station identification break #4

[hard-talker.livejournal.com]

[there was no broadcast, Monday evening at ten P.M sharp. nor is there one tonight, amidst swearing and profuse apologies and placing of blame on losses, or the castle.

there may not even be one tomorrow, once all of this ends ... because Mark Hunter has spent the last five nights locked away in his own mind. and it's been a long, long haul.]


Okay, so ...

Has anyone else spent the last couple of days arguing with themself? Because ... well ... it ...

I'm not crazy. I know I'm not. I know this is just --- that he's just ---

Yeah, yeah, yeah. You know I'm just a role you play, somethin' to let off steam, have a little fun, yadda yadda yadda. And I never said I ain't. But what I been TRYIN' TO SAY is --

[Mark lunges across the garage space of his "mind room" and shoves the giant light switch by the door down. the "ON THE AIR" sign above his workbench flickers off, and Hard Harry keeps raving and ranting - but it's as though someone hit a mute button. his mouth and arms are moving, but no sound's coming out]

I can't hold this thing down forever, but --

Seriously. Please. You guys gotta believe me. That -- the way I was, last week, smashing shit up and insulting everyone I talked to -- that's not ME, okay? That's not even a real part of me, that's just bullshit -- I don't mean it ...!

Please. ... Please believe me.

[and he'll close the journal and weigh it down with a toolbox before the sign - and the sound - come on again.

if anyone feels like actually dropping by Mark's room, it's been turned into a garage, only without a car - hey, he's got a teenage mind, his metaphors are pretty heavy-handed. he's parked at the workbench, picking at an enormous sound system. there are piles and crates of parts stacked in a somewhat orderly fashion, and a desk off to one side cluttered with notebooks and textbooks covered in brown paper. his avatar - currently in Harry mode - is wandering around a bunch of careworn wooden crates, full of vinyl records. if anyone can get Mark out of there, somehow, and flick the switch, his avatar will go out of defensive mode, and ... people will actually get to talk to Mark's mind. good luck with that... and props to anyone who dares to try to make it happen]

039 years late

[hulloeverything.livejournal.com]

[After spending a lovely morning tinkering in his lab, Eleven decides to get some fresh air. One cannot stay in the TARDIS forever, after all. Whistling a cheery tune he pulls open the door and steps out. He turns to go... and comes face to face with an angel]

GAH! [He flails, falling backwards as he tries to keep his eyes on the thing. But... the lights aren’t flickering... the thing hadn’t grabbed him when he wasn’t looking. What in the... he pulls out his screwdriver and does a quick scan] Stone... You’re just stone. But how is that-

[He finally looks around him and finds that he’s not in the jungle that had become so familiar. It almost looks like a museum. A museum filled with...]

Lakare?

[He looks around, taking it all in. The brightly colored toy Dalek on a shelf ... Amy’s Kissogram costume ... Rory the Roman’s armor … a painting ... all displayed so nicely. He began to walk further from the TARDIS and saw a pair of Converse trainers laying haphazard on the floor as if someone had kicked them off. He continues walking, keeping an eye out for his younger self as he goes.

The detritus gets stranger, the farther into the museum he gets - especially the single, small section of wall left completely blank, save for the pair of 3D glasses sitting on a little shelf all their own, and the old pocketwatch … there’s also a banana somewhere among the mess, and a porcelain horse … a large, comically wing-backed red chair … a telescope looking off in the distance … to any other random observer, it would seem like a chaotic jumble of junk...

He moves closer, running his fingertips over the engravings on the pocketwatch before picking up the 3D glasses. His eyes grow sad as he looks up at the wall, pressing his palm against it. Of all the things the castle could do... this didn’t seem fair. He sighs, putting the glasses back in their place before continuing on his way.

His gaze roams over the items scattered about, recognizing each and every one. A stethoscope lay buried under a mound of New Years Eve poppers … a pair of brown loafers, though they’d never fit, now … A little toy motorbike … opera glasses … He picks up an umbrella with a big red question mark handle, twirling it as he walks past a kite with an eye on it and a boom box with a baseball bat resting against it.]

Quite an assortment, isn’t it...? [Five’s voice drifts around the corner moments before he strolls into view, another umbrella in his hand. there’s a similar handle, but the panes are multicolored, and he’s using it almost like a walking stick as he makes his way out from the ephemera.] Didn’t realize just how much of a hoarder I really was …. though I must say, I’ve lost all hope for my taste in fashion … and my companions’ for that matter. There’s the most horrible polka-dot dress hanging on the wall, back there...

Ah. That would be Mel’s. [Eleven chuckles, swinging the umbrella up to rest on his shoulder] I have gone through some regenerations with questionable fashion choices, haven’t I? It seemed like such a good idea at the time, at least. [He shrugs, peering around] It’s certainly different seeing everything spread out like this.

So … all of this … well. I’d gathered as much, really. It’s only ever happened the once, before - but then, that was only one regeneration’s worth, and for one day … [Five can’t help but look a little apprehensive at being surrounded by memories he doesn’t recognize, things he doesn’t know - pieces of his own future] … We can’t be the only ones. … I wonder what, exactly, this is …. and what it’s doing to everyone else …?

[Eleven nods. He can’t help but wonder how far back the memories go. It’s altogether exciting and saddening, all those centuries … He pulls his journal out of his pocket, finding it already propped open.] Only one way to find out, hmm?

[He clears his throat] It seems the castle has decided to do a little... redecorating. Has everyone been affected? Or are we the only ones being treated to a little trip down memory lane?

((ooc: Eleven and Five. Backdated to the beginning of the headspace plot. Open over the journals or if anyone would like to take a peek in the Doctors’ mind! Good luck finding them in all that mess! The basic idea is that it’s like a museum/library. Closest to the door are items relating to One and his companions, the deeper into the room you go the higher the regeneration, ending with Eleven all the way at the back.))

Case 6: The Unknown Yell

[jamesholmes.livejournal.com]

[Hello Paradisa, hope you weren't planning on a quiet, peaceful day were you? Or you know at least one without someone pitching a fit about something.  Because there is a loud, very upset, very grumpy sounding Englishman's voice coming through the journal, which has magically opened itself because of the draft from the door of the Clinic.  This was supposed to be a private rage moment, not open to the public, so he's rather oblivious to it.

Yes he's in the Clinic yelling, don't judge, his roommate is currently attempting to sleep he hopes and it's the only place he can think of that not many visit.]

So you let her arrive here, bring me from the brink of death, only to have her die and have no way of stopping this?  You let her hide it from me, because what, we're all a bunch of bloody useless pawns for your endless amusement?  Because if that is the case, then you need to learn your damnable priorities, this is hardly an amusing situation at all!  

If you would like amusment however, bring the bloody bastard here!  Let him see what he's done and go through the same bloody damned thing as her!  She doesn't deserve this, and damned John is again the bloody cause of it all so bring him too!  Energy being or no, hundred years ago or not, he still had a hand in this and he deserves to go through it the same as her, the same as myself, the same as even bloody Nikola!  If you want true amusement, then bring them here, do not gloat however in any damned castle way you can and watch us run about trying to save those who we care for, the only thing you are doing is making a tolerable situation worse.

[This next part is said rather resigned, rather tired sounding as the rage just is gone after that outburst.]

If you would like someone dead then bloody damned well take me instead, I'm already dead after all, but it doesn't work like that you cruel bastard does it?  No, no, if she goes home she'll just go through the same damned thing only with both those bloody bastards there...and I'm dead so who the bloody damn hell knows who she would go to for help there.

[A few moments he walks over to the journal and doesn't even think about looking up and seeing his words, instead he just writes in a filter.]

( [Nikola Tesla] )

[After that he is going to quietly go back to rereading test results and going over other tests he had rerun on various blood samples.  He's very botherable really as the door to the Clinic is wide open and his journal is open as well nearby, he's paranoid like that.]

((OOC: Forward dated to mid-morning after the Headspace Plot.  He's open to be bugged over the journal or in person, do whatever he probably wouldn't mind being dragged off really for a distraction, or you know things over the journal.  Open to any and everyone!))

005;

[covetly.livejournal.com]

[ One of the things about being an artificial being used to trying to follows the whims of other to please them is the unfortunate setback of a terrible lack individuality--so even when the rooms returned to normal hers remains a tad changed--likened as much as possible to what it once was. The once hotel-looking room is now bleached white with almost no color in the room. The sparse pieces of furniture are the only things that aren't white, really.

But the room is less of a concern of hers than the fact that she's having trouble getting her flask from the perilous location of a table top to somewhere it won't fall over. Hard when being able to touch it is her loss but she's going to persevere!! Which...basically means opening her journal. ]

Hello? I was wondering if someone could help me if you're not too busy. There's something I can't move on my own and it's important.

[ There, that sounds good c: Amoretta will move into the hallway after that to go an sit on one of the benches at the end, journal held in her lap. ]


[ ooc; also open to anyone on the 10th floor if they happen to be wandering that way c: STILL A DEMON/DEVIL-MAGNET, for those who happen to be a smidgen of either ]

14th Bite

[my-bff-trevor.livejournal.com]

[Within the confines of the clinic, Rose's body lay dormant, just as it had been for the past two weeks. Although, a recent development had manifested in the form of large, thick veins protruding against her skin all over her body. Her skin tone took on a deathly, ashen paleness and it almost looked as if all life had completely left her body.

Perhaps the ear splitting scream that comes from one of the orderlies is a direct result of said dead body suddenly springing upright in her bed with a deep, shuddering gasp of life. She's alive again. She's back here and everything just seems to come flooding back all at once. Even as the flustered medic rushes to gather help, Rose is seemingly in a cataonic state.

She's sitting up and staring straight forward, but with no expression on her face. None at all.

All of that pain and suffering, all that misery. Even for someone like her, it takes quite a bit to process all of that at once.

Blinking back emotional tears, she finally breaks that trance long enough to ask for her journal. When it's presented to her, she proceeds to write only the bare minimum that her mind can handle at the moment]

For anyone that cares, I'm back.

( TVD crew )

✚ 001

[templarssuck.livejournal.com]

[There's a loud yawn sounding out across the journal, followed by some shuffling noises ...


... and then a loud yelp as Anders finds he's tangled in his bedsheets and falls on the floor with a thump]

Bloody sheets --

[ ... and then a shocked pause as he glances around]

Well, this .... certainly isn't Darktown. It's a little too fancy. ... By which I mean a lot.

[a short pause with some more shuffling]

Er .... hello? Is ... anyone there? I didn't think I'd had that much to drink last night ...

Cinque | Dictated | A filter for Altair.

[alltenfingers.livejournal.com]

[A tense sigh comes and the irritation can be heard in his thick Italian accent, even though he's trying to sound calm. Thanks to his room changing, it's time to do some damage repair and speak to people who saw things.]

Dio dannazione...

If you were inside room two hundred and eight, I wish to speak with you about the things you may have seen.

Please contact me as soon as possible. Grazie.


( For Altair. )

((ooc: So, this is set after the headspace plot, obviously, and even if you didn't tag into Ezio's post, here, I'm willing to handwave that your character wandered in for a while. :3))

027 Points - A clean castle is a happy castle

[tomatoandbasil.livejournal.com]

[What a fine day it is for the tail end of summer, isn't it, Paradisa? Everyone's rooms are back to normal. We all may or may not be scarred for life. We may all be varying degrees of depressed to have seen and heard what was hidden in us and in others. But the important thing is we made it out alive. Right? Right. Life goes on.

And by life we mean that there's this sense that you're being stalked. You can't shake this feeling. If you turn around, you'd find your fears were founded in fact. There's Alleyne, twirling what appears to be a Q-Tip deftly in her hand. Her eyes are fixated upon your ears, body tense as she fights the urge to just pin you down right there and make you a shining example of cleanliness.

Her body is tense. Her face reads as if she doesn't want to be doing this, but her body language speaks otherwise. Once you look her in the face, she points her Q-Tip at you like one would a sword, speaking up. Just what is the castle doing now?]

Hey. You there. Zero points for proper hygiene.

[Oh, by the angels, what is she saying? A few have already fallen to her and have come out all the healthier for it. She pities you. Truly, she does.]

[ooc: Loss start! Feel free to be anywhere and everywhere. In castle, in town, or anywhere in between. Give in, punt her away, whatever you want to, just enjoy. Open to everyone ever, old or new, come and have some shenanigans as only the castle can provide us all!]

sixth examination

[longaevus]

[ It was late evening. Anyone that was around in the kitchen would notice one Helen Magnus sat at the table, half heartedly eating a strawberry... or two. The bowl's rather full; she's been there a while but doesn't seem particularly interested. Why? Being hurt by one of your oldest (and best) friends is a mood killer.

While she may be distracted, and sad, she wouldn't openly push company away... you may just need to nudge her a little first ]

[ The Doctor; written (added a couple of hours later) ]

Good evening, my name's Helen Magnus. I've been informed that James Watson spoke with you regarding a problem?

[ James Watson; written ]

[ The filter just sits there for a while before Helen actually writes anything. She contemplates crossing it out but she had promised to keep him informed, and even with later discussions she is still keeping that promise ]

I've contacted him.

[ The Peace Patrol; written ]

Good evening, my name's Helen Magnus. I'd like to speak with you regarding Nikola Tesla, if that's possible.

[ ooc; location open like an open thing. also reasons for her mood are here ]

[dictated]

[runandseek.livejournal.com]

Guess I haven't really introduced myself properly yet... how should I say this...

I'm Ryotaro Dojima, a... detective with the Inaba PD. --Inaba, Japan.

From the sound of it some of you have been looking after my daughter, Nanako? [a bit of an awkward pause, but then his voice is filled to the brim with sincere warmth:] I can't really thank you enough.

I'm not sure I buy into all this talk about magic castles, but... --it's not the important thing right now. We're all in the same boat, so I hope we get along.

--uh, one last thing. Sorry, but there's something I'd like to ask. I hear something's taken from you when you arrive here? I'm not missing anything important... as far as I can remember. Is there a way to find out what's been taken? A list somewhere?

...though, I did just finish paying off that car... [sigh]

( Read more... )

(no subject)

[exanimatus.livejournal.com]

[dictated. he's lazy.]

It's funny. I'm a little surprised how many of you choose to bottle up such interesting things in your own minds. It'd make the place a whole lot livelier if you didn't.

But that aside, I'm looking for someone who'd be willing to give up some of their own blood. [a small, breathy sound. almost a laugh.] I suppose it's about the same if you're willing to give up someone else's blood, but settle the details on your own time. Either way, I can make it very worth your while.

♩ 033

[marionette_purple]

[He thought this room change was actually kind of interesting...until he saw a certain someone backstage. Someone he'd really rather not see again. At least, not here.

So one boy with his purple robot sister is standing out in the hallway, trying to close the door to his room, but it opens again moments later. Close. Open. Close. Open. Slam. Open. Slam. Open.]

...Why isn't this working?

[ooc: horribly backdated to the start of the plot. /slowpoke.jpg

Info is here, feel free to wander in and poke at his headspace or comment on him repeatedly slamming his door shut and failing.]