sir kirk
sir kirk
Quote:
1,113 words ; opening post
- Five minutes. That was all that was left of the day. Five torturous minutes. I rest my head onto the cold desk which I had been residing at for a good forty or so minutes and tap my pencil on my curly hair. "Collin, would you like to pay attention to class?" Ms. Lart, my teacher's nasally voice nags. I bite back a snide comment and pick up my head, pretending to look attentively at the gibberish on the white board. Ms. Lart smiles, her wrinkles bunching up awkwardly. My face, and many of my other classmate's turn up in disgust. I hate school, but that doesn't mean I do bad. Nope, I actually am a straight a student. Well... I would probably be failing school if it weren't for my household rules. Grades are near the top of the list, and to be considered family (in a sense), you have to be right around a 4.0 GPA. Well, Sophie got cut some slack. Adding to that though, in elementary school, mom made me get a tutor. I am not going through that whole deal again. The bell finally rings and I quickly sling my backpack over my shoulder and follow the rest of the class out of the classroom. I roll my eyes at Ms. Lart's attempts to get us back in our seats. I pull out my new cellphone, just obtained this year, and send a quick text message to my mom. I do this every Monday, just asking if she needs something for the week.
To: Mom
From: Collin
Message: Hey mom, it's Cole. I was wondering if you needed anything picked up from anywhere before I came home...
See you soon, bye.
I slide my phone back into my pocket, figuring that she won't text back. Besides, I can just run out later. Mom had said that dad had stayed home from work, which excited me because of his usual absence. I lumber off of the school campus and down the familiar streets of Eden, Texas. It was a warm day for an August evening, but it had been like this for awhile, so I grew accustomed to it over the years. I cross the street and kick around a lone rock, thinking over my homework for the night. I just had to finish math, so that gave me some time to play my violin or maybe even help dad with his work. That would be interesting... My thoughts are interrupted though by a text back from my mom. I read it over quickly and turn left, heading towards the grocery store instead of home. I stick my phone back in my pocket, deciding not to text back. When I finally arrive at the dinky supermarket, I pull out my phone again and go over the list. "Okay, so she needs orange juice, cheese, potatoes... I'm going to need a cart," I speak softly to myself, grabbing a cart near the entrance. I go down the various isles, piling the food into the cart. I wonder why she needs so much food. Usually, she doesn't even really ask for anything. I shrug and make my way to the check out line.
After I finish shopping, I place back the cart and shift around the heavy bags in my arms. I can already feel the plastic making marks on my arms. I sigh and start on my way home, walking quicker than usual. About fifteen or so minutes later, I arrive to my house. I wrinkle up my nose as the sound of the loud music drumming through our street. I unlock the front door and walk through, closing the door lightly with my foot. "I'm home. I brought what you wanted, mom," I call. I set down the groceries onto the floor and untie my shoes. I leave them in an orderly pair on the shoe rack and run up the stairs into my cozy room. I set down my backpack next to my desk quickly and run right back down the stairs and to the groceries lying on the rug. I scoop them up and nearly drop them when I hear a loud crash and curses coming from the kitchen. What was that...? I hold my breath and listen for another crash, but it never comes. I only hear soft conversations, so I proceed to the kitchen... With caution of course. I knock lightly on the wall and step through the archway. "Hey Mom. I got what you wanted. Oh, hi, Kayley," I smile and set down the groceries on the counter. I see Kayley throwing away smashed glass and teacups and classify that as being the crash I heard earlier. I unload the groceries I had bought earlier and lean on the island.
I make a quick stop to the bathroom to wash my hands, and return to the kitchen, pouring myself a cup of water. I rest on the island, watching Kayley prepare supper. I take a quick sip of water before speaking. "How long has that music been playing? It's starting to get on my nerves and I've only been here for a few minutes," I speak to the two. I think over anything that I can ask or say to the two, but mom seemed a little wound up about something, so I didn't really know if it was right to say something to her. I decide to take a chance with a relatively safe subject. "Mom, is dad feeling better?" I ask her. I set down my drink and start walking to his office. "I'll be back to help you cook in a few minutes, Kayley," I call from the arch.
I knock on the office door and walk in. "Hey dad, I was just checking on you... Are you feeling better?" I ask him. I take a seat by the door and watch him work. "Are you going to go back to the office tomorrow?" I question him, hoping that the answer is no. I know that it was selfish to want my dad to be sick, but I miss him when he's not home. I stand up and smile at him. "I'm going to let you finish working, hope that you get better," I walk out of the warm office and back into the hallway. I trudge back into the kitchen and put my hands on the counter. "So... Do you need any help with dinner?" I wasn't entirely sure what we were cooking, but it was proper etiquette (and a rule) to help cook. I take a sip of my water and mentally curse the awful music drilling into my head.
xxx[ [ ooc ; first person is fun c: // outfit ] ]xxx
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sir kirk
Quote:
1,050 words ; opening post
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“Is that all, hun?” the waitress looks at the young lady ordering.
“Yeah, that’s all, thanks,” Ryan sighs when the waitress leaves, leaving her to her own thoughts again. The smell of stale grease and cheesy elevator music wafted throughout the small diner the hunter was currently in. She takes a sip of her coffee and begins reading the local newspaper, looking for anything out of the ordinary activity. This whole hunt was frustrating. She had been in this town for a week, and there was nothing supernatural going on. By this time, she was usually already done with a job and moving onto the next, so why did they send her here? Well, there was that one guy that did seem kind of suspicious to her. Theodore. If Ryan didn’t know any better, that man was a vampire… But which resident of the town would ever believe her? Her newspaper reading was interrupted when the waitress set her food next to her. Ryan smiled and thanked her, setting down the paper and replacing it with a piece of bacon.
Ryan places down her money and tip, just about to leave the diner when she catches a familiar face sitting not too far away. She waves nonchalantly at Eun Mi, not ready to engage in a full conversation this morning. She easily turns back around and walks out of the door. The second the door closes behind her, her smile falters, her kindness leaving no trace. She walks down two blocks to the motel she’s staying at. It looked pretty sketchy, but hey, it was cheap and the quality of it didn’t really matter. She unlocks her room and chucks the newspaper onto the table along with her worn-out bag. She cranks on the shower and turns on the television, instantly changing it to the news. The only interesting story that occurred was a new bag being added onto the racks; the only thing supernatural about that was the price. The redhead rolls her eyes, turning off the TV and walking to the shower, stripping off her clothes with each step. She steps a tentative foot into the shower, checking to make sure it was heated up. After doing so, she puts her whole body in, letting the alcohol of last night and the greasy smell of the diner wash off of her. Ryan wasn’t one to drink, so it was kind of strange for her to have gone to a bar last night, but she wanted to have something to relax her, but not knock her out or get her drunk. That would lead to a hangover, and that was exactly what she didn’t need when the town was supposedly crawling with the paranormal.
The hours, no, not hours, days of research that Ryan had gone through, nothing was there, not even a smudge of a strange hospital check-in. She knew that there was something there, she could feel it. There were definitely vampires, but maybe there was something else? Ira told them nothing, they just said that there were strange happenings in the town, but where did they get that information? Could they have been working with someone in Fruitville? Ryan shuts off the water, beginning to get a headache from frustration, confusion, and exhaustion. The whole time she was in Georgia, she wasn’t able to get a full night of sleep, knowing that she was just one state away from Mississippi. It shouldn’t have bothered her, having Alabama being in the middle and all, but everything happened there. Mississippi was where she became what she was today. Ryan puts on her clothes, wrapping her hair up in the towel after throwing on her overused sweater. She slides onto her bed; it creaks as she does so, and opens up her brother’s laptop. Well, her laptop. She scrolls through various websites, trying to look for subtle signs of the supernatural. She checks the clock on the dinky screen, the white numbers gleaming back that it was 10:30. She mutters to herself that she’ll only be on for thirty minutes, and then she’ll go on a walk around the town, asking the locals if they have seen anything.
Thirty minutes had gone and passed and the small clock on her laptop smiled that it was eleven o’clock. Ryan shuts the laptop off, the humming put to rest. She lets out a long groan as she slams the screen shut. Thirty minutes of thumbing around on reliable supernatural websites and there were no signs that could even compare to the activity of Fruitville. Everything on the website was the basic occurrences; they were never subtle or sparse. So again the question lingered, why were they here? The girl pulls out her phone and scrolls through her contacts, stopping at Ranvir’s name. She had added it to her phone the first time she chatted, for she was worried that he would get too close to Theo. She hovered over the call button, but ended up pressing escape, figuring that he was busy. It was then that she realized that she did have a lead. Theodore! Ryan was so close to finding that he was a vampire, all she needed was to see the fangs, and that would be it. That vampire would never see the daylight again… Well, vampires don’t usually go into the daylight anyways. That was it! Ryan jumps off of the bed, her brain finally beginning to click together. She would go out tonight and go on a vampire hunt. There were rarely any vampires that went out during the day, so why should they be any different in Fruitville?
Ryan pulls on her shoes and rips the towel off of her damp head. She speedily brushes her red locks, her brain flying at a hundred miles per minute. She pulls her hair back in a ponytail as she digs through her bag for her silver knife. She places the knife in her boot and slings her bag over her shoulder. She exits out the door, locking it behind her and strolls down the street, the snow crunching underneath her heavy boots. She now had a plan and it would be put into action tonight.
sir kirk
Quote:
906 words ; reply post
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Ryan walked past shop after shop, her hands shoved into her jacket’s pockets. She hated the cold, she actually hated snow too. It made annoying noises every time you took a step, and it led to ice if it mixed with water. And ice was not a good thing to be on… ever. She looked up to the sky, seeing if the sun would finally unleash its power and melt the snow. With a sigh, she looked forward again, not knowing how to tell. She had finally calmed down from her brainstorming now more than fifteen minutes ago this morning. It really was nothing to get excited about, but Ryan rarely ever had good ideas, so it made her really happy… A real happy. Not many things could get her like that, to actually smile and not have to fake a face. The two things that she could really think of that made her truly happy were Clarke, but he wasn’t going to make her any happier now, and her minute amount of friends. As Ryan thought about it, she didn’t have any friends truly. Just people a step up from strangers mainly. But even they hadn’t seen her real self.
“A scone and a cup of black coffee please,” Ryan had stopped at a small café, just to refill her stomach with things that she didn’t need. She had only had two cups of coffee this morning, and that was not going to get her anywhere if she wanted to stay out at night. She takes a large bite of her scone, followed by a small gulp of her coffee, washing down the dry pastry. She finishes the scone in two more bites, taking the coffee with her on her morning walk. She twists a loose strand of hair around her finger, the red clashing greatly against her pale hands. She takes on last swig of her coffee and tosses the carcass into a trashcan. She stops and hits herself on the head. She needed to go to the library. She turns abruptly on her heels and makes her way back in the opposite direction, going to ask the man at the café where the library was, when she sees Eun Mi conversing with two other hunters. She narrows her eyes as to get a better look, but, having no luck, she proceeds to the trio.
When the faces finally became clearer, she jogs to them, anxious to see who it is. She stops quickly next to Eun Mi and gapes at the sight she sees. What was in front of her was obviously Ranvir, and the girl looked just like somebody she knew. That was it. Keller! Ryan picks Keller gently off of Ranvir, smiling at him, and shoves Keller, not enough to knock her down; just enough to have her take a step back. “Why didn’t you tell me y’all ’ould be here Keller?!” she spits in a quiet tone as to not draw too much attention. Whenever Ryan got upset or wasn’t thinking about what she was saying, she spoke just like everybody in Tupelo used to. She gives Keller a face that screams an apology and throws her arms around her best friend. “I missed you!” she pulls away from the hug just as quickly as she entered it and grips onto Keller’s shoulders tightly. “Y’all didn’t know that I’d be here, it ain’t your fault that you didn’t call or anything,” she gives her a half smile then turns to Eun Mi and Ranvir.
“So did you find anything yet?” she asks the two hunters. They were probably utterly confused at Ryan’s “split personality,” but she didn’t care. She was just so overwhelmed that she saw Keller that she completely ignored everything else. She smiles at the two and then shrugs, her smile falling with her shoulders. “Okay,” she sighs. “I see that you two are jealous,” she points back and forth to the two, a smirk forming. “I’ll hug you guys too,” and with that she embraces the two into a small hug. Ryan really wasn’t a huggy person. It must have been being on a hunt for so long that slowly drove her bonkers. No more than thirty seconds after hugging them all, she looks back on everything she just did and runs a hand through her hair. “Sorry,” she looks to the ground, her face growing crimson with each second that she thought about what she just exposed to them. Did they figure out that it was a mask? What would they do?
Ryan finds the courage to look up and takes a deep breath in. “I don’t think that you have all met each other properly… Well, Ranvir and Keller have,” she smiles slyly. “Okay, so Eun Mi, meet Ranvir and Keller. Keller and Ranvir meet Eun Mi,” she motions to each person whenever she mentions their name. “’Kay, now that we have gotten that out of the way, have you guys dug up any dirt on Fruitville yet?” she questions the three of them in a hushed town. “I’m so certain that Theo’s a vampire that I can taste it… Sorry Ranvir. Any werewolves or…. Witches?” she raises an eyebrow at them. She honestly hoped that there were no witches, for they were never really Ryan’s field of expertise. They were always so crafty and just a pain to deal with. Plus, their hexes hurt.
sir kirk
Quote:
2,106 words ; opening post
No more John Hamish Watson. No more of the man's elbow-pads, jumpers, no more of his blogging. Nothing. John was gone from his life the moment Sherlock "fell" from the roof of St. Bart's hospital. He had told himself that he would be fine without John. He would just erase the man from his memory, or even sort him somewhere else, he would live a normal life. Both of them would. He knew how big of a lie that was. He knew he couldn't possibly go on without John. His best friend, his (nearly) only friend. But he had to do it. Did he actually? He just told himself he had to. There was always a choice, but not this time. It was either John or him. John had to live. It was the only logical thing. Besides, he would live if he jumped. He knew how to live. Well, he'd be alive physically. Mentally, not so much.
Sherlock had completely broken when he saw how John was without him. He figured John had been through so much, seen so much, and even had friends, that he wouldn't care about Sherlock's death. He knew his friend would just forget about it. No, he didn't know, he had hoped that. Hoping was a sign of weakness though, so he had known. But, oh, how wrong he was. He had followed John after he "died," and saw how his friend was. He seemed dead. Surprising him. He had figured he would be the only sad one. The only one to be dead mentally. Not physically, for there was a difference. He followed John everyday for years, nearly being caught various times, but never letting John truly see him. He saw the looks his former flatmate made when he thought he saw his dead friend. Sherlock tried to delete those faces he saw.
When Sherlock finally decided it was safe for him to return back to his flat on Baker Street, he didn't quite know what to expect. He didn't know if John would be angry, overjoyed- well, not overjoyed, he didn't care that much about the detective... Did he?- Or if he would just act like nothing ever happened. He could rule out the second and third one, for they were illogical. John wouldn't be happy about it. He would be upset, having adjusted to life without Sherlock. Maybe he hadn't adjusted... Sherlock didn't know, he just told himself he knew. John wouldn't pretend like Sherlock had never left. He'd be too furious, the scars Sherlock dug into John were too deep to just forget about and brush off. Sherlock just hoped they were. So, John was mad. What did that mean for him? Still no more John in his life. He had to push the jumpers farther back into his mind. Had to dismiss the smell and essence of John once again. He was glad, not even the slightest bit shocked when John clocked him in the jaw when he returned.
Glad because of the sight of John, glad that John was seeing him. While he wasn't surprised at the hitting; Hell, he loved that John hit him, he was petrified when John up and left him, Sherlock Holmes, alone again. Alone in the flat of 221B. Alone to wallow in his failures, to think of John and everything he could have done, could have said, that would have made John stay. That would have made John know that he left and had faked his death for a reason. The words never came. He knew John didn't want to hear them. He was grateful for that, since he didn't want to speak them. Didn't want to mutter and apologize. Sherlock didn't say he was sorry. He never did. He never would. He wasn't that type of human. Apologizing showed just too much weakness.
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Three years after it was John that left him, John the one that walked out in him and his life this time, Sherlock was in worse condition than he had ever been. John was the one keeping him together, and without his "glue" so to say, he was lost and dying. This time it almost appeared to be physically- definitely mentally. The only one that was keeping him alive and eating- barely eating, it wasted much time- was Mrs. Hudson. Even she was having trouble, much to Sherlock's amusement. Watching people try and take care of others was fascinating in ways the detective couldn't even express. He had lost much weight, the tops he wore no longer barely buttoning along the front, but almost loosely sliding over his head. Well, if his ever-so protruding cheekbones and overgrown mop of dark brown curls didn't get in the way. He had only cut them no more than ten times, doing it himself, since John left. Since he let himself go. And he let the flat go.
The flat was in shambles, papers, outdated and new were crumpled and stacked in ever corner, the walls were practically Swiss cheese now, so many bullet-holes and pieces of the wall peeking through the wallpaper. The bullet-holes were from all of the times he wanted to stop his life, to just end it without John. If he was "dead" before, why didn't he just die entirely? Do the whole world a favor and stop being Sherlock Holmes. Stop being who he was and save everybody the trouble of him trying to figure things out. Trying to fix things with he and John. Adding to the attempted-suicide holes, were holes of boredom. Life without cases was utterly dull. Nothing even happened in London anymore; just the occasional murder, nothing he couldn't solve in one sitting. Due to his lack of cases, he had experiments strung throughout the place, most of them courtesy of Molly Hooper, whom had helped him jump in the first place. She provided him with a home for most of the time he was "dead" too. Lucky he was. Luck wasn't the right word though. Luck was too.... human.
Empty teacups and assorted empty containers of take-out food littered the tables and floor- he left John's chair clean of anything though, not wanting to contaminate where the solider once sat, but left little room to move around on the flat. Even his room was piled high with books, filing cabinets lacking any proper organization, and an assortment of weapons... Mainly guns and rounds. Not to mention the heaping supply of nicotine patches he left around on every desk and table. He sported about five at a time, regulating through them quickly. He had started smoking again, about a year after John had left, but never got used to it. John wouldn't have liked it, plus Mrs. Hudson had taken his skull again when he started it up. Dull. Who was he supposed to talk to when it wasn't around? So, he switched back to the patches, reluctantly, but needing back his skull nonetheless. He had sat it back onto the mantle place where it belonged.
Sherlock was sitting on what was his chair, perched on the balls of his feet and his hands folded, pressed to his lips. He had sat his violin on John's chair and was staring at it, thinking about playing it. He hadn't played it since John lived in the flat with him. He didn't want to touch it more than necessary. He didn't want to lose what memories he had stored with it. He wouldn't lost those memories though, he had them stored, tucked away, "forgotten." No, it was sentiment he was feeling. Another cliche human feeling. Boring and something he shouldn't have felt. He feels the trembling in his fingers and tries to fight it, but instead tears his grip from the violin and to the nicotine patches no more than arm's length away. He hadn't had more than three today, a new record. He fully accepts the tremors growing to his whole hand now, and reaches out for the box, snatching it up with little effort. He pops open the white container, but stops when he hears Mrs. Hudson speaking downstairs. That was... odd.
He drops the box onto a pile of sheet music in front of him and feels the shaking in his hands stop entirely. John. It had to be John. Mrs. Hudson didn't speak to people like that. Like she knew them. He swallows a hard stone in his throat and feels his lips move as if trying to speak words to nobody that was there. He feels his whole body swirl. John was back. He was going to see John. His friend must need something. He wouldn't just come. He feels the rock move to his stomach now, making him frown. He was utterly upset that John was here. John left him, never said a word. Now he was coming back for help? Did John think that Sherlock would just happily prance over and tend to John's every need? Well, he was going to. It was John and Sherlock couldn't contain how happy he was, even though the thought of John coming back after everything that had happened sickened him.
Sherlock feels himself gravitate towards the door, towards John, when he hears footsteps followed by John's limp. A child? John's son. Had to be. Something happened with Mary. His limp was worse than when he had left Sherlock. Not that Sherlock followed him from time to time. No, of course he didn't. He just knew that John's limp would be bad... He bites his lower lip, feeling nervous suddenly, at seeing his friend again. He takes a deep breath when he hears the footsteps pause at the top flight of stairs. Just say something, John, he pleads, just wanting his friend to say something. Maybe even his name. He begins to take a small step forward, his thin fingers nearly at the doorknob, but tenses when he hears the pounding on the other side of the door. The child was very young, no self restraint. How was he supposed to stay here? It was obvious something had happened with Mary. If he wanted to speak with Sherlock, he would have just texted, surely. So what was so bad that John needed a place to stay? Mary left him. Had to be it. He takes a deep breath, rolling down his shirt's black sleeves, covering up the three patches the resided on his arm, and turns the doorknob, opening the door to a familiar face and not-so-familiar face in the aged man's arms.
The boy was a spitting image of his father, cut-short blonde hair and piercing eyes, alert and curious. He feels his jaw lock at the thought of him and Mary producing a... child, but slowly unlocks it, studying John now. It was so much easier to deduce what was going on with Mary when he could actually see the fatigue or the too-many-times worn clothing articles. The loosely tied boots, the frown lines along his forehead were more noticeable, and his hair was a mess. He obviously shouldn't have been talking about John's hair though, his was in terrible shape. He inhales sharply, preparing for what he was about to say to his former flatmate, and turns his hip a bit, as if relaxing himself. "You're looking for a place to stay. Mary has left you, which would explain the condition of both of your clothing and the frown lines along your forehead, messy hair, and your limp. You limp especially has given it away, you don't limp like that. You only limped like that when I died, which symbolizes just how much this impacted you. Which makes me believe that maybe she didn't leave you, but she died, left you with nothing," he takes a short breath in, out of practice, and pulls open the door, sidestepping half an inch. "Do come in and make yourself welcome. You're room is intact, I haven't done anything to it, but the flat isn't exactly... appropriate." He looks pointedly at the boy in John's arms.
He waits for the two to make it inside of the flat before walking into it, cutting off John and picking a knife off of the table. He walks over to the fireplace and stabs the mantle with it, nailing a few papers into the wood, something he did when he first met John. "Mrs. Hudson," he calls, letting it echo down the stairs. "Tea." And with that he turns back around and faces John. He frowns and lets that settle between the two, not saying anything, just studying his friend.