[OPEN] it blows and goes...

[EZRA DELEROCHE]

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→ Maybe I will, maybe I won't. I don't wanna find my home, just wonder what happened to it. My hands all caught in stones, who stole all my bones? All my forgotten poems are a joke, what do I know?

[cs=2] Many people would call this stalking. Actually many times did people call him a pervert or a pedo for following them. It's not like he wants to stalk follow them, it's his job. If his memory did serve him right, he did once almost gotten beaten to a pulp by some old woman. Just thinking about that time made shivers go down his spine. Now he isn't usually that easily bothered, but he's no masochist. That HURT. So as we follow our dear hero as he skulks in the shadows with a pair of binoculars around his neck and his sickle hanging on his back under his coat. We examine that it wouldn't be long before realizing that attempting to hide in a library from sight and not look like stalker is about a twenty-five percent chance of happening. So it's clearly obvious that he is getting rather weird looks from the many people inside and that the librarian is glaring daggers at his back. Just you watch, you old hag. The moment you try something, I'll make sure your time as the librarian is lived short! Ezra thinks venomously. Turning around to give the woman a venomous glare back before returning to his duty. Quickly moving into a bookcase aisle to get out of sight of his target, he makes his way towards a spot where he didn't have to keep moving to see the man. Having grabbed a random book to take a seat at a table, he opens it up to look over the top. His eyes casually glancing at the book's content. Desperately trying to keep himself from reading the whole damn thing in one sitting and losing the guy. Yet it looked like a good story. Putting away the book, he takes out his notebook and file to review over why he shouldn't just reap this guys soul again. "George Gaylord. What a stupid last name Born April 11, 1883. blah blah blah. Occupation is a gardener. Booooring." Ezra says monotonously as he flips through the pages with a rather bored expression on his face. He felt like he was being punished. Maybe he should have harassed one of the mission dispatchers. Maybe he shouldn't have accidentally humiliate many of his co-workers. He just can't help it. He was easily bored, and would have rather gotten one of those suicidal cases or even homicidal ones. Better yet, the many deaths of the Elite Parisian. Then he wouldn't be following some lame guy who spends his afternoon dressing up dead people. He even talks to them "Maybe if didn't always come to this library to try to swoon some girl waaaay out of his league, maybe I'd actually enjoy this...Maybe" He says with a disgusted tone to his face. Shaking his head at the realization that his usual peppy attitude is getting a serious beating by his boredom, he musters up the best he can make. A smile that said that one shouldn't mess with a person that will take any action to relieve his boredom. After all, he only has one more day to suffer. Then he can go frolic into a field of flowers so that he can trample them into an obliterated mess.

Made by H-A-I-L of Black Rain

[MARCEL DUBOIS]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=background,http://i.imgur.com/LoKpA.jpg][atrb=style, border-radius: 25px; border: 1px dashed #cbcbcb; padding: 10px; color: #a1a1a1;] ► we are not just art FOR MICHELANGELO TO CARVE Marcel's eyes had swept impassively over the library when he first caught sight of the straw haired individual. Perhaps, what first caught his attention, were the binoculars swinging from his neck. They were out of place - especially in a Parisian library. Another noticeable quality was the way he had been skulking about the different aisles - in some malformed attempt at being inconspicuous. Pursing his lips, Marcel took a wide path around the strange, glasses toting man - and started searching the shelves for a book he desired. A subtle amount of disappointment settled on his features when he noted the empty space where his book would have been located. Marcel assumed he would have to come back another time for what he wanted - but the sheer inconvenience of it sickened him. The DuBois member cast one more wary glance around the room - what he saw both pleased him, and made him cautious. He could see what he had been searching for perched precariously on the edge of a table. There was one downfall to this - the person in his way. It was the very same man he had been eying earlier. Against his better judgement, Marcel slowly made his way in the direction of the book he wanted. He paused - politely - and could not help but overhear the utterances of the bespectacled man who was facing the opposite direction. This only further emphasized how distinctly strange the current situation was. Marcel waited a long moment, running his fingers through his ebony tresses, and cleared his throat. He watched the person blocking his path with considerable disdain, and arched one of his eyebrows incredulously. "Could you please move, you seem to be blocking my path." His words were crisp, and his French dialect clearly belonged to that of the upper class. If his voice was not convincing enough - his well groomed, fashionable attire further emphasized the point he came from money. Not just any money of course - from the DuBois family. He tapped his foot impatiently and looked at Ezra up and down. He was attractive enough - that is, normal looking - which only made he eccentricities all the more perturbing to Marcel. TAGGED • Ezra.     WORDS • 371     MUSIC • Lady Gaga - Bloody Mary NOTES • Kinda bland post on my part. Sorry. coded by lovesolfege of ote!

[EZRA DELEROCHE]

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→ Maybe I will, maybe I won't. I don't wanna find my home, just wonder what happened to it. My hands all caught in stones, who stole all my bones? All my forgotten poems are a joke, what do I know?

[cs=2] The Grim Reaper was leaning forward on the desk with a pencil balancing on his upper lip. His green eyes flickering between the pencil and George. Between the few minutes of getting not much from the woman he was finally getting the woman to laugh. Though he was blushing as hell, so he must be re-accounting embarrassing stories to her or something like that. After a few more stifled laughs from the woman, Ezra gave a sigh as he plopped his chin onto the table with his arms spread out. Any time a certain individual would pass him by with a disdainful look on their face Ezra would only shot them a smile back and a wave. Yet this time he felt like someone wasn't willing enough to come towards him out right. He could just sense the guy behind him watching him, but he made no indication that he was bothered. Then the guy finally walks up to him. With a claim that Ezra is in his way. The reaper doesn't look at the Dubois right away, but then does with the pencil still held between his upper lip and nose. Ezra keeping that facial expression that didn't probably seem all that pleasing as he looked the man up and down. He was well groomed, well clothed, and had an expression that showed his impatience with Ezra. High Class. Now Ezra himself was well groomed, not so much as Marcel, but enough to show he wasn't some kind of poor commoner. He was from a sort of wealthy family. Ezra decides to look at Marcel in the eyes before dropping the pencil into his hand and giving the man a big grin. "My apologies, Monsieur. I'll be out of your way in a moment." Ezra says as he stands up to look at Marcel at eye level with his hands in his pockets. His attention straying towards his notebook and pencil before he realizes about George. Looking up quickly to find the man missing from his spot. The woman gone as well. An amused look appearing on the Deleroche's face as the realization that things are going to get more interesting finally. Sweeping up his notebook, pencil, and the book that Marcel wanted. He hops onto his chair, then to the table, and finally onto the ground in a quick manner. Bypassing Marcel, who was in his way this time, in a manner that wouldn't be up close and personal. Now if Marcel was paying attention to Ezra closely, he would have noticed a gleaming blade under his coat from hopping down to the ground. A sickle of sorts. After all, grim reapers always have their scythes with them to reap, and those 'just in case' times.

Made by H-A-I-L of Black Rain

[MARCEL DUBOIS]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=background,http://i.imgur.com/LoKpA.jpg][atrb=style, border-radius: 25px; border: 1px dashed #cbcbcb; padding: 10px; color: #a1a1a1;] ► my mind is soaked in words DON'T GIVE ME CHOICES, I CAN'T DECIDE Marcel did not shy away or falter when his eyes met Ezra's - his roseate orbs narrowed into aloof curiously. The corner of his mouth quivered as if he wanted to smirk or smile, but his expression remained passive. With a subtle amount of displeasure he straightened his posture - his eye level rising slightly above the other man's as if trying to insinuate something. He loathed encounters like these - and they ate away at his free time. However, he had to keep his poker face in public. It was his name at stake - after all. The aristocrat's fingers twitched with annoyance when he saw Ezra snatch up his book. He further clenched the digits into tight fists and took a deep, soothing breath before deciding to pursue the tome-stealer. Marcel turned - ready to exemplify a few choice words - when his eyes caught something glinting in the other man's jacket. He released a warm tuft of air from his nostrils and stopped mid-attempt at trying to catch the other by the forearm. "Sir, I..." Marcel paused. He was unable to come up with anything else to say. His thoughts stirred like a dust storm - was this man, perhaps, attempting to murder someone? A bad feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Marcel always had a good intuition about these things before. He checked himself calmly - forcing a half-smile and waved the other man a farewell.There was no hint of falseness in this notion, because the DuBois was an exquisite actor. Perhaps, the most alarming thing about Marcel's grin was how it completely changed his features. He no longer looked like the same dour, stuffy aristocrat. In fact, the action made it much more obvious that he was still a young man. The creases along his forehead flattened and a dimple was found on his left cheek. However, it eventually was snuffed out like a bedtime taper. Nodding curtly, he retreated into the obscurity of the surrounding book shelves. Irony was such a funny thing. It was now Marcel who now skulked along the book shelves - his gazed locked determinedly on Ezra. However, his actions appeared a lot more subtle than the former's had. He followed him at a careful distance and loomed like a great storm cloud. For some reason, he felt compelled to determine the strange man's true intentions, and whether or not to intervene on them. It went strongly against Marcel's sensitive moral compass to allow an "innocent" person to die. TAGGED • Ezra.     WORDS • 417     MUSIC • Anna Nalick - Consider This coded by lovesolfege of ote!