play crack the sky

They call 'em rogues. They travel fast and alone. One hundred foot faces of God's good ocean gone wrong.

[e-pearson]

n-walsh:

Wonderful. 

My name? It's okay. Yours, though -- what's yours?

[e-pearson]

n-walsh:

Hola.

Uh. I'm Elliot.

[mansford-institute]

Uhm hey.

[e-pearson]

Hi.

[arthurgrayson]

I wish I’d thought to bring a coffee maker…this stuff is shite.

[e-pearson]

Everyone keeps saying that. Maybe we should just get better coffee.

[e-pearson]

I don't get it.

[river-blane]

I don’t… love them. [She doesn’t. She doesn’t — she does. But admitting that seems messy and feels achy.] I’d just miss them.

[e-pearson]

Isn't that kinda what love is? [He says kinda because if she disappeared from two delusional kids having a field day with experiments, he'd more than miss her.]

[shira-gin-deactivated20170903]

Visit Original Link

[e-pearson]

Pork and Beans by Weezer

I’mma do the things that I wanna do I ain’t got a thing to prove to you

[e-pearson]

I don't get it.

[e-pearson]

river-blane:

But how do you know for sure?

I don't. I just know that you love them, so I didn't wanna see you get sad or anything if they did die.

[e-pearson]

I don't get it.

[e-pearson]

river-blane:

If you can manage to hide them under your tongue, maybe we can feed them to the birds and see what happens?

I think the birds will die if we do that.

[e-pearson]

I don't get it.

Why do I have to take anti-depressants? I'm not depressed, right? Just dead. Does depression come with death?

[e-pearson]

miranda-rykes:

Whether or not I’m okay is irrelevant. [Her legs are getting tired, and she slows down a bit. Okay. When was the last time someone had asked if she was okay? How should she even know? It’s not a word anyone has given her. Okay. It might be a decent word to have. Then she might be able to answer questions like his.] 

I’m feeling fine, if that’s what you’re asking.

So... it's not irrelevant. If you're fine, then you're okay. They mean the same thing, don't they? Or is there like a hidden connotation or something going on there?

[lesser-half-noah-blog]

I should spread a rumor that the rest of the Beattles members dropped dead...

[e-pearson]

lesser-half-noah:

You mean what if everything I said then became true? Well, I’d probably be talking about my dick a lot, then.

Come here? Why would they come here if they’re dead?

No, I just mean about the Beatles.

Uh. Well, it's a long story that you're not gonna understand or believe.

[e-pearson]

miranda-rykes:

[Miranda doesn’t want to stop. Why is he asking her questions? His words are blurry, not making sense, and she doesn’t want to stop. She feels like she’s falling apart, like her atoms will burst from under her skin and dissolve in the cruel cruel air if she doesn’t keep moving. But Elliot was kind to her earlier, wasn’t he? She should stop for him. She almost succeeds, she really does try. The best she can manage is a quick walk, her feet going tap tap tap along with the pitter patter of raindrops. Her muddled brain processes his question.] I’m not running anymore, m’I?

[Elliot's glad she doesn't keep running. He was never really bad at it, but he was never in shape enough to run as fast as she was going and he really doesn't feel like running. He feels more like walking, even if it's fast. It seems faster for her, his legs longer and able to pick up a step for her every two steps.]

No, you're not. Hey, are you okay?

[miranda-rykes]

[It’s raining. Miranda loves the rain. She rests her head against the windowpane, one finger tracing the beautifully erratic path of a drop down the glass. It hasn’t rained in ages. The steady rain lulls her into an almost-sleep. She sits watching the rain fall for long time, wondering if she’d be allowed to go outside. She mulls this idea over for a moment, mind sluggish. It wouldn’t hurt to ask. Standing, she wanders out to the hall. The pitter-patter of rain almost drowns out her footsteps as she begins to walk, at first quickly, then faster. Thoughts of asking to go out fly out of her head, for the need to go outside is overwhelming it. She knows she looks suspicious. She doesn’t care. She just wants to feel the rain, feel the cold drops stinging her skin. She needs to feel something, or she will go mad. Well. Mad-er.]

[e-pearson]

[Elliot's doing what he does best -- wandering. Mostly, he's wandering the halls looking for River because of their continuous game of hide-and-seek. It makes him smile most of the time, but this time he's distracted. This girl is running through the hall and her hair reminds Elliot of Myra's hair. He kinda misses Myra. She left, he assumes. People here drop like flies. He decides to call after her. Anyway, that's not Myra -- it's Miranda. All these Ms. He's glad River starts with an R.] Hey! Why are you running?! [And if she doesn't stop to answer, he'll run with her.]

[lesser-half-noah-blog]

I should spread a rumor that the rest of the Beattles members dropped dead...

No one would be able to jump on a computer and prove it a lie. Chaos ensues.

Oh, life without Google.

[e-pearson]

You could be right, though, right?

What if saying it kills them? What if they come here like I did?

[e-pearson]

Skorts are fun.

[e-pearson]

river-blane:

Promise?

Promise.

[Elliot leans forward and captures her lips, no real warning there, but it's soft because that was the way he wanted it. Now that he thinks about it and feels her lips again, it's been way too long since he kissed her. How did he even let that happen?]

[e-pearson]

Skorts are fun.

[e-pearson]

river-blane:

I don’t know. Maybe just hypothetical. Like if the world we normal and we weren’t different. Would we still have looked at each other and… been the way we are?

I still would have looked at you.

[e-pearson]

Skorts are fun.

[e-pearson]

river-blane:

[Like tactile waiting for her to be okay, his smile forms and she can breathe a bit easier. Even if the breathing still feels heavy on her tongue.] Do you think we would have known each other somewhere else? That we still would have found one another if we weren’t two of the only things that were real?

Maybe. I'd like to think so. Maybe not, but where else would we meet, if we could?