Mai-Ly (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
formidable) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sweethymns2016-05-22 06:35 pm
formidable) wrote in sweethymns2016-05-22 06:35 pmEntry tags:
Pictures in the Dark
 aurajen and formidable. Lots of OC shenanigans.➢ Cool Mood Music No. 1 ➤ Cool Mood Music No. 2 |
formidable) wrote in sweethymns2016-05-22 06:35 pm
| aurajen and formidable. Lots of OC shenanigans. ➢ Cool Mood Music No. 1 ➤ Cool Mood Music No. 2 |
Michael + Iona; workin' and drankin'
Granted, he hasn't become a master of any of it overnight, but tonight is an improvement. For a shy young man, he still gives the impression of being an easygoing, polite employee. He can't outshine Iona in the personality department, but he's at least hopeful he's making a decent first impression.
When there's a lull later in the night, he manages to catch Iona behind the counter.]
You weren't kidding when you said it was going to be a busy weekend. I think I need to buy more comfortable shoes.
you don't have to go work, work, work
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Jake + Monts; looking for the Grind
Morgan said he found a door here. A door that led to some sort of... inter-dimensional cafe, or something, where people with powers went for some food at R&R. If that was the case, he needed to visit as soon as possible -- and for different reasons than his half-brother.
But he can't find the damn thing. He'd almost think that maybe Morgan was pulling the wool over his eyes, if such a thing were his style. However, a hub full of interesting people was the last thing he would have lied about, he thinks.]
"Magical door", my ass. [He mutters, staring at an empty space in-between shops, as if trying to will it to appear.]
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Ryan + ????; FOOD!!!!
Food trucks.
It must have been some kind of special day that he wasn't aware of, but the whole square downtown in brimming with them. And the smells, oh, the smells. There's too much. He doesn't know where to start. Hamburgers? Creole? Asian? Specialty drinks?
He stands in the middle of the square, looking around, pulled in one direction to another by the smells, but having trouble deciding on one.]
I don't have enough hands for the amount of food I want to shovel into my mouth right now.
[...He says, to no one in particular. The area around him is buzzing with people, so he's sure no one probably heard him either.]
((ooc; super duper basic info in his journal, I wrote it all furiously before lunch))
the most exciting man in the history of history is here
what a pair they'll make
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more ghosts and spooky things
And inside the apartment at the kitchen counter, various ingredients and large empty wine bottles and some beer bottles are littered across the surface. Iona Jacqueline Oakes looks into an ancient spellbook, wrinkling her nose.]
Man, this book's really picky with measurements. Can ghosts really tell the difference?
[It's gonna be one of those weird nights again.]
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мємєηтσ мσяι
Oren, bless his golem heart, is fairly unaffected by the last misadventure with his master and her friend. He's had worse to say the least. One would never be able to tell that he had suffered a usually fatal fall from a tall building, but here he is, up and running, with a black apron, pulled back hair, and fine features as ever.
He hands a tray with a plate of pasta to Michael Camden, the Grind's still relatively new weekend employee.]
Table in front. Girl with pink headphones. Studying French.
[There's a fork, small additional bottles of tabasco and parmesan too. They're so accommodating here!]
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ⒻⒺⓇⓇⒾⓈ ⓌⒽⒺⒺⓁ
It's later in the evening, the sky morphing into twilight, and Michael finds himself in the middle of a carnival, no ghosts in sight. At first, he's a bit flabbergasted why his presence would be requested, before he remembers that maybe it's just like when Iona invited him to go drinking with her friends; just for a bit of fun, then, he assumes. He's grateful, because though carnivals were never really his thing, the atmosphere of this one is less "screaming children everywhere" and more novel, more quaint, oddly mystical in a way that wasn't paranormal.
He's standing next to Iona at the moment, but he's craning his neck to look at a gigantic ferris wheel a little ways from where he is. It seems to hang over the carnival, colorful lights flickering in and out in a patterned rhythm. For some reason, he's reminded of the Donovan song of the same name, though he's no reason to attach that kind of sentiment to a ride. Michael's hands are shoved in his pockets, and he looks over at Iona.]
So, what do you want to do next?
[He's just along for the ride, no pun intended. He's letting her lead the way; he's content to just follow along to her whims.]
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PSL THREADS C-C-C-C-COMBO BREAKER
Well, consider his record broken. He had woken up on the ground, quite literally, his face pressed against what appeared to be the walls of a tall hedge maze. When he had stood up, quickly glancing around with the instinct of a warrior thrown into danger, he hadn't spotted a clue as to why he was here. Looking up at the sky dotted with stars, it was obvious it was night. Beyond that, the actual maze walls were too thick and oddly painful to walk through, despite his armor. Even if he attempted to hack through them with his greatsword (which was conveniently laying next to him when he awoke), he made no progress.
What was this, then? A trick? An awful dream? He frowned, making his way in a random direction.]
Is there anyone there? [He calls out, not knowing of any better option. If he were surrounded by enemies, they certainly already knew he was there. If not, then he would like to speak with someone to know exactly what's going on.]
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Cake and Rocks
The clock strikes around noon and it's one of those rare days where Oren is by himself to man the cafe. The Midnight Grind isn't usually open during these hours due to Iona taking classes in college, but the golem is more than capable enough of taking care of business himself. Most of the popular foods are made ahead of time and drinks, he makes with skillful speed.
Currently, he's taking his time to decorate a rather flowery cheesecake at the front counter for guests to feast with their eyes (and then with their wallets, for about 3 bucks a slice).
Just a normal day at the Grind.]
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fighting off a cold; approx. a week after the ferris wheel thread?
However, there's always a hiccup, isn't there? It's his last shift at the Grind for this weekend, and he's not quite sure if he can make it. He sends Iona a text, explaining why.]
Iona, I'm feeling under the weather. I don't think I'm going to make it in today, sorry. :( Think you'll be okay with one employee down?
["Under the weather" meaning that he's caught something of a nasty cold.]
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Ryan @ the Grind; making certain discoveries
He hasn't made his decision yet, and he tells himself that because he hasn't decided, his pride hasn't yet been hurt, and he can totally visit during a weekday. Maybe doing so will give him a better idea of whether or not he wants to make that confrontation a reality.
Besides, other than Michael, the rest of the staff had been nothing but friendly faces so far. Even Oren, as drywall as he tended to be, gave the impression of being a relatively nice guy. (And he made a mean coffee.)
So it's Tuesday afternoon when the door to the Grind opens yet again, and in steps Ryan, dressed appropriately for the summer heat. (A loose short sleeve tee and khaki shorts; the summer vibe is accented with sporty sunglasses that get their fair share of use.) He closes the door behind him, and looks around to see who's working, but he can't help but announce his presence in general.]
Man, just being here makes me hungry. [Naturally, it's food related.]
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αℓℓ тнαт gℓιттєяѕ
[Is what Iona muses to herself, but also her new boyfriend as she leads them through a strangely large art museum. Not just strange because of the art, but rather, everything's dusty, cracked, statues with missing limbs and empty picture frames, and some paintings are hanging off the wall.
The witch sneezes before wrinkling her nose and tapping her foot on the ground.]
But then again, we can make do with a creepy abandoned art museum, don't you think? At least after we find that urn my grandma asked for.
[Iona doesn't seem disheartened by the fact that she's being sent on an errand by her grandmother to retrieve a mysterious urn. The details were muddled, but apparently it was best that it was found and be given to capable hands.]
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uuuum dw y u eat my notif
gently shakes dw
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яαιηу ∂αу, gσ αωαу
And there's a person who's usually not short of a sunny disposition whose current mood actually matches the rain. There's three knocks at Michael Camden's apartment door, light, but noticeable enough. Iona stands outside taking a small step back while waiting for the door to open. Her hair is down and she has her backpack slung over one shoulder. Instead of looking happy, her face is downcast and she looks at her toes instead of looking up.
Oren isn't with her.]
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ʜᴏᴛ ᴛᴏᴡɴ, sᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄɪᴛʏ
It’s not the homely sort, either — the local community pool splashing about with families and the little kiddie pool a few feet away, with a lifeguard screaming “NO RUNNING” every ten minutes from his perch. This was the rooftop pool of a penthouse apartment, glittering with modernity and young twenty-somethings flirting with each other, complete with a swim-up bar to accentuate the overindulgences. Music blasts through one of the speakers installed on one of the penthouse walls, reverberating through the air as a prerequisite for everyone to enjoy the party, for everyone to be brimming with the energy of a mindless, summer haze.
Well, almost everyone.
Malus (known to all as Miles Bennett) wasn’t quite sure why he was here, other than he was invited by a friend of a friend of a co-worker, who was invited by some guy he used to go to college with, and in the end, Malus had no choice in the matter. He was dragged into this party by aforementioned acquaintance/sorta-kinda-friend, and as soon as they arrived, he was left to his own devices as his companion decided to ditch him in favor of flirting with an abundance of girls.
Malus wasn’t the mingling sort, and though he was dressed appropriately for a dip in the pool, he would rather have to avoid swimming if at all possible; thus, the only proper place for a man at a pool party who doesn’t wish to swim would naturally be to recline in one of the chaise lounges. It seemed like a moot point (he was utterly pale, not sickly so, but sported a fair complexion that looked like it would burn easily), and relaxation would be difficult to achieve, given all the noise.
Still, he had managed for the past fifteen minutes to soak up the rays the best he could — that is, until, someone had decided to stand in his sun, blocking the heat. He frowns, eyes still closed, waiting to see if said person will move, if the shadow behind his eyes would slide away and the heat meet his skin once more. When this doesn’t happen, he finally speaks.]
Could you move? [His tone is bland, sounds uncaring, and is tinged with a British accent. He pauses, remembering something, but the length in-between his question and his addendum to it is long enough to be questionable.] Please.
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future distractions.
Boring. How about your daily dosage of Siberian tiger?
Because that's what the cafe is going to experience today: one Ryan Orozco, in full tiger form. He's larger than a normal Siberian tiger (nearly four and a half feet tall!), and even more intimidating, with coiled muscles and vibrantly striped fur. Not to mention the size of his paws, which are nearly as big as a man's face.
Why is tiger!Ryan bursting into the cafe with a huge clatter, the door swinging wide open (Michael's doing; tigers have trouble opening doors), and him launching himself with his hindquarters into the cafe, roaring loudly, is anyone's guess. He's saying something, actually, but unless you understand tiger-speak, the customers likely are just hearing an excited tiger making a huge ruckus.]
(Distraction! Distraction! I'm definitely a distraction! Look at the tiger, he's big and scary, isn't he?)
[It's all roars and chuffs and growls, and Ryan leaps up onto the counter, clattering a few dishes and glasses to the ground. His long tail swishes a bit playfully.
So, yeah. There's that.]
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After Hours
Of course, the more special visitors don't come as often as one would think. But tonight is the night.
Oren is taking out bottles of Kvass the fermented drink Iona mentioned a while back. It's a little cloudy, but that seems to be the intent. Also, there's a lot of thick yellow noodles, probably from a nearby Asian grocery store that Oren's stacked on the table. It's gonna be busy.]
Michael. Need to go home?
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тσυcн, ѕωєєт тσυcн
It's a weekend evening at her apartment in Los Angeles, nothing fancy or over the top; just her, an action movie playing, snack and drinks, and light conversation.]
... And if your parents ask how we're able to see each other a lot, we'll probably have to say we've been using Skype.
[Well, light as it can be anyways. Their oddities will always be involved whether they like it or not. The young witch is sitting next to Michael on the sofa, arms around her legs as she sits back and lets the movie roll. They're also conversing on the side, so the film is more or less background noise as it nears the end credits.]
Oh, and I guess we can't mention the cafe either. Kind of a pain having to think these things through, right?
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