brian "rudy is the worst pseudonym ever" moser ✂ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bloodplay) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
capeandcowllogs2013-05-12 03:14 pm
bloodplay) wrote in capeandcowllogs2013-05-12 03:14 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
WHO: a concerned young woman who wants to hang out with someone (egohalfempty) and her sensitive male friend!!
WHERE: BELIEVE IT OR NOT RUDY ISN'T AT HOME
WHEN: PLEASE LEAVE A MESSAGE AFTER THE BEEP (backdated to whenever it would be most reasonable for cyd to be freaked out)
WARNINGS: I MUST BE KILLING WHORES OR I'D PICK UP THE PHONE (seriously though violence against women and ritualized serial killing and blood, this one is actually pretty gross)
SUMMARY: WHEEEEEERE COOOOOULLD I BEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
FORMAT: quicklog
[ He doesn't like blood -- truth be told, he hates it -- but right now at least 95% of him is devoting itself to focusing on just that. The average human body holds somewhere between four and five liters; it can lose up to 40% of it before dying, and by his estimation the woman before him is rapidly nearing that milestone. This doesn't particularly concern Brian: the vast majority of people have never amounted to much in his eyes, which given his after-hours habits isn't exactly breaking news. They're obstacles to be circumnavigated, sources to be tapped, canvasses to be worked on. They're also raw material, and that's the purpose this particular one is going to serve tonight -- not a recipient for his artistry, but an experiment with what's inside. He'd toyed with the idea before, even given it a little test-run on the ADA, but a brief taste of hands-free strangulation wasn't nearly enough to satisfy his curiosity.
This probably won't be either, come to that, but it's a start. Finer details can wait for later; this is all very open-ended. The chief thing right now is hastening the exsanguination process, focusing ever harder on syncing with that sluggish, dying system, and seeing where that takes him. He's doing just that when the beautiful silence around him erupts with a tinny obnoxious ringtone, followed shortly afterward by the woman's throat. And blood. Lots of blood.
Even if he ever actually carried his secondary communicator around, the lack of a horrible MIDI version of this modern-day classic would have tipped him off. Whoever's contacting him, they want to talk to Rudy, and at this particular moment Rudy is the last person he wants to be. Reaching back and actually grabbing the thing once he unfreezes, which takes a while, is a very regrettable reflex move; he's already internally cursing a blue streak when he feels his fingers press against the worst possible buttons. Either way, he's trapped now. It's a good thing he's gotten so used to performing on short notice. ]
-- Hello? [ he says, rushing the word like he's just sprinted across a room to pick up the call. Brian balls his free hand into an ugly fist and twists it, sharply, to the right. The fine mist of blood removes itself from his visor posthaste. ] Sorry for the wait -- you caught me in the middle of something.
egohalfempty) and her sensitive male friend!!WHERE: BELIEVE IT OR NOT RUDY ISN'T AT HOME
WHEN: PLEASE LEAVE A MESSAGE AFTER THE BEEP (backdated to whenever it would be most reasonable for cyd to be freaked out)
WARNINGS: I MUST BE KILLING WHORES OR I'D PICK UP THE PHONE (seriously though violence against women and ritualized serial killing and blood, this one is actually pretty gross)
SUMMARY: WHEEEEEERE COOOOOULLD I BEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
FORMAT: quicklog
[ He doesn't like blood -- truth be told, he hates it -- but right now at least 95% of him is devoting itself to focusing on just that. The average human body holds somewhere between four and five liters; it can lose up to 40% of it before dying, and by his estimation the woman before him is rapidly nearing that milestone. This doesn't particularly concern Brian: the vast majority of people have never amounted to much in his eyes, which given his after-hours habits isn't exactly breaking news. They're obstacles to be circumnavigated, sources to be tapped, canvasses to be worked on. They're also raw material, and that's the purpose this particular one is going to serve tonight -- not a recipient for his artistry, but an experiment with what's inside. He'd toyed with the idea before, even given it a little test-run on the ADA, but a brief taste of hands-free strangulation wasn't nearly enough to satisfy his curiosity.
This probably won't be either, come to that, but it's a start. Finer details can wait for later; this is all very open-ended. The chief thing right now is hastening the exsanguination process, focusing ever harder on syncing with that sluggish, dying system, and seeing where that takes him. He's doing just that when the beautiful silence around him erupts with a tinny obnoxious ringtone, followed shortly afterward by the woman's throat. And blood. Lots of blood.
Even if he ever actually carried his secondary communicator around, the lack of a horrible MIDI version of this modern-day classic would have tipped him off. Whoever's contacting him, they want to talk to Rudy, and at this particular moment Rudy is the last person he wants to be. Reaching back and actually grabbing the thing once he unfreezes, which takes a while, is a very regrettable reflex move; he's already internally cursing a blue streak when he feels his fingers press against the worst possible buttons. Either way, he's trapped now. It's a good thing he's gotten so used to performing on short notice. ]
-- Hello? [ he says, rushing the word like he's just sprinted across a room to pick up the call. Brian balls his free hand into an ugly fist and twists it, sharply, to the right. The fine mist of blood removes itself from his visor posthaste. ] Sorry for the wait -- you caught me in the middle of something.
no subject
Not to imply that Cyd had, say, spent those entire three or so hours obsessing over why in the world Rudy wouldn't give her a quick "goodbye" before hanging up. That would be crazy. Right? Totally. Not to mention clingy, and neurotic, and all the things she was trying so hard not to be because she liked this guy!
Even if he was kind of rude.
Still — he had agreed to hang out. Without going on and on about how fake it all was. Or nerd-bashing. Or... downright creeping all over her... so why did she feel like this? Why was she glaring at the peephole, rapidly undoing her (several) locks and flinging the door open with a frown, shouting: ] Jerk! You should've said 'bye', or called, or e-mailed or at least found some way to tell me you were going to sho–
Oh.
That's, like, a lot of DVDs.
[ Already her eyes begin to soften. ] ...Please don't tell me you went out and rented that whole stack, because then I'll really feel like The Queen of the Banshees or some other mega bit– er, bad lady.