"Do I look like a tour guide to you?"
Indie ᴀs ᴀʙᴏᴠᴇ // ѕσ вєℓσω writer —–
➚ Single Ship
➘ Accepts all verses
➚ Versatile literature ☞ Dialogue, Prose, script, etc.
➘ Patient with literature shared.
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@notyourtourguide-archived
"Do I look like a tour guide to you?"
Indie ᴀs ᴀʙᴏᴠᴇ // ѕσ вєℓσω writer —–
➚ Single Ship
➘ Accepts all verses
➚ Versatile literature ☞ Dialogue, Prose, script, etc.
➘ Patient with literature shared.
CATACOMBS || ASK || SUBMIT

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"Papillon? Seigneur, Papillon! Fancy meeting you here!"
Exceptionally brash for her to call about within the confines of familiar warren. He’s disposed to a sigh and flagrant disregard, brow peaking and inherent curiosity to guide. He’s to indulge such honors of adapting to the english language for her. “Yes? What do you want now?”
Well… it came off exceptionally unkind. It wasn’t exactly intentional
Scarlett sped up as she trying to catch up with him. Once he heard her calls for a response and he obliged with a rude re-introduction- She caught her breath for a short second and finally answered. “Bonjour, Papillon. It’s great to see you again! We haven’t spoken in awhile. How are things?”
It seemed she had ignored what he said when he downright said ‘what do you want now?’ until she finally caught up. “Don’t worry, Papillon- I’m done with searching for the stone. I promise.”
Scarlett’s lips spread off into a grin. This is probably a sign that she missed him. Her brow arched as she noticed his obviously annoyed reaction to her arrival. She interlocked her arms and her smile slowly faded. “Is something the matter? You clearly look ticked off. Care to explain?”
“You don’t know?” He counters, accent weighed heavy upon venom laced tongue. It’s her temperament, gentle dispositions in which coerce his amicable desire to convey reverence. “I will not go on another.... what is it you say-- ‘adventure’ for treasure. I say no, you say okay and go away.” He’s lost those bound by allegiance under her fervent desire for knowledge.
Immaculate countenance, innocence woven by tender smile leaves for his gaze to avert, his intent in withholding disdain in her presence preserved by thinning fiber. “No treasure hunts, Scarlett.” He wound’t forget her name. Not this one...
Transfixed by reluctance, Papillon feigns a smile in turn, intent in resolving himself with suitable discontentment in her former choice and his inexorable agreement to follow. “What brings you here this time?”
"Papillon? Seigneur, Papillon! Fancy meeting you here!"
Exceptionally brash for her to call about within the confines of familiar warren. He’s disposed to a sigh and flagrant disregard, brow peaking and inherent curiosity to guide. He’s to indulge such honors of adapting to the english language for her. “Yes? What do you want now?”
Well... it came off exceptionally unkind. It wasn’t exactly intentional
Taking roll call
On behalf of cataphilesouxie, reblog if you’re still active.
notyourtourguide cavephobias thescarlettmarlowe
◤ influencedbyfear ◥
❝ I respect the mind’s power over the body. It’s why I do what I do. ❞

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100 MOVIES IN 2015 4/100 As Above, So Below (2014) ★★★☆☆
"Do?" Cosme repeats, perhaps a little unsure himself. He uncaps the water bottle and flips the piece of plastic over his fingers.Every man had an obligation to know his domicile, from every nook and cranny that gathers dust to every heartbeat whether it be the littlest rodent or the largest beast. There were still tunnels left unexplored, stemming from halls lined with smiling skulls that seemed to promise treasure and splendor. Then there were the ones with grimacing walls, fleshless faces eternally set in frowns, as if to say you should be afraid, for I am too, and what scares a dead man? That the shiver down his spine should be heeded, that every hair standing on end in response to some unseen force should be acknowledged. It had become more of a passion than a pastime, and it when the wave of passion hit it was hard to keep your feet from moving of their own accord, to not think that maps were simply for people who had a destination. Curiosity had always wormed around in his chest, burrowing to his brain having gorged on adrenaline and burst into imaginary images of grandeur and perceived dangers. He didn’t much expect Papillon to understand - he was little more than some homeless burnt out scholar, and who would take him seriously? He adopts a firm expression as he figures out how to word it best,
"Know," he replies, hoping that someday the other man would find something that pushed and pulled him as much. He carefully refolds the map and tucks it back into his bag, nimbly getting to his feet. Any lingering hint of hurt pride is buried as he resumes the lead. "We will be out soon," he reassures, outfitting himself with a positive attitude and trying to lighten the mood once more.
Tempted to swing his bag at him for abject stupidity, Papillon refrained, shoulder digging into the walls of the Catacombs. Thoroughly vexed, worry overwhelmed, plaguing and contorting his features upon the silence that followed, encouraging a hand to lift. His fingers caked in dirt, paint, discolored and calloused and it reached closer, nearing his arm to gently rest- pausing mid way, hesitant. A blink at the sudden response and he nodded gently. All the more inclined to trust him upon reaching an exit, instinctively, Papillon nodded. The misplaced optimism was endearing, but he'd not tarnish it any further. At last, he nodded once more, faith in his navigation restoring as he met his gaze. "I trust you.."
His accent heavy, Papillon spoke once more. "After leaving," a brief glimpse back- he reiterated "When we do-" he turned his head, staring off towards the tunnel along his left "You are to stay in my apartment. No if and but. You are bat crazy as it is." He announced, nudging him gently with torn knuckles in his steps to face him entirely. "I will trust you to lead us out of here. You are my right hand man. I know you can do this."
The room was relatively empty, her light not shining on anything too interesting as she looked around. When Papillon starts talking with an American accent Kinsley can’t help her smile, her ears tuning into what he’s saying— not that she hasn’t been listening any other time. It’s just the change in voice that catches her attention even more. Something that shouldn’t even be possible. Not only is it rather good, his words are funny and pull a laugh from the girl. “I’m sure that’s exactly how it went down.”
Kinsley bends down, her hand letting his go in order to pick around the few things on the ground. What were the chances of her ever finding a picture in this place? Maybe in someone’s file? That could be interesting enough. She glances back up at him from her crouched position, "Did doctors or something stay here you think? Maybe it was for them." Her shoulders shrug slightly, they probably didn’t considering they actually had houses to go to with families that cared unlike the majority of the patients that most likely died here. But she doesn’t dwell on it too long.
Papillon was inclined to rush ahead to explore all the more, halting himself promptly to await Kinsley's choice response. Squinting through rays of light, his lips rippled to a light smile as she laughed to his elegant accent. He'd fool an American soon enough with his derision, striding about with a tone of his own, posture slumped and expression vacant as they so appeared within Le Showcase. Not all were irritating to speak with, this, was proven with Kinsley. Gradually, the disinterest in Americans depleted, and considerably so.
His shoulders rolled with the question spared. The Frenchman was just as lost as she- incapable of comprehending reason for a bedroom within the Asylum. "That. is possible." he announced, adding a prolonged hesitance in his speech, seemingly lost in his focus. In curious approach, he leaned over her shoulder in place of merely asking what she had found in the room, attempting to stare down the objects in her hand. "What did you find?"
"Is the mind playing tricks on you.. Or am I?"
○ 4 years experience through Jonathan. ○ Wholly capable of designing literature by prose, text, script, and/or dialogue. ○ Single Ship and particularly uninterested. Mind over body. ○ Accepting to all verses. ○ There is a particular interest in remaining within the quoted “Nolanverse” and Trilogy, including but not exclusive to literature from ‘Fear Itself’ script and novelizations of mentioned three films. ○ I will not hold back, I implore you, grant me the very courtesy.
Arkham }} Regulations }} Inquire
George:
It had seemed days, months even, that he had crossed paths with anyone from the thin tunnels of the Catacombs. Through a light squint of the crowded area, Papillon witnessed a sight he long ago attempted to forget. Shouldering through the crowd, nearing a considerable elegant fountain, he seated himself just beside the other male. "I never thought I would see you." he began gently, brows creasing in thought as his sidelong glance followed. "Where is- ah... Scarlett?"

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Scarlett Marlowe:
Dirt smeared fingers tinted red from the stray speckles of paint as his arm moved quickly in fluid motion. Petty vandalism in the grand scheme of crimes. Papillon hopped back with a sway, turning along the heel upon the barest of sounds. Quickly, the cataphile retreated, dropping along the knees behind a tombstone, shouldering his bag- impatiently waiting. It certainly wasn't the best of decisions, let alone one logical. Tagging within a 'presumably' abandoned cemetery was merely asking for trouble. Slowly, gently, his fingers curved along the zipper of his bag, and he attempted to peel it back- wincing at the reverberating sound and dipping his head. There was no way someone could have ignored that. Slowly, the Frenchman leaned off to the side, watching the other. "It is… exactly what it looks like."
La Taupe shakes his head and drops his bag of personal effects to the floor. “Not lost,” he replies firmly. “Misplaced.” He digs through the rucksack to produce a cracked compass and a yellowed map as thin as tissue paper, littered with burn holes and faded writing. He carefully unfolds the thing and produces a felt tip pen to further mark it up. “When you are lost, follow the right wall.” He tries to impress some stab at wisdom on the other man. “This is quicker.” What had started as a give a man a fish vs teach a man to fish exercise had resulted in the both of them getting just a wee bit turned around. He pulls the cap off the pen and makes a dot where he was sure they'd entered. They could narrow it down from there. Probably.
Papillon only stared in a state of disbelief, brows lifting at his assertion. "Misplaced." he parroted with an air of bemusement combined with vexation. "You are misplaced.. You should know the tunnels you enter." A pause as he realized this could be said to him as well. The optimism, though appreciated, partially fell upon deaf ears. Pulling himself near, he leaned over his shoulder, reading, pausing to return to his bag and offer him a bottled water, elbowing him for getting himself lost in the first place. It was a wonder he even found him. "We go this way, and rest." His eyes settled along his "What were you trying to do anyways?"
Important Note:
I am here to announce that I will be delayed. There have been delays due to a broken computer. I’ve just received a new one but at a date that I cannot entirely put it to use. Responses shall resume but only in the next few days. Monday (1/12) I will undergo another surgery (I believe I’ve posted something about surgery a few months ago) this will be my last procedure and I will be A-Okay ^^
Please know that there will be delays from Monday. Just please know I’m not ignoring anyone. You guys are the best, please realize that :) I hope you all have a wondrous week ahead.
“Quoi? Non content de me voir?” La Taupe can’t help but ask, shrugging off the fact that his joke didn’t go over well.
He turns to the situation at hand. “Toutes les idées plus claires de la vôtre?”
“Je tenais à vows trouver..” Another slow exhale and the cataphile brushed past him upon a light swat against with his bag. “Fou..” He expected this to be the last time to stress over his more unpredictable attempts to wander. Not thoroughly experienced in his exploration, Papillon sank back along the tunnel, head slowly tilting at the considerably lowered ceiling. "At what point did you realize you were lost? We can retrace steps from there." came his attempt at English.
notyourtourguide
Au son de la trompette les morts ressusciteront
jklol
"Quels fait sens" Papillon isn't amused.
"...Quels sons vous ramener?" it is all the more transparent that this Frenchman is equally as pathetic.

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Papillon: Where have you been? -hands on hips-
Well, in my month of being around (October)- I fully neglected my main page sorrowed-tripto-addict and much to my dismay, upon returning, I had owed far more than twenty replies and eighteen messages. To remedy this, I forced myself back into working through said blog and considering the lack of activity, I thought it wise to set this one to a pause without entirely notifying assuming I could hop back and forth... I could not. Multitasking is not my forte... clearly.
Will you return? I plan on it, but I'll be a touch more delayed. I still owe sixteen replies (there was more than a mere heavy amount of responses. There was also holiday related activities, work, moving from one office to the next across town, and vacation.) I appreciate the time you've taken to read this, truly.
alalataupe
Je pensais que vous étiez mort