taxonomites | Entries tagged with { angela dodson

gunsnotvoodoo.livejournal.com

"...You’re getting off light!"

Loki turns from the doorway, feeling pretty satisfied with the carnage visible beyond -- it's like old times, and now he has a taste for it again, he wonders if maybe there's time for one more 'mission' before they have to get to that stupid cathedral and follow through with Bartleby’s stupid plan. He opens his mouth to suggest it, then stands gaping at his surroundings, looking a little like a fish stuck in freeze-frame. Mooby corporate headquarters is a typical office high-rise, and this is...not.

"Okay, very funny, haha. I don't how you arranged this one, but even you have to admit it's pretty lame." He looks back and forth, waiting for his fellow angel's voice to...hell, he doesn't know. Laugh at him or do some ridiculous Vincent Price impression from behind a door or something. The silence just stretches out around him, though. "Look, man, I'm not interested in your dumbass impromptu Asylum remake, I thought we had a deadline to meet. Stop fucking around."

Still no reply, and now the sensation of being completely alone starts to prickle down Loki's spine. He raises the gun in his hand, feeling for all the world like some move gangster wannabe (which is still cooler than this stupid locked-in-a-creepy-room horror movie prank), and turns in a slow, wary circle.

"Man, this seriously stopped being funny like before it even started." Eerie, weird-metallic-room-silence. "...Hello?"

[ooc: ~~may i have a tag for loki, pretty please?~~ yay thank you!]

stacked

The tablet turns on abruptly, as Faith tosses her bag down with a thump on the pavement. The odd angle means she's only visible up to about the chest, but anyone who's met her won't be able to mistake that leather on leather taste in clothing, or the smoker's rasp to her voice as she laughs.

"Yeah, come on. Let's do this." There's no one else on screen, but the shuffling, dragging footsteps that echo through the tablet are unmistakable and should be a cue to run the fuck away, right now.

...She's not running, however; she's standing in place, stretching, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet with excitement.

When the first set of zombie feet pass the screen, Faith charges at the entire group; she fights a little like she's dancing, if dancing involved arterial spray. No guns here, just her fists and a sword. It's over fast-- a little too fast for her taste, to be honest-- but the street is momentarily cleared of zombies.

She stretches a little, letting her joints pop, and sighs with unmistakable satisfaction. She kneels by her bag, wiping idly-- and without much success-- at the blood on her face; when she sees the tablet's recording one eyebrow sneaks up before she shrugs easily, then rolls her eyes and reaches past the tablet into the bag. After a moment of rummaging, she pulls out a pack of cigarettes and takes a second to light one up, oddly casual for someone chilling out alone in a zombie infested section of the city. "I'd be pissed about the free show, but screw it. This is the most freaking fun I've had since I got dropped here." Another long drag, then she grabs the tablet in her free hand and pulls the bag over her shoulder and stands, all in one smooth moment. "In case anybody missed the memo, try not to get bit and leave the killing to the professionals."

Her laugh is raspy but genuine. "Always wanted to say that shit." Chances to kill undead Extras is apparently all it takes to make Faith Lehane cheerful, good to know.

( ooc | faith's in osten at the time of the post, but if you'd rather do location than tablet and want to run into her somewhere else later on, just put it in the subject line and it's all good. she's basically drifting around the city kicking ass, so she can be wherever you need.

ALSO WARNING FOR POTENTIAL HEAVY VIOLENCE IN COMMENTS. )

wildflowerstill.livejournal.com

With the weather being this warm and snowfree, it would be stupid to not take advantage of it by lying on a beach somewhere. However, the lack of a beach is a big problem and so Lexi finds herself stripping down to her bikini at the lake in the forest which is the next best thing. It's quiet here except for the expected wildlife running around, hopping between trees, and running just underneath the soft grass of the forest floor. But no human or vampire contact is what Lexi craves right now as she flips a red and yellow towel out onto the moist dirt of the lake's edge in a particularly bright patch of sun.

This is a prime spot of real estate. How long has it been since she's felt the warm sun on her skin without the accompanying sizzle that plagues so many vampires? To be exact, over three hundred years. To be more general, too damn long. Everything's set up for her little moment in nature's spotlight--tablet tossed to the side but not hard enough to turn it off, an icy thermos of A positive blood, and a small radio playing 80's glam rock at full blast. All is good except one last thing. Lexi lies back and holds up her left hand, staring at the little blue stone that adorns the silver ring on her middle finger. How pretty it sparkles in the sun as the light catches the cut edges of the lapis lazuli gem. Pretty, but utterly useless. The Taxon sun is faker than Tila Tequila's tits and with Lexi being deader than a doornail back home, she finds this ring nothing more than a piece of decoration much like the mood ring on her opposite hand. It's still annoying as a reminder that she can't have what she really wants: her life. Lexi yanks it off and throws it aside angrily, just barely missing the actual water. The ring lands in the muddy edge with a soft plop that nobody else but Lexi can hear.

It's almost as satisfying as an orgasm.

[ooc: Feel free to bug her. That's why I put her out here lol]

lajolieblonde.livejournal.com

Sookie's Christmas was the first she's ever spent alone. It's hard, missing the people she left back in Bon Temps (Lord help her, she misses Bill; heartbreak can't seem to erase what she feels for him. Felt for him. Oh, fine, it's the first.)

But Lord knows she's had enough moping, and it's not in her nature anyway. Instead, she's taken it on herself to clean the house she took over top to bottom, the project keeping her mind from dwelling on the lingering uncertainty, sadness.

She slips on some water and the teapot in her hands goes flying, crashing against the wall and shattering into a million pieces. It was nothing, just a nice little flowered thing she got for herself around the holidays. But as her knees crash to the floor and starbursts of pain run up her legs, that teapot seems like the last straw.

Without thinking about it, she stretches out her hand and light arcs out, and the pieces are dust, now. She slumps down, resting her hands on her knees and hanging her head. "Oh, hell." There's a small beep and either her power turned the tablet on or her luck is just that awful, because when Sookie looks up it's recording her slumped defeat and she quickly scrambles off her knees-- not completely being able to hold back a tiny moan of pain as she does so-- to flip it off.

hippocraticly.livejournal.com

[ The Enterprise is not unfamiliar to the strange sounds of whistling and various beeps, but what can't be passed for normalcy on board the ship is the song 'sabotage' being blared out on boxing day. And today, the tablet is picking up the tune of whistling and chattering of the special present that Santa Claus delivered after managing to bypass security protocol (and his privacy) to get to him on christmas eve. does he appreciate this gift? ]

Does anyone have any name suggestions for a bird that won't shut the hell up?

[ probably not. ]

deniedthesight.livejournal.com

[ there's a little bit of rustling after angela turns the tablet on, and then a clearing of the throat before she speaks. ]

Hello, Taxon citizens. My name is Angela Dodson, I've been here...a couple of months, at this point. I've got a couple of questions for the population at large.

First off, I was wondering if there was any sort of law enforcement in place in the city, and related to that, did anyone find any new information on about the Extra that was murdered last month? And have there been any other murders of Extras since then?

Any information on either of those topics would be very much appreciated. Thanks for your time.

whoneedsrules.livejournal.com

Three days in this dank, godforsaken tomb. It was three days too long without blood, as far as Katherine was concerned. There wasn’t even a single rat in sight; she was so hungry she’d probably lower herself to eating vermin by now. With a quiet exhalation, the vampire slouched against the clammy rock of the tomb’s wall, losing her balance as the solid rock behind her back disappeared abruptly and the darkness was replaced with artificial light.

"What the—!" Katherine hissed and braced one hand against the floor, bowing her head to shield her eyes from the sudden brightness. Slowly, Katherine raised her chin and blinked at the chamber amidst her hair, bewildered. This was a far cry from the musty tomb she’d occupied just a moment ago. How? A moment of sheer, wide-eyed panic gripped at her as she immediately considered the Originals, but a few deep breaths returned her ability to think straight. It couldn’t be. Damon had imprisoned her in that damn tomb, sealed by the Bennett witches’ spell; no vampire could get out once they stepped inside. It had to be someone else, and Katherine was willing to bet they couldn’t be worse than Klaus.

Despite her blood-starved body protesting at every move, Katherine straightened from her slouch and cast a critical eye down at herself. She was a mess; still wearing the wrinkled, knee-length black dress, dirt smudging her skin that had taken on a slightly sickly, ashen pallor – she could only imagine the dark circles bound to sit under her eyes. Her straightened hair hung down her shoulders, a curtain of limp frizz instead of the mass of curls she normally sported. She scoffed at the state of her and cursed Damon all over again. Caroline and that backstabber Lucy, too, while she was at it.

But she had a more immediate objective now, such as getting out and feeding. Oh, and a shower.

"Very well. I’ll bite," Katherine finally drawled wryly, smirking at her pun as she glanced about. "Hello? Anybody home?"

Preferably someone filled with nice, juicy veins full of thick, warm blood. Humming a soft sound of amusement at the thought, Katherine wet her dry lips and addressed the empty room again, her attitude remarkably lackadaisical for such an evidently unwell person in an uncertain situation.

"Nobody obviously taught you people manners. It’s rude to keep a lady waiting."

herotypical

This was supposed to have been a victory. Buffy blinked against the brightness of the room; she already missed the comforting sunlight of Sunnydale, California. Or what used to be Sunnydale. She continuously had to compensate with the knowledge that the town she had spent years protecting was gone. Crater'd. Ka-freakin'-blooey. And yet it seemed to be the least of her problems, as she spun on the spot and observed this strange new frontier. It was weird and new and not at all comfortable. But since when did Buffy Summers ever do comfortable outside of a Thursday night pajama date with MTV? So she took that bold first step onto the staircase with poise and confidence. And why not? She had won. Correction: she was supposed to have won. But if winning meant no longer being on that road with her few, her happy few, her band of victors? Then perhaps this wasn't winning at all.

"Hello?" She called, neck craning to see more of the room without getting too footloose and fancy free with the steps. "Anybody there? Don't make me threaten to huff and puff." She licked her lips. How ineffectual she sounded to herself, undermining the glorious high of success she had been enjoying. "'Cause you won't like my huff and my puff is totally a metaphor for my right hook. Which you also won't like."

Buffy descended the stairs, tucking hair behind her ears in an unconscious gesture of insecurity. That was when she noticed the bracelet. "Fabulous," Buffy intoned flatly. She pressed her thumb against the metal -- tempted to dig at the skin and remove it once she realized it was fused to her. "The latest and greatest in hostage fashion, I presume?" She shook her wrist, limply. Better not risk tearing it from the flesh. Not now. She completed her thought aloud: "Hate to get blood all over your squeaky clean lab-o-horrors."

Best to set the bracelet conundrum aside for now. She focused on the pedestal instead. Perhaps it held answers? So she walked carefully up to it -- sure to check her flanks and keep all senses on high, high alert. Her footsteps eerily echoed and enforced her sudden solitaryness. Deep in in the pit of her, she longed to be back amongst the other victors. Leading them to safety. They have each other and...and what does she get for her great reward? "A techno...something. Oh, skippy." She quipped sarcastically to herself. Buffy gingerly lifted the tablet, unsure as to what it could really be. She never was one for the gadgetry. At least not gadgetry that dated past the middle ages. Which seemed to be just about the most appropriate time for her eyes to catch on a flash of red--on the floor--across the room. The scythe.

"Well, at least I have one piece of home. Better weapon-up and go slice myself some more."

hippocraticly.livejournal.com

Never having much luck with the communication devices during his previous stay, McCoy has been fortunate enough to avoid any accidental (and incriminating) transmissions since he arrived back in the city. And not to mention avoiding the tail-end of the barrage of glitches that have seemed to of plagued the population, but he is not going to risk bragging about that. Why tempt fate or -- in this case -- those damn hamsters?

But he cannot be a social hermit forever, which is why his tablet is finally activated today and currently angled to show an impressive view of the interior of his sickbay. It must be a good few minutes before the doctor does reign the camera back onto himself. Once he is convinced the damn thing is indeed recording him, he leans back in his chair and clears his throat. For a man who is from the future, technology is definitely not his strongest point.

"Well..." The doctor drawls sardonically with a raised eyebrow, "This place never really slows down, does it? How much crap have we had to deal with lately?"

He does not expect a reply to that rhetorical question and despite the sour nature of the sentence, he sounds surprisingly chipper today. It turns out not being glitched has a positive effect on cantankerous country doctors.

"Jim, Spock -- are the two of you still sane out there? You're not going to try and make me do that.. uh, hula-bop thing, are you?"

Current Music: Marina & the Diamonds - The Outsider | Powered by Last.fm

demonologist

Wesley leans against the counter, cradling a whiskey. It's not his normal drink. It's not his normal establishment of choosing. But he's bound and determined to gather material for his latest novel-in-making. He knows that the reason why it rings so hollow to him in the rereads is the lack of true experience he has in the subject matter. And so he's here, at one of the less reputable bars in town to gather intel. To immerse himself in an atmosphere that on some levels he's not altogether familiar with.

That doesn't mean that he's not trying to blend in. To act cool. Like he belongs. How much he's succeeding, however, is up to those who may encounter him.

He takes another sip and then glances over his shoulder at the other inhabitants of the bar, looking for a lead, a spark, anything which might get his creative juices flowing.

Needless to say, Willow thinks he's at the library, doing some late research. If she knew the truth...

[OOC: Backdated to before the Sock hop]

biverbam.livejournal.com

It is well past any respectable hour for a young lady to be out alone. Let alone at a bar.

Read: It's past 8pm and dark out. The scandal.

Be that as it may, River is sitting by herself at the corner of the bar, staring with an eerie dedication into her coffee. It isn't tea (bars don't sell tea, apparently; at least not bars from the mid-20th century) but it keeps her hands warm.

Going home isn't a viable option. She's been trying, blending like so much charcoal and paint, but it's not an arrangement that she can maintain indefinitely. The corners of her era-appropriate room itch, the added insult of being a little sister to someone that isn't her brother, someone so opposite to Simon she almost wants to be ill to think of it for the sake of spite and emphasis. Even school isn't enough of a distraction, too full of noise and misinformation. Cutting class with Angela had been a good respite but honestly, there's only so much a girl can take.

So she's sitting in a bar. The corners still itch and everything is still inherently and woefully wrong, but from here she can keep an eye out for familiar faces.

How she manages that with her eyes on a cup of coffee is for her to know and someone curious enough to guess at.

undoing.livejournal.com

The vampire could've sworn he heard hoof beats in the distance a moment ago, but that wasn't what caught his attention. For all he knew, someone had brought a horse with them when they were pulled into Taxon. What did, was the scent of blood thick on the air. It grabbed hold of his attention and demanded it's focus, pulling him in as he drew nearer to the source of the heavy stench.

He was rewarded with a most horrific sight (or one that would be to someone who wasn't ridiculously desensitized to such things due having done much worse in his day): the headless body of an Extra.

Angel knelt next to it, reaching out to touch his fingertips to the blood that pooled around the body. "Still warm," he stated aloud.

...which meant that this beheading had just happened. Which also meant whoever or whatever did this could still be nearby. But, where was the head?

virtued.livejournal.com

The tablet that's been discarded on a nearby coffee table flickers to life, giving Taxon a good view of part of the parlor of the Salvatore Boarding House. It's almost like stepping into one of those museum houses where some famous, dead politician once lived or a theme hotel that's been furbished with various period pieces. Nothing but dead scenery is captured until the sound of footsteps on stairs disrupts the silence and Stefan Salvatore steps into view.

In one hand, there's a book and the other...a rocks glass of whiskey, courtesy of Damon's personal stash. Alcohol helps curb the blood lust and supplement the cravings between feedings. Of course, to most of Taxon, it looks like the younger brother simply got into the older's liquor collection. And while that might be the case, it's much more than just the underage-appearing sibling stealing a drink.

He settles onto the couch and props one leg up on the other, book open in his lap as he sips the whiskey without any reaction to the burn that should be there.

deniedthesight.livejournal.com

The past few days have not been the easiest time in Angela Dodson's life, and today had actually started out as an exception. It had remained an exception until the meeting on the rooftop with John, where he'd given her the Spear of Destiny and asked her to hide it. She wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of having it in her possession - not only was the object incredibly powerful and potentially dangerous, but it had nearly been used to sacrifice her and bring the son of the Devil into the world - but the idea of the spearhead being kept somewhere so close was somehow worse than holding onto it for a few days. So she'd agreed, taking the spear with her off the rooftop, intent on going back home and getting the first decent night's sleep she'd be having in nearly a week and planning where to hide it first thing in the morning. Maybe she'd even have a bath (because while she was wary of the idea of going anywhere near a pool again, a steaming hot bubble bath still somehow sounded appealing).

Only she doesn't get to do any of this, because as she steps through the doorway of the stairwell that leads to the roof of the building, she finds herself in a large, metallic chamber.

Angela looks around a moment or two, the expression on her face one of utter disbelief before it shifts into one of irritation. She re-wraps the spearhead carefully before tucking it away into her purse (looking a little bit relieved that she's not touching it anymore), bringing out her phone in its place as she reaches behind her back to pull her gun out of its hidden holster. (She knows by now that it won't help much against a demon attack, but she feels safer having this than nothing.)

"This is unbelievable," she mutters to herself before hitting the 'send' button on her phone - she's not sure what John could do to help or how she's going to describe what's just happened, but he's the only one she can think of to call who might know what's going on. It doesn't really matter anyway, since there's not even a dial tone to be heard. She pulls the phone away from her face, frowning deeper before shoving it back into her purse and cocking her gun.

"LAPD. Whoever's behind this, show yourselves, now."

There's no answer. Not even a hint that anyone is around, and more than that, it doesn't look as if anyone has been around, at least not recently. She's not getting a reading on who her captors may be, just other people like her - confused and trapped.

She huffs, frustrated, and then spots something out of the corner of her eye - the tablet, set atop a pedestal. She leans in closer, getting a good look at the screen and what its functions are, but doesn't touch it or pick it up. Until she sees the light that indicates that it's recording, and then she does pick it up, giving it a wary look before she attempts speaking into it.

"Hello?" she tries, not sure whether or not she's expecting an answer (and if she is, who or what she expects is on the other end of the line). "Not that I don't appreciate the vacation," (well, she doesn't, but that's beside the point), "but I'd have preferred to plan it myself. Whatever or whoever you are, I want to be sent back, and failing that, I'd like to know what the hell is going on here."

She sounds more confident than she feels, but she's been well trained not to show fear, especially in situations like this. Setting the tablet back down, she sighs again, pressing her lips together before her face tightens into a bitter smile.

"At least it wasn't through walls this time."