Meg Masters (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
putuporshutup) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
paradisa2013-10-30 09:59 am
putuporshutup) wrote in paradisa2013-10-30 09:59 am
Entry tags:
Sixth Temptation ♆ Every Time a Bell Rings [dictated/action]
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 formwhich 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.]
[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
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.
[
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