taxonomites | Entries tagged with { mattie ross (au)

saucyspinster.livejournal.com

Mattie awoke with the sun as she always does, washed and dressed, the empty sleeve of her left arm pinned up neatly, read her Bible and checked the contents of her larder. Now it's time for cooking breakfast (there's an art to doing it one-handed that she mastered years ago, and carries the burns to prove it), and only now as she sets the table does she realize that the display of the tablet is lit and has probably been broadcasting her movements around the kitchen. She sets a bowl of eggs and then a platter of ham and fried potatoes on the table, and calls out 'Breakfast!' to the air. Then turns to the tablet and considers it with pursed lips.

"I do not hold with eavesdroppers but since I know it is not always a person's choice in this city, when he is made privy to the business of another, so I will make an exception. There is a good breakfast here, for anyone who has need of it."

[Location open immediately to tiny!Don and later to any takers on the breakfast invitation, everyone else visual or voice as you like. For those unfamiliar with adult!Mattie, she's around 40, missing the lower part of her left arm, and sterner than stern.]

honoraryhobo.livejournal.com

The sun's scrambled high into the sky like a sure-footed kid climbing a tree—it's the itch under his collar and the sweat on his palms. He raises the hoe and swings it down into dry earth, sending up a puff of dust. There's always one weed left. Sun's baleful glare on his back, he drives the blade in again. He hears himself grunt (it sounds more like a squeal, like he's gonna cry) as if from far away.

He must close his eyes because the next thing he knows his hands are empty—slick with sweat and streaked with dirt but empty. He wipes them on his pants and looks up.

His eyes go wide. His arms prickle with goosebumps; he hugs himself against the sudden cold. He takes a step back, then another—it's a white room with a bed and the covers are rumpled. Maybe he should see if they're warm but he takes another step back and stumbles over a bottle. A gasp snags on something before it can escape his throat. He freezes, goes rigid. Listens with all his might.

The tablet switches on to show a dark-haired boy in clothes—a grimy shirt, suspenders, brown pants—that are worn but not ratty stooping to carefully right a whisky bottle.

eventextras.livejournal.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

verylittlesugar

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

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

tothelibrary.livejournal.com

[ the tablet clicks on to reveal dawn; she's sitting in her room at the castle, hair wet and pulled back in a tight ponytail, looking fragile and practically swimming in a sweatshirt that only a few people left in taxon will recognize as xander's. ]

Hi-- um. I should have probably planned what I was going to say before I turned this on. It might make this easier. Or... less whatever. Something.

I just wanted to apologize to anyone I-- [ she swallows hard ] hurt, this month. I didn't mean to, but not like that means a lot because I still did. It was a glitch, but-- that doesn't make it better. Or okay. So I'm just so, so sorry. And whatever I can do to make up for it, I'll do. I just-- I'm sorry.

[ she fumbles with her tablet for a second, and this last bit is locked to paul and mattie. ]

I'm-- well, I'm still sorry. But I hurt you both, even if it wasn't me-me. And if you both don't ever want to be around me again, I understand but if I can do anything to make amends, I will. [ she opens her mouth to add something else, then shrugs, shoulders slumping. ] I'm just so sorry.

( ooc | post-glitch! backtagging on horrors is still a go for those who want to, and this post is around for ooc workout if you want/need it. )

eggplantgout.livejournal.com

When people leave here, where do they go?

Jason doesn't feel like getting too personal right now, a text is all anyone is going to get.

verylittlesugar

It's been a couple days since the attack and her phone call to Don, and Mattie's feeling better physically, but still a little wrung out emotionally. Mostly that manifests in being very quiet and trying convince Don to let her cook meals for him, and a noticeable absence of tiny sternfaces. There's a lot on her mind, however, and one or two questions in particular keep coming up.

So she turns to her tablet, and the Taxon community, for answers. She's curled up against the headboard of Don's bed, wrapped in her father's coat over her nightgown, with a small white gauze bandage on her neck.

"What happens when a vampire bites you? And how are you to tell if you are seeing one?"

[Location for Don, visual or voice as you like for everyone else. Let's say this is backdated to around May 9 so Mattie hasn't been languishing all this time.

ETA: Don may be hovering around and keeping an eye on conversations, expect possible threadjacking. ;)]

verylittlesugar

Mattie's outside today, enjoying the sun and fresh air despite the chill, contemplating whether she might take advantage of this month's free things and start some kind of little garden.

She's also contemplating something that she's been wondering about for days, something she really needs an opinion about.

"Are any of you acquainted with a man named Damon Salvatore? Can you tell me why he has such intent interest in girls' dresses? And can a garden be put anywhere?"

dreamsinwhich.livejournal.com

The changeover is a subtle one; one moment, Dawn stretches and rolls over in bed, rubbing at her eyes sleepily. (Taxon: great for naps, when things are boring instead of falling apart.) The next moment she jolts upright, face confused.

"What the hell." She looks around, then down at her plain tee shirt and shorts with distaste. "Ugh. Who dressed me, Suzy Q Homemaker? Angelus, not funny. We talked about this innocent little girl fetish, and why you should indulge in it with actual innocent little girls. I'll watch, but I draw the line at cotton shirts with--" she looks down and rolls her eyes. "A duck on it. Seriously, why not just put me in a little plaid skirt? At least that would look cute. This is just annoying."

She waits, tapping one bare foot impatiently. "Angelus? The moment of surprise thing is old. I'm done with this game, why don't we play the one where I'm not in this stupid shirt and we eat out tonight?" For a moment, she looks genuinely worried; then her face smooths out and she rolls her eyes. "Fine, whatever. Be that way, I'll just explore your little drafty hideaway until you come back. Maybe start breaking things."

This is a new game, but whatever. Maybe Angelus read Cosmo and decided to spice things up with a surprise. Maybe he's getting dinner, or maybe he's off doing... who knows what. Dawn can take care of herself, now. She doesn't need her Sire on call 24-7 anymore.

The glint of her tablet catches Dawn's attention, and after a second of consideration she picks it up and takes it with her out into the hallway, where she opens a door at random.

"...Okay, the shirt thing is forgiven. A room full of shoes covers a multitude of sartorial sins." Setting the tablet on one of the dressers lining the wall, Dawn grabs a pair of shoes and after a moment of consideration, a dress from the closet, stripping down to pull it over her hips. The tablet clicks on as she shimmies a little pulling it on, giving a nice view of her bare back until she twists and closes the zipper. "Not bad. A little long, but any port in a fashion storm."

Tilting her head thoughtfully, Dawn looks down at herself, ignoring the mirror in the corner. "Now, where's a camera when you need one?"

( ooc | GLITCH START. she's vamped and soulless, details in the ooc post etc. open to tablet based unless your character would be in the castle, then location is aces. i'd like to keep dawn on the loose a little while longer, so we can work out details as it goes. ♥ )

verylittlesugar

Mattie is sitting at a table, holding her tablet propped in front of her as she nearly always does (it seems rude to communicate with people and not give them her full attention, and also she still has some concern that the tablet might begin doing undesirable things if she isn't watching it while it's on). She appears to have been using the hatches, as the high-necked blouse she's wearing is not the one she arrived in, and her father's clothes are nowhere in sight.

"I am given to understand that the line of credit we are extended runs out at the end of each month. While I do not see why they set it so high, it does seem an awful waste not to use it all. I have everything I need, is there anyone out there who does not?"

selfmadman

No matter the hour Don wakes to stillness, this apartment one in a host of rooms that have served as little more than a receptacle for his tired body. Today, like most days, he sits hunched at the mattress' edge, coughing, then pads to the kitchen to start the coffee. If the place is to have an animating spirit let it be the machine spitting and gurgling on the counter.

He's been staying here less than a month and the walls still have a fresh-scrubbed look; the furniture—couch, wrought-iron table, the long plank of a writing desk—still seems posed. The cake, modest but topped with a whorl of chocolate icing out of a cookbook, blends right in. It's not until he emerges from the kitchen that Don notices it. He takes a reflexive step back, casts a quick, bewildered glance around the room, and strides to the door to test the lock.

When he returns his steps are measured, his jaw set. He plunks his coffee down and studies the cake with distaste, a hint of wariness—he gives no more thought to eating it than he would a mouse caught in a trap, but something in him recoils at the thought of food wasted. A minute passes, two. Then, without any discernible change in expression, he reaches for the cake.

painsinger.livejournal.com

"This shouldn't be happening! It can't be happening!" Stefen hadn't intended to speak out loud, but the frustration and the fear obvious in his voice had, it seemed, other plans aside from stunned silence. Maybe not stunned, if the look of resigned terror on his face said anything--like someone watching their worst nightmare come to life, only they had been expecting it. Nothing was ever simple, and the half of him that was still a child wanted to complain about how unfair this all was, while the half that was more what he should have been--the half that was Master Bard Stefen, performer to the King-- knew that it wouldn't have changed anything if he did.

"Well-guarded, indeed. One moment in Haven, the next here..." Not that he hadn't heard of stranger things happening from the Heralds and with his particularly strong ties to both King Randale and Herald-Mage Vanyel, he was a particularly prime target.

Vanyel.

Oh gods. He had been right. If they knew who he was, it was only a matter of time before the worst happened and if they didn't know how important he was to either, it was only a matter of time before they found out and...

"V-Van...?" But he wasn't really expecting an answer. This place looked too alien, even for the kind of "company" that Van tended to keep. And if the Herald wasn't here, then there was only one real option left--Stefen was being used as leverage. Abducted by some invisible force with some phantom goal in mind. Vanyel had enough enemies that there was no telling what any of them wanted.

It wasn't until he reached up to run a hand through his fiery red hair that he realized that he was still clutching an instrument against his slight body. That added a whole other level of confusing to the situation. This looked enough like a strange prison, so...why was he permitted an instrument? And his favorite, no less.

"R-Rosewood? What are you doing here?" He held her a little more gently against his chest, but she was a small comfort in the face of abduction.

Calm down, Stef. You've had training. Nothing is wrong with Vanyel or you'd know. He closed his green eyes and took a few deep breaths to steady himself. He was supposed to be attached to the palace, not dealing with magic or prisons or any of...well, this.

Someone has to be looking for me. Let's face it, at this point I'm too important for someone not to have noticed that I've vanished. But that would only make them--whoever "them" were--try even harder to hide him. After a few moments of silent internal struggle, an oath that would not have been very welcome at Court all but exploded from him and the look on his face turned into a mixture of frustration and rage. There wasn't anything that he was capable of doing to get himself out of this--all he could do was wait to be found.

And that was precisely what he set out to do, dropping to sit on the floor and sulk (even if he would never have called it that) very much like the child that he had barely outgrown.

"Havens..."

hasaheart

The change of weather and the coming of April brought a few things to the forefront of Cain's mind. One day, while losing himself in the mundane murmur of household chores, he realized it had been close to six months since he first found himself trapped in this hole in the ground.

Six months in this monstrous metro-city, and he'd succumbed to the same apathy that he at first had accused his two dearest friends of.

Six months, and what had he done to find a way out?

What had he done to set things right?

Nothing. One big, fat, glaring nothing at all. He's given in to the grind of depression, to the oppressive lack of wanting anything to do with life, and the resignation that he doesn't have what it takes to end it once and for all (whatever it is, be it strength or weakness, guts or the lack of them).

What's more, if he's been here six months, it's ten months since Adora set out for the cottage beyond the white elm with their son, hoping against hope for a fresh start.

He realized he had no idea what she had done in the years before, when he was gone. He didn't know how she'd coped, what she'd had to sacrifice in order to feed her family.

Ten months, and sometime during the following four, she'd been murdered.

He realized, with chilling clarity, that he had no idea when his wife had died. He could live without knowing what had happened, because he knew it couldn't be as bad as his mind insisted in vivid, broad strokes of imaginary paint. He could live, not knowing how. He just wasn't so sure he could cope, not knowing when.

So, against better judgment, knowing full well he shared this prison with creatures who supposedly went around feeding on the blood of mortals, Cain once more took to walking the streets in the dead of night. The claustrophobia reared its ugly face one night too many, forcing him out into the deceptively open air - and if he had to choose between potentially infected, homicidal Extras and the walls of his rooms caving in, he'd take the Extras any day.

eggplantgout.livejournal.com

Jason Stackhouse had never been to college unless one counted a semester at tech school a university experience. He had however, watched plenty of movies that (many of them inaccurate) depicted college. This party was a new experience for Jason and he was damn well going to get it right.

The party would take place outside on the lawn in front of Jason and Loki’s house. Along one side of the yard was a row of tables filled with the promised plastic cups, pizza, and various junk food. (Including an assortment of random candies that Loki helpfully provided.) As long as they were free that month, the table also provided margaritas on the rocks in the event a party goer did not want to partake of the kegs on either side of the table row.

There is a banner hanging across the front of the house saying WELCOME, LOKI! and piñatas dangle intermittently on tree branches across the yard. One in particular is a skull, and while Jason thinks it’s cool, in hindsight he wonders if it will scare anyone off. Music that sounds much like early-mid 90’s Earth hip hop booms across the party, inviting guests to dance. As he waits for the guests, Jason begins to drink. There was nothing wrong with a little pregaming. And of course, he's wearing a toga.

faderbroderson

Godric is making the bed. A silky sheet carefully tucked, a pillow fluffed, a blanket smoothed. His hands move at a human pace, his touch unhurried and almost reverent. It isn't his bed. The colors and ornaments lending personality to the room are not to his taste.

He moves on to the dresser and proceeds to fold away a small pile of clothes left on the surface. They are too large and too dark to be his clothes. The drawer closes with a thump, too loud in the empty room.

His hands linger, and he stands unnaturally still for a long moment before casting his gaze around the dim room, looking for loose ends. He finds only the recording tablet, and expresses no surprise. He lifts it and brings it with him as he leaves, flicking off the lights and shutting the door quietly.

"Eric Northman has gone home," he addresses Taxon. "Fangtasia has gone with him. If you were employed there, you may contact me for other options."

The broadcast ends.

allthefunever.livejournal.com

...Well. That's it, then. Damon stares at his tablet for a long moment before laughing roughly-- this is what amusement sounds like, he's not at all bleakly pissed, move along-- and tosses his tablet away. He needs a drink. Maybe seven or so of them.

Being as tablets turn on in stiff breezes (or less stiff breezes, or when there's no breeze at all) Damon's rough throw landing his tablet onto the sofa is enough movement to turn on the record function. So, Taxon, enjoy this production of 'Damon's Bare Feet Padding Over to the Liquor Cabinet'. The sound of a very, very large drink being poured is unmistakable, and after a moment so is the shattering of a tumbler against the far wall.

( ooc | angela's gone and damon does not shot loss well. (NOT THAT HE CARED AT ALL EVEN A BIT SHUT UP.) or emotional maturity, for that matter. poke with sticks, whatever. forgive me my slow tags now and forever amen. )

givesahoot.livejournal.com

The technology in this place was fascinating. Not only was it interesting but in general Dan found it helpful to concentrate on something positive to get his mind off the fact that he had been kidnapped. Add that to the fact that he had found his bunker from back home and that he was naturally inclined to keep to himself, Dan had socialized very little since his arrival.

He had been tinkering with his tablet when he heard the static. Dan liked to keep his radio on for background noise and usually didn't pay it much thought, but the interruption of the norm had caught his attention. When the voice started he dropped the screwdriver from his hand and froze. He couldn't understand the language, but whatever it was it seemed ominous.

After the music clicked back on Dan raced to put his tablet back together and sent a visual transmission to the city.

"Tell me I'm not going crazy. Did anyone else have their radio on just now?"

verylittlesugar

[Mattie feels the ground give way under her feet, panic closing off her throat as she begins to fall, scrabbling uselessly at dirt and brush-]

The holo feed shows a small figure dressed in too-large, old-fashioned clothes appear in mid-air, then fall to the ground with a hard thump that knocks the wind out of her for a moment. She lies still, gaping up at what should be a blue sky or at least the darkness of earth over her head, and then hesitantly brushes the fingers of one hand against the unyielding surface of the floor.

“Mr. LaBoeuf?” Her voice is embarrassingly weak, and she takes a deep breath and tries again, more loudly. “Mr. LaBoeuf!”

There’s no answer, of course, and common sense tells Mattie that although she doesn’t rightly know where she is, it’s obvious where she is not, and she shouldn’t expect any response. That realization urges her to sit up, the hat falling off her head as she slowly pushes herself to her feet and looks uncertainly around.

“Hello? Can anyone hear me?” She approaches the nearest wall and runs her hand along it, then turns her head to take in the others, just as blank as this one. Raising her arm, she pounds her fist against it, voice taking on a more forceful (but also more desperate) tone. “Whoever’s out there, open up this minute! You have no right to hold me against my will, I’ve embarked on no wrong-doing.. I have a good lawyer, and I will write him and you will hear how the law looks on the incarceration of innocent children!”

When the wall doesn’t give way and door doesn’t appear, Mattie steps back with a sigh. “Papa, I believe I have found some trouble for myself.”