Welcome to Bates Motel
Who: Anita a_necromancer and Hidaka Ken wcn-siberian
Where: His room, then a tour of the House
When: During the memory event
Rating: PG-13, most likely
Summary: A newcomer gets a tour
The Log:
Anita was in a grumbley mood. All her friendly neighbors seemed to have new memories that were playing havoc with their lives, and the experience was transforming usually sane people into genuine frothing-at-the-mouth loonies. Perfect time for a new arrival. Though she usually spared no time at all considering what her appearance might do to the comfort level of others, Anita begrudgingly stopped in front of her dresser and peered at the glass. Even she had to admit that a Browning high-power in a shoulder holster layered on top of a red t-shirt with a zombie on it didn't exactly scream 'welcoming committee'.
With an eyeroll and sigh that would have put surly teenagers to shame, Anita flung open her closet door and selected a black blazer. It looked a bit odd with her blue jeans, sneakers, and shirt, but at least it hid the gun, even when open. Besides, fashion had never been a concern for the young necromancer, and now was to be no different. Paranoia was the better part of survival, in Anita's world, and she would no more have left her room without her gun than she would have traipsed around the mansion without pants. Anita ran a hand through her black curls as she walked, raking them out of her dark eyes. Locking her door behind her, she scanned the hallway for possible basket cases, and made her way to the newcomer's room. She'd read his name was 'Ken' on his journal, and though it might have been the source of gut-splitting hilarity, she hoped the name was coincidental, and not indicative of an ex-girlfriend named Barbie. That would be almost too weird to bear.
Where: His room, then a tour of the House
When: During the memory event
Rating: PG-13, most likely
Summary: A newcomer gets a tour
The Log:
Anita was in a grumbley mood. All her friendly neighbors seemed to have new memories that were playing havoc with their lives, and the experience was transforming usually sane people into genuine frothing-at-the-mouth loonies. Perfect time for a new arrival. Though she usually spared no time at all considering what her appearance might do to the comfort level of others, Anita begrudgingly stopped in front of her dresser and peered at the glass. Even she had to admit that a Browning high-power in a shoulder holster layered on top of a red t-shirt with a zombie on it didn't exactly scream 'welcoming committee'.
With an eyeroll and sigh that would have put surly teenagers to shame, Anita flung open her closet door and selected a black blazer. It looked a bit odd with her blue jeans, sneakers, and shirt, but at least it hid the gun, even when open. Besides, fashion had never been a concern for the young necromancer, and now was to be no different. Paranoia was the better part of survival, in Anita's world, and she would no more have left her room without her gun than she would have traipsed around the mansion without pants. Anita ran a hand through her black curls as she walked, raking them out of her dark eyes. Locking her door behind her, she scanned the hallway for possible basket cases, and made her way to the newcomer's room. She'd read his name was 'Ken' on his journal, and though it might have been the source of gut-splitting hilarity, she hoped the name was coincidental, and not indicative of an ex-girlfriend named Barbie. That would be almost too weird to bear.