taxonomites | Entries tagged with { jack benjamin

meanwhileback.livejournal.com

Penelope turns on her tablet feed to show her sprawled in a brocaded armchair, her ginormous cat draped over her lap in a manner that might indicate his status as an ex-cat if it weren't for the occasional twitch of his tail and the constant low rumble of purr coming from his general direction. She, for once, isn't smoking, but she is twirling a pair of scissors around her finger in a way that would make her mother very nervous. It looks like she's back to full health! Or at least a vague approximation of that.

"Sup, Crazyville," she announces. "I'm off my meds and feeling fine and fancy-free. Which would be awesome, if our alien overlords didn't abruptly decide to implement an economy while I wasn't looking. Guess it's back to being poor for me, unless I do something insane like opening a shop. So since my cat's spoiled now and acts like a pissy bitch whenever I try to feed him the cheap food, thanks Morgana, I'm gonna do that thing. Not right away, I mean, I need to make enough stuff to fill a shop with, first of all, so if anybody's interested in going into business with me, or working with me when it opens, drop me a line. Money buys Cristal."

There's a pause where Penelope furrows her brow, peering sideways, as if thinking of something, and then leans forward in her chair a bit more, over her cat, who appears not to even notice.

"Look, I know it's been a while, and most of you want to move the fuck on, and I respect that, I mean, fuck knows I'm the first in line on that carnival ride, but I personally am really goddamn impressed by how all of y'all worked together during a really shitty time in which shit was blowing up. I mean that was, at the very least, praiseworthy, if not like, deserving of hookers and blow. So in that vein, I'm gonna throw a party, because all of you deserve it for saving my life and generally being pretty awesome to me. Details to come as I hash them out, but if anybody wants to help me set that shit up, you know, apply within, or whatever."

cailisairgid

Today on this the glorious fifteenth of April, Taxon has been in business for a full year- and so a celebration is in order, or so apparently think the hamster overlords in charge of tweaking their citizens.

The Palais Garnier is a beautiful place thus far mostly neglected by everyone who isn't its very lovely current owner, and that is a godawful shame that's about to be corrected. One by one the seats are filling up with both the curious and the coerced, the latter finding themselves irresistibly drawn to the opera house whether they really want to be or not. It advertises a new show, for one night only and very definitely R-18, but whatever's going on hasn't quite got underway as arrivals begin trickling in, coats checked and seats shown by the Extra staff that have just seemed to materialize as necessary.

Backstage, things are maybe even more confusing for the seven gentlemen who've been pressganged into service of the city's entertainment. The, er, uniforms are laid out in the dressing rooms and each sized just right, and Glitch's back up dancers are ready and waiting to take the stage when the time comes and the lights go down in the theatre. There is a certain anticipation in the air as preparations make haste so close to the hour; yet more Extras mill through the building preparing the great baroque banquet hall for the meal and afterparty.

Happy Taxon Day, citizens; your headliners for tonight are in last minute prep, but why don't you enjoy the musical stylings of Glitch Langwe's opening act?

What better way to celebrate one full year than six full nudes?

rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com

The Doctor has been the defendant (or universal equivalent) in 320 trials during his lifetime. He's been tried by humans, by Zygons, by Draconians, by Judoon, and even by his own people (three times!). He's lost regenerations from the results of trials, and he's lost companions from them as well. But he has never felt so utterly out of control as he does right now.

He rubs his left forearm, where the paradox dragon tattoo still sits heavily on his skin, forever covered by his dress shirt sleeves and suit jackets. The result of another trial he was so very out of control for, but at least there he knew what to expect.

He accepts the cuffs, saturated with psychic energy from Leila if he's not mistaken, and allows Doul to take him back to the Sanctuary. The Doctor spent a lot of time in this place when he first arrived, trying to figure out ways back into that chamber where he found the tablet. Now, he may very well get to "go home" after this trial---a mockery of the universal judicial system, in his opinion---and sentencing. If "go home" means what the Doctor thinks it means. Because there's no doubt he's guilty, is there? Even he can't try to put a spin on what happened. People died. Died because he hadn't thought hard enough, hadn't planned things better. Because he'd planned so quickly out of fear of his own death.

But he can't show his guilt. He has to be strong, he has to make sure these people know that sacrifice is sometimes necessary in order to free themselves. Otherwise, they'll live their lives out here forever.

He stands where he's directed and waits.

OOC: Welcome to the Doctor's trial post. The committee members will be posting individual threads for witnesses/anyone to post to. In an effort to keep things chronological (and so everyone can have participate if you want, even if you're too busy this weekend!), please tag onto those.

Please feel free to threadhop and be generally belligerent! This post will remain open for as long as people would like to tag to it, though verdict and sentencing (decided by the committee) will be posted on Sunday. Have fun, guys! Any questions, just let me know!

caballero

Religion is a word that inspires apathy at best in Bruce Wayne; he didn't grow up with it outside a handful of awkward, politically-required visits on holidays. It brings up memories of cold, uncomfortable buildings and droning music and the expression on his mother's face as she barely suppressed rolling her eyes - certainly not shrines and incense and offerings. Those things he associates more with spirituality, and those memories are mixed with times in which he was far more focused on other things. They were merely the backdrop for the main stage of learning, a pastoral against which he dodged and bled and tried again. His spirit is something that he manages, not cultivates.

( and you think that you thought all the thoughts that i thought you - don't you? )

faderbroderson

Godric wears no shirt, which is not terribly unusual, but there's an air about him that suggests the choice isn't casual this time. He isn't going without for comfort, but purposely displaying his tattoos, the meanings of which are lost to time, but not lost to Godric. The pants he wears are made of buckskin, but are clearly new. For once, he looks as ancient as he is, and what he's doing is no less so.

In front of him is clearly an altar, despite its simplicity. It's only a pile of large, flat rocks at the edge of the forest, but it's covered in baskets filled with fruit, berries, herbs, grains and other foods. If one looks carefully, they can see there are exactly nine baskets, and every one carries something different. To the right of the altar is a small fire, and though it's not apparent, it burns nine different types of wood. To the left is a wild goat, leashed with a rope and adorned in ribbons, and there's a large circle drawn in the dirt surrounding the entire area.

( Cut for depictions of dead goat. No actual goats were harmed in the writing of this post. )

The citizens of Taxon are free to react with fascination or horror as they please.

oneofthequick.livejournal.com

During his off-hours, Uther Doul avoids the inexplicable eggs in town and makes the rounds to visit a few people and drop off a small gift. Odds are, if Doul enjoys the company of someone or has social obligations to them, then he will be by with a little paper-wrapped parcel for them.

Not all of the offerings are hand-delivered: the Brucolac's parcel is sent by Taxon Post, or whatever passes for the mail service in this place, and Judith's is left at the edge of her territory.

fogdar.livejournal.com

The feed opens to show Eric sitting in a throne (yes, a throne), in a dimly lit bar that appears to be a shrine to the colors black and red. It is not by any means a dive, but it doesn't particularly ooze class, either.

"Good evening, fellow citizens," (the word citizens contains a generous helping of irony) "I own a bar, located in Osten, called Fangtasia. In light of all the recent inconveniences, anyone who would like a drink would be more than welcome here." The 'inconveniences' he speaks of would be the people-stuck-in-a-house phenomenon, among other things.

"By the same token, if anyone requires employment and could do a better job than these brainless drones," here we have a careless, airy gesture in the direction of some Extras milling about the bar in typical Extra fashion.

"I'm not in a position to offer payment due to the nature of this city, but it seems that time passes quite slowly here without an occupation." A weighty, significant pause. "And perhaps there are other benefits we can negotiate."

antisaint.livejournal.com

( how dare you call this suffering? how dare you call at all? )

tothelibrary.livejournal.com

Dawn is used to falling asleep in weird places. On top of books, window seats, things like that. It's just a job hazard when you read until your eyes cross and you just lay down wherever you are and conk out. But given the recent circumstances in Taxon, when she first realizes wherever she is, it's not her room (or even the castle) her first response is panic, sheer and all-encompassing. Angelus--

But there's an empty pizza box under her butt, and the pillow jammed under her head smells weirdly like cornchips. Angelus is a lot of things, but not a cornchip and ratty couch kind of guy. Plus, a quick mental checklist reveals she's: still in her pjs, not tied up, and not bleeding or suffering from head trauma. So: not Angelus.

...Where and what exactly is going on is still a mystery, however. Making a face as she carefully kicks away the suspiciously stained tshirt on the floor near the couch before standing and really wishing she slept in socks. Or shoes. Or maybe biohazard gear.

"Hello?" Crossing her arms over her chest, Dawn carefully navigates her way around empty bottles and crumpled sheets, towards... well, she's not sure what towards, but it can't be worse than the gross couch and weird, stale pillows.

[ ooc: I DO NOT APOLOGIZE FOR THE LYRICS also, hopefully this is all right, housemates? Jenni suggested it in the ooc post, and I jumped on it. If anybody really wants to do it instead, let me know.

Also, treat this like a party post; tag, threadjack, whatever floats your boat. ]

mightyfallen.livejournal.com

When the tablet flickers to life for this broadcast, the view is one Jack Benjamin, visible from the elbows up, seated at a table in a sharp navy suit and less severe tie, professional without looking inhuman for it. The backdrop behind him is solid grey-blue and unremarkable, except that it perhaps complements the suit. That is probably not a coincidence. The man himself looks well rested, well groomed, and well prepared.

"Good morning, citizens of Taxon. For those of you I've yet to meet, I am Lieutenant Colonel Jack Benjamin. I have been acting as proxy for the Countess of Gatas in matters pertaining to the confinement of the Doctor in her home." He pauses here; if he's steeling himself, it isn't visible, it's only a pause, but the possibility remains. It's been a while since he wore this cool political facade, and it hasn't always served him well. "The issue I bring before you today is one in which the Countess would prefer to be involved directly, but she is presently recovering from an unrelated attack. Rest assured she is no longer in danger, but she has been more than gracious with her time and resources, and it's time this process were expedited.

"We are in need of some manner of council to institute a judicial process and determine the Doctor's fate in consequence to his crimes. I, along with several others who I hope will take this opportunity to reaffirm their commitment," You know who you are, "Have offered to serve on said council. Any other volunteers would do well to come forward now so that we might bring this matter to a timely resolution.

"However, considering the extreme diversity of our population, no single judicial body can hope to be representative of the group without maintaining an open forum for discussion. I would like to open that forum now." He paces himself here, his eyes straight ahead and his words clear, measured. "I ask each of you to consider the judicial process as it functions in your own world, and to share whatever expectations you may have as to the manner in and extent to which crimes such as those presently under examination should be tried and punished. I invite your input and encourage you to discuss amongst yourselves as well. While not all suggestions will be followed, it is imperative that every voice have the opportunity to be heard."

Letting that sentence breathe, he takes the moment for a sip of water before sliding on to the next topic.

"In the interest of transparency, I would also like to take this opportunity to present my own qualifications for serving on said council, and I hope any other volunteers will be inclined to do similarly.

( what are we waiting for )

"I welcome any questions, comments, or objections anyone may have, be it of my own background or the larger matters at hand." And with that he sits back to await responses.

antisaint.livejournal.com

John Constantine has inherited a bowling alley.

In a burst of bizarre irony - perhaps even the kind worthy of ~~giant hamsters~~ God's sense of humor - the man who owned the place had not a week ago died of bees (and Balthazar), so were he in other circumstances he might have approached this by like ...finding a new apartment. One not above a bowling alley owned by a dead person. But times being what they are, in Taxon the whole shebang seems to belong to him.

This is not what he would class as an ideal situation.
( the panic of this solitude is calling out until with gratitude and fortitude, we credit your enlightenment. )

hercandleguides.livejournal.com

[VOICE | LOCKED TO BRUCE WAYNE]

So! Have you been following the tablet network lately? We should probably go over the spyware I installed, when you have a free moment--it's easier to do in person.

[/LOCKED]

( Meanwhile, on location... )

antisaint.livejournal.com

If you get right down to it, there are two ways John Constantine spends his day: either in immediate peril or out of it. (Although arguably there's also having just gotten out, and about to get into, but split that many hairs and we'll be here all day.) His appearance in the entrance chamber seems to indicate the former, both of which have their pros and cons. In immediate peril (he was) means now he's suddenly not, anymore, or at least not in the same way, but out of it - well, those moments are few and far enough in between that he likes to keep them for himself, thank you.

This moment: not shaping up to be one of those. ( and plotting to cover the grounds with a fine tooth comb )

ipseite

"Good morning, Taxon." Crisp British diction and smooth French enunciation and it must be the Countess of Gatas, sober in dark, deep blue and holding a china teacup in both hands as she sits down at her husband's desk, dwarfed by the masculine surroundings designed for a man much, much larger than she is but soothed by the authority of it.

Some few days have passed since the bomb threat, and as the city returns to an equilibrium it seems to her eye that there's no time to waste. She sips her tea as she briefly scans the notes she's had transcribed, and then begins. "My name is Lady Petrana, and I am the Countess of Gatas. The Doctor is presently incarcerated in the Alcione dungeons of my home. We have been poorly organized here in the city, and to my eye we're now paying for it. First of all I propose that those of you most closely involved with the capture of the Doctor meet with me here at Gatas; I am his jailer and I'd appreciate being kept aware of how we will continue to handle this matter. Some of you may have seen the gates of Gatas open in the past- they are now closed. They will remain so. Visitors who are not expected will not be permitted within the grounds without a very good reason until such time as I am no longer acting as prison mistress."

A beat passes; Petra takes another sip of tea.

"A committee of some sort seems to be our best - if not our only - option, but to begin with it may be easiest to meet with those involved in smaller groups. I greatly, greatly admire how well we've all pulled together for this, but with so many involved we'll be better served having some sense of organization before we attempt to wargame the situation."

In closing, Petra looks directly at the tablet and smiles radiantly. "I am so proud of you all. The feats of bravery, kindness and keen intellect on that day are well worthy of the knights that I have given my loyalty and love; I can pay no higher compliment. Thank you."

lambentstar.livejournal.com

Now that Cat is convinced that the bombs aren't going off (she checked all the clocks she could find, just to be that little bit more sure) she's shifted the focus of her organization. After firmly admonishing the Extras that they still had to stay inside, she asked a few of them to join her in setting up a clear space in a room near the kitchen. She doesn't know that injured people will be arriving, but it's not a hard deduction to make, and the rest of the manor is still set up to house and feed anyone who needs a place to stay. She's keeping all hands busy, because God knows there's nothing else she can think of to do.

[OOC: Meanwhile, the aftermath at Wayne Manor.]

hercandleguides.livejournal.com

Leila is usually entirely put-together when she talks to anyone in the city, and particularly so when it's over tablet, but she's a touch more askew now (by her standards, anyway)- and even wearing jeans, like a sane person, although that's not visible presently. What is visible is her workshop, with all of its strange scientific contraptions, complete with what looks like the skeleton of a robot, although it hasn't been filled in with computer wiring yet.

"Since everyone seems to be in the process of reacting to this in their own way, and we only have a very small window of time, I want to explain what I'm doing and ask for assistance. My name is Dr. Yilmaz, and I am installing a few safe areas, marked out with machinery; these will be surrounded by force fields to prevent incidental damage and will employ outward radio waves to clear out the radiation."

She hopes this will work, anyway, but her tone stays relentlessly certain, and she doesn't let her expression drop.

"I'd like help setting up the devices--I promise I haven't made it too technical, to the best of my abilities--but I only have enough time for a few. I'm going to be using a hand-held KFM kit in searching for the bombs with everyone else once they're installed, but I think it'd be good to have secure locations mapped out for anyone who plans on staying put."

lanterncast.livejournal.com

After the Doctor's announcement, the city has understandably been thrown into turmoil: with apparently a single hour to either somehow prevent the promised explosions or prepare to meet their various makers, the citizens of Taxon are responding however suits them best. There's always the hope the aliens will get in touch, but that's a hope that a lot of people aren't counting on.

Judith is one of those people. Going on Holmes' suggestion, she's keeping on eye on her map as she searches the outer edges of Taxon for a possible hideout/meeting place. It's almost certainly hopeless, and she doesn't even want to think about the odds, but there's nothing else she can think of to do. Periodically, she stops to work out her anger on a sentry or two, even if she can't manage anything with the bombs themselves.

Whether wandering the city, seeking a solution, making their peace, getting ridiculously drunk, or otherwise managing, everyone copes with impending doom somehow.

[OOC: This is a big post for ...basically anything you want to do with reactions to the bomb threat! Have your character bite some sentries, run into other characters, make a big 'The End is Nigh' sign and stand on a street corner--anything is fair game, along with any format of communication. Jack Bauer watches over you. :3]

crophisownrose.livejournal.com

"I have a question. And I realise we're all very concerned with rather more impressive things, assuredly I do, but the friend of my heart, my true lord, he's sick to his soul, and I've been unable to help him. I've been unable to do a damned thing for him.

"And I suppose some of you might know a cure for soul-sickness, but I think generally it might be time I left him alone, all things taken together; I've been with him for twenty years and not done a damned bit of good. So the question's for myself, in all honesty. I can't be drunk all the time. Is there anyone who'd like a decent fight?

"I'd like to have a decent fight."

He may have been drinking already, though he's by no means drunk. He looks rather frailer and sicker than usual, bruise-coloured circles around his eyes from the poorness of his sleeping.

Current Mood: lonely

caballero

How did the conclusion of 'aliens did it' come to be? Has there been any contact with these 'aliens' or other entities identified as our captors?

Assume I am from a very boring reality and have no contact with mass media, and the word 'vampire' means nothing to me. Can anyone explain what the commotion is all about?

( i see who i should be )

meanwhileback.livejournal.com

It's early evening, the day after the Valentine's Ball. The inside of the apartment as seen by the tablet is draped in fabrics, bits of pattern cut out of paper, pins, needles, fabrics, measuring tape, chalk pencils and oh yeah, more fabric. Off to the side is a desk upon which sits a large, rather nice sewing machine, at which is seated one Penelope Lane. She holds up the garment she's working on and attempts to look at it, but is somewhat surprised to note that the sun has set when she wasn't looking.

"Huh," she says, then turns around to survey the rest of the room, including the tablet. She leaves her chair and walks over to where the tablet is perched-- apparently on the end of her bed-- and sits in front of it.

"So, okay." Penelope produces a cigarette from... the aether, seemingly, although it's just because it's from the floor next to the bed where the camera can't see, so it's not really that impressive. She lights the cigarette and spends a beat smoking it. There are some dark circles under her eyes-- apparently somebody didn't get much sleep last night.
"I don't remember a lot of what happened the other night, but I'm reasonably sure that the fact that large portions of Taxon are now a technicolor Jackson Pollock nightmare is largely my fault. Not that I'm sorry about it, the place could use some fucking life in it, I'm just saying."

An enormous orange tiger-striped cat suddenly appears in front of the camera, and is promptly moved by Penelope, using her non-cigarette-holding arm. It is impressive how she can do that, though, because Angus is a legitimately huge cat.

"So, a little birdie told me there's apparently like, a psychotic vampire on the loose. That's fun. Me not being a moron, I'm staying inside until one of you slightly crazier people takes care of that. In the meanwhile, I'm doing something useful with my downtime." Another little pause where her cigarette takes center stage. "So if anybody decides they want some new clothes that don't suck, let me know, I'll make you something. No charge, since... I guess there's no such thing as money here anyway. I just need something to do while the crazy people are running through the streets eating people. Did I mention how much I fucking hate dead people?"

Yeah, Penelope, I think you might have mentioned it once or twice.