voicetest | Entries tagged with rating: pg-13

There is a 24-hour diner. A diner that serves a variety of normal treats from coffee to cream puffs to pastrami sandwiches. The waitresses, the cooks, the owner have all lived normal lives and serve normal people.

Today there is a Man in the diner. A Man that you only heard about in rumors. A Man heard of in joking tones, but with eyes that said they were deadly serious. Some call him a manipulator. Some call him a mentor. Some call him an angel. Some call him a devil.

He is The Man sitting in the booth at the end of the diner.

He appears to spend his time writing down things in a large, black, leather-bound notebook. He orders whatever seems to suit his fancy at any given moment, but his attention remains on the book.

He's waiting for you. Waiting to make a deal to help get you what you want. All you have to do is sit down... and ask for it.

albafruhling

[[Minor spoilers all the way from Ch2/S2/Vol2 and is set sometime after the anime's finale.]]

Setting: A forest in between towns, in the middle of the night

Alba awakens to the memory of Ross' (... or should it be Creasion's?) disappearance.

It was all crisp and clear to him still; the way the sun beat down on them, the way the wind picked up bits of sand and got it into his mouth whenever he so much as opened it, and that smile... oh god, that smile. It was the first time Alba's ever seen the soldier give him something so pure and genuine, and whenever his mind returned to it, Alba's chest began to ache.

He rubbed his tired eyes; it's still a long ways away until sunrise, the fire he had set up continuing to dance brilliantly in front of him. This was becoming a problem, these nightmares that plagued him. Granted, they weren't anything serious, but if he continued to have sleepless nights like this, he was gonna end up being monster fodder.

"If I could, just one more time..." He murmured, staring into the flames for a moment before pulling his blanket closer; closing his eyes as the night's bitter chill nipped at his nose. He needed to sleep if he wanted to make it to the city by nightfall the next day, but with his head bustling about like this there was no way he was going to fall asleep anytime soon.

Suddenly, he heard a rustling in the distance. Huh. The fire should be keeping the monsters and animals away. Could it be one of the twelve demons? He swallowed, shoving his blanket to the side as he quietly picked his sword up.

"... H... Hello?" He spoke into the darkness, knees trembling.

Current Mood: tired

leteverythingstainher

(This post will contain (and be set in) spoilers for Wadanohara and the Great Blue Sea. Due to said spoilers, I'm putting the post content behind a cut. Some potential for blood and violence and creeping will occur here, as a forewarning.)

( Woo spoilers. )

boxingbuff

It had been a pretty perfect plan in Ladd Russo's mind. Hijack the trans-continental train, The Flying Pussyfoot and threaten to crash it straight into the middle of manhatten unless his demands were met. Of course, obviously some people would have to die in the process as a means to the end. He was perfectly okay with that. Maybe he'd even follow through with the threat and crash the whole train, that'd make for an interesting killing spree, right?

But of course someone had to step in and ruin the fun. Those black suits... and the other little group galavanting around the train, they'd get what's coming to them soon enough of course.

So, Ladd Russo walked though the train, alone and unafraid. The others had gone to look after Lua for him. Truthfully, he was looking for danger, literally anyone that looked like they would try and fight him. The bloodlust right now was insatiable, and he could feel his hand tightening around his shotgun at the thought of putting some unsuspecting person down while they least expected it.

"C'mon, throw something at me..." He muttered under his breath, one of his usual, slasher grins painted on his face. "What I need right now is some excitement!"

postorganic

( action )

digsruins

As much as Lara loved to skim through auction houses and see what was available online that piqued her interest or was something that could lead to a greater adventure, there was also something to be said for those small hole-in-the-wall antique stores. Not the big garish ones that boasted of Queen Anne chairs or apothecary tables. No, Lara preferred the ones whose windows were dusty enough that you had to enter the store if you wanted to see what it held. They generally had things that had been lost to the ages, manned by someone who might be considered an antique themselves. The dingier the store, the better the treasure they held.

Not to say that a majority of what collected dust on the shelves wasn't junk or very good knock offs, but once in a while, she found something that had the collector and adventurer in her soaring, something that made her pulse jump when she saw it and inevitably reached for it.

She was hoping for just such a find as she stepped through the door of one such store she'd spied, the bell jangling like a broken chime above her as she stepped in. She had to pause at the door for her eyes to adjust to the gloom inside, but she was hoping that this little deviation would be worthwhile.

envy_the_nayme

Max Payne sits alone on a crummy stool in a crummy bar in a crummy part of Hoboken, New Jersey. Outside, dirty snow drifts down like ash from the sky. Inside, the lights are dim, the music is faint and scratchy, the floor looks like it was last cleaned during the Clinton administration. An ashtray filled with crushed, smouldering, used-up cigarettes sits in front of him. The tobacco is also crummy: cheap cigs for a cheap place.

The only thing in the joint with any kind of class is the half-empty bottle of scotch Max has next to him. It’s the high-quality stuff, high potency too. Max has been working his way through it for about two hours now. He pours himself a glass, and stares morosely into it as though it holds all the answers. Then he drinks the answers, decides he doesn’t like what they reveal to him, and lights another cigarette as he contemplates his next move. Inevitably, his next move involves pouring another glass. He’s got a system down, a routine. Life is meaningless if you don’t give it any structure.

Max isn’t what anybody would ever call a sociable drinker, or person for that matter, but tonight something (probably the scotch) makes him start talking. He’s not speaking to anyone in particular, just wondering aloud. Maybe he’s hoping for better answers than the drink has been giving him.

"Friend of mine said something to me once," he says, his voice flat and dry. "If the only choice you've got is to do the wrong thing, then maybe it’s not actually wrong, maybe it’s just fate. Something like that." It’s not an exact quote, he’s paraphrasing as best he can. Memory is the enemy to Max, a monster he tries to keep at arm’s length so it can’t rip him to shreds. "I used to think that was just crap he used to excuse himself when he screwed people over. But maybe..."

Maybe there are no choices. Maybe life is a one-way train track, speeding people toward their inevitable derailment. Maybe there’s just enough free will in the world to justify guilt and regret, but not enough to actually change things.

These aren’t easy words to for anyone to speak, especially someone halfway through a bottle. Max trails off, then shakes his head, losing his train of thought. “Ah, forget it.”

He resumes his routine.

caelum_ignis_draconigena

Skyfire was one frustrated dragon at the moment. He was trying to reach and dig out a plant that was half under a live tree without destroying said tree, and failing miserably. He couldn't get too close without tangling his horns in the branches and his paws were too big to get at the plant without ruining it.

"Oh come on..." He let out a huff as he dropped the spade that he'd spent days making to give him a longer reach and an easier to use handle. It wasn't made for the angle he needed and he felt rather frustrated with himself. This was only his second plant of the day, and he had more to gather.

He made quite the interesting sight to be sure... A 30 foot long, white and red dragon with wings... trying to get under a tree to get a tiny, foot tall plant without smashing it or ruining it's roots for replanting... Not something most people see every day.

inursatellites

INTERIOR: GENERIC SPACE BAR

[Soundwave is not the sort to frequent places such as this. He prefers not to "indulge", as it were. But this is what his Lord commands. This is what Megatron commands. And thus, this is what Soundwave will do.]

[He's slunk into a darkened corner, simply listening. There is, in fact, a cube before him, the liquid glowing blue within, but he hardly seems interested in the drink. His attention is, instead, focused on the room around him.]

[There are so many interesting conversations to eavesdrop on. And, in all those conversations, there must be some kernel of useful information.]

[So the massive satellite transformer listens.]

[In utter, creepy, silence.]

wearer

a. space

( cut for possible klk spoilers. )

b. horror

( cut for violence. )

c. general

[ she is sipping her tea when she hears the knock at the door. it comes as no surprise, of course - she has been expecting this meeting for some time. nevertheless, it is a harsher end to the silence than she might have liked, and the corners of her lips tug softly downward.

she takes another sip, closing her eyes as the warm flavor passes through, and speaks only after she has finished. ]

You may enter.

[ even when phrased as permission, it still seems like a command. perhaps it's just something in her demeanor - her authoritarian tone, or her unquestioning nature.

the door finally opens. satsuki does not bother to look. ]

Well? Speak quickly, or hold your tongue.

grim_poet

[there's a very tall, bespectacled man folded up at a table in the corner of the cafe you find yourself in. he looks like a stiff breeze would probably send him flying off into the sunset, and he's staring off into the distance, intently, a stub of gnawed pencil hovering in one hand over a battered notebook.

after a moment, he turns his head sharply and looks directly at you, as though he's been talking to you for hours, and you already know each other. you totally don't.]

Is 'aubergine' too elite an adjective, do you think? Normally I trust my own judgement, but I'm really not sure.

((A/N: Simon here is a poet who tends to write about controversial things. If there are any issues that you would rather NOT come up in the conversation, please note them in your tag header. For the most part, I will keep the details of his writing generic so as not to trigger anyone. As in his canon, it's not the end product that matters so much as the reactions to it and the things that inspire.))

vtmod

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Entries tagged with rating: pg-13

Setting is a local diner, modern day | Canon: The Booth at the End

Canon is Senyuu

[Action]

Setting: Aboard the Flying Pussyfoot (cw: potential violence and bloodshed)

A bar on any planet. only cut warning would be for tng relaunch/pocket spoilers probably

Setting: Antique Store

[CW: Alcoholism] Setting: A Jersey Bar, Night

Setting: A forest somewhere, max rating about pg-13

PG13; possible alcohol?

[cw: violence/nudity, spoilers] settings listed by entry

Setting: Slice of Life, R for possible language

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