taxonomites | 01 | holo | location: sanctuary

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01 | holo | location: sanctuary | ARRIVAL

Death felt hot, and dark, and loud and silent all at the same time. And it kind of tickled.

It wasn’t over like all the storybooks said it would be. There was no warm wash of air, or pretty clouds or glowing white light and the smiling face of her dead grandfather. It wasn’t even close to falling asleep. It was too bright for that. It was too much pain, too much pain to go gently into that good night. Electricity snaked through the sky, jagged scars ripped through the air and lit her up like a goddamn Christmas tree. So many metaphors, so little time. It was all of these things and more, and Gwen Raiden didn’t have the time to reflect. She didn’t even have time to be dead, apparently.

All of that—betraying Angel and Connor and Nina and Spike (well...okay, she didn't really care about Spike) and the rest, fighting the dragon Cordelia (which just might have been more forthcoming than the real Cordelia), her decision to die the way she always imagined it—all that was snuffed out with her life and now it rushed back. Here she was, in all her glory, surrounded by metal walls and a strange ceiling. She surveyed the close space, breathing hard from that whole noble sacrifice thing which tended to take a lot out of a girl. "Okay,” she said, and the word escaped her wrapped in a big, exhaled breath. “Not gonna lie. I thought heaven would be a little more…Feng Shui.”

And as death faded away like a dream, her body felt real and solid again. There was the hard steel floor underneath her boots, the silken feel of her gloves on her fingers, and finally, the dull pain in every muscle of her body that had been electrified just moments ago. Gritting her teeth and shoving it down and away, where she did not have to dwell on it, she noticed the pedestal in front of her holding a fancy little gadget on it. It looked like something once upon a time she would have been paid billions to steal. She looked at it now with uninterest and unease. “Or…not heaven. Mars, huh? Interesting choice.”

There was no door, no way out and no cool breeze she’d felt just moments ago on the rooftop...

Connor, she thought, struck suddenly with a pang of sadness and guilt that gutted her.

“Okay, I get it!” Her call echoed out to empty walls. This was Wolfram and Hart's doing. And if she had to claw her way out of here, literally striking down every cheap suit in this place to do it, she would. “And not to be dramatic, but I had a thing I was doing with...the dying. Don’t you people have better things to do than stick me in a box? Filing briefs, or something? Not a big, brooding vampire here. Just a normal, law-abiding citizen."

A fib, and not even a subtle one, but she was getting testy. She scratched at her gloved wrist, absentmindedly, and felt something like a bracelet under the fabric. “Sorry I killed your dragons?”

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Gwen turns at the sound of a voice, but no visitor stands on a welcome mat to greet her. Just those ugly metal walls. But, you know, she doesn't want to look stupid, so she just rolls with it.

"Excuse me?" She asks in response to the baffling nickname, and then notices the fancy gadget on the pedestal. There's a face of a stranger on it. She walks closer now, eying it warily and not sure if she should take the gloves out and fry it, just to make sure.

"Funny thing, I just came from hell, and it was a lot more fire and brimstone. And not to be rude, but who the hell are you?"

Party's eyebrows shoot up, but otherwise he keeps a pretty good poker face. He learns a lot from his brother, even if said brother is younger--like how to keep it together and act like nothing's ever going on.

Hell, huh? Party doesn't believe in hell--because surely he's lived in it long enough--but there's a hint of amusement in hazel eyes. He's in the back of his beat up, spray painted trans-am, having literally just woke up from a solid power nap.

"Relax, I'm on your side," He assured. "Name's Party Poison. Grab the little thing and you can get outside just fine."

Outside. Outside the metal box sounded just fine to Gwen. Comparatively, it had to measure up better than a rooftop in a Helled up version of Los Angeles, where dragons roamed the sky like birds and she'd volunteered herself for the cleanup.

"Party Poison, huh? Sounds more like frat boy drink to me, sugar. And what makes you think you know what side I'm on?"

Still, she picks up the Tablet, not knowing exactly what it was but keeping her gloves on. If this was her way out, who was she to ruin her own fun? And sure enough, when she held the toy surprise in her hands, the sound of doors whooshing open echoed in the chamber and startled her. "Huh. Even Hell's all high-tech," she remarks with a little bitter smile, surveying the gadget in her hand and the face looking at her behind its screen. "Guess some things never change."

Which side? "You're smart," Party answers automatically, ignoring the remark about his name. There was no way he was going to give anyone his real name. Only four people knew that, one of which was related to him.

"I'm going to sound like a Guano-gone BL\ind. Drac, Tumbleweed, but it's the truth. You haven't actually been ghosted, you're here with a bunch of other people. You've been taken."

He wrinkled his nose, trying to hide his distaste. It didn't go very well--the way he set his jaw, he was aggravated just thinking about it.

"And the creeps that did that? They're watching each and every one of us."

Taken. Creeps. If you looked those two words up in the dictionary, you'd probably see a big old picture of a smiling lawyer in a cheap knockoff in front of a big building labeled, Wolfram and Hart. Bit behind on the times, obviously, seeing as its headquarters was kind of blown to pieces, but the Senior Partners kept on chugging along in one way or another. And she'd heard enough from Angel and Connor and even Gunn about what those people can do.

"These creeps called Wolfram and Hart by any chance? Because if we're stuck in the VIP back room just to put on a show for these losers, color me not shocked."

A pause, because Gwen could never resist a good pun on herself.

"Figuratively."

Party doesn't understand why she has to emphasize that it's figuratively, so he simply tucks the strange phrasing away in the back of his head for a later date. Save all the information you can on people, he reminds himself. It's more than useful--sometimes it'll save your life...

"Never heard of Wolfram and Hart, or whatever you're babbling about there. Aliens, kidnapped, prisoners. That's basically all that's good to go. If you're lucky there's someone in your 'verse Zone-hopping--err, out there," He really needs to watch the lingo.

"Stick with me," He tries again. "I'm working on a way out."

"A way out?" she repeated, scratching at her wrist. Curiously, she put the video device back on the pedestal and ripped off a glove.

Wrapped around her wrist, fused into her skin was a metal-looking bracelet. "This is impossible," she murmured aloud, pawing at it. Why wasn't it a piece of toast?

The door behind her closed with a loud clang, and she stared at it, dumbstruck. "A way out of what?" she asked, replacing her glove and picking up the tablet. The door opened again. This is Gwen Raiden freaked, Party. This is Gwen on the other end of technology, and she does not like it.

"Woah, hey. Okay, Tumbleweed," Party immediately rushes in to trying to calm her down. It's easier if he pretends it's Kobra having another episode, and his voice softens and he gets a little closer to his own tablet, holding his arm in view. He's wearing brown leather, fingerless gloves and a blue string of buddha beads, but underneath that was an identical bracelet.

"Listen up. This is what I'm talking about. They track our every move. They fuck with us. Like we're experiments or something, and after BL\ind., I--" He stops. Catches himself and tries yet again, staring at Gwen. Willing for words to fall out of his mouth when he's just normally a quiet, awkward 20-something with a laser gun and a give-'em-hell attitude.

"I hate these things," Party muttered. "Go through that door. Give me five minutes and I'll meet you outside."

There's that name again. Gwen was no stranger to giving people nicknames, condescending or otherwise. But Tumbleweed? Did she even want to know? Everything that was coming out of this guy's mouth was just...strange. And she knew strange. She was strange. But this was...well. Stranger.

"Sounds like a plan, Party Boy. Hey, uh, I'm not gonna run into any little green men out here, am I?"

Just in case, she slipped one glove off her arm and stuck it in the waist of her red leather pants.

Party all but rolled his eyes, but it wasn't because he was fed up with the girl he'd now nicknamed Tumbleweed. It was more because he had had the exact same process, the same thoughts, and it was as ridiculous coming out of her mouth as it did his.

If he was capable of smiling he would have at least smirked, but he settled with snorting, shaking his head.

"Look alive. It sounds like a bunch of guano but it's true. Mostly. Apparently it's hamsters. Just wait for me, alright?"

He pauses, tilting his head. "And it's Poison. Party Poison."

Look alive, huh? To Gwen that meant keeping her gloves off and her hands ready. "Never fried a hamster before," she said, making her way threw the sanctuary, here and then casting a curious look at the futuristic decor. "Bunnies, maybe. The neighbor's dog. I'm just not a pet person."

A little dark humor never hurt anyone.

Gwen rolled her shoulders in a shrug. His name was a little different, sure. And the James Bonding way he clarified it didn't make it any less weird. But who was she to judge on weird? Poster girl, right here. But let's get one thing straight. Her name sure as hell wasn't Tumbleweed, though she'd been called worse things. "I'm Gwen Raiden. You've got a cool little name there, Party Poison. I think we'll get along just fine."

Party had quit the visual--partially because he felt odd, with everyone being able to watch him, but mostly because it was just yet another way these aliens could track him. Sure, this please was a perfect utopia, but so was Battery City while he was on the mandatory medication. It was hell when he stopped taking them.

Nonetheless, it didn't take him very long to drive up to where he'd first been. The car was more than a little out of place--the beat up once white Trans-AM had spray paint all over it, bumper stickers advertising some radio frequency, along with the tag 'look alive sunshine.' It was a clunker but well-looked after, a painted (and re painted, and re-repainted) spider on the hood.

Party was there, craving cigarettes, mask on and leaning out the window. He hated the fact that if he concentrated he could smell the other killjoys--Fun Goul's cancer sticks, Jet Star's medical supplies.. The list went on.

He just hoped this Gwen girl--and for some reason Party couldn't stop referring to her as Tumbleweed in his head--wasn't a double agent. It was possible.

Had she not been so anxious to get rid of the 'trapped like a rat' feeling, Gwen would have had half the mind to explore the seemingly endlessly large, stainless steel building. A place this intricate had to have some kind of toy surprise buried underneath all this wrapping paper. But not now. Now was time to get out. To see for herself.

Not that she didn't believe this Party Poison. Dropped bombs like aliens are pretty big bombs. She's seen enough to know that pretty much anything goes in this freak show of a world. She's living proof. But even so, a part of her needed to see it to believe it.

Stepping outside was like the breath of fresh air that...usually came with breathing in fresh air. It felt free, and the wind on her skin made her feel more alive than she had been since materializing in that metallic room. Her eyes drank in the surroundings--the sky, the ground, the road, the--

Oh. Ridiculous getaway car? Check. She had a feeling riding shotgun in this thing would just amp up the freak show factor. She wasn't exactly one for flying under the radar.

"Not exactly what I was expecting," she said, strolling up to the car. Her eyes lingered on the painted spider. "What side do you play for, again?"

She was just as snarky in person. Party ducked his head back in and opened the door, adjusting his mask slightly. He glanced over at Tumbleweed--no, Gwen--and offered a slight grimace that served as a smile.

"Team Killjoy," he said, shrugging. "I'm the only member so far. Everyone here's so fucking complacent about this shit. No one's doing anything to try to escape. It's--it's a whole lotta rosie, straight up negative zappers. Set phasers to dusted."

He wrinkled his nose in distaste of his apparently apt analogy, glancing over at the girl. "I'm not saying I haven't ruled out the possibility that you're some double, infiltrator or nothin' but logically it makes the most sense to tell the people that come in after me what I'm planning to do. I've got the big picture, but the little details are still coming to me."

Jesus. He looks surprised with himself, shifting gears and peeling out. Driving like a lunatic. He's learned to drive in the zones, after all, and there aren't exactly traffic laws. This was the most he's ever really said to anyone that isn't a Killjoy.

She wavered, and if Party Poison looks really closely, he'll see her hesitation. And it's not just the creepy spider car or the mask.

"I hate to break it to you, sugar bear, but I played all this deja vu before. Didn't work out like a fairy tale, either."

It wasn't so long ago that an old friend found her to propose a very similar proposition: This world sucks and we all want out. Join my team, Gwen, and your life will be better for it. Hers wasn't, and now she didn't even know if it changed anything.

She's hesitant, but she's not stupid. She's out of the loop and like dealing with any job, gleaning information is the first step. So she gets in the car and keeps her cards to herself.

"Would it help if I pinky swear?" she asks, coyly. "What's your big picture plan, anyhow?"

Party notices the hesitation and it assures him--not because he likes to intimidate, but because it's healthy to be wary--and so he says nothing as the girl talks, eventually taking off the mask and tossing it in the back seat. He can still smell Fun Ghoul's goddamn cancer sticks in the back, and the faint smell of the bleach Jet Star had spilled during an emergency patch-up of Kobra Kid.

"Please tell me you have a cigarette in those nifty leather pants of yours," He asks first and foremost. He turns sharply to the left, partially because he never really got a licence and partially because if he keeps turning, it's easier to lose people that are following him. If they're following them. Party takes no chances.

The 'sugar bear' nickname isn't lost on him, either, but an odd expression flickers across his features. News A Go Go used to call Agent Cherri Cola that, and now the two were missing. Gone. Probably ghosted out in the zones.

"Big picture plan is we bust outta this hell hole. I've done it before in my world--something similar to this--so it should be a piece of cake." He hopes. "Once I get proper intel and enough people, that is."

Gwen pat her leather lap and held up a gloved hand. "Sorry, honey. Must be in my other pair."

The swerve catches her off guard and she brings her gaze to the window, watching the streets and houses and buildings just roll on by. It was just like any other city. Gwen was a girl who had been all over the world. Funny thing about the thieving biz, it brought about clients from all over. It wasn't just Americans who wanted to steal.

And still, everything felt off.

She drags her eyes away from outside and back to the driver, her strange little greeting card. He looks unsettled to her, for a moment, and then it's gone. On another day, she would have lingered on it, dissecting and putting together all those little body language movements people don't realize tell such a big story. But, it's been a long day.

"Right, well, here's the thing. Getting out of hell's not as easy as it looks." She holds up a gloved hand and gives a soft, cynical laugh. She's done it before too, almost. Busting out of a hell hole. Hurt some people doing it, too. Wouldn't be so bad, except, now she doesn't even know if it was worth it. "Even with superpowers. You're gonna need some extra accessories if you want out of this Twilight Zone."

Party glances over at Gwen, concentrating more on his next words. He's not charismatic and he's not much of a talker, but he has to try to get Gwen on his side. Gwen seems like a smart gal but Party doesn't take any chances and--

He literally slams on the breaks, the car screeching to a halt and almost careening into the one in front of him. He cranes his neck to back up, not saying a word, mouth half open as he concentrates on the simple task.

"Sonnova Dirty Drac," he mumbles, and after pulling in to an alleyway barely big enough to fit his car he bows his head in thought for a few seconds, red hair in his face.

"You're a superhero." Because Party doesn't at all feel tiny and insignificant next to someone with alleged super powers. He smiles, but it's not genuine, it's more the grin of a man who just can't fucking believe what was happening.

"Of course. Of course there are people with superpowers here. There are hamster aliens and creppy girls in white." He wrinkled his nose. "Never thought I'd say this, but I miss the Zones and Battery City." He shifts his weight to lean his elbow on the wheel, raising an eyebrow.

"So what can you do? Are you like Superman, or The Flash?"

Gwen's body was flung forward as the car screamed. When they stopped and her head bumped against the back, Gwen looked at him, mouth agape and caught up in the moment, so excuse her--

"Hey, jackass! Are you trying to kill me or what?"

--lack of tact. He pulls into an alley and she instinctively rips off one glove and holds her hand up, ready for attack. But none came and he proceeded to have what Gwen interpreted to be a full on breakdown.

"I said I had superpowers," Gwen clarified, a bit of an edge in her tone. "Not a superhero. I'm a..."

Her voice drifted off, and she just rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

"Sorry, tumbleweed. Used to the rest of the Killjoys." Party feels bad that he nearly sent her flying, but that's what you get when you drive in a car with him. He should have warned her to wear a seat belt or something, but Party never did so what was the point?

Still, he licks his lips and pushes his hair out of his face, fingers tapping the edge of the wheel. Not so much a nervous habit as a fidgety one.

"We don't have any of that. S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/Ws might count, but the only good drac is a dead one. If that's even possible--but... Whatever you can do.."

He sighed. "I'm just a normal, run-of-the-mill human," he decided to leave out the 'incredibly irradiated and sick' part. "But if you help me bust out of here it'll be a lot easier. It'll be shiny, tumbleweed. Just shiny. What can you do?"

She eyed him a little about the nickname. Not that she was offended; it was strange. It suited her, whether or not she realized it.

She exhaled a breath herself. It seemed especially loud in the silence of the car. "Hey, nothing wrong with being a normal, run-of-the-mill human, sugar." Hell, she'd risked her life for something that made her as close to normal, run-of-the-mill human as she could get. LISA. The memory sprung on her suddenly and she sat up a little straighter in the seat. It hadn't worked in Hell LA. But everyone was making very clear that this wasn't Kansas anymore.

Gwen held out her hand. "Got a watch? Something metal?"

"Umm..." Party noticed the way her back straightened as something flew across her mind. Something bad. A memory, perhaps. Everyone had their demons, some bigger than others, but this girl had some big ones.

Maybe that was why Party got along with her. Though 'getting along' in his case was 'not pulling his laser gun on her.' Yet.

He glanced around before finding an old can of Power Pup on the floor of the car. It was dog food, the black and white BLI\ind. label the same as the white air freshener handing by his dash. It was empty and still had the fork rattling around it. Power pup--dog food in general was the staple of Killjoys, after all. It was the only thing they knew wasn't laced.

"Something like this?"

Gwen took it, not because she loved showing off, which she did, and not because she felt like she had to explain the gloves, but because she had a feeling with all this mask stuff, the car, the weird way of talking, all of it meant he really wouldn't care all that much. Knowing he wasn't going to run screaming, hands in the air, from the car was a bit more of a motivator.

She gave him an appraising smile. No, he didn't look like the Rolex type. They always got so uppity. Really, who decides to show up packing some serious sterling silver to meet the thief with the metal-melting hands? They practically begged for it.

"It's always more fun when it's something fancy, but I guess it'll do." The glove was already in her lap, so all she had to do was pick up what he put down. Little blue sparks flew from her finger tips, making that little zap sound she'd gotten to know as steady as her own heartbeat. She closed her hand around the can, but she didn't need to squeeze for the magic to happen. In one instant the can was a mangled, smoking distortion of itself, burnt to a crisp and transformed into some even more cheap looking whatever it was.

She tossed it onto the floor of the car. "It's all about the subatomic particles, sugar bear." She shrugged, and sighed a little sigh. This is a speech--and action--she's performed countless times. Back in Los Angeles, she really didn't have to explain stuff anymore. She was just part of the pack, there. "The science fair version of it is way less exciting, believe me. What do you think?"

"Oh."

And it was all Party could really say, all he had to. There was just... what did you even say to something like that?

"I'm glad you didn't touch my zapper." He tapped the yellow ray gun in its holster, and leaned forward, as if he was going to touch it.

"...wow. That's--wish you were in my verse. Everythings electric." When he looked up, he had a hint of a smile on his face. Trying not to grin like the little kid he wanted to.

"Yeah."

Gwen put her glove back on. Show's over. And by the looks of it, her audience seemed to enjoy it a little bit. "The world of modern technology," she says with an almost smile of her own. "It's everywhere. A world full of business opportunities for a girl like me."

Not that using her powers to help people back in Los Angeles wasn't fulfilled. It...was, kind of. Maybe didn't give her the hero complex Angel had, but it made her a part of something. Being a thief? That made her part of something too. When looked back on those days, pre-Hell L.A, pre-LISA, she looked back on them fondly. They were fun.

"Are you about to go all comic book nerd on me, Party Poison? Because, hate to tell you, you look like something out of one of those things yourself."

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[location: just outside of sanctuary]

[location: just outside of sanctuary]

[location: just outside of sanctuary]

[location: just outside of sanctuary]

[location: the streets of Taxon]

[location: the streets of Taxon]

[location: the streets of Taxon]

[location: the streets of Taxon]

[location: the streets of Taxon]

[location: the streets of Taxon]

[location: the streets of Taxon]

[location: the streets of Taxon]

Re: [location: the streets of Taxon]

[location: the streets of Taxon]