taxonomites | Entries tagged with { solomon koenig

magicalskeptic.livejournal.com

Morgana has sets two goals for her mid-afternoon trip. In a small pocket in her traveling cloak, is her tablet. While she hasn't left any word as to her goals, or her destination with Arthur, she can be contacted. She also carries a small dagger. It's not that she intends to use it, more that where she's going, it makes some sense to have something with her.

The first goal is answer the two questions posed to her by a certain she's-not-sure-he's-really-a Greek god. Fortunately, Hermes's altar is on the edge of the Taxon Forest, her ultimate destination.

Finding the altar at the crossroads is not difficult. It's not the intimidating structures of the new religion, but it does look like someone is taking care of the grounds. Placing her letter in the bowl sitting in front, Morgana hopes this is the correct method of delivery, as she knows of no other way to get in contact with her odd provider of baked goods. She says nothing, and offers no other sign of devotion.

The second goal is much more enjoyable. She's off to search for potential decorations, and for a medieval lady, that means a trip to Taxon's Forest.

The first curiosity of the forest is near the waterfall, is the small collection of buildings. It looks as if someone might live there, but Morgana would never consider intruding. An unannounced arrival, considering she does not know who lives within, would not be appropriate, save in dire emergencies, but -- there are clearly flowers in the house of glass. While she may not intrude too closely, there is definitely some intense staring going on. This medieval lady loves beautiful flora.

Further along, she spots what she was hoping to find, hawthorn trees. Well, these would better be defined as large shrubs, but several look like they're going to flower early, just in time for when Morgana would need decorations the Royal Chambers. Using her dagger, she cuts off a small piece; the cut neat, instead of ragged. The leaves are out, and the flowers just budding. She tucks it in the clasp of her cloak.

[OOC: open to anyone and everyone, just be sure to indicate where you're finding her.]

trainedprat.livejournal.com

Usually, Arthur is good with public speaking. He's made countless rousing speeches, and being a prince has meant a great deal of being thrust into centre stage. It's a bit different when you're talking into a funny little machine though, and you can't actually see the masses of people you're addressing. Still, when he speaks, it's with an even (and slightly regal) confidence.

"My name is Prince Arthur Pendragon of Camelot. There are a few of you with whom I've spoken, and many more I have not."

"I'm making this announcement because I seek the assistance of those who would protect this city from the dangers that all too frequently seem to assail it."

"My kingdom, at home, is protected by a force of knights. We work together to ensure the safety of our people, and to defend against attacks - be it from fell creatures or simple troublemakers."

"It is my goal to establish a force like that here in Taxon. Being a knight requires courage, fortitude and discipline. You need only respond if you possess these qualities. Some experience in combat would be desirable, but if you have none and still wish to serve, I would be prepared to teach you."

cailisairgid

Today on this the glorious fifteenth of April, Taxon has been in business for a full year- and so a celebration is in order, or so apparently think the hamster overlords in charge of tweaking their citizens.

The Palais Garnier is a beautiful place thus far mostly neglected by everyone who isn't its very lovely current owner, and that is a godawful shame that's about to be corrected. One by one the seats are filling up with both the curious and the coerced, the latter finding themselves irresistibly drawn to the opera house whether they really want to be or not. It advertises a new show, for one night only and very definitely R-18, but whatever's going on hasn't quite got underway as arrivals begin trickling in, coats checked and seats shown by the Extra staff that have just seemed to materialize as necessary.

Backstage, things are maybe even more confusing for the seven gentlemen who've been pressganged into service of the city's entertainment. The, er, uniforms are laid out in the dressing rooms and each sized just right, and Glitch's back up dancers are ready and waiting to take the stage when the time comes and the lights go down in the theatre. There is a certain anticipation in the air as preparations make haste so close to the hour; yet more Extras mill through the building preparing the great baroque banquet hall for the meal and afterparty.

Happy Taxon Day, citizens; your headliners for tonight are in last minute prep, but why don't you enjoy the musical stylings of Glitch Langwe's opening act?

What better way to celebrate one full year than six full nudes?

faderbroderson

Godric wears no shirt, which is not terribly unusual, but there's an air about him that suggests the choice isn't casual this time. He isn't going without for comfort, but purposely displaying his tattoos, the meanings of which are lost to time, but not lost to Godric. The pants he wears are made of buckskin, but are clearly new. For once, he looks as ancient as he is, and what he's doing is no less so.

In front of him is clearly an altar, despite its simplicity. It's only a pile of large, flat rocks at the edge of the forest, but it's covered in baskets filled with fruit, berries, herbs, grains and other foods. If one looks carefully, they can see there are exactly nine baskets, and every one carries something different. To the right of the altar is a small fire, and though it's not apparent, it burns nine different types of wood. To the left is a wild goat, leashed with a rope and adorned in ribbons, and there's a large circle drawn in the dirt surrounding the entire area.

( Cut for depictions of dead goat. No actual goats were harmed in the writing of this post. )

The citizens of Taxon are free to react with fascination or horror as they please.

cailisairgid

Having been out most of the morning - finding a tattooist in Taxon had been 'interesting', but since it behooves the Extras to be good at whatever they need to be good at, the endeavour was surreal without being utterly pointless - Sol's shoulder is tender and he's got a second appointment lined up by the time he gets back to the forest house near the lake. Taxon is never really quiet, just rumbling lower than he's become used to, so he's never quite relaxed here, either; today is about as close as he gets, dropping the gardening supplies he picked up on his way home on the kitchen table before making coffee and going into his office to dig out the plans he's been working on for Hermes's temple.

(He hasn't mentioned to Hermes yet that he's taking initiative on this, but he suspects it'll be received well.)

Assuming that Leila is either in her lab or continuing her campaign to persuade Taxon that she's a pillar of the science community and not a fucking lunatic (he's in love with her, by the way), he takes coffee and work out onto the veranda. He'll probably have to worry about the rest of the city sooner rather than later, but despite Leila cheerfully volunteering him to the newly-conceived council he hasn't heard much about that and his distaste for all things Time Lord related is probably why he hasn't sought it out. He'll help if they need him, and not if they don't, he figures.

(Interestingly, on the subject of Time Lords, it is possible to design wards based on a species's blood, and the Master so kindly provided a sample on Sol's against knuckles.)

chase-evolution.livejournal.com

When Mohinder had mentioned that he had nightmares, he wasn't kidding. They were no longer nightly, not in this place, but they were still quite frequent. And unfortunately, he was having one tonight. These dreams usually would leave the bed a wreck, blankets and sheets thrown everywhere. In his mind, he was running, running from something that he'd knew he'd become if it only caught him. The figure was dark and huge and wherever it went, spiderwebs instantly covered everything. He had to get away.

Outside of his dreams, he was moving, too, rolling...rolling right off the landing he'd been placed on, and down a flight of stairs. Mohinder woke with a yell as soon as he hit the first stair and didn't realize what was happening until his second bounce. By the time he hit the bottom he had bounced up into a standing position, shirking off the purely-detrimental sleeping bag. As that seemed to be the only immediate threat, he let himself breathe and widened his gaze.

The room, if one could call it that, was right out of an Escher drawing. There were stairs, stairs everywhere, and more importantly- stairs going in all different directions. As Mohinder blinked the sleep out of his eyes and the kink out of his neck, it became apparent that he'd just been kidnapped out of his bed and placed somewhere even more insane than 'traditional Taxon'.

"You must be joking," he said to no one in particular, annoyance permeating his tone.

taxcollectors.livejournal.com

Midday in Taxon, there is a special arrival.

Two very exceptionally large hamsters stand on the platform of the Sanctuary's arrival room. One, pale caramel with white underbelly and gray stripes, takes immediately to unconsciously preening itself before squeaking out triumphantly, "Oh! It worked!"

The other, white with exceptionally long white fur about its head to go with its exceptional height, claps its little forepaws together and smiles a bright hamster smile. "It did! Fully synced?" There's a moment of hesitation before it realizes that, yes, it did just think and speak at the same time. Then, with a squeak to go with its fellow's, "...Fully synced!"

"Oh! Oh, yes," says the first as it approaches the tablet, ready for its big moment, "Hello citizens! Hellooo!" It waves cheerily as it speaks, "So wonderful to see you!"

"Yes! Wonderful!" The other follows the first, with a happy shake of its long fur.

( LONG WINDED HAMSTERS ARE LONG WINDED )
"Question time now! Can't wait to hear from you!" The second appears almost giddy, bouncing lightly on its hind-paws as it addresses the city. "You're such wonderful personalities, aren't you? Do hurry, can't stay long!"

The first pipes up with a squeak, "Limited time offer!"

---

A short time later, when all their little conversations are not quite done, but as finished as they'll ever possibly get considering, they wave a little sadly at the tablet.

The second pipes up with a squeaky hamster sigh and shake of its long fur, "Hate to leave!"

"Oh," the first agrees, sounding happy but tired from all the excitement of talking to the citizens they've watched for so long, "we do! But we must!"

"Toodles!"

With the tiniest little shiver in the holo display, the two of them disappear from the arrival chamber, still waving to the citizens.

hercandleguides.livejournal.com

[VOICE | LOCKED TO BRUCE WAYNE]

So! Have you been following the tablet network lately? We should probably go over the spyware I installed, when you have a free moment--it's easier to do in person.

[/LOCKED]

( Meanwhile, on location... )

cailisairgid

While constructing his house, Sol's been living mostly at Leila's apartment; most of his belongings are there, for now, and it's where he spends most nights. This has worked out arguably wonderfully in the past few days with the pair of them rarely willing to be too far apart, but the house in the forest is ready (a unique piece of architecture composed of living trees, two stories high with large rooms and high vaulted ceilings - and the very finest amenities that Leila could put together with Etherite science) and the question is now less 'how big should the built-in wardrobes be' and more 'how in the hell are we getting furniture from the city to the house'.

He looks down at his inventory.

He sighs, and produces his tablet from the bracelet, locking his transmission to Bruce.

[ VOICE | LOCKED | SOL + BRUCE ]

Wayne, are you there?

[ / VOICE ]

spadetongued.livejournal.com

( stoplight is swaying and the phone lines are down. )

If he were someone else, he might give up, curl into a small ball, and accept this as some postmodern vision of hell; Ben never really wondered what the afterlife would hold for someone like him, since he never really believed in it, but it's the first explanation that makes sense. He's going to wait on accepting it, though, since a secret government agency kidnapping him sounds about equally likely and slightly more appealing.

"Okay, Ben, just--don't lose it, right now, if you lose it you are screwed," he says, softly, knitting his fingers behind his head and through his hair, eyes half-closing; he doesn't make a habit of talking to himself out loud, but the sound of his own voice is all the comfort he can get. "Deal with this."

"Hello?" He raises his voice and his head, letting his arms fall to his sides, and glances around the room able to pick out new details with less nascent panic and shock rolling through his mind like low thunder. "Hey, is anyone out there? Because I could use a quick refresher on whatever's going on. Or maybe more than a quick one. And if I can't have that, can I have a shower and my phone call?"

beholdthedrums.livejournal.com

There’s a spring in the Master’s step as he finds his way back into Central Taxon. The wolves had sniffed out and sunk their teeth into the Doctor, heaving him off towards the Lady Petrana’s castle. A dungeon! Oh, as if that was anything new for the Doctor. Give it some time and the Master would kindly invite himself over, get a little ‘lost’ on the way to finding the countess, and find himself right before the Doctor’s cell.

But not to break him free. No, it would be much more rewarding to tell him ‘I told you so’, poke with some good ol' fashioned mockery, and then leave him to face Taxon’s rowdy crew.

For now, he remains positively beaming. The only ray of sunshine in Taxon! There were silly things like rescue crews and bomb squads that had been hard at work, but the Master… he did nothing to offer help. He stands out amongst the streets, grinning and laughing at all the attempts.

knightflown.livejournal.com

There's a bit of a suggestion of bustle in the background as Nightwing heads outside of the Sanctuary, masked face serious (or... probably serious, the mask makes it hard to tell) as he looks into the tablet. His voice is actually different from Dick's, authoritative and formal, though not without a hint of potential sass.

"We're looking for a safe, secure place to store 'the Doctor', the guy responsible for the bombs. Any thoughts? Please," he adds as an afterthought, "nothing like 'an icebox' or 'six feet under'. Some guards would be good, too."

lambentstar.livejournal.com

Now that Cat is convinced that the bombs aren't going off (she checked all the clocks she could find, just to be that little bit more sure) she's shifted the focus of her organization. After firmly admonishing the Extras that they still had to stay inside, she asked a few of them to join her in setting up a clear space in a room near the kitchen. She doesn't know that injured people will be arriving, but it's not a hard deduction to make, and the rest of the manor is still set up to house and feed anyone who needs a place to stay. She's keeping all hands busy, because God knows there's nothing else she can think of to do.

[OOC: Meanwhile, the aftermath at Wayne Manor.]

caballero

Bruce Wayne has kind of had enough of today; while the world of Taxon doesn't look nearly like the (artistically rendered, he suspects) Doctor's looming apocalypse, it's still in a near-cracking state. The destruction of citizens vs sentinel robots, accidentally-detonated bombs, and his own creative use of the tram have left a notable impact. Still, there is more to come - but just how much more depends on all of them.

"There's no radiation in the individual bombs," he says, and he's walking, headed straight towards the Sanctuary building in downtown Osten. "The machines are there to protect civilian life, not the explosives. If you're still here and can't get to a safe zone or on the ship, stay as far away from any sentinel activity as you can."

Speaking of the machines - they're approaching, because he isn't stopping, and neither are the people behind him, whose shoulders or backs can occasionally be seen in his broadcast. Bruce is holding something small and heavy in his hand, somehow both calm and extremely annoyed.

"Unless you'd like to get down here and help break this goddamn facility open, because the Doctor is right here."

hercandleguides.livejournal.com

Leila is usually entirely put-together when she talks to anyone in the city, and particularly so when it's over tablet, but she's a touch more askew now (by her standards, anyway)- and even wearing jeans, like a sane person, although that's not visible presently. What is visible is her workshop, with all of its strange scientific contraptions, complete with what looks like the skeleton of a robot, although it hasn't been filled in with computer wiring yet.

"Since everyone seems to be in the process of reacting to this in their own way, and we only have a very small window of time, I want to explain what I'm doing and ask for assistance. My name is Dr. Yilmaz, and I am installing a few safe areas, marked out with machinery; these will be surrounded by force fields to prevent incidental damage and will employ outward radio waves to clear out the radiation."

She hopes this will work, anyway, but her tone stays relentlessly certain, and she doesn't let her expression drop.

"I'd like help setting up the devices--I promise I haven't made it too technical, to the best of my abilities--but I only have enough time for a few. I'm going to be using a hand-held KFM kit in searching for the bombs with everyone else once they're installed, but I think it'd be good to have secure locations mapped out for anyone who plans on staying put."

knightflown.livejournal.com

( holo; ''the way Dick sees it, abduction, like a Hallmark card, can mean so many things...'' )

cailisairgid

Ambrose leaves behind more than he expected to, when he goes; Solomon runs his fingertips over the scar tissue on his chest and feels, not for the first time, the phantom pain of heated steel and knows the smell of his own flesh burning under it. The greenhouse is empty, with Leila attending to some business of her own, and he has time to shower and shave and weep and throw up, then wash his face and belt his trousers. He buttons his shirt over the scar that is and is not his, and stares at the filing cabinet in his office (the one room untouched by the mess of his own history, left locked if only because neither Ambrose nor Leila knew where to find the key) for a long while until he digs the key out of his desk and looks under 'R' for Katerine and Django Roy.

Eventually, he goes to find where he left his tablet before all this. Ambrose, unsurprisingly, hadn't touched it.

[ VISUAL ]

Sol scratches the side of his jaw, looking not quite subdued but certainly worn out. "I'm back," he says, without preamble, "to the few of you who'd have a stake in my being missing. Doul, if you see this, we're getting a drink later. No arguments. River, thanks. And I see someone's looking for a greenhouse - let me know what you need and I'll see if I can help. I'm not in the mood to have visitors turning up unannounced just today. ...and Glitch Langwe, I need a word with you." Promise it's not as ominous as it sounds, given his evident mood.

That accomplished, he abandons his tablet to light a cigarette and wait on the step for Leila's return.

hercandleguides.livejournal.com

"Hello, Taxon."

Leila greets anyone paying attention out there with a small smile, seated as she is on a grassy section in the forest, several paces away from the greenhouse Sol (and now Ambrose) has occupied, though it's not quite in view, thus making her location more difficult to distinguish. She's sleeveless, today, which means much of her white ink clockwork tattoo is exposed; she's proud of it, so she sees no reason not to show it off.

"So," she begins, "I've been wondering a few things: why do you think so many people here come from the same world? It's overwhelmingly dominated by people from Earth, and it seems to primarily be modern-day Earth, at that.

"Many of us seem to speak the same common language- our captors' idea of convenience, possibly? English isn't my first language, but I'm fluent enough in it. The relatively low level of apparent ethnic diversity can be rationalized, but if we're really all abducted by aliens, they certainly seem to have their preferences when it comes to targets, don't they? I don't have any answers here, but I'm certain I'm not the only one still asking questions. Maybe between us some sort of conclusion can be reached, eventually, and with data we can make progress- I'm aware by now I'm not the only scientist present, but if anyone else I have yet to meet happens to fall into the same profession, please introduce yourselves. I'm listening."

She's not going to admit she's the youngest researcher in her group at home and probably here, too, and thus knows the expertise of others is necessary, but she is aware, at least. This is followed by a careful, considering pause; Leila's been very detachedly amiable up to this point, and avoided being too technical, by her own standards, but now her tone changes to something cooler and more controlled, which in her is generally a tough-skinned cover for guardedness.

"Oh. One more thing. These glitches that people experience. How long do they usually last?"

cailisairgid

Near where Solomon dozed off a few hours earlier, dappled with light coming through the thin gaps that still exist in the frame of what will be his home here, Ambrose stirs.

It would be more accurate to say that he tries not to stir, finding himself in something like peace and clinging determinedly to the dissipating sleep as a balm over his exhaustion, his gaunt and bloody body. He doesn't question the silver embedded in his wrist, judging it to be some new punishment and slowly finding himself past caring; he clenches his hands instinctively and the grating pain of his ruined fingers jolts him into consciousness whether he wants it or not.

This is not where he fell into fitful sleep. This half-made home that cocoons around him, no, this is not the cell where he's been waiting. It feels familiar and wrong at the same time, and he starts to call, hoarsely, for Sanchari.

...but she doesn't come, and the forest is quiet, and there is little left in Ambrose strong enough to weep for his freedom or his emptiness.

[ sol's past is present glitch begins, quietly :3 ]

biverbam.livejournal.com

It is, by decree of the narration and various conflicting timelines, the day after the party. River has come and gone, and in some combination of a missed dose somewhere in the excitement, the excitement itself, and the simple abundance of it in such a short span of time, she's still awake well into the day.

Awake and completely incapable of staying in one place.

The party dress and jewelry has been traded in for the usual practicality (with the addition of pants, for the sake of warmth and the presence of a pocket in back that will suitably hold her pen) and the ribbon in her hair falls out sometime around nine a.m. Taxon time to land on a street corner in Shelley.

Later, while running her hand along an iron fence in Central, the visual clicks on for a few seconds to broadcast the trr-thrr-clunk-thrrr of River's passing hand before it clicks off again.

More importantly, after a tram ride and a very messily hatched peach (without pit, sans skin; apparently the two elements were connected but she eats it anyway and now the end of her hair is sticky) River finds herself at a greenhouse full of flowers humming wordlessly in warm contentment and surrounded by chattering trees, full of life and blood and complaining endlessly. About the bends in their roots and knots in their sides, overextended and underdeveloped. Patient. She sits with them a while (climbing is an urge to be resisted, they'd never be quiet then) and then leaves with a few stolen greenhouse roses pricking her hand.

Catch her while you can, Taxon. She's about to be in a lot of trouble.