#deadcanine

Copy-paste into a new post and replace the old information with your muse’s information.

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Pass it on to your mutuals for a better understanding of their muses.

Face Claim:  Thomas Brodie-Sangster Name: Nobel Simon Page Age: 18 Gender: Male Nationality: British Birthplace: Southwark, London, England Birthday: October 11 Sun Sign: Libra Residence: Apartment above Pages Book Store Marital Status: Single Alignment: Chaotic Good

» L I K E S

Drink: Tea or Coffee Food: Poptarts Day or Night: Day Snacks: Apple crisps Song: "No Rain" by Blind Melon Quote: "The video arcade is down the street. Here, we just sell small rectangular objects. They're called books. They require a little effort on your part, and make no bee-bee-bee-bee-beeps. On your way please." -- Mr. Koreander, The Neverending Story Historical Character: Hephaestion, son of Amyntor Pet: None Book: American Gods, Neil Gaiman Flower: Lavender or White Heather

» L O O K S

Body type: Tall, slender Eye colour: Brown Hair colour: Blond Beauty Scale: Apparently, I look like a pixie ... or ... something. I guess that means I'm cute? Maybe?

» T A G G I N G ;  

                    The banshee continuously     took selfies           from every possible angle and position before           accidentally    backhanding a stranger with her           phone . Nice one , Lydia .

It was too early.

It was too bleedin' early.

Anything between 2 and 9 in the morning was just too early for the young psychic, but it wasn't like he could ignore the banging going on downstairs for long. The door was rattling in its frame from the force of the pounding.

"PAGE! PAGE!!! PAAAAAAAAAAAAAGE!!!"

"Fuck," he muttered, finally pulling himself out of bed. "I have two rules, two fucking rules, that's it ..." he mumbled as he pulled a flannel shirt over his grey tee and jeans. "I'm coming!" he called out as he hurriedly put on a pair of sneakers, not bothering to tie them as he descended the stairs to the shop below.

"PAGE! OPEN UP! PAGE!"

"I'm coming!" he shouted again as he made his way to the bright rays of the early morning sun pouring through the edges of the blinds. Quickly, he opened the door, met with a blinding glare of day that caused a painful flinch to accompany the ring of the shop's bell above his head.

"Wait ... Bridget?"

Confused, he squinted and lifted his hand to above his eyes, shielding them from the sun so he could see the woman standing there, white as a sheet and looking terrified.

"Oh, thank god--"

"I thought you crossed over ..." he murmured, completely lost as to why this soul would return to his door after having just crossed over the day before ...

"I did! I did, and thank you, I did--and I was on my way, but the thing won't let us cross."

"Wait, what?" he blinked in confusion. "What thing?"

"The thing! The thing is blocking our path! We can't get through! It won't let us! And it's taking us--"

"Wait wait, slow down, what's going on?"

"We've got no place to--"

And just like that, the woman vanished.

Raking his hand through his already messy blond locks, disheveled from sleep, he stepped out his shop, across the stoop and to the sidewalk to glance down the quiet morning street.

"..." He groaned and groggily mussed his hair a bit more before rubbing his face. "I hate Mondays ..." he muttered. Wait ... was it even Monday? "The fuck was that about?"

   "Careful— there's a step missing there."      Or not missing— just built weird, so that      one step is much higher up than it should be.