taxonomites | Entries tagged with { the brucolac

deadmanbrucolac.livejournal.com

The feed cuts on to display that nosy, scar-faced vampire again. He's standing in some sort of dimly-lit steampunk wet dream, surrounded by wheels and levers and pulleys, one hand on each of two large nautical steering wheels, one vertical, one horizontal.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and respected others. One of our fellows is being proactive about getting our captors' attention by generously offering to blow everyone's shit up. Fascinating as I'm sure everyone finds this, if you'd like a safe place to not get your shit blown up, I'm bringing the moonship down over the arrival building in Central right now, and you're all welcome aboard. Yes, I'm a vampire, yes I'm in full possession of my soul, and there's a hatch on board, so no, I feel no special urge to bite any of you. The rules of hospitality apply: show respect for my ship and everyone on it, and you'll be safe as houses. Safer, in this case."

Should anyone care to look up outside, they will see that the vast, pierced sphere that is the Uroc is no longer hanging miles above Taxon, but drifting steadily down toward the Sanctuary-of-Arrival. As it comes lower, the sheer size of the thing is more apparent - it's more like a gigantic cruise-liner than a clipper ship.

"All aboard."

fangy-summers.livejournal.com

Wow... Granddad gets his groove back and all of a sudden, everyone's fearing for their lives. Not that I can blame you. You're only human.

Well, most of you...

Meanwhile, everyone's forgotten about the actual turned Slayer. Y'know - the one whose primary incentive for not doing what she does best, seems intent on joining up with said grandparently-type?

Yeah.

That incentive.

And, see, with my living self declining assistance in her somewhat... Disempowered state, there's me, remembering how Drusilla just loves some good old-fashioned destruction.

So, maybe the whole key to my predicament is just to... Out-Angelus Angelus... That sound good, Dru? Enough to make me the better choice in all this?

Unless someone can give me a good reason not to.

I am open to suggestions...

deadmanbrucolac.livejournal.com

"Hello Taxon." A thing shaped like a man (a heavily-scarred man) is sitting at a cafe in Central, and he greets you all with a whisery hiss. The Sanctuary where everyone arrives is visible over his shoulder.

"The man in the moon, here. The Brucolac, for those who do not yet know me. I've been watching over you all, and have noticed a lot of scurrying about. This has lead me to wonder, to concern myself with you and your well-being. How are you? Are you lost? Adrift? Dissatisfied? Content? Successful? How goes the vampire situation?"

And yes, he delivers that last with a smile, just a small one, and a flicker of his forked tongue.

orderfromchaos.livejournal.com

This is yet another morning where Sherlock Holmes is far from keen on waking up. The light's already stinging his eyes, and he finds himself issuing a half-grumbled, half-growled "Watson," as his hands flatten to the floor before him, splayed in such a way to provide enough traction to drag himself forward a fraction of an inch.

His brows furrow when he slides with such surprising ease. There's another guttural sound as Holmes pats the surface beneath him - curious. It wasn't the carpeting, nor the hardwood, with which the detective was so familiar after years of missing his bed. "Should have been hardwood, at least," he mutters to himself, still far from awake, already set into the throes of some wild theory before his eyes so much as slit open.

He takes note of the smell. ( Or lack of smell, as it were; )

lanterncast.livejournal.com

The feed starts off with a blurry image of Judith's hands as she sets the tablet up on a level surface, and then walks away to finish working on a curving symbol, in the medium of red and black spraypaint on dull brick. It's taller and broader than she is, and after she finishes outlining the tail she turns around, pulls down the bandanna protecting her nose and mouth, pushes off the headphones clasped over her ears to encircle her neck, sets her spraypaint on the ground and approaches the tablet again.

"Afternoon, Taxon, it's another wonderful fucking day in the neighbourhood," she says, her tone perhaps softer than it's been for previous broadcasts, "And I've got two things to say. The first has to do with that back there - I'm staking out turf, since it looks like nobody's gonna stop me, and that's what I'm marking it with. I've got those set up around the perimeter of my territory, you can't miss them--and if you do, here's a handy reference guide I drew up." Judith holds up a map. "But that doesn't mean you can just dick around in Speares either, that's just the line I will fucking murder you for being stupid inside of, got it? You can walk through if you don't bother anything, I don't care, but if you plan on sticking around you come talk to me or I'll treat you like an intruder--and bro, trust me, you do not want that. By the same token, though, if I like you - and I'll tell you this - I'll keep you safe in here. If any of you have any questions whatsoever about this now is the ideal time to ask me."

"Okay. Now that we've got that covered." Judith pauses, linking her paint-stained hands behind her neck. "People who've received mysterious packages in the night, we've got updates on this, and I want all of you to sign in--I don't care if you're shy, this is important for your safety and the safety of the rest of us, consider it a public service. And since this should be fair, let me give you all the run down on what we know so far: a couple of us received mysterious bits of junk in the night, from a motel that - oh, yeah, the Sunshine Motel is here, it's just abandoned and wrecked - anyway. We got these things, and they seemed useless, but I'm guessing a lot of you have noticed they're not...exactly what they looked like the first time you picked them up. So now's the time to speak up about that, and if you have questions--I'll see what I can answer. And if you have input worth anything I'll send you a bottle of whisky."

With that, she waits, the Fianna tribe symbol still clearly visible behind her.

Current Music: Kanye West (feat. KiD CuDi) - Welcome to Heartbreak

cailisairgid

The past month has been something of a logistical nightmare; Ferdi is in town (and by 'in town' we mean 'on Sol's couch', because that's what big brother's couch is clearly for), which of course is the same week that Tonya's parents are in town (that'd be why Ferdi's on the couch and not in a guestbed), and Tonya is having great fun running interference between her parents and her husband and cursing the former for not giving her enough warning to find the latter something much more important to be doing than needling, again, the former. All of which means that as much as he might like to get out to LA - sooner rather than later - he's having enough trouble finding ten spare minutes to use his goddamn phone.

(We haven't even got into work.)

All in all, though, Sol'd take the complete insanity of his home right now (he loves them all - all right, except his in-laws) over the metallic silence that he's been abruptly dropped into, and after eyeing the walls with open suspicion for a few moments, he pinches the bridge of his nose and swears. He's still wearing his suit from work (classic black, a buttondown shirt and leather shoes, with...dragonfly silver cufflinks), although he's got rumpled in the hour since he left the office, and he'd really like to get on with the rest of his afternoon so he can take that off.

After which he raises his voice- "Leila," he says, in a controlled, polite tone, "I'm incredibly sorry about what I said, but I'm running late and I don't have time for this. Don't you think this is a little much?"

lanterncast.livejournal.com

The key is a problem from the first second Judith sees it.

It's not that the key itself seems to be anything special, but where it was (her kitchen table) and how it got there (through the best security she could put up without tripping a single alarm) tells Judith that something is wrong with it anyway. It means something, but an hour of contemplating it in the palm of her hand didn't provide any answers - she doesn't even know if the key itself is significant, or if it's only supposed to be proof that she's vulnerable. As far as she knew, she didn't have enemies here, but maybe she was wrong.

The inexplicability of it, the way it just sits and is plastic and bland and impossible to understand, makes Judith consider breaking it or throwing it away, but she needs to figure this out. Someone or something gave this to her for a reason, and not knowing that reason puts her at a disadvantage. So she turns on her tablet and flips the key between her fingers.

"So is breaking into other people's houses and leaving things behind a fucking hobby here?" She dangles the key in front of the screen. "And does anybody even know where the 'Sunshine Motel' - or Sunrise, or Sunny, or whatever - is? Because I need to talk to someone." And murder them to death.

faderbroderson

Godric feels the bond let go like a rubber band that's unexpectedly snapped. His tablet tumbles from suddenly numb fingers, switching on as it hits the ground. Eric is gone. He knows it instantly and without question, and it leaves him with an aching chasm inside him, a black hole that sucks in all the light.

He'd forgotten. Forgotten what it was like to exist without the subtle pull, the emotional feedback. He's been without Eric's physical company many times before, but without Eric's very presence resonating inside him for the first time in a thousand years, he's left utterly bereft. Was this how Eric had felt when Godric had gone into the sun?

He slumps bonelessly onto the couch, burying his face in his hands.

shaneonyou.livejournal.com

It's dusk, and Shane had decided to go out on his own for a while and familiarize himself with the city (after reassuring Levi several times that, yes, he'd be careful, and yes, he'd stay away from sketchy greasers named Snape). After making it as far as Sunnydale Playground, he remembered how much walking alone made him antsy and bored, so now he's flopped down on a bench, laying on his back. After staring at the sky for a few moments, he digs out his tablet, holding it out above him and flicking on the visual setting.

"Hey, campers," Shane says, grinning a little. "One --" He holds the tablet further away from him, giving a better view of his outside-ness, "Check it out, I'm in a park." Meaning he's not in the mansion with Levi. Yes, this is relevant in his mind.

"Two... how's it going? I'm Shane. Hey."

demonmagnetism.livejournal.com

The tablet is treated to a rather bizarre angle, and a whole lot of sawdust obstructing most of the view. What one can see, however, is about half of Xander, lots of wood, and much sawing, punctuated by occasional pauses to measure things. He is making completely superfluous furniture and whistling 'Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work we go', which is actually an oddly therapeutic activity. Or it is when you're an ex-construction worker/carpenter who hasn't seen the shiny end of a hammer in close to three years, which Xander happens to be.

Naturally, he isn't aware that the tablet is on (he spilt coffee on it earlier, which may or may not have been a deliberate attempt at sabotage), and the best time to bother someone is when they're using potentially dangerous power tools. As we all know.

deadmanbrucolac.livejournal.com

That night, after a brief, bemused discussion, the Brucolac receives a most welcome invitation. The last blue of the evening is fading from the sky when he drops out of his ship and falls toward a particular building in the city.

It had not been very long since he last saw Godric, but it had been a busy few days. He'd spoken with Doul, then the Extras had gone strange, some blonde tart had wandered into his ship. and then their jailers had actually spoken with them. The Brucolac very much wanted an ally, a confederate, and Godric had been a welcome acquaintance thus far.

lanterncast.livejournal.com

Judith has made it, impossibly, to Idaho--the Gem State, a brochure told her at the rest stop where she was picked up by the latest in a string of cars that started just outside of Boston. Her current ride is a white middle-aged man named Steven, coming back from a convention (he's a dentist, he tells her, she has nice teeth) a state behind them, and in the hours prior to this gas station as the sky began to darken he's been glancing at her more and more frequently. He's about to ask where she's spending the night, she can tell; he said she reminds him of his niece, Rebecca. She knows what he's hoping he'll get out of this ride, and she knows he's not going to get it from her.

Even if it means crawling out of a narrow bathroom window with the sixty dollars he gave her to pay for gas and 'whatever you want, Rhiann'.

She lands lightly on her feet and knows immediately that the landscape has changed around her, and her first instinct is to consider this treachery. She stands perfectly still for almost exactly one second, registering the temperature, the smooth walls, the fact that she's inside, and the absence of sound, a tall figure of a young woman in blue jeans, sneakers, and a parka, blood on her hand (but no cuts) from breaking the window she just crawled backwards out of--a window that's no longer above her.

"What the fuck," she says, slowly and carefully, in a thick Boston accent, "Is this fucking bullshit?" It seems to be almost a rhetorical question, and she turns around to investigate the rest of the room on her own calmly, examining the bracelet bound to her wrist (she bites it, experimentally, at the line where metal melds seamlessly into skin), the tablet on the raised platform, the ceiling, the floor, and most especially the walls and door. She presses her hands to the door, raps it sharply, and listens carefully to the sound that answers her. Then she takes a step back and sits down cross-legged, with a perfectly blank expression.

"You want me to try to break this door down, or panic--well, fuck you, I'm not playing. I'm going to sit here, on this floor, and you can come and get me. I can wait. If you want something you're going to have to ask me for it, because I'm not doing anything until you do." This speech quietly delivered, she leans over her knees and closes her eyes.

taxcollectors.livejournal.com

All throughout the day, tablets across Taxon will be ringing. The chime is simple, a four part melody that's pleasing to the ear and completely unique compared to any other signal the tablets have sounded. Just a simple little ditty, effortless and pretty. The tablet's screen reads thusly, with font a bright and calming blue:

--VOICE COMMUNICATION--

;4JA7097<DPBQ:&;FDP8D:.@91uRH<.5=DN85<,@A9EB@Ls

THANK YOU!

Pick up, it seems to say, all cheery colors and bright ring. It's time we had a chat, and that feeling is eerily familiar to the niggling in the back of one's mind when they just know it's an old friend on the other end of the line that they've been missing lately.

Pick up, citizens. Your keepers are calling.

[ooc: So begins part two! Posts like this will also be up tomorrow and Friday. All communication from the aliens will be [voice], and characters will get either a male or female sounding alien asking them questions when they tag in. Feel free to have them ask questions back to the aliens, as well. Have fun!]

theextras.livejournal.com

12 noon, Taxon time.

It doesn't quite align to the time of their keepers, but it's close enough that everyone will notice it happens then, not 12:01 or 11:59.

It's 12 noon in Taxon, and with a thrum of electricity in the air every empty person, every fake man, woman, and child without a silver bracelet on their wrist, stops in their tracks to look at the sky. The movement is simple, abrupt, and completely unignorable.

Five seconds later, they begin to speak, their voices a strange harmonic monotone:

"Systems coming on-line. Voice recognition. Voice program. Override native speech protocol. Override native speech protocol."

This strange technical chorus goes on, "Override native speech protocol," and not a one of them moves from where they were when it started. When they reach their tenth repetition, they all cut short suddenly. Their mouths stay open through the sudden quiet, and with a flicker of code across all the tablets:

'5P<A;DvP5H<569
X{*P8D:.@=DljheQ4A9[BDLVinYh5;ADBD&P9A?2
T!+[wJA[jWxD8@
    |7;N&P8Qp*5D&N8Qr:@;9EB@Lw:M9@BI;{;F)KJELp;:D]HE27hpF[s>6&EW$
    [RSq=;Lr=GvE9vPF[ZsFz3DDQx>.,EWeOR}<39cD;
    RQn>(91[7I~*E=7R86LeEWpKA9UDrKD(B@4
GvD8A
    #D6;3L*[v7013J*[xG;(FA4JR%5:F<4SA)636G<OR}6'QY:O8DNDrD.=FQ,
    DQYiT<Fz&F|=PwJNDYy>24>L<$=9QE@o46=D|FQu3F=,AE]L$
    QWfU)39D6OvAF7?;7<D|FQu3F=,AEZLeEWmJG74*D
ZiJ7Qu+
"J.R4F2DtG3OGQq{*7p+y!rjQtDk
#D6;3L*[uA;8FWi3+1 l',h+* LaQh
tN<H.97WgKAEADv/|;%vns!,DxRc
|7;N&P8Qo4@K9[w)%$w'v~wQiDe

It stops at 12:03 Taxon time.

[ooc: Aliens Talk Event! This is entirely a reaction post for characters to interact in the subthreads. Enjoy!]

likeajoan.livejournal.com

There is a reason Buffy doesn't like her birthday. In fact there are several reasons, though for the sake of brevity, let us just say 'most of them have sucked'. It seems this one, her twenty-fifth, is fated to be just as eventful as the others.

When she opens her eyes, it's from a dream that was too real to be a dream. The magic, Twilight's forces, Willow and the flying submarine, Tibet, Oz, Bay, the werewolves, losing her powers, trying to fight Twilight's army without them, invoking the goddesses, all the death, the destruction, the bodies on both sides, and then falling... falling... waking up in the snow, and then flying-- Xander. Her feelings for Xander. Xander and Dawn. Kicking the goddesses' Godzilla-sized asses. Flying.

The memories, all clamouring in her head at once, prompt her to sit up and push her duvet aside. There's so much to think about, and her bedroom suddenly feels stifling. Pulling some less pajama-like clothes on, she then makes her way out of the castle, into the crisp early morning faux-Taxon-winter air. Hesitantly, because she isn't sure if this is going to work-- or if she even wants it to work (flying is scary. Really scary. And weird), she balls her fists and wills herself upwards.

...oh hey, it works.

[ ooc: canon update to issue #31! Feel free to wave/yell/gape in awe/throw rocks at her, and I'll have her drop in to say hi. ]

saintsanguine.livejournal.com

On the third day after the summer solstice (three days, in terms of Biblical context, is the proper chronology for resurrection), Elena steps out of his room and into the hallway, and Stefan learns a valuable lesson on the permutations of silence.

( it'll eke away at everything, but we'll be fine. )

[[OOC: if it's okay to do so I'm going to assume the ~most magical~ thread with

herquietude takes place after any other responses, because I wish to inflict the littlest vampire teacup on everyone. Everyone.]]

azurehalo.livejournal.com

Elena has had plenty of time, in the last few months, to almost get used to being abruptly thrust from one place to another. But 'almost' doesn't win any prizes, and walking out of Stefan's room into the hallway and instead ending up in this little circular space left her stock still and wide-eyed for what felt like minutes and was (probably) only seconds.

"No," she says, taking a deep, steadying breath as she turns around to examine the wall behind her, "No, this is not happening, Elena, get a grip."

She knew this couldn't be real. There was no other possibility she could let herself think about. So starting from that premise, as she explored the room (what there was to explore), she thought about who could be responsible. Klaus was gone, like Katherine, and Damon wouldn't do this to her, not now--she was pretty sure he didn't even have this kind of power. That meant that there had to be some new Power at work, maybe someone who once knew Klaus or Katherine or either of the Salvatore brothers. Someone with a grudge, or looking to get something out of them.

(Or maybe the past few days had been the illusion, maybe she never left Klaus' control, maybe Stefan was really--)

Elena finds the tablet and picks it up, only then noticing the bracelet bonded to her wrist, and she spends a few moments examining them both before realizing the door across from her had opened. She looks up, her jaw set with unusual grimness, and tucks her hair back with a hand bearing a distinctive gold ring set with a large lapis lazuli.

"Okay," she says, addressing the thin air with an even tone that barely concealed her anger, "Whoever's doing this, I need to tell you something: I am not going to take this lying down. I am over these mind games, and there is nothing you can do to scare me. I'm going to get out of here, and when I do I'm going to find you, and I'm going to stop you. I don't know what you want, from me or Stefan or anyone else, but you're not going to get it, and so help me, if you hurt him I'm going to make you wish you'd never heard of any of us. If you were smart you'd let me go right now, but since I'm sure you won't I'm finding my own way back. Just try to stop me." That's a challenge and desperate bravado, both, but she looks fiercely determined as she strides from the room and into the city to continue her search for a way out.

tiberiuskirk.livejournal.com

[ the following is not something jim kirk ever intended to find it's way onto the taxon network, but unfortunately the tablets have that infuriating habit of not giving the residents any choice in what goes on or stays off it. ]

Captain's Log, Stardate 2258.338, Taxon Addendum 2259.16--

There is still no change in our situation. We remain trapped, without means of escape or answers for our being brought here. Our captors still have yet to make themselves known and the natives continue to be anything but useful sources of information. New buildings appear with the new residents that bring them. No reason for parts of home being given to us has been provided, either, but it's believed our captors wish for us to be comfortable. Outside of the glitches, their intentions do not seem to be hostile.

Sensors have not picked up on any changes. The ship is functioning at peak efficiency for being parts of a ship and no performance issues have been encountered, nor has the Enterprise been directly threatened. Members of the crew have, as stated in previous logs.

[ here he pauses and there's a sigh before he continues. ]

I find myself...out of ideas and failing to see the point in retrying those which have failed to produce results. My father didn't believe in no-win scenarios and that's something I've come to live by, but after two hundred and fifty-one days worth of attempts... Maybe it's time I admitted defeat.

For now.

I'm not giving up hope that something will come along-- clues, solid information, something to aid us in our escape attempts, but I believe it best to put these efforts on hold and focus more on the issues concerning the community of captives. We have all found ourselves in the same unfair situation and it is my belief that the time for abiding by certain aspects of the Prime Directive has passed.

On that note, I continue stand by my previous statements of accepting full responsibility for all violations of the Prime Directive made by myself and the members of my crew present in Taxon. Should we ever reestablish contact with Starfleet, I alone will accept the consequences of those actions.

End log.

[ the tablet turns off and the violation of privacy/security goes unnoticed by the captain. clue him in on it? ]

deadmanbrucolac.livejournal.com

The Brucolac is not the sort of fellow who stays home most nights. He is an active man, he likes to move and see and touch and hear, and here, in this city he has been brought to, everything is new. He has a wonderful view of the city from his moonship, but he has been to cities and cities, and he knows that he must walk her streets, must feel her pulse from the inside to truly know her (to make her his own).

Tonight, and every night, the Brucolac goes walking. Central, Speares, Osten, Shelley and Wilde, he has many new corners to explore. He walks in and out of buildings, confused at their often-emptiness. The trains fascinate him, and he rides in them, and one night on his way down from his high ship, on one of them, getting his hands dirty and enjoying goading reactions out of the Extras. He tries talking to them, tries to learn about the city from them, tries to cajole one or two into pricking a finger for him so that he can see if their blood truly does taste of dust.

Mostly, he is out and about everywhere, being nosy as all hell.

10secsofsilence.livejournal.com

After determining he'd been spending more time than could possibly be healthy with his dog inside the walls of the Sanctuary for All, Sam found himself wandering outside at last. Mojo'd been properly situated with his bed in the corner, and a newspaper so nothing unpleasant wound up in the closet. And he hadn't been affected at all when there came tiny little dejected whimpers to follow him out the door. Not one bit.

He glanced around at the buildings in some attempt to determine a direction, and realized this did absolutely nothing. "Great." He muttered. "So maybe this would've been a better idea with a sense of purpose." And what a concept that was. Purpose. A little tough to find at the moment. Amazing how when there were no Giant Robot Wars blowing everything up all over the place, when things were quiet and some form of normal, he was having a hard time getting completely comfortable.

"Well, whatever, this is what I wanted, right?" Right. Sam started down a street, noticing the tram line he'd seen earlier and heading in that direction. The perfect mode of transportation for a guy who had no idea what he was doing. "I mean, if Mikaela was here, I'd be set." He'd have some difficulties being around her and Claire both at the same time, but there you go.

"School would be nice. Seeing Bee again, even though I'm sure he's doing great, that would be good too. But other than that I'm cool, aren't I? I'm good. I'm here, everything's great, Mojo's happy... Maybe a little depressed I abandoned him, but he'll get over it. There's no robots crawling up my nose. No one's trying to kill me. I'm fine, right?"

Sure he was.

"... I mean, I'm just talking to myself..."

And he did miss his family. His girlfriend. His car. His friends. His life. All of it.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

He sank down onto the bench and watched for the tram, nodding a little in confirmation because now that the damage was done it just didn't make a difference anymore. Sam toyed with the tablet between his hands and looked off.

Just fine.