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There's a faint scraping sound against the stone wall, the soft creak and tell-tale rustle of someone pushing a branch out of the way, and the faint sucking sound of a step taken in mud just sticky enough to not want to let go. Searching fingers scrabbled over the blocks, looking for purchase between the stones and finding none here, either. A soft moan of pure frustration; barely a human sound. Another shuffling, sticky step, and a yelp accompanies the thin clatter of leaves as the branch swishes back into place. Another scraping sound. The cloth covering her palms scratches and catches against the stone as she feels the edges of the wall, reaches up. Fingers, bare and dark with ground-in dirt, find a crack - just deep enough, just, to wedge them into.

A spider goes scurrying as she works her fingers deeper between the blocks where the mortar's softened enough to allow it. A soft grunt and the scrabbling of boots on stone, this time, as she tenses her muscles and tries to hoist herself into the air. Her free hand, flailing upward, catches at the top of the wall and a surge of elation runs through her - at last! - as she grits her teeth. Her muscles - honed by her 'travels' - bunch, and she manages to swing her body upwards, and kick one leg over the wall. She doesn't perch there for long, half-sliding and half-falling down the other side to land, dazed and delighted, on a prettily-kept flowerbed.

She lies there for a few moments, breathing heavily, before a momentary break in the clouds lets moonlight illuminate the lawn and brings her to her senses. She holds her breath until the moon passes behinds the clouds again, then scrambles to her feet. She makes a half-hearted attempt to prop up the flowers she squashed in landing and smooth the earth, but leaves more than enough mess and footprints before she reaches the lawn and skulks around its edge to the church building, pressing up against the wall. She sneaks up to a window and cautiously lifts herself onto tip-toes to peer inside.

A soft breath escapes slightly-parted lips, dry and cracked behind the scarf pulled over her face. She pushes a strand of filthy, silvery hair back behind her ear, and shudders slightly. It's just as she remembered. It wasn't a hallucination, it really wasn't. She stifles a sob.
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In an instant she drops to a crouch beneath the window, curling up in a foetal ball against the wall and rocking as the insistent, insect-like voices hum in her ears, their howling shaking her emaciated body like a leaf in a storm. She lifts a hand, fingers opening and closing spasmodically, to try and claw at the voices - they meet only air. She can't open her eyes to look at her nemesis; one, hidden by the band over it, is still swollen shut from her last foolish attempt to do so. She shakes and gasps through the worst of the attack, until the vicious, stinging voices fade to a muted hum at the back of her mind.

Exhaustion. She knows now that she will never manage to scale the wall again before daybreak. It's all she can do to push herself up and crawl along the wall to a bush growing by the side of the church - one large enough that she can crawl into it. The rags she wears catch on a branch as she struggles her way into the center, tear - she barely notices. What's one more rip? She curls up, in the center of the bush, her knees curled almost to her forehead, one arm acting as a pillow. A couple of squirms prove the ground will not become any softer to accomodate her and, her shivers slowly subsiding, she falls into a shallow sleep.




(Just my attempt at an RP-thing. Whaddaya mean, nobody's been wondering where Songlian went to in-character?! ^.~)

She comes awake with a start, the single eye visible snapping open, wide with alarm. She twists up into a crouch, backing further into the bush, and snarls softly - baring her teeth behind the rough fabric concealing her face. The branches prevent her backing away too far, and she begins to panic, head turning this way and that in the search for a way-
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A muffled shriek from behind the cloth, and she hunches down, whimpering and shaking her head, eyes squeezed closed. She leans back against the main branches of the bush, letting them support her weight; it frees her hands to scrabble vainly at thin air, then press to each side of her head. She rocks back and forth, slowly, faint keening sounds escaping her.

Gnnnnnn... nnnn... gggllldnnn...

She makes fists of her hands in her hair, tugging at it as shudders run through her. She continues to rock, curling up tighter - something that wouldn't be possible unless she was truly emaciated under those layers of ragged clothing.
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... gnnnold?

She whimpers, the shaking gradually subsiding, and peers up at him, her visible eye water, the pupil a pinpoint in spite of the lack of light. She blinks; once, twice - and then curls up again, beginning to cry.

(I've missed you. heart If anything, I think it's more that some people don't remember [or didn't know in the first place] who you are. We've had a lot of people join since you vanished. 3nodding But I'd love a further explanation...considering I may join the roleplay here when I get back from work. I really need to vent some roleplaying creativity or I'm just gonna fall apart. crying )

( crying I got distracted and the thread travelled to the bottom of the page before I became... undistracted and then I just forgot about it. Apologies. I'll rectify the situation shortly.

... If it's desired, that is.)

(Heh. Thanks, guys. I was just a little worried by it since nothing I've posted on here has kind of been acknowledged as existing by anyone who was in the Church when I was last around. I was wondering if my general absence had offended people or something sweatdrop

Anywho... the premise of it is... okay, there were real-life reasons for me generally vanishing off Gaia for a while from about halfway through the first Mission to the Chatterbox, but as well all know RL is stupid so forget that, methinks.

So, in-character, why would a missionary just vanish?

"He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."

What happens if a Church of Mod missionary spends too long in the Chatterbox? Well... possession by evil spirits, maybe? goldgoldgoldgoldgoldgoldgoldgold twisted Yep, being driven insane by evil spirits and sort of degenerating into a messed-up wreck of one's former self, sounds about right to me... wink And sort of explains where she's been, ie rampaging.

~Sends the kitty good-vibes and cuddles~ Poor little beanie. S'awful when animals get ill, I hope he/she gets well soon. ~Sends Rom hugs as well~)

The movement so close makes her flinch a little and she looks up; it only takes a second, though, for alarm to fade into curiosity, and her eye travels slowly from his face to the proferred coat and back again. An arm unfurls, fingers curled under until it is fully extended, whereupon she stretches out a single fingertip to brush along the red fabric. She blinks. Then, rather than take it from him, she moves - hesitantly, shifting on all fours, poised to flinch back - and leans up against it, tentatively pulling it around her shoulders. She's caught the sleeve in one hand and continues stroking the fabric, almost thoughtfully as she watches him.

Nnngnnn. Gnl...

Slowly, she tilts her head; the cloth over her mouth slips a little, revealing a beautific smile.

M-Moh-... Moh'd ble'.

It's an absolutely beautiful day. Romuel's radiant wings glitter in the sunlight, as she walks through her little patch of gaia.

It's worked reasonably well, this acerage devoted to modly things. She watches the nattering silliness and naughtiness in the garden, waves to her fellow saint in the church. All is well with the world.

She spies Deep, her resident expert in black moods, and resolves that this is going to be the day she cheers him up. Rolling up her sleeves, she strides over to the gentleman, only to see him jacket free, next to a pile of clothes that...shudders. There's a lot of talking. A walk breaks into a run over to the problem.