[identity profile] finbarwrong.livejournal.com
((Unpopping approved. Same mun, same account.))

This was a whole new experience for Finbar, and that was saying something. He had experimented with all kinds of psychedelic paraphernalia, but to suddenly wake up like this? Well, it was funky to say the least.

"Duuude," he mused. "I'm, like ... totally covered in butter."

Sopping from head to toe in the liquidised spread, he misguidedly flung his hair back to shift the lock of hair from his eye, having been too lazy to relocate it by hand. This lead his butter-caked hair to slap across his face, splaying across his features with a myriad of grotesque sound-effects.

Finbar grunted.

Hiatus Post

Aug. 6th, 2010 05:29 pm
[identity profile] chinasorrows.livejournal.com
This is Hawthorn from Hogwarts Webchat just giving the heads up on my hiatus from the community. Real Life has gotten difficult with job opportunities and family issues, et cetera, et cetera. I understand that a lot of threads between my characters (China Sorrows, Finbar Wrong, Thaegan, Prandine, Hannah Cheshire, The Joker, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger) are still open and unfinished, and for that I am sorry! Every now and then I'll take some time away to reply and finish those threads. Have fun guys!
[identity profile] prettypendulum.livejournal.com
At one point, Kuronue would have been quite pleased to meet a demon with as much capacity for violence as Kuronue himself.

Now all he felt was disgust and that horrible sinking feeling in his gut that may also have been the fact that he was falling from the sky, forced from there by a cluster of evil little bombs that tittered back and forth between each other. He sliced through them with his sickle, detonating others with the thin wire connecting his hand to the weapons.

Righting himself with the aid of his wings, he glided to the nearest tower steeple and perched on the very tip of it, folding his wings against his back. He tucked his weapons on his belts and they settled, the metal warm from the utter heat of the bombs.

Karasu smiled, at least, Kuronue thought he did. His eyes suggested it. Standing on the roof of the tower closest to Kuronue, the other demon had his hands in his pockets, his hair and tails of his coat swirling about him with the force of the wind. Kuronue scowled, tilting his head down a little so the sun shielded his eyes and he didn't have to look at that smile any more.

"So," Karasu began, his voice carrying easily. "Have you been well, Kuronue?"

"Piss off," Kuronue snapped.

Karasu chuckled.

"I liked you then, maybe, but not now." Kuronue had been stupid to trust Karasu in the Netherworld. There, Karasu had pursued Kurama too. Only through Kuronue, who was only too happy to tell a curious demon stories of their time together.

Only then Karasu hadn't been black haired and wore a mask. Why had no one warned him that he could change hair colours at will? In death, Karasu had been blond.

Kuronue could feel that smile widen. He shuddered and ducked his head, looking down at the tiles on the roof.

"No. You still like me now. Me, my body...my touch. Just like when we were dead, hm?" Karasu's voice was right by his ear, hands (familiar hands) caressed the exposed skin on his abdomen, down further. They tingled, a burning sensation like too-cold ice drifting along with them.

Kuronue grunted, closed his eyes. Fuck.

Karasu hummed, a quiet little satisfied sound and his hands fell away. Soon after his presence did too, and Kuronue turned to watch the demon jump from rooftop to rooftop. His eyes followed him until Karasu stopped at the banks of the lake and then closed. "Fuck!" he screamed, grinding his teeth.

Shaking himself a little, Kuronue hopped down from the steeple and went looking for a distraction, keeping to the roofs.

(OOC: Pick your poison. And, yes, they were erm, acquainted, to say the least, while dead.)
[identity profile] finbarwrong.livejournal.com
((OOC: With permission from China mun - me.))

A man with long greasy black hair found himself in the Sorting Room. The great doors were closed behind him, and some feet away a lone desk with stationary upon it rested, undisturbed. He took measured steps forward, as if assessing the firmness of the stone, should the flagstones disappear from under his shit-kickers. The man wasn't edgy or confused; he seemed at one, content and relaxed with his given situation. He had coloured tattoos up and down his bare arms, all melting into one another. He wore a band shirt which not only had undergone some savagery (no longer sleeved and frayed) was terribly loose on his willowy frame. He sported a collection of black bands around his wrist, ranging in thickness and spiked or not spiked styles, one even holding a shiny silver skull. Even before he seated himself, there was an inner awareness that the quill would act upon his spoken word, be it because he was a Sensitive .. or merely because he took the time to read the note beside it.

Allow me to elucidate ... )

"I have read the
[info]hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. Finbar.
I have read the
[info]hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. Finbar.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. Finbar.
One day, marmalade will rule the world. Finbar."

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