#faceofagoddess

(( This was posted 3 HOURS ago?! How did I miss it?! >.< Yes! Totally down for this! So excited! ))

// Ty approves of the fact that Jack is literally speechless. He's also getting ideas... >.>

So…this is kind of a checklist for me. If I’ve forgotten an RP PLEASE let me know! I don’t want to forget! If the thread is in italics, it means I’m waiting on a response(again, not hunting those who need to respond, this is just organizational for me)

Taylor: (themarysueassassin)

Responses to asks(that need to be drawn)

Something Wicked Lurks

Porcelain

Bob: (bobthegayunicorn)

Responses to asks(that need to be drawn)

Piece de Resistance

Glass Unicorns and Stone Dragons

Warm Hearts in Cold London

Sophia: (sophia-the-philosophe)

Whispers of Wonders

Waiting for the Dawn

The Lost Continent

It was a warm, sunny day in Paris, and as always, the city was bustling with people from all walks of life. There were the tourists taking photos with every step they took, and the natives enjoying their morning coffee and croissants. All in all, it was going to be another lovely day. Along Avenue de Montaigne, there resided a small fashion design studio alongside fashion names such as Dior and Chanel. 

The studio and store belonged to yet another big-name designer, Michél Blanc, of Blanc-Rossi, the dynamic fashion duo who had been making quite a big name for themselves in Paris. His partner Alejandro Rossi was off in Italy for the weekend, so he was quite stressed about the fact that he had to find a temporary hair stylist for an upcoming show, and that he could not find his twin brother Lucien, who normally wore Michél’s designs for men down the catwalk.

Outside, a pink-haired man who looked about twenty five years old strolled into the small shop of Blanc-Rossi. He wore a white blazer and pants, with a pink shirt and a black tie under the blazer. It was his favorite outfit, but he was hoping to possibly find a new one, or commission a new outfit for himself. One of the shop employees spotted him, and ran to the design studio in the back, where Michél was just about to tear his blue hair out of its ponytail.

“Monsieur Blanc!” she exclaimed. Michél whirled away from his table where he kept papers of designs he had created, and turned towards the employee standing in the doorway. He sighed deeply, and closed his eyes. His mustache twitched along with his upper lip.

“Yes, mon cherie?” he asked, seemingly out of breath. 

“Your lover, the one with the pink hair. He is in the shop. You told us to notify you when he came in.” the employee said. Michél nodded, and a small smile crossed his face. Perhaps Bob had seen Lucien at some point.

“Yes, thank you. I’ll be right out.” Michél said, turning away for a moment so that he could at least stack his papers. He cursed his brother for almost driving him to hang himself with his scarf, and walked out to the shop, taking yet another deep breath. He spotted the familiar head of pink hair rather easily, taking note that Bob was browsing the selections that were out for men. In what seemed like a few steps, the blue-haired Frenchman was by Bob’s side, and he gave his lover a quick hug.

“Bob! How are you, mon amour?” Michél asked. Bob smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m just browsing, but the day has been well so far. Do you have anything else other than these? They’re a little too fancy.” Bob said, sticking out his tongue a little at a coat that he had pulled from the rack. Michél rolled his eyes, and he draped his arm around Bob’s shoulders.

“Come with me, we’ll see if there’s anything in the back. By the way, did you happen to run into Lucien on your way here? He’s very late for our fashion show in a few hours.” Michél said. The pink-haired man shook his head from side to side.

“Unfortunately no. I saw someone that looked like him, but it wasn’t him. Don’t you have his cellphone?”

“I called, but he won’t answer, and I’ve left several messages! I’m at my wit’s end!” Michél hissed. Bob rubbed Michél’s back reassuringly.

“I’m sure he’ll show up. He’s always last-minute, remember?” 

Michél groaned and began to lead Bob into the back. But before the two could reach the back door, Michél paused, and whirled around on one foot. He could have sworn he’d seen a familiar face in the shop, and his eyes searched all over, looking for a head of blonde hair.

“What is it?” Bob asked.

The alarm trills heavily into his eardrums, the incubus snarling wildly in the direction of the shrill ringing, the gun in his hand instantly clenched with extremem force. All of the innocents inside the bank cry out and scream, most of them hitting the floor cowering, the others too scared, too weak, to move. "Who triggered the alarm?!" Valentin roars, darting his gun towards the nearest group of people, and rapidly whipping it towards the opposite crowd, each screaming with panic at the barrel directing at them. "I hate alarms! I don't like them!!" He seethes madly, grabbing at his hair as his blue eyes widen, wildly dashing from wall to wall of the room, the bank tellers quickly dropping down to the floor as the incubus waves his gun around. His heart was beating rapidly, the Spaniard beginning to panic as he realized that any second now, the police would be arriving at the scene. "Give me my money!" He snaps back to attention and aims the gun at the nearest teller, the man still stricken with panic, even as he points the barrel at him. "I don't have much time, and if you want to live to see another day, you'll give me all the fuckin' money in that safe!"

Fearfully, the teller reaches for a large bag and he rushes to the safe, carefully opening it up according to procedure, trying his best to ignore the gun planted on the back of his head. "I want the rest of you", he waves the gun towards the rest of the people inside, "to stay down and be quiet! No one makes a move, OK, and I won't have to use this." The teller fearfully hands him the large bag, this time, full with wads of cash; Valentin snatches on the bag and nods his head, lowering his gun to focus on the load he'd been given. "Gracias." Rapidly, he turns on his heels and bolts through the door, just as the screaming whine of sirens fill the sky; his heart skips a beat as a weak whine pulls from him. Stuck. I'm stuck. There was no way he would be able to out-run those coppers! Another sound catches his ears, a loud screaming whistle that fills him with newfound hope. Train. Barely as the coppers were beginning to surround the joint, Valentin scrambles towards the shade of the bank, crouching low and creeping close to the sides, his eyes swerving to see the shape of, well, it ain't a train a caravan bustling about towards what appeared to be the end of town.