taxonomites | Entries tagged with @ speares

Okay maybe something weird is going on, or several unrelated weird things. One being Sherlock's...whatever, no one's reported running into either(?) of him so that mystery remains. Glitch is maintaining his skepticism.

There's also the mystery of Madelyne's creepy gift-giver, which at least has given him a non-Sherlock related excuse to try and keep tabs on her. Friends in need and all that.

Less mysterious but infinitely more tiresome is the aliens' latest art installation, which he is giving all the attention it deserves: none whatsoever. Instead he's at the shop, hunched over a drafting table and working on a design for a remote controlled flying thingy which can maybe give him a better look at/study of the lighthouse beacon.

(Glitch is going to be building unmanned drones, Taxon. Enjoy that thought.)

So yes, there he is, going about his business and contentedly ignoring the crap out of everything. What can possibly go wrong?

OOC: There will be need for intervention at some point since ninja vs. demon is not a fair fight, though I have word from Dien that anybody turning up will make Ettie scamper out of a desire to not be seen. Yep.

trojanhorst

Horst Cabal (or, according to the listed name on the Taxon map that people can actually see, Horst Brauer) has had an eventful first day in Taxon. He's gotten a shiny new bracelet, sat down for tea and chitchat and househunting with a supernatural librarian, walked around a city of the future, and picked out a temporary home for himself. That last was more than a little harrowing, in his opinion -- he arrived at his new residence just near the airstrip, placed his hand on the lock, and was promptly greeted by a man and a woman and their large dog. The man welcomed him in and wished him good evening while the woman snapped the leash on the dog. They already had their coats on. "Good evening," Horst remembers saying to them, "I'm Horst Brauer. What's your name?" The man and the woman had given him bland looks and introduced themselves and their dog like a pre-scripted theatre routine. Then they'd wished him luck, and the Winslows had gone down the walkway, through the wrought iron front gate with their dog tugging them away on the sidewalk, and they very politely allowed Horst Cabal to steal their home without so much as a backward glance.

Two o'clock in the morning is awfully late to be out walking your dog, Horst remembers thinking.

He can't shake that last image of the Winslows -- the man with a smoking pipe in his mouth, the woman with a smart little veiled cap tilted jauntily on her head. Shiny white shoes and a pointelle apron. The dog's ears waving back and forth.

He'd changed the sheets on their bed before sleeping in it, even though Long had led him to believe that Extras didn't always lead full enough lives to actually use all of the things they appeared to own. It just seemed more respectful.

Then he'd wandered for a few hours, meeting a strange, otherworldy man hammering some kind of sword. That had been a long day.

Today, his second day, he can only hope will be a bit quieter. There's less he needs to do, for the time being, but he still needs to make an effort to fit in for the moment, until he eventually finds a way to escape. That in mind, he's taken back out into the city to learn a little bit more about life in Taxon.

For the past three hours, Horst has been riding the tram line back and forth. For the most part, he alternates between flipping through the pages of a large stack of magazines with studious concentration, or poking warily at the screen of his tablet as though it's a sleeping viper he expects might wake and jump out at him at any moment, or standing at one of the tram windows, staring out at the passing cityscape in obvious fascination and wonder. Occasionally, the train comes to the end of the line in one direction or the other, and Horst looks up from one of these activities for a moment, delighted that the tram ingeniously starts moving itself again in the opposite direction, without having to rotate on a turntable or hitch its cars to a new locomotive at all -- so clever! -- but then he returns to whatever he was doing the minute before with a self-amused shake of his head.

The tram makes all its regular stops quite faithfully, but Horst never makes any attempt to disembark. At this rate, it looks like he might, in fact, just as soon ride the tram for another few hours.

misterhotstuff

The visual opens up on the Dodgy Jammer, and there's Buffy-as-Tony looking at the camera from behind the bar.

"Hi there guys." A wave, and a smile for whomever might be watching, before she reaches out and adjusts the screen to reveal a small cluster of shot glasses.

And a bottle off to the side. Two bottles -- it seems like she's been alternating.

"How's everyone doing out there? I figured, dinos are off living happily in the place where they can't actually try to eat us anymore, it might be time to get back to work."

She's speaking deliberately, no slurring, but there is a slight flush to her cheeks.

"Turns out I've got a humdinger of a tolerance for the hard stuff. Like there's one, two, three, four... a BUNCH of shots here, and I am still upright. How's THEM apples, like my mom would say if she was here. Though if she was here she wouldn't let me do this, that's for sure."

Current Location: Speares

aintnoconvict

Out of everyone Glitch should be most wary of just plonking his tablet down during this musical...thing. Knowing better doesn't stop him from depositing it on the many-buttoned control panel beside the brain tank.

He'll just be a few moments, just studying, just being there and barely tapping the glass because he doesn't want to leave smudges but he needs to be just that much closer. Touch the glass which touches the fluid which touches the half-brain and--

A guitar riff plays as he circles the tank, the tablet recording away as he stops to face it, profile toward the camera when he begins singing.

"We passed upon the stair, we spoke of was and when.
Although I wasn't there, he said I was his friend.
Which came as some surprise, I spoke into his eyes
I thought you died alone, a long long time ago..."

( Oh no, not me. )

The guitar riff continues, a winding, mournful repetition like a half-formed thought and Glitch heaves a sigh, eyes closed as he sings the chorus one final time-- and looked up to see the tablet's light. His expression is blank as he stares at it, and remains so when he steps closer and picks the tablet up.

Then his lip curls into a snarl. "Serves me right," he mutters. "Okay, fine, behold my brain a-and all that. You can ask questions but I I can't guarantee satisfactory answers."

buffy_slayer

The call goes out, with the tablet propped up against a beer tap.

There's Buffy, elbows on the bar top, hands propped up under her chin.

Behind her, the bar is dark -- the windows are shuttered, and in the few beams of light that sneak in through the cracks, dust flies thick.

"Jenna's not here." A simple statement.

"She's not on the list of residents anymore, either. So I guess that means I'm your go-to girl for all things drink-like!"

She runs a hand through her hair, sighing in apparent frustration, or possibly anger. Hard to tell, in the gloom of the bar.

"Also, anyone need a job? I could use the help."

Turning, she walks away from the tablet to open the shutters over the windows, one by one, letting in the muted light of twilight. Maybe the tablet's been forgotten, but after a moment, she comes back over, a quick smile ready.

"Another thing -- we're open, tonight. It's dusty, smells kinda musty, but we're open."

thepersianyouth

With Josef's written response at the forefront of his mind, Bagoas set out in the early morning light as so many times before, to walk along the many winding streets of the expansive city. He had only a vague idea when he set out, clad from head to toe in a golden brown kaftan and loose fitting trousers, that he would need garments of finer quality were he to attend his friend's planned festivities.

One moment he was heading towards his beloved bazaar, that so spoke to him of home, and the next he was distracted by some architectural detail or other that had thus far escaped his notice. One too many distractions later, he was utterly lost, but knew from the change in scenery that he had wound up in the northernmost part of the city.

To say it was by design that Bagoas found himself in a multi-storied, myriad of shops of varying sizes and intrigue would be bending the truth a touch too far: rather it was fool's luck, and a penchant for allowing an eye for beauty lead him astray. To claim that he enjoyed himself from the start would be another embellishment of the truth; he went into the bustle of Extras with a duly measured note of scepticism, as everywhere he turned the inhabitants talked to themselves or what looked like tablets, or tried enticing him to buy this bar of soap or that delicious treat, and all around him the most cloying smells he had ever come across.

An hour later, he was engaged in animated conversation with a helpful shop owner over the beneficial properties of this or that kosmetic cream. The very idea of an age defying potion boggled his mind, and he couldn't help but desire such magic. He remembered crossing the threshold into his twentieth year, remembered all too well the dread of losing his one apparent commodity. Still lingered that doubt at the very deepest recesses of his spirit, that one day he would catch the eye of no one.

He had heard of the waters that gave anyone who drank of them eternal youth. He knew a man who had lived for hundreds of years, and had helped him and his survive on the month long excursion at sea not even twenty days past. With the sole exception of Raziel, one and all of them retained the beauty of youth. They would never age, but he would. For every day that passed, his age would show more and more, and how long until not even henna could cover the silver brand of wisdom? He thought of his friends, knowing they enjoyed his company for more than his looks, and yet...it seemed such a small price to pay, for a youth maintained by magic.

If only the potion didn't smell so foul.

((You can pick a location all of your own for this little thing: Bagoas is drawn to all things pretty and sparkling (high quality trumping both of the aforementioned), so feel free to set a scene anywhere you can imagine. It's a free-for-all mall stereotype bonanza! Eunuch included free of charge!

O HAI GUYZ THE MALL IS IN SPEARES NOT CENTRAL, D'OH. Sorry about that, everyone!))

sourcebloodaughter

It’s close to the end. Ashley can feel their hold on her loosening and she’s fighting it harder than ever. Her movements are jerky and far less easy than they had been previously. She’s taken to hiding herself when she feels bouts of control seeping back to her, but it’s not enough and it’s not permanent. On the last day, she’s still wandering the streets, but she’s not actively searching for anyone. Cabal Ashley wants a fight. Sane Ashley wants it to end. With luck, she’ll come across someone who can end it, even if that someone is the form of a tiny dragon.

------------------

Later on, once everything is over, she holes up in her apartment, keeping the door locked as she doesn’t really want to talk to anyone. It’s too hard to face everything right now and she’d rather be alone. Instead, she sends out a couple of text messages.

To the whole of Taxon:
Sorry about what happened. I wasn’t exactly myself, but I am now.

To everyone she met while glitched:
...Really sorry about that. Is everyone okay? If you’re looking for answers, I’ll give what I can, but it’s not a fun story.

To Kitten, Nikola, Briar, Buffy, DG:
...Thanks.

To Briar, James:
...Are you busy?

To Arthur:
Consider this the text you asked me to send.

[ and thus ends ashley’s glitch! The top part is for kitten only, but the rest is open for anyone. people are welcome to try to find her afterwards, but she won't be very open to seeing a lot of people so soon. ]

sourcebloodaughter

The tablets click on in the middle of the night, when Ashley is sound asleep. There's no real light shining into her top bunk space so there's not much to see aside from darkness, but the sounds of a struggle can definitely be heard. It's not enough for her to be yelling, and really she's not making any vocal noises, but she's clearly shifting against the sheets. Violently.

In her dream world, she's reliving some of the worst memories of her life, being trapped and genetically engineered. She can clearly see that tank where she spent six weeks of her life, the scientist on the other side injecting something into the water, the table where she lay for so long-

Ashley awakens with a loud cry, flinging her arms everywhere to get the feeling of being trapped away and knocking her tablet off its stand. It crashes to the floor - the far down, first "story" floor - and turns off. Ashley takes a little longer to gather herself before she climbs down to retrieve it and send one very heavily locked text to a few people she knows can help with this.

locked to DG, Buffy, Nikola, and Briar.

Hey. I need to talk to you. It's important. Sooner rather than later on this one.

/lock

Knowing full well they likely wouldn't reply until the morning, she grabs her weapons, tucking her tablet into her pocket, and decides to go hunting for something to knock the terrible Cabal taste out of her mouth. Maybe this place had a shooting range or something she could make use of.

loveawkward

A freezer. That was going to be the very next thing Josef looked into. The thought came as he woke once more curled into a bit of a ball in what passed for a closet in the otherwise rather nicely appointed loft. Likely, when it had been a working warehouse and not a home, it had been a janitor's closet, but now it was serving as a makeshift bed for Josef with the fans and a small air conditioning unit that was tiny and did little but in the small space helped enough he could rest. It wouldn't last for long.

Heading for the shower, he let the icy water wash over him before taking his time with drying off, putting on one of the two suits he'd also gotten from the hatch - and managed to delete his funds in the process of all the things he'd felt he needed - and headed into the living area where he had the last of his ideas of a business proposal all laid out. Even if there was no investors nor zoning commission to go through, the work was soothing to Josef.

The sudden appearance of a new door off the great room was not. Pausing, he turned slowly in a circle to look over the room and, well yes, count the doors. One new door, nothing else seemed to be moved.

Taking a cautious step, Josef sniffed the air, trying to scent anything out the ordinary. Nothing new, nothing different. Just a door. Another step, surveying the area as well as another sharp sniff as his head cocked to one side.

"If I open this and a monster grabs me, I swear I'm finding me a hamster and kicking it for good measure," he muttered, jerking open the door. Nothing leapt out. Nothing grabbed him. Just another room that hadn't been there when he went to bed at dawn. A fully furnished room with more doors that may well lead to more rooms.

Crossing to the desk, he pulled the tablet around to face him.

"Evening fellow prisoners. Anyone missing a room or two because I seem to have randomly found one."

loveawkward

Nearly two weeks in the city and Josef was coming to realize a few things. Starting over was much easier in a city full of much the same, especially without the societal pressures he'd known in both the old and new worlds. The ability to offend people was not one lost when things changed. In truth it almost seemed he was much better at it. There was also so much truth to the belief that when things were lost, they couldn't quite be captured ever again. True for love. True for respect. And, in Josef's case, true in knowing that he was without a wardrobe he had spent hours being measured for and now he had limited funds and a lack of tailor to start all over again. Worse, it meant venturing into one place even the older vampire feared.

The mall.

Ever since shopping had gone from small boutiques and home visiting seamstresses, Josef had learned to love the end result but hate the general practice. Malls meant people and noise and children and... No, the latter was a huge reason for his avoidance of such shopping meccas. They were loud, unruly, handled with little care and no discipline and they seemed to have only one purpose in life: to eventually grow up to be part of the populace that was generally useful for minions or dining. Thankfully he had run into few children, and none so far with a bracelet.

Wandering the mall, he avoided the sort that advertised on the telly, seeking out the sort of gentlemen's clothing boutiques that rarely sold off the rack and didn't think polyester was actually made to touch skin. Silk and linen weren't always Josef's first goal in clothing but if he was going to rebuild from scratch, he needed to look the part.

thepersianyouth

It may be true, that good memories fade but too quickly, leaving nothing but night terrors and wakeful discontent in their wake. It may also be true that Bagoas' mind sometimes dwells on the past, but despite the horrors unfolding his second week in this city, there is nothing to hold him back from once again attempting what he set out to do that fateful day.

He has had his rest and recuperation from his stint as scavenger, as seeming waif; his scrapes and bruises all faded, his belly full thanks to his generous hosts.

Come mid-morning, when the sun climbs ever higher, he sets out to see the city in its true state, devoid of angry shadows and malicious mirages of his past. Today, he looks to the future, hoping to connect with the inhabitants in whatever way they deem him worthy.

That idea, noble as it may well have been, becomes swiftly derailed once he comes upon a district full of shops. Clothiers, barbers, jewellers, all lining the street; and all around him, finely clothed men of import, their wives. He asks the proprietor of a teashop if she knows the way to the bazaar, but she only gives him an apologetic smile and sends him in another direction. 'Maybe the drugstore has some, sweetie.'

When he finally comes across something familiar, it is not in the shape of mounds of ground leaves and spices, but the glittering fancy of pretty baubles. Market stalls upon market stalls, and more polished stones and precious pearls than he's seen in a long time. Rings and bracelets, anklets and arm bands and necklaces and earrings, far as the eye can see; beyond it, clothes of all shapes and sizes; beyond that, the distinct scent of grilled meat.

It may be true also that he has no one to dance for; but that doesn't mean he shouldn't prepare for the day when he shall dance once more.

theextras

It has been a week (or so) give or take of harrowing adventures for those citizens unfortunate enough to have been caught up the project's bad code. Fortunately, the aliens have worked out a solution of sorts.

The time has come to find your door and open it, meander your very simple maze of servers and blinking technological wizardry, report your findings, and then emerge back in the "real" city for touching reunions and all the free drinks ever.

ooc: IC plot wrapping! tag in, tag enough other, puzzle out mysteries and propose ridiculous theories. as usual you can backtag the event until the crack of doom.

theextras

It was February, and as the aliens had learned it was a time for hearts, flowers, candy, and being open about one's feelings. True, it was supposed to be all romantic and mushy feelings, but where was the fun in that?

For a few days surrounding February fourteenth, the citizens may find themselves experiencing their emotions a bit more intensely than usual. And expressing these feelings may seem like the best possible idea. Good luck, Taxon.

[ OOC: log post thing for the heightened emotions system glitch running from now to the sixteenth! Feel free to make your own posts, but treat this as a catch-all. Have at! ]

secretshame

Jenna was at the Dodgy Jammer that day, cleaning up. She'd been trying to deny what she's suspected for a few days, but somehow, today had smacked it into her that she no longer could. He was gone, back home and good for him, and she needed to deal with it.

He'd told her he wanted a party if he ever went home, so that was what she was going to do. No tears, Jenna Sommers. When she flipped the tablet feed onto visual, she was smiling, albeit with a lot of difficulty.

"Hey, Taxon. Jenna here. Just wanted to let everyone know that Fitz has gone home. I'll be taking over the Dodgy Jammer, so you're not out of a place to drink and make merry yet. And speaking of, I'm throwing a party for him. He said he wanted one if he ever left, so bring your party hats and leave the tears at the door. Got it?"

She took a deep breath and toasted the feed.

"I'll be here all day and if you're looking for a job, I'm sure we could work something out. It's hard to make a place like this work by yourself."

aintnoconvict

The days are still remarkably short, so Glitch is up and out of the palace not long after first light. He's dressed against the elements with boots, gloves, and a furry hat very like an ushanka (the zipper gets damn cold, okay?), but one piece of attire seems to be both useless and overdoing it: over his wool jacket is his adviser's uniform coat. Rather, what's left of it.

Where the lining peeks through one can see it used to be a deep shade of apricot, but time and hard wear have rendered it mostly reddish brown. The elaborate gold braiding has been half-heartedly fixed but is still mostly shredded, and only a third of the left sleeve remains intact. The right one is slit to the elbow, and both are barely attached at the shoulder. The ends of the ankle-length tails are also impressively tattered.

Glitch is completely unconcerned by this as he arrives at the mall and takes out his tablet.

"A few of you have noticed these 'ghosts', right?" That's a bit rhetorical so he goes on. "I'm thinking of seeing if they can be attracted by old stuff, not that I think they're actually supernatural but to find out if I can get different reactions from them. So:"

He turns the tablet to show the milling crowds of Extra shoppers. "A decent sample size of Extras, me for bait, and the coat for a unique variable. Now to see if anyone shows up." The tablet turns again to show Glitch giving a crooked, self-deprecating grin. "And if I, you know, recognize them. Wish me luck."

ooc: On this episode of Ghost Hunters: TAPS (Taxon's Artificial Phenomenon Specialist) investigates the mall to see if any shades of the past show up, and to find out what's hot in spring fashions. Bump into him there (or on the way there to best encounter the furry hat) or say hi on the tablets, but expect to be interrupted by totally headcanon ~ghosts~.

hasaheart

The past three weeks, Wyatt hasn't slept much at all. It's a known fact, broadcast loud and clear by the dark circles under his eyes for all to see. It's only now, roughly a week after Glitch's return from the dead, that he's well and truly succumbed to his own limitations. He's okay. He's alive and well, and real, and somewhere between putting on another pot of coffee and sending DG or Glitch another message to double check they don't need anything, Cain crashes on the couch. It'll only be a nap, he tells himself, he'll just close his eyes for a moment and it is terribly cold. He sleeps, the deep sleep so similar to death but for the steady rise and fall of his shoulders. He sleeps through the night and well into the day, and finally, there are no more nightmares. He dreams of distant memories, of his life before Taxon, before things took a turn for the decidedly more bleak. Dreams of the once Great and Terrible, the Powerful, One and Only Mystic Man, illuminated by the warm flickering glow of his fireplace. He can smell the dark liquor swishing in the tumbler cupped in the older man's palm, can almost hear the knowing grin curling his white mustache and feel the glint in his eyes.

Cain. Will you relax, just this once? With you as my head of security, I'm as safe as a babe in a cot. Sit down, for pity's sake.

( Read more... )

~*~

When Wyatt wakes up, the one thing ringing in his ears well into his second cup of coffee is 'You already do'. Trust him. It's not such a big stretch when you put it like that, and he hasn't had such a vivid dream in his entire life. He gets out his notebook and sits down by the kitchen table and starts writing with a calm that overshadows everything else.

By the time he steps off the Transverto tram in Speares, the calm starts evaporating. The fact he finds himself two stops further down the line than intended doesn't help matters. Nonetheless he starts walking, gloved hands crammed into his pockets, scarf wrapped over his nose and mouth and an envelope tucked safely next to his heart under the peacoat.

Now all he needs to figure out is how not to have a major freak out on Paul's doorstep.

poisonousparty.livejournal.com

Party clicks on the tablet and it's not the usual place--instead it's a room. It's sparse, but in the background all of the furniture has been upturned, and the door behind him as two interesting additions: a spider logo familiar to anyone who's seen Party's car or street side graffiti, and three locks on top of the ones the place already has. Somewhere to the left among the trash and the upturned mattress there's what looks like the beginnings of another art project, something fresh, a skeletal little creature.

The redhead--he's bleached and dyed his hair back--rubs his eyes, frustrated, and gazes at the screen for a few minutes. The cornered, wild dog look is back, fiercer than ever.

"Those glitches? There has to be some sorta pattern. Some cross-eyed message from the Angels of God, some anti-matter we can throw into their master plan." Oh yes, Party's back. "But that's what I gotta explain, motorbabies. Listen up."

He tilts his head to the side. "Apparently Kobra Kid and I went all Costa Rica and started streaking with no lights home. Pumpin' up the volume isn't going to do anything but it got the attention of the Sheriff. I'm thinking that's why it happened so soon." It's a theory, but Party has many, swirling in his head. "Think of the last moment you pissed off an Extra, did a glitch occur after that? It could be some form of punishment..." He snaps his fingers, corners of his mouth twitching. Trying to act casual and not at all suspicious about this last statement, the most important one. Hoping his usual pokerface can't be read by anyone out here.

"You zonerats and diesel darlings forget whatever me and him told you. The sun is my mother the desert is ymy father and I am Party fucking Poison and I'm sung about from the hymnal of the wastes, raised with JuV Halls and Ritalin Rats and angels made from neon and fucking garbage."

There's a grim smile. "We don't even remember our real names." The same poker face. "Christened in acid rain, hear?"

eventextras.livejournal.com

The idea, as it had been initially presented, was for citizens to experience what it was like to walk in someone else's shoes. In practice it became discovering what it was like to walk in their own shoes, if their taste in shoes were suddenly quite different from normal. The footwear still fit and was comfy, but the style was quite different.

For two weeks the prisoners of Taxon swapped their utilitarian Doc Martin's for trendy Louboutins (or vice versa) and all manner of shenanigans reigned.

[ OOC: Trying something new! this is basically a LOG POST where everyone can consolidate their opposite plot doings in one location for optimal organization. How it will work:
→ tag in with your character being affected by the opposite plot.
→ include the dates they will be affected!
→ others will tag you with reactions, and you can tag them!

You are of course free to make your own posts as well. Have fun! ]

secretshame

Jenna had looked high and low for her niece for the last few days, calling Elena, trying to be sure her suspicions were correct and that she wasn't just jumping to conclusions. But after almost a week and no sign of Elena at all, Jenna was forced to admit what she didn't want to face: Elena was gone. And she wasn't coming back.

In a last-ditch effort to be absolutely sure, Jenna sought out Caroline. She had to know, had to ask the blonde if she knew where Elena was. Jenna could handle it if Elena was just trying to protect her again - albeit, likely not very well - but she had a feeling that was just wishful thinking.

Once it was clear to Jenna what had happened, she took up a post at the Dodgy Jammer, tear-stains clear on her cheeks, no matter how much she wanted to hide them. After a while, she opened up her tablet to let the rest of the world know.

"As much as I don't want to admit it... Elena's gone. I can't find her anywhere."

What she needed right now was a couple of good drinks. So, that's what she was doing, trying to drink away her sorrows so she wouldn't remember.

selfmadman

A skyscraper vanishes. It's autumn—a painter's autumn, the leaves ablaze with color and wind whipping through the streets—the day Don takes the tram to Luthor Plaza and finds a misshapen warehouse with a banner announcing HAWAIIAN BBQ sagging over the entrance. He steps inside still anticipating lobby, elevators, a purposeful bustle. The greasy tang of barbecue enfolds him.

That night he wakes sweating on the hotel bed. He strips and showers but a sticky heat stays in the air. He pours himself a drink (number five, number one), switches on the air conditioner, and watches the ice in his glass melt to slivers. Imagines a building evaporating.

He gets out his tablet and in the lamp's dim glow looks at the map. The dots scattered over it are still. He remembers opening the door to Sally and Bobby's room, slipping out of the hall's harsh light into darkness. Back then they'd slept with intense concentration and complete trust.

Don turns off the tablet, finishes his drink. He clicks off the lamp and rolls onto his stomach. Sleep settles lightly over him until suddenly he recoils from it, grabbing for the tablet and knocking the glass to the floor.

At Mattie's apartment he opens every drawer, every cabinet, moving with deliberation born of panic. He stops when he finds the coin. He slumps down onto the bed, a California gold piece in the palm of his hand. It's a long time before his fingers close around it.

When he leaves the sun is rising. Grass that yesterday was brown and brittle has sprung back to life. Trees are green. It's gonna be a hot one.

He types out a message—Mattie Ross is gone—and heads for the office.

ooc: Slightly backdated and stuff.