taxonomites | Entries tagged with { puck

ironfright.livejournal.com

[ The backdrop of sakura trees and manicured shrubbery indicate that Puck's found his way to one of the themed parks that dot the city. It seems for a moment like he might be sleeping, but then his eyes open and they're a little more luminescent than normal. He touches the base of the tree and from that spot, a sudden sprout of flowering vines shoot up from the spot, curling around the trunk.

Just as it seems all is going well, he happens to glance over and notice the red light on the tablet indicating its recording status. His concentration broken, the vine withers and dies in seconds, shriveling up into a blackish-brown shell. ]

I'm going to bury this fucking thing...

ironfright.livejournal.com

[ Puck appears on the tablet screen, handling an unfamiliar guitar -- it seems that his beloved Les Paul never made a reappearance. He strums once, then keeps tuning it, but his heart obviously isn't in the task. ]

So what's the difference between a glitch and just going crazy? Neither of them is something that just gets decided.

[ private to Paul Smecker ]
So what did you learn from your quaint luncheon, other than that people will never help clean up the mess afterward?

tothelightshown.livejournal.com

He'd confiscated her bass first and, in his search for more evidence, Taxon's new deputy sheriff had emptied the contents of DG's bag - the keys to her bike, her sketchbook, a couple of pencils, a pack of gum, a small doll in a green ballerina's dress and, of course, her tablet - out on to his desk. In typical Taxon fashion, he'd switched the camera on during his clumsy search.

The video showed the interior of Taxon's new police station. It wasn't a place that she'd intended to visit and, judging by the way that she glared at Barney with her hands on her hips, DG certainly didn't like the view that she was getting from the inside of her cell.

"Hey! You can't do this! What kind of cop refuses to tell someone what they're supposed to have done?" When she didn't get an answer, she continued. "Aren't you supposed to offer me bail?"

She'd never actually been arrested. (She'd broken the law, yes, but her punishments had come in the form of a handful of speeding tickets and some sanctimonious lectures from Officer Gulch.) She was sure that the prospect of bail was supposed to feature somewhere.

His search completed, Barney tipped his hat to the angry young woman in the cell and set off in search of the sheriff.

"I want a lawyer!" she shouted at his retreating back.

Once again, there was no reply.

DG sighed in irritation, but it was obvious that he wasn't going to be coming back for a while. After a few seconds of careful consideration, she held out her hand and closed her eyes. Carefully, slowly, the keys to her cell - which had been hanging on a peg near the door - began to drift through the air towards her.

taxcollectors.livejournal.com

A burst and crackle of static, and all over Taxon tablets flare into life, giving the city the Sheriff's smiling, amiable countenance.

Behind him, there's what appears to be a small, municipal police station, complete with two jail cells in the background. There's another uniformed man there, who is currently shutting a jail cell door on two figures who are as brightly colored and rebellious as the rest of the setting is beige and homey.

The Sheriff nods at Taxon, wholesome and earnest and ready to be your friend.

"Howdy, folks. Bit of a commotion earlier today, and I feel I owe everyone an apology for not getting to the scene a mite sooner. But things ought to quiet on down for a bit now, I reckon. I'd like to say a big warm country thank you to all those folk who helped out-- got water and all on those poor folk, put out fires and such-- let's give them a big hand, shall we?"

And he claps. (Behind him, the other policeman quickly starts clapping too-- drops the keys-- stoops to pick them up-- bangs his head against the bars-- and proceeds to enact a slapstick routine for the next five minutes in the background. Party and Kobra have a front row view of this absurdity.)

"Now I know things have been rough at times lately, and I sure am sorry. If you folk need anything, you just give the Sheriff a holler, and I'll be there just as soon as I can, lickety-split. If I can't come myself, why, I'll send Barney here, my trusted right-hand man." A gesture at Barney, who has managed to drop both hat and keys by this point.

"I won't take any more of your time, folks, but if I could ask the town doctor-- I'm sorry, town doctors, no offense meant ladies, no offense meant-- to come on down by the station, one of these boys could use a bit of seeing to his hand, he had it in a place he oughtn't. Much oblige if one of you skilled practitioners could swing on by, yes indeed.

"Now if you all will excuse me, I have some paperwork to sort out."

And the feed abruptly ends. No amount of searching on the tablets will turn up the Sheriff. For that matter, most people who look for Party or Kobra will not see their location on the map right now either-- unless they are Doctor Helen Magnus or Doctor Martha Jones, in which case the boys' dots are blinking away together in a building in Central.

***

Inside the building, which is a simple, two-story brick structure that practically leaks Small Town Americana on its neighboring Spanish Villa and Greco-Roman bath-- the Sheriff is shaking his head at Barney, and directing him to hold some ice on the goose-egg he's given himself by smacking his head into the bars of Party Poison and Kobra Kid's cell.

"Barney, you'd better sit right on down," says the Sheriff, and the other man grudgingly complies, a baggie of ice held to his skull. The Sheriff glances over at the prisoners-- who have been put into the same cell, as an old drunk is snoring away in the other one-- and offers his usual smile.

"Doctor should be in in a bit to look at that hand of yours, young man. In the meantime, Barney, where'd you stick that cobbler your momma made?"

[ETA: I didn't make it clear enough in the initial post that there ARE ways for characters to contact PP and KK, and vice versa, ways for them to contact others. Both brothers still have their tablets with them, and can 'call out' if they want-- they just don't show up on the map, presumably since the Sheriff didn't want to deal with a possible rescue squad barging in. Likewise, if characters want to use their tablets to contact the brothers, it's the equivalent of 'they've vanished from your Contacts List, but you can find them by hunting through your recent calls' sort of thing with a cell phone-- you can still talk to PP and KK, with a little ingenuity.

As always, please feel free to bring up any concerns! I'm learning as I go.]

poisonousparty.livejournal.com

If Jet Star were around, he would have objected. And they probably would have listened to him.

If their little girl was around, she would have been all for it. But there was no way they'd go through with it when she might get hurt.

But they aren't here and that leaves Party Poison and Kobra Kid to their own dubious morals and, of course, the killjoy concept of fun. Party's had one hell of a time in Taxon--aliens, hamsters, FBI agents, Librarian dudes, nearly running over a girl, finding a superhero, fighting with Kobra on more than one occasion, the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W that may or may not be a S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W and instead someone that just looked like a S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W...

Yeah, it was definitely time to destroy shit.

They'd swiped the obvious tools, which was basically just a whole lot of empty bottles from a few bars, a bed sheet, tape and gasoline. It wasn't that hard, it really wasn't. And after the majority of the morning was spent ripping the sheets up properly, they were ready to go.

Extras weren't people, was the redhead's realization. They were like draculoids, robots of some sort. And Party needed a release that wasn't just being a speed demon. From the way him and Kobra kid had been fighting since they got here, it was best they both do it. And maybe--just maybe--he resented the fact that he was here and was taking it out on them. It was a statement. It was just a really fun statement.

"Oldest first," he stated, setting fire to the first molotov cocktail. The two of them were on top of a relatively high building, and Party looked over the edge. Nope. No prisoners, it looked. Just Extras. Awesome.

"She said come on, come on, kiss my battery, come on, come on and fuck this whole wide world!" Because he was going to sing at the top of his lungs, especially while throwing the homemade (and well crafted) incendiary device to the people below. There was a crash, and then a woosh of flames. Party laughed for the first time in a while, tossing the lighter to Kobra.

((OOC: I know we've been swamping your flists lately, but I couldn't help it. Since there's currently Extras on fire and a whole lot of 'what the fuck' going on, it's open to anyone, anyway, any how. Feel free to either join in or tell the Killjoys off! The more the merrier. They are checking to make sure they don't hit anyone that looks like they're not an Extra, though.))

freaks-myword.livejournal.com

Gwen currently has the privilege of experiencing for herself the Tablet's ability to turn on and off without provocation. So when the screen flickers on, viewers get just a glimpse--curly brown hair and a shoulder--before the Tablet is unceremoniously knocked off its pedestal and the view changes abruptly, now looking up at her instead of down. They may hear her mutter a curse underneath her breath.

Now they see her, dressed in black and hair all a mess, with one glove cladding her right arm. She's in the living room, a wide and expanse space, of her newfound home, the one that had belonged to her back in Los Angeles. She'd come upon it by chance, and knew when her eyes first fell upon it that it was hers. And anything else that was hers was likely inside, where it should be.

"Where. Are. You?" She grits out through bared teeth, flinging aside cushions and rugs and drawers and closet items as she passes in and out of frame. On the floor lay remnents of what look like a burned blanket, and a broken, melted lamp. Finally she comes to a stop, gloved and ungloved arms at her side, breathing slowing but jaw clenched tight. "You're supposed to be here."

One hand--the ungloved--clenches, and although she's far from the Tablet's (and Taxon's) watchful eye, the close observer may be able to witness the faint blue sparks that dance around her closed fist. But it's light, and only she can hear the crackle-sound it makes. Finally, so Taxon can be relieved of witnessing this awkward, private spectical, she glances over and notices that she's on Candid Camera.

The word she utters is not anything she hasn't said in the past few moments.

smecker.livejournal.com

Paul eyes the table full of food and the cheap plastic chairs he's got set up. There should be plenty-- if he runs out, he'll take it as a very good goddamn sign, because it means people showed up.

The food isn't anything too complex-- there's a big tossed salad, some lasagna, garlic bread (and room on the table for people to place their own additions, if they want). The point of this isn't to be gourmet: it's to get people here, to try and make everyone get onto the same page.

Paul pinches at the bridge of his nose. That may be too much to hope for. Same book, though. Same book would be nice. Reading out of the same encyclopedia which has some common rules about not screwing each other over in the face of dealing with a common enemy.

He reminds himself to be polite, to bite back on his natural bitchiness, or at least cloak it in socially-acceptable levels of sarcasm and humor. Then he picks up his tablet to broadcast a reminder to the city.

"Hey, Taxon: food's on. Come with your brains engaged."

It's a few minutes yet until noon. Paul has a seat in one of the chairs and leans his head back to stare at the ceiling, waiting for people to arrive.

[OOC STUFF! The Birdhouse layout is visible here. Since Paul lives in the building now, it does count as a private residence: if your character requires an invite to get in, they will find the way blocked unless someone invites them inside. If characters want to do that, either knowingly or unknowingly, that is cool OOCly, but I'd like a private PM first about it since it may all factor into things Paul does with the Birdhouse over time. I'm also totally down with playing out a vampire not being able to get in, and trying to have to cover that up if they want to.

EVERY CHARACTER IN TAXON is welcome in this thread, regardless of whether or not you have established CR, positive or negative, with Paul. Just post them arriving!

I'm going to put up a thread of placeholder for 'eating' versus 'Paul trying to get everyone to give introductions', in which people can go around the circle saying who they are, that sort of thing. All the threads I post will be taking place on the ground floor of the birdhouse-- if you want your character to explore, go for it! Just put in your subject line where they are poking around.

If anyone has any questions about layout or what characters would find, please feel free to ask me!]

ownlittleprison

One thing you learn real fast as a vampire is that change comes a lot quicker than you expect it to. You have to learn how to adapt to the world around you whether you stay on the outskirts of society or try your best to blend in right in the thick of it. It's not your world, no matter how many of your kin have amassed wealth and power over time. It's still very much the world of the living. It belongs to humans, and humans change constantly. Music and fashion go out of style faster and faster, politics change, even right and wrong changes constantly. Just because you could live forever, doesn't mean you're prepared for the world spinning faster and faster until it leaves you dizzy.

You learn to adapt, or you end up dead. One way or the other, we all die. We all have to change.

Since coming to Taxon, Mick's been busy scoping out the vast city in his car. If there weren't for the stars dotting the darkened skies of his nightly rides, and if the architecture was just a bit less jumbled, it would almost be just like home. Just like Los Angeles.

It's funny how you grow attached to places. Feels like from one day to the next, the place you go to sleep turns into a home. And now he was in a strange place; a stranger in a strange new world and nothing but unfamiliar faces.

It was Gwen who'd used that term, not him, but he couldn't help but feel it resonate days after their conversation. He didn't have a home that first day and night, much less a place to sleep, and no one to really talk to. No best friend telling him he needs to stop hating what he is. No complicated friendship-turned-partnership or the other way around with the girl he once saved from certain death.

No contacts, no home, no office.

The first morning after his arrival, Mick made his way to an electronics store (not so aptly named TaxFree! in big, bold lettering). Furthermore, if it was a pun, it wasn't a very good one) a bit away from the city center. There he bought himself a freezer chest large enough to fit a man, literally, and had his first real face to face encounter with what the real people called Extras.

...friendly things, but more in a weirdly automaton, semi-sentient way. They were more than helpful, and agreed to deliver the freezer to an address of his choice once he had settled in.

Yeah. 'Settle in' gets a whole new meaning when you just pick a place to squat and all of a sudden it's yours. And that's what he did. He picked a spot (C4, A1 on the 3D map) in Wilde, overlooking a lake with a weird castle type thing sitting smack dab in the southern end of the water.

And then it was a matter of getting the freezer box installed, pack a bunch of stuff he didn't care for in cardboard boxes and label said boxes 'CHARITY' - even though he didn't know if there was such a thing here. Yet. He had to figure out a lot of stuff.

Like how much blood he could hatch in a month without heading straight into personal bankruptcy.

So, he had been busy, opting to set up office at the front end of his second story flat rather than doing the math on claiming two of them. The credits kept dwindling, and fast. Two bedrooms were more than enough for him and his freezer, and the living room was spacious enough that he could squeeze in a desk as well as a couch and armchair set. He'd get an A/V system next month - if he was here still - but for now he'd settled on a radio.

He was dealing with his situation the way he saw fit. Set up office, carry on business as usual, and maybe, just maybe, he could figure out how to get the bat out of Hell out of here.

But first, an announcement. He picked up his tablet (which he still preferred to think of as an iPad), set the feed to [holo] and started transmitting, giving those watching a nice panoramic view of the office/living room.

"Mick St. John here, everyone. This is an official announcement to let you guys know a bit about me in a professional capacity. I'm a private investigator, and this is my new office and living space, which you'll find on your maps." He turns his tablet back on himself with a small grin. "I've seen it all. Or I had until I came here. So, what do you say we pool our resources, try to figure out what's going on and how to get out of here?"

He pauses, cocks his head, then adds: "Or barring that, point me in the direction of the one-oh-one?"

ironfright.livejournal.com

[ Puck appears on the tablet's screen, looking rather worse for wear and green about the gills. It's pretty obvious that he's hungover... or perhaps still a bit drunk. His voice is scratchy when he tries to speak and so there's a couple minutes of him clearing his throat, which is good since he doesn't exactly know what to say.

Finally after several moments, and in a tone much less antagonistic than he usually uses: ]

Has anyone seen my guitar? And...

[ he opens his mouth to add something -- a name, some names... but instead he just posts it as is ]

smecker.livejournal.com

The tablet's feed pans crazily around what appears to be a rooftop and a greenhouse-- wooden beams, clear plastic tarp, earth within. A number of construction supplies are piled around on the rooftop, briefly glimpsed, along with Taxon's city-scape, before the tablet is righted and shows Paul Smecker's face.

"Did we just lose about half the goddamned city?" is his so-very-cheerful starting line. "Jesus Christ, this just gets better and better."

He sighs, rubs at the bridge of his nose briefly, then looks out over the city with a sour scowl. "So, yeah. If you look at the map, you'll all see a lot of names missing. Apparently they're deporting us en masse now."

Paul takes a breath. No Jenny. No Dawn. No Godric. No Angel. The city's population has dropped drastically, and it doesn't escape Paul that many of those who are gone are the ones who had most seemed like veterans of this place.... the ones who know the most about it.

"I also see we have some new names on the map. So. My name is Paul Smecker. Back in the real world I was FBI, but I'm not in charge here, because we have no fucking in-charge. All the same, I've been here long enough to know some of the problems we're facing. Occasionally, things get Fucking Bad here, and you'll have to live through one of those instances to know what I mean, but in short, sometimes the city gets dangerous. Because of that, I've been making a safehouse the last month or so. I think it wouldn't be a bad goddamn idea if everybody who is still here in the city gets their asses over here. We need to know who's still here, and those of you who are new need to know about the shit this city can pull on you.

"We've got to work together. Chrissake, we have to be able to trust each other," he says with a weary sigh. "We can't concentrate on getting out if we're too busy in-fighting.

"....so.... there's going to be a luncheon at my place. In Central, the big ugly three-story concrete thing with the fence around it. Look on your maps to where I'm at if you need to.

"Tomorrow. Noon. Contact me if you have any problems getting here. More of you who show up, the better our odds of working together."

Paul ends the transmission, and sets the tablet down to rub at his forehead. Goddammit, he's going to miss Jenny. He walks to the edge of the rooftop, hands jammed into his pockets, looking over the city with a sigh.

...and then movement catches his eye down below, on the ground, and he looks down sharply. There's a figure at the ground level, doing-- is he fucking spray-painting the wall??

"Hey!" Paul calls down from three stories up, sticking his head over the edge. "The fuck are you doing?"

[OOC: Location-wise, this post is open to Party. Tablet wise, this post is open to anyone who wants to ask Paul questions!]

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! ]

selfmadman

A skyscraper vanishes. It's autumn—a painter's autumn, the leaves ablaze with color and wind whipping through the streets—the day Don takes the tram to Luthor Plaza and finds a misshapen warehouse with a banner announcing HAWAIIAN BBQ sagging over the entrance. He steps inside still anticipating lobby, elevators, a purposeful bustle. The greasy tang of barbecue enfolds him.

That night he wakes sweating on the hotel bed. He strips and showers but a sticky heat stays in the air. He pours himself a drink (number five, number one), switches on the air conditioner, and watches the ice in his glass melt to slivers. Imagines a building evaporating.

He gets out his tablet and in the lamp's dim glow looks at the map. The dots scattered over it are still. He remembers opening the door to Sally and Bobby's room, slipping out of the hall's harsh light into darkness. Back then they'd slept with intense concentration and complete trust.

Don turns off the tablet, finishes his drink. He clicks off the lamp and rolls onto his stomach. Sleep settles lightly over him until suddenly he recoils from it, grabbing for the tablet and knocking the glass to the floor.

At Mattie's apartment he opens every drawer, every cabinet, moving with deliberation born of panic. He stops when he finds the coin. He slumps down onto the bed, a California gold piece in the palm of his hand. It's a long time before his fingers close around it.

When he leaves the sun is rising. Grass that yesterday was brown and brittle has sprung back to life. Trees are green. It's gonna be a hot one.

He types out a message—Mattie Ross is gone—and heads for the office.

ooc: Slightly backdated and stuff.

flochart.livejournal.com

"Say, why's this thing so empty?"

Flo, the newest alien on the Taxon Board of Affairs (there is no board of affairs, she just finds amusement in abbreviating it TBA), is making a personal visit to Taxon today. As in, in person. She's got the suggestions box in her hands, lifted from it's hook on the wall. It's upside down and she's shaking it, expecting something to come out. She even holds it up above her head to peer inside, just to be sure.

Nope. Nothing.

"I doubt you guys don't have any suggestions for us," she says to the tablet, directly to the screen. Yes, citizens of Taxon, she means you. "From what I hear, you want a lot of things. Mittens cried for days after that whole ordeal."

The hamster's name is not Mittens. That won't stop her from calling him that, though.

Have something to say, Taxon? The wonky weather, the ties that bind (literally), etc. Say it! Flo's here and she's ready to listen.

ironfright.livejournal.com

[ filtered to Kurt; ]
Haven't seen you around. Whatever happened to that happy club or whatever it was you wanted to start?

[ sorry -- whomever has the tablet at this point -- he doesn't know Kurt was attacked by Rose ]

[ filtered to Adrian Veidt; ]
Did you ever find your kitty-sitter?

---

About damn time everyone was let out again. [ he means of the Sanctuary ] Though I'm not eager for an encore, so I think I'll find somewhere else to stay.

Something's happened to the minnow. Is this one of those glitch things?

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.]

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."

ironfright.livejournal.com

[ the tablet is scrolling, and ends up screencapturing part of what was being viewed ]

I stand between taproot and treespire.
Here is the compass rose
to help me live through this.
Here are twelve ways of knowing
what blooms even in the blindness
of such longing. Yellow oxeye,
viper’s bugloss with its set of pink arms
pleading do not forget me.
We hunger for eloquence.
We measure the isopleths.

[ he did not mean for this to be posted, so please bug him about it! ]

virtued.livejournal.com

Stefan was pissed, for lack of a better term. Being trapped in here, while not the worst thing in the world, wasn't entirely pleasant, either. Especially not with all these vampire attacks that had taken place recently, giving fuel to the anti-vampire sentiment shared by more than a few of the human captives in Taxon. The fear was justified, warranted, but acting on it while they were trapped here wasn't going to do anyone much good. He agreed with what Angel had to say about the topic, though he hadn't voiced it.

Now he knew who was behind the attacks: Rose. Coming from a point in time before he met her meant that Stefan didn't trust her. He'd been trying to, giving her a chance and listening to what she had to say, especially since she was a source for information on Klaus who wasn't Katherine, but now, he wasn't so sure. Stefan wanted to blame a glitch, wanted to banish away any captious concerns about the possibility of it not, but he couldn't be sure. A glitch would take away all blame and responsibility, but the truth was that he didn't know her. For all he knew, this was just how she was.

He'd been on his way to talk to someone about this - preferably Damon, if he managed to find his brother first - when he nearly tripped over something that went skidding across the floor when his foot collided with it. Upon further inspection, Stefan noticed it was a tablet. Huh.

Digging his own out of his pocket, he switched on a video feed and asked, "Hey, did anyone drop their tablet?"

( ooc | the tablet is

entractes's, dropped during this thread when rose attacked him. )

taintedrose

Being cooped up in the Sanctuary didn't do Rose any favours. If she was able to go outside the building and escape, then she wouldn't feel this trapped. It also meant that she could feed on the animals in order to satisfy her hunger. Rose still felt sick; she was pale, clammy and her vision was clouded. The pain was beyond unbearable and she knew that it would continue like this until she was put out of her misery.

Opening the door of her room, Rose ventured outside into the hallway and headed towards the kitchen. She knew that there was blood there from keeping an eye on the network and maybe it would be enough for now. To keep her from hurting people. When she got there, she realised that most of it was gone. Letting out a roar of anger, Rose slammed her fist on the counter, cracking it a little before she fell to the ground, willing herself not to think about what was happening to her.

Then she heard something. A voice. It was a little far away from her but it was distinctive.

Katherine.

That bitch.

Rose had wanted to confront her ever since she arrived in Taxon and now she had the opportunity to. Katherine would pay for what she did. She deserved it. Pushing herself up from the floor, Rose headed out of the kitchen, snarling as she did, determined to find the other vampire. Her fangs were bared and she was furious, prowling around the halls of the sanctuary, with one singular goal in mind.

Find Katherine and make her suffer.

Rose was adamant in her search for Katherine, not caring who came across her path. It kept her focused and made it easier for her not to slip into the inevitable madness. She was in so much pain and feral; just like she was back in Mystic Falls when she killed those three people at the high school. Sometimes, she lapsed in and out of hallucinations, seeing things that weren't there as well as hearing them. Rose pushes those thoughts away and continues to look, listening out for any signs of the other vampire.

Little did she know that it was Elena that she was stalking instead.

((ooc: And so begins the second and last part of Rose's glitch! Have fun!))

undoing.livejournal.com

Angel's not very good at public relations. He hates dealing with public relations. This is why Cordelia always handled people, and why he had a department to handle that when he was running Wolfram & Hart. Something, however, needs to be said before things get out of line. And if he doesn't say it, who will?

Here goes nothing.

"If we wanted to eat you, we would've already," is probably not the best way to start this, but it's certainly one way to get everyone's attention. "Most of the vampires here in Taxon have been here for a long time, some of us pushing a year, others two. The only evidence you'll find against us can be placed during times when we were glitched. None of us can control that. If anyone's at fault for the things we've done while glitched, it's the hamsters. If we're to be held accountable for those actions, then by that logic, you should be, too, for the things you've done when glitched out of your mind and acting on impulses that you've otherwise got under control.

"I'm not saying that your fear isn't justified or that you don't have reason to be cautious. You do. We're predators, specifically designed to hunt you down. The point is that we don't. Letting paranoia and fear control you is only going to make things worse. We want to survive as much as you do; getting rid of our means of survival is not paying us the same respect we're paying you.

"Many of us have been around a long time. We haven't lived this long by being so stupid as to do what you expect of us. Most worlds have vampires that have gone unnoticed, because we don't get involved or cause trouble... with a few exceptions here and there." Like him, back in the day before that gypsy curse. "Leave us alone and we'll leave you alone. There's no reason to ruin how well we've been cohabitating in Taxon, just because we're all stuck in the same building. If anything, we should be working together to find a way out."

( ooc | i'm heading out the door to a concert, but wanted to get this up before i left. will hit tags when i get home later tonight. ♥ )

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The City of Taxon

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ironfright.livejournal.com - 011 ♠ VISUAL ♠ Old Skill
ironfright.livejournal.com - 010 ♠ VISUAL ♠ Strike A Balance
tothelightshown.livejournal.com - 023: I Fought the Law and the Law Won [Accidental Visual / Location: Taxon Police Station]
taxcollectors.livejournal.com - *CITYWIDE* [Visual] / [Location]
poisonousparty.livejournal.com - 04 | LOCATION: CENTRAL | EXTRA TARGET PRACTICE | 3-2-1, WE'VE GOT THE BOMB
freaks-myword.livejournal.com - 02 | Accidental Visual/Location: Gwen's House | I Can't Reach You Anymore
smecker.livejournal.com - [Location - The Birdhouse - Open to ALL] [brief visual]
ownlittleprison - 002: Of keeping on keeping on, and other things [holo+teal deer], backdated to yesterday
ironfright.livejournal.com - 009 ♠ [VISUAL] ♠ Unwelcome Morning After
smecker.livejournal.com - [Visual] [Location - The Birdhouse]
ironfright.livejournal.com - 008 ♠ [LOCATION: VARIOUS] ♠ Let's Start A Riot
selfmadman - [text | location: scdp] strike another match, go start anew
flochart.livejournal.com - [ visual ].
ironfright.livejournal.com - 007 ♠ TEXT + VOICE ♠ Home and Hearth
saucyspinster.livejournal.com - [location | visual] Morning at Mattie's Apartment
cametolife - 002 ━ [ visual ] / [ location: the crashdown ].
ironfright.livejournal.com - 006 ♠ TEXT ♠ Nostalgia
virtued.livejournal.com - 012 ━ [ visual ] / [ location: sanctuary hallways ].
taintedrose - [action: location: sanctuary hallways]
undoing.livejournal.com - 036 ━ [ visual ].

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The City of Taxon

Entries tagged with { puck

011 ♠ VISUAL ♠ Old Skill

010 ♠ VISUAL ♠ Strike A Balance

023: I Fought the Law and the Law Won [Accidental Visual / Location: Taxon Police Station]

CITYWIDE [Visual] / [Location]

04 | LOCATION: CENTRAL | EXTRA TARGET PRACTICE | 3-2-1, WE'VE GOT THE BOMB

02 | Accidental Visual/Location: Gwen's House | I Can't Reach You Anymore

[Location - The Birdhouse - Open to ALL] [brief visual]

002: Of keeping on keeping on, and other things [holo+teal deer], backdated to yesterday

009 ♠ [VISUAL] ♠ Unwelcome Morning After

[Visual] [Location - The Birdhouse]

008 ♠ [LOCATION: VARIOUS] ♠ Let's Start A Riot

[text | location: scdp] strike another match, go start anew

[ visual ].

007 ♠ TEXT + VOICE ♠ Home and Hearth

[location | visual] Morning at Mattie's Apartment

002 ━ [ visual ] / [ location: the crashdown ].

006 ♠ TEXT ♠ Nostalgia

012 ━ [ visual ] / [ location: sanctuary hallways ].

[action: location: sanctuary hallways]

036 ━ [ visual ].

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