Neil Perry
NEIL PERRY

"And so good night unto you all..."

1942-1959 -- 2009-2011




[ooc; posted without his knowledge! /edits to add title & tags]
 
 
Neil Perry
There’s a little light coming in through the windows; it’s soft and muffled, moonbeams and streetlamps reflecting off the snow. That’s still falling, in fat, fluffy flakes; it’s piling against the side of the house, covering the bare branches of trees outside. If you press your hand against the glass you can feel how cold it is. It’s all right in here-- not cold, but not really warm, either; it’s indifferent, if a room can be indifferent. The walls without windows are lined with bookshelves, heavy with leather-backed tomes, though the light’s too dim to make out titles. There are a few rich-looking chairs, but if you try them they’re not terribly comfortable.

The door is unlocked, but should you try to open it there’s... nothing. Just a hollow darkness, with no floor should you slide a foot out onto it. This isn’t a way out. So there’s just the empty room; the chairs and the big desk, and the wall behind it, spattered with something dark and faintly gleaming.



[ooc; open to all! different threads will be treated as different instances, unless otherwise arranged. be aware that all threads may deal with disturbing themes :( may be slow, will always backdate]
 
 
Neil Perry
I was just... wondering...

I know there are a lot of curses going on this weekend, but-- has anyone heard from Justin Pendleton? I know that on Friday he was out in the Graveyard, digging... and I haven't heard from him since that evening. There were other people looking, too, weren't there? Are they okay?
 
 
Neil Perry
[VIDEO;]
[Blurry hands cover the picture first as Neil positions the camera on some surface, then draws back and sits in front of it. He looks resigned; this isn't a post he wants to make, but since he has no choice he's trying to be dignified about it.

On his shirt, on the left breast just above his heart, a bright, ornate, scarlet S is embroidered. He looks down at it, tugs absently at his loosed collar; if you've got a keen eye, you might see the same mark stained on his skin. It's inescapable.]


I was going to talk about something nice. I wanted to see if anyone wanted to have a big snowball fight later this week, since winter's almost over and it seems a shame not to have one and I did promise someone I would. [Neil smiles, a little weakly. He's killing time, postponing the inevitable, and he knows it.] So who's in? I was thinking Friday maybe, as long as it doesn't get any warmer before then.

[He nods, looking a little better now. Having managed to say his piece in spite of the compulsion to talk about his letter makes him feel a little less powerless, though he isn't eager to discuss the mark.]

So. The curse.

[He hesitates, takes a breath.]

I get this one, I never read the book actually but I know what it means. It isn't a secret, even if I don't like talking about it... I'm not proud. But I won't lie, either.

S, for suicide.

[Relieved, his cursed duty discharged, Neil leans forward and hurriedly turns off the camera.]


[ooc; comments could potentially contain disturbing material, idk.]
 
 
Neil Perry
[The recording kicks off with some swift, shallow breaths, and a distant dry rumble-- the sound of dirt settling as it pours through a now-open door.]

I-I'm not sure where this goes. But I guess this is the only way out there is, so.

[Neil pauses. Given what he's heard-- what Cain said-- it's hard to be convinced that this pile of earth leads anywhere he wants to go. It's ironic; he's in the room where he died, facing what might be a grave, and though he ought to be dead he isn't. If he doesn't make it--

He takes a deep breath.]


I'll... try. I hope I see you all soon.

Okay.



[ooc; slow tags for a bit. Action for Todd, voice replies for others assumed to be after he gets hisself together <3]
 
 
Neil Perry
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

The wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow

Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odors plain and hill:

Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh, hear!


That's Shelley's, not mine. There's more but I didn't want to write all of it. It seemed kind of fitting; I guess because summer's really gone now, and it's nearly October and the way everyone talks about that makes it seem kind of frightening. Ghosts and graves. It makes sense in a way, since Halloween is coming, too. I'm excited about it even if it's dangerous. But maybe we'll be lucky, and it won't be too bad. The poem is hopeful too; if only because winter won't last forever.

I don't really see the point of worrying when we can't know what's coming. I was talking to Claire about optimists and pessimists, and really I think I'd rather be neither-- I'd rather be happy as long as I can and take things as they come.

This all just reminds me that we need to get started on the mystery soon, if we plan to perform it end of next month... I really don't know where the time goes. Maybe it's just that I've been distracted. It's been weeks since I said anything on this, though I guess I've been talking to plenty of people even if I have nothing to say. I'm not a total hermit. I hope.