(no subject)

[chainsawgood.livejournal.com]

Who: Grell Sutcliffe and Jan Valentine
Where: Near the east most forest
When: NOW MUTHAFUCKAS
Rating: ... This is Grell... AND Jan. R is being kind.
Summary: Totes Romeo and Juliet, right?
the log: Sure, the last trip out here wasn't the best. But he was sure he was alone this time... just for added protection though, the death god kept on the butler guise, slipping out of the apartment and fleeing immediately for the forest, clutching his coat tightly to him.

It was like going out naked for him, really. He missed his makeup... but most of all, he missed his death scythe. He's beloved reaper weapon that was reduced to little more than some common human weapon here. It was so sad, really. He himself was deprived of what made him him. Stripped down to the bones, that's what he was. Damn the chip and double damn the scientists. They'd be giblets as soon as he got the accursed thing removed. There would be no hiding from him.

Of course, he couldn't very well plot revenge while he was out of practice. He could almost feel his arms atrophy, or what felt like it to him. The weapon was only truly useful to him when it could release the cinematic record, when the whirring blades could slice through anything and everything. What a tragedy.

Nudging his glasses back into place, he lifted his head as he drew closer to the woods, glancing behind him to see if he could spot any followers. No audience today, he could practice in secret. Travel deep into the woods and let out his frustration as best he could on some unsuspecting wild life.

Play off any wounds as an animal attack. He was proud of the fact that he could still pull off the nervous, absent, cowardly little butler without a hitch. No one had seen past it. Not enough people had met him, he supposed.

Well, better luck for him. He paused by a large hollow tree, again casting about what might look like a nervous glance to some. Anyone?