Randall Flagg does not make house calls.

If someone needs to be killed, he has plenty of people to do it for him, including an entire team of assassins. They did a fine job of killing necessary victims on both sides of the fence. It's easier not to get his hands dirty in most instances. Really, murder is only fun when he has the proper time to invest in it, and he's been busy lately.

However, people have been disobeying the Organization with increasing frequency and gall. It's irritating. Clearly, punishment requires his special touch to get it across to people that he's not someone to be fucked with.

It's for this reason that he cleared his schedule for the late evening/early morning hours and has lead to him standing inside the residence of one, Bambi Dalton. He's not alone. There are more flunkies waiting outside to be given the signal.

He knows what she did. It's time to make her pay and provide her death as an example to what happens to people that make the wrong decision. He's sure Bambi knew what she was asking for by setting a member of Torchwood free, but he doubts she had any idea what she'd get in return.

If she wanted to go out with a bang, he'll certainly provide that for her. His finger trails on a nearby bookshelf and he knocks an item off of it and to the ground. A slow smile slides across his face. "Oops."

Tags: bambi dalton, rp

I hear it's been slow. How would you and your team like some business?

[This sections contains list of known-Wanderers followed by a list of members of the CLF. There are teen names in each list.]

Feel free to not kill them all in one night. I wouldn't be concerned with making it look professional either. One of these sides has to move. I'd prefer it if both did.

It's time to do some cleaning up. I've sent more information with pictures, addresses, and known skills that might make one kill more complicated than the other. You should receive the package tonight.

Tags: entry, locked to arlin

It starts with dreams.

Dreams that seem so real in the midst of them at the same time that the awareness that it's just a dream exists. It's the images that linger in the morning and right before bed. His eyes. His smile. But it's the feelings that remain throughout the day, making it hard to concentrate.

How it feels to be with him, in his presence. (And doesn't it feel good, baby?) The feeling that what has been seen is meant to be, and nothing else can get in the way of it. Nothing else will be allowed to get in the way of what is meant to be. The feeling that he is the sun and moon and stars, every cliche that should not capture anyone's body and mind so powerfully, but does.

It's fate. It's love. (Baby, I'm your man) It's rightandwrong. It has been written with a knife in someone's skin, and you'd be letting that someone down... You'd be letting yourself down- worse, you'd be letting him down unless you saved these moments for him. And only him. And always him.

It starts in an intimate Italian restaurant.

There's no one else here, but it's a public setting. The dinner has already been eaten. The plates are cleared away, but the table still has glasses of red wine set upon it.

It starts safe, or at least, with the appearance of safety and normalcy.

And the devil waits for her (his beautiful, tasty virgin) to fall sleep and join him here.

Tags: teenage pregnancy for great justice

((BUTTON BY AI))