taxonomites | Entries tagged with mick st. john

"What is that?" Emma whispers, staring at the purple smoke speeding through town from the forest.

Beside her is Henry, the boy who moments before had been dead (a thought which fills her with emotions she can't name or tolerate), the boy with all the answers. He's staring along with her and shakes his head. "Something bad."

Before she can ask what that means the smoke fills the window and her vision, and when she blinks it, Henry, and in fact the entire hospital are gone. Instead there's a circular metal room, some steps leading down to an opening doorway, a big machine thing, and a pedestal with a familiar sword and scabbard leaning against it.

"What. The. Hell." She reaches for the gun holstered under her jacket, remembers that a) the clip is empty and b) how useless it was last time she employed it, and strides over to pick up the sword instead. This doesn't look like any fairy tale she's heard of, but the past few days have taught her to prepare for anything. Awkwardly she pulls the scabbard's strap over her shoulder, trying not to think too much about her three awkward dates with Ken the LARPer from South Bend.

Though maybe she should have paid more attention to all his talk about the best way to kill an orc.

"All right, Regina, whatever you've done, whatever you've got planned--" She steps out of the doorway, then whirls back around as it seals itself up again. What now? Guards? Wolves? The flying salamanders of Zo?

"Who's there?" she calls and starts down the hall, reaching back to (again, awkwardly) draw the sword. She adjusts her grip until it feels right. "I swear to God if you've done anything to my son I'll shove this thing straight up your ass!"

Later she'll regret how cliche that is but now's not the time for creativity.

~*~

Sometime after getting the low-down...

theextras

As the sun rises on the first day of Taxon's new year, only a measly four months from its fourth anniversary, the artificial sun in the artificial sky shines down on...a Taxon of a different stripe altogether.

Gone is the massive city that took forever and a day to traverse: gone is the mall with all its nifty things you never knew you wanted, gone are...well, in actual fact a lot of the old city is still here. It is just...taken down to size.

At the heart of the city lies Central still, with its Sanctuary standing as proud as ever (though it seems to have undergone a facelift to match the new lighthouse in Speares); the district itself framed by the rivers Miskatonic and Buenaventura, which neatly divide the city into three sections: the northern, eastern and southern districts.

Waking up, people may notice a software update notif flashing brightly on their tablet screens. In so many words, it is an introduction to a brand new feature called BankBuddy, through which non-natives can transfer credits to each other as necessary. An apologetic post scriptum adds that unfortunately the replicator hatches are a thing of the past, so to speak, and shall not be implemented forthwith.

As for all the rest, well, there's only one thing to do. Go out into the city and explore.

theextras

Morning comes to Taxon like every other morning, but, as is sometimes the case, the city is ever so slightly different. It is the first day of the weekend, a small but well needed break from the monotonous frustrations of school. Come Monday school begins anew - all the better to make the most of the weekend. Hang at the mall, get up to no good, stock up on energy for the coming week. You might just need it.

[OOC note: Consider this a log post for all your High School plot needs, in and outside of school - just label your tags accordingly.]

personaldemon

The tablet kicks into life broadcasting, as often happens in Taxon, against its owner's wishes or knowledge. Jason Blood is at his kitchen table, with things spread on the table that are not food: a bottle of ink, rubbing alcohol, hand sanitizer, and a needle attached to a pencil with a copious quantity of thread.

His brows are drawn in concentration, his eyes focused on what he's doing; his expression is perhaps more dour than usual ~~although really, past a certain point anyone just looks like they're sulking~~, and his right shirt sleeve is rolled up to the elbow, baring a forearm that is encircled and marked with several tattoos.

Using his left hand, he's dipping his homemade needle apparatus into the bottle of India ink. Whatever other observations may be drawn from all this, it's clear that his left hand is not his dominant hand, which may go some distance towards explaining the Extra Dour look on his face.

theextras

As dawn breaks on Thanksgiving morning, one or two things are different about the Taxon we all know and love.

Most notably, the streets are positively littered with, yes, you guessed it, turkeys.

Live. Turkeys.

Also notable is the fancy, ginormous T-Rex skeleton on display right outside the Sanctuary. Isn't that a nice thing to greet the newcomers with? It's got a plaque and everything!

Even more notable, because all good things come in threes, or so the aliens have newly discovered: just in time for Thanksgiving dinner, all the tablets in the city light up with a cheerful, hamster shaped hologram. The hamster wears Appropriate Festive Gear.

"Happy Thanksgiving, citizens! Aren't you glad to be alive this time of year? Isn't Thanksgiving a wonderful holiday? Yes it is! Say it with me!"

Crickets may chirp, insults may be thrown in its face, but the happy hamster goes on. "In honor of the bond forged between the Puritans and their new found friends, the Indians*, you will all find a dream catcher by your bedside tonight. And remember the old Indian proverb, Never speak of another before you have walked two hundred miles in her moccasins. Isn't that nice?"

Look at its beady, beaming eyes full of holiday cheer. "When you go to sleep tonight, hang the dream catcher above your head and think of all the things you are grateful for. What have you learned from your neighbour's moccasins? Do they pinch? Dream yourself-- back to yourself.

"Make it a good one! Be thankful!"

And that, as they say, is that. The hologram blinks out of existence. Somewhere out there, in the dark, lamp lit streets, an Extra chases down the last of the turkeys.

All is quiet. Shh. Shh. All is well.

For now.

* It must be noted that the aliens have a) a poor grasp of history, and b) no idea what political correctness is.

infinitelystranger

A short while later -- maybe a little too short for the liking of some -- the Birdhouse receives a visit from one Sherlock Holmes. He hammers on the door of the innermost accessible door he can find, panting; it seems a little odd that he'd choose to show up and beg sanctuary without making a tablet call first, but, well, it's Sherlock, not everyone can surmise his motives on a normal day, much less this one. Over the cameras it's obvious he's flushed and panting from exertion (thanks to a rather merry dance he's led a pair of velociraptors, having taken the time to elude them rather than lead them back to the safehouse -- though he wouldn't own up to that in those words). He doesn't, however, look particularly frightened, aside from the usual air of social awkwardness.

Oh well, not hard to chalk that up to the man's usual borderline lunacy. He's still short-haired, too; but oddest of all, he looks like he's in a brighter mood than before.

Also his map dot's been switched on, it's wandering around in Pedestrian Plaza, and it's now labeled, ACTUALLY A TYRANNOSAURUS REX! STAY AWAY FROM ME!

"Agent Smecker!" he bellows in his new, boyish voice, pounding on the door again with the butt of what appears to be a fire axe. "Agent Smecker, open up!"

no_rose_tint

Scott’s marker comes back onto the map with as much pomp and circumstance as it vanished.

More strangely, his tablet doesn’t join him instantly to broadcast his misfortune. It appears nearby, resting on a tree stump out of the way, but whereas usually it delights in showcasing these moments, it remains quiet now, when perhaps he needs it most.

Five days is a long time where he’s been. He’s pale and drawn, deprived of sunlight and enough food and water. He has dark circles around his eyes, a mixture of exhaustion and bruising.

There’s no awareness of being moved again. He’s simply regaining consciousness and feeling grass and dirt rather than the metal and stone of where he’s been held, a deep ache in his head and uncomfortable pressure in his eyes.

Slowly, he reaches up, feeling over his face and flinching as his fingers poke sore skin and no visor. He has to risk it anyway, bringing his hands to his face, fingers white knuckle laced as he flickers his eyes open.

Nothing.

No light. Not in or out. No warmth over his hands.

He opens them again, fully, but nothing reaches outwards. Nothing explodes, nothing is rent apart.

Everything is dark.

He can’t see.

He snaps his head up, eyes wide and unseeing, a solid, lightless red covering them from side to side.

loveawkward

Entrances had been made. The people of Taxon, some of them at least, had arrived. As the sun was setting and casting the room into shadows, the lights began to come up. Twinkling white lights on the balcony around the pool, mood lighting throughout the room to separate the loft into differing areas for different events. Light music played throughout the main room, though at poolside was a section set aside for dancing as well.

Pausing to overlook the affair, for a moment, Josef felt like he was still back home.

Well, minus the bevy of beautiful women offering up a vein at the snap of his fingers. He was still getting used to that loss, which hurt more keenly than most.

((ooc: Come one, come all. Feel free to set up your own posts or use the starter areas. Josef's place is a massive loft, with three separate rooms including a bedroom with an oversized freezer in it. There is also a rooftop pool area with a wide wall overlooking part of the city.))

ownlittleprison

Standing on top of the highest building in Wilde, looking out over the lake, Mick's been standing like this for hours. Down below, the Extras move around like ants, those many and varied automatons on the graveyard shift. The wind blows gently, still warm despite the darkness. In some ways, it doesn't feel too different from LA. If he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend he's back there. It almost sounds the same, almost feels the same under his feet, almost lives and breathes the way a real city would. There's just one thing that shatters the illusion, even this far up with his eyes closed, both feet firmly planted on the corner of the ledge - just one little tiny thing.

It smells different.

I close my eyes and breathe in, and all I get is static. Unless I happen to cross someone's path, one of the real one's paths, it's all white noise. Extras go about their Extra lives, and every now and then you get cameo appearances by people you once knew a lifetime ago.

He sends out a text, as per his usual hiding the fact he's never really out and about these days. One text in the middle of the night can't be too bad. Not with all the insomniacs stuck here with him. ...right?

Don't know if it's just me, but my head's still ringing from the last hamster dance. Kind of makes you wonder what's next, huh?

The last thing I remember from before the Arrival room, really remember, vivid like a scent flashback... is Beth. Being kissed, out of the blue, for no apparent reason, and feeling for the first time like maybe we could make it work.

Whatever 'it' was.

If she didn't have a boyfriend.

If she wasn't too stubborn and hard-headed and reckless, if I wasn't 85 going on 90, a war veteran and a wife killer and a creepy stalker...oh, and a bloodsucking leech with a human face.

You know. The little things that get in the way.

She was right about one thing, though. We make a good team.

I just know I don't make a good lone wolf - not here, where up until a month ago there was no crime, no puzzles to solve, no cases. And now that there is a case? A burglar case, what do I do?

Nothing.

That's got to change.

no_rose_tint

The first picture shows rocks.

( Rock climbing for the family )

personaldemon

Does anyone know if transfer of credits can be accomplished from one person to another, here? So far all I have managed is using them at the stores or with the hatches, and as it happens this 'allowance' they give us isn't really adequate.

Where I was from, I offered my services in a consulting capacity, but if I cannot get payment for such here, then that isn't incredibly practical.

....on a similar note, if anybody wishes their tarot read, it appears I'm doing this for free until I figure out a way to return an investment on the deck I just hatched.

If so, I'm at the version of the Café Procope that they have apparently stolen from Paris and transplanted here. It is in the Speares district. I may be found at one of the upstairs balcony tables.

theextras

The day of July fourth was spent dealing with annoying, static-ridden transmissions from the tablets. Hisses, bleeps, pops, and occasionally what might have been an indistinguishable voice saying something unintelligible. The interruptions ceased in the evening, and the city went back to being quiet and empty.

The fifth brought more of the same, but shortly after noon something curious happened: if one consulted the map, they'd note a dot out in the ocean. Zooming in on the dot showed that it was not one but many dots, each with a familiar name attached, and observation would show that the dots were headed toward a never-before-used ferry terminal on the Osten waterfront.

Go meet your people, Taxon, and send them to get showers post haste!

ooc: The ferry terminal is a proper building so our vampires aren't in danger of going foom.

And that's that! Thanks everyone, this plot's been ridiculous fun, now back to your regularly scheduled hijinks.

aintnoconvict

Glitch is so very happy to be back on land where he's 100% less useless. Sure it's not the city (or home) but it's better than being on that miserable boat.

( In which Glitch fights with a hatch. )

( [text] ATTN: Everyone! )

That done, he heads back into the jungle for his daily swim. The island is fortunately riddled with cenotes to provide drinking water and places to cool off without getting saltwater sticky. Glitch has found a favorite with a good mix of shade and sun, water crystal clear and deep enough for diving, and just secluded enough that he can get away with skinny dipping.

That last bit is likely inaccurate.

OOC: Oh hey it's another huge note! WELCOME TO THE ISLAND enjoy your naked headcase. He will be out there every day, so go bug him or join in and fret not about continuity. Or bump into him anywhere, godmoding of that nature is go. TABLET FOLKS: there is going to be so much handwaving with this plot I can't even tell you. To the point of "let's congratulate ourselves on how awesome our geniuses and electric lady are" and moving on with end results.

This post can also be used as a log post for non-Glitch related hijinks like setting up shelters, building rafts, and other mingling.
DETAILS ON THE TEMPLE: Think Temple of Doom meets Legends of the Hidden Temple meets The Mummy. There are 100% godmodey deathtraps, the nature and degree of dangerousness is totally up to you. There are also treasures...also godmodey, but a chest stuffed with toiletries is definitely in there somewhere.

DID GLITCH HEAR DRUMMING: Yes. Yes he did, and your folks may have too. ~Details to come~.

skysung

Kitten kept most of her food on the bottom shelves of the fridge for ease of access, considering her size. That left the top free for blood. The dragon scolded Josef if he ever worried about keeping his food in his own fridge.

Today, though, something was in her shelves that she did not remember buying. The box was a little awkward to remove with her front legs or her mouth, but Kitten sniffed at it, sorting the scents of its ingredients out from other items in the fridge. Sugar, vanilla, cream, egg, flour, chocolate, strawberries... cake! Josef had bought her cake. The dragon whistled in delight and carefully used a spell to lift the cake out of the fridge and toward her. She pushed its box across the floor and lifted it up onto the table with the same spell. Then she went looking for Josef.

Her birthday had passed, a month ago today, and when she told him about it, she did mention that she'd already eaten cake. But still, Josef went to the trouble of getting her one. It smelled delicious.

She went to his door and chirped, tapping a single silver claw against it. Notice given, Kitten paid no further heed to manners. She whistled the door open. At least he had a little bit of a warning. Not enough of one, though, to hide whatever he was writing. Kitten took a couple steps into the room, very briefly distracted from her cake. She whistled a question, a trill that rose in pitch at the end and was by now very familiar to Josef, as she gestured toward his correspondence.

apackofone

"Hello everyone."

For once, Remus is intentionally broadcasting. He looks worn and sad and weary. "I understand that we're all in this together, in a way, trapped in this city. But I have a request to all of you, one that I can only earnestly hope will be respected.

"Please, I don't want anyone coming here anymore. I would like to be left alone here at the cottage. I live so far out for the solitude and I would like to have that." He closes his eyes, inhaling slowly and then opening them again on the exhale. "Thank you. I know you'll all understand and I'm sure you'll respect my need for my solitude. I am still available for help as needed, just call if you have need."

And he closes the transmission.

buffy_slayer

Finally.

FINALLY.

Now here's something that she could do, that she was useful for. She's good at the Rescuing and Saving business, so the faster she gets there, the faster...

Something snags in her hair, tugging a bit before letting go. Like a tree branch? Buffy brushes at her hair, but there's nothing there.

There's a whoosh, and a screech, and this time claws snag and tug harder before letting go again.

"What the..." Buffy looks up to see a winged form flapping away, drawing away a distance before wheeling around for another pass.

[ooc: this is initially for Mick and Buffy to have a Moment together, in which Our Heroine Discovers That Not All Is As It Seems, and Falls Back on her Usual Plan of 'sticking a stake in problems'.]

apackofone

Remus paces restlessly around a small cottage room. There's little in the way of furniture visible, just an armchair and some curtains fluttering in the breeze, suggesting a garden outside beyond the open window.

The man shifts restlessly, clearly agitated and muttering to himself, throwing himself into the arm chair, getting up again to pace, tugging his hair with his hands. "It's getting too soon, too close, I can feel it, but even if I found a brewer, it's too late to start for this cycle. I should tell them, no, Remus, think, you can't tell them, they don't even seem to have magic here, explaining the details of being a Dark Creature isn't going to go over well. But I'm a danger. I know I'm a danger and I need them to stay away. I'm not near anyone, but someone might come looking for me, because they're all nice and thoughtful that way, buggeration, I can't think when it's so close!"

He throws himself into the armchair, glowering at the tablet. "And you, you horrible little thing. Why are you flashing at me? I don't know what you want, stop it."

He's clearly not quite himself. He also clearly has no idea that the tablet flashing means 'broadcast'.

angry_salad

The body has a hard time orienting when your center of gravity shifts from zero to--well, actual gravity. It's why the moment he's transported he squats down, eyes wide, holding a hand to the ground. It's not ground, it's a harsh metal, and Arthur doesn't even so much as breathe for a moment as he tries to scan the area.

Had the dream shifted? He had been in the middle of combating Fischers' subconscious in a hotel corridor. This certainly wasn't a hotel corridor. This was something else...

"Ariadne." The word came out of his mouth but he knew it wasn't really true--Ariadne was good. Very good, even for someone who'd had minimal training. Certainly not stupid enough to turn this dream into a sci-fi adventure.

"Shit." It's clipped and Arthur remembers to breathe again, going on instincts. It's a job. It's still a job and he's holding the gun. He straightens, holding it up, scanning the area, checking for people. Nothing.

The gun gets tucked into the back of his suit pants, wishing he was still wearing his jacket instead of shrugging it off. It's an unconscious habit, but he rolls his sleeves up, loosens his tie. No projections, no need to worry about neatness. The pedestal before him is a perfect surface, and he strolls to it with purpose, brushing the phone-like device off of it and reaching into his pocket, pulling out a simple red die.

"C'mon," the annoyance is hidden by the fact that the phrase is underneath his breath, and he rolls it, staring at the outcome.

This isn't a dream.

No--it had to be. Someone, somewhere, had messed with his totem. Nothing looked like this in the outside world. It had to be a dream. And the PASIV? Where was that? Taking a deep breath, Arthur closes his eyes and pulls out the gun from the waistband of his pants, putting it to his temple, finger on the trigger.

He couldn't even remember how he'd gotten here.

Speak up now, citizens of Taxon, or Arthur's going hold the record for the shortest lifespan.

loveawkward

As with so many things in life it was a cliche but that didn't make it any less true. Not one of them had seen it coming. Security at Kostan's building was top notch with his own personal guards, the best in laser and alarm security, not to mention the ability of the guests to usually pick up on any sound or scent out of the ordinary. Bulletproof glass offered a twinkling view of the city below and the Pacific beyond, and none of the players had expected anything more challenging than good natured ribbing, and Josef's occasional threats that they still had to get out of the building with their winnings.

In truth only one of them would have the chance to get out of the room alive.

Two seconds before the grenade hit the floor, Josef heard the clink of metal on metal. Crying out warning, he made the sort of split second executive decisions that had kept him alive all these years. He dove not under the table but across the floor, jerking open the hatch on the tiny chamber he'd had installed without anyone's notice and slid his wiry form into the tight space even as the world around him erupted in flames. Instead of curling into a tight gap that was shielded by lead and fire retardant materials, Josef found himself standing atop a some sort of dais in a much more vast chamber than he should have been in.

"Tom? These aren't the specs I gave you," he said, voice raised a bit. "Code red? Uhmm, blue? Wait, that's a heart attack. Dammit, why did I let you talk me into code words and special..."

The words trailed off as Josef tilted his head back, staring up at the odd metallic device above him, hearing nothing but the sound of his own voice bouncing back to him for a moment. "What the..."

No fall, no moment that he'd thought he'd lost consciousness, but definitely a rabbit hole of some sort. Beneath the chamber he'd had installed was an office space with a low ceiling, just a bit below regulations to allow the space, but nothing like this.

"If this is purgatory, I feel cheated," he muttered, taking the steps with a quick gait to explore the space. "No hellfire. No red-skinned devils. I could have done with a Hurley babe making offers but not even that."

There was a lot of other things there wasn't either. No door. No windows. No button to call his captors. That was if there were captors, though Josef felt very much like a prisoner. The question was: to whom was he imprisoned?

Finding no exit, he turned his attention to table. A sidekick that seemed about three generations away from his own phone that was likely a smoldering mess of circuits and plastic on the table where he'd left it and...

Despite the lack of a beating heart, something in his chest tightened at the sight of the velvet pouch. Snatching it up, he shoved it in his pocket without looking within, feeling the shape of the metal heart he'd hidden away.

"I don't know what kind of game this is but, to sound like a movie villain, someone's going to pay so give it up. Whose head am I putting on a pike?"