[center][right][sub][color=#d0dcf6]fae's bar and diner jess, pls [@MiddleEarthRoze][/color][/sub][/right] [hr] [img]http://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjgwLjkwYWRlOS5VSEpwYm1ObElGQm9hV3hzYVhBLC4w/wes.regular.png[/img] [hr] [img]http://66.media.tumblr.com/3d356e32bc0e6af73862727e3b8acc4e/tumblr_nvixq3KKx71ud5j91o1_250.gif[/img] [img]http://66.media.tumblr.com/a75ffddc1ad9204533af314c67b0c01a/tumblr_nvixq3KKx71ud5j91o3_250.gif[/img] [img]http://66.media.tumblr.com/3764b4f56cc01be50e576e89a2643c37/tumblr_nvixq3KKx71ud5j91o2_250.gif[/img] [i][sup][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2uneYz201p0][color=90ade9][b]Suddenly[/b][/color][/url][color=#d0dcf6] I'm not half the man I used to be. There's a shadow hanging over me. Oh, yesterday came suddenly.[/color][/sup] [/i] [hr][hr][/center] The implications behind his association with Jessamine would certainly imply Phillip's lack of concern over his past dealings with [i]the fae[/i]. Like any course of life, Jess proved an exception to his rule. Though the tone of voice she often used when directly conversing with him denoted pity, Phillip disregarded it for her usefulness. That and her general kindness; it was rude to disrespect someone had the wherewithal not to take any shit, if she saw fit. "[color=#d0dcf6]I'm a man of routine,[/color]" Phillip lied, waving a dismissive hand, "[color=#d0dcf6]I take comfort in what I know. Yeah, the usual.[/color]" He mulled over the last bit, let it chew in his head. Would this simply be another false alarm? Something that tripped up the paranoid goers in their little refuge. Maybe Lucy, the only lucid one, had succumbed to the fear that gnawed at their minds. But, Phillip pondered, the chill that sunk its claws into his bones and dragged along his spine certainly felt real. The atmosphere changed substantially throughout the small part of town he crawled through. A fog not only hung over himself and the others around him, but also clung to the grimy streets of Mystvale. Phillip grumbled, pushing himself forward and applying pressure on his arms. "[color=#d0dcf6]I don't know what to make of it,[/color]" he said, finally, avoiding Jess' gaze, "[color=#d0dcf6]With no power, I likely am unable to attend work - if I had the intention of doing so, anyways. It wouldn't hurt to find time for the meeting; we'll see how it goes. I'm still not convinced.[/color]" After a moment, he looked toward the window he'd seated himself by. "[color=#d0dcf6]With surety, at least: Dorothy's dead and gone.[/color]" [hr][hr][center][right][sub][color=fceec0]4:00 P.M. on the dot. To the library For those who time forgot @Everyone, basically, but in particular Lucy Pevensie, [@McHaggis][/color][/sub][/right] [hr] [img]http://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjY2LmZjZWVjMC5VR1YwWlhJZ1VHVjJaVzV6YVdVLC4w/mayflower-antique.regular.png[/img] [hr] [img]http://66.media.tumblr.com/682c27a656c4f00192c3daf26d2bfad6/tumblr_o8a3j5SSlu1vqbvcbo1_540.gif[/img] [i][sup][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cI0wUoCLnLk][color=#f9da77][b]Honey[/b][/color][/url][color=#fceec0] you're familiar like my mirror years ago Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door[/color][/sup] [/i] [hr][hr][/center] [i][sup][color=#f9da77]prior last evening... [/color][/sup][/i] Nights consisted of scribbling notes under moonlight; a simple collection of words in a journal as he stared at the moon and the stars surrounding. It ached him as it did coming forth, back into this world they'd fled from, not to see the sky that Narnia painted for him. Broad strokes and whisks of light that dotting the oily backdrop of a celestial nether they'd no idea of. Here, they had a semblance of what it entailed: a vast nothingness, in which their insignificance somehow stumbled upon the luck of life. It gnawed at Peter, drove wedges into the joints of his bones and forced him to lie on the grass in a petulance reserved for children. Still, this night, he sit cross legged upon a hill overlooking their sleepy town. A sleepy town, by any name - just a nowhere that people hardly saw on a dotted map, filled with pines and old, splintering buildings with enough light to scorn the stars hanging above him. His hands found page again, scrawling words that he pieced together into stanzas and stanzas that he bled the white pages with. It never intrigued him to journal, nor write any form of words in an English unlike the dull tedium of boarding school essays. Not like Lucy did, in her fancy penmanship and proper English. Yet, pen still found paper and words flowed together, neither proofread and altogether haphazard. Much like the pieces of his heart that he bled out in blackish ink. Like the stars he so missed, Peter dove off into the already dew soaked grass, letting the quiet musings of grasshoppers lull him to sleep. [hr] [sup][i]the stars carried a heavy weight - their burden cannot be unshared and the weight of worlds rest on a simple set of shoulders. they fall from their perch in drops of silvery twine. cast down, unraveling a universe string by string. they settle in globs of black snow that layer the grass in soot and tar. peter's heart thuds against his rib cage - rhythm carrying timber in the blackening curtain befalling his home. what he worked for coming to shambles in mottled shadows that dance and race against the covered pines. his crown breaks and his throne cracks and those barely lucid cast their blame Peter Pevensie - long live the magnificent buzzing trills in his ears[/i][/sup] [hr] [i][sup][color=#f9da77]around 5:00 AM that morning... [/color][/sup][/i] Electric shoved through Peter's veins, vibrating his skin and crawling through his bones. "[color=#fceec0]Shit,[/color]" his hissed, jolting up from the grass, wet and soaked through. His phone continued its long trill of constant beeps, vibrating a beat into his leg. Claws ran through his chest with every breath he sucked in, heavy breathing dissolving into fits of coughing. The phone went silent for a moment, then another, until Peter was certain it'd stopped completely. A frown creased his lips, stringing down the lines of his jowls, his eyes squinting through the crust and the light of a dawning, curtained sun. Another deep breath burned his lungs before Peter finally shoved himself up. The phone found its way into his hands, along with the pen and journal. A few pats and he'd found the keys to the beat down vehicle he called a truck. The frown never left and his eyes eventually found themselves along the fog clouding Mystvale, a shroud not even mottled with the dim glow of morning lights. His brows furrowed as he made his way to his car. The thud of his car door felt eerily final - accepting his fate. Peter dug the heel of his palm into his eye, listening to the morning bumble and buzz around him. The soft pattering of rain caught him, and a sudden realization that he'd slept through it. A sigh left his lips, and his eyes trailed the wetness of his clothes beading onto the leather seats. He'd worry later, not necessarily worried at the moment with sleep still clouding his vision. With the backdrop of pattering rain, Peter pressed the phone to his ear, cursing the first few, ruined pages of his journal as the messaged chimed. He didn't want this. He didn't want this. "[color=#fceec0]I don't want this,[/color]" he whispered. Lucy knew just what a damnable deadbeat he'd become; it made no sense that she begged he attend for the sake of Mystvale's future. And that word she'd used. The one that hissed in his ears. Contemptible. [i]Cataclysm[/i]. The truck's engine roared to life, peeling out of the gravel pavement and onto black asphalt. [hr] [i][sup][color=#f9da77]approaching 4:00 PM... [/color][/sup][/i] Wiling the day away had been the hardest to do; nearly twelve hours of absolutely nothing to pass the time. Peter doodled in the margins of his notebook, sitting pressed against the wall in the library. He'd taken ten or so cat naps prior to driving here, around noon then, and took a number more in his fortress in the corner. Scheherazade didn't seem to mind, last he checked. Of course, all of that would pile up the assumptions Peter made on a daily basis, but he could care less. Lucy needed him here and to get him to arrive on time, four hours early seemed appropriate. At least, appropriate to the ever gnawing need to get up and go - the simple waiting didn't do any good and the anticipation rose with every moment spent idle. Peter didn't need the action, but the inevitability had its way of driving needles into his back until he finally went. After another moment of scribbling, Peter tossed his journal to the wayside and stepped into the foray of the library's lobby. He had yet to spot Scheherazade since his entrance hours earlier, bringing a crease to his lips and brows. Peter had no notion to complain, and simply shoved what chairs, tables, and whatever else lay in his path to the side, leaving the space near the library's main desk free of clutter - she could scold him later. He adjusted everything to fit correctly, chairs and tables facing the middle, where Lucy would likely sit, Merlin and Lancelot sturdy presences beside her. Maybe she'd drag him in the mix. Peter scowled at the idea. Now he simply wait the allotted measure for everyone to pile in. He'd likely get the high energy, paranoid, schizophrenic citizens first (he used schizophrenic only mildly lightly; he wasn't a doctor, so he could prescribe, but he was fairly certain a few denizens fit the bill) and then the lethargic, slightly skeptical individuals afterwards. Peter merely sighed and pushed himself onto the desk, balking at having left his journal and pen, then making due with the yellow notepad and (dollar store) pen beside him as he jotted down notes, drew doodles, and simply awaited Lucy.