avoirfaim: [ stomach growling ] (blood pudding ingredients everywhere)
[personal profile] avoirfaim
[ Now he wouldn't make a network post so soon after his last, but the pieces fell together quite perfectly, as if the powers that be had rewarded him for acting on his most base desire to humiliate another. Not Buckingham, no, but it seemed well timed. It isn't right after he finds Buckingham's dead body that he makes the network post. He has other, more important things to do. He puts on a calm but perturbed face with a firm frown, and starts the video. He's in the dining room, at the table, the body can't be seen. For a moment he sits with a first lightly against his mouth in concern, not speaking. ]

I would prefer not to make this public, but as I do not know who Lord Buckingham considers a friend...I regret to inform you all that he has been murdered. I--

[ He pauses, licking his bottom lip in a display of discomfort and looking elsewhere from the camera. Then back to it. ]

As a medical professional I'm not unfamiliar with corpses, but I would rather not stay here any longer than I have to. The body is in the dining room, I suggest someone who knows him come and at least make him decently presentable.

[ And, well, that's the end of that. ]
oikodomae: (i'm done! º Ⓤ)
[personal profile] oikodomae
cut for gore )

[ when the video comes up, it's of a blonde. set-jaw, dark eyes. it's almost as if a storm is raging somewhere in there, a sort of crackle of lightning, of thunder. when she speaks, it's with purpose, straight through that frown.

maybe then no one will notice just how pale she is. ]

When people die here, they come back to life. [ stating facts through a thick swallow. she can do this. ] How long does it take? Where do they show up? It- it does happen, right?

[ no, no no- that's too close. her voice is almost shaking. her stomach clenches and that need to figure this out, to figure it out as soon as possible drives her forward. ]

Someone's murdering people here. Whoever it is killed my friend and put her on a spit, on antlers, in a fireplace on the first floor. Her name's Clarisse. Whoever saw her last, contact me. This happened sometime in the last day. As for the murderer- [ and this is where she gets darker, her eyes and her look and everything about her. for most people, there's a clear line between anger and absolute rage, and annabeth has just about crossed it. ]

Whoever you are, you think you're smart. That you won't be caught. You're wrong. [ there some strange surge of confidence in her, here. something that tells her she's speaking right to whoever did this, and not the rest of the network. not every single person in wonderland. ] I will find you, and you'll regret laying a hand on her, on anyone.

[ and then it cuts. ]

PERCY: clarisse is dead
i don't know how long
she should come back to life
wonderland doesn't let people stay dead
she'll be back soon and when she does she's not going to be happy

i'm going to find out who did this

RACHEL did you see this?


May. 18th, 2014 09:18 pm
captaincocksure: (god give me strength)
[personal profile] captaincocksure
Wasn't there something--

[That's one wrecked space captain on your viewscreens. His hair is sticking up in about seventeen different directions, he's got dirt smudged on his face and clothes, one of his cheekbones is marked with a pretty ugly bruise, and his uniform tunic and undershirt are torn in a way that's probably familiar to some of you out there.

He's slightly damp with sweat and breathing heavy, and focus is apparently hard to come by, if the way he stops and starts, squinting at the camera, is any indication.]

Someone was saying, I was kinda half-listening--

If there's something you can't help doing, lock yourself up or something?

I'm no good at that. I can't--

[And it's oh so clear it pains him to say this, but:]

...I think I need adult supervision.
glumshoe: what a thing to talk about when you graduate right (Default)
[personal profile] glumshoe
[ Whatever it is about Wonderland's wonderful devices that allows them to interpret a hard drop as an input to start a feed, it needs to be fixed. The angle is definitely from an elevated spot in a simple, basically furnished bathroom, a good quarter of the screen obscured by a blurry green fold of fabric just where the device has nearly wriggled free of a jacket pocket. The lion's share of the activity piped out isn't even Will's, who's busy disentangling himself from the wet cling of a tee recently christened with nightmare sweat, which is of interest to the pair of new four legged companions scrabbling up his legs for a sniff. Not so interested is the piglet, who, barred from its favorite activity of sitting on this human's feet until food appears, snuffles indignantly around the all too hyper scatter of paws and instead wanders behind the toilet for a nice lay down on a length of gingham Will set there after noticing its odd fondness for the spot.

Funny thing about the closets: you can think of something and it may or may not materialize how you expect it. Will thought he learned it when he tried and failed to recreate one of his canine brood from back home and felt it sit heavy in his ribcage the rest of the day, but it can't get much simpler than thinking "dog" at it and seeing what happens. By some miracle the request is interpreted correctly, and serendipity makes Will suddenly the proud caretaker of a boxer mystery mix and a french bulldog. Predictably, the other shoe drops.

Flinging the tee into a corner, Will, for once, isn't the one that stinks far too much of - let's just call it nature. The piglet had the decency to wander into his possession already potty trained, somehow; the same can't be said of the dogs, having greeted their new owner with presents soaking the bottom half of the sheets while he's got the top half covered.

All right, over here. Up and in, fellas. Tsst. [ He indicates the bathtub, which has grown to accommodate a larger man than he or two smaller, furry bodies. Results at issuing commands to untrained dogs may vary. ] You made the mess, I'm here to clean it up, guys, come on.

((The hour is very early or very late, depending on sleep schedules, and anyone wishing to drop by the room might... not... want to. Kind residents wishing to inform Will that Wonderland knows what his boxers look like may wish to inform him of this fact at a distance. Unkind residents can snicker gently at his dire need to hit a gym. ))
avoirfaim: pretentious human garbage. (writing in latin. backwards. upside down)
[personal profile] avoirfaim
[ Before the video, Hannibal is cleaning up after himself in the kitchen when he hears the patter of tiny feet. Four of them to be exact, lacking the definitive sound of scratching on tiles that comes with claws. Not a mouse or a rat then. Neither would be welcome in his kitchen (and it is his kitchen now, as far as he's concerned). He looks down at floor beneath the corner of the counter when the patter stops, and is eye to eye with a small rust-red piglet. A wild boar piglet from the look of it. He puts down his sponge and picks the little creature up, placing it down on the counter. He checks it's skin for lumps and abnormalities, lifts its feet, gives it a nice and proper check up as it snuffles at him.

Should anyone come into the kitchen they would find him there, or perhaps in the hall later with said pig comfortably under one arm.

But then there is a video.

When the connection is made, he is comfortable in his own room. A pen sits in one hand with a notebook underneath it, column titles written in elegant script. His demeanor presented to the network remains generally pleasant, but he makes no real effort to let it reach his eyes. Not a blatant reveal of the man behind the human-suit, but merely an entirely normal display of a psychiatrist keeping his private life private as opposed to leaking out through his irises.

Should anyone choose to look beyond him, they might see a small doggy bed, with a piglet curled up asleep upon it. ]

Good evening Wonderland. After much consideration, I've decided that I will be offering my services as a psychiatrist to the general public of Wonderland. I reserve the right to refuse any clients as a private practitioner, but consider my hours open by appointment.


Abigail, I would like you to come and see me when you have a moment.


Should I schedule us for our old time-slot or are you still set on avoiding my company and my help?


If you are still interested in making an appointment, now would be the time.
thehobbsgirl: (:( choices)
[personal profile] thehobbsgirl
[ Abigail tries to do the smart thing and figure out the situation on her own. She does her best: reads the weird pamphlet three times, glances through the first few videos she finds on the smart-phone-like device, wanders around the grounds trying to look for a way out. Obviously, she does not find one. None of it makes any sense. She sits in the gardens for a few hours waiting to wake up, but if there is one thing her nightmares never are, it's tedious. So with boredom comes fear; if this isn't a dream, it means her life had changed radically yet again without warning. It means that just as she was beginning to have hope for some kind of stability, she was thrown into another mess. ]

[ The video shows her visibly upset, though clearly trying to master it. Her voice is small, and shaky with suppressed emotion, but she gets out what she means to say: ]

I'm not gonna bother asking a bunch of questions when it's obvious there's no one here who can help me.

[ Not to mention the fact that she wouldn't trust any answers she got, anyway. Any stranger might be complicit, as far as she's concerned. Abigail has difficulty trusting on the best of days. ]

I just want to know if... if anyone who sees this recognizes me. Is there anyone from my- [ It sounds so silly saying it, but she does ] -from my world here?
vates: (:| 9000% done)
[personal profile] vates
Hi. I'm Kevin Tran.

[ Kevin actually isn't all that interested in introducing himself, but he's taken the week to check the place out quietly, and he's managed to avoid talking to too many people so he could absorb it all. He's over the shock now though, which means he's also already mostly just... over it in general. ]

This is a long shot because it's way more likely that I'll start singing like a lion king again, probably, but if anyone happens to see my mom, Linda Tran, will you tell her I'm here too?

[ He super doubts that'll happen because his luck is way too shitty, but he may as well put that out there. ]

And that I'm not a ghost anymore? Thanks.


Apr. 30th, 2014 02:34 pm
captaincocksure: (capt james t kirk of the uss enterprise)
[personal profile] captaincocksure
[Jim knows something's gone wrong the moment the whizzing incandescent sparks of the transporter beam fade from his vision.

Since when does a farming community have an ornate library?

He turns to his right to demand a report from Spock... but Spock's not there. To his left, to find McCoy's not there either.

He reaches for his communicator but its heft is unfamiliar in his hand. It's not his. But it's obviously a communication device of some sort. He fiddles with it, manages to turn on the voice broadcasting.]

Kirk to Enterprise, come in. Enterprise, are you receiving me?

[A pause as he waits for an answer and gets none. He tries a different tack.]

Cassiopeia 3 Colony, this is Captain Kirk, do you copy?

[That clearly doesn't get him what he wants, either. There's a faint sigh, the sort that comes when someone's preparing themselves to speak, and then the video comes on. Jim is perfectly in frame, looking directly into the device, shoulders straight, and he speaks with confidence and authority that almost don't seem to fit with his obvious youth. Clearly he's done this before.]

This is Captain James T. Kirk of the Federation Starship Enterprise. I respectfully request an audience, whether via this communication device or in person, with a member of the governing body, ruler, or other authority of this location, or their designated representative.

This place was not my intended destination. If I've arrived here in error, I will need some information to help me figure out how to correct it. If I was purposefully brought here, please accept my gratitude for arriving unharmed, but I obviously have questions about the conditions surrounding my transport and I would like to negotiate the terms of my return.

[He pauses again, and his expression softens. This is clearly less Official Command Officer Business, and more a casual, polite request.]

...I appear to be in a library. If someone could tell me how to get out, and where to find the people I need to talk to, I'd greatly appreciate it.


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