taxonomites | Entries tagged with { puck

entractes.livejournal.com

Kurt's explorations finally bring him to the 11th floor! Took long enough. After spending some time just acclimating to the new stage area, he is hit with something of a wonderful idea.

"Attention, Taxon!"

Needless to say, Kurt was excited.

"As you are all probably well aware, none of us appear to be going anywhere anytime soon. But don't despair, I have a solution to the doubtlessly growing boredom of you being stuck here." He turns the tablet around to pan the camera around the stage area as he talks. "Since coming here, I couldn't help but notice that the city is a little bit of a cultural deadzone, but I know there are at least a couple of diamonds in the rough out there. So, I propose..." he pauses as he often does for the sake of tension, "Taxon's very own glee club."

He turns the camera back to himself, "Not to worry, this won't be the stuffy, uptight choir group you may have heard about at your local church. Instead, this will be an opportunity to express yourself, to let loose, and experience something wonderful. For those who don't perform, you are more than welcome to watch or sway along merrily in the background.

"So, if you would care to join me, Kurt Hummel, in the 11th floor Playhouse, let's get some introductions going. In lieu of just standing around in a circle and talking about ourselves, you would ideally come ready with a song that you feel tells your story and be ready to sing. No pressure, though." He totally understands if you aren't like him and don't always have that sort of thing ready to belt out at a moment's notice.

cheerioless.livejournal.com

Quinn hasn't been a big fan of making visual posts, but now she does so out of necessity. She can't think straight enough to text anyone, like Kurt or Lex, or even Willow or Elena. The rational part of her brain won't even let her think about Stefan right now, the possibilities after what just happened are to horrifying. She feels worse than she's ever felt in her life, and she is beyond terrified.

When she gets the visual transmission to work, the screen is shaking. She is sitting on the floor of the ladies washroom at the Taxon Mall, her head propped up against the stall. She's pale, very pale, her hair is a mess but what stands out the most is the blood and two puncture marks on her neck.

Quinn opens her mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. Suddenly she drops the tablet, maybe the adrenaline is finally wearing off, or the loss of blood has finally hit her. Viewers will just be able to make out her shaking hand in the frame as she tries to pick it up, and hear her wimpering slightly.

When she finally manages to do so, she pulls her knees to her chest and rests the tablet there.

"Could..." her voice falters slightly and she swallows hard, looking like she might pass out at any moment "...help?"

[ooc: So in other words, while at the mall Quinn got attacked by glitched!Rose, luckily or unluckily Quinn didn't manage to see Rose's face. Backdated to a short bit after Rose's post.. DUN DUN DUN!]

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.

defenestration

[Adrian is sitting in the Owl Cave, waiting for Dan and Rorschach to show for another meeting. He has some interesting information to share, and he's certain he won't be the only one. While he waits, he figures he might as well use the time to get a little 'research' done.]

I'm curious -- what kind of professions did all of you hold before coming here to Taxon? And related to a more personal need, do any of you have experience with animals?

[ooc: Location for Watchmen, voice for everyone else. Backdating to some point between Dawn's fight with Adrian and her unglitching ceremony.]

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]

verylittlesugar

It's been a couple days since the attack and her phone call to Don, and Mattie's feeling better physically, but still a little wrung out emotionally. Mostly that manifests in being very quiet and trying convince Don to let her cook meals for him, and a noticeable absence of tiny sternfaces. There's a lot on her mind, however, and one or two questions in particular keep coming up.

So she turns to her tablet, and the Taxon community, for answers. She's curled up against the headboard of Don's bed, wrapped in her father's coat over her nightgown, with a small white gauze bandage on her neck.

"What happens when a vampire bites you? And how are you to tell if you are seeing one?"

[Location for Don, visual or voice as you like for everyone else. Let's say this is backdated to around May 9 so Mattie hasn't been languishing all this time.

ETA: Don may be hovering around and keeping an eye on conversations, expect possible threadjacking. ;)]

ironfright.livejournal.com

Since his arrival, Puck had been mostly keeping to himself. Although he still tossed out the occasional sardonic barb over the Tablet, the disguised faerie had been gliding under the radar. Nobody seemed to care that he was staying in the Sanctuary and, since it seemed far larger than the actual number of people staying there, he sometimes didn't run into anyone aside from the occasional Extra for a day at a time.

That suited him just fine.

Today he was lounging in the Salon, a less busy area than some of the other floors, a pad of paper next to him but nothing written on it but a few idle scribbles. Instead he had his guitar over his lap, plucking idly at the strings with his eyes closed as though he were listening for something.

ironfright.livejournal.com

[ aggravated!Puck is very aggravated ]

Whoever is broadcasting this shit, fucking knock it off before you find thistles growing so far up your ass that you'll be brushing your teeth with chlorophyll.

smecker.livejournal.com

For a moment the screen is at a crazy angle, and fingers smeared with blood scrabble over the glass, leaving red messy trails on the broadcast.

Paul Smecker rights the tablet, gives Taxon a visual of his face, paler than normal, dotted with sweat. The hand not holding the tablet is clutching at his neck, and blood is visibly welling out from between his white-knuckled fingers. His shirt collar is damp too, but the astute-eyed may see that it's mostly water, and not quite as bad as it looks.

He's sitting on the floor, leaned back against an overturned table-- a shambles behind him, signs of a struggle however brief. Paul sags against the table, tries to focus. Blood loss, his mind tells him, it's blood loss making him weak, shaky-- (not shock, not panic, not shameful fear over someone he trusted turning on him-- no, not weakness like that), but he has to focus, has to tell people.

"Dawn--" His voice is a croak, he clears his throat, tries again. "Anyone who's watching-- Dawn Summers's... a vampire. Attacked-- bit me..."

Yeah. Yeah, bit him, and the mere thought of that makes him start wanting to hyperventilate. Keep it together, Smecker-- but all he's seeing is an innocent face twisting into a smile out of hell, fangs gleaming. The strength, the speed-- how the fuck do you fight that? All his planning, and... he'd trusted her. Trusted-- stupid, fucking stupid.

"...hey.... Buffy?" Paul rasps. "So's you know-- holy water... works pretty goddamn well."

And then he closes his eyes, leans back against the table and tries to think. The tablet's heavy; he lets that hand lower it to his lap. His other hand is still keeping the pressure on the punctures on his throat; he tries to think, figure if he'd be better lying down or not. Elevates the wound, yeah, but doesn't let blood get to his brain either, hell. Handkerchief-- he's still got one somewhere, right? Pocket-- yes-- he folds the cloth, gets it over the holes in his throat, then lies down on the floor, taking deep breaths.

[OOC: So, I MADE A BOO-BOO, some miscommunication on my part. Paul's not as seriously injured as the initial tags would have suggested-- he won't be unconscious, and will be able to update people as to the situation. Anyone needing to alter their tags in light of that, I will offer you chocolate. Sorry!]

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?"

ironfright.livejournal.com

[ Have a slim and dark-haired young man walking through the streets of Central, a soft-cased guitar slung over one shoulder like the quintessential wandering musician. But an unpleasant look and a sharp set to his eyes might dissuade casual conversation and though he may look human at first glance, anyone who can feel beneath that surface will know it's not true. ]

This is such bullshit...

ironfright.livejournal.com

The vertigo was different this morning, accompanied by a dry taste in his mouth that left Puck wondering what the bartender had slipped into his drink.. and where he could get some more. Only then did he realize that he was standing rather than laying in his bed and concluded that his life was certainly at no high point when his automatic assumption was that someone had drugged him. Although, looking around this strange silver room, that might have been the easy explanation. "The fuck is going on?" he muttered, dragging his hands over his face as though that would help wake him up... but froze, the cool lights glinting off the bracelet fused against the pale skin of his wrist.

Now more disquieted than disgruntled, Puck took another long look around as he tried to piece together how he might have gotten here. The last thing he remembered was falling into bed in his loft, accompanied by... "Blon-- brunette? No, blonde. Dyed though."

He spoke more to break the silence of the room than anything, because he found it disturbingly creepy. It struck him as something sort of... retroactively futuristic. Almost idealized, but like from another, earlier decade. He tried to pry his fingers beneath the silver band, but it only resulted in a gash on his forearm. Black studded boots clunked down the stairs leading from the platform as he approached the only other thing immediately visible: a small pedestal. He frowned at the device sitting there, skimming his fingers lightly over the unmarred surface that looked like it'd never been used. A weird cellphone? Puck patted his pockets down, but his was missing.

A flash of colour in the corner of his eye made him swing around, and to his shock he saw his guitar behind the platform he'd just left. Crossing to it quickly, Puck ran his fingers over the polished surface, but couldn't detect any flaws. Whatever hallucination this was, it was convincing enough to fool him. "Is this your damned modern glamour?"

That was his only explanation, because how else could it be explained that he'd woken into a room with nothing but the clothes on his back, his guitar, and no door? A sardonic scowl twisted his mouth into his usual moody expression. "I would've thought a padded room would've been more appropriate," he muttered.

But even a faerie could not force himself awake from a dream, even one as unwelcome as this. At the very least he would not indulge it, and keeping his guitar close to his side, sat down with his back against the featureless wall. "I can wait longer than you know," he called out sullenly. "I have nothing but time."