Nov 28, 2010 18:54
[The journal's camera captures...a shoe! Specifically the bottom of one; more specifically, the heel.]
--s is not where I was last.
[Joining the chorus of almost-familiar voices is another; the eyes that the camera sees when the foot is lifted away are inhumanly red and glowing. Like not-so-little, familiar coals. The face is...also slightly familiar, as is the blonde hair, but that hair is too long and the face too old to be a perfect match. The journal is scooped up with clawed hands after a moment of contemplation.]
How interesting.
[--and snapped closed.
This strange yet vaguely familiar (and very, very tall) woman can later be found wandering House 44--or somewhere else entirely, as that random teleportation gimmick has yet to run its course. In a snowbank? The roof? On your face?
The only thing that connects her directly with Flandre is the wings on her back; red, with a single row of seven-colored spots.]
((OOC: SAY HI TO OLD!FLAN, GUYS. Throwing the age dial in the other direction, she's about five-hundred years older than her canon age of 495.
Oh, and Remilia's dead. She's still a bit cranky over that.
And she may or may not remember you. It's been an awful long time for her, after all.))
not tiny,
why am i so old,
au'd,
get off my lawn,
!event,
what is this fuckery