Open RP - The Master returns

[theregothedrums.livejournal.com]

((with the approval of the other Who muns))

He was...

He was in a slick heap on the floor, the smell of butter the first thing he consciously aware of. The smell. It was impossibly silent, an undreamed-of silence.

The Master, looking distinctly unmasterful in ragged, butter-drenched clothes, dragged himself from the room, pulling himself upright on the doorframe.

Silent, but for his breathing, and the butter dripping from him to the floor. His mouth felt greasy, and he spat to clear it. If only he could do the same to his mind! It was too quiet to think. He staggered into the hall.

He was...

He was alive. And that was all the starting point he'd ever needed.

The Master's laughter echoed down the stony corridor, echoing, folding in on itself. He was alive.

Off to a Flying Start [Open RP]

[chinasorrows.livejournal.com]

The air was still crisp with the previous night's downpour, the grass was laced with a fine layer of water that made the green look lighter. When China walked a path to the centre of the Quidditch Pitch, her steps were unmistakable. She was dressed fashionably, which meant; not idealistically, for the cold dawn. He wore black tailored three-quarters, a white blouse under an emerald vest and regular black slip-ons. Her hair was up with the aid of a Slytherin-inspired clip; a stunning, yet simple silver necklace adorned her swan-like neck and a delicate chain was around the wrist of the hand that held a book, her thumb book-marking the page she was up to. It was what she held in her left hand that seemed to work against her. A broomstick. A Nimbus 2001.

( Read on ... )