taxonomites | Entries tagged with { rorschach

stepintoshadows.livejournal.com

"Daniel Dreiberg and Adrian Veidt have gone home."

The voice that greets the residents of Taxon is tired, older than the last time he addressed them. Haggard, you might even say, with a hint more actual humanity to it and without the muffled quality it usually has; he's not wearing his face right now. Rorschach doesn't want to pollute it with the thoughts and emotions he refuses to acknowledge, even now. He hasn't slept since the barrier was attempted and he was dumped back into himself without warning, and honestly he doesn't plan to any time soon.

[A/N: backdated to before the Joined at the Hip glitch but after the Watchbabies' attempt to get home -- it would have been posted earlier, but I wanted to wrap that thread up first, so don't mind the chronology jump]

slayersidekick

Willow was tired of Taxon. She was annoyed with the aliens and tired of everything that had happened lately. The fireworks on the fourth of July had been nice, but they wouldn't be able to take everything away and make it better. She'd tried contacting Eowyn lately to no avail and now it seemed like Sookie was gone, too. Stupid hamsters. It was always their fault.

Unfortunately for her, those aliens weren't done with her.

She'd decided to take a nap at some point to get away from everything, take a break, and when she woke up was when she noticed the body in her bed. "Tara-"

But no, it couldn't be Tara. Tara had left months ago. Willow deflated immediately and pondered trying to wake the person up. Eventually, she just decided to get up... and found she couldn't. She couldn't get very far at all.

"No... no, you've got to be kidding me-"

Her next thought was to try to remember what that stupid spell was that she and Tara had used to swap Buffy and Faith's bodies again, even though that probably wouldn't do any good. If her current companion decided to wake up at that moment, she'd be found with her eyes closed muttering something under her breath. Spells. Always spells.

tinynarcissist.livejournal.com

The video feed shows Adrian, just around dusk, sitting on the step of a building. He has a bicycle leaned next to him, and a solemn look on his face. He has a few things he needs to say to people.

“Miss Summers, Miss Stackhouse, I need to say thank you for your help.

Mr. Luthor, I took a couple of things out of that man’s room, I hope it’s okay. I’m sure he can replace them when he comes back.

Mr. Long, I enjoyed our conversation. I’m going to read more on physics and energy when I get home. I hope you figure out how everything works here.

Miss Lehane, you shouldn’t give up. Two years is a really long time, but it’s not forever.”

[ooc: There’ll be a thread below for Watchbabies escape shenanigans, please wait until that’s posted before replying. That thread is private, otherwise this post is open for voice/visual replies, even if you’re not on the list of people he addressed. This will be tiny!Adrian's last post. :( ]

niteowlet.livejournal.com

Hello Taxon! You are greeted with the visual of a face peering closely into the visual feed. A tiny Dan Dreiberg is sitting cross legged on his adult counterpart's couch with his face inches away from the tablet, with nose, eyes and glasses filling the screen. He knows exactly what the device is and how to use it, but everything else is a fog. He vaguely remembers the house he is in, but he's not sure if he's supposed to be there.

"Hi! Hello? My name is Daniel Dreiberg. My parents are Benjamin and Lisa. Has anyone seen them?"

child-of-none.livejournal.com

Walter stirs under the jacket and pokes his head out. It seems too early, it's far too quiet for it to be time to wake yet, but then it hasn't stopped him in the past. He likes the quiet, without the other boys to avoid and the timing needed to make sure he gets his spot at the table, or by the window, or...most any place he's found and tried to claim as his own, barring a few.

But as he sits up, he realizes something isn't right. There's no bed, no rows of beds at all, or even walls. He's on the ground, outside, under a trench coat. How did he get here? He doesn't remember getting sent away from Charleton, or even sneaking out after lights out...And where is here, anyway?

There's something in his pocket, and he pulls it out to regard it curiously, chewing on his lip in thought as he tries to figure out what it is. There's a button, and it makes a click that gets a startled jump out of him, and suddenly there's a lighter patch, and symbols all lined up. The citizens of Taxon who may be watching this are now treated to the image of a small, underfed, snub-nosed boy with a shock of bright red hair and more freckles than skin looking at the screen in a combination of undisguised curiosity and wariness. Walter frowns, unable to puzzle out the machine, then puts it down and gives his attention to the rest of his surroundings.

[ooc: for the next two weeks, Rorschach is now a tiny! feel free to let your muses stop by through coincidence or design, or just poke their heads in on the tablet; he'll be much more receptive to new people than usual so feel free to exploit the opportunity.]

ladyofrohirrum.livejournal.com

Eowyn woke up slowly. The last she remembered was that she had passed out on a battlefield. She slowly pushed herself up from the cold floor, wincing when she put pressure on her broken arm, which had been tended to, though she couldn’t think of anyone who would have done so. She also noticed that she was no longer in the armor she had worn, but that she was in a long white robe. It was at this moment that she noticed the strange bracelet on her wrist. This would have puzzled her of course, but her attention was soon drawn to her surroundings, and the matter of her tended injuries and new clothes didn’t seem very important.

She stumbled to her feet, frantically looking around at the sterile room she found herself in. This certainly wasn’t a place in Rohan, and while Gondor held many differences from her own realm, she knew that it couldn’t possible contain something like this. The entire room was made of metal, and she couldn’t help but think that this was some sort of devilry concocted by Saruman before his death at Orthanc. “What is this place? Surely it cannot be a dream!” Eowyn ran over to where a sword lay, pulling the belt around her waist and securing it tightly. She brought the blade out of its scabbard with her good hand and approached the middle of the room where a pedestal stood; some sort of devise laying on top of it.

She moved slowly, cautiously, turning her head to look around in case something unfavorable should appear behind her. She did make it to the center of the room, and she lowered the sword in favor of inspecting the strange item sitting on top of it. After returning the sword to its scabbard, she slowly stretched out her hand and touched it, retreating her hand after she felt its smooth surface. Living in the shadow of Saruman and Isengard, she knew better than to mess around with strange objects. It didn’t seem like a dangerous item though, but she remained cautious. She noticed that there was a hinge, and she slowly opened it, revealing the screen and keyboard. She pressed a few keys, but nothing happened. “This is an odd thing.” Eowyn pressed more buttons, eventually turning on the devise, the screen glowing, at which she cried out and dropped the tablet to the floor. “Surely this is the work of a wizard.” Again, she looked around, as if expecting Saruman or even Gandalf to suddenly appear behind her.

She bit her lip. If this was indeed an object from Isengard, she shouldn’t mess around with it. Then again, she didn’t really see a way out of the room she was in either, so perhaps she could use it to her advantage somehow. Eowyn approached the tablet again, sitting herself on the ground as she set it upright on the floor. There were various icons on the touch screen, and she touched one of them, a holographic map suddenly appearing above the screen. It didn’t look familiar to her at all. She frowned, and touched a few more icons, but she couldn’t understand what any of them did. “Perhaps this is a dream. If it is, then when am I going to awaken?” She sighed, but picked herself up while also grabbing the tablet while she walked over the wall. Dream or not, she wanted to find a way out of this room.

Current Mood: confused

taxcollectors.livejournal.com

The presence of Aliens in the building was something uniquely un-ignorable, and uniquely catch-able.

After a rousing bout of 'Catch the Hamster in the Giant Hamster Wheel and Watch Him Cry,' both he and Mayhem are on display in the first floor lobby and on tablet screens all over.

...In a giant ball guarded by one Taxon's resident angry witches.

Mayhem is under the assumption that it's made of found materials, magic, and Willow's pure, unadulterated hate. The Hamster just sits in his pseudo-corner as far away from her as he can get and grooms himself.

Come one, come all! Ask your questions, get some answers. Kick them, even! It's doubtful anyone will stop you.

[ ooc: THE TIME HAS COME! Both the Hamster and Mayhem are here to be interrogated, negotiated with, and potentially kicked in the face. You can also comment and talk to Willow instead! ]

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.

stepintoshadows.livejournal.com

Rorschach's meeting with one of their captors had not gone to plan. He had known not to expect too much; they had been reluctant to show themselves at all if the words of other people could be trusted, but even so. He had hoped answers could be gleaned, if not forced.

But the whimpering, cowering thing had only scuttled off at the earliest opportunity, leaving him with more questions than he had begun with. So their abductors were cowards as well. Cowards who occasionally prodded at their experiment but had no interest in explanations or anything other than their own entertainment.

He should not have been surprised.

Days have passed since the meeting, days which had been spent in contemplation as he examined the facts, tried to put them together in some kind of meaningful way. The appearance could not have been coincidental, there had to have been some purpose behind it. After their marked absence any kind of appearance could only be intentional. Crouched again amongst the vegetation, as if continuing to remain there would prompt the rodent's return, he turns on the tablet, intentionally this time. If he is stuck with it he might as well make use of it.

After fiddling with the settings to prevent his face from being seen, he speaks, addressing the community at large. He might have attempted to lock the transmission to Daniel in order to learn his thoughts on the situation, but he has yet to master the tablet completely and will not run the risk of it being intercepted by others. If Daniel wishes to discuss it privately he will do it himself, he reasons, and until then he will be careful to guard his words.

The voice that speaks is again Rorschach's, rather than the less impressive one he has been forced to use as of late. "Have spoken with abductors. Would be interested to hear thoughts if not the only one."

[ooc: Mun dropped the ball on the whole...alien-capture thing, so consequently Ror missed it too. Just assume he was too busy exploring or something and left his tablet behind; he can't be up on EVERYTHING as much as he pretends he can]

a-pretty-fire.livejournal.com

The city - so much smaller than it had been a few nights ago - was balanced on the edge of a knife. One mischievous breeze would be enough to push them off and send them tumbling into the fire. The humans were running in circles, unable to focus on what they really needed to be frightened of. The vampires were butting heads and burning bridges and losing themselves in the woods.

Drusilla could already feel the flames licking at the hem of her dress.

With her head in the storm clouds, she wound her way up to the kitchen on the ninth floor to find herself a mug of blood. It was a good job that the silly little man hadn't poured their supper away. The hamsters were wicked things, but at least they'd had the good sense to give the cats something else to eat when they locked them into the cage with the mice.

She climbed up on to the counter once her stomach was full and, when she tired of the heat that came from dangling over the edge and too close to the flames, stretched herself out like a cat in a patch of sunlight.

It had been so many years since she'd seen the sunlight.

The vampire gazed up at the ceiling, both seeing and unseeing. The stars were hidden from her here - there were too many barriers and bars between them - but she could still see things that other people missed. She could still see what mattered.

"We have all the pieces," she murmured, "But they're not ready to use them."

smecker.livejournal.com

Paul's been cooking for about an hour and a half, and the results smell good to say the least. Any vegetarians may be put off, but to the meat-inclined there's the scent of delicious cow wafting from the ninth-floor kitchen. Meat and garlic are the predominant scents.

There's extra, too, because Paul's heard a few complaints about the hatched food as he's moved through the halls, and he figures he might get a few extra people coming by.

He likes cooking. It's a relaxing activity for him. But he won't waste an opportunity like this either-- it's also a way to meet people, maybe learn more about them. In the case of Faith, maybe it's a way to play nice. The last day or so has made Paul acutely aware he doesn't want any more enemies than he can help.

Paul plates up one of the steaks, piles some of his ridiculously creamy mashed potatoes on the plate next to it, and drizzles them with some of the juices from the steak, all shiny with butter and fat. She hadn't really struck him as a salad kind-of-girl, so the salad on the side table with the mango wedges and a few steak strips is just for him, thanks.

Then Paul taps at his tablet, gets a message out to Faith. "Ninth floor; it's getting cold, pro."

[OOC: Feel free to have your characters drop on by if you want, there is food!]

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. ♥ )

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. ♥ )

aintnoconvict

Glitch was knee-deep in snapdragons, stepping carefully between the plants and surveying them with a serene smile. In his left hand he held a riotous bouquet of flowers: narcissus and tulip and lily and and daisy and a spray of forget-me-not. He carried a delicate pair of scissors in his right hand, and once he spotted a violet-blue snapdragon he knelt to claim it for his collection, snipping it far down on the stem.

'Thank you,' he tried to tell the plant, but no sound came out. Glitch gasped and dropped his bouquet along with the scissors to clap his hands over his ears. 'Hello? Oh gods I can't I can't-'

He shot to his feet and looked around frantically, and noticed the silent Extra children playing in a nearby fountain, and beyond them one of the city trams rumbling by with a jaunty ring of its bell. With a sigh he lowered his hands and pulled his tablet from his pocket, frowning when it defaulted to text

'This is weird,' he mouthed, then cringed, then read over the recent transmissions in all their diverse languages and took out the tablet's stylus to add some English to the mix. Or so he hoped.

{ Hello, it's Glitch and I can only }- What he'd meant to say was understand English but what he was writing looked like primitive hieroglyphics. The last place he'd seen writing like that was on the wall of a cave back in the O.Z., and he'd had no idea what it meant then either.

{ DG? Cain? Can either of you read this? }

ooc: backdated to Sunday! Everything bolded is in the Picture Language Of The Ancients, which he is very quickly going to drop via actually typing instead of writing freehand.

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. )

prophecy-boy.livejournal.com

He was sure something with the ritual had gone wrong. Not that there was much that could go right, he corrected himself, the sick, heavy feeling that had settled in his stomach so many hours beforehand still refusing to let up. He blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the change in lighting and scenery; he had gone from a dark warehouse with the windows boarded up and rusted meathooks hanging from the ceiling to… this. He couldn’t think of how to describe it. It was so different from anything he’d seen before, even since coming to Los Angeles – bright, metallic and utterly foreign.

“Cordy? Can you hear me?” He cringed as the sound of his voice echoed back. He hadn’t been expecting that.

Connor looked up, attempting to process his surroundings. What was that up there? He shook his head, causing his already mussed hair to fall in front of his eyes as he moved forward, almost tripping down the first step before taking the rest down to the floor without incident. He had to find some way out; things were happening back at that warehouse and Angel was due to arrive any minute, he would have to fight him to keep him from interfering – or keep him from getting hurt, he wasn’t sure which now. Maybe he was here because of the ritual, maybe Cordelia had sent him away... except that didn’t make sense. Not after everything she had done to make sure he stayed close.

It must have backfired somehow. … hmph. That was the price of relying so heavily on magic.

“I guess weirder things than this happened,” he muttered to himself, his eyes finally accustomed to the brightness. Another look around revealed there was no exit that he could see. There was, however, a pedestal a few steps ahead of him with some device on it. He frowned as he examined it as best he could from where he was standing.

Usually, it didn’t pay to touch something if you didn’t know what it was. Especially not if magic was involved. It wasn’t quite as foreign as the rest of the room, however, and he took a few steps closer to get a better look at it.

“… kind of looks like a video game,” he thought aloud. The more he talked aloud, the more that heavy feeling in his stomach abated. Maybe it was best not to think about what had happened at the – no. No way. He couldn’t just cut and run like that. “… nevermind. Can’t waste time here. I have to get back.”

It was a great plan, except for the part where there was no door. He scowled and cupped his hands against either side of his mouth to help his voice project, turning his face upwards as he shouted. “Can anyone hear me? Get me out of here!”

If nobody answered, that meant it was just time to start punching walls. He’d punched his way through the barrier of a hell dimension. He could definitely punch his way through a regular wall. … eventually.

givesahoot.livejournal.com

Rorschach. Adrian. I need to talk to you both in person. Now.

It had been a long time since his place had been used to hold meetings. Though Dan was not in uniform, he was starting to feel like old times were coming back full circle. Before coming to Taxon he had helped thwart a mugging. Now he had just helped save a girl from what he was pretty sure was a vampire. The old itch of needing to do something more had worked its way back into his mind again and this time he wasn't going to remain idle.

Dan anxiously stood in his basement, waiting for an answer either via text or in person. Both Adrian and Rorschach knew how to let themselves in. He had already resigned himself to installing a new lock after tonight was over.

[OOC: This is a locked post to Watchmen only. The text is locked and encrypted from prying eyes several times over. I was thinking that unless either person has something to say over text we can jump right into arrivals for the meeting? We will keep the same tagging order with accordance to the first three comments. Backdated to the night of May 8 as soon as Don and Mattie leave Dan's place.]

smecker.livejournal.com

For a moment the screen is at a crazy angle, and fingers smeared with blood scrabble over the glass, leaving red messy trails on the broadcast.

Paul Smecker rights the tablet, gives Taxon a visual of his face, paler than normal, dotted with sweat. The hand not holding the tablet is clutching at his neck, and blood is visibly welling out from between his white-knuckled fingers. His shirt collar is damp too, but the astute-eyed may see that it's mostly water, and not quite as bad as it looks.

He's sitting on the floor, leaned back against an overturned table-- a shambles behind him, signs of a struggle however brief. Paul sags against the table, tries to focus. Blood loss, his mind tells him, it's blood loss making him weak, shaky-- (not shock, not panic, not shameful fear over someone he trusted turning on him-- no, not weakness like that), but he has to focus, has to tell people.

"Dawn--" His voice is a croak, he clears his throat, tries again. "Anyone who's watching-- Dawn Summers's... a vampire. Attacked-- bit me..."

Yeah. Yeah, bit him, and the mere thought of that makes him start wanting to hyperventilate. Keep it together, Smecker-- but all he's seeing is an innocent face twisting into a smile out of hell, fangs gleaming. The strength, the speed-- how the fuck do you fight that? All his planning, and... he'd trusted her. Trusted-- stupid, fucking stupid.

"...hey.... Buffy?" Paul rasps. "So's you know-- holy water... works pretty goddamn well."

And then he closes his eyes, leans back against the table and tries to think. The tablet's heavy; he lets that hand lower it to his lap. His other hand is still keeping the pressure on the punctures on his throat; he tries to think, figure if he'd be better lying down or not. Elevates the wound, yeah, but doesn't let blood get to his brain either, hell. Handkerchief-- he's still got one somewhere, right? Pocket-- yes-- he folds the cloth, gets it over the holes in his throat, then lies down on the floor, taking deep breaths.

[OOC: So, I MADE A BOO-BOO, some miscommunication on my part. Paul's not as seriously injured as the initial tags would have suggested-- he won't be unconscious, and will be able to update people as to the situation. Anyone needing to alter their tags in light of that, I will offer you chocolate. Sorry!]

stepintoshadows.livejournal.com

His new city is dark and empty. Rorschach walks the streets, as he has every night and will continue to for as long as he remains here, despite the fact that he has yet to do any significant good during his patrols. He covers the entirety of the city every night, and by now his feet know the way without having to be told. He likes to think he's memorized every inch of it by now, and while it's not entirely accurate quite yet, it's certainly close enough.

It's why the tarp covering the side of the building stands out so much. Just in one place, plastered against the side like rotting leaves clinging to the trunk of some great hulking tree. He's seen it on multiple occasions, every time he's passed the building, actually, but its continued presence is what attracts his attention now. It should be repaired by now; society rebels at the cracks and breaks, the proof that the impenetrable shield of normality they comfort themselves with is not infallible.

So why is it still there? What does it hide? He looks for a way up to it in order to investigate; fire escape seems to be the best option. The ascent is a matter of moments, muscles long used to the task propelling him upwards with ease, and he pulls the edge of the tarp away to peek beyond it, inky shapes swirling in uncertain curiosity. An apartment. Unsurprising in an apartment building. He pulls himself up and over the broken and crumbling bricks into the room beyond, taking a moment to examine the edges of the break, but the score marks that mar their surfaces can't be right. What would cause it? He pulls one free to look more closely from the privacy of the room, paying no mind to either the room itself nor any occupants it may or may not contain, having already decided that with a hole in the wall there is no possible way it could still be inhabited.

The tablet, having toppled out of a coat pocket during his entrance, drops to the floor with a muffled thud and promptly switches on, revealing both the vigilante examining the brick and some of the room beyond, albeit at a somewhat strange angle given its position on the floor. Rorschach doesn't appear to notice its temporary disappearance from his pocket.

aintnoconvict

When the haphazardly tossed tablet skittered across the work table and clicked on, it broadcast a scene of Invention In Progress:

Glitch was staring at an illuminated lightbulb and listening to the soft hum of the generator prototype he was working on. All appeared stable and he scooted forward in his chair, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Then the steady hum wavered, became a whine, dropped to a growl, then cut out completely as the lightbulb flickered and extinguished. With a sigh of frustration Glitch sat back and clicked his stopwatch off.

"Two minutes, nineteen seconds. Good effort but...harmonic alignment seven has-" Oh he hated to call anything a failure. "...done its best and and would be excellent if we need to power anything for a little over two minutes."

Satisfied with that assessment, he nodded jerkily to himself and logged the results in the project's file.