fill the graveyards (open)

[robert ward]

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[atrb=style, background-color: #6D7B8D; border-top: 5px solid #2B3856; border-bottom: 5px solid #2B3856;][STYLE=border: 4px solid #2B3856; height: 100px; width: 100px; margin-left: 15px; margin-bottom: -33px; margin-top: 7px;][/style][STYLE=float: right; width: 277px; font-size: 50px; color: #2B3856; font-family: georgia; text-align: center; margin-right: 15px; margin-left: 123px; text-transform: lowercase; margin-top: -45px; letter-spacing: -3px;]MY SACRIFICE[/style][STYLE=background-color: #dddddd; border-top: 4px solid #2B3856; margin-right: 15px; font-family: arial narrow; letter-spacing: 2px; font-size: 11px; margin-bottom: -9px; margin-left: 123px; padding: 5px; text-align: center; text-transform: uppercase; color: #2B3856;]ABOVE ALL THE OTHERS, WE'LL FLY[/style] [STYLE=margin-right: 15px; margin-left: 15px; font-size: 10px; font-family: arial; text-align: justify; background-color: #dddddd; padding: 17px; color: #413839; margin-top: 8px; opacity: 0.9; border-top: 4px solid #2B3856; border-right: 1px dotted #9D6F25; border-left: 1px dotted #2B3856;]It was pouring rain outside. But they did say 'April showers bring May flowers.' It wasn't April yet. Not quite. But it was already spring, which Robert knew by now was the rainy season in a lot of places around the world. Robert also knew that he couldn't be exposed to the rain too long or he would end up with a cold. Robert had no one back home to look after him and he had a job to do, so he tried to avoid catching any sickness if it was possible. That meant, to avoid a stuffy nose and sore throat, Robert had to duck into the nearest building to get out of the rain's way. No, he wasn't in the city. He wasn't near home. Robert was exploring the graveyard, reading the names on the tombstones and curiously observing the ages of when people died in these parts. What for? First and foremost, Robert was a detective. But second, he was an author. He loved name ideas and loved the chance to think to himself of how to kill off his characters. Where better to get inspiration for murder than a cemetery? Robert pulled his coat tight around him, getting the chills down his spine. He went so far as to button it up. Some people thought that this church was haunted. It was in a graveyard, after all. It was an abandoned church. No one came here to pray on Sunday mornings and, as far as Robert knew, there wasn't even a priest. Not in this church. It must have been caught in the battle between the humans and mutants, because the roof and walls in some areas were caved in and crumbling. There was the dust on the alter and on the many rows of benches. Though there were bum prints in some spots- so people must have come here before him. But there didn't appear to be anyone right there and then. Fumbling to pull a small notebook out of his pocket, which had a pencil slipped in through the ring binding, Robert wandered down the little isles of benches until he reached one that was already partially dusted off. He took a seat there so that his black dress pants wouldn't end up ruined with dust. The man was entirely silent, apart from a weak sigh, and brought one of his legs over the other to use as a makeshift desk for his notebook. It could be hours before the rain died down. Or, if he was lucky, it might only be minutes. At least he could busy himself with some work while he waited. Robert had never published anything he wrote, but he had countless notebooks back in his home, filled with numerous stories he'd written. Usually, Robert lost himself in writing mystery novels. But, lately, he'd had ideas popping up that would fit into the fantasy or science fiction genre. It was just a phase. Soon, it would pass once he got all the ideas out of his head, which he began to make notes of on his papers. WORDS! 000 TAGS! anyone. NOTES! random starter! [/style]

[STYLE=width: 400px; text-align: center; font-size: 9px; color: #2B3856; letter-spacing: 2px; text-transform: uppercase; margin-top: -4px;]made by kiwii at btn & ote![/style]

[CECILY ROSENTHAL]

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[atrb=vAlign,top] words !? · tags SHERLY - i mean, robbie. c: · notes i need to do psych ... It was rather obvious why Miss Rosenthal did not visit churches or graveyards often. With her vitality and shifty occupation, she was not fond of either location, but there was something about a church that intrigued her. With her appreciation for the arts, she admired the stained glass mosaics and the sanctuary of it all. Something about the church was warm, accepting ...even for her kind. Regardless, her small appreciation for glass art was not the reason why she was in the cemetery today, but it was strictly for business and business alone. Or at least that was what she had told herself. She was supposed to attend a funeral for a fellow dinner party 'friend' who had passed away recently, but where was the fun in that? Everyone, including them, knew they were not friends. Miss Rosenthal did not have friends: only accomplices and clients. The old man supposedly died from a mere heart attack. ...Well, that was how she made it look, wasn't it? At the thought, a small smile curled on her scarlet lips as she carefully stepped around puddle after puddle until she ducked into the shelter of a broken church. ...Who was this? The young lady was earnestly surprised somebody who had beaten her to her selected sanctuary. She had been mostly silent so she was not sure if her presence had been detected yet, but maybe the dreary day would not be in vain. Closing her good eye, she willed her body to lighten - light enough to cause the old floorboards no distress from her weight - as she took delicate steps towards the young man. Oh? What was he writing? Curiously, she peered over his shoulder before tapping him playfully on the opposite shoulder as she willed her weight to normal without much effect. "Bonjour." template by john of ote