Entries tagged with spike

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[location: his apartment. time: backdated just after the candy plot]

After 60-odd years, John should be getting older. And as he looks at himself in the mirror, he starts to wonder for the first time why the opposite seems to be true.

The second thing he notices is that he has no desire for a smoke.

The third thing he notices is that he feels naked. I mean, he is naked, but he feels it in a different way. There's no magic.

John has never felt so isolated--he had finally started to adjust to how magic worked in this world, but now it seems to be gone. Just up and poof, like it was never there.

If this isn't a plot by the Lords of Hell, then he doesn't know what else it could be. And for the first time in what seems like forever, John feels fear. Not afraid--he's felt that a lot over the years, but blanket, all-consuming fear, that he won't make it out of this one.

Such fear that he doesn't even notice that the tablet is turned on and set to holo-broadcast. Helloooooooo nurse!

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glittering dot, singing bangle, sparkling nose ring [location: all over!] backdated to Oct 10th

When dawn comes, it brings with it a morning of new opportunities: so Bagoas has learned well since a very young age. He rolls over in his bed - his bed, not a sugary monstrosity - and a bright, beaming grin spreads over his face. Nothing smells of caramel or rosewater (well, no more rosewater than he is perfectly used to), nothing sticks to him: he is of flesh and blood once more.

So he breathes deep, and stretches out onto his belly like a drowsy, sleepy puppy.

...or a dog.

...with a bone.

... ... ...

Eyes wide open, Bagoas, son of Artembares, son of Araxis, lies very, very still.

That is not something his body has ever done in his entire life. It bears investigation, though he can't help but wonder if this is another 'swap' thing - though he very vividly recalls not waking up in his own bed that time. On the other hand, what's to keep their captors from swapping people around in other ways than the purely metaphysical?

Five minutes later he's beaming at himself in the bathroom mirror, making ridiculous faces at what is very much his face, but not at all. He can see his father looking back, and his mother, in the sharp angle of his jaw, in his nose and the curve of his smile.

He is still himself. He is what he might have been, had his life continued on its first path, all those years ago: he is a man, with all that that entails.

Too bad this also means hardly any of his clothes fit - he mourns their loss, but makes do. His undergarments may be too short, but they are wide and spacious as per tradition, and with a few sweeps of colourful sari by way of too long arms around too long legs (perfectly long, muscular, dancer's legs) he has fashioned for himself a type of pant that hangs about the legs in a way that becomes of a modest enough man.

Then there's the question of kaftans, all of which he owns (not many of them in his wardrobe, but still) are frightfully tight across the shoulders and never so much as make it past his neck.

Another sari, then, wrapped around his torso and shoulders in the ways of the women of India. A pair of ear-hugging earrings, oiled hair and painted eyes, then he goes out into the cold October air (but when is it not cold, when one has grown up in the summers of Susa?).

He'll see the city, and his friends, from a new perspective. From a full five inches higher up: he is nearly as tall as his first King, or so he imagines.

The day is full of promises - even if he is not quite steady on his sandal'd feet. Not yet, but he shall be.

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So much doggrel

Suddenly, the lemon sun is high in the sky and all the cocoa-dusted shadows are short, so it must be noon. There is singing in the distance, but the songs never get too far. A few lines in, something interrupts, there's a scream and the singing stops. A moment later, it starts again in a different voice.

( So many bad rhymes )

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[Holo] [Arrival] Is there anybody out there?

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.

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[visual: all > location: Kelebek Hotel] Town Hall

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.]]

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04 [location: boardwalk by the beach; later: the dodgy jammer]

Make a hat, and get it to work...then I go home. At the time it had seemed crazy...mostly because it was explained to her at gunpoint. But if this works she's going to track Jefferson down, thank him, apologize for clocking him, and then maybe ask if he's ever heard of a place called Taxon.

The hat Emma's made isn't exactly stylish, sort of a misshapen bucket hat, but it fits on her head and as she'd sewn she'd thought of her family and Storybrooke's occasionally-blowing-up streets and the quaint waterfront. It's this last that inspires where she'll make her first attempt, and so she heads for the seaside.

It's a festive place with a boardwalk, midway games, souvenir shops and bars, umbrellas and lounge chairs. The lighthouse looms, the sun shines, the waves lap the beach, the Extras are all a bit more orange with their fake tans, and Emma marches across the planks. She's an incongruous figure, dressed in the outfit she arrived in, her (father's) sword slung across her back, gun at her hip, and a poorly-made bucket hat on her head.

She finds a quiet spot to crouch down and sets the hat top down on the boards. An Extra immediately drops a couple arcade tokens into it. Emma grits her teeth, pockets the tokens, and tries to remember what Regina had done. She take s a deep breath, grips the brim, and with a flick of her wrist tries to set the hat spinning.

Nothing happens. Nothing happens the next time either, or all the other attempts she makes through the day. Not on the boardwalk, not at the balloon pop, not in the arcade, not by the water gun game, not on the Ferris wheel. By mid afternoon she's got nothing to show for her troubles but a little sunburn, a grumpy mood, and a giant pink and orange rabbit plushie.

Disheartened, Emma makes her way to the Dodgy Jammer to open the pub for the night. She turns on the lights, puts the handles on the taps, takes the chairs from the tables, and turns the sign on the door from closed to open. On a whim she puts the rabbit on the stage and plops the hat on its head.

"It's a Mad March Hare Hatter," she remarks to herself and heads back to the bar, giving the back of Glitch's old chair a touch as she passes.

ooc: wow this was ramble-tacular. bother her anywhere through the day or evening!

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10 - Spare a little something for a man in need...? [Visual]

Spike appears on everyone's tablets. He's not wearing the jacket, since he's still trying to figure out how to fix it from the demon fight. It feels a little strange to be without it but he's still a fashionable man. The true difference, though, is that he looks almost a little bashful, perhaps nervous. It doesn't help that his movements aren't entirely correct and that he still seems injured.

"So, this most recent crisis has made me realize that I should probably ask for some help. While I've been here, I've been hunting deer in the forest for food," Spike pauses and glances down toward his feet for a few moments, "I'm not healing as I'm used to and I think it's the thin blood. I know that there's some official something or other but I haven't been paying it much mind."

He clears his throat and looks more directly at the tablet, pulling himself together, "So if anyone feels like donating once in awhile, I'd appreciate it." Uncertain how to go any further, he waves his hand vaguely in the air and turns off his the transmission.

Or at least he thinks he does. The tablet keeps broadcasting him for a little while longer, apparently making his way, hobbling, through Sanctuary.

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[Video] [Location: Birdhouse]

Paul's cleaned up the infirmary from wounded elf-boy. He's been to the plaza to see the damage, and he has, via a few questions, gotten a general idea of what the hell went down. Very general, but it's enough to give him a good old-fashioned Earth-style migraine.

He's had his eight cigarette of the morning by the time he decides to broadcast. It's not an impulse decision, despite the fact that many of Paul's decisions may seem such.

Visual floods. Paul's in the infirmary, which he has restored to order; and he looks very chipper.

"So, Taxon! In wake of the recent nasssstiness, it occurs to me I may have never properly introduced myself and my Chateau du Merde D'oiseau."

He waves a hand around. "This is our infirmary. We spent time here patching up Blondie when he got his arm ripped off the other day. It is a happy place full of morphine and other such goodies. It is the closest thing we in the city have to a functioning hospital, and you should know it's here. I am, arguably, your chief surgeon. Consign your souls to whatever you worship, regarding that.

"My home also has weapons, foodstuffs, and other emergency supplies. In case of crisis, it is rendezvous point numero uno. I apologize for the fact that this does not seem to have been information disseminated at large-- it's been a couple... months?" (more than that, Paul) "--since our last big Briefing meeting."

Deep breath. Paul considers his 9th cigarette, but he doesn't let himself smoke in the infirmary.

"With all of that said, does anyone here want to discuss the utter bug-nut clusterfuck of the last few days? Because God knows I really don't like trying to stabilize amputees if it can be fucking avoided, and it seems there is some bullshit that needs discussing in this city."

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10 Surely it must be drinking time now... [visual]

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.

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[Location] [Big Brawly Doom] ~nighttime~

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.

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[location- Sanctuary] [The day after Etrigan is summoned]

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. )

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003 [video] Once Upon A Dream (backdated to...sometime. let's say Tuesday)

...only it's not really a dream, is it? Emma sits up with a little gasp (and rolls her eyes because how cliche is that?), then looks around with a little frown.

"How..." Here? Still? It's massively disorienting since she's positive she'd just been home, with Henry and everyone and-- "What. The. Hell."

She paces her little studio apartment, arms folded as she thinks it through. The ogres, Hook, the beanstalk and the giant, Cora, getting back home and then leaving again to find Neal, she knows it all happened and yet somehow she's back here.

It makes no sense, and while she's sure nothing anyone tells her will make it make more sense she really doesn't have much choice. Emma decides reaching out to Glitch is her best option, and for her trouble gets a long spiel about occasional memory updates and how they're just one more bewildering aspect of the city. Aliens gonna alien. Great.

With that verification (such as it is) she realizes there's someone she definitely needs to get in touch with, only to immediately hit a snag.

"So has anyone heard from Jason?"

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[Location: The Market] Stalling out

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.

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[Everywhere.]

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.

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[~THE SOUND OF WIIIINTER~ shut up I'll riff on Bush if I want to]

The snow has stopped falling.

The air is bitterly cold, still as a grave. If you listen very quietly you can hear the accumulated snow settling, settling, a little denser, a little thicker.

The silence is pierced at noon by a ragged scream.

One of the Extras comes floundering through the deep snow down one of the central streets of Taxon, leaving a bright scarlet trail behind him. One bloody hand points back towards the ominous mountain.

"She's coming!" the man yells hoarsely, and collapses onto the virgin snow.

[OOC: Subthreads in the comments! Throw your characters wherever, whenever. A chaotic final huzzah to the Taxsicle plot, because organization somehow still eludes me.]

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[Holo] [Arrival] this is the first day of the rest of your life

[Maybe 20 minutes after Johannes eventually leaves the arrival room]

Another new arrival, as shown by the holographic image being broadcast to the tablets of everyone in Taxon, as usual. However, this man is lying on the floor of the arrival room, tangled up in a blanket, curled half-around a body pillow. He is snoring. And maybe drooling a little.

After twenty seconds or so, the chill of the hard metal floor starts to penetrate the sleeping man's consciousness. He grimaces, shifts around as if trying to get comfortable, and then slowly cracks an eye open.

"Whussat?"

Eyes squeezed shut, unshaven face squinching into a grimace. Man, what the hell... 's cold, and hard, and this is not his bed, he's pretty sure he went to bed in his bed last night, and yeah, he was doing shots pretty heavily, but he's pretty sure he did not drink to the point of passing out on a sidewalk, or... He risks opening his eyes again.

Definitely not the Strip. Not anywhere he knows. Fuzzily, Jeremy Fischer sits up, blanket falling down around his waist, showing that he's not wearing a shirt. He is still clutching the body pillow to him like a protective talisman. The holo shows a man in his probable late thirties, extremely scruffy, with an enormous amount of untamed curly brown hair and a stocky body.

"Uh...." He looks around him at the steel walls, the weird thing overheard, the utter alienness of his current surroundings. He runs a hand over his face, through his shaggy curly hair, and scratches at his head.

"The fuck...?"

Then he starts laughing. "Okay. Nice. Good one, Charlie! Not sure how the hell you got me here without waking me up, but seriously, nice one. Lunch is on me. It might be our last, right?"

There's a few beats of silence. He shivers a little in the coldness of the room and pulls the blanket up over his shoulders, grin slowly fading.

"Charlie?"

***

Sometime later, Jeremy is outside. This is a problem, since he's wearing his underwear, socks, and a blanket wrapped around himself, and it's freaking cold.

"THIS IS BULLSHIT!" Jeremy hollers at anyone who might listen, trying to avoid the patches of snow on the sidewalk as he looks around the Bazaar for clothes.

Or shoes. Shoes at least would be a great fuckin' start.

eta to add in alternate run-in location of Jeremy at the Bazaar

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09][A single twist of fate - open to all]

Azkadellia awoke in the new apartment she had chosen to avoid without reason. The night was still dark and heavy overhead. She could see it through the window, midnight black and starlight. Staring unseeing, wide eyed at the ceiling, Azkadellia tried to bring herself back from that verge of a dream.

There were hints of light, the sound of metal against metal, and then something. Something sharp that seemed to tickle at her nose, leaving her confused and entirely uncertain as she kicked away the blankets with a rough growl.

Scrambling to sit up, to get out of the bed and away from the thoughts that left her so confused.

Instead she grabbed one of the long black skirts that had become the staple of her wardrobe. Pulling it on with a long sleeved tee in rich, dark blood red that she'd bought on the shopping trip with Glitch and Paul. Slipping her feet into her boots, she strode for the door. There was little think about what she was doing as she moved her hand, sweeping open the door and closing it softly in her wake.

Standing there on the doorstep, she inhaled the night air. Everything in her chest felt tight, too tight to breathe and yet there was something else there. She felt drawn tight, held together with wire and glass.

And she felt like Azkadellia. Not the witch that had taken her over for so many years. Not the girl that had been left in a cave with a witch and still managed to survive. She felt... more. Less maybe. She wasn't even sure. All she knew was, she felt one thing.

Lifting her hands, she felt the wind she drew up buffeting against her. Cool and strong and she smiled. Head tipping back, the first tiny drops of raining falling down and over her face. They weren't strong, more like mist than anything but she couldn't help it. She laughed. A bright, amused, utterly delighted sound.

She had no idea how long the feeling would last but for that moment, she felt strong. Fear still tried to catch hold of her, tried to take over her mind, yet she felt so strong in that moment.

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metody green,
spike

09 - Tha Savage Hunter [Visual - The Forest]

This is most certainly not a voluntary broadcast.

The trees flicker by as Spike moves at speed through the forest. There is occasionally a flicker of his face palely reflected by the moon. His face is ridged and feral as the tree branches whip past. Then, all at once, all of the movement stops, there isn't even rapid breathing to denote his effort.

The pause does not last long before he takes motion again - a leap and then a snarl.

A deer loses its life beneath his fangs. The blood, what little of it escapes, glistens blackly in the moonlight.

The transmission flickers out.

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[Honey, I Shrunk the City] Backdated to January 1

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.

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Dance Dance Revolution | End of Glitch [Location: Taxon High]

The stockings are hung by the chimney with care...! No, wait, sorry, wrong holiday.

Taxon High's gym has been converted to an impromptu ballroom and banqueting hall. One section of the floor is cleared for dancing, and a band is on the stage; another half of the gym has buffet tables lined with food and smaller tables for sitting and ~~gossiping~~ eating.

The gym's been done up in blue and silver tinsel everywhere, and blue and silver drapes! Big banners hang from the ceiling with HAPPY NEW YEAR emblazoned on them, and above the stage there's a large red clock with a countdown to the midnight hour in ticking red letters. A disco ball hangs on a pole nearby-- apparently, the hamsters have learned from the last new year, and have glitzed their ball up a bit.

Come and mingle, kids! The punch table is all decidedly non-alcoholic, but has that ever stopped kids from spiking it? Request a song. Dance your feet off. Kiss someone at the stroke of midnight, or whatever strikes your fancy.

It's the end of the world as you know it, Taxon.