the death of me. (OPEN)

[FLETCHER CROSS]

So far, he had been staring at the cat for a good fifteen minutes.

He sat cross-legged on the dusty windowsill, paying no mind to the raindrops that splattered against the cracked and wearing window. The cat sat opposite him, perched on a wooden pew, determination brewing in its golden eyes. The mouse was in between the two of them, about halfway, and nibbling at some crumbs that the boy had previously scattered for him. It didn't seem to care that the blonde had taken all that time to lure him out of hiding to feed him, or that he was currently being saved from the vicious bite of a cat. All he wanted was his food.

Needless to say, Fletcher hated cats. They killed his favorite animals--mice and birds. Plus, they had that whole "holier than thou" thing going on. Never once had he met a cat that wasn't arrogant enough to attempt to steal his milk or sit on his notebooks. This particular cat had crept up on him when he was feeding the mouse, and had clearly intended to make the tiny creature its meal. However, Fletcher was determined to save this mouse. It was the least he could do, right? Besides, this was one particularly nasty-looking cat. It hadn't lifted its glare all twenty minutes that it had been watching them.

The cat lifted a paw and stepped a little closer to the mouse. Fletcher mimicked the move and leaned forward as he reached a foot down to hit the creaky floorboards. The cat hissed, the mouse looked up, and the boy set both his feet on the floor and slowly slid off the windowsill. He kindly reminded himself that he needed to remain optimistic--or, at least, try to for once. They said that a positive attitude was the most important thing, right? --Wait. Then what was he doing at school? Why did he need to pay for things? Scowling, he debated this issue quietly in his mind. It cost him. Within a blink of an eye, the cat had swept down from its spot on the pew, collected the mouse in its jaws, and sprang back into action, heading through the rows and out of the church.

He scowled and crept back onto the windowsill again, grabbing his bag and placing it in his lap. He stuffed the plastic bag--which contained the remains of the cheese and bread--back in it, and retrieved his notebook and pens. Less than ten seconds later, he had dropped his bag to the floor and sat curled up against the window, notebook on his lap and pen in hand. He stared at the page, already covered in crossed-out phrases and scribbles. It kind of looked like something you saw in horror movies before the main character went crazy and killed everybody. Lovely, he thought to himself. I'm going insane.

In all fairness, it was probably the cat's fault.

He wrinkled his nose as he thought; he absolutely hated writer's block. It meant that he had to go find someone or something to give him enough muse to continue, and that was always a pain in the ass. First of all, he didn't particularly like to interrupt people, and secondly, people didn't entirely like to be watched, either. It was kind of a lose-lose situation.

However, his thoughts were interrupted by a meow. His head snapped to the right, where the cat sat, grinning smugly. The blonde frowned and brushed a few strands of shaggy hair out of his face. "What do you want?" he ventured, wrapping his hoodie around his slim body tiredly. The cat seemingly shrugged, and watched the boy curiously. Fletcher took a moment to glance down at his notebook, then back up at the cat. What do you want with me? The cat swished its tail patiently, tilting his head as he did so.

"You're a bitch, you know that?" he muttered in annoyance.

words . six seventy-four.
tag . open!
weather . it's a rainy night. cloudy and grey-blue skies.
location . the church.
outfit . click.
other . he doesn't like cats. :] also, short. sorry. they'll get better.

[OLIVER DAMON]

just get up when it knocks you down

[/i][/color]
WHEN IT KNOCKS YOU DOWN[/color][/SIZE][/font]
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Today was a good day. That had been decided that morning when the demon had wreaked havoc on a group of freshman. It had started as harmless fun of course, but the looks on their faces had made everything so much more fun for Oliver. After all, a couple of illusions never hurt anyone. Not seriously anyway. Alas, though the beginning of the day had been filled with things of fun, the adventure was beginning to dwindle rapidly. There was only so many illusions you could create for the idiots before you just HAD to get bored. That was this time was, where the fun became nothing more than something mildly interesting to pass the time. Oliver didn't like mildly interesting.

So, off the senior went, off to find some fun. It was easy to see that the school held no more entertainment, at least for now, so Oliver would have to travel further afield to find something to do. Looking down at himself in disgust, he realized he would certainly need a shower and a change of clothes if he was going to show his face in public. Stalking through the walls back to his dorm he finally sighed in relief, grabbing a towel and stripping down as the bathroom filled with steam as the shower water warmed. Hissing as he stepped in at the heat, the demon washed himself quickly, shutting off the water when he was done and wrapping the purple fluffy towel around himself. Oliver didn't have a clue what to wear, nothing seemed suitable within his wardrobe. The demon knew he needed to go shopping, but for now jeans and a tee would just HAVE to do. Not like Oliver could do anything about it.

Once he was dry, his clothes were on, and his hair was somewhat presentable, Oliver grabbed his cell and other necessities, and made his way through the walls towards the exit of the school. Oliver sometimes wished he could go down floors too, instead of just through walls. But to do that, he would need to be able to fly, an ability he was without. Oliver had never tried to go through floors, and he didn't plan to. He didn't want broken bones thank you very much.

Making his way into, and through town, he sighed to himself, thinking about home and how much he really loved being away from it. Though, he did have to admit. He missed having someone around that he could tease all the time, with knowing that his brother could do fuck all about it. The joys of having a human brother... especially one that it made no difference to Oliver how "bad" his brother felt. Oliver couldn't give a shit how his brother felt... he was an ass. A human ass all the same.

Coming across the Cathedral, Oliver stopped outside. He'd always wondered about "places of God". He'd never been inside, though he wasn't altogether sure he was meant to go inside. He was a demon after all, and wasn't he meant to be a product of Satan or something? Whoever the fuck he was a product of, he didn't think he would be welcomed with open arms. Which was the main reason why, with flitting eyes, Oliver made himself invisable, walking through into the place. Looking around he smiled with awe at the actual beauty of this place. He had a fine eye for design, and there seemed to have been no expense spared creating this wonderous spectacle for the eyes.

"What do you want?"

Oliver looked up quickly, a frown upon his face as he noticed a boy sat over on a windowsill a little way off. There was no way the boy could see him... right? Oliver stood completely stationary, before realizing that the boy was in fact speaking to an animal, a cat. Surpressing a chuckle, Oliver made his way slowly and silently. He was going to spook him. Well and good. He cackled out loud, hearing it echo throughout the walls. "You know, boy, you should watch who you call a bitch... It's also a sin to talk to yourself." Oliver spoke lowly. He was going to thourougly enjoy every moment of this.

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TAGGED![/b] fletcher
WORD COUNT![/b] sevenhundredandsixteen
NOTES![/b] hope you don't mind =D [/font]
[/center]

[FLETCHER CROSS]

The blonde sighed in frustration. Writer's block was never a cup of tea. It always came about the stupidest things, too--like, for example, now, when he was trying to come up with a way for this character to die. He supposed that he could invent someone to come in and shoot him, but then he'd have to write a part for that character and the importance, and that was a little too much work for the plotline he had going already. Besides, being shot was completely unoriginal. Plus, you'd need a license for that gun, and who would give a license to a spontaneous killer? He'd never understood why people needed licenses for guns anyway. They were about as lethal as anything else you could find in the house.

He leaned back against the wall, cheek pressed to the cold window as he contemplated giving his killer a tiny blow-dart. That wasn't illegal, right? Or, maybe, a metal cheese grater--well, no. That would be bloody, and he didn't particularly like writing bloody scenes. He settled upon a gigantic boulder (Indiana Jones style, of course). How this spontaneous killer found a giant boulder was beyond him, and where it put this boulder when the man who was being killed was in the middle of the city. He'd also have to explain why the spontaneous killer planned out the dropping of a boulder on an unsuspecting man in the middle of the alleyway when he could've just shot him.

Well, he kindly reminded himself, you need a license for that.

By now he'd doodled the names of several people on the lined page of his notebook: Andrew, Devon, Xio, Jaybird, Emma. He figured that he wouldn't get much writing out today, so he pushed the book off his lap and onto the dusty windowsill. "--oh, jesus," he muttered as the dust hit his eyes. Frowning, he covered them for a moment, and upon realizing his glasses were impossible to see through, he grunted and took them off. He blinked a few times to make sure the world wouldn't end because he couldn't see further than seven feet in front of him, and then stretched his arms out in front of him. Alright, so. What now? He glanced at the window quickly as the rain started harder and pulled his hoodie off absent-mindedly.

Suddenly, he heard a cackle. What the hell? His head snapped toward the back of the church, but saw nothing. Granted, he had no glasses on, but he could still make out the brown of the bench, the blue-tinted walls, and the greyish floorboard. No one was there. Instantly, his nerves hit. What if someone was in there--like, behind a pew, or something? That cackle certainly didn't sound like a "hey, let's go grab some starbucks" cackle. Or...what if he really was going crazy? That would make sense, what with all that had been happening to him. "Who's there?" he called out, terrified as he pushed himself down from the windowsill, clutching the edge tightly still. He fumbled around for his glasses with his free hand, eyes darting this way and that as he tried to pick out what was going on.

You know, boy, you should watch who you call a bitch... It's also a sin to talk to yourself.

He was officially past the point of "shit, get your ass out of there, Fletcher". His legs didn't seem to want to move, and his mouth hung open loosely. The cat seemed to catch the creepy voice's drift, as it gave a last "mew" and headed off into the back rooms of the church. "U-uh..." His icy blue eyes worriedly flicked back and forth as he tried to determine where the voice was coming from. Unfortunately, he was clumsy, and he managed to knock his glasses onto the floor. Great. He bit his lip, still clutching desperately to the windowsill, and tried to summon up the courage to talk to whoever was there. "Um...God?" He paused. "I don't...think it's you. No offense, but you sound more like Satan. Or you have a bad cold--but I don't think gods get colds, do they?"

He realized he sounded stupid, and then became even more afraid.

"I, uh, I..." Fletcher trailed off, backing up a bit. "Where are you?" He didn't suppose whoever would tell him, but it was worth a shot.

words . seven sixty-three.
tag . oli!
weather . it's a rainy night. cloudy and grey-blue skies.
location . the church.
outfit . click.
other . i'm way too lazy to change
the layout of this thing.
XD and no, i don't mind at all C:

[OLIVER DAMON]

just get up when it knocks you down

[/i][/color]
WHEN IT KNOCKS YOU DOWN[/color][/SIZE][/font]
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Oliver watched the boy silently, wondering what the hell the guy was doing other than talking to himself and being pissed at a poor innocent kitty. Ha! Oliver didn't believe for one single moment that the cat hadn't done anything to annoy the other. But it made it so much more fun to think that this guy was severly off his rocker. Maybe Oliver could just push him off the edge. Now that would be fun! Oliver had to hold in his laughing, because really, people made it just so easy to fuck them up. Like his brother. It was always so easy to fuck with him, since he was human. Here at Winterthorne, people could fight back... though funnily enough not many did. Well, they did try with their pitiful attempts at getting him back. Pitiful!

Which brought Oliver back to the task in hand. Biting his lip to stop a giggle erupting as the boy's head snapped at his cackle. The boy obviously couldn't see him. Which made this all even more amusing. He loved being able to make himself invisable. Especially at times like this. Oh the things he could do to the boy before him. "Who's there?" Oh that voice, so terrified. How adorable. Oliver moved forward a little more, mostly to get a better look at the boy he had decided to torment. He was beautiful, that was very clear to Oliver. A boy like this surely had a girlfriend... or maybe he was gay? That would make this even better. Ideas of teasing the boy into wanting him, into having sex with him under God's eyes on the pews. The very thought made Oliver twitch with excitement.

Oliver turned to watch the cat run off, not being able to let out another raspy chuckle. Turning back to watch the young boy before him as he dropped his glasses and looked around fearfully. How adorable. Oliver let out a rumbling laugh at the boys questions. He couldn't help it. So much for being stealth huh? But really! The guy was calling him God? Or Satan? How stupid was this kid? Though Oliver put this down to just how afraid the other seemed of the laughing and voice from the seemingly empty space. Of course, all the boy was dealing with with a tormenting demon with the power of invisibility, but he didn't know that, did he?

Ha.

"Where are you?" Oliver let out another small chuckle, walking forward and making sure to not make a sound as he did. He wasn't sure whether the guy had sensitive hearing or not after all, so he had to be as quiet as possible. Reaching the boy, he smiled and breathed on the boys neck. Moving his lips to the boys ear. "I'm right here babycakes." Oliver chuckled lowly, moving away again. Just in case the guy reached out and felt him. He didn't want his cover blown just yet. Though he did reach down for the glasses and place them in his pocket. He didn't want the guy to see anything just yet. Even if he lost the invisibility, it would be just so funny to fuck with him that way too.

"So, who are you, young one?" Oliver asked, sitting down on one of the pews a little away. This was going to be so fun. And he couldn't wait to seduce the guy. That was his plan now. Torment, seduce, fuck. Hopefully over the alter at the front. Right in front of the dear virgin Mary. Definitely fun. He really was one sick bastard.

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TAGGED![/b] fletcher
WORD COUNT![/b] sixhundredandtwelve
NOTES![/b] poor fletcher. oli is evil >D [/font]
[/center]

[FLETCHER CROSS]

The laughter was driving him insane. Even with his enhanced hearing abilities, he couldn't tell where it was coming from. It was like it was originating from seven different spots at once--and the fact that the church echoed easily was not helping at all. The last time he'd heard laughter like that was from Ezra, and that was just before he was fucking raped. He was getting that same sort of feeling from this laugh--not necessarily the "holy shit, I'm going to get raped" feeling, but definitely the "holy shit, this is not good" feeling. His head swung back and forth as he attempted to locate whoever was in the church with him. The levels of desperation started rising as the raspy and low chuckling developed into full-blown laughter.

The boy swallowed, knuckles getting whiter as he clutched the windowsill as tightly as he could. He liked horror movies, he had to admit, but that was because he knew he wasn't in one and the villains in it couldn't hurt them. And, even if he was scared, he'd always had Devon or Andrew to lean on, or hide behind, or cling to for dear life. Now there was no one to hold hands or cuddle with when he was afraid. It was just him and the voice--or, rather, the man. That was probably the most frightening type of horror movie, and the type that was least enjoyable for him to watch: when ordinary-seeming people turned and went insane. He didn't mind monsters as much. They weren't real. But people going insane? That happened every day, and was entirely plausible to happen to him. It was like he was stuck in the middle of a goddamn slasher flick now.

A creak.

His blue eyes darted to the spot where Oliver had previously stood. It only took one tiny, little creak to give away what was going on. So, either he was dealing with a very noisy ghost (and had just gained another power), or there was someone who was...invisible, maybe? He was about to head over to the spot where the creak had originated from, but stopped himself and bit his lip. That wasn't very smart, was it? Go chase the guy who you couldn't see and simply hope to hit him. Besides, it was more likely that the person had moved, now, and moving only furthered his chances of being attacked. He had to try to postpone his movements until he was sure about where the boy was standing. At this point, he wasn't sure if it was going to take two hours or two minutes. He'd just have to wait.

Fortunately, Fletcher's question was answered in a matter of seconds. The hairs on his neck rose as the warm breath hit them, and he froze completely, heart pounding, as he heard the voice in his ear. I'm right here, babycakes. His knees threatened to buckle underneath him, and his heart stopped for a few seconds. He felt weak with fear, but he knew what he had to do: hit the voice. So, closing his eyes and releasing his right hand's grip from the windowsill, he threw his arm back in the direction that the voice had originated from. The only problem with that plan was that the man was no longer there. Out of pressure, his knees collapsed beneath him, and he crashed to the ground.

The blonde laid on his stomach for a few moments, and then pushed his upper body a few inches off the ground so he could turn around and look over his shoulder. Nope, still nothing there. Shaking slightly, he turned his head back to the front and stared at the floor, lowering himself back to the ground. After a few moments, he whimpered, hearing the voice again, and closed his eyes. He didn't want to die like this--stupidly pathetic. He wished he had more guts to stand up to whoever was here, but he knew that he stood a greater chance against this man if didn't blindly swing his arms and piss the other boy off. Quietly, and still shaking, he pulled himself up so that his knees and palms were pressed to the floor. His shaggy, blonde hair hung around his face and, for a second, a tear dribbled down the side of his cheek.

So, who are you, young one?

He whined again. Leave me alone, he thought stupidly, lifting a hand shakily to wipe the tear off his cheek. "F-fletcher," he whispered, sitting up straight on his knees and folding his arms over his chest. "G-go...t-the fuck...aw-way..." The werewolf choked a little and lifted a hand to cover his mouth. He was going to die.

words . eight fifteen.
tag . oli!
weather . it's a rainy night. cloudy and grey-blue skies.
location . the church.
outfit . click.
other . D': he's gonna get raped!
and sorry for lack of dialogue. /:
poooor fletcher. >__<

[OLIVER DAMON]

just get up when it knocks you down

[/i][/color]
WHEN IT KNOCKS YOU DOWN[/color][/SIZE][/font]
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Oliver could not, for the life of him, remember a time when he had so much fun as he was having right now. It was most definitely the most fun he’d had in ages, and he vowed to enjoy every single moment of it. Tormenting people was seriously one of the funniest things to do, at least in Oliver’s book. Just the look of annoyance or, in this case, fear rising upon the victims face made Oliver smile with glee. He was a sadistic bastard and he loved every second of it. Especially right now, with the boy before him… this guy really was quite fucking pathetic. Seriously! The guy really needed to grow some, but it was so funny to watch.

If Oliver hadn’t have been having so much fun scaring the shit out of the guy, he would have most likely come out to play by now and probably seduced him already. Have the guy on his knees fucking begging for it. Oliver had a way with words… and a way with his manhood. This guy had to be gay anyway. No straight guy was this fucking pathetic, right? Couldn’t even take a voice echoing in a church; though Oliver had to admit, if he was the guy, his laughing and chuckling would creep him the fuck out too. Oliver would probably run screaming out of the place and never come back if he heard chuckling like his own. It was his deep voice and the setting that just screamed horror movie. Well, at least he wasn’t the one who was going to die… so to speak. Oliver didn’t plan on killing the other, just fucking him through the floor.

Oliver saw the boys blue eyes dart to where he had been previously stood. Damn it! The kid did have super sensitive hearing. Ah well! It wasn’t like he could see Oliver, and Oliver could move pretty fast. The guy wouldn’t even know where to look. It made Oliver want to be able to fly, or at least be able to manipulate gravity. Now that would be fucking cool! Make the guy rise off the ground… now that would be amusing to watch his face if that happened. He knew a few in his family who could manipulate gravity, but they never seemed to use it for anything good. There again, most of Oliver’s family were stupid, snotty, or downright weird. Like the twins. Those guys were fucking creepier than any laugh in a church.

Oliver felt the boy freeze as he whispered into his ear, smirking to himself as he moved away. He let out yet another laugh as the boy threw his arm where Oliver had been not moments ago. It had been a very good idea to move, because he didn’t want to blow his cover just yet. No way. Just a few more minutes of freaking the guy out and then he could uncover his identity and pounce on him. Though, Oliver knew there would have to be probably some major negotiation on his part to get even close to what he wanted. Which was him bent over the alter with Oliver’s manhood deep inside him, but Oliver didn’t want to get too graphic in his mind. His imagination would no doubt take over and then he’d probably create an illusion by accident.

Oliver watched as the boy fell to the floor, well, the guy didn’t exactly fall. More like crashed. It was a wonder the guy didn’t go straight through the ground like in the cartoons with the way he landed. Oliver guessed that had to hurt, but the other seemed more afraid than in pain right now.

How adorable!

Oliver sat back down among the pews, tapping his fingers lightly, and waiting for the name as he watched the boy wipe a tear away from his cheek. Really now? This guy was killing him with the pathetic act. Oliver almost felt fucking sorry for the kid, but he stopped that thought right in its tracks. “F-Fletcher.” The name was giving and the celebration began. Oliver smiled to himself and bit his lip. Adorable name for an adorable boy. Oliver chuckled as Fletcher spoke again. “Why would I want to leave? It’s so much more fun to watch you cry, Fletcher!” Oliver spoke, standing and walking over to the boy.

“Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you unless you make me.” Oliver continued as he reached Fletcher, crouching down and materializing before him. His hand reaching to wipe the remnants of a tear. Oliver smirked down at Fletcher, grabbing the others hand and pulling him up. “Now, how about me and you have some fun?” Oliver chuckled, kissing at Fletcher’s neck. It was about time they got down to business.

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TAGGED![/b] fletcher
WORD COUNT![/b] eighthundredandseventeen
NOTES![/b] uh oh. i can see this becoming nasty [/font]
[/center]

[PROMETHEA IEVAN]

The thick, billowing sheet which blossomed over the horizon, captivating the world into a muted silence and ceasing the sun's reign, was Promethea's new best friend. Moisture was heavy in the air, patter-pattering the streets, casting streetlamps into inky deficits. Promethea pulled the ebony hood of the three-dollar thrift store jacket up to cover her teased, dyed hair.
She glided down the empty streets, save for cars parked beside driveways, and even those lines of machinery were getting thinner as her destination approached. Her expression was impassive, intimidating. She appeared destitute of emotion, but in fact was quite the opposite.

Promethea kicked the ground with her Converse-clad foot, propelling herself faster down the concrete. The wheels upon her skateboard spun to the increasing velocity. Shadows set. Creatures crawled. She sped quicker down the lane, light eyes keen to watch for the looming figure of the House of God.
Coming to Promethea's mind was a quote from the late Abbot of the Temple of the Shining Dragon, Nanrei Kobori.
God is an invention of Man. So the nature of God is only a shallow mystery. The deep mystery is the nature of Man.
She corrected her earlier thoughts. This was the House of Man, not of God. But it was an exceptionally fascinating place with architecture which absorbed the mind, and so Promethea made it her own artistic ritual to come down her every so often and sketch maps of numerous spaces within the church. In fact, bobbing along to the beat of the bumpy ride of the skateboard, in her faux-leather knapsack was her sketchbook, pages filled with half-finished studies.
Arriving at the church, she hopped off the board, kicking it up and catching it with her left hand. She gripped it, staring at the catatonic, or so it seemed, building. Something wasn't right. She felt things in there. People. Animalistic intentions.

This relatively ruined her outing. It was quite strange to find anyone in here at this time. Promethea's jaw tightened slightly, almost unnoticeably. She was going to play the aloof role, like she's just stopped here for a second and was going to go on her way again any moment now.
However, a restless part of the situation made her uneasy. Frightened. Scared as fuck, and yet she felt the taste of pure insanity, lust in the back of her mind. Her fingers twitched.
Those were not her emotions. She looked around, but there was none but her residing there, as far as she could see. Her gaze went to the church. The emotions intensified, and suddenly she just wanted to get the fuck right out of there. She deliberately made her feet remain stapled to the ground. Intuition pointed out something increasingly obvious; the unrest was inside the church.

Promethea didn't particularly enjoy the idea of playing the part of Lassie. Ruff ruff, there's someone about to be killed in the church! No. That wasn't her deal. She lived without people and their emotions rather than being that goody goody, self-sacrificing bullshit girl who embraced it.
Her fingers twitched again, and she let the skateboard fall to the ground. There was none here to steal it. Besides, she was sure she wouldn't be in there for long.
Right?

Before the dark part of her psyche could stop her, convince her it wasn't her fucking problem, she was already moving to the entrance. Halfway there. Turn back now. At the door. Don't you fucking open it.
Inside.
Fucking idiot.
All became terrifyingly intensified. Her knees became jelly and her mouth dried up, but the predatory emotions running through her was enough to keep her standing. She twitched slightly, jerking her head to the side. Focus. She took another step, muted, no sound echoing in the hallow halls. Breathe.

She heard the predator's words first; then the victim’s. A terrible presence, an alarmed and intensified feeling overcame her at the sound of the boy. She broke into a quicker pace, allowing herself as much speed as she could without making any noise. She had no idea why she was doing this. Good-Samaritan shit wasn't her bag, baby.
But upon hearing the predator's voice again, she was close enough to see him speak. Or, at least to see his dark figure, looming over, encompassing the boy--the victim.
Promethea's hands began to shake. Her face remained wiped of all emotion, an unsusceptible mask.
"The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness." She spoke, Joseph Conrad's words reigning clearly, with the hint of a savory echo in the placid room. Promethea moved closer, slowly, cautiously walking toward them. Adrenaline rushed through her veins. She was probably going to be fucking murdered for a kid she didn’t know. Fuck.
Her face was not menacing, in fact, it was nothing at all. A blank slate. Impenetrable. And slightly creepy.
She was a human and obviously neither of the two were. She could get her ass served to her on a fucking platter and neither might think anything about it. Well, the predator wouldn’t have any second thoughts except, “Fuck, this is fun!” The victim, maybe not. However, she continued to approach them, until she was a few feet behind the predator.
"Don't let us make imaginary evils," Said Promethea, waving her hand up to indicate the church, the House of Man, "When you know we have so many real ones to encounter." Her long fingers pointed to the predator for a moment before retracting, resting at her sides.
All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.

how many words ? Nine-hundred and Fifty-Six.
what's she wearing ? clickyhurr
who’s there ? Oliver and Fletcher
be there more ? I’m sorry for interrupting such a good thread…but poor Fletcher, I couldn’t resist.

[FLETCHER CROSS]

Why would I want to leave? It’s so much more fun to watch you cry, Fletcher!

Oh, so he was a sadistic bitch.

In all honesty, he would've preferred to be beaten or cut or whatever it was the evil kids around the school liked to do to people. Why? If he wasn't going to be hurt, then, obviously, the other boy was planning something much, much worse. Death, he supposed, was not one of the options included--unless this boy was one of those kids who was convinced that death didn't actually hurt. Well, that was just great. Either he was about to be raped, driven insane, or flat out murdered (or all of the above). The options weren't looking so great at this point. He had to wonder why people would even do this--the whole murder thing. Maybe this mysterious voice had problems in his past, or really, really badly misdirected rage. Then again, he was no psychiatrist, and had no idea what could really be going on. Maybe this voice was just a sick man who liked to mess with poor little boys who hung out in churches for inspiration.

Maybe he needed better hang-out spots.

Shock shot through him as the voice took form. He watched, heart practically leaping out of his chest, as the boy materialized before him. First, the shoes--the jeans, the shirt, the jacket--and then him. He swallowed, unable to move his gaze from the boy's face for a few moments. He looked so...what was the word? Bad? Something like that. Sinister. Awful. Suddenly, things were a lot more frightening. Before he hadn't had to look his terrorist in the eye. Things were a lot worse now that his brain had realized that he was in actual, real danger--that this wasn't just a bad dream, or a sign that he was going insane. He was going to get hurt, despite what the man said.

He felt the other boy brush the tear off his face and sharply jerked his head away. He had to be strong--if only for Emma and Andrew, he had to be strong. He wasn't going to fuck his daughter's life up any more than it already was, and Andrew didn't deserve any of this in the first place. No; he had to fight back with what little courage he had. It was times like this that he wished his mean side would kick in a little more, and not when Andrew was trying to seduce him at a club (though that usaully deserved a good kick in the ass). Slowly, willing himself to grow a spine, he swallowed the tears that threatened to spill and coughed a little out of pressure. Think of Emma, he thought to himself desperately. Her cute little smile--her pretty, curly hair.

"N-no!" The tough phase was broken as he felt himself being pulled up. His eyes widened a bit at the next phrase. Have some what? His question was answered as he felt the warm lips pressed against his neck. Oh, okay. Casual sex in a church. That was just peachy keen. Fletcher gritted his teeth and shut his eyes tight, trying not to give in and cave like he usually did. Fuck. That was his spot. The same spot that Andrew and Parker and Devon had all found in turn. Was he weak enough that random people could tell that, or was he just a very unlucky person? He swallowed, opening his eyes a bit and pushing back against the boy. "Get off," he growled (as best as he could), shoving against the boy harder. Sure, he was strong for his size, but he only had his full strength when he was an actual werewolf. For now, he was just...Fletcher.

Then, suddenly, all of his prayers were answered.

Well, most of his prayers. Andrew was still a slut, Parker still hated him, and Devon was still stuck on Ezra. Actually, scratch that. One prayer. A girl had entered the church, mysteriously calm and unflustered by the fact that he was getting raped in a church. She quoted something that was vaguely familiar to him; for a moment he paused in his pushing and searched his brain for where he'd heard--no, read--that before. Frowning, he mumbled, "Joseph Conrad?" He shook his head, clearing his thoughts and, confused, looked back to the girl. Was it just him, or did the weirdest people show up in churches? Look who he'd gotten stuck with: the rapist and the goth freak, neither of who seemed too interested in letting him get out of there. Or--oh, shit. Was she working with him? How did people work together in rape, anyway?--actually, he didn't want to know.

What he did want was for her to stop quoting creepy things and to actually help him. Clearly she could see that there was a "source of evil" that was very "capable of every wickedness". But...she stood there. He rolled his eyes for a moment and, regaining himself, gathered up the strength to kick the boy on him as hard as he could. "Get--off--you--fucker!"

words . eight eighty-two.
tag . oli and thea!
weather . it's a rainy night. cloudy and grey-blue skies.
location . the church.
outfit . click.
other . it's cool. (: he has a shot at life! =D
or, not getting raped.