::Open RP: The Unpopping of Lady Door::

[the-lady-door.livejournal.com]

She woke to the smell of some vaguely rancid chemical flavoring, and the textures of grit and grease.

Door looked down at her ruined dress, and wondered just where she was, and how long she'd been there. She remembered being acting prefect for Hufflepuff, but it got a bit hazy after that. There were... were those oversized popcorn kernels surrounding her? That seemed vaguely familiar as well. Distressed, she fled the room.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

open RP in the Little Green Apple: Mr. Wednesday feels convivial.

[callmewednesday.livejournal.com]

Mr. Wednesday had been deemed a Ravenclaw. This was only right and proper. Huginn and Muninn ought to be around here someplace.

He found the Ravenclaw bar satisfactory. The adjoining laboratory gave him an occasional case of the willies, however. It wasn't that he minded the sight of people performing dissections while he drank. Wednesday wasn't what you'd call squeamish. No, it was the panoply of modern technological paraphernalia that went along with the whole operation.

So he'd moseyed on down to Slytherin house to have a drink somewhere a little more old-fashioned. The Little Green Apple didn't seem to care what house you were in, and the only password you needed was a thirst for something -- drink, drugs, experience, curiosity. Didn't really matter what. That was fine by Wednesday too.

No booth for him. He sat at the bar, enjoying with systematic relish a series of shots of Jack Daniel's (yes, there was an apostrophe, and those who'd forgotten the memory of Jasper Newton Daniel were just ungrateful bastards, that was what; though forgetfulness was a plague over the West, and Wednesday wasn't in the least surprised). He enjoyed having a body again. He enjoyed being able to drink anything at all. Time was, he might even have relished a glass of evil, vile fucking mead, if that'd mean he could taste it and hold the liquor in something like a stomach.

If he had private business that would have been the time for a booth. Not now. Right now, Mr. Wednesday sat at the bar because he was approachable. He liked a good palaver.

(no subject)

[castleinthesnow.livejournal.com]

( Owl to Eddard Stark, sealed but not warded )

( Owl to Catelyn Stark, sealed but not warded )

( Owl to Tyrion Lannister )

The snack that bites back: Unpopping the raptor. Open RP.

[apex-raptor.livejournal.com]

((Jurassic Park III incarnation. As I don't want him to be instantaneously popcorned again, he won't attack unless A) he's provoked, and B) you give me permission to have him (try to) munch on your character. Feel free to come meet the confused dino. :D I'm probably heading to bed soon, but I'll reply within a few hours.))

There was a loud thump and clatter as the buttery raptor found himself on a cool stone floor, upside-down, pale belly vulnerable. He gave an indignant screech and promptly righted himself, tail lashing as he raised his head to scent the air. The stench of something utterly alien overwhelmed his senses, making him feel disoriented as he slowly stood and cautiously moved through the room.

Approaching six feet tall and roughly three times as long, he was a bit bulky as raptors went, large even by Isla Sorna standards, with its genetically engineered dinosaurs; he'd evolved from the original InGen raptor sisters. Splotches of red and orange broke up the dark pattern of his skin, and narrow white stripes that ran from his snout to his tailtip, as well as a crown of quill-like spines, clearly distinguished him as a male of the species a certain paleontologist had once said were smarter than dolphins, smarter than primates.

Perhaps it wasn't undue praise. Far from being a mindless killer, within his eyes was a fierce intelligence, demonstrated in the way he methodically investigated his surroundings, all of his senses working to take in and process information. He paused near one of the many kernel-containing glass cases, rubbing his snout against it until he lost interest and moved on. There was much to explore, to discover, and... remember.

He had vague, jumbled memories of being here before, of sprinting through dank corridors and garishly bright rooms; outside in the bitter cold air, through the woods, branches reaching out like arms—a shack, humans, fresh meat...

The slimy coating of butter was compromising his footing, forcing him to crouch lower than usual as he steadily made his way toward the door of the Popcorn Room. Tentatively, he called out for his packmates with a series of low vocalizations, then started to make sharp, resonant sounds that were a cross between chirping and growling. He listened to the echo of his own voice, and wondered if this time he might receive a response.