akapeanut: (Man....)
[personal profile] akapeanut
[She can't hide it forever. She's lucked out-- events based around secrets, events that drove her to experiment with her powers. Nothing has thus far forced or coerced her to "come out" to the entire mansion about what she is. Some sort of loyalty and respect to Rube, mixed with the primal fear of being different and therefore weakened, has kept her true nature more or less a secret. Something she only tells people when she has to, or when she's decided to trust them.

But this past event...people had to have known, right? Wouldn't they question? Wouldn't they put two and two together? Even here, where she doesn't have to reap, death follows her everywhere...

People couldn't be that stupid, right?

She could bank on them being oblivious, maybe. In days gone by, she probably would've been certain she'd get by without saying anything. But the longer she waits, the longer it will seem she's been "lying" or "keeping it from them" and while she doesn't think of it that way, it only takes one person being offended or frightened to start a mob. She's gotta say something.]

So that last event, uh. It's fuzzy, but I know I ran into some of you. And I got the impression I was sort of famous. Or, uh, infamous, maybe. "Giltine"?

[She lets out a nervous breath of a laugh.] I looked that up. Apparently she's a Lithuanian mythological figure. She's got a poisonous tongue, and at some point she got locked in a coffin?

[Her gaze flicks up to the camera, then away again.]

More importantly, she's their version of the grim reaper. Which is what I am. A grim reaper.

[There's a long pause where she doesn't breathe, doesn't speak. She said it. There's no taking it back.]

I, uh, my tongue's not poisonous. To be honest, most of the mythologies on the Earth I came from got it wrong. There were a lot of us. We had no say in how or when people died. We just showed up to get their souls. And if we didn't do it in time, the person would have to feel the pain of their death, so we-- we were good guys, I think?

[She's babbling, a little.] I mean, we're not bad guys, at least. So, um. I'm not evil or anything. And I know some of you know this, like it's not news to you but. But I didn't want people to think I was keeping it from them because I'm looking for ways to hurt. Because I'm not. I'm just...the same old George.

[Another long silence, and she thinks she's said everything she can say, really. So she reaches out and ends the feed.]
worldentire: (Default)
[personal profile] worldentire
Did I miss the memo on why September's so damn busy? Or just what necessitated a goddamn blizzard?

[ he's too old and too Georgian for this snow nonsense. goodness he's being crochety today, isn't he? ]

While I'm here I might as well mention there're still bots, if anyone else was interested.
blondehacker: (Default)
[personal profile] blondehacker
[A burst of static, and a rough picture flickers across the screen. A blob of a face forms, and seems to be waving at the screen.] Um, hi. Okay. No, wait-- [And she frowns, tapping out something beneath the screen, and suddenly the picture sharpens into perfect clarity.] There! Sorry, the camera wasn't fully reconnected.

...Um. [And she clears her throat.] Hi. I ... already said that, nevermind. Hi, I'm Felicity Smoaks, from Starling City. [And then her expression pinches together like she wishes she could bang her head into a wall, but she refrains.] ...I promise I won't say it again. I'm just... just seeing if there's anyone else out there I could recognize. Since apparently I'm in an alternate dimension and some people aren't even from earth. [There's a vague tone of anxiety in her voice, even fear, but it's mostly filled with wonder-- like part of her can't believe it, and yet the other part, the slightly nerdy part that made it impossible for her to get a date in college, is almost giddy at the possibilities.

If she could just get over the completely scary aspects of being transported out of her home and into this place against her will, she'd be just dandy.]

And, um... look, I know I'm probably the thousandth person to ask this, but it's only my second day and even though I found the pamphlet and understand what it seems to be saying-- [A shake of her head.] I'm just-- just checking. [A small swallow.] Is it true that no one's ever really gotten out of here?
ribboning: (Default)
[personal profile] ribboning
Um! [ There's the sudden and bright voice of a one Madoka, trying to look... resolved, maybe? As she projects over the network. ] I just wanted to thank the people who helped me when I arrived here a few weeks ago, and who... who fought those monsters. [ She shifts, lowering her gaze, as if in reverence. ] You're all so strong; I hope I can be like that, too, someday.

That's why... That's why I want to ask if there's anything I can to do help here. I can't fight, or anything like that, but I'd be willing to learn. I just want to be able to keep people safe like they've done for me.

Thank you!
doctorweevil: (you always think you know what's best)
[personal profile] doctorweevil
[It's not like waking up from sleep; there's no gradual stages of awakening, no residual sleepiness. He's just conscious again, his eyes open and staring wide up at the ceiling. It reminds him of his first resurrection, coming back to life on the slab - his slab - Jack cradling the back of his head with the glove, suddenly being wrenched out of the darkness and back to life.

And so even before he's fully aware of what he's doing, Owen's curled up on the bed in the early stages of a panic attack, shoulders heaving as he gasps for breath. This would be a bloody inconvenient time for someone to walk in; by and large, he prefers to pretend that he doesn't have occasional breakdowns, that he's much more functional than he really is. Clara knows about them, of course, but he's done a decent job of keeping his problems hidden from everyone else, or so he likes to think.

He'd known what was likely to happen when he taunted the hellhounds, but dying and coming back had seemed so much easier at the time - just another day in his fucked-up life. He hadn't really had time to think about what it meant, how it would affect him later. Sure, he'd been scared, but saving Martha and everyone else in the clinic had been more important to him at the time. Now it's time to face the harsh reality of just what he's done to himself.]

[Owen looks paler than usual on camera, not entirely unlike someone who's died of a vicious hellhound attack and come back to life. Though he's keeping the video focused on his face, there's still dried blood visible on his neck, as he hasn't bothered to clean up yet. When he speaks, his voice is a little hoarse, and his tone is somewhat distant.]

Right, well, bugger heroics for a lark. Least those things are gone now, though, and the mansion's still in one piece, more or less. Hope most of the rest of you are, too.

[action, part 2:]
[Owen staggers back to his room once he's sure his legs will hold him. He still looks like crap, and he's still in his bloody clothes, but he knows Clara will kill him again if he doesn't come back to her as soon as humanly possible. He hopes she's still alive - he'd told Ianto to keep her safe, and he doesn't doubt that the other man's tried his best, but there's no telling what might have happened. He opens the door and looks around with no small amount of trepidation, his stomach clenching in fear.]


Jul. 24th, 2013 05:35 pm
elegance_guaranteed: (Want to meet my knife?)
[personal profile] elegance_guaranteed
The lack of Guilds around here sure does make it difficult to hire out services. [Teatime considers the camera for a long moment before smiling abruptly.]

If there are any Wizards or Witches or other magic-using... people, [his eyes flick back and forth as he considers whether that covers the lot of it or not] I need some help sealing a sword that cuts through every sheath I try to put it in.


Jun. 28th, 2013 01:32 pm
elegance_guaranteed: (Want to meet my knife?)
[personal profile] elegance_guaranteed
[This is the expression of a child who just got what he wanted for Christmas, set on a face that would have been suitably boyish if his eyes had not been quite so unnerving. One was a dark grey marble and the other, unnaturally pale with a tiny pinhole pupil. An indistinct feeling of discomfort generally accompanies those who stare at him too long.]

A new scrying stone in my pocket and a new sword? I do hope that everybody's Hogswatch was as happy as mine.


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