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He could go back to his body and follow Jenna around, and she happens to go to the FBI building where Jamie and Laurel encounter each other again?
I guess it also depends on when/how you want him to figure out how to communicate with her?
Trying to figure out what the FBI will do with Laurel right now. They're not going to fire her, obviously, and I'll have some people talk Laurel out of resigning. Maybe she's aken off active duty while the legal issues are happening and assigned to see a therapist, but then we can have Jamie convince her to bend the rules in order to get them in on the action.
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- carsgovroom 11 yrs ago
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7 yrs ago
Current
Day dreamin’ of summer vacation ☀️
10 yrs ago
Super sick. Not sure when it will pass.
10 yrs ago
Last day of Spring Break. Back to school and work tomorrow. :(
Bio
Call me cars. Or vroom. Or carsgovroom. Just another 20-something girl on the World Wide Web. I suppose I'd be considered a veteran RPer with probably a decade of RPing experience whose looking to have a bit of fun.
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He was staring at her with a shocked expression that must have mirrored her own in some ways, and Laurel fidgeted uneasily under his gaze. He might not have been staring at her with anger or in accusation, but just seeing him there was an accusation. Seeing him staring at her, a hallucination of him that is, was a reminder that she was only hallucinating this because the real James Weller could not. Laurel tried one last time to make the vision go away but when she opened her eyes again he still remained, looking at her as though he was as surprised by this as she was.
Was this it? Was the guilt of her action trying to drive her insane? Would this vision of him haunt her forever? Was this what she deserved?
For what seemed like ages neither of them moved a muscle, and Laurel herself could hardly breath as her heart hammered in her chest. Then the hallucination of James Weller started pushing himself to his feet, his movements making her twitch slightly despite the fact that they were slow and careful. It was almost as though it was for her benefit, that he was not trying to alarm her more than he already had. She almost giggled hysterically at these thoughts.
James didn't try closing the distance between them, staying exactly where he was, but his arm extended towards her, like he was reaching out for her. All Laurel could do in response to this was let out a weak moan. Then his lips moved, and she wasn't much of a lip reader but she was almost certain that his mouth had formed her name. Laurel. How did he know her name? At least if that was what he had even had tried to say because though his mouth had moved she had heard no sound. Not even a whisper.
Her hallucination seemed to realize this, as well, because panic started to flit across his expression and his mouth moved more fiercely, lips forming word after word. But he still made no sound, not matter how hard he seemed to be trying to project his voice out into the world.
Everything was still for a moment, then James collapsed quite suddenly. Laurel's own body jumped in shock in response to the sudden movement, and she suddenly felt very out of breath as her heart raced. She watched him with wide, wary eyes as he sat there crumpled on her floor, his hands covering his head in obvious despair. She wondered if that was what she had looked like a few moments ago.
It took a moment for her to work up the courage to attempt movement, but Laurel finally managed to use the brick wall to pull herself up onto her feet. She was still trembling slightly but she didn't fall over. She looked down at her grief stricken hallucination, terrified and unsure of what to do. She didn't realize she was moving until she'd taken a couple of steps forward, her bare feet not making a sound on the wood. Laurel had gotten as close to him as she had dared, before bending slightly and reaching her hand out as though to grip his shoulder. But instead her hand passed right through him, and she felt a chill and a shiver run through her spine.
It proved too much.
Laurel jerked her hand back, inhaling a sharp gasp as she stumbled back a few steps. She turned around and nearly fell over as she did so, but she caught her balance and managed to make it to the spiral stair case the led up to the loft floors above them. She tripped and nearly fell again as she went up the stairs, but caught herself on the railing and continued til she reached the second floor loft, which housed her bedroom. Laurel didn't care that she was still wearing the hospital scrubs, she made a beeline for metal framed bed and all but dove into it, throwing the sheets, comforter, and quilted coverlet over herself and curling up beneath them, eyes squeezed shut as she tried not to think about her phantom hallucination almost directly beneath her.
Looking back on it Laurel would think about how childish it had been, running up to her bed to hide from her monsters, demons, and guilt under the covers. After all it wouldn't take long for her guilt to catch up with her again.
Was this it? Was the guilt of her action trying to drive her insane? Would this vision of him haunt her forever? Was this what she deserved?
For what seemed like ages neither of them moved a muscle, and Laurel herself could hardly breath as her heart hammered in her chest. Then the hallucination of James Weller started pushing himself to his feet, his movements making her twitch slightly despite the fact that they were slow and careful. It was almost as though it was for her benefit, that he was not trying to alarm her more than he already had. She almost giggled hysterically at these thoughts.
James didn't try closing the distance between them, staying exactly where he was, but his arm extended towards her, like he was reaching out for her. All Laurel could do in response to this was let out a weak moan. Then his lips moved, and she wasn't much of a lip reader but she was almost certain that his mouth had formed her name. Laurel. How did he know her name? At least if that was what he had even had tried to say because though his mouth had moved she had heard no sound. Not even a whisper.
Her hallucination seemed to realize this, as well, because panic started to flit across his expression and his mouth moved more fiercely, lips forming word after word. But he still made no sound, not matter how hard he seemed to be trying to project his voice out into the world.
Everything was still for a moment, then James collapsed quite suddenly. Laurel's own body jumped in shock in response to the sudden movement, and she suddenly felt very out of breath as her heart raced. She watched him with wide, wary eyes as he sat there crumpled on her floor, his hands covering his head in obvious despair. She wondered if that was what she had looked like a few moments ago.
It took a moment for her to work up the courage to attempt movement, but Laurel finally managed to use the brick wall to pull herself up onto her feet. She was still trembling slightly but she didn't fall over. She looked down at her grief stricken hallucination, terrified and unsure of what to do. She didn't realize she was moving until she'd taken a couple of steps forward, her bare feet not making a sound on the wood. Laurel had gotten as close to him as she had dared, before bending slightly and reaching her hand out as though to grip his shoulder. But instead her hand passed right through him, and she felt a chill and a shiver run through her spine.
It proved too much.
Laurel jerked her hand back, inhaling a sharp gasp as she stumbled back a few steps. She turned around and nearly fell over as she did so, but she caught her balance and managed to make it to the spiral stair case the led up to the loft floors above them. She tripped and nearly fell again as she went up the stairs, but caught herself on the railing and continued til she reached the second floor loft, which housed her bedroom. Laurel didn't care that she was still wearing the hospital scrubs, she made a beeline for metal framed bed and all but dove into it, throwing the sheets, comforter, and quilted coverlet over herself and curling up beneath them, eyes squeezed shut as she tried not to think about her phantom hallucination almost directly beneath her.
Looking back on it Laurel would think about how childish it had been, running up to her bed to hide from her monsters, demons, and guilt under the covers. After all it wouldn't take long for her guilt to catch up with her again.
Yes it's the weekend now, thank GOD. And I'm finally finished with all of my homework soooo much relief. Next week should be better since I don't have an application packet to do ha~
I've got an assignment for my online class that I'm finishing up and then I'll get you a response. :)
The bell jingled again as Aggie and Ian were finishing their small talk and they both paused to turn and see the stunning brunette walking through the door. Aggie knew her, of course, since many of the local supernatural scene and had passed through her shop at least a few times. Ian, however, almost seemed to take a step back at the sight of the beautiful stranger. He had also smiled in his charming, vampire fashion, as it was in his nature, but the usually effective smolder barely earned a passing glance from the newcomer as she made her way into the shop and to the counter where Aggie was waiting for her.
Dahlia Frost greeted her with a smile, flattery, and dropping some money in the tip jar. Aggie was ignoring Ian's significant look as she nodded in greeting and thanks. "Hello there yourself, Dahlia. It's a been while. Was getting worried that you found someone else to make your tea." She smiled, making it clear that no such worried actually passed through her mind. The other woman placed a bag with a familiar looking logo on it onto the counter top and Aggie could almost smell the broccoli and beef radiation from the to go box inside. "Aw, you shouldn't have."
Was it ass kissing? Almost definitely. Should she not accept such things from a customer? Maybe not. Was she going to anyway? Yeah, probably. It was just how it was with Dahlia, how they're transactions always had seemed to go. The witch made the tea, the customer showed her appreciation by throwing in a few lunches there, some extra tips here, and other such things. Aggie's teas must have satisfied her a lot because Dahlia always seemed to be trying to make her happy whenever she visited.
Honestly Aggie didn't know much about Dahlia. She had started coming to her shop a while ago and Aggie had known after her first visit that she was some sort of supernatural. It was usually easy to tell since the supernatural community never stopped by the Kettle for the earl grey and Dahlia had known exactly what kid of business Aggie secretly ran. She always ordered the special blend that the witch had concocted for her, and had become a consistent and loyal customer. And that...was about it.
Aggie would have been lying if she said she had never wondered what Dahlia was. During their initial encounter she had thought maybe she was a vampire, but she had quickly eliminated that theory. Now she tried not to wonder about it too much. She had a policy that she upheld with her customers: she didn't ask, and they didn't have to tell. When they purchased items from her they also purchased her discretion. Discretion was, after all, one of her middle names. Alright not really, but it should have been. Aggie couldn't help but have her suspicions as to what Dahlia truly was though. The blend she made her was very strong, and some of the leaves she used in it were meant for rather specific purposes. She used the same leaves in mixtures and potions to suppress thirst for vampires or the craving for the hunt in weres.
Before Aggie could speak up again or move to get Dahlia's order from the store room the bell above the door jingled for the third time and another supernatural entered her shop. This time when she turned to see who it was a neutral mask carefully slipped onto her face. Another regular of hers, but he rarely came in to purchase anything.
Cameron Rogers was trouble. Not that Ian or Dahlia or any of her other customers were trouble or caused trouble or anything like that. But they all had the good sense to leave their troubles at the door and not involve her in them. Cameron was the opposite. The hybrid brought his troubles into the Kettle with him and always tried to involve her in them, dropping in on a regular basis and asking for her thoughts, advice, and help in whatever he was doing for whatever council he was working for. He had actually succeeded in involving her in his work more than she cared to admit, despite the pledge she had made since starting her little business that she would stay out of those sort of affairs. Maybe he was just good at being persistent.
"Afternoon, Agnes."
She was quiet for a brief moment, studying him with her neutral expression before nodding politely. "Cameron." She looked at the three supernaturals in her shop, not remembering the last time so many had been under this roof at one time before. Aggie briefly looked back at Cam before she turned away from him and to Dahlia. "Be right back with your order. and I'll be with you in a minute." That last part was directed at Cam, and she vaguely gestured to one of the tables, resigned to inviting him to sit down.
"I'll see you around, Aggie!" Ian called to her as she retreated into the store room and she gave him a wave as she vanished from sight. The brunette that Aggie seemed to be on good terms with had enticed him to stick around, but as soon as Cameron had showed up he knew it was time to retreat. He had met the hybrid multiple times before and never under friendly circumstances. The vampire glanced over to him briefly before looking back at Dahlia one more time. "See you around," he said nodding casually with a small smile before slipping out of the door.
A few moments later Aggie reemerged with another brown bag with the name "'Frost" written neatly on one of the corners. She was starting to ring up Dahlia's order when the trio of old ladies decided tea time was over. They began bustling out, calling back to her that everything was lovely as usual, Aggie dear, and they'd see her at the same time next week. And Aggie was alone in her shop with her mysterious customer Dahlia and the thorn in her side Cameron.
Dahlia Frost greeted her with a smile, flattery, and dropping some money in the tip jar. Aggie was ignoring Ian's significant look as she nodded in greeting and thanks. "Hello there yourself, Dahlia. It's a been while. Was getting worried that you found someone else to make your tea." She smiled, making it clear that no such worried actually passed through her mind. The other woman placed a bag with a familiar looking logo on it onto the counter top and Aggie could almost smell the broccoli and beef radiation from the to go box inside. "Aw, you shouldn't have."
Was it ass kissing? Almost definitely. Should she not accept such things from a customer? Maybe not. Was she going to anyway? Yeah, probably. It was just how it was with Dahlia, how they're transactions always had seemed to go. The witch made the tea, the customer showed her appreciation by throwing in a few lunches there, some extra tips here, and other such things. Aggie's teas must have satisfied her a lot because Dahlia always seemed to be trying to make her happy whenever she visited.
Honestly Aggie didn't know much about Dahlia. She had started coming to her shop a while ago and Aggie had known after her first visit that she was some sort of supernatural. It was usually easy to tell since the supernatural community never stopped by the Kettle for the earl grey and Dahlia had known exactly what kid of business Aggie secretly ran. She always ordered the special blend that the witch had concocted for her, and had become a consistent and loyal customer. And that...was about it.
Aggie would have been lying if she said she had never wondered what Dahlia was. During their initial encounter she had thought maybe she was a vampire, but she had quickly eliminated that theory. Now she tried not to wonder about it too much. She had a policy that she upheld with her customers: she didn't ask, and they didn't have to tell. When they purchased items from her they also purchased her discretion. Discretion was, after all, one of her middle names. Alright not really, but it should have been. Aggie couldn't help but have her suspicions as to what Dahlia truly was though. The blend she made her was very strong, and some of the leaves she used in it were meant for rather specific purposes. She used the same leaves in mixtures and potions to suppress thirst for vampires or the craving for the hunt in weres.
Before Aggie could speak up again or move to get Dahlia's order from the store room the bell above the door jingled for the third time and another supernatural entered her shop. This time when she turned to see who it was a neutral mask carefully slipped onto her face. Another regular of hers, but he rarely came in to purchase anything.
Cameron Rogers was trouble. Not that Ian or Dahlia or any of her other customers were trouble or caused trouble or anything like that. But they all had the good sense to leave their troubles at the door and not involve her in them. Cameron was the opposite. The hybrid brought his troubles into the Kettle with him and always tried to involve her in them, dropping in on a regular basis and asking for her thoughts, advice, and help in whatever he was doing for whatever council he was working for. He had actually succeeded in involving her in his work more than she cared to admit, despite the pledge she had made since starting her little business that she would stay out of those sort of affairs. Maybe he was just good at being persistent.
"Afternoon, Agnes."
She was quiet for a brief moment, studying him with her neutral expression before nodding politely. "Cameron." She looked at the three supernaturals in her shop, not remembering the last time so many had been under this roof at one time before. Aggie briefly looked back at Cam before she turned away from him and to Dahlia. "Be right back with your order. and I'll be with you in a minute." That last part was directed at Cam, and she vaguely gestured to one of the tables, resigned to inviting him to sit down.
"I'll see you around, Aggie!" Ian called to her as she retreated into the store room and she gave him a wave as she vanished from sight. The brunette that Aggie seemed to be on good terms with had enticed him to stick around, but as soon as Cameron had showed up he knew it was time to retreat. He had met the hybrid multiple times before and never under friendly circumstances. The vampire glanced over to him briefly before looking back at Dahlia one more time. "See you around," he said nodding casually with a small smile before slipping out of the door.
A few moments later Aggie reemerged with another brown bag with the name "'Frost" written neatly on one of the corners. She was starting to ring up Dahlia's order when the trio of old ladies decided tea time was over. They began bustling out, calling back to her that everything was lovely as usual, Aggie dear, and they'd see her at the same time next week. And Aggie was alone in her shop with her mysterious customer Dahlia and the thorn in her side Cameron.
Laurel's eyes were closed and her head was bowed as she held it in her hands and her fingers knotted themselves in her hair. She was undoubtedly and obviously overcome with grief, but even then she sill had pretty sharp instincts. And she was suddenly aware that she felt wrong. That sensation she thought she had felt in the hospital was back, that goosebumps and hair raising sensation that was unsettling and familiar. Someone was watching her. She wasn't alone.
She went very still for a moment and she lifted her head slightly to peer through her fringe of bangs. She couldn't see much, but she could clearly see the figure of someone sitting on the floor in front of her. She reacted to the sudden presence so quickly and fluidly that it was like a natural reaction. As her heart skipped a beat and her body jerked in understandable shock at the unexpected intruder, she also uncurled from her pitiful fetal position and pulled her arm back, her hand clenched into a fist that she was ready to throw at the asshole. Laurel was completely ready to show him (or her) just how mean of a right hook she could throw first hand when her eyes fixed upon the intruder's face and she froze completely before her arm had a chance to gain any momentum.
Shock rammed into her like a train. For what seemed like several long moments all she could do was stare, her green eyes round with a surprise that was almost innocent in nature, and her lips parted slightly as though she had let out an, "Oh!" sound. Her mind as utterly blank as she gazed upon the last face she ever expected to see sitting in front of her, a face she had only seen for the first time mere hours ago, and one she had only seen with conscious expression for moments at most. But Laurel knew she'd never forget his face as long as she lived. James Weller's face was seared into her memory as if it had been branded there with an iron. And here he was sitting right in front of her, hand raised as though her hand been stroking her hair, looking as conscious and alive as he had been when she had first laid eyes on him.
Moments before she had shot him. And put him in the hospital. Which is where he was right now. In a coma.
One moment she was staring at him in surprise and confusion. Her eyes traveled over him, taking in his appearance and seeing that he seemed to be part way sunk into the wood floor, before her gaze rose and she locked gazes with him. Then her mind seemed to catch up with the rest of her and in an instant she processed what she was seeing.
The sound Laurel made was half gasp and half cry, and she nearly jumped out of her skin, jerking away from him and falling over to the side slightly as she did so. She crawled backwards towards the sitting room area of the apartment, putting as much distance between them as quickly as she could. However her limbs were still half frozen in shock and her movements were clumsy, and she slipped and nearly fell a few more times as she pulled herself as far away from him as she could go. Which, given the narrow nature of her home, wasn't very far. She bumped into the brick wall and was forced to stop moving, but her wide eyes had never left James Weller as she had tried to escape.
He could not be here. He was lying in a hospital bed on life support miles away from here. He was swaddled in bandages and tipping precariously between life and death. He was unconscious and comatose and not sitting on or in the floor of her apartment. But here he was, sitting there and looking at her, and she could see him clear as day.
"Oh God," Laurel finally got out, her voice cracking with strain. "Oh God, no, this can't be happening..." The guilt. The guilt she felt for what she had done to him. This was what it was, what it had to be. This was her mind's way of punishing her for her actions. It was creating a hallucination to haunt her. He wasn't real. "You're not real," she told him, squeezing her eyes shut for several second as she informed her mind that she was aware of what it was doing. She accepted that what she was seeing was all an illusion and all in her head, and when she opened her eyes he would be gone. Wasn't that how it worked?"
Laurel's eyes opened and the green irises fixed upon where he had been sitting. Where he was still sitting. She let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and it come out loudly and half hysterically. "Nooooo no, no, no, no." She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands as though she could wipe the image of him from them, then she looked up again and still saw him there in front of her. Laurel let out of terrified and frustrated sound. "Goddammit, no!"
She went very still for a moment and she lifted her head slightly to peer through her fringe of bangs. She couldn't see much, but she could clearly see the figure of someone sitting on the floor in front of her. She reacted to the sudden presence so quickly and fluidly that it was like a natural reaction. As her heart skipped a beat and her body jerked in understandable shock at the unexpected intruder, she also uncurled from her pitiful fetal position and pulled her arm back, her hand clenched into a fist that she was ready to throw at the asshole. Laurel was completely ready to show him (or her) just how mean of a right hook she could throw first hand when her eyes fixed upon the intruder's face and she froze completely before her arm had a chance to gain any momentum.
Shock rammed into her like a train. For what seemed like several long moments all she could do was stare, her green eyes round with a surprise that was almost innocent in nature, and her lips parted slightly as though she had let out an, "Oh!" sound. Her mind as utterly blank as she gazed upon the last face she ever expected to see sitting in front of her, a face she had only seen for the first time mere hours ago, and one she had only seen with conscious expression for moments at most. But Laurel knew she'd never forget his face as long as she lived. James Weller's face was seared into her memory as if it had been branded there with an iron. And here he was sitting right in front of her, hand raised as though her hand been stroking her hair, looking as conscious and alive as he had been when she had first laid eyes on him.
Moments before she had shot him. And put him in the hospital. Which is where he was right now. In a coma.
One moment she was staring at him in surprise and confusion. Her eyes traveled over him, taking in his appearance and seeing that he seemed to be part way sunk into the wood floor, before her gaze rose and she locked gazes with him. Then her mind seemed to catch up with the rest of her and in an instant she processed what she was seeing.
The sound Laurel made was half gasp and half cry, and she nearly jumped out of her skin, jerking away from him and falling over to the side slightly as she did so. She crawled backwards towards the sitting room area of the apartment, putting as much distance between them as quickly as she could. However her limbs were still half frozen in shock and her movements were clumsy, and she slipped and nearly fell a few more times as she pulled herself as far away from him as she could go. Which, given the narrow nature of her home, wasn't very far. She bumped into the brick wall and was forced to stop moving, but her wide eyes had never left James Weller as she had tried to escape.
He could not be here. He was lying in a hospital bed on life support miles away from here. He was swaddled in bandages and tipping precariously between life and death. He was unconscious and comatose and not sitting on or in the floor of her apartment. But here he was, sitting there and looking at her, and she could see him clear as day.
"Oh God," Laurel finally got out, her voice cracking with strain. "Oh God, no, this can't be happening..." The guilt. The guilt she felt for what she had done to him. This was what it was, what it had to be. This was her mind's way of punishing her for her actions. It was creating a hallucination to haunt her. He wasn't real. "You're not real," she told him, squeezing her eyes shut for several second as she informed her mind that she was aware of what it was doing. She accepted that what she was seeing was all an illusion and all in her head, and when she opened her eyes he would be gone. Wasn't that how it worked?"
Laurel's eyes opened and the green irises fixed upon where he had been sitting. Where he was still sitting. She let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and it come out loudly and half hysterically. "Nooooo no, no, no, no." She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands as though she could wipe the image of him from them, then she looked up again and still saw him there in front of her. Laurel let out of terrified and frustrated sound. "Goddammit, no!"
Weird double post.
The fact that he's going to be initially silent will contribute to her fears that she's losing it ha.
Either way works with me. Them having some method of communication makes it easier for...communicating ha. But I get what you're saying about sound, and I think what your're saying about the mind-to-mind thing. Like he talks to her, and it's like she's hearing him but it's psychicly through her mind rather than physically through her ears. I think that's what you're saying at least ha.
Nice ha. So I'm planning my post and I just want to clarify that she can only see and hear him right?
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