Entry tags:
(Old) IC Contact Post
[ooc; Please use the new contact post!]
Ready for a chat?
Wakey wakey, Al.
[It's barely an hour before sunrise.]
[It's barely an hour before sunrise.]
Well, what a perfect day for a get-together.
[ After Luca's gone to bed for the night, Al will find a picture lying on one of the pillows, most definitely placed on purpose.
Because who needs cards and writing when you can talk with pictures! ]
Because who needs cards and writing when you can talk with pictures! ]
[Castiel feels a little awkward calling, but this is somewhat serious.]
Al, you are taking care of Luca, correct?
Al, you are taking care of Luca, correct?
[ By the time Al gets into the room, Luca's apparently made the smart decision to not crawl under his bed and hide or run for the hills.
Instead, he's sitting silently on top of it, fidgeting and watching the door nervously. ]
Instead, he's sitting silently on top of it, fidgeting and watching the door nervously. ]
[Lucifer comes to the field where he and Al had once spoken, when Lucifer had still been experimenting with hellbeasts. He has no other way to find him besides the PCD, but he is increasingly hesitant to use it.
So he does this the old fashioned way, and waits, with a small package wrapped in blue paper resting on his lap.]
So he does this the old fashioned way, and waits, with a small package wrapped in blue paper resting on his lap.]
[ Boy you had better pick this up. ]
Al...? [ It's a little dark, wherever it is that Luca is, butt his eyes are clearly red and his voice is shaky. The PCD itself seems to be shaking just a little as well.
He's hiding. ]
He's hiding. ]
[You know what doesn't keep Lucifer away? Being punched in the face. If anything, it seems to have made him more intrusive.
Here it is, a beautiful early morning. It's warm, the birds are just starting to wake. The window is open. ...And Lucifer is sitting on the sill.
He throws little pebbles at Al's sleeping face.]
Hey. Psst, Al. Wakey wakey...
Here it is, a beautiful early morning. It's warm, the birds are just starting to wake. The window is open. ...And Lucifer is sitting on the sill.
He throws little pebbles at Al's sleeping face.]
Hey. Psst, Al. Wakey wakey...
[ there's someone running through the house looking for you, al.
and he's already got his puppy-dog eyes at the ready. ]
and he's already got his puppy-dog eyes at the ready. ]
[ there is a luca just barely peeking out at you from around a corner, al. ]
Al?
Al?
[Lucifer shows up around midnight, twirling an old cattle prod in one hand, and whistling a sea chanty.]
[ it's a little after dinner when jim comes seeking al out. it takes him a whole five minutes to march up to him, but he does, trying not to look as small as he feels. between little, pale, dirty hands is a tiny orange plant pot with tiny bluebell shoots (not yet blooming) clustered together in the center.
some of the leaves are browning. ]
Hey. [ stiff shoulders. ] I mean. ... Uh. [ he raises the little plants up a bit higher. ] They're ill.
some of the leaves are browning. ]
Hey. [ stiff shoulders. ] I mean. ... Uh. [ he raises the little plants up a bit higher. ] They're ill.
[ knock knock! luca pushes the door open a little, peeking in. ]
Al, you in here?
Al, you in here?
Al, I need your help. [ Luca stands in the open doorway of whatever room Al's decided to spend the day in, pot of bluebells in hand. Even with his recent inactivity, he's been keeping them carefully watered. ] Are you busy?
Edited 2012-09-02 08:33 (UTC)
[It's been an hour, maybe two, since Urahara knocked on the door of Solve et Coagula, leading one Alois Trancy, formally known as Jim Macken, into the house so that the two brothers could be reunited. Now, with the boys cleaned up and tucked up together, Urahara offers them a gentle smile, a soft 'good night' and leaves them with the promise to come visit tomorrow morning before slipping downstairs, trusting Al to stay with them until they fall asleep.
Yet he doesn't head home. Not quite yet. Instead, he lets himself outside and draws water from the well, using some to wash the snot covered handkerchief Alois had returned to him before bringing the rest in to make tea. Standing in front of the stove as he waits for the kettle to boil, the shopkeeper pats his pockets tiredly, trying to remember if he had any of his own tea leaves with him. Soon though, he gives up and shuffles over to where Al keeps the tea, preparing two cups and setting it down on the table.
Glancing towards the stairs, then at the time shining up at him from the PCD, Urahara steps outside again, drawing out his rarely used kiseru pipe and carefully placing a ball of stringy kizami tobacco in the metal bowl. Carefully lighting it up with kidou, he leans back against the wall, letting the smoke curl up around him as he mentally reviewed all that had happened this evening.
And all that he'd learned.]
Yet he doesn't head home. Not quite yet. Instead, he lets himself outside and draws water from the well, using some to wash the snot covered handkerchief Alois had returned to him before bringing the rest in to make tea. Standing in front of the stove as he waits for the kettle to boil, the shopkeeper pats his pockets tiredly, trying to remember if he had any of his own tea leaves with him. Soon though, he gives up and shuffles over to where Al keeps the tea, preparing two cups and setting it down on the table.
Glancing towards the stairs, then at the time shining up at him from the PCD, Urahara steps outside again, drawing out his rarely used kiseru pipe and carefully placing a ball of stringy kizami tobacco in the metal bowl. Carefully lighting it up with kidou, he leans back against the wall, letting the smoke curl up around him as he mentally reviewed all that had happened this evening.
And all that he'd learned.]
[ for once, luca's in his own room instead of invading al's. he sounds both confused and a little worried, digging through things even as he talks. ] Al, Brother didn't get here before us and leave did he? He couldn't of gotten in our room before we brought him?
action into oblivion & :c back-dated to uhh. when it needs to be.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ex_apricots766
2012-10-18 06:19 am (UTC)(link)
[ al may have noticed earlier on in the day (or, by now, yesterday) that alois had been sleeping over-excessively, or at the least not leaving the bed much. he's already something of a problem, the brat sort, when it comes to chores, but earlier it had been down right refusal. the loud, door-slamming refusal, likeliest. at times, the room was too quiet, and others, it might've been filled with crying, or the tiny murmurs of two brothers talking, and others, when luca wasn't in it all, with the sounds of things snapping or shattering.
it's nearing five in the morning and for the last hour a lot of noise has come from the kitchen. the swinging open (but not closing) of cabinet doors, in too rapid a succession to be normal, shuffling, the sharp sound of porcelain or glass bursting, a door swinging open and slamming back, frenzied, soft weeping, and the tiny, urgent clucking of a hen. it depends on how close to the kitchen al is or has been, he may not hear the next part—there's flurried, rustled flapping, something that sounds like a stick, or a lot of small twigs, snapping all at once (the flapping becomes slower at this point), a mixture of high-pitched clucking and that airy-growl frightened and furious chickens are capable of, and finally, a sickening wet sound accompanied by a loud, snapping, crack. for a few minutes, it's pure, thick and suffocating silence.
the sun still isn't quite up yet, but whenever it is al does decide, regardless of having heard any of the noise or not, to venture into the kitchen he'll find a, well, probably a more than nerve-wracking mess. on one end of the kitchen, is a hen's head. its beady black eyes still open, its beak slightly ajar, and a little pf its spinal cord and esophagus laying out like a slimy pink worm behind it. the body is a foot or two away, feet crooked, one of the wings mangled, and unquestionably, there's a pool of blood underneath it (tinier pools trailing away from it in all directions). there's a soft splattering of it here and there, on cabinet doors, on dishes, on the faucet and some places on the counters. places where feathers have stuck on.
a damp, crumpled up towel lies near-by the sink, eerily soaked pink-red.
alois trancy is under the kitchen table, with all the chairs pulled in around him, laying on his stomach and chewing his thumbnail. his hands are raw, pink also, from the looks of them he's probably scrubbed them too hard. blood is still on his wrists, though, and in his hair with feathers, and on his clothes. ]
it's nearing five in the morning and for the last hour a lot of noise has come from the kitchen. the swinging open (but not closing) of cabinet doors, in too rapid a succession to be normal, shuffling, the sharp sound of porcelain or glass bursting, a door swinging open and slamming back, frenzied, soft weeping, and the tiny, urgent clucking of a hen. it depends on how close to the kitchen al is or has been, he may not hear the next part—there's flurried, rustled flapping, something that sounds like a stick, or a lot of small twigs, snapping all at once (the flapping becomes slower at this point), a mixture of high-pitched clucking and that airy-growl frightened and furious chickens are capable of, and finally, a sickening wet sound accompanied by a loud, snapping, crack. for a few minutes, it's pure, thick and suffocating silence.
the sun still isn't quite up yet, but whenever it is al does decide, regardless of having heard any of the noise or not, to venture into the kitchen he'll find a, well, probably a more than nerve-wracking mess. on one end of the kitchen, is a hen's head. its beady black eyes still open, its beak slightly ajar, and a little pf its spinal cord and esophagus laying out like a slimy pink worm behind it. the body is a foot or two away, feet crooked, one of the wings mangled, and unquestionably, there's a pool of blood underneath it (tinier pools trailing away from it in all directions). there's a soft splattering of it here and there, on cabinet doors, on dishes, on the faucet and some places on the counters. places where feathers have stuck on.
a damp, crumpled up towel lies near-by the sink, eerily soaked pink-red.
alois trancy is under the kitchen table, with all the chairs pulled in around him, laying on his stomach and chewing his thumbnail. his hands are raw, pink also, from the looks of them he's probably scrubbed them too hard. blood is still on his wrists, though, and in his hair with feathers, and on his clothes. ]
this is going down a little after sebastian's last update.
ex_apricots766
2012-11-03 02:14 pm (UTC)(link)
[ WHERE IS AL!? who knows, but after a lot of huffing and doors being slammed in his search for him, alois finds him, slams his face into his back and lets a muffled scream. ]
[Halloween is hell. Of course.
A few days later, all bloody and tired, Break comes on Al's feed and announces;]
If you're dead I'm going to kill you.
A few days later, all bloody and tired, Break comes on Al's feed and announces;]
If you're dead I'm going to kill you.
action. (forward dated to the day after the event, and around afternoon time!)
ex_apricots766
2012-11-11 08:07 am (UTC)(link)
[ cleaning is no easy feat in pitch-black dark. so, it's entirely likely that those kind of responsibilities and chores had been held off until things had calmed down. when light does break in, through windows or from lamps, there is a slight new layer of dust here and there. nothing too extreme, and for the most part, it should be easy to get solve back on track.
should be.
there's a hole in a bathroom wall and the mirror is all in pieces, and one by the door in his and luca's room. broken bits of glass or porcelain lies, well, just about everywhere. (hopefully, they have some dishes and various things left!) what used to be a thin-bound, dog-earred paperback rests in pieces of yellowing paper across one of the rooms. there can only be one culprit. he's already been told what he needs to take care of well over forty minutes ago, and he's started none of it.
nope. instead, he's taken what lamps aren't being used, an old coloring book—most of the images are butterflies, birds, or flowers, and most of them are missing, and one of the lambs into some small, unused bedroom to hide.
the lack of sleeping and eating he's done the last week shows: there're bags under his eyes, his wrists, already small, seem somehow smaller. his knuckles are still raw, congealing with blood from when he became furious and terrified enough to send it through one of the walls, and while the blood from bashing the bathroom mirror has subsided, there's still stains on his arm and tiny flecks of glass embedded in the skin. his knees are black-blue things, from all his stumbling over or flat out crashing onto them in moments of true horror.
so, there he is: in a corner, behind a wall of three bulbs, one flickering constantly, coloring purple petals into a flower with one hand, and stroking a lamb's ear with the other. ]
should be.
there's a hole in a bathroom wall and the mirror is all in pieces, and one by the door in his and luca's room. broken bits of glass or porcelain lies, well, just about everywhere. (hopefully, they have some dishes and various things left!) what used to be a thin-bound, dog-earred paperback rests in pieces of yellowing paper across one of the rooms. there can only be one culprit. he's already been told what he needs to take care of well over forty minutes ago, and he's started none of it.
nope. instead, he's taken what lamps aren't being used, an old coloring book—most of the images are butterflies, birds, or flowers, and most of them are missing, and one of the lambs into some small, unused bedroom to hide.
the lack of sleeping and eating he's done the last week shows: there're bags under his eyes, his wrists, already small, seem somehow smaller. his knuckles are still raw, congealing with blood from when he became furious and terrified enough to send it through one of the walls, and while the blood from bashing the bathroom mirror has subsided, there's still stains on his arm and tiny flecks of glass embedded in the skin. his knees are black-blue things, from all his stumbling over or flat out crashing onto them in moments of true horror.
so, there he is: in a corner, behind a wall of three bulbs, one flickering constantly, coloring purple petals into a flower with one hand, and stroking a lamb's ear with the other. ]
[ Sorry Alphonse, that this is coming to you at like, 4 in the morning. ]
[ Piiiick uppppp pllleeeaaaassseeee... ]
[ Piiiick uppppp pllleeeaaaassseeee... ]
[The 'ping' of someone trying to contact Al comes through late into the evening on Monday. Urahara's been busy helping clean up the city and arranging new things that he hasn't had time to sit down and reflect. When he does find a few minutes between then and now, though, Al's the first person he needs to talk to.
So he waits for the boy to pick up his PCD, grey eyes drifting over the surrounding flowers and plants. It seems to be a garden, but not anything that's ever been stumbled upon in Adstringendum. There's the sound of water lapping against the shore in the background, and wherever it is, Urahara seems to find it private enough that he lets some of his masks fall away.]
So he waits for the boy to pick up his PCD, grey eyes drifting over the surrounding flowers and plants. It seems to be a garden, but not anything that's ever been stumbled upon in Adstringendum. There's the sound of water lapping against the shore in the background, and wherever it is, Urahara seems to find it private enough that he lets some of his masks fall away.]
[ luca's sneaking up behind al, climbing up onto whatever surface he can get to to reach up and cover al's eyes with his hands. ] Guess who!
Page 1 of 2