fandomhighdorms | 3rd Floor Common Room

Entry tags:

3rd Floor Common Room

*DEATH is in the 3rd floor common room with a collection of lacey, see-through robes and what appears to be, if one were to take the time to look, matching undergarments specially sized for those without flesh. Interestingly, the space where clevage should be is filled with perfectly shaped dead air. He is changing outfits periodically and then examining himself, pausing to scribble notes on a peice of parchment.*

LOVELY... HONEY... DEAR... LOVE... SNOOKUMS... SWEETIE...

*The list of endearments continues, almost mantra-like, as though DEATH were attempting to memorize them. Every 15 minutes or so, the mantra ceases, as DEATH, slipping on a pair of high-heels, tries to strut around the common room, exuding what he hopes is an air of confidence and self-assured style.*

I AM CALM, COOL, COLLECTED. I AM A SELF-ASSURED... ENTITY... OF SUBSTANCE AND EVERY MAN SHOULD WANT ME.

*DEATH stops, now and again, to rifle through a pile of notes and teen fashion magazines.

Those that cannot see DEATH notice only a rubber duck in the corner with what appears to be lacey, red panties on its head and a very comical, but self-assured, sense of dread.*

((OOC: Come help DEATH with his seduction and charm techniques. He needs someone to practice on...))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Anakin was coming back from Cyborg Theory when he saw...it...in the common room.

"Gremlins get you, too?" he asked sympathetically.

... *DEATH pauses, searching for the proper phrase*...

*DEATH, jutting out one bony hip, plucks at the lacey, black robe hanging off his boney frame.*

Anakin's brain took a moment to process this. Then, in an example of diplomacy that would've made Obi-Wan proud, he decided to just go with it.

"That's a very interesting approach," he said slowly. "I think the lace is nice, but maybe something in velvet might add some more--" his hands flailed, "curves?"

All those hours staring at Padme's ceremonial ensembles might actually come in handy. Who knew?

*DEATH seems to consider this for a moment, before digging through his pile of clothes. He returns with a short little velvet number, in burgundy, with a very low-cut neck-line and a lacey insert slashing across the midriff. He seems to have a pair of fishnet stockings in his hand as well.

Changing quickly, he models the outfit for Anakin.*

*DEATH struts slightly, for his newfound advice-giver's benefit, making sure to wiggle his hips theatrically*

*DEATH produces a magazine out of his invisible clevage. It appears to be a copy of Cosmopolitan. He checks something quickly.*

Anakin nodded. "Much better. It definitely gives you an air of--" his brain was offering a number of suggestions, none of them diplomatic, "sensual sophistication."

He looked with a mixture of curiosity and dread at the pile of clothing. "What else do you have over there?"

*DEATH seems quite pleased, mentally adding the outfit to the possibilities for tomorrow's meeting. He walks over to the piles of clothing, picking a few articles out to show Anakin*

"Uh-huh," Anakin said. "So what sort of occassion are you preparing for? Business? Pleasure?" His brain made an unpleasant squelching noise at that thought.

He looked with no small amount of panic at the dress DEATH was motioning to. "I think I'm good in what I'm wearing right now. Thank you for the thought, though."

Living on the second floor, Susan didn't often visit the third floor common room, but something told her tonight might be the night to try it. And she knows when to trust her instincts.

Stepping into the room, she immediately wishes she hadn't, because now her poor brain may never, ever, ever recover.

Standing stock-still in the doorway, without even the presence of mind to make herself invisible, she wonders if she smacks her head repeatedly against a wall this image will be erased.

She really hopes so.

"Grandfather?" she asks in tiny, shocked voice. "What... what on the Disc are you wearing?"

*DEATH, having finished his tirade to Anakin, turns to Susan momentarily. He turns to the side and looks down at himself.*

*DEATH seems suddenly worried, which, of course, could not possibly be the case. The sparks in his eyes flicker slightly, as though he has remembered something.*

Susan's face assumes a glassy, slightly concussed smile. She edges towards the room's other occupant, as if trying to shield him from the sight. "No, not fat at all, Grandfather." Her shoulders are shaking slightly. "You look... lovely. Very charming."

*DEATH would be beaming, if skulls devoid of human expression could beam.*

*DEATH checks a magazine again*

*DEATH's grin, which never changes, seems slightly disappointed as he adds the dress carefully back to the pile.*

*DEATH seems to stand a bit straighter, which, being a seven-foot tall skeleton, makes him quite imposing.*

*DEATH lowers his head slightly, so he's closer to your ear. His Voice drops slightly...*

Anakin blinked for a while, taking this all in. Even weirder than that negotiation with the bird people who only spoke in rhyming couplets. Definitely.

"Sometime a change of tactics, especially one so...radical...will make it clear to your opponent that you really mean business," he finally offered.

"You're trying to seduce the Dean?" Anakin's voice rose into a slightly unpleasant squeak. He looked back through the clothing. "Perhaps an outfit that suggests, rather than one that's cut up to here and down to there? The Dean seems to be the type to appreciate subtlety."

He can't believe he's having this conversation.

Susan reaches Anakin's side and gently touches his arm, never taking her eyes off DEATH. It was like dealing with a hostile, unpredicatable wild animal.

"That's a good idea, subtlety," she says encouragingly. "Something floor-length, maybe. Classy, elegant, classic."

"Floor length is good," Anakin said fervently. "Yeah."

*DEATH turns from his granddaughter, glancing at the pile of clothes. He extracts an evening gown that is opaque from shoulder to to mid-thigh. Rather than being low-cut, it is strapless with a straight neck-line. The dress is overlaid with a black-lace shell that is semi-transparent and extends down to the floor.

He spins for his audience*

Anakin glanced at Susan. "I think this one has possibilities," he said slowly.

Anakin had ten copies of the exact same outfit. What the hell did he know about fashion?

"Ye-es, well, there is that." She glances at Anakin. It's better, at least, than lingerie. "And black is really your colour, you know," she adds brightly.

*DEATH looks back and forth between the two of them, and then glances down at the dress.*

*DEATH hikes up his dress, revealing his fishnets and stilleto heels.*

*DEATH flips through a copy of Glamour quickly.*

Anakin nodded. "Black is very good," he said. "I'm a big fan of black. Very slimming on you," he tried.

He looked at the pile of clothing. "What else do you have in black?"

*DEATH, while waiting for a response to his inquiry about shoes, sorts through the pile of clothes, until he removes an unidentifiable, wispy mass of black lace.

Changing before either of the two students can object, DEATH changes into a lacey thong with matching peek-a-boo bra. He models the ensemble, using his scythe in a poor imitation of a stripper's pole.*

I'm blind. Blind!

"My head's certain spinning," Anakin stuttered. "But I'm pretty sure that's not what you should wear for your meeting."

He tore his eyes away from the vision in front of him. "So, shoes," he began faintly.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject