alltheways: (We shall be Queens together)
[personal profile] alltheways
[The Red Queen is in the garden, standing beside the new gazebo. She doesn't step inside--oh no--but she does run her hand over the wood, admiring the workmanship.]

Well, that did not go as expected. It seems that things have become quite threadbare, but never fear! Our dear Bill is back and he will put things right.

[She looks at the camera with a bright smile.]

For your patience and your long-suffering, I'm organizing a bit of a party. Come tomorrow, it will all be set up in the ballroom. There will even be special guests!

[She spreads her hands.]

I do hope you'll all come.
notthesecondworstfighter: ([Project] oh really? / you're ridiculous)
[personal profile] notthesecondworstfighter
[Still not having learned his lesson about showing his face, the feed starts and immediately gives its audience a view of a helmeted face. Despite all the questions he gets about it, he still doesn't even think about it before starting the video.]

So I'm sure this has been asked before. Probably a lot, actually. A lot of you might be sick of answering it, even, but I'm curious.

[That's a good way to start one of these things, right? Let everyone know they'll probably be bored by what's coming? That'll really draw people in.]

How long have you been here? And what's the longest someone's been here, if anyone knows? [His head tilts just slightly, giving him an inquisitive look. However, his voice flattens a little as he continues.] I'm just kind of looking for an idea of how long I'm going to be here. Though with this place, I'm betting the amount of time varies too much for any sort of pattern.

[He'll just huff over that for a minute because man, he'd love for there to be a pattern or some clear schedule to this sort of thing. He hates the disorder of it all so much.]


Mar. 13th, 2014 12:14 pm
donttestme: (Standalone)
[personal profile] donttestme
[She's on the roof. No mirrors up there, you see. Though this might not necessarily be something they could do anything about.

She's looking at the sky, but there's no dramatic pause for her to work up to what she's saying, or hesitation. She wouldn't have started recording if she wasn't certain she had something to say.]

If events are Wonderland "crashing" into other worlds...

What if you could "jump off" during one?

[The last event got her thinking, you could say.]
rues: ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ sᴛᴇᴀʟ (Default)
[personal profile] rues
[ alright, let's get one thing straight here: clarisse hates mazes. so, as luck would have it, she finds herself surrounded by bright green shrubbery in every direction and she is not happy about it. she doesn't even bother asking why she's here. she just gets straight to business and the feed roars to life. kind of literally, actually. the daughter of the war god is someone to be feared when she's angry and she's not going to take no for an answer on this one. ]

Alright, listen up, punks. I don't know where I am, nor do I care. But someone thought it'd be funny to stick me in this godsforsaken maze.

[ a beat. ]

Yeah. Well, guess what? I'm not laughing. And if someone doesn't get me out of here, I start trimming hedges and busting the head of whoever's bright idea this was. Got it?

[ she holds up her sword. her very, very lethal sword. she may not have her spear anymore, but she's just as good with a sword. and she knows she can't get out without help so this is her, er, "subtle" way of asking for backup. just don't expect her to thank you for it. ]

See this? You don't want me to have to use it.

[ she's about to cut the feed, when something else occurs to her. ]

Oh, and if anyone's seen a guy named Chris Rodriguez, you sure as hell better tell me or it's your head next.
becauseihaveto: (Default)
[personal profile] becauseihaveto
[When the camera cuts on, there's a young girl's face staring into it. There's a flash of the library behind her. Her gaze cuts swiftly off-screen, confirming that she's doing it right and the thing really is recording, before she looks back at her audience once more. She doesn't smile but doesn't look upset, either. She's very nearly emotionless, in fact, and far too still than any child should be.

When she speaks, her voice is soft and is curiously calm and collected rather than carrying the typical whine or panic that most twelve-year-old girls would likely have in this situation.]

I won't bother to ask where I'm at. [She took the time to scroll back on the network to figure that much out for herself.] And I won't ask if anyone is here that I might know. [If Owen were here, she'd have picked up his scent or he would have been posting himself, looking for her.] I just need to know if we're assigned rooms or if we just pick one ourselves.

[There's a brief pause, where most would likely draw a breath. She doesn't but does seem to debate on whether to ask something else. Finally she decides to just go for it.]

And if there's a medical area of some kind, I'd like [no, wrong word choice] I need to know about that, too. [Because medical areas have blood, right? She hopes so.

She also stops speaking at that point and waits for someone to respond. It doesn't really occur to her that people might seek her out face-to-face, but it wouldn't necessarily be unwelcome. She'll just be hanging out in the library, thumbing through the works of Shakespeare, waiting to find out how she's supposed to lay claim to a room so she can prepare it for the upcoming sunrise.]
heavensmostadorable: (fearful)
[personal profile] heavensmostadorable
way tl;dr arrival actionspam )

[The video feed clicks on, and for several moments the image jumps around and shakes, the one behind it pretty fuzzy on how it works and not exactly realizing that it's started recording. At least, not until his face comes into view after a few seconds. It's young in appearance, baffled, and...sort of completely covered in blood.

Hi there, Wonderland. Here's a little angel for you.]

Oh-- I wasn't aware that I...started this. [The image is still shaky, but it more or less keeps his face in frame. While also giving little glimpses at his unfortunately bright uniform shirt--those are red and white stripes staring at you all. A fast-food restaurant uniform, you bet.]

I'm not certain that anyone is receiving this, but I'm...not certain of much at this moment.  [He's pretty desperate at this point, and also kind of panicky. He's lost his angelic composure. In fact, every few moments, he glances up from the device to throw a look around, though he makes no mention of what it is that he's looking out for.] This place, I can't-- I can't tell where it is, nor can I make sense of why I have this device. But it would seem I don't have many options...

[Hence why he's turned to what appears to be his only one--a message out to anyone who might receive it. If anyone's kind enough to offer him some information, he would be greatly appreciative, even if he's a bit lost for words at the moment.]
nascensibility: this one is my favourite (I thought you might like it)
[personal profile] nascensibility
[Having somewhat recovered from the trauma of being murdered, Evelyn is acutely aware of the dearth of intellectual discourse in Wonderland outside of burgeoning conversations on everyone's respective pasts (for the sake of being better prepared when events choose to strike). It is for this reason that she has decided most avidly to endorse an activity she originally wanted to address in mid-February, but...

...well, the unmitigated carnage was a definite distraction from more trivial pursuits.

I'm looking to start a book club!

[she announces over the communications system cheerfully, looking in considerably higher spirits than she had been a near-month ago.]

We've got this positively marvelous library and a veritable mountain of fiction; I know we're all from different places and times, but- but that might make it all the more exciting, to see the sort of literature our worlds produce.

[A beat.]

...although I'm going to have to insist on ruling out The Great Gatsby as reading material, it's terribly un-progressive.

[Attached to her broadcast is a little missive that reads:]

Please feel free to send in any book recommendations!

A satisfactory hour will be agreed upon for meetings.
bottlearum: (We are a call to all)
[personal profile] bottlearum
[ Jack Sparrow is in the library.

However, he's not here looking for a book. No, he's here for a different kind of information, a kind that can't be found on the shelves of Wonderland's library. Spurred on by Tom's truly horrific event, as well as Mark's post earlier, Jack comes to you now, Wonderland, with a plea for knowledge. With a few sheets of loose-leaf paper and a pen in front of him, Jack solemnly turns to the network.

I've been thinkin'. These past few weeks ain't exactly been easy on anyone. And rightfully so. This past event was...

[ He looks down. He's not pitying, if anything, he's looks more sympathetic. He wasn't one of the victims, but he has been murdered before. You can thank Elizabeth Swann and Davy Jones for that one. ]

...well, I believe terrible is a suitable underestimation, eh? But! [ He holds out his index finger. ] If we're to prevent this from happenin' again, we've gotta be prepared, aye?

Knowing all there is to know about each other's world is helpful, yes, but it don't mean nothin' if we don't know what's comin' next.

Here's what I propose. [ Jack gestures with both of his hands as he speaks, waving them all about himself. ] If we can figure out who's already had events, and what those events were, we might be able to find a pattern and predict what's gonna happen next, especially if we've got information on everyone's worlds.

After all, it's easier to predict the future when you know the past. So, if anyone who's...

[ Jack picks up the pen beside him, about to write something on the sheets of paper in front of him. But, it's not the kind of pen he's used to writing with. There's a button at the end of it and, completely distracted from whatever he had been saying, Jack pushes it.

Click. The writable part of the pen pops out of the front.
] ... [ Jack pushes it again. Click.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Guess who just discovered clicky pens, Wonderland.

56: video

Feb. 27th, 2014 12:05 am
paper_knight: (endgame desk)
[personal profile] paper_knight
[Mark's filming himself again, in a quiet corner of the library. He makes an effort to look at the camera head-on--to project trustworthiness--but his tone is quite subdued, all the same.]


I--ah--I know this is coming a bit late to help with everything that's happened. I'm truly sorry about that. But I'd appreciate a minute or two of everyone's time, all the same.

We all know events--or crashes, I guess--draw on aspects of our memories, or our worlds. Often the worst of them. The network is a wonderful tool for warning people, if one of us recognizes something familiar, but sometimes people don't hear in time, or are cut off. So. A while back, Souji and I hit upon the idea of collecting everyone's speculations about what dangers we might bring with us from our worlds, and putting it somewhere everyone could access it.

[Adding it to the network database, say, or the notebooks, although he's not going to mention that publicly.]

For instance, I came here from an underwater ruin full of superhuman madmen. [He winces a little as he says it. It's been years now, and it still sounds crazy, especially in brief like that.] I'm currently recording everything I can remember of the place, and when I'm done I'll put the file on the network.

I'm happy to talk now, or anytime. But if you want to write something up and share it anonymously, I've got a low-tech solution here. [He gestures at a heavy metal lockbox sitting on the table beside him.]

You can leave whatever you want here, and I'll come back for it later. Or just slip it under my door. I'm in room three, second floor. And I promise not to trace you.

[He's picked up some momentum and confidence--projects have that effect on him--but here he falters again.]

At the moment I've got no way of knowing whether what winds up here is trustworthy. I'm all right with that--I'd rather have a mass of information with some flaws than nothing at all--but I'd welcome suggestions to...streamline this. If anyone has them.

Thanks, everyone. Please be safe.
no_nonsense: (Do you want to hear the end or not?)
[personal profile] no_nonsense
[Susan wasn't the sort of person who liked to make a fuss on the network. This was not to say that Susan didn't make a fuss about things, quite the opposite really, but she didn't like her fussing to be Public. In this one, singular instance, unfortunately, Susan's problem required a bit of touch.

She wasn't happy about it, the asking or the necessity, but there was nothing for it. A network post was required and, as such, a network post she would do. It was worth it, in the end, if it helped her solve her problem...and it was far faster than putting up posters.

For those of you who haven't had the (debatable) pleasure of meeting or speaking to the Duchess of Sto Helit, her appearance might seem a bit odd. Not more odd than sentient suits of armor, of course, but everything was relative. Today, as every day, Susan was clad in a prim, quasi-Edwardian outfit and had her hair pulled back into a tight, unforgiving bun. Unlike every day, however, she was making an effort to look pleasant.

It wasn't really working.]

Alright, now that the excruciating nonsense with the armor and Clicks is through, and everyone's back in their right body, I...require assistance.

[Right, pleasant. Susan put in the effort to smile and look worried. She did the latter far more effectively than the former.]

That is, I need help.

During the commotion, I seem to have lost my pet and I've been unable to locate him.

[Susan held up a notepad with a crudely drawn picture on it. Art was clearly not her strong suit.]

This is approximately what he looks like.

[That's odd. What sort of creature is that?]

He is smallish.

[Well, that looks like a black bow...but the rest of it looks like--]

His name is Rocky.

[A rock.]


[Yes, it was definitely a rock with a bow on.]


[Susan stared at the screen after that last bit of information and just remained silent, daring anyone to comment. If she was telling a joke, she had the best straight face that had ever been or was ever likely to be. A long moment passed and Susan continued.]

If anyone sees him, I would be grateful if they would let me know. He's rather quick when spooked, but responds to his name. He can be lured with bits of colored chalk and guitar music.

(OOC: Feel free to respond to this post as a network entity or with an action thread below. Susan will be wandering around, holding bits of colored chalk, calling for a pet rock. She will be nearly anywhere in the Mansion, so have at.)
paper_knight: (endgame desk)
[personal profile] paper_knight
On the second night of the event Mark is crouched against the far wall of his room, waiting for the midnight broadcast. He knows instinctively that this will lead to nothing good, but the promise of seeing Cindy again--even another blurry silhouette--has overridden good sense.

He watches the broadcast quietly at first, mesmerized by the clear picture. His heart knots--purely metaphorically--at how thin she is, at her dirty feet and yellow eyes, but it doesn't frighten him anymore. This is what he's permitted, he'll accept it gladly.

That's before the muttering starts, cracked, coaxing voices asking her to slow down, don't be selfish, share some ADAM sweetheart--Mark doesn't need to hear this. He surges to his feet and fumbles at the television controls to no avail, clenches armored fists and pounds on what should be flimsy wood and electronics but most definitely is not. The broadcast continues. Mark makes a strangled, animal noise.

Onscreen a twisted figure drops from the ceiling, something sharp and glinting in either hand. Cindy shrieks, starts to run; the screen goes dark, and immediately shatters, yanked from the wall and thrown to the ground.

The sounds Mark makes as he takes his room apart are audible a few doors down in any direction: splintering wood; crash of broken class; metallic thuds and clangs. It'll be worst for his downstairs neighbor, whose ceiling might suffer some structural damage before Mark gets ahold of himself.

When he's done he stalks out into the hallway, tall and broad enough in his makeshift armor to fill the space. He leaves his door open, hanging awkwardly from one hinge.The cameras catch him on his way outside, but he won't respond to network calls. In fact, beyond the unavoidable heavy footsteps, he's eerily quiet.

((Interested parties can intercept Mark in person or explore the open room after all the ruckus. Just specify for me in the response or subject line!))
screeee: (EEK)
[personal profile] screeee
[On the stairs between the third and second floor, there's a... Thing that might look familiar to some people. We're not talking about the slinky flip-flopping down the steps, or the pretty, if old-fashioned looking doll seated at the top of the stairs, but the lanky, armoured... person sitting with them.

Granted, they're probably more familiar with her screaming and growling and making a lot of noise down by the docks, and not... However she's like now. Her light doesn't seem as bright and as red, but that could be from her being in the nice, well-lit decor of the mansion instead of the beach at night. Her armour isn't even as rusty - though it's obviously worn in places and tarnished in others - with the cleanest spot being a little round medal with #3 engraved on it, recently bolted to her shoulder-guard. The needle is even absent! (But not the rest of the apparatus, or the other, smaller spear on the other wrist.)

And that's... all she's doing, watching her slinky go down the steps and then jumping down after it, picking it up, bounding back to the top of the stairs, and sending it down all again. The doll doesn't seem to be more than a spectator to this game.

Pretty harmless so far, even with the armour and reputation. Er- all the same, you might want to postpone whatever business you have on the second or third floor, if you don't want to get too close to her.]
thinblueline: ([±] lurky mclurkerton)
[personal profile] thinblueline
Unnecessary information about the man behind the curtain... )

[When no one is looking, signs appear in the hallways of the mansion. Anyone following the arrows on the hand-posted notices will find themselves in front of a typically empty room on the fourth floor and a door propped invitingly. Inside, every surface has been wrapped in festive paper. Against the wall, opposite the door, a single table sits in front of a trap door. On it, a sign reads:]

Secret Santa Gifts For All
(Just announce yourself.)

[[OOC Notes: This is an open post and an opportunity for any and all characters to receive a (seemingly) random gift from an anonymous Secret Santa. For this, characters can request up to three gifts!

So that all those interested in participating (here's hoping that's everyone in Wonderland) can be accommodated, threads will be short and limited to gift requests and receipts (unless by request, so feel free to PM). All efforts to uncover the identity of the mystery Santa will be met with resistance, but if you want to plot something out, PM me and we can discuss that, too! Have fun~]]
pig_and_pepper: ({ I make you a present... })
[personal profile] pig_and_pepper
[ On the conveniently pre-dated evening of December 24 the Duchess and her pig are busily dancing from stocking to stocking. Wonderland has yet to fill those with its magical gifts, and so the Duchess is ever so pleased to spread a little Christmas spirit in advance. In each stocking she places a thoughtful token to every single person in Wonderland, picked with love by her very own self. ]

Forgive and forget, 'tis what they say, but above all they say that those who, yes, those who do not have Christmas in their hearts, shall not find it under a root- tree! Tree. Those shall... not find it under a tree. But you- [ she spreads her arms open wide ] are all in my heart, my dearest, and so you shall find this wonderful day in your stocking. A very, very Merry Christmas to you all!

[ She smiles brightly, shoulders her pig, and begins to hum Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, cheerfully covering the cracks in the floor with sprigs of pine as she walks away. ]

[ And once you look into that stocking... ] )
crosscompiler: (x - Future - Neutral)
[personal profile] crosscompiler
The others have filled you in on the situation, so I'll make this brief.

[ Those who knew Chihiro in the present might be shocked by her calm and serious demeanor - not quite the shy and stuttering programmer they were used to. ]

In our time, the network has been down for years, but I still retained record of all of the publicly available conversations for posterity. I've encoded them all and left them here on a flash drive, in my room.

Our timelines are identical up until the moment we arrived here, in your present. The network posts from our timeline extend a couple of years after, so they are in your future. Because of this, I believe it's too dangerous to make them all freely available. I've declassified all posts relevant to our situation in the our time and what steps could have been taken to prevent it - steps that you will all be in a position to implement now.

I can make unrelated information about the future available upon request, but keep in mind that not only are these posts from an alternate timeline you will no longer experience, but that looking to access any posts pertaining to your personal lives will be distracting from the issue at hand.

The rest of the posts, I've placed behind heavy encryption. I'm confident that nobody but me will be able to crack it - if I am replaced by the version of myself from your time, she alone will have the ability to access them, and declassify them at her own discretion.

My apologies. This wasn't brief, after all.

I will be available by all channels if you have any questions or require any assistance. Fujisaki out.

[ The sign-off is a bit odd, but is probably normal for a post-apocalyptic resistance member. ]


Feel free to respond to this video post, or use this post to run into Chihiro about the mansion, send her text messages, etc.
nascensibility: this one is my favourite (hey those books you gave us)
[personal profile] nascensibility
[It certainly isn't as though Evelyn is ignoring the fact that several Wonderland residents have disappeared all of the sudden. In fact, it's particularly odd that a slew of them have all gone at once, could say she's a little jaded.

After all, she's seen people come and go for years - the fact that it's Christmastime only makes the Mansion look more cruel than it already is. They'll come back eventually. If they don't, well...

...then they don't.

That's all.

Having chosen to spend her time doing activities of a more festive nature (since they're bound to get something awful in the next week or two), Evelyn has set up a slew of supplies in one of the bedecked parlours, holiday music unfamiliar to her ears playing on the gramophone.

And what, pray tell, are these supposed supplies? Massive sheets of gingerbread, jars of nonpareils and cinnamon dots, icing tubes stuffed with crisp, white frosting. Evelyn is making a small-scale version of the temple of Philae, bless her, tiny hieroglyphs and all.

A little company wouldn't go amiss, though, hence her network-wide message:

Holidays can be difficult for people feeling homesick.

I've got a great deal of baked goods and music by some fellow named Bing Crosby, if anyone wishes to join me!

Second floor parlour.


NOTE -- Any mistletoe shenanigans that I planned with people might as well go in here, if people are amenable to that idea! :)
paper_knight: (jones beach)
[personal profile] paper_knight
At first there’s nothing but darkness and crashing waves. Then low, speaker-buzzing groaning. Too deep. Unsettling. Inhuman.

But this isn’t right, is it? This isn’t a person.

There’s a howl of static: a badly played theremin, a radio clumsily tuned. The pitch of the voice rises, grows hoarse and pained.


More tuning. The sufferer takes a deep breath--and promptly chokes on seawater.

There’s quite a lot of panicked and undignified splashing after that, during which the broadcasting device tumbles into the breakers.

The camera view eventually clears to reveal a gently swaying view of the night sky--and the sound of retching.

On the beach, Mark Meltzer sits stiffly back on his heels and wipes his mouth. He’s very cold and very wet, and there are some distressing blank spots in his immediate memory. But he remembers Cindy. She was right there, he’d held her--and she needed help, needed a cure that for all he knew might not exist. Everything else can wait--he’s got to find her.

He jerks to his feet and manages a few long, purposeful strides along the shoreline before he comes across the comm device, bobbing in the incoming tide. He blinks at it. Scoops it up.

“Oh.” Realization. One or two of those blank spots jar into focus. Anger, fear, loss. “Oh, no.”

He could--should--call for help, find out who’s still out there, how long he’s been gone, get back to work. Instead he folds slowly forwards, arms wrapped tight around his ribs, and starts to cry.
nascensibility: this one is my favourite (why won't you understand?)
[personal profile] nascensibility
Up-and-coming field correspondent and reporter Evie O'Connell has a question for you. More than one, actually. Probably two, or three. No, actually, the narration lied, she's got several pages' worth of inquiries to make and no, she won't stop knocking on your door or pestering your neighbours for information until she's got her answers.

...which is probably why she often finds herself tied to chairs on the edges of moats filled with piranhas, making dangerous enemies with the local mob, or having amusingly terse lunches with public officials (the last one, comparatively, isn't so bad). With this sort of nosy reputation, you might not be surprised to hear the following on the air:

"The situation is, as of yet, developing, but the self-professed 'Don' of the family is being brought up on
serious charges of money laundering and fraud after we located their central production storage facility-"

"Mr. Peters insists the cause of local bovine mutilation is aliens-"

"We're on the scene at the Wonderland City Bank where an armed robbery appears to be taking place at the
hands of famed criminal, Apogee, who has kept police out of what has turned into a hostage situation-"

"-the real question we should be asking, citizens, is this: are superheroes worth the risk? Can singular individuals handle that
responsibility, and are we relying too much on the goodwill and charity of benevolent figures that could just as easily turn
and use their powers for personal gain? Whatever the case may be, we owe a great deal to these men and women for tirelessly keeping
crime in check and these streets safe. This is Evie O'Connell for Channel 5 News, live from City Hall, pleasantly persistent
and doggedly determined to give you the best."

What we can take away from this is that, like any good reporter, she is a dreadful busybody and always trying to worm her way past the yellow tape, even if it means sidestepping the authorities to get choice, firsthand material from the criminals that wreak havoc in this godforsaken place.

It's a dangerous business, wanting to know everything.

ooc notes under the cut )
smilethatbites: (a grin without a cat)
[personal profile] smilethatbites
No one is more secretive than a cat. And I would know, wouldn't I?

I also know, and so should you, that secrets are for keeping. But if you don't do as you're told, they'll be spilt, and unlike milk, no one's going to want to lick them up once they are.

After all, I'm certainly not sticking around for it.

[Cheshire Cat out.

It can easily be found around the Mansion, should anyone want to question it.]
breakthecurse: A Better Son/Daughter - Rilo Kiley (Awake but cannot open my eyes)
[personal profile] breakthecurse
[Poor Tohru's been working incredible amounts of overtime lately.

Aerith vanished not long after Ruby did - and Tohru is sad, of course, and she will always miss them both, but she's barely had any time to grieve. She just launched herself right back into her work, because if she didn't, then who would run the diner?!

She knows without another cook or two that the diner can't possibly survive much longer, but she's barely had a minute to even think about that. For the last several weeks she's practically lived in the diner, and when the diner had moments of slowness she's had her nose in books, trying to teach herself some of the recipes that Ruby had never gotten the chance to. She's doing everything she can, and she's appreciated all of the help she's received, even if all of her offers have been for waiting tables and washing dishes.

Very early this morning, the camera catches Tohru...sleeping. She's sitting in one of the booths with a rag in her hand and her head resting on her arm. It's entirely obvious what happened - she was cleaning up and closing when she just started to nod off, exhausted from her long days. She might have thought that she'd just rest her eyes for just a minute or two, and then just...accidentally fell asleep there for the night.

And that's it. That's the video. Just a small glimpse at how tired she's been. First person to turn up gets to wake her up, everyone else still gets a mortified Tohru who is super embarrassed that the network caught her sleeping that way, oh no!
alighthouse: (optimism)
[personal profile] alighthouse
[The video shows a nice day at the beach. The waves are lapping against the sand and the time of day is evening as the sun is going down. There isn’t only the beach to look at, though, because the camera turns to show a canvas on an easel with a painting on it.

The painting displays the sea, though it’s far more ominous than the sea in front of them right now. It looks like the sky in the painting is in the midst of a storm. The shoreline appears violent, and there is a lighthouse casting a beam of light into the darkness.]

I’ve finished it!

[Then the video shows Elizabeth smiling at you.]

It took over a month, but it’s finally done. Only, the person who asked for it isn’t here anymore. It was supposed to go to Balthazar. I’m afraid I’m not sure what to do with it now.
screeee: (SISTER ON BOARD)
[personal profile] screeee
[Time was hard to tell back home, even without the loose grasp on unimportant memories. But between the currents, the ocean's temperature, the length of the sunlight... It was... August. August 25th.

It was her sister's birthday.

Had it been that long already? Her daddy was slower than she thought.

The last time it was her birthday, she had to leave a present to get him looking faster. He had taken so long already - she almost thought he had forgotten or given up like the rest. But he had been making so much progress - and Cindy didn't think so.

She believed her. But she had her doubts - so they left another message. And a present, to keep him searching, to remind him who he was looking for.

And it had worked! He left, he was on the ocean - she even saw him sometimes. And he even made it to their home! She saw him there, and he saw her and saw her! Cindy was right, after all!

But when she had tucked Cindy away and went on her swim - and got lost, and wandered onto the surface - he was not WHERE HE SHOULD BE.

Why had he gone back? Had he forgotten? Did he not care anymore?!

... After their last encounter - no, he didn't seem to have forgotten. But why was he here? Why was he still here?

Maybe he needed another reminder.

She leaves him another present.

...Has Found Its Way To Me My Dear )

The sand is too difficult to work with and her grasp on fine telekinesis is too shaky, so there's only the shape of a sand carousel beside it - no bulbs or poles or pretty carved horses. But it should be enough - he was smart, almost as smart as his daughter as Cindy. It should be enough, he should remember.

She gets impatient, waiting for him to check out the beach. But she has been experimenting with her funny little radio-typewriter-television, and she's certain she can...

A picture will appear on the network. It's on a funny angle, some of the message is even cut off, and the focus is maybe a little iffy. All it is are these odd letters scratched in the sand.

What does it mean?

You'll have to ask Mark. Because if she just gave the key away, why bother with the lock?]

((ooc: This post can be replied to any way you want! If it's action, there's nothing on the beach but the sand writing and sculpture, but there may be a suspicious shape and/or red light under or beside the dock wink wink))
ribboning: (you made a deal)
[personal profile] ribboning
[ Here, mansion, have a wistful-sounding voice. ]

If... If you could make a wish, a wish for anything, [ There's a pause, as if the girl is shifting her stance, or wringing her hands. ] what would it be? Anything you can think of. But-- But there might be a cost, a really big one. Something dangerous.

Would you do it? What would you want?
sinkships: ({Rage} this is the first of the last)
[personal profile] sinkships
[Redglare is looking a bit more bedraggled today, and oddly dressed. In fact, she looks a little more pirate-y than she used to. Well, a lot more pirate-y. Okay completely pirate-y. BUT SHE IS NOT A PIRATE. She is a woman of the law, even if it is her own law.

There are breeches and a white shirt and a vest and an impressively long coat, though she is missing a hat. In place of her glasses, there is a ragged strip of cloth tied around her eyes, because even like this she is blind. She is up on the highest place she can get to in the Mansion, which is of course the roof, and she shouting enough to bring the sky down. At least, if the sky was brave enough to come down and face her, which is clearly isn't.]

You! All of you! You sit under the thrall of this queen, of this land like dogs! Do you not want to find out why you are here‽ Why are you simply content to simply lay in the lap of luxury? Do you think it is fair to endure hellhounds and worse‽ You claim to want freedom, but you are simply content here doing little and gaining little and doing nothing to take it for yourselves!

[The speech goes on for SOME TIME. It is long, angry and by the end of it her throat is sore and her voice sounds raspy. It's amazing how much confidence someone who is shouting on a roof to the populace can exude, no matter how shabby their clothes.]

The items you have gained and the experiences you have gained... Are they really worth the things you have lost? Your worlds? Your friends? Your memories?
screeee: (i'm cold)
[personal profile] screeee
[It's been weeks since she left. Since she went away. since she let her go

She fled to land, crawled ashore, hid in this great big house (right-side-up, and not as big as home), and stopped. Sitting in her new home, her smaller home, in a room that was dank and musty like the one she grew up in, lined with drawings from her Sisters... old and new, living and eaten...

The drawings were not perfect. But they were enough to help her remember the girls they imitated. Her memory didn't always work right, so any reminder was good, even if there was an undercurrent of wrong to it.

The reminders were good. Her memory wasn't, so the reminders were good. But they weren't. They made her think, about them, about her, about him... And she wonders.

Was it worth that burst of happiness from her Little Sister, when she took her father's hand and followed him away?

no. it wasn't.

she missed her.]

[It's late on the first day, when a plain text post appears on the network, with hardly anything to identify who it was from:]

How do you live without your Sisters?

[ (This version of her has also had had the time and calm to figure out the shift key.) ]
pig_and_pepper: ({ Flamingoes and mustard both bite. })
[personal profile] pig_and_pepper
[ A transmission, you see, must be like a song: Voice and instruments alike, playing its tune. Her instruments are the pans and pots, the clinking and clacking, the bubbling and boiling, the rustling of pages from the book of recipes in her hand. Truth be told, this particular song may be a little out of tune. ]

Mustard, custard, cream of eel. Salt and pepper, same old-- herrings?

[ Her eyes frantically dart across the pages- ] No, no, no! [ -searching line after line for the origin of this atrocity. ]

Here. 'Twas the wrong page in the right book, and you-- [ The Duchess turns sharply and glares, glares at-- at you. ] --could not even think to tell me sooner!

[ She rips page after page from her book, and stuffs them all into a big pot. ] Of course I'll start again, what choice do I have? But you had better do better this time!
manhunthotline: (keep it down over there!)
[personal profile] manhunthotline
[With oddly apropos timing, given the recent appearance of the traveler, detective Benny Stango has arrived in the middle of a conversation with Mark Meltzer's answering machine--his last conversation with either it or the man himself, in fact. Without his noticing, the ground has changed under his feet from damp concrete to carpet, and the pay phone he's been clutching has been replaced by the Wonderland standard-issue communicator unit.

So the network gets treated to a low voice, sharp with panic and thickly-accented (the Bronx, if anyone was wondering). And he's shouting. Despite years of smoking, the man has a set of lungs on him.]

--Jesus, Meltzer, what is that thing?! I took a shot at it, it didn't even flinch! I ran the whole way back to the squad car--yeah, I gotta remember to clean the seat--jesus, Meltzer, I never believed you were right, I'm sorry! Just gimme a c--

[The voice stops, almost cut off. Stango's looked up, finally noticed the change.]

What the hell...?

[At least he's still blissfully ignorant of the whole hellhound issue.]
paper_knight: (flier)
[personal profile] paper_knight
Attn: Wonderland residents


-Do NOT engage her!

-Do NOT approach the beach alone!!

-DO watch for RED LIGHT.

-DO carry a bright light--portable--at all times.

-I WILL provide further information ASAP. PLEASE BE SAFE.
screeee: (Default)
[personal profile] screeee
[The camera is on, but instead of a face, all it shows is bright red. That's it, for about a minute or so, and then suddenly it's pulled away.]

[Now it's a dark form - not easy to make out at first, until it starts moving. Whatever is holding this device is either unaware that it's on, or doesn't care - the camera swings back and forth, showing flashes of a leg or a hip wrapped in leather and metal, and the ground - which is sandy. This is at the beach, and it's night, going by how well the red light casts on the sand.

The sand becomes grass, soon enough, and while the footsteps slow down, whoever is holding the camera is still moving at a quick pace.]

[And then, it stops. The device is still moving, up and down as whoever had it breathes harshly. The voice isn't just filtered through metal - there's something almost like an echo to it too, that can't just be from being enclosed.

Suddenly the device swings up, over a dark, round shoulder, and before it can focus on the back of its owner, the screen goes blurry, and nothing's heard but the whoosh of air, and then - crack]

[It doesn't break, but it bounces, and when it comes to rest, it's tilted, just enough to see the culprit at a dramatic angle:

A slender figure, silhouette broken up by pieces of armour, her harpoon, her basket, and her round, metal helmet. The red light emanating from the center of the helmet is pointed at the sky, her fingers curled and her body poised to start running again.

All of this might be difficult to really appreciate though, through the inhuman screech splitting the air.]


[This is too much for the device - the video gets fuzzy and shorts out for good. But that's okay, you probably could hear that just fine without it.]

[At a distance - there's the red light, and flashes of warmer, fiery bursts of light. But it goes dark quickly.

By the time anyone makes it to the beach to investigate, they will find large footprints in the sand heading in and out of the water, and patches of sand glassed over, like it was hit by fireballs. But stay on guard - Big Sister is always watching.]


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