Smexyful testing - do not click, do not post.

[Bifflestick]

☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰

oh, wait a minute
do i mean fun or do i mean carnage?
i get them confused

☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰

Rem grinned at Etta's reply. Everyone always felt so good on a Friday night. It was the end of the week and, of course, they had a glorious weekend of relaxing and hanging to do before they had to do any work again. Perfection. Especially on a ship like this one. Rem loved it here, and sincerly hoped that they were stopping somewhere marvellous over the weekend. That was her favourite thing to do - stop somewhere and get off with her friends and explore everywhere, see everything and eat exotic somethings. Rem had no fear and no shame - she'd try anything once, just to see what it was like. She had eaten all sorts of crazy things and, okay, maybe she'd got food poisoning a few times, but whatever. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger and all that. Embarrassed and regrets were simply not words that were in Rem's dictionary. She was young, she was free, and she was damn well going to enjoy it while she could. She got to do what she loved most and got paid for it, had great friends and got to see amazing places and try some great - and some truly dodgy - foods. Life just didn't get much better, in Rem's opinion, and she grinned, sipping her drink. "I'm fabulous and my day was just splendid, Etta! I got to sing the song I've been working on, and everyone loved it. It was great! I reckon they would have asked for an encore if I hadn't ran so fast. Crystal wouldn't have been happy about that, 'cause you know I can't resist me an encore. But, y'know, I can't help it if they love me," she joked, pushing some hair from her eyes. Rem wasn't an arrogant person, but she did know she was a good singer. She always had been. Just like Etta was a good dancer, and Rem liked to go see her when she wasn't performing herself, which was rare. But still.

She was about to say something else when her phone buzzed. Rem placed her drink down carefully and tore her phone from her bag, opening the message. It was from Max! Rem couldn't help the smile that danced across her lips at that. She read the message and giggled softly to herself. Max was funny, that was for sure, but she knew a lot of the passengers didn't like him all that much. She knew this partly because she had over heard complaints about him, and partly because she often got talking with the passengers when they stopped her to tell her how good she was - which was always nice to hear - and they started talking about the other employees, and many of them didn't hold Max in very high regard. But whatever, he was good at his job and Rem dreaded to think what would happen if they fired him. Well, actually, they'd probably just get another bartender in, but it would never be the same. Not to her. Max was irraplacable, and she didn't care that most people found him trying. She did, too, sometimes, but it didn't matter to her. She hit reply and quickly typed.

To ;; Maxxy Boy
From ;; Rem-bo
You're right.
I shall go away and make up some words that rhyme with Remmy, just so you can use them. How's that?
I wish you could have, too. Brought the house down, that I did.
Well, almost.
Again?! They are gonna stop threatening and just fire you one day soon, y'know.
See you soooooooon.

Remmy <3

She hit send and threw her phone back into her bag, before taking another sip of her drink. Mmm, tasty. Alcohol wasn't good for her, but who even cared when it tasted so damn nice? And besides, it wasn't like she needed to be on top form. She wasn't singing for another two days - she could afford to get a little drunk. It was her down time, let people think what they will about her. She handled her alcohol pretty well for one so small, too, and she grinned at that thought and drained her glass. Ugh, they never did last long enough. "Bacardi and coke please, Ethan," she told the bartender. He nodded and went off to make her drink, placing it in front of her. She thanked him and smiled, sipping the new drink that she decided she might stick to tonight. Mixing alcohol was never good, Rem had learnt that lesson long ago. And making your own drinks, especially from watermelon balls and vodka, was a really bad idea. Rem stifled a giggle at that one. Rocket's Red Glare had been a bad idea on their part, but it had tasted quite nice. However, it didn't taste or look all that nice coming back up again, which was what had happened. Rem made a mental note to e-mail her big brother, the one with whom she had created the lovely drink. Or not so lovely, as it had turned out - they'd both had the Hangovers from Hell the next day. But still, it had been fun while it lasted.

It was then that Max arrived and leaned against the bar next to her stool. With a happy noise, Rem leapt forward - and off her stool - to hug him. It was a good job she was so well known for being such an impulsive fool, or this kind of act would surely give her away. She breathed in his scent before stepping away and leaning down to scoop her hat up from where she had knocked it off in her over enthusiastic excuse for a hug. She put it on again and adjusted it, slipping back onto her stool and giving Max a dazzling smile. She truly was pathetic. Short Stuff. It was his nickname for her, because he was about a foot taller than she was. Mind, it wasn't exactly hard to be taller than Rem - most people were. She even had to tilt her head back when she was sat on the stool, though not as much as when she was standing flat footed. "The gig was awesome. You should have been there. I did the song I've been working on, What You Don't Know by Monrose, and they loved it! I was telling Etta that they probably would have wanted an encore if I hadn't ran. They may actually have asked for one, I don't know, but Crystal was on after me and you know I can't say no to an encore, and she would've gone mental at me. So I left. How was your day, Maxxy? And what were you in trouble for this time?" she asked. She always blathered away like an idiot when she wanted to be eloquent and sophisticated, but Rem had long ago given up on changing that part of herself.

An distant part of her brain wondered if Max minded her calling him Maxxy. Well, he called her Short Stuff - she deserved to have a nickname for him, too, right? Right. Even if he didn't like it, Rem would still call him Maxxy. She was stubborn like that. "Maxxeeeeeee. You have to come on Monday. I'm doing a whole bunch of new stuff and you should be there. You should all be there. You'll try and come, right?" Rem asked, flashing puppy dog eyes are her friends. Rem's puppy dog eyes were legendary, since they almost always worked. Her eyes were large enough as it was, but made larger and coupled with the pouting, quivering bottom lip they were particularly devastating. After a moment the expression melted to be replaced by a frown. "Maxxy, you need a shave," she stated simply, frowning at him. Not known for being subtle, Rem often came out with little bits of advice like that. She often said exactly what was on her mind, and it usually got her into trouble. Not that it ever stopped her - far from it, actually. If only she could work up the guts to say what was really on her mind. But her friendship with Max wasn't something she wanted to risk that way. If it was a choice between friendship or nothing, she'd take friendship, everytime. She glanced at her other friends and wondered if she was obvious. "So. Are there any parties tonight?" Rem asked hopefully. She did love herself a good party, and it was even better if there was karaoke. And what better way to distract herself from her feelings than a good party and a sing song?

[Bifflestick]

❝griffinarthurbrowne❞
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxodon't even try lying to me - i can always tell

Griffin sat in his room for a long time. Unlike Flea and Ray, his room was incredibly sparse. His walls, except for the one that was windows, were filled with books, and there was a chair against the window. Other than that, there was nothing in there. Floor to ceiling books and a chair were all Griffin really needed. He was perfectly content to sit for hours with a good book, and he went to the nearest bookshelf and tore the first book off the shelf that his fingers came into contact with, which was a huge, hard back book on geology. Not that he cared - Griffin doubted that right now he'd be able to take very much of it in. He sat on the chair and opened the book, resting it in his lap. Golden eyes raked the page and he took the first few sentances in before his thoughts took over. Before memories, memories of happier times, took over him.

They'd been happier before Flea had arrived. Not perfect, but all relationships take work. They'd had laughs, and had contests to see who could kill the bigger deer, the most vicious looking mountain lion. Silly things, but it had worked for them. It had been fun and they'd had laughs and enjoyed every second of it. It had been easy then. Free. Simple. Ray had loved him - though he hadn't know it, blind idiot that he was - and he had looked after her, because even though she had proved she was more than capable of taking care of herself, Griffin still saw her as the girl in the tattered clothes with the terrified expression. Sometimes even now he still saw that girl, still saw her vulnerable side. She didn't show it often, but Griffin liked it when she did. No one was indestructable, not even Ray, much as she might pretend to be. She wasn't perfect, and she could feel fear and worry and all those silly, human emotions that even Griffin couldn't escape, even after a century and a half of being a vampire. It was hard to deal with sometimes, having human emotions in a body that reacted so differently, so much faster. Was so much harder, so much stronger. Anger was the worst, and Griffin had trained himself over the years to be particularly patient and even tempered. Ray hadn't quiet mastered it, but Flea had. Flea was as near to perfect as it was possible to get. Gentle, giving, loving Flea. Griffin sighed and tried to get back into his book. It wasn't working.

After about an hour more of him trying, and failing, to actualy absorb something from this pages, Griffin gave up, put the book away, and went in search of Ray. He wanted to talk to her, to try and explain. To make her see. He didn't think it would work, but Griffin was nothing if not persistant, and he was going to try his hardest to make it work. He went to her room and knocked. No reply. He opened the door carefully, but no one was there. A frown creased his porcelain features, Griffin went downstairs. "Ray?" he called. She wasn't in the living room. Or the kitchen. Or...anywhere, actually. Where the hell was she? He looked around for a while longer before finding her scent, crossed over with Flea's, leaving the house. He followed it for a while before realising Ray was heading for the city. Cursing softly under his breath, Griffin turned and started back the other way, deciding to follow Flea's scent. He might need her help with Ray, since she could read minds and since Ray could only freeze one person at a time. Two people were really needed when dealing with a talent like Ray's.

He followed Flea's scent, glad he was so attuned to the scents of his companions - it made them much easier to follow like this. Griffin had never been much of a tracker, but he was good at following Flea and Ray purely because he was so used to their scents. He followed it to La Push, and frowned as the smell of werewolves attacked his nostrils too. Why on Earth would Flea come here? He shook his head and continued to follow her scent, which was strong despite the werewolf stench everywhere. Either she'd been there for a long time or Griffin was just getting better at this tracking lark. Her scent stopped and went upwards at the house, and Griffin easily scaled the wall, finding Flea in a bedroom with a werewolf. A freakin' werewolf! He leapt in through the window, snarling at the boy. "Flea. Ray has gone. I need your help. She's gone to Seattle. Please, Flea. She's...never really dealt all that well on her own," he pleaded softly, throwing thoughts at her from his confrontation with Ray. If there had ever been a time that he needed his smallest companion, it was now.

[Bifflestick]

just because i am { в ℓ ι η ∂ }
✖✖★✖✖
does not mean that i can't { ѕ є є }

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[Bifflestick]

just because i am { в ℓ ι η ∂ }
✖✖★✖✖
does not mean that i can't { ѕ є є }

The King was dying.

So it was true, then. With his own eyes, he could see it. Uther lay on his death bed before him, looking gaunt and old. Much older than he was, and Uther was fairly old. Arthur sat next to him - indeed, he hardly left. He had to bring Arthur food and water and literally drag him away to bathe. He didn't train, he barely even moved. He might pretend not to, but Arthur actually cared deeply for Uther. It was obvious in the way he hadn't left his bedside unless absolutely necassary. He was scared. Scared to become the great King that he was destined to be. Blue eyes cast around the room, landing on the Pendragon crest that was everywhere around the castle. A faint smile played across his lips. That was one thing, at least, that would remain the same when the young Prince took over the throne. Right now, Athur was sending messages through him, and it was hard work, running back and forth between the people and Uther's chambers. Lancelot was always there, of course. Always ready and willing - he was so loyal. Lancelot was a good man, despite his thing with Gwen. That, Arthur could not know about. It could very well tear him apart.

Uther made a strangled sound and he stepped foward, wanting to help, but Arthur waved him away. Sensing these may very well be Uther's last moments, he bowed his head respectfully and left the room, waiting outside the door. He was not wrong, and Arthur came out a few moments later, golden head bowed. He dragged it up, meeting his friend's eyes. "King Uther is dead. I shall be crowned after his funeral," Arthur breathed. He looked terrified and there were tears in his eyes. He nodded, sadness echoing in his own eyes. He hated seeing Arthur sad. "You will be a great King," he said, voice nowhere near as regal as Arthur's. But who could hope to compare to the incomparable? He wasn't really much to shout about, anyway, though Arthur cared for him deeply. The bond they shared was intense and strong and could probably never be broken. "I'm scared," Arthur confided, terror in those blue eyes of his. He smiled, reaching out to give Arthur a hug. For once, the prat accepted it rather than pushing him away, clinging to him as if it were his life saved. "Don't be. You will be great."

"Gallahad?!" came the strangled cry from the chair, a hand reaching out for the soft fur of her companion. There was a scampering of paws and claws over wood flooring, and the wet nose of Gallahad pressed against her palm, his breath warm. She visably relaxed, petting his soft ears. "Gallahad, I just...I just saw things. Things from long ago. From another life. My other life. Gallahad...I was Merlin. The Merlin. How odd is that? I was there, and Uther was dying, and Arthur was scared and I hugged him and...well, it was most abnormal," she informed Gallahad, stroking him absently. He whined softly, equiring about her. She smiled faintly, scratching the top of his head in the way she knew he liked. "I'm fine, Gallahad. Just a little confused," she said softly.

And confused she was. Merlin Annaliese Emrys was blind. She had been blind since the day she was born, and growing up she'd always had guide dogs. Gallahad was the lastest. She was sad everytime one passed away, but Gallahad was still young and so would be around for a good while yet. Since her name was Merlin, she had always made a point to name the dogs after characters in Arthurian legend - Owain, Uther, and now Gallahad. He was a golden labrador, though of course she had never seen him, and everyone said he was gorgeous. Merlin was inclined to believe them - Gallahad had a beautiful nature. Gentle, patient and loving, he was her soul mate. He was her eyes, and she relied heavily on him. He helped her dress - for Merlin refused to allow people to pick out clothes for her - and helped with get about. He helped her with everything, really. But now Merlin was seeing things. It was incredibly bizarre. Seeing was...strange. She'd never seen anything. She didn't know colours or shapes. She didn't miss it, because she had never had sight, but it was so strange to be seeing things now. And seeing things that felt more like memories. She had been there. As Merlin, she was sure of it. Her name sake. Why her parents had given her a male name, Merlin didn't know, but she liked it. But...she was her. She wasn't a guy from a legend! She was Merlin Emrys, blind eighteen year old. That was who she was. That was who she'd always been, and who she always would be. The blind girl.

She felt her eyebrows knit together in a small frown. Lancelot. Arthur. Uther. Merlin. Surely Guinevere would have been there, too. And the odd thing was, Arthur's handsome face and his regal voice had struck a cord somewhere deep inside her. She dove into her memories. All sound and touch and taste and smell based, since she couldn't see anything. Suddenly, it came to her, with a clarity which was amazing considering she had only been five at the time.

Freshly cut grass. They told her that was what the smell was. Merlin didn't care - all she knew was that it smelt amazing. She'd had a guide dog, even then. A black lab, he'd been, named Owain. Faithful but more playful than Gallahad. Uther had been different again - a much more serious dog than both of them. The grass felt spiky under her fingers, and Merlin giggled softly, reaching up to touch her silky soft hair. That felt nice, too. She heard giggles - young giggles - from nearby, and so called Owain over and pointed in the vague direction of the sound. He loyally lead her over, her parents calling at her to be careful. Merlin was always careful, and if she wasn't she had Owain there to be careful for her. She ambled over until Owain stopped, and she stopped too. "Hi. I'm Merlin," she chirrped. The others introduced themselves as Gwen, Arthur and Lance, and asked her about her dog. Merlin told them she was blind, and then they asked her to play with them. They'd had a lot of fun that day, and they had vowed never to forget each other, though they never did see each other again.

Merlin hadn't forgotten. The memory had simply been locked away until she'd wanted it, and now she'd been looking for it the memory had surfaced again. Things fell into place, like the last pieces of the puzzle. Merlin. Arthur. Gwen. Lance. It wasn't hard, when you looked at it like that. Merlin's fingers curled slightly into Gallahad's soft fur, and he whined worridly again. She had to find them. She needed to find them. If they were, as she suspected, reincarnations of the characters from Arthurian legend, then there must be a reason they had been brought back. And maybe a reason why she was blind. And female, for that matter. She didn't know how to find them, but maybe going back to where they had met would be a good place to start. Too bad that was in America and Merlin was in England. Time to dig into her savings. "Gallahad, how do you feel about a trip across the pond?"

[Bifflestick]

without { ƒ є α я }
✖✖★✖✖
there is no { ¢ σ υ я α g є }

Text herr.

[Bifflestick]

without { ƒ є α я }
✖✖★✖✖
there is no { ¢ σ υ я α g є }

Swords clashing, muscles aching, armour dented, breath short, sweat plastering hair to your head. Knight training was always tough - Arthur always pushed them hard. But that was only right - they were the knights of Camelot. They couldn't afford to be weak.

Arthur's eyes, blue as the sky above their heads, was twinkling from inside his armour. His own eyes, the colour of storm clouds, were also bright. They were friends, or as close to friends as the crown Prince and his best knight could be. His muscles were beginning to shake from the power of Arthur's blows, but he bravely kept going. He was the best knight, and he had to keep going. It was bad enough that he was going behind his friend's back with Guinevere. But that was something Arthur could never know. He was sure that Merlin knew, mostly because Merlin just seemed to know everything. He hadn't said anything, but the wise man often gave him knowing looks. Merlin was Arthur's friend, too. Merlin seemed to cross barriers of class and was friends with the Prince. There was something about Merlin, but no one quite knew what it was. Finally, Arthur sent his sword, Taranath, flying, and the tip of Excalibur was hovering dangerously above his throat. Arthur laughed, and lowered Excalibur so they could shake hands. "Well fought, Lancelot," Arthur said, bending to grab Taranath and hand it back to its rightful owner. Lancelot smiled and inclined his head. "I think you, Sire," he said, grinning, lightning flashing through his eyes. Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. "If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times -call me Arthur," he said. It was a great show of respect for him to ask his knights to call him Arthur, and Lancelot inclined his head again. "As you wish, Arthur."

Lance William Allot groaned as he woke, dragging eyelids up over storm cloud grey eyes. He frowned at his ceiling, then look at his clock. He started and leapt from the bed, stumbling to his wardrobe and grabbing clean boxers, socks, a plain white t-shirt, and a pair of blue jeans. He tugged them on haphazardly and grabbed his bag - he always packed the night before in case he got up late - and took the stairs three at a time. He grabbed some toast from the kitchen and gave his mother a brief peck on the cheek. "See you later!" he called out, shoving his feet roughly into his white Converse high tops and grabbing a jacket - it was warm, but you never knew - and shoving the rest of the toast into his mouth, running down the garden path and throwing himself into his best friend Adam's car. "Sleep late again, Lance?" Adam asked, flashing his friend one of those easy grins for which he was known for. Lance grinned back, lightning passing through his eyes. "You know it, Ad," Lance said, and Adam pulled away and drove to school.

During that day, Lance had time to ponder the curious dream he'd had. He'd been Sir Lancelot, fighting against Prince Arthur. That was strange. Of course, Lance had been having odd dreams for years, but he never tended to remember them for long. They had never been so vivid, so memorable before. It was odd, because his parents had named him Lance - although why they had thought naming a kid with the surname Allot Lance was a good idea was beyond him - and now he was dreaming that he was the famous knight? There was clearly something wrong with the way his mind was working. The dream was also bugging him, saying there was something he should remember. The only thing he kept coming up with, however, was the summer he met the three other kids, the blonde boy, the dark hair girl and the blind girl, at a park. He didn't remember their names, or their faces, or anything other than meeting them and playing with them. Why would his dream make him think of that? Lance shook the thought from his head and locked the dream away for contemplation later on, when his attention wasn't required for other things.

[Bifflestick]

we'll scream { ℓ σ υ ∂ } at the top of our lungs
✖✖★✖✖
and they'll think it's just 'cause we're { у σ υ η g }

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[Bifflestick]

we'll scream { ℓ σ υ ∂ } at the top of our lungs
✖✖★✖✖
and they'll think it's just 'cause we're { у σ υ η g }

"Tag, you're it!"

The loud voice had a soft Irish accent to it - about the only thing soft about it, really. It came from the laughing mouth of a tall, slender blonde girl, her hazel-gold eyes sparkling as she ran away from her best friend who she had just tagged. They were playing tag in the parking lot while they waited for another friend to fill up Delilah, the hippe van they were doing their road trip in. The ring in her lip and the stud in her cheek glinted cheekily in the light, and she crouched, eyes glinting as she challenged her friend. "C'mon, VeeVee! Come get me!" she giggled, dancing from foot to foot. Sylvia - who preferred Via but got called VeeVee by her simply because that was her way - lunged, and she danced out the way, laughing away in her musical way. Her laughter caused people around them to smile, too. Not just their friends, but random strangers who looked over, smiling even though they weren't really aware of what was going off. Savannah-Dylan Angela O'Connor - more commonly known as Dyl, though she had so many nicknames she had started losing count - had that effect on people - her emotions were strong and powerful, and seemed to affect those around her. They always had done. She wasn't the weepy type, she was just ruled by her emotions. And when she was happy, people around her were happy too, whether they knew her or not. Her mood was just infectious, from that brilliant, thousand watt grin of hers, to the sadness in her impossibly deep eyes when she got upset. Something about her just got people following her emotionally.

"VeeeeeVeeeee!" she called, still dancing her way gracefully around the parking lot. Despite being unpredictable and more than a little fiery - Dyl's mother called her an Irish rose; pretty to look at but you'd better watch out for the thorns - Dyl was improbably elegant and graceful, though she had no sense of rhythm. She could dance just fine, it just never quite matched the tempo of the song. Not that it ever bothered her - but then, very little bothered Dyl. Upset her friends and suffer her wrath, but most of the time she was easy going - if hyper and slightly emotionally unstable. Rain clouds were starting to gather ominously in what had previously been a beautifully clear blue sky. Keeping one eye on where her best friend was, Dylan looked at the clouds. They were pretty. She'd have to get her trusty polaroid - that was never far away - out and take some pictures so she could draw it later. Giggling, she darted out of the way of her friend again. "Too slow! Well, that and I just have the luck o' the Irish," Dyl grinned mischeiviously.

Dylan had moved over from Ireland when she was seven years old, though her accent suggested otherwise. Always one for liking to be slightly different to everyone else, she had clung to her accent like a child clings to a favourite toy, and she still had it now. It was one of the few soft things left about her, a gentle lilt that tugged at her words and made them sound that little different from her friends. She'd met Sylvia on her first day at her new school, and the pair had been firm friends ever since. Dyl had the skill where she could get along with everyone, but she'd always been closest to Sylvia. Sweet, chatty Sylvia. Dyl grinned at her and stuck her tongue out, keeping up that graceful, loping, dancing run of hers. "It looks like rain dears," Dyl sang brightly, jerking her thumbs up towards the clouds, still avoiding Via - even though Dylan wasn't entirely sure she was on anymore. She'd just have to avoid everyone. People were shaking their heads at the group of teens, clearly thinking that they should know better. They should, really, but it had never stopped them being immature before, so why should it now? Dylan grinned and danced over to Delilah, leaning in and grabbing her ever faithful polaroid, snapping a couple of pictures of the angry looking clouds, then a few of her friends looking crazy. Then she darted around the other side of Delilah to sling an arm around Grayden's neck. "Smile!" she laughed, aiming the camera at them and crossing her eyes, sticking her tongue out. She had no idea what he did, but she tore the photo off as it came out and giggled, pressing the briefest of kisses to his cheek - which Dylan did to all her friends at least once a day, and then rationlised by saying she was European, even though she was not from the Continent, which was where all the cheek kissing went on. Dylan could rationalise anything, no matter how bizarre her reason. She threw her camera and the photos back into her bag, and stuffed it back under her seat in Delilah.

"LIFE'S WHAT YOU MAKE IT, SO LET'S MAKE IT ROCK," Dylan sang loudly, though she hated Hannah Montana, spinning as she rejoined her other friends, crouching again and darting out the way when her friend, who was now It, started towards her, laughing that tinkling, musical laugh of hers. It was incredibly hard to get Dyl down, and even harder still to keep her down - she was just one of those people. She was glad she had worn her comfy shoes today, a pair of rather battered looking black Converse All Star high tops. They were her favourite - and oldest - shoes, and she wore them often. She then wore a pair of white skinny jeans - no stains yet, but the day was still young - and a black t-shirt that had a Cheshire cat smile on it and the words "We're all mad here" emblazoned below it. Dylan's dress sense was pretty odd, too, along with just about everything else about her. It was about then that the first raindrop fell.

It landed on the ground in front of Dyl. She looked down at it and then looked at her friends, who had also seen it and were now frozen in place. It started coming down then, not fast, but a steady drizzle nonetheless. Her friends ran to Delilah, but Dylan stayed in the rain, loving the feeling of it caressing her skin, the emotions roiling just below the surface enough to keep her out there. She giggled and spun around, allowing the raindrops to start soaking into the long, platinum coloured strands of her hair. She smiled and titled her head back, letting the rain caress her face - and ruin her make up. She laughed happily, knowing people were giving her weird looks and that her friends probably weren't caring - though Grayden might get annoyed because she'd get the seat wet - but not giving a damn. "Raindrops keep falling on my head," she sang merrily, But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turnin' red! Cryin's not for me, 'cause I'm never gonna stop the rain by complainin', because I'm free, nothin's worryin' me."

[Bifflestick]

some of the most { ω σ η ∂ є я ƒ υ ℓ } people
✖✖★✖✖
are the ones who { ∂ σ η ' т } fit in boxes

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[Bifflestick]

some of the most { ω σ η ∂ є я ƒ υ ℓ } people
✖✖★✖✖
are the ones who { ∂ σ η ' т } fit in boxes

Ghosts indeed.

When this had been a good idea still escaped her, but she had been heavily under the influence of alcohol and had agreed and then couldn't back because that would make her seem weak. And if there was one thing Arizona Raven Taylor most definately was not, it was weak. She was strong - emotionally as well as physically - and she was courageous. She would not back down from this silly challenge, and she would last the night in this "haunted" house, even if it killed her. Which is blatently would not do. Ghosts did not exist. Arizona was a total and complete skeptic - she had to see to believe. She liked things to be proven to her. It was why she was studying law - she got to prove things. Except Arizona Taylor wasn't exactly the type you'd expect to see studying law.

Tall and slender, with a head of naturally wavy dark hair and smokey green-grey eyes, Arizona was stunning. Perfect teeth, full lips - she had beauty in spades. But when it came to the line for brains, she hadn't shied away from that, either. She was as smart as she was beautiful, and that shocked a lot of people. Pretty girls weren't meant to be smart! But Arizona blew that stereotype right out of the water with her intelligent, sarcastic ways. People often found it hard to get along with her. An incredibly passionate person, once you got Arizona going about something she felt strongly about, there was little stopping her. She was also secretive and mysterious - she kept her emotions firmly to locked away. She kept it to herself because to her, emotions were weakness. And Arizona hated feeling weak - Arizona crying was improbably rare, and if you did see her crying it must be something huge. A sigh fell from between her lips as she headed up the old, creaking stairs. She'd seen Asher heading up here earlier, but that wasn't why she was going up. She'd heard there was a balcony, a deck, whatever, and Arizona rather fanncied getting a good look at the huge plot of land that the house sat on.

She arrived at the deck and smiled as she stepped outside. The sky was clear, the sun was shining, and as she stood there a small breeze popped into existence for a few moments to run its gentle fingers softly through the long strands of her hair before dying again. This weather was still a little odd to Arizona - originally from Ireland, she'd come over to America to study law because there were better oppourtunities for her, though her accent was still as Irish as always. Sometimes people had a hard time understanding her - especially when she had had a few drinks - but she got by. She leant on the railings - first testing that it would take her weight - and looked out over the grounds. It was pretty here. A part of her sorely missed her native Ireland, but another part relished in the independence moving away had given her. She had to fend for herself, feed herself, get her own money. Her parents paid her tuition fees, but she had to pay for pretty much everything else. That felt really good, and though she had floundered for the first few months, once she had gotten her bearings Arizona had been fine - more than fine. She could manage perfectly well on her own. She'd proved that.

She pressed a hand to the phone that lay dormant in her pocket. She'd let her younger brother, Nat, know what she was doing. He was worried about her. He would probably try to ring her later, which was why she had her phone with her. Arizona was close to eighteen year old Nathaniel, and they spoke as often as possible. Her parents had no idea what she was doing - if they did, they would have been in a full scale panic. Her parents were heavily supertitious and believed in ghosts and all that stuff. They had tried to pass that down to their children, but Arizona had always been a fiecly stubborn and independant soul, and had forged her own views that were very different from theirs. Nat was hovering somewhere inbetween, not sure if he believed but not wanting to write it off entirely either, which was why he was so worried about his sister, despite her assurances that she'd be fine. It wasn't as if she were alone, after all. No, she had her friends with her, and a big clunky flash light and some rope. Though her parents always said ghosts were made of spirtual matter, and if they were correct then battering them or tying them up wouldn't work. But Arizona didn't believe that, and it would be dark later so she'd need the flashlight, and rope always came in handy. If nothing else, when doing something crazy with your friends, take some rope. Rope was useful in all sorts of situations.

She closed her eyes for a moment, just listening. She heard someone - who she assumed was Asher, since to the best of her knowledge everyone else was still downstairs - run back down the stairs. Her eyes slowly opened again, and Arizona gave another soft sigh. Two acres of beautiful land, but it was in some disarray now. There had been no one to look after it for some time - everyone avoided this house. There was some speculation that they would all go insane here, but Arizona just laughed it off. Danger, ghosts - Arizona was fearless. She didn't care about rumours. She'd spent twenty fours hours here and come out on the other side far better for it. That's just the way she rolled.

She spent a few minutes longer in silent contemplation before she pushed off and headed back inside. She wanted to see the room - the one where they had died. Arizona wasn't a macarbre person, not really, but she still wanted to see it. She headed there and one eyebrow arched upwards at the bloodstains that were still there, even after all this time. She went in, bending her knees to inspect the carpet closer. Lovely - the blood had even changed the colour. She straightened again and stretched herself out, going to the very chair Professor Abbott had died in. There was bloodstains on that too, and Arizona's features pulled together in disgust. Jack Miller had clearly been some kind of nutjob to kill them. Arizona sighed softly. "I don't know what happens after death, but I sure hope that you're happy," she murmured, and then left the creepy room to explore further.

The bathrooms were disgusting - there was one thing she wouldn't be using tonight - and there were cobwebs clinging delicately to nearly every available surface. Arizona touched a new one gently, feeling the thin, silky fibres and sending a spider running towards the vibration. She smiled at it, watching it move to try and find the creature it had caught, then scurrying away back to the corner when it couldn't find it. She left the poor creature alone, not wanting to destroy the beautiful web it had spent so much time creating. She ran a finger along a table, examining the thick layer of dust there. She wiped it from her fingers and frowned - the layer didn't seem as thick as it should be after so long being unattended to. She pushed the thought aside and continued her amsentminded wanderings.

Arizona was part way through her examination of the old fashioned washing machine the laundry room when Asher shouted. Arizona started slightly at the unexpected noise, blinked, then started heading downstairs. There were candles everywhere, and her flashlight was clipped through one of the beltloops of her jeans so she could get to it when she needed it. She entered the living room and smiled. "Lesson learned, Asher - always bring spare batteries," she commented mildly, going over to where her backpack lay and digging out some batteries, handing them to her friend. She frowned at him, tilting her head slightly to one side, looking thoughtful. "You look...spooked. Is everything okay?"

[Bifflestick]

some of the most { ω σ η ∂ є я ƒ υ ℓ } people
✖✖★✖✖
are the ones who { ∂ σ η ' т } fit in boxes

It was Maddison that appeared next, offering Asher any of her batteries - oh, how subtle. Or maybe it was, and Arizona was just not as blind as Asher was - and saying ghosts used the energy or something, which merely made Arizona snort. It was a very unlady like sound, and her mother would not had approved, but her mother was not there right now, so Arizona felt perfectly alright making unlady like sounds. And besides, her friends were more than used to her by now, so it was fine. They wouldn't be bothered - they never were.

It was Peter that arrived next. Everyone was just congregating now, gathering in the living room and asking questions like where they would sleep - nowhere. Well, Arizona had thought ahead and bought a roll mat with her, but she was loathe to put it down anywhere - and looking nervous. "Sleep would be lovely, but with the state of these floors I'd really rather not. And for another, you guys will be screaming too much and keeping me awake," Arizona drawled in that teasing way of hers, a small smile playing across her lips. She glanced at Ash when Peter asked his question, and then her gaze swung back to the door as Craig entered, pressing a finger to his lips. Clearly, Mr. Macho Man was plannig something, and who was Arizona to ruin his fun? She laughed when he scared poor Maddi and Peter, biting her lip to try and stop the lilting, musical sound from escaping. But it was just too funny. "Craig, play nice," she said in a warning tone once her laughter had died down. She pushed from hair from her eyes absently, gaze flickering from face to face. "Personally, I kind of fancy spending it either in Emma's room or maybe the basement. Somewhere really creepy, you know?" she grinned. She was pretty much just tormenting her friends now - they all knew they'd probably stay right where they were. At least they knew where they were then.

Jack appeared next, and Arizona smiled at her. Jack was probably her best friend in the group. They were similar in many ways, and different in the ones that counted. Jack was a fierce feminist, and while Arizona was all for that - she was going into a prodominently male profession, after all, and she broke so many stereotypes it was unreal - she also wasn't one for going to protests or anything. She laughed again at Jack's threat to Craig, and her calling him a douche. She stuck her tongue out at the male, still giggling. She got on well with Craig even though he was one of those "women should stay home and have babies and cook and clean" types. He was just a lot of fun to wind up. "Now, be a good boy Craig and do as Jack-Jack says. I can tell who wears the trousers in your relationship," she grinned. She ambled over to her bag and dug out her camera - a big fancy SLR thing, since photography was a hobby of hers - and pointed it at her friends, snapping a couple of pictures. She smiled as she looked at them - she was pretty good at it. Arizona was a girl of many talents, from law to photography. She was pretty awful at maths - she'd always hated it - but she got by well enough.

"You don't like spiders? Really? Gosh, I love them. They fascinate me. Later, I'll probably go get some photos of the webs. Have you seen them? So incredible - so intricate and delicate," Arizona cut herself off there before she went on a full scale ramble about her pet tarantula - Tallulah - that she'd had when she was younger. Tallulah had died not long before Arizona had left for America, but she fully intended on getting another one - they made wonderful pets, though she was sure her friends would disagree heartily with her. She slipped the strap over her camera over her neck, clipped on the lens cap and let it hang there to free her hands. She flicked her gaze to Craig and sighed softly. "The room...it isn't pleasent. There are still blood stains there. I'm kind of glad I went to see it, though that sounds really macarbre. It's just one of those things, you know? You can't come here and not go and see it. It isn't nice, though," she said softly. She listened to Craig's next words and smiled sadly. He was entirely right, and that was the sad thing about it. "He was a sick man, Craig. Clearly. You've got to be incredibly sick and twisted to kill children like that. There was no reason to his madness."

Arizona had actually looked over the information of the murders. It hadn't been for her course or for this, she had just been interested. It had been during her first year, just after she had heard about it. It had all been very gruesome, but the police hadn't really seemed to have done all that much, which confused her. If she'd been alive, she probably would have waded in and tried to help, but as she thought about it she realised she probably would have been pushed aside because she was female and she cleaned up well. Beautiful women were never taken seriously - not then, not now. Despite her smarts, Arizona knew that men found it very hard to take her seriously and realise that she wasn't a dumb girl, she was intelligent and probably knew more than they did, and she was certainly much braver. She'd proved that, hadn't she, by moving away from her home land, leaving her friends and family in favour of a brand new country because there were better chances for her here? That had to prove something about her. She was fighting her own battles and winning, and that was something that a lot of people - men in particular - found it hard to wrap their heads around.

It was then that there was a giggle.

Arizona blinked and looked at her friends. Craig demanded to know who had giggled, and Arizona merely shrugged. "Don't look at me," she stated. It was only moments later that a doll landed by his feet. A Barbie, not unlike the ones Arizona herself had played with when she was little. She looked at it for a while before Craig picked it up. "Clearly someone decided to play a prank on us. Hilarious," she said, brushing it off easily. Ghosts weren't real - there would be a perfectly logical explanation for this, just like there was for everything in the world. She laughed as Craig started playing with the doll, taking the lens cap off her camera and turning it on, snapping a picture of him half way through a sentance with the doll in an odd position in his hands. "Oh, that is definately one of the photo album!" she laughed. Craig's face was hilarious, and she was already determined that when they got out of here - sane and alive - they'd make a photo album to record their time there. Securing her lens cap once more, Arizona lay her camera back on her chest.

"So...anyone fancy a trip to the basement?"

[Bifflestick]

always { ƒ σ я g ι ν є } your enemies
✖✖★✖✖
nothing { α η η σ у ѕ } them so much

Text herr.

[Bifflestick]

always { ƒ σ я g ι ν є } your enemies
✖✖★✖✖
nothing { α η η σ у ѕ } them so much

Beans.

He didn't like beans. He never had done. Beans were...beans were bland. He stabbed at a few and held them up for inspection, his face neutral. He'd worked hard on that neutral face - he was a fantastic liar because of it. He sighed softly and the fork passed between his lips and he chewed slowly, face never straying from that perfect - and slightly scary - neutral expression. He swallowed and looked down at the remaining beans. He couldn't take much more of this. There was some sort of portable stove someplace, right? He'd used a trangia before - surely it wasn't that different. Even warm beans were better than cold ones. But he wasn't going to speak up - if he did they'd probably just ignore him anyway. They didn't want advice for him. In fact, most - if not all - of them wanted him dead.

Life was just dandy right now, though, wasn't it? Nuclear war and all that. Whatever it was. He'd been standing outside quite happily waiting for it to hit and them wham! Someone pulled him inside, and then down into a bunker. And so it was that the twenty three year old ex-convict had been saved from death. Wasn't that just grand? They'd already voiced their views in here - they'd rather him dead. When they'd asked his name he'd merely informed them that they could call in Jay - just Jay - and taken to sitting in a corner looking pissed - his speciality. His name was really Frederick James O'Connor - an Irish lad with the accent to prove it - but he told everyone to merely call him Jay, and didn't tell them anything else about his name. In here, they knew his age and that he was Irish. Oh, and that he had been in prison, though they didn't know what for. Jay was more than happy to keep them in the dark that he'd killed someone. Among other things. He'd stolen things and defaced property - most of it public. He wasn't favoured among the others here. And to be honest, most of them annoyed Jay, too.

Being the antisocial type, Jay disliked people anyway. People were stupid - he'd much rather have a dog for company. But here, it was worse than normal. Elsie was possibly the single most annoying person Jay had ever met - and he'd met one hell of a lot of annoying people in his twenty three years. She was just so...so...happy. All the time. She was impossible. She saw the bright side to everything, even the fact that Jay - a convicted murderer, though she didn't know that - had survived. This thing they'd gotten themselves into was a new start - and that included a new start for the criminal. She was bonkers, that's what Elsie was. Then there was Lia, who Jay disliked by default because she was married Adam who was the biggest p***k Jay had ever met. They were constantly butting heads and fighting. The guy was a knob - there was no way around it. He and Jay just clashed, in every way and then some, and were either ignoring each other or we are each other's throats - there wasn't really anything inbetween. If Jay did end up deciding he was going to kill these morons, Adam would most definately be the first moron to go, shortly followed by Elsie. Lia would probably be next because she would probably be crying over the death of Adam the d**k - which was what Jay had secretly christened Adam in his haed - and if there was one thing Jay really could not stand, it was people crying - it really grated on his nerves.

After that, he'd probably kill Scott. Not because Scott was overly annoying - far from it, in fact. He was quiet and kept to himself a lot, which was precisely what Jay wanted everyone to do - but because the poor sap was dying anyway, and Jay should probably put him out of his misery. Also, Scott could be kind of annoyingly optimistic like Elsie when he did decide to open his mouth - a kind of, it's-a-miracle-I'm-even-alive kind of optimistic. The gut had cancer - if he was going to snuff if when it was safe for them to get out of there, what the hell was even the point? Maybe someone else could see it - Elsie, for sure - but Jay sure couldn't. Then again, he was perfectly content to die before he got dragged into this stupid shelter, so maybe he wasn't the best judge.

After Scott, Jay would definately target Jamie. As the son of the president, all of Jay's hatred towards the government was piled on to him. Actually, maybe he'd kill Jamie first - sometimes, Jay found it hard to decide if he hated Adam or Jamie more. He thought about it and decided he'd kill Jamie, then Adam, then Lia, then Elsie, then Scott. That was a much nicer order, and it got the last line of the government out of the way. Even if Jamie had run away from home, he was still the son of the president. And the president was the government, and the government were idiots. Bigger idiots than most, and since Jay saw most everyone as a huge idiot, that was really saying something. He popped a few more beans into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Who would come after Scott, though? After Scott there was either Daphne or Eve. And for some reason, Jay was a little loathe to think about killing either of them.

He could actually stand to be around Eve for an elongated period of time. Like him, she was antisocial. He liked that about her. She was also blunt and didn't tiptoe around the bare facts like the others did a lot of the time. However, she did have that strange thing going on with Jamie, but Jay still...didn't mind her too much. Yes, Eve, Jay could actually stand. Okay, maybe he'd get annoyed with her eventually, but right now, she was about the only one that didn't drive him stark raving bonkers every freakin' day he was stuck here with this bunch of lunatics.

And then there was Daphne.

Jay wasn't religious. He wasn't really an atheist either. No one had proved it to him either way, though Jay was quickly decided that there was no merciful God up there watching over them - if there was, he sure as hell would have stuck Jay with all these idiots. But Daphne...everyone else pushed her away, but he just let her sit there and talk and read to him from her Bible. He had no idea why, because it was usually utter rubbish, but he just did. She seemed to like it, too. The crazy religious whacko actually liked him. Him, the screwed up criminal who was genuinely contemplating killing them all, but always talked himself out of it because, hell, they were all that was left. And while Jay had long since decided that humanity was well and truly ******** if they were all that was left, he still couldn't bring himself to kill the others, no matter how damn annyoing they got. He was still a criminal at heart - his mind worked that way, fast and observant and intelligent and creepy - but he just couldn't quite kill the others. Not like he had the gang leader, which had ben self defence more than anything else. He just couldn't. Maybe one day, but not today. No, not today.

He was dragged out of his murder related thought patterns by Scott. He was talking about kittens. Kittens. Jay groaned and rolled his expressive storm cloud coloured eyes. "Kittens. I hate cats. I'm allergic," Jay stated. Keep it blunt and to the point - that was completely his style. Plus, he really did hate cats. Stupid things. He was allergic and besides, dogs were better. Much better. Man's best friend and all that - dogs were marvellous things. Jay wished he had a dog here now, but they'd all be dead by now. "Oh, yes, I'm sure that some pretty little kitten survived all those bombs. Because just like roaches, they are immune to radioactivity. Get a grip, Scott," Jay said, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. Sarcasm was second nature to him now - it came as naturally as breathing. Just something that fell from his mouth. It was easy - too easy, really.

And then Daphne was reading some Biblical s**t to him and Adam was mouthing off and so was Eve and Jay scowled. On him, a scowl was scary. Being six four was scary enough, but with the scowl and the dark eyes, it was pretty intimidating. He directed a death glare at Adam for being such a d**k - as always, then glowered at Eve, too. And Scott, just for good measure. Hell, why not just glower at everyone for a little bit? That was always fun. "Adam, if you are going to act like a d**k I suggest you dress like one and put a condom on your head. Eve, things could get worse. For instance, we could run out of beans, and then where would we be?" he asked, waving the nearly empty can in his hand at her. He then pulled a face and put it down, before carefully rearranging his face back into that neutral expression that he was so well known for. He looked at Daphne, sitting next to him, so naive and innocent and sweet, despite how bloody annoying she could be. "Maybe you should lay off the religious stuff for a bit. Clearly, it's not all that popular," he suggested, knowing full well she'd do nothing of the sort.

If things didn't get any better, Jay would honestly just go and sit on his bunk. Anything to get away from all this.

[Bifflestick]

i don't have to try to be { н α ρ ρ у }
✖✖★✖✖
when i'm with you it just { н α ρ ρ є η ѕ }

Text herr.

[Bifflestick]

i don't have to try to be { н α ρ ρ у }
✖✖★✖✖
when i'm with you it just { н α ρ ρ є η ѕ }

Scratch scratch scratch scrach, scrubscrubscrub, scratch scratch.

The pencil was laid back down next to the sheet of music and the elegant, long fingered hands dropped back to the keys, playing them softly. No, that wasn't quite right either. The pencil went back to the paper, rubbing out a few more notes and drawing some others in, rubbing a couple out and changing them moments after. The pencil went back down and the new notes were played, then a few more were scrawled onto the paper afterwards. Eyes sparkling, the owner of the hands started playing, this time from the beginning.

The piece of music was soft and lilting, almost haunting but in an impossibly lovely way. It was clear that he had spent a lot of time working on it, and as those long fingers formed chords and played notes, a soft smile started playing over full pink lips. If he'd been a singer, he would have written lyrics for it, but if there was one thing that Alfie Jones was not, it was a singer. His singing voice was awful, truly awful, and so he stuck to just playing the piano. Despite the fact that his flat was pretty much a box - a living room, and kitchen, a bathroom, a bedroom and a small store room - Alfie had still found room to keep a big piano in there. He really want a grand piano, but his little flat barely fit this one in, so until he'd finished college and got a job and earned money, he was stuck here. Not that here was so bad, really - it just wasn't exactly perfect.

The music he'd written still didn't have a name. He hadn't come up with a name yet. He had written it for a reason, though - Devon. His best friend. Of course he was in love with her - he was pathetic. And so he'd written some music for her. If his voice hadn't broken windows, he'd have written her a song, but as it was, he had to stick to just piano music. But the lovely melody he'd written would surely please anyone - or so most people would think. But Devon was different, and Alfie didn't know what to do about her. If he just blurted out that he loved her, he might lose her. He'd rather have her as a friend than not have her at all, so for now, he was perfectly content to stay friends with Devon, despite the fact that he wanted so much more. Another thing was that Alfie was so entirely not Devon's type. Apart from the fact that they'd been best friends for years, Alfie was long and skinny - all sharp lines and angles and jutting bones. A mop of messy ebony hair sat atop his head, contrasting sharply with the soft paleness of his skin. Bright blue eyes peered out from below his eyebrows, framed from below by prominent cheekbones, standing high and proud in his face. A pair of ridiculous - or so he thought of them - ears stuck out from his head, and they had been the reason of a lot of ridicule when he was growing up. But they didn't bother him anymore - he was used to being gangly and clumsy and having ridiculous ears and elbows people didn't get into close range of for fearing of getting away with bruises. Pointy was one word often used to describe Alfie - his skinny frame made his bones rather pointy.

The music came to a soft finale and his fingers froze on the keys. Yes, that was good. The end was good. He smiled to himself again, revealing even white teeth and emphasising those cheekbones all the more. The chances were he'd never play it to her, and if he did he certainly wouldn't tell her it was written for her. If he did that Devon would ask questions - a piece of music about her would normally be bouncy and fast, not slow and melodic. But people did stupid things when they were in love, and Alfie had written a piece of music that clearly showed his sadness over the fact that his best friend - who he was madly in love with - saw him as the brother she didn't have. He lowered the lid slowly and pushed the bench back, standing in one fluid movement. His dog, Lily, bounded over, tongue lolling out of her mouth in a doggy grin. A mongrel with long white and grey fur that needed brushing daily, no one really knew what breeds were in her, but Alfie was past caring - he'd had Lily for about a year now, and there was no way he was going to get rid of her. She kept him company and was more than happy to partake in Alfie's odd habit of taking walks at midnight under the stars - as he was studying astronomy at college, taking midnights walks to look at the stars wasn't really that strange. He scratched behind her ears and her tail wagged. She looked longingly at her lead on the table, and Alfie smiled. "You've been for your walks today, Lily," he said fondly, his accent a tumbling confusion of several different accents, since he had moved around so much when he was younger. "And besides, I have to get ready," he informed Lily, but he didn't stop stroking her soft, fluffy fur.

Elodie was having a dinner party. As soon as Devon had first mentioned it was being planned, Alfie knew he'd have a place at the table. The three Devereux sisters were a package deal, and Alfie got on well with all of them. He was an honourary Devereux, after all - they all saw him as the brother they didn't have. Awkward, adorable Alfie with his all over body blushes and his wide, eye crinkling grin. Yes, everyone loved Alfie, despite him being too clumsy and rather awkward around those he didn't know. It was around then that Devon walked into the room wearing only a towel - Alfie hadn't even realised she'd woken up - and he was utterly distracted. It was not strange for Devon to stay at his place - she all but lived there. If it weren't for the fact that he lived in a box, he'd just ask her to move in - and it was also not strange for her to walk around in just her towel. However, it was very, very distracting. While Devon saw Alfie as her brother, her friend, he saw her as so much more, and that was the one bad thing about their relationship - that they both wanted different things. To Devon, Alfie was her protector, the person who would always be there for her. Her shoulder to cry on, her rock, her best friend. To Alfie, Devon was...Devon was Devon. Beautiful and sexy and funny and smart and everything he could ever had asked for and everything he would have never thought to ask for all in one. "Because it doesn't take me half an hour?" he suggested to her question about why he wasn't getting ready. He had showered and shaved earlier, so all he really needed to do was change out of his jeans and plain blue t-shirt - the colour of which made his blue eyes seem even more blue than normal. He laughed when Devon complained about him having nothing to eat. "Go shopping, then," he chuckled, stretching his long body out and causing his spine to crack from being hunched over the piano writing music too long.

He gave her his famed lopsided grin when she came back, revealing a dimple on the right side of his mouth. Everyone who knew him well knew that was the grin he reserved for when he no longer felt awkward around you - the one that he gave the people he felt most comfortable around. It was an inane grin, and made him appear pretty dim, which was why he only gave it to those that knew him. "I know what you are like when you get up," he teased, poking his tongue out at Devon. She went to get changed moments later, and Alfie looked at Lily, who looked at him with her pale blue eyes - she had to be part husky to have those - and then she looked hopefully at her lead again. "I told you, Lily - you have had your walks," he said, and she whined. Smiling, Alfie went to get her a chew bone from dog food cupboard, which she happily took off to a corner of the flat to gnaw on - that should keep her occupied for a while. He went back to the living room just as Devon did, and he beamed widely at her, lighting up the room with a flash of his teeth. "You look great," he informed her, then headed off to his room to get ready himself.

Devon kept clothes at his place, and she had a space in the wardrobe in his cramped bedroom - he tended to sleep on the sofa, though he knew Devon probably wouldn't have minded sharing a bed with him. It would have been more difficult for him to sleep next to her than anything, and the sofa was more than adequate, though he was a little too long for it - at the other end to him. He opened the door and took out the clothes he had set aside for tonight. Plain black trousers and a crisp plain white button down shirt - even though he knew Elodie probably wouldn't be fussed if he didn't dress up, Alfie had a habit of doing so anyway. He wriggled out of his current clothes and swapped them over, doing the buttons up clumsily with his long fingers, then having to undo them and do the whole thing over again since he'd done them up wrong and his shirt sat wonky. He smooted it down absently and grabbed his shine black shoes, slipping them on. He ran a comb through his unruly dark hair - he knew it would not stay neat for long, but he had to try - and headed back into the living room. Devon started teasing him and a light blush blossomed across his cheekbones. "I clean up pretty good, huh?" he smiled shyly, tugging at his shirt self conciously, not used to wearing clothes this smart. "D'you think it looks okay? Oh, and d'you think your sister will like these?" Alfie asked, grabbing the big bunch of fragrant pink and white lilies from the table where he had put them. He'd got them when he'd been out on his walk with Lily, since he hadn't wanted to go empty handed and everyone always took wine, so he thought he'd take something different. At the time, he'd been sure the eldest Devereux sister woudl like them, but suddenly he was unsure.

Devon assured him that he looked great and the Elodie would love the flowers, and then they were in her car and driving there. As they neared Elodie's house, Devon informed him that the dark haired man he had never seen before was Malcolm - so he was finally going to meet him. Sydney had been talking about him a lot recently, but Alfie hadn't met him yet. The real test would be if Lily liked him or not. Lily would let anyone stroke her, but it was only if she jumped up at you that meant she liked you - Alfie knew his dog too well. But since a dinner party wasn't really the place for his excitable, energetic dog, that would have to wait. Alfie laughed at Devon's question. "It is a formal event where I am in attendence - it was always doomed to be awkward," he informed her, grinning. Riley was there, too - Alfie had met him a couple of times though they hadn't really talked much, just been introduced. Elodie seemed to like him, though. Alfie slipped from the car and Devon took his arm. He held the lilies in his other hand and they walked forward, Alfie feeling more embarrassed the closer they got - and he hadn't even said anything yet. Devon introduced him and Alfie did that all over body blush that only he seemed to be able to manage - everything from his face to his toes went bright red and heat poured off him like the sun. "Hello," he said, and shook hands with the men and gave Sydney a peck on the cheek - forever the gentleman, him. He slipped his free arm - the one that didn't have its hands full - around Devon's waist as her arms wrapped around him. Alfie had always imagined that hugging him would be like hugging a twig, but Devon had never seemed to mind too much. He really just wanted everyone to start talking and save him from feeling so awkward - silence always made him feel that way.

If there were silences over dinner, Alfie may well just make a total prat out of himself. No change there, then.

[ ohohcee ] uhm. yeah.
sorry, it kind of goes on, doesn't it? [ /ohohcee ]