PARADISA LOST

Who: Peace Patrol Current Members & Interested Parties
What: Peace Patrol meeting!
When: Friday afternoon
Where: PPHQ, in the basement
Rating: ... IDK, depends on how mouthy people get? YMMV.

((OOC Note: I decided to do this meeting as a log, so that people can tag themselves in and have this count toward AC, and such. Use whatever writing format you're comfortable with ... there will be sections for specific discussion, just as in previous meetings. Tag where you like, and HAVE FUN!))

( Read more... )

[To All Residents Who Have Ever Fought On Behalf of Paradisa's Population - Town or Resident - Whether Through Violence, Ingenuity, or Charity]

[the ghosts will be delivering a bunch of poppies to your door, tied with a blue ribbon. Five couldn't presume to know who you all are, and he wanted to honor everyone, so he asked them to carry out the task, as they'd know better than he. tied to each ribbon is a small, simple note - "Thank you for your kindness" - signed with an emblem that looks like this, minus the text.]

[/Filter]

Throughout my travels, I became quite familiar with and fond of an Earth holiday known as Remembrance Day ... meant to honor those who helped to secure the freedom and safety of their country by fighting for it .... though, as we all know, violence isn't the only way to defend the things you care for. ... And since a few people have taken to referring to those of us who've been in Paradisa a number of years as "veterans"... I'm taking a jaunt in the TARDIS out to the Wanderers' Yard, today, to remember friends who've left.

If anyone would care to join me, I'll be parked out by the duck pond for another hour or so.

[and he'll lean back against the side of his old blue friend, and wait for any takers. he's swapped out his usual celery for a spray of poppies on his lapel, as well. they do go rather nicely with the red trim]

((OOC: Sorry for the edit ... but a huge thanks to Ena for giving the Yankee mun some fantastic Brit details!))

[when the Doctor first opens the journal and begins to speak, his voice is soft - sympathetic - even kindly]

It all begins so simply, doesn't it...? For all of us. We open our eyes ... or a door ... and suddenly, we find we're not where we expected to be. We look for answers, and when we've found as many as we can, we go for the next best thing: familiarity. A familiar face, or a place ... but what if those are taken? What if the hand we've been playing with has changed? New cards must be drawn, mustn't they?

So we all adapt our own personal rules to the game that Paradisa sets on the table. We draw new cards, make new friends, new familiar faces, new answers ... we carve a new place for ourselves, here, in this world. But it's all still rather telling. Even within the structure of new rules, there are ways to show how we operate. Who we are. What we are. Some of us have been here for quite a long while, haven't we? Some of us have been given children or proteges, tried to teach them to be like us - or how to be less like us, to not share in our mistakes. We've all so much in common ... at first glance, it's easy to think that we're all the same at heart, isn't it?

Lost souls, trying to find our place.

[and then - it's as though someone flicked a switch. his tone turns harsh, biting - to the point where it almost sounds as though the castle has dropped a loss on him, mid-thought]

And then there are those who are so lost, so beyond retrieval, that they take it upon themselves to try and dictate what others' places should be. To take them, and mold them to fit their own ideas of familiarity, to bend them like brittle clay until they break. To make them dance the dance of the unwilling. To rip their very essence from their bodies in the name of such a selfish and profane thing as conquest. But that's not enough, is it? No. These people - these monsters, because YES, that IS what you are, ISN'T IT?! - have to pull as many innocents in as possible, twist their wills and warp their hearts and -- and reprogram them -- until they're no longer themselves. They take away the one thing that makes this whole place still so glorious, even in the face of all it's done. They steal away the ability to choose.

Riful of the West! Arthas Menethil! Legato Bluesummers! You tell us that if we stand against you, now, we forfeit our own lives, and those of our dear friends. You say that we have no choice.

Well.

If all of you take one thing away from this, right now, one thing to keep and hold and know forever, so deep and so sure that it follows you home past every stolen memory, long after Paradisa ever releases you from its clutches, LET IT BE THIS:

I am NOT a man to leave without a choice.

And I do not care what nature of game you choose to play: poker, chess, checkers, capture the flag, blind man's bluff, or -- or that one game you all seem to be SO very fond of. That one where blocks are pulled out of a tower one by one, until it falls on the unfortunate who makes the wrong move. I, myself, have always been fond of cards. And I'm playing with a fresh, full deck.

And you WILL lose. Because that is MY choice. That is the path that I have chosen to walk, ever since I opened my own door and my own eyes and began to walk these halls. That is the place that I have chosen at the table:

Between you ... and our well-being. And our right to choose.

[a substantial pause, as he rifles a deck of cards between his hands]

Your move.


((OOC: The Storm Has Arrived. THIS IS IT, THE CALL TO ARMS. Any team leaders who want to rally their troops, DO IT HERE! Threadjack like crazy! Let's make this the most badass shounen-speechifying post in the history of ever! You want inspiring music? Yeah. We've got that, too.

Use this post to organize initiatives/rescues as you please--Riful & Co. will be responding to this and will be assumed to have vacated the manor during this post.))

[it's been a long few weeks. so much turmoil and tension ... and he's well aware of the toll it must be taking on all involved, and even some who aren't. so, before he dives straight into the strategizing and the planning and such, he's going to allow himself one evening's respite to recharge before preparing for ... well.

for the Oncoming Storm.]

Good evening, everyone.

You know, I was looking through some old papers and such, earlier today, in search of something entirely unrelated, and it occurred to me that yesterday was the anniversary of the death of a man by the name of Wild Bill Hickok. Those of you from Earth may have heard of him - he was a legendary showman from the Old West, among several other things. The interesting thing about his death was that its circumstances led to a convention involving the game of poker... the hand he was holding when he was shot is now referred to as Dead Man's Hand. I don't think I've ever heard of anything like that having an effect on any other hobby or sport. Rather unique, really.

And it got me to thinking: you know, I haven't played poker in a good, long while. So! If anyone could use a bit of sport, something to relax over, I'll be down in the Death Match for the proper atmosphere, with a few decks of Bicycle cards, a rulebook to refresh my memory, and a stack of poker chips that seem to have come from The Mirage.

Feel free to drop on in! I promise, I shan't let anyone get shot.

( Private )

[Filtered Away From Riful & The First Generation, and Any of Their Allies]

I've been examining the pieces of flesh found out in the forest. And I have some disturbing news...

Yes, they're distinctively supernatural. They don't react to temperature changes - I've taken some of the samples and both heated and frozen them. The only place where they've been damaged has been in the places where it had begun to decay ... and even then, it seems more like the tarnishing of metal than physical rotting. I had to use a small laser mounted on one of my work-tables to cut the samples I used for the control experiments - nothing else would cut them effectively, without extreme force or perseverance. Some of the larger sample pieces would even regenerate after being cut with a scalpel... not enough to completely repair themselves, but noticeably. After several attempts to cut the flesh, it did give way - it seems as though its innate resistant qualities can be worn down. Upon closer cellular inspection, it's not actually metal, as much as it may appear so and behave so, to an extent. It truly is a form of flesh, but it's been hardened by some process other than calcification.

I hear we have a few forensic specialists in the castle ... I would welcome your input, if at all possible. I'm down in the Peace Patrol headquarters. Just let me know that you're coming, and I will come and let you in.

.... I'd also like to request that anyone who has seen Riful of the West in her inhuman form please come and take a look at this. It looks much like the descriptions I have read from others of what she is capable of forming herself into ... but I'd rather not jump to any conclusions until I have absolute confirmation.

If this truly did come from her body ... we may finally have a key to defending ourselves.

Thank you for your time. I'm sorry to bring up such squeamish subjects so close to the dinner hour... but it needed to be said.