taxonomites | Entries tagged with { john casey

[Spike had thought having Buffy back would make everything good again. But no, that would be too nice. He should have known better. Now Spike's pretty sure both Summers women are mad at him, though he should check back with Dawn, maybe she's feeling more charitable now that Buffy's back.

But that can happen later. Now he's at Caritas, drowning his sorrows. Again.]

Hate this bloody place. [His voice comes out a little slurred.] And the bloody, bloody hamsters and their bloody meddling.

[He takes another long swig from the bottle. Oh, vampire healing, you are the only reason Spike's liver hasn't curled up and died from all this abuse.]

Can I get another one?

just-axe-me.livejournal.com

Of course Sam Axe had woken up before with no idea where he was or how the hell he got there. He’d gotten married once in Vegas. And there’d been this one Staatssicherheit guy who’d pistol-whipped him to every rendezvous no matter how much Sam said he’d love a blindfold -- but that’d been ‘89, and nowadays he tended to wake up wherever he’d put his head the night before. And nowadays he’d hit the hay by eleven o’clock and there’d be no head next to him on the pillow in the morning. Say it ain’t so, Sam.

But waking up standing, and ‘waking up’ when you’d been mid-sentence with a lady (who had three condos in Boca and was also really cute) was a new thing. He’d ‘woken up’ in a stainless-steel can of a room, wobbling on a raised dais in the middle and completely alone. His hand was still cupped around a beer that wasn’t even there any more, and he was left blinking foolishly at nothing at all.

Downside: when you woke up in an unfamiliar place you could keep your eyes shut and feign unconsciousness. Worst came to worst, when you had to stop feigning you could do the amnesia trick instead, though he’d never found who are you? Wait! My God! Who am I! to be effective yet. Horse had already left the barn on this one.

“Hi,” he said. Nothing. “Hello? ¿Hola?” Nothing. The room was so sterile and empty he could’ve been inside a microwave. Just him and his pedestal and thinking that if this was Heaven, God, You could have made it look less like a space alien lounge, and if this is Hell you got me beat. Everything was matte gunmetal colours and circular, which made it difficult to estimate how round about the room was: big enough, decided Sam.

Some drugs made you feel as though no time had passed, or took a chainsaw to your memory bank. Get disoriented enough and it’d have the same effect. Stress test. Psychological conditioning or torture could do hell to you too, but nobody was that good. Nobody could be that good. He was still wearing the lime-green shirt Fi winced at whenever she saw it, which was a kick in the pants if you looked at what Mike wore most of the time, and it still smelled like his aftershave. No time could have passed. Nobody could be that good, not the Management, no spook who hated any of them.

Big burning hole in his pocket where his cellphone had been, though. No surprise.

“Don’t mind if I do,” said Sam, and made the first real test, which was moving.

Walking around on the raised dais raised no alarm bell, but it let him know that the rest of the room looked like the rest of the room -- and that out of the corner of his eye, right above him was some kind of device fixed to the ceiling. Sam tried to compare it to other devices in his brain and gave up. He wasn’t the device guy. No laser beams, no gunshots; no telltale fatigue or dizziness when he moved. Whoever had put him here didn’t really care about him moving around. It was power, to not care.

“This is a nice place you have here,” he said amiably, for the benefit of any unseen cameras or rows of Martians watching him on Martian Pay-Per-View. When his foot tested the first step and worked at the metal it was solid. This place hadn’t been mocked up out of beer cans. “Real cute. Is this before or after the probe, fellas? I’m the type of guy who needs romancing, you know?”

The room was deadly silent, and when Sam went to the wall and put his ear to it there were no sounds from outside. Nothing to indicate that this was some cheap, crappy construction made in some warehouse in order to give him one hell of a scare. No door. Nobody.

Fear? He was fifteen years past spooking at bumps in the night. But disquiet -- well, you could have buckets of that, and all for free.

herotypical

This was supposed to have been a victory. Buffy blinked against the brightness of the room; she already missed the comforting sunlight of Sunnydale, California. Or what used to be Sunnydale. She continuously had to compensate with the knowledge that the town she had spent years protecting was gone. Crater'd. Ka-freakin'-blooey. And yet it seemed to be the least of her problems, as she spun on the spot and observed this strange new frontier. It was weird and new and not at all comfortable. But since when did Buffy Summers ever do comfortable outside of a Thursday night pajama date with MTV? So she took that bold first step onto the staircase with poise and confidence. And why not? She had won. Correction: she was supposed to have won. But if winning meant no longer being on that road with her few, her happy few, her band of victors? Then perhaps this wasn't winning at all.

"Hello?" She called, neck craning to see more of the room without getting too footloose and fancy free with the steps. "Anybody there? Don't make me threaten to huff and puff." She licked her lips. How ineffectual she sounded to herself, undermining the glorious high of success she had been enjoying. "'Cause you won't like my huff and my puff is totally a metaphor for my right hook. Which you also won't like."

Buffy descended the stairs, tucking hair behind her ears in an unconscious gesture of insecurity. That was when she noticed the bracelet. "Fabulous," Buffy intoned flatly. She pressed her thumb against the metal -- tempted to dig at the skin and remove it once she realized it was fused to her. "The latest and greatest in hostage fashion, I presume?" She shook her wrist, limply. Better not risk tearing it from the flesh. Not now. She completed her thought aloud: "Hate to get blood all over your squeaky clean lab-o-horrors."

Best to set the bracelet conundrum aside for now. She focused on the pedestal instead. Perhaps it held answers? So she walked carefully up to it -- sure to check her flanks and keep all senses on high, high alert. Her footsteps eerily echoed and enforced her sudden solitaryness. Deep in in the pit of her, she longed to be back amongst the other victors. Leading them to safety. They have each other and...and what does she get for her great reward? "A techno...something. Oh, skippy." She quipped sarcastically to herself. Buffy gingerly lifted the tablet, unsure as to what it could really be. She never was one for the gadgetry. At least not gadgetry that dated past the middle ages. Which seemed to be just about the most appropriate time for her eyes to catch on a flash of red--on the floor--across the room. The scythe.

"Well, at least I have one piece of home. Better weapon-up and go slice myself some more."

stacked

Listen up, because I'm going to say this once and that's it.

[ for once, faith's not on the network to troll or accidentally flash her tits. she's grimly serious here, y'all. ]

Back the fuck off the b-- off Angel. Quit mentioning Cordelia, don't try and remind him she was here, nothing. And Red and Wes, if I hear you're looking up spells we're gonna have a serious freaking issue, you hear me?

Leave it the hell alone. I'm not gonna say it this nice again.

[ click. ]

[ ooc | post is filtered away from angel and dru and then faith realized she has no fucking idea who cordelia hung out with, so she just left it there and it's therefore open unless you're dru or angel. ]

gotcouplings.livejournal.com

Anybody knows them, Mal and Tony went home.

[[ OoC: May or may not be edited later for location, but if anyone feels like dropping in on Kaylee for whatever reason she'll be either in Serenity or the ranch's shop. ]]

exdemon

[Anya turns on the tablet sounding annoyed. She's just found out about the most recent departures.]

Great. First Buffy, then that whiny boy with the high pitched voice, now Cordelia. Why do people I know keep vanishing?

[A beat.]

Except Willow, I guess.

[Another beat, and now Anya just sounds unhappy.]

And when can I go?

tothelibrary.livejournal.com

( and i said goodbye to you | cut to save your flists )

It takes her a little bit to get the crying under control, and once she does Dawn raises her head to look at the empty room, the still un-broken tablet shining mockingly bright in the sunlight coming through the windows.

The castle is hers. It still sounds weird. Not right. But it is, and she rises slowly to grab the tablet, moving like each breath hurts. The castle's hers, and Buffy's gone. There's... things. Things she should do.

It would probably be better to keep this on voice, but Dawn barely has the presence of mind of give the heads up at all so visual it will stay.

"So. For anyone who didn't know," she clears her throat, voice scratchy. "Sorry. Buffy Summers went-- went home. And I guess the castle is mine, now." Letting her hair swing down in front of her face for a moment, she sighs. "I just... thought I should say. Or something."

She inhales, about to say something else; then it hits her again that Buffy's gone; not a continent away, not reachable by email or cell but gone, and Dawn feels like part of her got ripped away too. She's echoing and hollow, aching inside. Shaking her head, she switches off the tablet abruptly.

[ ooc | slightly forward dated to just after the glitch ends; i know i'm still technically on hiatus but with me being gone for so long, i wanted to get this up because i couldn't not have dawn react to the loss of buffy. tablet or action for castle denizens/dawn's friends. ♥ ]

notabuymoron.livejournal.com

It pays to be up very early in the Casey household. Having two daughters in the house has meant that John's only hope of getting any decent shower time is to be up at the crack of dawn. He's used to it anyway, has never been one for sleeping in. That's for lazy folk who are used to the easy life.

Right now, he's attempting to make breakfast. He's not too good at it, but ever since Evelyn died, he's been trying to make it up to the girls and keep the family routines going. Of course, he still can't figure out how Evie managed to juggle the timing so that everything was ready and on the table all at once.

At least the orange juice and milk and cereal can be already set down. He's also frying bacon and sausages in one skillet, pancakes in another, and wondering whether he should make scrambled eggs as well.

Kids get hungry and need plenty of food when they're growing up, right?

He yelps and sucks at his finger when he flips the bacon too hard and gets splashed with hot grease. Then he sighs, maybe he's over-compensating some. But, it's not easy when he's suddenly having to be a full time father to two teenagers he was barely around to see grow up.

There's the sound of voices upstairs. Maybe they're arguing over bathroom time, or teasing each other over boy friends. Ugh, he doesn't even want to think about dealing with the fact that both Dawn and Elena are now of an age to be thinking about boys.

"Come on, you two." He calls out. "Breakfast is nearly ready. You're gonna be late for school if you don't hurry on up."

Damn, the pancake's starting to brown too much. He hastily tries to salvage it.

Eventually he has the food on the table, and none of it is too burned. He scraped the toast. Which is now getting cold.

"Did you hear what I said? How much primping do you need to do?"

John takes a sip of his own coffee and then wanders over to the front window and pushes the chintz curtain aside to look out onto the street. Everything's so peaceful in Taxon. It takes some getting used to. He opens the front door, mug of coffee still in hand, and walks out across the lawn to pick up the newspaper. Looks like they might have some mail too.

gotcouplings.livejournal.com

Mornings are spent with Mal. It's a routine Kaylee has developed over the last few years, and one that she relies on just as much as her older brother might. Wake up early, have breakfast, and then they both head to the garage down the street. She spends a few hours there each morning, helping out with some of the cars if they need her, or flirting with some of the guys if they don't (though never if Mal is looking, as that never seems to end well for anyone involved).

Unfortunately, while Kaylee might love spending her free time helping out at the garage, 10 o'clock always manages to find a way to roll around. She runs home for a quick clean-up and changes into her work uniform, then hightails it over to Peggy Sue's. There's a friendly greeting for the Extra at the grill as she puts her apron on, and then Kaylee sets in on cleaning tables and presetting everything before they open.

Lunch is approaching quickly, and that means the shop will be getting its normal lunchtime rush any time now. Kaylee double checks that the laces on her roller skates are tied tight, makes sure that her order pad still has plenty of sheets left on it, and adjusts her apron and hat. The sign on the door is turned around promptly at 11.

[[ OoC: Treat it like a party log, folks. Come in with your friends, party it up, and expect Kaylee to pop in at some point to take orders and deliver food.

EDIT: This can span over whatever day of the week you might like it to, so no one's limited to one day they might not be available for. ]]

wildflowerstill.livejournal.com

"Why?"

The scratchy voice is heard as a body takes form in mid-air, just before it hits the floor with a dull thunk. A young woman, looking no more than her early twenties, lies on the cold steel ground, face pale with veins trailing in a crisscross pattern along her skin. She doesn't move for a good full minute and to any eye, trained or untrained, she looks dead as a doornail. Maybe the aliens screwed up and brought the wrong person. Or maybe the aliens have a thing for shits and giggles. We shall see.

Suddenly, the girl bucks upwards, taking in a deep gasp of air, only to cut it short, because hi, she really is dead and dead people don't exactly need air. Well, undead, but it's not like she has a sign on her forehead saying so. The pale cast on her skin fades away, taking the visible veins with them and it seems like just the barest hint of color returns to her cheeks.

"Son of a bitch! He actually killed me!"

Taxon, meet Lexi. Lexi, meet the rest of your afterlife. This should be exciting.

Lexi's distracted from this new place she's landed in because there's a big gaping hole in her shirt that screams out for attention. One finger gets slid into what used to be a stake wound in her chest, only to come out free of any blood and of that damned wooden stake. A slight shimmer of light on metal pulls her eyes downward and Lexi looks at her wrist which seems to have a new decoration in the form of a silver bracelet. Her face clearly says that she's utterly confused by these turn of events. "What the hell is this? When did I put this on?"

Taking it off seems impossible, no matter how hard she digs at it. A few choice words leave her mouth as Lexi flips her long blonde hair from her face and looks around at her new digs. A solid metal room with a door on one side and a pedestal on the other. Weird. She's been quite a few places in the centuries she's been hanging around, but none of them ever looked like the actual inside of a spaceship's jail.

"Hello? Stefan? Elena?" Her voice bounces back at her with no answer from the names she's called out. This. Is. Weird. Not scary, though. Three hundred and fifty year old vampires don't get scared. They're hardcore. Yes, Lexi sure enough is. Rising to her feet, she dusts herself off from head to toe and takes a better glance around. Nothing seems familiar. If she's dead--again--this is a suckass version of Heaven. Hell. Wherever vampires go where they get staked by their best friend's brother. Whatever.

"Damon? I swear I am going to snap your neck into little pieces and then decide what to do with the rest of you when I get out of here. You hear me? Asshole."

Yeah, the aliens love their jokes. Too bad Lexi’s the punchline.

notabluemeanie.livejournal.com

The first thing that Casey notices when he wakes up is that he's sprawled on the carpet of some office he's never seen before.

What the hell?

Then he notices that he's got long hair hanging down over his face, long girly hair and it's tinted a weird shade of blue. He quickly brushes it back, clambers to his feet and looks down at himself. He's in some kind of red leather cat suit or something and he's got...

...woman parts. He's a goddamn woman, and he's much shorter than he used to be.

No way, this can't be happening to him. He'd heard about the glitches, even helped out others when they'd glitched, but he'd never prepared himself for it happening to him. Not like this. The truth glitch was a blip of inconvenience in comparison to this.

He starts to snarl, the feeling of violation and seething anger at being trapped in a body not his bursting forth. Casey doesn't realize that the tablet is on when he speaks.

"I swear as soon as I found out who did this, I'm gonna rip them apart and wear their entrails for a hat."

noheatnikki.livejournal.com

Kate has been flipping through Reid's books and pacing the spare room in Reid's apartment for several hours before she remembers the tablet thing, which has been on since she had tried to see if it had Solitaire on it earlier. She drums her fingers on the table for a moment, debating what she wants to do, before clearing her throat and looking into the screen.

"So...what do people do around here? Work? Drink? I'm going stir-crazy here."

vikingvampire.livejournal.com

Eric looks a little preoccupied sitting there on his throne in the middle of the stage. One of the Extras is dancing around the pole in front of him, but he isn't paying attention to her. His mind is on other things. Russell Edgington, his thousand year old vengeance plan, Pam, the Magister, the queen. Sookie.

The fact that Sookie keeps creeping into his mind isn't exactly something he wants to acknowledge right now, not when there are far more important matters to worry about, but he won't deny that he thinks about her; daydreams about her even. He would even go so far as to say that those brief moments of imagining himself and her together block out everything else. At least until he remembers Bill and her insufferable habit of constantly reminding Eric she is still his. And once Bill enters his brain it all goes downhill from there and he's back to thinking about Russell Edgington, his thousand year old vengeance plan, Pam, the Magister, and the queen.

Sometimes he wonders what it would be like if he hadn't met Sookie. Probably a lot less complicated. Is it possible to have a constant headache when you're dead? Eric motions for one of the Extras to bring him a bottle of human blood. No point mainstreaming here when he can hatch whatever he likes without the cops butting in. He takes a drink and turns his gaze back to the dancer. This time purposely watching.

[OOC: Open to anyone and everyone.]

notabuymoron.livejournal.com

He's not big on showing that he cares, but he's not as heartless as some people may think, either.

"So, uh...Kaylee, just wondering if you're still in one piece. Haven't heard anything on the airwaves. And if anyone else knows what happened to that furry beast that was running around trying to eat people a few days back, it'd be appreciated if you filled me in."

He likes to think he's good when it comes to protecting people, and taking down threats. But in this case, neither is assured.

thenormalsquint

On this chilly, yet sunny afternoon, Angela Montenegro can be seen walking into one of Taxon's many parks. Dragging behind her is a little red wagon filled to the brim with sketchpads, an easel, art supplies, and two stools. Where she got the wagon isn't important; what is important, however, is what Angela's planning on doing with the equipment.

Setting up is done quickly and easily with the finesse of a pro (this isn't her first rodeo, kids.) One sketchpad is placed on the easel and flipped to a clean page where Angela scribbles in thick black marker:

ART DONE BY PARIS TRAINED ARTIST - 15 CREDITS EACH PORTRAIT

She stands back and eyes her handiwork before an almost evil grin spreads across her face. And in smaller, but not too small, letters, Angela writes the words:

NUDES ARE WELCOME. 20 CREDITS.

And in even smaller letters:

PLEASE HELP ME NOT STARVE IN TAXON. SUPPORT THE ARTS!

And in almost illegible letters towards the bottom right corner of the page:

Please? I don't want to do death masks anymore. ):

[ooc: Will be doing bracketed tags, but you don't have to! Choose whatever you want. I'm just lazy as hell lol]

gotcouplings.livejournal.com

[ The transmission starts with a string of very long Chinese swear words, and the sound of something smashing against a wall or door in the background. It's almost hard to hear what she's saying, but the tone is entirely there. ]

Somethin'..........on't know what it is, but.....warn...out of Central. Repeat, stay out--

[ There's a crash, louder than the ones before, and the howling snarls of something finally breaking through the door. More swears on Kaylee's part, and the tablet switches off. ]

freezecharm.livejournal.com

The morning didn't start off too well for Piper. She rose from her bed feeling... different. At first she thought she was coming down with fever, and immediately she hatched some medicine and drank it. It made her feel better - well enough to go to Quake, ready to start a new day of work.

Several hours later, she's regretting that decision.

Piper is sweating profusely even when the temperature in the restaurant is already freezing. The Extras give her weird looks and begin donning jackets. One of her waitresses even asked her what's wrong - not that she looks terribly concerned, which pissed off Piper to no end. "Screw you, you pathetic plastic bitch," she barks, lifting her head from the table where she was slumped just to say that. She stands, and then glares at the small number of people in her restaurant. "Get out of here, all of you! Move it, you freaks!"

Oh, god.

The realization quickly hits her as the Extras left. She hasn't felt this way ever since... oh god. But it wasn't full moon today - it isn't even night yet! - and they've already vanquished the Wendigo who slashed her. Agent Fallon was dead. Her sisters have already saved her!

Piper grabs her tablet, intent on warning the residents of Taxon. She manages to switch on the visual mode, only to cry out in pain a second later. She drops the tablet, and falls to her knees - and the device captures her transformation into a beast.

Watch out, Taxon. There's a Wendigo in your midst.

[ ooc: aaaaand piper's glitch starts! if you want in on the ~horrors, just let me know :> ]

bonescientist.livejournal.com

With a tired sigh, Dr. Temperance Brennan stabs the button of the elevator with her thumb, taking a few steps back in the cubicle as the doors slide shut and cut off her view to the Jeffersonian Institute’s modular skeletal storage. Or “limbo”, as Angela had so casually begun to call it. Leaning against the elevator wall, Brennan lets her eyes close for the few moments it takes to ride back up to the Medico-legal laboratory. The day has been busy - another day, another decomposed body found in a federal park; cue Booth ushering her out at 7AM, insisting that she Chop chop, Bones! Grab your stuff and let’s go! while she was still struggling to wake up. The tall takeout cup of coffee he’d pushed into her hand just then had narrowly saved him from getting punched.

After conducting the initial examination of the victim, Brennan had promptly fled down to limbo for one hour of precious, full silence and a set of old remains. She'd sorely needed that hour to herself, now feeling ready to join the bustle of the lab again. Brennan pats a hand over her lab coat pocket and stifles a groan upon realizing that she’s forgotten her cell phone in her office. If Booth has tried to call her with anything case-related and gotten her voicemail while she’s been down in limbo, he wouldn’t be very happy. How to deal with Booth’s temper is the last coherent consideration that crosses Brennan’s mind as she toes the line between sleep and wakefulness, the steady hum of the elevator further lulling her into languid stupor. The gentle jolt of the elevator coming to halt causes Brennan to snap her eyes open, blinking rapidly. Did she just have a microsleep episode? She must be more sleep deprived that she thought. Wiping one hand quickly across her face, Brennan steps out of the cubicle as the elevator doors slide open.

But instead of the state-of-the-art laboratory of plexiglass, steel catwalks and vaulted ceilings with skylights, Brennan arrives into a circular chamber she’s never seen in her life. She pauses in mid-stride, her astonishment turning into dread at the soft sound of the door behind her closing. Jolted into activity, Brennan spins around; but the door she just walked through doesn’t seem to exist anymore, replaced by a seamless wall of metal. Wide-eyed and slack jawed, she glances around while questions begin to fill her head. Where is she? How did she end up here? Is she still dreaming? Drugged and hallucinating? That last cup of coffee did taste a little strange... now she’s sounding like Hodgins, but Brennan thinks she’s entitled to a moment of paranoia in this situation.

Brennan draws in a few deep breaths, knowing she needs to remain calm. Generally speaking, most adult abductions are motivated by ransom money; she is a fairly acclaimed author and enjoys considerable financial wealth. A more career specific option is another perp about to get caught seeking to thwart the investigation by kidnapping the lead examiner. Either way, Brennan is convinced that Booth will find her. She just hopes it’s sooner rather than later.

“This was a stupid thing to do, you know,” Brennan states bluntly while her eyes roam the smooth metal walls, searching for any indicators of cameras or speaker systems. “My partner will find me, and I guarantee that he will be extremely angry with you when he does. He shot a clown once for being annoying, what do you think he’ll do to you for abducting me?”

It was a mechanical clown, but these kidnappers don’t need to know that. There's no response, but she didn’t really expect one. The impudent words serve their purpose, lessening some of the nervous anxiety thrumming along her bones at the uncertain situation. Panicking isn't conducive to rational thinking, and now she can examine her predicament in a calm, methodical manner. She’s been kidnapped before, had her life threatened in foreign countries as well as in D.C. Wherever she is now, nobody is around to hold her at gunpoint, at least. Brennan places this detail on the pro column of her mental list; the fact that she appears to be confined in this strange, metallic chamber finds its place on the con side. However, logical deduction dictates that if there’s a way in, there’s a way out.

She directs her attention to the pedestal by the stairs leading down from the raised platform she’s standing on, her curiosity piqued at the item perched atop it. Slowly, Brennan descends the stairs, reaching out her right hand to grab the device on the pedestal – but freezes as her gaze zeroes in on the metallic bracelet attached around her wrist. Her jaw drops as she realizes the wristlet is embedded into her skin, the metal melding seamlessly with the living tissue. She tries to dig her fingertips under the lip of the bracelet, but to no avail; the thing refuses to budge. With a frustrated grumble, Brennan gives up, knowing she risks physical harm if she tries to tear it out. Perhaps it’s a tracking device? Aside from the machines at the lab, technology isn’t Brennan’s strongest suit; she happily leaves that to Angela. Her unease begins to escalate again along with the accumulating ticks on the con side of her mental tally. Crossing her arms over her chest, Brennan rubs her upper arms, mostly to ward off the slight chill clinging to the room but also to comfort herself.

“Come on, Booth. Please,” she breathes almost inaudibly, despite her rational side chiming in that Booth can hardly hear her.

With a sudden bout of determination straightening her spine, Brennan doggedly shakes off the paralyzing hesitation. Instead of just standing about, Brennan refocuses on the gadget displayed on the small dais. It looks innocent enough, like one of those expensive, fancy mobile phones. Brennan’s head tilts as she frowns at it, puzzled. Why would the kidnappers leave a phone in the room with her? Are they stupid? Irrelevant speculation, she decides, grabbing the apparatus off the pedestal. The moment she does, a door slides open a few feet away, startling her. Years of martial arts training have Brennan reacting on autopilot, her body sliding into a defensive stance with no wasted movement. But as nobody comes charging in, Brennan allows her tense muscles to relax. Warily, she edges to the open doorway with the device still clutched in her hand, her back close to the wall. Bracing her free hand against the doorframe, she leans forward enough to take a quick look outside.

“Ange did insist I take a vacation, but this is…” she trails off with a slow shake of her head as she stares, wide-eyed; unable to find an appropriate word to describe the mixture of incredulity, dread and awe she’s feeling. With a twinge of regret, Brennan thinks of the hefty handgun tucked away in her desk drawer at the Jeffersonian. Cautiously, Brennan inches forward, leaving the austere room of metal. She whirls around as the door to the room closes behind her, sealing off access to the chamber as if it never existed. Swallowing uneasily, Brennan backs up a few steps and turns again, glancing around.

“…Hello?” she calls out tentatively at first, clearing her throat and adding with more volume, “Anybody here?”

[ooc | ...took me long enough to get this up! sorry for the length.]

skort

Kara's tablet turns on when she smacks it as she turns over in her sleep. From the looks of it, it's not a particularly good dream. In fact, judging by the choked off yell as she sits up, it was down-right nasty. She looks at nothing in particular, her expression shocked like nothing else. "What... What the hell was that?" she murmurs quietly.

Without thinking, she brings her knees to her chest, curling her arms around them as she mutters to herself quietly in Kryptonian, trying to figure out what just happened. Her breathing is coming a little quickly as realization dawns on her and her expression slowly turns to something akin to horror.

"Oh, Rao..." Cue more angered murmuring in Kryptonian before Kara just buries her face in her knees.

The feed times out.

[ ooc | canon update! also. forward dated a few hours to like. 4 AM Wednesday. ]

notabuymoron.livejournal.com

If anyone is paying attention to tablet transmissions, they may see a shirtless Casey exerting himself with intense physical labor. He's hacking at a tree with a fire axe and with a vehemence which is not exactly pleasant to watch. Behind him, in the background and slightly off to the side is what looks like a pile of debris, stacked into a makeshift bonfire.

There may be some noticeable bits of furniture in that pile, don't ask him how he dragged them there.

There may also be evidence that he's been drinking heavily. Probably because at some point he pauses to take a swig from a half empty bottle of Johnnie Walker, black label.

Message at your own peril.