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Warren Worthington III
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22nd-Dec-2015 11:43 pm - Voicemail / Disclaimer
Mmmhmm :)
You've reached the voicemail of Warren Kenneth Worthington III. Apparently, I'm not able to take your call at the moment, but if you leave a message, I'll do my best to get back to you as soon as possible.

If you're calling to tell me that someone's in trouble, tell me where we need to book the portal to, while you're at it.


In creating this journal, the author has assumed the identity of a fictional person for use in the role-playing game fandomhigh, for the sole purpose of entertainment, without intending to obtain a benefit or to injure or defraud either the person who created the fictional person, or any reader of this content. The author does not purport to be the creator of the fictional person, or to be affiliated with the creator, or with any person or entity with an interest in the fictional person. The author does not claim to be the person who is being used as the graphical representation of that fictional person, nor intend to obtain a benefit or to injure or defraud that person by use of their image.
In Glacia, it was cold.

This generally went without saying, what with it being a place with a name that sounded suspiciously like 'glacier' or 'glacial' or even just the French word for 'really fricking cold,' but it was that sort of cold now that indicated that they were just starting to push past Winsol-and-Christmas and into January, and Warren was doing that thing he did where, so help him, it had been storming out for the past three days and he needed to do something to help get his mind off the fact that he hadn't been able to fly in at least as long.

So he was setting up a swing set.

Indoors, yes.

For a little girl that still wasn't quite a year old yet.

But it had a nice wooden frame, and one of the little kind-of diaper-shaped seats that could be swapped out for a proper swing seat later, and he was more or less caught up with his paperwork for the day.

So, a swing set. Kayla would appreciate it, he was sure, and it would help to get his mind off of the whole claustrophobic feeling of being stuck indoors. That one that had him half-tempted to book a portal to the island to just enjoy a few days of summer, Consort duties be damned. Now, if only he could get Karla's pet out of the way while he was working. The little guy kept zipping around the room, perching on his shoulder, on the toolbox, making a game of seeing what he could get away with.

"Nemit, I will give you extra crickets if you stop trying to steal these screws." Beat. "And stop rubbing it in."

[OOC: Just realized I haven't touched this boy in a while. Open for calls, or people who might happen to be in Glacia, or texts or whatever!]
12th-Jun-2015 08:37 pm - How's My Driving?
Mmmhmm :)
Like it says on the tin- All comments are screened, and anonymous commenting is enabled! Thanks!
14th-Feb-2015 07:30 pm - Karla's Rooms, The Estate, Glacia
Shirtless - Looking down
Okay, so this wasn't really a Glacian holiday, and Warren needed to explain in small words to Mallory why it was important that he take the day off (even if it didn't match up at all to the Kaeleeran calendar, either), and that Karla also get the day off, and that somebody take the baby for the evening, and could he please do him a favour and arrange for that? Warren would get double the paperwork finished early to make up for it, and even take on some of Mallory's duties for the rest of the week. One day, that's all he asked.

And then he got to work making certain Karla's rooms were just right.

This... possibly involved far more pillows than was strictly necessary. Some slow jazz. And a few candles. And some bacon-wrapped pineapple, which was hard enough to get in Glacia in the first place, being pretty strictly an Earth thing and all.

Now all he needed was Karla.

[For that lady!]
To say the protests had dispersed would have been something of a misnomer. The protests had been dispersed, through force, courtesy of the giant machines that had been sent to do just that. The fires had been put out, as well. And most of the bodies had been hauled from the wreckage. Leaving visible mutant corpses just laying around would have been tacky, after all.

Cut for Length and More Disturbingly Parallel to Current Events Potentially Triggery Subject Matter.Collapse )

[OOC: NFB and NFI for distance, and once again, this dystopian fiction AU is far, far too reminiscent of current reality. If you've been giving the news a pass this past week for your own mental/emotional health, you might want to give this post a pass, too. Many thanks to glacial_queen, who plays a spectacular WWJr. OOC commentary is welcome, if you feel so inclined.]
Look Up
Signing the paperwork to completely hand over control of Worthington Labs to his father had been the easy part. Warren was still a little grumpy about that, about how quick and painless it had been, once his father had gotten the lawyers into the room and they'd gone over all of the necessary documents. They'd come in before he even had a chance to heat up water for coffee or tea, shoved papers at him with a 'sign here, here, and here, Mister Worthington, thank you for your cooperation,' and then Warren was left to his own devices all over again.

Cut for violence, NPC death, and use of excessive military force.Collapse )

[OOC: NFI/NFB/OOC is welcome, and again, warnings for excessive force/stuff that's all too relevant to what's going on in the news right now, and my apologies that a scheduled canon catchup fell in the middle of it all. Adapted from the only chunk of canon they gave me for Warren that ties into DoFP, over here.]
Warren frowned as he made his way into the condo that he used to call home. It was exactly how he remembered it- a little too clean, a little too unlived in. Even his room hadn't changed since the last time he'd been here with Karla. There were only a few things missing, which Karla had vanished and taken with her before they'd gone tearing off to the other side of the country to save his father's life.

It was almost easy, walking through here, to get caught up in that feeling all over again. Almost. Looking out over the New York skyline conjured that feeling he remembered from doing so as a little boy, complete with the urge to spread his wings, and even a tinge of shame to go with it. He bit it back, spread his wings a little (so surreal, to be able to do that without a harness holding them down), and turned to face his father, who was lingering almost awkwardly in the doorway.

It's more imposing than I remember.Collapse )

[OOC: NFB for distance and establishy, with canon bits and snippets taken from http://www.25moments.com/ with blatant disregard for dates because otherwise I'd be all kinds of Jossed by that DoFP thing that happened. Open for texts, bearing in mind that time moves much more slowly in Warren's home reality, so ICly your characters could be waiting for hours for texts back.]
Warren frowned as he read the letter one more time. This was apparently not a great week for receiving mail, though he had to at least give Mallory credit this time around. The Court Steward had marched into his office and put the letter into his hand personally, insisted that he was delivering it within minutes of its delivery, in fact, he'd held up the postman just so that the poor male could back him up on this.

So, in short, "Please don't kill me, I respect your mail rights, and besides, Cora and Nyles need their tutor and you wouldn't kill me so soon after bringing them home, would you?"

Not that any of that was on Warren's mind...Collapse )

[OOC: Open to anyone who has any reason to wander by Warren's office in Glacia, or phone calls or whatever!]
Some days, Warren found himself drowning in paperwork. Some days, he walked into his office to be faced with a stack of petitions to Glacia's Consort that was so high he was pretty sure he would never see the bottom.

Today, incidentally, was not one of those days. He'd run through all of the paperwork on his desk two, three, four times just to be thorough, had even gone so far as to write thank you notes to those Queens and Consorts in other Courts to thank them for their attendance at this official function or that one. Karla was busy elsewhere, his phone battery was dead, and Warren had gotten to that point in the day where all there was to do was sit and pass the time by drumming his fingertips on the top of his desk.

It was fortunate that the Court Steward, Lord Mallory, stuck his head into Warren's office before he could drum some gouges into the wood.

My Lord, Lady Karla would like...Collapse )

[OOC: For one!]
Warren was going to have to have words with the Estate's gardener.

... Well, okay, granted, it was his own fault for flubbing the landing. He'd picked a tree branch that was perhaps not sturdy enough to hold the weight of a grown man, even if his bones were hollow, and it had snapped underfoot, sending him toppling through several more branches and into a patch of weeds below. There really wasn't much any gardener could have done about the tree branch, considering the height it had been at. The weeds, they were going to have to have words about.

Especially once the oils on the leaves started to actually sink in to his skin. Warren knew witchblood when he saw it- it was impossible to mistake it for anything else, and he avoided it like the plague in the wake of Glacia's war. It was a pity nobody had educated him about poison ivy. Even with a healing factor, that was going to be a horrible mess pretty soon.

Until then, though, he was trudging back into the estate with some slowly healing cuts and bruises, a few sticks and the occasional leaf sticking almost comically from his feathers. Let's see how long before somebody notices, shall we?

[OOC: For anyone in Glacia! Or phone calls, or texts, or whatever!]
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