[Location/Accidental Visual: Hyperion] // But I'm on the outside, and I'm looking in

[stepintoshadows.livejournal.com]

His new city is dark and empty.  Rorschach walks the streets, as he has every night and will continue to for as long as he remains here, despite the fact that he has yet to do any significant good during his patrols.  He covers the entirety of the city every night, and by now his feet know the way without having to be told.  He likes to think he's memorized every inch of it by now, and while it's not entirely accurate quite yet, it's certainly close enough.

It's why the tarp covering the side of the building stands out so much.  Just in one place, plastered against the side like rotting leaves clinging to the trunk of some great hulking tree.  He's seen it on multiple occasions, every time he's passed the building, actually, but its continued presence is what attracts his attention now.  It should be repaired by now; society rebels at the cracks and breaks, the proof that the impenetrable shield of normality they comfort themselves with is not infallible.

So why is it still there?  What does it hide?  He looks for a way up to it in order to investigate; fire escape seems to be the best option.  The ascent is a matter of moments, muscles long used to the task propelling him upwards with ease, and he pulls the edge of the tarp away to peek beyond it, inky shapes swirling in uncertain curiosity.  An apartment.  Unsurprising in an apartment building.  He pulls himself up and over the broken and crumbling bricks into the room beyond, taking a moment to examine the edges of the break, but the score marks that mar their surfaces can't be right.  What would cause it?  He pulls one free to look more closely from the privacy of the room, paying no mind to either the room itself nor any occupants it may or may not contain, having already decided that with a hole in the wall there is no possible way it could still be inhabited.

The tablet, having toppled out of a coat pocket during his entrance, drops to the floor with a muffled thud and promptly switches on, revealing both the vigilante examining the brick and some of the room beyond, albeit at a somewhat strange angle given its position on the floor.  Rorschach doesn't appear to notice its temporary disappearance from his pocket.

[Holo: the Sanctuary] // You can check out any time you like but you can never leave

[willkeeptrying.livejournal.com]

 The room is large, and empty, and overwhelmingly clinical and sterile, and Wikus' immediate thought is that they have caught up with him again. The last thing he remembers is going to sleep, finding shelter in one of the abandoned hovels in the camp and wrapping himself in whatever ragged, filthy blankets he could find against the chill and wishing, hoping, with all his might that he would wake up in the morning and find it had all been nothing but a terrible dream. He had been on the move for at least twelve hours, no time for rest or relaxation or stopping for more than scavenged scraps of food and water, and he was exhausted, ready to drop at any instant, the blasted arm, the source of all his misery, nothing but an aching, throbbing mass at the end of his shoulder.

But he wakes, and things are worse than he could have imagined.

"No, not again," he murmurs piteously, as if the universe will somehow listen and grant his wish if he only denies the facts enough. "This cannot be happening again, I got out..."

The former paper pusher stands, scrambling to his feet and tucking the Hated Thing away up close to his body, obscuring the twisted, alien appendage from view. His gaze darts around the room, never resting too long over any one thing, furtive glances and shifty movements coupled with the inability since this whole thing started to bathe or rest for more than a few hours at a time giving him the appearance of either a drug addict in severe need of a fix or someone carrying some kind of violently infectious disease.

"Hello?" Wikus' voice is uncertain, not surprising given that he had hoped never to end up in a place like this ever again. "Is anyone there? I...I think there has been some kind of misunderstanding..."

[ visual | location: sook's house ] and my arms are empty all night long how i've pleaded and cried

[lajolieblonde.livejournal.com]

[ sookie has decided to eschew emotional honesty for the moment-- after the weekend with bill and angel's scarcity of late, it just seems easier that way-- and after scrubbing the whole house top to bottom more than once, she set to work cooking.

and cooking.

...and then more cooking.

when her tablet clicks on, it's to a view of a counter covered in various types of pie, fried chicken behind it. (there may also be biscuits.) normally, she'd just call jason and tell him she's making sure he doesn't starve since lord knows he can't boil water to save his life, but as they are In A Fight feeding him is not an option at the moment.

but she can't eat it all, so after a moment she sets down her cup of coffee and picks up her tablet. after a little sigh she waves, pressing her lips together sheepishly. ]

I know we're all a little spread out here, but I don't suppose I could find someone to take a few pies off my hands? I... well, I might've gone a little overboard when I was making them. [ beat. ] I have chicken, too, if y'all want any. And biscuits. I'd just really appreciate gettin' some help clearin' off my counters.

001 [ holo | Location: Sanctuary ] | I may seem crazy or painfully shy

[secretshame]

 The first thing Jenna noticed was that she must have dozed off upstairs. She rubbed her tired eyes before opening them. The sight of a very unfamiliar, and definitely not something she'd ever thought possible, room made her blink and inhale sharply.

"Okay, I know I wasn't drunk or stoned earlier," she muttered to herself, running a hand through her hair. For one thing, she didn't have her munchie snack of choice, nachos. For another, responsibility called and she'd be damned if it was her fault Jeremy got back on that path when he'd just gotten off it. Sure, she'd missed it at times, especially at first, but the reality was that she needed to set a decent example for the kids. She wasn't Miranda by any stretch of the imagination, but she still had to do everything possible to help Jeremy and Elena.

"John?" she called, folding her arms over her chest and staring upwards. "If you spiked my drink tonight, I will kill you."

Not literally, of course, no matter how much she wanted him out of her life. Hitting him with another newspaper, however, was fair game.

"Ric? Elena? Jeremy? Okay, guys, this isn't funny anymore. It's not Halloween, you know."

Huffing out a breath of annoyance, she let her arms fall back to her sides and stepped off the platform. What was this place anyway? Maybe it was some strange stoner dream. God knew she'd had her fair share of those.

Jenna pinched herself to be sure. "Ow! So much for the 'it's a dream' theory."

That just begged the question of what this was. There wasn't a door that she could see, but that didn't mean one didn't exist. Still, she wasn't really up for waiting around or looking for a door herself. Best case scenario: someone would find her. To put it simply, Jenna was in a bind and she knew it.

"All right, first person to tell me what's going on gets me off their back for a week."

Maybe she'd agree to get drunk with them in celebration. No, wait, Uncle John was at home. Being drunk was how she dealt with him. He was too much of a pain to deal with sober. But aside from that: responsibility. Jenna sighed wearily and began her own quest to figure out what was going on. First thing: get out of this room.