taxonomites | now i rock a house party at the drop of a hat.

It's around five o'clock in the morning when the citizens of Taxon find themselves inexplicably transported into rooms within the Sanctuary. Doors are left open and beds unmade, food abandoned and lights left on, still shining brightly for those who were awake and are no longer present. The Extras don't seem to notice the captive population's sudden disappearance, continuing on with their business as usual.

For those relocated, though, it's an entirely different story.

They find themselves in rooms with white, alabaster walls that gives them an almost too-clean feeling, as if the entire place was sanitized prior to their arrival. The room assignments are seemingly random, people placed on floors with those they don't know and don't like, people they would rather not be within twenty feet of. It matters not, for what's done is done and cannot be undone. For those who happen to have pets, they'll find them waiting for their owners in the rooms as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

The only thing the captives have managed to bring with them is the clothes on their back and the tablets. On them, they find the following message:

SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE PLEASE ENJOY YOUR STAY WHILE WE ADDRESS CERTAIN TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES

Unfortunately for those who try to find a means of escape, they'll discover there is none. Leaving the Sanctuary will prove to be as difficult as leaving Taxon itself. However, if one heads down the right corridor and the right floor, they'll find something else entirely lurking in their midst...

( ooc | sorry for the delay in posting! your mods were otherwise occupied with things of the irl variety this morning. THIS BE A PARTY POST, Y'ALL. room assignments are here, and refer back to the sott post proper for any additional information. please contact us with any questions/concerns you may have in regards to this plot. ♥ )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

On the eleventh floor, Wyatt Cain suddenly finds himself staring out from a completely unfamiliar window. Having been one of the captive residents for seven months now, he really ought have learned to expect the unexpected.

However, being transported from one place to another in the blink of an eye reminds him entirely too much of his Arrival to reprimand himself for a lack of vigilance.

And so, dressed in a plain shirt and pale trousers (as be his wont), he goes in search of others stuck in the same proverbial boat up a certain metaphorical creek as him.

Once confident he has committed all the most important details to paper, Rorschach goes wandering; he may be irritated by the situation he has been placed in, but inconvenience is no excuse for a lapse in routine. He is just as capable of investigating properly without his face, it's just...less than ideal.

Bare feet pad down the halls, protective layers out of reach as thoroughly as the insulating white and black, pinstriped trousers and filthy undershirt the only things the captors thought to leave him with. He dislikes being this exposed, this vulnerable, but he will make do until he finds a way to change it. If the floor under his feet is cold to the touch he doesn't seem to mind or register; he has more important things to be concerned with than comfort at this point.

A few floors down from where he started, while stopped to investigate the level itself (if he's going to be stuck here for the foreseeable future he might as well be familiar with it) he comes across the taller man, recognizing him from the last time they met. He nods in greeting as he passes even though he doesn't expect to be recognized himself, and watches Cain intently for a few long moments stretched out to the point of uncomfortable, attempting to assess whether or not he may have any helpful information.

Cain would, on even the worst of days, like to think of himself as a patient man. He's seen more than his fair share of darkness, both his own and that of the world at large, the kind that lurks in the hearts of even the best of men.

He's been stared down in the streets on many an occasion (in a court room, at the station, in a holding cell), but it's been such a long time he can't help but feel a slight, crawling discomfort along his spine.

Another newcomer? No. Not if the recognition in the other man's eyes is anything to go by.

"Have we met?" Because why beat around the bush?

The question is ignored as if he hadn't heard it, discarded as irrelevant. He grasps for the man's name, knows he's stored it somewhere amongst the jumble of nonsense and details, and then there it is. Cain. The cop. Distaste twists his words, but it's an afterthought, something adopted more from habit than relevance. Rorschach speaks, but the words come out through Kovacs, the grit and most of their power stripped away to leave behind something easily mistaken for weak, unexceptional. Unremarkable. "I'm not the only one put here, then. Interesting."

Rorschach doesn't look away, doesn't even blink, only continues to watch him through a gaze so blank and expressionless it might as well be a mask itself.

The former cop, if we're being picky. Cain isn't (not about words or preconceptions other than his own, that is).

But what he is, is tired and weary and very much not up for any kind of attitude. Walk away he tells himself in the blissful silence of his own mind. Just walk away.

But he doesn't, instead pausing in his step, shackles already rising from recognition of the voice. "Yeah. Interesting. Might give you an exercise in social interaction. Not your forte, is it?"

Rorschach would argue he isn't giving an attitude. An attitude would imply an investment in the conversation beyond what he's already committed; he would be entirely content for the not-cop (once a cop always a cop, as far as he's concerned) to leave him in peace. It's far easier to watch people when they're not paying any attention to you.

But alas. A response is required. He shrugs, a gesture which could really mean just about anything but in this instance is simply "so?.

"Few deal in truths; they're much more concerned with appearances. Superficial attachments. Speaking in falsehoods to gain favor, inquiring after answers they don't hear. Never saw the point."

now i rock a house party at the drop of a hat.

[location] placeholder tag because it's been a long day

[location] somewhere between the 16th and 11th floors?

[location] I was just gonna tag you. Stop reading my mind, plz and thnx <3

[location] sorry, I'm just psychic apparently :)

[location] psychic always wins brownie points with me

[location] hooray for brownie points! only trumped by actual brownies