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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A new arrival.

Party takes his mask off, because a new arrival means a potential ally he can swing to his side. The bubbly little resistance he's been desperately trying to cobble together since arriving here only a few days ago.

"Hey, Tumbleweed." It's a name that just spills out, half because it's what you called a stranger when you're out in the zones and half because her hair is kind of frizzy and reminds him of the weird bits of shit that just moved on by Route Guano.

"There's no dragons here. Least, I've not seen them, but welcome to hell."

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."

"Mars is very much uninhabitable, actually."

Brennan forgoes pleasantries and skips to the point, doggedly clinging to information she personally believes to be factual. She's been to Taxon for almost a year now and she's still having trouble accepting that there's always a possibility that wherever (or whenever) this newcomer is arriving from, Mars could be inhabitable. She really should leave welcoming new arrivals to those who are actually good at it.

The anthropologist frowns, trying to make sense of the other woman's rant. Dragons and vampires. Well, at least she'd find the latter ones here. "I feel I should point out it's a very strong possibility that whichever group you believe you're addressing is not here."

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."

"At this point, I think I'd take my chances."

Gwen stares at the visual of someone else on the device in her hand. And while a welcoming wagon of strangers might ease someone's fears, it stokes hers. She'd spent the last few months leading the meet-and-greet with the poor little damsels of L.A and sheltering them. She did not like being at the other end of the rope.

And this is why Gwen also forgoes all pleasantries.

"Mind telling me where 'here' is, honey? I'm a little slow on the uptake, here."

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."

Brennan's blue eyes narrow just a fraction, the honey rubbing her the wrong way. But, she makes no comment upon it.

"I realize this will sound preposterous, but you have been abducted by aliens," Brennan explains bluntly. "This city is called Taxon. There's a small group of us here, other people similarly taken from their worlds and brought here. The prevailing hypothesis is that this is some sort of interdimensional social experiment. Some seem to liken it to a zoo where we are the attractions."

She pauses, lifting her chin a bit. "And my name is Dr. Temperance Brennan. Not honey."

...Okay, so she had to comment upon it.

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."

There was a lot of polysyllabic blabbing going on that Gwen had half the attention span to follow, but she did hear the words Taxon (never heard of it), zoo, and aliens.

The idea of being put in a zoo where people could look at the pretty freak with the electricity shooting from her body did not make her a happy girl. No, it did not make her happy at all.

She smiled, just a little, at the woman's defiance. Her voice was softer. In certain situations (when her client wasn't a complete jackass who needed putting down), her thieving days taught her how important it is to adapt to her client's vibe, like slipping into a costume, making them feel at ease and willing to trust her with whatever they needed done. She was on edge, not to mentioned scared, but some habits were like riding a limousine.

"Sorry, Doc, it's been a long day. Really. You have no idea. Are you from L.A too?" she asked with that tangible note of interest.

"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?"

At length, Brennan nodded her head a little in wordless acceptance of the apology. She called to mind her own arrival, remembering well the wariness and suspicion she'd felt herself towards the other people and the things they were telling her. The very same things she was telling this woman, now.

"No, I'm from D.C., but there are a few people here from Los Angeles," she responded to the question, making a concentrated effort to sound less brisk. People weren't her forte, at least not the live ones; that was always Booth's turf. But her partner wasn't in Taxon and Brennan had to manage on her own.

"Have you already managed to exit the arrival chamber? Do you require assistance?" she asked after a slightly awkward pause.

She didn't know why the fact that this wasn't local was such a shock. If it really was some sort of alien abduction, why would they keep their clientele limited to L.A? It was disheartening, but hey, that was the kind of day she was having.

"I'm out. Door behind me vanished like one of those bookcase trap doors. Made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

She studied the woman behind the screen, thinking that she kind of talked like a robot and seriously considered that as an option. "Welcomed by a weird-talking boy who calls himself Poison . . . I'm going to meet him. Heard of him, Doc?"

Because with a name like Party Poison, it probably called for a second opinion. Last time she skipped that part, she ended up on the static end of her own electricity. It never hurt to double check.

"The building you're in is called the Sanctuary. You'll find free lodgings there in case it turns out you don't have acquaintances in Taxon who might house you. You may also reserve any of the residences in the numerous houses and apartment complexes around the city for your private use."

Brennan fell silent, allowing the other woman to absorb the information while she considered the question asked of her.

"Poison?" she repeated, frowning. The name didn't spark any sort of recollection. "No, unfortunately I haven't. He could be a new arrival or I simply haven't met him. I'm... not quite as sociable as some others here are."

Which was true, to a point. Brennan did actually like to mingle, but mostly in the capacity of an observer. Her blunt manners often made interpersonal interactions something of a challenge, although she wasn't quite as hopeless anymore as she used to be just a couple of years ago.

Edited 2011-08-21 20:42 (UTC)

"You totally are a robot, aren't you?" Gwen said, nearly stopping in her tracks. She gave the screen a good hard stare. The idea of being trapped in a city of robots was actually kind of hopeful for Gwen. If that was the case, snatching up Electro Girl was the wrong move. "You know you talk like a robot, right?"

But everything she said was sinking in, one ship at a time. So it wasn't just a building or a prison, but a city.

"Great, well, that's...good," she said, unable to hide her disappointment. With no inside intel on her new friend, she just hoped his name wasn't one of those irony things. "Not a people person, then?"

"What? No," Brennan replied, somewhat affronted by the accusation. Though she was perfectly aware of her shortcomings when it came to interacting with people, it still hurt to have it pointed out. More calmly, she explains, "I prefer precise expression to avoid misunderstandings. Coupled with my above average intelligence and tendency to be rather straight-forward, I don't usually befriend people very easily. So, not a people person is accurate, in a way."

Realizing she was digressing, Brennan cleared her throat slightly.

"Speaking of robots, there are something like that in here. They're called Extras. Anyone who isn't wearing one of these," she lifts her hand to show Gwen her bracelet, "is an Extra. They take care of menial tasks and jobs around the city, but other than that, they don't really do much. They can be a bit... creepy."

Edited 2011-08-21 23:20 (UTC)

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