taxonomites | Entries tagged with @ osten

Will?

[ She pushed herself up, or at least tried to; she was moving quicker than her body wanted to allow. She hissed as the pain pushed up through her, trying to think as she pushed herself up slower this time.

Will. SCUI.

Cave in. Except where she was certainly didn't feel like a cave floor. She hadn't been unconscious so there was no chance that she could have been brought back to the Sanctuary without knowing. That only left one option ]

Taxon? Bloody hell. [ Whatever had happened to her, the pain that she was holding back was evident in her voice.

She flicked her bedside light on, hand pressed to her right ribs as she slowly stood up to look outside, to make certain. Martha had mentioned that she'd gone home once but no time had passed here. The last thing she remembered from Taxon was the New Year's Eve Celebrations. She'd check the date later but... it had been over a century. Reaching the window Helen used her free hand to push the curtain aside. It was Taxon, and it hadn't changed ]

Oh... damn.

[ ooc; canon bump a goooo | until she turns the light on you can't see a thing ]

longaevus

She'd lost many people over the years; many friends, lovers. And family. She'd stopped allowing herself to get close to people long ago. After Ashley had died that distance had only increased.

It had been over a year since she'd lost her. A year that Helen had spent trying to move on. Trying to bury her pain.

A year that she now felt that she'd failed in. Taxon had brought her back... That wasn't true. Taxon had given her Ashley's ghost. The sight of her, although brief, brought to the surface everything that she'd fought. The Sanctuary reminded Helen of her already - the home that she'd made, the life that Ashley had brought to it. It was that reason that found Helen in the shooting range. Helen had taught Ashley a lot there, as much as she'd at first hated doing so but Ashley had been persistent. She'd inherited her stubbornness. The shooting range had been somewhere that Ashley came to unwind, or simply to refine her skills. And seeing her here after she'd entered, after shooting herself had seemed a little natural. Except it didn't help. Not like it had in the past. Not like it did for Ashley.

troublescleaner.livejournal.com

There's some crazy stuff going on. Hell, he was a lion. Seeing Lizzy, that's not really a new thing. It's painful, and it hurts, but Dwight's used to it. He's also used to getting things out the only way he knows how, and since there's no Troubles in Taxon (save for himself, of course), he's reached the only conclusion when it comes to him keeping a calm mind. Seclusion, a stuff drink (whiskey, courtesy of Helen), and the thought of doing something familiar.

He's switched the tablet on mid-drink and then lowers the glass, offering a familiar not-quite-smile as he sets the tumbler down and rubs at his chin, the scrape of hair audible.

"Any idea of winter hunting season permits, or anything of the like?" He asks. He's in a guest room of Old City Sanctuary, blonde hair pushed out of his face. "By that same vein--if I do grab anything, I'm not gonna be able to eat it all. Anyone want any?" It's a stupid offer--meat when you can just hatch it--and he shrugs.

"I make a mean venison stew, anyway." Right now he's just trying to come to terms with the fact that he was turned into a lion. Carry on, Taxon.

poisonousparty.livejournal.com

The visual flickers to Party, curled up in the back of his car, looking a cross between very confused, very embarrassed, and maybe a little scared. That's what you get when you push a witch into an oven, but he's not quite sure how to put that one in to words. He's used to killing people, but right now he's not exactly in Taxon's good books, never mind the fact that Mick sent a text and something tells him he should be sorrier than he actually feels about Drusilla.

"Uuuh..."

Yeah, that's a genius way to start. He clears his throat and tries again.

"So that glitch was a little low on the entertainment factor. With the killin' and the thees and thous."

Just don't mention you saw Gwen naked. Actually, don't mention Gwen at all. That's just a big no no.

"Fuck the aliens. Picking flowers is not my thing, thanks." And, in an odd tone: "Does everyone that die get put back together?"

longaevus

[ Dwight had contacted Helen earlier that morning. She'd been in her lab, looking through her research in an attempt to adapt her medicine for Mick. It was... going. Not well enough that she'd like but she was finding alterations that she could make. She'd been busy enough that she hadn't noticed her tablet for Dwight's arrival message - something which she regretted after receiving his message. Damn.

She'd prepped the infirmary and surgery just in case, unlocking the Sanctuary and making her way (in scrubs) down to the doors, extensive first aid kit in hand. Whatever had happened she'd ask later but first she needed to make sure that he didn't bleed out too much ]

[ ooc; backdated to november 12 ]

aintnoconvict

The broadcast begins with a crouching Glitch (a heavy leather apron over a workman's version of his typical ensemble) holding his hands out like he's just balanced the tablet precariously on...something. He nods in satisfaction and straightens up. "Okay, follow me, please."

And the tablet rises to keep him in view, pans around as he steps behind a cluttered workbench, and then pitches forward slightly to better frame him. All of this is accompanied by a faint mechanical whirring.

"Perfect! Thank you!" Glitch grins and applauds, then bobs his head again. "Right. Hello everyone, just demonstrating my new gadget: a VCFFRMATT." Pause for effect. "Voice Command Following Full Range Motion Automated Tablet Tripod, or...Matt for short. I think it'll be handy for when we mean to broadcast stuff but wanna keep our hands free." He is very clearly chuffed by this. "Oh, I know there's some new folks I haven't had a chance to meet yet so...I'm Glitch, and I've been here a long time and can answer a lot of your questions. Except for the why-are-we-here and how-do-we-get-home stuff, unfortunately."

Some of his inventorly glee fades and he sighs, then shrugs and moves on. "Or if you're interested in doohickeys or other mechanical things like Matt, you can stop by me and DG and Kaylee's shop in Osten - it's called Langwe and Gale's on the map and...well, I guess we're having a second anniversary sale. Buy one whatchamacallit, get a thingamabob of equal or lesser value free."

Hey, it never hurt to drum up business.

poisonousparty.livejournal.com

There's a fire piled high--Party's learned from the Bonfire Night, it seems, because the Kobra Kid and Party Poison are currently trying to stay warm. The trans-am is parked stupidly close to the fire as well, and Party's on top of it, one leg dangling from the ledge, the other propped up on the hood with the rest of him. there's an empty can of PowerPup dog food discarded by him, one that had rolled under the seat which resulted in Kobra finding it and the two mowing down on it. Currently? He has a sketchbook open and is checking things off with a rather expensive looking pencil.

...Just 'cause you get in trouble for it doesn't mean you stop stealing. It means you're more careful about it.

Life on Mars is playing thanks to Paul's iPod, and Party's scrunching his face up.

"Smecker? No. Dru? Hell no. Gwen's a yes. Never met Willow. Piper's a maybe with Martha, Fitz is a sort of yes. Kaylee's a go if I actually meet her face to face--trust me--Jenna, Beth and Riza are maybes. Never met Dwight, Caroline, Elena,or Katherine, which leaves..."

He's scratching stuff off the sketchbook now, before tapping his pencil to his head. A familiar yellow mask is around his neck and he has a brief coughing fit before continuing.

"Helen, James, Briar, Mr. Library, Wannabe Korse, your giant crush, and that zipper dude."

Awesome. Party doesn't even realize his tablet's turned on.

poisonousparty.livejournal.com

Kobra Kid and Party Poison are on the beach, wind whipping away at long black cloaks that look like they were once bits of felt for instruments and blankets from the Dodgy Jammer. Party fiddles with the tablet before setting it down on the sand, propped up against something, and a leather glove gives Kobra Kid the 'okay' sign.

The lighting is dim along the shore at night, but it's obvious that the two have a somewhat ramshackle facepaint. It's ash, streaked on their mouths and eyes, looking like skulls. Party wipes sand off of his hand after adjusting the tablet and speaks.

"So, if you guys are near Bronte Beach, you're gonna see this." He motions to the candles. There's a lot scattered on the ground, all burning brightly. 50, maybe 60 of various sizes and colours. He glances back over at Kobra, and then looks back at the tablet.

"We're from different worlds. Zone 4, Outer Zone, Earth, Space, whatever. I don't trust you guys as far as I can throw you and I'm sure it's vice-versa, but we have one thing in common."

He waves his hands in the direction of Kobra and the candles. "Come if you want. This time of year is for remembering. For honouring the dead. The missing." His voice is a little louder, now:

"For Jet Star, the best medic you could ever have. For Fun Ghoul, the techie who could always make you grin. For motherfucking Grace, and her tiny head but her big heart. For Dr. Death-Defying and his wisdom, for Show Pony and his cautious optimism."

He licks his lips.

"And for everyone you guys miss home, or who have gone from Taxon. Honour the dead. Honour the dead, honour the dead, honour the fucking dead."

It's a silent invitation to come if you want, or talk if you want to. It's a small, tiny sliver of whatever traditions were left in the dusty radiation of California, 2019. A silent olive branch from the morally dubious terrorists.

[OOC: Backtagged to November 1st. Join in if you want! Both Kobra Kid and Party will be tagging you, since they're both there.]

jamesholmes.livejournal.com

James Watson was many things, but whatever he was had changed in recent days apparently, if the number of Extra's on the receiving end of failed attempts at supposed doomsday weapons (if one could call glue and paint filled balloons as doomsday weapons) was anything to go by. Consequently? This meant he was once again, attempting such a plan again, with his tablet accidentally turned on nearby on the ground.

A mess of tubes, wires, balloons, and various other components can be seen being put together into some semblance of, well something. Just what could be anyone's guess, though a guess could be made that it was another attempt of his to take over the city, or something. And James? James is dressed rather oddly for himself, jeans, a t-shirt with a leather jacket on over that, and his hair is hardly as well kept as normal, paint and feathers are sticking out from it as if he failed to remove them after one of his previous mentioned balloon and paint incidents, though where the feathers came from is anyone's guess.

"This goes here and that," he muttered as he worked, loud enough to be audible to the tablet that he is rather oblivious to on the ground. "Damn it that hurt!" The more he talked the quicker one could realize he had dropped the recognizable accent of his for one more American sounding.

"And hey hey get out of my hair damn it!" And that came from him scratching his head with a glue covered hand and he now had his hand firmly stuck in his hair. Oh yes fear your failed overlord Taxon...

molecules

Piper has found her programmed possession, her club, P3.

She doesn't look particularly happy, or unhappy. She'd like to think she looks a bit contemplative.

She's sitting at the bar. The lights are off, since it's day and the club looks just as it always has during this time back home. It gives P3 a rather greyish look. Behind her, there's nothing to discern that she's in her club. The wall behind her is dark purple. The sign of P3 isn't on the wall behind her.

She's tapping her fingers against the table. Having inspected everything, she knows that this is her club. No demons, no funny little hamsters rolling around in their balls, no walls missing. Her club is here. And, honestly, it's freaking her out that it's here, one hundred and ten percent. There has to be a catch.

"So, these programmed possessions ... pop out of nowhere?" She raises her eyebrows a little, possibly in hope. She isn't sure how to take it. Do people find them for a purpose? Is there some sort of endgame to people discovering their possessions? What kind of crap is going to be hit at her for stumbling upon P3 today?

Why did it take her so long to find it?

"How much of it is tampered by the aliens?" Right to the point. Piper doesn't trust these aliens. Not one bit. "Curious minds figure it's time to know."

Current Mood: contemplative

longaevus

[ When the video comes on Helen's in her medical lab, clearing away some equipment. For those that may have seen her over the past week she's certainly looking like the Helen Magnus that you're more familiar with - confident and certain, and she feels good to be back ]

Glitches certainly have a different meaning to them after you've experienced one, the idea of them in any case.

[ Helen's not yet looking at her tablet, just speaking, focussing more on whatever she's doing ]

I find it more worrying that it can affect the city at a large. I'm a little curious as to if there are those that have been unaffected this time - selective glitching would certainly make the situations far more dangerous.

[ And Helen has the memories of the past week. Who she was... it certainly didn't feel like her. She may have been Helen Magnus, at least at one point, any way, but she didn't feel like her at all. Certain parts - the lighter elements, particularly her work had seemed nice. But the rest... Helen was certainly wondering what this meant

And now she's finally looking at the tablet, a little uncomfortable by the events and memories that she'd been left with ]

I'm curious now as to what glitches have previously occurred - individual or city wide, if you'd be comfortable discussing them, of course.

eventextras.livejournal.com

The idea, as it had been initially presented, was for citizens to experience what it was like to walk in someone else's shoes. In practice it became discovering what it was like to walk in their own shoes, if their taste in shoes were suddenly quite different from normal. The footwear still fit and was comfy, but the style was quite different.

For two weeks the prisoners of Taxon swapped their utilitarian Doc Martin's for trendy Louboutins (or vice versa) and all manner of shenanigans reigned.

[ OOC: Trying something new! this is basically a LOG POST where everyone can consolidate their opposite plot doings in one location for optimal organization. How it will work:
→ tag in with your character being affected by the opposite plot.
→ include the dates they will be affected!
→ others will tag you with reactions, and you can tag them!

You are of course free to make your own posts as well. Have fun! ]

freaks-myword.livejournal.com

You know that nagging feeling that there's something you have to do? It's not like forgetting to turn the stove off or lock the door before you leave the house. It sucks a little less. It's like having a to-do list sitting on the kitchen table, and every time you walk through the room, you get a glimpse of that one little last item. Maybe tomorrow. Yeah, I'll do it tomorrow. And tomorrow turns into next Friday, and Friday turns into a new year resolution.

Talk to Party. She hadn't spoken with him much since his little extra bombing spree or his stint in jail. He probably wasn't too thrilled about her leaving him in the dust, but if she were to go back, she'd . . . probably do the same thing. She'd managed to go a couple decades without getting caught, and she wasn't about to start now. Maybe she'd have to give him a few pointers about doing the crime and not doing the time.

When she'd finally run out of excuses to avoid him, she sought him out on the tablet and made her away across the city. She could have called him, sure, but what fun would that be? So she dressed in black spandex, braided her hair down her back, and tracked him down to the center of the Taxon Forest. Thankfully, the trek was less Blair Witch than she thought, although she was relieved when she saw the back of his red-headed self.

He would be gathering fresh food in the dead of night. Probably thought he'd fly under the radar. His feet made rustling noises on the ground and she occasionally saw his eyes flash this way and that--likely for any followers. Gwen felt that slight rush of excitement--kind of what she felt before taking out an armed guard or taking that first step into freedom after stealing whatever juicy prize she'd been hired to snag--and made her way up a nearby tree just so she was almost right above him. She strapped herself in, tied the rope around the branch, and when Party Poison approached, she hung upside down and lowered herself like a spider in the darkness.

"Hey there, stranger. Long time, no chat."

Damn, she was good.

goodluck-kobra.livejournal.com

Kobra was still skeptical about this, but for some reason he wanted to trust James. Maybe because he reminded him a little of Jet Star. The entire calm and responsible and reasonable thing, maybe. After he had picked the lock Party and him had made a quick escape and Kobra had gotten his jacket back from the roof. He felt a little better just for wearing it. But he still couldn't sleep and everything seemed to press down on his chest. The smoke hadn't been too good for his already abused lungs.

He was restless and knowing that he couldn't escape was driving Kobra mad, like a tiger pacing in a cage. at least in the desert he knew that he could drive, drive until he reached the end of the world if he wanted to. He'd wandered around the city for a while until he felt ready to fall asleep in a doorway, which wouldn't really do him any good, so he got out the tablet and navigated to the place James had given him the coordinates for.

It looked....exceptionally weird and Kobra got even more apprehensive. Maybe coming here hadn't been a good idea, but if the guy had a piano...well. Kobra was easily bribed with those kinds of things in addition to his general disregard for his own safety. Squinting behind his sunglasses he looked up at the building and wrinkled his nose before shrugging and making for the front door, only feeling a tiny bit awkward as he knocked. He hadn't knocked on doors in ages, and this was more a vague memory from his time in the city than actual, ingrained manners. In the desert you got out your gun and kicked doors out of the way, that's how you entered a building. Kobra had a feeling that the citizens here wouldn't appreciate it and after Party's and his recent stunt they'd better lay low for a little while.

a-pretty-fire.livejournal.com

Drusilla rarely dreamed for the sake of dreaming. Though the future could be pleasant enough, the fragments that crept into her head while she slept were generally too disjointed to be genuinely enjoyable. Putting the pieces together took effort and keeping things secret ... well, that was enough to tire anyone. Even her.

She missed them when they weren't there, though. In fact, waking up to find that her head was as empty as her bed - no pretty boys or delicate girls to devour for breakfast, no dolls to lavish with attention, no companion to share her darkest heart with - was enough to send a shiver up her spine. She didn't like it.

Where had she gone? She couldn't remember leaving the city, but, at the same time, knew that she must have been somewhere else.

If the hamsters had invited her to a party, they should have let her keep the favours.

The vampire stretched, slipping out of the tangled silk sheets and walking to the window. It was night. Cool and soft and false. Some things would never change.

She picked up her tablet. That hadn't changed, either. She didn't like technology, but at least familiar technology could be watched. She knew how to make sure that it didn't bite her when her back was turned.

"I hope someone remembered to tend Miss Edith," she said, by way of greeting.

She hoped they'd missed her.

tothelightshown.livejournal.com

It was late in evening when DG returned to Taxon after three weeks of something far stranger than sleep. The moon that should have been shining above her was obscured by thick cloud and she stepped out of the deserted work shop into a wall of snow.

Pausing to pull her collar up against the bitter cold, DG wondered exactly how long she'd been gone. The last thing she remembered was the warmth of summer. There had been sunshine and clear skies and a party on the beach and ...

"Oh my god," she breathed, stopping dead in her tracks, "Glitch."

She remembered their last conversation. How could she forget it? The hamsters had given him the rest of his brain back. Not as part of one of their games, but as a gift that would last.

Instead of walking straight to the Northern Island as she'd intended, DG ducked into the relative - but still rather meagre - shelter of the nearest large building, pulling out her tablet with icy fingers. She was frequently impatient and her stasis hadn't changed that. She needed to know how he was now.

"Glitch? Glitch, it's DG. I'm ... I'm back." Back from wherever she'd actually been. "Please tell me you remember me?"

She didn't know how long that she'd been gone, only that it had been a long time. Months at the least. What had she missed? What had changed?

DG closed her eyes, pressing the palm of her free hand over her eyes in a gesture of understandable exasperation.

"You stopped being twisted a long time ago, flea bags," she added a moment later, addressing the hamsters, "This is just ridiculous."

comprehender.livejournal.com

It's hot. Really really hot, and River isn't used to it in the slightest. Wasn't it snowing a few days ago? Does it matter?

Even prone to a certain level of sleep paranoia (thanks, alien abduction), she's been catching naps during the hottest parts of the day if only because it's too hot to do much of anything else. She did not expect to wake up from one of these naps in a cushy bed with her tablet on.

In a cushy bed with a lukewarm person in it next to her.

She turns, slow and tense, to see if she's somehow woken up to a new adventure in dead bodies when she suddenly recognizes who it is.

What was panic a few moments ago is now pure, unadulterated frustration.

"You have got to be kidding me." A beat passes with a sigh and the jingling of an inspected chain. "At least we aren't getting electrocuted."

The sound of that particular voice snaps him into immediate consciousness, and Angel looks over at the girl lying next to him, then down at the chain linking their wrists.

"...they should've killed that hamster."

River just rolls her eyes. And so it begins.

imperial-long.livejournal.com

His lunch hour was one of the things Mayland Long liked about his new 'job' at the library. Sometimes he walked to try a new restaurant, and that was pleasant in its own way, but the tram offered a brief ride to almost anywhere in the city, a segue of comfortable interlude, during which he invariably lost track of whatever he was ostensibly reading and found himself staring at the window, past his reflection (which was once more back to normal) and looking out at the strange prison in which he had found himself.

( It seemed his life was fated to be nothing but imprisonments... )

tinynarcissist.livejournal.com

The video feed shows Adrian, just around dusk, sitting on the step of a building. He has a bicycle leaned next to him, and a solemn look on his face. He has a few things he needs to say to people.

“Miss Summers, Miss Stackhouse, I need to say thank you for your help.

Mr. Luthor, I took a couple of things out of that man’s room, I hope it’s okay. I’m sure he can replace them when he comes back.

Mr. Long, I enjoyed our conversation. I’m going to read more on physics and energy when I get home. I hope you figure out how everything works here.

Miss Lehane, you shouldn’t give up. Two years is a really long time, but it’s not forever.”

[ooc: There’ll be a thread below for Watchbabies escape shenanigans, please wait until that’s posted before replying. That thread is private, otherwise this post is open for voice/visual replies, even if you’re not on the list of people he addressed. This will be tiny!Adrian's last post. :( ]

a-pretty-fire.livejournal.com

While Drusilla slept on the silk sheets that Angel had promised her, the figure reflected in her window pane - a girl who was both like and unlike the vampire - said her prayers.

Her lips barely moved as she murmured her supplications up to heaven. They were secrets, her prayers. Secrets that weren't for the ears of anyone but the Lord. (It was strange, wasn't it? The girl gave her heart and her trust to the same deity who had, in another life, abandoned her to the clutches of the devil.) The rosary clutched in her pale hand was worn with use and with piety.

The Drusilla on the bed wore red. In the right light, it looked as if she was a corpse in a pool of fresh blood, stark against the snowy sheets.

The Drusilla in the glass wore a coarse nun's habit. In any light, she glowed with virtue.

It was the life that she could have lived. The person that she could have been. She rarely dreamed of such things - the pixies whispered of the future, not the futures that had never been able to come to pass - and, when the sudden sharpness of the reflection pierced her head, Drusilla woke with a start. For a moment, she gazed - wide eyed and unblinking - at the window.

"No."

She snatched up the lamp that stood on the table next to her new bed, throwing it without hesitation. The glass shattered and the girl disappeared before she'd had a chance to ask for forgiveness for the sins that her other self had committed.

"I'm not sorry," she snarled, addressing the broken window and the shadow that had stood there, "I'm not sorry."