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June 1st, 2006

09:19 pm "Get in the bloody bed, you great idiot, and stop being ridiculous." It had been a long day and an even longer night and a ridiculously long day after that which had brought them to this rickety tavern on the edge of the terrority they'd been assigned to. And while the banshee infestation had been well and thoroughly dealt with, the ever-constant rain which had soaked them both through had made certain to plague them even worse than any spirit might. The inn, when they'd gotten there late for the night, had had only one room... and in that one room, only one bed. Carl was already in his shift and settled into the thread-bare covers and glaring at Van Helsing, mostly because he was well aware how worn the other man was from his work and the journey.

(87 explosions | Play with unstable chemicals)

January 8th, 2006

08:53 pm - Vacation, all I ever wanted... The horses? Well, there's been a few of them milling around in the areas since they came back from the quest. They are now, however, loaded up with a number of bags and food. Stephen sits on one and keeps peering at the door to the bar.

(95 explosions | Play with unstable chemicals)

December 4th, 2005

04:38 pm - otherways: Ouch "Ouch." He shifts ever so slightly and his eyes open.

(29 explosions | Play with unstable chemicals)

September 14th, 2005

08:27 pm - otherways: Upstairs "I love you..." It's said small, scared. Because he feels like an idiot, something he hates to feel like. He feels like an idiot because he pulled an absolute FIT and he doesn't even know the reason behind it now. And now Michael is asleep, but he can see the worry in his face, see the tear-tracks down his cheeks, and he feels like an absolute asshole. "I'm sorry and I love you..."

(17 explosions | Play with unstable chemicals)

September 1st, 2005

05:00 pm - otherways: OMFG "Oh my fucking God." That wasn't quite right. He supposed that if his God was fucking, he might be less of a bastard to people like Stephen and Michael and all sorts of other people. Perhaps, he often thought, if God got some booty, the world might be a happier place. It, unfortunately, was not. How he discovered that it wasn't is a long and arduous tale that involved a number of colorful characters, exotic venues, fierce beasts, evil monsters, and not a few fair damsels/damnhotmales. Today, however, the reason why Stephen was sure that God wasn't actually getting any was in the decrepit old remains of a book that had once belonged to a monk from the third century who had subverted his propensity for gossip by writing a journal. And what a journal it was. It held all of the secrets of the Church from top to bottom, all that the monk knew (and he knew quite a few). And its greatest secret. In fact, the greatest secret of its greatest secret. "Oh my fucking God..." He was running. Now, he was running, grasping the remains of the journal in one hand and pumping his other arm with all his might. He had to get home. No. No, that wasn't right. He had to get Home. He had to get to Milliways. He had to get to Michael...and he had to do it NOW.

(Play with unstable chemicals)

August 18th, 2005

08:04 pm - otherways: ...research "Oh god." Mark smacked him in the shoulder and Stephen smacked him back with a growl. Mark, for his part, gave the standard 'touchy touchy are we?' hand movement and Stephen nodded. It was a normal Thursday, except that it wasn't. "What's got your panties in a bunch, Steve?" Stephen, for his part, gave Mark a Look. "Well, how about the fact that I haven't gotten any for days, I've been sitting in this goddamn wooden chair for practically a day and a half, and you just smacked me. I realize that your brains have long rotted to mush in that little corner of the library you like to refer to as your lair, but I should hope you'd know well enough that I'm irritable when working on something." "What are you working on anyway?" He snarled again before slamming the book closed. Since he was holding it on the one page with his hand, he yelped before opening the book again and glaring at Mark. "You make dramatic gestures so difficult, you know. Almost as bad as Michael." Mark snorted and shook his head at Stephen's display. "S'not my fault you're a big queen, Steve. Now again, before my brains really do turn to mush...what's the deal? I've never seen you this insane about something. And explain about this Michael we've never met, will you?" He sighed and closed the book again before giving Mark one hell of an eyeroll. "I'm working on some historical research, which is why I'm tolerating your very presence at this desk, and Michael is the most attractive man you've ever met and then some and he's mine and I'll not say anything else because you're a big busybody and I'm not feeding that beast, thank you very much." Mark laughed and shook his head, because he should be used to this. But... "How hot?" "Remember that man who was playing Peter Allen when we went--" "...really?" He nodded. "Dude, I hate you." "Well, 'dude'...tough shit. Mine. Now, are you going to help me with this bit of latin or were you going to sit around rubbing at yourself imagineing my boyfriend?" Mark scrunched up his nose and now gave Stephen a Look. Stephen snorted and relented. "I was kidding, you great nincompoop. Now help me with this, will you? I think it might actually be something important. I've transliterated the hebrew already, so it's just the language that I'm having difficulty." Mark nodded and leaned over and started to help...

(Play with unstable chemicals)

April 23rd, 2005

09:56 pm - otherways: Talking "Michael...we have to talk."

(64 explosions | Play with unstable chemicals)

April 8th, 2005

12:06 am - otherways: In Michael's Room ( It's Michael's Room... )

(148 explosions | Play with unstable chemicals)

March 28th, 2005

04:11 pm - otherways: Up in Stephen's Room He's been dozing mildly all night, falling asleep but not, always still a little awake because the chair is damn uncomfortable. Every once in a while, when he's awake, he's checked on Charlie: made sure he was breathing, made sure his heart was beating...but the little man seems to doing a good impression of the dead for all that he's not, sleeping soundly through the checks. Finally, he grumbles and stands, stretches to get rid of the kinks in his back from the chair, and slips into the bed. If he was going to throw up, he would have done it by now...I hope.

(54 explosions | Play with unstable chemicals)