Posts by Devereaux

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  • The Coven

    heyo! tracking for now! i read the intro a few times, and think i've got a pretty good idea about things and stuff, and yeah. (sorry, i'm dead tired) claymore! i havn't seen/read it, but i want to! i've heard it's got a slew of awesome characters and fighting scenes! definitely on my to-watch list :D


    and ow, thalia... ow... ^-^ hey, if it makes you feel any better, i chipped my tooth a couple years ago (still not really sure how...) but i was able to get it fixed easy peasy. you could probs do the same and be hunky dory :-*


    p.s.- could i possibly get a little bit if a recap?
    (and by little i mean huge ;D)

  • The Coven

    ok thanks :)


    and about the tooth: (buckle up- short story time)

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  • The Coven

    hey thalia- mind if i play a male apostate? he wont be in the coven (yet) so technically he can be all witchy, despite their rules against it, right? ???

  • The Coven

    wow. that was perfect.
    heh, thanks minaj :D


    lol, oh poor thalia!
    not to sound creepy or anything, but i really with i could see your face/hear you talk right now XD


    don't worry tho. reson still luvs u :-* and all your chipped-toothiness


    and sweeeeeet, thanks

  • The Coven

    [IMG height=300]http://i60.tinypic.com/2h3562t.png[/img]


    name: Nesshern
    nickname or title: "Snowblind" or "Snowblind Sage"
    symbol: N/A
    coven rank: N/A
    witch type: defensive
    primary magic: illusion magic
    "Consumed Witch" appearance:

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    demon or spirit contract: Azelle- Spirit of Truth
    demon appearance:

    Display Spoiler


    [color=black]gender: male
    age: 19
    height: 5'10"
    weight: 145lbs
    eye color: light blue
    hair color: white with bluish tinge


    personality: Nesshern is a very peculiar young man. At first glance, he hardly seems manly at all. The sage might stand a fairly tall height at 5'10", but his figure is lean with slender limbs and torso, giving him a near feminine appearance. And if that weren't enough, his snowy blue hair falls just above his shoulders along with a few longer tendrils trailing down his back, giving him a rather girlish cut. If questioned on his appearance, Nesshern would never discuss it. He never discusses anything he doesn't feel inclined to talk about, and tends to veer conversations toward the topics he favors. What kind of conversations, you might ask? Well, just about anything but himself: philosophy, science, fighting styles, politics, romance, culture... Nesshern will talk about anything, and boy does he talk. Many times his conversations are just flat-out strange, and his rambling seems to coast on an on, strapped to the tracks of an infinite spiral, trailing through thoughts, swirling endlessly into oblivion...


    Spending much time alone, Nesshern has long since grown comfortable with the idea of talking to himself, and does so frequently. On the outside, he might take on the semblance of an angel- docile, delicate, pure. But don't let him fool you- the young sage is far from angelic. Nesshern is a slippery little creature hiding behind a gentle mask, and has a rebellious streak that can flare out of control without warning. Somewhere along the line, he gained the notion that he can do whatever he pleases, and that the rules simply don't apply to him. He is very protective of his freedom, and often times suspects the worst of people. Seeing even a flicker of corruption or betrayal in nearly everyone he meets, Nesshern has learned to become very analytical of the world around him, and can sometimes even come off as skittish. You could call it a lack of trust, or you could call it a young man who has seen too much brutality in his past for one lifetime. Or you could call it just plain paranoia.


    history: the beginning's kind of rambly and not really important (go figure) you can skip to the end if you want :P
    Nesshern was not what some would call "gifted" at a young age, and didn't even recognize his magic potential until a few years ago at age 15. Nesshern grew up in a small off-the-map village on the fine edges of Rafelea, which was subject to a larger, dominating city nearby. Nesshern's home was incessantly thrashed with taxes, overbearing laws, and crude punishments for infractions. Short-lived rebellions popped up here and there, but they were never of much consequence to Nesshern until things started getting personal. Growing up his whole lifetime believing that he was being oppressed, his people, his family, you can imagine how alarming it was for young Nesshern to discover it was his own father who was behind the corruption. Upon the next uprising in his town, Nesshern took a chance and fled his old home, faking his death and taking off for a new life. Little did he know that that new life would be one filled with the mysteries of magic, and an all new cause to fight for. Stumbling upon a small syndicate of rogue witches and sages (later learned as apostates), Nesshern was eagerly accepted as a novice sage, and promptly educated on the group's sole purpose. He accepted. Nesshern would help take down the Coven.
    [align=center][color=black]BAM.

  • ＴＨＥ ＧＲＥＡＳＥＲＳ [roleplay]

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    [align=center][img height=150]http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lun6awHlRG1ql311po1_250.gif[/img]
    Maverick "Mav" Granger
    [fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 250px; color: black; font-size: 7pt; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify; margin-top: -7px;]Maverick was taking another drag from his cigarette when Nevada came squirming through the small crowd. The brothers turned their heads in unison to see the dark-haired girl approach, stepping delicately around everyone to join the the group slumped by the old truck. Mav nodded her way, and let his gaze drift about- playing the cool card, as always. "Yeah, Jax was just telling us 'bout it. It's gonna be a Soc feast."




    As he popped the cigarette back between hip lips, Mav found his idle gaze falling onto Wren across the room, who, despite having a big ole' lipstick stain marking his cheek, was looking far less than enamored. It was Brooke; pouring over little baby-faced Chandler, and leaving Wren a lonely onlooker to her snuggling session with the little runt. Maverick let out a light huff of amusement. Poor guy. He'd tried to be so discrete with Brooke being his girl, and now here she was- hanging all over the greaser's littlest kid.




    Maverick shifted slightly where he leaned back on the rusted truck, his old position growing a bit uncomfortable. He never understood Brooke. He understood girls, ('least he thought so...), but never Brooke. He liked her nonetheless. Caring, playful, though a bit on the unpredictable side. It was plainly obvious that her and Wren had a bit of a "thing" for each other, at least to Maverick's keen eye. Although, Wren didn't seem all that eager to come out about it, so he never said anything. Now he knew why.[/fancypost]




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    Colton Granger
    [fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 250px; color: black; font-size: 7pt; font-family: georgia; text-align: justify; margin-top: -7px;]Colton had a smart amount of respect for Jax, the biggest and toughest greaser around. It only made sense to look up the Goliath of muscle, and if Colton ever tried to hide it, he did a pretty poor job of doing so. Standing as astutely as leaning up against the old truck would allow, the blonde waited to see if he had any more to say, but just then, an all too familiar voice came trilling in. Colton spun to see the willowy body of Nevada making her way toward the huddle. Onyx hair floating over slender shoulders, scarlet lips and bright blue-eyed- she wasn't bad looking at all. But oh, how he hated her.




    His face grew hot, and the hand came back down on the unruly mess of blonde when Nevada brought it up. Just then, Julia came in too, deepening the humiliation. Sometimes the twins could stand in for each other- the rest of the gang all too often mistaking one for the other. But not today. What Colton wouldn't give for a can of grease right now. Or some scissors.




    With a slight sneer, Colton regarded Nevada. "And where have you been?" he added to his brother's response, giving the black-haired girl a double dose of twin. Nevada had always managed to rub him the wrong way, and it didn't faze him in the least to give her a little more mouth than probably necessary. He'd undermine her when he could, and right now, her being late was the only ammo he had.[/fancypost][fancypost bgcolor=; bordercolor=; borderwidth=0px; width: 250px; margin-top: -10px;]

  • The Coven

    [IMG height=300]http://i60.tinypic.com/2h3562t.png[/img]


    "For what purpose have you summoned me?" Azelle, the spirit of truth, boomed in her snappish tone of voice. Arms crossed, and bright orchid eyes gleaming with ferocity, she looked less than affectionately down at her human, whose head of pastel hair was pressed curiously between the crack in the door leading from the small room. Blunt and irritable as per usual.


    "I need protection" Nesshern spoke plainly, his voice muffled by the door, along with his fight to keep a low decibel. He was watching near silently. Waiting. They weren't here yet, but they would be. He could feel it. Not people, but witches. And they were coming soon.


    "Protection? Protection from what? I sense no danger here."


    Not moving from his position by the door, the blue-haired boy rose a lone finger and pointed out the window to his left- westward. The spirit followed his gesture, and using her own perception, traced the group of witches off in the distance. In a seconds time, the spirit of truth turned back to him and flared up.


    "You insolent boy! Have I taught you nothing?" Azelle roared, with small violet sparks dissipating into the air around her. "Summon me when you're facing a real threat."


    "They are a threat to me. I need you to hide me" he said in practiced monotone. He had honestly seen worse of Azelle, and she of him. Their relationship wasn't always this quarrelsome, but it had its moments. Manners, however, had never been much of a norm between the two. "I would do it myself, but I can only shield my magic from the witches- their demons are too powerful to blind. That's why I need you. I am too weak."


    Nesshern's humbling words seemed to have effect on his spirit, who, though still irked by her summoning, softened a bit. She looked now at him skeptically, like an investor would approach a shady deal. "And what makes you so sure I can?"


    For the first time Nesshern turned away from his niche at the door, and looked up at Azelle with dancing sky-blue eyes. He was smiling. A hint of mischief lingered behind their azure color. A mischief that reflected back in Azelle's. "Because there is no greater force than Truth."



    (she's hiding him right now, btw. this is kind of a pre-post.
    oh, and he's actually in audrey's/his mother's house, but in a different room. i'm thinking he could be staying there for a short time and be helping them out or something)

  • The Coven

    (i wouldn't say that he's particularly scared of them.... he's just in a bit of a tricky situation, and is trying to figure out what to do. he's got a lot on his plate now: A) his "mission" overall is to defeat the coven, and it doesn't help that a bunch of "coven whores" (lol) are waltzing in on him. B) he knows audrey's all magical, and doesn't want the witches to whisk him away to become one of their own. and C) well, you'll just have to figure out on your own :P )

  • The Coven

    [align=center][IMG height=300]http://i60.tinypic.com/2h3562t.png[/img]


    The witches came. Mrs. Avelina, with Audrey at her heels rushed the group inside, sparking the room with commotion. It appeared two of the witches were injured. For the duration of their bustling about, trying to heal the two wounded women, Nesshern stood silently in the adjacent room, peering out. More waiting. Ordinarily, he would go out and offer to help, but not this time. He could practically smell the mark of the organization on these girls. They were Coven witches.


    Eventually, things drew to a lull, and Nesshern heard the words he'd been dreading ever since pressing his face to the old door frame. One of the little twits was telling the boy about magic- and what now- the demon-world? Nesshern's light eyes narrowed to a dark scowl. Who did these girls think they were? They couldn't just swipe up his catch like that. The boy was his find. His responsibility. Pushing the heavy wooden door open, Nesshern stepped into the main room, silently praying that Azelle's spell would hold up.


    "Audrey, is everything al-... Oh! Mrs. Avelina!" he exclaimed, turning his attention to the passed-out woman on the floor. "Is everyone alright? Can we help you in some way?" [color=black]he mans aged to ask while tending the fallen woman.


    After three long months of living with the family, Nesshern had grown quite skilled at acting when he needed to. That wasn't to say he didn't enjoy the experience of it. It was actually an interesting experience. After leavings broken family himself, Nesshern never dreamt of having another sense of normality in his life, but here one was before him. He had also grown a bit of a fondness toward the young blonde boy, though he'd never admit it outright. As far as he knew, Audrey had no other siblings. Being there, even just as someone to talk to was the least Nesshern could do.


    (makin' stuff up as i go along. cuz that's just how i rolllll 8) )
    (oh and should nesshern and morgana know each other? ??? )

  • The Coven

    [align=center][IMG height=300]http://i60.tinypic.com/2h3562t.png[/img]


    Nesshern kept himself busy with the fallen Mrs. Avelina as the witches argued. The unconscious woman was heavier that he'd expected, and it took all of the effort his skinny little arms could muster to lift her onto one of the wooden benches. One of the witches began to speak in a ghoulishly demonic voice that sent a shudder down Nesshern's spine. He gawked at her with an expression of horror, that wasn't entirely faked. He'd heard of spiritual or demonic possession before, but never had Azelle done it to himself. It looked terrifying having a being invade your soul and body like that. Like it was some sort of sick puppet.


    "Audrey, come over here and help me with your mother" the young sage-in-hiding ordered the blonde boy. The child had known Nesshern long enough now- he must have had at least some amount of trust in him.


    Taking one of the spare wet cloths from tending to the injured witch previously, Nesshern dabbed it lightly across Mrs. Avelina's forehead in effort to revive her. He worked carefully, all the while conjuring up his next course of action. His options were few, and each one of them risky. If the witches did go to the demon world, and they took the boy with them, Nesshern would have no choice but to sneak in along with them. He had a responsability. Not to himself, not to Audrey, or to his mother, but to the Rogue...

  • The Coven

    ((sorry i've been inactive ::) will post shortly...))




    [IMG height=300]http://i60.tinypic.com/2h3562t.png[/img]


    [font=georgia]A crease formed between the sage's brows as his face turned to a dark scowl. He stood helpless in the doorway as the band of pompous little Coven witches made off with his hostage. That's really all the boy was; his prisoner, his prey, a tool for war. Weeks upon of weeks Nesshern had spent in this shabby little home, earning the trust of both the mother and brother of none other than the third ranking witch of the Coven. Was is accidental, stumbling upon the proclaimed protege's own kin? Of course not. And so was slowly falling in love with the broken little family as he cleaned, worked, and bartered his stay? Not entirely. It was, after all, part of the job to build relations with the two, namely Audrey. The boy had to trust him. The plan wouldn't fall through otherwise. But in the process, the little blonde runt had managed to weave his way into Nesshern's frosty, no-nonsensical heart. Of all the things Nesshern had to fear, the though of betraying himself stung the worst.


    Glancing around the small home, Nesshern wasn't at all surprised to find that Azelle had disappeared from sight. The charm she placed on him would likely vanish soon, too. Having no other option, the white-haired apostate followed the trail of the Coven's own pawns, making sure to keep a safe distance. He was no stranger to the demon realm. Though never having gone there himself, Nesshern was familiar with the principals of stumbling your way to hell's portal. The sage crept along behind the group for what felt like an eternity, until neither he, nor the high and mighty witches knew where in all the land they were. Just as he was having doubts, the next turn the group lead him to brought him face-to-face with the fiery red and orange archway leading into the demon realm. Every inch of him could feel the evil pulsating from the demonic passage. It crept along his skin, down his neck and into his bones, warning him that this place wasn't to be taken lightly. Azelle couldn't save him in here. He could guarantee that whatever remained of her charm would disintegrate the instant he stepped through the lapping flames of the portal. From this point, he was on his own. And so with what little sanity still resided in him, Nesshern stepped through the wall of fire, letting hell consume him.

  • Death Row (limited spots, sign-up thread)

    *reson materializes from a cloud of green pixie dust*
    hello fellow comrades!
    so sorry for being MIA for the past few weeks. finishing up school with finals and projects and crap was such a pain, i figured it'd be best to drop off for a while. hope you didn't think i was dead or something... ^-^


    but now i'm back! and i'm super psyched to start roleplaying again! this thread looks awesome, and i'm overflowing with beautiful MUSE[color=limegreen]! LET'S GOOO! :D :D :D

  • Death Row (limited spots, sign-up thread)

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    [size=40pt]Devereaux Jones[/size][/fancypost]
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    it's a twisted castle
    but inside i wear the crown    [/fancypost]


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    [font=georgia]Name: Devereaux Jones


    Age: 20


    Gender: Male


    Personality:Devereaux Jones is a young man of refined grandeur. He fancies white wine, beautiful women and nice cars. And money. Lots of money. Fortunately for this self-proclaimed “gentleman's" line of work, money is an easy catch. Unfortunately, it’s what landed him within the pearly gates of Grey Bar Hotel paradise.


    If you get the notion that Dev is a spoiled brat, you're probably right. Even through all of the hell and carnage the Grey Bar has to offer, incarceration has done little to dampen his aristocratic ways, nor humble is ego. In fact, being locked up has boosted Devereaux’s confidence to an all time high. Making a name for himself as the infamous “rat” of Gray Bar Hotel, Devereaux is the great bridge between captives and captors- although most would refrain from calling him “great”. Snitch, freeloader, the supervisor’s b*tch would be more like it. It isn't unusual for Dev to be seen snaking around with prisoners or guards alike. One minute he could be striking deals with inmates, and the next, ratting them out to the prison higher-ups. Of course his moves aren’t always this traitorous, but you can never really tell with someone as slimy as him. Only the foolish or absolute desperate would dare striking a deal with Dev, and jumping onboard blindly with him is a surefire way to get yourself thoroughly screwed over. It’s a cruel little game this “gentleman” plays so shamelessly, but how else could he have survived four years of incarceration with his condition? Ah, that’s right- after his final little escapade in the real world, Devereaux was left crippled by a broken ankle that never fully healed right. A souvenir from his life of crime perhaps. He can’t manage much more than an awkward hobbling-walk on it, let alone running. God knows the boy can’t fight. But after pulling a few strings and a good deal of sucking up to the owner of the prison, he managed to squirm his way to the position he flaunts today: A cheap spy for the guards, and a hub of the latest information for the prisoners. Not to mention the supervisor’s whiny lapdog.


    It should go without saying that friends aren’t very easy to come by for someone such as Devereaux. If Dev wants something, he’ll take it. Prizes are objects of fascination for the boy, and he’s a sucker for competition. But be warned- it isn’t within Devereaux to play by the rules. He has a venomous tongue and an arsenal of diabolical planes to aid it. Should it come down to it, he won’t hesitate to cut you down or rat you out if it benefits him in some way. Dev is quite a proud individual, and loves boasting of his numerous connections throughout the prison, and flaunting the fact that he knows more about the prison than some prison guards themselves, a claim that may very well be true. Though he’s hardly ever alone, Dev has taken the lone wolf approach to prison. Being a selfish, ruthlessly conniving b*stard, he can’t expect a bounty of friends. But once and a while, even selfish b*stards get a little lonely.


    Story: Before coming to the Grey Bar, Devereaux was a hacker of commercial airliners. With a few clicks from the comfort of his keyboard at home, he could crash aircraft from all corners of the world and reap the insurance benefits. It was all very calculated, not to mention downright vicious, but in Dev’s mind people were very much expendable objects- a lifetime in the web hacking, identity thieving fast-lane had taught him that much. And oh how the money flooded in… With the money came the luxuries Devereaux could only dream of: mansions, sports cars, private jets, and upscale dining. Tonics, delicacies, women, and diamonds to romance them with. Everything seemed to be laid out perfectly for Devereaux, a young entrepreneur of a scandalous business, but victory didn’t taste as sweet as he’d imagined. He was still restless. Fortune didn’t grant him the grand amounts of fame and prestige he wanted. So Dev got careless. Incautious in his hacking, and reckless in purchasing, Dev was soon walking a very thin line. A few too many drinks, a couple miss-clicks and a two story tumble off his docked yacht later, and Devereaux Jones found himself with a busted ankle and a few dozen cops posed to apprehend him. The rest is history.


    *Other: (couldn't figure out where to fit it) One thing worth noting: in exchange for being the supervisor's little informant, Devereaux has been pardoned from any of the physical competitions/fights that the other prisoners must enter- so long as he keeps up his end of the deal. Additionally, Dev plays a small part in the security camera maintaince department, which is how he finds out a lot of his juicy little tidbits of info.

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  • Death Row (limited spots, sign-up thread)

    Hey! My school had an exchange student from Denmark!
    Freja was the best! :D
    (completely random, but she was awesome, and you are awesome, so my opinion of Denmark thus far is that its awesome) <3



    Oh, btw, I don't think anyone but me and Whovian know this, but Jorn and Dev have a sort of partnership thing going on. Just to let y'all know, in case my post didn't make sense. :)

  • Death Row (RP Thread)

    Heyoo, so... sorry for the monster post... ::) Those of you that have rped with me probably know...
    #firstpostprobs
    #toomuchmuse
    #haileyisadorbs <3


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    [font=garamond]it's a twisted castle
    but inside i wear the crown    [/fancypost]


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    He was a scrawny little guy. Small, weak, not entirely unlike Devereaux, aside from the cinnamon shag of hair that stuck up on the poor sap’s head like a target. He was sicker looking too. Filthy and morbid-looking, like he hadn’t washed or eaten in days. Disgusting.


    To the onlooker, the varmint would appear to be taking a piss on the gate handle to the west side fence, like any other straight-minded person. But with a 360o surveillance cam, retina display and a room full of techie dumb*sses who didn’t seem to care where he aimed the camera lens, Devereux saw another story. The trade off was so obvious: the matchbox-shaped object, the slipping it off to a passing prisoner, the glance around, the departure. If it helped him in any way, Dev might have laughed out loud at their poor attempt of a dealing. But it didn’t. He was being double-crossed. “You little b*tch!“ the white-haired boy gasped, sneering at his redheaded renegade though a myriad of pixels, the screen only inches from his face. Backstabbing was one thing, but getting backstabbed was another. Things like that didn't happen to Devereaux. Ever. He had to get Sir Jorn the bone-crusher to teach this punk a thing or two about respect. And fast. Where was Jorn anyway?


    As Dev sifted his way through live footage in search of the brute, he couldn’t help but feel the ominous glares of the prison tech workers creeping up his spine. His little outburst might have been a bit louder than he’d thought. He’d been working in the cam room for years now, and while the staff was used to seeing him roam about, performing humdrum tasks, Dev still walked a very fine line. He was still a prisoner, after all.


    In his frenzy to find Jorn, finish up, and get out, Devereaux stumbled upon a particular video feed that made him stop and double take. It was a stream of the courtyard entrance. It looked like the supervisor’s sister just got tossed into the yard of prisoners, and that caused a commotion, but this wasn't what captivated him. It was December. Frozen and with a ghostly expression of someone who's given up on all but nothing, she stood lifelessly as the gruesome skirmish between prisoners unfolded. Devereaux zoomed in on her features, cutting the courtyard and the rest of its dwellers out. She was like a statue of some angel. Numb, empty as always, but elegant all the same. Far too beautiful to be locked up in here with the likes of these barbarians, Devereaux decided long ago, when he’d first set eyes on the girl with the golden hair. And- wait- what was this? A competition to be held… no excuses? “D*mn it to hell…” he muttered, mindful of the half-dozen techies behind him. Without a thought, Devereaux pardoned himself from the last bit. He had an arrangement. He was safe, but she wasn’t.


    With the flick of the wrist, Devereaux cancelled out of the program and finished packing up a stack of files to be taken to Mr Gray. He couldn’t bear looking at that face surrounded by barbed fence and crazy-eyed mongrels any longer. Before leaving the tech room, he snagged a small piece of paper and scrawled down three bolded letters: “REX”. On his way to the courtyard- most of the prisoners were there, Jorn must be in the mix- Dev stopped by the cafeteria and haphazardly grabbed one of the cheap bags of crackers from the employee lunch line. No one stopped to question the snowy-haired boy with the limp. Not even when he tore open the bag and slipped a peculiar piece of paper inside. To the staff, he was a regular.


    Enter the courtyard. Hobbling through the masses, he tried to look as weak and decrepit as possible, which for Dev, wasn’t all too difficult. Sure enough, there was Jorn just inside. Shuffling his way to his partner Devereaux began to feel more eyes on his back. He heard the maniacal laughs of who could only be Valentine, and while part of him was curious as to what tripped him this time, the rest of him dreaded the answer. It was a bit ironic really: Of all his inmates, the biggest, toughest ones didn’t scare him. It was the average-joe on the outside, cross-eyed sadist on the inside characters that kept him up and on edge at night.


    He passed by December, and while he tried to send her a look of comfort for her inevitable circus act of carnage to come, it was difficult to tell if he got through to her. Not to mention, near impossible to find solace in the thought of a death match. Devereaux caught up with Jorn, and as he passed, intentionally bumped shoulders. Staggering back and looking up at the towering man, Dev was reminded just how easily the brute could snap him in two if he felt so inclined. This only fueled his efforts. “Hey, easy. Don’t worry, I’m backing off, alright? Here- you can take ‘em” Dev said, thrusting the bag off into Jorn’s hands before he could object. Then, spinning on his good foot, the boy skip-hopped off to the supervisor’s office, before turning and adding, “Don’t eat ‘em too fast, alright?” Of course, he didn’t truly expect Jorn to eat them. They tasted like sh*t.

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  • Death Row (RP Thread)

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    [font=garamond][size=40pt]Devereaux Jones[/size][/fancypost]
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    [font=garamond]it's a twisted castle
    but inside i wear the crown    [/fancypost]


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    [font=georgia][color=black][size=9pt]It was a relief to finally get out of that wretched pit of hell, but even after entering the empty hallways, Devereaux found himself glancing about for any prying eyes or followers. A force of habit for the white-haired weasel that he was. In this land of monsters and masters, he could never be too careful.


    In the heat of fleeing the courtyard, Dev didn’t realize how quickly he’d actually been moving until he felt the all-too-familiar pain surge up his right leg. That d*mn ankle… The lone prisoner halted rather awkwardly in the hallway, juggling a stack of folders for Mr. Gray in one hand, and making an attempt to massage out his throbbing ankle with the other. Whoever was tasked with setting the bone once upon a time did a pretty crummy job of doing so- Of course, that was’t to say that the poor medical attention was accidental. Things like that happened all the time in places like the Gray Bar. Hell, just last week the staff decided to “upgrade” the prisoners’ collars. A “new and improved” model. “superior to the previous ones in every way”, he thought he’d heard one staff members boast.
    As far as Devereaux could tell, the only change from the old collars to these was that his poison level was climbing more and more rapidly now. Not to mention, these new ones were remarkably less comfortable. Dev would have to talk to Mr. Gray about that one.


    When the pain became tolerable, Dev continued to make a beeline for the supervisor’s office. Mr.Gray was expecting the paperwork, so Devereaux didn’t think twice about opening the door without knocking first.
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    ((@Papergroove- i didn't want to write too much more, as i don't really know where anthony is at the moment...))


    ((@deathy- aww, deathy! those are the things that make my day :-* i love val, too. he's, well... he's crazy, but wonderfully unpredictable, and fascinating all the same!))


    ((wow... it took me this long to make the connection... Anthony Gray>Gray Bar Hotel... wow... ::) gonna go crawl in a corner now...))