Phillip Lebeau's Story

((OOC: Sorry, I could have sworn I'd already posted for all of them before... Don't really remember how it worked out though. Hm. Hope this is satisfactory.))

((EDIT: OOC: Yikes. I accidentally posted the boys' post in Earth. Whoops!))

Damon grinned. "Adieu to you, Butt Butler." His face fell. "Oh, no, that's not right. Au revoir, cheerio, sayonara," he sang, spinning until he leapt toward Carter. "Howdy hey, bonjour Monsieur Mason; that's the one!" He stared at the Enchantress's stand in with wide, wild eyes for a few moments, and slowly tilted his head to one side. "Cheer up, little monster. It's execution day." He bopped him on the nose with one finger before skipping onto the gallows, one hand pulling his mask over his face while the other did jazz hands through the air. Whether or not the mask itself was scarier than the executioner's actual face was a matter of debate.

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Kenneth stood in the back corner of the throne room, hidden amongst the shadows while the Enchantress went about her ruling. He'd ridden in during the night to bring his report after nearly a week infiltrating the south. In the time since, his mind once again wandered. His Queen's words floated through the air like background music, while his thoughts strayed to his family, and the nightmares that plagued him. Tonight, he decided; tonight, when he left to fulfill the Enchantress's latest assignment, he would investigate the recurring events of his worst dreams.

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Abdul-Aziz woke with a start - though anyone watching would not have noticed. While his heart felt as though it was attempting to jump-rope right up his throat, on the outside, he merely opened his eyes. With a stiff back, he sat up and slid his feet to the cold, stone floor. He'd been dreaming about something... Something important, he thought, but he could no longer remember. When he close his eyes, he saw blood; and when he breathed, the air didn't smell like it belonged in his chambers within the Enchantress's castle. The more he focused on the familiar scene in his mind, the more it blurred, until finally it faded into nothingness and he was left as empty as the bare-bones room around him.

He dressed in a timely fashion, then strode toward the throne room with sure steps and a face of stone.

When he arrived, he knelt in front of his Queen, one arm propped across his bent knee and the other hand pressed to the ground. His dark eyes refused to focus, but he hung his head and looked toward her feet all the same. "Your Majesty," he greeted, and awaited his orders.