19 May 2012 @ 09:56 pm
[action, park, night]
[Hilda was droned. 


Not that she was family, or even really anything to him apart from an admirable up-and-coming young trainer he would be glad to mentor.  Not that he despaired for his own well-being with the loss of the strongest trainer in the world.  Not even that he was losing the last link to his home.  What was it, then?  Simply... a restlessness.  A restlessness he hadn't felt in some time.  For the sake of those whom he would guide, he had always suppressed any less than virtuous urges.  ...Perhaps that was it, then.

In the park, Grimsley's fist smashes into the trunk of a tree with surprising strength.  The bark splits open.  As do his knuckles.  He watches the thick blood drip slowly from his wound into the earth below, a strange gleam in his eyes.  ...It would, perhaps, not have been out of character for him to lick it.  

Within the shadows, he releases his team in one sweep of a hand.  Liepard, Bisharp, Drapion, Krookodile, and Scrafty stand silently at attention, seemingly receptive of their master's mood.]

Fight.  Have no care for your surroundings.  Fight as you were meant to fight.

[With a nod, he steps back and folds his arms.  The ensuing melee would continue until early morning, leaving a good section of the park razed.  Oddly enough, no cries or commands or even grunts and screams would be heard.  Only the sound of blade on wood and claw on flesh.  ...The master of the Dark didn't grow to become so by walking solely in the light.]

[action, 5722 Cunningham]
[The next morning, Grimsley appears in the kitchen with a heavily bandaged right hand, making some noxious concoction in the blender by unscrewing bottles of some sort of aerosol and dumping its contents inside.  It can't seem to decide whether it wants to be sickly green, sludgy brown, or putrid purple.  He'll take a spoonful after a bit and sample it.]


[And then, for some reason, he will head down into the basement with the drink.]
03 April 2012 @ 10:31 pm
[Caper campaign?  What was this crap?  He frowns as he reads the letter, his mind naturally flashing back to the events that had transpired the very first month he arrived here.  Had it really been almost a year?  His time in Mayfield had brought some measure of familiarity with its sense of humor; 'events' were now merely an obstacle to be suffered and tolerated, rather than anything that truly set his mind racing in consternation.  ...He isn't sure if this is a sign of growth or not.  Still.  This was harmless enough.  No doubt if he didn't participate, he would start hallucinating about horrorterrors or clowns or something of the sort.]

[action, for Fang and Ilsa Higa]
[That didn't mean he was putting any particular effort into this.  For his adult targets, he simply waits for the house to be emptied before sending Liepard in with a special... gift.  Fang and Ilsa will find a bottle of wine on the counter whenever they return, along with a forged note purportedly from a housemate or a friend.]

[action, for Yuuko Kanoe and Kyo Sohma]
[The children would receive a more direct approach.  Sometime over the course of the week, Liepard will simply appear in front of them, purring contentedly and looking for all the world like an overgrown house-cat wanting a petting.  She bats her eyelashes and entwines herself between her target's feet.]

[action, 5722 Cunningham Lane]
[After successfully pulling off his prank on Ilsa, Grimsley dusts his hands off and returns home contentedly.  Job well done.  The smell would clear out by the next morning; no harm no foul.  He unlatches the front door and enters.  ...And almost bodily recoils back out the door.]

What in the -- ?!

[The largest nude portrait he's ever seen in his life is spread before him, blocking the way to the kitchen and up the front stairs.  It is mesmerizingly horrific.]
03 March 2012 @ 04:30 pm
hebe's treasure  
[action, 5722 Cunningham Lane]
[Oh, look.  Cookies.  Grimsley had been on the way home from shopping when he'd been accosted by adorable small children thrusting the things at him.  Despite being wary of drones in general, he did make a fair amount as a police officer, and given that there were no bills to pay, he had a great surplus of cash on hand.  So cookies it was.

There is a plate of them left on the countertop.  Grimsley absentmindedly chews on one as he puts away the wine offerings for the week.   ...What a peculiar flavor.]

[action, later, at the bar]
[Suits?  He couldn't wear a suit; the point of his job was to be inconspicuous.  What was he thinking?  For the first time since he had Rarity make his clothing, Grimsley has changed out of his sharp suits and dons some threadbare, inconspicuous clothing and a cap.  There's nothing all that sinister-looking about him; actually, there's a keen glint in his eyes and a calculated innocence that almost makes him seem more approachable.  He'll be standing at the front of the bar with a warm smile.]

Hey!  Hey, you.  I'm looking to start up a game of poker, but we're short a few players.  What do you say?  It's the weekend; kick back for a bit.  It'll be for cash, of course - Maybe it's not worth so much here, but I always think it's pointless playing without any stakes.  Right?  C'mon, it will be a charming time!

[And if you don't come in... well, maybe you'll feel it when Grimsley doffs his cap, bows, and picks your pocket in one swoop.]

[voice, even later, likely dated to March 4th]
[The voice on the phone is clearly Grimsley's, but... oddly whiny.]

I cannot believe I've had to survive in such piss-poor conditions for so long. That Mayfield does not provide us with the accommodations necessary to maintain a comfortable life is undoubtedly the worst of its crimes. When I inform him about what I've been forced to go through here, my father will make sure there's hell to pay. We'll sue for every penny this dump has and have the offenders jailed for the rest of their miserable lives.

I am Grimsley, son of the Baron of the House of Astor of Greater Unova, and I need a butler and at least two housemaids, a parlourmaid, a cook, a kitchenmaid, and a chauffeur. More servants aren't required, but I certainly won't refuse. I'll be taking interviews for the positions until they're all filled. Given the unfortunate restrictions imposed by the town, I suppose I can be lenient and allow the duties to be conducted part-time, no less than 30 hours a week.

Respond with all haste. You will be paid in accordance with the quality of your duties as soon as we are freed from this damned place.  I'd prefer it if you had Pokemon, but since there aren't that many from my world, non-trainers will be acceptable.
14 February 2012 @ 08:46 pm
exhibition eros  
[action, in town]
[Like half of Mayfield, Grimsley has received a heavy whiff of mint up his nose and hasn't been able to control himself.  ...Unlike half the town, this in no way deviates from his normal behavior at all.  Near about sunset, he walks around town with a faint coloration to his cheeks, and a beautiful bouquet of flowers in his hands.  Women will be approached and offered a red rose and a charming bow.]

A lovely display, isn't it?  ...Sunset?  Ah, I was referring to your fashion of dress.

[Men will be offered a white rose and an easy smile.]

I do believe we outnumber the fairer sex of the town.  Even so, I'd hate to see anyone spending the day alone.

[Bad pickup lines ahoy.]

[action, assorted]
[Earlier that day, somewhat less sleazily and without any flower effects (yet), Grimsley will be knocking on the doors of his female acquaintances with a fresh bouquet and a box of chocolates.  He is, if anything, a gentleman.  Off-hand, he visits Charlie and Rarity's houses in particular, but will likely be swinging around Sara's, Hilda's, Sheppard's, Tsunade's, and a few others as well.

Feferi receives a box of chocolates almost as tall as she is.  Shura receives a much more subdued offering, but still packaged and displayed beautifully.]

04 February 2012 @ 09:56 pm
Polyphemus Preordained  

[He laughs.  He laughs and he laughs and he sobs and he rocks in place until...
He feels it.
He takes it.
He holds it in his hands.
And he knows what they were waiting for.  He knows what he was waiting for.  Grimsley laughs again, a soft, weak, resigned sound.]

This... This is what you wanted all along...  Helpless...  No.  No, this isn't helpless.  I've never been better able to help myself than I can now........

I'm sorry, Feferi.

[It is a letter opener.

The next sound that rings throughout the phone lines is a bloodcurdling scream of pain.  ...Two bloodcurdling screams of pain.]

Done.  It's done.  They're gone....................

[action, 5722 Cunningham Lane]
[He has passed out from the pain.
It is likely he is in need of medical assistance, but he lies content on the floor with a smile on his face, even as two red pools of blood slowly form around his head.]

[action, hospital]
[Approximately 6 hours after this call, Grimsley can be found occupying a hospital bed with bandages wrapped around his eyes, a cast on his foot, and small bandaging around his hand.
Otherwise, he seems extraordinarily cheerful as he quietly takes his dinner.]

28 January 2012 @ 10:37 pm
Teiresias Complex  
[action - forward dated to 1/29]
[And so it comes to pass that Grimsley's date with an operating table ends like so many of his dates have ended before - With the gentleman bereft of companionship, left alone on a cold winter morning.  Had he been around to hear Mrs. Johnson's frank evaluation of his physical attributes, he would have found it of some comfort to the whole situation.  Perhaps he would have even brought her flowers.

A brisk internal monologue peppered with self-aware humor is all that keeps him from running in terror, hoping to be hit by a car and put out of his misery.  This whole being blind deal was really very inconveniencing.

...He ought to be thankful.  They had done far worse to the others if the conversations he had overheard had been anything to go by.  He was just blind.  ...Or, at least, he thought he was just blind; perhaps his fingers had been replaced with ham sandwiches and he wouldn't even know the difference.  ...Grimsley slowly brings a finger up to his mouth and bites gently.  ...No.  Definitely not a ham sandwich.

This was ludicrous.  Any moment now, his sight would kick back in and the nightmare of the last few days would be forgotten.  They couldn't possibly intend to leave him this way for the rest of his life.  Sightless.  Helpless. 

His breath quickens as he stands, bumps into something (what it was, he had no idea - would he ever had any idea again?), falls.  He tries again.  Manages to stand upright this time and walk forward a few steps before he smashes headlong into ... into something.  It felt like brick.  Perhaps it was brick.  Or maybe his fingers had been replaced with brick?  Everything had been replaced with brick.  His eyes were brick; yes, that would explain this mess nicely.]

Keep it together.  Keep it together...  Miss Mudou could manage.  So will I.   Keep it together.

[He realizes, with a start, that something is coming upon him - something he was entirely unfamiliar with.  ...Terror.  Sheer terror.  He kicks away from the wall, moves forward a half dozen steps.  Stops himself.  Retreats.  Soon, he is pacing about in circles, secure in the knowledge that he was at least not liable to run into anything this way.  His breaths come now in ragged gasps as he desperately whispers under his breath.]

.............Someone.... Help me...

[Somehow, he has made it home.  Whether through the kindness of a Good Samaritan or impossibly enough, his own dogged determination.  But he is home, and he is safe (for now), and he -- what was that?  He turns his head sharply, his heart leaping as he catches a glimpse of something that fades away all too quickly.  ...Perhaps it was coming back.  Perhaps there was still hope.  His heart buoyed, he reaches out tentatively and slowly for the phone beside his bed, and finally finds it at last.]

This is Grimsley.

I... don't know what to say or what's going on, exactly -- Perhaps I'll never know what, exactly, again -- that is, I mean to say...  I...  Erm.  Seem to be blind.  If... there's anyone else, perhaps, who... suffers from this condition, or has any tips?  To share.  ...Are there tips for being blind?  Tap with the cane every third step, don't walk into places that smell funny?  Is Blind Folks Anonymous a thing?  Man, oh, man, that would be something to see.  ...Or not.  We could all just... talk to where we think we are and face in the opposite direction entirely and we could --

Oh, never mind, someone just tell me to shut up.

[He places the receiver down and tries once again to control his breathing.  ...He leaves it off the hook, though.  Maybe someone would actually respond to that nonsensical rambling.]