(Untitled)

[etananesoe]

How sad droop the willows by Zalal's fair side,
If reality could scream, she would. Rather than the gradual fading of Morpheus, or the simple presence of the other Endless, Nyarlathotep has torn a hole between the Dreaming and the waking world. He is there, tall and black, cold and red-eyed. His hands rest on Moiraine's shoulders, tilted

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[wadewilsonsdead]

Deadpool glares.

Glare, Deadpool, glare.

[etananesoe]

Have you ever felt your heart stop, your lungs seize up and breath hitch in such a way that it is obvious that soon the Elder Sister will be there? The feeling of dying so fast that even the mutated healing powers are incapable of keeping up with it? It lasts only a few moments, and then his attention moves on.

[wadewilsonsdead]

Ooogh, shit. THAT was fucked up. Alright, he's Dream. He's the Boss Lady's kid brother. Clearly, he can kick Deadpool's punk ass all the way from one end of the universe to the other.

That being said, he still was causing the one fucking place in the universe where he could get a beer without having to worry about people fucking with him. Not cool, endless being. Not fucking cool.

And really, dude? Sending him to chill with the Boss Lady? There are worse punishments than this.

[blue_ajah]

While you stand heroic, I sit
Composed ...
*Moiraine looks absolutely serene, and her black eyes are blank and unconcerned. She smiles up at him.*

And here we are again, my lord.
Rooted to your black look, the play turned tragic:
Which such blight wrought on our bankrupt estate,
What ceremony of words can patch the havoc?

[etananesoe]

Oh blest were the days when in childhood and hope
"So we are, my lady."
With my Moiraine I rov'd o'er the blossom-clad slope,
His lips curve, and he caresses her cheek with one palm as he lifts his hand off of her shoulder. The fingers dig into her hair, and he pulls her back against himself with the handfull, dipping to taste her lips. He then settles, and settles her next to him. In something which is concerned for her welfare, but sounds like command, he speaks;
Plucking white meadow-daisies and ferns by the stream,
"You will sup, and we shall observe."
As we laugh'd at the ripples that twinkle and gleam.

[blue_ajah]

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
As you wish. *She glances about with vague curiosity, but every waitrat has vanished. Wise creatures.*
I dreamed that you bewitched me...
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.

[etananesoe]

Not a bloom deck'd the mead that could rival in grace
The lack of wait rats is easily remedied. He coerces one out, even rats have nightmares, and it takes Moiraine's order. His hand remains tangled in her hair, and he watches the patrons with amusement.
The dear innocent charms of my Laeta's fair face;
"You are fond of the dress, yes?"
Not a thrush thrill'd the grove with a carol so choice
The question is an honest one. Which might make it more frightening. The majority of his attention shifts to her face when he asks, and lingers there. The rest checks on his dear little pawns.
As the silvery strains of my Laeta's sweet voice.

[clumsy_auror]

*Tonks steps out of the staff corridor, her face white and pinched. She scans the bar, looking for Moiraine, and stops short when she sees her with him.

She steps back into the doorway, half-hidden in shadow, and just watches the two of them interact. She's chilled by Moiraine's demeanor, and realizes that there's no way to safely approach. Hopefully later Will will stop by -- he's a friend of Dream's, as well, she thinks. He might have answers.

Her eyes narrow as she looks at him, anger welling up inside of her.

Not the time, Tonks.

She turns on her heel and disappears back down the darkened hallway.*

[md_donighal]

From where he's talking with Snow White, the man in the gray suit sees their arrival. He sees the inverse-video Lord of Nightmares. He sees Moiraine Sedai in an outfit that resembles one Angela wore for one of her fetish videos. That tells him just how far things have gone.
I know your worth, I sense your frustration, and I have seen your destiny; hear me now.
And he feels it as well as seeing it. He hears reality screaming as they arrive. He tastes the rot of Time's corpse. He only dares look at the Dark Man in brief glimpses, lest his sight be sucked in.
To be born, the One Race must destroy its egg and, with time, fly.
Michael Daemon Donighal hasn't believed in a God since he was old enough to know his feelings for his best friend ran deeper than friendship. He hasn't believed in a Devil since he noticed that humans are quite capable of damning themselves. But he knows a predator of souls, a devourer of light, when he sees one.
Whosoever would be a creator, must first destroy, and in this new age of the One Race, a terrible angel