Comments | hogwarts_hocus: Open RP: I Must Be Emo

likeabadpenny in hogwarts_hocus

Open RP: I Must Be Emo

Sep 02, 2007 14:30

((Brought to you by the letters R, A, C and K. Which spell 'crack', but also, you know. Rack. So if you really want a bad emo poem written for you, poke the emo!))

( The build-up: In which the Easter Bunny is a bitch, and decides to make the emo kid, well... -fashion- Emo through use of magic chocolate. )

rachel morgan, peter petrelli, rp, easter bunny

Comments 25

racheltherunner September 2 2007, 05:02:42 UTC

We had a routine. Now, I wasn't usually one for scheduling out my life, but there were comforts I grew to expect. Things that made me feel centered, at home. And normally, when I came home from a run, Peter would be waiting. We'd make dinner or lounge around on the couch and watch TV - stuff to chill me out so that we could sleep. Nice, domestic, simple...

What did not happen was me coming home to find Peter gone along with my eyeliner and Charles Fluffers running around in circles, highly distressed. So, tired, my pants muddy, and with meerkat on shoulder, I stalked out the door looking for Peter. Either something was wrong or I was going to kick his ass.

With the sixth sense that seemed to push me head-first into trouble, I found Peter. Or, at least, someone I kind of thought might have been Peter in a former life. "Petrelli?" I said slowly, eyebrows up to my hairline. Wow, those pants were tight. "Um...are you okay?"

Recovering slightly when Fluffs made a chittering noise in my ear, I added, "And are you wearing my

likeabadpenny September 2 2007, 05:07:23 UTC

"Rachel, hi," Peter muttered, highly distracted as he abruptly started leafing through the notebook. It had to be in somewhere, he'd just written it, and oh god, he can't have lost it already! Dread! Despair! All other bad words beginning with D!

Starting from the front cover, Peter rustled through it again. "I write you a poem, but, ah, I dunno if I can find it. Sick. I totally just lost it, man." He tugged at his hair. "Do you want to hear a poem, when I find it? It's great, or at least I think so. You might not be prepared to hear it, though."

racheltherunner September 2 2007, 05:14:09 UTC

Blink.

"Um." Sick? Were we suddenly back in high school? I felt old. "Yeah, I'd love that." Pause. "Your hair is different." Fluffers was now crawling around to the back of my neck, hiding in my hair from Peter.

"Hey, um..." What was a good way to ask if he'd recently suffered any blows to the head? "What was it about?" Maybe he'd just gotten bored? Once, when I was a teenager, I'd had to stay home from school for a week (totally not my fault, that kid had deserved a kick in the nuts) and I'd gone so stir-crazy I had dyed my hair purple and contemplated running away to join the circus. Maybe this was just cabin fever. Or he was playing some kind of weird joke. I'd hope for that.

likeabadpenny September 2 2007, 05:21:46 UTC

"I can't find it," Peter sighed, giving up and tucking the notepad into his pocket. It took some working, because he'd practically had to use a shoe-horn to get into these pants. "Sorry. It was so good, too. It was about the meaningless of life and how connections we make with people are only temporary, and how everyone is dead inside but we're all wearing masks to make ourselves feel better." All of this was said in a very matter-of-fact tone.

Finally seeing Fluffers, his meerket, attempting to hide from him in Rachel's hair, Peter's train of thought derailed.

His eyes grew wide. And slightly shiny. And before anything else could happen, Peter sat down on the ground and buried his face his hands. "I'm such a bad father to Fluffers," he wailed. "Oh god! I'm so caught up in being original and amazing that I forgot about him! I have to take a video of myself crying and upload it to Youtube, so everybody can see my pain!"

Thread 22

hellminxmel September 2 2007, 11:39:14 UTC

Look at his inner pain! His suffering! His...okay, well, the poetry's a bit too much, but she can work with it.

Maia has the black hair styled as if she's trying to blind herself, and the eyeliner that makes her look like a raccoon, but she hasn't been turned that badly yet.

'I love your hair!' she cries, already feeling the kindred spirit-ness of the whole thing.

likeabadpenny September 2 2007, 14:22:58 UTC

Someone liked his hair! Score a point for Peter Petrelli!

"Isn't it great?" Peter tugged on it to emphasize. "I just had, like, this random wave of inspiration. And oh my god, I think I'm jealous of your hair already. I've just been writing this sick poem, and I swear I was just talking about hair like yours."

hellminxmel September 2 2007, 15:37:23 UTC

Maia bats her overly-teased eyelashes, smiling because it's been a very long time since she got a genuine compliment from a guy, and shakes her head a little so it flutters in the wind. This may be helped with dark vibes.

'Mmm. Cherry Pink Atomic? God, if I ever dye my hair--' So, when she's destroyed Mel and no longer has to look like her--'I'm gonna put pink streaks in, too.'

What? Maia gets lonely sometimes, and there is totally no harm in talking to a fit guy who has inner turmoil too.

'Woah, that's sooo creative. Are you, like, a poet, then?' With the consumptiveness and the drugs and the bongo drums?