entrancelogs | VALENTINE'S DAY CATCH ALL 12th-17th

VALENTINE'S DAY CATCH ALL 12th-17th

Who: Anyone and everyone who wants to participate
Where: Literally every corner of the known universe
When: Again with the questions...
Rating: BIG BIG HORRIBLE WARNING LOTS OF DEATH AND FIGHTING AND GRAPHIC EVERYTHING I think you might need an adult...
Summary:

THIS IS A CATCH ALL LOG FOR THE DURATION OF THIS SITUATION

Here's what happens. If you want interaction with HARRY OR TOM, if you want to have a short thread with someone discovering a BODY or someone who is WOUNDED or generally just want some blood and guts it happens in here.

THAT BEING SAID if you want to write a log? Do it. I'm just trying to control the madness in one place...as if that might be easier to manage. It also means the community isn't TOO flooded with bodies and boxes of chocolate so those wanting to bypass this event will have less to look at.

IF YOU ARE A VICTIM, YOU MAY POST YOUR DEATH POST IN HERE
I mean, you can if you want but also feel free to make an independent post. Up to you.

Comment in with a header including date and place for whatever situation you're doing so we can just keep track. I'll do the same.

Questions, comments, plurk or aim or pm me. x

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

James knows they aren't supposed to be out alone, and it's a good idea. It really is. It's the best way to keep everyone safe, but he doesn't feel particularly bound to it himself. There's a murderer on the loose, but James fully expects to be able to catch him if they cross paths. From what he understands, it's a Muggle and while Muggles can be strong in their own right he still has his wand and he's not expecting it to be much of a struggle to restrain the killer if he's attacked.

But, that's not why he's out.

The truth is, Remus has been missing for several days. His room is empty and any sign that he was ever around is gone. James has been here many times before though, so often that it's become routine. He waits, because if Remus comes back within a week or so he'll remember everything. It's been almost that long now, but the full moon will be tonight. He can't imagine how hard it would be to suddenly be pulled back to Wonderland and be forced to immediately deal with the full moon, no matter when in the month it was for him at home. So, he's doing one last sweep of the mansion, to make sure Remus hasn't turned up again and to ease his mind, though he knows he'll be tempted to look again when the moon comes out.

As he makes his way up the stairs, he catches something in the corner of his eye, down one of the halls. It's not Remus; it's a dark figure in gear James doesn't recognize, wielding a pickaxe. James freezes and stares, watching for a moment at the figure walks away. That's the murderer. It has to be.

He raises his wand, but before he can wonder if he can manage something non-verbally, the man stops.

And he turns.

And James is standing there, wand raised.

He can feel his blood run cold, and immediately regrets not taking his invisibility cloak with him, but it's a little late for regrets now. Instead, he hardens his expression and casts with a quick and swirled wand wave. Meanwhile, the stranger, now his attacker, is running toward him, weapon raised.

"Expelliarmus!"

It misses, though it does manage to knock some decorative things off the wall. But ultimately, it only shows exactly what his wand can do, and it doesn't slow the man down. James staggers backwards and up a couple of stairs, hoping to put some distance between them even if it has to be up and not away. It all happens very quickly though, quicker than James could have ever anticipated.

He raises his wand to try and disarm him again, but the stranger swings hard and the pickaxe digs into James' arm, at the elbow. The accompanying noise is sickening - bone being cracked and forced apart as the joint is separated with a quick twist. Sharp pain shoots through him and he cries out, dropping his wand as his hand goes limp.

The pickaxe is yanked away and James drops himself down to make a quick grab for his wand with his other hand, but with that move he loses any height advantage he had. This time when his attacker swings, the pickaxe strikes his shoulder - deep into his shoulder. Along with the crack of bone there's an audible pop, one James is familiar with from Quidditch accidents. But the pain is entirely different when there's an object lodged into the socket, forcing the separation from inside. And then it's ripped out and James feels something tear and it's agonizing. He sees blood when the axe is near his face.

He's breathing hard now, gripping his wand so tightly that his knuckles are white because he can't lose it, not when he can't get another one. And this man in the strange uniform is looming over him, pickaxe raised.

For a moment, James is certain he's going to die.

But then in a desperate move, James shuts his eyes tight. There is a loud CRACK and then he's gone and the pickaxe is being swung at empty air.

The noise is equally loud when James appears suddenly in his room, but since he had originally been low to the stairs he appears in a similar position near his desk. It actually wasn't a bad attempt - he only missed sitting in his desk chair by about six inches, but he's far enough away that he quickly wavers and loses his balance. The chair knocks over and on his way down he tries to grab the desk with his uninjured hand to keep from falling. He can't do that and hold onto his wand though, and his efforts just make him scatter half the desktop parchment in the air.

He lands roughly, with a loud and pained groan, but then he just lays there and breaths heavily for a minute, still reeling from the adrenaline of the last minute or so and silently marveling in the fact that he's alive.

Stay inside. Lock your doors, and wait. If you absolutely must go anywhere, do not go alone. Stay alive. Stay safe. The warnings transmitted to them were more than abundantly clear.

...Small wonder then, that Buckingham saunters through the corridors by himself, as though his bravado could not possibly demand anything less. He is well-armed as ever, and more than confident that any confrontation would leave him victorious.

Small wonder still, that the commotion coming from the floor below does not turn his steps away, but quickens them instead. And yet, alas, by the time he finds his way the corridor lies deserted.

That is, deserted of life, not quite so devoid of the struggle's echo.

Buckingham approaches, curiously.

The display does not faze him, but neither is he enlightened by the sight. A man, but his face is pressed to the ground, and by built alone the duke recognises no familiarity. He lazily kicks the man's leg, but there is little to be confirmed beyond what the blood has not already told him.

The duke looks around. The corridor is empty still. Turn him around, perhaps? Have a glance at his face, at the very least, perhaps see to finding him a better resting place until he wakes....

Mhh, but all that blood on his doublet, for a stranger who might possibly be no more interesting in life than he is now, in death?

No, he should think not.

Buckingham shrugs, wipes the blood on his boots on a clean spot of carpet, and turns to leave.

The best way for Martha to keep her mind off of everything that's happened both to her and to others is by making certain that she stays busy. Someone definitely cleaned up this place in her absence, the Doctor had even told her as much, but she doesn't know the details beyond that.

Even so, she's been changing the sheets on the bed, organizing supplies, and checking in with the patients who she has, such as Sam, though at the moment he's passed out due to all the pain medication.

So it takes her a moment to realize that there's someone there, though eventually her senses pick up on it, sending a spike of fear up her spine until she turns around and finds Daryl.

You're back.

"... So you heard? I suppose news travels fast." Martha moves toward Daryl, pushing up on tiptoes to peer over his shoulder as she can't quite curb her paranoia right now. "Are you all right? Been staying safe?"

It was stupid to leave the room.

But...well...Brittany.

Now, in her defense, she had good reason. Very good reason. Lockdown on no, there had been nothing about keeping silent over the Network. Or the mirrors. And certain people weren't answering either of them. She was worried. Worried enough to venture out on her own. Once she checked to be sure the coast was clear. And grabbed a lamp from her nightstand.

She wasn't that stupid.

It was a toss between Theme from Mission Impossible or Theme from Jaws playing in her head as she slowly crept down the hallway. By some miracle, there was no one in sight. Not even an ominous ping drop to disturb the silence. Just her foosteps. And the lamp chord dragging behind her. The music room was open. She visibly relaxed. That must be it. She'd gone into a place she felt safe. Sure enough, the moment Brittany walked into the room, she caught sight of Santana sleeping on the floor. She could have laughed in relief.

"That doesn't look very--" about three steps in, she saw it.

The blood.

And she screamed.

"Santana--oh my god, no!" Frantic, she took another three steps towards the girl, before flinching back. Help. She needed help. She ran to the doorway. "Somebody! Anybody! Please, she's really hurt...I think..."

The blood drained from her face as a past conversation she'd had came back to haunt her.

People've died here, you know.

Yeah, I know. People die all the time.

Her legs wobbled beneath her. No. No no no no. This wasn't how it was supposed to...not Santana...not today...

Pure instinct led her to abruptly shut the door, locking it with a loud click. Somebody was killing people, and she had just screamed. That was... No, wait, she could worry about that later. First, Santana. As it was, It was a miracle her feet managed to get her to the other girl's side, practically collapsing the moment she got there. Santana's head was in her lap at once, and the blood was everywhere. It came from her throat. Still pouring out. Brittany reached with one hand, trying to stop it. For all the good that did. All she did was get the blood on her hand. Santana's blood.

"No, please. Don't do this. Don't die on me. I don't..." Her voice caught in her throat. She'd never been so scared in her life. "I don't know what to do, Santana. Please. Tell me what I'm supposed to do..."

There was no answer. Nor would there be.

She wanted to cry. Her eyes burned. Her chest ached. Her vision blurred. Any minute, she would throw up. She knew it. Except, no. She had to be strong. For Santana. If somebody came, she had to be ready to tell them what happened. Except she didn't know what happened. She didn't know anything. Just that Santana was laying in her arms, dead, and she was getting blood all over her skinny jeans. One hand still on her throat, the other wrapped around her upper chest, Brittany leaned down and placed her chin on the top of Santana's head. Her eyes just barely caught a piece of paper to one side. It was soaked in red, save for a few sparse letters at the top: V--LEN-INE

Valentine.

Santana had come to work on a song. For her.

Brittany shut her eyes. Tight.

"All of my life, I have been waiting for, all you give to me..." Music only she could hear played in her head, the melody barely passing through her lips in more than a quivering whisper. One last song. "You opened my eyes and showed me how to love unselfishly. I've dreamed of this a thousand times before. In my dreams I couldn't love you more..."

A pause, and she nearly missed the next beat as her voice threatened to crack.

"...I will give you my heart, until the end of time..."

The tears rolled down her cheeks now. Hot. Wet.

"You're all I need, my love...my Valentine."

She buried her head in Santana's hair.

And she cried.

Amy had set out that day with her handy dandy tranquilizer gun in hand. She hadn't needed to use it before but with Crowley's warning and a keen sense of dread, she decided to be prepared. She moved carefully about the halls, keeping her ears and eyes open for anything amiss. One of these days, she'd actually learn to stay inside. It still wasn't that day.

She came across the two men staggering down the hall. And after a few words and curses at their stupidity, she took the Doctor and began dragging him to the hospital. Not that she knew who he was. Of course, along the way, she lectured him about the stupidity of walking out empty handed and trying to take on a pick axe wielding murderer on his own. She wasn't entirely sure he was conscious for most of her lecture, however.

Once in the clinic, she all but tosses him at a nearby exam table. She turned her back to him as she looked around, the one presence she was hoping to see worryingly absent. She began speaking without turning around.

"Well if you hadn't decided to get attacked or whatever you wouldn't need to be here. Only a bloody idiot would wonder out there without protection."

Oh, it figured that of all the people to run into right now, it would be someone who was more keen on giving him a lecture about being safe and not doing stupid things, even as she helped him get along to the clinic. Luckily for him, he was having a bit of trouble keeping his senses from swimming away from him, a thing that would only impede their progress along the corridors. Doing that was requiring some effort, which meant his attention was a bit divided.

Of course when everything was resolved and over with, he'd remember to thank her, but being tossed at an exam table was hardly indicative of a good bedside manner. He didn't quite make it on top of the thing, if that was the plan, falling heavily against it instead and using it to prop himself up.

"Of course, that was always the plan," he said, not quite glaring daggers at her, but not appearing amused either. "Because encountering a man with a pickaxe was at the very top of my list of priorities today."

Stopping his rather clumsy efforts to remain standing (exam tables aren't the best things to rely on for support), he glanced around them. "Martha Jones! She's going to be a doctor, and this is a clinic. Where is she? She should be here." He'd look for her himself, of course, but letting go of the exam table could possibly mean landing on his face, which was not a particularly desirable outcome.

She still isn't paying much attention to him but she start to rummage through cupboards to look for bandages and the like. "It's Wonderland. You should always be prepared for something to happen." She points at the tranquilizer gun that she's somehow managed to drag down with him. "Almost never leave home without this puppy."

If he wanted good bedside manner, he should have figured out how to run into Mr. Pond. As it was, Amy was still on edge from the angel attack last week, what losing one of her closest friends and all. And things were just getting too eerie for her. Martha should have been here. She turns to look at him when he mentions the doctor's name. "You know her?" While it isn't surprising that someone knows Martha- she's spent a good amount of time here after all- the familiarity in his voice gives her pause.

The list of people who had been attacked was getting longer, casualties and injuries alike. Jo herself had been added to the list in recent hours, but she knew she should count herself lucky for coming away with nothing more than a few bruises and a broken arms.

She'd seen some of the bodies. Heard about the rest. She'd seen what happened to Charlie, heard about how Sam had been injured, how Martha's body had been broken open and her death made a mockery of.

She had seen a lot of things since she'd signed up for the hunter life, but somehow, this was so much worse. This wasn't a ghost or a demon or some trick of Wonderland's magic. Tom had told her exactly what it was, and not for the first time, she felt her stomach twist itself into knots at the very idea of how truly awful human beings could be.

She made her way to Sam's bed in the clinic after her arm was set, pinned against her chest in a sling and still so much better than what could have been. Rather than sit at the end of the bed itself, she turned a chair to face him with her good hand and took a seat, giving him a quick once-over and feeling her stomach lurch.

He was one of the strongest people she knew. This wasn't right.

"Hey," she said softly.

She does make a good point. After everything he's lived through, including but not limited to alien invasions and Dalek attacks, he should have known better, and he should have never let a human get the better of him. But it's done now and next time, he won't have let his guard down. It's almost ludicrous that this whole thing happened to start with, and while he won't let on about it in front of her or anyone else for that matter, catching the Doctor off guard is just not a thing that happens.

So needless to say, he's not exactly pleased by anything that's occurred, and just by virtue of being in the clinic because of his own idiocy, his mood is not exactly pleasant either. It's not even that he wants someone with a good bedside manner. The lunacy of the whole situation is just beginning to eat at him and causing him to be a bit tetchy.

"Right, next time, I'll remember that. Always bring a tranquilizer gun." He shakes his head, knowing he'll be hard pressed to pick up any sort of weapon or threatening device at all. He'd rather be cut up again than have to shoot someone or otherwise hurt them. "Of course I know her. Fine sort of friend I'd be if I forgot about the person I've taken on traveling with me."

That thing about needing the other Pond? Even more important now that he mentioned traveling with Martha. Because that means...it could only be. "No." With that, all care to finding bandages and things to stop the bleeding and get cleaned up go out the window. She has more important matters to attend to.

Amy takes a good long moment to stare at Ten. She examines every careful inch that she can. While he's a bloody mess and doesn't look a thing like her Doctor... "You're not really him, are you?"

She squints at him, trying to figure out how it's even possible. There were inklings and clues that maybe he doesn't always keep the same face but she's never experienced anything of the sort with him. Aside from the childhood encounter that's seared on her mind...

"No?" He looks over at her, an eyebrow raised. This conversation's distracting him from the troublesome bleeding and discomfort from his pickaxe wounds. He notices he's left blood on the edge of that exam table, something that'll have to be cleaned up, because it can't be left there. Martha would be most upset if it was.

"Well, I might be him, although that depends on which him we're talking about." He starts to smile and straighten up, but that's clearly the wrong idea as moving causes his clothing to catch uncomfortably on the gash he took when the axe struck him in the side. "Sorry, must have forgotten to say it in the confusion of things. I'm the Doctor." It comes out sounding more like a gasp than he intended, and he can't quite contain a bit of a wince. So much for a smooth introduction.

Perhaps later, when things aren't quite so dire, they can try again. He'd like to, if she's willing. It might be silly, but this entire situation and scene is leaving much to be desired.

"Sorry, did you say you're the Doctor?" She stares at him wide eyed, much as if he's grown a second head or some such thing. Her mouth opens and closes a bit as she tries to process this information. She knew his looks could change, knew that he didn't and wouldn't always look as he did in her time. But encountering a different version of him and really knowing that it is possible and this man would one day become the one that is her best friend, it's mind boggling.

"But you're...and he...and." She fixes her mouth shut and goes to an exam table next to him to perch on it as she gathers her thoughts. After a moment she fixes her gaze back on him. "Are you really the Doctor?"

"I'm really the Doctor," he replies almost at once, having seen and heard similar reactions before. But this one is a bit different, because there's something in the way she's looking at him that makes him think she knows who the Doctor is without a doubt, but her Doctor is a different one from him.

When she starts to stammer, he even manages a hint of a smile, looking over at her as she sits next to him. It's a lot to take in, of course, and he's willing to just let her have the time to work it out. It's only the right thing to do.

For a few moments she feels like she's seven again, staring at the man who promised to change her life. It's all sorts of different and off and it's hard for her to reconcile the two faces as being the same man. She imagines that they aren't perfectly similar, and already has seen minor differences, but to really be here with the Doctor. Even if he isn't hers...

It's the smile that snaps her from her confusion. She recognizes the kindness in the gesture. It's the way her own Doctor is. The innate kindness, the goodness within him. And then everything comes flooding back to her and she's up and off the table and back at the cabinets.

"Oh, right. Bandages. Lots and lots of bandages. No worries. I used to play doctor and nurse when I was a kid." Never mind that the doctor was him and she only had one of those kid nurse kits. Rory mostly used it anyway. She gathers a handful of supplies before she kneels in front of him and tries to decide where to begin.

Even as she's thinking about it, the Doctor just sits there, still with that smile that seems to be widening by the second, waiting for her to do or say something. They usually do, in the end, whether it's to express confusion or excitement or distrust. In situations like this, there's usually something to be said, and it's the unpredictability of it all that he likes. Every person is different after all, and this ginger-haired girl seems to be no exception to that.

And speaking of ginger hair, it's just then that he realizes she is ginger, which, among other things, endears her to him rather quickly. "Oh, you wanted to be a doctor or nurse as well?" That explains how she knows Martha, or at least he thinks it does. "Well, come on, then, let's see how you do."

No pressure, of course, Amy. It's not like he's a real doctor, after all, even if he maintains that he's a doctor of everything.

She looks up at his question of her wanting to be a doctor or nurse. There's some hesitation before she replies- how do you tell someone that you grew up hoping they'd come back for you, wishing against wish that they'd take you from your life and show you the stars like they promised? He was her idol for so long, her world for so many years. And here he's thinking that she's competent enough to be a proper nurse. She offers him a smile.

"It's my husband that's the nurse. I'm- well never mind that. Used to pretend you'd come and rescue me, show me what the universe had to offer like you promised. Took you a bit to make good on that."

She grabs a stack of gauze and that bandagey looking material and presses it against the ugly hole near his collarbone. "Hold this," she instructs as she unwraps some tape and tears at it with her teeth.

Though Souji is aware of the danger unfolding, and though he's wary, he's determined not to be terrorized by it. He goes to the diner like normal, and cooks for anyone who shows up--though it isn't many, under the circumstances--and he wipes down tables and mops the floor.

Despite all his experiences at home and in Wonderland with the unexpected, he's still taken off guard by the blinding light shining from the headlamp on his next might-be-diner.

Whether it takes a long time or a short one is a moot point; the outcome is the same either way. It isn't an appetizing sight and the smell is worse: gore with a slight hint of sugar. Souji's body is on the counter, like a carcass on a butcher's cutting board if not for the tiny candy hearts scattered in the blood pooling around him. There are more of them stuffed into and overflowing from Souji's shattered and crushed chest cavity.

Though the dining room is largely still in order, in the kitchen is in disarray. Many of the utensils are missing from their usual places, and although they aren't all easily located, the lesser wounds on Souji's arms and torso make it easy to see what they were used for. In a small, unintentional sort of consolation to whoever happens to find him, his eyes aren't open and staring, though that's only because the blood streaking his face made him squeeze them closed as he died.

It's a much greater, but equally unintentional, consolation to Souji himself that this is his third death and everything will be over by the time he revives.

Well, it makes sense to him, even though he's still unaware just how connected she is to Martha, but the more important thing is, she has a connection with the Doctor, one of his other selves, and someone who, from his point of view, has yet to enter the picture.

"Oh, so you're married, are you?" His smile widens at that. He likes it when people are happy, and he certainly hopes that she is. "But I did come for you eventually, right? There's so much to see out there, and it would be a shame if you never got a chance to see it all." He hopes he kept his word, or else she's probably gotten a nasty image of him if he didn't.

Doing as she says, he takes the gauze and the material and holds it there with one hand. It's really so inconvenient, this business of being injured. If he has anything to say about it, he'll try and avoid it in the future, because once is bad enough.

Tohru has felt very much the same. The diner has always been a safe place for people to go to during events, so she feels it's important to try and keep things going normally and to give people shelter if they need it.

She's been saddened by the deaths though. She knows many of the victims personally, some better than others, and she hasn't been unaffected by them. But, it seems important to continue to work hard and try her best for everyone, for their sake.

So, she heads to the diner for her usual shift. She expects it will be quiet, like it has been the last few days, so she's planning on using the time to prepare Valentine's chocolate for people. They might not be able to be delivered until after the holiday, when this event is over, but it's a good time to get them made and packaged.

When she opens the door though, her stomach sinks. There's a smell she can't quite place, and it's very...quiet. Souji's a quiet person, but the diner is completely silent.

"...Souji? I'm, um. I'm here for my shift. ...Are you here?"

There's no reply.

That's not right. That's not right at all. Something's wrong here. So, Tohru slowly goes into the kitchen and lets out a scream at the sight before her. She covers her mouth hastily, in case the culprit is still nearby, but her eyes start to water and she feels like she's going to be sick.

He's...Souji's...someone cut him open. The room is torn apart and he's laying in a pool of blood. His eyes are shut and he's far too still.

"...Souji? S-Souji?"

His name trembles out of her mouth but he's far too still. She steps backward, slowly. A couple of candy hearts are crushed under her foot.

"...help. I have to..." Another wave of nausea and sorrow hit her, but she chokes most of it back. "...I-I have to get help! Someone!"

And then she turns and she runs. She's not sure where she should be or what she should be doing, but she knows she has to seek help. She can't do this on her own. She can't. Not when Souji's....

Her hurried steps leave faint red footprints behind.

"Been married a couple of years or so now. Kind of nice having someone traveling with me and hi-you..." Time's funny when you spend most of it in the TARDIS and don't have to worry about timelines. She still finds it hard to reconcile the different faces into one person, though.

She stretches the tape over the bandages. "That should do for now. What's next? Ah, yes." She just casually as can be opens his shirt to expose the gash. She might not have gotten the lesson about gently peeling it away so it doesn't hurt like hell, though. "And it only took you twelve years to show up again. Two more after that before you took me with you." Okay, so maybe she's being a bit rougher than need be. She still is a bit upset about that, years later.

"Oh, lovely. That's just brilliant. And yeah, would be kind of nice to have someone else come along for the ride." He doesn't even notice the little slip; this has to be strange for her, all things considered.

"These days, it's just Martha who comes along with me. It's alright, though, and she and I get along well enough-" He breaks off as the fabric peels away, gritting his teeth to keep from letting out a protesting noise. "She's brilliant too, you know," he adds on when he finally gets his breath back. "Sorry about taking so long, though. I can't say I know what took me that long, since, well... It was a different me."

[ Ever since he learned the news that Scott had gone back home, well, to say Isaac felt a little disconnected from everyone would be an understatement. He probably should have asked Allison to go with him, but he needed some fresh air. He knew about the murders about everything going on. Isaac was sure if he stayed still any longer he would literally tear his skin off or drown. Wonderland's full moon was pulling at his instincts. Skin feels like it's crawling.

It's what ultimately drags Isaac outside to go running and draw some of the stress out of him that's wound up taught. He's halfway on his way to relaxing the need to expend energy when the scent of blood hits him. His legs are already moving - hurriedly - and he lets his instincts take front seat just as Chris had told them to. Actual wolves are known to track their prey by up to a hundred Miles a day by scent.

What he finds is more horrifying than he expected. Blood on the ice and snow and then in the middle of the whole mess? A body, the body of the person he vaguely remembers talking about pizza to. Immediately he's darting forward to fall to his knees next to the body. Pale hands go to either side of Kid's throat to try to find his pulse. He doesn't find anything so the teenager leans down over his mouth trying to hear if he's breathing. The metallic tang of blood in the air is making him dizzy though and all he can hear is the thudding of his own heart in his ears. ]

Oh god.

[ He leans back before hands move to try to push on the wound on Kid's stomach, staining them red. Then he realises that the carnage of the other Wonderland resident's chest is clearly a fatal wound and... Isaac's hands move to hover over the gaping hole. He can't find the other boy's heartbeat over his own because his heart has been torn clear out of him.

He should call Allison. Before he can do anything the sound of movement has suddenly ochre eyes flickering up and towards the possible threat. If it's the person or thing that did this, he really doesn't want to be taken off guard. ]

Dreamshade would have been a far gentler fate for you.

_{[Snow White's--no, Mary Margaret's--body has just long enough to cool before her resting place receives a visitor, casual commentary included.

Arms folded, Peter Pan stands off to the side of the carnage, having walked around her in a half-circle, cataloging her wounds with a look that could have been idle interest or could have been pity. Not once does he touch her. He's not here for that, whether to care for Emma's family or to defile Snow White's remains more than they already have been by her killer.]}

Don't worry. _{[As he sniffs and finally unfolds his arms, he speaks to her reassuringly. Softheartedly, almost.]} You can take your rest. It's well-deserved.

_{[He then crouches, pulling a empty glass vial from the folds of his clothes. He holds it out over the puddled blood on the floor for a moment before waving his other hand between vial and blood. When he's done, the vial is suddenly half-full of dark, red liquid. Stoppering the container, he puts it away and stands again.]}

Too bad, no prince to bring you out of this slumber.

_{[Peter gives her body once last look before he's gone.]}

[Strictly speaking, Dean shouldn't be on patrol. He's already got a steady stream of pairs circling the grounds with their eyes peeled. He definitely shouldn't be going at it alone, not after issuing the warning to travel in pairs. Dean's famous for not listening to his own advice, though- always a do as I say not as I do attitude. Must have picked it up from his father.

Go figure.

Another thing that might be attributed to that is the difficulty he has repressing the urge for revenge, and after seeing Charlie-

After seeing Charlie like that, he's an unstoppable force, restless energy behind a gun with an eager bullet.

It's probably the worst possible time to stumble onto Isaac in this precarious situation. So, of course, he does.

It's one of the werewolf pack. It has to be. This far into the woods on a full moon? Eyes that light reflective? He can't see a face, but he can see those bouncing moonlight like headlights.

His footsteps are quiet and determined, but werewolves can hear. At least most branches of the werewolf family have some kind of excelled hearing, and he banks on this being the case, too. Doesn't try to muffle them nearly as well as he should, because there's no stealthing this one.

It's really not a hard conclusion to jump to, in his defense. He sees the back of a figure in the darkness, sees a trail of blood staining the snow and a pair of legs laying, motionless. He can't see who the body is yet, just that it clearly is one, and he must've, must've caught this one in the act.

So he cocks his gun from a few yards away before the figure can bolt, nice and metallic and audible. Levels it at a face he can't quite make out just yet from this distance in the dark.]

You bolt, I'll shoot. Trust me when I say I don't miss.

[It's a hard warning, a level one, shaded with something dark.]

It's intense, the way in which Harry descends on Philip. Hard, without mercy.

The flare strikes and hits the ground, smoke and intense light exploding in the small space.

It might be more effective if his assailant weren't in full protective gear. If he weren't able to breathe, if the light blinded him. But he is wearing a suit designed to protect against something very like a flare going off and so it does little damage.

It does, however, create a great cloud of smoke and roaring sparks.

All the better to hide in. To lunge for the pick axe and scramble back to locate where his victim has gone.

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VALENTINE'S DAY CATCH ALL 12th-17th

2/14 | James Potter | Closed to Sirius

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Happy Valentine's, indeed....

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That night, in the clinic.

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02/14/2014 - Death Post: Seta Souji

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What's Valentines Day without a dead body?

Wow, I thought I was going to a comedy show and I walked into a funeral...

Blatant speciesism

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