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entrancelogs2011-04-15 11:36 pm
40410.livejournal.com) wrote in entrancelogs2011-04-15 11:36 pm
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40410 and paper_knight.
Where: Mark's room on the second floor.
When: Sometime on the evening of the 10th.
Rating: Something something for drugs and mature subjects.
Summary: Alex finally met his own mirror (and his mirror's +1). Then he got away again. Now he's seeking help. In person. What the--
The Story:
Alex is flushed, his pupils still too large, his senses still buzzing weirdly - less than before, in a mixed blessing, but still enough to make him worry that it's obvious. In his right mind he wouldn't have come here when he's like this. But that's a bit of a pointless statement.
He's dressed in a hoodie and jeans, both dark and large and shapeless. The hood's pulled up.
He doesn't have a camera wasp. But the knowledge is distant and wavery and doesn't hit him with the intense fear he's afraid it will any second.
He did his best to clean up, but the sour smells of vomit and sweat still cling faintly, and no amount of washing will get rid of the bumpy reddish-pink bite marks on his neck and jaw.
He needs to be around someone friendly.
He knocks, the wood of Mark's door tickling the back of his hand like he never would have noticed before.
40410 and paper_knight.Where: Mark's room on the second floor.
When: Sometime on the evening of the 10th.
Rating: Something something for drugs and mature subjects.
Summary: Alex finally met his own mirror (and his mirror's +1). Then he got away again. Now he's seeking help. In person. What the--
The Story:
Alex is flushed, his pupils still too large, his senses still buzzing weirdly - less than before, in a mixed blessing, but still enough to make him worry that it's obvious. In his right mind he wouldn't have come here when he's like this. But that's a bit of a pointless statement.
He's dressed in a hoodie and jeans, both dark and large and shapeless. The hood's pulled up.
He doesn't have a camera wasp. But the knowledge is distant and wavery and doesn't hit him with the intense fear he's afraid it will any second.
He did his best to clean up, but the sour smells of vomit and sweat still cling faintly, and no amount of washing will get rid of the bumpy reddish-pink bite marks on his neck and jaw.
He needs to be around someone friendly.
He knocks, the wood of Mark's door tickling the back of his hand like he never would have noticed before.