Entries tagged with penumbra: philip

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text; 'tis better to have loved and lost...

[ It's late and, rather than lay awake in bed, Caitlin's curled up in a tearoom and messing with her device. The questions she pose aren't pressing, not really, just idle curiosity finally given words. ]

I think it's amazing how someone can develop feelings for someone else here, especially if you both come from different worlds. Wouldn't you be worried that Wonderland would suddenly decide to send you home the moment you found actually happiness? Or plagued by the fear that the person you've fallen for isn't who they actually are? Just who they present themselves to be here.

[ She knows something of that, herself. The danger of falling in love with the idea instead of the actual person. ]

If you found yourself in that situation, would you hold back, keep your feelings to yourself? Or would you jump without thinking twice?

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[002] text;

A few things have occurred to me in the time that I've been here. Mainly, that I really need a hobby. So I've decided to give back. I'm compassionate, wise, and over-brimming with life experience. So, ask me anything. This is a test-run for an advice column I may or may not actually run based on how much Wonderland is in dire need of my help.

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text:

Wonderland's worst feature are its events.

That's a pretty common thought, right? Only this place doesn't usually come up with events on its own. They're all just baggage it dredges up from our own worlds. When you look at it that way you could probably even make a case for Wonderland itself being pretty decent.

So here's a question: You've got the choice, go back to where you left off, or stay in Wonderland for good. Which one do you pick, and why?

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[ action ]

{ library, night }

[ As darkness spreads and the moon rises, some of you might notice an unfamiliar figure knocking around in the library. It's gothic and jagged tonight, like a cathedral of books.

The person in question is a pale and somewhat careworn-looking man, in bare feet and a dapper nightshirt, with hair that's only barely under control. He's going along the bookcases, cautiously, patting them, cautiously. Now and then he'll mutter aha! and pull a book out, only to push it back in disgust when it doesn't activate the secret switch to make the bookcase roll away.

What, they don't build secret doors like that here? Poppycock.

He breezes past a mirror hung on the wall.

I am not blind, says a voice: a deep, slow voice that reaches his ears and no-one else's. I am not deaf.

_{Trust that,} says another, ^{trust me,} _{you can trust that.}

Grout hmms softly, a signal that he's taken... whatever that means on board. It could be literal. It could be metaphor. It could be gibberish. He runs his thumb over a spot on the wallpaper, making sure it's not the light of a spy-hole. He raps the mirror with his knuckles, just in case it's hiding a secret room or something behind it.

But the knocking doesn't sound hollow. He steps back, disappointed. ]

Drat, absolutely nothing.

{ kitchen, night }

[ He finds his way to the kitchen as well, and here it's harder to conduct a search while staying silent. In the dead of night, there's a certain amount of banging involved in opening cupboards and knocking on walls, no matter how careful you're being.

The mansion, he's realising, is huge. Whoever brought him here certainly has resources -- and who? the Anarchs? perhaps; there's a Toreador or two in their ranks who might be tickled by a political kidnapping. He grits his teeth, ducks down and checks inside the unlit fireplace; but there are no pull chains or hidden switches in sight. Not a hunter or the Sabbat; he'd be dead. Although that would explain why the hallways are lined with lit candles -- the Sabbat would be mad enough. A rival in the Camarilla? Several possible names come to mind.

I'm a ^trap without hinges, key, or lid. The voice is inaudible, but Grout hears it with pure clarity. He straightens up, dusts off his night-gown, and tugs on a wall lamp in case it's a hidden lever. (It's not.)

Yet inside, God forbid. Yet inside, God forbid.

It's good practice not to talk back to his little club of followers and hangers-on; they're secret for a reason. But he's nervous, frustrated, and it helps his concentration to think out loud. ]

A trap without any way in or out isn't a trap. That's absolute consummate nonsense! If I set out a box trap in a field and neglect to add hinge or door, it won't very well catch any rabbits, will it? Every trap has a lid, including this one. Utter nonsense.

[ The voice is obviously trying to tell him something, but what damned unnecessary riddling. No-one who wanted to send a clear message ever wrote poetry! ]

( ooc: hi! grout here is a vampire with various mental abilities -- though to ordinary senses he isn't visibly inhuman -- so if you tag could you take a look at the questions on his permissions post? thanks! )

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[ video ] nor any drop to drink

[It's a softspoken man on the network tonight, one presently struggling to cope with a world of disappointment and anxiety. There's some stammering at the start of the message, but as he collects himself enough to share information, his cadence relaxes and grows more confident. This isn't about him right now. It's about everyone else.]

Pardon me -- if I could have everyone's attention for a moment? I'm sure we've all gotten a glimpse of what's gone on. I've some reason to believe that this might be a particular incident related to -- well -- that's not important. But I'd like to urge everyone to be mindful of the level of air presently available to you. As long as the number of available rooms continues to be infinite, it ought to be possible to make it through without incident as long as we stay in motion as necessary, provided that the doors continue to resist the rules of water pressure upon opening. I've done some calculations using what we know of the average unclaimed room. I believe that humans ought to be able to sustain themselves without incident for about eight hours without incident, though this is most likely variable for those of you with alternative physiologies. With that in mind, we may wish to consider that longterm planning might be an element to our survival. We may have to make efforts to organize our activities and movements to ensure we can all stay prepared for the week ahead of us.

[He pauses to take a breath, squeezing his fingers into his palm before continuing.]

Please be aware that since the oxygen-to-square-footage ratio provided is a rough estimate that may be impacted by people collecting together in groups, vigilance will also be important when it comes to recognizing the early signs of oxygen deprivation. If you notice an increase in heart rate or shortness of breath, please consider setting yourself into motion sooner rather than later. The same applies if you're with others and notice dilation of the pupils, or that they've started to display visible motor impairment.

I also hope that we can utilize the network to communicate distress when needed. I'll be in touch with a few of you soon with regards to some plans for relief and rescue.

Let's see if we can't all make it out of this in one piece, yeah?

( Text to Peter Parker )

( Text to Philip )

( Text to Steve Rogers )

[OOC: I think I'm also going to use this as Fitz's catch-all for the event this time around, so feel free to throw action-sized stuff in here too if we've discussed anything that ought to take place later on.]

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[ text ] No more carols to sing

( I. ACTION )

II. TEXT

[ First, he wants to pretend that the last few- days? did not just happen. Second, he picked up the words "sleep deprivation" and "other Wonderland", and still doesn't get the whole picture from the network. Which, all in all, leads to third, a controlled mess in the kitchen, and the following message: ]

Apparently I just blinked and missed Christmas, so I'm stooping to bakery to make up for it.

[ A helpful visual of some crunchy chocolate toffee squares with macadamia nuts comes attached. ]

First three batches ready for pick-up in the kitchen. Fourth batch in the works, I'll trade you for some good stories about the event I missed.

Entry tags:

001 • Video

[ There was something incredibly disconcerting about this place, the way it seemed to lull people into a false sense of security only to repeatedly rip the rug out from under their feet... Or at least that's the feeling she was getting after experiencing her first event. While some people might have the wherewithal to plan ahead, she had a feeling not everyone had that instinct. At least, while they had their wits about them. She doesn't think of it as an insult, more speaking to people's lives and the fact that they aren't fighting for extra ration cards to make it through the week. And that was where she wanted to come in, call it karmic retribution. Besides, she'd had her downtime to catch up and feel down about the whole being dead thing. If she sat around any longer, she'd start to get twitchy. ]

For those of you who don't know me, name's Tess. I'm a -- [ How to describe herself without digging into too much shit. Ah, fuck it. ] -- friend of Ellie and Joel's. Haven't been here long, but from what I've found I think I might be able to offer some assistance in preparing for some of the worst-case scenarios. [ A beat. ] I'm not talking self-defense or anything along those lines, I'm a shitty teacher and I ain't got the patience for that. I deal... [ No. No. That's not right. There's a minute shift in her expression, clearing her throat before correcting herself and carrying on. ] -- dealt in supplies, helping people get to the next day so they couldn't get fucked over by the military or a firefly. If the closets stop workin' like it seems they have in the past, wouldn't be a bad idea to have a few rooms throughout the mansion dedicated to survival supplies.

[ Hard to turn off survival paranoia when it's been her life for about 20 years. ]

Figure I'll start puttin' together a few lists of things and pick out rooms based on accessibility, spread 'em out. Open to suggestions on both fronts as well as the best way to keep weapons and drugs locked up when not in use, but easy to access in an emergency. [ Because she has no intentions of using the magical properties of Wonderland to fill the rooms. No, this was gonna be done as close to the old fashioned way as possible - filling bare shelves one item at a time. The best way to keep stock of exactly how much of everything she had. Also, she also had no intentions of leaving weapons and narcotics within kid's reach. Again, this wasn't home and she couldn't play by the same set of rules as before, she didn't need more blood on her hands of someone getting into something even if they could get it for themselves from the closet. ] Since it's my idea, I'll take on the responsibility of maintaining them. It'll keep me busy if nothin' else. I've already got a few snags I know I'll need to work out, so those who might be like-minded and have a minute are more than welcome to toss around a few ideas when it comes to keeping this place from throwing too many wrenches in my plan.

[ And with that, she cuts the feed - pen, paper, and a glass of scotch in front of her with a few things already jotted down. ]

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002 | text

ok so im asking 4 a friend that is def not me in any kind of way
but what do you do when u have 2 many bunnies
should she release them into the garden

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M e s s a g e 3 6

[Alice has decided to occupy an empty bedroom today (interestingly, not her own) and when the camera turns on she's flopped on her back on the bed, with her hair dangling over the side.]

I've been thinking a lot recently...or, well. The thought just sort of came to me, as thoughts often do. But...it must be so hard to be here when you aren't from Wonderland, isn't it? It's fine for me of course, since I live here, but...you must be very lonely, right? Being so far from home, far from the people who love you...not that you aren't loved here, or at least I hope you are. What I mean is, it must be easy to feel lost here, especially for those of you who have been here a few years, or who are here by themselves.

[She sighs.]

I suppose all you can really do is band together...I wish there was more I could do for you. Oh, but I did find this in the attic! [She rummages around off-screen and produces an instrument.] That's what I'll do! I'll play you a song, and try to cheer you all up!

[And she puts it to her lips and plays.

Badly. Very badly. It's worse than a shrieking recorder and you have to endure it for a full five minutes before the video ends.]

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[Video/Action] ࿈ et ascendent ergo ego sum

[Nate doesn't really sleep.

Not on a normal schedule anyway; it comes with being a night owl and an obsessive researcher and a restless guy trapped in a place barely larger than some estates he's burgled, in and out in under twenty minutes. There are borders here, unseen but present, and the inability to leave has him (quite literally) climbing the walls. Somewhere between dinner and digestifs he appears on the network.]

I'm, uh- [Not good at this.] Putting out a public inquiry about the caves - not like I've got geological questions or wanna know about the stalagmites or the Mole People - but I'm thinking more along the lines of...cartography?

[His intentions are patently obvious: Nate is already standing in front of a rocky outcrop, illuminated by a flashlight and wielding a loop of rope cast over one shoulder.]

Just curious if anyone's got a handle on the terrain. Hit me up.

[Eventually. He knows it's late, but he'll be exploring well into the wee hours, as if time matters in a cave. Intent on keeping track of the various rock formations, twisting crevices, and cavernous limestone cathedrals Nate can be found periodically in central chambers, taking notes and climbing enormous pillars with his bare goddamn hands and precious little else.]

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( audio )

[ Audio clicks on to the shuffle of papers and a considering hum before Rafe speaks. His voice is mild. Sincere. Level in the way one can only sound when one is way too used to having things work out the way he wants them to, no matter how long it takes or how much it costs. ]

Well. Isn't this interesting.

[ When some people say interesting, you can tell they mean something entirely different. A professor reading over a test that clearly hadn't been studied for as he reaches for a red pen; a girl at a bar at the hearing how you just never have enough time to work on your novel; a cop flipping over your registration to find it's expired. It's one of those catch-all words but when Rafe says it? Nah. He just means interesting. ]

I always appreciate being prepared, and gotta say. This pamphlet? Good stuff, clean design, very to the point. Credit where it's due.

[ Arriving like a babe in the woods isn't really Rafe's scene. After all, a wide variety of factors have suddenly been yanked out of his control; the few he has remaining to him become all the more important to take advantage of. So although he's still learning the lay of the land, he's doing so after availing himself of a room, a shower, a fresh shirt, and this handy dandy pamphlet. ]

Although... You know, not to brag or anything but I'm a guy with a couple of talents. Architecture, for one. Anybody else checking this place out? I mean, here I am walking around those gardens and one minute I'm thinking 18th-century French, fantastically preserved, then there's some Gothic elements peeking round a corner— Jesus! Lloyd Wright, right there. [ You'd think the guy was watching a match at Wimbledon, and politely un-invested in who the winner turns out to be. ] Phenomenal fenestration, when it decides to stick to something longer than a minute. I suppose I'll have to get up higher for some bearings on this whole thing. Might even be a little fun with the right equipment.

Journal Entry 006 {text}

[John decided he's just stay away from the network for a while after getting shouted down for arming children. In retrospect, he should've done a little more intensive background on the kids here, but that would've been bordering on creepy. And there's nothing wrong with guns anyway, you're all terrible.

But regardless of guns and kids, he's back today. Not with lessons, but questions, snooping like the other old farts around here love to do.]

what's magic like where you're from? does it exist? is it more fucking witches making people's teeth fall out or goddamn fairy dust and unicorns? does anyone come from a place with magic like Wonderland? most importantly: does the magic from your world work here?

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telepathic voice in your head;

[ Philip sits at his desk. He briefly considers setting the scene, tidying up the stack of papers, or-- What's the point? It's his office. Nobody is going to see him. But all of Genosha is about to hear him.

He clears his throat.

And rolls his eyes at the private joke, because even like that it's getting old. ]

Due to the series of recent events I'm forced to remind all fellow mutants to travel carefully, especially near the Ridgeback Mountains region. Do not travel alone. Do not underestimate what their misguided rebellion is capable of. And remember to listen to Her Majesty's daily broadcast for further updates and information.

Long live the Queen.

[ Because he sure as bloody hell isn't going to bother reaching out like this again anytime soon. He doesn't add as much, though. Instead Philip presses a tissue to his nose, and catches the blood. Shuffles around some papers, and takes the opportunity to pause, anyway, because when his mind reaches across the island again the message plays a different tune: ]

To all homo sapiens: Our world does not need to be like this. Why try to anchor us in the past, when you could be part of our future? We are offering our help to you. If you would like to accept it, report to the science faculty at Magda University to participate in our Human Evolutionary Advancement Research Trials. Don't let the coming days be your end. Let them be a new beginning for all of us.

Never forget this: You have a chance to decide your own fate, before it gets decided for you.

[ He combs through his notes. Nope, that's that taken care of. Jesus Christ, he'll need a stiff drink now. He fumbles for a bottle in his drawer, and the phone on his desk. ]

Private Text to Ford Pines
Since as usual none of what I'm saying gets through to your tin brain, get your bloody arse over here and give me a status report on the experiments.

[[ OOC: Plotting comment is here, my contact post is here. Philip cannot read thoughts, so any replies will need to happen through other means. He won't get his memories back until late on the fourth day, so feel free to post starters across all days accordingly (or contact me if you want to set something up!) ]]

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in light of recent messages.

Who the hell knows what's about to happen. We get messages like this, I suggest you start stocking up on bottled water, non-perishable food. Blankets, essential meds, and toilet paper. Not joking. Sometimes the closets stop working altogether when something especially crazy comes.

Don't panic, but be smart.

Private - Philip

Meet me on the roof?

( And now for the action part of this post. )

[ooc: will match style for the action portion; prose or brackets both work fine!]

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video;

[ Carolina's been sitting on making this broadcast for almost three weeks now, not entirely sure that she really wants to make it. She's not typically one to seek help, especially not from a bunch of strangers over a public network, and yet... It seems like the best way to get some answers.

So here you go, Wonderland. One redhead who, for once, is showing her face instead of addressing the network with her helmet and armor on. ]

I'm hoping there are some people out there who can give me a bit more information on the vendors outside. I know that they trade harder to get items for memories, but that's about all that I know.

[ And before anyone assumes that she's looking for information before being stupid enough to make her own trade... ]

A friend of mine made a trade, and I'm... concerned. I just want to make sure there aren't any bigger problems that could come from someone doing something that stupid. Is there any way to reverse the transaction after it's been made?

[ Probably not, and she doubts Epsilon would be willing to anyway, but it's at least worth asking. ]

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♛ thirty-second hunt - video;

[ If there's anything on Sam's mind about people who may or may not have disappeared from Wonderland recently, he doesn't say it. In fact, he looks and sounds like a person who is trying very hard to stay busy, to keep his mind occupied in the midst of something else. Hence: ]

So, I realized recently that we've got a problem. People here get excited about the closets - "cool, I can get a... damn miniature unicorn out of them" - but I think we can get a little irresponsible about it. If you're pulling living things out of the closets, then they're your responsibility. Don't dream up a hundred and one dalmatians if you've never taken care of anything before.

[ God knows these people can barely take care of themselves most of the time (Sam himself included). ]

That's not even getting into whether or not they're really... real; this isn't a discussion about the actual animal status of Wonderland animals. [ He pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a little headache coming on. ] What I'm trying to say is that you get a few pets, fine, and then... one day, you might leave for good. Then, we've still got Fido here without an owner. I'm planning on setting up something in the basement that can help with the animals that're left behind. Maybe just like a doggie daycare sort of thing. I can't be there all the time, so... if anyone else is interested, maybe we could set up shifts, figure out what we've got, here.

[ There's a thoughtful pause. ]

If there's something a little more dangerous than dogs and cats, we'll deal with that, too. For now, just let me know if you want to get involved, or if you've got someone's pet with you that you inherited and can't really take care of. We can't forget about those guys.

[ Whether he means the abandoned animals or their vanished owners is unclear as he ends the feed. ]

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Video;

[When the feed flips on, there's little to the screen other than a blue hand on a desk, thoughtfully stroking the edge of a helmet that might be familiar to some. Her voice narrates the video, for now.]

So, Wonderland -- I've got a favor to ask you -- some of you, at least. I have to assume that just based on the number of people here, there've got to be a few telepaths kicking around...right? I'm looking for some volunteers to help me figure out what this thing is going to block out, and what it's going to let through.

[She doesn't really have a reason to be curious about this, but with the explosion that just rocked her room and left some of her belongings in a sort of weird, liquified goo -- well, she's looking for a distraction.]

I haven't got much to trade for your help, but -- do any of us really have anything better to do right now that's more productive?

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[ voice ] - dated to this evening

[ It's like 9pm on a Friday and to say Chuck is 'drunk' is a vast understatement.

But Aussie's are built tough, so when he comes on the network, he's not even slurring. ]

Right, 's been a while, kids. We're gonna play a game. Ever hear of word association? I say a word, you say the first thing that comes to mind in association with that word.

I'll start.

Blood.

(( ooc; chuck's drunk and bored. come at him with words, feel free to threadjack if other players are okay with it, or just bounce back and forth with Chuck. ))

video; open to all

[Damon is not happy, and definitely not drunk enough for this. At first, he assumed he'd been hallucinating, on some trip after drinking bad blood. However, he has been roaming Wonderland for hours on this bright and early morning, while everyone else was likely asleep. He’s poked his head in where it doesn’t belong, waiting for the hallucination to fade. Spoilers: it doesn’t. He finally studies the communication device, accepting that this is either one very long dream or he’s actually here. Somehow. He’s on the main floor, pressed up against the marble pillar, staring up at the ceiling. It takes minimal effort to skim through previous entries before he switches to video.]

Question #1, for the masses: How drunk do you have to be for this place to start making sense? Because I’m starting to think this poor, lonely bottle's not gonna cut it. [Damon looks to the bottle in his hand with a little sigh, tapping his fingers on its surface.] Looks like we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

[He takes a long drink, swallows, and sends the camera a slow but absolutely charming smirk:]

Question #2: what’s the one thing you wish someone had told you on your first day in the merry old Land of Wonder, but failed to?

[Damon points a finger at the camera with the hand that's still partly wound around the bottle] And go. Best answers get a pony.

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Entry #5

[Alex doesn't film himself very often. Whenever he does, he gets a spray of static fuzzing over the screen and making things damn difficult to determine. But in this case, that works in his favor. He's far enough away from the camera for it not to make such a huge difference, anyway, the device positioned on the far corner of his desk as he scribbles something down on a sheet of paper, its contents obscured to the viewer.

Those with sharp eyes might spot the corners of several papers tacked to his walls featuring scribbled messages that may seem eerily familiar for anyone who's come into extended contact with Mr. Kralie here, but the content of his message is what's meant to be the vital thing here.

He doesn't look up as he speaks, gaunt and shadowed eyes riveted on whatever it is he's writing.]

So I had a little chat with the Queen. Y'know, the chick that allegedly runs this place, rules the mirrors, yadda yadda yadda.

[Static spritzes momentarily over the feed, multicolored bars bisecting his features before the video jumps back to normal. Alex seems to have anticipated this, and resumes speaking when the digital fit is done.]

I won't bore you with the details. But, uh, she said something pretty interesting.

[He's got footage of the event itself, because why wouldn't someone as rampantly paranoid as he not be filming it, but there's no way to display it without revealing his own offer to the Queen, in which he proposed that he serve as a pair of her eyes on the Real side. As it is, he'll simply have to say it directly and hope people believe him, because it's real freaking shady, what she just implied.]

She said she's got eyes on our side. People watching things out for her. Had some real, or maybe I should say Real, "capable help" at her disposal.

[For the first time, he eyes the camera coldly, suspiciously. As if his paranoia needed to be ratcheted up further.]

Now why would she say a thing like that?