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Old 06-26-2010 at 08:40 AM
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James Sawyer

James Sawyer could practically feel the walls closing in on him. This was his number one concern at the moment. He knew the dungeons had to be huge, but he could not for the life of him concentrate on this. He was instead concentrating on the darkness, and the dankness, and the scurry of mice and lord knew what else. The claustrophobia he felt made his heart feel as though it were being slowly crushed by his ribcage. Others on his list of current things to worry about were spiders, rabies from the rat bites he did not currently have, but surely would in a matter of moments, the Phantom of the Opera, and dehydration. He knew in some logical part of him (the part he named Maryland, U.S.A.) that the Phantom of the Opera was not real, could not be real. But he had a heart and an imagination that favored the impossible, the adventurous, and the downright exciting. He told himself that if one could believe in the holy spirit, why could one not believe in the spirit of one certain disfigured composer? It would make an interesting study, religion versus the fantastic, what was defined as possible and not, and why... he would have made a note to do some research for another book but he was quite busy being on the verge of hyperventilation at the moment. Any normal person who knew his habits would know that dehydration was just about the least of his worries and shouldn't even be considered as a cause of death for him when they found his body. If they found his body. Whoever 'they' were. James drank nine glasses of water a day -- or, rather, bottles. Who could be expected to drink unfiltered water? -- the recommended eight, and one for good form. As his exercise of choice was running, he needed water. He also did not drink soda (the sugar alone was alarming, let alone the other ingredients), and had given up coffee when he had given up putting whiskey in it for the nerves all those years ago when he quit the television industry. All the fruit drinks were packed with additives and chemicals. He did, however, drink a glass of skim milk a day for the calcium. It was safe to say that he was not going to die from lack of water.

Well, he wouldn't if he got out of there within a day or two. Unfortunately for James, the spiders and rats and rabies were all very real and practical concerns.

As he heard another scuttle, James almost blacked out. He remained conscious only because he knew what was on the 'floor'. Death. Certain death. Excruciating death caused by diseases found in rat droppings and mold and centuries of dirt and grime. He thought he heard a noise, but as he was also practically feeling spiders crawling all over him, spiders that he knew weren't there (yet) because his cell phone still had battery and he could see the spots he thought he felt them, he thought very little of it. Surely no one else could be down there. Unless it really was the Phantom. James clicked his phone light off to preserve the battery. Who knew how long he would be down there? He did not want his light to run out before he found a way out. He heard a giggle in the darkness, and moaned lightly. It would not matter if he was going to die, because he might not notice now that he was going bat-**** insane. Bats! A new shiver of fear crept up his spine, and he moaned lightly again.

"Hello?!" came a voice in the darkness, and James' head swam with images of ax-murderers and spirits of angry kidnapping men, and he wondered in that moment before he was certain he was about to parish -- What if I really do go to Hell for being gay? It was a terrifying thought. One that was more terrifying to the novelist than death itself. He wanted a sign, just one, that everything might be okay. Please God... I have never asked you for anything, except to pass my seventh grade math exam and you did not deliver. I just need a sign to know that it will all be okay... His eyes were closed, even though it was pitch black in the dungeons, and his legs felt like jelly. The walls seemed to move closer. "Oh!" James opened one eye and saw a light, most likely dim but which seemed to blaze brighter than any he'd ever seen after being in such complete darkness. It seemed like a spirit, the way the light seemed to float, but as the terrified and dazed patron of the arts adjusted his eyes to the unexpected light he saw an arm attached to the light. And he suddenly realized that if the Opera Ghost was in his presence, he would hardly say 'Oh!' in discovery of a lost mortal in his territory.

But then again, what did he know?

The man attached to the arm became easier to see as the figure grew closer. "You got lost, huh?" James could not speak. He could not move. He could barely breath. The stranger just smiled at him, and jerked a shoulder nonchalantly. How could he be so calm? Didn't he know that they were about to die!? "You're found now. You'll be OK, Mister," the man said. James was no expert on the paranormal, but he didn't think ghosts would be so respectful. For that was surely what this man was. Maybe not THE Phantom of the Opera, but a phantom, surely? Half mad with fear and, by now, paranoia, James could only speculate. "or should that be Monsieur?" "M-mister?" he managed, and closed his eyes again. He made the mistake of looking down and saw that the dark haired man was shoeless. And sockless. He was barefoot on this poor excuse for a floor, this dirt and grime and disgusting floor. The germaphobic James recoiled.

"You're OK, I'll help you." James could only rasp, "Y-you're rather nice. F-f-for a ghost, I mean. Uh, s-spirit?" He felt hot but his hands were clammy. A cold sweat had broken out all over him. "I don't think you can help me. U-unless you can keep the walls from c-closing in?" he asked of his savior, unbeknownst to him of course. The shock was just too much. The initial fall would have shaken him if he had landed where he was supposed to -- on the floor in the corridor. But to fall through a passageway? Into the pitch black dungeons? To contemplate life and death and wonder which way he would die first, then be approached by a man, meant to save but seen as a ghost, who could very well be there to spirit him to the underworld or, preferably, Heaven. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he crumpled to the floor at Easy's feet.

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Old 06-26-2010 at 10:00 AM
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 Post [72] »


Easy "Cat" Tanner

To Easy's question of how to address him, the man made him smile with his stammered, "M-mister?", the questioning tone making him feel less concerned that his awkward speech might put off the man. He always had been intimidated by anyone in authority and even those who looked as if they might possibly be such figures, basically any adult he supposed. He had yet to count himself out of the youth category, thus he felt subordinate to most of the people he met. Easy saw the man take a look at his feet then look quite obviously disgusted, making his smile fade as he suddenly felt like the little beast Lazare Moreau had called him~in French of course. Make that filthy little beast, he amended, realizing how dreadful he must look to this well-dressed man. Still, he offered help, assuring the man that he would be all right now. After all, it wasn't too surprising that someone could take a wrong turn then become lost here.

"Y-you're rather nice. F-f-for a ghost, I mean. Uh, s-spirit?" That brought Easy's smile back, and he giggled delightedly at the fancifulness that he was haunting the depths of the OH. It clued him in to the man's thought process in that no "fuddy duddy" (a Rafe Chancery phrase) would have said something like that. He was reminded once again of Devlon and hoped the man would continue speaking to him. "I don't think you can help me. U-unless you can keep the walls from c-closing in?"

That confused the youth, whose response was "Huh?!", which definitely sounded terribly stupid, but he really was confused, not having experienced claustrophobia beyond having to wear a buttoned-up collar and, worst of all, a necktie. He found himself even more confused and hugely distressed as, without warning, the man fell to the ground, making him cry out in alarm. Hurriedly, his heart racing, terrified that the man might truly have died or be headed that way, Easy set down the lamp then seated himself next to the fallen form Indian-style (more like yoga, he had decided, having seen practitioners in the communes). Carefully, he lifted him, one hand under his head, the other under his shoulders, butt-scooting forward till he could rest the man on his lap, hoping that this would not be too uncomfortable. What was he to do? He had never been good at emergencies, as witnessed by the times in his life when he was depended upon to do something bright and brave but could only run and, he feared, squawk till others came to help. Well, there were no others, and he could not possibly carry or even drag the man to his lair, which actually was not that far away but might as well have been miles for all the good it did them. He could run to get water and blankets, but he was afraid to leave the man. Looking down, he thought the man might be mistaken for merely being asleep, and he began very gently patting one cheek then the other while begging with soft intensity, "Wake up, Mister! Tell me you're OK! Don't be dead!" His voice had broken at that last word, and he realized that he was crying. He felt split between finding help and staying here just in case it was only a faint. He knew about faints, having done that too often due to his habit of not eating enough and of rarely getting enough sleep. From being tickled by Iah Raksha to dropping from lack of food at Le Cat-Corner, he knew about such collapses. What had people done for him? How the heck am I suppose to know that?! He tried petting the man's hair, knowing it was a soothing gesture if one was awake. Maybe it would summon the man back to his senses. Tears seared their way down his cheeks, several falling onto the man's face. Using the tail of his T-shirt, he dried the fallen tears first from the man's face then his own. "Please be OK, Mister. Please don't be dead. Please wake up!" Then, sighing heavily, he fell quiet, the chill creeping through his body, but he was unwilling to move till the man showed signs of life again, knowing deep down that, at some point, he actually might have to leave him to get help. But, he'll be scared then! he fretted, knowing what it was to be frightened when alone in the dark. "You'll be OK," he said softly, once more petting the man's hair. "You'll wake up, and I'll show you the way out, and you'll be OK."

OOC: Obviously, Easy is very, very bad in crisis situations. *sigh* Poor James now will have damp, grimy clothing and the knowledge that he actually ended up on that scuzzy floor. BIC:

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Old 06-27-2010 at 04:11 AM
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 Post [73] »


James Sawyer

When James came to, he did not move. He simply lay where he was, so still that one would not be able to tell that he has awake at all. He had only passed out for a few moments, and when he awoke the first thought that ran through his mind was I’m blind. I’ve fallen on this filthy floor, and caught some ancient disease from the first World War that has blinded me. ”...you’ll be OK.” It was the first thing he consciously heard when he came to, and in that moment between unconsciousness and hysteria James could not help but think Is that my sign? Then, he felt wetness dripping on his face, he cringed. There was probably a giant rat standing over him, drooling his rabies onto James’ face. He suddenly realized that something was moving in his hair -- most likely the same giant rabid rat building a nest for its young in his luscious black hair. He jumped up with an audible “Aaaaaagh!” and discovered that he was not blind at all. His eyes had simply been closed.

Unfortunately for him, standing so quickly after having just fainted made him lightheaded and woozy, and he swayed on the spot. He reached his hand out for the wall to steady himself, then yanked it back immediatly and repeated his cry when his digits touched the grimey stone. Then he looked down and saw that his carefully chosen outfit of a well fitting pinstripe suit, crisp white shirt, and golden c oloured tie, a smart ensemble he thought would be perfect for a light walk through his most favourite building, was covered in whatever was on the floor.

He took a deep breath to try to calm himself, but he could feel a tickle in the back of his throat and his skin was crawling with what he knew – and didn’t know – was all over him. His clothes, his skin, his hair... he was living one of his nightmares. A strangled cry escaped him. He was filthy, and sure he had picked upp something. He shivered, and wondered if it pneumonia. Then, looking down, he saw that there was a man with him.

He looked up, his eyes wild and panicked. “I-I have to get out of here,” he said, his voice hoarse and thick with the beginnings of a panic attack. “I need water. I need a shower. I need to get out of here!” He had completely forgotten his delusion of Easy being a spirit or ghost, and vaguely wondered where he had come from. He reached for the light, and thrust it into Easy’s hands. “P-please, take me out of here. Wherever you came from – take me there!” He did not know of the nest that Easy had built, and his thoughts were of the daylight, of his apartment. He wanted his bathroom, his Xanax that he had originally disapproved of when prescribed, and he wanted to bury himself in his bed and stay there until the next morning.

“Why are you barefoot?” he asked. Sometimes talking about something seemingly random helped James ward off a panic attack. He needed to focus on something, anything. “There are germs everywhere. You’ll catch your death,” he continued, then stopped, and clamped his mouth shut. That was the exact wrong thing to focus on. Soon he’d be thinking about all the things he’d probably caught and then all of the things wrong with this situation. The air, the lack of food and water, the walls that were closing in – Oh God. His breathing quickened. Then it felt like he couldn’t breath at all. “I...” he gasped for air, “I can’t....breath!” He put his hand on Easy’s arm, to steady himself. It was cleaner than the wall. “I... water?” He tried to concentrate on breathing, but it was not easy. His poor heart, which was of an elephant, and every doctor he saw told him so, felt weak and fragile and ready to explode with fright.

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Old 07-01-2010 at 06:28 AM
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 Post [74] »


OOC: I am having a dreadful time with this post! I've lost my scene three times! I just got started tonight when *ZAP* it posted the scene I was getting ready to write! Please bear with me till I add my part of it. *sigh* I'm not sure what is going on, whether it's my laptop or something else. BIC:

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Easy was contemplating what to do when... “Aaaaaagh!” the man shrieked, springing fully to life, leaping to his feet and dithering about as an astonished Easy~eyes wide as could be, mouth gaping and arms making a V to each side of him with fingers splayed~froze in a combination of amazement and near-panic at the vision of the man lurching around, in such great distress that he feared he soon would be prone once more and wondering if he could break his fall without getting hurt himself. Finally, he decided that it was safe to get to his feet, perhaps to catch hold of the man to calm him with his presence. Even in the dim light, Easy could see the fear in the man's eyes then heard it in his voice when he said, “I-I have to get out of here. I need water. I need a shower. I need to get out of here!” When he moved, Easy followed, dreading another fall, but was surprised when the man merely retrieved the lantern then held it out to him. “P-please, take me out of here. Wherever you came from – take me there!”

"S-sure, Mister! I can get you cleaned up some then get you~um~upstairs. I..."

“Why are you barefoot?” the man demanded, having noted Easy's lack of footwear. But, before the youth could respond, the man was speeding onward, telling him, “There are germs everywhere. You’ll catch your death.” Easy made a sort of a sound that suggested humor as he saw how the man cut himself off, something he himself had done so often when he realized he had said something that might be inappropriate. “I...” The rest was lost as the man apparently struggled to breath though he found enough oxygen to claim, “I can’t....breath!” When he grabbed Easy's arm, the youth flinched, uncertain what the man meant to do then realizing that he simply needed some support, perhaps a physical connection to someone he knew could lead him out of here. Still, his hammering heart hadn't needed that jolt. “I... water?”

"Yeah!" At last there was something solid to grab onto. "I've got water near here~bottled water~good stuff." For some reason, he was beginning to see how finicky and dithery this man might be. (Thanks to his renewed study of the dictionary, he had extended his vocabulary enough to try to describe those around him. this man certainly was giving his newly learned words a workout.) Linking his arm with the man's, he began to walk, gently tugging him along as he held out the lantern to cast as much light as possible on their path. "I heard you yelling," he said in as soothing a voice as he could. "So, I took off to look for you. I forgot to put on my shoes 'cause..." He shrugged. "I dunno why I forgot. I think I was almost asleep." Already, they were almost there, as he really had been very close to where the man obviously had assumed he was hopelessly lost. He was an odd character, Easy had decided, but he himself wasn't the norm, so he truly shouldn't judge. After all, he was a youth with great wealth who still kept hiding places such as those in the stables, beneath the Opera House and in that broken-down old mansion on the dark side of the city.

At the doorway to his shelter, he paused, realizing that he knew nothing about this man and might be reported for his use of this storage area. "Mister... Ummm... Please don't tell anyone about this. Please?" At that, he handed the lantern to the man before he moved the frame with its broken mirror, disclosing the entrance and the softly lit hollow of his hiding place, the walls of old props making somewhat of a shallow bowl of the place, a wide, flat bottom with a "wall" high enough that no one had found him out yet. "In there. Watch your step 'cause there's not a real floor, just stacks of pads. I got some plywood for parts of it, but mostly it gives a lot. At least if you fall down again, it'll be with pillows 'n' blankets and stuff." Once he had replaced the makeshift door, he crossed to his usual place, seating himself before reaching for a cooler that held a dozen bottles of water, setting it down between them and opening the lid. Then, he dug out a box of wetnaps, also placing the container between them. "They pop up like one at a time," he explained, supposing that it was obvious but hoping that talking about such ordinary things would help the man relax. Proud that he was thinking ahead, he found an empty box that generally was used as a trashcan, explaining, "Throw the dirty ones in there, and I'll get rid of them later~like when we're through. If you take off your jacket, you can wipe it with the naps. If you're cold, you can put this around you." He tossed a forest green chenille blanket to the man, thinking that he might like that it was in a zippered plastic storage bag. "If you want to~um~take off your pants, I can turn my back and not look at you. I mean... You fell down, and the floor's pretty gross, isn't it?" He was busily washing his feet, realizing that they were going to go through an awful lot of wipes before they were through. While he could have taken the man to the dorm bathrooms, which he might still do, the man had seemed so desperate and even ill that he supposed stopping here first was the better plan. "I have chocolate bars and trail mix and stuff if you need it. I keep it in those metal containers so~um~it'll stay fresh." There was no need to bring up the presence of creatures in this environment, was there? He supposed the man already was aware of what might lurk in this region~though not an ill-clad Alleycat, he mused.

"You'll be OK, Mister. We'll do basic cleanup here, then I'll get you back upstairs. The dorm bathrooms aren't that far away. They have showers and everything. You have a cellphone. Me, too. We can call for somebody to bring you clothes if you want. I have a suit." He nodded toward where the suit was laid out on the padded floor as if its occupant had vaporized. "But, I don't think it'd fit you." Acting very casual, he reached for his black silk shirt and slipped into it. "Kinda chilly," he explained, grateful that the man had been too hyper to notice his scars. As far as he knew, that would freak out the guy all over again. "Ummm... By the way, my name is Easy~Easy Tanner." He grinned ruefully. "Yeah. That's my real name. Don't blame me. Blame my so-called parents." He had used those words with so many people throughout his life, hoping the cocky sound of what he said would show he was prepared for the jokes. "People mostly call me Cat. So, what's your name, and how'd you get lost?"

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Old 07-17-2010 at 05:23 PM
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 Post [75] »


James Sawyer

James was freaking out. He needed water. Good clean American water, preferably, but anything clean in a bottle would do right now. He was too desperate to be picky. All he knew at that moment was that it was dark, he was in a freaking dungeon, and he was covered in lord knew what. He wanted to go home to his ridiculously expensive and one hundred percent sterile apartment. He wanted to go take a shower in his clean, all white bathroom. Actually, at this point, he’d settle for just getting above ground level. He felt trapped, though this young man who had found him seemed relatively at ease. If he was trapped too, wouldn’t he be freaking out right along with him? Maybe, just maybe, he knew the way out of this place! Though he was not putting all of his hopes on this idea, as who would willingly venture alone, barefoot, in the vast dungeons of the opera house? "S-sure, Mister! I can get you cleaned up some then get you~um~upstairs. I..." At the mention of the word “upstairs”, James literally felt himself pull a little further back into sanity. Upstairs! So the man did know where they were, and how to get the hell out of there!

"Yeah!" The sound of something positive coming from his thus unnamed saviour’s mouth was relieving. Even if it was about water, which he did desperately need. He would have preferred the man to say ‘The passage out of here is a two minute walk that way, let me show you’, even if he would feel outrageously silly if the exit was so nearby. But he took what he was given, and right now he was about to be given water. "I've got water near here~bottled water~good stuff." James thought of his words. Near here? It implied a spot in the darkness. Did that mean this young man traipsed through the dungeons on a habitual basis? Was he always barefoot? Surely he would have caught something by now. Perhaps the man himself was infectious and harbouring all sorts of diseases. If possible, James paled even further, but tried not to think about it so that he wouldn’t let any of his thoughts slip – and offend his best shot at a way out of here.

The strange man joined arms with him. James was too tired and emotionally distraught to protest. Plus it gave him a vague sort of reassurance, having someone else lead the way, taking hold of him and guiding him. It was something he wished someone would do for him in life. Of course, when he expressed such thoughts to his psychologist, he was told that this was a symbol of a willingness to give up control in his life, and he must appreciate all of his freedoms and choices, and continue to make them. He knew this, but that did not stop him from wanting someone else to take the reins for a while, someone who actually knew what they were doing. "I heard you yelling," the dark haired man mentioned, "So, I took off to look for you. I forgot to put on my shoes 'cause... I dunno why I forgot. I think I was almost asleep." “Why were they off in the first place?” James asked before he could stop himself. “This place is musky and damp and terrible. Aren’t you worried about catching a cold, or worse?” Smooth, James. Real smooth. Why don’t you just insult the man who saved you from certain death? Though honestly the fact that he could make a gaffe and reprimand himself for it at all was a sign of coming back to his senses anyway, so he could only be pleased with himself.

At one point, his new best friend stopped, and James feared the worse. He’s lost. He doesn’t know where we are. Now we’re both doomed. Just great. "Mister... Ummm... Please don't tell anyone about this. Please?" James blinked, and looked around. “Uhh, sure,” he said, not sure why he would ever want to visit this day in his memories again. Then he stepped inside, and saw the most magnificent sight. Props. Dozens, hundreds even, from opera events past. Real past, not last season. Last century. Some of it, surely junk at the time, would fetch a fair penny these days for sheer sentimental value, if its authenticity could be verified. Some of it... well, from what he knew as a mediocre antique collector, he thought that some of it could be placed in museums. No wonder the kid didn’t want anyone to know about this place! "In there. Watch your step 'cause there's not a real floor, just stacks of pads. I got some plywood for parts of it, but mostly it gives a lot. At least if you fall down again, it'll be with pillows 'n' blankets and stuff." Shaky support system, pillows to catch him. Maybe he would die after all! But he nearly wept with gratitude when the man opened a cooler full of bottled water. Oh sweet heaven. He grabbed a bottle and downed it, gulping and drinking without pause, draining the bottle. When he was done he took a large breath. “Thank you,” he managed. Then saw that the man had sanitary wipes, and was even more grateful. "They pop up like one at a time," he explained. James almost chuckled. The boy must think he was simple, and really who could blame him. “I know how they work,” he said, warmly now as real gratitude started to fill him. He took a few wipes, and cleaned his hands, his face, and even ran one through his hair. You could never be too cautious when in a grimy dungeon. "Throw the dirty ones in there, and I'll get rid of them later~like when we're through. If you take off your jacket, you can wipe it with the naps. If you're cold, you can put this around you." For a brief, mad moment, he thought that the man was talking about his clothes. For a madder moment, he misinterpreted everything he had just said, and was expecting sex as payment to get out of there. James stared blankly at the man before he realized what he actually meant. Oh thank god. He tossed the dirty wetnaps in the box, but was still a little on edge. He caught the packaged blanket numbly, but set it aside. "If you want to~um~take off your pants, I can turn my back and not look at you. I mean... You fell down, and the floor's pretty gross, isn't it?" “No thank you,” he said politely, not wanting to extend his hospitality any further, especially when he planned to ask a huge favour of the man. “This will do for now,” he said, planning on burning these clothes in his fireplace later. He was not about to take his pants off in the middle of a dungeon, no matter how dirty they were.

"I have chocolate bars and trail mix and stuff if you need it. I keep it in those metal containers so~um~it'll stay fresh." And free of rodents and bugs and most likely bats. He caught the unsaid words. “No thank you,” he heard himself repeat. He found this situation so bizarre.

"You'll be OK, Mister. We'll do basic cleanup here, then I'll get you back upstairs. The dorm bathrooms aren't that far away. They have showers and everything. You have a cellphone. Me, too. We can call for somebody to bring you clothes if you want. I have a suit." James looked at the suit on the floor, and wondered what happened to the man who used to occupy it. "But, I don't think it'd fit you." James felt better when his saviour put on a shirt. They were not in the type of conditions that promoted shirtlessness, and his earlier silent misunderstanding still made him uneasy. "Kinda chilly," he said, as if he needed to explain his shirt. James nodded anyway. "Ummm... By the way, my name is Easy~Easy Tanner." Really? "Yeah. That's my real name. Don't blame me. Blame my so-called parents." He wondered why he chose to call them his ‘so-called parents’ instead of parents, but the tone did not leave much room for questioning. And besides, he figured it was none of his business.

"People mostly call me Cat. So, what's your name, and how'd you get lost?" James suddenly realized that he had done almost no talking. He felt marginally better since being given wetnaps and a bottle of water – well, two, seeing as he had reached for a second while Cat had spoken – even though his skin still crawled. And yet he had still said nothing beyond general manners. He hoped that the situation would excuse him.

“My name is James, James Sawyer,” he said, then immediately regretted it. He wished he had not given his last name. If Cat recognized him as a patron of the opera he might grow uncomfortable with his being in his sanctuary of lost and potentially stolen props. He just decided to continue talking and hope Cat didn’t recognize him. “I’m not really sure how I got lost, exactly. One minute I was walking down one of the corridors upstairs, the next I was through a wall. Not through it, but through a passageway. I really have no idea how it happened.” James took a long swig of water. “I am very grateful to you for finding me though. I didn’t think anyone would. I was sure I’d die down here or something.” He wanted to get out of there immediately, but didn’t push it. Cat had ignored the props for the most part, which meant that maybe he didn’t realize how valuable they were. It was certainly possible. “Cat, I hate to express my gratefulness with a favour, but I do have to ask about this place. Are all of these... props? From the opera house itself? How did you find this place? Where did all of these come from?” More than anything, James wanted to haul every bit of it to the surface and examine it thoughtfully and carefully and lovingly, but he had to ask the questions first. Information was king in his world. “I won’t tell anyone about it, I swear,” he added for Cat’s benefit. If it was legal, he added silently. “I just need to know.” He hoped he would get straight answers, but wasn’t above finding his way back here to examine the place on his own if he didn’t get them. It seemed a poor way to thank his rescuer, but what choice was there? He had never seen a place so naturally magnificent in history. A collection potentially untouched by greedy fingers, definitely unknown of in by the managers and higher ups.

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Old 07-25-2010 at 10:02 AM
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 Post [76] »


Easy "Cat" Tanner

It was a strange feeling, Easy mused, taking care of someone, having someone older depend on him. The man still seemed disturbed about his lack of footwear, and he decided they needed cleaning foremost.

“Why were they off in the first place?” the man had asked, making Easy feel quite stupid and awkward, foolish in not being sensible enough to go shod like any normal person would. “This place is musky and damp and terrible," the man fretted. "Aren’t you worried about catching a cold, or worse?”

Easy bowed his head in an attempt to hide his blush of shame, for the man's words reminded him too strongly of his previous visitor, whose near-disdainful look at these surroundings and his remarks about it had caused the young man to look at it with "new eyes", no longer viewing it with such great pride. "I don't think I get sick much," he began, peering at the man and noticing how he seemed to be looking everywhere but at his host. "Don't remember being sick when I was little," he murmured, wondering how unusual that was. There had many cuts and bruises, and he had healed quickly, but he did not recall colds or even the flu. Was that strange that he should be relatively healthy though he had been through a lifetime of neglect? Shaking off that train of thought for the time being, he recalled, "Headaches. I get headaches a lot," he admitted, continuing his cleanup.

The man surprised him in a way by not disrobing to clean his clothing. Maybe he was of tougher stuff than he at first seemed. Maybe once he had gotten over the initial scare, he felt steadier. Or, maybe he didn't trust a strange kid who ran around barefoot and lived in a big nest under the opera house. Trying to be a good host, he had offered what he could if the man happened to need nourishment, but he had figured the man could not bear to touch anything that had been stored here. Belatedly, he had thought to introduce himself, finally able to look fully into the man's face now that his skin had resumed its ivory tone.

“My name is James, James Sawyer.” Easy nodded, thinking how nice it must be to have a regular name. No one would laugh at someone named James, which was a very nice name, pleasant to say, one he had encountered many times in his life. Going through that life with an unusual name, he had become quite sensitive to... What was it Chance called them? Monikers, he remembered suddenly, the memory of the word making him smile faintly. “I’m not really sure how I got lost, exactly," James Sawyer said. "One minute I was walking down one of the corridors upstairs, the next I was through a wall. Not through it, but through a passageway. I really have no idea how it happened.” Easy nodded with understanding he truly did not have as he tried to mentally identify the man's entry point. Maybe it had been dark or poorly lit. Or, maybe he was so accustomed to his surroundings that he could not imagine becoming truly lost. He reminded himself that the man had not known to have even a flashlight with him, so he certainly could be forgiven his confusion. “I am very grateful to you for finding me though. I didn’t think anyone would. I was sure I’d die down here or something.” Easy stopped the little sound of humor that had nearly escaped, covering it up by clearing his throat. Maybe it wasn't funny really. After all, if he had not been here, perhaps the man would have panicked wildly enough to injure himself, not to be found till someone decided to do some exploring or needed to drop off more props.

“Cat, I hate to express my gratefulness with a favour, but I do have to ask about this place. Are all of these... props? From the opera house itself? How did you find this place? Where did all of these come from?” Instantly, Easy was on guard, freezing in mid-motion, his hands trembling. “I won’t tell anyone about it, I swear.” The words brought a gasp for the youth, and he realized that he had been holding his breath, fearing what was to come. “I just need to know.”

The tawny eyes were wide and wary as they studied the man, as if he could somehow will himself to read the man's mind, to know that he meant what he said. Biting nervously at his lower lip, he considered what he needed to say. "You won't tell?" It was a sort of reminder, and he hoped he wasn't being toyed with. "It ain't~um~isn't like I'm stealin' it. Most of this stuff is broken or in real bad shape, and some of it maybe they don't need anymore or at least for a while. I mean, it's not like a dumpster. No one's coming along to haul it off someplace else. I was~um~explorin', mostly when Chance and Jamil were havin' meetings and I got bored. I~I p-prowl a lot." He laughed nervously at the confession. "Anyway, I~I noticed how this was kind of a mound shape, and I started moving stuff around more 'n' more till I made it~like..." He sighed, feeling foolish, but said it anyway. "... a nest I guess, a~um~a lair? I sort it out, usin' the busted-up parts mostly, like the mirror for my door. Nobody's bothered with this much that I can tell except addin' to the pile. W-why? Am I..." He took a deep breath and plowed on. "I'm not stealin'," he persisted. Once more, he bowed his head, busying himself with a towel to clean off his jeans as best he could. "I wouldn't do that~steal. I just... I just always need places to~to hide out~to be alone~to~to feel s-safe, just in case. W-why'd you want to know? Are you gonna take them away?" He had almost said from me but had resisted. He already had resigned himself to the bleak possibility of packing up his carefully constructed hideout, wondering how many trips that was going to take considering all that he had compiled.

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Name: Natalia | Gender: Female | Posts: 2,761 | Roses: 50
Old 04-07-2011 at 08:17 AM
witch
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 Post [77] »


OCC: For Mark and Cara
Cara Blaze Andovea


Never in her life had Cara been more scared, cold or alone then she was now once again chained to the dungeons that were the Vast Dungeons of the Opera House (or at least, that's were she thought she was.)

She had been at home resting in her bed when she thought she had heard a noise that was neither Skyla or Mark. Shooting awake her eyes opened only to not be greeted by sun's sweet rays but darkness along with a strong powerful hand over her mouth and clawing into her jaw so as she couldn't scream before it was stuffed and taped. She had fought all the way but the blindfold and her bound arms made this hard along with her weakened state, were they were taking her she had no idea.

That had been a life time ago and no one was going to find her, Mark wouldn't look he had moved on. They'd be no chains being ripped from the wall, no comfort in a warm embrace and no light lips kissing the tears away.

Cara lay in the cold, hard dirt her eyes still covered she hadn't been allowed to see day light nor fell it nor any other warmth since they had taken her and feared she never would again.

It wasn't just the darkness that kept this fear in her heart but the whispered words that her capture spoke in repeat.

"You'll die Cara, you and your child and this time, we'll get it right."

Any another time Cara may have known the voice of Stalin but now her breathing hard, her body shaking in fear and cold she couldn't even force herself to stop crying.

"Mark will die to be sure of that, but first you, when the time is right... when the time is right."

That had been said to her over and over again til now, no now she prayed for those long days as she lay chained to the altar runes carved into her skin her blood flowing as her life was about to end. The darkness still remained and if she had one request she thought they might allow it would be to see the sun again.

"Any last words?" A voice questioned.

"Mark, Skyla I love you."

And with that all she could do was wait for the end.


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Name: Mark | Gender: Male | Posts: 548 | Roses: 75
Old 04-10-2011 at 12:29 AM
Black Mask
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We all can't be perfect.

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 Post [78] »


Mark Blaze

Oh God, what had he done?

Mark quickly made his way through the underground caverns of the Opera House, taking the route he had memorized that went straight to the dungeons. He had immediately headed toward the Opera House when he read the letter he had gotten in the mail, a letter from the last person he ever waited to hear from. When he had read who had sent it, his blood ran cold and all of the past memories he had kept under lock and key had flooded his mind. Stalin; a name that he never even wanted to think of again. At first, he thought it was some sort of nightmare, but the demonic snarls and growls that came from Dementis told him other wise. To tell you the truth, Mark had never really seen his other half this angry, not even when Katie decided to come looking for him. He had thought that when he saw Katie that the anger he showed there was the peak of his rage. Apparently, he was wrong though. He couldn't but wonder to himself just how angry the demon could get though there was a part him that never wanted to see Dementis that angry. However, he couldn't shake the feeling that one day he would.

Taking a sharp turn, the dark haired man walked into the dungeons that he had came to many times in the pass. He usually chose to come to this part of the underground because hardly no one came this way and thus he could be alone to collect his thoughts or simply be alone. His steps became wary as he walked further into the large room, not seeing neither Cara or Stalin. He felt Dementis trying his best to get out, like a wild tiger clawing and slamming against the cage bars. Mark used his worry for Cara and his own anger toward the old man to keep his other half at bay, but he didn't know how long it would last at the rate he was attacking the barrier he had put up. He looked around with his eyes, his eyes more greyer than usual, his body tensing in case of his old foe suddenly attacking him.

"Alright Stalin, I'm here." he said out-loud, "Now let Cara go, she did nothing to be here."


I live to die another day until I fade away.

I have lost my way, but I will go on until the end.
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Name: Natalia | Gender: Female | Posts: 2,761 | Roses: 50
Old 04-10-2011 at 03:12 AM
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 Post [79] »


Cara Blaze Andovea

Cara had never heard her heart beat louder then now, at the end. The runes Stalin had carved into her arms and legs now run cold with warm blood still sweeping down them. She couldn't feel her body it was growing numb maybe that had something to do with the drink they had forced down her thoart before they had tied her down but yet again maybe not.

Her breath sounded loud in her ears and her voice as she said her goodbyes it was so sillent that it could hardly be heard though now in her head her own inner voice screamed and pleaded:

Just get it over with

With having lost Mark to Katie and with Skyla at lest safe for now she remembered her words of long ago. That she'd gladly die for Mark, even at his hand but somehow she knew that Stalin had other ideas.

"Not yet my sweet" he whispered after her words ran dry. "You'll have to wait until your husband see's the last breath from your lips. Then I'll kill him to and it will finally be over."

She wanted to yell out to scream on the edge of her mind she thought she heard Mark's voice but nothing came out. He would die and it was because of her, she had brought Stalin and Samon back into his life and for that she'd killed the man she loved.

"But you're wrong" Stalin's voice rang out through the shadows. "She was the key to bringing you here, shame though one so young hooking up with you I asked God to take pity on her when she finally reaches his gate. Do you want to know her last words?"


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Name: Rose/Michele | Gender: A Woe to Man | Posts: 1,716 | Roses: 220
Old 04-11-2011 at 04:25 AM
A_Single_Rose
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 Post [80] »


OOC: For Alex and Chianna. BIC:

Chianna Mimieux


The air was wet in her lungs. It came in. And then it left. It was quick, like ripping off a band-aid over and over and over and over again... Her feet hit the ground. She wasn't sure if they made any sound because she wasn't really paying attention to them. Chianna wasn't even very sure if she was even wearing shoes. She probably was, but she couldn't remember. The shoe bottoms were probably too thin to make a difference anyway. She ran. Hard. The light went out in some places, but she ran past it into the next place. The walls changed colors sometimes, but it was all stone. It was all so musty. She could almost taste the old in her lungs.

Chianna was running.

In rehearsals, she couldn't take it anymore. They had been talking about her again. So she had been talking to her again.

Stop it. They were talking to her again. Just stop it. The voices grew and shrank. They crawled over each other to get to her ear. They made a raucous stampede in her brain just to tell her things she didn't want to hear. It had become too unbearable today. Most days, she could contain it. Most days, she could wave it off and sing like the rest of the chorus people. Today was a different day. Maybe it was the person who had been staring at her from across the street this morning. Maybe it was the man who held the door open for her as she came in this morning. Maybe it was the new shirt she was wearing. She didn't know, but something today had thrown her off balance.

Away. Just go away. Away...

Chianna stopped at a dusty column and clung to it, heaving from the lack of oxygen that had suddenly caught up to her. She couldn't think. The voices had left for the time being, but they were replaced by a warm buzzing above her ears in her skull. Whatever it was, it was preferable to the voices. Chianna dug her fingers into the column as she tried not to completely collapse to the floor. Her breath was coming back, but she was still breathing hard.

She gritted her teeth and shut her eyes. Her fingers felt nearly numb from the pressure she was applying. "Laissez-moi tranquille!" She let out a loud groan as her blood flooded her head.


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