23 April 2012 @ 07:29 pm
o18 . action, backdated to Sunday & Poison Joke  
A.

[ This morning, Giles was intrigued by the strange blue plants sprouting up in his front yard. Scholar that he is, he picked a bulb to study-- carefully, of course, with a handkerchief and not bare skin.

His grip slipped.

So, for the rest of the day, Giles won't be looking much like Giles at all. He spends much of the morning inside 724 Anderson, accidentally ripping favorite shirts and putting very unintended holes in the walls-- those with a habit of letting themselves in may find the door off its hinges and a Fyarl demon struggling to untangle a phone cord from its horns. ]


B.

[ Other friends and strangers may encounter him later in the evening, once he's grown sufficiently fed up with the situation and stormed off to find someone who might speak Fyarl.

Though initially he sticks to shadows and the fringes of streets, it's not long before Giles realizes that in Mayfield he's hardly out of place. Which is why you might find a large, growling, cloven-hoofed demon stomping down the street unabashed, still wearing a man's trousers. ]
 
 
03 March 2012 @ 08:57 am
o17 . voice/action; Band Candy START!  
[ The regain arrives while Giles is out. He returns home to a flurry of baking, cookies and brownies having taken over the kitchen, drone children chattering about a bake sale. He accepts a double-chocolate brownie absentmindedly, and doesn't notice the familiar wrappers on the counter until it is far, far too late. ]

[ voice, late afternoon ]

[ For those who know Rupert Giles or Nathan Wallace, this voice will be intensely familiar. The accent is wrong, though; still British, but not as crisp as Giles'. ]

Bleeding hell, there really is nothing to do around here, is there?

[ action, evening ]

[ Throughout the evening, you might find Giles on any street in Mayfield. His outfit is lacking the usual formality and unnecessary layers; he's in jeans and a white tee, short sleeves displaying the normally-hidden tattoo on his left forearm. If your character would be the type to recognize it as a demonic summoning rune... well, feel free.

You might find him lounging against a street light or at the mouth of an alleyway, glasses gone and a cigarette between his lips, making a hobby of looking surly and dangerous. He leers at pretty young women who pass; he gives appraising looks to men who seem like they might be fun to pick a fight with. If you look interesting enough, he'll probably fall into pace alongside you, moving more loosely than Giles does, grinning more manically. ]


Evening.

[[ For any who might have missed it, player plot info is here! Effects will have worn off fully by Sunday night at the latest. Replies may come from [personal profile] stevedore. ]]
 
 
19 February 2012 @ 07:33 pm
o16 . voice/action, backdated to the 16th  
[ badly filtered to Signless, hackable ]

[ It's most of the morning before Giles works up the nerve to make the call. His tone is as measured and formal as he can manage. ]

Signless? This is Giles. I'd quite like to speak with you, i-if, um-- [ and his voice falters, here, uncertainty and desperation coming through just momentarily ] --if you'd...

It'll only be a moment.

[ action at 724 Anderson ]

[ Well, that was a thoroughly strange and confusing couple of days, and it leaves Giles scattered and jittery. He spends much of the day at home, reading without absorbing much, locking himself away in the bedroom with the guitar and making it only halfway through songs before he runs out of concentration.

You might find him reading on the front porch simply to escape his notfamily, a stack of very thick books at his side-- or, if you happen to peek over the fence as you pass, find him practicing with a sword or tending to his crossbow in the back yard. ]
 
 
13 February 2012 @ 11:14 am
o15 . action, forward-dated  
[ 724 Anderson; evening of Feb 13 ]

[ Giles has been in Mayfield long enough to be suspicious of anything holiday-related mysteriously cropping up. He tries, for a while, to ignore the flowers-- but there's something about them, something that keeps grabbing his attention and drawing him back. An itch in the back of his mind he can't seem to scratch, keeping him on-edge.

For years now, he's hated the smell of roses.

It's not long before he's taking the vase outside to dump out, and then... not long after that he's doing it again. If you come talk to him, you might just get a whiff of one of the flowers he's holding. ]


[ everywhere else; throughout Feb 14 ]

[ Giles is missing work today, on account of widespread chaos and also the fact that he's been too busy making out with his doppelganger. In an effort to escape the flowers, he spends most of the day out and about, and might be seen walking right past your house. Run into him? ]

[[ First option's best for mutual feelings, second for one-sided stuff. If we don't have plans, you're free to suggest something here! ]]
 
 
06 February 2012 @ 06:58 pm
o14 . action, BACKDATED to the 4th, before the day of destruction  
[ Giles wakes with a jolt outside the hospital, and is immediately lost in panic-- he's suffocating, blood in his mouth and nose and eyes and ears. He scrubs frantically at his face, coughing and spitting red in the snow, utterly disoriented.

It's several minutes before he's wiped the blood from his eyes, gotten his feet under him and become relatively convinced that they'll stay that way. Once the man's taken stock of his location, he begins the slow walk for home. Trails of red, now smudged and drying, run from his eyes, mouth, and nose, leaving his shirt drenched -- it's a striking sight, and not a pleasant one.

Regardless of who he runs into on the way, he'll eventually insist on making it home to 724 Anderson. He doesn't stay long; Giles is very pale when he emerges from the house, and ends up sitting out on the curb to collect himself, still looking a bit dazed. ]
 
 
16 January 2012 @ 09:26 am
o13 . action  
[ The sirens have been quiet for a few hours now, and Giles has discovered something on his porch.

There's not only one regain box, but several, each impossibly heavy under the weight of several very old and very thick books. They're not much fun to carry, and he's eager to see what bits of his collection have made it through, so for a while you can find the man crouched on his porch with some large leather-bound tome in his hands, occasionally muttering to himself in a language that certainly isn't English. It's a sharp contrast to the box of weapons that turned up on his doorstep last time.

Eventually, housemates get to watch him haul the books inside and scope out the house for a place to keep them, ignoring the Condesce quite cheerfully today. Mayfield's doing something worrying? He'll deal with it after ensuring the safety of his books. ]