WE'RE MOVING TO DREAMWIDTH

Which means no new entries past this point.

Nathaniel awakes with a splitting headache and a nasty, sour taste in his mouth. He opens his eyes briefly, only to shut them again when he sees the piercing light sneaking in through the curtains in the window. With a grumble of irritation, Nathaniel curls closer to his lover, burying his face against their shoulder. It doesn't take long for him to realize something's wrong.

He sits up, eyes wide open as he takes in the room around him. This is definitely not his room, and the person asleep in the bed next to him is definitely not his lover. Oh, shit...

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying desperately to remember what had happened last night. There'd been an argument, he'd stormed off in a rage and headed to the nearest tavern - where he'd proceeded to get extraordinarily drunk. The last thing he could remember was someone flirting with him. Oh, shit...

Very, very carefully he slips out of the bed, trying not to disturb the sleeping person. He hastily pulls on his clothes and creeps out of the house, feeling faintly guilty for just sneaking away like that. Of course, his guilt increases a hundred-fold when he realizes that he's obviously just cheated on his lover.

Oh. Shit.

Can someone help me? I'm not sure where I'm going and I have this throbbing ache in my head.

OOC: Trying out something different for a change. Need a break from my two consecutive hell weeks after all. Hello to amnesiac!Solona~

Make a comment with your character. Respond to other character(s) with your own as if you are right in the middle of having sex. How did it happen? Who started it? Who is topping who? All that matters is they are in the middle of it.

Want to add some direction and maybe a little kink? Take a spin on the Random Number Generator to give yourself a location. (Change the max from 100 to "10").

Have fun threading out hot sex. Maybe they'll want another go, afterward. ;)

1. Between These Sheets
It's traditional and cliche, but we all know that beds in these kind of situations can come in handy.

2. Sex On the Beach
Hot sand, cool water, sunrise or sunset, all you know if you don't care where you might be getting dirty as long as it's fun.

3. On Wheels
Car in a parking lot, truck on the road, motorcycle on the side of the highway, maybe even in the back of a carriage on your way home from the ball. Have fun smutting it up when you should be on the road.

4. There's More Than Hot Water Here
You're pressed against the wall of the shower, clinging to the sides of that bathtub, or maybe even holding on the stairs of that indoor pool. Too bad you'll have to get clean all over again.

5. My Body Is Your Bread
Crucifixes, altars, and confessionals, but this isn't the kind of worship you had in mind. Or is it?

6. Getting Creative With Furniture
Who said beds are the only nice furniture in the house? Couches, walls, tables, desks, any space can fit your needs for the moment. And don't forget the office, too. Just make sure your coworkers don't hear you.

7. Try This On For Size
You're in the changing room, but you're not trying on those clothes when you have enough to take off. Maybe that outfit did really make you look good enough to eat.

8. Shhhhhh, this Is the Good Part
It's dark and the only light is from the silver screen. But you're not paying attention to it so much as the person your came with--or met when you got there.

9. A Quickie Behind the Tree
A private place? Who needs one when you have a forest, or a park, or even an alley right there beside that building. You're outside and you don't care who could walk by.

10. We Have Ways of Making You Scream
Dark, damp, and maybe even a little musty, but this dungeon is full of surprises. Those chains and whips could come in handy

11. Got A Better Idea?
Well, do you? If so, use it!

Some of these aren't exactly Thedas-specific, I know, so feel free to adapt or AU or whatever. A bardic performance instead of a cinema, for example. =)

Anders pokes his head into the wine cellar, making sure no one's there. Seeing that the coast is clear, he steps inside, leaving the door slightly ajar so that he can hear if anyone's coming. Not that he's embarrassed by what he's doing, really. Nope. Not one bit.

He sets the book he'd been carrying down on one of the barrels, and opens it to the page he'd bookmarked. He studies the diagrams carefully before stepping back, his arms raised as if they were wrapped around a 'partner.' Slowly, he begins to mimic the steps in the book, humming a song he'd learned as a child.

Aderyn had a surprise for Anders.

He'd been so busy lately...so sad, so angry, and she missed his smile...she might not have been able to do a lot of things right, but making Anders happy...she could do that.

It had started when she remembered something he mentioned long ago, about his old cat. She didn't think about it again until after they met Nathaniel in the Deep Roads and learning that his sister now lived in the city. It had taken a number of pulled strings and loose coins, but she finally had something to make Anders smile again (she hoped)

So, she was sitting out in front of the clinic, whistling to herself, stroking a slightly chubby orange tabby cat that was sitting in her lap.

"Don't you worry, Ser, he'll be back eventually. He's always very busy."

The cat meowed and moved to lick his paws, and Aderyn shrugged.

"No, he doesn't tell very many jokes lately. I tell them now, but mine aren't very good..."

Navigating the streets of Kirkwall at night alone, Fenris knows, is quite the foolish move but a necessary one at times. He can't remember anymore just what exactly he'd needed, hand pressed against his side darkened with blood, but he's sure it was important all the same. Nonetheless, it'd brought him far enough away from Hightown to make the trip to Darktown relatively short.

Not that Darktown's much safer, but certainly more attractive than curling in his mansion with nothing but a health potion to get him through until morning.

He doesn't give a damn if it's late - whether the blighted abomination is asleep or awake writing his manifesto, Fenris doesn't really care as he nearly stumbles into the wooden door.

They had lived for a short time in Lothering, but the sharp eyed Chantry Templars there had made it utterly impossible for them to stay, even after their father died. So they moved, travelling north once more, until they reached Amaranthine.

It was easy to get work, his older sister was charming, his younger sister was beautiful and he knew how to wield a sword.

They stayed out of notice until one day Carver was sitting on one of the Market walls and saw the Arl's eldest son wander into the bazaar with his friends.

[ooc: A summary... Anders never got to the blowing-up-the-Chantry part. He bumped into Wynne, heard about Connor being able to be separated from his demon, and ran off to Tevinter to have the same thing done to him and Justice.]

Quiet. Something Anders hadn't experienced in too long. The ability to have privacy in his own mind. To be able to think a sentence without being cut off or corrected. To be able to make his own decisions without being berated for his choices. To be able to relax without being told that he should be doing more for mages. It's eerily quiet, and incredibly scary.

At least that bloody headache is finally gone he thinks to himself. The toll that the ritual to confront Justice took on his body has been great. It's been two days now, but his body still feels sore, unsteady, and weak. He boards his Kirkwall-bound boat, heads to his quarters, and collapses immediately into his bed. Eating and sleeping are the only two things he does during the entire voyage home.

Once in Kirkwall, he steps out onto the docks and looks around. The question of "what do I want to do now?" is so simple, but yet so difficult to answer. It's been years since he's answered that question on his own.

Because real life has left me needing a hug in the biggest way.




The Rules:
--Post as your character
--Reply to each other
--Let the hugging begin!

1. Friendly hug - this person is your good pal, and you just wanna give them a fond squeeze to let them know.

2. Romantic hug - you just want to be closer, so wrap your arms around them, maybe rub their back some...

3. Bear hug - maybe you haven't seen them in a while, so how about a giant hug that lifts them off their feet

4. Hug from behind - surprise them, guess who?! or maybe they're having a bad day, cheer them up.

5. Awkward hug - maybe it's on accident, but whatever the case is, you can't help but feel a little nervous about hugging them.

6. Reluctant hug - whoever this person is, you have to hug them, better make it quick!

Hawke stares at the book.

It's a book. On a pedestal. In a cave. It's written in some esoteric language that looks like nothing she's ever seen, as though someone let a bunch of largeish spiders walk through paint and then placed them on the book to run around. It's what she's been hired to find, and it's clearly evil, evil, evil, evil, evil.

She sighs.

"So our options are take this thing back to that woman in Hightown so she can use it for some nefarious purpose which would no doubt come back to haunt us later, or fight whatever nasty thing will no doubt appear to keep us from destroying it." Damn it, Kirkwall. "I hope you're in the mood for some action. Can you hand me that torch over there?"

Sometimes Hawke wonders if even Wexler's hat was secretly a weapon of destruction.

[Open to anyone, of course, including other Hawkes {yay dressing room logic}, but not to groups please; too hard to juggle atm, I'd get behind!]

It felt weird being back in Kirkwall, especially wearing the armour of a Grey Warden.

People glanced at him, noticing the coin purse at his belt and then paused when they noticed the Griffon crest, and the Warden's face. Many recognised him as the younger Hawke, and were surprised to see him....especially as part of such an exalted order.

Must be that Hawke blood.

Carver though is feeling a little grumpy, he doesn't like boats, and he doesn't like the tarred, fishy smell of the docks. So he's quick about grabbing up his back and walking towards the Hightown steps.

"Festering gobbershite of a city..."

Bianca was usually the picture of health. Strong, feisty, never sick...always willing to take a mission, no matter the weather or the conditions.

Of course, if that mission involved a stakeout at the Coast, in the rain, for 4 hours, at night, she'd do it anyway, consequences be damned.

Or, at least, that's what she'd normally say, if she wasn't curled up in her bed at the Hanged Man, looking absolutely miserable and feeling completely sick. Consequences be damned, indeed.

Her loyal mabari, Mudge, is curled up at the foot of her bed, guarding the room and acting as company.

"Mudge...remind me to never take a rainy weather stakeout job ever again..."

She then lets out a series of violent sounding coughs, followed by a sneeze, a sniffle, and a miserable sounding groan. Mudge can only whine in response.

"Oh, you're no help...unless you can go get me some tissues...?"

He barks happily, jumping off the bed and heading out to hunt for tissues as Bianca breaks out into another violent coughing fit.

[See Garrett Hawke in his kitchen, attempting to cook for himself! He is not terrible at it - he grew up in Lothering, spent some time in Lowtime. He hasn't always had servants and siblings and mothers to do all the domestic work for him.

But he's trying something new today.

Cookies.

Shaped like his dear, lovely band of misfits.

He even gave the Isabela-shaped cookie breasts. For accuracy. And look! He also put in a little food coloring to make the Anders and Fenris ones blue. Isn't that just sweet.]

ooc: Let's go a bit AU. Set in Starkhaven or Kirkwall. Basically his parent's never sent him away to the Chantry and he stayed where he was...being wicked

The rumours tend to exaggerate.

He did not sleep with a new man or woman every night. Perhaps every second or third night...but not every night.

He had not fucked a man on the rug of his fathers study. It had been his desk actually.

He had not fucked some foxy stallion of a man during a musical performance. He had been the one riding him.

So...they weren't really exaggerated just...altered. But he could stil inform his father they were falsehoods without feeling bad.

Which was why he was in such a cheerful mood as he pushed open the door to the Starkhaven pub, The Arrow and Anvil, in search of a fun night.

Anders falls into a chair by the fire, completely and utterly exhausted. There'd been a collapse at a nearby mine, and Anders had been called on to help the survivors--he'd gone immediately, grabbing his bag of supplies but forgetting his cloak despite the freezing cold.

It had taken hours to clear the rubble, Anders casting rejuvenation spells on the workers to keep them from flagging in their task. After that, hours more to attend to the wounded. Out of the eight initial survivors, he'd managed to save six...lost two. He was drained--emotionally and physically.

He'd replenished his mana with potions, but even so, the constant spell-casting had taken its toll on him. He felt dizzy and shaky; he can't even remember the last time he'd eaten. He'll find something to eat soon, take a bath, go to bed. But he'll just sit here for a few minutes, resting his eyes and letting the warm fire thaw him out.

It was the middle of the night, but Anders could not sleep. It was one of those unfortunate side effects of being fused with a restless spirit; Anders never felt like he could do enough in a day. Though the streets were dark and the clinic was empty, the mage remained in the main room sorting the various salves and potions he had into what he needed, and what could be donated.

Insomnia ringed his eyes, but he worked steadily. He was surprised to hear a scuffling at the door, and for a moment he wondered if it was those blighted Templars, preforming another raid. But the sparks of animosity he felt burnt out when he noticed that it was not in fact a Templar haunting his doorway...

[OOC: Really craving for some Fenders, but anyone is welcome. Also, I have a fairly dark plot for a long-ish term Fenders RP, if anyone is interested~]

The Rules:

1: Post with your character/s.

2: Other characters respond as if you were in a dating sim. That is, give them a couple options to select.

3: The original poster selects an option. This process is repeated ad infinitum or until you get the good/bad end.

4: Romance is optional. Yes, even though it's a dating sim game.

5. Go for fluff, smut, crack, or just plain silly. Set it in modern times or in Thedas or wherever you like.

For an example of how it can work, have a glance over here where I blatantly stole it from.

Let the game(s) begin. ;)

Daylen Amell hated his life.

He hated the fact that no matter how hard he tried, he could just never seem to get over his social awkwardness long enough to ask Ella out on a date. He hated how he just kept making a fool of himself over and over...he hated himself a little bit because of how many times he'd made himself look like an awkward, stuttering ass in front of his longtime crush...

And right now, he really hated his sister, Solona. She'd been the one to tell him 'go out, be agressive, swallow the nervousness and just ask her out'. He tried that, and he nearly threw up.

So, he was venting to her over the phone. She really deserved it right now.

"Sol, you give crappy romantic advice, you know that? What the hell am I supposed to do with 'be assertive', anyway?"

Cullen never really was one for clubs or partying. He'd rather much spend his time drinking with close friends at a pub rather than the excessively loud, thumping music of bars. He let tonight slide. It was his day off and his friends insisted that he get out for once, find a nice girl to hook up with. Still, that wasn't Cullen. And his only salvation was the call of a cigarette-- or maybe even a few more. So he steps outside to be saved, in a sense.

The night was quiet, save for the muted bass and drums of the music inside and the occasional car passing by. He pulls out his pack and places a cigarette in his mouth, relieved that he could finally unwind properly. He shouldn't have gone out to begin with. He feels around his pockets for his lighter but something's amiss. Where was it? Where the fuck was his lighter? He couldn't have forgotten it at home could he?

Enraged, Cullen curses beneath his breath, pulling the stick from his mouth and even grunting in exasperation. The worst thing that could happen to a smoker, next to losing their pack of cigarettes, is being without a lighter or a matchbox. Of all the things to misplace. Cullen looks around desperately and spots another person close by. Usually, he wouldn't just walk up to a stranger but this was an emergency situation.

"Excuse me? You wouldn't happen to have a lighter, would you?"

OOC: You can blame this idea on watching Zombieland about a dozen times, and playing waaaay too much Left 4 Dead. *Goes to hide*


Anders walks slowly along the side of the highway, looking over his shoulder every once in awhile. It’s doubtful any cars will come along, but you never knew. Of course, they’d have to be pretty determined to navigate around all of the dead bodies in the road.

He’s got a rifle strapped to his back next to his worn backpack (the one with the baseball bat sticking out of it). In his hand is a small pistol, its twin resting in a holster at his hip. He’d been picking zombies off all morning, stragglers mostly—the really big concentrations of the bastards are in the cities, which he is avoiding right now. He’d heard there was a safehouse a few miles down the road, and that’s where he’s heading.

Suddenly, he hears the unmistakable sound of an engine, and he turns around to see a vehicle driving along the road. Half-excited and half-wary to see another living person, Anders stops and sticks out his thumb.

When Anders had been a kid, he had decided that he wanted to be a doctor. He was naturally good at telling what exactly people were sick with, and he liked to make them feel better.

But as he got older...well, he got more cynical and tired of other people. Doing good with them never really worked. They were always finding something new to complain about, to pick on or torment...and that was when he decided to become a vet.

Animals were kind. They never judged you because you were different. They loved unconditionally, and they needed help the same as any person.

Sure, it was hard work, and it wasn't always easy, but Anders couldn't think of any job he'd rather have.

He's got an appointment coming in in a few minutes, so he's waiting outside his office, flipping through an old copy of 'Cat Fanciers Monthly.'

OOC: Couldn’t get my original idea to work (I suck at coming up with these types of scenarios), hope this one doesn’t fall too flat.



Nathaniel’s running a little late when he dashes into the elevator right before the door closes. He offers a small smile to the other occupant of the elevator as he moves to the back corner. One hand clasping his leather briefcase, he holds onto the railing lining the elevator wall with the other, watching the numerals as they tick off the floors.

They’d just passed the third floor when there was a low metallic whine, followed by a loud clank. The elevator shudders briefly before coming to a full stop—right in between floors.

“Just great,” Nathaniel grumbles irritatedly.

"Stupid, piece of shit car!" Anders cries out loudly, kicking the side of his broken down car and yelping upon impact. The tire exploded on the way to the hospital, right in the middle of the road causing traffic to pile up. It wasn't his fault though. When he checked last night, his tires were perfectly fine! Anders couldn't believe this was happening to him. He was so going to be late for work.

So, there he was, left to push his car to the curbside with great difficulty just so he could fix it. He went to the gym regularly but that doesn't mean that made pushing the bloody car any easier. Without bothering to even look if there were any good souls listening, he calls out. "Anyone willing to lend a bloody hand, now is the perfect time to do so!"

ooc: So there will be two Fenris modern AU's. The Librarian one will be up in the morning...but for now...this had to be done...

Fenris' earliest memory was a movie.

Watching the moving people on the screen, who were singing softly to one another, tenderness on their faces, fingertips reaching out to softly brush... It was his earliest memory of a time when he had been happy.

As he grew up, his mothers desperate unemployment meant that the battered movies they owned were the only things they could watch, and Fenris grew to be able to mouth every word, softly hum along with every line.

And for him...the simple act of holding hands was the most beautiful and romantic gesture in the world.

Even when he had been taken away from his mother and sister, and sent to live with Danarius and his wife Hadriana...he kept the old video that his mother had tearfully pushed into his arms, and he would watch it again and again. Whenever he was sad, or lonely or smarting from one of the Masters beatings....he would watch the video.

The day that Danarius found him watching it after an argument was the worst of Fenris' life.

Crying in his room after the man had left, leaving the smashed fragments of the precious video behind, Fenris thought his heart had broken..just like his mothers last gift to him.

Years passed and Fenris ran away form home, eeked out a living, and then managed to build a career for himself as a talented artist. But he never forgot the old classic movies....and so when he found an apartment near to an old cinema, he was delighted to see that it showed the classics every Friday night.

Months...years passed and Fenris went every single Friday night to the classic movie marathons, mouthing along to the words, softly humming the familiar songs...and when the main characters would clasp their hands together, his own fingers would interlock, clinging together.

Tonight he was there again, but tonight he was filled with anticipation. It was the movie, the old battered movie that his mother had given him, and Fenris could barely breath as it began, eyes fixed, bright and eager on the screen as the beloved music began to play and the familiar words were spoken.

And for the first time since that movie had been broken under Danarius' boot, Fenris found his eyes wet with tears, even though none fell...

Hawke loved his life, he truly did. He had money, his pick of fine women (and men), and an exciting job: he was a thief.

But he wasn’t just some common thief that held up liquor stores or stole old ladies’ purses; no, he was big-time, the cream of the crop. One of the best in the business, or, if he may be so bold (and of course he could, he’s Garrett Hawke), he was the best.

He got paid by wealthy people to break into museums, vaults, and the private homes of other wealthy people to steal prized artwork. Paintings and jewelry mostly, as well as small statues and other rare and valuable odds and ends that couldn’t be found at the local antique store.

He’d been at this job for several years now, and he was extremely skilled. He could open any lock, disarm any alarm system, subdue any guards. There was yet to be any place that he couldn’t break into.

Take this house, for example: the locks on the doors had been ridiculously simple, the alarm was mere child’s play—the whole job was so easy that he almost felt guilty for being paid. Almost.

He was after a rare canopic jar that had been found in some Egyptian pharaoh’s tomb years ago. He didn’t know which pharaoh, and he didn’t really give a shit. He was being paid enough by his patron to not ask questions.

He was in the library, his prize locked in a display case on the other side of the room. He was practically home free when he suddenly heard movement in the hallway. He turned slowly, cursing himself for having become so complacent that he hadn’t even bothered to check that the owner wasn’t home.

Nellie,

I'm sorry I haven't written much. My last letter was over a month ago, I think. I should punch myself in the gut for that. (Or maybe I'll ask that bloke Kerran to do it, I don't know.) Things have just been a bit difficult lately. General Meredith is a bit strict with our daily schedules. Barely had enough time to read that book you let me borrow. Sorry about that too. I've tried reading it, don't worry. So far it's been interesting. I'll get right back to it once the General allows us some spare time-- or even light.

Our team has been dispatched in some remote area of the rainforest (not like anywhere here isn't remote). We've set up camp so far but our lights have to be extremely dim. They're only allowed on till around 9pm, although over here, it gets dark rather slowly. I hope that's a good enough excuse for my rushed handwriting. Over here, the air's humid yet hot and I swear that I sweat like a pig whenever we're on the move. You wouldn't want to see me. I look and smell absolutely revolting I bet. Not like the rest of the team can complain. They probably smell as worse as I do. Still, I haven't had a decent shower in ages and it bugs the hell out of me.

The first thing I'll do when I get home is take a bloody shower. And then maybe have myself a burger because god, do I miss burgers. Even better, your cooking. I miss your cooking too.

I miss you most of all, Nellie. The smell of your hair and how soft it is when I run my fingers through them. You always wear the best shampoo. If I could, I'd just lay down beside you, curled up in that comforter of yours and just smell your hair. I'm sorry if that comes off slightly creepy-- but it's totally true. When I get home, I'm just going to scoop you in my arms, swing you around and kiss the life both out and in of you.

I'll write again to you as soon as I can. You're always in my thoughts.

I love you.

Cullen

There were times that Anders was infinately tired of being Anderfels, Prince of Fereldan.

He much prefered being Anders. Irreverant, party boy, foolish idealist, thanks very much.

However it wasn't often that he managed to slip his guards, or spend time with them being discreet. As in...not looming.

Few people at the hospital knew that Andy the silly joker was Prince Anderfels. And he liked to keep it that way, growing stubble and tying his hair messily to hide his distinctive features.

Which was why he was in the clinic, gathering up a patient file and looking to see who was his next client.

Fergus rubbed his eyes.

He hated transferring out partners, but being a spy had taught him many things and one of which was, if you're not comfortable, something's wrong.

Having a young agent as a partner...one with quip's like 'he's got a phd in kicking YOUR arse!' to a bad guy, was not something that made Fergus comfortable.

But his supervisor had been very understanding, and after avoiding Jeff, who was pouting, Fergus took refuge in his office.

There he waited for his new partner assignment, feeling rather grumpy about the day ahead.

No matter what was happening in her life, Bethany found solace in the old battered ballet studio a block from her house. It was used for kids classes, for old grandmothers doing aerobics, for young dancers...but at night it was hers and hers alone.

The feeling of the worn, familiar bar under her hand.

It grounded her.

Tonight she was especially keen. Results for auditions were being posted tomorrow and she would find out if she would be a star....or fade into obscurity.

Considering her love of dancing, the thought of fading was...heartbreaking.

She left the door ajar and dropped her bag, shedding her outer layers until she stood there in just her dancing shoes, and excersise clothes.

And then slowly, she began to dance.

"Bless me, father, for I've sinned. It's been three weeks since my last confession."

It still felt strange, being on this side of the screen. It still felt strange to know he'd walked away from the path he thought he'd be set in for the rest of his life. But the day that the police had called and told him that his family was dead, his faith in God had cracked in two.

Nearly a year later and he still hadn't recovered and found a place in the world. Coming to mass made him angry, but he still went. Confession no longer made him feel clean, yet he still did it.

Cairn buttoned his coat as he left the church, as the streets of Kirkwall were cold. And often cruel. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked, fingers tangling around a cracked old rosary that had been his mothers. It was the only thing the men that broke into the house had left in her jewelry box. Sometimes he wondered if it was a sign. Other times he just couldn't care.

Anders curses loudly as he knocks into the tall stack of books he’d been shelving, causing them to tumble over onto the ground.

The air of his tiny bookstore is sweet with the aroma of what seems like marijuana, though in reality is only incense. Anders thinks it adds to the ambience of the store, but he’s not entirely sure. Small, privately owned bookstores are supposed to be a bit odd, though, aren’t they?

This store specializes in rare old books—first printings, single printings, out-of-print….Mostly classics like Dickens and Hemingway, though there are a few authors around that likely no one’s ever heard of.

He’s in the process of picking up the fallen books when he hears the bell over the front door tinkle, signaling the arrival of a customer, which is actually pretty rare. Anders owns this store more out of the love of books than the desire to make any real profit.

“I’ll be right there,” he calls out.

Sebastian's last clean shirt is now covered in all sorts of spots and splatches of color, and he's really got to go ahead and get to the laundromat at some point in the next couple of days before he's down to draping a sheet around himself and going to his classes that way, but right now he doesn't really care that much. Right now isn't the time to be thinking about theology, or the whole seminary thing or how he's really got to work on that paper debating Shartan's Message To The Orlaisians.

And hey, Sebastian might be missing a class right now, this one on divine...something or other. Like hell if he remembers, but the light was just too good, and why did they give him a room with a window and a shitload of light if they didn't want him to use it? So he dragged out his oils yet again, and he's got a fully prepped canvas and some foundation work down, but in the meantime, well, he's in dire need of a caffeine fix, considering he snuck off the seminary grounds last night and out into Kirkwall, where he collected a lot of phone numbers, a used condom, and, apparently, a permanant marker mustache that's started to fade but isn't there yet.

Yeah. He'd better get some coffee fast. Luckily, there's a little shop nearby, so once he's cleaned up, which really means he smells a little bit of turpentine and has a few blue and yellow streaks on his hands, and a faint red blotch on one cheek, he heads into town and strolls into the nearest place that he can find that he knows serves a decent cup, then scans the menu, considering.

Sometimes, science wasn't very fun. Those times were rare, yes, since Nellie happened to love science and preforming all sorts of experiments, but today, science wasn't cooperating with her.

Considering the experiment she was running was going to be part of a project that was going to make up a sizable chunk of her semester grade...

"C'mon...why aren't you reacting? All my notes, all the pre-experiment tests, everything is supposed to work!"

She groaned, slumping down on her desk, staring grumpily at the tubes in front of her. Her experiment wasn't supposed to be hard. She was testing various chemical reactions, seeing how elements combined under different environment. This wasn't going as well as she was hoping, though...
"I need to get a good grade on this stupid project...why don't you combine! You combined when I was in the lab! I recreated everything perfectly here!"

Nellie groaned again, moving away from her desk, glaring at the chemicals again before going to clean them all up and slump on her bed with her textbook, looking to find what she's missed.

[ooc: Chemistry major Nellie! I, however, know nothing about chemistry, so...technobabble and lots of Portal quoting ahoy.]

It's not half as interesting as it looks on television, and a whole lot messier sometimes, but somebody's got to find the people who skip bail and go ahead and drag their arses back in to court.  Today's docket has been pretty full, with lots of easy cases, a few outstanding traffic tickets who forgot about their court dates, someone who did the same for shoplifting, but now, well, Carver's after the big one.  Lucky for him he's got the file, but the afternoon's been really pretty boring while he waits outside his target's house, surveying the landscape as he waits for a way to corner them.  Knocking and ringing the bell, and then calling hadn't worked so now,  he sits.  ...And okay, maybe he's also playing Angry Birds on his cell while he's waiting but hey, you can't blame him, right? 

At least until the door opens and he looks up, ready to step out and do this apprehension right. Since the regular methods didn't work before, he's gotten out the cuffs and stun gun, and he's carrying concealed (and damn he's glad he got that permit)  so he's all prepared for the take down.  All it's going to take is for the target to come out...

Elissa hated these charities events. Just another stupid ballroom full of vapid people and mediocre appetizers, where the rich and powerful could gather and pat themselves on the back over all the good things they were doing to earn those tax breaks and pretend they actually gave a damn about...

...What was this one for, even? The new Cancer ward at the hospital? The youth center on the dirt poor side of town in danger of being torn down if it didn't meet code? They all blurred together after a while.

And because someone had to represent the Cousland family, it was Elissa or her mother that had to attend each and every one of them. Daddy and Fergus were far too busy doing actual work for her father's law firm. God forbid she actually use her brain to contribute something to the grand legacy of the Couslands.

Whatever. Elissa grabbed another glass of champagne off of a passing tray as much for something to hold as to drink and stared rather blankly at a painting (that was it, they were selling some child prodigy's artwork, with all the money going into school art programs), hoping her expression reflected thoughtfulness rather than bored out of her skull.

Unknown to you, ‘They’ had followed you for weeks, learning your routines, and habits. ‘They’ had searched your home to find the information that was needed. When it could not be found, ‘She’ was sent to gain your trust, gain the information, to do whatever it took to get it. The white blond hair, the petite sun bronzed toned body, and ‘She’ knew instinctively how to use it.

Was it when she was stretched out on the chaise lounge at the hotel, sitting alone at the bar, or working out at the gym that you approached to introduce yourself. Either way, it had been fate, her emerald eyes flicked to yours and that open smile was only for you.

Solona feels completely uncomfortable with the way she looked. The most she'd done with her hair was the occasional haircut here and there-- she even managed to get away with shaving half her head once. She never placed any other product aside from shampoo and conditioner, never had any chemicals placed on it... Until now of course.

She had to make a decision. Accept a role for a job that could possibly change the fate of her career forever or keep the color of her hair. After much deliberation, and seeing that her fridge was running out of food as well, she took the job. The acting industry truly was demanding, and Solona did love her natural, fiery red hair, but the role called for a blonde, female lead. Once she stepped out of the hair and make-up trailer, she looked absolutely mortified having sat through the whole process.

She absolutely hated it. Sadly, she couldn't complain to the directors or producers. She needed the money badly.

At least she was paid her downpayment for the film. She could restock her fridge. So she goes to the nearest grocery store, a few blocks away from home, quickly pulling items off the shelves and shoving them into her shopping basket. The faster she moved, the quicker she could get out of there so she wouldn't need to bump into anyone she knew.

She's almost done, placing a loaf of bread into her basket as she turns the corner when she bumps into someone as the person moves into her aisle. "Oh god, I'm so sorry!"

Lainie dashes into the changing room, ignoring her boss bitching about her being late as usual. After several months of working at The Club, though, she's got the routine down. Leotard: check. Fishnet stockings: check. Bunny ears and tail: check, unfortunately.

This job damn well better get her into Hollywood, that's all she has to say about that. A quick touch-up to her makeup and she's striding through the doors into the main room of the club, tray in hand. She approaches one of the tables she's assigned to and gracefully drops a coctail napkin onto it.

"Good evening, ser. What may I get for you tonight?"

It's been a really long time since Anders got over the whole residual embarrassment of being the only guy who's a candy striper, even if they officially call him and the girls he's scheduled with "hospital volunteers" now.  Really, everybody knows the score and drill by now, and that's why Anders finds himself pushing the magazine cart from room to room on one of the wards, trying to interest patients in copies of Good Housekeeping and assorted other women's stuff, sports and business mags, and well, not a lot of anything else.  

At least they weeded out the magazines that are older than two months from the cart last week so there's a relatively fresh selection to work with here, even though not many people seem interested in what there is to offer.  Not a problem for Anders or his on the job enthusiasm though.  

"Magazine Cart!" he calls, knocking on one of the opened doors, then peaking his head around the corner.  "Can I interest you in anything to read today?"