Two Evil Overlords Walk Into a Bar... (Closed rp, The Little Green Apple, Glory and the Master)

[mad-glory.livejournal.com]

"...and then she and her mousy little paramour toss this sparkly stuff all over me. Say goodbye to that dress. But before I could stomp them both into so much sticky witchy goo, she claps her hands and suddenly I'm miles away, starting my descent from 30,000 feet. I could not believe they'd pull such a cheap, flashy trick! I mean, come on, goddess, y'know?"

Glory sighed, taking a sip from a half-empty margarita. She was well into the second hour of her tale of Sunnydale frustration (lavishly annotated) and had conveniently neglected to notice that she was boring the bartender to tears, or possibly to a desperate homicide attempt.

"If you're gonna defy me, at least defy me with a little style. Show some respect for tradition and come up with a few candles or a blood ritual or something. Because banishment by glitter, pfft, that ranks right down there below even the ol' marshmallow detonation gag, am I right? If it ever gets around to the other hellgods I'll never hear the end of it..."

Coffee and a test run.. ((Death, open rp))

[endlessgoth.livejournal.com]

Death realized that if she was ever going to learn how to bake, much less make something as complicated as donuts (and she wasn’t even going to consider how tricky eclairs were going to be), she needed to pratice. A lot. A was a sweet kid, but she couldn’t constantly badger him for lessons. Some of it, she needed to work out on her own.

 

Most nights, while the school slept, she took over a small corner of the kitchen and praticed with some of the more basic recipes A had supplied her wit. After a few disastrous attempts, Death was fairly pleased with a tray of cinnamon rolls. They weren’t bad. Not great, but not as terrible as some of her earlier tries. They weren’t burnt and they weren’t as hard as little rocks, so that had to be an improvement. Right?

 

Before sunrise, she sat in the Great Hall, a plate of warm rolls in front of her and a pot of coffee sitting at her elbow. Her black clothes were lightly dusted with flour, but she sat, drinking coffee and looking somewhat pleased with her accomplishment.

I wonder if whip-cracking goes well with 'crack'... ((Prosecutor Franziska von Karma, Ace Attorney))

[a-perfect-karma.livejournal.com]

( What is this foolish application for??? )