taxonomites | Entries tagged with { rupert giles

inquitvigiliant.livejournal.com

It's early evening, and a pair of men are sitting close together at a small table outside a little cafe. It looks like tea or coffee now, although there are the remnants of something that might have been a light supper or possibly dessert. Giles is dressed somewhat uncharacteristically in an old leather jacket that looks like it could have been rescued from some 70s punk band's garage sale, over a t-shirt and comfortably worn-in jeans. There's no tweed or elbow patches in sight.

"What bothers me most about this place is how content everyone seems to be to adjust. As if we're all simply...accepting our lot. I've been the same, fussing over the library as if it isn't utterly incongruous to even be there." He sighs and leans a little toward Ethan. "Truthfully, it all worries me."

[ooc: I am so behind I can't begin to figure out what I'm doing, so...I might get to dropped tags, I might not. But this post is open for passers-by who want to spot the pair, and I'll do my damnedest not to make anyone wait too long for a reply. :| ]

inquitvigiliant.livejournal.com

A video feed cuts on suddenly, the image wobbling around and accompanied by a high-pitched beeping for a moment, until it settles into stability and silence. The screen shows a wide-angle view of a double bed, occupied by two bodies, one of which is a grumbling Giles, sitting up and rubbing a hand over his face.

"Honestly I can't understand why we can't just use alarm clocks like normal people."

Having apparently awakened enough to drag himself out of bed, he wanders across the room, clad only in a t-shirt and boxers, and opens the doors on a small old-fashioned wardrobe. "You haven't been burning my coats again, have you?"

"Not this morning," is the answer from behind Giles, emerging from a cocoon of blankets and pillows as Ethan reluctantly squints at the notion of consciousness, his voice still thick with sleep.

"Mm." Giles groggily pushes around some items on hangers. "So I can expect to find everything exactly as I left it last night?"

"You didn't really like those elbow patches," Ethan says thoughtfully to the ceiling, rolling onto his back instead of venturing out of bed. There's an ease to their bickering banter, a comfortable familiarity, and yes, he burned one of Giles's coats.

[ooc: Guess whose glitch begins today! Open for tablet-based trolling, yes indeed.]

tothelibrary.livejournal.com

Mirrors haven't been high on Dawn's list of priorities since they brought her back from Wolfram and Hart. Her arm is in a cast courtesy of Dr. McCoy, and every single part of her aches. It's pretty obvious whatever stares back from the mirror is going to be a refugee from the latest Lifetime movie, not the face she's used to seeing. There's no point, right?

...But that's not it, either. She's scared, doesn't want to see. So in the five seconds of alone time she's given today (and she feels a little bad about snapping at everyone about wanting three stupid seconds to herself, but this isn't a group activity) Dawn heads to the bathroom and flips on all the lights, takes a deep breath.

And looks.

( no sleep in heaven or bethlehem | cut for descriptions of the aftermath of violence )

[ ooc: rumi here you go. now come with me to hell. we will go to hell, go straight to hell. we will not pass go or collect two hundred dollars.

ON ANOTHER NOTE lj is sucking, so if i owe you a tag and seem to be lagging i would be SO GRATEFUL if you could pm/im/email me because i probably have no idea that tag is even there. B| ]

inquitvigiliant.livejournal.com

Giles is feeling a little more comfortable with certain items of a technological nature, as evidenced by the fact that he's wrangled himself an armchair from the hatch. His tablet (now semi-disguised as a book, thank you Kindle covers) is propped on a table so he can record and move around at the same time, and this is precisely what he's doing -- a massive book open in one arm, glasses in his free hand as he gestures animatedly.

Unfortunately, he didn't get the timing quite right on his recording, so it picks up in the middle of a speech.

"-require permission, although considering the apparent crossing of dimensions here, we can't assume this will work against all types of vampire. I've also laid in a more general sort of warding, evil intent and the like, but again, until we know more about precisely what sorts of potential demonic entities we could be dealing with, it's impossible to guarantee absolute protection. Which is why I strongly recommend continuing to be as cautious as possible about inviting in strangers, or going about the city alone..."

You can keep listening, people of Taxon. Or you can interrupt and save yourselves from what could turn into the longest, dullest lecture on avoiding getting eaten by demons ever given.

[ooc: I'm pretty sure Dawn's kidnapping isn't public knowledge yet? Which makes this potentially the most ironic post ever. Also folks who want to be physically at the library are welcome to do so.]

lionofolympus.livejournal.com

"I dost think I shall get one with all the toppings. And that dost include the anchovies. It twas not just a line when I said I always liked fish to the fine Namora..."

Hercules' voice trails off, as he is suddenly acutely aware he is not walking with his friend Amadeus Cho to a pizzeria. He is somewhere distinctly different, somewhere distinctly new. He quickly pats himself, to make sure he is all there. He had seen enough documentaries on the mortals' 'SyFy' channel to know that one did not know what to expect from being transported in such a manner. It is then that he notices the silver bracelet on his arm, much unlike the typical gold he'd been wearing just moments before.

"What alchemy is this? This tis not my usual color," he declares, poking at it with a heavy finger. "Amadeus? Athena?"

With no sign of his previous companions, he takes the moment to stroke his beard and take in the peculiar surroundings. "Tis not Olympus. Nor of Skrull design. Where art thou, would be capturers?" His eyes then spot his mace nearby, next to the strange tablet. It is his curiosity that makes him pick up the tablet first. "Ahem. If this dost be what I think it is..." he pokes the tablet with his finger a couple times. "Then the Lion of Olympus demands an audience! What is the phrase..."

He smirks, a smugger-than-thou expression. "Take me to thy leader." Something else he learned from those 'SyFy' documentaries.

aliengeekgirl.livejournal.com

As Taxon tricks went, this was a novel one.

Waking up in Taxon was a novel experience at the best of times, when you were not quite sure what it was going to throw at you. Waking up in a house made entirely of glass? Now that was different.

Tosh slid out of bed, looking around her, somewhat wide eyed. There was strange writing etched on the walls, and she ran her fingers over it. At that moment, a strange sound behind her, and a wall moved. She couldn't help herself, and took a step backwards. What on earth was this place?

She took a deep breath. Time to think logically. First order of business, see if she was still in Taxon, or somewhere else entirely. With that came looking for an exit - just to find one, of course. Tosh was too interested in her surrounding and how they worked to want to be out for long.

Second, find out where anyone else was. Hopefully someone with a clue as to what was going on.

Have at it. I'm on GMT, so I'm going to be slow with sleep n stuff!

werealegend.livejournal.com

The feed shows Angelus walking down a dark corridor in the basement of Wolfram & Hart. A triumphant, smug sort of grin is plastered to his lips and in his arms, he's carrying something-- a chained something, as the sound of metal clinking against metal gives away. He rounds a corner and continues walking until he comes to a table, where he drops what he was carrying onto its surface with a thud. Only then can one see that what its a person-- a specific person. Max.

He turns to face the feed and remarks, knowing fully that at least one person out there will get the reference, "Y'know, I never did get to test out that chainsaw."

Yes, Rupert. He's talking to you.

dieneidio

Having casually moved into Wayne Manor - she took over the tower nearest the library, claiming a bedroom and then the room above it for her weaponry and books - Enfys has been occupied in the aftermath with fussing around Morgana and establishing herself in the household here. (She may have all but piddled on the floor to mark out the kitchen as her territory, fuck you she does what she wants. The library, too, if only because she walked into it and announced 'jesus christ I think I just came' and you know, she is a librarian.)

Now, though, she's sitting cross-legged in front of her tablet (hanging out in her dad's jersey and her skeleton socks, having foregone pants and perched on a table in the upstairs room of Her Tower) with a slightly sheepish expression.

"So, Taxon! How about those explosions? ...too soon? Got it. I'm just throwing out a head's up to Drs McCoy and Watson that I'm really sorry for the threats, and the bike, and I'll get you a beer if you want. If anybody else needs me, I'm unpacking, and for people hanging out at the manor, dinner's at seven and vegetarians fend for themselves."

tothelibrary.livejournal.com

Unlike Dawn's usual entries, this one is short and to the point.

Legs folded underneath her, a pale and visibly shaken tiny Watcher is sitting on the floor next to her bed, looking somewhat in the realm of 'shell shocked'. An Orb of Thesula lays on the floor-- looking dull and useless, although that could just be Dawn projecting-- along with the remnants of all the other supplies needed to reensoul Angel.

After rubbing a trembling hand over her face, Dawn looks at her tablet and sighs. "Guys? We have a big problem."

And thus endeth the feed.

[ ooc: Entry is locked to the Sunnydale crew (minus Ethan, Angelus, and Dru, gtfo you guys) and anyone currently living in the Summers Castle. Open for visual or location to the people on-site. ]

inquitvigiliant.livejournal.com

There is a library. For some, a rather familiar-looking one. And the familiar-looking image of Giles standing next to the stacks, pouring over a large and very old volume. It would seem he's finally discovered what the 'aliens' decided to kidnap along with him. Although their sense of time seems to have been just a bit off.

He has his tablet (still in the standard form it took upon his arrival, as he's been extremely hesitant to play around with it) clutched in one hand. It's unclear whether he's aware he's transmitting a visual signal as well as audio, or if he simply assumes that's how it's supposed to work.

"Right, um...Buffy? I'm guessing it'll be easier for you to just find me than for me to give you directions. But if we could meet here at the library, that would be much more convenient for me.

I suppose I should also ask...just in general. Is there anything the- the 'me' who was here before did that I should be aware of? It would makes things far less excruciatingly awkward, I think.

Faith...I do owe you an apology."

[ooc: So Giles has found his library, lovingly recreated in all its pre-explosion glory. He knows it can't possibly actually be the same library, but he pretty much doesn't care. Open! ETA: Aaaand now correctly formatted, I hope. >.<]

stacked

[ the point of this entry is simple. If the mountain will not come to Mohammed, Mohammed will have to call the mountain a spineless bitch until the mountain gets pissed off enough it'll get off its lazy, smug ass and fight. ]

Yo, psycho boy. Not even gonna stop by and say hi?

[ counting down to 'FAITH WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK ARE YOU DOING' in three, two, one... ]

[ ooc: HERE YOU GO RUMI. ]

aintnoconvict

The Sweetheart's Festival was an old one from Gillikin, a holiday to celebrate warmth and affection in the midst of winter's chill. Glitch had been thrilled to discover that it coincided nicely with the Otherside's Valentine's Day and set about planning a soirée, which almost immediately got more complicated than he'd intended.

He'd just wanted a few people to carry around trays with flutes of champagne and hors d'oeuvres, but apparently once one let a couple Extras in more were sure to follow. There were footmen to escort people to the ballroom, a herald to announce them, a string quartet in the main hall and, much to Glitch's chagrin, a valet in the gent's room. At least he'd been able to shoo away the fleet of decorators - politely, as they'd done an excellent job. Tables and chairs were arranged at one end of the room, leaving plenty of space for dancing and mingling.

Dressed in his old festival suit (which fit a bit more loosely than it once had), the clock tucked safely in his waistcoat pocket, he gazed up at the massive portrait of himself and the queen in the main hall and sighed heavily. It had been fifteen annuals since the palace had hosted an event of this sort, with a lot of grief and fear in between then and now.

"Too late to back out now, right?" Glitch murmured. "Right. All right, just just let this go well. Please go well."

He turned and with a flash of poppy-embellished coattails went to find DG. The least he could do to prevent disaster was to make sure the princess was properly escorted.

[ooc: Valentine's party is up relatively early, but fret not about tagging late! Here is the Northern Island's wiki page for reference. HAVE A BALL, GUYS!]

inquitvigiliant.livejournal.com

The holo shows a graying middle-aged man, dressed in a brown tweed suit and wearing wire-rimmed glasses. He looks puzzled and wary, and like he's doing his best to hide both emotions.

"Hello! Can anyone hear me?" His voice echoes a little as he moves slowly down the steps from the arrival chamber to take in his surroundings. With a sigh, he pulls off his glasses and rubs the back of his hand across his eyes, moving his arm away as he catches sight of the bracelet. He runs his fingers over the metal band, searching for a clasp or perhaps an engraving, muttering again under his breath about runes and enchantments.

"Most definitely not Sumerian-" he murmurs, cutting himself off when he spots the tablet on the pedestal. Tilting his head, he picks it up to examine it. "Some sort of mobile?" He pokes hesitantly at the device, straightening in surprise when a three-dimensional map appears, and permitting himself a small smile of satisfaction at having seemingly worked out at least part of the object's function.

"Well, why not? The worst that can happen is nothing, I just stand here feeling like a fool. Wouldn't be the first time." In a slightly louder voice, obviously addressing the tablet, he adds, "If anyone can hear me, I appear to be...well, a bit lost. Perhaps...more than a bit, to be honest, I seem to be in some sort of holding cell with no memory of how I arrived here. And I'd be rather indebted if um, well if anyone can hear this, if you'd take a message to a young woman named Buffy."

[ooc: I aaaam at work and thus subject to work distractions, so apologies in advance for slow tagging.]

likeajoan.livejournal.com

When Buffy awakens in her bed-- miraculously in pajamas, who the hell even knows how that happened, with the familiar fuchsia pre-Victorian era dress and dark hairpiece discarded carelessly on the floor nearby-- for a brief shining moment, she doesn't remember what happened at Dr. Magnus' party.

Then, as if in a cruel, mortifyingly embarrassing wave, recollection floods her, and she sits bolt upright, wearing an expression of purest horror.

"Oh GOD." Yes, almost crying in front of Cordelia. "OH God." Being scared of Gaila from afar... "Oh my-- OH." Protesting about ankles being on show... "Oh, god, no." And last but not least, clinging to Eric like a simpering moron as he 'escorted' her around. "Jesus crap."

[ooc: so i herd you liek trollin- backdated to just after Halloween]

erudite-watcher.livejournal.com

Anyone turning on their tablet or walking into the training room would see Giles, his sleeves rolled up and tie discarded, fighting the air viciously with his favorite sword. It's not his usual calm and controlled fencing, as evidenced by the newly decapitated straw man, whose head is now lolling on the floor in a way that would make Xander pout if he was here. But he's not here. Xander's gone and he hasn't spoken to Faith in weeks out of a combination of cowardice and taying to do the right thing. And now to top it all off Ethan Rayne is in Taxon.

"Bloody sodding hell," he muttered as he thrust, narrowly missing one handle of the exercise bike.

contrarian

Moments before, Ethan had been leaning against the side of the truck he'd been manhandled into in such an undignified fashion. He'd adopted a pose of insouciant carelessness, tilting his head back and expanding his personal space until he was elbowed into place; he was being obnoxious, in other words, so all things considered it must be in his best interests that he is now standing on the arrival platform at Taxon, looking around with readily piqued interest.

"Well," he drawls, cracking his knuckles and rubbing his wrists - hello what is this, "it's not exactly what I had in mind, but I'll take it." The bracelet gets a closer look, and on further consideration he reflects briefly, "Not that I really minded the handcuffs."

...great, Ethan, thanks so much for that. First impressions: go! The tablet is what draws his attention next - he'll try the door in a moment, he's not that patient and he'd like to know if this is the proverbial fire one leaps into from the pan - and he grimaces faintly at the relentlessly technological surroundings. How 20th century, how tragically gauche.

"Curiouser and curiouser."

(Ethan Rayne is no Alice.)

likeajoan.livejournal.com

Even though a while has elapsed since Buffy led the attack against Fangtasia, she's still impressively beat up. Walking is less of a problem at least, and the bruises have started taking on that yellowish fading hue. The cuts are healing, though the deeper ones still persist.

Secondary to these physical pains, however, is the mental and emotional drain of worrying about the possible retaliation of the vampires. Worrying that they might hurt someone she loves, because of her own actions. Not to mention the new headache in the form of Drusilla, which is a special issue all its own.

What she really needs right now is the comforting reassurances of her best friend. The ridiculous banter, the stupid jokes, the hugs, the mockery, the warmth, the smiles... Xander. Except when she heads down to the basement, he's not there. She didn't hear him leave. She calls for him, she tries the kitchen, the lounge-- she gets her tablet and scans the map, checking to see if he's at the Bronze. But the Bronze isn't there anymore, and nor is he. He's not anywhere. His name and his dot are nowhere to be seen, and she checks and re-checks and tries calling him, but gets the equivalent of an 'incorrect number' message in response.

Numb, and through a misty haze, she half-stumbles her way to the porch, sits down on the step, buries her face in her hands and sobs, disconsolately.

abigailsciuto.livejournal.com

The sound of platform boots hitting tile echoed down the long hallway. Caf Pow in hand, Abby was heading back to her lab. She'd had a quick chat with Ducky, finding out about the medical history of the victim, and was heading back to her lab to check her findings against the newly acquired information. Her hair bounced in twin, black pigtails as she flipped through the file Ducky had handed her. She turned the corner into her lab without looking up. What made her stop was the lack of music. Had someone touched her sound system.

Abby glanced up and immediately felt her face screw up in confusion. This wasn't her lab at all. This wasn't any where in the NCIS base. She looked up.

"Whoa..."

She glanced around and saw an electronic device on a pedestal to her right. Curious, she picked it up and fiddled with the buttons.

"Uh, hello? Anyone out there? Someone want to tell me why I feel like I'm about to get probed?" She was not amused. Alright, she was a little amused, but mostly confused... and a little hungry. She took another gulp of her Caf Pow before flicking through the settings on the tablet. There was a map with a big red dot.

"Something tells me I'm supposed to go <i>there</i>." She was still musing aloud. As she fiddled with the tablet, she figured out that she was projecting a feed. "I know you can hear me." Her tone became a little tiresome. She eyed the door. Anything could be out there, but it was either wait for someone to answer, or brave the unknown. Ever the scientist, Abby hurried down the steps and headed for the door. She pulled it open and glanced down the hallway. It seemed harmless enough. Caf Pow, folder, and tablet in hand (quite the balancing act!), Abby headed down, cautiously.

The map seemed to point her in one direction, but she'd yet to decide if she wanted to go that way yet.

Current Mood: confused

an-ex-watcher.livejournal.com

Wesley had gone through plenty of brushes with death. Bleeding out of his jugular in the park came to mind, or fading out on the couch of the shelter after being shot. What he'd experienced in Cyrus Vail's house, however, was not a brush, and he knew that. His vision had blackened. The pain had faded into a numb cold. What magic ran in his blood had seeped away with his lifeblood.

And now he was standing here, in what looked like the set of some science fiction movie, and seemed to be very much alive.

"Hello?" he ventured softly, looking around carefully. He considered his options. He could be in Hell. That seemed likely, given his life.

"Lilah?" he tried, frowning. "Eve? Lindsey? If this is a game, I'd prefer we get straight on to the flames and eternal torment." He waited. No response. They might be playing with him, but Wesley suspected that if Lilah was behind this, she would have taken the opportunity by now to let him know who his tormentor was.

Perhaps the rumors were true, and condemned Watchers had their own private hell where they were punished by their superiors. As far as Wesley knew, his father was still alive, so he tried other names. "Mr. Travers? Mr. Cornwell?" The machinery above him suggested some sort of experiment, and that seemed very much like the old Council. "Hello?"

There was a pad, of some sort, on a pedestal, and underneath it was . . . no, it couldn't be. It wasn't possible. Wesley reached out to touch it and frowned at the bracelet on his wrist. Definitely something experiment-like, or perhaps more like a zoo? "Is anyone there?" he called again, before stepped forward and glancing down at what looked like one of those fancy touch-screen phones.

He felt as though it were looking back at him . . .

revivedqueen.livejournal.com

Disconcerting.

Illyria does not recall ever needing to sleep. It is during those hours that one's guard is down, leaving him a prey to those who wish to destroy him. Leaving him vulnerable, and so easy to kill.

And yet--

She opens her eyes. Different. Everything is unfamiliar. She holds her breath; waiting for something to move, to challenge her.

There is nothing but silence.

Save for a distinct noise, soft and rumbling. From a human, who rests peacefully beside her. Sharing the bed on which she lay, as if he is her equal.

Deplorable.

She rises from the bed. Only the confusing circumstances made her reconsider utterly disposing of the scum who still slept.

It is only just, that she challenge him when he wakes.

"I have come to a valid conclusion regarding your wretched specie," she speaks, her voice loud enough to rouse the dead. "All of you make noise from your nose when you sleep."