seizurings: (Default)
[personal profile] seizurings
[It had been weird to be back in high school - go through the motions of what it was like to be as close to normal as possible. It was foreign to her, having never had a normal day in her life back home. That was something she'd accepted, who wanted to be normal? Normal was blissfully, wonderfully boring... Normal was getting your driver's license and starting to look at colleges. Normal was not having to deal with seizures and werewolves and side effects of medications. Normal was going on a date and worrying about an upcoming test. It wasn't meant for her - fate had seen to that.

This event had just been salt in the wound, one more reminder by Wonderland of things she'll never have, things like prom. She'd been doing so well suppressing her bitterness at it all, the jealousy she felt for people that had a home to go back to when they left here, not just death.

Sitting in her room, she picks up the communicator, needing an outlet for her emotions.]


You'd think if Wonderland was going to screw with our memories and chuck us into high school, they'd have done better than cheesy decorations for the dance.
killjoyteaboy: (please don't say that)
[personal profile] killjoyteaboy
[The man on the screen is neatly dressed, keeping a perfectly straight face and only looking a little, tiny bit panicky around the eyes. From the background, he seems to be sitting in one of the tea rooms, holding a mug of something steaming in his hands and staring at the communicator where it balances on one knee.

He's fairly sure he just hallucinated being sixteen again for three days, and now thin air is giving him coffee.]


There's enough chatter that someone ought to see this. I'm--

[He clears his throat, and regroups, sipping from his mug. It's not even bad coffee.]

-- Ianto Jones, and I would like to have a little chat with someone about just what's going on.

[Were they really all children?]

And where we are.

Really I'd appreciate any details you have at all, thanks.
tryit: ([neutral] can talk her way)
[personal profile] tryit
The music room had been an unexpected discovery. When was the last time Kate really had a chance to sit down with a cello and just play? Since high school, at least -- and not the high school deja vu they all just witnessed. Hell, maybe it's even some time earlier. But she had other plans in mind for the day - something more than just wandering aimlessly around the mansion. So, carefully packing up the bow and instrument, she makes her way to the room she plans to spend most of her day.

Once in the kitchen She steadies the cello between her knees, resting the upper bout against her chest. Her eyes close, blocking out the rest of the world around her. The pads of her left hand stroke the strings of the fingerboard, gently plucking each note. But muscle memory steps in where actual memory briefly fails. She curls her right hand around the cello bow and, so slowly, draws it across the strings.

The sound is a little jarring at first. She continues to play, humming softly to herself as she makes the fine adjustments necessary, gently turning the peg until the note chimes true. She's rusty, not as good as she used to be (wouldn't Dad be displeased?), but it's enough to seek the attention she wants. And then, grinning, she sets up her phone on a nearby chair and starts to record a video of herself playing the Prelude of Bach's Cello Suite 1. She plays for a minute or so before putting down the cello, leaning it carefully against her on the wall.

Then, she leans forward to smile (oh-so-innocently) at her audience.]


Now that I've got your attention...

I've learned recently that some of the citizens of Wonderland are suffering from a severe lack in their life. I would have addressed the problem sooner, but given our recent trip back to reliving our teenage glory days, I got a little distracted. C'est la vie, right?

[She stands from her chair and begins to walk across the room towards one of the counters.]

So not all of you are from the 20th or 21st century. Okay, some of you aren't even from Earth to begin with. You guys, I might understand. But the rest of you? Especially those people who have been here weeks now?

No excuse. There's absolutely no excuse what so ever that accounts for a lack of knowledge on the world's most important elixir:

Coffee. [The camera pans over the counter where three different coffee machines have been set up to brew more coffee than clearly possible for one person to drink. A bowl of sugar and a couple of different canisters of milk and cream sit nearby a row of mugs: her own little coffee bar.

She holds up her own mug in salute, steam vapor trailing from the liquid. Kate closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, smiling. She takes a sip as if doing a Foldger's commercial. But this? This is way more important. The mug goes back on the counter and she opens her eyes again to smile at the camera.]


Consider this your lucky day, Wonderland. I'll be down here in the kitchen all afternoon to introduce you to the joys that are this amazing, caffeinated beverage. And for those of you already familiar with the drink? Hey, the more the merrier.

Just don't forget to grab the mug. Because unlike some people I know, I do have the class to insist we use the pot for pouring only.

[Barton, she's eyeing you.

Until anyone shows up? Might as well use today to relax and reacquaint herself with the cello.]
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.
luckynumberthree: Fond, (Default)
[personal profile] luckynumberthree
[The feed, when it flicks on completely by accident, is a very up-close look at a horse, nosing the device - and the person it's currently resting on - in curiosity. A hand appears, movements sluggish and dismissive as it pushes the nose away, a sleepy mumble accompanying the move that is not at all coherent.

The horse isn't to be deterred however, since whoever it is is apparently in its way. And not waking up fast enough.

A moment later, the video feed jerks and starts to slide sideways as there's a rather unmanly yelp of protest and startled curse and the briefest flash of a face before the phone lands sharply on the floor of the stall and the feed abruptly cuts off.


It's a few minutes later when the same face reappears, looking a little startled, disgruntled and possibly sporting a few stray bits of straw poking out his hair, which is standing up at odd angles all over his head anyway.

Blue eyes are suspicious and keep darting to the side of the frame and it might be obvious to those familiar with it that he's in the stables. If, of course, the earlier greeting by horse hadn't been a big enough clue. His expression is more than a little wary, but confusion is the reigning emotion of the day, which is understandable since he currently has no bloody clue where he is. Which is also the reason for the faint hint of strain showing through his otherwise totally calm and accented tone of voice.]


Alright, right about now I'd be calling Jack or Sam or maybe even the Doc out on shenanigans, because as far as pranks go, this is a good one, even if I usually have better taste than falling asleep with a horse. I think I'd remember that actually, pretty sure in fact.

But see, this isn't my mobile phone and even if it were, there's been no reception in over a year, so I really hope someone can hear me right now and maybe tell me what the hell is going on. Because if I've got to rely on a bloody horse for answers then the world's fallen to a sadder state than I thought.
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. ]
alayne: (pic#7676743)
[personal profile] alayne
[ good morning, wonderland. have one ren-faire lady. her closet had supplied her with a few gowns and as the weather is fair, she wears one in the Southorn style. it has also, thankfully, supplied her with hair dye and today it is loose in chestnut brown waves down her back. ]

People of Wonderland, most gracious and kind.

[ a small smile, perhaps she is a bit more confident. ]

I come to you with a question which may strike as an oddity. The hours of the day are many and long and I am unaccustomed to idleness. The Mansion cares for all our needs, as per our hosts' graciousness.

[ kidnapped or not, at the very least they were not left to starve. ]

Yet I find myself with a lack of a way to help. I am but a baseborn girl, unfitted to assist in the efforts to shield our Mansion from beasts such as the Jabberwocky. To those who do attempt such, Lord Crowley and others, I offer my sincere gratitude.

[ another smile as she inclines her head. ]

I have taken to reading and needle work. I was told to be quite gifted with a thread and a needle. The Mansion sees to our clothes and yet, if you find yourself in need of able hands to stitch and mend whatever clothes you have, you may come see me - On the tenth floor, room 002.

[ a pause. ]

I am also in search of an escort. I wish to see the vendors' offers of fabrics yet I find it unfit for a young girl to go on her own. If there are any who walk there, I would care to join them on their journey.

[ she offers a quick, elegant curtsy. ]

I wish upon you a fine day and a finer week.

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