strangeboy: (go away)
[personal profile] strangeboy
[D'Artagnan's been in this place for three days. Three whole utterly confusing days, most of which were spent navigating his way through the stairwells and hallways, trying to get a feel for the layout. He's been outside, walked the perimeter of the place (excepting the forest, of course), and peered out over the lake, though hadn't taken a chance on going in. He's never been much of a swimmer, really. He's investigated the library, eyes scanning over unfamiliar and unintelligible titles, trying to figure out anything he could.

He'd happened upon a packet in what he assumes is the foyer. It held the answers to all of his basic questions: where am I, how did I get here, how do I get home, etc. While those answers may have been discouraging to most, D'Artagnan just happens to come from a fortunate time in his life-- still entirely too confident in his own abilities, considering he's just saved the whole of France with his three best friends.

In any case, the only thing he hasn't done is figure out how to properly use his communication device. In fact, he doesn't even really know what it's for, just that it's a little black square that sometimes makes noises at him and shows him the faces of other people, who he assumes live in this place with him. He hasn't spoken to a single one, too busy with investigating all that he can.

D'Artagnan walks down a corridor on the first floor, passing through a doorway and smiling widely at the sight behind it. He's found the kitchen, it seems, finally, and Christ, is he hungry. He's still a growing boy, after all.

He raids the cabinets-- pleased to find them well-stocked with everything he loves-- and sets himself down at the table in the corner, his communicator falling to the floor with a slight crack!

He leans over, frowning at it, unaware that it's started broadcasting.
]

Huh. At least it's not broken.
airshipswank: (most amusing | in case you're wondering)
[personal profile] airshipswank
[ Buckingham, being the magnificent and universally beloved god that he is, has been utterly undeterred by Wonderland's musical program for the weekend. Wonderland's last event however, with its drab and colourless days, has reminded him of a long overdue matter in need of transmission: ]

My good people of Wonderland, if I might have a moment of your day! [ Pause to imagine the resounding Of course, Your Grace! and: ] My home knows me as George Villiers, their Duke of Buckingham, and you may as well, should... I've not yet been so fortunate as to make your acquaintance in person.

[ Cue the winning smile and kindest of kind unspoken thanks for enduring the formalities of such an introduction. As for the matter at hand: ]

I speak to you on behalf of the gallery I installed here some months ago, you... may have celebrated its grand opening on the third floor, just... near the library doors, room number four. I would certainly recommend a visit to all who have since arrived, but today I particularly address anybody who... might wish to aid in expanding its selection.

[ Buckingham nods to the scene behind him, and shifts slightly to grant a brief view of some of the works on display. ]

Wonderland houses such a wealth of artists, and I would urge you to call on me, should you ever desire to... share your work with us. We shall find it a deserving place at the gallery as soon as possible. I would extend the same offer to those who have acquired pieces from the vendors or elsewhere, and care to make them available to the public.

[ Cue once more heavy on the smiling, as the duke reaches to end the transmission. ]

I thank you kindly for your time, and hope the... rest of the day finds you well.

[[ OOC: You can find a little more info on the gallery here, and use that post anytime to have your character contribute art, regardless of whether you would like them to thread with Buckingham or not! If you have any gallery questions, just PM this account or ping me over at [plurk.com profile] pimpfox! ]]
anomaliiiiies: (065)
[personal profile] anomaliiiiies
[The first thing one sees is Jane's face, her mouth pursed, as she sets her little phone up to record, then walking away to a whiteboard, as pure as snow, before picking up a dry erase marker. Glancing over her shoulder, Jane smiles at the camera.]

So, hello, Wonderland, I'm Doctor Jane Foster. I'm an astrophysicist with training in particle physics. You've probably seen me outside at night studying the stars or in the library. I'm working on a map of the stars and attempting to figure out for certain if this place is really a pocket universe or else a shared illusion. I'm edging more to the pocket universe theory since it's a bit simpler, and more probable. But it could also be a shared point in all the multiple worlds we're from. That's a really interesting idea that somehow there is something in Wonderland's makeup that makes it a commonality to all worlds. [she lapses into science babble, drawing a lot of elegant equations in neat handwriting on the board, the marker squeaking, before she pulls herself back together to speak at the device still recording]

Okay, so my question is, has anyone else wondered about how the various worlds match up even with the differing time-points from each world? And of so, will anyone be interested in a group to discuss findings? I'm also interested in any research or observations on hos this place works, and not just depending on the library for that. I like first person observations, please and thank you.

[Jane leans over to click off the broadcast with a smile of SCIENCE]

[ooc: I will be slow with replies until this afternoon]
stillplaying: ([anger] another game piece)
[personal profile] stillplaying
[In the end, she's at least grateful that her memories haven't been affected this time. She knows who she is. Katniss Everdeen. Eighteen Years old. From District 12. The former girl on fire, the former Mockingjay. A Tribute and a Victor who shouldn't be alive today but somehow was. Someone who probably deserved this, deserved to be trapped in someone else's game. A pawn for new Gamemakers to be used for their amusement.

She hates remembering. But it's more comforting than thinking she's someone she's not. A girl with lots of family. Someone who was a little bit of a loner but never alone.

This time, it's her vision that's strange. Not being able to see color, seeing the world in black and white and shades of grey is disconcerting to say the least. Uncomfortable and very unwelcome. But that's not what really grates on her nerves again. What has her scowling at the camera doesn't have anything to do with those changes and everything to do with the pack of small, yipping puppies that won't leave her alone.

She's tried hiding in her room. They appear in her closet. Tried escaping on to the grounds and into the forest. But it doesn't work. She's not Prim. She's not good with animals. Doesn't really care for them as anything but meat.

he stands by the outskirts of the forest, looking utterly displeased at the latest puppy to attempt to wriggle its way into one of her squirrel traps as she reset it. More circle around her boots. The camera pans around them before she he holds up one pup in particular by the scruff of its neck. It yips at the phone and wiggles in her grasp but Katniss ignores it.]


Do these belong to someone, too? Or are they fair game?

[Because these aren't hunting dogs. Clearly. Aside from providing meat or fur, she can't think of any other use for them. For all she can't stand Buttercup, at least he knew how to make himself useful at times. These things? So far, not in the slightest.]
alighthouse: (bloody sunday)
[personal profile] alighthouse
[The video feed turns on, and the camera is clearly shaky. Elizabeth has been gone for a week, though many may not have noticed due to the craziness already going on in Wonderland. What they will notice is the blood. There's blood on her face, her hair, her clothes and her hands. As she grips the camera some of that blood is smeared on the lens, distorting her image. One can still see a pair of metal scissors in her other hand, though, also crimson colored with blood.]

What? Where's..? The First Lady. I was on-board.. I went through the door and..

Oh God...

I killed her. I.. I did that.

[Her voice is a frantic, hushed whisper, but gets louder when she says the name:]

Booker? Booker!! Where are you?

This is.. Wonderland? I'm in Wonderland?

[So she came back. But why now? Why?]
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. ]
stagstrong: (I MAD)
[personal profile] stagstrong
[Robert was staring at the ocean. It seemed an odd place to put an ocean, given he had only just been at the Trident, which was not far from the ocean, but not nearly so close to it as he stood now. But he took no special joy in the salty sea breeze. He'd felt it so many times at Storm's End and now it held nothing for him but a bitter reminder of a wreck along the rocks. Slowly he paced along the beach, but had to hobble because his leg had been cut and was bleeding still through his bandages. His chest had still not fully healed from the wound he took before the battle of Stony Sept and somehow the ocean seemed to only aggravate it more. He should be racing to King's Landing, not standing alone at a beach in the darkening evening. He stepped on strange rock on the ground and heard it crunch. At this point, the video feed begins.]

Seven hells, but where did the army get to?

[Suddenly and without warning, Robert begins to bellow. His voice is loud. It has to be loud, because his voice is that of a battle commander and one that must be heard over the chaos of battle and to the furthest off soldier. Magnified through the device at his feet, it's almost obnoxiously loud.]

JON! JON ARRYN!? GODS DAMMIT, WHERE ARE YOU!?

[No reply comes. Not from the beach, anyway. So he picks up his warhammer, tightens his grip on his shield, and prepares to march away from the ocean.

Later, once he's found his way to the mansion, he'll be exploring the grounds and can be found wherever seems most likely.]
wolfwild: (ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ)
[personal profile] wolfwild
...Benjen? [ when lyanna stark pushes herself into a sitting position a few twists and turns away from the maze's centre, her instinct is to call for one of her brothers: the youngest, first, and with a lilt of concern. with a groan, she brushes detritus off her palms and straightens her skirts (simple; in the northern style). and she tries to figure out why she might have been preparing her palfrey to ride in one moment, and sitting in dirt the next.

not that she minded the dirt -- not really. but she did mind the conspicuous absence of her kin. panic mounts: ]
Brandon? Ned?

[ she scrambles to her feet and finds the strange small brick only a few feet away. lyanna picks it up and can now be seen peering suspiciously at its every angle. ] You're a funny thing. [ she mutters, tapping it gently and fingering (but not pressing) the buttons. but then she holds it loosely in her fist and raises her voice. ] By all the named gods and the unnamed gods -- Brandon Stark! If this is some trick or a mummer's game, I will have your hide. And without it, you can hardly hope to woo any pretty --

[ she stops abruptly because the brick chirrups like some odd precise bird. surprise catches the breath in her throat and she's forced to ask -- staring straight at the device: ] ...Are you alive, little brick?

[ grab her attention on the funny little brick-bird or else find her wandering the maze and the gardens. ]
ripstides: (defend ❖ maybe we're both wrong.)
[personal profile] ripstides
[ now that he can speak without feeling like he's in a boy band, it's time to address the network again. not because he has a lot to say that hasn't already been said. he hopes it has come up before; he hopes that with how many people are in Wonderland, tons of them have broached this topic. but he knows that one person or even a few people can't save everyone, it's impossible to have that many eyes. so, that's where this comes in. that's why there's a shot of a grassy field with some straw dummies in it, stuck into the ground and standing. some of them are covered in fabric to keep them together better, others aren't.

some of you might recognize Percy from the back of his head, but most of you won't. that's not important right away. he's decked out in leather armor from the closet, the same place the dummies came from. it's not as good as the kind he had back in Manhattan, but it does the trick.

he's not angry at Wonderland, he doesn't have a reason to be. not yet. he hasn't been here long enough to suffer what he keeps hearing about from people he wants to protect. terrifying events. events that can kill people, can strip them of their powers, of anything that gives them an edge. so that's why he's going to charge a dummy with a glowing, bronze sword and efficiently hack it to pieces. it's the kind of necessary violence that reminds him of his once upon a time sword fighting mentor. but the point is, he doesn't stop until only ribbons of fabric and straw are left. it's not to show off, it's a demonstration of what he can offer.
]

So I don't know about the rest of you, but I hate feeling like there's nothing I can do. Like I'm just a piece in someone's stupid game to prove gods know what to gods know who. [ he's facing the camera now and shrugging, Riptide still in hand. ] Maybe I can't change that.

[ maybe i can. ]

But I can change what Wonderland does to people during events. I hope I'm not the first guy to offer, considering I've only been here for about five weeks. You don't have to be powerless. I can teach you to fight. Swords aren't for everyone, but I've got friends who know how to use knives and spears, and sometimes, whatever happens to be around in a crisis. Knowing how to defend yourself isn't always going to save you [ i've seen the best fighters go down ] but it can make a difference, if you're willing to try. I come from a summer camp that specializes in teaching kids of all ages, so if you think it isn't in you, I'm telling you it is.

I know I haven't seen the scary stuff this place can throw at us yet. But I can't keep hearing about it and hoping for the best, because speaking from experience? [ he's just going to stab his sword into the ground now. ] That never works out.

I guess what I'm saying is: you can run in fear and go into hiding alone or you can stand up and we can face it together.

Or [ and the serious face drops, so he can crack a sheepish grin ] uh, we can practice as a hobby. I'm good with that, too.

voice

Apr. 29th, 2014 10:44 pm
scorchedlily: (stricken)
[personal profile] scorchedlily
[She'd expected to hit the water, so when she does, it's no surprise. Instinct has her holding her breath and fighting to reach the surface even as the heavy weight of her gown drags her inexorably downwards. It takes only about twenty seconds of rapid descent through oddly pretty depths, her speed aided by the sheer height from which she'd fallen, for Milady to realise that if she wants to live, the gown needs to go.

Struggling with her skirts, she reaches through a hidden slit in the voluminous fabric to pull a dagger from the sheath on her thigh and reaches up to slice away her heavily embroidered stomacher. Despite not being able to breathe underwater, removing the hard panel gives her some small confidence (and a little less weight), and her next move is to cut the ribbons connecting her sleeves to her bodice. A desperate shake of her arms has the material floating away, leaving her only with the heavy swathes of fabric entangling her legs and dragging her unrelentingly downwards. Feeling the tightness in her lungs that signals the need for air - soon - Milady begins the frantic slashing of her waistband - and it takes almost too long. Fighting desperately to keep her mouth shut to prevent the instinctive intake of air that simply isn't there, she continues to hack at the uncooperative jacquard until she can wriggle out of it (internally cursing the stupidity of a bum roll). Judicious kicking frees her of the weighty mass which continues to sink, and she immediately strikes for the surface--


--and inhales a huge lungful of water.

Through her panic is irritation that she's going to bloody drown, of all things, and she kicks desperately

to save


herself...



















Blue eyes open blearily, wet sand gritty and harsh under her cheek. Her dagger is gone, lost to the ocean, but she can see a sleeve that somehow made it onto the beach, bedraggled and limp, mocking her.

Moving is too hard.

Something much closer in her field of vision draws her focus, and while she has to blink several times for the small box thing tied to her wrist to be clearly visible, when it does happen, she's hit with a strange sense of deja vu.

Lifting her hand with some effort, she slaps at what she's sure is the button to make the thing work.]


…not again.

[En français, and in raspy, harsh tones, but undeniably her voice, for those who'd know it.]
sorryitasedyou: (Default)
[personal profile] sorryitasedyou
[She's been in Wonderland for a little while, figuring out how to work the closet and laying low while everyone seemed to sing and pour their hearts and superiority out through song... It was wonky.

She takes her sweet time looking around the massively huge library, hesitant to even reach out to the network because there are just so many awesome things screaming at her for attention. BUT she needs to know if anyone else is here, especially Jane. She clears her throat before starting the feed.]


What’s up wonderful and talented Wonderland!

First of all – wow. Was not expecting people to be bursting out in to song... not that I knew what to expect. Anyhoo, kick-ass library… really. Kinda weirded out about the whole Wonderland thing since I don’t remember chasing a fluffy rabbit in a vest but I can roll with it for now.

Jane, if you and Thor ended up here instead of Asgard, please let me know because this is all sorts of messed up. Also, ditching me and leaving me standing in the rain to deal with the cops – so not cool.

For anyone else, my name’s Darcy and I like long walks on the beach, top shelf tequila and whiskey, listening to music, lounging by roaring fire, helping an Asgardian god and his buddies try and stop his psycho brother from leveling a town in New Mexico, and video games. Oh! Also books – I loooove a good book.

[She manages to keep a straight face through the last part, before finally losing it. She should probably take this more seriously, but with the singing and everything - it's really hard to maintain any sort of composure.

She takes a breath, running a hand through her hair.]


Ok, but really - I have questions. Any helpful information is appreciated like why I've been kidnapped and brought here... that'd be nice to know. Also if any of the Avengers are here, you probs don't know me but I know you in that 'I promise I'm not a creepy fangirl stalker' way - had to keep an eye on the big guy... So... yeah - please just let me know.

Toodles kids!

[end of feed.]

Video

Apr. 7th, 2014 05:59 pm
sorta_cinderella: (Default)
[personal profile] sorta_cinderella
[Saki is in her room, tying up her long black hair in a braid. She's laid the device against her mirror, speaking to it while she tends to her hair.]

The idea of different worlds is shocking, isn't it? Sometimes it can be difficult to comprehend another culture so the idea of worlds...

In my home, Japan, our culture has 'rules' about names, and what you call one another. You may only use the first name of someone you know if you are very close. So when you hear your friend call you by your name for the first time... it's quite an emotional time. But it appears that many of you come from a Western culture, where you use the first name right away, without a care.

Is this because the Western cultures you hail from are friendlier or ruder? Or should we perhaps embrace this closeness, since we are all equally trapped in Wonderland?

[Pause. Eh, enough philosophy.]

I'm bored out of my mind. That lizard should have built a movie theater.
strangeboy: (I ain't tryna play)
[personal profile] strangeboy
[A face emerges onscreen, one that's (hopefully) been missed by a few of the residents. Not that D'Artagnan realizes it, of course. Why, only a few moments ago he'd been in the kitchen, enjoying a beef sandwich, and now he finds himself in the dark attic-- the dusty collection of mismatched furniture and knickknacks is clearly visible behind him-- sans his sandwich and with only the glow of his communicator able to provide him with light. He's tired, which he hadn't been before, and feels...well. Certainly different than he'd felt eating his sandwich. A bit excited, perhaps? Like he could fight his enemy on the roof of a church after an airship battle.

The memory washes through him, sudden and overwhelming, as if it just happened and he hadn't been here for a year. He frowns.
]

Odd. [His voice is a murmur, and the image blurs for a moment, steadying on the attic floor. It seems our dear Musketeer has turned on the video function unintentionally. Hardly the first time it's happened, and curiously enough, it's hardly the first time he's found himself unexpectedly in the attic. He'll be sure to watch for the stairs, this time around.

The only sound that follows is the creak of the floor, the sound of his footsteps over the old wood. The stairs appear, and D'Artagnan takes a breath, moving carefully but efficiently down them.
]

I hope no one's eaten my sandwich.

[The screen goes black just as the top floor comes into focus.]
thestormcomes: (bitch u cray)
[personal profile] thestormcomes
[Unbeknownst to Athos, all Hell has broken loose in most other parts of the Mansion. He stays inside, he doesn't get out often enough to notice any particular changes - and if he did, he wouldn't concern himself overly upon finding a dead body. The occasional corpse in the gutter of the Parisian ghetto is absolutely unsurprising: people pick fights and lose, drunken men fall into the Seine, the Cardinal's guards cut through a swath of rioters like a hot knife through butter.

Athos' real concern is the fact that one of his party is missing.

Now, D'Artagnan had gone missing several days ago, but it isn't at all out of the ordinary for the boy to stay over with a lady friend or spend the night elsewhere. The eldest musketeer's fear rests in the fact that he entered D'Artagnan's room only to find it completely barren.

The next day, the dog that D'Artagnan had been caring for found its way into his chambers, licking him awake. It should be noted that Athos suffers from a fear of large hounds these days (no fault of his own, you see), and doesn't much like that he's resorting to the public to appeal for assistance.
]

Has anyone seen D'Artagnan of late? Young man - not yet twenty, brown hair? Petulantly irritating at times?

[A dog barks in the back of the feed and he physically cringes, thumbing the hilt of his sword.]

...and if anyone would care to take this beast off my hands, I would be much obliged.
justrunsasaloon: (bartender)
[personal profile] justrunsasaloon
[First, there's just the soft sigh of motherly frustration. It's a noise that Ellen's made more than she's willing to admit. However, the cause isn't human this time. Bright white whiskers brush over the camera. There's an indignant mewl as Ellen moves the Scottish Fold Silver Tabby from the camera.]

Pest. Stop.
Lookin' for some hands. Boys, step up. We're gonna be doin' somethin' we should have done when I first ended up here. We've got the supplies.

We're building a still.

Who's going to help?
newsclipping: SWORDS™ (Default)
[personal profile] newsclipping
[ so that feed. it keeps flickering on and off, as what appears to be a lanky teenage boy presses the buttons, going through all the functions. ]

Wait - so -

[ video to audio to text to nothing, then back again. ]

What's falksejfalsejfaef hello ??????/

[ alright. alright. hold up. he changes it back to video, as that's what he thinks he's seen on the network so far. he'll have to look into this later. ]

Whoa. Okay - you do talk into this, right? That's what this is for? I mean, this is crazy - is this, like, some kind of moving picture? Because even Hansel and Gretel couldn't've put that together! I mean. That I know of. They can do a lot, but I've totally gotta show them this.

[ he clears his throat. ]

Anyway. Hello! My name is Ben. Ben Wosser. And quick question. Is there something on fire, and, on top of that, is there water anywhere where I can kinda just - put that out really quick?

Or is that fog just a regular thing? A weird regular thing?
thestormcomes: (avertissement)
[personal profile] thestormcomes
[The Mansion has really outdone itself this year with the decor.

Boughs of holly, garlands strung over banisters and swags of pine in the halls. The kitchen smells like cinnamon and nutmeg, wreaths deck every door, and little sprigs of mistletoe hang from just about every public doorway (he strenuously avoids those, by the by). It actually feels like Yule -- there's even a massive log in the fireplaces, burning strong to keep the cold at bay.

Of course, all this probably means that something abso-fucking-lutely horrible is going to happen - because in his experience, that's how things go down around here - but Athos isn't tremendously opposed to enjoying things while he can.

In fact, you can find him peeling oranges in the kitchen with a small mountain of spices next to a pot full of dark, red liquid. Quietly singing something that modern audiences might think sounds suspiciously like The First Noël (albeit in French, sorry) under his breath, he throws a handful of cloves into his mysterious concoction and sets the stove to flame.

Spoiler alert: it's mulled wine. No one should be surprised.

He probably won't notice if anyone creeps up in his business. Probably.
]






NOTE -- Any mistletoe shenanigans that I planned with people might as well go in here, if people are amenable to that idea! :)
cowhouse: (so there.)
[personal profile] cowhouse
[IS THIS THING ON? First actual network post is go, here's to hoping it doesn't broadcast into the ether!

Jesse's face pops up on the feed, and if he looks a little worn out, the reason will be clear soon enough. He looks to be in decent spirits, though, cigarette in hand-- no Debbie Downer here!]


Uh, yo. [Great start! Nailed it.] So I don't know how many smokers we got here, but it's getting mad cold up there on the roof and we got all these empty rooms so I figured yo, why not make 'em work, like--  [VAGUE HAND WAVE.] -like a lounge or whatever.

[A beat, and then:]

I, uh-- I guess I got kinda carried away... [He turns his head and pulls the camera back to reveal a tastefully decorated lounge area, complete with a number of small tables all housing giant ornate hookahs and a bunch of oversized couches with a range of extremely cozy looking pillows.Fucking VIP.

How did such a scrawny dude move all that stuff around? Who cares, it's awesome and that's all that matters.]
Whatever. This's Wonderland, you can't do Wonderland without hookahs. And since the caterpillar's like majorly slacking in the pipe department I figured somebody's gotta hook it up.

[There's a stereo, too, but he doesn't really need to say anything about that- it's loud enough that anyone watching will undoubtedly be able to hear the sick tunes he's got playing. Is it anything resembling the right genre for the atmosphere?  Of course not, but Jesse gives zero fucks about that.  AND THAT SOUND QUALITY. You're welcome.  

He turns back to grin at the camera.]


So come smoke it up, bitches! Eighth floor, yo, open for business free of charge. No cover.

[Aaaand he cuts the feed there. Time to try these suckers out... For quality control purposes, you understand.  He'll be around for a while, though once his lungs get tired of the abuse he'll probably be stretched out on one of those couches and cranking that dope sound system way, way up.]
not_apriest: (aramis grave)
[personal profile] not_apriest
[Aramis spent most of the first day free of his mirror locked in his own room, alternately pacing and praying. His mirror had spent a good portion of his time in control offending people, but one far more gravely than any of the rest and he didn't know how to even begin to make restitution. Finally he unlocked his door and ventured out into the apartment. When he came to Athos' door, he reached out to knock, then withdrew his hand, then reached out again and, this time, firmly knocked.]
thestormcomes: (well it just so happens)
[personal profile] thestormcomes
[Athos was there when it first happened, the sudden explosion of glass as mirrors shattered and tree roots poured out. He fared well for the first day or so (he can't remember how long it took him to cut through the swath of flora); it always pays to have a sword at your side. Understandably, moving plants were not his forte -- people are predictable, much like an animal is predictable when one is indulging in a hunt, and people he can fend off with relative ease.

Plants, however, appear to be an entirely different matter. After all, the boxwoods at Versailles are not known to attack passers-by.

That was, of course, when a vine whipped around one leg and another series of thoughts - another mind entirely - invaded his own and suddenly everything was flowery prose, it was- it was moonlit nights and a strange devotion for the self, a near-maddening torrent of pride and vanity.

It was a voice in his head that sounded exactly like his own, who in the moment spoke and said:

...I say, rather dismal in here, isn't it? No flowers, no...not even a rose? Ah, but I see there was one, once!
Perhaps I should write a poem about it -- The Ballad of Lost Love? No? How about a limerick instead?

Ahem. There once was a man named Athos-


Coping with the voice was no easy feat. A whole evening's sleep wasted on composing sonnets, Athos would only occasionally relinquish control to allow himself better peace of mind since his mirror (as it introduced itself) seemed decent, if frivolous.

And the voice isn't so bad when it isn't embarrassing him horribly.
]






[[ NOTE: Athos will be wandering the mansion attempting to help people -- his mirror will do much the same (with lesser success). Please specify in the subject bar which Athos you would like to start your interaction with!

Warning: MirrorAthos is like a High Renaissance Gilderoy Lockhart. Converse with to your own detriment at your own risk.]]
airshipswank: (airshipswank | party don't start 'till I)
[personal profile] airshipswank
Wonderland City! A place sparkling vividly with dashing heroics, devious villainy and most importantly... glorious fashion! At the heart of the town a silver tower rears its crisp and metallic head, donning the letters GV atop, like a luminous and majestic crown.

Here works and creates George Villiers, founder, owner, heart and soul of the fashion company of the same name; a business humbly and locally grown, yet finally internationally revered.

George Villiers himself has only just returned from an inspirational business trip to Venice (which seems impossibly far in the past already, as though he never left the city at all and certainly never wants to leave it again in the future), basking in the thunder and lightning of photographers and reporters eager to receive him.

In the next few days he will oversee inspections of the company's headquarters, prepare and attend the presentation of this year's fall collection, put the finishing touches to his latest creation, and see to any other appointments he might have set up.

And perhaps, just perhaps, he will find the time, inclination and generosity to spare five of his immeasurably valuable minutes for you.

[[ OOC NOTES UNDER HERE ]] )
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.
airshipswank: (I answer for my will to no man)
[personal profile] airshipswank
{ See, I'm back again... } )

{ III. VIDEO } [ And so his last act for the day, once he has changed into something more suitable, is to casually show himself on the network, as though he never left for even a day! ]

We have... artists here, I imagine? Painters, at least one of them, I should hope. I'll have a small task for them, should they be interested in ways to pass their time, or... earn a reward.

[[OOC: Whoops, that took me a bit longer than I imagined, but Buckingham is finally back. Anybody who wants to interact with him can either run into his action thingies in I and II, or answer his transmission in III.]]
justguidelines: (☠ for future reference a lint roller)
[personal profile] justguidelines

[When the feed kicks on, the most obvious thing is that the air is full of soot. Or smoke. Or maybe both, though the ratio isn't really all that important. Hector's got it smeared down one cheek, as though he's wiped his face with a dirty hand, and across the front of his shirt, invoking the same idea.

However, it's apparent just from his expression that he is having an absolute blast, and his grin couldn't get any wider if it tried.]


If ye have need of the sixth floor, I suggest ye watch your step. Might have gotten a little overzealous with the grenades. They work a treat to blow the bloody things apart, but.

Well.

They work just as well on walls and floors, don't they.

[He gives a snort, before another cloud of smoke, along with the sound of the grenade exploding, goes off behind him, and he kills the feed.]

radiopalkiller: (don't know what else I was expecting)
[personal profile] radiopalkiller
~ Chapter I: Worse Than Google Search Keywords - An Accidental Video Transmission ~

--never been that stubborn before! Jesus...

[ There is not much this feed actually offers visually, other than one corner of a rather dull room, but the voice to the side of the recording keeps going nevertheless, accompanied by the occasional rustling of pages and frequent sounds of a wooden door creaking open and shut. ]

Book. [ ... ] Will you stop shoving that in my face? [ Something flies past the screen and lands behind the bed. It can probably be identified as, yes, a book, though hopefully it has passed too fast for anyone to catch the cover. ] Where do you even get-- Actually, I don't even want to know. Empty book. Go. [ ... ] No, that's- too small, erm... Thick b-- tome. A tome with blank pa--

[ Click. And with that the feed is getting bored of Philip's search and turns itself off again. Rightfully so, because this will be going on for a while. A good while, until several failed attempts later, when... ]

[ TO BE CONTINUED under the cut ] )
scorchedlily: (oh i'm but a poor helpless woman!)
[personal profile] scorchedlily
[The average court garb of a noblewoman in the 17th century weighs approximately forty pounds - that's around eighteen kilograms, for those who like to think in the metric system.

When that garb is completely submerged in seawater and then dragged over dunes and unfamiliar gardens by a wearer who's not quite sure if she's not really dead, it weighs considerably more. That's why each quiet swear word as a somewhat bedraggled Lady de Winter hauls her ruined gown across the grounds is more like a whispered threat... it sounds much nicer in French, though.

There's a brass and walnut box with a glass inlay hanging from a velvet ribbon on her left wrist. She couldn't really say why she'd picked it up, and after several experimental pokes and prods that apparently yield no results, it dangles, forgotten, any curiosity it held overshadowed by the desire to find out just where on God's green earth she is. Or isn't. Anyone who happens to be interested in this struggle will be treated to a view of waterlogged jacquard silk in what used to be a lovely silvered mint green, and is now just... grey, interspersed with grass and sky that careen past with every staggering step.

The narration hopes no one gets motion sick, but Milady wouldn't give two figs if she knew - she just wants out of this sodding, sodden dress.]


...somebody must live here. Of course they do. Even purgatory has staff. Continuez à marcher, et il y aura une femme de ménage ... ou un jardinier ... ou un marmiton.

[tl;dr? Damsel in apparent distress. Cue rescue party.]





[ooc: All my Franch has hover text, for your convenience.]

✑ one

Jul. 10th, 2013 12:09 am
hannibal: (Default)
[personal profile] hannibal
I do believe the French have coined a phrase for it. Folie à plusieurs, madness, shared by many. It seems entirely improbable considering the circumstances where several of you have found their way to this establishment. [ He's glancing behind him, towards a towering window in a hallway he's found. ] As unlikely as it seems that so many of us share a delusion in which we've been abducted from a familiar place and set here, perhaps it's best to accept such a fact. The alternative... [ Being that they are here, that this is actually something that's happening. ] Is more so.

I would like to ask a question of those who have found their way to this mansion. Did you recall what happened when you lost sight of your own existence? Was there an event that triggered the occurrence? Perhaps a particular food that you've never tried before. [ He's determined to understand this, to analyze their surroundings and what they mean. Certainly there's a symbolism, a common ground that's caused them to find themselves here. ]

And speaking of food, is there a kitchen available? According to this leaflet I've found in my assigned room, there's apparently not a possible way out. I figure I would make the most of my time in a productive manner.
sinkships: ({Glasses} And I'm lovin' your tie)
[personal profile] sinkships
[Redglare looks displeased, and for those who have ever seen her, her displeasure is actually something quite odd to see. At least, the fact that it's visible is. She frowns stares at the journal then sniffs at it around to get another feel for it before smiling like it all makes sense to her. Of course it doesn't at all, but she needs to make up for a failed initial impression.]

I'd consider my appearance here rather odd, were it not for the fact that where I was before was rather detrimental to my health.

[Not that she really needs to worry about that anymore, considering the whole "being dead" thing. She slowly cleans her glasses on her shirt, eyes staring unseeing at the screen, before putting them back on and pushing them up a bit.]

It's still rather unpleasant as far as sudden happenings go, but I would appreciate some sort of explanation. And perhaps to be introduced to the individual in charge. Perhaps even to a way back to where I was. Not exactly where I was, mind. Maybe a few feet forward and a bit to the left.

[And a few feet down and off the noose, with her sword through Mindfang's heart. Ah, yes. That would be nice indeed. Her smile widens ever so slightly.]

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