9 ♦ gone
[Forward-dated. Tomorrow.]
[ Sister ]
Screw not being able to shoot at anything fun. Let's go down to the shooting range. My aim's going. I tried to hit a cat with a pillow and I missed. I still can't believe I missed.
[A couple hours later finds Harley navigating the halls to Sister's room. Sister hadn't answered her yet. Which probably meant she was either high or hungover. Again. Either way, she had to go check that Sister was okay. When Harley finally finds her friend's room, she discovers the nameplate is missing.
She stares at it for a long time, uncomprehending. It's more reflex than conscious thought that makes her grab the doorknob and turn it.
The room is empty.
There's no surprise - on some level, with all of the people disappearing, she had been almost expecting it - but there is a very sharp surge of denial, followed by an undeniable sense of loss.
Then everything twists and darkens into undiluted anger. The journal falls out of the front pocket on her sweatshirt as she throws her arm back.]
MOTHERFUCKING SON OF A BITCH!
[The shout is punctuated by a dull slam produced when she punches the wall. Her fist is throbbing as if a little heart, a little painful heart, had been slipped under the skin of her knuckles. Pain's worth it, though. There's a pretty, cracked dent on the wall. Not that it'll stay, but she hopes it annoys the castle.
She picks up the journal and rips out the page she wrote before slamming it shut.]
[ OOC: Action. If you're looking to pick a fight, she'll be happy to punch you. Or if you'd like to take a shot at calming the seriously pissed-off woman, good luck. ]
[ Sister ]
Screw not being able to shoot at anything fun. Let's go down to the shooting range. My aim's going. I tried to hit a cat with a pillow and I missed. I still can't believe I missed.
[A couple hours later finds Harley navigating the halls to Sister's room. Sister hadn't answered her yet. Which probably meant she was either high or hungover. Again. Either way, she had to go check that Sister was okay. When Harley finally finds her friend's room, she discovers the nameplate is missing.
She stares at it for a long time, uncomprehending. It's more reflex than conscious thought that makes her grab the doorknob and turn it.
The room is empty.
There's no surprise - on some level, with all of the people disappearing, she had been almost expecting it - but there is a very sharp surge of denial, followed by an undeniable sense of loss.
Then everything twists and darkens into undiluted anger. The journal falls out of the front pocket on her sweatshirt as she throws her arm back.]
MOTHERFUCKING SON OF A BITCH!
[The shout is punctuated by a dull slam produced when she punches the wall. Her fist is throbbing as if a little heart, a little painful heart, had been slipped under the skin of her knuckles. Pain's worth it, though. There's a pretty, cracked dent on the wall. Not that it'll stay, but she hopes it annoys the castle.
She picks up the journal and rips out the page she wrote before slamming it shut.]
[ OOC: Action. If you're looking to pick a fight, she'll be happy to punch you. Or if you'd like to take a shot at calming the seriously pissed-off woman, good luck. ]