edge_of_forever | Entries tagged with pc:molly hayes

"The phone rings in the middle of the night, my FAAATHER yells whatcha gonna do with your lii-iife," Molly sings dejectedly, pushing the mop back and forth over the step below her.

"Oh daddy dear you know you're still number one but giiirls just wanna have FU-UN, ooooooh girls just wanna have--"

She hops down, moving the bucket along with her and pausing to sing into the mop handle. She's the only one in the corridor, and anyway, she doesn't even care that this is the only verse she knows; this hallway smells like pine-scented poop and she's only halfway done so far.

"THAAAAT'S ALL THEY REALLY WAAAAHHH-AAH-AHH-AHH-AHH-AAANT, IS SOME FAAAH-UUH-UUH-UUH-UUUHN! WHEN THEIR WORKIN' DAY IS DONE OH GIRLS, THEY WANNA HAVE FA-UHN, OOOOH GIRLS JUST--"

SPLOOSH. She dips the mop back in the bucket, out of breath, and starts on the next step.

"Wanna have fun. Oooh yeah, girls just wanna have fu-un. Yo ho ho. A pirate's disgusting smelly mean jerkface life for me."

The rest of the song is improvised and less than melodic.

xiii_legion

Once all the bodies are disposed of and the station is hammered (more or less) back into place Pullo figures it's time for a celebration. Everybody seems a bit down in the dumps, which is understandable - there's nothing left to kill, and that can make anyone a bit grumpy. But they had been stunningly successful at the killing they did do, and that deserves a party.

After a few days of preparation the hall is ready. The theme, if it could be said to have one, seems to be meat - there's a large variety of roasted and smoked meats threatening to buckle a table along with various other fruits, fish and breads, and enough scarves and tapestries adorning the walls to keep even Lady Troi happy. Most importantly, there's amphoras of wine all over the place as well as copious amounts of the harder spirits he liberated from some of the busted-open tavern rooms on the upper floors of the station. A makeshift altar to Fortuna stands along one wall - he has no idea how observant people are and whether they'll be smart enough to leave offerings to the goddess, but might as well give them the chance, eh?

Pullo was meant to be a legionary, there's no doubt about that. But as far as other careers go, party-planner wouldn't be the worst option... as long as you're happy with a bacchanal for every occasion.

eof_classified

<00:01:ψ> INITIATE PROGRAM< ABERDEEN.EXE
<00:00:00:0001> PROGRAM INITIATED< ABERDEEN.EXE
PROGRAM LAUNCH< 00:01:ψ | 03:19:00:0000>
PRIME DIRECTIVES:<
> [ QUARANTINE RELEASE : < 1 M1A TS-#1758 > < 1 M2A TS#1000kw “EXCALIBUR” > < 1 M3A TS#4591971, TS#4591972> < 2 M2A TS#1979-1-TS#1979-3, TS#1979-1A-1E > < 3 M1A TS #4205A-E > < 3 M2A TS #731-12A-12E > < 3 M3A TS #MIR899-01A-01J > < 3 M4A TS #183RC-5A-5E “LICKER” > < 4 M1A TS #4781-8A-8G > < 4 M2A TS-#1966 > < 5 M1A TS-#396739 > < 5 M2A TS #510105 > ]
> [ LOCK DISENGAGE : < 2 M2A CP #23 > < 2 M3A CP #6319 “RIPLEY” > ]

<00:01:ψ> LAUNCH PROGRAM< ABERDEEN.EXE
<00:00:00:0001> PROGRAM INITIATED<
RUN<
> ALL DIRECTIVES:)

MAY 29 | 12:00 A.M. :

The countdown clocks tick over to zero just as the time changes from 11:59 pm to 12:00 am. A clear chime like an elevator announcing its arrival sounds briefly in every room on board, but otherwise the passage of the countdown’s completion goes unmarked.

DING!

And then, on every floor of the station, doors that have heretofore remained locked begin to open, and one by one the things that those doors were keeping in begin to crawl out.

dr_lauren

"...and please, don't forget to take some vervain if you haven't already," Lauren finished, motioning towards a small test tube rack with a dozen labelled vials still resting within it. The security briefing with Sharon, Clint, Sam, Pullo and Cuthbert had been completed already, and with the general announcements about what to expect from the supers and the vervain Lauren figured her public safety duties had pretty much been completed. She glanced at Sam briefly as if seeking reassurance, and at the other woman's tiny smile and nod she took a deep breath, turning away to the first tray of waiting syringes.

***

The actual injections took very little time at all; with people monitoring just about every patient it meant that John and Lauren could concentrate on injecting the serum, confident that they would be alerted to any immediate issues by the others. She was cautiously optimistic that this would work, however, and indeed it wasn't long until the first stirrings and murmurs began to drift through the medbay, heralding the return to consciousness of the sleeping supers.

sharpshooting

The tray full of hyposprays looked grim in the soft lighting of their imagined sick bay. John had to admit the holodeck had proven useful beyond his expectations-- even if the end result they'd reached was less of a sure thing than he was really comfortable with.

This is going to work, he told himself for the hundredth time. It was a far cry from a guarantee, but the results had been promising with Forge. Really, Lauren and Sherlock had been right: they didn't have the time to spend on being completely sure. It was their last hope. They had to take it.

He picked up the first vial and slid it into its casing, bending over his first patient-- Mrs. Troi, as it happened-- and pressing it to her neck. She stirred, and John began to speak in a quiet tone that effectively masked the relief he felt. "You're waking up now, Mrs. Troi. Take slow breaths, don't move around too much just yet, and I'll be by with a glass of water for you in just a moment."

John looked up and met Lauren's eyes where she stood giving a similar speech to Dr. Banner. She returned his little smile in wordless acknowledgment: the antidote was working, at least for now.

[see the OOC post here for more info.]

proserpinian

<5:01:ψ | 24:00:00:0000> INITIATE PROGRAM< HEMLOCK.EXE
<24:00:00:0001> PROGRAM INITIATED< HEMLOCK.EXE
PROGRAM LAUNCH< 5:01:ψ | 09:00:00:0000>
PRIME DIRECTIVES:<
> [ CLIMATIZATION : < O2:20.94% > < N:78.08% > < +CCl₈O | “HEMLOCK” > < TEMP: 19ºC>

<5:01:ψ | 08:00:00:0000> LAUNCH PROGRAM< HEMLOCK.EXE
<08:00:00:0001> PROGRAM INITIATED<
RUN<
> ALL DIRECTIVES:)

MAY 1 | 8:00 A.M. :

At 08:00 on the Proserpina, a colorless gas begins pumping through the air vents of Floors 1-5, initially detectable only by the inconspicuous but distinct smell of freshly cut grass.

Any subjects containing the specific nanites which restrain preternatural ability will experience a gradual decline in health, beginning with a vasovagal syncope response and followed by cardiac arrest within several hours. These subjects will find themselves experiencing a range of typical presyncope symptoms such as dizziness, blurred vision, muscle weakness, hallucinations and lightheadedness for their remaining two-to-three minutes of consciousness.

Subjects without the aforementioned nanites will be unaffected by CCl₈O.

As of HEMLOCK.EXE’s program launch, CCl₈O will be a standard element in the Proserpina’s air mix.

highfunctioning

Sherlock was still cursing and squinting as he made his way back to the lab after their release from Sanctuary. There was simply no way he was going anywhere else first, and transecting the Porta Ianualis was the fastest route.

If he'd ever been to a football match, he might have likened it to a scoreboard, looming large and ominous from the ceiling. The massive clock was counting down, standing currently at 212:41:58:003. Sherlock stared at it, running scenarios and associative terms in his head.

--Maia, Bona Dea, Beltane, St. Joseph, May Day, mayday, SOS--

"Computer, what happens on May the first?"

Silence was his answer.

Naturally.

[GP for reactions to the release from lockdown/discovery of the countdown clocks]

6seasonsandamovie

It's 6:03 pm.

Abed isn't wearing a watch (and his communicator is as dead as everybody else's), but Troy is. The lights flicker overhead for the first time, and Abed simply says, "Watch." It's enough for Troy to raise his arm and twist it so the digital watch is facing Abed. 6:03.

The lights flicker again, and this time there is a murmur of unease rippling among the group.

"Time for the next stage of creepiness," Abed foretells in a whisper only Troy should hear.

The lights flicker a third time, and then the room goes dark. Pitch dark.

Troy pushes a button on his watch, and the small numbers are suddenly shining blue. 6:04. Not so pitch dark anymore.

Almost immediately, Captain America's voice rises above the others - who else. Abed really wishes his communicator would let him film. This has 'found footage horror movie' stamped all over it.

"Don't panic!" Steve calls out, probably unknowingly quoting Douglas Adams. "There are flashlights, we'll get them now. Don't move and risk injuring yourself."

In a whisper, Troy asks, Do you think we're going to die?

Abed blinks, thinks, and answers, in the same whisper, "Probably not you."

proserpinian

<4:22:ψ | 24:00:00:0000> INITIATE PROGRAM< LOCKDOWN.EXE
<24:00:00:0001> PROGRAM INITIATED<
PROGRAM LAUNCH< 4:22:ψ | 06:00:00:0000>
PRIME DIRECTIVES:<
> [ ALARM : < KS#20-19: AIR RAID > < PS#08771-5: CODE BLACK > ]
> [ DEFENSE : < SECURE ALL GRIDS: F1-F5 > < ENABLE “F3-G3: SANCTUARY”>
> [ CLASSIFIED ]
> [ DISENGAGE : < SANCTUARY: “MOBILE” > < COMMUNICATORS: ONLINE > < REPLICATORS: ONLINE > ]
> [ CLASSIFIED ]
> [ CLIMATIZATION : < O2:36% > < N:64% > < Ar:0.12% > < Kr:0.09% > < Ne:0.10% > < TEMP: 19ºC>10ºC> ]

<4:22:ψ | 06:00:00:0000> LAUNCH PROGRAM< LOCKDOWN.EXE
<06:00:00:0001> PROGRAM INITIATED<
RUN<
> ALL DIRECTIVES:)

April 22 | 6:00 A.M. :

The sirens begin blaring at 6:00 sharp. As the residents of the Proserpina scramble out of bed or halt in their early morning routine, many of them reach for their communicators only to find them unresponsive. The home screen has been replaced by an interactive map, meant to guide them from where they are in that moment on the station to the Porta Ianulis. It proves impossible to exit the map program.

Soon after the sirens begin, an announcement begins to play, in a similar style to the announcements for docking missions: a calm, clear voice directing residents to the Porta.

[ This is a critical message. Code black. Please calmly proceed to the Porta Ianulis. Repeat: this is a code black critical message. Please calmly proceed to the Porta Ianulis for further instruction. ]

The message repeats once every three minutes.

As the residents exit the room they were in at the time of the announcement: their room, the training area, the kitchen, they will find that the door locks behind them, and that they have no access to it, or to any of the rooms on the station. The hallways and the open areas of the Proserpina are dark, lit by sparsely placed, brilliant white floodlights instead of the usual twenty-four hour recessed lighting along the walls and floors.

Those perceptive enough will note a ten degree drop in temperature, and perhaps even a change in the composition of the now oxygen-rich air.

Once the residents have entered the Porta Ianulis, a new announcement begins. The sirens continue. Communicator maps update locations, and now direct residents to the third floor: a room labelled SANCTUARY, along with the overhead voice.

[ Critical message. Code black. Please proceed to Floor 3 via the turbolifts. Please remember each turbolift may hold a maximum of 1500 kilograms. Repeat: this is a code black critical message. Please calmly proceed to Floor 3 via the turbolifts to await further instruction. ]

As the residents load themselves into the turbolifts in small groups, the temperature continues to drop.

Upon reaching the third floor, communicators will once again update their location, now guiding the residents to the room labelled SANCTUARY. A new overhead announcement begins:

[ Full security now in effect. This is a critical message. Code black. Please proceed in an orderly fashion to the sanctuary: grid one, room three. Repeat: please proceed to the sanctuary to await further instruction. Lockdown procedures commencing. ]

“SANCTUARY”, a formerly unknown and inaccessible room, is now responding to all communicators.

[ Before tagging in, please refer here. After the doors shut, this can be heard playing over the speakers. ]

the_iceman

There were only very few people in the world who had seen Mycroft Holmes without a tie. He only took off his jacket in extreme circumstances, but his tie, in a double Windsor knot, was a set feature. Come winter, come summer, in England or Dubai; Mycroft would always wear it.

He had only taken it off now because he didn’t want it covered in flour. It had taken him long enough to get the wardrobe to provide him with one of acceptable quality and he took great care of it.

It took him some time, and great patience, but eventually he managed to gather all the ingredients the recipe mentioned – though he did find himself needing to make some adaptations to the original, as the food replicator only seemed compliant up to a point. But he managed to gather them without swearing and that was saying something.

Now, to business; cake.

It was his brother who was the master of ingredients – be it of a chemical kind – and who, through years and years of practical experience in measuring, compounding and mixing, had perfected the science. Mycroft had never quite bothered to put scientific knowledge to practice – let alone engaging in any attempt at cooking or baking. And though he did understand the basic purpose of a whisk (no genius required there), he had never before held one in his hand.

He felt quite ridiculous – and he was not even wearing an apron – but in quite good spirits. He didn’t feel particularly useful as such, and baking a cake could hardly cure the mental tedium from which he suffered, but it was something.

((Yup. You’re reading it right. It’s not a figment of your imagination, or a door to another dimension. Find him at any point, either gathering ingredients, baking a cake, or somewhere in between, coming to terms with the fact that he’s actually doing something.

brightestlight

Caroline Forbes turns nineteen today.

She turns nineteen, and last night - through sheer accident, while she was looking for decorations (because yes, she was going to throw herself a party - nobody else was going to, and this place wasn't going to rule her life that much) she found a micro USB charger, stuffed into a cardboard box full of strings and cords and what looked like dry spaghetti.

Pictures. There were a million pictures, now that she could charge her phone that she'd gotten out of inventory. Her and Elena, her and Bonnie, Matt and Tyler and Jeremy-- and her mom.

That was when she changed everything. No party. Not a standard party anyway - she left everything where it was, the small observatory where she'd been going to invite everyone a tornado of forgotten decorations. No, she was going to do this right, because she wasn't going to be all woebegone. No point in it.

So. Holodeck.

Carnival.

The holodeck obliged, and it was just before dusk, the buzz of people around her mixing with the noises of children and weird, piped in music. There were what seemed like a million booths, with prizes and people and there was dinky rollercoaster and a ferris wheel and bumper cars and the smell of cotton candy and funnelcakes and it was pretty much exactly what she'd wanted.

Nothing super personal, but there's no way people wouldn't have fun. She pulled out her communicator, and sent out the message, just before-- "Computer? Give me the pinkest cosmopolitan you can. And make nobody care about open containers of alcohol."

Let's get this party started.

dr_lauren

Despite Sherlock's continued disparagement of the idea of clinic hours, John had continued to hold them, and had been pleased to note Lauren doing the same. Every now and then they held them together, just to have some company. It was nice-- comforting, even-- after all this time, to have a colleague other than Sherlock. Someone who respected him and his expertise, and didn't subject him to experiments against his will.

Most of the time, anyway.

"Just try it," Lauren cajoled, "come on, what's the harm?"

John spluttered, laughing. "The harm is we have no idea what it is," he protested. "I could end up overcaffeinated or instantly drunk or it could be a sleeping potion. It has no smell, no colour-- I don't have to tell you that could end badly. That's assuming it's even meant to be ingested."

"It says 'Drink Me'," she replied, pointing at the tall green bottle sitting on John's desk. "I think that's a pretty clear indication. And besides, it's never to my knowledge produced anything actively toxic - questionable alcohol dispensation aside."

"Just because the replicator didn't want to give me tea doesn't mean I'm going to drink whatever it hands out in its place," he said, shaking his head. "You want to know what it is so badly, you drink it."

They were so busy bickering that they didn't even realize they had an audience.

[order will be your character, Lauren, John. if you want one of them separately, indicate it in the title of your comment.]

princess_bruiser

The thing about a ninja is, a ninja doesn't need a superhero name.

A ninja is just a ninja. A ninja is a force of nature. The wind doesn't have a name, the darkness doesn't have a name, and vengeance doesn't have a name...

(But if she had a ninja name, she thinks it would probably be Kimiko Shadowborn, like the awesome girl ninja from Magic Teen Warriors : Xtreme because that is a really cool ninja name.)

And after she sneaks out of the wardrobe, she knows just who her first target is.

One of the bad mutants. She's not going to hurt them, because she's not a bad guy. She just wants them to know that the station has eyes. ...HER eyes. And that she's got their number, and they better not try anything bad. Also, she's got this costume and she just had her first ninja class with Wolverine-sensei, so she really wants to do something.

So: Magneto and Mystique. Time to track them down... ninja style.

- - -

Mystique's on her way back from a swim, wrapped in a terry robe and wearing flip-flops, when she sees something familiar-looking on the ground, just outside the Arboretum.

It's a bullet. An AK-47 shell, to be precise. Just sitting there. She looks up from where she's crouched and sees another one, farther down the hall.

What the hell...

She thinks of the block of rooms up ahead, half of which lock sporadically, and wonders if it's even remotely possible that the armory has opened up.

Later, in retrospect, the fact that a child set her up with a breadcrumb-style bullet trail and she fell for it calls for some serious self-examination.

---

Bam! Mystique walks in, and the door shuts behind her. Molly-- err, the faceless ninja-- presses a button on the wall and locks it. There's a mirror in Mystique's room, so she can see Mystique, but Mystique can't see... the ninja.

Mystique's face is priceless.

"What the #$@%?!"

"Hello, Mystique," says the ninja in her most mysterious, loudest whisper. "I think we should have a talk. ...and no more swears."

"Molly," Raven says through her teeth, looking like she's about to try busting through the glass. "Unlock the door. Now."

[ C'mon, tag in and be party to Mystique's fury and humiliation or Molly's mysterious admonishments of a former X-villain!! xD Depending on your tag-in, I'll give you one, the other, or both (and let you know via IM or email) at least until your character either frees Mystique or encourages Molly to get a new hobby. Feel free to pretend your character got the wrong door and stumble into Mystique's side, or see Molly's door open a crack. ]

Current Location: interrogation rooms; 5th floor.

withmyshield

Sharon marches into the holodeck, which is empty [apparently there aren't any takers for her challenge, and it's probably for the best -grown men crying isn't the most fun way to start a beach day] and plunks her bag down in the middle of the empty space. She looks pretty hysterical dressed the way she is standing in the middle of an empty room on a space station, but Sharon doesn't give a damn about that right now.

"OK." She puts on her sunglasses. Let's do this.

"So, I want a beach. The best one you've got, preferably from Earth. I'm talking white sand, palm trees, blue skies, possibly a bar serving nothing but drinks with little umbrellas in them. Out of coconuts. There better not be any wildlife bigger than a starfish, either. Seriously. I see a single wild boar or the suggestion of a shark and I will flip out. Your little sweeper bots will blow all their circuits cleaning up the mess I'll make." The threat sounds pathetic even as she says it, but her powerlessness has become something of a joke even to her.

"Oh yeah, we're gonna need some chairs. Maybe a hammock."

Every time she speaks, there's a soft noise as the room reconfigures to her design. In the end, Sharon is standing on a stretch of beach that seems to go on for miles, not far from a long dock at the end of which she thinks she can make out a grass-hut bar. Next to her is a canvas chair with a big red umbrella. Thoughtful. It reminds her of a vacation she took in Aruba a few years back. Well, she almost got there. Rerouted to Cuba at the last minute, but Fury had been really apologetic about it.

She sits down and pops open the sunscreen. She also doesn't care that fake sun probably isn't harmful to her skin -it's all about the smell.

inhishead

There were no signs, but the woman in the projection had referenced the "Porta Ianualis" as the next room he'd see after his precautionary quarantine had ended. So when Charles jolted awake [out of a doze, sitting on his little bunk], that was how he identified the room he found himself in. The Latin didn't bode well, of course, but at least it was familiar. How bad could it be if his abductors knew the Romance languages? The room was larger by half than any cathedral or sporting arena he'd ever seen, and he turned in place, goggling.

This will certainly teach me to involve myself with covert agencies...

Nothing about this experience thusfar screamed "American", but what else was he to think? Certainly an Oxford academic didn't garner attention from...well, any sort of people who orchestrated abductions and cells with energy fields for bars, with his scholarly works.

He didn't sense anyone nearby, and hadn't for as long as he'd been here, wherever here was. That almost certainly meant he was alone, unless his captors were also telepaths, or employing the skills of one, which would certainly be an interesting development. It was far too quiet for his taste, accustomed as he was to hearing the thoughts of others almost without interruption.

"Hello!" he called out, both hands cupped to his mouth.

princess_bruiser

This is definitely the craziest dream she's ever had. It's not a nightmare or anything, cuz the only bad thing about it is that her friends aren't here, and it's sorta boring. Maybe it's a little scary the way she can't seem to wake up. Everything's so real-- she even ate a PB & B sandwich from the little cubby in the wall-- but there's no way she's really in space. That'd be insane-o.

Right?

She drifts in and out of sleep for a few more hours until, finally, she feels something shift and she knows, even half-asleep, she's not on the dream-space-jail-bed anymore.

Molly opens her eyes and looks around, then gasps loudly as she jumps to her feet.

"HOLY CRAP!"

Where is she? It looks sorta like an airport and it's nighttime and nobody's around and it's definitely not LAX because she's been there before when her parents take her on vacation and there are always tons of people there.

"GUYS?" She runs off the transporter pad, sprinting across the room for no real reason other than to do something in her panic.

That's when she remembers her cell phone. Duh!

Molly reaches reflexively into the pocket of her space-prison-jumpsuit...

Wait, if I'm awake, why'm I still wearing this weirdo outfit? ...and where's my cell phone? Where're my clothes?

She stares up at the Hub, and all of a sudden, she's pretty sure she's gonna puke.

If I got kiddernapped, I'm gonna be grounded so hard.

"HEY!" she shouts at the room, voice at full, angry volume, her hands balled up into fists at her side. "HEY, JERKFACES! Unless you want me to make a new window in your fancy house, you better come explain yourselves now!"

She thinks Chase would be proud. All she has to do is scare them, punch their lights out, and find the door.

[ Come find one pissed-off fourth grade dropout in the Hub, ready to rumble. ]

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Edge of Forever RPG

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Page generated Apr. 23rd, 2025 06:09 pm

the city on the edge of forever

[[ a pan-fandom roleplaying game ]]

Entries tagged with pc:molly hayes

THE GEM : August 31, 19:47.

Fors Fortuna (GP)

(no subject)

Knockout: The End (GP)

wake-up call [gathering post]

(no subject)

4.24 | 07:06

Gathering Post - Day 2 - 18:00

(no subject)

And keep your jokes to yourself

Happy Birthday to All of You

the doctors are in

The rise of the mutant ninja.

Beach Party GP

3.14 | 20:22

(no subject)

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November 2013

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