the graveyard; sunday morning

[necroslacker]

Sam still couldn't remember anything past yesterday. Everything before then was just this giant blank spot and it was starting to freak him out more and more. He hadn't been able to sleep so he'd gotten up early and tried to avoid looking at anything that would project colors. He didn't want to read emotions and freak people out.

What better place to be then the graveyard where no one was alive? Oh, poor Sam. Everything was fine at first but then he started feeling it. The dead. He could feel them all around him, like they were wrapping around his legs and climbing his body. Sam started to cough and shut his eyes tight.

When he opened them, there were spirits in front of his eyes, floating quietly. There eyes were black voids and their clothes were tattered and worn. Some had obvious signs of trauma and some just looked sad or desperate. Sam took a few steps backwards but the spirits followed. He kept moving, swiping at the air and freaking out more and more and more.

The feeling of the dead kept coming at him and he struggled to breathe.

"Go away!" Sam shouted, shutting his head and covering his head with his arms. "Go away. This can't be real. This can't be!"

The spirits swirled around him, almost concerned, while Sam pushed himself back against one of the tombstones and had a panic attack.

[Open town post. Had to, had to!]

Cafe Fina [Saturday Afternoon]

[teashopconman.livejournal.com]

Most of yesterday had been spent in his home with the door locked, trying to get himself to remember. He'd waited hours but nothing had come to him so he'd grudgingly guessed this was permanent. The first order of business had been to change. He'd tossed the weird hat away, brushed his hair into something resembling neatness and dressed in something far more sensible that didn't required a battered leather coat and...body armor. Of all things.

The staff downstairs in the attached restaurant hadn't said anything to him and he'd repaid the favor by not saying anything to them. So, he still didn't know his name since it wasn't like guys from Wonderland carried around identification. The staff just gave him a wide berth (or maybe they were trying to figure out their own lack of memories) and Hatter took a seat in one of the more comfortable looking chairs.

His eyes were on the door, watching for passersby that might jog his memory or might look just interesting enough and safe enough for him to venture out. Right now, he wanted to stay with his back to a wall where he had the advantage.

Not that he knew what he was keeping safe from but some instinctual urge told him just to keep on his guard.

Demon Marcus, Sunday

[myownface]

You know what Sparkle hadn't done in a while? Anything that had anything to do with gainful employment. And it wasn't as though he had forgotten, really. It was just that, shit, there were other things on his mind, okay? But today he was feeling like himself, which was always a good way to feel, and oblivious to anybody else's memory issues.

And, okay, maybe he was looking speculatively at some of the Halloween costumes that had come in over the weekend that needed to go out on display.

Seriously, already? Halloween wasn't for ages, yet.

But hey, never too soon to start considering what he wanted to be this year, he supposed. Or to contemplate whether or not the costumes were too high-quality for other, slightly more nefarious plans...

[Open! OCD-free! Whee!]

The Boards, Sunday

[bluhblahbluh.livejournal.com]

It was bad enough he couldn't remember who he was or where he was. But to wake up and figure out he was TRAPPED IN A COFFIN?! He'd passed out.

When he'd woken again, it had taken what seemed like forever to yell his fool head off and then scratch his way out of said coffin... to find himself in a very nice office and not buried six-feet underground. Not that he wasn't grateful, of course, it just didn't seem to make any SENSE.

He had puttered around the room and then a few of the others on the same floor, trying to find something that would help him figure out what he was doing there, why he'd been in a coffin... and yeah, who he even was. He found lots of papers in a desk drawer that, what he could read of them since they were in some really weird handwriting as well as in a different language! mentioned a theatre? Which made sense with all the scripts and props and things he'd also found. Didn't help answer the question of who he was or why he'd been sealed in a casket, but it was one less mystery at least.

The noises he heard downstairs, when he'd finally found the staircase, still had him slightly concerned, though. It was this late at night and there was so much banging and grunting and shouting? Hmm. Maybe it would be best to stay where he was until daylight... He'd eaten some of the food he'd found in the office next door and crashed out on a rather large chair in there (he hadn't wanted to go back to the office with the coffin). The next morning, he cleaned up in a bathroom and fiddled with his outfit as best as he could figure out (so COMPLICATED!) and when he seemed dressed enough to still be acceptable in public, he made his way downstairs.

He managed to avoid the very odd looking people moving about the theatre and found his way to the door. Finally! Freedom! He could escape and find some hospital or something and get some help! Surely someone would know who he was and why he'd been held prisoner in such a weird place!

He checked again and then made a dash for the main door. It gave some slight resistance but another tug had it open and he ran outside into the sunlight.

It wasn't until he reached the center of the street that he realized he was on fire.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

Theodoric of York [Sunday afternoon]

[sith_happened]

Anakin had acquired pants (thanks, Bond!) and a shirt from...somewhere...and had spent an unproductive day yesterday pointed weapons at various villagers and demanding to know what was going on (shockingly not the best strategy).

And he winced every time he caught his reflection in the glass. The hair was just so, so bad. He stumbled upon the spa entirely by accident and the guy behind the chair had assured him that the lack of money wasn't going to be a problem because fixing his "cry for Jesus" hair was a "public fucking service."

That's how he walked out a half hour later with the shortest his hair had been since he'd been a Padawan.

Not that he knew that.

[OOC: Blame Bron!]

Fandom Jail, Sunday evening

[regretiz4suckas.livejournal.com]

"Let. Me. OUUUUUUUT."

The stormtroopers ignored the prisoner, and tried to figure out how to work the coffee machine.

"...I can't believe you guys arrested me."

Kenzi sulked her way to the back of the cell, and pulled out her phone. Well, time to see if she had really good friends, or not.

Hp am prisoner save meeeeeeeeee!

Sent to everyone in her address book.

[posted with permission of the Sheriff, and open for SP, responses and/or phone calls, or visits, although Kenzi will be incarcerated until at least tomorrow.]