taxonomites | Entries tagged with @ speares

virtued.livejournal.com

The sheets were soft; much softer than those on his own bed or anything he had access to on Serenity. They weren't the fine silks that Katherine's bed was lined with, either. Yet, the feel of them against his skin was familiar to him somehow, and in the bleariness of morning, Stefan couldn't quite place it.

He stirred, rolling over instinctively towards the warm body on the other side of the bed. Still sleepy-eyed, he smiled at her. "Good morning."

Elena stirred at the familiar words and voice, putting her hand on her forehead to push the hair that had fallen in her face as she'd slept out of her face. Blinking as things came into focus, she turned to the other body occupying her bed and smiled, pleased to see him. "Morning."

Stefan held that smile for a moment longer until reality set in and who he was in bed with clicked. His eyes widened. "Elena."

Elena's eyebrows knit together in confusion for a moment, wondering why he was surprised, and then everything came back to her in a split second and she sat upright with a start, eyes going wide and a hand clapping over her mouth.

"Stefan," she said breathlessly once she removed her hand. "What are you -- what are we -- what happened? Do you remember?"

He sat up, too. "No." Last he could recall, he was crawling into his own bed at the boarding house. He couldn't remember how he even got to Elena's, let alone what they did or did not do. "Do you?"

"No," she replied with a shake of her head, absently feeling around to make sure her clothes were still on. Not that she didn't trust Stefan and not that they weren't sleeping together anyway, but she didn't like that she couldn't remember it if it had happened. "Just going to bed last night."

Similarly, Stefan was lifting up the covers with and peering under the sheets to make sure he still had pants on. Check. Thank God.

He slid out of the covers and stood-- Or he tried to, but the silver chain that had thus far gone unnoticed pulled taught between them, catching him off guard. Stefan stumbled and fell awkwardly over the side of the bed.

Elena was concentrating on not panicking when she suddenly found herself jerked violently to her side, landing face-down on her bed as Stefan fell over the side. "What the--" And then she saw it -- the chain glinting in the early morning light that connected them by the wrists.

The chain wasn't what Stefan's eyes were on. "Elena..." They were on the bright red recording light on the tablet.

It recorded a few more seconds of footage, then cut off the feed.

saucyspinster.livejournal.com

Mattie awoke with the sun as she always does, washed and dressed, the empty sleeve of her left arm pinned up neatly, read her Bible and checked the contents of her larder. Now it's time for cooking breakfast (there's an art to doing it one-handed that she mastered years ago, and carries the burns to prove it), and only now as she sets the table does she realize that the display of the tablet is lit and has probably been broadcasting her movements around the kitchen. She sets a bowl of eggs and then a platter of ham and fried potatoes on the table, and calls out 'Breakfast!' to the air. Then turns to the tablet and considers it with pursed lips.

"I do not hold with eavesdroppers but since I know it is not always a person's choice in this city, when he is made privy to the business of another, so I will make an exception. There is a good breakfast here, for anyone who has need of it."

[Location open immediately to tiny!Don and later to any takers on the breakfast invitation, everyone else visual or voice as you like. For those unfamiliar with adult!Mattie, she's around 40, missing the lower part of her left arm, and sterner than stern.]

secretshame

In all honesty, Jenna is glad to be back home. Well, as close to home as Taxon can ever get. Since the whole big reveal happened to Jenna and her meeting with Katherine in the Sanctuary, Jenna's been trying to keep as close an eye on Elena as she can. Even so, she can't be there all the time and she's been absent for a lot of things that have happened in the Sanctuary. Still, once they returned to the house, she kept up the appearance of a strong adult. It's her turn to be there for Elena after what happened to her niece.

The idea that Elena could have died on the floor haunts Jenna's thoughts. This is what's driven her out of bed so early recently and kept her up so late tonight. Jenna knows Elena's probably missing Stefan, too, and that whole mess is on her mind as well. Times like this, Jenna wishes more than anything that Ric was there with her. She could use his strength right now.

Sighing to herself, she pulls up a chair at the island in the kitchen and flips on her tablet. Those who know her are free to notice the distinctly exhausted look on her face and the fact that she's minus a wine glass of any kind. Responsibility. Yes. Jenna runs a hand through her hair before speaking.

"At least we're all back in the places we're used to. I hope." Unless the aliens have changed something else that she's not aware of. "Did anyone else get a location change, too? And how is everyone? I feel like I've been living in a bubble for the last few weeks."

Especially the latest one. Not much has gotten through to her since she found Elena on the floor of the Sanctuary. She's been too worried. For now, though, she'll hang out in the kitchen until she gets sleepy... at around 3 or 4 in the morning. Anyone who wants to keep her company on the tablets or in person is welcome.

rereremembered.livejournal.com

Fitz took some time surveying his pub's new neighborhood. It was now sharing a square with a Roman villa, a supicious looking apothecary, a yurt, and a dance studio which constantly blared music he vaguely understood to be from "the 80s." At least the parade of fit Extra ladies in leotards and leg warmers provided some decent scenery.

He did a quick inspection of the place, flipped the sign to "open," and checked the tablet for folks to invite to the grand re-opening. Which was when he noted the absence of a certain fiesty ginger. Fitz sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to sort his mix of emotions: glad that she was out of Taxon, saddened because he knew the sort of Doctor-related chaos she was probably up to her neck in again, and more than a touch jealous that he still wasn't back with his Doctor.

He sat himself on the edge of the stage and turned on teh vocie function. "Ladies and gentlemen, it's my duty to inform you that Mrs. Amy Pond has left the city. Drinks are on the house today in her honor."

Aftr the transmission he set the tablet aside and picked up his guitar to play one of his old songs, a six-note meolody as chanegable and unfinished as the man he wrote it for all those years ago. The tablet conveninetly clicked on again as he began to sing:

"Sail on, sailor, sail on, still listening for your siren song; tomorrow is your only home..."

ooc: the song is canon (The Year of Intelligent Tigers) and was indeed written for the Doctor. right.

whoneedsrules.livejournal.com

Katherine tosses aside the book she’d been reading. Now what? She’s out of things to amuse herself with and boredom is creeping in. At least talking is an option once more, even if English doesn't seem to be – not for everyone, that is. Katherine still keeps defaulting to her native Bulgarian, but stubbornly, she fights the impulse and forces herself to stick to French instead. But after several days it's starting to take a toll and Katherine feels slightly on edge. The recent inebriated foolery over the tablets certainly hasn't helped; first Damon, then Rose? Careless idiots. Katherine sincerely hopes Elena's recently arrived aunt Jenna isn't the type to share all when drunk. She seems like the type to tip the cup every now and then. At least Her Blondeness hasn’t been causing any inconveniences so far. Just because Katherine had promised Stefan to leave Caroline (as well as Jenna) alone doesn't mean the older vampire isn't keeping a surreptitious eye on things. That's just how she operates.

Briefly, Katherine contemplates contacting Stefan, but decides against it a moment later. A clingy, needy girlfriend she is not. She is Katherine Pierce, not Caroline Forbes! She’d risk the aggravating UN summit reenactment going on outside and find something to occupy herself with. If nothing else, she could go buy a new coffee table since the previous one… got broken. Rifling through her wardrobe for the perfect pair of heels, Katherine reaches for a shoebox stored on the topmost shelf, her efforts causing something small and light to fall down and narrowly miss hitting her.

Her tablet, sitting on the vanity half-obscured by perfume bottles and lotion tubes, chooses to turn itself on at this moment.

"Po dyavolite!" she curses in Bulgarian, surprise overriding her resolve not to speak the language. The small object clatters onto the floor, skittering a few feet away before coming to a stop. For a second, Katherine just stares at the semi-translucent stone sitting unobtrusively on the floor. The moonstone. She'd forgotten she'd stashed the thing up there.

Snapping out of her surprise, Katherine steps over and picks the offending object up, frowning as she turns the milky stone around in her fingers. Others brought buildings and items that actually mattered to them, she'd brought the cursed rock that her human blood had almost been spilled all over, once upon a time. Because she doesn't have anything else, and that’s a distinctly depressing thought. Still, she'll take continuous running and hiding over death. That’s why she doesn’t mind Taxon so much, because there is no need to keep looking over her shoulder here. But the stone is an abrupt reminder that anyone – including the one she ran from, Klaus – could show up here one fine day, that this peace wasn’t permanent. She suddenly feels like flushing the stone down the toilet, smirking as she pictures the look on Klaus’ face at that.

Her gaze shifts to the tablet and its blinking red light, curling her fingers around the stone and stepping over to the device.

"Assez spectacle gratuit pour aujourd'hui," she remarks pleasantly in French and switches the feed off. To herself, she mutters irately, "J'ai besoin d'apprendre à garder cette chose hors de la vue à tout moment."

( translation | damn it! / enough free show for today / i need to learn to keep that thing out of sight at all times. )

eventextras.livejournal.com

At around noon, the silence was broken. The Extras resumed their idle nonsense chatter, and any citizen checking their tablet would note that voice and video transmission are available again. After a little experimentation they will also realize they have their voices back.

Sort of.

Citizens who know multiple languages will now find themselves speaking their non-English tongue(s), and will only be able to break from this with excessive concentration. Downside: still lots of charades going on. Upside: many people will learn to swear in a more multilingual manner.

In three days' time the programming bugs will get worked out and everyone will have full control over their language use. In the meantime, enjoy the renewed vocalization!

[ooc: phase two of the glitch begins now! ]

ironfright.livejournal.com

This has been Puck's first experience with a city-wide incident, and to say the least he's not pleased at all. That, combined with a few less-than-stellar conversations with some other people prior to the forced muteness, has left him exceedingly restless and wanting to get out of the Sanctuary for a while. So with his guitar in its soft case over his shoulder, he's found his way to the Pedestrian Plaza where he can sit and watch the other soundless people mill about and try to conduct their business without voices.

selfmadman

It's an Olympic-size pool, water stretching on clear as glass for fifty meters—far enough, almost, to get lost swimming a lap. Gutters gouged into the sides slurp down the overflow; a faint, nearly subliminal buzz hangs in the muggy air. He plunges in and hacks his way down the lane, arms out of practice, lungs burning, legs kicking up a choppy wake. Sound recedes. He's robbed only of his gasps for air, the sporadic eruptions of coughing when he reaches a wall.

He fights through the first few laps and settles into a rhythm, keeping pace with the Extra a lane over until he lags behind (they never pull ahead—their strokes graceful or tortured, the Extras move implacably through the water). Thoughts come easier as he swims, easier and more fully formed than the shards he's usually tweezing out.

He flips onto his back and drifts, weightless.

When he climbs out it feels like he's still underwater. His eyes sting with chlorine. He towels off in the locker room, buttons his shirt and fastens his belt and straps his watch to his wrist. He taps out a message while slouched against the wall:

How have you been keeping busy?

eventextras.livejournal.com

Somewhere in Wilde there is a flower shop. Every day at noon an Extra man enters this shop, picks up a bouquet of red roses and has the following conversation with the Extra clerk:

“I would like to buy these roses.”

“Are they for your girlfriend?”

“Yes, I hope she’ll like them.”

The transaction takes place, and the Extras go about their programmed business. On this particular day, however, there is a difference in the discussion as new programming is implemented:

“I would like to buy these krzfup.”

“Prl fkjn segknm gogfaf?”

“Aekmn goksn sdokng.”

This happens now throughout the city, language degenerating into nonsense babble even as Extras continue on as if they don’t even notice it. After five minutes of incomprehensibility it’s abruptly cut off and the city is consumed by silence. Not a word or a whisper or a peep is to be heard.

As if on cue, the tablets now only support text transmissions, with any attempts at visual, voice, or holo leading right back to the little tablet typing screen with cursor blinking in anticipation.

Enjoy the silence, Taxon. You’ll have a lot of it to go around.

[ ooc: And so begins the language glitch! Remember, five minutes of gibberish followed by everyone being completely unable to speak. We'll be making another post when the next part of the glitch begins, and if you have and questions or concerns don't hesitate to let us know! ]

imperial-long.livejournal.com

For a moment the transmission shows a room in the clutter of moving, boxes packed and half-packed, bookshelves emptied and looking sad and forlorn. Then Long manages to get the camera pointed accurately, and offers Taxon a smile and a dip of his head. He's holding a notebook with pages of writing, passages scribbled out, corrected, a few crumpled-up sheets lying on the table near him.

"Hello, Taxon; to both those of you I know and those of you I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting. Mayland Long here; I've been spending the last few days attempting to cobble together a translation of those fascinating broadcasts we've been getting."

He cleared his throat and looked from the tablet to his notebook. "If it is of interest to anyone, here is what I have so far..." ( dien's usual TL;DR )

"If anybody else has more insight or a different take on the transmissions, I should love to discuss it," Long said, and put down his notebook. He laced his hands, then offered the camera a diffident smile.

"On a more mundane note, would anybody care to assist me with some tedious hauling of boxes across city? And some packing as well? I have most of it done, but a few books and sundries could still be packed. I don't suppose anyone has access to a pick-up truck... I would offer to pay anyone who helps, but I am afraid I don't know how to transfer credits between individuals. Instead I will simply have to be in your debt.

"Miss Rosenberg, if you could come by and assist, as we agreed? Thank you."

Current Mood: productive

virtued.livejournal.com

It was becoming increasingly difficult to avoid Damon. How he managed to dodge his brother successfully for even a week is beyond him, but he's tired of ducking out of the house whenever he sees that dot on the map approach, tired of feeling like an intruder in his own home. Is that what he's become, someone who's so out of the loop he's supposed to be in that he's overstepping new boundaries that have been put into place to compensate for his actions? What started out as a simple mind game has quickly progressed into something much more that's spinning rapidly out of control.

How ironic is it that the one place he can find solace is the one place he really doesn't want to be? Seated on the couch in Katherine's hotel room, Stefan drops his face into his hands. He's in too deep and he knows it. Problem is, he's at a loss for how to dig himself out without everything coming undone, but doesn't know how much longer he can keep this up.

Lifting his head up, he spots the tablet he discarded on the coffee table before him recording, the red blight blinking at him almost mockingly. He scoffs at it irritably, shaking his head. "Of course," he says. "You always seem to come on during moments like these, as if you have some sort of built in sensor that alerts you to the perfect moment to invade someone's privacy."

Uncharacteristically, Stefan swats at the tablet, sending it flying across the room. When it lands and the video refocuses, it catches the eternal teenager slumping back against the couch with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl set into his features.

aintnoconvict

When the haphazardly tossed tablet skittered across the work table and clicked on, it broadcast a scene of Invention In Progress:

Glitch was staring at an illuminated lightbulb and listening to the soft hum of the generator prototype he was working on. All appeared stable and he scooted forward in his chair, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Then the steady hum wavered, became a whine, dropped to a growl, then cut out completely as the lightbulb flickered and extinguished. With a sigh of frustration Glitch sat back and clicked his stopwatch off.

"Two minutes, nineteen seconds. Good effort but...harmonic alignment seven has-" Oh he hated to call anything a failure. "...done its best and and would be excellent if we need to power anything for a little over two minutes."

Satisfied with that assessment, he nodded jerkily to himself and logged the results in the project's file.

tiberiuskirk.livejournal.com

Like many others in the city, Kirk had heard the transmission, too. He hadn't expected the antique radio (it was antique to him) he'd purchased at the mall to do more than decorate his desk and had been startled to hear what had come out of it. Now, he was hard at work on attempting to trace the signal. Give that it wasn't on the usual frequencies that he had the ship's computer programmed to keep an eye on, he was having to do some adjusting. The radio signals of Earth's past were obsolete, weak-- but he could get it work. It just required a few calculations.

The tablet turns on to show him doing precicely that. He circles one equation with the stylus and drags it up to sit next another, tapping the space the equation used to be twice to bring up schematics for the ship's sensors. The tweaking of the systems wasn't what was bothering him. It was the fact that he hadn't understood a word of what had been said. He was fluent in a multitude of languages, including those spoken on Earth and most major languages of the Federation. He'd used trying to get into Uhura's pants as an excuse to take that many linguistics classes and be part of the linguistics club, but the truth was he liked languages-- nevermind being able to speak an alien tongue or two (or twelve) made a ship's captain look more self-sufficient and made him less reliant on his translators during negotiations and confrontations.

Noticing the tablet, he set the stylus down and grabbed it instead. "Tell me, Taxon," he said directly to the screen, "did any of you understand what the radio transmission said?"

tothelightshown.livejournal.com

It was difficult to tell if Glitch had failed to mention his birthday because he had forgotten about it or because he simply didn't consider it important. Whatever the reason, DG had seized on a throwaway comment made several weeks ago and used it as an excuse to plan a surprise birthday party. He deserved it and, after the last few months, the people of Taxon needed it. Things had been comparatively quiet since the end of the zombie invasion, but that didn't mean that any of them had actually relaxed. They didn't dare. They simply waited, tensed and wary, watching the shadows for a sign of the next disaster.

Even in a prison, that was no way to live.

DG had ended up doing most of the work herself - she hadn't been particularly fond of Extras to begin with and, after the zombie attack, the last thing she wanted was to let them into her home - but it would be worth it. At least she'd managed to persuade Cain to assist. She left him blowing up balloons in the Great Hall while she issued the invitation.

(Filtered from Glitch himself, of course. A party was always good, but a surprise party would be even better. Not that she'd ever had one. She liked the theory, that was all.)

"Hey," she said, giving the tablet a bright grin, "I don't think Glitch has mentioned it, but it's actually his birthday today. We're having a surprise party for him at the Northern Island this evening. You're all welcome, as long as you don't tell him about it."

It was probably a little short notice, but Taxon was a quiet city when it wasn't being invaded. There wasn't much for people to do and she knew that a lot of people - particularly friends of Glitch - would make it.

When the first few guests started to arrive, she greeted them warmly before slipping out to send a message to the man himself.

"Glitch? Could you come back to the Northern Island? It's important."

aintnoconvict

Behold, Taxon, possibly the most ridiculous thing ever seen on the tablets: Glitch, bathed in the intense gleam of a rainbow, standing beside a pot of gold.

"Look what I found!" he said, all excitement and grinning and pointing. "It just...behind the shop, there's this rainbow and it looks like it goes--" He gestured in an arc to indicate some great distance across the sky. "B-but here at the end there's gold."

Then Glitch remembered he was in the city of horrors and frowned, giving the pot of gold a skeptical look. "Okay, so...what does it mean?"

ooc - yes, crack. also here be aliens.

thenormalsquint

Sweetie, I love you, but no. You can't leave the chapter off at that.

[It's just another day in the Montenegro-Brennan household. There's the clickity-clack of Brennan at her trusty computer, the lazy voice of Angela throwing in her well-meaning opinions, and the sound of... grunting?]

What do you mean, Angela? I personally fail to see anything wrong with it. [As usual, Brennan sounds completely mystified.]

Everything is wrong with it. Bren, Andy and Kathy are alone. In her apartment. Late at night. Normal people don't talk about bones. They talk about sex. And then do it. [A pause and then Angela laughs.] Or they talk about boners and then do it. Either way, drop the science and add some passion. Hot, screaming, your-clothes-are-in-the-way-so-I'll-just-rip-them-off passion.

What evidence do you have to support such a hypothesis? Because it's clearly incorrect. I am often alone with Booth in my apartment late at night and we usually talk strictly about the cases only without ever having engaged in sexual intercourse. [Brennan pauses, before adding in a somewhat suspicious tone of voice:] Are you intoxicated, Angela?

[For a moment, there's silence on Angela's part as she considers the possibility that the glass of wine that's keeping her company might have her brain a little screwed up.]

Maybe? More horny than drunk actually, but that doesn't matter. What does matter is that I have a fantastic move for Andy to pull on Kathy. Remember that thing I told you Hodgins did to me once that had the neighbors calling the police? Instant orgasm for Kathy, instant bestseller for you.

[There are some more grunting and strange scraping sounds that are followed by a quiet growl, the noise drowning out the beginning of Brennan's response.] --sure if I'm entirely comfortable using a sexual maneuver that Hodgins obviously favors in my novel. Isn't exposing something so personal a little... underhanded?

[Suddenly, the feed turns from audio to visual to audio and back to visual again. Through the smeared view is Angela draped over the arm of the couch, legs splayed open in an obvious interpretation of this so-called epic move with Brennan sitting across from her.]

Underhanded, overhanded, who cares? Hodgins will totally take it as an ego stroke. He likes that sort of-- [Her legs drop down to the couch cushions as Angela pushes herself up into a sitting position, a suspicious look on her face.] Sweetie, did you give Tuesday something to eat?

No. [Brennan looks up from the laptop screen, glancing at Angela before turning her head towards the noises coming from the floor-level somewhere. Staring towards the tablet that is recording all of this, Brennan states the obvious as she is wont to do.] Your dog is eating the tablet. Is that yours or mine?

[The dog in question lets the tablet fall to the ground with a clatter, switching the feed back to audio, with all her glorious puppy panting aimed right into the mic. How... cute.]

Mine, I think. [A pause and then the soft thump of Angela flopping back onto the sofa.] Let her have it. If we're lucky, she'll break yours too.

[After a moment of nothing more than puppy panting, Brennan speaks up decisively.] Agreed.

werealegend.livejournal.com

When Angelus awoke that morning, he expected to find himself staring at leaky pipes and half-hidden support beams, stuck in that cage ironically constructed for his own containment by himself. Instead, he was trapped beneath nothing more than a soft sheet with the white of a clean ceiling staring back at him. It was a few minutes before everything came rushing back and the gap between River taking him down and him waking up in his lighter side's room was filled in.

He grinned-- and then he laughed. Dark and loud, like this twist of fate was the most hilarious thing he'd ever encountered in the centuries he'd existed. It was part amusement, part insanity, as no-one ever said Angelus, soul or no soul, was sound of mind. Souled, he was just a bit better at keeping that all reigned in. Unsouled, he didn't give a rat's ass about whether or not he was holding any of that in unless he was playing some sort of part to make the ending of one of his schemes all the more better.

Which gave him pause.

The last time he was out and about, he'd wasted no time in making his presence known. He'd delighted in the panic and chaos that had set in amongst the people from his world, thrilled when the terror bled into other groups. While the bulk of his interest laid with Buffy and her friends, he'd also enjoyed screwing with the other inhabitants. Humans were food, and contrary to what your mother told you, sometimes food is meant to be played with. No need to exclude the masses from their fair share of torment.

...which route would he choose this time?

Selecting his answer, Angelus rose from the bed and dressed in his soulboy best, digging the tablet out from the trunk in the closet where he kept it hidden during the night to prevent any unwanted accidental broadcasts.

Seems our alien captors could use a lesson or two in cross cultural sensitivity.

( ooc | angelus glitch is a go! the planning post is over yonder. location stuff is off-screen, unrecorded. text is displayed to the network. )

tiberiuskirk.livejournal.com

Kirk, completely unaware of the fact that the captive victims of the zombie attacks would be returned some time after the fact, hovered over a metalic crate of sorts, full of the few objects that belonged to Spock during his time here in Taxon. His time before he fell victim to the fatal bite of a zombie, something Kirk was currently beating himself up over, for he had himself convinced that if he'd been fast enough-- What use was there, dwelling over the past? His experiences with Nero and Ambassador Spock taught him that changing the past was detrimental to the future. Maybe this was just meant to be. Time wasn't meant to be tampered with, after all. If the afore mentioned experiences hadn't drilled that into his skull, debriefings by Temporal Investigations after the fact definitely did.

Reaching into the box, Kirk pulled out the Vulcan lute that Spock had brought with him from home. He took the object still being here and not vanished, as it would have if Spock had simply been returned home, as a sign that the man was really dead and not coming back. God, he felt bad for Sarek. What was he going to tell the elder Vulcan, if they ever found a way out of this place? 'Sorry, your last living relative was bit by a zombie' sounded ridiculous, even to his ears.

His fist tightened around the lute's edge. The sound of this thing drove him up a wall when Spock would practice with it, and he turned, raising it up as if to throw it across the room--

"No," he told himself, unaware of the tablet catching all this. He dropped it back into the crate. "Stupid harp."

( ooc | lute used with permission from beth! backdated to just before the return of the zombie victims. )

whoneedsrules.livejournal.com

The feed turns on at a slight angle, providing visual of Katherine slamming the door to her hotel room shut and striding over to a stout cherrywood credenza in hurried movements. Producing a heavy tumbler from the drawer along with a half-empty bottle of amber liquor, she tears out the cork and pours at least three fingers worth into the glass. The bottle set aside, she takes a long pull of the liquid and grimaces slightly at the burn. For all intents and purposes, Katherine is supposed to be Elena's twin sister whilst in Taxon, a teenager. Teenagers aren't supposed to guzzle whiskey like a seasoned sailor but Katherine is too distressed to uphold the charade in the privacy of her room nor does she remember to check the whereabouts of her tablet, needing a stiff drink above anything else right now.

Turning and leaning back against the credenza, the vampire runs her free hand across her face tiredly, laying her palm against her forehead. Katherine may have smirked and teased her sire as if Rose's arrival into Taxon was no big deal, but the truth is that Katherine is... concerned. Not overly so. But slightly. It's obvious Rose still harbors a grudge against her for tricking her into turning Katherine back in 1492, blames her for getting into trouble with the Originals. Katherine remembers all too well how Rose tried to stake her mere moments after her transformation. As if Katherine didn't already have Lexi to deal with on that score.

Her grip on the tumbler turns white-knuckled, the faintest sound of cracking glass audible only to those with enhanced hearing. This was not what Katherine had planned for. She hates it when things aren't going her way. It makes her so damn angry.

Tossing back the remaining alcohol in the tumbler, Katherine sneers and hurls the empty glass across the room as her temper flares; it explodes upon impact against the opposite wall, shattering into hundreds of tiny shards that tinkle down on the floors. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, the tension in Katherine's shoulders relaxes a bit. That made her feel slightly better. Good for her it was only a glass and nothing larger and heavier instead, as the tablet is recording this.

taxonmods

The fake sun is high in the projected sky over Taxon today, and things are beginning to change.

Street by street, building by building, things are snapping back to normal in a great wave of progress. Bodies disappear completely as the moves through the city. When the last building fades back into its former glory, the power throughout the city snaps back on with a gentle thud and low hum of electricity.

Half an hour later, all over the city, the Extras reappear as if they had never left. They walk to their simple jobs, perform their tasks, chatter amongst themselves in their background nothing language. No sign of the plague is in them or their behavior.

Those who had been lost in the plague are back, too, crowded together in the arrival room at the Sanctuary, bright and new as if they'd never even been scratched even if they remember.

Once that's all finished, the citizens get a special broadcast as an exceptionally handsome man appears on the tablets. He is standing in a bathroom, dressed in nothing but the white towel wrapped securely around his hips and a beguiling smile. When he speaks, his voice is deep, warm, and soothing.

"Hello, ladies and men. We would like to begin by offering an apology for the recent unpleasantness. Some research for a simple virus had been conducted, but there was some confusion with implementation and the results were less than ideal. I wish to personally assure you that repairs are well under way, and Taxon has been restored to its usual scintillating glory."

He pauses, and trumpet bells appear to either side of him to issue a fanfare and confetti. They retreat immediately.

"Additionally, I must convey my extreme pleasure at how well you acquitted yourselves. I am not sure I could have done as well, unless I was firing lightning arrows from astride my velociferrari. I wish I could craft trophies made out of medals made out of 24-karat gold stars for each of you, but I only had room in my budget for one," and with that he reaches off screen and hauls said Stanley Cup-sized trophy into frame. "Which I will now accept on your behalf."

[ ooc: ZOMBIES OFFICIALLY AND COMPLETELY OVER, EVERYTHING IS BACK TO NORMAL! Expect publicly viewable alien on alien comments in this post, threadjack them at will. For more information on the end of the zombie event and additional plotting for all of your dead folks, please go to this post. ]