taxonomites | Entries tagged with { elena gilbert

adeadringer.livejournal.com

Elena's tablet switches itself on to show her sitting in the window seat in her bedroom - her bedroom, in the house she grew up in. Jenna brought it with her when she arrived in Taxon, and part of her is happy to have it back. She's missed Jenna and their home. But she also misses staying in the boarding house, sharing Stefan's bed and room with him and how it had come to feel like home to her, too. She's writing in her diary about it all now, about everything that's happened since Stefan told her about what he's been doing with Katherine to obtain information about the Sun and Moon curse that she's needed to break, about Jenna and Caroline's arrivals, and how she feels about it all. She's happy to see them both again, but them being here means that things are more dangerous. She's worried that if what Stefan's doing backfires, Katherine will go after her through them.

Those who know her well or just pay close attention to this kind of thing may take note of something: she's wearing her old necklace again. Since breaking up with Stefan, she's been wearing a different one, the one that Damon got her for Christmas. These people may have a few questions for her about how she got it back, ones that she's not particularly eager to answer, so when she looks up and realizes that the tablet is recording her, an irritated expression crosses her face. She rolls her eyes, then picks it up and addresses it.

"Okay, just out of curiosity, has anyone ever tried to figure out why these things like to turn themselves on without warning and when you least want them to? Because if there's a way to get them to stop, I think someone should find it. If I were at all technologically inclined, I might try to fix it myself, but since I'm not...well, a professional might want to give it a shot."

And then she switches the tablet off, sets her journal aside, and leaves her room, heading downstairs.

"Jenna? Are you down here?"

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! ]

tothelibrary.livejournal.com

[ the tablet clicks on to reveal dawn; she's sitting in her room at the castle, hair wet and pulled back in a tight ponytail, looking fragile and practically swimming in a sweatshirt that only a few people left in taxon will recognize as xander's. ]

Hi-- um. I should have probably planned what I was going to say before I turned this on. It might make this easier. Or... less whatever. Something.

I just wanted to apologize to anyone I-- [ she swallows hard ] hurt, this month. I didn't mean to, but not like that means a lot because I still did. It was a glitch, but-- that doesn't make it better. Or okay. So I'm just so, so sorry. And whatever I can do to make up for it, I'll do. I just-- I'm sorry.

[ she fumbles with her tablet for a second, and this last bit is locked to paul and mattie. ]

I'm-- well, I'm still sorry. But I hurt you both, even if it wasn't me-me. And if you both don't ever want to be around me again, I understand but if I can do anything to make amends, I will. [ she opens her mouth to add something else, then shrugs, shoulders slumping. ] I'm just so sorry.

( ooc | post-glitch! backtagging on horrors is still a go for those who want to, and this post is around for ooc workout if you want/need it. )

herotypical

When Buffy Summers closes her eyes, she sees dust. Potential dust. Dust that could potentially end up being her little sister. The thing is...she knows she doesn't have to dust the girl. She knows she only has to lock her up. Get her into that tomb. Take care of things. But it doesn't stop the possibility from haunting her mind. And so the Slayer patrols half-choked up. Every muscle and fibre of her being tightened to a heightened level of agony. Agony is the best word she can come up with for this feeling. This tearing, ripping, emptying feeling where she's being asked to find her sister on the field.

Dust and the briefest flash of a delicate skeleton. It puts a shudder in her voice when she finally addresses the city at large. Too many failed patrols have brought her to this act of desperation. She doesn't want help with this, but she needs it.

"...Has anyone seen Dawn Summers? I've been trying to track -- " Buffy cuts off. She doesn't want to share her inner tragedy with anyone else, really. This is the sort of thing to cork and bottle and stew and gather around herself. Protective trauma. "I don't know the city very well yet. I need...I need help."

Her voice finally gains steadiness towards the final word. She continues her patrol -- aching.

cheerioless.livejournal.com

Quinn is sitting at the paino in the choir room, her tablet proped up in front of her. She has no intentions of playing a song for anyone, but sitting on the piano bench feels a lot more professional than sitting on a plastic chair. She runs a hand through her hair, making sure it looks perfect, before starting her transmission.

"Good afternoon," she says, as professionally as possible flashing her winning I-Am-So-The-Head-Cheerleader-And-Queen-Bee-But-Still-'Nice,' smile. "Most of you don't know me, I'm Quinn Fabray. I'm also looking for a job."

She wasn't looking for something to do with food, or retail. At Lima she'd probably stuck with that for eternity, here she wasn't going to. Besides he needed a distraction, and there were only so many times one could organize the albums, records and song books int he choir room.

"I'm a natural born leader, I'm smart, I'm responsible," sort of, but she's not going into details here. "Basically the ideal candidate for any sort of job you may have. I also love a challenge."

Really, what else could she say? Whenever someone was looking for a job, it was always oozing with gag worthy oh-look-at-me, comments. Luckily Quinn could back most of them up. She hopes she isn't coming on too strong here, still it doesn't hurt to try - right?

[ooc: HI LEX ;D]

allthefunever.livejournal.com

The feed opens on a pair of bare feet, where it apparently has been turned on via toe. The feet are unmistakably masculine, but after a moment another set-- these ones smaller-- join them.

Then a hand reaches down and grabs the tablet and all of a sudden, Taxon is treated to a closeup of Damon Salvatore's face, Max just behind him.

"Sono--" his face screws up in concentration, as the reason why he doesn't speak Italian except around Stefan is escaping him for the moment, and he abandons wondering about it in favor of finishing his sentence- "molto, molto ubriaco." He pauses, then says with even more emphasis, "Molto."

Behind him Max dissolves into a fit of giggles, her mussed hair falling in front of her face as her head tips forward a bit. It's clear that whatever they've been drinking, it's gotten to her, too, which shouldn't be a surprise, given that this is the same girl who was caught taking tequila shots on the job not too long ago.

"Altre lingue non sono giuste in questo momento," she says, looking back up with a mock-pout on her lips. (Never mind that she's speaking it perfectly.)

( ooc | following max's post, she and damon have gotten their asses dead drunk on romulan ale. damon said "i am very, very drunk" in italian; max said "other languages aren't fair right now." )

slayersidekick

For the first time in a while, Willow's making a visual transmission instead of relying on audio or replying visually to someone else. She's accepted - as much as she can, anyway - that Tara has pulled a Buffy: she's gone. The aliens sent her home. Still, that doesn't mean that her disappearance doesn't hurt. It hurts a lot and Willow's pretty sure anyone who knows her has probably noticed just how much it hurts. And now with Dawn running around... well, Willow's a bit preoccupied.

Even so, she'll never quite get over that genius part of herself and the radio transmission has her interested. So, while curled up on the bed she used to share with Tara - it feels so empty these nights - she turns on her tablet and addresses Taxon. Two birds, one stone.

"Hey, guys. Since Tara seems to have gone home, I figured I'd take over the magic shop. So, i-if anyone needs anything, I'm running Tamper and Trick now." Slight pause. "If anyone's interested and still looking for extra employment or entertainment, I wouldn't say no to a couple of employees."

Now, with that out of the way, she fiddles with her hands for a minute before continuing. "And I don't know if anyone else has caught that new transmission, but I couldn't figure out what it was saying. Maybe I should take up language studies or something in my spare time. This is getting a little silly."

Current Music: Within Temptation - All I Need | Powered by Last.fm

biverbam.livejournal.com

River hasn't been sleeping, not well, not since Dawn, and when the tablet clicks on from its place amidst a haphazard pile of flowers to show Serenity's cargo bay.

Every few seconds she walks across the frame (step step heel turn step heel turn step turn step step step). She's holding her necklaces (one a cross, the other a locket of vervain) taut enough to dig in at the back of her neck but not hard enough to break, and if she'd hold still one might notice some impressive bags under her eyes.

It's been days. Multiples. She can see them stretching out in front of her nose, a snake of exponential progression winding into a giant coiled ball, growing and growing until mass present exceeds the limits of volume and everything breaks. Maybe that's how they'll get out, eventually. The city will be too full of snake-days and their husky skins to let the barriers stay in place...

River snorts an unamused little laugh as she turns back around. "That's not likely. Adjustments... It's thoroughly biodegradable husk."

A beat passes and she stops, heel on the ground and toes in the air ready to make another step. Any second now.

"Smells like a graveyard," is her only irritated observation before she's off again.

(Step step heel t urn step heel turn step turn step step step.)

secretshame

The first thing Jenna noticed was that she must have dozed off upstairs. She rubbed her tired eyes before opening them. The sight of a very unfamiliar, and definitely not something she'd ever thought possible, room made her blink and inhale sharply.

"Okay, I know I wasn't drunk or stoned earlier," she muttered to herself, running a hand through her hair. For one thing, she didn't have her munchie snack of choice, nachos. For another, responsibility called and she'd be damned if it was her fault Jeremy got back on that path when he'd just gotten off it. Sure, she'd missed it at times, especially at first, but the reality was that she needed to set a decent example for the kids. She wasn't Miranda by any stretch of the imagination, but she still had to do everything possible to help Jeremy and Elena.

"John?" she called, folding her arms over her chest and staring upwards. "If you spiked my drink tonight, I will kill you."

Not literally, of course, no matter how much she wanted him out of her life. Hitting him with another newspaper, however, was fair game.

"Ric? Elena? Jeremy? Okay, guys, this isn't funny anymore. It's not Halloween, you know."

Huffing out a breath of annoyance, she let her arms fall back to her sides and stepped off the platform. What was this place anyway? Maybe it was some strange stoner dream. God knew she'd had her fair share of those.

Jenna pinched herself to be sure. "Ow! So much for the 'it's a dream' theory."

That just begged the question of what this was. There wasn't a door that she could see, but that didn't mean one didn't exist. Still, she wasn't really up for waiting around or looking for a door herself. Best case scenario: someone would find her. To put it simply, Jenna was in a bind and she knew it.

"All right, first person to tell me what's going on gets me off their back for a week."

Maybe she'd agree to get drunk with them in celebration. No, wait, Uncle John was at home. Being drunk was how she dealt with him. He was too much of a pain to deal with sober. But aside from that: responsibility. Jenna sighed wearily and began her own quest to figure out what was going on. First thing: get out of this room.

verylittlesugar

Mattie's outside today, enjoying the sun and fresh air despite the chill, contemplating whether she might take advantage of this month's free things and start some kind of little garden.

She's also contemplating something that she's been wondering about for days, something she really needs an opinion about.

"Are any of you acquainted with a man named Damon Salvatore? Can you tell me why he has such intent interest in girls' dresses? And can a garden be put anywhere?"

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.

dreamsinwhich.livejournal.com

The changeover is a subtle one; one moment, Dawn stretches and rolls over in bed, rubbing at her eyes sleepily. (Taxon: great for naps, when things are boring instead of falling apart.) The next moment she jolts upright, face confused.

"What the hell." She looks around, then down at her plain tee shirt and shorts with distaste. "Ugh. Who dressed me, Suzy Q Homemaker? Angelus, not funny. We talked about this innocent little girl fetish, and why you should indulge in it with actual innocent little girls. I'll watch, but I draw the line at cotton shirts with--" she looks down and rolls her eyes. "A duck on it. Seriously, why not just put me in a little plaid skirt? At least that would look cute. This is just annoying."

She waits, tapping one bare foot impatiently. "Angelus? The moment of surprise thing is old. I'm done with this game, why don't we play the one where I'm not in this stupid shirt and we eat out tonight?" For a moment, she looks genuinely worried; then her face smooths out and she rolls her eyes. "Fine, whatever. Be that way, I'll just explore your little drafty hideaway until you come back. Maybe start breaking things."

This is a new game, but whatever. Maybe Angelus read Cosmo and decided to spice things up with a surprise. Maybe he's getting dinner, or maybe he's off doing... who knows what. Dawn can take care of herself, now. She doesn't need her Sire on call 24-7 anymore.

The glint of her tablet catches Dawn's attention, and after a second of consideration she picks it up and takes it with her out into the hallway, where she opens a door at random.

"...Okay, the shirt thing is forgiven. A room full of shoes covers a multitude of sartorial sins." Setting the tablet on one of the dressers lining the wall, Dawn grabs a pair of shoes and after a moment of consideration, a dress from the closet, stripping down to pull it over her hips. The tablet clicks on as she shimmies a little pulling it on, giving a nice view of her bare back until she twists and closes the zipper. "Not bad. A little long, but any port in a fashion storm."

Tilting her head thoughtfully, Dawn looks down at herself, ignoring the mirror in the corner. "Now, where's a camera when you need one?"

( ooc | GLITCH START. she's vamped and soulless, details in the ooc post etc. open to tablet based unless your character would be in the castle, then location is aces. i'd like to keep dawn on the loose a little while longer, so we can work out details as it goes. ♥ )

nobodylshome.livejournal.com

Caroline set the flat iron down on her sink, shaping one of her blonde curls with her finger. She was frazzled from the night before and the fact that Matt still hadn't answered her messages (it was official - he -was- avoiding her), but that didn't mean she was going to go out looking like a wreck. When she was satisfied with her hair, she turned off her flat iron and unplugged it from the wall. What she had expected was to walk through the door leading into her hallway and to be, well, in her hallway.

That was not how things actually went. Instead, she found herself in an unfamiliar room (if it could be called that at all) on some sort of platform... thingy. Were she less out of her comfort zone, she would have tried to describe it with something less general, but right now 'thingy' would have to do. It described most of what she saw -- especially the weird device above her.

There was something unfamiliar on her arm and looking down revealed it to be a silver bracelet. "Ew, what's this? It's incredibly tacky." Removing it was apparently a no-go, because the bracelet didn't budge. "Is this -stuck- on me? Okay, I don't know what's going on here, but," she fiddled with the bracelet, disgusted that apparently seemed -fused- onto her, "this is definitely not cool." Caroline was aware that she had inevitably bigger problems, but this one seemed manageable and like a good place to start. "How do I get this thing off?"

whoneedsrules.livejournal.com

Katherine strolls along the aisles of the mall, disjointedly humming Happy birthday to you. She's not interested in browsing for clothes or shoes today, but neither does she want to sit in her hotel room and be restless. On a whim she finds herself in the home decor section, admiring ornately framed mirrors and silver candle holders until she comes across a display of tiny figurines made out of sparkling crystal. Carefully she picks up one resembling some kind of bird, turning it in her fingers pensively. It reminds her of something her mother used to have back in Bulgaria, and the thought brings a frown to her face. 536 years later and she still remembers the tiniest details of the woman who'd given birth to her, especially on this day.

That's when it hits her. Like flipping off a light switch, Katherine's awareness of her surroundings reduces dramatically, so violently that a wave of nausea washes through her and her muscles spasm, leaving her lightheaded and breathless. She doesn't notice her bag slipping off her shoulder and her tablet skittering across the floor, turning on and broadcasting the incident to the whole of Taxon.

Mental and physical equilibrium disturbed, Katherine crumples on the floor with an agonized cry. Dull pain radiates up her knees as they hit the ground hard, but the sudden and inexplicable loss of the sharp sensate consciousness that has been a constant for over 500 years is worse. Shakily, she sits up, belatedly registering the stinging of her right hand and realizes she's broken the crystal figurine to pieces during the fit. Hissing softly, she uncurls her fingers and shakes off the bits of crystal, staring at the few clear shards that have embedded into her palm. The crimson blood staining her palm feels warm and sticky against her skin and irritated, she picks off the shards, cringing at the burn. She doesn't answer the Extra that materialized from somewhere, calling her ma'am and asking if everything is alright. Katherine is staring at the cuts too intently, waiting, ice cold dread settling over her as the realization hits.

They're not healing.

She's not healing, she can't hear anything except her own breathing, she can't smell anything - her entire body feels foreign all of the sudden, weak and stripped of everything that has defined her for the past five centuries. How was this even possible? The annoying Extra is repeating more inquiries about her health, and Katherine finally looks up at the man.

"Go away," she demands, attempting to compel the Extra.

Nothing happens.

Suddenly, every instinct in her is clamoring for a flight. Run. Get out of here. Now. Clambering up less than gracefully and grabbing her bag, she mutters curse under her breath as she realizes the tablet is recording before turning it off and tossing it back into her bag. Pushing past the confused Extra, Katherine struggles not to break into run as she clutches her still bleeding hand into a tight fist despite the sting and tries to calm her ragged breathing.

[ ooc | so begins katherine's human glitch as detailed here! she'll be trying to get from the mall in central back to her hotel room in speares asap, so she'll be all intercept-able on the way for those who might possibly want to do so. tablet trolling is of course perfectly fine, too. ]

cheerioless.livejournal.com

Quinn Fabray had been heading for the girl’s washroom. Bladder control issues were probably one of the worst things about being pregnant. She constantly had to excuse herself from class to go to the washroom. At first she could feel the eyes of her classmates on her whenever she got up. Their stares burning into the back of her head. She didn’t even want to know what they were thinking about her. But now no one looked. No one paid any attention when Quinn got up and excused herself. No one paid attention to her in the halls, it was like she had disappeared off the face of the earth. Quinn Fabray had gone from being queen bee, to the laughing stock of the school, to a complete and utter nobody.

This time she didn’t really need to use the washroom, she just wanted a few moments alone. She sat in a stall and cried. She blamed the hormones, because Quinn Fabray wasn’t the sort to let these things bother her. At least that’s what she told herself, and that’s what she was going to keep telling herself. Besides, it wasn’t like she had anyone anyways. Her parents had abandoned her, she had lost Finn, Puck was more concerned with getting into the pants of every other girl at school, he had said he wanted to be with her – but Quinn didn’t believe him. She knew Puck far too well to believe he could stay true to her. Then there was Santana and Brittany, were they even really her friends?

"Pull yourself together Quinn," Quinn muttered to herself, sniffing. "You’re Quinn Fabray, you used to rule this school. All the guys wanted you, all the girls wanted to be you…" her voice trailed off, and she swallowed hard. "Oh my God. Who am I even kidding?"

Quinn Fabray wasn’t just invisible. She was alone - completely and utterly alone, asides from the tiny life growing inside her – a life she really didn’t want anything to do with.

After what felt like hours Quinn pulled at the roll of toilet paper and wiped her face with a piece of it. Then she stood up and left the stall, and when she did, she almost screamed.

( She wasn't in the girl's washroom anymore. )

taintedrose

The tablet feed clicks on to reveal Rose curled up on her couch in her apartment, nursing a huge glass of scotch. She seems to be unaware that this is being recorded as she takes sips from her drink, not really focusing on anything in particular. Rose looks like she hasn't slept in days and she's been crying; the tear stains still visible on her cheeks.

"I don't think I can do this anymore."

After downing her glass, Rose sets it down on the table beside the couch before she starts to cry again, overwhelmed with emotion that she just can't seem to control. She would never willingly let someone see her like this and it's clear that she doesn't want to appear this vulnerable. Rose glances down at her tablet for a moment and that's when she realises that this is being shown to the whole of Taxon.

With a frustrated sob, she switches off the tablet and ends the feed.

allthefunever.livejournal.com

...Well. That's it, then. Damon stares at his tablet for a long moment before laughing roughly-- this is what amusement sounds like, he's not at all bleakly pissed, move along-- and tosses his tablet away. He needs a drink. Maybe seven or so of them.

Being as tablets turn on in stiff breezes (or less stiff breezes, or when there's no breeze at all) Damon's rough throw landing his tablet onto the sofa is enough movement to turn on the record function. So, Taxon, enjoy this production of 'Damon's Bare Feet Padding Over to the Liquor Cabinet'. The sound of a very, very large drink being poured is unmistakable, and after a moment so is the shattering of a tumbler against the far wall.

( ooc | angela's gone and damon does not shot loss well. (NOT THAT HE CARED AT ALL EVEN A BIT SHUT UP.) or emotional maturity, for that matter. poke with sticks, whatever. forgive me my slow tags now and forever amen. )

adeadringer.livejournal.com

Elena's tablet flickers on to show her sleeping, but it's clearly not a very sound rest. She's tossing back and forth, the sheets tangling around her legs as she shifts about in Stefan's bed. Her breathing is becoming quicker and more shallow, and she eventually begins to whimper and moan. When she finally awakes, it's with a jolt of her body and an ear-splitting scream that's followed by a few deep, desperate gasps for air.

The picture is dark, but her silhouette is still visible in profile and she looks like a mess. Her hair is matted with sweat and stuck to her face and what you can see of her face is clammy and pale. She sits there trembling for a while, looking around frantically until she realizes where she is, remembers where they are.

And then she bursts into tears.

[ OOC | elena has just been canon bumped to 1x17, which means she's just helped rescue stefan, who was kidnapped and tortured to near-death by a group of angry, vengeful vampires. it may be a good idea to approach with caution. ]

tothelibrary.livejournal.com

If you're not completely out of it, you saw that last creepy post. In case you're just tuning in, here's the short version: that's not Angel. That's Angelus, and let me be clear: he WILL eat you. There is nothing redeemable here.

Hobbies include torture, maiming, causing emotional distress, and generally being the worst person to invite into your house.

...Literally, don't invite him. God, some of you-- here. Angelus primer, general vampire stuff included.

1. Don't invite him in. At all.

2. Crosses and holy water are now your best friends. Get a super soaker if you have to.

3. GROUPS. Seriously. If someone's not where they're supposed to be, check up on them. Angelus likes lone victims, mostly because he's smart.

4. Again: he's smart. So don't be stupid and make it easy for him to hurt you.

5. If you don't know how to deal with vampires already, stay out of it. We can take care of him, just... don't be a pre-takedown casualty.

And he's-- he likes to hurt people. So whatever he says to you, it's probably not true.

That's pretty much it.

( ooc | locked away from angel and dru; open to everyone else in taxon. cue tiny watcher freakout.

ALSO cop characters wanting to use this to further their plot, feel free to call her out on the presumptuousness/attempted shut out of non buffy-cast/supernaturally inclined folk. )

werealegend.livejournal.com

Alright, enough of this Broodier Side of the Force crap. I'm bored.

[ to the trained, experienced ear, that's...not exactly angel speaking. he's grown tired of the faux soulboy routine. ]

It's a wonder none of you have keeled over from lack of excitement. Sure, there was the whole zombiepocalypse thing, but what did that really accomplish? Nothing but a few cases of trauma here and there. Don't get me wrong, I love a good few rounds of quality mind fuckery, but why lite the bonfire if you're just going to douse the flames and make the forest all shiny and new again?

Lay off good pellets for a while, fuzzy buddies. Might help you plan better next time.

( ooc | phase two of the angelus revival glitch: the reveal. planning post over yonder. )