SO YOU'RE THIRSTY FOR OCS (hover over names for descriptions!)

[salamandroid]

                                                                             SAM ERSTWHILE      KASPIEL/Y            CHERIOUR

                                                                            AYA REINHART   LUCY DANTALIAN           NICK

NATHANIEL HORN

♛ refer to the list above for active muses.
♛ post "calling" one of them out — you can do so by putting their name in the subject line!
♛ can be informal/formal/comment spam/crosscanon/
explicit (though I might want to those kinds of things to my community for that)
/ other /whatever tickles your fancy!
♛ some suggestions: caught in the rain, insomnia, hurt/comfort, and TFLN, random scenarios and the wheel of memes! Or just go for a regular lyric/word/picture prompt!
♛ feel free to make up a scenario at the start, or wait to see where things go.

Comments

[deadweights]

[ It'd be hard not to notice her, slurping at a straw of some nondescript sugary drink. Dearest Moira is about as subtle as sledgehammer when she's supposed to be a shadow in a crowd, lingering around when a death is meant to take place, really. She has a particular way of doing that, though; she's not like her reaper siblings, who simply go to those they will lead away... no. She prefers to stalk those who with the hands about to get bloody, prefers to watch them for entertainment, and most of the time, she even makes an effort to become their friend.

Moira pretends to be distracted when Sam approaches, but it's all very deliberate. The arch of her brows, the lazy way she turns to him despite the confusion that reads on her face. At first glance she looks like any other absentminded girl, but soon enough people start to think something's off. Artificial, like it's been built from the inside out based on an internet search on human behavior. ]

Do I? Mm. [ She makes a face, like a resigned, 'yeah, sounds like something I would do'. After another slurp, ] What do I want to talk about?

[notahappyending]

What? [The answer throws him a bit off - he expected her to be more straightforward, even give him a clear-cut "go away, creep" or something - and he shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing. That's not what he wants to hear.]

[He keeps up appearances, of course, lifting his shoulders and trying his best to give off the pathetic impression that he doesn't know how to be stern.]

I don't know. About you following me, I guess. [He frowns.] You've been doing that, don't think I haven't, uh, noticed.

[deadweights]

[ Again, the carefully constructed succession of expressions, from a frown to the squinting of her eyes, like his message has to be decoded before it fully goes through. That's it, really - the lag between all the little things, whereas with a normal person they would flow almost unnoticed. With a little pop, the straw drops from between her lips, and she continues. ]

Sure! We can talk about that. Where would you like to start?

[ She doesn't deny it, and certainly does not apologize for it, either. What would be the point? She's not like Morty. If people are afraid of her, then so be it.

Not that she thinks this fine young man will be afraid any time soon. ]

[notahappyending]

[He quirks an eyebrow at that - it is off, the way she reacts. It's too...rehearsed. Maybe that's not the word. It's like seeing a computer that's loading up an answer to a question, and it certainly makes him wary. He may be millions of years old (or rather, half of him is) and he's likely not to back down before anyone, but still, the fact that he doesn't know what it all means unnerves him, slightly.]

Well, maybe...let's start with you. [He says with a frustrated gesture.] Who are you?

[deadweights]

My name is Moira Friendly. [ If she's meant to advance with something else, well. The awkwardly long pause should be enough to answer that. ] Who are you?