#blrpstarters

[philippexlinwood]

📩  SOS || ALL ROYALS

P. Linwood: CONFIRM YOUR STATUS AND LOCATION ASAP.

[tyxcoburn-blog]

This wasn’t the first time Tyree had woken up in a hospital bed, but it was certainly the first time he had woken up with no idea of what day of the week it was, or why he was in so much pain. Sure, he’d been under heavy medication to help his body heal, but the pain from the inevitable stitches was still very real to him. He’d asked Shona to leave the room for a bit–begging her to actually go feed herself, promising he would be alright in the time she was gone–and after a good five minutes of trying to convince her through a rough, raspy voice, she finally left begrudgingly. Letting out a shaky breath, he wanted to roll his eyes as the oxygen tube in his nose got in the way. He knew it was mandatory, though. He knew that the pain in his chest, this heaviness, it was not going to go away quickly. But he had done a good thing, an incredible thing, by saving Whitney. And as he laid there in the hospital bed, dark brown eyes staring up at the ceiling, he couldn’t help but think that it was worth it. He’d been able to fight for his own life. It might have been a struggle, but after a week of being unconscious he was finally awake. In pain, yes. With a hoarse voice, yes. But he wasn’t dying, and that was what mattered the most. Hearing someone enter his room he glanced up, a dazed look on his face. “Hey.” He whispered, trying to sit up properly to greet the person, only to find that he couldn’t quite gather the strength to do that.

[artfulviolence-blog]

The music was playing, the girls were dancing, the alcohol was served in spades and various substances were being passed freely around. Sitting there amidst a posse of people, various friends from old schools, girls who wanted to sleep with him, others who had slept with him and, somewhat impressively to him, was still interested. Some just wanted to bask in the spotlight he drew wherever he went. Paparazzi whores, groupies, out for their ten minutes of fame. Art didn’t much mind, they were free to throw themselves at him, laugh at his tame jokes, offer to rub his shoulders or fetch him drinks or even better, give him a BJ. If he played the ‘heavy week at the office’ card, they would happily put their pretty lips wherever he told them to in order to give him some ‘well deserved’ stress release. Some girls were just too easy. There was no challenge, no thrill, no resistance. It was all very tedious. And right now, Art was bored out of his mind. Deciding he was over it, the whole thing, he shoved the girl currently on his lap off, not even hearing her grunt as she fell into someone else and yelled out. No his mind was already on the smoke he was going to have on his way home, wether or not to call his driver Carrick to come pick him up or just walk the five blocks to his penthouse apartment. He reached the door, pushing it open with force, stepping into the cold air. He had only taken a few steps when a voice called out from behind. Annoyance flashed as the male slowly turned on his heels. “Yes? What is it?” he demanded, somewhat impatiently. 

[oliviamastromarco-blog]

WIth her ankle wrapped in a binding to help with stability, Olivia sat comfortably on a bench in Hyde Park. It was one of the first times she was able to be out and about after her ankle had been broken at the bombing. After several weeks of a cast and even a brace for a short time, she finally looked like a normal person in public again. Taking in the warm rays of the sun, Olivia sat comfortably with her phone in hand listening to a political podcast. Woolf lay at her feet content after just having fetched the same tennis ball at least 100 times in a row. Olivia was stunned to see her hop to attention and bolt towards the person closest to her. “Woolf! Arrêtez!” she commanded, but Woolf continued until she was at the feet of the by standard happily wagging her fluffy golden tail. Olivia stood and walked over to them, “I’m so sorry, she is harmless. She usually follows directions so well,” Olivia attempted to explain as she reattached Woolf’s leash to her harness.

[catemckenna-blog]

During the course of the evening, Cate had reached exactly two conclusions: 1) deciding to be on best behaviour was all well and good, until you suddenly found yourself jammed into a room with all your bad influences and everyone who knew only the worst side of you, and 2) as far as mysterious, anonymous events went, masquerades did an exceptionally poor job of making people difficult to identity.

Cursing to herself as she spotted yet another person that she was trying to avoid, the brunette dove behind a pillar and took a few deep breaths as she leaned against it; knowing full well that her actions both looked and felt ridiculous. After all, if there was one thing that she had never seen herself as, it was skittish. Pulling herself together, Cate then grabbed a champagne flute from the tray of a waiter passing by as well as the nearest person to her, holding them close as she began making her way through the crowd. “Here,” she greeted, offering them the glass. “Pretend we’re in the middle of a fascinating conversation.”

[luciahuntington-blog]

“If you think I have not noticed you standing right there gawking for the last 39,” she paused to glace at her Rolex before continuing, “...40 seconds, you are wrong.” After finishing her sentence, Lucia slowly lifted her gaze from the book in front of her and up to the person she was speaking to. “If I were you, I’d say what you want right now. So, what is it do you need? Unless you are press, then you can sod the hell off because I have no comments in regards to the protests aimed at the Prime Minister."

[devlinxtaylor-blog]

“It can’t be that hard to figure out..” he said, his tone indicating that his patience was quickly slipping. The past weeks had been nothing but straining on the gang leader and though he was known for his easy-going nature and open mindedness, the current times had not been kind enough to grant him that steady frame of mind. A pair of heavy eyebrows was raised as he stared straight at the person in front of him. Taking a forced deep breath. “Anything I can do to help?” Devlin asked, ruefully so. He found that if he offered help then he could indeed speed things along at times. Thoughts easily slipping away to the seriousness of the present day. No matter where he went or who he spoke to, one thought lingered. Or should one say a burning sensation in his gut, flaming up at any given chance. Hatred was an ugly emotion, one Devlin had spent many years learning to use instead of being engulfed and eaten up by. Yet lately heh ad not been fully able to turn the flame into ice cold chards. He strived for control, yet that seemed to be just out of reach. 

[adrian-jung-blog]

Hospital

Adrian shut his eyes against the pain in his side from the surgery - one of the surgeries - and pressed the little button that would get him more intravenous pain meds. He bit down on his lower lip to keep from groaning too audibly, should his kids or (god forbid) Philippe be around the corner to hear it. Fuck, everything hurts. He opened his eyes and blankly stared up at the ceiling, imagining for a second that it was for good.

Narrowly avoided paralysis, one of his surgeons had said. Death, too, but death was death. Paralysis was...a lifetime of staring up at the ceiling. If nothing else, the party left him with a story involving a metal object flying into him and almost fucking up his spine, organ damage, nearly bleeding to death, and something else his doctors mentioned but he was too out of it to remember.

He wasn’t really listening. He wanted to see his kids the second they told him he’d been considered missing after a bombing, that somehow his daughter and friend (Philippe, probably) had insisted he was at this hospital (Jackie’s doing, certainly), and that he’s been in a medically induced coma. The details of his situation could wait but checking on the girls couldn’t and didn’t.

Though, he should really ask for the doctor to explain things to him again. Later. When it doesn’t hurt so much.

“Jesus,” he groaned, moving to clutch his side before he remembered. Best not touch the surgery stitches.