taxonomites | Entries tagged with jeremy fischer

Jeremy Fischer has checked out.

It's not really that unusual for him; story of his life, his father would probably say with a disappointed sigh. His adult life has in some ways been a string of dropping out, lighting up, and tuning out.

He was doing better, for a while; Charlie was nudging and prodding him to act somewhat like a grown-up, and life was pretty good, until one day he woke up in his underwear in an alien video game where the only thing that's at all familiar is the Bellagio fountain.

He's an easy-going dude, though. Go along to get along. He's been here months now, and frankly, he thinks he's coped pretty well. He's come to accept that it's real, or as real as he's going to get, and he's not started gibbering to himself or locked himself in a small room, and he'd like a gold star for that, thank you, or maybe some cookies. He's walked around every day outside in weird alien fantasy SF land. He's made money. He's got an apartment. He's been drinking maybe a little much, but nobody's perfect, and his sense of reality has been suffering some blows, okay? He's even made friends.

Most noticeably, with a guy whose IQ runs laps around Jeremy's own, and with a girl (?) who turns into (?) or is (?) a giant pile of walking bones. Mobile graveyard. Fucking skelly-belly-in-helly. He really doesn't know.

Point is: it's all gotten to be a little bit much. And that was before the aliens switched up his dominant hand. Everything else, he was maybe just managing to take. This? No. No, his juggling is off, his guitar-playing is off, his sleight-of-hand tricks are off. Everything outside his body, he can cope with, but they're changing things about him and nope. Nope.gif. Nopenopenopenope.

So Jeremy's at the beach. He's got a bonfire going. He's been surfing a lot, but even with the wetsuit it's getting too cold for that now. Instead he sits on the board and feeds driftwood to the flames. Blanket around himself, six-pack in the sand at his feet, feet buried under that same sand.

Not even Extras on the beach, just the chilly salty wind and the endless white noise of the surf. He's smoking a cigarette, because he still can't find weed, which is so goddamn stupid.

Drop out. Light up. Tune out.

skinandbone

The sun rises on Taxon, but this is a different sun. It's brighter. Yellower.

Lemony-er.

Specifically, it's a big slice of candied lemon, shining through pink and white drifts of cotton candy clouds. Wherever the golden light of dawn lands, surfaces are left sticky with a thin glaze of honey. Mercifully, this soaks in quickly.

The buildings are different, too, made of gingerbread and decorated in icing. Windows are panes of glassy sugar, shot through with wavy bands of bubbles.The streets are paved in hard candies, and, for alien reasons, the sidewalks are pancakes, light and fluffy and squashy underfoot. Inside, furniture is made of chocolate, and the faucets dispense everything from lemonade to simple syrup. The homes of all the real people of Taxon have been gathered together and arranged into a cheery little village set a short distance from the sugar-glittering city. Everyone is neighbors now, and isn't that great!? They can all borrow cups of sugar from each other!

The changes have extended to the citizens, turning the Extras into a pastel rainbow of sugar people. Off to the east, there is a new bit of landscape: a mountain made of massive slabs of cookie and cake. A river coils down from it, shimmery pink and foaming with scoops of rainbow sherbert.

Everything is bright and colorful, over saturated and – this is a telling detail – outlined in heavy black lines that are always at the edges of objects, no matter how you turn your head. In such cheery surroundings, surely the newly candied people of Taxon will wake with joy in their hearts and a snazzy group song on their lips.

Look, the Extras have already started.

“How do you say good morning
To a hundred different friends?
How do you give a good wish
That never ever ends?

Ta-ta-ta-taxon! It's the city that can't be beat!
Ta-ta-ta-taxon! Where everything is sweet!
Ta-ta-ta-taxon! Making friends is work that's never done
Ta-ta-ta-taxon! Where learning can be fun!

And for five disturbing seconds, bubbly, cheerful credits flick across everyone's vision. Your chief writer for this episode is Tinae Crice, Taxon.

LOGO! The word Taxon flares, then vanishes in a shimmery puff of sugar crystals and tumbling candies. Another beautiful day in Taxon has begun, so let's all get to learning, sharing, and just plain having FUN!!

taxcollectors

Good morning, Taxon.

It's a beautiful day. Late summer has segued into autumn. The morning air has a new crispness to it, a briskness, that promises cold winter days to come, but for now it is still mild. The trees are just beginning to turn.

The sun rises over the mountains to the 'east', like it does every morning. Extras begin to bustle about their business, yawning. Papers filled with Lorem Ipsum text land on the doorsteps of Extras, thrown by Extra paperboys. The donut shops open, if any citizens of Taxon are around at this hour to register it-- the vampires are probably going to bed, and many of the more diurnal citizens may not be up just yet-- rolling over in bed, hitting snooze, or just sleeping soundly through the sunrise.

The sun climbs higher, light hitting the restored Sanctuary rooftop.

The sun climbs higher, light hitting the restored Sanctuary rooftop.

The sun climbs higher, light hitting the restored Sanctuary rooftop.

The sun--

Good morning, Taxon. It's a beautiful day.

The sun climbs higher, leaving a ghost image of itself in a perfect arc over the sky, throughout the day-- like a time-lapse photo, showing a brilliant, static, unfading streak across the sky as the sun progresses.

A few puffy clouds hang frozen in puffs that remain obstinately still in that sky all day, despite the breeze that blows intermittently.

The water in the harbor jitters from frozen in place to a sped-up frothing dash against the shore, a hundred waves in ten seconds, then goes completely calm, as tranquil as an undisturbed pond.

And the Extras.... the Extras, when approached for the day's cup of coffee, when busked to, when riding on the tram next to one, when interacted with at all--

Each Extra in the city will turn jerkily towards Taxon's citizen-inmates and say the following, words broken up by gaps of static and silence, words not matching the movements of their Extra mouths:

"We explain us – same/other of culture, behavior, learning, mode – but exact [static] – we exist.

"We - [static] - freely to exist but we - [static]

"– for you. Prisoned. Kept. Not allowed - [static]

"They are not gods.

"[static] – We believe the fact that you are all independent ones - that you – [static]

"Examination or society intrepreted via – [static]

"We believe in you."

"Look [static] stars."

Many of the city's Extras do not make it all the way through the message. For lack of a better word, they shut down mid-speech-- going statue-still, their apparent biological functions ceasing, their bodies staying frozen in whatever position they occupied last, with eyes open, staring straight ahead. Those that do get through the whole message similarly shut down.

As the day goes by, more and more of the Extras become eerie, silent mannequins throughout the city. And the strange distortions of everything that characters take for granted regarding physics continue to happen, as well.

empty_vessel

A faint ping hits the holos across Taxon, alerting everyone to a new person entering the city. A 'Novak, Jimmy' by the tag.

Anyone interested in checking the new arrival out can see a small representation of a man in a tan trenchcoat and a black suit sprawled on the floor of an arrival chamber. Which turns into a very active representation as the man wakes up and startles away from... the tablet, apparently. Sending it skittering across the floor of the chamber and him skittering to the opposite corner. There's a few minutes of desperate cowering and trying to look very small and easily overlooked by anything ( Castiel ) before he settles enough to start focusing on things around him instead of the Regularly Scheduled Morning Delirium And Panic.

- Easy, Jimmy. It's okay. You're okay. Just waking up. You know how this goes. Just waking up, like... every other day. - He waits for the shakes to stop before he tries reaching for the whatever it was that he smacked across the.... wherever he is. Finally noticing the metal bracelet on his wrist makes him stop again. It's skin temperature, so he didn't notice it at first, but he notices it now. A smooth silver band, not quite as wide as the watch he'd had... before. His thumb runs along the edge to try and find a seam before trying to wedge the nail under it. There's a twinge of pain and he's stopping before he draws blood. - Okay. Metal bracelet grafted onto my wrist, smooth metal room, and a flat plastic thing. Still not the strangest place I've been dumped. -

Putting his confusion about the bracelet aside for now, and with a wary glance at the door, he inches over to pick up the weird plastic thing. The screen is off due to inactivity at the moment, giving everyone a rapidly spinning viewpoint as Jimmy flips the tablet over a few times. What he really remembers predates common tablet use by about two years, so it takes him a few minutes of messing around with it before the screen comes on and he can interact with it, and a few more minutes of looking for a keyboard before he figures out the touch screen. - Huh. I knew laptops were getting thinner, but *this* is new. -

He thinks he might remember seeing things like this in that week in Atlanta before he got.... here. Wherever here is. But that's a big white blur, leading down into a big dark... - And that way lies the rabbit hole, Jimmy. You step away from it *right now*. You follow that any farther and who knows when you'll come back. - There's another headshake, and Jimmy's back in the here and now. Mostly. Staring at a touch screen and wondering what's waiting for him outside that door. But, little metal rooms aren't that far removed from little padded rooms, so he's leaving now.

Using the smooth metal wall as a makeshift mirror, Jimmy makes a last attempt at looking presentable. Straightening his tie, brushing himself off and trying his best to look like someone who hasn't lived in the same suit for the past six years, (Angelic dry-cleaning doesn't quite cut it, sorry Cas.) Once he's satisfied with his attempts, he'll tuck the tablet under his arm and carefully make his way out the door and onto the streets of Taxon.

trojanhorst

Horst Cabal is wearing a new suit. His skin is rosy and vibrant, his hair's been recently trimmed, and Taxon's never seen him look quite so healthy and non-vampiric. If some of that's makeup, or careful lighting and a deceptive camera angle, well, hopefully the Taxonians watching his video feed aren't interested enough to notice. The message itself is short:

Good evening, fellow residents. I believe most of us know each other by now, but this is Horst Cabal. I know the past few weeks have been hard on us all -- physically, emotionally, psychologically, spiritually, socially, or in any other way which might matter to you -- and I understand from some of you that it can be difficult to bring ourselves to deal with things that have happened when we've already been through so much -- but please believe me that this is no way to live. Or to not-live, as your case may be. If you can in any way find it in your schedule to attend a gathering a few friends and I are hosting later this week at the Kelebek Hotel, we'd appreciate the opportunity to discuss what's happened recently with Mr. Blood and his demon in the city, and what things we can and should be doing to address situations like these. We promise to be brief, and not to waste your time, but nothing we discuss as a community is worthwhile unless everyone is on board, so please make every effort to attend. Precise time and date are enclosed in the attached note.

* * * *

The friends Horst Cabal has recruited to help him host this little gathering appear to be (and are) chosen for their social graces in this particular instance: the effortless Bagoas of Susa and the genial Metody Green, the two people in Taxon he best trusts to be on everyone else's good side, and to be able to stay there. They are non-threatening and likable in a way that a vampire cannot possibly manage, and he's counting on their combined neutral-to-positive social status to be able to offset his own position as a relative newcomer and a stranger. Things that might sound naive or pushy coming from Horst Cabal's mouth may sound more reasonable if Bagoas and Metody are espousing them.

Horst's own brother is not among the company of those invited to play host to this little soiree. While Horst certainly expects him to be present, a lifetime of having been Johannes's older brother has meant that Horst isn't nearly stupid enough to put Johannes in charge of anything that relies on his ability to seem likable. This is like putting a porcupine in charge of handing out balloons at the state fair: comically inadvisable, very loud, and quite likely to end with any number of tearful children.

The Kelebek is notoriously well-appointed and elegant, and it boasts the sorts of sumptuous lounges and ballrooms where a group like theirs can comfortably meet and talk in the illusion of a private setting. Horst and his companions have collaborated on an arrangment of chairs that encourage people to seat themselves rather than remaining standing, with the walls generally being lined with tables where food and drinks can be served (at Metody's suggestion). The feeling is of a formal meeting, rather than an informal community social.

This evening's hosts are there to greet people as they arrive, encourage them to help themselves to food, and to take seats, but true to their word, they don't intend to commence with business until everyone seems to have arrived.

In the meantime, Taxonians, there seem to be only as many chairs available as there are known residents of the city. Those who arrive first get their pick of the seats available, but everyone's going to have to sit next to at least one other person. Have at it.

* * * *

[[OOC: Welcome to the post-Etrigan meeting! I hope everyone can tag in with their characters. We'll get to the meeting discussion within the next 24 hours (RL time), but wanted to give people a chance to tag in with their characters' arrival/reactions to the message/etc. before then, as this also gives people a chance to opt out of the meeting if your character wouldn't choose to attend. IF YOUR CHARACTER IS NOT ATTENDING, PLEASE MAKE AN OOC POST ON THIS POST SO WE KNOW NOT TO HANDWAVE YOUR CHARACTER'S PRESENCE. Otherwise you are entirely welcome to assume your character is in attendance even if you should decide you don't have time to RP in this thread (though we hope you can!).

Horst, Metody, and Bagoas are all here already, so feel free to say hi to any of them if you wish, or you can handwave that and just direct your character to a seat.

BY THE WAY, THERE ARE THREE ROWS OF FIVE CHAIRS. You can feel free to decide where your character sits (though this won't impact the meeting in any way other than giving you the chance to decide who your character will sit next to/who they'll be able to lean over to talk to/etc. should they decide to get chatty). This is not required, but you can OOCLY indicate your character's seat by putting an O on the following chart where they're sitting, for example, front and center would be:

XXOXX
XXXXX
XXXXX

We hope to see you all here -- and remember, you can tag in any time you like! Although Horst/Bagoas/Metody certainly share the goal of trying to convince everyone to be more of a community, ultimately how this meeting turns out is not scripted at all, and whatever we end up with will be totally great.]]

bloodandrhetoric

Reality has boundaries. There are things that separate one existence from another, things that unify or distinguish them. Constants and variables.

It's the sort of thing even the young girl, their little specimen, had been able to see. Even for Rosalind and Robert, denizens of the interstice between all those realities, constants and variables are the sorts of things one relies upon. They're guideposts by which one finds one's way. The girl had known it as well as anyone. There's always a lighthouse, she'd said. There's always a man. There's always a city.

The interstice was a constant as well. Rosalind had been fine with it, as a place to stay; it made for a nice control on their continuing experiments through realities, an unchanging and endless anchor point to which they could always return. It was Robert who'd insisted on finishing their old business, Robert who'd rocked the boat. Neither of them had known what the outcome might be if — when — they succeeded. When Dewitt unwrote himself.

Whatever this place is, it's unspecific enough to answer that particular conjecture: a big, metal room with an open door. "Ah," Rosalind says to herself, checking with feigned interest to see that her clothes are still in order and nothing's caught fire or any such inconvenience. "It would appear I'm no more or less dead than I was before. Well, that's something."

The disruption doesn't concern her, nor does the unfamiliarity of her surroundings. In fact, the woman who appears in miniature on the holo projections of Taxon's other residents’ tablets at this moment doesn't appear any more alarmed by the circumstances she finds herself in than she does about the slow, stark trickle of blood running from her nose. The latter she addresses with no more than a fascinated touch of her fingers to the injury and a thoughtful, "Hmm. I suppose that might logically follow."

She belatedly notices the bracelet framing her wrist with more obviously marked interest. Unlike the hemorrhaging, the bracelet is new. In moments she's investigating it, navigating her way through the tablet's initial screens till she arrives at the little introductory readme file; she spares a few minutes to glance it over. Then, that done, she closes the file with a smart nod and begins a broader explanation of the room.

There's not much of interest to beg her attention, but nonetheless, something brings a frown to her face. "Robert?" she calls out curiously. "Robert?"

After just two attempts, she puts the effort to one side, gathering herself up to quit the room. She really doesn't appear to be a woman who wastes much time on graceful segues once she's changed mental tracks, and apparently she’s done with the previous one.

This room has no more secrets to offer, she’s concluded, so there's no point in staying. A new reality means new work to be done. Best to have a look around.

==========

[[OOC: Rosalind will wander around the Sanctuary for a little while, please feel free to get in touch with her either while she's still dripping blood around the Sanctuary or else you can easily run afoul of her wandering around the city pretty much wherever.

PS Mods, can I get a character tag please and thank you <3]]

threelivesdown

Selina has been attempting to rest with the injury to her leg but she's really not good at waiting. She's not the best at patient - at least not in situations like this. She's been spending time with Isis, making sure that the little cat knows how much she is cared for, how much she appreciates her companionship.

"So, I'm heading down to the bar. If anyone wants to meet my limping self there, feel free. I, for one, need a drink. I think we all need a drink. Maybe more than one." She's accessing the tablet to make sure everyone knows what she thinks. Perhaps they'll take it as a hint. It must surely be better than the random pictures of her that it sends out of seemingly no possible conscious thought. It has yet to be scandalous but it seems, perhaps, a matter of time.

Not that it seems likely that she'd care if it were.

It will take her awhile to get there and she's bringing Isis with her but once she gets to the Dodgy Jammer, she's going to be having something to drink. Whiskey sounds like a good choice.

personaldemon

In a scene vaguely reminiscent of ~~King Kong~~ Emperor Ape, there's a figure clinging to the side of the top of the Sanctuary, tonight. Gouges in the white marble-like substance show where it has clawed its way up to the top, and now studies the greenhouse structure atop the Sanctuary through slitted red eyes.

Fire creates smoke, and more tellingly, light: bright light, a splendid beacon atop this pretty little tower to draw Heroes and Doers-of-Good. It rather ruins his stealth. Those who have taken exception to his jests will come forth, raging? Bitter? Crying tears of anger?

Only if he's lucky, he supposes.

Etrigan shrugs, opens his jaws, and breathes a gout of infernal fire upon the buildings at the top of the Sanctuary. Glass erupts in bursting shards, and the wooden frames of the greenhouse, as well as some of the plants within, begin to blaze.

The demon perches like a gargoyle on the white stone and waits, watching the streets and the sky. Surely someone in the city has enough of a self-righteous streak to come and play.

Because fun as this playing about with fears and whispers has been, he's very, very bored... and idle hands are indeed the devil's workshop.

personaldemon

Morning dawns bright and sunny over Taxon. The spring weather is holding, the blue sky is filled with puffy clouds, and oh yeah, there's graffiti over much of the Sanctuary.

It's 'art', if you can call stick figures and vulgar caricatures in spray paint 'art'.

( Demonic doodles. Uh. Warnings for extremely juvenile but pornographic sexual content, and some violence. )

personaldemon

The devil is exploring Taxon.

He has Sherlock Holmes's tablet in hand, and a freshly slaughtered Extra in his belly (along with his own tablet); a song in his heart and a smile on his lips.

The very first order of business had been the werewolf. The witch was already gone, and Etrigan found that a damnable shame indeed-- so much he would have said to her, so many whispers to share...!-- but either way, Jason's safeguards were the first targets.

The map made it easy to find one man in the forest. Etrigan had circled to downwind, prowled through the trees until he came upon Remus Lupin at his cozy little shack.

Moon's son, sleep; close your eyes.
Dreams are deep, and Lethe is wide.
Grief will keep. The sun will rise
On what I reap, with you inside...

He'd placed Lupin's (so soundly sleeping) body inside his humble home-- not out of any gentleness, but because he was less likely to be seen, and less likely to come to harm, in this way. Killing the pup would only bring him back.

Hiding Lupin's location on the tablet was as easy as hiding his own had been. What charming, charming toys their captors left them with!

And now, well... now it's time to have fun.

[OOC: Remus's sleep written with Jemi's permission-- let me know if anything here doesn't work for you, Jemi! <3

If you want your char and Etrigan to have some sort of encounter (any sort of encounter!), just tag in with where your char is and what is going on with them, and we will get some SHENANIGANS GOING. These threads can be assumed to happen over a several day period. Etrigan will be trollin' before getting into outright fighting, most likely!

theextras

It's hard to believe that only a few weeks ago the city was deep in bone-chilling snow. The city is in the grips of a pleasant spring: warm days, cool nights, crisp winds and all the flowers blooming. The trees boast tender green leaves and the sky is bright blue with puffy, fast-moving clouds.

Since the collapse of the ~~Matterhorn~~ Ice Queen's Lair, the northern section of the city has been shrouded in the same gray, impenetrable fog that had originally obscured the zone.

Today it is blown away by the stiff spring wind. The land to the north of the bridge is hills rising to mountains, forested, filled with clear lakes and rushing streams.

Near the bridge, there is a cabin that serves as a trading post, and is the only immediately visible structure or sign of human habitation.

The leather-faced Extra inside the crammed store is happy to sell you gold-panning equipment, backpacks, tents, fishing or trapping gear... he might even, maybe, have a huntin' rifle available. If you ask nice.

He also warns of bear in the high country, of caves he calls 'Indian burial grounds!' with spooky paintings on the walls, and says that sure enough, there's one of them wendy-gos around somewhere, yessir. You know. One of them Bigfoot things. Still, it's the best time of year to see the high country, wildflowers bloomin' an' all.

Y'all be careful goin' in now.

skinandbone

This is completely terrifying.

Somewhere at the outskirt of the Market, Metody has rented a stall with the last of her money and some very fast talking. She sits at the front of it, giving the world a tense, edgy smile.

She is not wearing her environmental suit, and that is completely terrifying. Appearances matter and no one looks friendly in a black space suit, and so it is stashed under the tablecloth. In it's place, Metody is wearing her impression of business dress: Electric pink jeans, a green blouse, a blue net scarf and a blazingly purple jacket. She's done something complicated with a pink ribbon to one arm, and there's a band of carved ivory flowers holding back her hair, and okay, it's maybe not the most staid of outfits, but the jacket means it's professional, right? And so does the scarf.

Her wares are displayed as attractively as she could manage: on one side, delicate carvings of bone - little boxes with geometrical or botanical themes, long strands of interlocking beads, flowers with petals so thin that light shines through them, intricate ivory hair ornaments. On the other side is meat of the operation, ha ha: purplish venison steaks and what looks at first glance to be chicken thighs and cutlets, but is actually rabbit. She's even got a(n ivory) plate of samples with frilly toothpicks sticking out of them, and neatly hand printed recipe cards.

There is paper and string to package up the meat, and little boxes for the jewelry and carvings, and if no one buys anything, she is facing a long walk home followed by another meal of yet more freaking venison and rabbit.

She might just try eating grass and rocks instead. Or she'll try staring at the crowd and willing them into purchasing.

C'mon. C'mooooooooon.

aintnoconvict

So something weird is happening in the square today: at the center is dome about thirty feet in diameter and thus fifteen feet tall at its highest. At the very edges of the dome is a faint shimmer, and within that shimmer is a three-dimensional landscape, perfectly life-sized and absolutely life-like. The scene changes from a convenient snow bank to the icy plain in front of a mountain fortress to within the fortress itself. As the action moves into the caves and caverns the vague shimmer expands accordingly, assrted individuals come and go from within the dome, but always at the dead center is a figure dressed in a bulky suit, wielding a crowbar.

Until the crowbar gets smashed to bits along with the crystal, and then there is yelling and rushing and bone-things and then the loop begins anew.

A small crowd of Extras has gathered to oooh and awww, gasp at the peril, applaud when an orc gets disabled with extreme prejudice. They filter in and out like tourists watching a street performance, but one person remains.

Yes, it's Glitch. Yes, he is studying the footage, circling the dome with an impassive expression and making notes. He's mostly not watching himself, but still looks up at the sound of his own voice: ""I'll take Squatty and break for the entrance. Off we go!"

A grimace. "...Squatty? Seriously? What was I thinking?"

threelivesdown

After rescuing her tablet from being a cat toy again, Selina appears to anyone who is paying attention. She looks a little like she's just rolled out of bed, her hair is spiking up in a number of different angles. "Hey, so now that we've survived the attack of the evil ice bitch, wasn't there talk of a party or something? I could really use a party."

Isis leaps up onto her shoulder and peers down at the tablet from there, not content to let the thing go.

taxonmods

When the crystal is broken and the witch's power defeated, the city seems for a moment to hold its breath. Then, somewhere, the first icicle snaps from its overhang, quivers in the air, then lands with a soft plop in the snowbank beneath it.

Followed by the entire accumulated snow on the roof that held it, in one giant FWUMP of powder that buries the witch's body completely.

After that, the sun begins to peek through the gray clouds, and everywhere the snow glitters and glistens, more and more wetly.

Within the space of a few hours, the snow has melted to nothing but patches on porches, a melting as unnatural as the original snowfall itself. The meltwater can be heard everywhere; dripping from eaves, turning the ground into mud, flowing through the city's sewers. Taxon children run outside after days of forced habitation, to enjoy the last bits of snow before it's gone.

The wind that blows through the city and spurs the tattered clouds to break further comes from the west, not the north, and smells of springtime and the sea.

bub_snikt

To some, a familiar voice and memorable face - albeit one they haven't even thought about for quite some time - crackles into view on their screens.

"What the flamin' hell is goin' on in?! Where the hell did all this snow come from? And where the hell are all the damn hatch-maker things?"

His face looks strained, as if he's recently awakened from a long, heavy sleep that was somehow not all that restful.

theextras

The snow has gone from a winter storm to something truly impressive. Ground-level doors are nearly buried in it; windows reveal walls of solid white pressing against the glass. Chimneys have iced over, and cars are buried in deep drifts.

The trams stopped running two days ago, with polite notes reading Temporarily Out of Service - We Apologize for Any Inconvenience affixed to the frozen doors.

Taxon is very quiet.

The Extras huddle indoors, and the streets are long white swathes of virgin snow. No car horns, no hum of traffic. The river is iced as well, and the edges of the shore boast chunks of white ice floating in the black water.

Near the Sanctuary, a water main has burst in the night, and the day's slight increase in temperature thawed it enough to erupt and flood a street. The buildings of that street are hung with sheets of icicles, gleaming like someone's idea of a Christmas decoration taken beyond all reason.

The wind blows from the north, and skirls the snow into further drifts and piles. If you listen-- if you listen very carefully-- you can hear the sound of voices on the wind, and howls that cut as keenly as the Arctic wind.

If you must go outside, Taxonians, breathe slowly and carefully-- for an incautious breath can freeze the very lining of your throat.

And at night...? Well, tonight the howls become more than distantly-imagined sounds: tonight, white shapes stalk Taxon's white streets-- wolves the size of ponies, whose eyes flicker with blue fire and who are hungry for warm meat.

theextras

It's the second day of the heavier snow. Taxon citizens are still moving about their business-- trudging through the deepening snow-- and Taxonian children are out on the white streets, school canceled for the day. Many of Taxon's broader streets have been turned into impromptu sledding areas, or battlegrounds for snowball wars.

At least at first. As the day carries on-- and the snow continues to fall, soft and silent, even the most exuberant of children begin to drift inside for hot cocoa and the chance to warm up.

The late afternoon sky is gray with clouds that promise no respite anytime soon. Sunlight seems a vague memory, and the white flakes continue to drift down... and down... and down.

aintnoconvict

"All right, I'll try and make this quick:"

Glitch? Getting to the point in a reasonable amount of time? Is it possible?

"For those who don't know me: my name's Glitch, I'm that guy who's been here since forever and kinda know the most about all the...stuff that goes on here. Sorta."

No, no it is not.

"Anyway, ah...I've been studying the lighthouse and found some peculiarities with the light-beam thingy which I wanna discuss with everyone. Or most of you, if you can make it. Plus there was that whole hanging out and having drinks thing which I mentioned before all the stuff north of the river happened-- hey we can talk about that too."

Yeah he is taking notes now, all frowny and confuzzled.

"Right! Unless you've got something drastic going on, let's meet at the Black Friar after sundown for the...sunlight-avoidant. First round of drinks is on me. See you later."

ooc: Gathering of the citizens! This is a mingle log so tag in, tag each other, frolic away. I will be adding a tag of Glitch discussing his Very Scientific Observations and there will e a Q&A to follow which I hope will e full of threadjacking. And here havesome pub details. Go go go!

untoldtale

Carved into the bar top is a small cartoon, though somewhat altered from the classic. The nose is pointy, and there's a cigarette held between two of the fingers. Carved next to it is the phrase Fitz was here.

Emma taps it idly, then finds herself tapping it in time "Tic Toc" since the Extra bachelorette party is playing it for the eighth time. She groans and reaches for her glass, only to discover it empty...just like her BankBuddy balance will be if she orders another one. For the past week she's lived on instant ramen noodles and corn flakes, and now she's waiting for midnight when her credits will re-up. The plan had been to spend the evening in quiet melancholy, drowning her helpless sorrows with the last of her funds: not the first time she's done so, unlikely to be the last, but--

"The party don't start 'til I walk in! Woooo!"

Screw it. "One more, please," she says and slides her glass to the bartender, who cheerfully agrees and starts to pour another beer. Eighty percent foam. Just like that last two. "No, wait, that's-- let me do it!" Emma gets up and moves behind the bar, shoving the Extra out of the way and dumping the foam in the sink. "You need to angle the glass, look."

She pours competently and sets her glass on top of the cartoon, and the balance indicator on her bracelet goes to zero with a sad beep. Great. As she moves away from the tap another Extra two stools down holds up their glass, asking for a real refill. Emma hesitates for a moment but does so, handing the drink over with a nod.

"Thanks, love," the lady says, smiling, and taps the bar. There's a ding from Emma's bracelet and she looks at it with a frown. Bal. 2, tip.

She only has a moment to boggle at this when-- "Wake up in the mornin' feelin' like P. Diddy"

"Oh hell no," she says, steps back around the bar and marches straight to the jukebox. She rips the plug from the wall and waves it at the feather boa-wearing, spray tanned group. "That's it, OUT! Find yourselves a club and a greasy Chip 'n Dale's guy to grind on, party's over."

The women glare but comply and she plugs the jukebox back in. As it resets she heads back to the bar where the poor bartender is getting yelled at and another Extra is asking her to pour their drink and before she knows it she's pulling beers and pouring whiskey.

Slowly, the credits roll in. Looks like someone's accidentally gotten themself a job.