Aug. 31st, 2014 03:17 am
stoptheviolence: (pic#7284138)
[personal profile] stoptheviolence
[A young woman sat by the campfire, surrounded by wagons. Surprisingly impeccably dressed--simple, modest, yet functional--for one who had spent all day traveling. Her eyes were slightly glossy as she stared into the flames.]

[After a time, she begins to sing. (Because, of course, what could be more appropriate in the moment than an impromptu musical number?) A soft melody that drifts into the air, echoing amongst the night sky for any close by to hear:]

Do you wanna die of typhoid?
Because it's here to stay
We've got the wagons all hitched up
But never stop to wash a cup
Until our health, it fades away
We used to be so healthy
And now we're not
I wish you would tell me why
Do you wanna die of typhoid
It doesn't have to be of typhoid....

rues: ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ sᴛᴇᴀʟ (sorcerers of death's construction)
[personal profile] rues
[ it was bound to happen eventually, let's be honest. at least it's not embarrassing. it is, however, strangely endearing. for once, clarisse isn't being violent or abrasive or rude — she's just playing with her baby boar, who sports a red bandana around his neck. he hops through the grass next to a large pile of lumber, which happen to all be in the shape of fence posts. on top of the lumber are a number of books laying open, all in greek. hmm, i wonder what she could be up to.

she definitely wasn't intending to post this video. is it so hard to just record something for yourself? apparently.

she can't actually be seen, but she's smiling and (can it be?) laughing when polemos comes running up to her leg and snorts into the camera. ]
Okay, come here. [ she picks him up and he disappears from the frame for a moment as she puts him in her lap. she sets her phone on her leg and the view switches to show her face for a brief second until she leans over to grab one of the books from the pile of lumber, sticking it on top of the little boar in between her legs. he snorts again and scrambles out from under the book and clarisse laughs softly and shakes her head.

she's far too distracted by polemos hopping over to the pile of lumber and grunting at it, watching his little nose sniff away, to realize that the video is still going. her face comes back into focus as she glances down at the book, entitled carpentry for dummies. she doesn't feel any less dumb than when she started, honestly. she sighs, defeated and frustrated. she doesn't need to know how to cut lumber or how to sand it — the magic of wonderland closets already did that for her. she just wants to know how to build a fucking fence. ugh. she sighs heavily and then tosses the book behind her. ]
I have no idea what I'm doing. [ whatever would have been the next thing she said if she were actually talking to anyone, but... well, she's not. not really. instead, she gets up, knocking her phone off her leg without realizing it. it plants itself facedown in the grass while clarisse runs to catch polemos from getting too far away.

she'll come back with a pig in her arms and wonder why people are talking to her. thanks a lot, wonderland. she'll be by the stables with her pile of lumber and her favorite boar, so feel free to come harass her as well. ]

3 ☽ text

Aug. 18th, 2014 09:58 am
resent: (Default)
[personal profile] resent
[ cora's going to make this nice and quick. after experiencing a normal life as a teenager, sans the canines, and having a repeat performance as herself, cora's beginning to feel a little on edge. as there's no alphas to hunt down and try and lure into a violent dance, cora's had to make do with herself — and similarly to how she feels about being stripped down to the bare essentials that come with being human, she's angry about it. nothing feels enough. nothing ever is enough. not while she's here, not while she has time to actually stop running and fighting. ]

Is there a gym? Getting tired of running outside. Sticks and stones.

[ may not break her bones but they sure as hell bruise as badly as being human and liking it does. running out in the woods isn't punishing enough, unfortunately. even if she wished for a silver bar in her room, it seems to disappear each time cora wakes up. it's as if her own room won't allow her to work herself to the bone. ]

I need a sparring partner. Prefer it to not be Thumper.

[ there's too many rabbits out in the woods. she's not going to bother asking any takers?. ]
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.
goodwoofjames: (The boy with the thorn in his side)
[personal profile] goodwoofjames
[Sirius has woken up in weirder places, probably. You go running through the Forbidden Forest as a happy little puppy and don't end up going down random paths out of excitement! It's extremely difficult not to, especially when everything smells so interesting (and your werewolf friend might get into trouble if you lose track of him.) So sometimes he wakes up in a tree, or a cave, or in the greenhouse. Sometimes he's already in detention! In any case, it's always a laugh in hindsight, if not at the time. Pine needles can get into such wonderful places.

Because of all this, he hardly thinks it's odd to be facedown in sand when he wakes up. His first instinct is to sit up, brush himself off, and grin. Good Merlin, they must've really gotten going last night! Hopefully they didn't torture the poor squid, or Hagrid'll have his head! Because. That's where he is. Right? On the beach by the lake?

Does the lake even have a beach?

It doesn't.

And neither does the wee village the Potters' lived in. Which is where he fell asleep last night.

Oh, damn. Did he...sleep-apparate? Is that even possible? It seems unlikely, although he's certainly done worse things in his sleep. At least this time 'round he's got his trousers on.

As he pats himself down just to make extra sure he is, in fact, in his full trousered glory, he realizes his right pocket is oddly heavy. He fishes out a strange object and, brilliant wizard that he is, immediately begins prodding it with his wand. "Hmm. Aparecium?" He isn't even sure where to start. Where's Evans when you need to cheat off her parchment?

Of course, it is at this point that the camera switches on. Viewers are treated to a stick and vague, uncertain mumbling of apparent nonsense.]

[Congratulations! You have stumbled upon a lone, confused wizard teen! Observe as he shoves a stick into his pocket and grins broadly, as if that wasn't totally weird.]

Hullo! I'm a bit lost, I'm afraid. Any chance you could give me some directions? I promise, I wasn't trespassing, just, erm. [...Drunk?] Took a wrong turn, somewhere.

[His expression flickers as he remembers something and just sort of. Casually. Brushes his broom behind him with his foot.]

I'm Si-- Simon. Been rambling through the country and it was so windy the other night. Whipped the map right out of my hands! [Hahaha muggles still use maps right?]
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.
teamug: (Default)
[personal profile] teamug
[She's been here for a few hours now, and really isn't sure what to make of anything. She's tried to do the exploring thing, and now feels as good of a time as any to do the talking over the communicator to people. When she pops up on screen, she's awkwardly smiling, and looks off to the left and to the right before speaking. Oh, this just feels weird.]

Is it on? Hello? [She purses her lips together, and eventually decides that yes it is, and gives a firm nod of her head. Her smile becomes a little more warm at that point, and she flips a hand up in a wave.]

This is all real, isn't it? Really, actually real. [Some of the things that have happened recently, she's a bit unsure about all of that.] Right then, I'll take this over being dead any day. But -

[A pause, and then she's left frowning.]

I'm looking for someone, thought that maybe he might be here. Answers to Doctor. Not a doctor. The Doctor. Dunno why he insists on being particular about that, but now he's got me doing it too. [Which is just great, really.]

He's easy to pick out of a crowd, what with the tweed and bow tie -

[Oh wait. Her Doctor might not be wearing those anymore. New face, new man, new style. She frowns deeply, looking pained, and gulps down her emotions as she forces herself to continue talking.]

And the inability to stay out of trouble. Also the eyebrows. They look a bit like white caterpillars. Doubt he's shown his face, but if he has, I could really use his help in getting out of here. I've been to plenty of topsy turvy places here lately. Not really looking to stay in this one long term.

[ooc: I wasn't sure if the event ended at midnight on the third or on the fourth, so please think of this as going up after the event's over! Sorry for any confusion.]
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.]
not_apriest: (aramis en garde)
[personal profile] not_apriest
D'Artagnan, I've been asked to conduct some more...formal fencing classes. I was wondering if you might have time to assist with some of them, to help demonstrate techniques.
strangeboy: (:|)
[personal profile] strangeboy
[D'Artagnan's not entirely sure why it took him so long to notice. He's been here a year-- more, in fact-- and the ponytails he's been putting his hair in have only gotten longer and longer. Maybe it's when he realizes that his hair is nearly halfway down his back that he has a problem. And that problem is that his hair is too long and too unruly to really take care of properly anymore.

He can hardly cut it himself. So.

D'Artagnan's face appears on the network, looking as it usually does, and his hair pulled into a bun at the back of his head. Still much too long.


[There's an awkward pause. D'Artagnan looks away from his device and then back to it, letting out a breath. Nerves.]

I've been here more than a year, and it seems I've neglected to ah, groom myself, in that time. [Not the best way to put it, he knows, but it'll be worth it. Maybe.]

So, if there's anyone here who, ah, may be able to help with the length of my hair? I'd be grateful. It seems my swordsmanship doesn't extend to scissors.

[One last, awkward clearing of his throat and then he clicks it off.]
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! :)
strangeboy: (go away)
[personal profile] strangeboy
I. Morning

[You know what? D'Artagnan's having a good week. He was largely unaffected by the most recent event, and has yet to suffer any residual consequences, like finding out about the havoc Aramis' mirror caused. It's going to be a good week, he can tell. After a short night's sleep he's up and ready to do...well, something, but first: breakfast.

He makes his way to the kitchen and decides he's bold enough to attempt to make it for himself. He finds a cookbook, turns to a page with breakfast recipes and begins to cook. Who knows how this will end...

II. Afternoon

[Breakfast is all well and good, but there's nothing like spending time in the library. Which is what D'Artagnan does for a few hours. He searches the stacks for more cookbooks. Who knows? Perhaps he'll become a connoisseur like Athos is. On second thought, no. He really, really shouldn't.

After he's done in the library, he heads out toward the stables, both to spend some time with the horses and to practice his swordsmanship. It's better to have a partner, of course, but he'll make do.

III. Evening

[You can't forget dinner, of course, which is the most important meal of the day. It's back to the kitchen, cookbook in hand, to attempt another dish. He'd certainly share with anyone who found themselves drawn in by the smell.]
onsilksheets: (pic#2934029)
[personal profile] onsilksheets
[The feed clicks on to reveal a glittering night-sky filled with millions of stars, some brighter than others. Bela can't be seen but it's clear that someone has set the camera up and she speaks after a few moments.]

Beautiful, aren't they? Peaceful too. A stark contrast to last week.

[This wasn't the sole reason why she was addressing the network and she soon carries on.]

Dean? Sweetie, you and I are long overdue for a chit-chat.

[Bela doesn't bother with filtering her messages and her breezy tone disguises the ill feeling that she has in her stomach.]

Oh, and La Lumière? Come find me when you get the chance.

[And click!]


[She can be found on the roof, draped across a comfortable looking chaise lounge, a blanket pulled up around her. It's a cold evening but Bela wasn't going to star gaze just any old way- she had to do it in style. There's an empty flask tucked away in the corner (she had drank all of the tea within) and drinking wine whilst on a rooftop was stupid.

Even if Bela felt like she could use something stronger than Earl Grey.
confessyoursins: (judgement)
[personal profile] confessyoursins
[Aramis' mirror has taken over quite handily. You might notice him stop and take a deep breath, even twitch very slightly on occasion, but the mirror's determination to prey on this side of the glass for the first time is strong. You can find him anywhere in the castle. Let me know when and where in the subject line!]
alwaysnext: (Default)
[personal profile] alwaysnext
[He spent five days living like a regular human, albeit a regular human stuck in a haunted mineshaft, and now a week as his normal, synthetically-enhanced self. Except Luke isn't aware Wonderland can turn them all into average humans, and he can't figure out what that last event actually did to him.

Because he doesn't have obvious flashy powers to lose, the only explanation he has is he got sick. But Luke isn't supposed to get sick, and no one else has been complaining about being ill, which is what usually happens when things go bad for all of them.

So, given a choice between going for a medical check up at a clinic staffed by UNIT, Torchwood and Victor Frankenstein, or asking a vague question that's going to sound really stupid to everyone, Luke's opted for the latter.]

That last week with the mines, did anyone feel weird? Not just 'trapped in the dark eating mine food' weird. Like sick, or really tired, or kinda... gooey?

[Phlegm and bile and oily skin, ugh. Surely that's not normal for a bunch of terrified people starving together in a cave.]

Like you couldn't think properly, because your brain was all messed up. But it only lasted for the event. Like the mansion made it happen. Am I just crazy?


Oct. 9th, 2013 07:42 pm
teamug: (it's okay to be afraid)
[personal profile] teamug
[It's taken Clara a while to get to the point of being able to speak out loud. She's freaked out after waking up in a random part of the mansion, remembering the event and the fact that she most definitely died.

It was all too familiar of a feeling, the intense heat and the feeling of internally being torn apart. So it's set her on edge, and she's not in any condition at all to post her usual video message. But those that know her well enough should recognize her voice, as well as the calculated level of calmness that she's projecting.

That wasn't very nice. Then again, not many things here are.

[A pause, and she gives out a shaky breath of air.]

So. [Awkward pause goes here.] Did anyone else happen to die during the last event?

[That's her way of demanding everyone she knows check in and tell her that they in fact didn't die, and they're all perfectly okay and in one piece and nothing at all is wrong with them.]
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 )


Sep. 6th, 2013 12:43 pm
crosscompiler: ([Sprite] Dejected)
[personal profile] crosscompiler
...Hello, everyone.

[ Chihiro isn't quite sure where to begin - so much has changed overnight, and she has so much to say about it. ]

I just wanted to let you all know... this is... this is my event. These are my memories. When I woke up, I thought I ended up back in my world for a moment... everything is almost exactly the same as I remember, including... including this letter.

[ She holds up a small envelope, marked "Chihiro Fujisaki", and shows it to the camera. ]

Back in my world, we were trapped in a school like this, and we were told that our secrets would be revealed if we didn't kill someone. I... I don't know what kind of secrets you all have but... please... nothing is worth killing someone else for.

...One of my classmates suggested... that we all admit our secrets, so that we could be sure nobody would kill to keep them. And... I can't ask all of you to do that, but... since this is my event, I feel like I should take responsibility. So, I'm... I'm going to tell you all what this letter says.

[ Her hands trembling, she opens the envelope, taking out the small paper inside. She clears her dry throat before continuing to speak. ]

H-here it goes...

[ With a deep breath, she reaches within herself to find the strength to admit her secret to everyone, drawing on the resolve she had felt when this had all happened to her before. ]

It says...

(Warning: Dangan Ronpa Spoilers!) )


Sep. 5th, 2013 10:49 pm
teamug: (sitting)
[personal profile] teamug
[Clara's spent the past handful of weeks being busy locked away in her room and the library, doing some research and jotting down notes. The product of all this research is currently sprawled out in front of her, a calendar filled with perfectly written and organized information.]

Suppose I've been a bit distant here lately. [A pause, and she tips her head to the side, frowning.] It happens.

[She shrugs, and continues.]

So, figure Wonderland ought to have a proper school. There are children here. Course, classes won't be limited to just them. Everyone's invited to attend. Oh! And assist, too. Still need to set up a classroom and gather supplies, but don't see any reason why things won't start in a week or two.

[And now she's feeling socially awkward for proposing something that most people probably won't have any interest in, so she gives a curt nod and a grin, then cuts the feed.]


Aug. 29th, 2013 03:44 pm
cheerleader: (I'm in trouble)
[personal profile] cheerleader
[Claire's room is filled with teddy bears. All shapes and sizes piled up on her bed, as well as in a little pile on the floor. Some might say she has a teddy bear obsession, she can blame her dad attempting to buy her love and affection with teddy bears from around the world on that. But that's neither here or there at this point in time, she's currently looking as if she's just done something horribly wrong and has no idea how to fix it.]

Has anyone ever gotten anything really weird out of the closets? Weird as in close to what you wanted, but a lot more dangerous and potentially deadly than what it should be?

[There's an adorable sound of an animal making whining growling noises, one that perhaps a young bear might make. Claire jostles her phone, and drops it on her bed. There's an up close view of a teddy bear with a red bow around its neck, and Claire's voice is clearly heard telling something no and to stay put in an exasperated raised whisper. Whatever it is she's talking to makes noises of protest and whines in return.

A minute or so later, she retrieves her phone, huffing in frustration.

The closet doesn't exactly do returns, either. But...maybe it won't be much of a problem?

[She turns her phone now, where a bear cub is sitting in the middle of the disaster that is now her bedroom. You guys can see her problem, right?]
understandthat: (what the fuck)
[personal profile] understandthat
This is dead creepy.

[It’s a voice. English. Very English. A thick Derby accent, the sort that’s incomprehensible to most people who aren’t used to it. The camera bobs and shakes as she storms through the hallways. It only catches glimpses of a young, angry woman, dressed up in heavy makeup, scraped-back hair, and cheap gold jewellery.

She’s wearing an orange jumpsuit emblazoned with the words COMMUNITY PAYBACK. Not only is she a chav, she’s a chav with an ASBO. And she’s going head to head with any stereotypes the British citizens of Wonderland might have, because as soon as she knows her video is streaming, she snarls into the communicator.]

Oi, d’you want to tell us what’s going on? ‘Cos if you don’t, I’m gonna find you and then I’m gonna start kicking the shit out of you.

[She throws a dirty look at the camera before grumbling to herself.]

I swear, this better not be some rich dickhead spiking my drink. I cannot be dealing with this right now.
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.]
donttestme: (Ready)
[personal profile] donttestme
[It's night of day one. There is howling and screaming outside, and a vague warning from the Red Queen in Chell's head.

Normally she'd be content to hide in her 'safety bunker' with Jack and wait it out. But after the chess match... And with this much warning... And after everything Wonderland's done to her in general...

Chell wants to fight back this time. A little, at least - no guarantee that she'll stay out of the bunker for the entire event, but an effort will be made.

So she turns on her communicator to address the network.

... She's hesitant, as GLaDOS is most certainly watching her. But then, she reasons, this is more important than pride. (Just a little.)]

I'm going to set traps. Inside the mansion.

[She's more familiar with that than with working outdoors... And that's Daryl's field, besides.]

... I might need some help.

[That's hard to admit, but it's practical to do it. More hands means more traps, more minds (might) mean better traps.

There's a little pause as she tries to figure out what to add - then she just nods instead, and ends the feed.]
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.]
cheerleader: (Default)
[personal profile] cheerleader
[She should be more concerned about the fact she went from being attacked at her school's homecoming to being here, but Claire can't really be bothered but to do anything but stare straight at an empty wall. She's pretty sure there were just doors there. She was just in there, she swore it was a library. But doors don't just move on their own. Of course, most cheerleaders don't show up to new places covered in blood, so she settles on a skeptical frown and speaks up. Maybe someone's able to hear this.]

Okay, so I'm definitely not in Texas anymore. Good to know. [A pause, and she sighs. She's holding one of the welcome pamphlets that she found sitting in the library. It's promptly smashed up against her forehead in frustration.]

Dad's really gonna love this. I'll be grounded forever at this rate.

[Another pause, and she glances over at her now crumpled pamphlet. She gives it a shake, and looks completely bewildered.]

Please tell me there's a magic rabbit hole back home. I'll even take a tornado that leads to Kansas. I've just got enough to deal with without the Alice in Wonderland references freaking me out.


Jul. 12th, 2013 06:52 am
theshepherd: (lotl-60)
[personal profile] theshepherd
[David is outside, standing amongst the checkerboards on the Checkerboard Hills.]

I'm feeling awfully out of practice with my swordplay. Anyone care to join me?

Also, if anyone should wish to learn, I'd like to help.

✑ 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.


Jul. 3rd, 2013 11:14 am
doctorweevil: (concerned)
[personal profile] doctorweevil
Just wondering, has anyone seen Clara since this weekend?

[There's no real reason to be concerned, he tells himself; it's only been a few days. Her room's still there and everything, and he certainly wouldn't blame her if she wanted to hide from him after that last event. But he's worried anyway, and that simple fact makes him even more worried, albeit about himself and precisely what's going on with him.]
teamug: (explain)
[personal profile] teamug
[Hello, Wonderland. Clara is currently sitting at the desk in her room, looking very much like a miniature and much less threatening version of the Godfather. She's got her device sitting up on a nearby shelf recording, so it leaves plenty of room to have her hands clasped together and resting on the desk. There's piles of neatly stacked papers resting near her hands, all of her recent notes on a certain subject.

And what is that subject you ask?


[Yep, as much as it pains her to talk about magic, she really has to. But then she realizes that she actually has no idea what she wants to say, her mind's gone totally blank. And she fumbles.]

Magic, magic, magic, magic.

[She buys herself some time with that as uncertainty settles in, but she keeps her business face on.]

Thought I'd hold a bit of discussion on it, magic. Got a few questions about certain kinds of spells, if anyone's experienced in the field.
no_eels: (♚ full body)
[personal profile] no_eels
[At first, he's utterly confused. Toothless falls asleep next to Hiccup, and wakes up on the grass in Wonderland. Then, slowly, the memories start coming back, and the Night Fury puts it together. It wasn't a dream! And the harness on his back was better than the one he remembered. He sprints back into the main level of the mansion, to track down Hiccup at his forge, and... discovers a regular door where the forge's should be.

When he runs - pretty much full-out - up to his room, he discovers that it's reverted to the way it used to be, a cozy cave. Rather than the lodge a Viking would be comfortable in.

Distressed, Toothless lets out a few sounding calls as he begins to scour the rest of the mansion. A long, forlorn, echoing sound. He doesn't understand. Hiccup had been here when he'd left, and he'd been back home, too...

Finally, he nudges his communicator open and stares at it, sitting down in the entrance hall. There's a gleam of judgment in his yellow eyes. What have you done with Hiccup, Wonderland, he seems to be asking, letting out one of his loud calls at the screen.]


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