001: [holo] an inconvenience

[fogdar.livejournal.com]

All in all, Eric is not in the best of moods. The vampire queen of Louisiana just forced him to play a game of yahtzee (capricious annoyance that she is), the Fellowship of the Sun have proved more of a headache than he'd given them credit for, and now, to cap it all, he finds himself suddenly in a horribly sterile room, with a profusion of the color silver around him. With his anger come the fangs, which are quite visible as he utters, with admirable composure:

"Newlin, you mentally deficient son-of-a-bitch, if this is your doing, I will not hesitate to rip your ridiculous quiff right out of your head and feed it to you. Slowly."

001. [holo] he's starting to follow crows and climbing the ladder somewhere out

[antisaint.livejournal.com]

If you get right down to it, there are two ways John Constantine spends his day: either in immediate peril or out of it. (Although arguably there's also having just gotten out, and about to get into, but split that many hairs and we'll be here all day.) His appearance in the entrance chamber seems to indicate the former, both of which have their pros and cons. In immediate peril (he was) means now he's suddenly not, anymore, or at least not in the same way, but out of it - well, those moments are few and far enough in between that he likes to keep them for himself, thank you.

This moment: not shaping up to be one of those. ( and plotting to cover the grounds with a fine tooth comb )

oo5 ♦ tomorrow's rain will wash the stains away [ location :: various ] [ voice ] [ bruce ]

[cailisairgid]

While constructing his house, Sol's been living mostly at Leila's apartment; most of his belongings are there, for now, and it's where he spends most nights. This has worked out arguably wonderfully in the past few days with the pair of them rarely willing to be too far apart, but the house in the forest is ready (a unique piece of architecture composed of living trees, two stories high with large rooms and high vaulted ceilings - and the very finest amenities that Leila could put together with Etherite science) and the question is now less 'how big should the built-in wardrobes be' and more 'how in the hell are we getting furniture from the city to the house'.

He looks down at his inventory.

He sighs, and produces his tablet from the bracelet, locking his transmission to Bruce.

[ VOICE | LOCKED | SOL + BRUCE ]

Wayne, are you there?

[ / VOICE ]

oo1 ∞ your exodus laughing [holo]

[phoenixsays.livejournal.com]

A woman appears in Taxon's arrival chamber.

This in and of itself is nothing out of the ordinary; that is, after all, the purpose of the room. The young woman in question has dark, curly hair, light eyes, and is wearing the slightly tattered remnants of a white silk cocktail dress, which has a smudge of what appears to be blood on one shoulder. She regards her surroundings with a look of resignation, and possibly vague, cynical amusement, stepping out of place to drift her hand all around the corners of the room, testing the walls, the ceiling, the steps, the platform itself, all the places where there should be a door. Something.

Nada. Fuck.

Well, she's grateful not to be locked back in FBI custody enduring all manner of accusations of terrorism (hardly), so she'll take it, but her nerves are rubbed-raw, brittle underneath her projection of sinuous, lazy calm. Her attitude is shit, kidnapping? Must be Tuesday, but that doesn't change the fact that she doesn't really appreciate what seems to be yet another abduction by forces unknown, who probably want her to do their bidding or break a law or something equally tedious. Zorya assumes it's not going to be anything so pedestrian as asking for a performance.

She turns back to the tablet, unaware that it is presently broadcasting her every move, and sighs at it, patiently exasperated, as though it is a misbehaving child. She flicks through the panels, head tilted to one side, and when she turns around, there appears to be a door already behind her, as though it had been there the entire time. "Now that's interesting," she comments in accented English, tapping her fingertips on the tablet, "and a little creepy."

From this angle, it becomes apparent that she has an interesting accessory: handcuffs, police-issue, encircling one wrist. Not the other, though; it seems she's managed to handle at least half of them.

"You look like you're something I'm not legally entitled to have," she informs the tablet in Hungarian, hoping that if Szebasztián is responsible for this, or at least listening in, this will provoke him, because she evidently plans to keep it. "I love that in a glorified cellphone, or whatever this is."

Zorya turns back to the strangely appearing exit, looking between it and the tablet contemplatively.

"Well. Now I know what to do."

...and that is head for the door, apparently. She sees no reason to waste any time.

006. [visual] wrapped in metal, wrapped in ivy

[lambentstar.livejournal.com]

Cat sets the stage for this communication by cleaning her living room, at least all the parts she plans on making visible when she broadcasts, and she puts some effort into her hair and make-up, so the image Taxon is presented with when she makes the broadcast is an only slightly tired-looking Cat sitting on a dark red couch with some wear to it. Concealer does wonders for the bags under her eyes, and the painkillers she took (one extra over the number on the side of the bottle) are keeping her headache manageable.

"Hi, everybody," she says, waving at the tablet propped up on the coffee table in front of her, "It's Cat, again, you all might remember me from the Doctor's day. I hope it's been a good day for all of you, since we could use more of those - I'm not just coming on to say that, though, there's something that's been on my mind. I don't even know where I'm supposed to start."

So she pauses, pushing her hair back and leaning over her knees to continue speaking earnestly: "I'm...kind of psychic. Not telepath psychic, or future-reading, or anything like that, uh, I'm an astral projector and I can walk into dreams. Astral projector pretty much meaning I can make myself into Casper, and the dream thing I'm hoping is self-explanatory. Jesus, I suck out loud at this." She rubs her forehead and glances aside, briefly, before looking up again. "The point I'm trying to get at is I figure that being able to do this doesn't help anyone if I don't--you know, get it out there, and since I'm guessing it's more than just me who's been having bad dreams lately I'm offering my services as kind of--a help, I guess. I've done it a couple times before, worked through dreams with people, and although I can't say I'm the best at it I promise I won't fry anybody's brain on accident and I'll do my best."

"So...yeah, that, and I'll do this for anybody and any reason, you just have to ask."

[OOC: Here lies the relevant permissions post. :3]