taxonomites | Entries tagged with { honeythorn gump

a-pretty-fire.livejournal.com

The party was over. The only dead people walking the streets now were the ones who had been invited to the city by the hamsters.

Drusilla had enjoyed the last week. It had been bloody and chaotic, yes, but her heart - her dead and silent heart - had stirred with the thrill of it. She was bloody and chaotic, after all. She'd been able to kill and kill and, for once, the tin soldiers hadn't stopped her. She had been disappointed to find the streets empty of bodies this morning. It was too silent for screams.

A few more days would have been nice.

She meandered to the playground in the end, kicking her bare feet - splattered with blood, just like the sodden crimson hem of her pretty white dress - against the grass to push the swing into motion. It was as silent as the rest of the city, yes, but it was hers. Hers.

"They took my pet away," Drusilla remarked, pouting at the camera. "That was wicked of them."

Her bright blue eyes glittered with mischief and mock disappointment. She didn't look overly upset.

"I want a bird next time," she added, for the benefit of the hamsters, "They sing to me when I give them seed. Little Fitz just moaned. He wouldn't even play fetch."

imperial-long.livejournal.com

Oolong had gotten tired of the sceaming and the running the Extras were doing. There was no point in trying to reason with them, either-- he could try and explain to the doll-people (as he thought of them) that he meant no harm, really, and it was to no avail. Like talking to machines.

The city was therefore a scene of screaming Extras every time he attempted to land, and the landing was difficult, what with few open areas that could accommodate his size. Oolong had initially been quite pleased on realizing his transformation, but at the moment he was beginning to feel it was almost a curse in the enclosed cage of Taxon.

He would test the boundaries. Soon. For the moment he writhed his way through the sky seeking only... a little respite.

There was patchy forest, thicker in some place, and as he surveyed the trees below, he spotted one section that was greener and richer than the surrounding forest. He felt drawn to it-- it seemed alive in a way hard to categorize-- and Oolong started to loop down from the air, down, down, in circle after circle towards the gem of a forest below.

Current Mood: distressed

faderbroderson

"--a messy eater, Eric." The tablet focuses on Godric's elbow, very near the screen. Beyond him is a blur of white and red that eventually comes into focus, somewhat alarmingly, into a white couch with blood spilled on it. Visitors will recognize it as one of the couches in the living room at the nest. The stark contrast between white cloth and rich, red blood is rather pretty if you're into that sort of thing.

"Why you insist on white furniture is beyond me." Eric's voice, just off-screen and mildly exasperated.

"I like it. It isn't as if I can't afford to get it reupholstered. But we should probably attempt to clean it." Godric's voice again, serene but vaguely concerned at the last. Then Eric snorts, shifts, and his elbow comes into the shot, a little farther from the tablet, a little closer to the couch. Some of his torso is visible too.

"We should have people for that sort of thing. You shouldn't have to bother with it." Godric's elbow moves up and down as he gives a small shrug.

"I don't mind. Do you want Extras in the nest?" There's a short silence. Eric doesn't respond verbally, but Godric chuckles. "I thought not."

captbrownie.livejournal.com

One of the scariest, most heart stopping things the Gump ever did was wake up in a room completely void of the call of nature. No winds. No trees and no foliage, no fragrant moss or blossoms just waiting to greet the day as eagerly as he.

This room was a lot like that first room of Taxon. It was dark, it smelled wrong somehow, and there was not even the slightest sliver of natural light to be found.

For the space of a heartbeat that lurched and squelched in his chest like some sort of alien infestation, the Gump was once again gripped by panic.

He opened his eyes wide, turning to his tablet - only to find a hand that was not at all his attached to his bracelet.

The forest wasn't just quiet.

He couldn't feel it at all.

He pressed the symbol to broadcast, trying his best not to sound like a complete lunatic when he wasn't even sure if the moon was out to begin with. "Where am I?! Where have you taken me! Answer me!"

((Timed to Friday 29th!))

riddler-gump.livejournal.com

The longer time spent in Taxon, the more the Gump feels as though he has been remiss in his duties. True, he has no hold over Taxon at large, apart from his sorry excuse of an approximated sliver of home. But that never stopped him from venturing out before. Never would he in his youth have allowed for boundaries to be laid down without his explicit consent.

No one shackles the Gump.

No one imposes limits upon him.

For some time now, a black rainbow has been spreading in his mind, sending his memories and thoughts down a dark and dreary goose chase for a pot of gold that only Brown Tom ever knew how to find.

Brown Tom. Now, there's one who knew how to make merry with tricks. The jovial leprechaun, so generous to all who deserved it, knew better than most faerie folk how to lure the hearts of witless mortals into traps. 'Shiny, Gump', he'd tell him. 'All you need is something shiny to send them a'runnin' to the end of the world. All you need for good trickery is leverage, and greed is the best one of the lot of 'em'. Perhaps. But the Gump had always preferred other lures. Not necessarily better, but different ones.

Lately, the Gump has let a veil of apathy fall before his eyes, but no more. Was he not named for his sweet yet prickly ways? Does he not have a reputation to maintain? Are there really no mortals around who'd fancy a jig or two?

He runs into the city proper to look for leverage, wherever he may find it.

allthefunever.livejournal.com

Sleeping didn't come easy tonight, but Damon isn't thinking about why. If Stefan wants to throw off their nice little rhythm, fine. Fuck him, he can mope in his cell until he's weak enough Damon can pour blood down his emo throat without all the hassle. He doesn't care, never has. He's just annoyed, that's all. With the drama, with the inconvenience, with the little Elena and Stefan do Twilight mopefest that's probably still going on. The annoyance is what's making his sleep light, what makes him immediately aware something is wrong with his bed.

...And all right, it doesn't take light sleeping or even vampire senses to tell something is wrong when Damon rolls over and instead of the expected the expanse of soft sheets gets the hard, unyielding metal of some kind of platform instead.

"Stefan?" He sounds lazy, amused, worry hidden under layers of bullshit. "Now, I know we locked you up but it was for your own good. And don't you think this 'he did it first' thing is a little beneath you? Childish, even."

He stops, clearly waiting for a response. When none is forthcoming the worry is almost apparent, and he stands up. "Stefan?"

He's prowling the platform now, arms crossed over his bare chest. "Too high-budget for the Council. Clichéd enough, but that doesn't explain the sudden change of scenery. Whoever you are, I really would reconsider. You don't want to make me angry, you really don't." He breaks off, a hint of genuine hopefulness shining through the bravado and threat. "Unless... Katherine?"

riddler-gump.livejournal.com

The Gump blinks his eyes open, coming to as though from a very deep slumber. He shakes his head, tiny multi colored sparkles flying every which direction, forming something between the distinctive shape of a halo, and the less distinctive one of a dog shaking its fur dry. Then, long fingers reaching for his tablet, he switches it on, and presses the appropriate icons for a broad-cast. Casting broadly, what a concept.

"I find myself dazed. Lethargic as though the sun itself has gone to sleep and left the world behind. Has Autumn crept upon us all so suddenly, indeed? Or am I the one at fault, for missing her arrival?"

((ooc: I retuuuuuurn!))

riddler-gump.livejournal.com

Having been advised not to barter for a fiddle of his very own, but to 'hatch' one, Gump has since done just that. Albeit begrudgingly so - he harbours no ill will towards the ugly-shaped boxes and trinkets that make things appear given the right price - he has yet to take the concept into his bosom for safekeeping.

But today. Today. On this Day of Days, Gump is making merry with a brand new fiddle. It doesn't fit his embrace like his fiddle does (or did, for that matter), nor does it sound the same, but sweet music it does make just the same. When he comes walking down the grand paved streets of Taxon's core, he has played for hours on end, all through the night like some manner of strange creature singing eulogies to the artifice posing as moon. Hours upon hours revisiting melodies like old friends in the safety of his home, cushioned and tempered by the trees; hours spent letting the moonlight fill his eyes and the wind his heart and the fiddle's dulcet voice his ears.

Today, Day of Delight, Honeythorn walks to the beat of his own drum down the streets littered with faceless approximations of people, playing his fiddle like there is nothing sweeter, nothing more soothing in the world - and one thing, at least, has been righted at long last. For what is a fiddler without his fiddle?

In his wake, leaves of all colours dance to his tune, following him at a leisurely pace that shifts and flexes with the beat of his spirit.

Current Music: ((Anon. 14th century - Isabella))

slayersidekick

Tears were sliding down Willow's cheeks as she squeezed her eyes shut and leaned against the tree. Buffy was gone, dead. The spell had been interrupted and there was no way to try it again. The last Urn of Osiris had been destroyed. Willow hadn't wanted to believe it, but now she had no choice. Buffy wouldn't be coming back. A strangled sob escaped Willow then and as she reached up to cover her mouth, something shifted. Finally letting her eyes open, she blinked around, finding herself no longer in the forest with Xander. She wasn't even back in the Magic Box, where they were supposed to meet Anya and Tara. And to make it all worse, she was standing and still drained from the spell. She wouldn't be standing for very long.

Knowing this could be some kind of test or consequence of the spell, or even something as mundane as just being kidnapped by demons, Willow carefully stepped off the platform she'd landed on and looked around. The whole place looked very much like something the Initiative would have cooked up and that made Willow's feeling of unease grow rapidly. She didn't like this at all. It looked like a computer, and even though that was comforting in a very roundabout way, the fact remained that she wasn't home. She also knew better than to touch anything. Except the bracelet on her wrist was the first thing she messed with. For some reason, it wouldn't come off or even move and nothing she could do at the moment would make it do either. She was too weak to try anything really powerful, so for the moment she left it alone. If she found Giles in this place, she'd ask if he knew anything about it.

"Buffy?" she called, frowning in concentration and fear. Her breathing was coming shallower as she was still very worn out from casting the resurrection spell not long ago. A second glance-over revealed a table of sorts, where a small piece of technology sat. It looked to Willow like a small PDA / cell phone. It seemed to be broadcasting some sort of signal, as she could see the screen moving. Ignoring sense that told her not to pick up anything strange, she reached out to touch it. The sound of a door opening caught her attention then and she frowned a little more. Picking up the tablet, she looked it over, quickly figuring out how to work it. The thing wasn't very advanced and so she didn't really have much trouble turning the broadcast off, or figuring out that it was on [holo] mode. There was even a little map she found when she pressed another button. A blinking dot told her she was in the Sanctuary and another dot was labeled "Sunnydale High School Library." What was the old high school library doing here?

"O-okay, whoever you are doing this, you can stop now," she told the empty air around her. "I-I have things to do at home. I can't be wandering around in a dream. Unless this is another of Buffy's dreams? Somehow…? O-or maybe my own…?"

Not that any of that made sense. She'd been perfectly wide awake and Buffy was still gone. Neither of them was sleeping or comatose.

Sighing again, Willow moved forward. If this was a dream, it was a strangely normal one, which was weird for her friends.

"Buffy?" she called again. "Is anyone here?" She'd even settle for Cordelia at this rate. Anyone with answers would work.

couldbeavillain.livejournal.com

Say what you will about Andrew, but he's not dull. It hadn't been hard for him to learn the basics of working in a shop like Tamper and Trick. It's a nice shop and it vaguely reminds Andrew of the Magic Box. He'd always wanted to go in there as a customer, but because of Warren, he was only able to go in once to plant a camera.

So Tamper and Trick is a nice environment for him. He enjoys the atmosphere and all the magical items in the store, even if he doesn't know what most of them are for. He recognizes a smattering of objects from his demon summoning days, and he was sure he noticed some marijuana when Tara was giving him the run-down, but everything else just looks like the foreign objects Jonathan always used in those confusing spells.

But now Andrew is manning his post and is somewhat surprised to find how little he has to do at the moment. He is behind the counter studying a photo of Tara and a man he's never seen before while he hopes for something exciting to happen. And nothing does. He isn't sure what he expects. This is a magic shop, after all, so shouldn't it stand that something magical could happen all of a sudden?

Finally, Andrew activates his tablet and begins an video feed. He's frowning frustratedly at the camera. "I thought having a job would be a lot more exciting than this, but now I'm just really bored. Which isn't to say that I don't really appreciate Tara giving me a job, 'cause I do! But it's pretty extraordinarily boring just sitting here alone and not having much to do."

A thought occurs to him and the excitement is in his eyes as he speaks, even though he knows he probably shouldn't say this sort of thing out loud. "I bet it would be a lot cooler if I could use magic or do anything with magic, you know? There's some neat stuff in here, and I know how some of it works..." He looks off, eying some objects, then frowns, realizing how that sounds and refocuses on the camera. "I--...probably won't, though." Somehow, he couldn't quite force himself to say that he absolutely wouldn't do anything risky.

"...anyway. I'm still bored."

[ooc: Truth glitch. My pathological little liar can't lie...]

rereremembered.livejournal.com

Fitz had come to accept the fact that Annie was gone. He was still working on wrapping his brain around the fact that this made him a business owner.

Responsibility and Fitz were things which did not get along, usually. He was the sidekick, the backup, the absolute last resort, the "I suppose he'll do in a pinch" guy, nothing more and nothing less. Not that he'd ever admit as much because that would be painfully uncool.

Unfortunately for him this was a very special day, and "cool" had very much left the building.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with a pub?" he asked his tablet (and, of course, the viewing public). "I'm not cut out to run this place."

ooc: Truth glitch get!

riddler-gump.livejournal.com

Big eyes, always watching, ever searching for something - or someone - to connect with; and when the eyes have drowsily drooped and fluttered near shut, the ears are ever vigilant.

Some times, like this particular instant, the Gump has found himself a snug little nook under a very old oak tree. It's dark, and yet, one can still make out his eyes. It's as though they attract the moonlight itself, as if the stars have come down to illuminate him. Or maybe it's just fairy dust.

His cheek cushioned by his arm, Honeythorn looks at his tablet, which gazes back at him most balefully.

"...what does one do in this place to mark the passing of time lost? Do you wear your years like shiny badges of honor, or like Flutes of Shame for all to see?

"Should that line of thought find you too discomforted, I have another query: Where can a fiddler find his instrument of choice in this forsaken place?"

a-pretty-fire.livejournal.com

Life could take you by surprise, even when you were as old as Drusilla. Lines could become blurred.

At first, Drusilla had allowed Honeythorn Gump to call her 'cousin' in order to see how far the joke would go. She needed some entertainment, after all, and she couldn't hunt in Taxon. Eventually, however, she'd started to like the sound of the name he had for her. Glastig. It sat well on the tongue. It floated through the air like a musical note.

Somehow - accidentally, deliberately or because of something the stars had whispered, who could tell? - she'd forgotten that she was only pretending to be part of his family. She had a brother, a father and a grandmother. One day, she'd have a daughter as well as a son. A cousin would be nice. For completeness.

The hamsters had twisted the Angel Beast's memories, sending him back into a time she could remember all too well. (Oh, she'd been so weak after Prague. So broken. Who would nurse her back to health if she was injured now? Who would paint a city red to see her smile?) Godric had snapped at last. (It was a pity that the Master wasn't around to see it, but she'd savoured the broken buildings and the grief painted on his pale face.)

Drusilla was cleverer than she looked, she was. She didn't make a habit of rushing into danger. Her luck had held out for centuries because she'd never insisted on testing it. In his new old state, there was a chance that the Angel Beast would stake her without pausing to ask questions. With his vengeance flowing as freely as water, there was a chance that Godric would take the rest of his rage out on her. She needed to hide.

After considering her position, Drusilla decided to put her faith in the only member of her family that she had left to her at the moment. With Miss Edith tucked under one arm and the songs of the trees in her ears, Drusilla made her way to the enchanted forest and settled down in a patch of wild flowers at the foot of a willow tree.

"Is the Angel Beast still broken?" she asked the tablet, crossing her legs and gazing placidly at the screen.

faderbroderson

He had been negligent. He had spent so much time finding comfort in silence and solitude that he had missed their passing. It's only now, long after Taxon's massive system failure and its outcome, that Godric had thought to check in on those he holds dear.

Uther Doul was no longer on the map. Godric had spent hours searching for him throughout the city, but he knew from the beginning, in his heart, that he wouldn't find him. Eventually, sorrow pulling at him, he had turned to Levi for a familiar face, a distraction and a comfort. Something horrible had welled up inside him when he had realized that Levi was just as absent. It had come a small, cold comfort that Shane seemed to have gone with him, but that too hurt. Shane too, he would miss. The loss was monumental, but it had quickly become unbearable when the Brucolac failed to respond to his calls. His strange, wily kinsman with hair wilder than his personality. His lover.

Godric's grief was a silent but savage creature, and in the face of it, he had become cold and purposeful. He had checked his tablet for everyone else he knew, going through the mental list with a near-obsessive methodology; Eric, Sookie, Faith, River, Dawn... He checked on Angel (here), Cordelia (here), Harvestman (gone), Drusilla (here, a good thing or not, he couldn't decide), and a few more before it had become strikingly apparent who else was absent.

The Master. The Doctor too was gone, but it was the Master's absence, his escape, that destroyed any sense of calm Godric still possessed and sent him reeling with rage. He was angry at himself for not paying closer care to those he loved, and for telling Eric to stop in those moments when he could have ripped through the Doctor and the Master both. He was angry at himself for taking too long to seek vengeance, for being weak. Most of all, he was angry at Taxon, at this place that gave him friends and lovers only to rip them away. This place that allowed him to be tortured and humiliated and then denied him his revenge.

Having walked the fine edge of control for too long, Godric finally snapped.

He maintained the presence of mind to note that the building was unoccupied just before he ripped into it. Steel beams snapped in his hands and concrete shattered into dust. Windows splintered and exploded as the structure shook, lost integrity, and came crashing down into rubble. It took seconds. Godric had already moved on to the next building by the time the top floor met the bottom, and he showed no signs of stopping.

[ooc: Sorry this is later than I had planned, my life is cray-cray right now. Planning post and general nonsense is here.]

a-pretty-fire.livejournal.com

Drusilla could feel herself being torn in two.

The Angel Beast had stayed in the city. She knew that and she knew that he needed somebody to look after him. The Vision Girl loved him - and, to her constant irritation, was loved in return - but that might not be enough. Not in a city as wicked as Taxon.

The Slayer, on the other hand, had taken her chances with the tunnels. The darkness called to Drusilla in a mocking voice. Taunting her. Telling her that the end - the nightmare of her vision - had already arrived.

There should have been a third part. A part pulled towards the princess, trapped in her own head but freed, at long last, from the tower. She couldn't feel it.

No.

The royal chambers - she had followed her heart there, but her feet liked to make their way up as they went along - were missing. No castle, no princess, no witchcraft, no chance to shape Morgana into everything she'd been born to be.

She wanted to cry at the unfairness of it all. She wanted to scream. She wanted to - no, no, no, she needed to - rip out the throats of every one of their alien captors. It wasn't fair.

With one last look at the building that had replaced Morgana's home - and Miss Edith lost with her, poor thing - Drusilla turned to make her way to the tunnels. She'd hunt them down and she'd make them pay. They wouldn't hurt the rest of her family.

The end of the world was just the beginning.

demonologist

Wesley's tired. He can't seem to get any decent sleep. Only snatches. He and the others are still working to produce more oxygen cylinders to stave off the inevitable but the work is taking its toll.

What they're doing only seems like a way to keep themselves occupied and fighting in some fashion against forces far beyond their control. The proverbial finger in the dyke which is about to burst.

He paces the lobby, taking off his glasses to pinch at the bridge of his nose. There's a pressure behind his eyes. A dull headache he can't seem to get rid of. The space feels oppressive, even though he's not particularly claustrophobic.

Stepping outside he actually welcomes the rain and wind buffeting at his body. He pulls his jacket closer around his body. Gazing upwards, he's surprised to see that beyond the occasional cloud, a vast expanse of cavernous rock spans what used to be the sky. Curious, he starts to walk further down the blocks in a south-easterly direction. Forgetting his own rule to stay close to his friends and allies, he heads towards the outskirts of Osten quarter.

It soon becomes apparent that a rank foul-smelling sort of air is wafting past him. Breathable air.

The unseen barrier is down. That much seems clear. And with it comes a possible reprieve for Taxon's citizens.

He activates his bracelet, speaking into it:

"I believe that the forcefield encompassing the city has completely collapsed. There seems to be a sustainable environment past it. If someone is able to recheck the oxygen and CO2 levels that would be appreciated. I'm going to investigate further to see if the barrier collapse extends to the city walls themselves."

[OOC: Wasn't sure about format here, please let me know if I need to tweak ;)]

riddler-gump.livejournal.com

In the Enchanted Forest, all is not well. One moment, an elf might find himself perfectly comfortable in the summer-like heat (if a bit short of breath and nauseous, though he'll be the last to admit it), lounging on a bed of moss in the shade of a big tree almost as old as himself.

The following moment, however, upon opening his eyes only to see a dried up, dead forest spreading around him, well, anyone would find that jarring. Had they a heart to speak of, they would find it horrifying. Gump has both a heart and a mind to take pride in, and he certainly finds it horrifying and jarring. Furthermore, it breaks his heart.

And then, as if through some sinister magic, in just the blink of an eye, everything changes back to what it was: serene, beautiful, full of life...

Gump starts running out of his patch of homeland as if Darkness himself were on his tail, exiting the forest with heavy heart and deep, heaving huffs of air that doesn't seem to fill him up the way they ought.

He can't stay here. He can't sit quietly and let himself be kept like a bird in a pretty little cage. He cannot abide it. He will not, and he shall not.

If only he can make his legs carry him the distance, there's no time to waste. There must be a way out somehow.

oppositeofhero.livejournal.com

Hey. Is anyone else being shocked by the bracelets every time you use the hatches? Yeah, this isn't funny.

Don't tell me, this is the start of the world ending. Whoever's behind this needs to work on their sense of humor.

Kaylee, how are things going on your end? DG, Glitch, everything all right? Well, as "all right" as can be in spite of the circumstances?

fogdar.livejournal.com

[Eric doesn't do the guilt thing. He's not into repentance or remorse or anything resembling either of those concepts. However, being intermittently visited by the ghosts of people he's eaten is very annoying. And he's pretty sure that that one ghost of Sophie-Anne keeps trying to make him play yahtzee.]

Are there any practitioners of magic in the city who could do something about this pest problem? I'd be willing to pay.

riddler-gump.livejournal.com

It seems fitting, at long last, to Gump, that in this winding labyrinth full of darkness and cold, hard rock under his feet, there would be one place he could truly call home. He can hear it calling to him, the mirrored box deemed unnecessary and unneeded for him to find it (yet it's clutched just the same to his chest). Home. His forest, his forest, where all his friends await his return. At long last.

He runs through the streets whose name he doesn't know and can't tell from the signposts, over cobblestones and streets paved with coarsely ground rock, calling the names of his friends and loved ones long before he catches sight of it.

( Read more... )