#spcnccrreids

[ruginite]

Chicken gonna keep it short this month....

Here’s the list of threads Chicken has currently: Thread Tracker If you wanna drop anything send an ask. (no judgement chicken will totally understand) If you wanna keep our thread(s) like this post. Any thread(s) not acknowledged by Sunday (Oct 8th) will be archived

Reminders: Anything marked “Awaiting Starter” means the first post of the thread hasn’t been made yet. 

The que is full of replies and they will begin posting this Friday

Thanks.

-Chicken

[lcpapillcn-blog]

plotted starter  | @spcnccrreids

Thunder roars burst in her ears, but the sky is clear, not a single cloud at sight. Menace, madness and confusion arise from the hallways as terror washes over the little faces that stare at her in horror. Time freezes, each minute lingers feeling like eternity — yet no one dares moving. Ominous silence befalls upon the building, mute announcement flying in its wings, stealing the air from young teacher's lungs.

Lips move voicing words she can't hear. One step closer to the door and ringing screams reverberate on the walls. Nails dig into her palm, eyes shut struggling to isolate the chaotic symphony. Children. Her children are in danger. Tiny soft touch reaches her hand, setting every fiber in her body alert. A great influx of air invades her lungs, and she exhales barely even noticing she's been holding her breath all along.

Tears soak the floor, a dozen pair of hands reaching out to her. She feels her heart racing, thumping against her chest. Pale complexion remains still, untouched by burning fear that rushes through her veins. Arms shelter little trembling bodies, humming words of comfort. A familiar buzz makes through her terror — her phone rings somewhere far from her reach. ❝All is right, my loves! Everything will be fine.❞ - she repeats constantly, voice growing weary 'till it's no louder than a whisper.

Commands flee from her lips as gently as she manages. Adrenaline courses through her system and she sends up a pray for having such nice little ones under her care. She takes in another breath, watching frightened faces gather around her. Another endless second goes by and they are ready to go. Her hands are cold against the knob, a wave of panic threatens to take over her.

The door opens widely and she holds her breath, spotting the figure awaiting on the other side. ❝What are you doing here?❞ - words roll off of her tongue numbly, fear dissipating for a fraction of time before she realizes danger stares her in the eye.

[ruginite]

@spcnccrreids  liked this for a starter

One of the less than glamorous bits about blood magic is when it back fires on him. When he manages to run into someone just a bit more experienced. When the weeping wounds intended for his target end up thrown back at him instead, and he gets a rather intimate knowledge of just how much that stings.

Which leaves him with both good news and bad news.

The good news is, he got away. The bad news so did the demon possessed witch he’d be trying to catch. On top of the fact, his bottle of fix all sort of--perhaps--broke in the process of making his escape. And isn’t that just fucking lucky? Because he’d nearly blown himself up the last time he’d attempted to make a batch of it. And all of that leading to one extremely aggravating conclusion. 

                      He needs help. 

Preferably from a white or a grey. Either will work. He starts his hunt at a local herb shop. Moving from one point to the next, until he finally picks up the right set of gossip and talk. Following where it leads him. And where that is? Is hardly the first or the last place he’d have thought to look. But here he stands. The instruction ringing in his head from his previous stop.

                      A bookshop on 22nd. Ask for someone named Reid. 

Even with his hand on the door knob, he’s still a bit skeptical this is the place he’s looking for but he doesn’t have a lot of options. He used up the last of his medical supplies, to the point he’d been forced to duck tape a waded up hand towel from his motel, to the deep lacerations along his side. Though even as he stood there, one hand pressed against it. It was already beginning to bleed through, his shirt. So with a less the sure breath, he pushes his way through the doorway, and into the book shop. Shuffling up to the front counter, and rather heavily, strikes the bell sitting on it.

Okay two steps down. All he has to do now is wait. And hope he hasn’t been sent on some wild goose chase. Because he’s really not sure how much longer he can keeo this up.