taxonomites | Entries tagged with { angela dodson

Two years. Two goddamn years. Maybe one of the geeks could tell you exactly how long that is, how many days or seconds. All Faith knows is that it's a hell of a long time to be stuck in one place, and that even if Taxon's a nicer prison than she's used to it's still a prison. The bars are wider, there's more room to run, but she's caged all the same.

She's not big on melancholy or on metaphor, but the thought of cages sends her out on a run, feet pounding against the pavement like she can outrun the idea of being stuck here forever. Not like the real world's got much more to offer, but at least there she can get the fuck out if she really tries. Here, nothing's in her control and with Willow ratting out Angel's latest life choice, Faith feels more out of control than ever. Not like she's jealous-- not like that at least, not like she wants that herself-- but Jesus, it's Buffy.

Without really thinking about it, she ends up at the zoo; then it's nothing to hop the turnstiles, make a quick stop to hatch a bottle of jack and six pack of beer and park her ass in front of the tigers, stare at them through their bars.

She's down all but one of the six pack and half the bottle of jack when her tablet turns on, recording the vaguely unsteady way she swigs right from the bottle and then sets it down next to her, staring at the big cats intensely.

"You guys got it easy, you know that? I mean, sure, prison sucks and you can't run around and all that shit, but you know where the bars are. Not a bad freaking deal, I guess. Better to be out in-- wherever the hell you live, eating bunnies and whatever, but at least you got an idea, you know? Plus, you're all new. I got two years in this place coming up. Two freaking years, Jesus."

She raises the bottle again in a toast, drinking deep. "Mazel tov, I guess. Happy anniversary to me." Next to her the tablet continues recording, unnoticed.

( ooc | tablet stuff is all good, if you want to location it up that works too! just let me know first. )

virtued.livejournal.com

Stefan was pissed, for lack of a better term. Being trapped in here, while not the worst thing in the world, wasn't entirely pleasant, either. Especially not with all these vampire attacks that had taken place recently, giving fuel to the anti-vampire sentiment shared by more than a few of the human captives in Taxon. The fear was justified, warranted, but acting on it while they were trapped here wasn't going to do anyone much good. He agreed with what Angel had to say about the topic, though he hadn't voiced it.

Now he knew who was behind the attacks: Rose. Coming from a point in time before he met her meant that Stefan didn't trust her. He'd been trying to, giving her a chance and listening to what she had to say, especially since she was a source for information on Klaus who wasn't Katherine, but now, he wasn't so sure. Stefan wanted to blame a glitch, wanted to banish away any captious concerns about the possibility of it not, but he couldn't be sure. A glitch would take away all blame and responsibility, but the truth was that he didn't know her. For all he knew, this was just how she was.

He'd been on his way to talk to someone about this - preferably Damon, if he managed to find his brother first - when he nearly tripped over something that went skidding across the floor when his foot collided with it. Upon further inspection, Stefan noticed it was a tablet. Huh.

Digging his own out of his pocket, he switched on a video feed and asked, "Hey, did anyone drop their tablet?"

( ooc | the tablet is

entractes's, dropped during this thread when rose attacked him. )

a-pretty-fire.livejournal.com

The city - so much smaller than it had been a few nights ago - was balanced on the edge of a knife. One mischievous breeze would be enough to push them off and send them tumbling into the fire. The humans were running in circles, unable to focus on what they really needed to be frightened of. The vampires were butting heads and burning bridges and losing themselves in the woods.

Drusilla could already feel the flames licking at the hem of her dress.

With her head in the storm clouds, she wound her way up to the kitchen on the ninth floor to find herself a mug of blood. It was a good job that the silly little man hadn't poured their supper away. The hamsters were wicked things, but at least they'd had the good sense to give the cats something else to eat when they locked them into the cage with the mice.

She climbed up on to the counter once her stomach was full and, when she tired of the heat that came from dangling over the edge and too close to the flames, stretched herself out like a cat in a patch of sunlight.

It had been so many years since she'd seen the sunlight.

The vampire gazed up at the ceiling, both seeing and unseeing. The stars were hidden from her here - there were too many barriers and bars between them - but she could still see things that other people missed. She could still see what mattered.

"We have all the pieces," she murmured, "But they're not ready to use them."

stacked

[ here's the thing about faith. slayers eat a lot in general, and between prison and growing up without much food faith is the worst of the lot. and while the junk food the hatches are sending out is great for most of the day, she starts needing something meatier. literally. usually she'd just hatch herself a burger, but anything not chips and crap seems to be off the menu.

the issue here: faith can't cook for shit. so when she turns on her tablet and glares into it-- only wearing a sports bra and sweats, natch-- half-annoyed and half-shamefaced, there's a vaguely recognizable lump of meat laying blackened on the counter next to her. ]

So, two things. First, anybody any good at throwing down? ...Or sparring, whatever. If we gotta be trapped, we can at least have some fun. And not to be a bitch or whatever, but if you took a couple self-defense classes at the Y you don't count.

[ ...right. "fun". with a sigh she dumps the lump of effective charcoal in the garbage. ]

Second, anybody any good at cooking? I can pay, seriously. I just need some freaking meat, screw all this pbj crap. [ usually people say 'please help me', faith darling. ] Anyway, yeah. That's all I got.

[ ooc | faith's in the ninth floor kitchen, being fail and cooking and half naked. as you do. location or tablets, or if you want to do a different location later in the day let me know and we'll hook it up! ]

eventextras.livejournal.com

It's around five o'clock in the morning when the citizens of Taxon find themselves inexplicably transported into rooms within the Sanctuary. Doors are left open and beds unmade, food abandoned and lights left on, still shining brightly for those who were awake and are no longer present. The Extras don't seem to notice the captive population's sudden disappearance, continuing on with their business as usual.

For those relocated, though, it's an entirely different story.

They find themselves in rooms with white, alabaster walls that gives them an almost too-clean feeling, as if the entire place was sanitized prior to their arrival. The room assignments are seemingly random, people placed on floors with those they don't know and don't like, people they would rather not be within twenty feet of. It matters not, for what's done is done and cannot be undone. For those who happen to have pets, they'll find them waiting for their owners in the rooms as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

The only thing the captives have managed to bring with them is the clothes on their back and the tablets. On them, they find the following message:

SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE PLEASE ENJOY YOUR STAY WHILE WE ADDRESS CERTAIN TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES

Unfortunately for those who try to find a means of escape, they'll discover there is none. Leaving the Sanctuary will prove to be as difficult as leaving Taxon itself. However, if one heads down the right corridor and the right floor, they'll find something else entirely lurking in their midst...

( ooc | sorry for the delay in posting! your mods were otherwise occupied with things of the irl variety this morning. THIS BE A PARTY POST, Y'ALL. room assignments are here, and refer back to the sott post proper for any additional information. please contact us with any questions/concerns you may have in regards to this plot. ♥ )

verylittlesugar

Dear Fellow Residents of Taxon, Is this enforced muteness a widespread situation? I find it disconcerting, although I find the quiet is appealing. This city is too loud, and too busy. In its defense, however, find it admirably clean. It is more concerning to me that so many people appear to be illiterate. I know that education is not a privilege that everyone has had the pleasure of receiving, but I had been made to feel as though it would be the rule here rather than the exception. Is there not a school of some sort, where people can learn their letters properly? I must take this time to extend my gratitude, though I admit I am somewhat loathe to do it, to Mr. Damon Salvatore, for your very kind gifts. Even though I do not understand your purpose. I do especially think the hats are very grand. Are any of you enough acquainted with a Mr. Don Draper, that you can tell me that he is well? I would not necessarily care, if it were not for my sense of Christian duty that I be sure he has not drunk himself to death as yet. It would be nice if writing could be done by pen and paper as it is meant to be, and not by pushing little lettered buttons. Yours very sincerely, Mattie Ross.

deniedthesight.livejournal.com

Creo que he absorbido toda la información de mi cerebro puede - oh God.

[ the first line of text is deleted, then angela tries again. ]

can anyone out there speak spanish? English is sticking if I really try, but I keep lapsing back into Spanish. Así que si alguien por ahí se puede hablar o no me cambio de mente - maldita sea!

[ she doesn't bother deleting that line, and the next line of text has a distinct undertone of exasperation. (or..would, if this were in voice.) ]

anyone feel like talking?

( translation | i think i've absorbed all the information my brain can / so if anyone out there can speak it or doesn't mind me switching - damnit! )

selfmadman

It's an Olympic-size pool, water stretching on clear as glass for fifty meters—far enough, almost, to get lost swimming a lap. Gutters gouged into the sides slurp down the overflow; a faint, nearly subliminal buzz hangs in the muggy air. He plunges in and hacks his way down the lane, arms out of practice, lungs burning, legs kicking up a choppy wake. Sound recedes. He's robbed only of his gasps for air, the sporadic eruptions of coughing when he reaches a wall.

He fights through the first few laps and settles into a rhythm, keeping pace with the Extra a lane over until he lags behind (they never pull ahead—their strokes graceful or tortured, the Extras move implacably through the water). Thoughts come easier as he swims, easier and more fully formed than the shards he's usually tweezing out.

He flips onto his back and drifts, weightless.

When he climbs out it feels like he's still underwater. His eyes sting with chlorine. He towels off in the locker room, buttons his shirt and fastens his belt and straps his watch to his wrist. He taps out a message while slouched against the wall:

How have you been keeping busy?

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! ]

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.)

lajolieblonde.livejournal.com

[ sookie has decided to eschew emotional honesty for the moment-- after the weekend with bill and angel's scarcity of late, it just seems easier that way-- and after scrubbing the whole house top to bottom more than once, she set to work cooking.

and cooking.

...and then more cooking.

when her tablet clicks on, it's to a view of a counter covered in various types of pie, fried chicken behind it. (there may also be biscuits.) normally, she'd just call jason and tell him she's making sure he doesn't starve since lord knows he can't boil water to save his life, but as they are In A Fight feeding him is not an option at the moment.

but she can't eat it all, so after a moment she sets down her cup of coffee and picks up her tablet. after a little sigh she waves, pressing her lips together sheepishly. ]

I know we're all a little spread out here, but I don't suppose I could find someone to take a few pies off my hands? I... well, I might've gone a little overboard when I was making them. [ beat. ] I have chicken, too, if y'all want any. And biscuits. I'd just really appreciate gettin' some help clearin' off my counters.

deniedthesight.livejournal.com

Angela's tablet clicks on to show her hunched over an open textbook, pen in hand as she occasionally jots notes in a notebook that's been set open beside it. A Bible and several other books, all of which are on the occult, are spread out in front of her, and one of them is dangerously close to falling off the edge of her desk. There's a half-drunk cup of coffee beside her, and after a few minutes, she sits back and rubs at her eyes before grabbing the cup and taking a sip - and promptly spitting it back out.

She makes a face, then glances at a nearby clock, eyes going a bit wide when she sees how much time has passed. A hand comes up to rub at her neck as she tips her head back - and then she spots the tablet's light flickering and makes another face.

"Oh, for the love of -"

And then she reaches out and turns the transmission off.

aintnoconvict

When the haphazardly tossed tablet skittered across the work table and clicked on, it broadcast a scene of Invention In Progress:

Glitch was staring at an illuminated lightbulb and listening to the soft hum of the generator prototype he was working on. All appeared stable and he scooted forward in his chair, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Then the steady hum wavered, became a whine, dropped to a growl, then cut out completely as the lightbulb flickered and extinguished. With a sigh of frustration Glitch sat back and clicked his stopwatch off.

"Two minutes, nineteen seconds. Good effort but...harmonic alignment seven has-" Oh he hated to call anything a failure. "...done its best and and would be excellent if we need to power anything for a little over two minutes."

Satisfied with that assessment, he nodded jerkily to himself and logged the results in the project's file.

cametolife

The temporary population influx hadn't gone unnoticed by Liz Parker. It had kept her busy with customers, natives and captives alike, coming and and out of the Crashdown. It was like a Crash Festival week with tourists coming and going as they pleased, crowds of people filling the streets. Though the streets of Taxon were still foreign to her, the sight had given her a sense of nostalgia that almost made her feel comfortable in Taxon. Almost. There was no presence of her parents, trying to manage the crowds, nor was there Michael and the rest of the kitchen staff complaining about the rush, and all the other familiar faces of Roswell.

She missed home.

Now, however, the café was virtually empty. Liz sat at the bar, silver alien antenna headband discarded off to the side as she refilled sugar containers. It didn't really need to be done, but it kept her busy.

"That was actually kind of nice, don't you think? Not that I'm saying those people being brought here, even for a short time, was a good thing at all, but it was different. Made this place feel livelier, for a little while."

gunsnotvoodoo.livejournal.com

[Loki spotted the building a week or so ago, on one of his wanderings, and ever since an insane plan has been percolating in his brain. The weekend party was awesome, but today it's quiet again and he's reminded of the things he misses from home. Like bullshitting clergy members and discussing every inane topic under the sun with Bartleby.

Shit, he misses Bartleby.

So today he makes his way back to the little building with WTAX painted on the side, and discovers that it's frighteningly easy to talk the Extras into letting him have access to the equipment.]

Well what do you know, Taxon! I guess they'll let anybody on the radio these days. It seems to me that you people have a lot of questions, and nobody up top wants to give you any answers. So let me offer my humble services, and many, many...fucking many years of experience.

Hello, I'm Loki, how can I advise you today?

[Treat this like a call-in advice show, ask any questions you like, or just yell at Loki for being annoying. Modlies, is there any chance of a WTAX tag maybe? :D?]

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. )

thenormalsquint

Sweetie, I love you, but no. You can't leave the chapter off at that.

[It's just another day in the Montenegro-Brennan household. There's the clickity-clack of Brennan at her trusty computer, the lazy voice of Angela throwing in her well-meaning opinions, and the sound of... grunting?]

What do you mean, Angela? I personally fail to see anything wrong with it. [As usual, Brennan sounds completely mystified.]

Everything is wrong with it. Bren, Andy and Kathy are alone. In her apartment. Late at night. Normal people don't talk about bones. They talk about sex. And then do it. [A pause and then Angela laughs.] Or they talk about boners and then do it. Either way, drop the science and add some passion. Hot, screaming, your-clothes-are-in-the-way-so-I'll-just-rip-them-off passion.

What evidence do you have to support such a hypothesis? Because it's clearly incorrect. I am often alone with Booth in my apartment late at night and we usually talk strictly about the cases only without ever having engaged in sexual intercourse. [Brennan pauses, before adding in a somewhat suspicious tone of voice:] Are you intoxicated, Angela?

[For a moment, there's silence on Angela's part as she considers the possibility that the glass of wine that's keeping her company might have her brain a little screwed up.]

Maybe? More horny than drunk actually, but that doesn't matter. What does matter is that I have a fantastic move for Andy to pull on Kathy. Remember that thing I told you Hodgins did to me once that had the neighbors calling the police? Instant orgasm for Kathy, instant bestseller for you.

[There are some more grunting and strange scraping sounds that are followed by a quiet growl, the noise drowning out the beginning of Brennan's response.] --sure if I'm entirely comfortable using a sexual maneuver that Hodgins obviously favors in my novel. Isn't exposing something so personal a little... underhanded?

[Suddenly, the feed turns from audio to visual to audio and back to visual again. Through the smeared view is Angela draped over the arm of the couch, legs splayed open in an obvious interpretation of this so-called epic move with Brennan sitting across from her.]

Underhanded, overhanded, who cares? Hodgins will totally take it as an ego stroke. He likes that sort of-- [Her legs drop down to the couch cushions as Angela pushes herself up into a sitting position, a suspicious look on her face.] Sweetie, did you give Tuesday something to eat?

No. [Brennan looks up from the laptop screen, glancing at Angela before turning her head towards the noises coming from the floor-level somewhere. Staring towards the tablet that is recording all of this, Brennan states the obvious as she is wont to do.] Your dog is eating the tablet. Is that yours or mine?

[The dog in question lets the tablet fall to the ground with a clatter, switching the feed back to audio, with all her glorious puppy panting aimed right into the mic. How... cute.]

Mine, I think. [A pause and then the soft thump of Angela flopping back onto the sofa.] Let her have it. If we're lucky, she'll break yours too.

[After a moment of nothing more than puppy panting, Brennan speaks up decisively.] Agreed.

biverbam.livejournal.com

When the tablet clicks on, River is sitting cross legged and cross armed on Serenity's dining table.

She is staring at a cake. Pretty one, too, just three modest tiers of purple with blue hibiscus flowers made of sugar. It's almost like the aliens are trying to compensate for something! From the expression on River's face, however, this is the most disturbing confection in the history of all human existence.

"There isn't a reliable measurement for time," she tells the tablet. "Seasonal markers are arbitrary. Manufactured. Without a solid point of reference it all slides out of place-- Places." Agitation is winning out and she fidgets with a loose string at her elbow. "The appearance of punctuality can't be trusted." It is possible there are some Issues behind that statement other than turning nineteen, but she's not voicing them today.

None of this stops her from picking off a flower and nibbling on a sugary blue petal, though.

"I don't want it."

Get your free cake, Taxon! Hurry, before she peels all the fondant off.

[ ooc: PRETEND THIS IS FRIDAY backdating forever yay. \o/ ]

deniedthesight.livejournal.com

Nearly ten at night isn't the time that most people would typically be going to church, unless they were attending a holiday mass, but Angela has never exactly been typical. It took her a while to find a church in the city, and then it took some more time to locate where it was (a few months in the city and she's still not entirely used to it). She's missed attending the services and the routine comfort attending mass every Sunday morning gave her, but that's not the reason she's here tonight.

She's here at night because she didn't want to run the risk of attending a service surrounded by Extras (how creepy would that have been) and she was hoping that no one would be around. No one around probably means that the confessional booths are empty, and while them being empty means no words of comfort from the priest, it also means she can get her conflicted feelings over the recent zombie epidemic off her chest. It's not the same as visiting the theological society, as she would have if she were home or it were here, but it would suffice.

Her tablet's visual feed clicks on as she's heading up the steps, and it shows her standing in front of the doors for a few moments, lips pressed together as she places a hand on the door. She hesitates for only a moment, then pushes through.