I honestly can’t believe I ever made it this far. I expected, like, 150 followers, tops, on this account. Thank you all so much for deeming me good enough to follow — you are all 100% flawless people and I love every single one of you.
There will be ONE FIRST PLACE WINNER who will get 75 GIF ICONS & 50 ICONS OF A FACECLAIM OF THEIR CHOICE, A PLACE ON MY SIDEBAR FOR A MONTH, A URL GRAPHIC, A PROMO FOR TWO WEEKS, A FOLLOW IF I HAVEN’T ALREADY, AND MY EVERLASTING LOVE.
There will be ONE SECOND PLACE WINNER who will get 40 GIF ICONS & 20 ICONS OF A FACECLAIM OF THEIR CHOICE, A PROMO FOR A WEEK, A FOLLOW IF I HAVEN’T ALREADY, AND ALSO MY EVERLASTING LOVE.
There will be THREE THIRD PLACE WINNERS who will get 20 GIF ICONS & 10 ICONS OF A FACECLAIM OF THEIR CHOICE, A FOLLOW IF I HAVEN’T ALREADY, AND MY EVERLASTING LOVE (ONCE AGAIN).
Everybody who took part will be part of a GROUP PROMO.
IN CONCLUSION --
My sincerest thanks to all of my followers, good luck, and Merry Christmas!
4 or 5 martini’s later, Malcolm was back strolling through the late night breeze that made its way through the city of Rome. The sun had long gone, but the party didn’t stop then. Not 5 minutes past the stroke of 1am, the city did not slumber, for people were still running through the cobble stoned roads, music played both loudly and softly depending on where one stood, and every bar was still open. Alcohol had no effect on him. For whatever reason, he didnt know, or care. He had no reason to indulge in over drinking. Malcolm peeled his italian Swede blazer off himself, then swung it over his arm, and held it against his side with his hand back into his back. Like routine, this seemed to be how his manifested form proffered to carry itself. He twisted his neck to the side, cracking it. It cracked so loud, a passer-byer took a second glance at him. A wave of panic washed over Malcolm while his mouth coiled into a devilish smile. Panic. Fear. A desperate cry for help from an unordinary source filled Malcolm and his hunger, this urge to expand it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The source was coming from not too far from where he was, so he sought out for it. He could feel them, whoever they were, moving around, panicking. Malcolm marinated in it. He took his time finding the troubled being before finding his way to another tavern. This one was crowded. Weaving his way through the sea of people, this energy pulled him towards the men’s bathroom. It was clean. So much so, counters and stall doors shone while dim lighting from the florescent lights above the sinks bounced off them and the floors.
An aery silence filled the room as the muffled roar of the crowd beat against the wall. Rounding a welcoming corner into the bathroom, there stood a man, leaning over a sink with his hands on either side of the marble opening. Droplets of water ran down his profile, dripping into the puddle of water in the sink. The short man lifted his hands and ran water through his short hair before finally looking straight at himself in the mirror in front of him. Malcolm had shifted himself so he was leaning against the wall and the edge in front of a sink. His arms where crossed, along with a single leg crossed as well. Raising his head ever so slightly, he then tilted it to the side before finally speaking. “They’re going to find you.” he simply said. Warren eyes widened before jerking himself up and onto the floor, scooting up against a wall with his arms flailing. The frightened boy looked up at Malcolm who still just casually sat himself like a wallflower in the corner.