#rooftop blues

[hexsrealityarchived2]

@rooftop-blues inquired: * can i have some? ( written on a note ~ )

random (chaotic) dialogue starters. ⤷ Accepting!

Wanda stared at the handwritten note that was slid across the table until placed right in front of her. She knew who the handwriting belonged to before she looked up to see Black Noir standing in front of her. Picking up the napkin placed neatly beside her bowl, she dabbed carefully at her mouth to wipe away any remaining food on her lips. 

“It’s a stew called goulash, it’s a traditional Romani meal. It’s made with beef, paprika, garlic, parsley.” Wanda replied, listing off some of the few ingredients she had used to make her meal. Wanda really wanted some comfort food, something to cheer her up when she was struggling. It was always something her adoptive mother would make her and the rest of the family when Wanda was growing up. “Would you like to try some?” 

[pyreshe]

👀

" he's a lot cooler and nicer than people think. he's just a lot more in general too. sometimes I think people forget there's a person under his suit, you know? " she muses quietly. the girl doesn't look up as she speaks, simply running the colored pencil over her paper. " he can be hard to understand sometimes, but he's a good guy. I think he tries to be, anyway. "

[grindhousecellar]

I missed this cameo on my first viewing. Often Jess Franco’s cameos are of him actively playing in a jazz band on one of the many instruments he is proficient in, here on a tenor sax. Jess also wrote the jazz numbers for this film including The Rooftop Blues, a sort of MacGuffin in song form.

Jess Franco Friday!

[sixwaterylane]

Lord Pity Us

This served as a draft/inspo for Rooftop Blues. I personally liked Rooftop Blues more but this came out as a neat little half story on its own. Lemme know what you think xx

You sat on the rooftop next to Ada, smoking your way through a pack of cigarettes and drinking your way through a bottle of whiskey. The winter air was cold and sharp, it cut through the thick fur blanket you'd wrapped around yourselves with ease but you didn't mind.

"Do you think money corrupts you Ada?" You ask, blowing out a lungful of smoke through your teeth.

It was funny, you thought, how all deep questions are asked in the nighttime.

"Your asking me that - of all people." She laughed, grabbing the cigarette from your fingers. You smiled at that - of course, Ada the communist's wife.

"Not really the money though is it." You continued "Ye hand a man who lives in a tribe in the wilderness a million pounds and it won't mean anything to 'im. You give 'im power over every other person in that tribe and then that's when you see the corruption right?"

"Hmm..hypothetically yes." Ada said lighting another one. You watched the cherry of the smoke dance as she talked around it. It took you back to the days when you and Ada did this almost every night. Your mind wondered to memories of your youth.

"How long 'ave we been friends ay?" You said resting your head lightly on her shoulder.

"We practically came outta the womb holdin' hands." She chuckled, laying her head on top of yours.

"We ain't like we was." It came out as a whisper but the night was silent and Ada straightened as she heard it. You were sure that the alcohol must have loosened your tongue because you never would have said it sober.

"You dated my brother. Not one a the nice ones neither." Her lilting voice held a slight edge.

"Tommy's Tommy and I love him for it."

"I fucking hate him for it. Coulda chosen any other guy, ye still got men at yer feet. Ye chose 'im though. Over me. Over better judgement. Fuck, even Pol told you to watch out."  

"Could say that about you and Freddie though ey."

"Mm." She murmured. "You an' me two a the same,"

"Lord pity us."

[hexsrealityarchived2]

@rooftop-blues inquired: cute thing for you! ~ in an attempt to copy Wanda's crown / mask, Noir has origami'd a shoddy replica of it and placed it over his helmet.

Wanda watched Black Noir in silence, he was working diligently and delicately with the paper. She sat across from the mute man, watching his careful precision in folding the scarlet paper. She had wondered what he was doing, and he didn’t offer any explanation as to what he was doing on his notepad. It sat idly by the paper he was folding. 

Once he was finished, she gasped in surprise at what he had made. A tiny replica of her wimple, perfect down to the downward curve in the center of it. She was awestruck at how talented the silent man was when it came to origami. “That’s incredible! You’re so very talented, Noir!” She exclaimed as she clapped her hands together softly.

[nonempyreal]

@rooftop-blues || [ SOUND ] sender joins receiver in silence

Haven doesn't need to look up to know who's sitting down beside her. The sound of boots making contact with the ground, different fabrics moving, the timing of a gait -- it all varies with each individual. Without looking up from her magazine (some bland home decor publication), it's easy to tell it's Noir by the slight squeak of rubber treads against polished tile flooring. She slides her open bag of gummy worms toward him, welcoming him to take some.

"Y'know, some people have said that they're all the same flavor, that it's the colors that trick your brain into thinking they taste different, but I still think the green ones are the best."

[divinesupe]

What’s the worst thing about the canon you are writing?

What’s the best thing about the fandom?

If you could sum up your character with one sentence, what would it be?

canon questionnaire

8: No matter what his motivations and assumptions were at the time, it’s sometimes upsetting to write someone that was capable at one point of forcing themselves on someone else.

5: I think this fandom understands fairly well that, due to the dark nature of the story, just because you write someone who has done bad things doesn’t mean you condone them or sympathize with them.

20: In the words of Dr. Ian Malcolm, “Your scientist were so preoccupied with whether they could, they didn’t stop to think if they should.”

[nonempyreal]

She covers her tracks well, or so she thinks. It's easy when she can jump in and out of places quickly and efficiently, even if she's technically a serial killer with a very distinct M.O. Bodies sliced clean in half, no signs of break-in, no weapons left behind. The media can only speculate on who the Night Terror may be... She usually doesn't bother with a mask -- her targets don't make it out alive, so there's no one to identify her by the conspicuous scar on her face.

Haven prepares for the evening: first she reviews all her intel, making sure she knows for certain who she's after and what they've done to deserve such a fate. Then she changes into clean clothes and secures her hair so that no DNA evidence will be left behind. Finally, with a little focus, she imagines her target's whereabouts, opens a gate, and jumps through to the other side.

Tonight, though, something feels wrong. She knows this is the right address, but the room she's popped into is devoid of any activity she would've expected...

Oh, shit.

It takes a moment, but she notices blood is already spattered across the wall. A leg sticking out from behind the couch in the middle of the living room. Silence besides the low hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. The scumbag's already been wasted.

It takes an additional moment to notice the other, living presence in the room. The one bathed in darkness, a hulking shadow in the corner. An opaque inkblot on an already murky page. Haven has avoided paying attention to the whole Vought super-circus for a number of good reasons, but it doesn't take a diehard fan to recognize one of their most iconic supes in person.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

Get the FUCK out NOW, it's BLACK fuckin' NOIR!!

@rooftop-blues liked for a starter.