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<blockquote data-quote="Dayspire" data-source="post: 2683320" data-attributes="member: 35765"><p><strong>Verdant</strong></p><p></p><p>Glenville, Long Island, New York</p><p>Residential area</p><p>September 12th, 2005 12:21 pm</p><p></p><p>It hurt to even think about doing it. Part of him wanted to leave and forget that this house ever existed. But still he stood on the sidewalk, staring. A breeze ruffled his trenchcoat, and he pulled it tighter. It wouldn’t do if anyone saw him. Not that anyone would recognize him now.</p><p></p><p>The house was still exceptional. Three-stories, eight rooms, and an excellent view of the Lakecrest Golf Course. It probably could go for an easy million, if it weren’t for its single flaw.</p><p></p><p>Samuel cocked his head and listened. He heard the song coming from behind the stucco wall. It was a dull song, a song of mingled pain and hunger. It was a painful cacophony that only he could hear, sadly. He moved down the walk and peered in through the gate. The grounds of the Evans home were still brown, with occasional patches of green here and there. Several beds of withered flowers lay where he last saw them, with no improvement. Samuel had been gone for two years and still Morris hadn’t solved his problem. </p><p></p><p>Samuel opened himself up to the Green. He could hear the chorus, and it filled him with a warm glow that transcended anything he felt before his change. But that brief moment settled it for him. Despite what Morris Evans had done – or more appropriately, what his daughter’s friend had done – he wasn’t to blame. Sam was. His actions – his foolish, foolish actions – had put him in their prison. And now, literally, it was time to turn over a new leaf.</p><p></p><p>God, how he hated that cliché. But it was still true.</p><p></p><p>Samuel Smithers, once the Plantman but now <em>Verdant</em>, slowly raised a gloved hand through the gate.</p><p></p><p>And the Green answered.</p><p></p><p>Shoots of grass suddenly erupted from the ground where there was nothing but dust a moment ago. The quiescent flowers seemed to cry out as color filled them and they straightened and grew. A withered bush sprouted leaves so suddenly that the song it sang was like a hymn of triumph. Everywhere Samuel looked, grass and flowers and trees grew with a vigor never seen around here. Most likely, never seen anywhere.</p><p></p><p>Samuel drew his hand back, and he smiled. Morris wouldn’t have any gardening problems for some time. </p><p></p><p>Turning away, Samuel began to walk back down the street to the waiting cab. <em>Now that final bit of rubbish is done with, I can move on, now can’t I?</em> He thought to himself. <em>Let’s see what kind of a team this Clark bloke has gathered, hmm?</em></p><p></p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: 9px">OOC: Let me know what, if anything you do to prepare for your meeting with your new employer, Mr. Heinrich Clark. You’re to meet him – and the rest of your new ‘team’ tonight at 8pm, in lower Manhattan. Also, please give me a description of what you look like, equipment you have, etc.</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Dayspire, post: 2683320, member: 35765"] [b]Verdant[/b] Glenville, Long Island, New York Residential area September 12th, 2005 12:21 pm It hurt to even think about doing it. Part of him wanted to leave and forget that this house ever existed. But still he stood on the sidewalk, staring. A breeze ruffled his trenchcoat, and he pulled it tighter. It wouldn’t do if anyone saw him. Not that anyone would recognize him now. The house was still exceptional. Three-stories, eight rooms, and an excellent view of the Lakecrest Golf Course. It probably could go for an easy million, if it weren’t for its single flaw. Samuel cocked his head and listened. He heard the song coming from behind the stucco wall. It was a dull song, a song of mingled pain and hunger. It was a painful cacophony that only he could hear, sadly. He moved down the walk and peered in through the gate. The grounds of the Evans home were still brown, with occasional patches of green here and there. Several beds of withered flowers lay where he last saw them, with no improvement. Samuel had been gone for two years and still Morris hadn’t solved his problem. Samuel opened himself up to the Green. He could hear the chorus, and it filled him with a warm glow that transcended anything he felt before his change. But that brief moment settled it for him. Despite what Morris Evans had done – or more appropriately, what his daughter’s friend had done – he wasn’t to blame. Sam was. His actions – his foolish, foolish actions – had put him in their prison. And now, literally, it was time to turn over a new leaf. God, how he hated that cliché. But it was still true. Samuel Smithers, once the Plantman but now [i]Verdant[/i], slowly raised a gloved hand through the gate. And the Green answered. Shoots of grass suddenly erupted from the ground where there was nothing but dust a moment ago. The quiescent flowers seemed to cry out as color filled them and they straightened and grew. A withered bush sprouted leaves so suddenly that the song it sang was like a hymn of triumph. Everywhere Samuel looked, grass and flowers and trees grew with a vigor never seen around here. Most likely, never seen anywhere. Samuel drew his hand back, and he smiled. Morris wouldn’t have any gardening problems for some time. Turning away, Samuel began to walk back down the street to the waiting cab. [i]Now that final bit of rubbish is done with, I can move on, now can’t I?[/i] He thought to himself. [i]Let’s see what kind of a team this Clark bloke has gathered, hmm?[/i] [SIZE=1]OOC: Let me know what, if anything you do to prepare for your meeting with your new employer, Mr. Heinrich Clark. You’re to meet him – and the rest of your new ‘team’ tonight at 8pm, in lower Manhattan. Also, please give me a description of what you look like, equipment you have, etc.[/SIZE] [/QUOTE]
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