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Post by Sydney on Apr 2, 2007 15:50:01 GMT -5
((Hahaha! Hopefully this'll give Bates some ideas~ ))
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Post by Irene on Apr 2, 2007 15:56:34 GMT -5
((Does Lecter know the plot you've planned out?))
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Post by Sydney on Apr 2, 2007 16:00:25 GMT -5
((I'll IM her just in case.))
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Post by Irene on Apr 3, 2007 13:45:00 GMT -5
NEW DAY
*Irene called Sydney on her not yet invented cell phone*
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Post by Sydney on Apr 3, 2007 13:46:57 GMT -5
*Picks up* "Agent Bristow."
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Post by Irene on Apr 3, 2007 13:51:05 GMT -5
"Syd, it's me. I just remembered something about the Louvre killing. Wasn't there a case like this in Russia, with some young nobleman accused?"
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Post by Sydney on Apr 3, 2007 13:55:22 GMT -5
*Sydney took a moment to think.* "I'm not sure. I know that during WWII which doesn't happen for, like, another 50 years there was rampant cannibalism in the eastern front but...I don't remember any one case in particular. Do you think you can get a file on it through interpol even if that doesn't exist yet either?"
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Post by Irene on Apr 3, 2007 13:58:48 GMT -5
"I'll have them send it to you. Let me know if you turn up anything."
*Hangs up.*
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Post by Ed Wood on Apr 16, 2007 15:23:27 GMT -5
NEW DAY
*Ed saunters into the dressing room with a satchel, from which he pulls a skirt, angora top, and wig. He whistles as he dresses, elated by Christine's acceptance of him, anticipating the next few minutes, when he would reveal himself and be loved--or even just liked--for who he really was.*
There, *he thinks, adjusting the wig with the aid of the full-length mirror, that feels better.
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Post by Norman Bates on Apr 16, 2007 15:38:00 GMT -5
*He knows it's foolish, that the place is probably swarming with cops, but Norman cannot help himself. He is drawn back to the scene of the crime; only to find out of the body has been discovered, he tells himself. He cannot return to the motel, not with that girl knowing who, and where, he was.
He skulks through the passage outside the fatal dressing room, telling himself he will not look, he's only here to clean up the mess he made. But of course there is no body, just a stain of slightly darker wood where it had lain.
A winsome whistling interrupts his thoughts, and against his better judgment--if he had any--he looks. A woman stands with her back to him, platinum hair cascading to her shoulders. She cranes her neck around to look behind her at her reflection, lifts one leg to adjust a stocking. She is beautiful, in an uncanny way that Norman cannot quantify.
As has happened too many times before, Norman is suddenly upon her, without a weapon but possessed by the demon that has been riding him for so long. The woman cries out, screams, and it is not the dulcet tone he'd half expected. The cry is hoarse and dark, if not strictly "manly." In their struggle, the blonde hair falls, to reveal the short, oiled coif of a man.
A man who is struggling against him now, attempting to free his wrist from Norman's grasp. But Norman is strangely loathe to let go. The man's strength, encased in angora and silk stockings, is strangely alluring. The high cheekbones and dark eyes could be those of a girl, but the determined expression and the intense gaze are decidedly masculine.
Norman lets go finally, with a cry. He stumbles back against the mirror, as the other man stares at him. Norman hides the reflection of the other man, but they are doppelgangers anyway, frozen in this moment of confusion.*
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Post by Vianne Giry on Apr 16, 2007 15:43:43 GMT -5
((*flips through dictionary.*
"Awesome: this scene. See also Win, made of."))
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Post by Norman Bates on Apr 16, 2007 15:48:17 GMT -5
((eeee! You made my day.))
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Post by Jonathan Crane on Apr 16, 2007 17:12:45 GMT -5
((Is he still alive?))
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Post by Erik on Apr 16, 2007 17:47:28 GMT -5
((Yup. So far. I haven't decided where to go next--or if anyone walks in on them.))
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Post by Toby on Apr 16, 2007 17:48:42 GMT -5
((Christine would be totally useless in a fighting situation.))
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