| Random NPC meme |
[21 Jan 2014|07:15pm] |
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Frances was muttering while she ran along, chasing, yes, freaking Godslayers in San Francisco who were bent on giving their resident god-type Eitlin and the others trouble. "Sweep the perimeter, fire the tiny freaking arrows at the impervious super-types, don't get squished and/or turned into a fluffy animal again. Yeah, this is a Thursday." She climbed up a van's hood and aimed, shooting a shock-arrow between the shoulder blades to stun one. It howled and turned around. Well, now she had it's attention.
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| Pillow Talk meme |
[22 Nov 2013|11:38am] |
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Slowly waking, Frances weighed the pros and cons of claiming jet lag and ignoring the sunbeams insistently streaming in from the window. After all, this bed was super comfy and escaping its clutches didn't seem so dire. She looked around with a squint, taking in the fact that while she didn't recognize the room, there were no cuffs. All in all, progress.
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| Meme: Song prompt. |
[10 Jan 2013|09:04pm] |
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Look inside, look inside your tiny mindThen look a bit harder'Cause we're so uninspired, so sick and tiredOf all the hatred you harbor
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[17 Jul 2012|07:18pm] |
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The very bored and slightly overheated woman in the Happy Gilmore Mini-Golf booth held her hand out with the change, the sour expression on her face never changing. "Thank you very much and have a nice day." Frances took the change back before she tapped her fedora to the top of her head and swung her magenta pink golf club up and over her shoulder to rest. Grinning up (yes up, damn tall genes), she gave a flourished after-you gesture to the golf course before the two players. "Alright James Rogers, prepared to be owned on some mini-golf."
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| Car Trouble |
[13 Jun 2012|02:13pm] |
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Due to her parents and boot camp, Frances had an impressive repertoire of vulgarity at her disposal and every variation possible was drifting from the hazy, popped-up hood of her Mustang off the side of the road. This was the last time she was letting anyone borrow the Stang during their shore leave, she swore to herself while waiting for things to cool off enough to start poking around. Normally the Stang had no problem with 90mph, but this time, smoke/steam had started creeping out before she got to 80. <i>Let's hope I'm not to cars what Dad is to Skycycles, or this is gonna suck.</i>
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[25 Feb 2012|08:27pm] |
The point of the Avenger galas was to mingle and visit with the people they rescued from Certain Doom constantly, as well as raise a little extra money to fund being the Avengers. It was amazing that people were willing to pay to ogle at the heroes and have the bragging rights to meeting/touching them. For the Avengers themselves, it was a mixed bag. Sometimes you got the Creepy Fan, or the wheezing old general that reminisced too much, or the ever-so-irritating Armchair Avenger who'd nitpick that shot you took at Doc Ock's tentacle instead of the joint attaching it to his back...
France was stuck with the last one at the moment, smile slowly growing pointed the longer she listened. That compounded with the pretty-but-painful shoes she was wearing and coming from a long monitor shift, she was sorely tempted to do or say something very unAvenger-like that she knew she'd get a lecture for later. "That is a fascinating suggestion, but seeing as the physics in Wanted are hard to reproduce in the real world, I don't think I'll be bending my arrows any time soon. Excuse me, but I see a friend I need to chat with, maybe I'll find you later," she finally announced when she could get a word in and strolled away to the bar. She smiled a pained smile at the bar tender. "Porter, please. And possibly a whiskey chaser." When the dark beer was pulled and placed in front of her, Frances sighed with relief and picked it up. "Hello dear friend, fancy meeting you here."
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