( AN OPEN POST #2 )

[charmlessness]

 
 
 

you know the drill. pick your poison (not entirely limited to those listed). reply with a prompt in the form of a post, photo, song, text, voicemail, whatever your heart desires & receive a response. simple, right? right.

 
 
 

Comments

[shesimmune]

( God, she is beyond tired of being the person to find dead bodies.

The lump in her throat feels like it's the size of a golfball, and she can't avoid stepping in blood, so she treads carefully, not entirely eager to slip. This night's already taken a turn for the worst, the last thing she needs is to wind up covered in the stuff, too. (Does anyone know how hard it is to get blood out of anything, let alone a light-colored silk skirt?)

She feels guilty for thinking it, but at least she doesn't know the girl that's laying in a pool of her own blood. Too many times has the victim been someone she knows; someone she was close to. It's not a victory in the slightest, but Lydia will take what she can get in Beacon Hills.

She should really text Stiles, as they have that tentative agreement about her contacting him first, but instead her phone stays tucked into a pocket of her purse. Her eyes well up as she gets closer. The smart thing to do in a situation like this would be to lie and not turn it into a bigger deal than it already is, but she finds that she can't do that. )

Did you see what happened?

( She chooses to take a more careful, controlled route. Maybe he didn't even see what happened; maybe there's a chance that he walked in on the scene just like she did, and she wouldn't have to lie about it. They live by the woods, it's completely logical that a bear could've made its way down from the mountains because it smelled food or something.

She knows this is the job of a werewolf, though, and she hopes that he doesn't know, because that's a problem the kids of Beacon Hills like to avoid. The more people actually know, the harder it is to keep things under the radar. )

[ramblin]

[ Of course he saw what happened, but does it make this little predicament make some sense? That's the real goddamn question of the day. Actually, scratch that. The real question is: who the hell are these girls? He finds it a little difficult to believe that the gingernut, alone, is the entirety of Beacon Hills' brigade in blue.

Especially dressed like that. ]

You know, it was the damnedest thing. She, uh. She slipped? and fell on a pair of safety scissors — look at her. You tell me.

[ It was a good suit. Now stained with the blood of some innocent girl who didn't deserve whatever the hell this was that happened to her. A wolf. A goddamn wolf. It's about as likely as a lightning strike and twice as goddamn baffling. He winces as he wipes the back of his wrist across his forehead.

Seth raises both his palms now, both hands stained red with that girl's life. It's useless. He starts up from his knees, standing to his full height. ]

It was a goddamn wolf. Size of a friggin' bear. It came in, took a piss, grabbed some jerky, and — oh, right. Killed an innocent girl for shits and giggles.

[ He grabs a towel off of a nearby dollar rack, turning the white rag into a shade of pink. She won't miss it. ]

You call the cops?