Moondance, with the stars up above - Open

[* Emmet Dubois]

You gotta love livin', baby,[/color]
'cause dieing's a pain in the ass.[/font]

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The sound of the ocean in that awkward hour between night and morning is the sound of perfection. The waves licked up the shore, foaming at the lips of the ocean on the sand; shells and bottles were spit out, and the count was at three bottles and four shells. These moments were what she lived for, these moments of complete and utter peace; was there any way to describe the sense of sudden understanding that transcended her? In that moment, she would say no. No, there was no way to fully appreciate through words what a moment of complete belonging in the world feels like. It was like every religion aligned, every belief made sense, every god smiled at the scenery they seemed to be incontrol of and nodded in contentment.

Emmet looked out across the deep blue of the water, the blue was nearly black and as it ran toward the horizon the sky and earth met in a seemless unification that caused a small sigh to escape her lips. Running a tongue over them, she tasted the salt of the air and her eyes drifted shut slowly. Emmet wanted to bury herself in this world she'd discovered, so desolate and yet to full of everything. It was as if every breathe of humanity swam up the current of wind across the ocean and whispered against her. Her toes wiggled deeper into the sand they were already buried in, and her hands scooped up the moist sand and tossed it onto her bare legs, across her arms, around her neck, through her fingers.

With sand like a coat of texture across her skin she reached over and grabbed the bottle she'd buried in the sand as well, pulling it up and unscrewing the cap of the wine. It certainly was a night, a morning, for wine. Slender fingers pulled another smaller, plastic bottle from out of the sweater she'd tossed aside earlier and tossed a few white and blue pills into her palm, unconcerned with the sand there either. Her elemental shaded eyes gazed at the pills for a split second, a split second of hesitation, of wonderment, before her body reacted for her and pushed the palm against her mouth. A swig of wine and the deed was done.

She hadn't slept in two days, the pills did that sometimes, but it didn't help that her mind was a restless beast of it's own. As if her own beast, the one that burst out of her every full moon, resided there to purr idlely and mockingly in her skull until it could physically emerge. She could deal with that, even if it meant insomnia. Besides, without her insomnia would she have walked down to the beach at such an outrageous time? Well, actually, yes. But being an insomniac helped matters.

Replacing the wine in it's little cubby she leaned back and gazed at the stars above her, and then infront of her in the waters. She pointed off-handedly, and muttered softly, "Orion, darling, you've got to grant me my wish because you're the only person in my life I'll always adore. I love you like no other, and with that you're mine, and I'm yours. I wish for something new, and exciting."

New and exciting, it's what she always wished for. After all, a restless spirit was never content. That applied to her, to say the least..

Above her birds crowed as they flapped their wings, almost invisible against the canvas of night, and she grinned, crowing back with her head thrown back and her eyes closed.

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[Ellie]

[atrb=width,350,true][atrb=border,0,false][cs=2][bg=0f232e] Naturally, Lars Trell is the type of individual that either had marvelous luck or was placed in the shittiest situations fathomable. Consider this moment in time the latter. More often than not He found himself caught up in Giselle's affairs with whatever organized crime or big money lords she was involved with. He refused to try and keep up with the names and faces - although it might actually serve him well. So when the newlywed ventured out on his own he was most usually at a potential risk. Currently, their was a little group of werewolves on his heels. His shoes had flopped off in the sand someways back, he thinking it'd be a fine idea to get the fucker's out in the open of the beach so he could see them all at full range. It had happened before, so it wasn't as if he was unprepared. Or very frightened for that matter. It was just how you played on their egos first by running away that made them easy to take down when you simply got tired of running. As far as Lars could remember, their were only four - all of them visible from behind his shoulder. They could certainty keep pace, but on the sand he was simply faster and less burdened than the middle aged beasts. With them a good fifty feet behind him, Lars spun himself around - flipping out his forty five and ran backwards as he fired a shot into the chest of the first one down the line. His mind was trained on the other three targets and the annoying concentration needed to not stumble while his heels pulled his jeans lower on his waist. His trigger finger flinched again and the second went down. With sight of that the other two slowed their pace, and put their hands up only to beginning to turn around and run back from where they came. Lars was just about to decide weather or not to kill the other two bastards or let them go - deciding to do them out he tensed his trigger finger. Just then, however, his legs stumbled over a hard form, breaking the consistency of the smooth flat sand-land. At first he thought it was some driftwood or small sea-creature. But with his ass now in the sand and a bullet flying somewhere overhead - not in his desired target, Lars realized it was actually a person. "Fuck!" he breathed out, exasperated. Straitening himself back up again Lars gazed at the pair disappearing somewhere back up into the streets. Fucking Fantastic. The little beach fire had only lasted a few moments he guessed, so this female he had stumbled on obviously didn't have time to get her ass out of a crime scene. Oh, well. Unsuspecting witnesses were never all too much trouble. At this hour not many people would have heard the shots anyway. Now it was time to throw the dead fuckers out to sea, find his shoes and go home. "Sorry about that," said Lars briefly, flipping his legs off of hers and digging the wine bottle he had flattened vertically from his upright place back into the sand - thankfully not shattered to bits - before standing up and brushing himself off. No need for pleasantries, hopefully she wasn't the type of... no, what was she? Lars had walked some steps off back the way he came, the odd scent lingering in his sinuses. Unfamiliar scents with such potency as this annoyed him, it was not like he faced them often. He didn't let himself become distracted by it, however - and commenced walking... and rolling up his damp, sandy jeans. THIS IS TAGGED TO EMMET. ELLIE HAS BEEN LISTENING TO BRAND NEW AS SHE WROTE THIS 635 WORD POST HERE WHERE LARS IS WEARING THIS, AND SHE'D ALSO LIKE YOU TO KNOW, exciting enough I hope.

[* Emmet Dubois]

[atrb=width,397,true][atrb=border,0,false][cs=0][bg=f4ecdd] Now, granted, she trusted her dear Orion; in fact, she was quite infatuated with him. However, to get an instaneous reply to her request was a little more than she had expected. With the pills digested, and starting to work into her system, her senses spiked and her lips currled upward. Feeling energy roll in the bottom of her stomach, waiting to seep out of every orface, her shoulders shivered expectantly. Reminded all over again why she'd never stopped taking her pills; thrilled to the tip of her toes that no one could send her to rehab because no one significant knew about her little addiction. Her beloved friend, and wanly she looked over to the pill bottle still out in the open. Why hide it? She was all alone and enjoying her non-exsistent company. Sinking a little lower into the sand, she let her head roll backward and her eyes close. The distant sent of the birds, the salty air; a small hum pushed passed her lips and she suddenly grinned. Pushing herself forward, about to get up, she was crouched with her chin resting against her knee-- and then she froze. Bang! Her head snapped to her right and she saw five figures running toward her, one jerking backward and falling limply into the sand. Her eyes widened and she swallowed, anger bubbling up through her. Who the fuck was ruining this place? Who was tainting it with the idiocy of a society, and who was rotting her perfect evening? Her teeth ground together unforgivingly, a grudge already forming against whom ever this figure running backward toward her was. Looking up at the figure with narrowed eyes, she watched as the shadows crawled away from his face and gave her a good look. She tried to see his eyes, and immediately saw that look in his eyes; the eyes of someone ready and perfectly content killing for the sake of business, for the sake of practicallity. Her mouth opened slightly and then Emmie realized that this man wasn't slowing down. She turned to bolt on all fours when the figure fell over her and she fell into the sand, her hands pushed deep into the sand in an awkward push-up position. Fuck, he had said. She chuckled softly to herself, and nodded. Fuck indeed, that summed it up just fine. Twisting so that she was facing the man with his body strewn across her legs. As he pulled himself off of her and got up, swiftly and more elegantly than any human could in the sand, she watched him suspiciously as he apologized. Who apologized after they just fuckin' killed two people? Evidently this man. Letting a small sigh escape her, she brushed a hand across her eyes for a moment before opening them again. Sniffing the air, she smelled werewolf, and blood; gun smoke, and.. vampire. Mm, who else could kill so easily as a vampire? Straightening herself, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes from seemingly no where and lit it up. After taking the initial drag, she let it dangle inbetween her fingers before standing up, and looking at where her wine was. He might not have crushed it, but she hadn't put the lid on fully. It had spilled. "You spilled my wine," She called carefully after him,"and I know you sure as hell aren't going to just walk away from me after you killed two people in front of me." Emmet stated it simply, and took another drag. "I need some compensation from the.. emotional trauma," She smirked at this, "After all, this is a Republic, I could sue you for emotional trauma." Another drag, and then she stood up, brushing off the large amount of sand on her. Of course, she wouldn't actually sue him, but he ruined her night. She was going to give him grief for it. Running a hand absently at her hair, bits of sand rolling across her neck and off of her she looked out toward the water for a moment before looking back at the man. One more drag, and she ashed it. Taking a step in the direction he had walked away in she eyed the corpse just a few more yards infront of them both, another a yard away from it's partner. "Why'd you kill them?" She asked still staring at the corpse. Maybe this wasn't the reaction that someone perfectly sane would give. After all, she was probably on the road of pissing off a serial killer. That was wise. If she were intelligent she'd run away screaming; if she were stubborn as hell, she'd piss him off. Hm. Couldn't be what she wasn't. [ OOC ] Tagged: Lars. Notes: Metallica...? c: Lars plays the best drums evaa. Outfit: Check it. I was listening to: Smashing Pumpkins.

[Ellie]

[atrb=width,350,true][atrb=border,0,false][cs=2][bg=0f232e] Lars just continued walking. He rolled his eyes - his face still out of the girl's view. Being a vampire was a beautiful thing. He didn't know any extensive history on the development of his species - if anyone had ever even sought to delve into it - but somehow with the extensive killing of human's being done, the ability to mind bend worked it's way into the array of 'supernatural' powers. Supernatural to those whom it didn't come naturally, he guessed. And he did just that. Bringing a feeling of calmness and instructing the female to go home. But her steps never faltered and her bitching didn't stop. He would be more curious of he wasn't so fucking annoyed. He could contemplate her strange resistance and scent after he got rid of her. However he was going to go about that he wasn't sure. Lars could kill two men that were initially endangering him and his wife - but an innocent bystander that just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? No, he wasn't heartless and it would fuck up his conscious for too long to even go through the trouble. Maybe he'd just put that move Giselle showed him, what with the pressure point - and they just dropped out of consciousness like a rock. There's an idea. Last resort of course. She wanted to play the bother card? He could do that. With some long period of pause - and her tantalizing cigarette arresting his nicotine craving and running with it - Lars spoke up. "Your piece of shit wine was cheap and essentially worthless, and you're fine - I'm sure you just fucking wreak of self induced emotional trauma anyway, so it's high time you got the fuck over it and find some more drugs and booze."

[/b] He was allowed to say that - even though it made little sense. He'd been there done that - and really didn't care what she tried to make herself believe but it all did no good for one's psyche. Although he wasn't the preachy type, and he wasn't going to say he'd still found no hunger for his once loved substances that he malevolently abused. No if he was still a human he would probably be in some drug house somewhere getting laid by an STD infested whore. But the fact of the matter was that they did nothing for him any longer thanks to immortality - and that part of his life was long gone. Pity.

His walking stopped abruptly at the two bodies that laid not a few yards apart from each other. Lars eyed them for a moment, deciding what to do with the corpses. He looked out to sea, deciding it was the easiest option. Without another word to the girl, he began dragging the first werewolf towards the water - leaving behind blood stained sand from where he once rested.

Her question was vocalized as he was walking backwards into the surf. He just grinned and shook his head in disbelief. Lars waded up to his knees before casting the body as far out to surf as he could. Let them wash up like some accident, he figured. Them being involved with some organized crime, as he guessed they were would lead to many stems of suspects, most of them not Lawrence Donnie-Jude Trell. He could make things easy on himself, couldn't he?

He piped up as he came back with water darkened jeans for the next victim, "Because if those fuckers caught me I would probably be held for ransom, basically in deep shit. I figured I'd just save myself the fucking trouble,"[/b] he spitted out in an array of vulgarity that fell from his lips naturally, easily laced between his speech.

Once the second body was bobbing in the waves, he finally spun around to look the girl in the eyes, holding the cause to get his shoes that were some ways off on the shore, "Why do you even care?"

THIS IS TAGGED TO EMMET. ELLIE HAS BEEN LISTENING TO LeATHERMOUTH AS SHE WROTE THIS 684 WORD POST HERE WHERE LARS IS WEARING THIS, AND SHE'D ALSO LIKE YOU TO KNOW, no, not the biggest fan of metallica, just like the name xD.

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[* Emmet Dubois]

[atrb=width,397,true][atrb=border,0,false][cs=0][bg=f4ecdd] Now, if being insulted were something new there was no doubt she'd probably have over reacted to the way he was talking to her. She did have a temper, expecially when she was drugged up; but the fact of the matter is, insults are not something new to her, and more often than not she just laughed at the way people expected her to get all pissy. Still, she didn't give him that much, instead she just let her mouth peel back into a small, satisfied grin. Did you forget? She was only here to give him hell for ruining her night. His retaliation only made it obvious that Emmet was doing a good job of annoying him. That'd do just fine, just fine. Finally, she shrugged, replying as he began to wade into the water with the corpse, "I don't give two shits if wine is 'good' or not, why does it matter so long as you get drunk off of it?" Grabbing her sweater she put it on, pulling it around herself tightly and slipping her pills, cigarette pack, and hand into the pocket. "Self-Induced?" She took another drag and smirked widely, "I'm sure if I were a crying heap you wouldn't second guess the fact that witnessing two people get shot was the cause of my emotional trauma. After all, can't blame a weaping damsel in distress; heroics kick in once there's one." Shuffling her feet through the sand, she crossed one arm and then grinned, adding, "I'll gladly 'get the fuck over it' if you'll oblidgingly provide the booze and drugs. Couldn't complain a bit then." Another drag. She wasn't some proud, arrogant woman; she wasn't trying to make herself more than she was. Emmet was more than aware of her weaknesses, her ugly sides. She'd take drugs and drinks any day, and if you think she'd turn them down for the sake of appearences then you've lost your mind. Walking over to the dark spots of blood, the smell seeped up from the ground and entered her nostrils; the smell made her eyes flutter shut, and while it might not be as intoxicating for a were-animal as it would be for a vampire, it none the less caused her beast to roll against her skin, energized. Her mind flipped back to the kill of the hunt, the sheer, unnerving pleasure of ripping her thirds into some creature that she had out smarted, out played, out hunted-- her prey. Emmet was still a relatively new were-animal, or so it felt, and she wasn't quite used to the way her beast instictively loved tearing into flesh. It sent a shiver through her. His reply caused her to come back a bit, only then did she frown realizing how closed she'd let her beast come to her human mind. Emmet couldn't let that happen so easily. Finally at his sharp question she was drawn back to the situation. Turning to look at him and walk away from the blood she gave him a long glance before looking out toward the water where she imagined the bodies were. "When I asked why, I didn't mean state the obvious," She said, though her words weren't nearly as taunting as they had been, instead it was more of a statement, "I meant explain the situation. As in, why the hell did they want to get you in the first place? How'd you get on a werewolves' most wanted? That's the interesting shit, the real reason." After a pause, she mulled over his question and shrugged, "Why wouldn't I want to know? You obviously aren't living a boring life, I'm sure your story is a hell of a lot more interesting than the story of some love struck couple wandering down the beach." Her nose wrinkled. That had happened before. No, it had not been cute. It'd been nauseating and annoying. Wandering back she grabbed the bottle of wine out of the sand, her body swinging her leg wide and around as she swooped down to pick it up. Walking without pattern she seemed as if she were almost stumbling back in his direction, though she wasn't. Shaking the bottle she frowned at the amount left and then shrugged, tipping it back and then grabbing a piece of paper-- already rolled up and ready to go. Quickly she scribbled something extra to it before slipping the paper into the wine bottle and throwing it as hard as she could-- which was pretty damn hard --out into the ocean. It was a ritual of her's to do this, she had started on day and had never stopped. "Maybe you should stick messages down people's throats before you toss them out to sea, you never know who'll read those," She looked over toward him and grinned before returning her gaze to where she had seen the bottle splash into the waters. [ OOC ] Tagged: Lars. Notes: This post is meeeehnificant. Outfit: Check it. I was listening to: Frank Sinatra

[Ellie]

[atrb=width,350,true][atrb=border,0,false][cs=2][bg=0f232e] Lars hated people that generally mirrored himself in some ways. He didn't get how people lived with him. Fact of the matter was he saw much of himself in the young thing before him. His present self was a little more grown up, maybe. But it wasn't so long ago that he was just as 'I don't give a fuck!' as she was - probably more. It'd be a lie if he said he didn't miss it. Her sarcastic words just caused him to grin to himself and shake his head. "Right," he said rhetorically before wandering off down the beach to collect his shoes her answer wafting through the salty air. Lars let the sand sift through his inked feet - his eyes scanning the pale white of the sand for his cast-away shoes. He contemplated telling her or not. He saw no real harm - but telling her would just be complying and making things easier, wouldn't it? He wasn't trying to bend to her wishes - only make her equally as bothered as he was. Which wasn't all that much. But it was a little nuisance to his waning night. "I usually don't go into detail with individuals I don't know on a first name basis," he replied, prompting her to give her name up to him. At least then he would have something to go by besides her peculiar smell. Her question obviously led him to believe she knew of vampires at least. What the fuck was up with this. She certainly wasn't human or vampire. Was she a werewolf? Certainly didn't smell like one. He pushed that puzzle aside, however to continue speaking. "But if you have to fucking know... I get prayed upon because of relation," he said, "My wife has dealings with a bunch of fucks that want to find any way to blackmail her - just a lot of enemies that ultimately use me as a weakness," Lars shrugged, finally coming up upon his first shoe. His feet were still to wet and sandy to slip it on, however - and it just hung in one of his fingers, "Always keeps things fun though... much more fun than some pussy couple on a beach I guess." He found his other shoe just as she cast the bottle out to sea. He watched the glass reflect the moon's light momentarily before her words interrupted him. He grinned and slapped the soles of his shoes together in between them, sending sand on both of them, "You're hilarious," he stated bluntly, "But the real question is what the fuck are you?" He asked it quickly and rather out of the blue, but he wasn't curious about much else at this point, "You know, besides a kid in her early twenties that likes to have romances with wine and ecstasy." Giselle, his wife, had called him some time ago about coming into contact with a strange creature she'd never smelled before. Angered and freaked out - typical hot-headed and daft Giselle. Bless her. But what a coincidence he was experiencing the same. Thankfully his little subject was glued to him at the hip practically - while hers, as she described, was a bit more of an illusive asshole. You get more flies with honey than vinegary after all it seemed. THIS IS TAGGED TO EMMET. ELLIE HAS BEEN LISTENING TO PLACEBO AS SHE WROTE THIS 548 WORD POST HERE WHERE LARS IS WEARING THIS, AND SHE'D ALSO LIKE YOU TO KNOW, that was terrible - I sorry o.e I'll get better I swear, I'm just incredibly sick, so yeah - that's my excoos (x.