had_not_lived: (Default)
Neil Perry ([personal profile] had_not_lived) wrote2008-03-17 06:18 pm
Entry tags:

♛ | Contact & Action



☏ VOICEMAIL
✉ TEXT MESSAGE
☞ ACTION






[ooc; for when you want some Neil and don't have any other convenient way. All types of contact encouraged & welcomed, just lemme know what's up in the subject line ♥]

Voicemail!

[identity profile] primrosella.livejournal.com 2009-06-21 05:14 am (UTC)(link)
Hello, Neil, it's Rosella. I know it's terribly short notice, what with the play tomorrow and all, and that there's really no way to modify all our costumes to accommodate the cold weather in time, but Cain and I had thought that we might at least be able to come up with enough warm cloaks for the cast to wear during the performance, so we don't all catch our death of cold onstage.

I don't know that they'll all exactly match, but we'd thought it would be better than nothing. Do let me know what you think, won't you?
mumbled_truth: (Default)

☞ we don't talk of love, we're much too shy, but nervously we wonder when and why

[personal profile] mumbled_truth 2009-09-11 03:01 am (UTC)(link)
The first issue was the light that wouldn't get off of his eyelids. No matter how tightly he tried to close his eyes against the offensive brightness, it didn't help. He tried to bury his face in the pillow, but that, too, accomplished little. He was decidedly not ready to be awake, and he didn't appreciate how difficult the sun was being about the entire matter.

The second issue was, in fact, related to the first. That stubborn sunlight on his face was getting uncomfortably warm, and making it even more difficult to recover the unconsciousness which had been so rudely interrupted.

As he begrudgingly became slightly more awake and aware, he noticed the arm that was wrapped around him. A soft smile passed across his face before he realized that there was another solution available to his predicament.

Gently, Todd held onto the arm that was wrapped around him, lest Neil take it away as he shifted, and turned over to face the other boy. Once this shift was accomplished, he wrapped his own arm around Neil in turn, and buried his face against both shoulder and pillow.

There. Issues were dealt with and Todd still had enough of a lingering sleepiness to not realize how nervous and self-conscious he should be right now.

FWD:FW:FW: TO ALL ANIMAL LOVERS PLEASE HELP US SHUT DOWN THIS HORRIBLE SITE

[identity profile] treadingdawn.livejournal.com 2009-09-27 05:25 am (UTC)(link)
To anyone with love and respect for life: In New York there is a Japanese man who sells "bonsai-kittens." Sounds like fun huh? NOT! These animals are squeezed into a bottle. Their urine and feces are removed through probes. They feed them with a kind of tube. They feed them chemicals to keep their bones soft and flexible so the kittens grow into the shape of the bottle. The animals will stay their as long as they live. They can't walk or move or wash themselves. Bonsai-kittens are becoming a fashion in New York and Asia.

See this horror at: http://www.bonsaikitten.com

Please sign this email in protest against these tortures. If you receive an email with over 500 names, please send a copy to: anacheca@hotmail.com. From there this protest will be sent to USA and Mexican animal protection organizations.

[ooc: 8( (http://treadingdawn.livejournal.com/6219.html?thread=3110219#t3110219)]

Ring, ring, someone just got her heart back

[identity profile] primrosella.livejournal.com 2009-10-07 04:15 am (UTC)(link)
Neil--Neil! Neil, please, please answer--Neil, it's--Todd, is he all right, is he--

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mumbled_truth: (Default)

☞ action

[personal profile] mumbled_truth 2009-10-08 02:20 am (UTC)(link)
Overwhelming was a woefully inadequate term.

Emotions rushed over Todd all at once; he wasn't sure if it was every emotion he was capable of experiencing, or every emotion he should have experienced over the past couple of days, or just the rush of the capacity to feel emotion rushing back to him. His self came back to him all at once, and his mind erupted in a thousand thoughts all at once. He knew what it sounded like when you had a crowd of several dozen people talking over each other all at once, knew how hard it was to distinguish voices from that; he just hadn't expected to ever experience that in his own head.

And he was himself. That was the most bizarre experience, the feeling of his own personality coming back to him. He'd been empty a few moments ago, devoid of will or feeling or caring about anything, and now he was suddenly, all at once, very much Todd again. Forcefully so.

It was too much for him to be able to process anything for several achingly long moments. The world around him went quiet, disconnected; he stopped noticing it. He didn't see his rescuer, didn't know what had happened, not really. He was on the couch, his eyes closed, head down, trying to block out some of his sensory input to lessen the overstimulation on his mind.

And then, slowly, the world began to come back into focus. The din inside his head began to quiet and his eyelids slowly opened as raised his head, carefully. Immediately, his gaze latched onto the other boy. His brow furrowed in desperation as he looked at Neil; actually at him, not through him. He could feel tears in his eyes and he wasn't sure why, except that he realized that his emotions were not entirely under his control.

"Neil--"

His voice was soft, but there was more feeling, more inflection, in that one syllable than anything he'd said for days.

☞ action

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mumbled_truth: (Default)

☞ i'd take it all and then i'd find a way to share

[personal profile] mumbled_truth 2009-10-21 03:30 am (UTC)(link)
As soon as Todd finished figuring out the deal with Sabine -- and was told when it would go into effect -- he rushed into the other room to find Neil. He knew the other boy wouldn't be happy, no matter what, but he had to tell him, speak to him, before he wasn't able to. He knew there was a lot over the course of the month and his own inability to speak would cause problems with a lot of it... especially the play.

He stood in the doorway, meekly, which was slightly odd behavior these days. He found that he was actually afraid; he knew this was going to upset Neil, and he didn't want to. It wasn't part of what they had talked about, because Todd hadn't known to expect it. He knew that it wouldn't turn out that way, but he was almost hoping that his friend would be angry at him instead of blaming himself.

"Neil?"
Edited 2009-10-21 03:32 (UTC)
mumbled_truth: (Default)

message sent to network device [i hope you're ready for a month of this crap]

[personal profile] mumbled_truth 2009-10-25 04:18 am (UTC)(link)
We're out of milk.

[message sent to device]

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[Grinning at you]

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[Would laugh if he could]

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[identity profile] girlwithabow.livejournal.com 2009-10-28 04:59 pm (UTC)(link)
did it blow up in your face yet?

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mumbled_truth: (It'll never cover any of us)

note stuck to pillow on the couch.

[personal profile] mumbled_truth 2009-11-10 03:18 am (UTC)(link)
mumbled_truth: (Default)

other side

[personal profile] mumbled_truth 2009-11-10 03:18 am (UTC)(link)
Edited 2009-11-10 03:19 (UTC)

SPECIAL DELIVERY

[identity profile] treadingdawn.livejournal.com 2009-12-25 08:30 am (UTC)(link)
[At some point before Christmas Day, a gift was delivered to Neil at his place of residence. The leather bound journal (http://i18.photobucket.com/albums/b117/ACXchan/poly/tijournl11.jpg) appears plain from the outside but there's an illuminated initial (http://i18.photobucket.com/albums/b117/ACXchan/poly/Celtic_N_1_l.jpg) tooled and colored into the inner cover. Todd has received a matching journal. On top of this there's a bag of candy with enough sweets for them to share with anyone else. An accompanying tag bears the seal of a lion rampant and the name Caspian X.]

[Voice]

[identity profile] not-so-smooth.livejournal.com 2010-03-16 05:32 am (UTC)(link)
Neil? Neil this is Sam Witwicky. I- I was the one posting from Rosella's communicator yesterday. It wasn't her, it was me, I was cursed to try and hurt her so I did all that stuff. I'm sorry, none of it's true, none of what I said was true it was just to try and hurt people. I'm sorry.

voicemail;

[identity profile] ofiodine.livejournal.com 2010-04-01 11:14 pm (UTC)(link)
We'll be here all month. Try the veal.

~VOICEMAIL~

[identity profile] mechanicalmice.livejournal.com 2010-04-02 12:54 am (UTC)(link)
Mary had a little lamb
A little pork, a little jam.
An ice cream soda topped with fizz
Gosh how sick our Mary is!

☏ VOICEMAIL

[identity profile] treadingdawn.livejournal.com 2010-05-05 07:01 am (UTC)(link)
[This is the sound of a slurring Telmarine.]

Todd? Todd....

You're a fox.

Tell me if you know where the tortillas are.

→ HAUNTING

[identity profile] prefers-chess.livejournal.com 2010-06-16 02:56 am (UTC)(link)
[Strange things are afoot at Bilton and Scaggs. Somehow, a haphazard stack of ghost stories has appeared on the counter, five or six books high, right next to the register where they could not possibly be missed. Yet there are no customers nearby to pay for them, nor is there even any sign of who might've left them there in the first place. Stranger still, the book on the very top of the stack breaks the pattern, and is not a book of ghost stories at all; it's a book on chess.

How very odd.]
mumbled_truth: (Default)

[personal profile] mumbled_truth 2010-06-19 02:28 am (UTC)(link)
[This has been left on your pillow on Thursday, Neil; just a plain notebook by all appearances.

The inside, however, is filled from front to back with poetry. Upbeat, by and large, and most of it about life. One or two are about love, carefully trying not to be too girly or embarrassing in their treatment.

There's no note on it. The giver doubted it was necessary.]


CALL

[identity profile] primrosella.livejournal.com 2010-06-22 06:31 pm (UTC)(link)
[Ring ring ring ring ring ring ring ♪ seasons don't fear the reaper ♫ ring ring ring ring ring ring ring]

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adamantined: (TESTING)

→ GIFT

[personal profile] adamantined 2010-07-08 12:05 am (UTC)(link)
[Sometime on Wednesday evening, a long-promised gift is left for Neil. Along with it is a note:
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I hope this belated cake,
Is still tasty to you.

-
Claire

ps. please don't mock my poetry

There's a rushing sound that surrounds us when we walk alone, and it's everything we've never known

[identity profile] shiningdown.livejournal.com 2010-08-19 11:56 pm (UTC)(link)
The star waits away from streetlamps and any other kind of luminescence, having found over her time while grounded that she remains seen easiest away from other kinds of light. Even with the faintest of her own presence she is easy to pick out in the dark, and lately it is always dark when she is awake because there is no one around to snip at her in order to get her to try going about it differently. Not that she ever listened to him anyway out of choice; he didn't really give her one, but she tries not to think on that too much. Thinking on it Too Much always ends her up in the same place-- an uncomfortable location of realizing she may not have loathed Tristan Thorn as much as would have been convenient and that, perhaps worst of all, she misses him being trapped in this place with her. It is a selfish thing, and for all she knows they have been to Wall twice and back again where they came from. Maybe she has even gotten to return to her home, for Tristan never seemed like the kind to break that kind of promise, even in his most vexing of moments. A more fearful part of her knows there are other possible ends to this so-called story. She remembers green fire and an obsidian blade and a winter-cold intent to end her life threading the two together. Sometimes she dreams about it, but far better to have a nightmare than for the nightmare to become real, and she practices this logic firmly on herself every time she wakes from such a thing.

There are a few spots of light entirely unlike her own literal illumination that she can speak of, however, and they all tend to be people or memories she cannot quite clearly hold onto. Vaguely she remembers being young and full of wonder, and distantly she remembers being impossibly sad but finding kindred in a king from another time and world. It bothers her to not be able to fully recall, but she cannot force it, and she does not try. When Dorian was here, before the unicorn, she supposes they got on well enough, though there was always a shadow about him that she could never square with. Notably, the shadow was not there when he was younger, and she has never stopped wondering what made him grow up so differently. Perhaps ironically her only other friend--acquaintance even--for some time was Caspian, or has been. Caspian whose friend has been missing and yet remains so. It isn't lost on her that it weighs upon that family at the foot of the mountain like a door without a key; it's there and they know it, but there's no way in.

There's a rushing sound that surrounds us when we walk alone, and it's everything we've never known

[identity profile] shiningdown.livejournal.com 2010-08-19 11:56 pm (UTC)(link)
Tonight is not about any of that, however, and the star well knows and recognizes enough situations where she cannot be of any help, at least not yet. If Caspian wishes to find her, he will, and they have shared space and silence before, just staring off into the same sky and wondering what it might bring them. At the moment however, she waits for a poet, not a king, and let it be understood that Yvaine marks neither as more or less than the other. The world--any world--is in need of more Caspians and more Neils in equal shares enough, but they are in need in a way that she knows will never quite be met. Nothing is so balanced. Best to appreciate the ones that do exist then, of course. Though she has since asking about the dead run across others now deceased, she does not regret giving that second-life to the boy from an earlier Earth than most.

She doesn't quite know how selfish it is that she takes her own happiness out of how happy he seems sometimes, but this too she doesn't give much pondering. That the life worked, that he is glad for it, that his friend can stop sacrificing a life for half a month or whichever the set-up was--all this comes together to affirm her decision when other things do not. And it isn't that she needs it, for the most part. Yvaine was never big on other peoples' opinions, or rather, her sisters, rarely spoke to them, only joined them in song over those seemingly longer stretches of time when everything below almost slowed to a stop.

Glancing into the distance ahead of her, she spots no one at first. She then looks up at a cascading sort of flora to her right, the leaves a deeper green from the dark and the flower petals a midnight red. Xanadu has always been a quiet marvel for her, but she knows some of this has to do with being comparatively new to earthen things. Breaking her attention away, she folds her hands and then crosses her arms absently, not pacing but walking away from there to stand beneath a tree instead. The leaves almost seem to glisten, silvery prisms only made in the shape of a natural construct, but to anyone passing by, the star must look well-placed, because the pinprick of silver light she offers seems to set the tree glistening from the right angle.

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☞ GIFT.

[identity profile] habitformed.livejournal.com 2010-11-03 06:21 pm (UTC)(link)
It had taken him a while to find since Mouse isn't familiar with the City yet and even he knew it'd be sort of ridiculous to get Neil a present from his own bookstore. He'd been worried he wouldn't be able to find a copy -- after all, who was to say that the books from back home would be books here -- and Mouse knew that his knowledge of school things and plays was limited at best. There hadn't been many options but this, as far as he could tell, was the best. He'd hoped that Neil wouldn't find it stupid or obtrusive, that he wouldn't misread the gift for what it was. A quiet hello, I'm here and so are you.

He's glad it's a small book (http://robincameron.org/images/news/Little-Prince2.jpg). Easy to carry and softcover. Nothing like all those hard, leatherbound tomes that had lined the shelves of Neil's nightmare. The copy he finds is used and its cover has begun to fray off at the seams but Mouse likes it, thinks it's appropriate and doesn't look so fancy as to make Neil think he spent too much money. Mouse wraps it in some plain butcher paper and slips it under Neil's door one day when he's out at work.

On the inside cover, the name of the last own has been scribbled out and underneath has been written the name 'Neil Perry' in oversized, messy handwriting. The title page has an inscription too, just below the title in that same exaggerated script. It says:

pg 85 (http://www.srogers.com/books/little_prince/ch26.asp).
"i shall not leave you," i said.
-gideon
Edited 2010-11-03 18:22 (UTC)

→ ITEM

[identity profile] habitformed.livejournal.com 2010-12-11 02:21 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Late Saturday morning, an envelope arrives, but not as part of the post. Someone leaves it on Neil's bedside table underneath whatever book Neil may be reading at the time. Cream colored envelope inside of which is a modest white card with a single word done in well-practiced calligraphy. ]



[ There is no signature but the handwriting on the envelope where the name "Neil" is written may be familiar. ]

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