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    1. Glaw 11 yrs ago

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Since getting topside, Tzek had spent a good hour in that gas station bathroom, grinning at his grimy reflection. He'd run his fingers -- his fingers -- over his slightly smooth jaw, through short dark hair (stiff just like he remembered it), around the contours of his ears. He'd jammed his thumbs in his eyes and laughed at the bright spots and light shadows. He'd opened his mouth wide and felt every sharp tooth with his tongue; he'd swallowed and watched his throat bob in the spit-soiled mirror; he'd grasped the porcelain sink and leaned forward til his nose nearly touched the glass, and he'd watched his eyes turn black. Oh, yes, he was himself again, in his body, not sardined in the skull of some meth-head schizophrenic but alone, in control, powerful, alive. He'd trembled with glee, he'd breathed through his teeth and savored the chill, the dank pungent mold-urine stench of being reborn in a filmy toilet stall. If only he could remember his name, he could pretend he were human again. Human still. One day. This was a cruel and wonderful taste of what he could have, what he would have if he carried out his mission. He'd grinned wide, and the mirror cracked.

Find the girl.

For a day and a half he'd scavenged the streets, grabbed random women and pulled their hair experimentally while they screeched obscenities and called the cops. He'd got himself into a fistfight with two other guys, which ended in an ambulance siren and hands in his pockets as he sauntered off the scene. He'd devoured four stacks of pancakes and ten cups of coffee, left pocket lint for the bill and had found the cops waiting for him outside the diner. He'd let them give him a lift to the station, and that's when he smelled her.

He sat on a bench in an office buzzing with uniforms, crammed against a shouting spitting half-naked homeless lunatic, having been told to wait his turn for booking. Tzek quietly dropped his cuffs, let loose the lunatic, and stayed to watch the shouting and crashing and body-slamming for a bit before he slipped out the door into the chill night rain.

He was soaked by the time he found her. It was an easy thing, when there was so much screaming going on, to approach unnoticed, and -- what was that saying? Two birds with one stone?

Tzek sloshed into the alley, his jacket dripping, eyes black. "Here kitty kitty," he hissed at the demon's back; his voice was drowned by screaming and rain but he knew he'd been heard. Just to be certain he had the old woman's attention, though, he flung an arm through the air and caused her to spontaneously slam shoulder-first into the alley wall. He flashed a fangy grin. He liked to call that the Force.
I kept trying to think of spells or sigils or powers or incantations that would send the offending demon straight back to hell -- but I guess I'm complicating things! Perhaps rather the demon should be contained and escorted downward by yours truly. Simplicity is the best policy. ;)

And here I realize it has been AGES since I've RPed anything with powers. These are all excuses for how long it's taking me to write something. Another excuse is that I reeeaallly want to write something decent. xD
Okay, y'know where I'm stuck? I'm totally stuck on how a demon actually goes about capturing another demon without getting himself captured. xD Any insight? Or am I right in thinking that maybe he needs a human (or half of one!) to do the deed? Somehow?
Yay, an OOC post!
Yeah cool, thanks. :3 I had seriously bitchy PMS last week -- I'm still apologizing to 4 different people. More like groveling. XD

Ok, so, RAWR. Ahem. What's the plan, then? Go out for chips on the boardwalk, get shot at by crazy autons, get Mickey eaten? Wax museum? What else is plastic? Creepy little dolls? There should totally be little Chucky-esque dolls running around causing terror. Let's chase a doll out into the street!

I just had a thought that maybe somehow they steal the TARDIS and replace it with a plastic replica. Or lots of plastic replicas. Because the Nestene Consciousness had a terrible sense of humor.

Don't forget the Doctor's still regenerating and prone to complications. Rose and Mickey (and Jackie?) could be on their own for a bit.
He hadn't expected an unarmed attack. Ralarulash had puffed his chest, ready to reply to the boy's articulate yet feeble request -- and to mock him for throwing away his only means of defense -- when his adversary suddenly leaped forward with the precision of a practiced swordsman, a hand outstretched for a feather.

Ralarulash whipped his wing up toward the sky, flapped with a swirl of dust, and leaped backward a few feet, his paws skidding; he had only just escaped the boy's greedy hands. He would have to keep a careful eye on him. He grinned sharply.

"A feather? Ha!" He lowered his head and resumed circling the boy. "A feather plucked from my living wing has a potent power -- but you knew that, didn't you, alchemist?" He snarled, and his claws flashed as he walked. He stretched his wings to show off their articulate undersides, the tawny down and plumes. "You've come here without a plan, without a hope of succeeding -- I would kill you before you could touch me." His throat rumbled in a thoughtful growl. "But I might give you what you want, if you will offer something in return. Like the villagers give me food in exchange for their lives, you will give me freedom in exchange for a feather."
Raquelle jumped at her mother's voice and she sat up, her hair askew, eyes big and searching for a mother-shaped shadow among the shades and folds of the tent, her heart pounding -- but after a few painful heartbeats it was clear that it was the little mirror in her handbag that was blaring angrily. She sucked in a breath, dove for her handbag, and tore out handkerchiefs and perfumes and dyes before she found the mirror. The princess cleared her throat, patted down her hair, rubbed her eyes, and put on a glowing smile before she turned the mirror -- and her mother's frowning face -- toward her.

"Hello, Mother," she greeted the queen in all respectability. "You're looking particularly gorgeous tonight." It wasn't at all untrue: a scowl had a way of defining the dangerous beauty of Narissa's face. Raquelle did her best to appear innocent and eager to carry out her mother's inevitable command.
The Marshal had known this command was coming -- the queen never tolerated surprises, and she never exercised trust. He clenched the mirror in his palm, set his jaw, and decided that he would only make this decision if and when he came to it. Killing Sam was out of the question -- but so was blatant disobedience to the queen.

He pocketed the mirror, laid his hand on his sword, and returned to his post, rigid and stoic. It crossed his mind to simply disregard the warning, but the raven and Raquelle were watching him steadily, judging his worth in the queen's absence. He closed his eyes and let out a breath; the moment -- the very moment Narissa learned that the Marshal had betrayed her was the moment the kingdom would fall into turmoil.

When he opened his eyes, he realized Sam had gone.

At first, he only walked slowly around the campfire, scanning the ground and the tents. He heard Raquelle's voice, speaking in that way she had only when she spoke to Narissa -- of course, Sam wasn't with her. Maybe she'd gone to relieve herself -- but as time passed and there was still no sign of movement, August's fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword.

Finally, he broke his post and checked the perimeter of the camp, circling wider, peering through the gloom between the trees, quelling a panic that threatened to swell in his throat. He walked faster, primed for a fight. He thought he caught a glimpse of something blue and sparkling -- just before a dwarf leaped in front of him with a blade thrust high to his chest.

"Not so fast, knave!" Alphonse struck a pose, his feathered hat quivering, while the dwarves surrounded the Marshal. "Our dear Sam has only just made her escape from your foul shackles, and you will not pursue her. Lay down your --!" The Marshal yanked his sword out of its sheath, and Alphonse raised his own blade just in time to prevent himself from being beheaded.

The Marshal shoved his foot into Alphonse's chest, sent the dwarf sprawling into the brush, and he spun around to clash swords with Florian and Coralie, who ambushed him like a whirlwind. In a few quick strokes the dwarves were left groaning in the leaves, and the Marshal sprinted through the pitch-dark forest, stumbling over stones and through mud and still water, following the direction where he'd seen that shimmer of blue light. Behind him, he could hear the dwarves giving chase.

There was another blue light -- and another. August tripped and skidded down an incline, hissing in pain, but he stumbled and broke into a run, throwing himself forward with hands against the dark trees.

He'd seen those lights before. A dozen men had disappeared that night.

He broke suddenly into a clearing and skidded to a stop, breathing harsh, his eyes wide and reflecting the blue orbs that floated before him. Gentle music and children's laughter filled his ears, but he chose to ignore it, closed his mind against it ferociously, savagely. Sam was there, and for a moment he was relieved -- until he saw where it was she was standing. His heart stopped.

"Sam!" he called harshly, snarling, and he reached a hand toward her, beckoning her without taking a step closer. Getting caught in this with her would do nothing to help her. "Sam get away from there! Sam! Snap out of it!"
"Uh --" Felix stood very still, his shirt and his lips still a bit askew, with deer's eyes staring at her. She'd kissed him, and it hadn't been long enough for him to even kiss her back! A pretty girl (with a tail!) had been kissing him, and he hadn't even had the reflexes to kiss her back. Damned missed opportunity. Now what did she think of him?

He cleared his throat and adjusted his hat. "Yes. Well. Uh." What the hell had he been saying? Why was he out here in the forest? Damn she had nice -- he shook his head. "Right. I mean, what I was saying was. That." He paused with his hand in the air, and he finally pointed back the way he'd come. "The circus is back that way, and you shouldn't be out this far in the woods. Y'know. Wolves and all." He straightened his spine and cleared his throat again. Because people who were sure of themselves always cleared their throats.

"I'm Felix, by the way. The Amazing Felix, Master of Time. I'm sort of famous, I know." He waited, with a small grin, for her to show a glimmer of recognition. Surely, at least the new girls should have heard of him. He liked to think he had a fan club, though he had yet to meet any of its members. "I don't think we've met -- I was saying, you must be one of the new girls, because I haven't seen you before, and I know everyone. But!" He turned around and offered her his arm. "I'd be happy to escort you back."
"Aye-aye, Captain." Dorian's eyes crinkled, and he rubbed Anat's muzzle warmly. "I think she's getting to like me, aren't you, sweetheart?" he added in Arabic. "We're going to be the best of friends, yeah? Of course I'll clean up after you." Because what were friends for if not scraping apples off the hospital room floor?

He flung himself to his feet and stretched, and he gave the doctor a kind smile. "Thank you, Doctor. I know Zahi is in the most capable hands this side of the galaxy." Dorian liked her quite a lot -- there were few people he felt compelled to talk to so freely, who didn't think he was insane -- and a few times he'd considered asking if she'd like to tour the Peregrine, to peek into a few other worlds, to see all those tantalizing and colorful places of his stories -- but, maybe selfishly, he liked to know she was here, safe, a reliable constant in a life of chaos. He knew she wouldn't abandon her patients and her practice for the promise of the universe -- but he continued to withhold that decision from her, for both their sakes.

He swung to his feet and gently drew Anat away from Zahi's bedside. "If you happen to be here when he wakes up," he told the doctor, "tell him:" and he spoke in slow Arabic, "Anat is safe and you are alive. Please trust us to help you. And then come get me because I really don't know how he'll react."

He waved with a laugh, and he walked with Anat down the hall, to where he knew the spare apartments were. It was a bit of a walk down wide white corridors, quiet out of respect for the sleeping and the pained. When he reached the reception desk he begged for a bucket of carrots and apples and crunchy things from the cafeterias to be brought to the room at the end of the hall, and he led his new friend to the door in question and into a big spartan room.

While Dorian was in the shower, the door opened again and a cafeteria worker peeked in with big curious eyes. She caught sight of Anat, blinked, smiled, and laid a pail of greens and vegetables on the floor before she crept out again into the hall. Dorian, meanwhile, sang an aria to the bathroom walls.

He emerged in a hospital-issue gray sweatsuit, rubbing a towel through his hair, and he patted Anat's neck and flopped back onto the bed with a news tablet he'd found on a table.

"You don't suppose he'll be terribly disappointed, do ya think?" he asked of Anat, and he made an uncertain face at her. "I mean, he came all this way to find a place to die -- and instead he finds a hospital. I'm not sure he believed me when I told him there was a healer. He's not going to be mad, is he?" He could only imagine the dying heroic prince, having completed the task set to him, ready to die a hero's death in peace -- only to be saved and forced to consider what to do with the rest of his long life. Dorian shook his head and scanned the tablet for pictures, but really he was thinking of Agatha.
Woot! Excellence all around. :D

I have a few preliminary ideas, but I'll refrain from posting so you're not distracted. *evil cackle* Good luck!
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