[Ongoing] First & Second Impressions
Who: Near [farfromwhite], Mello [cruxed] And anyone else that would like to show up? ♥
Where: The Market Area
When: Today. Mid-afternoon-ish.
Summary: Mello arrives at Memento Eden and isn't at all happy about it. Perhaps seeing a not-so-familiar annoying face will help?
Warnings/Notes: Uhm. A copious amount of f-bombs on Mello's part? Other than that, probably nothing serious.
It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
Electric-blue eyes narrowed, line of sight traveling from store to store, sweeping past windows of books and clothes, searching for the elusive... Well. Hard facts were hard facts, and Mello didn't know what the hell he was looking for, only knew that he needed to find it. It's funny how things work like that, you know that there's something you wantneedcrave, but you can't quite put your finger on it. You have no idea what it is, but at the same time know that it's intrinsic to your very person, and that you have to find it otherwise you might as well be a fucking failure.
Some people would call the feeling instinct. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't, Mello didn't care, just knew that the feeling was driving him insane -- more insane than the crowds of people littering the market place, and fuck, that was a grandiose feat.
With a slick of leather, Mello continued to walk forward, mind a jumble of misplaced ideas and unnamed cravings. Blackgloved hands found their way into the pockets of a leather bomber jacket and the machine-gun clatter of eurotrash boots sounded against the pavement, in perfect rhythm with his slew of thought:
1) This morning you woke up in a church.
2) You have no idea where you are.
3) You don't know who you are, apart from a name that you don't feel connected to.
4) That migraine isn't going to go away on it's own.
5) You still haven't found what you're looking for yet.
6) Well, shit, this is a fucking riot -- the best day of your life so far (the only one that you can remember). How are you supposed to know where you're going if you don't know where you've been?
Footfalls ceased and Mello came to a halt, hands clenching into fists as a breeze tousled strands of blonde hair. Retrograde amnesia was blissful, really, the best goddamned plague that one could ask for.
It was a moment before Mello started to move again, footsteps an angry clamor as didn't so much walk as surge forward, an angry train-wreck that was just waiting to find the right victim.
Where: The Market Area
When: Today. Mid-afternoon-ish.
Summary: Mello arrives at Memento Eden and isn't at all happy about it. Perhaps seeing a not-so-familiar annoying face will help?
Warnings/Notes: Uhm. A copious amount of f-bombs on Mello's part? Other than that, probably nothing serious.
It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
Electric-blue eyes narrowed, line of sight traveling from store to store, sweeping past windows of books and clothes, searching for the elusive... Well. Hard facts were hard facts, and Mello didn't know what the hell he was looking for, only knew that he needed to find it. It's funny how things work like that, you know that there's something you wantneedcrave, but you can't quite put your finger on it. You have no idea what it is, but at the same time know that it's intrinsic to your very person, and that you have to find it otherwise you might as well be a fucking failure.
Some people would call the feeling instinct. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't, Mello didn't care, just knew that the feeling was driving him insane -- more insane than the crowds of people littering the market place, and fuck, that was a grandiose feat.
With a slick of leather, Mello continued to walk forward, mind a jumble of misplaced ideas and unnamed cravings. Blackgloved hands found their way into the pockets of a leather bomber jacket and the machine-gun clatter of eurotrash boots sounded against the pavement, in perfect rhythm with his slew of thought:
1) This morning you woke up in a church.
2) You have no idea where you are.
3) You don't know who you are, apart from a name that you don't feel connected to.
4) That migraine isn't going to go away on it's own.
5) You still haven't found what you're looking for yet.
6) Well, shit, this is a fucking riot -- the best day of your life so far (the only one that you can remember). How are you supposed to know where you're going if you don't know where you've been?
Footfalls ceased and Mello came to a halt, hands clenching into fists as a breeze tousled strands of blonde hair. Retrograde amnesia was blissful, really, the best goddamned plague that one could ask for.
It was a moment before Mello started to move again, footsteps an angry clamor as didn't so much walk as surge forward, an angry train-wreck that was just waiting to find the right victim.