putuporshutup: ilaughedicriedipukedinmymouth @Tumblr ([Look])
[personal profile] putuporshutup
Know what I just realized? I've been here for a whole year. Well, that and a few days now.

[There's a long pause, as Meg briefly reflects on her time in Paradisa. Emma, Bond, and Silva... all gone, back to their world. Likely dead, knowing them. Falling deeper in love with Castiel than she ever could have conceived of back home, losing him, and getting him back again somehow. The flings she had with August and Tucker and South that she still thought of so fondly; the surprisingly deep friendship (and then some) with a demon named Crowley, of all things. All the other perfectly nice people she actually gives a surprising number of fucks about who care for her too, for some strange reason... Castle and Kate and his daughter by extension, Danny, and Katniss - she'd fight to the end to protect any of them. Knowing this place, she will probably have to. That's her cause now, protecting the people she cares about, as long as she's here, no matter how many of them she loses.]

Been a hell of a time... but I gotta say, kinda feels like home.

[Which for her, is literal hell, but that's not entirely what she means. Or is it? The world may never know.

The journal slams shut and she goes back to serving drinks at Death Match, as per usual. She figures people will probably show up at the bar, but anyone who would probably doesn't need an invite, and anyone who wants to otherwise is always welcome anyway.]
putuporshutup: ([Eye Flash] [Neutral])
[personal profile] putuporshutup
[If Meg kept track of how often she publicly addressed everyone over journals, it would certainly amuse her that this would be her thirteenth entry - because someone sure as hell has some bad luck coming their way after stealing all the booze from her bar.

It's not the loss of inventory that bothers her - they live in a magical goddamn castle that grants wishes and makes the idea of property almost entirely null, for fuck's sake. No... it's the principle of the thing, and one ought to know that you're in a special trouble when you've pissed off a demon in regard to ethics.

The front doors of the castle blow open, slamming against the walls of the lobby with a bang that echoes throughout the first floor. She stalks in, eyes entirely black and a creepily stoic expression on her face - as if it isn't creepy enough that such a tiny gal just blew open the doors to the lobby, evidently through sheer force of will. A less-than-gentle breeze flows in behind her, whipping her hair up momentarily as she saunters in and stands dead-center, crossing her arms and popping out one hip.

In that moment, Meg would dare anyone to say that she doesn't know how to make an entrance, but she didn't drag herself back from her escape from reality to shoot the shit.]

Heya Paradisa, miss me?

[She's looking remarkably well-put-together for someone who's been roughing it in town for the past month, but she supposes that's the perk of not actually needing any of the amenities of the castle. That's not to say she's not ready for a hot damn shower and some comfort food, and speaking of booze, but first...]

Heard some of you jokesters thought it might be a good idea to jack all the booze from Death Match. Well, guess what? It wasn't. I'm gonna give you the benefit of the doubt that you're not complete idiots, though I gotta say, my gut is telling me the exact opposite. You might not know exactly who or what I am, but long story sort? [She scoffs] Ya picked the wrong place to steal from.

Now, in the interest of our little community here, I'll be generous. You put it back by... say... midnight tomorrow? No harm, no foul, no hard feelings. Cross my heart 'n hope to die... again.

You don't? Well. [Meg chuckles, and anyone in the vicinity will have the benefit of her feigning complete boredom, checking out her own desperate need for a proper manicure.] Here's hoping someone educates you in the mean time.

[With that, she slams her journal shut and stalks up to her room for a little bit of pampering. She'll answer sporadically and anyone brave enough can feel free to approach her between the lobby and the second floor.]
putuporshutup: Hollow Art ([Speaking] Actually)
[personal profile] putuporshutup
Backdated to Thursday Night, via Richard Castle's journal:

[Anybody listening in on the journal at that particular moment would hear the sounds of someone getting ready for bed. A running faucet, brushing teeth, the sounds of rustling fabric as the person changes into their pajamas, a few sleepy grunts... a wistful sigh... before there is more rustling fabric as the person climbs into bed.

Soon after, there are some soft snores, as well as some sleep murmuring, before the journal closes itself.]

Saturday, late morning:

[The journal opens again about an hour after Castle was supposed to be at work, just in time to catch the Meg knocking on the door for several minutes. Name plate's still there, so as far as she's concerned, there's no good reason why she's gotta work alone on a weekend.]

Dammit, Castle! Come on, your shift started an hour ago!

[After knocking a few more times, the demons loses her patience, and with a frustrated wave of her hand, the door flies open. Anyone else might have qualms about busting into someone's room like that; Meg... not so much.

She breathes a sigh of relief when she sees him sleeping soundly -- not that she actually cares, of course. Except she... totally does. Even so, it does nothing to mask her irritation as she stalks across the room and prods at him a few times.]

Hey. Rick. Wake up. Castle. CASTLE. C'mon, man...

[She shakes him... sort of gently... by the shoulders, and pats his cheek a few times. No dice. The lights are out, and nobody's home. Kay... well... he's breathing so he's not dead, and that's good enough for her.

Obviously, raising her voice is the solution here.]

Rise 'n shine, Sleeping Beauty!

[Nope. Nothing. Meg unceremoniously picks up his hand and lets it go, where it drops straight back down to his side on the mattress with a dull thud.


Defeated, she reaches over to shut his journal, but thinks the better of it.]

So... Castle's out cold, I can't wake him up. Seems a little quick for another damn sleeping curse, but whatever. Guess I'll just leave him in bed. Someone else oughta come keep me company at Death Match.

[She leaves the journal open - who knows if the damn thing will choose to stay that way, but hey, these things are kinda like baby monitors, right? Rick's a pretty easy-going guy and she doubts he has enemies around here, but who knows? People can be dicks. She sets it on his nightstand and points a menacing finger at it.]


[Meg glances over her shoulder to make sure nobody's being nosy. Once satisfied that they're alone, she smooths his ruffled hair down and straightens his covers, tucking him in a little tighter. Before she leaves, she turns and speaks directly into the journal, addressing everyone again.]

I'm guessing I don't need to say it, but if anybody messes with him or his stuff, you're gonna have me to deal with. If you don't know what that means, I don't suggest finding out.

[With that, there's the snap of high heeled boots walking away, and the sound of the door slamming shut and locking from the outside.]
putuporshutup: ([Blonde] Cigarette)
[personal profile] putuporshutup
[There's no mistaking it - Meg is drunk. Not an easy feat for a demon by any normal stretch of the imagination, but dammit, she's devoted. The sound of her pouring another glass of whiskey is a sure sign shes not slowing down any time soon, either.]

Look-- [She starts, slurring every so often with the cold, detached air of someone well beyond intoxicated, an unmistakable edge of pain and anger hardly disguised under the exagerratedly enthusiastic speech, both into the journal and to anyone in the bar] Hey -- Paradisa. You're all kinda miserable, right? I mean, all I hear half the time is people bitching and moaning about this place and how awful it is and how to get out of here and blah blah blah... I usually like it just fine here but my God has this been a shitty week, ya feel me?

Anyway, if you're miserable too, come to the bar. Drinks on the house - on the Castle of course, my mistake - as much as it takes us all to froget whatever the hell is wrong with all of us. I'll call it the "Misery loves comapny" special and it goes 'til I say it's over.

[She pauses and takes a swig out of the bottle next to her before adding,]

And if you're not... stay the hell out.
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[personal profile] putuporshutup
[Meg sits up in bed gasping for breath. She had tossed and turned for the most part, only having minimal luck in the wee hours of the morning, zoning out enough to focus on a pleasant dreamlike vision for an hour or so. That is, until she was yanked back to the reality of hellish hallucinations... and a bed that shouldn't be quite so cold.

He's not always there in the morning, but this... this feels wrong.]


[She cautiously steps out of bed and looks around their room. Both of their clothes from the night before were still strewn across the floor where they had fallen as they stumbled into bed together.

She whips open the door violently with a flick of her hand, and to her horror, the only name on the placard is her own.]


[The strangled cry and the sound of Meg collapsing to the ground sobbing is muffled, but likely audible to some. Far more pronounced is the unmistakable sound of glass shattering and crashing to the ground, mingled with something like the crackle of electricity.

Some minutes later, she gets up and staggers back to bed, picking up the open journal lying at the foot of the bed with shaking hands and shrinking back against the pillows. Another choked sob escapes her, and her voice trembles as she speaks.]

He's gone. Cas is gone.
putuporshutup: Made by <user name="hugsandpuppies" site="insanejournal.com"> ([Blonde][Bruised])
[personal profile] putuporshutup
[ Meg sits up suddenly, gasping for breath - only to double over in pain again, crying out, clutching at the rapidly bleeding stab wound in her lower abdomen. That stings like hell, don't get her wrong, but the onslaught of memories is worse. This again? Seriously? Torture. Pain. Sacrifice. Feelings??? WHY?!

And hold up just one damn minute.

...Death?! That was so not what she signed up for when she jumped on the 'team free will' bandwagon again. Sorry, but there had to be some mistake. The universe must have her mixed up with some other demon with a death wish? Why had she--

Oh. Right.


How, again, though?

Oh. Right. The gaping stab wound that was seeping crimson all over her and her -- wait, hospital bed? Fat chance, now that she was re-living the all-too-vivid vision of his highness gutting her with an angel blade. No way she survived that, and no way was this...? Yeah, no. She already had an afterlife. Soooo this would be...?

Another barrage of memories - some happy, some violent, some devastatingly sad - hits her like a freight train, and it occurs to her again how much she feels... Paradisa. Again. It seems like it's been so long, and yet...

Seriously? This has got to be a cosmic fucking joke. She did NOT just, somehow, die twice. Not when she had so much to lose... wait, what, though? Since when did she have anything to lose?

Suddenly, it's all clear again. Too clear. The kind of clarity that only comes from a level of rage that she hasn't felt since... Florence? No... more recently than that...

Silva. Tex.

The lights in the infirmary flicker, the bulb in a nearby lamp shattering and sending sparks flying in different directions along with broken glass. Well, that's new. Meg cradles her head in her hands - it's all too much. Speaking of cosmic jokes. And then...

Oh. Oh.

She scrambles for her journal, and sure enough, it's resting within arms reach on a side table. The demon winces in pain as she hastily grabs it and hoists herself out of bed, clutching the gaping wound and dripping blood as she makes a pathetic, limping attempt for the door. With her free hand, she flips open the journal, stifles a groan, and doesn't even think about privacy before calling out for the only help she wants.

Cas! Please tell me you're still here...

[ Her voice is a desperate plea; her tone terrified - and yet she can't quite bring herself to feel humiliated by that at the moment. If she's stuck here without him...

No. The universe couldn't possibly be that cruel...
On second thought, she's not gonna hold her breath.

Meg stumbles towards the door of the infirmary, realizing too late, as she falls to the floor, that it was a mistake to try to get out of bed. As she falls, she vaguely recognizes the bandages on her wrists as she throws out her arms to catch herself, and a flood of emotion washes over her. Tears well up in her eyes as she recalls a memory that she hadn't shared with Cas before. A brief reunion. One he had described to her... it had sounded so sweet at the time...

He was there. Had he known? Had he kept this from her? How could he have...
And where had he been when she needed him?

The sob that escapes her is interrupted by an indignant huff as she tries to push herself up and a chunk of matted, bloody, blonde hair falls in her face, and that's it for her. She slumps down, lying dejectedly on the cold floor, tears mingling with blood and streaming down her face.

Fucking perfect.
putuporshutup: ([Megstiel] [Pizza Man])
[personal profile] putuporshutup
[Contest, huh? As their dearly departed Barney would say, challenge accepted. Obviously booze isn't a concern for her since she owns a bar, but that's how bad she wants those bragging rights.

Her personal kissing activities have been strictly Castiel-related lately, and under normal circumstances she wouldn't even want to kiss anyone else (well... maybe...), but her competitive streak is officially out to play. Besides, she does what she wants!]

As far as castle bullshit goes, gotta say this is probably my favorite thing so far. Can't see why some people are being so damn uptight about it. Kissing is great, don'tcha think?

[She will be hanging out intermittently in high traffic areas: the library, the lobby, random hallways with interesting nameplates... purposely making herself as available as possible. She does need to pop in for a shift at Death Match later, so she'll end up there eventually, as per usual.]

[[OOC: She's gunning for the win here, guys. HAVE AT IT. She really likes kissing and if you come near her, she will probably initiate it. She won't do anything more than that because she's got Cas for that and she isn't completely awful, but you can try to tempt her...]]
putuporshutup: ([Identity] [Good friends])
[personal profile] putuporshutup
[Her journal lies open on the bar, familiar sounds filtering through for a moment before she gets a chance to speak. Tinkling ice cubes, vague chatter, liquid pouring, glasses clinking.

Between serving drinks and chatting with her regulars like usual, Meg eventually finds a quiet moment to take a break, sitting down with said journal and addressing everyone.]

Now that everyone's back home or whatever you wanna call it, I thought I should mention that Emma left me the deed to Death Match. I just want everyone to know that I'm not planning on changing a damn thing. Can't promise her cooking, but she did show me a thing or two so I guess I'll just have to do my best.

[She's not trying to get all sappy or anything, but it seems like a lot of people have been needing some comfort lately, with so many leaving, plus whatever the fuck that Ren Faire bullshit was last week. Despite everyone being from different times and places, booze seems to be a fairly universal language, and she wants the regulars to know that Death Match isn't going anywhere.]
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[personal profile] putuporshutup
The night before

[When Meg departs the scene of James Bond's murder, she spends the night checking the places she could think of to find the douchebag that blew him up. Everyone seems to want him in custody and she's got more than enough juice to pull that off, so hey. No skin off her ass. Unsurprisingly, he's not lurking around any of the usual places she knows to look, but she had expected him to be laying low. It might take some time, but she'll find him.]

Filtered away from Silva and anyone else who would warn him:

Listen up. I need to have a little chat with Silva about what happened to James, so if you hear anything about his whereabouts, be a doll and let me know, kay? Oh, and do it privately, would ya? Can't have him scampering off before I get a word with him.

[Nope. Not threatening at all, Meg. So subtle.]

The morning of the 30th, in the Lobby

[Sometime before dawn, she has the pleasure of watching the castle transform as Halloween decor appears everywhere. When she looks down, she's dressed in exactly the costume she'd planned. Not too shabby, Wonderfuck! The long, silvery white embroidered gown is a bit of a change of pace for her, but it completes the look with the fluffy feathered wings and glistening halo beautifully. Her usual messy waves are smoothed into perfect ringlet curls. A cursory peek down her bodice and a quick lift of her skirt confirms that Paradisa had even gotten the memo about her other plans, with the corset and garter and white thigh highs underneath... just in case. She smirks and twirls around, laughing as the full skirt flares out and the feathers flutter. Perfect.]

Later that day...

[By midday, Meg is decidedly less than thrilled with her costume. It's ridiculous. Not practical in the least, a pathetically limited caricature of her true form which she is extremely confused about at the moment. She attempts to rip off the gown and wings and halo and when all that fails, at the very least, she tries to extract the sinfully tacky lingerie and absurd shimmery silver heels from underneath. No such luck. The simple, classy grey pantsuit, crisp white dress shirt, and black loafers that she's wished up just sit there, taunting her.

Though they are bothersome, Meg eventually decides that clothing is not of import and that she must focus on the task at hand. She opens her journal and speaks calmly, deliberately.]

Filtered away from Silva and anyone else who would warn him:

Dear brothers and sisters, I must ask for your help. There has been murder done here and justice must be swift. If you wish to assist me in this mission, I will lead you to victory.

[A pause as she remembers that she has another job to do.]

I must fulfill my duties... tending bar, but I urge you all to come join me at the Death Match so we may discuss matters. You may also wish to partake in the current festivities, although I do not advise or condone imbibing too many spirits.

May peace be with you all.

[Seacrest out.]
putuporshutup: (Default)
[personal profile] putuporshutup
Filtered away from anyone who would use this information for harm: I know everyone is frightened that this might be the start of something big and bad - I am, too. But like Phoebe said, we need to work together. I've only been here for a couple of months and a lot of you probably don't know me - name's Meg, by the way - but I'm not going to sit by and do nothing when I know I can help others.

I'll dispense with the details in the interest of time, but I've got certain abilities and I can offer physical protection. That bit about "looking in windows, knocking on doors" is creepy as hell, but at least the library doesn't have a lot of those. If anyone else wants to gather to discuss possible plans and research what might be going on, I'm going to do my best to secure an area in here that will be easy to guard.

Filtered to anyone in the library: Hey everyone. Sorry to interrupt, but I'd like to rearrange things a bit for extra security. By all means, keep doing what you're doing - but I'd suggest moving to the center of the room.

[Anyone who has their journal open will hear a lot of creaking and a few minor crashes coming from the library, and anyone in the room will see Meg shifting the big, solid wood shelves that make up the labyrinth of the library to form a large perimeter that provides access from only one entrance in the front, with two more shelves in place to slide over and block them in completely if need be.

A few of the smaller shelves are positioned to block off a couple of quiet corners where people might be able to sleep if they want to, and some of the cozy chaises, couches, and chairs are arranged within. The shelves face inwards so the books are accessible, and she's done her best to maintain some resemblance of organized sections. Two of the larger tables are positioned in the middle, surrounded by chairs and ready to be used for any groups who want to research possible causes or perhaps make tactical plans.

Those who are listening might be concerned or confused by all the noise, and those present has just seen some incredibly powerful telekinesis at work. As far as Meg is concerned, they can deal. This is her, looking out for the greater good, and for once not being stifled by mistrust.

She sighs and lets herself collapse into one of the nearby chairs, kicking her feet up on the the edge of the table to relax and catch her breath. That much action is taxing, even for a powerful demon. Still - it looks good and secure, and if it helps even a single person here, it was well worth the effort.

She'll be more inclined to fight with her powers, but she's packing the pistol Lara gave her and the dagger from Katniss just in case. She smiles to herself and picks up her journal again.]

Good to go, everyone. Anyone who is staying in the castle is welcome to come hang, whether you want to help figure out what the hell is going on, or just want protection. And hey, if you get bored, at least you can read.

Whatever you're doing, stay safe.

Day 2 Announcement

Patrols, anyone?

Day 3 Meeting

Share information with those in the library

Day 2 message: Filtered away from anyone who would use this information for harm:
Given what has happened, I'd like to remind everyone that we have a large area of the library blocked off with plenty of people willing and able to defend those who might be frightened and vulnerable.

It's safe to say we know what's happening now, and that everyone here is in very real danger. We'll be organizing patrols and continuing our research, but we're also happy to protect anyone who is frightened. It's not much, but there are couches and plenty of books to keep you busy.

We've determined that this is likely some kind of twisted nursery rhyme or fairy tale come to life. Where I'm from, the stories behind those are almost always based in truth, and that seems to be the case here as well. We're working hard in here to try to find it to see if there are answers on how to stop what's happening.

Any outside information or help is welcome. If you have heard of any lore - most likely a children's story - that has to do with an entire area or a town losing their voices and people having their hearts ripped out, let us know. It might help us figure out how to stop this, if we can at all.

Filtered to children and those who are looking out for them: Are the kids all safe? If you're scared and you need somewhere to go, you can come to the library and we will take care of you.

Day 3 message: Filtered away from anyone who would use this information for harm: If anyone has seen the attackers firsthand or has any other helpful information, please let us know so we can keep trying to piece together what they are and how to stop them. Remember, the library is being protected and you are more than welcome to come, whether you'd like to help research or just stay here with us for safety.

[A pause as she taps her pen on the page of the journal. Compassion was coming a little more easily to her after being shown so much of it by her new friends here, but it still takes her a moment to phrase it properly.]

Condolences to those who have lost someone they care about.
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[personal profile] putuporshutup
[Very suddenly, the muffled sounds of anguished, blood-curdling screams echo from the journals]

[Meg wakes up screaming. The thing immediately wrong with this picture is that she was sleeping in the first place. Demons don't sleep. And it takes a hell of a lot more to make her scream than a bad dream.

But this isn't just a bad dream. It's a fucking nightmare. They said this place was bad, but she had no idea. She's still screaming. She can't stop. And are those tears? What the fuck?

The chilling clarity slices through the blinding terror like a knife. She was human again. For an entire week. And her charred, blackened, jacked up soul was restored that entire time, wreaking havoc on her subconscious while she played along in some schoolgirl fantasy game. This place definitely wasn't fucking around with the metaphysical.

She's remembering nothing and everything all at once, but the week at magic school as an ambitious and mischievous vixen is taking a backseat to a vivid recollection of every foul, wicked thing she's ever done violently ricocheting around her mind. Every cut, every slice on the rack she ever gave or received. Every life she ever snuffed out for the sake of the cause. Every manipulation. Every misguided power grab.

She tries to scream for help, but the words won't form - and what help is there to be had, anyway? All that comes out is unintelligible anguish and choked sobs.

After what seems like an eternity, she manages to regain physical control and at least stops screaming bloody murder. She is still far from okay, and begins to beg and plead with the power that did this to her.]

Why? Why? WHY?! I can't... this is too much. I don't want to feel anymore. Make it stop. Just make it stop. Please. PLEASE.

[[//ooc: Feel free to take full advantage of this very rare (and temporary) emotionally vulnerable Meg. Positive and negative CR equally welcome, but this is a very rare chance to solidly get on her good side and earn some of that unshakable loyalty.]]
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[personal profile] putuporshutup
[Meg suddenly feels a jolt and finds herself spiraling through a vortex that seems impossibly large, yet claustrophobic at the same time. It is pitch black, cold, and dry. Thin, odorless air whips past her in all directions at varying breakneck speeds. She imagines that if she could lose consciousness, she would certainly be knocked out by now, but instead she just tenses, waiting. After what could very well have been seconds or years, she feels another jolt and the void is replaced instaneously with a softly lit, lavishly decorated ballroom - the cool parquet floor of which she is now face down on. She rolls her eyes and pushes herself up.]

Nice, Crowley. What in the actual fuck is this supposed to be? Miss Scarlet in the ballroom with the candlestick? Come on, you can do better than- what?!

[Meg sniffs and wrinkles her nose. No sulfur?]

This... this isn't hell. [Her voice drops to a low whisper and her eyes widen as she runs her hand along the wall.] This isn't even earth. [She chuckles to herself] And there's no damn way I'm in heaven.

[Meg cautiously approaches an open door and hears voices from down the hall. Curiosity gets the best of her and she calls out.]



paradisa: (Default)

January 2015