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Modern
Nov 4, 2006 16:03:06 GMT -8
Post by lions_go_rawr on Nov 4, 2006 16:03:06 GMT -8
lets stick with LA.
...pack sunscreen...
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Modern
Nov 4, 2006 16:03:35 GMT -8
Post by theliontamer♥ on Nov 4, 2006 16:03:35 GMT -8
hahahahaha
wow. that was awful.
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Modern
Nov 4, 2006 16:07:55 GMT -8
Post by glamorousgnome on Nov 4, 2006 16:07:55 GMT -8
cheeeeeeeeeesy.
who shall start?? what shall the coven house be like? of course theyre all freakin rich lol.
is cassandra older? does andrew have a kid now? and what about anabelle/tobias- a babeh?
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Modern
Nov 4, 2006 16:18:23 GMT -8
Post by lions_go_rawr on Nov 4, 2006 16:18:23 GMT -8
ooc: im writing a paper, so i wont start first. ill come in after someone. and as for ol' toby and anabelle, uhh, i dunno. stace? what do you think?
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Modern
Nov 4, 2006 16:25:42 GMT -8
Post by glamorousgnome on Nov 4, 2006 16:25:42 GMT -8
k my intro is coming soon ive got half of it maybe sorta written from a story i was doing but right now...hhaha im attempting french tips on my nails
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Modern
Nov 4, 2006 16:45:04 GMT -8
Post by lions_go_rawr on Nov 4, 2006 16:45:04 GMT -8
ooc: actually, i need a break from my paper. can i start?
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Modern
Nov 4, 2006 17:04:11 GMT -8
Post by surfrchik88124 on Nov 4, 2006 17:04:11 GMT -8
((well this is writing...just not essay writing...))
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Modern
Nov 4, 2006 17:25:10 GMT -8
Post by lions_go_rawr on Nov 4, 2006 17:25:10 GMT -8
The night had come again. He could feel it, even in the sanctity of his coffin, hidden away in a secret room inside the house. To someone who looked upon it, it would look just like any other house, owned by the rich, upper-class of Los Angeles. But to those who did know what the house truly was, they knew the disguse. The lucsious rooms were all there act an act, hiding what was hidden in secret passageways to rooms that held the rest of the coven. Tobias Darko could feel the cool night breeze as he open the lid of his permanent sleeping quarters. As he arose, he saw the other, almost indentical casket next to him. "Anabelle," he breathed out, smiling. He wasnt going to wake her, it wasnt like him to. He walked past the coffin, letting his hand trace along the lid before disappearing out through a door into the house. He dressed himself, wearing whatever was fashionable at the time in L.A. At the moment, he wore a brand name shirt, Hollister, or Abercrombie, or something of the sort, with matching pants. You had to have the matching set to really make things look good. From his view in the house, he could see the lights of houses below the coven house. Now, he awaited the rest of them to awaken.
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Modern
Nov 4, 2006 17:32:53 GMT -8
Post by theliontamer♥ on Nov 4, 2006 17:32:53 GMT -8
Anabelle: you're wearing abercrombie? stacey: okay. i officially retract my love for tobias.
....that was a good post, by the way, though.
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Modern
Nov 4, 2006 17:35:05 GMT -8
Post by glamorousgnome on Nov 4, 2006 17:35:05 GMT -8
ooc: great clothes stone the prep!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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Modern
Nov 4, 2006 17:36:28 GMT -8
Post by lions_go_rawr on Nov 4, 2006 17:36:28 GMT -8
ooc: it says "SOMETHING OF TEH SORT" it could be hollister or am eagle.
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Modern
Nov 4, 2006 17:39:12 GMT -8
Post by theliontamer♥ on Nov 4, 2006 17:39:12 GMT -8
Stacey: BURN ABERCROMBIE! Anabelle: ......is it that bad? Stacey: ....you'll see.
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Modern
Nov 4, 2006 17:45:30 GMT -8
Post by glamorousgnome on Nov 4, 2006 17:45:30 GMT -8
“Here.” The man stood at the rather tall table by the window, his fingers drumming dully on the shining glass. Below his fingers and below that cover of glass was a decorative splash of paint, followed by an image of the New York skyline, done completely in ink. It rested beside an image of a rather old passport with an array of official stamps embedded on its frayed edges. It did not matter. He only glimpsed these things, with unimportant curiosity, and then did not recall their existence. The window of this airport Starbucks faced out to the incredible scenery of the other airport Starbucks’. Weary limbed travelers and businessmen hauled their bags and wheeled carry-ons through the hall, surrounded on both sides by shops and restaurants, many closed as a result of the time. Three thirty am. Yet, the place was still filled. He liked to watch them all, the way their faces flitted past the glass, distorted for a brief moment, before disappearing all together. It interested him, but in a reflective way. He wasn’t really, after all, concerned with these people. He should have never returned to London. It had saddened him beyond his expectations. His grief was spilling forth from him even as he stood there, through those fingertips that hounded that glass so powerfully. Some things are just better left dead and buried. So he was not one of these things! A smile flickered to his lips at this thought, but it was still overshadowed by the frown that stitched his brow together so tragically. He appeared much older, much wiser, than a twenty three year old man. So he could not stay dead and buried, but it was necessary that his past should. When he returned to England to find it filled with motor cars and buses and millions of electric lights in every window and every asphalted street- well, it had not felt quite the same. He wanted to cry out as he glanced from that tiny first class window down to that vast and darkened ocean. Familiar. Yes. He had taken this voyage by ship once. But he wanted to cry out when the ocean had ended and, abruptly, a blinding light had appeared down below him. Where was his London? Where had it gone? He did not believe the signs, the voices, all that declared he was indeed in the right place. It was not until he had left the airport, and seen the old clock and tower for himself, that it really began to sink in. Two hundred years can really do a lot to a place. He began to recognize the many corners he had walked once as a proud gentleman with women and friends upon his arms. He was a man of power here once, and the city had long ago been as a father to him. But he was in no way received as the prodigal son. In all truth, when Andrew ran his hands along the mechanics of this new age, he felt as if this place was dead to him. It had no opinion on the matter of his arrival either way. Was London really dead? As he had rounded the corner to where the manor house once so proudly stood, he had gasped. It had been replaced with apartments; the rooms he had once loved and labored in had become someone else’s place of joy and grief. It no longer belonged to him. He had rounded the edge of the apartments, quickly moved to the other side to catch a glimpse of the front apartment. A man and his wife were speaking and clinking their wine together. In the back apartment, an old woman was seated before her television set, tears clinging to her eyes from some family commercial that had reminded her vaguely of some faint feeling that had once been her own in a long ago childhood. What was this tragedy? Shakespeare certainly hadn’t written this man’s, as he had once hoped. No, it was not so noble. Long ago, that front apartment had been his parlor, and he had drank wine with his companions as a younger, foolish man. Long ago, that back apartment, up those winding stairs, had been his room, and he had brought many a naïve woman to his bed. A man could expect to see ghosts in these places, for he certainly felt them. But they did not appear. It seemed as if even the ghosts were dead. Not even for a fleeting moment did he see an image of himself in any of those windows. Saddened by this, he had left this part of London and returned to the business district in order to fulfill the purpose of this trip. And now he was in a Starbucks in New York, waiting for the red eye to Los Angeles to be announced. His fingers trembled, clutching at that glass profusely, angrily, and his eyes flitted across each individual in that airport. “Hey?” “Yes?” the man clenched his fist away from the glass and held it still on the table, as if it had been so surprised that it relaxed. He glanced away, his neatly kept, modern, blonde hair falling loosely into his eyes for a moment. He shook the strands away from the deep and impenetrable blue as he took the coffee the other man handed him. His fingers shook and he immediately tossed away the top from the drink to stir it. “Thank you.”
“Your flight leaves in ten minutes. Don’t you want to board?” asked the man anxiously, surveying the other questioningly. He had been acting strangely the entire trip, and he was worried about him. “You know, you don’t need to go back to LA tonight. You could get some sleep, you know, for once in your life.”
“I don’t know my way around New York,” protested the other strongly, waving off his the other doctor. "No. I want to get back to LA before sunrise."
"FLIGHT 789 DIRECT NEW YORK TO LOS ANGELES"
"Goodbye, Jack," the man said, slapping him on the shoulder and taking the coffee with eager hands. It lapped over onto his hand as he went to board first class. "Thanks for the Latte."
"Bye Andrew." But Jack stood there for a long moment, watching the fair haired phychologist retreat to the plane, and disappear with his boarding past through the thin line of passengers. There was something strange about that man, but he couldn't quite pinpoint it. Ah well. What did it matter? He'd probably never see him again anyway.
*~*
Andrew was seated in the living area, the darkness closing in about him. Five o'clock exactly, blared his Razor phone, slick, silver, modern. He still couldn't get quite used to it. The television cast an eerie glow across his features as he stared at it, but not really seeing it. All he could think about was London, and how strange it had been for him to see his past in ruins. He waited for the others to awake.
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Modern
Nov 4, 2006 23:18:47 GMT -8
Post by glamorousgnome on Nov 4, 2006 23:18:47 GMT -8
"Last night three bodies were discovered to be missing from a local funeral parlor-"
"That wasn't me, I swear..." muttered a dark haired foreigner, his body lithely leaning against a kitchen counter of dark, smoothed slate, rounded where his fingers clutched the edge. He was viewing a rather small flatscreened television that was sitting on the counter beside the window, where the various cooks he had hired often entertained themselves and attempted to keep themselves awake by watching Late Night or CSI. The news was blaring its headlines now, covering the daftest of subjects, in the foreigner's opinion. Yet, he watched with rapture.
There was a smile upon his lips, a rather mischevious smile that was rare to him. It had darkly amused him that the investigators scrambled to find the crook, picturing anything from a trouble-making, prankster teenager to a deranged, forty year old necrophiliac. Never would they guess that a vampire had taken them!
He stole them for mere pleasure. It delighted him to hear of his crimes on the headlines, and so he had stolen various objects (all of which he kept secret from the coven- for they would all probably frown upon his habits) from human corpses to priceless artifacts to an entire limousine. He was, as Andrew often diagnosed his patients to be, a cleptomaniac.
The sun had set little less than an hour ago and had veiled Los Angeles in an October flood of darkness. The air had cooled and issued a breeze that snatched the broken leaves from the weakening tree limbs of the magnolias and the maples that lined the suburban-like streets. Adrien loved this first darkness. The light that issued over the city never failed to bring him amazement at how far the world had truly advanced.
He crossed the kitchen to his refrigerator, where he poured a rather disgusting looking bag of plastic over a glass. The bag dribbled out a red liquid, blood, and on the side of the bag was plastered the type, 'B'. Adrien had also stolen from the blood bank. The others wouldnt mind this, he had assured himself. After all, if they were to be monsters they would have to retain some attributes of that name.
As the television light flickered across his face to talk about the weather...sunny sunny sunny... (of course it did not matter to Adrien), he rapped his fingers on the slate and drank the blood, waiting for his lover Sienna to awaken.
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Modern
Nov 5, 2006 14:39:05 GMT -8
Post by sewergal89 on Nov 5, 2006 14:39:05 GMT -8
I'm going to join i just need to figure out characer hmmmmm i will think of something or in this case someone good
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Modern
Nov 5, 2006 14:55:32 GMT -8
Post by lions_go_rawr on Nov 5, 2006 14:55:32 GMT -8
ooc: tobias has posted. so talk to him if you want to
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Modern
Nov 5, 2006 15:05:22 GMT -8
Post by glamorousgnome on Nov 5, 2006 15:05:22 GMT -8
ooc: yay!!! thats right!!! he did post!! robby, youre way ahead of me. (ps, i love ur icon lol
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Modern
Nov 5, 2006 15:08:41 GMT -8
Post by lions_go_rawr on Nov 5, 2006 15:08:41 GMT -8
ooc: thanks. i have tons of other ones too that are just as good
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Modern
Nov 5, 2006 16:42:47 GMT -8
Post by corgis4me on Nov 5, 2006 16:42:47 GMT -8
She took a deep breatheand then headed into a medium sized conferance room. There where three people sitting in tall black chairs, all holding clip boards. Noelle took another deep breathe and then headed into the spot light. "Your name please." said the women sitting in the middle seat. "Noelle Arden." she said sweetly as a smile formed on her face. "Okay then Miss Arden, when ever your ready." said the young man in the left seat. Noelle nodded and then took one last deep breathe before she started her short monologe.
"Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us..."
"Thank you Miss Arden that will do." said the young man. "We will call you in two weeks." "Okay thank you, have a nice day." said Noelle, she then turn around and left.
She headed outside and grabbed a cab. "Beverly Hills apartments, please." "Okay miss." said the driver as her merged into the naxt lane. Noelle sat in the back and thought about her audition. In thrity minutes before she arrived home. She payed the man and then headed up the stairs to her apartment. She pulled her key out of the purse that hung at her side. She opened the door and walked into her beautiful apartment. She they her purse on the granite counter and then fell onto her leather sofa. She grabbed her book as she kicked off her shoes.
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Modern
Nov 5, 2006 17:02:19 GMT -8
Post by glamorousgnome on Nov 5, 2006 17:02:19 GMT -8
ooc: nice intro!
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