Status

Recent Statuses

4 days ago
Current What devil made me buy Just Dance 2018?!? Mah knees are screaming T_T LOL
2 likes
9 days ago
I would have preferred to have my characters die in an RP rather then never get used in an RP that doesn't even start or dies soon after. That way they'll at least be in PC heaven/hell, not in limbo.
9 likes
18 days ago
Disheartened.
1 mo ago
Fighting a bit of a head cold. I'm not sure what that will do to my posting efficiency. I'll try though.
2 likes
2 mos ago
Sorry, people. Had a birthday this Saturday and had time for little else. I'll see about posts today or tomorrow.
2 likes

Bio

Most Recent Posts

I believe we have two or three youngins
I'm down as well That way I can at least use that discord app I installed on my phone for god knows whatever reason
@Penny Jesus, I'm sorry. I empathize. My mother passed away a couple of years back from cancer. It's an ugly struggle.
It's not just English. Homographs exist probably in every language. Tough I cannot be certain of that. We do have them in Bulgarian for sure.
Blaine Moore


Location; 6 Cedarcrest Rd, Blaine's residence
Interacting With; No one

Blaine was deep in the zone. That zone that, to her mind, every artist entered when creating. She was in her workshop, sporting her most comfortable clothes as not to distract her from the work process. Her tank top allowed for freer movements but did not offer much protection against the slight breeze that blew in from the open windows of the workshop and caressed her sweat dampened skin. Had she been anything else but what she was, she'd probably had to contend with at leas a head cold the following day. Fortunately for her, her Were physiology ran hotter than the average human and she rarely felt cold.

The carving was calling to her. She'd found the perfect piece of driftwood some time ago and never knew why it had begged her to take it home with her. Until now! She'd woken up this morning with an image of a face in her mind and that half-forgotten piece of log had called out to her. She hadn't even bothered with breakfast or her morning cup of mate tea. She'd gone to the workshop straight from the shower and now, a couple hours later was still carving away in a sort of a trance. Her mind intent on the face that beckoned to be etched on the wood. But different errant thoughts were interspersed within her artistic impetus. Flashes of the fight with the frenzied Weres some days ago. The mysterious hunter that had intervened. The parting gift she'd left Blaine with as she'd unloaded her hail of silver indiscriminately upon the fighting wolves.

The scar was still new and tender. It had taken her a couple of full shifts to completely heal the silver bullet inflicted wound. Thank god it had gone through and through missing any vital organs, otherwise it could have been potentially fatal. As it were, she now sported a set of fresh scars on the right side of her stomach and back. That Hunter though. At the time she was too preoccupied with the battle at hand. She was outnumbered and the other Weres were strong in their frenzy. It was all she could do to just fend them off. If that Hunter hadn't arrived when she did, Blaine might have not succeeded in besting them. Not that she really did. One had died, a combination of the wounds she'd inflicted and a silver bullet from the Hunter. Or rather Huntress. The others had fled when silver had started raining down on them. As Blaine herself had done. Hence, she never really had the time or opportunity to see the hunter well. Only so much as to know that it had been a woman.

Blaine's right hand holding the chisel hung suspended in mid-air, a couple of inches away from the sculpture of what began to slowly take on the features of a woman. The artist, it looked, was still in a trans of sorts, but this one different from the one that had spurred her creative impetus up until a few moments ago. She was lost in thought. Or in remembrance. The odd feeling she'd had the day of the attack. Meeting Genevieve. The tingle she'd felt upon making her acquaintance. The almost hope for... something. But what, she didn't know. Or dared not hope.

It had taken a lot of Blaine to move on from loosing her mate, Clea. And she wasn't really sure she was ready for something new. Not that Genevieve had given any signals to that affect. In fact, she hadn't pinged for Blaine in any sort of significant way. But still, she supposed, the heart wanted what it desired. To connect. Especially for Werewolves. With their pack mentality and the need for strong familial bonds, a mate was almost a biological imperative. A need stronger than anything and everything. It was a need she hadn't felt for the brief time she'd had with Clea.

Blaine shook herself free of the trance. She lowered her hand slowly, positioning the chisel on the nearby table holding a number of similar, and yet different, implements. The carver looked at the face in front of her that was beginning to take shape. To anyone else it would appear generic. With too many features missing to determine any sort of resemblance. But to her trained artist's eye the face she was gazing at was as clear as it was the day she'd first laid eyes upon it. She felt a strong pull as her heart rate sped up and her breathing fought to catch up. She closed her eyes and tried to calm down, to control her breathing and her erratic heart.

After a minute or so she managed to get herself under control. She focused on the presences of her wolves within Salem. Their essences were strewn across the town here and there, but few felt concentrated around Washington Square. Founder's Day, she remembered. Of course. People were drawn to festivities. Well, people unlike her that tended to prefer solitude or the company of close friends. Of which she had precious few in Salem. Genevieve's face swam into her mind's eye. Blaine's lips stretched into a tentative smile. They weren't friends per se. Not yet anyway. Still it was Genevieve that had sought contact first after their meeting. True, it was a work commission of sorts. But still, it had planted a kernel of hope within Blaine's heart.

The Alpha withdrew from the memories about her enigmatic new acquaintance and tried to refocus her mind's eye on her Weres. She sensed William's essence. The young man had visited her not once or twice, looking for some sort of comfort maybe, or a connection that he'd lost upon the death of his parents. And while Blaine could never dream of replacing them in his heart, she did try to offer whatever support she could as well as any advice he chose to accept for himself.

She could also feel the presence of Devin and Katalina at the same location.

Something felt odd, though. Her wolves felt unsettled. As if they felt at odds with their surroundings. They weren't alarmed as of yet, but their hackles seemed raised.

Blaine looked at the face in the wood one last time. Almost forlornly she raised a hand and traced the yet unfinished lips with her fingertips. And then she traced her own lips with the same care and emotion. She then stood up from her work stool, covered the unfinished carving reverently with a piece of cloth and leaving her workshop, headed for the house to shower, dress and go see what had upset three members of her pack.
Tension was still high within the group and not thanks to the car chase from hell. At least Morgan wasn't on Eleonor's throat anymore. She'd reluctantly let her go and now all of them were heading inside with Leon and Manny carrying their client between the two of them. Malone trudged along, her shoulder pounding and Ku droning in her head his usual spiel about blood compensation and how he was a war god and how dare she call him Rihanna. She was ignoring him, mostly. In her current condition his constant griping was beginning to get on her nerves. Well, since Leon had requested him back she would be most elated to comply once they were inside the house and she had her but firmly planted on a piece of furniture. Manny had provided some basic first aid on her shoulder. He'd cleaned the wound as best he could with the materials Kennedy had brought to him and left her with a pat on her good shoulder to help Leon with Madeline. Malone muttered a raspy 'thanks' to the man, glad to know he really did come through for his teammates when it mattered.

As the group entered the house and spread out to explore rooms and take care of the injured, which would be Malone herself and their client Madeline, Morgan started explaining about the house and how she knew to stash the team there. Listening to her the ex-FBI completely forgot to remove Ku and even to sit. This somehow felt more important than her waning strength and diminishing stamina. Was the secretive Morgan Blackwood finally going to reveal something about herself to the group. And why did it feel like she was almost fearful to do so? Like whatever she shared with the team about herself would lead the others to turn away from her somehow.

Malone tried to peace together what little she knew about Morgan and fit in any new info she might have pilled up, but it was increasingly more difficult to do so with her disappearing strength and Ku's constant droning in her head. Morgan was talking about the history of this place and what Kennedy had discovered on one of the upper floors upon her first cursory search of the house. Apparently this used to be the headquarters for the Lachallan Society. Wait? That cult Morgan spoke of during our first meet with Madeline. But how could she have been involved on behalf of the Bureau back then?!? Didn't she say that that case spanned the late thirties and the early forties of the past century? Malone's brain stalled. But how could that be possible? That would mean that Morgan is... That she isn't... That...

The profiler looked over to the person in question. Morgan had an air of resignation of sorts about her. Almost as if she were thinking: There, I've said it! Do with it as you must! But what could they do? It's not like she'd told them anything specific. Her words only alluded to something... something potentially big. The proverbial big reveal. But it was as if she was letting the members of the team make whatever they may of the information bomb she'd just dropped. And right when they were in the middle of a shit storm. Ambushed at the airport, indicating the moves of the Group were closely watched and followed. Or those of their client, Madeline. Chased down by thugs and then an unknown disgusting demon thing that had even managed to tag her with some nasty-ass dagger of shorts. As if on cue, her shoulder throbbed with a dull ache, followed by a slight pull and an answering mutter by Ku. "Oh, no you don't. Not while this war god is on the job!" The pull dissipated and Malone regained her lost focus.

This was so not the time for big reveals. God damn it, Morgan. Could you not have waited until we were done with this shit bag of a case? Malone grumbled internally and Ku chuckled in her head at the gripe. For some reason the ex-FBI did not feel threatened by Morgan's little share moment though. Sure, the conclusions that had to be drawn from the information presented proved that Miss Blackwood was not entirely human, if Malone's math was correct. And she would be the first to admit that it often wasn't. But not in this case. Out of nowhere she flashed back on her first encounter with evil. Her first face to face with the supernatural world. The day she became convinced that pure, unadulterated evil really did exist. She'd stared it in the eyes. She had come to know it. Understand it. Delved into it's twisted physique. To the point where she could recognize it. She felt none of that when she looked at Morgan. A mysterious person, without doubt. Someone who keeps to herself and others at arms length. Sure enough. But nothing twisted. Just a ton of restraint and guarded privacy. No evil!

Armed with those thoughts and conclusions Malone approached Morgan. If the woman feared what she'd just revealed might pit the Group against her, Malone needed to demonstrate she, at least, still trusted Morgan. And she did. It was largely instinct, but padded with a fair amount of deductive conclusions based off of tangible information and facts.

She drew closer to Morgan pulling Ku off her face with the words: "You can have Rihanna back, Leon. Too high maintenance for my taste." Then she turned towards her intended target. "Morgan..." She started, but as soon as the glasses left her face, her body lost all cohesion and she dropped ungracefully on the nearby armchair unresponsive.

Universes swirled all around her, in her, part of her, until she was the universes. All of them and none of them. They existed, but they didn't. She was the universe and she wasn't. Lights, sounds, darkness, silence. Everything and nothing swished and sloshed. Ebbed and withdrew. Pulsed. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. The incessant, rhythmic thrumming of the pulse. Her pulse. The universes pulse. It's pulse. It throbbed. There and everywhere. But there first. There foremost. Always there. Now always there. Now and forevermore. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum! It was a language. Or a code. Or a language-code. She understood. It spoke. To her. Her alone. It was her language. And its. Hers and its alone. She listened. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum! It spoke.

Suddenly she found herself in a stuffy closet of a room. She was a man, skinny, almost emaciated. But she felt no hunger. Only fear and elation. She-he was entrusted with a task. They were to spy on them. The sister had to be acquired. But she'd brought others with her. And not just some random helpers. These were powerful defenders. He could sense it. A which with a power beyond measure. And there were others who held power as well. He dared not delve too deep to find out lest they sensed him. He needed to inform the Master. The Master should know of this.

Malone was pulled out of this universe and thrust into another. Distorted. Vile. Gruesome. Disturbing. Familiar. Sought after. Welcoming. Beckoning. Alluring. Inviting. She melted into its fabric. Purple. Pulsing. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum! Yes! Her language. And its. Hers and its.

"You were not to touch them!" A chilling disembodied voice cut through her mind, their mind, like a hot knife through butter. They shattered with fear. "You alerted them to our involvement."

"No, Master!" They protested weakly. "We only meant to follow..."

"WE!" The voice interrupted. "You merged with one of them?!?"

"We... I... tried, Master... Failed... Was expelled!"

"Yet you return to our sanctum with this bleed through! INCOMPETENT INSECT!!!" The voice terrorized.

Before Malone was deconstructed from the vile universe she glimpsed a face. But not a face. It could not have been a face. It was no face she'd ever seen!

"Cthulhu fhtagn!" Malone shouted, suddenly blinking awake, springing on her feet to stare at a mixture of concerned and shocked expressions. She opened her mouth to speak and darkness enshrouded her as she lost consciousness for the second time this day.
@POOHEAD189 She is Especially in her new Christmas sweater. Gotta cover up those Grandma joints
@POOHEAD189 She's a standard schnauzer.
@POOHEAD189 Man, I love that movie. Val Kilmer as Doc Holliday

I'm gonna write up a post now, seeing as I got home early from work to take care of my elderly dog. I guess old age is a bitch no matter what species you are :/
@jasonwolf I actually meant the knife wound, yes. I was thinking that once Malone takes off Ku all sorts of weird shit's gonna start happening in her head.
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