#;untitled

[actually-my-name-is-samandriel]

[text] Have you seen my Dick

Samandriel blinked at the text. [Text, Adam]: ???

[c-mathison-blog]

;UNTITLED gingerogue

This is supposed to be a peaceful night off. Carrie’s perched on a plush bar stool, a cold beer in her hand. Frannie is at her sister’s for the weekend so her single mother duties are pleasantly revoked for a couple of days of rest. Supposed to be a peaceful night off. There’s a man at the other end of the bar facing the window. She hasn’t taken her eyes off of him for a good ten minutes. His face is obscured by the dim lighting and his position, but the red hair and broad shoulders burn her from the inside out - his familiar silhouette forcing her to physically ground herself, lest she run towards him and bury her head in his chest and never let him go. But not look at his face. She half wants this man to be someone else; to close the door she’s been trying to pry open for over a year now. But the sentimental part of her just wants him back, secretly hoping there was just a re occurrence of Brody’s capture. He seemed almost invincible. Men like him don’t just die. She’s overthinking, fuck. Bereavement does some serious shit to a person, and she has half a mind to think she’s going nuts. Promptly downing her entire beer with a choked off burp she finds herself leaving her seat, whether she wants to leave or go to the bathroom she’s not sure, but either way she has to walk in his direction, so she chooses to take the safe bet of staring at the ground, her fantastical thinking clinging to the moment she might hear his voice call her over.

[heartsxrgeon]

| დ | - To say that Law was confident in his abilities would be an understatement. Whenever he finished a piece, he found himself staring at it for long periods of times, typically holding onto the said animal for a few days longer than necessary. In some cases, he did have an obnoxious client who demanded it as soon as possible, which Law did indulge them simply to be rid of a nuisance. But most oftentimes people were understanding of the fact that he was a busy man and ‘had too much work given to him’.

Though in reality he was quite quick and nimble once set on a task. Considering his choice of work, he rarely failed to have the mold already prepared, it was typically the first thing he made sure to prepare in the morning. So directly afterwards he could begin working on the animal. It had been the skin of a great horned owl – one he had done on various occasions. The bird was a common sight for him, but not nearly as common as the mammals small or large he saw.

It had been two days since he received the skin, allowing it to dry. Touching the flesh light he brow furrowed at the toughness it possessed. A little too long this time, but not impossible to work with. Still it meant he would have to be more careful. Clicking his tongue irritably he continued along the process, his fingers massaging the tanning oil into the skin along with borax. There it sat for four days, his projects taking up his time.

Those were for money, this one—it was for himself, or more so for him to show up to help promote his work. Granted the animal was not the smallest he had worked with, it still would prove to be a feat. The owl had been quite small in comparison to its species usual size. Instead of being around two feet, it held closer to a foot with an added few inches.

Regardless he spent the next few days preparing for the finishing touches. At this point it was simply left to stuffing the hide and sewing it on the mold he prepared. When he was finished he found his lips curling, obviously satisfied.

It was within the next few days after having done the owl did a rare opportunity present itself. Not only was it a museum piece they were requesting him to do, it was a bird, a rare one at that. A hooded grebe in one of the wild life bird preservations within the state had died, it was deemed a waste should they simply bury the creature to let its body rot.

The pay was worth it and it would only serve to bring his name publicity. So here Law was, holding the grebe that was for a museum piece its long neck hanging limp over his hands. Really it was quite a beautiful bird. Mostly white with black consuming portions of the birds head and back. The bright red eyes which stood out considerably even in death, which spiked feathers flaring off of the bird’s forehead. It was on the smaller side, but nothing he could not handle.

So the next few days were spent ignoring his other jobs unless he was waiting for the skin to settle to be shaped. Even then he spent a good portion of his time adjusting and fixing the form that he had made, ensuring it was perfect. And when the piece was done, Law nearly did not give it back. By far it was one of his better works. The feathers flaring like it was still alive, while the eyes were made almost lifelike.

Strangely enough, for all of the effort he had put into his other works, Law found himself quite positive this was the best. Which made him crave to hold onto the piece a little longer. Day by day he procrastinated on giving it up, until the point where they all but threatened that they needed it that night or they would retrieve it and find someone else to finish it.

Begrudgingly he agreed to take it there that night. His steps were hollow as he held the bird in the case he had been given, close to his chest. Getting attached to such a trivial thing was ridiculous but regardless, he found himself tightening his grasp on the casing before knocking on the museum door. He had called ahead to let them know he was on his way. Really, the least they could have done was have a guard already at the door, it was chilly outside after all.

[hyoldon]

Hyorin is, under no circumstances, a morning person. In fact, one might say she fears the rising sun more than its descent into darkness. Which explains why she is currently struggling to keep her eyes open in front of her new bosses. Not that anyone could blame her much for her actions at this time. Only someone completely insensitive and insane would bother to rouse another in the early hours of the morning to request their presence for an ‘emergency meeting.’ Not to mention that no other details were divulged after that. If the state of her job did not depend on her waking and rushing to drive in order to attend this ‘emergency meeting’, she may have never answered the phone in the first place. And she definitely would not be smiling brightly and nodding absentmindedly in some overly fancy furnished home, all while feigning attentiveness she did not possess at the moment.

Fortunately for her, neither man nor woman happens to notice her nearly open display of fatigue and boredom. Instead, they continue on (like any other uncaring person) with a rather long lecture of this and that before finally, finally informing her that the job is hers for the taking, if she so accepts. That statement alone is enough to perk her up instantaneously, and she suddenly becomes all thank-yous, and you-don’t-know-how-much-this-means-to-mes. Partially honest, partially exaggerative. Truthfully, who wouldn’t be ecstatic. People needed food and money bought food. And where did money come from? A job! Of course. Yet another source of income for herself. Another day of life.

"Your first assignment is to go and wake her. We don’t need her being late for class."

Her refers to their well-protected, most likely overly spoiled daughter, whom she has just been instated to observe routinely with a watchful eye. The two met a while ago at some dreadfully dull business party where everyone was expected to mingle with one another and become friends for the night. Certainly, at the time, Yura (as she later learned was the girl’s name) was being subconsciously shielded by her parents and Hyorin had only been able to catch a few glimpses for a while. The scene only spoke of something the woman did not particularly enjoy, even if she did not understand why. And all she could do nothing but shake her head in distaste. Days after, they awkwardly stumble into each other outside the massive home. Yura in a rush and herself just leaving. Somehow conversation initiates. She can't bring herself to stop it.

The senseless train of thought swiftly derails and she realizes that she is left alone, only the echoing words of directions to the girl’s bedroom lingering in her head. At the very least, her mind had been dependable enough to remember that. With a sigh, Hyorin straightens out the rising fabric of her skirt before turning to glance up the winding staircase behind her. It takes all of ten seconds for her to reach the door that marks her destination; the thought of quickly getting everything over with fueling her hasty actions. She does not think to knock on the door, does not even try to keep the door from slamming once she is over the threshold. “Hey!” she calls out, voice monotonous in tone, an arm reaching out to roughly shake the sleeping form huddled under the blankets. “It’s time to get up.” 

[vigilatedeae-deactivated2014042]

"Well… it is the contents is what makes it so valuable… the author only wrote only two or three of these in his or her entire lifetime." Evelyn explained as she examined its contents again.

"Most of the information in here has probably been almost completely forgotten by now."

[mxdrost-blog]

       "Ah," the word was coupled with a slow nod, "I see."

     A pause.

     "If...if it doesn't bother you, would you mind enlightening me? Exactly what information does the book in your hands contain? Or is such information far too sensitive to be shared with another?"