edge_of_forever | Entries tagged with pc:brisco county jr

There's about two hours left on the clock, and there are a handful of people milling around the Porta.

Mystique is locked and loaded, but otherwise completely tuned out of the proceedings, entrenched in a mindnumbing solitaire tournament on her comm. She's sitting on the stairs that lead to the upper concourses, sparing a glance at the big clock every now and again to compare it to the one on her screen.

She hears something that makes her look up-- something that sounds almost like garbled radio static from afar-- but then it's gone, and she drags a four of clubs across her screen to the proper pile.

Then, all three doors to the upper concourse burst open.

Raven's on her feet and swerving her aim between the three groups of people-- new people-- hustling down the stairs and-- oh, good-- armed to the teeth.

A quick head count gives her fifteen, but then she hears shouting from behind and sees two men flanking another who's hunched over the computer terminal, and that holds her attention. She trains her aim on them; meanwhile, Rogers is shouting, a few guns have gone off, and to call it chaos is really selling the element of surprise short.

The clock reads 002:05:48.

proserpinian

The teleportation process was silent and would not have disturbed the potential test subject. When the subject is finally jostled awake of their own volition they will find themselves in a white, glass paneled room. The floor and ceiling are made of white panels, there is a simple bed against one of the walls in the corner and there is a small toilet in the adjacent corner. It’s clear that this room isn’t meant to house someone for long as most of the comforts for a normal room are missing. It is almost creepy as the subject looks out the glass panels. There is clearly another room that mirrors the one the subject is housed in and it’s clear that there is another fuzzy figure on the other side of the glass. Every test subject will find themselves stripped of their clothes and wearing an orange jumpsuit, white tank top and a pair of long fall boots.

One wall in this first room is stark white with a small red button about a foot in front of it and slightly to the left. This gives the subject clearance to step up to the wall. A comforting, pre-recorded message will welcome the test subject and instruct them to press the button to exit their room. When the button is pressed an orange or yellow portal will appear on the wall (this will depend on if the subject is in room 1 or room 2). This portal will lead out of the glass room and into the main throughway. If the subject turns around the portal they just walked through will be blue (for the orange portal) or purple (for the yellow portal). These will also signify the color of the portals their portal gun will fire. Speaking of the portal gun, there it is. A sleekly designed and white and black device that will slip over the test subject’s primary arm. The back end of the device is larger than the barrel and there don’t appear to be any seams on the device. Three distinct metal claw like attachments extend off the front of the barrel. If the user pulls the ‘lift’ trigger near the sole box in the room, they will find that these claws generate energy to lift objects. There is also a glowing tube leading from the primary casing into the barrel, the color is denoted by the active portal and the user can switch the active portal with the triggers on the gun. One trigger will fire the blue (or purple) portal and one will fire the orange (or yellow) portal. The primary casing has the aperture science logo on it (and it matches the logo on the back of the jumpsuit and on the front breast pocket). A smaller wordless version of the logo is also on the front casing.

ohsnikt

Ever since they came back from the jungle, Logan's been thinking that they could use some good old fashioned self defense lessons. Of course, that hadn't been the biggest problem for his team, but it would be kinda hard to teach people how not to drown.

His improvised knife throwing lesson with Mystique had showed him that there was talent on board, and he's interested to see how much he might have missed. So he puts the word out to everyone he talks to, cause he's not much of a planner. He briefly wishes Chuck was here, even if it meant a lot more irritating conversations, since he's pretty much a professional people-wrangler. Anyway, there's a decent sized crowd gathering in the sparring room, and they're all looking at him like they expect him to make a speech.

He figures he'd better say something before Raven offers him an actual soapbox to stand on.

"Well." He clears his throat, which doesn't help at all. He wants to tell them just to find a buddy and try to beat the crap out of them, which in his opinion is the only way to learn. "Ok. We're gonna start with easy stuff, like breaking holds and sweeping the leg, ok? If you already know how to do that, make sure your partner does too. Half of you come with me, half of you go with him."

This is gonna be a disaster.

morethanhuman

"Well, isn't this a nice surprise."

The hallway before them was short, round, and gently spinning. After everything else they'd been through, a moving floor wouldn't have been much of a challenge, which was why the temple's architects had added slots with blades shooting inward at random intervals. Erik was sincerely regretting ever thinking of the room with the falling swords as a challenge.

There was no point in hesitating. They ran for it, and Erik ran with them, pushing outward with his power, draining an alarming amount of it repelling himself against the swords' magnetic fields as they sliced through the air. How the others managed to avoid getting skewered, he had no idea, but somehow they all made it to the other side. The door there was round, with a long handle in the center. First to make it there, Abed threw all his strength against the handle, and it slowly swung down with a protesting rusty screech. It swung out and they poured through it, all of them gasping and drenched in sweat.

Erik spent a long moment with his hands on his knees, catching his breath. When he straightened, it was to look around him with a growing sense of awe. This room was not like the others they'd been in. Perfectly round with a vaulted ceiling that felt miles above their heads, its walls were weathered stone, with a deep channel that ran around the edge of the floor. In the center of the room, the floor was glass, thick enough to hold their weight but giving a perfect view of the pit beneath. Jutting out from the walls at random intervals and angles were platforms of all sizes, each holding something different-- a watchful bird of prey, a wooden statue, a rack of bows and knives, an ornamental trident.

Hanging from the ceiling were three gigantic sandbags, and far, far over their heads, a small grate hung suspended from the ceiling. On it, the glimmer of gold could just barely be seen-- the treasure they'd been sent to find, the golden crown.

There was the sound of ringing crystal, and across the way a round glass door almost twin to their own swung inward, disgorging another group of their fellow travelers, bloodied and bandaged and looking as much the worse for wear as they. The wood door to the left opened a moment later, and the stone door to the right, and then they all stood on their platforms regarding each other in weary, stupid relief.

Erik turned back to Mystique and shrugged. "Well, this is obviously going to be--"

He never finished his sentence, cut off when at some invisible cue the room sprang to life. The channel running around the room filled with water, just as flames sputtered into being beneath the glass floor. Long ropes of vines uncurled from the ceiling, swinging and writhing like snakes. On one of the platforms, a wheel began to spin, shooting darts from an eye at its center, and the bird launched itself into the air with a loud scree.

There was a long moment when no one moved, they only stared up at everything happening overhead. Then like a switch flipping, the room became a flurry of movement and sound as the Proserpinians shifted into gear.

[please see this post for details before tagging in.]

onlythefire

The room they stood in was larger than the audience hall in the Red Keep, larger than almost the Red Keep itself. Where the wall had fallen in, sunlight filtered through, putting a shine on the tiled floor and warming the red and yellow bricks. The place was huge; what it had once been, Sandor couldn't possibly have said, but he'd heard the words "tomb" and "temple" offered up, and thought both lacking. Not enough dead bodies for the first, and not enough priests for the second.

People were gathering around the doors on the far wall, inspecting them, murmuring to each other. Sandor went to join them, but hung back; he wasn't going to loom up behind a group of people, especially now that he was armed to the teeth with as many knives as he could wear without turning himself into a pincushion. There wasn't really anyone there he felt the need to stick near, anyway. As long as he was on the opposite side of the room from the Kingslayer, he was happy.

There was noise from behind him then, and the pitch of voices raised in excitement, and then everything was happening at once. One of the doors was open, a cluster of people standing in front of it. A man in blue started running back and forth from the pile of rubble in the far corner, carrying enormous rocks like they were feather pillows. When enough rocks were piled in front of the doors they opened, by magic or some hidden mechanism. And then people were going through the doors, and when the one in front of them yawned open Newt looked back at Sandor with her eyebrows raised, and he thought, Fuck it, and followed her through.

( Read more..... )

girl_who_waited

In general, Amy sort of counts herself in the lazy sort of spectrum of people. If you're going between Eeyore and somebody in the Olympics, she's definitely more at home in the Thousand Acre Woods, thanks. But even for her, even with the world's library sort of at her fingertips if the sorting bits would work themselves out, she just feels stagnant and weirdly pudgey and honestly, that is not going to happen.

Which is why she's running, and honestly, while she knows that's why all she can ask herself is Why did I this this was a good idea? Because Amy's sort of made of gawky knees and elbows, and she's got the grace of a baby giraffe, but she's doing it, by god, because she's decided she will. Which is why when the voice cuts into her haze of why why why this sucks my legs hurt don't trip over your own feet for god's sake she's actually thankful for the interruption. "Attention," it says, and Amy stops, half bent over, her hands braced on her thighs as she breathes hard. "The station had successfully completed docking procedures and the transporters are now active. Please proceed to the Porta Ianualis for transport to the planet's surface."

And funny enough, she's there already, and she lifts her head as she tries to catch her breath, watching the message crawl across the screens, her brows furrowing as she stares at the video screens, the jungle interspersed with arching shots of hiking, and then- "Oh, you've got to be kidding," she murmurs even as her smile slowly spreads. There's a proper sort of temple thing, all vines and it's ruins, and honestly, if she's going to find him, if she's going to find the Doctor, it's this sort of place. She stands up properly, nodding once before she turns, and jogs - without thinking about her own misery and shins and things, thanks - back to her room to get her things together.

It's less sports bra and lycra shorts and trainers, and more hiking boots and shorts and a flannel with a tank top under it, the backpack she'd grabbed before stuffed with a blanket and a water bottle (it'd taken hours of cajoling to get the replicator to give it over - that'd been her mission, last week.) and a flashlight and some rope that was from some experimental dress piece thing she'd taken apart. Because honestly? Amy Pond was ready for this, and she'd been getting ready for this, and she sort of had a giant chunk of her closet for this crap, so there you go. She's out, and already walking back to the Porta Ianualis, and the teleporters-are-open timer is already at 05:32:41. "Here goes nothing," she says, and turns-

"Oh my god," she says with a laugh. "What in the world are you wearing?" Because she's staring at Spock - Mr. Spock, yeah? Spock she arrived with, Spock that was a pain in her ass more than a tad, and he's wearing the ugliest sweater known to mankind and he looks a bit like death on a plate. It's a pretty quick conversation - he's sick and she's not wasting time, but she still heads down with the first group, other people turning up in the transport hub and they're just curious, but she's got a job to do. When her boots hit spongey rainforest sort of soil, even if it's in the middle of a camp, her brows furrow. Because-

"Well, I guess that's not exactly a warm welcome," she murmurs, staring at the abandoned camp.

livinginanhgwellsnovel

The morning work had been made light and quick by many contributing hands. It had greatly surprised Violet to have so many willing to do work typically meant for servants. The only occasions where the Countess might have been accustomed to that kind of pitching in was in times of war. The result was certainly not up to Downton standards, Carson would have had a fit, but one could only work with what one was given, and on the Proserpina, what one was given was often very little or quite questionable.

Despite her inner reservations, it had all turned out very well and it did look fit for a party. She had called on Mycroft earlier in the evening and had asked him to join her to look it over.

They surveyed the room quietly side-by-side, pleased for different reasons and invested in the nights events based on quite separate motivations.

As the door opened and the first arrivals came through, Violet turned to greet them, pleased at their timeliness. It was six o'clock sharp.

ohsnikt

Logan's letting off a little steam. Every thought is punctuated by the satisfying thwack of a hard fist on his stuffed and weighted opponent.

Little kids, aliens, and space pirates, all kidnapped and stuck in an ant farm. Now they've got a mutant, too. Maybe that'll complete the collection.

Logan never feels comfortable in a cage. Doesn't figure a person should ever get used to that. After quarantine, he and Rachel get dumped into a huge room and given the run down -dozens of strangers from different worlds and no escape. Logan's not sure he buys that, the no escape part, but also knows he's in no position to tear his way out of anything -still no claws, and he's tired as hell.

Someone mentions a sparring room with athletic equipment and Logan figures that's his cue. Better he take out his frustration on actual punching bags.

county_jr

[April 18]

As the bulk of the station inhabitants head off-station, Brisco spots an unwelcome presence. He gets sidetracked from chasing him down by Newt and Abed.

[Here|PG (for violence towards couches)]

knightexemplar

Arturia had retired to the observation room after a full day of sparring in the exercise room and trying to get the food dispenser to work properly. By full day she meant what felt like a full day, because she was still finding it difficult to adjust to time here and by work properly, of course she meant for the food replicator to actually dispense something edible. Her first few attempts had won her live animals, the next two a slimy green sludge. Perhaps their kidnapping overlords wanted to keep them hungry?

Or perhaps they assumed everyone enjoyed consuming live hamsters?

Well, other people anyway. Arturia didn’t much enjoy eating rodents, as much as she enjoyed eating just about everything else. Being on the ship had actually proven the need for the “just about” in that statement. Maybe the food devise was supposed to be an all-purpose machine and it thought she had wanted a pet (which she most certainly did not)?

She stared out into the stars, quietly pondering the predicament she was in. They were apparently in ‘space,’ which consisted of the area beyond the skies of earth and stretched on forever (at least that’s the way it seemed to her). They had all been kidnapped and presumably none of them knew why they were there or how they had come to arrive on the station.

Her back was against the bench as she lay down to look at the stars outside the window. She rested her hands on her chest, clearly lost in thought. She wasn’t even sure if they were moving. All of these stars looked the same and it was always difficult to tell how much time had passed without looking at the communicator. A small frown touched her lips, what if none of them ever got home? Regardless of her thoughts on her former life, she didn’t want to die without ever seeing home again. Or at the very least; without seeing her sky again. Without lying in the grass on a sunny day.

“So much empty space, it is a wonder one doesn’t go mad traveling like this…”

Isn’t talking to one’s self the first sign of insanity?

its_a_gerund

Strange rat creatures, a space station, kidnapping... These things weren't exactly what Dakin thought he'd have in his future at any point. Not even his dreams (or nightmares, rather) could have contained this sort of madness. He'd done his best to adjust, or deal, or manage. Some days it worked better than others.

That day he'd had a mission. Dakin had hit every replicator he could find. What he'd wanted was alcohol, food and cigarettes. What he'd gotten wasn't exactly what he'd asked for. There were a few tins of soda, some orange drink that was extremely oversweetened (American probably) and a half dozen bottles of what he suspected was beer with labels in languages he'd never seen. Finally he'd hit upon the holy grail, a bottle of very overproof alcohol. It was clear and there was a chance it could make anyone who drank it blind (the bottle had helpful warnings) but Dakin didn't care. His efforts for food weren't much better and he was sure that the bowl of worms wasn't palatable to anyone on the ship, but he'd dragged it up to the observation deck anyway. That, a couple packets of crisps in flavours he wasn't sure of (lime and pickled onion together? In one?) and a tray of what he could only imagine were posh hors d'oeuvres and he was set. It might have not been what he'd wanted, but it was good enough.

Now Dakin could have a party.

county_jr

[March 26]

Brisco confronts his shadow, AKA Newt.

[Here|G/none]

county_jr

When Brisco arrived in the sparring room early that afternoon, he wasn't quite sure what to expect. He knew the people aboard the station were a diverse lot, and from what he'd seen of them, a fair number could hypothetically be able to hold their own in a fight.

As for the others? Well, maybe he could work some of his magic.

Maybe.

If he could just figure out how to hold the attention of a group of people who weren't out to cause him bodily harm.

As soon as enough people were gathered, he addressed them all.

"So, hopefully you know me from seeing me around. My name's Brisco, and I sorta wanted to get a little self-defense class together. I know that a lot of us around here know how to fight, but a lot of us don't, and you're here to learn. That's okay. We're not a huge group and this is a huge station. We got no idea what's waiting for us in this place or even if the station runs into trouble.

"First and foremost, keep in mind that fighting off an attacker has to always be a last resort. If you think there's trouble around you, get out of there as soon as you can. Best way to keep outta trouble is not to let the trouble find you.

"Second thing to keep in mind, always be aware of your surroundings. You can actively avoid dangerous situations if you pay attention to what's going on around you. Follow your gut. If you think something's wrong, it probably is. Oh and while we're on following your gut: don't act scared. An attacker'll go for easy prey first, and if you look like you're not gonna take anything lying down, they might go and head off somewhere else."

He took a deep breath. "And I realize I've been doing all the talking and none of the listening. I figure that since you're here, you're plenty curious about learning how to defend yourself. Any questions? Don't be shy. Feel free to ask anything at all," he said, looking at the other people expectantly.

county_jr

[Mar 16]

Brisco discusses communicators.

[Here|G]

county_jr

[Mar 10]

Brisco continues his book of "coming things".

[Here|G]

county_jr

[March 3]

Star-gazing and chatting in the station's observation deck.

[Here| G | in progress]

shepard

Shepard is not used to organizing civilians. She'd spent the last eleven years of her life in the Alliance Military. Almost everyone she knew was in the Alliance Military -- and those that weren't were damn close to it by virtue of working with her. These people weren't soldiers and they weren't used to taking and obeying orders.

So needless to say, she wasn't exactly sure how best to organize them.

After a few days onboard the space station, Shepard decided they needed to have a meeting -- to share information and knowledge and skills. They were quickly approaching a full week onboard the craft and aside from cleaning and exploring, virtually nothing had changed since they found themselves teleported to the Porta Ianualis after their short tenure in quarantine.

If they wanted to have any chance of getting out of here, they'd have to work together. And so, Shepard began to spread word of a meeting at the Porta Ianualis; whoever she spoke to personally, she asked them to tell others. The likelihood of her being able to meet everyone personally onboard a craft this big was slim-to-none.

Shepard is standing in the Porta Ianualis long before the appointed meeting time. When people stop trickling in, Shepard begins to speak, her voice booming over any still-speaking voices.

"I like to believe that we are all here for a reason. And eventually, we'll figure out what that reason really is. But in the meantime, we can't just sit around waiting for answered to be delivered to us on a silver platter. We need to work to find those answers ourselves. We need to work together."

Shepard suddenly lifts her flashlight skyward; wrapped around its handle is a length of black material. At a distance, it is probably difficult to make out what that material is, but upon closer inspection, it appears to be a scrap of material from one of the sweatshirts they were wearing when they first found themselves onboard the space station.

"This," she says, "Is going to determine who is going to be talking when. When -- and only when -- you have this flashlight in your hands are you allowed to speak. I know there's a lot of things we want to say to one another -- and by the time this meeting is done, there'll probably be more. But while the meeting is going on, we need some semblence of order. Save the chatter for afterward."

Shepard lowers the flashlight to her side.

"When you have this in hand, I want you to start off by telling us your name and something about yourself. Once you've done that, tell us what skills you have that might be useful onboard this space station. Everyone has something they can bring to the table," she says, looking at Nuada, "regardless of if they realize it or not. Then tell us if you found something useful onboard this ship. That can be anything from a physical item you've found to information you've discovered. If we're going to get off this ship, we need to use everyone's skills to our advantage; we need to share everything that we find. I have no doubt that with our combined abilities, we'll find some way off this craft. Once everyone has had a chance to speak, we can discuss whatever needs to be said."

(Open gathering thread. Sorry for the whole flashlight thing, but Shepard would want to make sure that everyone has a chance to speak. Top level your character saying who they are, whatever they would like to say, and then pass the flashlight on. If your character is not the speaking type, feel free to post a comment passing the flashlight onto someone else when the flashlight is passed to you. Once you've introduced your character, feel free to talk in threads. Feel free to jump in late if you happen to miss the introductions.)

oneandtogether

The feeling of vertigo accompanying a transporter engaging was familiar to Spock, but disorienting all the same. For a brief moment he thought-- hoped-- he might find himself on board the Enterprise, but as his senses returned to him he realized immediately that it was not so.

The room he found himself in was dark, but he could sense its size, and knew it to be vast. His night vision was decent, and he could see the shape of Amy to the side of him. He turned toward her, and as if in response to his movement, dim lights flickered on the edges of his vision, and began to turn on.

Spock's sense had been correct; the room was enormous. At least as tall as the Enterprise's shuttle bay, a hundred meters or more across, it vaulted over their heads toward a domed apex. At the four cardinal points of the room stood wide doorways with words mounted above; the closest read Cassia Concourse, but he could not make out the others. High up, the walls became great expanses of windows looking out on the pinpricked black of space. The low lights illuminated the room from the floor, giving it an eerie feel. Abandoned, Spock thought, though he had no reasoning to support his instinct.

They were standing on a small square dais big enough for themselves and perhaps two more people; presumably a transporter pad, though the control panel beside him did not respond when he touched it. Glancing at Amy, he stepped off it and began to walk around. His footsteps echoed, and he could hear Amy behind him also begin to explore.

He noted stands like kiosks, empty of merchandise; roped-off areas for directing lines of people leading up to counters with viewscreens above them; more viewscreens mounted on walls and stands, visible all over the room; benches and small tables with chairs; and at the center of the room, six transporter pads similar to those on the Enterprise, with a control station for each. Clearly this had once been a hub of traffic; it reminded him of the Starfleet shuttle hub in San Francisco.

Above the transporters hung a giant metal ring with letters cut out. Spock circled around, reading. "Porta Ianualis," he murmured. The Janus Gate. Interesting. Turning, he sat at one of the transporter controls, picked up the headset left lying on the surface and put it on. The screens here also failed to respond to his touch.

"Computer, activate transporter controls," he said, his voice too loud in the silence. Nothing happened. "Computer, activate subspace communications," he said. Again, nothing. He pushed away a rise of frustration and closed his eyes for a moment. If there are transporters, he thought, there must be sensor arrays and an engineering bay. I must find it, and reprogram it to allow us to communicate.

"Spock," said Amy from a distance away, sounding apprehensive. Letting out a slow breath, he stood and turned toward her, which was when he saw the shadows moving at the edges of the room, heard the quiet voices, and realized that they were no longer alone.

ozzieworld

For Ozzie to wake up coughing and spluttering wasn’t exactly new. To be coughing and spluttering without having drunk himself into a stupor, or having used narcotics was new. The headache he had wasn’t anything he’d taken lately, that much he was sure of.

He opened his eyes, looking around. Wherever the Silfen path had led him, the Pathfinder certainly was nowhere in sight. Not that he was surprised that the little raft had finally fallen apart after what it had been through.

Falling off the edge of the fucking world. Fucking Silfen, and their idea of a cosmic joke. Next time he saw any of them on High Angel, assuming he made his way back there, he was going to punch the first one he saw.

He scrubbed at his face. Dry. It had been some time since the three of them had toppled off the waterfall then. “Orion? Tochee?” he asked in a tentative voice, coughing as he tried to get his voice sounding somewhat normal again. He sat up, regretting it instantly as everything swam round about him. So far, this was no different to a bad trip. However, there was no boy, no furry alien with him, just a stranger on one of the other beds in this room, dressed in a really crappy looking uniform-type outfit, like something one of the Families might dress their servants in if they were feeling really really nostalgic for the old days.

Okay, so the Silfen had really done it this time. Ozzie groaned as he stood up, using his OCTattoos, trying to access the unisphere, all the while glancing at his surroundings. It seemed... quaint, lower tech than normal. As expected, the contact with the world at large failed, but the one thing he noted was his e-butler was slow in responding.

“Something’s different, Ozzie,” it said. Ozzie could hear it being sluggish, and frowned as it cut out entirely. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Once the organic tech was tattooed onto your skin (Ozzie’s was in a very delicate pattern down the side of his face, running under his shirt), that was it until your next rejuv – you could add to them, but not take them away, and your e-butler never failed. And since Ozzie came out of rejuv less than five years ago, this was unheard of. OC tech was supposed to be as close to perfect as possible, and the fact that it wasn’t working as it should was terrifying.

“What the fuck, man?”

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Edge of Forever RPG

November 2013

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the city on the edge of forever

[[ a pan-fandom roleplaying game ]]

Entries tagged with pc:brisco county jr

IT'S THE FIIINAL COOOUNTDOO-- WHO THE %^$& ARE YOU GUYS?!

Thinking with Portals: A Primer

14:00 | sparring room [GP]

(no subject)

(no subject)

Docking Plot Post One

A Formal Dinner Party

in the sparring room -OPEN!

(no subject)

The sky beyond... Well, it's not much to look at. (Open)

A party, of sorts [[Gathering]]

Meeting a Shadow

Eye of the Tiger

Brisco's Book of Coming Things - entry #2

Brisco's Book of Coming Things - entry #1

Wanderers amid the stars

A Meeting of Minds

a whole new world

This was no fog bank

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November 2013

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