Realistic or Modern 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 (𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐦𝐩) | 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧

[final girl.]

“AND I COULD HAVE GOTTEN AWAY WITH IT TOO, IF IT WEREN’T FOR YOU MEDDLING KIDS.” — The Villians of What’s New, Scooby Doo?

MYSTERY INCORPORATED
_ _ _

RP PLAYLIST: x

Date: October 16th, 1969
{Television Clip #1}
_ _ _

Police believe a teenage girl who was last seen more than a month ago may have been waiting for an ride from her boyfriend.

Daphne Blake, from Coolsville, Ohio, had been reported missing from her townhouse mansion by her family.

The sixteen-year-old was last seen in the city’s Fifth Street on September 13th.

Coolsville Police Department said it is understood she does have access to a vehicle and would not hitchhike.

She has only recently been reported missing after concerns were raised by her family and closest friends.

Ms. Blake is described to be five foot seven, of small build with red/ginger hair, which is considerably long and full of waves.

She has violet toned eyes, an American accent and when last seen was wearing a purple knit dress with a matching headband and shoes, a lime green scarf, and pink stockings.

_ _ _

Date: September 17th, 1989
{Television Clip #2}
_ _ _

The family of a young woman who disappeared on Fifth Street in Coolsville, Ohio twenty years ago has made a fresh appeal for information.

Daphne Blake, who was sixteen at the time, was pictured on CCTV leaving the Go Mart shortly after nine o’clock in the thirteenth of September, 1969.

Police have now also released footage of her with friends.

Her father, George R. Blake, described the twentieth anniversary of her disappearance to be “especially hard”.

On the night she was last seen, she had attended her own party, before traveling to the Go Mart with her boyfriend, Frederick Jones, and friends in a large van.

Reissued CCTV footage shows Daphne standing outside the convenience store for a brief period before walking toward the parking lot.

Despite extensive searches and public appeals by Daphne’s family and police, she has not been seen or heard from since.

When last seen, she was observed leaving the passenger side of a large, green and blue van, to purchase a bag of dog treats, by the label of Doggy Snacks.

Police have now issued earlier footage of Daphne from 1969, in an effort to reach anyone who may recognize her.

On Wednesday, family and friends gathered in Coolsville to release purple balloons to mark the twentieth year anniversary.

Mr. Blake has said, “Dealing with the previous anniversaries was difficult enough, but this one seems especially hard. It just feels like she walked out the door yesterday, it’s so vivid. People will think it’s been a long time, which it has been, but to my family it’s like it only happened yesterday. When you go to bed at night and when you wake in up the morning, all you do is think about Daphne. There’s no escape. You just want to know what’s happened to her, where she is, and if anyone know anything about her. If they do, please come forward and end this nightmare for our family. To live a life like that, and not know what’s happened to your child, is horrendous.”

Rather, Detective Inspector Kevin Holt, of Coolsville Police Department, has announced, “We’ve issued video footage of Daphne taken in 1969 in hope that this helps to jog the memory of anyone who may have seen her after she left the Go Mart. We continue to ask for the public’s help and I would urge local residents to think back to early September 1969.”

_ _ _

Date: November 1st, 2018
{Television Clip #3}
_ _ _

The remains of what is confirmed to be the Daphne Blake was discovered Friday morning, after she was originally reported as a missing person approximately fifty years before.

The corpse of the adolescent was found by searchers, who were looking for another missing person, her body submerged under fifteen feet of water in Coolsville Lake.

The case began on September 14th, 1969, when the CPD put out a bulletin regarding Daphne’s missing status. She was last seen at nine o’clock near the local Go Mart on Interstate Fifty, where detectives believe she was looking for a ride home with friends.

Lieutenant Josefin Gonzaga, with the Coolsville Police and Fire Department, says she happened to be presumed dead before she was assumably thrown into the lake.

The CPD have considered this case to now be a homicide investigation, because they are the originating agency on the initial case of a missing person.

Coolsville Police Department, in a statement, said that they believe foul play to have been a factor in this case.

——————

A tale of four, quite uniquely, slightly absurd teenagers similar to a group that once was named “The Mystery Gang”. These teens happen to meet during an coincidental detention, when a fight breaks out and they are caught in the middle of it. For what they will soon of the learn about the murder of Daphne Blake will bring them together, leading the group to reluctantly join up, to solve the murder of what was another teen sleuth. But there is a dark figure that may stop them. They must avoid such monstrous beings during their investigation. What is their name, you may ask? Who are these meddling kids who stop all bad guys from “getting away with it”?

MYSTERY INCORPORATED.

—



STEREOTYPES

THE CLUMSY GENIUS (i.e Velma Dinkley) — Iris Yamada final girl.

THE HOT RICH ONE (i.e Like... Daphne Blake) — sophie.

THE ADAPTIVE LEADER (i.e Frederick “Fred” Jones) —

THE COMEDIC FOODIE AND THEIR DOG (i.e Norville “Shaggy”
Rogers) — Augustus Van Allen rosar.io

_____

RULES AND REGISTRY

— Be semi-advanced (produce at the LEAST five complete sentences per post).

— Your character must be in the age ranges of sixteen to eighteen.

— Do not apply and then disappear for the entire roleplay.

— Please do follow the rules of RpNation.

— Be Respectful.

— I do allow relationships between Mystery Incorporated.

——

APPLICATION FORUMS {ALL SLOTS REQUIRED TO BE FILLED — UNLESS UNNECESSARY TO THE CHARACTER}

BASICS

— PRESENT NAME TEXT HERE
—NICKNAMES TEXT HERE


— GENDER TEXT HERE
— ACCEPTED PRONOUNS TEXT HERE
— SEXUALITY TEXT HERE

— AGE TEXT HERE
— BIRTHDAY/ZODIAC SIGN TEXT HERE

— APPEARANCE (FACECLAIM REQUIRED) INSERT HERE

— QUOTES TEXT HERE
— THEME SONG(S) TEXT HERE
— STEREOTYPE TEXT HERE

— HEIGHT TEXT HERE
— WEIGHT TEXT HERE
— BODY TYPE TEXT HERE
— SKIN TONE TEXT HERE
— HAIR TEXT HERE
— EYES TEXT HERE
— SCARS TEXT HERE
— BODY MODIFICATIONS (IF ANY) TEXT HERE
— OUTFITS/ACCESSORIES PHOTO AND OR TEXT REQUIRED

— PHYSICAL HEALTH TEXT HERE

PERSONALITY

— POSITIVE TRAITS TEXT HERE
— NEUTRAL TRAITS TEXT HERE
— NEGATIVE TRAITS TEXT HERE
— MBTI CODE TEXT HERE

HISTORY (BACKSTORY) TEXT HERE

— MENTAL DISORDERS (OPTIONAL) TEXT HERE

FEARS AND OR PHOBIAS TEXT HERE

RELATIONSHIPS

— CURRENT STATUS TEXT HERE

— CRUSH TEXT HERE

— PAST RELATIONSHIPS TEXT HERE

__________

hey! it’s ollie, back from her hiatus and ready to start off another group RP! whoop whooop!!

 

[final girl.]

iris yamada

interactions: her brother, Ian
mentions: none
outfit: : x : (she can be such an aesthetic hoe lol)

On the night of November the first, a teenage girl by the name of Iris Yamada could be found in the kitchen of her suburban home, preparing dinner for herself and her younger brother, Ian. She had finished her homework from her classes months before, as to rid of it completely from her agenda and to produce more free time for her family. Specifically, her brother. Her parents were occupied that night, to no one’s surprise, working with the Coolsville Police Department on a case relating to arson and burglary.

She hadn’t seen them all day due to this, nor did she particularly care. It had been a rather long and annoying Thursday for Iris, not because of the schoolwork, but because of the students, as she was often rumored at Coolsville High to be a smartass or occasionally, some form of prostitute, as it was the most suitable name for her in their uncreative, teenage minds. She would stalk down the halls, her head lowered as though she were hiding, attempting to stay invisible from the world. and yet, she was all they had to talk about at the worst of times.

Born with an astounding IQ of 197, Iris had completed junior high school at the age of nine. She realized what she had gotten herself into, and how difficult it would be for her to be viewed as an average girl. She wasn’t born average, how could she be average? Instead of immediately going off to high school once she hit the age of ten, she decided to ask her parents to wait until she was the proper age to enter. At first, they were skeptical, and claimed that they needed her to become the youngest graduate at Harvard. Soon though, with enough bargaining and persuading, she had earned the support of her parents quickly after, as they wished for her to be “normal”, and to make them look good doing so.

Years passed, and eventually, high school started. Though she did her best to make friends and fit in with the others, she always seemed drawn to her schoolwork opposed to heading off to a school dance or sitting in to watch her school’s football games. It was no surprise that she was one of the top students in the school, the leader of the Coolsville robotics team, and was notorious for her intelligence. Despite having (and wanting) nothing to do with her peers, they saw her more as a broad threat to their own egos than as a fellow student. That because she was slightly more intelligent than others, that she was a suck-up and a teacher’s pet. That because of her parents, she had to be as stuck-up and as unlikeable as they were. The moment they could detect a slight kink in her near unbreakable armor, it sparked a plethora of rumors to be created and spread around the school in the sake of this. She ran a prostitution ring, was a drug dealer, and on many occasions, was dubbed to be a killjoy. I mean, at least they’d gotten one thing right. Though none of this seemed to truly effect her. Or so they thought.

Sure, she would go on about her day as though nothing happened or that no one had said a thing about her, but deep down, she knew what others were thinking of her. And, if she were being honest, she wished she was like the other kids. Stupid and fun-loving. Living life as a teenager should. Not being cooped up in your house day by day, wondering when you’d finally have the chance to find yourself, and meeting people who you enjoyed being around. Making friends and running toward the face of danger.

But there were other days to dwell on that. Maybe it seemed a little too ambitious for her Thursday evening.

Iris continued to rifle through the cabinets of the kitchen, searching for something she considered very, very important. Cereal bowls. I never said she was a five star cook, did I? It was pitiful for someone of her age and intelligence, but her parents were far too occupied to be grocery shopping or teaching their daughter to cook at the moment, so she was forced to make due with minimal resources set in front of her.

Outside of Iris’s line of sight, her brother could be found watching the evening news in the living room. Once filling their bowls with Lucky Charms and milk, she stood outside of the room and peered in. Her dark hazel eyes reflected the changing tones of light protruding from the edges of the screen, bursts of color in shimmering in her pupils. On the television, was a large span of commercials that Iris had undoubtedly seen a thousand times before. Out of the corner of her left eye, she could see her brother, hanging on the couch, upside down. Maturity at its finest. The girl scowled at this, watchihg as her brother lazed about when he could have been helping her. But she had already found the cereals bowls and had made “dinner”. Besides, the annoyed expression on her face at how careless her brother could clearly be masked by a smile if she forced it.

“May I enter your domain, your royal highness?” She asked sardonically, casually mocking him from afar. Her soft, though sarcastic voice was no louder than the sound of the soft television stereo.

“Just give me the goddamned bowl, asshole.” Her twelve-year-old brother growled in response, a sense of aggressive hanger and possible constipation prominent in his eyes. Iris was stepping on thin ice. Because everyone knows, not to mess with a hangry teenager.

“As you say, my liege.” Iris twirled into the room fluently, her dark brown hair flowing with her long, purposely dramatic movements. Her classes in ballet when she was younger could now be put to the test. Her steps were considerably graceful, until her left foot hit the side of the coffee table and she almost fell face-first onto the carpet. Thankfully, midway into falling, she placed her right foot onto the ground and was able to re-steady herself and keep the bowls in her hands from spilling.

Iris had always been rather klutzy, if she was being completely honest with herself. She couldn’t name how many times she had accidentally dropped her contacts in the toilet, or had tripped over thin air in the public eye. Her brother would often call her a baby giraffe because of it, but she didn’t care.

Being around Ian, she was more herself, more comfortable in her own skin. She had always been around her brother, since the day he was born, and couldn’t remember a day where she would shut him out. Despite seeming very antisocial and reserved in public, when she was at home, and comfortable with herself, she seemed like an entirely different person. She was still very sarcastic and a bit standoffish, but was also more open with others than she would be in public. She only really had one friend to name, with that being her brother, Ian, who was no where close to her age. She’d tried to make friends before, but these “friends” had only ever used her for their homework or a simple class project. So, over the years, she learned that trusting people the second you meet them wasn’t the brightest idea, and that avoiding others that seemed like a threat to her already crumbling reputation was a bad idea. She had to be better than that. She needed to be better than that.

Besides, her college thesis won’t write itself, will it?

“I don’t even know what the fuck that means, so ha.” Ian feigned offense, stealing one of the bowls of cereal and a spoon from her hands before settling to the leather-bound couch cross-legged. “Like, what the hell is a ‘liege’?”

Once regrouping herself and sitting down to join him, Iris grabbed the remote from the coffee table to turn the television‘s volume down a bit. It was so if they’re parents soon arrived, they would be prepared to greet them without interruption (or loudass commercials).

As Iris raised the spoon to her lips, oh-so-ready for her first taste of magically delicious goodness, she caught a glimpse of the anchorman upon the screen. Quincy Williams was notorious for his late night news show, with raving reviews from people as far as Toledo, Ohio. He was known for his chipper personality and one-of-a-kind grin. But, there was no grin to be seen and the man surely didn’t sound chipper. The tone of his voice was solemn and remorseful, the wrinkles near his eyes crinkled in worry as he gave a detailed report of none other than a missing persons case from nearly fifty years before.

Somewhere deep in the cabinets of her mind, she reminisced over the previous investigational cases she’d gone over, as she was a summer intern for the Coolsville Police Department a few months before. Many of the cases in 1960’s at that time were of centered around those whom had stolen valueable devices, or men whom had happened to psychically abuse their wives over needing another can of beer. But there was only one missing persons case that came to mind. The mysterious disappearance of Daphne Blake. An adolescent of around her age born nearly seventy years ago. She was rich and popular, but also someone notorious for her sleuthing skills. That, and amazing fashion sense. Finding herself getting away from focusing on the report, Iris turned her attention toward the television once more, but stopped midway. What was on the screen before her made her breath catch and her head spin.

Even with her intelligence, or all the intelligence in the world, she couldn’t think straight. No one would be able to over the sounds her heart racing and screams of blaring sirens.

 

[sophie.]

[div class=container][div class=image] [div class=title]melanie moone [div class=line][/div] [div class=lil]the hot rich one[/div][/div] [div class=b][div class=lilimage][/div][/div][/div] [div class=info] [div class=post][div class=scroll] It was only just before dinner, but Melanie Moone was tired. She had spent the day shopping, yelling at her father, and working out. She had just helped her nanny, Maragret, make spaghetti. Margaret was less of a nanny and more of a parent, now that Melanie was 16 and her parents never bothered to do anything substantial. Happily slurping at some noodles with her favorite parental figure, she looked up.

"Is the man-whore home?" Ever since her father cheated on her mother and took over main custody, Mel wasn't so fond of him. Maragret sighed and carefully though of what she could say. After all, her father was her employer.

"Mr. Moone won't be home for another hour," she said. "He called and said his meeting was running late." Melanie snorted. 'Meeting,' meant sex with his assistant and 'late' meant he couldn't get it up. She politely excused herself, thanked Margaret for dinner, and went to her room.

You could tell the Moone's were loaded. Especially when you're walking into Mel's room. The walls are simple yet ornate, silk sheets are draped over a king sized bed, and the walk-in closet is practically the size of a dining room. She collapses onto the soft sheets, taking a deep breath to let all of her current anxieties out. She pulled out her phone, and clicked away at the masses of social media. She was quite popular, partially because of the fact people wanted to be her to be with her. It amused her and disgusted her at the same time. She never found herself very pretty, and sometimes the attention was creepy. As she scrolled, there were at least 20 tweets and updates reading 'pray for daphne blake!' or 'god, what happened to the blake family is just awful!' Melanie had previously never heard of the name Daphne Blake, and assumed it was someone from school. When doing a quick google search and realizing the evidence Coolsville had found, she cringed a little.

"Jeepers, some people are messed up." [/div][/div] [div class=pos][div class="round1 round"][/div] . [div class="round2 round"][/div] . [div class="round3 round"][/div] [div class=stats]mentions: n/a | interaction: her nanny, margaret
location: home | outfit : x [/div][/div][/div][/div] [div class=c] lavendre [/div] [class=container]height: 340px; width: 500px; padding: 10px; margin: auto; background: #9C94A9 [/class] [class=image]height: 100%; width: 180px; background-image: url(https://i.pinimg.com/originals/02/4f/3c/024f3c442da8987150f4000ccb949a5a.jpg); background-size: 200%; background-position: 55% 30% [/class] [class=title]position: relative; top: 15px; left: 190px; width: 230px; text-transform: uppercase; font-size: 20px; color: #bc4060 [/class] [class=line]height: 1px; width: 100%; background: #5a1527 [/class] [class=lil]position: relative; width: 96%; text-align: right; font-style: italic; font-size: 10px; text-transform: lowercase; letter-spacing: 1px; color: #202020; [/class] [class=b]position: relative; left: 420px; top: -45px; height: 65px; width: 65px; padding: 5px; border-radius: 0px 100px 100px 100px; border: 1px solid #5a1527 [/class] [class=lilimage]height: 100%; width: 100%; border-radius: 0px 100px 100px 100px; background-image: url(https://i.pinimg.com/736x/1b/27/4f/1b274fc0b509cd6585897a44447be9a6.jpg); background-size: 200%; background-position: 60% 55% [/class] [class=info]position: relative; left: 190px; top: -245px; height: 245px; width: 310px [/class] [class=post]height: 200px; width: 103%; font-size: 10px; overflow: hidden [/class] [class=scroll]height: 100%; width: 100%; overflow-y: scroll; text-align: justify; padding-right: 30px [/class] [class=pos]position: relative; top: 15px; height: 35px; width: 305px; text-align: center; color: transparent; overflow: hidden [/class] [class=round]position: relative; display: inline-block; height: 25px; width: 25px; border-radius: 100%; background: #D1565B; transition: 0.7s; [/class] [class=round2]transition: 0.7s; display: inline-block; height: 25px; width: 25px; border-radius: 100%; background: #B9B5CC [/class] [class=round3]transition: 0.7s; display: inline-block; height: 25px; width: 25px; border-radius: 100%; background: #E6AFA8 [/class] [class=bla]background: #f2979f [/class] [class=ble]background: #786a81 [/class] [class=blo]background: #d05f7a [/class] [class=stats]position: relative; top: 10px; width: 100%; margin: auto;font-weight: 800; font-size: 9px; color: white [/class] [class=c]width: 100%; text-align: center; opacity: 0; font-size: 10px [/class] [script class=post on=mouseenter] addClass bla round1 addClass ble round2 addClass blo round3 [/script] [script class=post on=mouseleave] removeClass bla round1 removeClass ble round2 removeClass blo round3 [/script] [script class=pos on=mouseenter] addClass up round addClass up stats removeClass down round removeClass down2 stats [/script] [script class=pos on=mouseleave] addClass down round addClass down2 stats addClass up round addClass up stats [/script] [class name=up] animation-name: {post_id}up; animation-direction: normal; animation-duration: 0.5s; animation-delay: 0s; animation-timing-function: ease-out; animation-iteration-count: 1; animation-fill-mode: both; [/class] [animation=up] [keyframe=0]top: 0px[/keyframe] [keyframe=100]top: -30px[/keyframe] [/animation] [class name=down] animation-name: {post_id}down; animation-direction: normal; animation-duration: 0.5s; animation-delay: 0s; animation-timing-function: ease-out; animation-iteration-count: 1; animation-fill-mode: both; [/class] [animation=down] [keyframe=0]top: -30px[/keyframe] [keyframe=100]top: 0px[/keyframe] [/animation] [class name=down2] animation-name: {post_id}down2; animation-direction: normal; animation-duration: 0.5s; animation-delay: 0s; animation-timing-function: ease-out; animation-iteration-count: 1; animation-fill-mode: both; [/class] [animation=down2] [keyframe=0]top: -30px[/keyframe] [keyframe=100]top: 10px[/keyframe] [/animation]

 

[rosar.io]

[div class=container][div class=image] [div class=title]Auggie Van Allen [div class=line][/div] [div class=lil]comedic foodie & his dog[/div][/div] [div class=b][div class=lilimage][/div][/div][/div] [div class=info] [div class=post][div class=scroll] Augustus had a long and tiring day. Although, it had been a particularly filling one. An Augustus Van Allen classic day (featuring none other than Moonie and Imogen Van Allen). The three had spent a day outdoors, the breeze rustling the old leaves hanging just barely from long tree branches above their heads. The Van Allens, not including Augustus' father, Lawrence, enjoyed a picnic together. Imogen had prepared their meals: two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for Auggie, a salad for herself, and dog treats for Moonie. Despite not preparing a hefty meal for her son, Auggie managed to bring in his own snacks to keep himself occupied. It had been a nice day out in the park with one another. Now, one may be wondering the highlight of it all: this particular day, Moonie had snatched Auggie's sandwich from his bare hands and bolted off with it. Moonie's batman patterned leash trailed behind him, a half-eaten sandwich hanging from his jaws as Imogen's six-foot-four son tried to catch his own thief of a dog. Auggie was left panting as he nearly tackled Moonie to the ground like a football player for the food back. Would he eat it? Probably not.

Their day at the park was more than eventful on November the first. The bomb was yet to drop, though. The trio packed up, got into their jeep, and drove off home with Moonie passed out in the back from pure exhaustion. Imogen and Augustus drove in a comfortable silence, and had minded their own for the remaining hours.

Augustus' lanky body was stretched out across his oversized bed which he barely fit on. He hadn't done much the entire day, and he couldn't imagine doing anything, either. He had eaten, and he had a miniature fridge in the corner of his room just crying for attention. His blue eyes stared blankly at the white machine, considering his options. One: go get some munchies. Two: sleep. Auggie knew what his choice would be, everyone did, for that matter. Due to the pure fact that Augustus Van Allen has an unrequited love for food. The connection is inevitable. He picks it over anything and can't be seen without some form of a snack or full-on meal.

After what felt like an enternity of longing, Auggie stretched out, his back and shoulders cracking from the shift of position. At the sudden movement, Moonie lifted his head, pointed ears perked forward. It was a race. A race for food. Their blue eyes met, and the race began. Auggie scrambled out of bed, feet kicking frantically behind them. Who won? Neither of them. The two crashed into a pile, Moonie on top of Auggie's chest and Auggie's head knocked into the mini fridge. "Gee, Moonie, get offa me!" Auggie whined hysterically, scrunching up his nose as the dog rolled off of him and onto his back. Moonie stretched out, tongue lolling to form the most innocent expression a dog could have. One that Auggie learned long ago not to fall for. With a huff, Auggie rolled so that he was kneeling down. Before he could make another movement, the phone upstairs was ringing, and a feminine gasp echoed around the house.

Augustus was confused, but he didn't cease his actions for more than a few moments. He supposed it was just news from a family friend that had his mother surprised for a moment. "Pre-midnight snack.. uh, apple juice boxes and ice cream bits." Auggie announced to his dog, a cheeky grin eating at his face as he pulled the snacks from the fridge. Shrugging his shoulders, he moved from the floor to a green beanbag sat in the center of his room, just in front of an old radio from the seventies and his television. There was something interesting about Auggie's room. It was grungy, certainly different, and gave off an entirely different vibe than the rest of his household. The other two floors were neat, modern, and had exquisite paintings hanging on the perfectly white walls. There wasn't a scratch on the hardwood floor or a speck of dust on any of the furniture. However, the basement, or Auggie's bedroom, was like a different dimension. It was dark, had several lava lamps, and hundreds of posters and photographs. His bed sat against the wall, large enough to fit him, but draped in green sheets and big, soft pillows for his comfort. In one corner was his mini fridge, in another Moonie's set-up. A large dog bed and several large toys, including a bag of dog treats. At the foot of his bed were his bean bags for lounging, and in the empty space his electronics and entertainment systems.

The second he turned on the radio, out came the evening news. Auggie himself was too lazy to change it, so he instead kicked his feet up on a small, round table that looked like it was about to fall apart. Then the bomb dropped. The name Daphne Blake rang in the foodie's ears, his eyes flickering from the radio, to his phone, and then to Moonie. Swallowing hard, he picked up his phone to check the most recent notification. A text from his father. 'Dad: Have you heard the news? I'll be home late.' His father being home late was unsurprising, but the news left a chill down his spine. Auggie was relatively familiar with the case of Daphne Blake from his father's mentions of the empty case, but he never thought he would hear her name in recent news. It made him far more than uncomfortable, and made his stomach feel empty. But his hungry vanished in an instant.

"Zoinks!" His voice was high-pitched, a shrill reaction to the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. As he looked up, Moonie ran to hide beneath his bed, and his mother's frame could be traced in the shadows. "I think the town's had enough scares for the night, mom."[/div][/div] [div class=pos][div class="round1 round"][/div] . [div class="round2 round"][/div] . [div class="round3 round"][/div] [div class=stats]hungry| mentions: | interaction(s): moonie & imogen (his mom)
location: van allen house | outfit [/div][/div][/div][/div] [div class=c] lavendre [/div] [class=container]height: 340px; width: 500px; padding: 10px; margin: auto; background: #378f0b [/class] [class=image]height: 100%; width: 180px; background-image: url(https://i.pinimg.com/736x/ba/60/a3/ba60a37ea5c8f54e699cc503a365093e.jpg); background-size: 200%; background-position: 55% 30% [/class] [class=title]position: relative; top: 15px; left: 190px; width: 230px; text-transform: uppercase; font-size: 20px; color: #613e15 [/class] [class=line]height: 1px; width: 100%; background: #9c8013 [/class] [class=lil]position: relative; width: 96%; text-align: right; font-style: italic; font-size: 10px; text-transform: lowercase; letter-spacing: 1px; color: #2e4d78; [/class] [class=b]position: relative; left: 420px; top: -45px; height: 65px; width: 65px; padding: 5px; border-radius: 0px 100px 100px 100px; border: 1px solid #2e4d78 [/class] [class=lilimage]height: 100%; width: 100%; border-radius: 0px 100px 100px 100px; background-image: url(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/62/dd/5c/62dd5c0c0e33fb151cc222c28b1c4983.jpg); background-size: 200%; background-position: 60% 55% [/class] [class=info]position: relative; left: 190px; top: -245px; height: 245px; width: 310px [/class] [class=post]height: 200px; width: 103%; font-size: 10px; overflow: hidden [/class] [class=scroll]height: 100%; width: 100%; overflow-y: scroll; text-align: justify; padding-right: 30px [/class] [class=pos]position: relative; top: 15px; height: 35px; width: 305px; text-align: center; color: transparent; overflow: hidden [/class] [class=round]position: relative; display: inline-block; height: 25px; width: 25px; border-radius: 100%; background: #2e4d78; transition: 0.7s; [/class] [class=round2]transition: 0.7s; display: inline-block; height: 25px; width: 25px; border-radius: 100%; background: #9e9105 [/class] [class=round3]transition: 0.7s; display: inline-block; height: 25px; width: 25px; border-radius: 100%; background: #93e66a [/class] [class=bla]background: #f2979f [/class] [class=ble]background: #786a81 [/class] [class=blo]background: #d05f7a [/class] [class=stats]position: relative; top: 10px; width: 100%; margin: auto;font-weight: 800; font-size: 9px; color: white [/class] [class=c]width: 100%; text-align: center; opacity: 0; font-size: 10px [/class] [script class=post on=mouseenter] addClass bla round1 addClass ble round2 addClass blo round3 [/script] [script class=post on=mouseleave] removeClass bla round1 removeClass ble round2 removeClass blo round3 [/script] [script class=pos on=mouseenter] addClass up round addClass up stats removeClass down round removeClass down2 stats [/script] [script class=pos on=mouseleave] addClass down round addClass down2 stats addClass up round addClass up stats [/script] [class name=up] animation-name: {post_id}up; animation-direction: normal; animation-duration: 0.5s; animation-delay: 0s; animation-timing-function: ease-out; animation-iteration-count: 1; animation-fill-mode: both; [/class] [animation=up] [keyframe=0]top: 0px[/keyframe] [keyframe=100]top: -30px[/keyframe] [/animation] [class name=down] animation-name: {post_id}down; animation-direction: normal; animation-duration: 0.5s; animation-delay: 0s; animation-timing-function: ease-out; animation-iteration-count: 1; animation-fill-mode: both; [/class] [animation=down] [keyframe=0]top: -30px[/keyframe] [keyframe=100]top: 0px[/keyframe] [/animation] [class name=down2] animation-name: {post_id}down2; animation-direction: normal; animation-duration: 0.5s; animation-delay: 0s; animation-timing-function: ease-out; animation-iteration-count: 1; animation-fill-mode: both; [/class] [animation=down2] [keyframe=0]top: -30px[/keyframe] [keyframe=100]top: 10px[/keyframe] [/animation]

 

[80slgbt]

Theodore Wilson

THE ADAPTIVE LEADER

An empty house, what a surprise. The lights were off and everything was settled and silent as Theo walked into the house, the keys rattling in his hand as he pulled them from the door, the lights flickering on. Theo suspected that his mom was out at another ladies dinner and his dad was playing golf with his "buddies". Guess dinner was leftovers, as usual, it wasn't like his mom would be in the kitchen cooking, oh no, that was his dad's job, had been for fourteen years. Popping open the tupperware lid, Theo dumped the contents onto a plate and set it in the microwave, five minutes on the clock as his food warmed up. Thoughts and eyes wondered around the kitchen, the cream marble counter tops and almost white tiled floors and walls contrasted against the colour-sunking black cabinets and island-stools. Light reflected off the smooth tops, almost blinding to look if Theo focused on it. Theo remembered when they had first moved into the house, how bland and cold it was, how big it seemed to a four year old Theo.

Sometimes, late at night, when his parents still were gone and the house felt eerie and empty, Theo would imagine the small house by the lake, with the vast back garden and his tree house, the way the wind rustled and the lake lapped over itself; his safe place. His lips quirked up at every memory, how his mom would make him costumes to go with his playtime, whether it be a knight on a quest to battle a dragon or a pirate sailing the seven seas, fighting a kracken or his arch nemesis- Alexander the Fluffy. Perhaps the house was still standing, perhaps another family found joy in the warm environment and the peaceful rustle of leaves. He had lost that joy when they'd moved to the three-story home, when his dad became busy and his mom got a social life, preferring to gossip and show off than play pirates and knights.

A loud ding startled Theo out of his thoughts, the microwave finally done giving life to his food. With a heaved sigh, Theo stood up from his stool and grabbed his food, hissing and cursing as his hands reddened from the heat. With his food in hand, Theo made his way along the silent, darkened hallways, the lights dimming behind him with each step, and lighting up in front of him. Shivers crept along his spine, the chill of the walls getting to him. The heaters were off, of course, his mom believed that the cold was good for muscles, Theo believed that he was really freaking cold and that he just wanted some warmth in the house. His bedroom door creaked open, his foot nudging it open wider as he shuffled into the room, balancing his plate of lasagna on his arm, his school bag and sports bag under each arm, and he tried to turn on the light. The moon illuminated the room, a soft sheen on the walls, a picture of shadows, cars and trees waving, only to be cut short as the lights flickered on.

Dropping his bags to the floor, Theo set the plate on his desk, the dark plate a contrast to the white wood. Papers scattered, clothes strew around the room with sheets crumpled and the surface of the night table barely visable from the clutter upon it, was not the scene of Theo's bedroom. Most would think a teenagers bedroom would be a mess, a war scene without any order, but not Theo's. Theo's bedroom was organized, not a paper out of place. One could freely walk across the dark hardwood floors, to the en-suite bathroom, and they would never encounter anything out of place.

Setting his phone on his night table, connecting the charger, Theo began to undress, his clothing too tight to relax in and his mind too messy to think anymore. His shirt found a home in it's normal place, carefully placed on top of the other shirts, not a crease in sight. His jeans became folded over a hanger and stored in the wardrobe, and his shoes tucked away in their respected boxes. The oak wood door slammed as Theo walked away, dressed in a baggy white shirt and his usual blue sweats, a small grin at the bright orange socks he wore. Theo reached over for his glasses and picked his book up from the desk. “Let's just hope we get to a good bit this time,” he mumbled, flopping onto his soft, cotton sheeted bed with his bookin hand, glasses on and his mind ready for the puzzles and riddles that were to come. He settled down and began to read, his vast forest eyes following every word, his mind hanging desperately onto them as he disappeared into a new world.

"Robert Langdon?" he called. The man’s voice was friendly. He had an accent Langdon couldn’t place.

"That’s me," Langdon said, locking his car.

"Perfect timing," the man said. "I’ve just landed. Follow me, please."

As they circled the building, Langdon felt tense. He was not accustomed to cryptic phone calls and secret rendezvous with strangers. Not knowing what to expect he had donned his usual classroom attire—a pair of chinos, a turtleneck, and a Harris Tweed suit jacket. As they walked, he thought about the FAX in his jacket pocket, still unable to believe the image it depicted.

The pilot seemed to sense Langdon’s anxiety. "Flying’s not a problem for you, is it, sir?"

"Not at all," Langdon replied. Branded corpses are a problem for me. Flying I can handle.

The man led Langdon the length of the hangar. They rounded the corner onto the runway.

Langdon stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at the aircraft parked on the tarmac. "We’re riding in that?"

The man grinned. "Like it?"

Langdon stared a long moment. "Like it? What the hell is it?"

The craft before them was enormous. It was vaguely reminiscent of the Space Shuttle except that the top had been shaved off leaving it perfectly flat. Parked there on the runway, it resembled a colossal wedge. Langdon’s first impression was that he must be dreaming. The vehicle looked as airworthy as a Buick. The wings were practically non-existent—just two stubby fins on the rear of the fuselage. A pair of dorsal guiders rose out of the aft section. The rest of the plane was hull—about 200 feet from front to back—no windows, nothing but hull.

"250,000 kilos fully fueled," the pilot offered like a father bragging about his newborn. "Runs on slush hydrogen. The shell’s a titanium matrix with silicon carbide fibers. She packs a 20:1 thrust/weight ratio; most jets run at 7:1. The director must be in one helluva a hurry to see you. He doesn’t usually send the big boy."

"This thing flies?" Langdon sai-

His phone beeped with a notification, his focus fleeing at once to the phone instead of the words in front of him. With a shake and sigh, Theo set down the book and grabbed his phone, clicking on the pop-up, his eyes widening as he read the post. What the hell? Grabbed the tv remote, he turned on the news, his jaw dropping as his eyes grew even wider.

"-searchers, who were looking for another missing person, her body submerged under fifteen feet of water in Coolsville Lake. The case began on September 14th, 1969, when the CPD put out a bulletin regarding Daphne’s missing status. She was last seen at nine o’clock near the local Go Mart on Interstate Fifty, where detectives believe she was looking for a ride home with friends. Lieutenant Josefin Gonzaga, with the Coolsville Police and Fire Department, says she happened to be presumed dead before she was assumably thrown into the lake.
The CPD have considered this case to now be a homicide investigation-"

Drowning out the words on the television, Theo started to laugh in disbelief, already moving to the desk before even realizing. Daphne Blake, the biggest enigma to ever hit Coolsville, found dead in the Lake, found dead and no one knew who had killed her...

“Looks like we’ve got another mystery on our hands.”

©SociallyAwkward™

hi

hi

hi

hi

 

[final girl.]

iris yamada
mood: floored (ba dum tiss)
interactions: her brother
mentions: none
outfit: xx

At around five thirty in the morning, a loud, undeniable thump echoed through the second floor of the Yamada house. Upon hearing the noise, Iris jerked awake, her hazel brown eyes widened in a mixture of confusion and exhaustion. It took her a moment to register that the source of the thump was her contact to the floor.

There she lay, her limbs splayed across the open wooden floor plan of her bedroom, her body contorted as though she had recently gotten off after a round of possessions. Iris’s first response was to scowl at her clumsiness, as she would often wake up on the floor after rolling off of it in her sleep without realizing so. She had learned to control it over the past years, but when she found it difficult to focus. she would often find her klutziness getting the better of her. She would often be able to calm down after a few hours, but it wasn’t every day you would see the dead body of a seventy-something year-old teenage girl being pulled from the Coolsville Lake.

The sight of the paramedics loading a lifeless body bag into the back of an ambulance on live television was shocking to say the least, let alone traumatic for any child under the age of six. Water and other unnamed waste had settled at the bottom of the bag, forming a disgustingly large puddle on the asphalt. Iris could barely imagine the state of the body inside the bag without having the urge to find the nearest toilet and throw up last night’s “dinner”. Whereas she had been more focused on what the reporter was saying late yesterday evening, her younger brother was too busy chugging down the rest of his cereal like no one was watching.

And once the evening news had gone off for the night and Ian had somehow fallen asleep on the coffee table (she has no idea how that happened), she headed into her room to get a bit more information from the notoriously rich ginger. After scouring the web for what seemed like hours (when in reality it was a solid fifteen minutes), she learned that she had a weekly allowance equivalent to the price of today’s Lamborghini. Not only that, but she seemed to be an heiress to a large sum of money under her father’s name. Remembering what Quincy Williams had said about definite foul play, she suspected this was a possible motive.

Because of her discovery, she considered calling up her parents while they were still at the police station, but backed out last minute. She didn’t want to seem intrusive, or interrupt whatever meeting they might have been in the middle of. Besides, this was nothing important to her, and it probably had been long since spread as a reason to her dissapearance.

Accepting the fact that she couldn’t lie on her floor all day and think about dead girls (no matter how much she wanted to), she gladly thanked her mental alarm for waking her. The thing is, Iris didn’t really need an alarm clock at all. First of all, she hardly ever slept, as it was evident due to the bags under her eyes. Second of all, her biological clock seemed so in tune to her schedule, that she didn’t need peasantly alarm clocks, and only used them for decoration. She was the bourgeois, nobility of biological clocks.

Though it took her a bit to recover from the fall damage she had sustained from tumbling off of her bed (that and her whirlwind thoughts on the murder of Daphne Blake), eventually, she stopped lazing about on the floor and gathered herself enough to stand. For a moment, she wished for her vision to clear, and that her vision aquity would no longer be 20/40 and rather 20/20.

The Asian teenager spent a few considerable minutes in the bathroom searching for her contacts case (which seemed to evaporate into thin air every time she needed them the most). Finally, she found them, mumbled something about the concept of her having to pay to see was ridiculous, insulted capitalism, and put her contacts in whilst leaning over the bathroom sink to see in the mirror. Afterward, she carried on with her usual morning routine, and once satisfied with everything she had done to look presentable, ascended downstairs.


If this were any other regular family, she would have come downstairs to be greeted by two smiling parents and a steaming plate of breakfast. The smell of eggs, bacon, waffles, and maple syrup enveloping her senses as though and taking her back to her childhood. That was what their family should have been. Instead, she was greeted with the image of her twelve-year-old brother standing in the middle of living room using his leftover empty bowl of cereal from last night as a coffee cup.

As Iris entered the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee (with an actual cup, unlike Ian), she called over her shoulder to him. “School is starting soon. Would you like to have something more practical for this time in the morning?” She raised a brow at him, and noticed that he had already finished his bowl of coffee in the few seconds she had seen him with it.

A twelve year old with a caffeine addiction. Nice.

Her glared at her from his vacant drinking bowl, his dark brown hair falling into his eyes as he did so. “No. I’ll just wait until the middle school bus comes to pick me up. Besides, Mom and Dad probably aren’t coming home anytime soon, that’s for fucking sure. It’s not like I can drive myself either. Might as well hold down the fort, because who am I, anyway? I don’t have a life, or anything-“

Despite his somewhat extravagant rant, a small grin graced his lips as Iris rolled her eyes at her brother. Sure, he could be crude, obnoxious, and definitely stupid, but she loved and cared for him all the same. He was more reliable than most of the people she knew (which included her parents), even if he was a fucked up little kid with no filter. Sometimes she wondered what she’d do without an idiot brother. Whilst Ian continued ranting, Iris packed her school bag and was getting ready to head out the door to school, when suddenly, she heard a pair of loud, thundering footsteps come from behind her.

It sounded like something she’d never heard before, and for a moment, glanced around the room, confused. That was before she turned around to come face-to-face with her brother, batting his eyelashes at her innocently as though he hadn’t done anything wrong.

What a prick.

“You think they found the real one?” He suddenly asked, leaning against the front door as he did so. His dark brown eyes glimmered with mischief under the yellow light above his head. Which was all too disgruntling to Iris. Not because she was afraid of him (he’s twelve, he can’t do much), but because she was afraid she would be late to class for the day. “The one that’s been missing for, like, ever?”

It took Iris a moment to digest the question properly, and to realize what he was getting to. If she was being totally honest with herself, she believed that Daphne Blake was still out there, somewhere alive. Maybe she was being a little too optimistic for her Friday morning, but she would hate to imagine what her family would have to go through.

Shrugging her shoulders casually, she replied, “Possibly, though it is quite peculiar that after seventy years, that the police hadn’t thought to search Coolsville Lake.”

“Yeah... that sounds a little sketchy. But you’ll get to see it for yourself on your walk to school,” he reasoned, walking into the kitchen to set his bowl into the sink. “I wonder where they put the body. Do you think the body would be all moldy and mummified? Oh, that would so sick! Wait, can I walk you to school? Can I take my photography camera with me, too?” Ian began to squeal as though he were a teenage girl. He had always been interested in zombies, the living dead, and anything and everything disgusting, and was quite excitable about the topic.

Readjusting the straps on her backpack, Iris forced herself to refuse the urge to retch on the spot. “You’re absolutely disgusting. And no, I don’t need to be walked to school. What am I, a dog?”

“Aw, you’re no fun. Pick me up some decaying flesh on your way back from school?” A cheeky grin spread across his face, in the realization that he was annoying his sister.

Approaching the front door, Iris scoffed, “No, I will not. Please don’t leave the house until the bus comes by, and do behave.” She plastered a bright, extremely fake smile onto her face before opening the door and shutting it behind her. She wiped the imaginary frost off of her outfit, and took a quick glance around her before turning toward the door. She input the code into the panel beside the door to lock it, trembling as goosebumps rose to her arms. The air was crisp, bitter, causing her to wrap her sweatshirt rather tightly around her, the chilling wind coursing through her hair harshly. She looked at the time on her phone, rightfully cringing as it read 6:45 AM. She promised herself to get to school in a span of fifteen minutes or less. If not, she would surely be screwed.

Her perfect record was untarnished, and she preferred to keep it that way. So, based on the amount of traffic and the speed limit of their township, she could most likely make it to school in, at most, ten minutes. Yeah, she would make it. If she were to speed walk at a rate of .5 miles per minute, she would still have enough time to be the first one into her Advanced English 11 class and the first to turn in her homework.

Coolsville Lake was a simple seven minute walk from Iris’s house, and just so happened to be a landmark en route toward Coolsville High School. You can only imagine her excitement as she passed it. Yellow tape adorning the surrounding forest, police cars and limousines beig used in the form of a barricade to block curious civilians from trespassing. Men, women, and children alike stood outside of the crime scene, warily looking in as though they didn’t belong there in the first place.

Meanwhile, Iris stood on the sidewalk, staring at the reality before her like a little kid looking into a shark tank. Unreal and confusing, but also anxiety-inducing and fearsome. As she stood there, somehow entranced by the sight of Coolsville in sheer peril, she couldn’t help but wonder whether or not that someone, somewhere was wondering the same thing.

“Jinkies,” she mumbled to herself as she continued her trek to school. “Who would do such a thing?”

 

[sophie.]

[div class=container][div class=image] [div class=title]melanie moone [div class=line][/div] [div class=lil]the hot rich one[/div][/div] [div class=b][div class=lilimage][/div][/div][/div] [div class=info] [div class=post][div class=scroll] At 5:00 AM, Melanie’s alarm clock beeped for the third time.

Normally, she was up at 4:30 and would have already taken a run, but today was different. It was another one of those days where she could barely muster up the energy to get out of bed. She looked up at the ceiling, glued to her sheets. Her brain was telling her to go back to bed, hide under the covers, and never come back up for air. Maybe if she slept for long enough, everyone would forget about her. If she stayed in the safe warm cocoon, no one would ever have to look at her again.

Mel’s depressing soliloquy was stopped abruptly with Margaret knocking on the door. It was routine, just to make sure she was awake. Groaning, she peeled herself out of the warm covers and walked to her vanity. Her outfit was picked out from the night before, set neatly on top of the counter. Melanie stared at herself in the mirror, picking and prodding at her tear-stained face until she looked unrecognizable. She felt meaningless. Just another spoiled rich brat with daddy issues, bound to end up dead in a lake like Daphne Blake. That story was a true horror, maybe setting off the reaction that would ensue in Melanie's mindset a day later.

It was 5:30 by the time she finally snapped out of her saddened trance. The feelings still remained, but at least now she was able to function. She slipped on her outfit for the day, overcompensating with elegance for how she felt. She didn't bother to fully button the shirt, dress code be damned. If she was going to be sad all day, she could at least be cute doing it. After that, she put on a light amount of makeup. Mel had the most expensive products only to change barely anything on her face. She loved the glossy, natural effect on the skin. Margaret knocked once again, this time a little more violently.

"Melanie?" she called in a lighter tone than usual. "I hope you'll be ready soon, I made french toast!" Margaret know how to console her without even trying. French Toast was her favorite breakfast, especially with fruit on top.

"I'm ready! Just looking for some jewelry," she called out, slowly trailing off as she found the perfect piece. It was a gold pair of hoops, shaped like hands instead of your traditional circle. She walked down the large set of cylindrical stairs before making it to the main floor, towards the kitchen. Her father sat at the table on his phone, sipping at a cup of black coffee. His brows were furrowed and he was muttering something angry about sales. Melanie sighed angrily and sat as far away as she could, turning her face downward toward the breakfast. They ignored each other like normal. Her father stopped trying after he realized his daughter wouldn't forgive him for a while. He eventually turned away from the coffee and left for work in a blur. Mel didn't even bother to acknowledge his leaving.

Margaret had prepared Melanie's backpack for school wit her car keys on top, perfectly ready to get to school. The teenage girl hugged her amazing housekeeper/nanny/parent and trotted down to the front door and driveway. Her father bought her a pity Rolls Royce after she found out he cheated, and she's been using it to do stupid things ever since. The only functional thing it served was for transportation to school. Melanie sped a little too fast down the driveway and in the streets, blasting music that nobody wanted to hear at 6 in the morning. She sped even faster past the Daphne Blake crime scene, leaving people walking amidst dust and debris from the road.

Turning her music up even higher, Melanie thought to herself, "God, who even opens a school after a body's been found?” [/div][/div] [div class=pos][div class="round1 round"][/div] . [div class="round2 round"][/div] . [div class="round3 round"][/div] [div class=stats]mentions: n/a | interaction: margaret and her father
location: home/school | outfit : x [/div][/div][/div][/div] [div class=c] lavendre [/div] [class=container]height: 340px; width: 500px; padding: 10px; margin: auto; background: #9C94A9 [/class] [class=image]height: 100%; width: 180px; background-image: url(https://i.pinimg.com/originals/02/4f/3c/024f3c442da8987150f4000ccb949a5a.jpg); background-size: 200%; background-position: 55% 30% [/class] [class=title]position: relative; top: 15px; left: 190px; width: 230px; text-transform: uppercase; font-size: 20px; color: #bc4060 [/class] [class=line]height: 1px; width: 100%; background: #5a1527 [/class] [class=lil]position: relative; width: 96%; text-align: right; font-style: italic; font-size: 10px; text-transform: lowercase; letter-spacing: 1px; color: #202020; [/class] [class=b]position: relative; left: 420px; top: -45px; height: 65px; width: 65px; padding: 5px; border-radius: 0px 100px 100px 100px; border: 1px solid #5a1527 [/class] [class=lilimage]height: 100%; width: 100%; border-radius: 0px 100px 100px 100px; background-image: url(https://i.pinimg.com/736x/1b/27/4f/1b274fc0b509cd6585897a44447be9a6.jpg); background-size: 200%; background-position: 60% 55% [/class] [class=info]position: relative; left: 190px; top: -245px; height: 245px; width: 310px [/class] [class=post]height: 200px; width: 103%; font-size: 10px; overflow: hidden [/class] [class=scroll]height: 100%; width: 100%; overflow-y: scroll; text-align: justify; padding-right: 30px [/class] [class=pos]position: relative; top: 15px; height: 35px; width: 305px; text-align: center; color: transparent; overflow: hidden [/class] [class=round]position: relative; display: inline-block; height: 25px; width: 25px; border-radius: 100%; background: #D1565B; transition: 0.7s; [/class] [class=round2]transition: 0.7s; display: inline-block; height: 25px; width: 25px; border-radius: 100%; background: #B9B5CC [/class] [class=round3]transition: 0.7s; display: inline-block; height: 25px; width: 25px; border-radius: 100%; background: #E6AFA8 [/class] [class=bla]background: #f2979f [/class] [class=ble]background: #786a81 [/class] [class=blo]background: #d05f7a [/class] [class=stats]position: relative; top: 10px; width: 100%; margin: auto;font-weight: 800; font-size: 9px; color: white [/class] [class=c]width: 100%; text-align: center; opacity: 0; font-size: 10px [/class] [script class=post on=mouseenter] addClass bla round1 addClass ble round2 addClass blo round3 [/script] [script class=post on=mouseleave] removeClass bla round1 removeClass ble round2 removeClass blo round3 [/script] [script class=pos on=mouseenter] addClass up round addClass up stats removeClass down round removeClass down2 stats [/script] [script class=pos on=mouseleave] addClass down round addClass down2 stats addClass up round addClass up stats [/script] [class name=up] animation-name: {post_id}up; animation-direction: normal; animation-duration: 0.5s; animation-delay: 0s; animation-timing-function: ease-out; animation-iteration-count: 1; animation-fill-mode: both; [/class] [animation=up] [keyframe=0]top: 0px[/keyframe] [keyframe=100]top: -30px[/keyframe] [/animation] [class name=down] animation-name: {post_id}down; animation-direction: normal; animation-duration: 0.5s; animation-delay: 0s; animation-timing-function: ease-out; animation-iteration-count: 1; animation-fill-mode: both; [/class] [animation=down] [keyframe=0]top: -30px[/keyframe] [keyframe=100]top: 0px[/keyframe] [/animation] [class name=down2] animation-name: {post_id}down2; animation-direction: normal; animation-duration: 0.5s; animation-delay: 0s; animation-timing-function: ease-out; animation-iteration-count: 1; animation-fill-mode: both; [/class] [animation=down2] [keyframe=0]top: -30px[/keyframe] [keyframe=100]top: 10px[/keyframe] [/animation]

 

[rosar.io]

[div class=container][div class=image] [div class=title]Auggie Van Allen [div class=line][/div] [div class=lil]comedic foodie & his dog[/div][/div] [div class=b][div class=lilimage][/div][/div][/div] [div class=info] [div class=post][div class=scroll] The Van Allen household, despite being home to a family of three and their dog, was one of pure chaos in the morning. However it would also be one of silence until Lawrence and Imogen Van Allen's dear son Augustus began his day. As soon as their messy-looking son woke up, the racket of his routine would ensue. Typically, during his swim season, Auggie would go for a run, do a quick workout, eat, and then get ready for school. Out of season, he would do quite the opposite. He wouldn't work out at all and he wouldn't wake up as early as five unless he just so happened to get an amazing eight hours of sleep to get him up and going. Currently, he wasn't in swim season. Currently, Augustus Van Allen was still spooked from the news the previous night. Currently, Augustus Van Allen slept through his first five alarms. 4:45, 4:55, 5:00, 5:05, 5:10. Now the snooze button was broken. He'd hit it until the alarm clock fell onto the floor blasting one of his favorite songs: Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fears.

As soon as the song began to play, Augustus' eyes flew open, staring at the pale ceiling which was illuminated by his nightlight. Yes, he needed the nightlight again. But only in fear of whatever ghosts were stalking around his room to spook him. He inhaled so deep he thought his eyes would roll back into his head before pushing himself up into a sitting position, one hand automatically scratching at the back of his head. If he wasn't careful, it'd get lost in the messy mop of brown hair scattered about his scalp. Moonie, on the other hand, was whimpering to himself in his corner. Not out of torture, or so Auggie would claim. They simply had different tastes in music. Moonie hated being woken by this sort of song, Auggie on the other hand found it to be a nice touch to the start of his day. "Moonie, stop crying, we've been over this already," Auggie's voice was groggy and made him sound like an old sailor, but he couldn't care less. "You get your songs on Tuesday and Wednesday, I get my songs every other day."

Why yes, yes Auggie did make a deal with his dog on what songs played in the morning from his alarm clock. Today was his day.

Auggie felt like an absolute wreck. A pure disaster. In his own words, he felt like shit, dude. This was not the day for an extensive workout. Today was a day for drowning himself in food as he thought over the case of Daphne Blake. A case his father had mentioned many times, but never could he have imagined his father being gone from home because he was working on the case itself. That case was dead, or so it was supposed to be.

First things first: his outfit. Auggie had lots of outfits. Sometimes he didn't care, sometimes he did. But if he was gonna get in the groove of the day, he'd need to put in some effort. "Moonie, I think I might need your help with the clothes deal today, dude." He admitted, though he didn't spare a glance at the dog as he swung his legs off of the bed and pushed himself up. Sniffling, he trudged over to his small closet and plucked out of a few different articles of clothing. Most people wouldn't ask their dogs for help with an outfit, but after taking a quick shower in the grungy basement bathroom that he had all to himself and putting on his favorite striped shirt, he stood in the center of his room awaiting approval. Moonie, on the other hand, sat and stared up at him. The response? A snort and a sniff of his pants leg. Good enough for Auggie. Their bond was different, to say the least, if Moonie didn't like it, Augustus would know.

As Auggie made his way upstairs with Moonie trailing close behind, he supposed there were two outcomes. He was either home alone, or his mother was waiting upstairs with breakfast. By the smell of it, he had the short end of the stick for the day. No one was home but himself. Not a sign of life, or a speck of food, not even a note. Shrugging, he moved to the kitchen to make himself something to eat. Auggie was no chef but he could whip up a mean bowl of oatmeal. Not that he felt like doing that today, though. Instead, Auggie settled for a glass of orange juice and pouring Moonie a bowl of boring, dry dog food. Neither of them liked the fact that he couldn't eat what Auggie ate, but they had to do what they had to do. The pair shared a look of disappointment before shifting to enjoy their first meals of the day. Auggie knew that once he got in his car, he'd be eating his stash of snacks. And that he'd need to pack three sandwiches to get him through the school day. And some chips. Maybe a cookie, or three.

In fact, that's exactly what Auggie packed for himself. Today, though, there was a twist. Auggie thought it would be a particularly good idea to take Moonie to school with him. He'd just let Moonie stay in the car with all the windows rolled down and they'd have lunch together. Smart idea, right? He'd done it before, and never gotten in trouble for it. Well, except for the time, or two, or three, that Moonie followed Auggie into the building and Augustus did nothing to stop the silly dog from doing so. He didn't understand why he couldn't bring his dog to class. They were best friends, after all.

Augustus snatched his backpack from beside the front door, an overloaded paper bag in hand filled with his lunch, and a fairly large dog trailing beside him. Auggie's car wasn't flashy by any means. It was an old jeep he got from his grandparents. "Moonie, you keep your mouth to yourself. If you eat my food before I get to school, we are gonna have a serious problem." Auggie tried to sound serious, an attempt at using a stern voice. But as he looked into the rear view mirror and looked at the dog in the back seat, he busted out laughing. Turning on the car radio, there was news of Daphne Blake. But all Auggie wanted was some music. He couldn't, and didn't, want to hear about the dead body. So he changed it to his own music playlist. Something safe for his drive off to school. Presumably, he'd be late. If he was lucky he'd have a few minutes to spare before class. Auggie usually wasn't lucky. On his drive, he passed by the crime scene. He could barely make out the people there, but he was fairly certain he'd seen his father. Or maybe it was just some other guy in a police uniform. "I'd hate to be there all day.." He grumbled to himself, shaking his head as he continued on to school. [/div][/div] [div class=pos][div class="round1 round"][/div] . [div class="round2 round"][/div] . [div class="round3 round"][/div] [div class=stats]sleepy| mentions: | interaction(s): moonie
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