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(Blind) Mag
28 January 2030 @ 11:05 pm

It's Maggie, or Mag, or Maggie Beauty... whomever you are. I'm not in at the moment, if it's an emergency call Marni Frazer or Nathan Wallace, they probably know where I am. If it's a real emergency, as in involving the end of the world or squirrels, contact Rotti Largo. If no squirrels are involved, just leave your name, number, and a message, and I'll ge back to you as soon as I can.

Current Mood: accomplishedaccomplished
(Blind) Mag
27 September 2009 @ 11:17 pm
Sing me a song and I'll tell you a story
(Blind) Mag
25 September 2009 @ 12:20 am
Pick ANY of my muses, ANY pairing/scene/prompt, ANY song. I'll see if I can write a drabble or so.
[and yes, you can pick more than one]

20 or so songs.Collapse )
cross posted like woah.
(Blind) Mag
17 September 2009 @ 12:33 am
If you woke up one morning and found me in your bed, what's the first thing you'd think or say?
(Blind) Mag
14 September 2009 @ 01:51 pm
Ask them a question!
(Blind) Mag
13 September 2009 @ 11:40 pm
If you could associate me with one song, what would it be?
(Blind) Mag
02 September 2009 @ 03:45 pm
From this meme.

as followsCollapse )
(Blind) Mag
17 August 2009 @ 12:22 pm
The bird sings free, it’s voice echoing throughout the world. Her voice is that on radios, TVs, billborads and mothers humming the tunes to aid their babe’s sleep.

The bird sings as if her life is that of her voice, as if she is no more than such, that The Voice is free. That all whom listen, do so in joy, for that is how the bird feels.
The bird sings.

The cage closes in, the golden gilded bars trapping, suffocating, and killing the bird.
Everyone watches.

The bird finds rope, a desperate rope of a final song. She stands and takes the stage, her make-up painted, her dress tightened. She opens her mouth, and the music fills the room, world, and far beyond that.

The rope breaks, the bird falls.

The bird swings free.

Blind Mag
Repo! The Genetic Opera

(Blind) Mag
08 August 2009 @ 06:06 pm
RP Love Meme // Show me love
(Blind) Mag
07 August 2009 @ 05:52 pm
It’s always dark in her dreams, never a star, nor a light flickering in the distance. It’s safe in the dark. One of the few times Mag ever, truly, feels safe. She knows, that when she opens her eyes, be it in five minutes, hours, or when the horn is blown. The light will be there, the staring, gawking, and crowded masses will be there.

There is a brush against her cheek, the worn, callused hand holding it as it was some precious vase. It brushes away a tear she didn’t know she had. He loves her. He may have never said it, he may have simply hoped she knew, and she did. It was enough. The hand stays, and she lifts her own to hold his. A thumb brushes against the stubble, it must be early morning, as he hasn’t shaved yet. The texture brings a smile and he kisses the side of her lips, stealing it and keeping it for his own.

The darkness is warmer, he is hugging her, the buttons of his shirt pressing into her chest in such a small detail that none sighted would think of it. Neither let go, they stay like this for the entire night, holding to each other, clinging for each other’s safety and sanity.

Mag mumbles softly, I love you into his shirt, and waits to see how he reacts, in what way his face would tell his emotions under her fingertips. Nothing is said, but he pulls back, and bends down to reach her ears. His breath is warm, and he begins to mumble into her ears.

The light is fighting against the curtains, showing the girl that the sun has risen, and has been so for a while. It takes her a minute, and she closes her eyes, holding her own face, desperately searching for what he said.
Maybe he’ll tell her tomorrow.

Blind Mag
Repo! The Genetic Opera