taxonomites | Entries tagged with { liz parker

rereremembered.livejournal.com

( Fitz had long kept a little black book )

He couldn't be idle any longer, it was time to try for a morale boost So he packed up his guitar and gear and headed for the square in the middle of the city, glad the snow of previous days had given way to...autumn. Bloody hell, with the crazy weather it was no wonder he'd taken a page from the Hitchemus playbook.

Once everything was set up he turned his tablet to holo and launched into the uneasy, plaitive opening chords of that Status Quo song, wishing not for the first time that the aliens would snatch up a drummer for once.

When I look up to the skies
I see your eyes a funny kind of yellow
I rush home to bed I soak my head
I see your face underneath my pillow
I wake next morning, tired, still yawning
See your face come peeping through my window

It was probably more appropriate for last month, and thank Christ the reflections had stopped teasing him, but it still worked. He could still almost hear the TARDIS materializing under the solo.

Windows echo your reflection
When I look in their direction now
When will this haunting stop?
Your face it just won't leave me alone

Pictures of matchstick men and you...
Alls I ever see is them and you

The song came to its forlorn, jangly conclusion and Fitz addressed the city.

"Good afternoon, Taxon!" he began, strumming a few idle notes as he spoke. "That one was for all of you who are missing someone. I know, and I'm sure you're all aware, that lots of people have been sent home lately. For many this is good, for others it's not, and for those of us still stuck here it's...well, we're still fucking stuck here. But we're stuck here together, so let's try and help each other out, yeah?

"Some people have been setting up a shelter for the next time our hosts let the wheels fall off this damn place, and I'm collecting donations at the Dodgy Jammer. Food, clothing, blankets, a replica of whatever weird thing from your world you can't live without, we're stocking it all. Help yourselves, help your neighbors, the tools are in your hands and all that."

tothelightshown.livejournal.com

It was late in evening when DG returned to Taxon after three weeks of something far stranger than sleep. The moon that should have been shining above her was obscured by thick cloud and she stepped out of the deserted work shop into a wall of snow.

Pausing to pull her collar up against the bitter cold, DG wondered exactly how long she'd been gone. The last thing she remembered was the warmth of summer. There had been sunshine and clear skies and a party on the beach and ...

"Oh my god," she breathed, stopping dead in her tracks, "Glitch."

She remembered their last conversation. How could she forget it? The hamsters had given him the rest of his brain back. Not as part of one of their games, but as a gift that would last.

Instead of walking straight to the Northern Island as she'd intended, DG ducked into the relative - but still rather meagre - shelter of the nearest large building, pulling out her tablet with icy fingers. She was frequently impatient and her stasis hadn't changed that. She needed to know how he was now.

"Glitch? Glitch, it's DG. I'm ... I'm back." Back from wherever she'd actually been. "Please tell me you remember me?"

She didn't know how long that she'd been gone, only that it had been a long time. Months at the least. What had she missed? What had changed?

DG closed her eyes, pressing the palm of her free hand over her eyes in a gesture of understandable exasperation.

"You stopped being twisted a long time ago, flea bags," she added a moment later, addressing the hamsters, "This is just ridiculous."

ironfright.livejournal.com

Puck was angrier than he could recall being in a long time. He had settled so well into a familiar groove of apathy that it was hard to shake him loose from it. But certain things had and without acknowledging (or understanding, his mind kept insisting) why, he was taking out his feelings in the most destructive way possible.

Which meant that he'd hatched a dozen bottles of assorted alcohol and started downing them. After about the fourth one, he'd gotten it into his head to take to the street and start venting on whatever was nearby and breakable. Storefront windows, signposts, mailboxes, anything that was conveniently in reach to a very drunken fae was subject to Puck's kicks, punches, and hurled objects. The only thing being thrown around more than impromptu projectiles were obscenities, which were flowing as freely as the liquor.

[ OOC: Basically Puck is just staggering around the city making a complete drunken ass of himself. Do with him what you will! ]

poisonousparty.livejournal.com

While he isn't one to complain when Draculoids suddenly vanish with a blink of an eye, especially when they're about to end his life, Party Poison doesn't exactly like the new environment, either. Namely, what could have caused said new environment.

( One moment he was by Route Guano with BL/ind. after him (and everyone else), speeding out of control as a lacky shot out their tires, and Party still remembered how damn jarring it was to have to jump out of the window of his very own car. )

smecker.livejournal.com

The tablet briefly displays a skewed glimpse of what looks like a makeshift science lab inside a large empty warehouse-- the emphasis on makeshift. A few library books stacked on surfaces, spines bearing titles like Chemistry for Students and Practical Science. There's bits of pipe, a sink, projects scattered in phases of half-completed.

Paul Smecker rights the tablet, and takes a breath. In one hand he has a pair of safety goggles, which he sets down on the counter with a level of care that is a marked contrast from the last time he made a broadcast.

"Hey, Taxon," he says after several awkward seconds. "I don't know how many people got a chance to know her, but Alexis Castle's gone."

He pauses, opens his mouth as if to say something else, then just shakes his head and presses the button to end the call.

Paul stands there a moment in the silence of the warehouse, then sets a plastic bag full of supplies down on the counter. No need for them now. Class for Alexis has been canceled, permanently.

Current Mood: sad

hasaheart

Cain is in a foul mood. Why? All will be revealed shortly.

In crisp, curt tones accompanied by a glare so lacking in amusement and good nature he might as well be possessed by an evil witch, Cain addresses the city at large while getting dressed.

"Does anyone know what is goin' on with the weather? And please, no smart-ass comments, I'm not in the fuckin' mood."

Wintertime means snow means cold weather means his entire body aches like it's stuck in a vise and someone keeps cranking up the pressure.

Not. Funny.

-
To Paul:

"I need to get stuff secured up top in case a storm's comin'. I'm heading over."

((Backdated to yesterday morning, for IC reasons. Cain has a green house project in progress what needs covering up because of the goddamned weather. <3<3<3))

cametolife

"Little hot for a jacket, don't you think?"

Sometimes the natives made comments that were so coherent and like that of conversation she'd expect from a normal, living and breathing Human from Earth that it took Liz completely by surprise. She formulated a reply, but although it was sitting in her mind, she did not speak it. Talking to them was awkward, and she wasn't sure if she felt it was best to ignore them or if she was ashamed of herself for ignoring them. Liz was not the type of person who shunned others because they were different or strange, but there was something about the natives that rubbed her the wrong way. She couldn't quite put it into words...

As for the jacket, she was from New Mexico. The summer temperatures made the 'heat wave' Taxon had been experiencing these past months seem laughable. She found mornings to be too cool for her liking, and would often venture downstairs to get the Crashdown ready to open with a light jacket on over whatever she happened to be wearing. Today being the day she'd given herself off -- the natives could handle things, as much as they weirded her out, they were oddly reliable in their ability to keep this place up and running -- she was only hanging around long enough to get things ready before she headed out; maybe to the mall or the zoo, somewhere to get her mind off things that felt more like home and less some alien planet.

"Okay, I think that's it," she said to the native behind the counter in the pastel turquoise waitress uniform as she placed the last sugar dispenser on the table of one of the booths. "Should be ready to go."

The early morning hours fading and the temperature rising, Liz shrugged out of the jacket, revealing a tank top that, although it showed her mid-drift, was rather modest. Draping it over one arm, she made for the exit, but-- She froze.

In her reflection in the window, Max's silver hand print, almost unnaturally iridescent, could clearly be seen on her stomach.

theextras.livejournal.com

Word has it, Taxon, that there's going to be a party. These rumors are not untrue, for one

slaying has arranged something of a get together for the Fourth of July. Unfortunately, the Extras have caught wind of this soirée and are already in the presence of crashing it, rocking those holey jeans and chilling with some Lynyrd Skynyrd and good ol' Hank Williams. This is their kind of party.

Don't let them have all the fun. The sun is getting low, so get on out here and get your party on before fireworks start lighting up the faux night sky.

cametolife

"Hi, Taxon, I, um--" She cuts herself off, looking away, then back at the tablet. And then down, in an abashed kind of way. "I am really bad at this and will obviously never, ever go into the entertainment industry. Anyway! I brought this restaurant you can see behind me," and she holds the tablet out and pans it left, then right, to give the network a good view of the place, "to Taxon and it's a little understaffed by people not me or the natives. Not that they aren't hard workers, they just kind of... creep me out, and aren't much for conversation."

Talking happened, but what they had to see was extremely limited. Questions were answered and directions were followed, but what was missing from them was what had always made the Crashdown worth working at on those days where the customers made her want to throw down her apron and quit. There was nothing holding the staff together, no bond, no laughter that passed between them or smiles offered in times of hardship. She missed that.

"I'd love to take people on, whether it be waiting tables or cooking, cleaning, even a host! Anyone would be great. So, contact me if you'd be interested, I'd really appreciate the help and company."

wontbpatronized.livejournal.com

It's an average night in Gotham. The city's alive with people, all bustling chaos and shining naivety, the vast majority ignorant of the other world bristling just under the surface.

It makes Damian sick, actually. That they pass through the streets and just assume everything will be perfect. Planned. Ordinary.

He scoffs, knowing better. Not that he's paying much attention to them at the moment; he's knee-deep in nondescript henchmen, after all. "This is so far beneath my abilities," he scowls, fist making impact with a man who evidently thought feathers was an excellent costume choice. He grunts, and the sound, coupled with the way the man crumples under the force, elicits a feral grin. One down, five to go.

...Provided his partner will allow him any more. The flash of grey and black pauses in motion just long enough to glance his way, and despite the fact that the gesture is so out of keeping with the image of Batman he can almost hear the accompanying eyeroll. "You always say that, and then you end up needing me to bail you out. I'll start believing it when it actually shows."

Another feathered heap collapses to the ground, incapacitated with a shot to the solar plexus, and Damian whirls to face the next one, yellow cape trailing behind him. "Only because I'm not allowed to kill them. If I could do things the way I was trained to I wouldn't need your help."

"Batman and Robin don't kill."
( Cut for tl;dr )

gotcouplings.livejournal.com

The tablet is already recording as Kaylee sets it down. There isn’t much to see from the balcony she is standing on, just another alien-produced barrier to keep them all where they don’t want to be. In the year and a half she’s been here, that hasn’t gotten much better. Still landlocked, still stuck, and right now she doesn’t even have the comfort of Serenity to help with that.

It isn’t all bad. She has to keep reminding herself that it isn’t all completely horrible. There are bright sides of being here, too. No worries about feds or cons who feel they have been cheated in some way, for example. It isn’t as though they’ve been left without entertainment. And the people here are shiny, all full of different ideas and knowledge and stories. But people come and go, even here, and...

With a sigh, Kaylee gives the railing an experimental tap. Nothing. She didn’t think anything would happen, given the number of things she’s already tried, but was worth a shot. Laughing, she leans out over the rail. She’s doing her very best to stay cheerful, to be happy for those who have gotten out of this gorram moon when she still can’t figure out how. When she looks to the tablet, she doesn’t seem surprised at all to find it already recording her.

“Those of you ‘at know him, looks as though Jayne Cobb’s gone home again.”

Good for him.

“For us still here, I’m wondering if anybody’d be interested in a good drink, or a game of somethin’. Don’t got much of a care for what it is, but company’s always nice, and I think we could all use a bit of distraction from tryin’ times.” And trying aliens.

The tablet switches off, but comes back on all of three seconds later with more laughing Kaylee. "Also, Kaylee's me, for those of you I ain't met yet. Apologies for not meetin' you sooner, but I'd like to get to know you now, if I may."

aintnoconvict

Another careless chucking of the tablet, another free show from the resident headcase. This time he's in the laundry room, wearing a red and black striped tank top, charcoal gray sweatpants, and a very dismayed expression. Clearly something has gone wrong in his world.

"Oh cripes!" Glitch declares and holds up a garment that looks like it has been clumsily tie-dyed in shades of blueish lavender. Once upon a time (roughly forty minutes ago) the shirt had been a nice eggshell color. After being accidentally bundled into the wash with his new blue robe, however... not so much.

"This...I...cripes!"

ooc: laundry party post, I guess! feel free to harass Glitch or engage in other clothes-cleaning shenanigans.

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. ♥ )

malleableness.livejournal.com

ya'll gotta minute? just wanna ask a question b4 startin the day.
is anyone here a super biogenetic genius of sorts? i got some questions i'd really like answered. thnx

~ Becky

secretshame

The last few days have been awkward for Jenna. Okay, the last week or however long it's been already. She's been trying to keep to the house more than anything lately, especially since the sudden inability of EVERYONE to speak... or even type in English. for the most part, Jenna's been avoiding dealing with the tablets since she found that out, but now she has to admit she's curious, so she takes out her tablet and finally asks the question that's got her wondering.

Can anyone else use English?

It might be helpful to know how many people are completely nuts.

Welcome to your first glitch, Jenna. Clearly, this means that everyone with an invite into her house should come bug her - or even those without an invite who are capable of that sort of thing. She's hanging out in the living room this time with her tablet, a book, and a whiteboard plus eraser plus colored markers.

And no, she's definitely not bored enough to be drawing on the whiteboard. That's entirely your imagination.

Current Music: Depeche Mode - Enjoy The Silence | Powered by Last.fm

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! ]

ironfright.livejournal.com

Since his arrival, Puck had been mostly keeping to himself. Although he still tossed out the occasional sardonic barb over the Tablet, the disguised faerie had been gliding under the radar. Nobody seemed to care that he was staying in the Sanctuary and, since it seemed far larger than the actual number of people staying there, he sometimes didn't run into anyone aside from the occasional Extra for a day at a time.

That suited him just fine.

Today he was lounging in the Salon, a less busy area than some of the other floors, a pad of paper next to him but nothing written on it but a few idle scribbles. Instead he had his guitar over his lap, plucking idly at the strings with his eyes closed as though he were listening for something.

malleableness.livejournal.com

( cut because OMG HUGE TEXT )

ironfright.livejournal.com

[ Have a slim and dark-haired young man walking through the streets of Central, a soft-cased guitar slung over one shoulder like the quintessential wandering musician. But an unpleasant look and a sharp set to his eyes might dissuade casual conversation and though he may look human at first glance, anyone who can feel beneath that surface will know it's not true. ]

This is such bullshit...

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?]