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"Hello!" | Open RP
“Screwdriver, please.” Harmony turned to her dog, Jack, who trotted out of the room obediently, returning a few moments later with Harmony’s favorite blue screwdriver in his mouth. “Good boy.” Harmony praised Jack, taking the screwdriver from the dog’s mouth, tossing him a treat.
Turning back to her project, Harmony tinkered with the small robot. Pausing for a moment, she flicked a switch on its back, and it sprung to life, beeping wildly. Immediately, it moved across Harmony’s desk to a pile of papers sitting nearby. The robot began to organize the papers, placing them into file folders organized in alphabetical order. It moved rather slowly, but it was a start. Harmony grinned, proud of her creation, then perking up as she heard a knock on her apartment door.
Whistling, Harmony strode to her door, unlocking it and opening it slightly. Looking at her visitor, she tilted her head to the side, confused, wondering why this person had come and knocked on her door. “Hello there!” Harmony greeted the newcomer cheerfully.
AU: Time Lord Shawn || Open
After stopping by his dad’s place to pick up the last of his stuff Shawn returned to his apartment to sort through it all.
“Alright time to do some clutter clearing. Let’s see. Comic books, old toys, some random papers and a single shoe. Wait what’s that there at the bottom?” He asked himself pulling out an unfamiliar pocket watch out of the box. “There’s something on the back of it. Hmmm ‘It is time open the watch’ what could that mean?”
His curiosity was going to get the best of him sooner or later, but he was very hesitant to open it. “What’s the worst that could happen?” He jokingly said to himself before clicking the button. Shawn then clicked the little button and light spewed out of the watch. Once it was done Shawn nearly collapsed. Once he go up things weren’t normal.
There was a knock on his door. He walked over and looked in the peep hole. He opened the door and greeted them “Hey, long time no see.”
Luca exited a club with a group of people and headed in the opposite direction of them, her walk a bit on the tipsy side.
“Luca, baby! Where’r ya g’ng?” a vampire called after her. She waved them off, not caring too much about them. She wanted to be alone in her drugged state: werewolf blood that was laced with all sorts of lovely drugs… Heroin, speed, cocaine… Embalming fluid? She couldn’t remember, all she knew was that her head was swimming and that she felt alive, her senses practically humming.
“Or maybe the problem here is actually more profound—and vexing—than fashion’s current addiction to retrospection. It feels to me as though the appeal of punk-inspired couture to today’s 1 percent (to the one tenth of 1 percent) is built around a desire to empty punk’s original gesture of meaning and threat. In a statement that opens the catalog, a show sponsor named Moda Operandi talks about how “in punk’s spirit of revolution, Moda Operandi is the first online luxury retailer to offer unprecedented access to runway collections.” So that’s the revolutionary spirit the Pistols were singing about. I never could make out their lyrics. The 1970s were just about the last moment when the idea of a healthy working class had any purchase on our collective ideals, and punk represents that moment’s death rattle. Four decades later, high fashion still needs to make sure it’s not heard.”—Punk: Chaos To Couture at the Costume Institute Shows How Derivative the Style Has Become | The Daily Beast
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Secret place II Open
It was an abandoned fish warehouse by the docks. It looked like it was burnt which made it useless for work, but the place still stood and there was a lot of space to work with. Chad actually found it on a whim because he caught a stray cat and tried to catch it which caused him to find the place. He stood in the middle of it and shouted “Hello!” hearing the intense echo bounce off the walls. He grinned widely to himself and hopped on one of the convener belts, standing tall and looking out at the empty space like an audience, waving and laughing.
“Yes yes, I never truly wanted to rock star; I really wanted to be a Broadway star! But, where are you gonna find a theater in a place like this? We all gotta pay dues of course; not to say I don’t like rock n roll either! What’s that? An encore? Oh you’re too kind!”
He sang, loud and so proud, more than anything anyone’s ever heard him on the radio or his albums, or at all for that matter. The only time anyone’s heard him sing like that was back at home, France…
“Who am I… Can I conceal myself for evermore… pretend I’m not the man I was before.. and must my name until I die be no more than an alibi… Must I lie… How can I ever face my fellow men…How can I ever face myself again… My soul belongs to God I know, I made that bargain long ago… He gave my hope when hope was gone… he gave me strength to journey on… who am I…. who am I!? I’m Jean Valjean! 24601!!” He prolonged the last note then smiled huge and bowed to his pretend audience and laughed again.