ᴊ ᴜ ʟ ʏ ᴀ (
mezzanotte) wrote in
pastiches2013-03-05 12:22 am
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➴ o p e n

OPEN POST REDUX ① How this lot usually works. Leave me a prompt. An image, a quote, a sound - a scene and if it clicks we'll play it out, do a sort of really relaxed mini-verse/psl or whatever you wanna call it. Anything goes. If this is something gen, crack, crossovers, aus, something shippy or a kink - go right on. If we like it enough, we could make it a verse or smthng. ② Usual disclaimer of i am a turtle forever and ever ( feel free to nudge me about our thread if I am taking too long ) ③ My whole muselist is up for grabs. If you're looking for someone in specific leave it in the subject line. Less active muses may take longer to reply to; also see muse strength. OCs are also up for grabs. |
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Will's 'design' was wrong and for some reason that bothered Tate. There'd be the occasional murder fan breaking in here, wanting to look at it. Police were gone, long gone, but Tate had noticed the badge. No, he was wrong. Wrong, wrong wrong. ]
I wasn't afraid of anything.
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will doesn't believe what his eyes are projecting. cope.
cope.
c o p e.
there on the bed is tate langdon. picture tate with gunshot wounds. picture tate's shirt damp. the floor moist and the glaring aquamarine stained. why is his vision telling him he's wrong? ]
You weren't scared so you didn't run?
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You're the one that looks scared. Gonna piss yourself?
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I work better with fear.
[ he says sternly. tate is a fire and will graham is a smoke alarm. all he hears and feels is noise. ]
What did they do to you?
[ he knows what's on the file, but those two are never the same. ]
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[ He's not bloodied , though. He's not even wearing the same black when he died--no, he's in a bleach-stained Nirvana shirt, ratty red chuck taylors. Ripped, torn jeans. The grunge-era had never stopped for him, after all. ]
Bang.
[ He draws his hand up to his own face. Fingers forming a gun, reaching up to his forehead. ]
Pow!
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You got shot - and just stood there. You didn't try to run. Did you?
[ tate's aggression seeping into his words. ]
Did you think you deserved to die?
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[ He's almost savouring it, now. Pacing around Will like a wolf. The other's voice dips, gets anry, and Tate retaliates--he puts both of his hands on Will's legs and presses in as hard as he can, bruising. Face-to-face with the one still alive, he's almost spitting his words. ]
Everyone deserves to die. You deserve to, most of all.
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will is a little bit like icarus and he feels like he went too close to the sun. ]
Are you going to kill me?
{ non-nonchalance, no hesitation. he looks at will like a man who's just given up. did you look like this - tate? ]
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No. I'm going to make it better for you. I'm going to tell you how to cope with this.
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How?
[ he laughs. because in this scenario he's trying to fix tate, and even tate realizes how far he's fallen. ]
You can't fix me.
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But you can find other uses for it. Better, if it's shitty music.
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My name is Will Graham, It is 08.40 PM and we are in-- ]
And what will you use me for?
[ he can't leave.
( he's like a lamb at the slaughter ) ]
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Go to the basement. Tell them it's where I killed other people, too, if you have to. [ Not in life--no, never in life. But always in death. ] Make sure you're alone.