(no subject)

[born-to-lurk.livejournal.com]

Date: September 30th, 2000
Setting: Manor Grounds
Status: Public
Summary: Paint-ball doom.

The Duke of Hell was in a terrible mood. After a conversation with Belphegor, he'd been inspired to take his tempting and wiling to the next level. Make it more professional and official like. So... He'd placed an order for business cards. However, the idea didn't pan out the way he'd expected. The printers had made a tiny error. He'd been fuming ever since.

Hastur had gone looking for Ligur, but when he discovered that his lurk-mate was nowhere to be found, his mood took an even stormier turn. He took to stalking through the halls, looking for something or preferably someone to take his frustration out on. His answer came in the form of a violent means of decorating. While skulking around in the basement, a particularly lumpy bag caught his eye. It just so happened to contain several paint-ball guns. There were no paint-balls to be seen, but that didn't pose any sort of problem for a demon*. With a gleeful grin, he summoned up a bucket of the most offense puke-green paint-balls ever seen, and headed upstairs.

He settled on roaming the grounds for target practice, setting up shop by a group of rather memorable bushes. He sent a few shots off at a lonely squirrel who had ventured out in search of a few nuts to hide and forget about, hoping that sissy Antichrist didn't come and spoil his fun. It wasn't as if paint-balls could do any real damage. Well, not the kind he normally associated with guns.



*Especially one of Hastur's most fearsome caliber.

Comments

[demon-mictain.livejournal.com]

"What is it with freaks gathering around here?" muttered Mictain to himself as he spotted Hastur outside. "I thought he left already." For a moment he simply watched, trying to discover just what the other demon was doing. As he realized it, a smirk rose onto his face.

Oh, yes. This might be fun.

Making sure he was properly shielded behind a bush, he conjured himself a paint-ball gun with fiery red paint-balls. Then, he aimed. At Hastur. At Hastur's behind, to be exact. (Just because he was a former archangel and a fairly powerful demon despite lacking any official status didn't mean he was going to be mature all the time.)

Then, he fired.

[born-to-lurk.livejournal.com]

As Hastur prepared to take another shot at the wily nut fiend, he felt a familiar sting on his bum. With a wolfish grin, he turned. "Lookin' for another skulk in the shrubbery are we..."

It was about then he noticed Mictain amongst the bushes. Then the paint-ball gun peaking over the green. Feeling a bit cheated by his own game, Hastur dove behind a nearby tree, abandoning the lumpy bag and extra balls. He came around the other side of the tree to get a better shot at the other demon, and returned fire.

Of course, you know, this means war.*


*Unfortunately, only one image comes to mind. And it's not Marx.

[swords-love-me.livejournal.com]

War heard a sharp sound outside, and looked out the window. She couldn't see anyone, then suddenly she saw a flash of red paint on clothes through a gap in the shrubs, and a slow grin spread over her face. If they were going to play paint ball shooting, she was sure as anything going to join in.

She reached for her paintball gun (always handy for target practice) then paused. That had been red paint... she scowled. Nicking her colour was not fair, in her book [1]. On the other hand, it did mean she could start the festive spirit early and get out the green, and pay them back later.

Swiftly, she ran down the stairs and out into the grounds, hugging the house till she could see how many people were out there.



[1] War occasionnaly got unreasonably possessive over red.