whatseparates: (from shade to light)
[personal profile] whatseparates
[This time, Jack's video is very much intentional, and very much in contrast with his last. He's looking directly into the camera, though one eye is swollen half-shut, and the other is in the process of swelling, due to the fact that his nose is spectacularly broken, and blood is beginning to pool under the skin of his eye sockets. The lower half of his face is covered in blood, but that's nothing compared to his coated hands and sodden sleeves. There's evidence of wounds elsewhere on his body, bloody spots and a certain care in his breathing that suggests something the matter with his abdomen and ribs, but his hands and arms are mostly untouched; the blood there isn't his.

When he speaks, his voice is hoarse, rough. Talking isn't any easier for him than it's ever been, but he has something to say, and he's driven by rage.]

I wanted to tell you all something:

Don't fuck with me. Don't fuck with my people. You won't survive it. And I know you'll come back--but maybe you'll wish you didn't.

Locked to Sinclair )
whatseparates: (it's definitely something)
[personal profile] whatseparates
[Jack has left his communicator propped up on his pillow, which is the perfect position for it to switch on and catch him in the midst of...a somewhat odd activity.

He's standing with his back to the camera, nose about three inches from his floral wallpaper, with his fingertips placed very lightly against the surface. Every few seconds, he moves his hands, gliding his fingertips lightly to another spot and crooking his fingers slightly.

He tilts his head as if listening, then moves on. The whole process is very methodical, no spot untouched as he makes his way down the wall, and finally around the corner and on to the next.

What's he doing? Well, he recently had a conversation with a certain radio host, and he's curious about whether the mansion's walls are ticklish.

So far, he has not achieved any results.]
goodnightlisteners: (it's contract negotiation season!)
[personal profile] goodnightlisteners
[What's this? A new voice on the network? Oh, and what a voice it is. One might even call it smooth, if not also sonorous. It's a male voice, and whoever he is, he doesn't sound all that frightened or surprised.]

...Helllloooo? Night Vale? I don’t know if you can hear me...I seem to have slipped out of time and space again. This time, however, my surroundings are--actually quite pleasant! I am in a large room that looks a bit like an upscale hotel room. Possibly a Marriot? There is a bed and other appropriate furniture, as well as a closet and full length mirror on one wall. There is a door...I can only assume it leads to the rest of the hotel.

If this even is a hotel.

[There's a shuffling sound of feet on carpet.] There is also a window. I am moving over to it now...perhaps I can get the lay of the land from here. Let’s see. There are trees…and beyond that is...oh...oh my. It couldn't be. Listeners...you’re not going to believe this...I can see the ocean from here! Oh, dear listeners...I think it’s safe to say that...I’m not in Night Vale anymore.
claimyourself: (annoyed ☽ i misunderstand)
[personal profile] claimyourself
[An irritated teenage girl stares out of the screen with green and gold eyes. She's sitting in one of the tea rooms, one hand crumbling a scone nervously in front of her propped up communicator.]

So we're trapped here.

[Her eyes lift to gaze around the room, though she doesn't look very awed at the location. It's not that different from home, right down to the tables that magically refill with food and drink.]

It'd probably be stupid to say that I have to get home so will the Queen or whoever's in charge please let me go? Right. Like that'll happen. Everyone else probably has important stuff to get back to, don't you?

[She sets her chin in her hand, looking thoughtful.]

I don't suppose anyone knows of a guy named Ethan? He's seventeen, really tall, has brown hair that falls down into his eyes.

[There's more she could say about him, but that would lead her to start gushing and she knows no one wants to hear that.]

Anyway, if we can't get home, what are we supposed to do here all day? What's our purpose being here? Why do we-- I don't--

[She stops, shaking her head.]

Sorry. This just really sucks and I'm trying not to freak out here. But, one more question: if we all just get picked up from our homes and dropped here, is that some form of magic?

[Really, she's just curious what others think of magic since she's used to hiding hers. But if it's a well-known fact in this place, maybe she won't have to hide it anymore.]
aslandish: (Sunlight)
[personal profile] aslandish
[ The video opens in darkness, the only sound to be heard the gentle movement of waves lapping against the shore. However, the very moment a tinge of light begins to creep over the horizon, a Voice begins to sing.

It is a Song the likes of which few have ever heard before. It rises as the light grows stronger, swelling with the tide and soaring as a bird may fly. It resonates in the air as well as the earth, a happy sound that could make even the most solemn of men dance to its melody.

The brightness of the morning spills over the waves, glistening with the newness of day. The Song crescendos finally as the sun peaks in the sky, only to diminish and fade into the sounds of the sea.

A few moments pass before the Singer finally appears. Great paws, golden and velveted all, appear first as he steps into view. A large, shaggy lion pads silently to the water edge, the breeze rustling its mane.

He stands there for a little while before turning and walking down the beach. ]

[ ooc: Please have a look at Aslan's PERMISSIONS POST before tagging! Aslan will be wandering around the beach as well as the outside part of the grounds all day. Feel free to run into him! He will respond to this video as well. Also, if you think your character might be able to detect/discern Aslan's true nature, feel free to have them do so! ]
ribboning: (how quickly the glamor fades)
[personal profile] ribboning
[ The device is shaking when the feed begins, and it's evident that its holder is, too. There are a few flashes of the outside of the mansion, the front doors, and then the frightened visage of a young girl appears over the network, her eyes bright with tears, her face unusually pale. Evidently, she's in a state. ]

[ hic ] I-I... I don't know what's happening... [ She swallows with some difficulty, clutching the device so that it's very close to her, as if letting it go might break. ] I don't know if anyone can hear me, but...

[ She gulps. And then shuts her eyes very tight, trying to send out one telepathtic message to the intended recipient-- Sayaka-chan? Kyuubey? Before she opens them again, sniffling briefly. ]

Something... Something horrible's happened, I have to... I have to help Mami-san! Please...
nascensibility: this one is my favourite (Default)
[personal profile] nascensibility
I've, ah-

[Give the camera a moment to steady, just so Evelyn can set it up properly. It took her a bloody long time to figure out how to make her missives private or 'locked,' as it were, so she's happy to finally be able to use this skill.]

...I've been doing some research lately- [Which shouldn't be surprising to anyone who knows her.] -and I've been wondering:

[A beat.]

Does anyone know anything about plasmids?
occlumencing: ({ 017)
[personal profile] occlumencing
[ this is one severus snape finally turning on his journal. he's been here for a few days and gathered a few things about this place, namely that avoiding everyone for a few days was a very good idea. no one saw his shadow, thank merlin. now that he's taken a little time to get acquainted with this... place, he's a little more willing to address the insane ones here.


his voice is as deadpan as normal when he speaks, his eyes not betraying his thoughts in any way. in fact, his eyes may appear a little dead, devoid of emotion almost entirely. ]

As it would seem I am hardly the first arrival here, and not likely the last, I will avoid asking needlessly stupid questions. [ yes, he's looking at some of you fellow newbies. ] Instead, I'm curious about the enchantments binding this manor. [ because there has to be something and he's fairly certain it would have made dear filius flitwick fall off his stack of books again if he saw it. ] Rather than asking where we all are, I would have thought the intelligent question would be "How did we get here?" I wasn't aware that the place I was in last could be infiltrated in such a way as this. Congratulations. [ whoever you are.

he might sound slightly impressed. slightly. maybe. if you squint. ]
worldentire: (Default)
[personal profile] worldentire
[ the voice message is quick, but he sounds tired and run-down and just a bit cranky. ]

Is there any chance anyone's found a way t'keep these damn creatures from makin' noise? Mine's not exactly the best conversationalist. I'll take a wild guess of "no", but. Better t'ask than assume in this particular situation.

[ the message ends abruptly once some odd noise in the background kicks up. it sounds almost like whale song.. ]
strongeralone: (single mantear; sad)
[personal profile] strongeralone
[The sounds of a room getting violently trashed echo across the corridor of the  fifth floor. John doesn't have too much in his room, but everything that's there MUST SUFFER. 

Because that goddamn thing just won't.shut.up, and even worse - it won't die. He's been cooped up in his room since it emerged, terrified of the prospect of anyone hearing what that thing has to  say, terrified by the sight of those yellow eyes looking calmly back at him from his own face.

The last time his eyes gleamed yellow, his sons almost died. 

And as if things weren't bad enough, the device that's landed somewhat safely on his bed decides that the world needs to be privy to his meltdown, and it needs to see it in full video. From its angle, it catches two sets of legs with some of the torso, identically clad. One is moving almost frantically, and hurls a nightstand against the other; a nightstand that just bounces back and smashes against the wall, as words are continually spoken in an irritating calmness.]

She'll never love you, you know. Neither will they. Nobody loves a broken man, he only gets just enough pets to keep him calm, like an old mutt who won't stop pissing on the carpet.

I told you - 

And one of these days, they're gonna get damn tired of cleanin' that mess up, 

to shut the hell up already!  [a chair goes the same way as the nightstand]

 you know they will. And you know what happens to an old dog who outlives his use. The only decent thing left for you to do is save th- 

[A lamp is thrown and crashes into the device when it boomerangs off the shadow, crashing it to the floor and cutting the feed.

Outside room 112, noises can still be heard.]

justdewitt: (HUH)
[personal profile] justdewitt

[Booker DeWitt is a simple man with simple needs, but like any other man he gets bored. Tires of the same-old, same-old. Makes a conscious decision to hypnotize the doves fluttering around in the garden so that they run into each other.

Of course, you might be wondering how he's accomplishing such a thing, why, by the same means with which he sets a particularly lurid flower on fire.

With his bare hand.

Like we said, he's a simple man.
donttestme: (Long Falling)
[personal profile] donttestme
[Some of you may remember the last time Chell was jumping off the roof. That time, she was just doing it for the feeling of flying, of weightlessness, finding comfort in the familiar instead of interest in the unknown.

Her motives are a little different this time.

There are thick patches of colour littering the roof of the mansion and the grounds - it looks like paint, feels damp like gel, and acts like neither.

The blue stuff bounces, and Chell can be seen dropping things from the roof onto them, and watching to see which of what she's selected bounces higher, and -- well, not longer. Repulsion gel can last for a very long time, and the trajectory for objects rarely stay straight up and down, unless they could somehow steer themselves, and Chell does not have time to see how long she will continue to bounce on gel. There are experiments to run, there is research to be done!

There's another kind of gel on the roof: It's orange, and - slippery, for lack of a better way to describe it. Anything that slides down it picks up speed. She's not sure if it the speed maxes out - it's hard to monitor while she's on the gel, and there's surely nowhere in wonderland with a long enough stretch of ground ha ha ha ha ha, you're not thinking with portals!

There are two white panels about twenty feet apart, both about as tall as your average door. There's a glowing blue hole on one and a glowing orange hole on the other, and a thick line of gel forms an orange road between them. It looks like it continues through, but that's just an optical trick - obviously, these are portals, and what you're seeing is sort of a loop between them. Right now, Chell's just sliding an edgeless safety cube through it, but volunteers are (for once), welcome..

And finally, later in the day, after an elaborate set up of a propulsion gel runway terminating in a repulsion gel ramp a possible augmented fling from wherever she's about to land to an angled white panel on the roof, you can witness Chell flying through the air and landing an impressive distance away from the mansion, unharmed. It's fun, sure, but more importantly she's finding out how far she can physics herself away from the building. For science, obviously. Because you never know when you'll need to do an elaborate flinging loop to get away from something.]

[[ooc: so uh, choose your own adventure! I'll throw down comments for each thing and then you, dear player, can pick which odd physics breaking gel you want to mess around with, OR have Chell drop in on you for a visit! :D NOTE She will also give you some of this stuff, but only while drunk on the curiosity of science, so now would be the time to ask for your own physics breaking gel/dietary aid!]]
theheartpart: (pic#6073244)
[personal profile] theheartpart
Captives of Wonderland, my shackled brethren, I have a question. Or ten.

Who are you?

No, really. Who the hell are you? All of you. I've been hearing some names — familiar names — and I find that very disconcerting. Which is saying something because we're all currently living in a storybook. Brigadoon doesn't have anything on this place.

So, I want to know more. Are you famous back home? Are your friends famous? What's everyone famous for?

I'm looking for some truly, truly worthwhile gossip here, so how about it? Is your neighbor actually Superman? I wanna know. Is the gal downstairs actually Barnabas Collins in drag? I wanna know. Give me your details and in return? Pie.

I've got a little bake "sale" going on outside if you're more comfortable sharing your friends' secrets in-person, so how about it?

And remember, campers, knowing is only half the battle.

[Come one, come all. Xander will take all your juicy gossip. Why? Because this is the best way to learn about people. Ask someone to describe themselves and they're going to describe what they feel is right, not necessarily what is right.]

[[OOC: Since there are so many opportunities for breaking the Fourth Wall here, please respect all players' wishes when it comes to canon puncturing and fourth walling. Also, if you don't want Xander to recognize your character, please note that when you tag in. He's pop culture savvy, but a few years behind current popular culture, so he wouldn't recognize characters from Supernatural, but he'd have no problem recognizing characters from Fullmetal Alchemist. And, as always, if you have questions, feel free to PM!]]

whatseparates: (are you a troubled one?)
[personal profile] whatseparates
[It's a bit of a delayed reaction; in fact, Jack's taken a couple of weeks to acknowledge what happened with the door, but he's here now--maskless and composed, if still a little shy--to demonstrate that he was in fact paying attention. And it hasn't escaped him that the event and its aftermath seem to have faded from the minds of the Mansion's inhabitants. People are introducing themselves to new arrivals, vague announcements hinting at events are being made, business as usual. But should business be as usual?]

Does anyone know what happened to the Red Queen?

How I see it...

The first two times that door opened, a monster came out. Just because this looks different, doesn't mean it is.


May. 16th, 2013 01:29 pm
alighthouse: (optimism)
[personal profile] alighthouse
[The video turns on and the screen features a plushie. He has a round head, a beard and mustache and curly hair. There's a wide brimmed hat on his head and black cloathing with white embroidery. A fake sword is attached to his stubby hand. This plushie bears a striking resemblence to Athos.]

Hello, Wonderland! I am a heroic musketeer! All for one and one for all!

[The plushie is lowered to reveal Elizabeth behind it grinning.]

Isn't it great? I got it out of the magic closet!

[She waggles the plushie's little sword at you.]

Don't try anything funny. I'm watching over you!
watchthedetective: (smileyface)
[personal profile] watchthedetective
[Life goes on, strange becomes the new normal, and Watson is too familiar with burnout to spend her every waking moment trying to solve an intractable mystery. She's made a promise to herself that, barring some major catastrophe, today is a day off.

So she takes a walk in the gardens, gets some tea from the kitchen, does a bit of reading. And, of course, talks to people as she comes across them.]

o1 // voice

May. 8th, 2013 02:11 pm
worldentire: (Default)
[personal profile] worldentire
I've spent a good few days now ruminatin' on my newest predicament, and it seems I'm not the only one confused on how t'go about the days now that they're presumably endless. I did a fair bit'a walkin', and let me tell you I'm not entirely shocked at what I saw.

[ he prefers voice, so one can hear his lighter clicking open and closed again and a deep, smoke-heavy sigh. ]

Now, I'm not one t'be blowin' my own horn, but it seems a fair amount'a y'all around here may or may not need some help, as far as the vendors down the way are concerned. What I've noticed from just a day or two of keepin' my eyes peeled is that many of you just don't know what t'look for as far as decent barterin' is involved for those items you really just cannot live without.

[ another long breath. ]

Now, if this is soundin' mighty familiar from some unfortunate happenstance you've found yourself in, feel free to call me here at this frequency and I'll talk you through all the basics you'll need t'know. I'm only aimin' t'teach those who really need the help, so you'd better prepare yourself to trade somethin' in return. If y'can't find somethin' for me, it's more than likely you're never gonna make it down with the vendors, so consider it a test.

Though, I'm more than willin' t'take a favor, if you're willin' t'help me out sometime in the future.

[ that sound you hear in his voice? that's a wicked grin. ]

Video | 001

May. 6th, 2013 08:02 pm
alighthouse: (blue eyes)
[personal profile] alighthouse
[The video turns on to show a young woman, age twenty and dressed in a white blouse and a long blue skirt, with stockings and black shoes reminiscent of the fashions of the early twentieth century. She has dark hair and blue eyes peering into the device.]

Oh.. it’s on! It’s working!

[She smiles with excitement.]

This is wonderful. Hello? Hello? Can you hear me? Mr. Dewitt? Mr. Dewitt? Are you there? Are you alright?

[Any friendly voice would be welcome.]

Is this real? Is this really real? I can hardly believe it! Where is this? It’s so bright and colorful! Are those flowers?

[The device is lowered out of sheer distraction so Elizabeth can bend down and stick her nose in a flower.]

It smells so good! I’ve never seen a flower like this before. I mean, I’ve seen flowers before but none that look like this. Not in any one of my books. And there’s so many of them!

Please, tell me everything you can! I can’t believe I’m actually outside!
lightgunhustler: (094)
[personal profile] lightgunhustler
[Jo looks unsure as she fiddles with the device’s video function, pressing her lips together before collecting herself and putting on her best resolve face, swallowing down that creeping feeling of uncertainty. Whatever this place is, it’s not what she’d first assumed – at least, she doesn’t think so. She’s positive she died, there’s no mistaking that, but she highly doubts that any afterlife would provide her with a gadget like this one. Which means that now she has questions – a lot of them.]


[Her voice is hoarse, but at least she’s not tasting blood when she talks anymore. A definite improvement over the position she was in less than an hour ago. Puzzling, sure, but an improvement nonetheless.]

I’m guessing there has to be someone out there who can hear me, right? They wouldn’t give me one of these things otherwise, I’m pretty sure, but… if there’s anyone out there who can answer some questions for me, I’d appreciate it. Feeling kind of disoriented. Is—

[She cuts herself off. Oh, this was going to sound all kinds of stupid, but she had to ask. She knows what happened to her. Maybe someone else out there is in the same boat.]

Is anyone else here dead?

[She wrinkles her nose even as she asks it.

Yep. Just like she thought. It sounded pretty ridiculous, asking outright like that. Well. Couldn’t be helped.]
freetobe: ([hurt] survivor)
[personal profile] freetobe
[Castiel has been experimenting since the last event ended. The resistance now has better ideas about what needs to be done, concrete plans and strategies to proceed further. It falls to him to see if he can force himself on the other side of the mirrors. For the last few days, he has cut into his arm to draw blood, drawn bloody sigils on his pristine white walls, and tried to banish himself through the mirror in his room. 

For the past few days all he has accomplished is hurling himself through the fabric of space. He's crash-landed in maze-hedges, been flung into trees, off the roof, into the water, through windows and onto gravel. Banishing sigils are used to fling angels away and keep them occupied for a while. It's more than unpleasant, draining on top, not to mention that Castiel finds out fairly quickly that he's not healing nearly as fast as he should. The wounds are still more of a nuisance than a proper threat to his wellbeing, but... well. 

It's on the Friday after the resistance meeting that he hits a figurative wall. 

He's tried everything - his own blood, Dean's blood (once), alterations to the sigil, broken mirror, intact mirror, sigil on the wall, sigil on the mirror, and it has yielded no result whatsoever. He's banished, alright, flung all over Wonderland, just never through to the other side. By Friday, he is exhausted, he's tired, and he wants to... he's not even sure. Castiel's eyelids feel heavy. He's scratched up, has dark circles beneath his eyes, his hands shake, and he feels lightheaded, which might also be because his last desperate attempt involved using a knife to cut the sigil into his own chest. That idea might have been a little on the desperate side. 

He admits defeat when he regains consciousness after skidding over gravel outside, in front of the Mansion. The feed clicks on to him struggling onto his feet, shirt hanging open with a lovely view of the cuts, eyes tired, but annoyed more than hurt.]

I require assistance. 

[And explanation for the failed mission won't be offered up via the network, of course. Castiel shuts the video down, but now before slumping back down with an annoyed grunt - little wobbly on his feet. That's sheer tiredness, though, not blood loss. He truly looks like someone who hasn't slept in days, which as most people in the Mansion would know should not be an issue for him. Except it is.]
thislevelofperfection: (Arms crossed)
[personal profile] thislevelofperfection
[You know what had been incredibly not helpful? 'waking up' in a market area with a bunch of vendors who wouldn't really talk to you. That was his first clue there was something wrong; vendors often never shut up if it was up to them. That and all the colors, definitely a stark difference to the steel, grunge, and electric glow of Cardiff.

It hadn't taken Jack long to find the tech that didn't belong and even less to figure out what it was for, but he looked around first. Never underestimate the usefulness of legwork. When he finally turns on the video function, he's in the garden, having seen enough to get the gist of the place. He's got his usual charming smile on his face, though it's not as bright as he might offer a total stranger he met on the street, being pulled away from people who need you will do that.]

Cross-dimensional pull: kinda makes your teeth tingle a bit, doesn't it? Very impressive how specific and seamless the job was. In most cases you end up on your back or with pieces of your previous surrounding coming with you, but not in this case. Kudos. Must take a lot of energy, though.

[He looks out at the gardens as if considering the handiwork of that as well.]

I don't know when I fell down the rabbit hole, Alice, but if I knew I was going to take my vacation in Wonderland, I would have brought some string.

[All joking aside,his smile drops a bit and his voice takes a more serious tone as his attention returns to the screen.]

Now, the only reason someone gives you a way to communicate when kidnapping you is because they want to talk to you, maybe gloat a bit and explain the stakes of the game while they're at it. So here I am. Who exactly am I dealing with here?
cerebrallydetached: (004  Neurotic to the bone)
[personal profile] cerebrallydetached
Someone thinks they have a sense of humour.

[Why does he have to be in Wonderland again? It’s not his Wonderland, but it’s still undeniably Wonderland so he hates it just as much. He hates Storybrooke, but he would even rather be there. The sheer loneliness and pain from having to watch his daughter from a distance is even better than this. At least there, there is hope. At least there he knows she’s safe.

He’s not always the friendliest of people, and he doesn’t even bother trying to be amicable now that his mood is much more horrid than it usually is. Despite this, he’s desperate and hoping that someone who sees his video feed will have answers for him.]

I’m looking for my daughter, Grace. Does anyone know if she is here? Please.

[Top ten things Jefferson is not 0k with. Guess where this entire thing rates?]
thinblueline: (Default)
[personal profile] thinblueline
 [It's taken a day and some to collect up everything necessary, but John Blake and Blaine Anderson had been tossing around the idea of a get-together for so long, it didn't feel like all that much work. As the day is coming to a close in Truffula Valley, they put on the finishing touches and convene near the decently sized fire.]

[There's music, there's food, there's even a place where people can secretly meet to discuss the finer aspects of revolution under the cover of near-darkness. If nothing else, it's a place where people can come together, enjoy some company, and just be together. Who could complain about that?]

[Blake sends a message.]

Party tonight. Everyone's invited!

[Thankfully, Blaine comes to the rescue with a few more details.

Camp Wonderland Who Party
Tonight @ Dusk
Food • Friends • Entertainment • Clues

Come dressed as your friends!

[That's right, everyone, it's your chance to dress up as anyone in Wonderland. Come with one costume or ten!]

[[OOC: Massive mingle post is a go! Feel free to check out the available headers, or make your own!]]
radiopalkiller: (um... bugger.)
[personal profile] radiopalkiller
[It starts with a series of accidental transmissions that are switched off the second the feed is discovered )]

[ It takes maybe two hours for the same face to appear on a screen again, this time voluntarily. He transmits from the bar on the fifth floor, sitting at one of the tables while a husky lies quietly at his feet.

His message to the mansion is brief.

I've got a bar and a dog and they both need a new owner. Any takers?
could_be_dangerous: (Default)
[personal profile] could_be_dangerous
[There are problems, and then there are problems. Case in point: Sherlock has been staring down at this mobile for three... no, two minutes and forty-seven, not that it matters; nothing has changed, and that, there it is: the problem. It's pristine. Nothing on it but his own fingerprints, a bit of dust, and that's a problem too.

This is not his mobile.

This room certainly isn't the one in which he'd fallen fitfully asleep last night, clothed on a grimy mattress in an unofficial lodging house. The place had smelled of mildew, unwashed bedclothes, of the smoke of cigarettes and plenty of other unsavoury things.

This room... this room is something else entirely, and this mobile too. Everything is just as bare. Untouched. Uncanny. It makes the hair at the nape of his neck stand on end, this... quietness.

He's looked himself over. No marks. No puncture wounds. Nothing, not even hidden by hair or hairline. It's not possible.

Three minutes. Nothing has changed. Nothing but a few breaths more, a few more minutes' worth of oxidation, inching closer to death, as though that matters, ha, as though it'll be any more intolerable than this. Less, really, less intolerable than this, certainly less intolerable than the endless stretch of endless days full of nothing but inanity, stimuli without purpose, the white noise of constant sensory bombardment with no thread to tie it together, dull days on the couch, smell of leather fabric cigarettes (faintly) Mrs. Hudson's perfume (from the hallway) third step on the way up always creaks and the floor isn't quite cool enough most days to be soothing to bare feet. Even silk chafes, the sound of the shower running makes him want to slam his head in a door until it stops, just stops, all of it st--

Sherlock presses his lips thin.

There comes from deep in his throat a noise of frustration, and the video feed is suddenly obscured by a large hand, sweeping the mobile across the desk on which it sits and depositing it into a pocket. There comes the sound, faintly muffled, of chair legs scraping across the floor, and the clatter as it falls. Then there are footsteps, a long stride, hurried, and the slamming of a door before the hand that's shoved back into the pocket where the mobile rests, cutting the feed as accidentally as it was commenced.

Sherlock takes to the hallways. Who has captured him be damned – he'll work that out as he makes his way out of here. There's no time for this. Too much to do. Too much that he needs to do so that he can go home.
whatseparates: (it's definitely something)
[personal profile] whatseparates
[Jack is lying on his back in the grass outside the Mansion, about ten yards from the wall, and facing it, watching the sky, left hand upraised. It's a strange posture, considering he's right out in the open where the falling creme cakes can get him.

But then it becomes clear: something vaguely resembling a twinkie plunges toward him with the velocity of a small rocket, and with a mere flick of his fingers, it's stopped, hovering in the air above his face. With another flick, it shoots off horizontally, and--splat!--hits the side of the Mansion.

He sits up slightly to survey his handiwork, and the communicator he's had resting on his stomach (just in case someone should call, because he's so big on conversation and all) moves with him, panning to a view of the wall. It's absolutely plastered with creme cakes. Jack has been doing this all day.

He lays back down just in time to catch the next creme cake.]
brass_balls: (ok but did you build her like a bathtub)
[personal profile] brass_balls
[ Without preamble, except for maybe the clearing of a throat, a rough old cockney voice starts to speak over the network. ]

Seems I've stumbled into a wing of Rapture I don't recognise. [ He sounds mildly perturbed by this fact, but shrugs it off. ] Thought by now I knew every inch of the girl, but I suppose them building crews've outpaced me at last.

[ Bill, that's not an audio diary you're talking into. Bill, no, Bill you cut that out right now. ]

Important part is, I'm lost. In Rapture! [ Low chuckle. That's not a sentence he thought he'd find himself saying. ] Still, I reckon I'll run into someone who knows their way sooner or later. And if it's whoever owns the place, I'll buy him a pint to make up for tresspassin'.

[ Would somebody kindly tell Bill that he's speaking live over the whole network? Or maybe you want to run into him in person. In that case he's in the mansion's basement, poking around for an exit, and smoking a cigarette that smells of fish. ]
rollickingly: (Chipper)
[personal profile] rollickingly
Well, it looks like it’s just you and me, glass rectangle!

[ The “glass rectangle’s” traveling companion, who appears to be some kind of bipedal feline, seems relatively unfazed by his new surroundings. In fact, it wouldn’t be hard to believe that he’d be whistling or humming to himself, had he not been pre-occupied by his constant chattering. ]

Really, what you did is truly remarkable, my quadrilateral traveling companion. I don’t know how you did it, but the only things I can be sure of are that I’ve somehow found myself trudging through an unfamiliar landscape, and you appeared in my pocket, so I have no choice but to assume that you are solely responsible! You wily shape!

[ The new owner of this communicator seems to have absolutely no idea what it is, but that doesn’t seem to stop him from talking to it as if it were a trusted friend. One can only assume he’d do the same with any other inanimate object that managed to make it into his possession. ]

At the very least, it’s a lovely day to stroll around aimlessly around an unfamiliar locale! And there’s plenty of, ah, grass and twigs and things for me to eat in desperation once I’m frantic and starving, so, there’s looking on the bright side, eh...?


Mar. 3rd, 2013 07:03 pm
donttestme: (Danger)
[personal profile] donttestme
[Chell is making an audio post. She's either experienced a great change of heart... Or it's an emergency.]

Is there a doctor in the mansion?

[Ah, yes, it's an emergency. Chell sounds -- alarmed? Worried? ... Desperate?]
libraritology: (Pride isn't necessarily a vice.)
[personal profile] libraritology

[Evie is wielding a lantern in the dimly-lit hospital kitchen, staring down into a bowl of what was supposed to be a breakfast porridge. It looked fine at first when she pulled it out of the cupboard, but within minutes the cereal sported little black specks and developed a bright green, fuzzy mold.]

I'm aware we're in the midst of an event as evidenced by the poorly equipped medical facilities, but I'm starting to think the Mansion's food stores have been contaminated by ergot, or...

[She nudges the bowl away and notices that the package of oats on a nearby shelf has...things growing out of it.]

...or something worse. Is anyone ill?


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