See, there comes a time where I'm supposed to give a fuck.
Alright, so I’m sure people have noticed my lack of presence anywhere (from these blogs, from skype, from the chatzy, from even my personal) and it’s all because I’m feeling guilty. Because I’ve left you guys hanging time and time again yet you continue to welcome me so warmly and I’m, yet again, going to have to leave you guys hanging. I’m really, really, really sorry, especially to the people who had plots with me ongoing and for the future.
Believe me, if I could stay, I would, but it’s not working for my mental health, where logging in is a chore and replying gives me headaches and mustering up the courage to say that I just can’t is too crippling to do so (I can be dramatic, also).
I’ll stop making this all long though I thought you deserved at least some form of reason for why I’m leaving so abruptly. I love you guys very much, I’ve grown as a writer and even as a person from this roleplay and I’ll miss you guys every day, but I have to leave the roleplay permanently before I go crazy and so I can catch up in real life without feeling like worthless shit.
But I hope we can continue to talk, for those of you I have on skype and have my phone number, you can talk with me anytime and I’ll be there! I love you all and I wish you the best of luck! ♥
I could tell you the entire history of your shoes, but no, that brilliant idea would require another person entirely. She rolls her eyes. They aren’t that bad, how would you have liked having to attend six funerals a week during your summer break as a child? Much worse than suffering through one. She shakes her head and sighs. Not as simple as all that, the post-mortem business tells you more about people than you ever wanted to know, especially in my case. I make my assistants deal with the mourners.
The history of my shoes? No thank you, I got them custom made just for this occasion, the only history they have better be that of them being made or me wearing them. He had to break in the shoes somehow, even if they were unsuitable for wandering New York for no apparent reason. Maybe for you, but I’m not you and funerals disagree with me as much as I disagree with them. We’re better off staying clear of this one, but this one I can’t avoid — or shouldn’t, I suppose. He frowns at her words. And their funeral doesn’t do as much yet? I think the difference is, your job tells the bad parts about them, the funeral tells the good — and that’s optimistic for someone like me so let’s pretend I didn’t say that.
Tracy had received the text while she was trying to pick up his track. She knew who she had to hunt down, recognized his vest as well. The woman kept walking quickly, with the fury in her body giving a negative aura which could be felt with the sound of her footsteps as a lot went through her mind. She asked herself who wanted her head. She was the queen, she did the decapitating, at least from her perspective. Truth is, she had murdered many people and got to a point where she felt no remorse. Actually, she never did. Ruthless was one thing, but Tracy was unforgiving.
The words of the man echoing through the thin spacing between the buildings reached Tracy Strauss’ ears as she came closer every second. The night was cold and the mist arising from the ground mixed with the vapors from the manholes from around disguised her arrival, at her command. The woman’s footsteps ceased, as her figure formed on the mist as a shadow. She then finished listening to what he had to say, and stepped forward, revealing her face without a scratch. Tracy shot a glare at him, “If I was trying to sneak up on you, trust me, darling- you wouldn’t be standing.” Tracy’s hand immediately opened with a cold mist rising from her palm which was barely even noticeable. She wasn’t one to underestimate her opponents, so she stayed still. He could still have something against her. Hell, he probably didn’t even know of her ability from what it seemed. She didn’t know his motive and she did not know him, so taking that fact into consideration she guessed he was payed to do so, or he just had a blind hatred for politicians with Post-Human abilities. Or maybe he was from Nexus, the organization who oh-so desperately tried to destroy the Post-Human race as if it were a disease. Pathetic. Their agents even included some Post-Humans, which, she found not only hypocritical, but also insulting and very unprofessional. Who bows to get rid of something he’ll later on be using for his own personal reasons? No one in the right mind would be so cruel unless they had a reason behind their hatred, something personal.
The woman looked into his eyes, trying to decipher who he worked for and what his goals were, and awaited for his reply. She guessed small talk wasn’t her best area, but she bit her tongue and let him speak. She let him have the first move, even. But what was that?— His skin shone. She took a real good look, studying what it was which spread through the small visible parts of his skin, “What’s your ability, Vampire Mimicry?” asked the blonde as she crooked an eyebrow and tilted her head slightly to the side. She did have a tendency to make references like so. The moonlight made it worse, although Tracy was stone cold serious.
Arthur was no fool. He didn’t believe in ghosts, never would after all the things he had done to the living that would make them haunt him in the afterlife, but he wasn’t stupid either, he knew a dead body when he saw one and Tracy Strauss had been dead. He had seen as much with his own two eyes. So why is it then that she was standing behind him with a stony expression and dangerously glinting eyes? No answer was forthcoming and he didn’t ask, didn’t want to question because he was almost afraid of what the answer was before his better judgment caught up to him, the side that had been a mercenary for fifteen years, who had been a post-human for longer. “Huh, guess that ability of yours has more tricks than I was lead to believe,” he said, an easy grin on his face as though this whole thing was amusing, not letting on to his annoyance.
Wishful thinking on her part, to sneak up on him and knock him down, as though it would be as simple as that. She may have had five years on him, but she certainly didn’t have as much experience under her belt as he did, not unless she was hiding a dangerous secret in which he wouldn’t exert the effort to find. His grin widened at her words. Vampire mimicry? He’d heard that one before, but he didn’t see a reason to let her doubt otherwise. “If that’s what you want to call it. Before these bullshit movies came out, people feared vampires,” he pointed out, taking a step back as though preparing himself to move, watching her carefully for any sudden movements. Tracy Strauss didn’t look like she was going to make the first move though.
Then, he relaxed his stance, allowing the tension to ease from his body while he considered what to do. Obviously bullets wouldn’t cut it, but who was to say that one through the leg wouldn’t keep her down for a few moments at most? Nonetheless, he needed time to think. “Do you want to tell me how you survived that or shall we just cut to the chase, hm? I imagine you’ve called your friends by now, I expect my face to be plastered across the world tomorrow.” It wouldn’t though, because Arthur had long since gotten connections high up that halted any movement against him such as that. While he spoke, he extracted his gun from his side pocket without being seen, watching her for only a moment to gauge her movements before quickly pointing his gun at her and firing in the direction of her legs.
It’s bad enough that you’re concerned about chickening out? Unfortunately time travel isn’t in my skill set, or I would help you out on that count. She laughs shortly. Both of those come with a sort of glamour that my occupation doesn’t have, sadly. I’m a medical examiner, it’s worse than those two by far, if you ask the average person. She shrugs faintly. Bring me your suicides, your murders, your deaths by natural causes…
Eh, funerals have never been my thing so, yeah, I’m a lot of a wimp about it. Damn, there goes my brilliant idea then. He mocks an expression of disappointment. I think that would depend on how the person feels about bodies, dead ones in particular, I’d much rather cut someone up than have to be there and watch their family mourn for them. He gives a small grin.
Of course I have, exams, things like that. Procrastination doesn’t do anyone any favors. She laughs gently. My Wednesdays are full of interns that I have to sort through, kicking out the ones who puke during post-mortems and suggesting they take up another specialty.
That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid, procrastination, or else I’ll run off. He shrugs. Are you a mortician then or an instructor at a college? Either way, sounds like an eventful job, I guess.
Prompt: Children (from Libby)
Prompt: Injury (from Hanna)
1995; age 13
“You’re weak, Arthur,” the voices mocked above him as he lay on the floor, dazed and confused. “Just a waste of space,” another voice said. “Just going to die in a couple of months anyway,” someone whispered before the crowd around him dispersed, leaving him on the floor, trying to figure out what was going on, why everything on his body hurt more than usual.
What, with all the disappointment of half a week left to soldier through? Your Wednesdays must be much better than mine.
Ever wanted something you don’t like to come quicker to get it over with? That’s the situation my hands, but now I’m curious: what’s so sucky about your Wednesday? He raises a brow.
Sunday, actually. What day of the week did you think it was?
Thought so. Uhh, Wasn’t what I thought, but rather what I wanted; wish it was Wednesday.
What day of the week is it again, hm?