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Oct. 24th, 2012 10:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
acalltoarmsThe thing about the station--no, there were many things about the station most fucked up and all of them frustrating--but this particular thing was that it was quiet. There was the almost silent but ever-present hum of engines or air filters or whatever, but not much else. She missed the sounds of the city's rumble of traffic, just the sound of people living their lives. Here you got that in snatches of conversation with people, but folks tended toward the solitary. Which, you know, when your friend might get shot and die then come back without knowing you, well, maybe that was a good idea. Lonely, though.
She missed Bette coming to poke Kate out of mopey solitude. She missed Maggie. She missed her father so much it ached, missed him more than she was angry at him. What she got instead was the quiet.
Her leg was still giving her trouble which prohibits much hard training, and there were only so many ways to occupy herself. Currently she's camped out in one of the common spaces near the living spaces sitting on the floor in front of a low table. Her communicator played some rockabilly tune by a band she's never heard of.
A dozen different nail polishes spread out in front of her, some glittery and others jewel tones, plus other fancy manicure accoutrements. Kate's always kept her nails short for obvious reasons, but they've got a little longer lately.
She hummed idly as she worked on her nails. All told, it wasn't an intolerable way to spend an afternoon and push the quiet away for a few more hours.
She missed Bette coming to poke Kate out of mopey solitude. She missed Maggie. She missed her father so much it ached, missed him more than she was angry at him. What she got instead was the quiet.
Her leg was still giving her trouble which prohibits much hard training, and there were only so many ways to occupy herself. Currently she's camped out in one of the common spaces near the living spaces sitting on the floor in front of a low table. Her communicator played some rockabilly tune by a band she's never heard of.
A dozen different nail polishes spread out in front of her, some glittery and others jewel tones, plus other fancy manicure accoutrements. Kate's always kept her nails short for obvious reasons, but they've got a little longer lately.
She hummed idly as she worked on her nails. All told, it wasn't an intolerable way to spend an afternoon and push the quiet away for a few more hours.
Lost and Found (OPEN)
Sep. 18th, 2012 09:44 pmgirlintheductsSept 18, 2012 - 1:26 pm
Newt had spent the last weeks in the ducts. Leaving only to go to the bathroom and eat when she got hungry enough. She had avoided any contact with anyone so far. Maybe they thought she was gone too. Maybe it was better that way.
When Brisco disappeared she'd lay in the bed of his empty room and cried. She was there for days. Everything of him had been stripped away. Including his scent. If she didn't have stills on her communicator it would be as if he never was.
Everybody left.
She'd retreated to the ducts and didn't come out. It was safer there. No one could sneak up on you. No one to see you. No one to care about. If she cared they would be taken.
She had visited her room only to collect Molly, her doll. The white stuffed rabbit Nuada had given her was guarding her bed. It was too bulky to take. She didn't feel like trying to keep clean. Maybe being grimy and smelly would keep people away. She had taken to sleeping most of the time. Dreams were better when they came, then reality. The nightmares only woke her for a little while. Then she'd sleep some more.
Most of the time she didn't feel like eating. Her overalls and tee had become too big on her. It didn't matter. Only Kasumi came and went. Occasionally trying to draw her out.
Then Kasumi stopped coming.
Her room was empty. Her closet as well.
Newt stopped her lessons and didn't even send back the math problems Mr. Baltar sent. He'd be next if she didn't stay away.
Unable to stand the hungry anymore Newt scouted the unoccupied kitchen. She knew there was a replicator there. And considering the few natural foodstuff's around it was unlikely anyone would visit. Even if there were carrots and green onions in the fridge.
She stood before the replicator and asked for a cupcake.
Newt had spent the last weeks in the ducts. Leaving only to go to the bathroom and eat when she got hungry enough. She had avoided any contact with anyone so far. Maybe they thought she was gone too. Maybe it was better that way.
When Brisco disappeared she'd lay in the bed of his empty room and cried. She was there for days. Everything of him had been stripped away. Including his scent. If she didn't have stills on her communicator it would be as if he never was.
Everybody left.
She'd retreated to the ducts and didn't come out. It was safer there. No one could sneak up on you. No one to see you. No one to care about. If she cared they would be taken.
She had visited her room only to collect Molly, her doll. The white stuffed rabbit Nuada had given her was guarding her bed. It was too bulky to take. She didn't feel like trying to keep clean. Maybe being grimy and smelly would keep people away. She had taken to sleeping most of the time. Dreams were better when they came, then reality. The nightmares only woke her for a little while. Then she'd sleep some more.
Most of the time she didn't feel like eating. Her overalls and tee had become too big on her. It didn't matter. Only Kasumi came and went. Occasionally trying to draw her out.
Then Kasumi stopped coming.
Her room was empty. Her closet as well.
Newt stopped her lessons and didn't even send back the math problems Mr. Baltar sent. He'd be next if she didn't stay away.
Unable to stand the hungry anymore Newt scouted the unoccupied kitchen. She knew there was a replicator there. And considering the few natural foodstuff's around it was unlikely anyone would visit. Even if there were carrots and green onions in the fridge.
She stood before the replicator and asked for a cupcake.
Narnia Plot Post Two
Aug. 2nd, 2012 01:49 amlastchanceforhonorSansa had never heard of Narnia. When she had appeared at the base of the cliff - sans Dr. Watson, oddly enough - she blinked in surprise when she saw a small man perched on a rock, as if he was waiting for them. "Oh, hello." The words just sort of fell out of her mouth, and her eyes skipped from the dwarf (she'd had far too many of them in her lifetime) to the castle behind him. That is why she had come, because on the screens, she'd hoped for just one moment that it could be- well. She'd not seen the castles on the far coast of Westeros. She had hoped and prayed that she would be going home, but even now the air tasted too sweet, and it was far too warm. Winter was coming in Westeros, but this place was balmy spring.
The dwarf pushed himself off his rock, grumbling as he tipped his head back to look at the first group off the transporter, and more and more of them appeared. He bowed even as he scowled. "I am Ricklebrack, and I have been sent to greet you, and take you to Cair Paravel." He squinted up at Sansa. "You're sure you are the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve? I didn't think that you could just pop in and out of the air like that. Makes my bones hurt."
Sansa stared at him with widened eyes, and she glanced behind her, her eyes flicking from Klaus to Sandor - and then to Tyrion. "If you were sent here to meet someone, my lord, it seems that we are your party. Where is this Cair Paravel you speak of?"
"What? Where, you say? Are you lack-witted, it's in Narnia, of course! That's where you are. It's right there." He said it to her like she was a child, before he shook his head. "Alright, we should head out - it's a few miles' walk. The air's clearer than usual, so everything looks far too close than it actually is."
The dwarf pushed himself off his rock, grumbling as he tipped his head back to look at the first group off the transporter, and more and more of them appeared. He bowed even as he scowled. "I am Ricklebrack, and I have been sent to greet you, and take you to Cair Paravel." He squinted up at Sansa. "You're sure you are the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve? I didn't think that you could just pop in and out of the air like that. Makes my bones hurt."
Sansa stared at him with widened eyes, and she glanced behind her, her eyes flicking from Klaus to Sandor - and then to Tyrion. "If you were sent here to meet someone, my lord, it seems that we are your party. Where is this Cair Paravel you speak of?"
"What? Where, you say? Are you lack-witted, it's in Narnia, of course! That's where you are. It's right there." He said it to her like she was a child, before he shook his head. "Alright, we should head out - it's a few miles' walk. The air's clearer than usual, so everything looks far too close than it actually is."
Docking Plot : Narnia : Post 1
Aug. 1st, 2012 11:15 amsharpshootingThe past few days had left John so worn through he wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hot bath and sleep there for a week. He was thoroughly annoyed with everyone and everything around him-- Mycroft for having the temerity to nudge him toward participating in the volunteer tests, himself for doing it, the station for sending him to wherever that place had been, and Sherlock for not wasting a breath upon their return before running back to his lab and dragging John with him.
He'd slept like the dead, and woken feeling like he'd been flattened by a locomotive in the night. Bleary-eyed, he sat on his couch with a cup of something like coffee, trying to summon the will to get dressed, when the ticker strip running around the walls of his room lit up and a smooth female voice addressed him.
"Attention. The station has successfully completed docking procedures and the transporters are now active. Please proceed to the Porta Ianualis for transport to the planet's surface." The message scrolled along the ticker in English, Arabic, French, German, and dozens more languages he couldn't even recognize, let alone understand under normal circumstances. The strangeness of it aside, a minute later when the message repeated, John realized what it was actually telling him. For transport to the planet's surface...
Less than five minutes later, he was on his way to the transport hub, where people were milling around in a bigger group than he'd ever seen-- almost everyone who lived on the station, it looked like. The big screens were lit up with panoramic views of stunning scenery, a shining city, and a white and gold palace overlooking the sea. A buzz was going through the room, and John heard the word Narnia several times. Part of him was incredulous-- Narnia?-- but he'd heard about the times the transporters had activated before, and the prospect of going to a place he'd loved reading about as a child overwhelmed him with excitement.
He looked for Sherlock, who was nowhere to be found. He wouldn't appreciate this, in any case, and if it was only to be for a few days, what was the harm? He'd signed up to be Sherlock's babysitter and hadn't even had the fortune, good or bad, to be able to see that through. This was something he wanted to do, and by God, he was doing it, Sherlock or no.
He got in line for the transporter and stood up alongside Sansa, giving her an encouraging smile which she returned. John squeezed his eyes shut as the transporter lit up around him, excited and terrified of what he'd see when he opened them--
--only to open them, and see that he hadn't actually gone anywhere. Abed was standing at the transporter controls, his puzzled look getting even more confused as a soft wee-bleep sound echoed from the console.
"Bollocks," John muttered, scrubbing his face with his hands. He was never going to hear the end of this if Sherlock ever found out he'd been denied entry to bloody Narnia.
[Narnia plot is open! See this post for details.]
He'd slept like the dead, and woken feeling like he'd been flattened by a locomotive in the night. Bleary-eyed, he sat on his couch with a cup of something like coffee, trying to summon the will to get dressed, when the ticker strip running around the walls of his room lit up and a smooth female voice addressed him.
"Attention. The station has successfully completed docking procedures and the transporters are now active. Please proceed to the Porta Ianualis for transport to the planet's surface." The message scrolled along the ticker in English, Arabic, French, German, and dozens more languages he couldn't even recognize, let alone understand under normal circumstances. The strangeness of it aside, a minute later when the message repeated, John realized what it was actually telling him. For transport to the planet's surface...
Less than five minutes later, he was on his way to the transport hub, where people were milling around in a bigger group than he'd ever seen-- almost everyone who lived on the station, it looked like. The big screens were lit up with panoramic views of stunning scenery, a shining city, and a white and gold palace overlooking the sea. A buzz was going through the room, and John heard the word Narnia several times. Part of him was incredulous-- Narnia?-- but he'd heard about the times the transporters had activated before, and the prospect of going to a place he'd loved reading about as a child overwhelmed him with excitement.
He looked for Sherlock, who was nowhere to be found. He wouldn't appreciate this, in any case, and if it was only to be for a few days, what was the harm? He'd signed up to be Sherlock's babysitter and hadn't even had the fortune, good or bad, to be able to see that through. This was something he wanted to do, and by God, he was doing it, Sherlock or no.
He got in line for the transporter and stood up alongside Sansa, giving her an encouraging smile which she returned. John squeezed his eyes shut as the transporter lit up around him, excited and terrified of what he'd see when he opened them--
--only to open them, and see that he hadn't actually gone anywhere. Abed was standing at the transporter controls, his puzzled look getting even more confused as a soft wee-bleep sound echoed from the console.
"Bollocks," John muttered, scrubbing his face with his hands. He was never going to hear the end of this if Sherlock ever found out he'd been denied entry to bloody Narnia.
[Narnia plot is open! See this post for details.]
hammerscallHe and the girl had appeared in the giant room some five minutes ago, and he had set her down on a bench, his gaze intense as he told her that he had something he must do, and then he would keep her safe. It was a charge he took seriously, which is why he walked off a ways, and called.
The lights flickered as the sound of screeching metal and rapid roar that sounds like layers of metal buckling over and over, and Thor does not blink or move, just waits, and a moment later the floor panels buckle upward, bits of scrap metal scattering the floor, and all Thor did was smile, unable to stop the chuckle. "Finally." He flexed his fingers around the handle of the hammer now in his hand, and, ignoring the giant gaping hole in the floor, the scattered bits of metal, and the flickering lights. "This is Mjolnir," he said proudly, and it was not until he heard the sound of running footsteps that his battle armor coalesced around him, the armor and red cape as home to him as Asgard.
"Do not move, I will take care of them." He does not know what to expect - robots, perhaps, or monsters like those Loki had summoned, or just humans who thought to control a god - but they would find their prey was far more than they had bargained.
The lights flickered as the sound of screeching metal and rapid roar that sounds like layers of metal buckling over and over, and Thor does not blink or move, just waits, and a moment later the floor panels buckle upward, bits of scrap metal scattering the floor, and all Thor did was smile, unable to stop the chuckle. "Finally." He flexed his fingers around the handle of the hammer now in his hand, and, ignoring the giant gaping hole in the floor, the scattered bits of metal, and the flickering lights. "This is Mjolnir," he said proudly, and it was not until he heard the sound of running footsteps that his battle armor coalesced around him, the armor and red cape as home to him as Asgard.
"Do not move, I will take care of them." He does not know what to expect - robots, perhaps, or monsters like those Loki had summoned, or just humans who thought to control a god - but they would find their prey was far more than they had bargained.
14:00 | sparring room [GP]
Jun. 28th, 2012 08:37 amohsnikt 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.
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.
(no subject)
Jun. 15th, 2012 03:11 pmmorethanhuman"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.]
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.]
(no subject)
Jun. 12th, 2012 12:38 pmonlythefireThe 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..... )
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..... )
Docking Plot Post One
Jun. 12th, 2012 08:32 amgirl_who_waitedIn 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.
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.
A Formal Dinner Party
May. 25th, 2012 05:52 pmlivinginanhgwellsnovelThe 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.
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.
[gathering] Tuesday, mid-afternoon
May. 22nd, 2012 10:42 amnottheotherguy"--was Calcutta," I finished, as I blinked and was suddenly not in the place I'd been a second before. Caroline and I were standing on a little platform at the edge of a big round room, a room that was full of screens and benches and more platforms. It looked like a train station, except the view of the pitch-black starry sky outside proved there wouldn't be any trains leaving here anytime soon.
"Well this is new," I muttered, stepping off our little platform onto the floor. "I guess they weren't kidding about the whole space station thing." I glanced out the long window and saw an outer ring looping wide around our little Grand Central. It looked like there was a lot more of the place to explore, and despite feeling like I'd been steamrolled, I couldn't find a reason to wait.
I looked back at Caroline, who was peering around with an expression of doubtful interest. "Come on," I said, "let's take a look around. Maybe we can find you some new clothes." My eyes flicked down at her blood-soaked sweats, then back to her face. "And hopefully something to burn those ones in."
[gathering post! tag in, then tag each other. get to know the newbies or just mingle.]
"Well this is new," I muttered, stepping off our little platform onto the floor. "I guess they weren't kidding about the whole space station thing." I glanced out the long window and saw an outer ring looping wide around our little Grand Central. It looked like there was a lot more of the place to explore, and despite feeling like I'd been steamrolled, I couldn't find a reason to wait.
I looked back at Caroline, who was peering around with an expression of doubtful interest. "Come on," I said, "let's take a look around. Maybe we can find you some new clothes." My eyes flicked down at her blood-soaked sweats, then back to her face. "And hopefully something to burn those ones in."
[gathering post! tag in, then tag each other. get to know the newbies or just mingle.]
daughterofthefifthLwaxana was making the sort of face for which she would have chastised her daughter. //Your face will freeze that way, Little One, and then what will you do for a husband?// Most days she didn't allow herself to dwell overmuch on what she had left behind--what she had been ripped away from, more like. Lately, though, it had been harder not to see a little of Deanna in every young woman. A little Odo in that gruff swordsman--so self-conscious about his face just as Odo had been about his regeneration cycle! Even a little of Mr. Homn in the quiet, tall man, always so respectably attired.
Harder, maybe, but not impossible, not with this unpleasant little device winking its puzzles at her! The Minotaur program was a welcome distraction, but sitting hunched over the small console with eyebrows drawn in concentration and lips pursed to keep from shouting at the damned thing--
Well, it was becoming just as difficult to maintain any kind of dignity as it was to keep her feelings in check. And, oh! Who was she to try to reign in her feelings! By the Sacred Chalice of Rixx, she was Lwaxana Troi--a true Betazed! Lwaxana let the tears begin to slip down her cheeks and the very release of her sadness was a balm. Still weeping, but with shoulders and eyebrows now relaxed, she turned back to the console and with the swipe of one finger had cleared the challenge.
Bonus! First responder gets to decide what a triumphant/melancholy/justhavealotoffeelings Troi is wearing
Harder, maybe, but not impossible, not with this unpleasant little device winking its puzzles at her! The Minotaur program was a welcome distraction, but sitting hunched over the small console with eyebrows drawn in concentration and lips pursed to keep from shouting at the damned thing--
Well, it was becoming just as difficult to maintain any kind of dignity as it was to keep her feelings in check. And, oh! Who was she to try to reign in her feelings! By the Sacred Chalice of Rixx, she was Lwaxana Troi--a true Betazed! Lwaxana let the tears begin to slip down her cheeks and the very release of her sadness was a balm. Still weeping, but with shoulders and eyebrows now relaxed, she turned back to the console and with the swipe of one finger had cleared the challenge.
Bonus! First responder gets to decide what a triumphant/melancholy/justhavealotoffeelings Troi is wearing
Alcohol [Open]
May. 12th, 2012 05:38 amnomoremrnicegaiusGaius Baltar is almost certainly drunk.
It's obvious from just a glance at the man. He's sitting, slightly slouched alone in the recreation room. His coat is hung over the back of his chair, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. For a man of such incredible hubris, such slovenliness seems downright uncharacteristic; he always prided himself on looking like he had just stepped out of an advertisement. Even when he was stuck wearing the standard Prosperina uniform of black t-shirt, black jacket, and grey slacks, he still managed to make do with what he had.
Which is more than what could be said for most of the station's denizens. Gaius frowns down at his glass, filled with amber liquid and downs the contents in one go. He reaches out for the bottle on the table and fills it up again, Six looking down at him in disapproval.
She's wearing the red dress today. His favorite.
"Why do you do this to yourself, Gaius?" she asks.
"Shouldn't you know?" Gaius counters. "You said before that you knew everything about me."
Six's patience is quickly wearing thin and he knows it. But unlike the many, many other times her eyes flared with anger, he finds that he doesn't care. One of the many small blessings of alcohol. "Humor me," she says, sharply.
"I don't think I want to," he says petulantly, lifting the glass to his lips.
Six knocks the glass from his hand in one sharp strike.
"What did you do that for?!" Gaius complains, jumping to his feet. His clothes are drenched from the splatter; glass shards litter the floor next to him.
Six folds her arms over her chest. "What is wrong with you, Gaius?"
"What isn't wrong with me?" He shoots back at her. "I have you here, knocking glasses out of my hand and I'm still not even sure what you are--"
Six interrupts him before he can say anything more. "I'm an angel of God sent here to guide you."
"Yes, that," he snips, picking up the glass shards one-by-one to set them on table. "An angel. And if this God is as all-knowing as his believers profess him to be, why don't you have the slightest idea what we're doing aboard this station?"
Six looks down at him and he can tell from just a glance at her face that she's on the verge of committing an overwhelming act of violence. Gaius looks back down at the shards and begins picking them up, all the while knowing that his lack of a reaction will only serve to anger her more.
He hears the steady click-clack of her stilettos as she approaches him from behind. Then suddenly, she yanks his head back by his hair. Gaius lets out a reflexive yelp of pain. She doesn't let go.
"You will listen to what I have to say." She relinquishes her grasp on his locks.
He knows he should shut up now and nod his head even if he doesn't agree with her in the least. But the words leave his mouth before he can stop them from surging forward. "Yes, just like I listened to what Caprica had to say. Look at how well that turned out."
"I'm not Caprica," she says, an underlying menace in her tone.
There's a familiar whir at the door as it opens. It's the only thing that keeps Gaius from arguing further.
He continues gathering the pieces in silence.
It's obvious from just a glance at the man. He's sitting, slightly slouched alone in the recreation room. His coat is hung over the back of his chair, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. For a man of such incredible hubris, such slovenliness seems downright uncharacteristic; he always prided himself on looking like he had just stepped out of an advertisement. Even when he was stuck wearing the standard Prosperina uniform of black t-shirt, black jacket, and grey slacks, he still managed to make do with what he had.
Which is more than what could be said for most of the station's denizens. Gaius frowns down at his glass, filled with amber liquid and downs the contents in one go. He reaches out for the bottle on the table and fills it up again, Six looking down at him in disapproval.
She's wearing the red dress today. His favorite.
"Why do you do this to yourself, Gaius?" she asks.
"Shouldn't you know?" Gaius counters. "You said before that you knew everything about me."
Six's patience is quickly wearing thin and he knows it. But unlike the many, many other times her eyes flared with anger, he finds that he doesn't care. One of the many small blessings of alcohol. "Humor me," she says, sharply.
"I don't think I want to," he says petulantly, lifting the glass to his lips.
Six knocks the glass from his hand in one sharp strike.
"What did you do that for?!" Gaius complains, jumping to his feet. His clothes are drenched from the splatter; glass shards litter the floor next to him.
Six folds her arms over her chest. "What is wrong with you, Gaius?"
"What isn't wrong with me?" He shoots back at her. "I have you here, knocking glasses out of my hand and I'm still not even sure what you are--"
Six interrupts him before he can say anything more. "I'm an angel of God sent here to guide you."
"Yes, that," he snips, picking up the glass shards one-by-one to set them on table. "An angel. And if this God is as all-knowing as his believers profess him to be, why don't you have the slightest idea what we're doing aboard this station?"
Six looks down at him and he can tell from just a glance at her face that she's on the verge of committing an overwhelming act of violence. Gaius looks back down at the shards and begins picking them up, all the while knowing that his lack of a reaction will only serve to anger her more.
He hears the steady click-clack of her stilettos as she approaches him from behind. Then suddenly, she yanks his head back by his hair. Gaius lets out a reflexive yelp of pain. She doesn't let go.
"You will listen to what I have to say." She relinquishes her grasp on his locks.
He knows he should shut up now and nod his head even if he doesn't agree with her in the least. But the words leave his mouth before he can stop them from surging forward. "Yes, just like I listened to what Caprica had to say. Look at how well that turned out."
"I'm not Caprica," she says, an underlying menace in her tone.
There's a familiar whir at the door as it opens. It's the only thing that keeps Gaius from arguing further.
He continues gathering the pieces in silence.
The Scientist and The Newt [Closed]
May. 8th, 2012 04:42 pmnomoremrnicegaius[April 11]
[Here|PG]
Gaius and Six fight. Gaius and Newt meet. Gaius comes to the realization that perhaps he doesn't dislike all kids after all.
Discovery of the Wardrobe [Gathering]
May. 3rd, 2012 10:08 pmlivinginanhgwellsnovelThe tapping of her Venetian cane echoed down the hall behind Lady Grantham as she walked around the station, also in full Venetian dress, the clothing that she had not discarded since their return. She liked a walk, and there was very little else to do except stretch her legs daily. This experience was certainly not making her any younger and she resented it. What was the use of this modernity if it did not ease the passing of days?
Pausing by a door, one of the endless series of inaccessible regions of the station, Lady Grantham laid a hand on the wall to steady herself, which was when she noticed something quite odd. The panel next to this particular door had a light like all of the others, yet this one was not red as they were, but green. Call it curiosity, call it boredom, but Violet had found something for the moment on which to fix her interest.
Pulling out her communicator, a device she would loathe but for its necessity, Violet held it up to the panel and commanded, "Open," in a strident voice. The door, a little to her surprise, slid obediently open. She stepped through cautiously and the lights brightened to more fully illuminate a large hall that was of a size with some of the grandest ballrooms in Lady Grantham's memory. At the front of the room was a platform with consoles, not unlike the ones that were in their rooms and seemed to be all over the station for various purposes. Behind those, stretching back farther than she could see, hung rows and rows of containers whose purpose was not yet clear. The screens were blank and dead at first, but as she mounted the platform and stepped closer, they flickered to life. On the screen flashed images of clothing, but very little that she recognized.
"Oh, what is it that you do?" she said to herself, vexed, and was surprised to find herself answered.
"Hello Violet Crawley, please select an article of clothing, location, era, style, color, texture, or material to begin."
"Purple," was the first thing that came to her lips. The other questions were somewhat vexing for their implications, but thinking back to Venice she continued. "England, 1919," she added, specifying in the way that she had learned was most successful with the food replicator.
"Article or style?" it prompted.
"Oh, a day dress," she replied, flustered by the thing, but with growing excitement.
Without another word from the machine, everything started moving all at once as the racks shifted and spun, rotating around the room until finally one of them came to a stop at the edge of the platform. The front panel of the thing slowly accordioned open to reveal purple day dresses of a cut and style she admired. She made an exclamation of joy. They were far more suited to her granddaughters than a woman of her age, but it was a start and the first piece of good fortune that had come to her in all her time on the station. She hurried back to the console and began to narrow her search, delighting in the possibilities.
Pausing by a door, one of the endless series of inaccessible regions of the station, Lady Grantham laid a hand on the wall to steady herself, which was when she noticed something quite odd. The panel next to this particular door had a light like all of the others, yet this one was not red as they were, but green. Call it curiosity, call it boredom, but Violet had found something for the moment on which to fix her interest.
Pulling out her communicator, a device she would loathe but for its necessity, Violet held it up to the panel and commanded, "Open," in a strident voice. The door, a little to her surprise, slid obediently open. She stepped through cautiously and the lights brightened to more fully illuminate a large hall that was of a size with some of the grandest ballrooms in Lady Grantham's memory. At the front of the room was a platform with consoles, not unlike the ones that were in their rooms and seemed to be all over the station for various purposes. Behind those, stretching back farther than she could see, hung rows and rows of containers whose purpose was not yet clear. The screens were blank and dead at first, but as she mounted the platform and stepped closer, they flickered to life. On the screen flashed images of clothing, but very little that she recognized.
"Oh, what is it that you do?" she said to herself, vexed, and was surprised to find herself answered.
"Hello Violet Crawley, please select an article of clothing, location, era, style, color, texture, or material to begin."
"Purple," was the first thing that came to her lips. The other questions were somewhat vexing for their implications, but thinking back to Venice she continued. "England, 1919," she added, specifying in the way that she had learned was most successful with the food replicator.
"Article or style?" it prompted.
"Oh, a day dress," she replied, flustered by the thing, but with growing excitement.
Without another word from the machine, everything started moving all at once as the racks shifted and spun, rotating around the room until finally one of them came to a stop at the edge of the platform. The front panel of the thing slowly accordioned open to reveal purple day dresses of a cut and style she admired. She made an exclamation of joy. They were far more suited to her granddaughters than a woman of her age, but it was a start and the first piece of good fortune that had come to her in all her time on the station. She hurried back to the console and began to narrow her search, delighting in the possibilities.
tuesday, mid-afternoon
Apr. 18th, 2012 01:17 amonlythefireSandor waited in the Porta Ianualis until everyone else had gone. It wasn't that he was worried-- he didn't know any of them well enough to care what happened to them one way or another-- but it was the first sign since he'd arrived here that there was a way out of this place, even if it was as much of a mystery as the way they'd all gotten in. He still couldn't be sure he'd done right by staying, but what did he have to gain? Anyplace was better than Westeros, but just because he couldn't leave the Proserpina of his own free will didn't mean he should leave it at the first available opportunity.
Hours after he'd taken a seat on one of the benches, the screens went dark and the tables that controlled the transporters switched off. Well, that's boring, he thought, getting to his feet. He wondered what it would be like now, without half (or more than half) of the people who'd populated the place until now. A lot quieter, surely, though he wasn't sure that was a good thing.
He started toward the Aurelia Concourse, thinking of getting some practice with the sparring dummies; he was getting rusty with disuse, and while he may not have had a sword now, that was no use to let his skills go to seed.
The music started softly, almost too softly to be heard; at first Sandor even thought he was imagining it. After nearly a minute, however, he realized it was real-- perhaps coming from the voice inside the station, as the announcement had. He turned back toward the Porta Ianualis, wondering if perhaps it was a signal that something else was going to happen, and that was when he saw it.
It was big, taller than him and broader at the top-- but from there it defied comparison with any human being, because it was unmistakably inhuman in form. As it moved through the huge room it stayed mostly behind things-- screens, the transporter control tables, the benches-- so he couldn't see it as a whole, only flashes-- orange fur, long-fingered hands with claws on the end, huge bright eyes that locked on him just before a grin split the shaggy fur of its face.
Sandor turned and walked as quickly as he could down the length of the concourse, pausing only when he reached the other end to turn and look back. It was drawing closer; whatever it was, it was following him. Horror trickled like ice down his back, and he turned and began to jog toward the science labs, which were both the place to find weapons and the place most likely to contain other people, who might be able to tell him what the hell that monster was and how they could most efficiently kill it.
[Sandor is seeing the big orange monster from Looney Tunes with some attendant classical music. Feel free to see the monster as well, or to wonder what the hell he's running away from. :) This is a bit late posted but it did occur on Tuesday around 3pm.]
Hours after he'd taken a seat on one of the benches, the screens went dark and the tables that controlled the transporters switched off. Well, that's boring, he thought, getting to his feet. He wondered what it would be like now, without half (or more than half) of the people who'd populated the place until now. A lot quieter, surely, though he wasn't sure that was a good thing.
He started toward the Aurelia Concourse, thinking of getting some practice with the sparring dummies; he was getting rusty with disuse, and while he may not have had a sword now, that was no use to let his skills go to seed.
The music started softly, almost too softly to be heard; at first Sandor even thought he was imagining it. After nearly a minute, however, he realized it was real-- perhaps coming from the voice inside the station, as the announcement had. He turned back toward the Porta Ianualis, wondering if perhaps it was a signal that something else was going to happen, and that was when he saw it.
It was big, taller than him and broader at the top-- but from there it defied comparison with any human being, because it was unmistakably inhuman in form. As it moved through the huge room it stayed mostly behind things-- screens, the transporter control tables, the benches-- so he couldn't see it as a whole, only flashes-- orange fur, long-fingered hands with claws on the end, huge bright eyes that locked on him just before a grin split the shaggy fur of its face.
Sandor turned and walked as quickly as he could down the length of the concourse, pausing only when he reached the other end to turn and look back. It was drawing closer; whatever it was, it was following him. Horror trickled like ice down his back, and he turned and began to jog toward the science labs, which were both the place to find weapons and the place most likely to contain other people, who might be able to tell him what the hell that monster was and how they could most efficiently kill it.
[Sandor is seeing the big orange monster from Looney Tunes with some attendant classical music. Feel free to see the monster as well, or to wonder what the hell he's running away from. :) This is a bit late posted but it did occur on Tuesday around 3pm.]
Talking to themselves [closed]
Apr. 17th, 2012 05:23 pmnuadasvengence[April 10]
[Here|G/no warnings]
*Because they had to meet.
Where Nuada meets the creature in the wall and gets outsmarted by a child.
