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Tell Him Tonight RPG

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Nightly, lately. [14 Nov 2005|04:53pm]

*thanking the waitress, he brings his cup to a table in a dark corner, not removing his jacket, curling up on the pillows. Sitting, he just observes the people indoors and outdoors, not smiling, eyebrows furrowed. Sighing, he sips, burning his tongue, and he mutters, biting his lip*
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Alone Once More [05 Nov 2005|07:58pm]

-The door to Nick's flat slams shut as he storms in, pacing for the keyboard. Seating himself, his fingers attack the black and white keys, creating something. Definitely not music. After a few minutes of this, his hands slide off the keyboard and he slumps forward, his head hitting the plastic on a dischordant note. A shaky sigh escapes his lips, followed by heavy breathing. He stands, stumbles to his kitchen area and leans over the sink. He holds his throat, squeezing lightly, wincing when it hurts more than it should. He gives up the thought of induced vomiting and moves away from the sink, back to the keyboard. He blinks at his reflection in the window across the instrument, noticing a thick dark ring around his neck. An image of Patrick, a belt and choking flash across his mind, makes him shudder and stand again, pacing in a rectangle around the room.

He makes it around twice before giving that up as well, using the wall to slide down, burying his face in his hands, breathing deeply, shoulders shaking slightly-
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Repressed Desires [31 Oct 2005|09:51am]

-Nick purses his lips and runs a hand over his nose. He'd convinced his nurse to take the cast off, mostly because it was painful to look at himself in it. Maybe it hadn't been a great idea to get it off, but he wasn't about to go back now...not when he'd run away. They'd lock him up, or at least change his nurse. He clears his mind with a shake of his head and steps out of the lift, moving towards Alex's flat. He feels a twinge of unease with the fact that he intends to go inside his...ex-lover's flat, but with Alex still in the hospital, he doesn't think it'll be too much of a problem. Besides, he has to talk to Paul. Or Bob. He isn't about to let Alex go that easily.

He purses his lips again out of nervous habit and knocks on the flat door.-
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Peace and quiet [28 Oct 2005|05:52pm]
*Paul splays out on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about how quiet the flat is when Alex and Patrick aren't at home... strange how he almost misses them, but he shrugs aside the thought, idly wondering how Nick is doing in hospital*
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Finally [25 Oct 2005|01:39pm]

-The door handle twists as Nick presses the door open, blue eyes darting across the room to make sure no nurses are there. Seeing there are none, he glances outside once more, then slips inside, shutting the door silently before turning around, seeking Alex. It'd taken half a day to track down the room number, but he'd finally connived a nurse into letting him out for a "walk." Hopefully she hasn't checked in on him yet. He walks forward a bit, peeking at the bed-

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When you awake. [22 Oct 2005|03:08pm]

*When he wakes up, he just wants to fall asleep again, his arms feeling stiff, and his vision only seeing whites, greys and black before specks of blue and green appear. Blinking, he groans, seeing them move, and they are talking under their breaths. They suddenly leave the room, and he is alone. Touching his lower arms, he can only sense bandages, and he sighs, breath shuddering. He knew where he was, but his memory was not helping much. He closes his eyes, and waits for some company, some company he knows.*
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More and more. [19 Oct 2005|07:14pm]

*Patrick sits on the floor, back against the bed as the knife yet again cuts into the skin, blood staining the already messy carpet. He hisses, biting his tongue before laughter appears, his head feeling dizzy and carefree. Blinking, looking at the door, his facial expression almost blank, he sucks on his arm with a grin before he just watches it drip, sighing with content.*
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Tension [16 Oct 2005|02:50pm]
*He comes back to the flat hours after his fight with Patrick, not knowing or caring who's in the flat, just wanting to go to bed and sleep so that he can maybe forget something - everything.*
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Nothing But Death. [15 Oct 2005|03:48pm]

*He's lying on the couch again, feeling it's the most comforting place in the flat, leafing through a book of poems, reading a poem here and there, but not really concentrating on the words, unable to understand what they really mean -- yet, there's something about the lines that makes him feel ill at ease.

Sighing, he closes the book and puts in on the floor beside the couch, trying to think of something else but the problems around him. He turns on his back, staring at the ceiling again, noticing that there's a crack on it.

What if the house will fall into pieces, and I'll be crushed under them? Wouldn't that be jolly?

He'd want to fall asleep, but doesn't feel drowsy, just internally exhausted.*
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Locked in. [13 Oct 2005|04:01pm]

*folding his arms and leaning against the wall, he grunts, giving up. Not his style, but he figures he would be let out soon. Paul, to be exact. He wouldn't let him stay in here to rot. Patrick grins, running a hand through his hair, and soon, he can hear the doorhandle, and the door opening wide. Patrick, still grinning, stares at Paul.*

Why, hello there. You sure took your time.
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Once Again. [10 Oct 2005|11:16am]

-Nick reclines in his hospital bed, a fashion magazine propped against a leg. He hardly looks at it, just having it there as something to stare at. Besides, certain models and actors aren't too bad-looking. He sighs and touches his nose, wincing. The doctor said it'd be another couple hours until he got the cast, and then they'd want him there for a week.

He shivers and looks out the window. No way is he going to let Alex stay in that flat alone with Paul. Well, not alone, but he has an idea that Paul would try something even if Bob's there. He sighs and flips the page, glad Paul had slipped out of the room. He doesn't want him there anyway. Not even for the company...-
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Roses on the floor. [08 Oct 2005|01:30am]

*he wakes up, hearing the sounds from the living room -- eyes fly open, hands reach for something invisible in front of him, mouth opens to scream, until he realises it was a dream. Just a dream. Once again.

Bob turns to his side, noticing Paul is gone -- was he ever there? Was that just a dream, too? But no, this is not his room but Paul's, and the mattress scents of him, when Bob buries his face into its softness, holding his breath for while. The dream hangs still heavy in the air, it felt so real: there was blood, and noises and...

Am I still dreaming?

Familiar voices are carried to his ears through the thin wall, and it is almost like the dream he had; almost, but not quite. He knows that sound, it is a fist meeting soft flesh. He closes his eyes as if he was hit himself.

Should I go and see?

With that thought the nervousness fills him like he had downed a glass of ice-cold water. It is not wise to interfere, he knows it from the experience. Nothing good ever follows that. Besides, Paul's mattress is nice and soft and still warm under him... He drifts into a dream again, but it's not real sleep, it's thin and empty --

and he wakes up again, wondering how long he had slept. It is silent again. No spoken words, no whimpers or suppressed sounds.

He gets up, stretching, crossing the floor to the closed door. What the door hides is only the familiar, bare room, empty of people -- but the air is heavy with the scent of blood. Frowning, he walks to the sofa, leaning over to see... blood. On the carpet, on the floor, forming a sickening pattern that looks even meaningful: isn't it like an artwork of a kind, resembling roses?

Bob feels sick, and he turns his back to the sight, leaning to the sofa, and seeing someone -- Nick.*
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Liberated. [02 Oct 2005|05:01pm]

*he closes the door after him, his coat falling to the floor and his shoes fly across the livingroom. He lets his fingers drag across the sofa, his eyes wander around, thinking he should clean. He hadn't in ages. And he is relieved, and hops onto the sofa, wrapping himself in his dark coloured blanket, relaxing at the lack of voices, his mind feeling free*
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Over-emotional [01 Oct 2005|03:01pm]
*he leans his head against the door of the flat, trying to steady his breathing. Why did he go so mad when he found out what Nick had done to P-- Alex? Maybe coming here had been a mistake after all... maybe he should have stayed in Scotland and let the police catch up with him.

He opens the door, barely noticing that it's already unlocked, going inside and freezing when he sees Bob sobbing on the sofa...*
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Melody of the Heart [27 Sep 2005|02:47pm]

-Nick sits in front of his new keyboard, the one he'd bought only hours before. He'd seen a music store by the hotel he'd gone to with Audrey, and decided it was time to start playing again. Music had always helped him clear his mind. Only, his mind was too busy to sit still long enough, and Nick can't think of anything to play.

He runs his hand over the keys, delighting in the sound it gave off. He sighs and fidgets in his chair, looking around. Automatically his eyes land on the red scarf he'd tied around one of the legs of the keyboard stand. His hands perch on the white and black keys, and a melody teases at the edge of his mind.

Frowning, he tries to play it. It comes out wrong, but he keeps trying, altering it every other time, sometimes stopping halfway through to restart. Lost in trying to figure it out, he scribbles the notes out each time he thinks he has it, only to toss it on the floor and begin anew.

Finally, he sits back, slipping his pencil behind his ear, staring at the music. It has to be it, nothing else sounds as right as this version. And carefully, lightly, he plays it. Playing it again, he wonders where he's heard it before.

It hits him - it was the song Alex had sung to him one night. He shudders, snatching his hands back. He takes the sheet music and writes the words down sloppily, then stands, dropping the paper on top of the keyboard and walking to his room. Obviously music wasn't going to help him clear his mind any.-
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((Rules and guidelines)) [27 Sep 2005|06:50am]

((Well, I am writing this mainly so that we, the players, can remember what's the deal here.

*The player's LJ is used to post entries of how the characters has felt about a certain situation, or several ones during a period of time. When an entry is posted, the comment function is turned off, to indicate that no RPing can go on in the LJ entries as well.

*Thus, all RPing goes on in the main community: tellhimtonight

*There is a proper timeline which we follow, so to read the entries in the main comm and each other's LJs is very important. This to not miss out any details or mess up terribly. Of course, we are all humans and one mistake here and there can be fixed, but try to keep it organised, will you? It'll make us all happy in the end! w00t.

More will be added as the RP goes on.))

Sixth, and it continues. [26 Sep 2005|09:18pm]

*when he wakes up in the morning, he can't be awake even for a second before everything returns to him. If he had been dreaming, at least it would have distracted him longer. Alex sighs, not seeing a point in getting up, but he forces himself too. He figures he has to be social towards his new flatmates.

Opening the door carefully, he sees Bob on the couch, or his hair, watching some show on the small telly. Closing his door after him, he goes to the kitchen. What they had done was picking at him, but he ignored it. His usual tactic*
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Day Five, Night [25 Sep 2005|01:21pm]

-Nick tugs at his scarf - Alex's scarf, making sure it's still around his neck. He'd hate to lose it, really. And it was warm against the cool air of London, so he'd worn it out to send a letter. That and it hid the ring of bruises around his neck. He walks to the street door and opens it, stepping inside quickly. He hears a ding and looks at the lift, seeing it close. Great, he'd missed it. But maybe the person inside would wait for him...-

Hold the lift, would you?

-he calls out and runs to the lift, hoping the door would still be open when he got there-
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Home sweet home. [25 Sep 2005|03:41pm]

*it is beginning to get dark when Bob finds himself again in front of the door of the flat that he has to call home now. The memory of what happened earlier burns in his mind, not as clear anymore, but as a dull ache, embarrasment and regret, mixed with slight panic, but also some kind of excitement.

You wanted to start a new life, Robert, and isn't this what you wanted?

He glances at the sky, covered with clouds; it might start to rain soon. Bob sighs, knowing he doens't have any choices: he has to go in. He climbs the stairs, hesitating a little before opening the door with the key Alex gave him earlier. The lock makes a clicking sound, and it echoes in the half-empty flat ominously.

No one seems to be here, good.

He takes off his coat, tossing it somewhere, and walks to the sofa, not caring to turn the lights on. He sighs deep again, and lies himself on the soft cushions, staring at the ceiling.*
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On the fifth day... [24 Sep 2005|12:55pm]

*Alex is asleep, his weariness and the alcohol finally having knocked him out the day before. Morning arrives, yet the sun shining on him doesn't wake him up, not even the dreams he's having. Thrashing about in the bed suddenly, he groans, kicking the sheets.*
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