's why Des was completely comfortable to simply follow JP around wherever he might be leading her. She didn't really have much attachment to the idea of dumplings, but she also didn't have any attachment to going anywhere or doing anything in particular, other than the fact that she wasn't ready to go home yet. If they ended up wandering around downtown looking for dumplings that didn't actually exist, so be it.

"You actually found it."

Des didn't mean to sound so surprised. Somehow, though, she'd convinced herself that they really were going to be wandering for the rest of the evening. She shook her head slightly, following JP through the door. Frankly, the place didn't smell all that good to her. She'd been an on-again off-again vegan for the past three years now, and the entire building reeked of grease and cheap chicken. She decided this was probably going to be a perfect moment to claim veganism as a reason not to eat, even if JP would likely ridicule her for her inconsistency.

"I think you'd be far more likely to get poisoned here, frankly." Des responded, bumping JP's shoulder with her own. "Are you sure you want to eat this stuff?" All the same, she considered his question with a surprising amount of seriousness. The morbidity of it obviously didn't bother her, either. How would Alvaro kill her?

"Baseball bat," Des eventually decided, as they approached the old woman. She stared at them vacantly, still apparently not convinced about what they were here for. "I'd probably end up dying in the hospital." Judging by their conversation, perhaps that wasn't unreasonable.
 

Aero Blue

he hears his master's voice
Posting Speed
One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
5-11 EST weekdays, anytime weekends.
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks, Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Androgynous, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Switches have more fun
Favorite Genres
Superhero, urban fantasy, space opera, crime thriller, supernatural
“It’s true,” JP said lazily nodding, his body swaying as Des bumped his shoulder, “Don’t think I ever made it out of here without some bad indigestion. But then, I managed to grow up near Downtown Chinatown with a fucking shameful happy-meal palate, so I consider it my penance.”

The old lady’s stare bounced subtly between the two detectives, keen for one of the weirdos to address her. JP clambered forth towards the counter, as if in acquiescence, only to rest his elbow next to the golden dragon’s face on the ceramic vase. His attentions remained firmly stuck to Des, the primary objective of dumpling-acquisition being buried further and further by her every word.

“You’d get Robbie Alomar’d huh?” JP mused. He attempted to pantomime a bat in full-swing with his arm, his sluggish motions more akin to a drunken ballerina with nerve damage. “Now, if we were doing this like a thought exercise, that’s not nearly enough of the details, you know.”

He beamed, and all of a sudden the effervescent pace of his words, and his restrained, sedated nature of his gesticulations had formed a strange discontinuity, “You make it to the hospital, which means he probably doesn’t pulp your head. Which, you know, is thoughtful - by murderer standards.

Does he even go for the head? Probably all over the body, broken bones and internal bleeding, right? Pretty obviously more a crime of passion than anything premeditated. Each blow ends up being like a catharsis right, venting out all that…”

He stopped, all of a sudden mindful of his words. “Hrm, ah…”

For a moment, some brief unknowing surprise flashes in his eyes, as he - seemingly for the first time - notices the establishment’s patron, before turning back to Des, “Right, dumplings. Now you ask me something dumb while I order.”
 
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Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
Original poster
SECURITY DEPARTMENT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
"If this is a thought exercise," Des repeated, "I think 'maybe sneaky-like with poison' is even worse. You weren't even definite!" Her words were as much a distraction from JP's brutal description, as anything. It kept a shiver from racing up her spine. The words seemed a bit too close for comfort, now that she thought about it, especially since she'd set up a meeting with Alvaro tomorrow mid-afternoon to get the last of her stuff from him. They'd had their share of fights, like any couple, but they were both stubborn and hard-headed. That made the fights that much more aggressive, to the point that they both often felt like breaking things before they ran out of steam.

Des and Alvaro had met at a motorcycle rally, when she'd volunteered to help with the road closures in Toronto for a long-distance race from Sault Ste Marie to Lake Ontario. Marcus had been one of the racers, and while he hadn't won, hadn't even come close to placing, something about the profile of his sharp nose and wavy black hair as he took off his helmet at the end of the race had caught Des' attention. She'd taken him out for dinner that night, and they'd been officially dating less than a week later.

But Alvaro was a high strung man, living off the sharp edge of adrenaline, always on the edge of snapping. He practically oozed thrill, in everything he did, and for many months he'd made Des feel alive. But then she'd come down off that high, and the fights had begun. The worst fight had come when, one afternoon, Des had suddenly realized that Alvaro would crash one day, and that fear would break her heart like his crashes would shatter the bones in his body. Even then, she'd known that Alvaro wouldn't leave racing for her, but love made her try. Alvaro had punched through a window that night, and had to go to the hospital to get stitches up his arm.

The only reason Des knew he wouldn't run over her with his bike was because he probably treasured the machine more than he did her. Then again, if she really thought he was going to hurt her, she wouldn't be going to meet him. But if Alvaro ever did get it in his head to kill her, it wouldn't be a peaceful death.

Rubbing the side of her face in an attempt to physically scrub away these thoughts, Des almost imitated JP's noise of uncertainty as his words passed right over her. "Eh?" It took her a couple of blinks to dredge up what JP just said from her memory. "Something... dumb?"

Well, that she could probably do. Des didn't pay much attention to what she was saying, letting the alcohol string her words together for her, until something almost comprehensible ordered itself in her mind. "Hey, JP," she said, tapping him slightly as though she had something important to say. "Do you order your socks alphabetically?"
 
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Aero Blue

he hears his master's voice
Posting Speed
One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
5-11 EST weekdays, anytime weekends.
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks, Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Androgynous, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Switches have more fun
Favorite Genres
Superhero, urban fantasy, space opera, crime thriller, supernatural
Ordering from the matriarch of dumplings was a typical, perfunctory affair. The old lady was like many of the outsider denizens of the multi-ethnic metropolis, old-timers from a bygone age too weathered to congeal into the melting pot; she was of a breed that could barely utter a word of English, yet was still possessed of a prodigious, intrinsic understanding of the language. JP’s drunken mumblings of “Potstickers, chive and pork” and the nonchalant waving of a ten-dollar bill were all she needed, and so she had set to motion, creaking body attending to kitchen appliances like some gastronomic warrior.

“Do I…” JP fumbled with the words in his mouth, perhaps re-arranging them in various permutations to derive some sort of other meaning, “What, Des? Why would I… well, no. No I don’t. I don’t… think so. What does that even mean?”

It was in JP’s nature to think and speak in overwrought, convoluted ways that belied his usual lethargic tendencies. And so he set about, delving into the fine mechanics of the question at hand, “Alphabetically, like, the name of the material? Nylon, polyester, cotton, wool, spandex? Or…”

Some potential revelation, epiphany struck him aghast, his eyes lighting up as if he had just cracked some inscrutable case, “... Des, do you name your socks?

Ever the addict for complexity and mystery, JP ignored the possibility that these were just words of drunkenness at work, his head pervaded by thoughts of Des “naming rightie Marcus and leftie Fernando” as the dumpling-house filled over with the vaguely carcinogenic scent of wok-oil.
 
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Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
Original poster
SECURITY DEPARTMENT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
Des forced herself to keep a straight face as she watched JP as he flustered in response to her question. However, as he took her question more and more seriously, Des had a harder and harder time keeping the humor off her face. Her lips pressed together tightly, and she blinked repeatedly, trying to choke down the laughter that was building up in her throat. Eventually, however, she couldn't take it any more, and a guffaw escaped her lips so forcibly, she had to bend over double to accommodate it, her hands pressing against her own knees.

"JP..." she finally managed, struggling to articulate through her mirth. "JP you... you should see your face right now!" And that was all she managed, as another bout of giggles overtook her, and she had to gasp for breath. Finally, she managed to straighten, wiping at the corners of her eyes even as she took a couple more deep breaths.

"No, fom, I don't name my socks. Gheez, I don't even name my computer or my car. Why would I name..." another laugh escaped from between her lips. "Name my socks?!"

Fortunately for the woman, Des' hysteria was broken only a few minutes by the sound of a heavy plastic bucket hitting the counter. She glanced over in the direction of the forgotten dumpling-woman, who'd placed a small to-go tub on the counter. There was a faint trace of steam escaping from the seal at the top. Des rubbed at the side of her nose, laughter mostly forgotten. It seemed they'd managed to offend their serving woman.

"Your cholesterol to go is done, J," Des said, nudging him forward to pay even as she turned towards the door. "Grab it and go."

A few moments later and they were back outside, and Des took a relieved breath, attempting to clear her nose of the overwhelming scent of animal fat that had clung to every surface within the store. "I hope you enjoy those," the woman all but scolded. "Because I'm certainly not helping you finish them, and I don't want to see you throwing them away, either."

This time, Des took the lead in directing their procession of two. She wandered, almost aimlessly, in the direction of the lake, her pace just quick enough to make it seem like she knew where she was going. Frankly, it didn't matter all that much where they came through. This close to downtown, there'd be a park almost anywhere they hit water unless her luck was particularly bad.

After crossing under the expressway, Des found a random alley that looked promising and headed down it until she could see water. The "park" they ended up in was more a mass of concrete and stone than the grassy expanse one might normally associate with a park, but it was littered with benches, trash cans, and the occasional street lamp. In addition, it was all but empty, which made it perfect as far as Des was concerned. Somewhere out in the distance of Lake Ontario she thought she caught the faint sound of a ferry horn.

A faint sigh of relief escaped her lips as the faintly fishy smell of the lake was carried over by a cool night breeze. How long had it been since she'd actually had a chance to just relax? It seemed like it had been forever. "Shall we find somewhere to sit?" Des asked, but she didn't really listen to JP's answer. Instead, she made a slow but steady beeline towards one of the benches that rested just next to the water and sat down, throwing her arms out sideways over the bench's back.

It took her a few moments of silence to gather her thoughts, although she hadn't really known she was going to speak until the words started tumbling out of her mouth. "Man," she breathed, the word seeming as much sigh as statement. "Someone out there's probably getting murdered right now, but at least it's not my problem tonight."
 
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Aero Blue

he hears his master's voice
Posting Speed
One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
5-11 EST weekdays, anytime weekends.
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks, Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Androgynous, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Switches have more fun
Favorite Genres
Superhero, urban fantasy, space opera, crime thriller, supernatural
JP followed Des towards the bench, the radiant heat of the to-go tub burning imagined holes through his palms. Taking a seat next to Des, he could feel the hazy mire subside more and more; eventually, he’d regain enough soberly inhibition for the dumplings to be entirely unpalatable. That, simply, could not stand. He acknowledged Des’ comment with a purposeful nod, before propping open the tub and all its contents, dumplings that were perhaps more macabre in appearance than food should have rightfully been; charred skin slicked over with oils that smelled suspiciously recycled.

“... man…” He said, as if echoing Des.

JP had forgotten to grab a pair of chopsticks.

He poked at the potstickers and their filmy skin, which was helpful only in so far as a foreshadowing for the messy endeavor at hand. Three unconvinced prods later, he had brushed his misgivings aside, whipping a morsel into his mouth. It was good, all things considered - JP gave a grunt of approval before deciding he had ignored his partner in favor of a dumpling for long enough.

“I said something like that to a girl I used to see - maybe the once, maybe twice, I can’t quite remember, this was before Maria. And she would not, just would not, stop giving me shit for it. 'You're police, how can you think like that?' I tell you, hmf,” The telling was interrupted by the scarfing down of another bundle of chive, pork and re-used oils, “, perfect picture of indignance, wish I had taken a photo. Had to explain to her that, far as it seemed to me, the main problem was already over by the time we were in the picture: victim was dead. Told her that what came after was really all just…”

The job? The game?

“What I’m trying to say, Des, is ‘that’s the spirit’.”
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
Original poster
SECURITY DEPARTMENT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
Des gazed out silently over the lake, doing her best to ignore the vaguely-appetizing-vaguely-nauseating scent coming from JP's dumplings, and let her thoughts drift with the lapping water. The lake was never completely still, disturbed by the wake of boats and wind somewhere in it's massive body. Des had never traveled far beyond the edge of Toronto, and she'd once mentioned to Alvaro how she imagined it looked a lot like the ocean. He'd laughed at her, she'd shoved him, and then they'd gone to buy a soda from some street vendor nearby.

She somewhat regretted her lack of travel, if she was being honest with herself. Toronto was a mess of a melting pot of culture, and had brought together people from all over the world, but it was also very distinctly itself. She imagined the rest of the world must be very different, and the idea of visiting foreign places gave the back of her mind the same burst of excitement that had once so attracted her to Alvaro. But, as rare as weekends were for her, she wondered if she'd even have that same excitement by the time she was far enough along in her career to actually be able to afford the time off.

Alvaro had tried to take her traveling a few times. Not far afield, he'd told her, just hop on the back of his motorcycle and course down the highway for hours. Even Quebec would be something. She'd ridden with him on short stretches, but when it came to long journeys, she'd always ended up telling him no. She simply didn't have time for that.

JP\s words brought her out of her thoughts rather abruptly, and it took Des several sentences worth of time to realize that he was talking about her comment about people being murdered, and wasn't somehow responding to the thoughts in her head. She slowly reeled herself back in from memories of the feel of wind in her hair, and tried to focus on his words. But, at that moment, she was having problems focusing on his rambling, let alone caring.

"Thanks, JP," she said, voice too quiet to quite show the snark she felt. "Means the world to me."

They drifted back into silence, interrupted only by the sound of the water and JP's eating. Des tried to reclaim the feeling of drifting thought she'd had only a few minutes ago, but it seemed gone with the passing of the moment. Maybe she'd actually eaten enough at the bar to somewhat counteract the alcohol she'd drunk.

Eyes drifting across the empty park, looking for something she just couldn't seem to remember, Des abruptly caught sight of...

"The bloody fuck is that?"

Moving quickly enough that it was a miracle her feet didn't fall out from under her, Des stood up, before taking quick steps towards the lakeshore. In the darkness it almost seemed like a trick of her eyes, but Des was somehow absolutely certain this wasn't just a trick of her alcohol-addled mind.

Right at the edge of the park, where water met concrete, was... a rip. A crack. It swirled, pulsing inwards and outwards, tessellating one moment and spiraling the next. With hesitant steps, Des moved towards it, her fingers unconsciously extending. And then, as suddenly as she'd stood, Des felt something in front of her grab her, yanking her forwards. She stumbled, and as she started to fall, it felt like the world around her began to warp.
 

Aero Blue

he hears his master's voice
Posting Speed
One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
5-11 EST weekdays, anytime weekends.
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks, Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Androgynous, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Switches have more fun
Favorite Genres
Superhero, urban fantasy, space opera, crime thriller, supernatural
“It better. You should hang on my every word; I’m a lot smarter than I eat.”

He had chuckled then, taking comfort in his position of advisor, the quality of his ‘wisdom’ notwithstanding. The next few moments of silence had been blissful enough, once JP had made absolutely certain that Des wasn’t intensely observing him eat. A somewhat strange fear to have, he recognized, given the communal nature of their jobs, be they in the office or in the vehicle. Mostly, JP preferred concealing at least some of his more slovenly habits. Even so, he had taken to palming two to three dumplings at a time when Des rose, cuss and all.

“You still drunk, Des?” JP had squinted as she went off into the darkness, before deciding, eventually, to follow her.

Des was his partner, after all, and it wouldn’t have done to have her wander off into the lake and drown. And so he had trudged on, leaving the remaining dumplings to clump together in their oily mess on the bench. Further and further he went, the realization occurring to him that she was moving with far too much pace, too much purpose, to be some tired, drunken fancy. She was investigating.

And it was something that, for the first time in quite a while, he had never seen the likes of.

There she was, her body suspended in air, suspended in motion, caught by some translucent force from falling headlong into the waters. The furthest parts of her torso and lower body veiled by the violent shimmer. The parts of her he could see twitched, as if her form was under the thrall of some shaky fingered marionettist. The thought of some other, invisible force compelling her was horrifying. The other thought triggered, in its own way, a visceral fear as well.

It looked like she was struggling.

“Des? Des!” JP gave a panicked shout as he inched closer, “Can you hear me? Can you say something?”
 
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Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
Original poster
SECURITY DEPARTMENT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
Destiny couldn't breathe.

She struggled desperately for breath, but the motion that had come so naturally to her all of her life eluded her now. She felt her chest spasm, her lips tremble, but no matter how hard she tried her belly would not move.

The world seemed to be crumbling around her.

Even in her panic, she could see the way the ocean shook before her eyes. One moment, the water surged and shook before her. The next, it was covered in ice as far as she could see. Then, only moments after that, the water shimmered before her eyes, transforming into rolling fields of grass. The moon wobbled in the heavens, waxing and waning in the blink of an eye as it trembled across the sky. Above it all, a static rush sounded in her ears.

There was something tickling the back of her neck, but Des couldn't move her hands any more than she could her lungs or lips. Her entire body seemed outside of her control, even as it shook and shivered in some desperate response to her panic. She had no idea how much time was passing. The world in front of her eyes had lost all reason, all rationality, and it could no longer provide any sort of grounding to her. She tried to count to herself, but lost track of the numbers before she'd even made it past the first three.

Des was no longer sure she was even sane. Thoughts came and left faster than she could capture them, until she wasn't even sure she was thinking at all. It was starting to seem more and more likely that her entire life, everything she thought she remembered, was nothing more than a fantasy she had concocted, in some desperate attempt to spare herself from this madness. Maybe, if she tried, she could find another life for herself. But whatever burst of inspiration had allowed her to conjure a life from her mind eluded her now.

Maybe it would be best if she could stop thinking altogether...

Moonlight, ᠎    ᠎᠎silence, ᠎    ᠎᠎and waves.
Memories, dreams. ᠎    ᠎᠎It's all so far away.
Trapped in their maze, ᠎    ᠎᠎lost in time,
vulnerable ᠎    ᠎᠎ erased ᠎    ᠎᠎lost.
Say it. ᠎    ᠎᠎Say it.
I am me am I?
 
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Aero Blue

he hears his master's voice
Posting Speed
One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
5-11 EST weekdays, anytime weekends.
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks, Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Androgynous, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Switches have more fun
Favorite Genres
Superhero, urban fantasy, space opera, crime thriller, supernatural
She couldn’t speak.

JP’s fear was almost deafening to him, striking in the form of arterial waves that pounded between his temples and sloshed about, carrying the mass of his anxiety, his shock, morbid curiosity and the abject terror that something was happening to his fucking partner. Even through the cacophony, he could make out the small whisper of disappointment that came from within: of course she can’t speak, you moron! Perhaps she could not hear him, but JP had expected a yell, a strenuous cry, or perhaps the horrible stillborn rasp the strangled let out before the silence. He inched forward, bit by bit, as if by shuffling close enough, straining hard enough, he could make out some hopeful semblance of her.

For all his trouble, he was gifted with a pervasive doubt: if she couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, could she breathe? Was she gripped by some invisible stranglehold wringing the life out of her, or seized by some…

Something.

JP was, for a detective, remarkably inadequate when it came dealing with the unknown. Found wanting when it came to bearing its weight as it taunted him. It had made him an obsessive as a detective and more than a little limp in the other aspects of life, eternally scrounging for the catharsis of the solved case. There would be no catharsis here, no sudden understanding. Just the unknown that shimmered and fluctuated, taunting him.

But then, Des was his partner, and that lent the matter some element of simplicity.

“... I just need to grow some nuts.” JP grumbled after a hard swallow.

He stumbled forward, and stumbled again, and again - each repetition met with some numb-legged resistance, some hesitant stiffness that arose not from alcohol, but from the idea that each step could be his last, that his legs would seize up from some invisible force.

Somehow, he got to her.

Some idle thought about not touching people when they were seizing, or having fits, struck him as he made to yank Des from her predicament. He wondered if that applied here.
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
Original poster
SECURITY DEPARTMENT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
As JP slowly stumbled forward, it seemed as though the world was resisting his very progress. There should have only been a few steps between him and Des, but those few steps stretched out, repeating in a moment over and over as the officer walked towards her partner, and she never seemed to get any closer. The invisible fabric that seemed to surround the woman pulsed and rippled, briefly obscuring her from sight before a part of her would suddenly reappear in front of him, further than she'd been a split moment before. Until, quite suddenly, the strange ripple of space billowed outwards, partially wrapping around JP and all but obscuring him from sight.

She no longer knew where she was. Who she was. Everything had descended into chaos inside her head, leaving no room for rational thought. Her eyes stared vacantly forward, frozen, seeking something that she couldn't remember. Something that might not even exist.

But, suddenly, her vacant eyes locked on to a figure. She couldn't see it properly, out of the corner of her eyes which wouldn't move, but a long-forgotten thought bubbled up into the corner of her thoughts, a space long empty. The woman who no longer remembered her own name felt words bubbling up to her lips, unspoken on breathless lungs.

Jean-Paul.

The words seemed like so much meaningless noise, but she knew, she just knew, that they were important. Significant. Identifying. She knew. She knew those sounds meant something to her. She knew that figure. From a dream? From a memory?

Perhaps he was another conjured myth, some illusion or fantasy her mind had created to comfort her. But it had been so long since even the trace echoes of that comfort had appeared that she found herself doubting she even still had that capability in her. But then, who was he?

Jean-Paul.

He was getting closer. There were ripples around him, a transparent iridescence that was utterly mesmerizing in this strange, uncertain world. She didn't know how long it took, how many moments of nothing passed between each instance of something, but he was getting closer. And she felt the ripples begin to wash over her, felt the long-forgotten sensations of body that had been denied her so long. Her skin twitched, her eyelid fluttered, and the faintest gasp of air passed through her parted lips.

And then, so suddenly she was nearly lost in the sensation of it, her arm broke loose from the confines of space. She did the only thing she could think of, and her arm reached out, latching on to the man before her.



Destiny tumbled backwards at JP's pull, stumbling on nothing and falling heavily to the concrete ground. Breath rattled in and out of her lungs in terrible, rasping breaths, before she broke into a sudden coughing fit. Her eyes stung, and tears blurred her vision. There was something dark half-obscuring her vision. It broke the world up into scattered lines of light and dark, like she had pressed her face up against a thin piece of fabric, and was peering at the world through its threads.

Her arms shook as she slowly pushed herself up from where she had sprawled, pausing on her knees, and it wasn't until she lifted one trembling hair to rub at her face that she realized the darkness blocking her vision was her own hair, cascading across her face and over her shoulders, only stopping after it had curled halfway down her back.

Her hand dropped back to the ground abruptly, barely managing to fend of the wave of dizziness that threatened to send her toppling to the ground. A moment after that, and she was retching, tasting sour beer that washed up over her tongue before splattering against the ground. The smell of it made her retch again, dry heaving a couple of times until her tongue seemed to fill the back of her throat.

And then she was finally able to breathe again, and she gasped for air, struggling not to look at the off-color splatter that covered the ground between her hands. Des wanted to move away, but didn't think any part of her had the strength to do more than simply hold her in place. For now, she'd have to stay where she was.
 
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Aero Blue

he hears his master's voice
Posting Speed
One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
5-11 EST weekdays, anytime weekends.
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks, Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Androgynous, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Switches have more fun
Favorite Genres
Superhero, urban fantasy, space opera, crime thriller, supernatural
A tangent of sudden clarity struck him like a surge of detective’s intuition, although the revelation was as mundane as it was sobering: this could have all been avoided if he had just went home.

The valley of time seemed to expand, and lengthen, at times shortening and contracting only to unravel itself once again; as if some stretch of hallowed ground beneath the purview of a trickster god, frustrating and tantalizing would-be heroes with insidious whimsy. Des’ body disappeared and reappeared in parts, rhombus and trapezoidal sections of her form haunting the plane. Jean-Paul grit his teeth, gathering saliva beneath his tongue before spitting it out beside him, with the rationale that an act so crude and base would help ground him in this unfamiliarity. He remembered employing similar techniques waiting before his first date, his 10-32 as a patrolman, and his first murder scene.

First murder scene: swanky kitchen, oak and mahogany, door askew, bloody walls. A pineapple tossed about on the floor next to the congealing puddle. Funny. First 10-32: he’d been driving down Yonge Street, picking out the best restaurant name from amongst the bevy of generically labelled sushi joints - he had just about anointed ‘Sushi Ninja’ the winner when the seal of radio silence was broken by static. First date: Monica Januzaj, Pacific Mall, they joked about the Asia-mart’s smell and the dirty bathrooms before…

Before what?

He couldn’t remember now, even though he knew - or clung to the idea - that it had been one of the ‘greatest hits’ of his teen years. Something defining, something sweet. Something he had, typically, twisted, some romanticized ideal of young, unbinding love that he had bludgeoned his marriage with, resenting Maria for not embodying it. What was it again? He could have sworn he had known it as close as yesterday.

He was forgetting, somehow.

Another ten, twenty steps, and he had forgotten Monica’s name as well.

Memory left him, almost sloughing off the wet surfaces of his mind like viscera splattered on walls, as he trudged onward with a mindless conviction, a vegetative persistence. The Euclidean spectre of some lady sweeping in and out, further away, then closer, then further. No matter. He just had to keep walking, give himself entirely to that singular drive.

An arm extended from the rippling fold, and took him.


The thick flesh and muscle of his back did little to mitigate the cruel embrace of concrete. His eyes flashed open, though he had forgotten having ever closed them. JP did his utmost to decipher the haze of the newly-wakeful, almost certain he had not imbibed nearly enough to pass out. The thought of imbibing, too, rang false, as if the celebration at the bar had been eons ago.

A terrible rasp freed him from his meandering mind.

Who?

Jean-Paul clambered up unto his knees as he watched her retch for a moment, before he was struck by the need to follow suit. The appalling nature of his ‘leavings’ shocked him as they left his body, the abominable mass of beer, and barely processed dumplings shovelled down, constituents pieces of pork and chive still identifiable. Macabre, even by murder police standards.

Right, I’m murder police…

His eyes sparked open again, even as another wave of ‘matter’ threatened its own expulsion. He remembered, suddenly, thought and memory welling up inside like sorrow-tears and rage-blood.

He remembered.

“Des!” Jean-Paul’s knee embedded itself within the puddle he had formed as he hurled himself towards who he knew to be his partner, his hands moving to grip her by the shoulders, his eyes widening with a frenzied worry as she fought for air, “Des. Des. I’m here, I’m here. We’re, we’re okay! We’re okay.”

His right hand took to a weak, awkward measured patting motion, as he waited, with a helpless impotence, for Des to speak again.
 
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Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
Original poster
SECURITY DEPARTMENT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
The sudden smell of grease thickened vomit caused Des to heave again, lurching her back upwards repeatedly as she fought to breathe past her convulsions, until some bile managed to force its way pass her lips and she was finally able to relax again. Des coughed for a moment, before gasping to refill her lungs. She gasped for several more moments, before flinching slightly at the sudden sound of a voice. Before she could figure out where it came from or what it meant, something else touched her back, and she flinched again. If it wasn't for the fact that her arms were too weak to support her moving away, she would have recoiled from the contact. After so long trapped in the isolation of... whatever the hell that had been, everything about the world seemed overwhelming.

All the same, after she relaxed somewhat, she realized that JP's hand on her back was... familiar. Reassuring. It brought back her memories of the life she'd discarded as an illusion, and reminded her that she was alive. She'd be fine. Gradually, her breathing slowed, and the faint trembling that filled her limbs began to fade. Only at that point, did she finally have the strength to lift her head.

"JP..." she mumbled, blurry eyes slowly tracking his own down. "What...? Where...? I don't... My... My head doesn't make sense." She started trembling again, but tried to push herself to her feet anyways. The effort went poorly, and she stumbled back to her hands and knees a split second later. She turned back to him, one hand grasping desperately onto his forearm. "JP, what happened?"
 
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Aero Blue

he hears his master's voice
Posting Speed
One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
5-11 EST weekdays, anytime weekends.
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks, Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Androgynous, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Switches have more fun
Favorite Genres
Superhero, urban fantasy, space opera, crime thriller, supernatural
He felt like he had waited an eternity to hear Des’ voice again. For a moment, JP could feel a swelling in his chest that snatched the breath from him and greedily cradled it, that sucked the blood flowing from his extremities, that took from him everything and was everything. Pure, unadulterated relief that trumped any drug Jean-Paul could think of. In one exhale, the overwhelming swell dissipated, and what was left was an euphoria amidst the confusion, something that for the moment seemed almost positively uplifting.

“H’oh, great. Great, great, great.” He giggled as he bore his partner’s hand upon his forearm, eyes locked, and himself wondering why she looked so obscured. “You’re okay, you’re okay. You… you froze.”

He grimaced, forehead creased as if trying to make sense of his own explanation, running through the banks of his mind for phrases, references that could serve as a perfect encapsulation. Nothing easy was forthcoming, and JP settled with stumbling through it, “Like the Robot; the dance, popping and locking. Like the slide Michael Jackson used to do with those special dance shoes, where he kept leaning forward and he never fell. Just, just suspended in air, and you couldn’t move. And I went to get you and, I don’t really remember but, ten steps turned into a thousand and sometimes, I even forgot you were…”

JP stopped, hitting upon the reason for his earlier confusion, “Your hair... it’s different. It’s… well, long.”

Almost mindlessly, JP made to tug at the strands that reached down her back.
 

Peregrine

Waiting for Wit
Original poster
SECURITY DEPARTMENT
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige
Genders You Prefer Playing
Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Fairly aggressive. I'm perfectly happy to guide the story, but if your posts never move the plot forward at all, then we'll have a problem.
Favorite Genres
Modern fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by high fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
Genre You DON'T Like
Not a big fan of purely realistic stories. I want something more than real life in my plots please!
JP's words washed over Des like water sloughing off a duck's feathers. She couldn't make sense of what he was saying any more than she could fully understand what had just happened to her. It was still night, she could smell water and exhaust and greasy pork dumplings. Just like that strange, foggy memory in the back of her head, so long ago, when she'd seen... something. What had she seen? What had happened?

JP's fingers tugging on her hair refocused her attention on the man. Her other hand lifted up off the ground, hesitantly, to run her fingers through the strange, frizzy curls of her hair. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had that much weight on her head. Not since... high school? Maybe even before then.

Hesitantly, she grabbed one of the curls and slowly pulled it out straight, until she could feel the tension against her scalp, and then slid her fingers to the end of her curl. Well over a foot. How quickly did hair grow again? She had to shave it once to twice a week, but as short as she kept it, that didn't mean much.

"JP..." Des finally said, hesitantly, as she released the curl and let it bounce back into place. "I don't... I don't think I froze." What was it he'd said. "Ten steps turned into a thousand," she mumbled, before another set of uncontrollable tremors wracked her body. "JP... I think I was... there... for a long time. I saw..."

She tried to cast her mind back, but it was like she'd forgotten how to remember. Like some strange dream, passing away upon waking, leaving nothing but the echoes of it trapped within her body. She cast her eyes about wildly, trying to trigger any recollection. Finally, her eyes settled on the water.

"The lake!" she said, pushing her way halfway up using JP's shoulder, before dropping back onto him as her legs gave out again. "I watched... the lake disappear. There was ice and snow, and then grassland, and then... so much water. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't blink. I just... watched. Watched everything go by me in an instant that lasted an eternity."

She shook her head, wishing she hadn't dredged up the memories after all. "Help me up," she all but ordered. "I wanna... scoot. Get out of here. Fuck the smell of puke. I wanna go home."
 

Aero Blue

he hears his master's voice
Posting Speed
One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
5-11 EST weekdays, anytime weekends.
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks, Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Androgynous, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Switches have more fun
Favorite Genres
Superhero, urban fantasy, space opera, crime thriller, supernatural
No explanation for the hair was forthcoming, which, at the end of it all, was both understandable and just fine to JP; long-hair was seldom a terminal affliction. Unkempt in its raw growth though it was, he thought Des wore it about as well as someone would be able to given the circumstances - it just didn’t strike him as, quintessentially, her. He removed his fingers from the curls of her hair, some sense of space and boundaries returning to his consciousness. His hand lingered awkwardly at his side, dangling as he listened.

He could make no more sense of it than she could, no pretense of being qualified, no pretense of having some brilliant hunch to explain it all away. So he simply stared as Des voiced her recollections, her visions of the lake disappearing, of ice and snow and grass and a world of water. What drew him even more than the unfathomable imagery were the tremors; he could feel himself shaking as Des did. The thought of Des’ form suspended form trembling amidst the ripple hurtled into his memory. JP shuddered, before acquiescing to her request for assistance.

He helped prop his partner up, his grip somewhat loose out of fear for another onset of tremors. A silent curse escaped from his lips at the realization that he had gotten puke on his knee. So much for dodging the smell of the stuff.

“The shit with the lake, maybe a hallucination.” He breathed, a quick offering of thoughtless garbage meant to push away rather than explain. With a scoff, he backtracked. “Or something else. Something fucked. And the thing with the hair and the time, I... I don't know. I think I get it, but I... I don't. Do you think I should take us to the hos-.”

As he began to speak the word, the prospect seemed hopelessly inadequate. Doctors, nurses and sterile rooms against the rippling expanse of the unexplainable, science fiction skullduggery, unfathomable hair growth and all. His partner just wanted to go home.

“Home. Let’s go home.”
 
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