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Post by JACQUES BONHEUR on Nov 21, 2013 19:25:32 GMT -8
Rain… he was, for once, thankful that he’d listened to the weatherman.
When the weatherman called for blistering weather, it would storm. Whenever he called for snow, it was suddenly an indian summer and he’d be stuck outside in thick pants and a scarf. It had been fairly sunny that morning, so he had every reason not to listen to the weatherman. But he’d brought an umbrella, because he was a paranoid sort of guy.
And it had paid off, for once. As people scrambled to find shelter as the rainclouds rolled in and the sky began to flash vaguely in the distance, Jacques opened up his umbrella and was safe and sound. It was a nondescript but clunky thing; he’d had it for ages, and it still served him well despite being heavier than its more contemporary counterparts.
A gust soon blew up, and Jacques had to hold onto the almost oversized umbrella with both hands against the slowly growing rains as he began to pick his way down the street. Oh dear, the day was growing quite dreary. For some reason, he’d been booted from his shift at the Impedio Society Headquarters early when he should’ve been working until the wee hours, and he wasn’t booked for a shift at Cedar-Sinai Hospital that night.
Which left him idle time to do whatever he wanted… To think…
…
No, he wasn’t having that.
He’d decided to take the long way home, despite the slowly driving rain. It would distract him for a bit, and he got to watch the small drops run in small rivers off the edges of his umbrella and the splashes it made in the potholes on the road. His briefcase tapped lightly against his thigh as he walked, the Hippocratic Suggestion stored safely inside to keep dry while he soaked on the other side.
Jacques sighed deeply, taking in the sharp, cool air that smelled saturated. How he loved the smell of rain. He’d leave his window open sometimes, when he was sure the wind was blowing in the opposite direction, just to smell it. He passed the botanical gardens on the way, and decided to take the even longer, winding route through there.
May 20th, 9PM
Notes: HAYDEN GREEN
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Post by HAYDEN GREEN on Nov 30, 2013 23:43:30 GMT -8
tagged: rene. time: May 20th 2012, 21:00 speech: hayden. notes: TROLOLOL And Hayden had thought that his luck couldn't get any worse.
First, the strange dream that had apparently not been a dream. He wouldn't breath a word of it to just anyone, no-- but it had been pretty clear that the dream had been the turning point for him, right? It was only after the dream that he'd started to attract mud everywhere, with it flying towards him at full speed ahead wherever he went. Then there was the talking cube, the one that kept speaking in tongues and riddles and that wouldn't answer whoever else was in the room, the one that wouldn't even answer when he asked if he was going crazy. Hayden didn't even need an answer to that, though. He probably was going crazy. It was the only way to explain all of this.
He could see the headlines already: Internet Sensation Goes Cuckoo and Starts Attracting Mud and Talking to Cubes. Come to think of it, that didn't even sound all that improbable, considering the fact that there had been that shark tornado on Santa Monica beach that they'd been talking about in the L.A. Times! Then again, would that headline even fit on the front of a paper? Would he even be important enough to fit in front of a paper? No, he'd probably be somewhere in the back of a silly tabloid, which was probably a good thing. The fewer people that heard that he'd gone crazy, the better. His sister had been right after all. Maybe going back to San Diego would help--
No. No. He was going to deal with this. He would be okay. A walk in the park would clear his head...
Right?
"Shit."
The evening had begun nicely enough. It had been cool, with a chill breeze, and Hayden had thought that it was going to be okay. But in a matter of seconds lightning had torn through the park and a torrent of rain had started to storm down onto him, and that was when it happened.
Mud. Flying at Hayden from all directions, coating him in a chocolate-brown puddle of goop. "No!" he muttered as he tried to shield his face from the stuff, but to no avail-- there was so much of it, and it happened all at once as it continued to lunge at him like tigers ready to pounce.
One could say that he was in a somewhat sticky situation.
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Post by JACQUES BONHEUR on Dec 1, 2013 17:54:15 GMT -8
The wind and rain was certainly picking up, and Jacques clenched his jaw in mild annoyance. Certainly the bad weather was providing a decent distraction, but being drenched and cold, with his coat-tails flapping in the vicious wind wasn’t exactly his idea of enjoyment. It really was picking up very fast, now was it? He was a man of medicine, not the weather.
There was a sudden gust, then a sound from behind him. Jacques paused in his step and glanced over. Before he could actually take in any shapes or forms, however, there was a loud and painful wump to the side of his head. Mud had gone flying at his face, a decent size chunk striking him in the jaw and sending him reeling back as he wiped the cold, sticky substance off.
”What the—“ Another ball splattered right against his hip, dirtying his long coat and sending platters right up to his stomach. He could only take a moment to glance, trying to find whoever the hell was tossing mud at him. He couldn’t make it out from the assault, not quite realizing that he was standing partially between the mud and whatever it was really attracted to.
Jacques flicked his umbrella forward; mud was worse than rain, and he’d prefer to not track mud absolutely everywhere and all over his apartment once he made it back. There were loud, muffled, rather concerning sounds coming from his umbrella as it caught the brunt of the mud. It was soon coated in a fine layer, and more was flying in his general direction.
The doctor backed up slowly, not realizing there was a boy behind him until he practically fell backwards over him.
May 20th, 9PM
Notes: HAYDEN GREEN
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Post by HAYDEN GREEN on Dec 31, 2013 19:46:00 GMT -8
tagged: rene. time: May 20th 2012, 21:00 speech: hayden. notes: TROLOLOL Soaring, flying, without a star in heaven that it wouldn't reach. The mud was breaking, breaking free from the constraints of gravity, and Hayden was certainly starting to see it in a different light. Also, why was he thinking of High School Musical lyrics in the middle of this? Other than the fact that this revealed that he did indeed still know the lyrics of Breaking Free by heart, it wasn't the point! It was terrible, to be assaulted in the middle of nowhere like this. How was he going to explain this to his friends-- no more park visits, no more adventures, no nothing until he got down to the root of this--
Okay, no more puns. No more. He had to run, and fast. Find shelter somewhere, anywhere, and then take a hot bath to get all of this caked mud off him. Hayden sped off towards where his car was parked, hoping desperately that he wouldn't get any dirt on it. A lone male stood between him and the vehicle, but he paid him no heed, though he couldn't help but notice for a second that the male was being hit by mud as well. "I- I'm sorry," Hayden chirped, even though it was likely that the man wouldn't understand just why he was apologizing. But the man didn't respond to his apology. Instead, he took a few steps backward, and before he knew it the guy was barreling into Hayden, sending them both crashing into the mud-caked ground.
"Ow!"
Hayden exclaimed as he felt his back plunge into the dirt with a loud squish, the man falling on top of him. Luckily the ground was soft, preventing any major injuries, though it was arguable that the main thing that was wounded was whatever pride he had left.
"Ah-- I'm so sorry," Hayden spluttered out. "This wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for me." |
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Post by JACQUES BONHEUR on Jan 2, 2014 18:58:38 GMT -8
Jacques turned his right side to the assault; despite being mostly covered by the large umbrella, he was still getting a very decent smattering of mud all over himself and the pants he was wearing were expensive. His coat was already a lost cause and he figured dragging his dirtied clothes into the dry cleaners wouldn’t be so bad if they weren’t absolutely caked. Who could get an inch of mud out of a white dress shirt, anyways? Nevermind; that would get thrown out, too.
He turned his right side to the onslaught because he couldn’t feel anything on that half of his body; all his nerves had been cut there long ago and if he was going to end up soaked and dirty, he didn’t want to feel it. Of course, that meant when he went toppling over the boy behind him, it was his left side that hit the ground particularly hard. All his nerves were functioning on that side, unfortunately.
Jacques’ elbow gave a predominantly concerning creak when it hit the ground and he had to wonder if he was really that old before the pain shot up his arm and he cursed. He fell on top of the boy and that cushioned him but of course he had to feel bad about using him as a pillow. The mud was still coming, though. Why the hell was it raining mud?
”What?” How was the mud his fault? Last he checked, most people couldn’t make mud fly from the ground like they were possessed rats. Jacques brought his arm up again, bringing the umbrella in front of the both of them so that they were at least halfway protected from the mud.
May 20th, 9PM
Notes: HAYDEN GREEN
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