taxonomites | 01 | HOLO | INTRO POST | THE TROUBLED IS TROUBLED

Entry tags:

01 | HOLO | INTRO POST | THE TROUBLED IS TROUBLED

This was new.

Dwight had been dropping a few Troubled children off to the slaughterhouse. Not that said slaughterhouse was to kill the little girls, no--but they could survive there until the Troubles passed. They could only survive by feeding on living flesh, and after an incident with a young boy in the forest..well. Dwight Hendrickson cleaned things up. It's what he did, it's what he always did, and what he'd always do. But this? He was a little over his head with. In fact, he was pretty far removed from the sound of cattle and saws.

"Huh." He was speaking out loud, eyes darting around the place. This looked more like a sci-fi movie than anything in Haven, but he wasn't going to rule anything out. "This is new." There was a familiar weight on his back, a nice, familiar weight. His crossbow.

...Wait. That wasn't right. Not only had he just been in a car with three frightened girls, but he had purposely made a point to put his crossbow away so the kids wouldn't think he wanted to kill him. This was different, and if the glowing panels that looked like they were from Galaxy Battles were any indication, this wasn't like any Trouble Dwight had encountered.

The large blonde man rubbed at the scruff on his face. His posture was slightly slouched, but that didn't mean he wasn't observing. And, carefully, he tried to look for anything familiar. Nothing but a podium and something that looked like the newest version of whatever cellphone. What was it up to now? 6G? 8G? This was--

"Shit."

Dwight's attempt at taking a casual stride over to the table had failed--mainly because his left pant leg had been cut off and a bandage that was now seeping blood meant that the wounds he'd been ignoring were finally getting the best of him. That's what you get for stepping in a bare trap and refusing medical attention, he supposed, but in the split second his ankle had nearly folded he was able to grab a piece of railing, face pressed in what his daughter used to call his 'trout-face.' He was thinking.

And, calmly, Dwight reached the only conclusion he could: "I don't think I'm in Haven anymore."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Oh, look. Fresh meat.

It was the sound of the word Haven and the resemblance to Heaven that caught Gwen's attention, but it only took a second to realize what he said. Still, she always got a kick from poking the newcomers. It was new, and safe, and she liked having the power of the upper hand. She got to chill in the comfort of her own home and assess the newbies while they freaked out in their metallic room, and if she didn't like them? Just a flick of the Tablet and they were gone from her mind until the next time they were forced to interact.

"Someone's got his thinking cap on today," she said, drolly, studying the newbie. "You're not even close, big guy."

Others would probably be freaking out at the little image ontop of his screen, a definite Galaxy Battles nod, but Dwight is too busy trying to formulate some kind of plan.

Big guy. He'll take big guy. Better than Sasquatch.

"So." There's no point in freaking out in a situation like this, it blinds your judgement. Instead, Dwight gets straight to the facts: "Where am I if I'm not in Maine?" He'll react to it later. Privately. Apparently, people could see him.

A airy shrug. "No one knows." She takes a sip of whatever seems to be in her mug. She looks comfortable, but she'll give you more than that. "It's called Taxon. Kind of a...melting pot for all sorts of people."

Maine, huh? That seems to be a first. Guess the aliens were sick of people from Los Angeles.

Dwight's sleepy gaze perks up, eyebrows raised wide as if to say 'no, really?'

"Seems like it," he responds, limping over to the tablet and picking it up. He holds it above him, squinting, and winds up coming face to face with the hologram. "You wanna give me a hint on how to get out of here?"

"I'll give you a tip, stranger. Bleeding to death on the floor? Not gonna cut it." She eyes his leg, of which she's got a pretty clear view from the Tablet, wondering, as always, what this one's deal is.

"But you're on your way there," she says, eyebrows raising in a knowing look toward the now-open doorway. "If you can walk, that is."

"Observant." That's definite sarcasm, and when he takes a step forward. He's leaning on his good foot and he's got a hand on the railing but there's a complete lack of cringing on his face: suck it up and deal, even if you've had your foot caught in a bear trap.

Still, he's making his way to the phone because he at least wants a better look at what seems to be a female version of Duke Crocker. Picking it up, however, proves that the girl is right, and he cranes his head.

"Is the welcoming comittee normally this sarcastic?"

"Sorry. The whole welcoming thing gets old," she replies, casually, entirely unapologetic. Hey, if her ass isn't here giving him all the juicy details, sarcasm or not, he rots in that metallic chamber or has a serious meltdown. Sue her for being helpful.

She puts on a false, higher, cheery (but anyone would catch the tone of bitterness) voice. "Hi there. I'm Gwen Raiden. Welcome to Taxon. Oh, by the way, you've been kidnapped by aliens."

Of course it does, though the fact that she's been around here long enough for something to get old? Not really a good thing. Kind of worrying, in fact. Dwight's a pretty good judge of character and he's pretty sure if this girl wanted to get out? She'd try everything.

"Gwen.. Name's Dwight." He's picked up the tablet now, looking over his shoulder as the door opened up. "Huh. Thanks. I owe you one, Gwen."

"I'll remember that," she says with a short wink, and she means it. In a place like Taxon, you never know when you might need a favor. "Take care out there, stranger."

Kobra watched the new arrival in the tablet with disinterest. There was nothing exciting about this anymore. He'd hoped for too long to hear Ghoul's, Jet's or Grace's voice when someone new arrived, but it had never happened. Kobra rarely indulged in stupid hopes.

He was wearing his sunglasses again and smoking, hunched in on himself and wearing the coat DG had given him because he was sitting in the forest again and it was fucking freezing.

"Wow, aren't you a smart wavehead," he drawled at the man's statement. "Welcome to Taxon, cityrat."

Cityrat?

At least Taxon was full of colourful characters. The brown haired girl wasn't kidding. He says nothing, staring at the scrawny kid patiently. No idea what wavehead meant but he did know sarcasm when he saw it. Probably because he knew Duke Crocker.

"Not a cityrat. Dwight. Any idea why I'm here?"'

What kind of name was that? Kobra frowned but shrugged and took another, slow drag of his cigarette.

"Something we all want to know," he replied eventually, pushing his sunglasses back up where they'd slipped. "All some kinda game for the hamsters, I guess."

Dwight's expression is still impassive, though have a little eyebrow quirk at hamsters.

"Hamster games, huh?" and, because he can broach it carefully, "Would you say anybody here is a little... troubled?" Vagueness was the type of stuff Dwight lived on. Well, that and breaking and entering for the police chief to fix things.

Kobra's grin at that is slightly unsettling as he leans back and exhales smoke. "Welcome to the loony bin," the grin is still on his face. "Good luck finding someone who isn't."

Huh. The grin is unnerving, to say the least, but he's seen worse on crazier. At least it means he's probably the only Troubled person here. Which means his theory's falling down, which, in turn, causes Dwight's eyebrow to rise slightly.

"Loony bin, huh?" He reiterates. He's been doing a lot of that lately, and he takes a deep breath to sigh. "Great. Out of the frying pan and into the fire..."

"How it always works, tumbleweed," Kobra shrugged. "So. Where you from?"

"Maine." Which isn't the most thrilling of answers, but the kid on the tablet seems interested enough. "Tiny town. Haven." And, because it's bothering him, the large troubled one raised his eyebrows and winced at his food.

"Where is 'here,' by the way? Never heard of Taxon."

"I have no idea," Kobra replies with a shrug. "I guess no one knows where exactly Taxon is. We all just landed here."

Dwight nods. He's out of the room now, thanks to the cheery brunette that reminds him of Duke, and he's slowly limping his way to the entrance. It's surreal and Dwight feels out of his element, but that's probably because he looks like he's been chopping wood for the past three days and has a crossbow strapped to his back.

He glances at the kid, though, and lets a light frown crease his face, voice as monotone and straight to the point as ever: "You feelin' okay, kid? You're a little flushed."

"What?" Kobra glares behind his glasses. "I'm not flushed." What kind of stupid word is that anyway? He huffs and suppresses a cough, too proud to show weakness now.

"Get your eyes checked out."

Nope. He's definitely flushed, or at least sick. This guy with a punk attitude reminds him of the highschoolers that liked to perch around the diner and skip school. The anger and rebellious attitude is cute, but aimed at the wrong person.

"That why you're hiding yours behind sunglasses?" He's not trying to purposely antagonize the kid, it's more for the tit-for-tat dialog they seemed to have established. That, and he saw the way the kid squinted in the beginning.

"I'm assuming you're a prisoner here, too."

"I got my reasons," Kobra snaps. He doesn't like it when his vulnerable points are being pointed out.

"Yeah. We all are." he mumbles, shrugs, lights another cigarette. "No point talking to the extras."

Touchy. Definitely like the hooligans at the county store near the Grey Gull. Dwight finds a simple solace in that and smiles softly at the other blonde.

"Extras? Why?"

"They're kinda dumb. Programmed by the hamsters," Kobra shrugs. "They just smile like drones."

"Good afternoon, and welcome, although it is difficult to welcome someone to this city in good faith," says a man's voice, British. He's recited something similar to this many times now for newcomers; it's smooth and automatic for him now.

"My name is Mayland Long. You are not in any immediate physical danger... well, except perhaps from that injury on your leg... but you, I'm afraid, trapped in this city with many other people."

Finally, someone that just said straight facts. Dwight nodded at his tablet, leaning against the railing, nodding slightly. "So there's a bunch of others here. Anyone from Haven, Maine?" Monotone voice, sure, but it's going to take more than an Asian with a British Accent to spook him. He'll freak out later. Hopefully in the privacy of his own home when he got back.

"Not that I know of, I am sorry to say." Long pauses to take a sip from a cup of tea.

"However... the simplest way to put this, and I apologise that I must sound like a lunatic, is that many of us are here from what might be called different... worlds, different realities. Different times, as well. It was 1983 for me before I was brought here.

"Has anyone explained to you how to leave the room? There is a terrible amount of information to impart, but that room is not the most pleasant place to hear it."

"You're right, that does sound crazy." But at least he apologized, and in a swanky British accent, nonetheless. Dwight would be charmed if he wasn't busy trying to concentrate on figuring out what to do.

"Most of 'em have just been yapping, to be perfectly honest, but I got out." But his eyebrows lift up, curious as to what the other was talking about. "But directions to someone with decent first-aid would be nice." Leg. Bear trap. Not cool.

"Oh-- oh, yes, your leg, good heavens, forgive me. You will want either Doctor Jones or Doctor Magnus, most likely--"

Long quickly explains the map function on the tablet, the small dots and their associated names.

"You can open a communication with them; if you have trouble contacting them I should be happy to assist."

Dwight's nod is small, but small actions mean a lot to the rather rugged man. He looks at his tablet again.

"Thanks, Long. It's appreciated." It really is, and he hopes he doesn't sound too gruff.

"Certainly. Do you have any other questions, or should I let you explore the city for now, mister.....?"

The word 'haven' conjured up images of beauty and serenity as surely as any magician. But there was no magic here. Just cold and heartless science. The sort that set Drusilla's teeth on edge and kept her imprisoned in this sickening city.

"You're in Taxon."

He didn't know what that meant, but he would. And she'd laugh to see his face.

He's gathering that some of the residents are good at explaining things and some aren't, but this isn't exactly either, and Dwight's face shows that he's slightly skeptical.

"Not exactly full of my hopes and dreams," He comments wryly.

"No one dreams here," Drusilla told him. It was leached away by the science and the imprisonment and, most of all, the despair. She'd been here for a long time. She'd seen more people give up than she'd seen fight their way home. "They forget how."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

01 | HOLO | INTRO POST | THE TROUBLED IS TROUBLED

[holo]

[holo]

[holo]

[holo]

[holo]

[holo]

[holo]

[holo]

[holo]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

[holo]

[holo]

[holo]

[holo]

[holo]

[holo]

[visual]

[visual]

[visual]

[holo]

[holo]

[holo]

[visual]

no subject

[holo]

[Visual]