i_jones: indiefairy @ LJ (guys there's all this pizza and turtles)
[personal profile] i_jones
Welcome, welcome. Not through that door. I mean, you can try it, but all doors lead to breakfast. Even that one underneath the console. You thought you were being clever. Maybe once you've behaved yourself and the TARDIS judges you to be worthy, you can explore a little more. For now, breakfast. For one night only, the TARDIS has become - or rather, has been inhabited by - King Ianto's Coffee Stop. Would you like to join the club? He has pamphlets. And buttons! But more importantly, he has breakfast. Lots of breakfast. The countertops of the cozy diner are lined with plates of breakfast foods galore - bacon, eggs, sausage, mushrooms, tomatoes, black pudding, cockles, laverbread... and okay, there are American staples too. There's your pancakes and your french toast and hash browns and cupcakes or whatever strange sweet things Americans eat for breakfast. Oh, and tea. Lots of tea. And if you ask very nicely, King Ianto himself might brew up some of his very own coffee. It's so good, it has a cult following.*

The walls are decorated with a strange collection of primarily alien souvenirs. There's one whole section of postcards from other planets and galaxies. GREETINGS FROM MARS! says one particularly upbeat postcard, featuring swathes of blue sand and a setting blue sun. Many others are unreadable. There are flags, leis of unfamiliar flora, letters of commendation (right next to WANTED signs), photographs both old and new of various people and various Doctors posing next to various monuments and landmarks, and strangely enough, what looks to be a stolen sign commemorating Ianto's death, from the management of Mermaid Quay. Have a look around! You never know what you might find. Probably none of it is dangerous. The food definitely isn't.

Oh and also the ceiling is space and outside the windows is space and spaaaaaace.**

*((Ianto has an undiscovered power: his coffee improves you. Your health, your powers (temporarily), your mood, whatever needs fixing. Please drink responsibly.))

**not actually space
wildmage_daine: (wolf alert or curious)
[personal profile] wildmage_daine
Daine leaves the remains of the base in crow shape, surrounded by other birds, buzzing with adrenaline and borrowed strength. She and her friends have destroyed all the records they could find, left the labs in ruins, smashed computers and other expensive-looking things to pieces. The only things left intact are the tunnels themselves, because she hadn't wanted to risk collapsing the ground up above, and the food. Both belong to the rats, now, and she wishes them joy of it.

She's not sorry. She's not sorry.

The dogs are a bright, familiar cluster in her mind's eye, and she wings her way towards them. That's where Peeta will be. He's not as far from the base itself as she'd like him to be, but it doesn't matter anymore. If any stragglers tried to take him, they'd have nowhere to go.

The cold, furious part of her thinks: if any stragglers tried to take him, I'd kill them.

But there's no one suspicious around when she finally spies him and the others. Maybe Peeta knows her crow shape well enough to recognize her among the other birds as she swoops towards them. Regardless, she doesn't stay crow for long: once she hits the ground, she lapses into wolf shape, the only one she can count on herself to hold for any length of time. Maybe it's too noticeable, but there are far more noticeable things happening back near Columbus Circle. She could just be an overlarge dog.

Daine moves toward him, her gait somewhere between a trot and a stagger, hackles raised in lingering anger, but tail wagging. He's alive, he's in one piece, and they're free.
applesaucemod: (Default)
[personal profile] applesaucemod
 photo beauty and the beast stained glass rose-NZWR_sm_zpsadnbeqxz.png


The twenty-seventh of August dawns bright and clear, but when your characters wake up, they will immediately notice something wrong. They've woken up the wrong size, or species, or age. Or perhaps everything seems normal until they take a bite of their apple-flavored toaster strudel, or attempt to speak, or wander into the woods, or bump into that old crone in the subway and fail to adequately apologize. However it happens, there's no getting around it: your characters are cursed, like an unfortunate out of a fairy tale.

On the bright side, many curses can be broken. Unfortunately, none of them come with user manuals, so how they might be broken isn't clear. Perhaps true love's kiss will do it, or a heroically sacrificial act, or some serious reflection followed by revelatory insight into your own soul. Or, y'know, whatever. But it's far more likely that your character will just be stuck with whatever it is until sunset, when any and all remaining curses will be broken.

[OOC: Feel free to use this post for initial reactions to whatever curse your character has found themselves suffering. Any additional posts for more specified shenanigans can go up under the 'events: curses' tag. Sunset is a little after 7:30 PM. Backdating and backtagging are the best and you should do both of those things if necessary.]
wildmage_daine: (neutral - curls)
[personal profile] wildmage_daine
Daine's a little tired after the unexpected interruption of her sleep earlier that morning, but only a little. The prospect of rehoming a stray with Peeta had put a smile on her face as she'd fallen back to sleep, and it was still there when she woke. She'd gone about getting breakfast and heading out on her morning rounds with a spring in her step, half her focus on the strays she knows, and which one might do best with Peeta.

It's not an easy decision, if only because she can only pick one (at least for now), and that means not picking dozens. Granted, since her arrival in Manhattan, she's been doing her best for all the strays. Even the ones she hasn't found homes for have her, which means they're better fed and healthier than they would be otherwise. Still, it's hard to choose.

In the end, Daine singles out a younger dog - still a puppy, really - who hasn't been a stray for very long and is least comfortable with it. It feels vaguely unfair to the rest of the strays, but she hopes they'll understand and she knows they'll cope. (Part of what makes dealing with them so painful is how dratted accepting dogs can be.) She clips a leash on the gangly little dog, who hasn't yet grown into her paws or her ears, and heads for the Sheep Meadow, sending Peeta a text along the way. That's as good a place to meet as any, Daine figures.

Is he nice? the dog asks, gazing hopefully up at Daine. She isn't leash trained, far as Daine can tell, but she sticks close without being asked. Is he going to keep me?

He's very nice, Daine reassures her. And I hope so. He's excited to meet you. He'd been excited by the idea before, anyway, so it seems fair to say.

They beat Peeta to the Sheep Meadow, unsurprisingly, but it can't hurt to have some extra time for Daine to sit in the shade and burn off some of the young dog's energy by tossing twigs for her. She keeps half an eye out for Peeta as they play, and tries to answer the dog's numerous questions about Peeta without getting her hopes up too high. Truth be told, Daine's a little nervous that a puppy might be too much for Peeta to take on, this being his first dog and all, but she keeps a tight lid on it lest the dog pick up on it.

Peeta will probably love her, and everything will be fine.
peeta_mellark: (Srsbsns)
[personal profile] peeta_mellark
Peeta's dreams are a confusing mix of reality and past nightmares, the line between his old life and his new one smudged into obscurity by his subconscious. He's in the jungle, then he's in Central Park, wearing the uniform of the arena or the first clothes he received when he arrived in New York. The details merge together in an unsettling manner, but he's always running, running to save Daine.

The trees, an unnatural mixture of hardwood and jungle vine, whip past him as he goes, the air that tears through his lungs tasting of salt and stagnant water and cotton candy. One minute he can see Daine - foot poised over ground he know will not hold her, now with her back to a shadow that wears the face of a man - the next she is obscured from view by the neverending trees. No matter how hard he runs she is always the same distance away, close enough for him to see every detail of her expression as she sinks into the earth or struggles against an assailant he knows he could not stop.

Only when it is too late does the nightmare let him reach Daine's side. In his mind, he both struggles to drag her from the unyielding soil and stumbles to a halt beside her lifeless body, the monster disappeared from the scene of its crime.

His body jerks him awake as if it had physically thrown him from the dream. He lies flat on his back in bed, panting, head swimming with images that he can't quite match up with the emotions raging inside him. All he knows is that he needs to see Daine.

Flinging back the covers, he quickly crosses the room and heads out into the corridor. He doesn't slow down until he reaches Daine's hallway, the trek there having given him time to calm down from his initial post-nightmare high. His last few steps to Daine's door are hesitant, but his hand raises of its own accord to knock before he stops himself. It was just a nightmare, Peeta, he tells himself. Pull it together. It isn't like this doesn't happen all the time. You don't have to wake Daine up for this. With that thought in mind, he turns to go.
peeta_mellark: (Face)
[personal profile] peeta_mellark
At first, Peeta doesn't notice anything wrong.

Back in District 12, he'd been generally ignored - at least until the Games - and New York has treated him much the same. The people here are incurious by default, so he rarely garners any attention when out and about. He's been spending more time out in the city recently, and the day of the rain was is day off from the base kitchens, so doesn't interact all that much with anyone who knows him. That the strangers he encounters seem even less interested in him than usual doesn't concern him.

Then, the next day, things feel off in the kitchens. Every time he speaks to one of his fellow workers, they seem surprised to see him, and he catches the lead cook looking absolutely flabbergasted after Peeta dumps the muffins he just pulled from the oven in the serving line basket. They've been busier than usual, so Peeta chalks it up to distraction and heads topside without giving it further thought.

But once he's in the park, he finds himself having to continually dodge joggers, bikers, skaters, and other pedestrians on the paths. Eventually he gives up and moves off the path entirely, bewildered by what he at first assumes is everyone else's distraction. He spends a few hours on a half-hidden bench near the lake, sketching whatever catches his eye. Then he wanders to find a cart to buy a late lunch. Though there is no one else around, it takes three tries for him to get the vendors attention. Every time Peeta stops talking to the man, he pauses mid action, a perplexed frown crossing his face as he stares at the hotdog or money in his hand. And when Peeta regains his attention, the man always greets him as if they have not already spoken.

That night, he eats alone in the cafeteria and watches as no one watches him.

Today it takes him half an hour to get out of the base as nothing he does seems to get Phil's attention - including grabbing him by the shoulders (after debating the wisdom of such a move). Finally, Peeta decides to just open the door himself, and Phil's confused shouts follow him up the stairs.

Taking care to avoid the paths, Peeta heads for the park.
wildmage_daine: (determined)
[personal profile] wildmage_daine
This is getting shameful. She needs to pull herself together. This isn't the first time she's lost someone.

Of course, the last two times she lost someone - or thought she had, like in Carthak - she wound up on murderous rampages. It's just as well she hasn't done that now, she knows, but doing nothing is grating on her, and trying to fall back into her old routines is little better. As if she can just go back to life as normal.

Which is why she's still in her room at the base during a time when she'd normally be in the park, making her rounds. She can still keep tabs on the People from underground, so she'd know if anyone really needed her, but that's a weak excuse, and she knows it. She can't know for certain - she's not privy to all the People's secrets - but she has a sneaking suspicion that they're not clamoring to see her because they think she's safest underground.

Well, she can still accomplish something, surely. So she sits herself on the floor and starts to work on brushing Sarge and Molly. Especially Sarge; he's shedding something awful.
rae_of_sun: (pleased)
[personal profile] rae_of_sun
Well, if there's ever been a reason for Sunshine to start pushing herself in the magic-handling department, the arrival of a mega-toxic kali nightmare goon from wherever-the-hell - and a subsequent text containing a ward symbol against said nightmare goon - definitely qualifies. Gods, has she missed wards. And, okay, she finds it a little hard to fully trust the effectiveness of a ward symbol drawn by… well, anyone aside from an accredited wardsmith (herself included)… but if there's even a slight chance that it'll work, she will gladly wallpaper the entire damn building with the thing.

Better to start small, though, especially if what she's going for is 'permanent.' Which is why she's standing outside her own apartment door with the little image of the symbol pulled up on her phone. She examines the picture with a tight little frown, memorizing the details in case intent is not enough. Then she tucks her phone into the back pocket of her shorts and braces her palms against the door.

Okay. She can do this. It's big - far bigger than anything she's attempted before - but it's only wood. Easy compared to metal or stone. And her grandmother said she could do anything in bright sunlight, and there's plenty of that shining in through the window at the end of the hall, all of two feet to her right. So.

Sunshine shuts her eyes, pictures the ward symbol as clearly as she can, and shoves.

A bolt of power runs down her arms and into her door, the recoil strong enough to force her back a pace. She opens her eyes, regains her balance, and takes in her new door.

At first, she thinks it was a bust; the change is so subtle. But then she realizes that the ward symbol is there, right in the middle of her door and as large as a dinner plate. It's visible only because the grain of the wood abruptly changes direction, like an incredibly fine inlay. She steps closer and runs her fingertips over the line where symbol ends and door begins, but she can't feel a seam.

"Gods," she breathes. Could she darken it? Probably, yes, if she tried again. Make it a bit more obvious, if that's what's needed. A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. It worked. How's that for permanent?

Okay. She'll come back to her own door later. First, she has to do Spike's. And then the main entrances. And then the windowsills. And then literally every other flat surface she can reach.


[ooc: Sunshine is gonna spend the day WARDING ALL THE THINGS, so feel free to have your character run into her in any given hallway, down by the front door, or even up on the roof. Pretty much anywhere in the rebel apartment building is fair game. And hey, she'll probably ward your door if you ask nicely.]
peeta_mellark: (Sad)
[personal profile] peeta_mellark
For the second day in a row, Peeta watches the sun rise from the roof of the rebel apartments.

He knows that Daine has been sticking close to the base and made the decision - for both of them - to stay away as much as possible. He even begged off his normal duty in the kitchens - or attempted to, anyway. Before he had the chance to even open his mouth to ask off, he'd been told to take all the time he needed. None of the kicthen staff would quite meet his eyes, and he knew that as much as he needed the time, they did, too.

So he spends most of his time out in the city. He can't quite bring himself to linger in the park - even the areas far removed from where it happened - but between the library and the museums, there are places for him to go. And he finds himself here, on the roof, for every sunrise and sunset. It's as quiet as the city gets, and he finds some measure of peace there, up above the streets, at the beginning and end of the day.

This morning, he arrived extra early. Unable to sleep, pulled into horrible dreams every time he closed his eyes, he abandoned his quarters in the dark hours of the morning and headed for the roof. Now he sits in the same nook where he and Daine watched the fireworks on a night that feels like a lifetime ago, and watches the sky lighten.
wentdowntogeorgia: (Disobedience is man's original virtue)
[personal profile] wentdowntogeorgia
Lucifer falls.

This is old news for everyone involved. He fell from Grace, he fell from Heaven, and after the so long awaited confrontation in Stull Cemetery, he and his once-beloved brother and the promise of violence, he fell back into the Cage in the body of Sam Winchester.

Now, when he falls, he feels a shift around him like the universe cracking open at the seams; there is the smell of ozone and a lightning-snap that’s louder than even Sam’s fearful internal monologue, louder than the terror that pounds his frantic mortal heart at the sight of Perdition yawning wide beneath him. He is yanked sideways, sudden lateral movement that would be dizzying if he had a center of balance to upset, a rip-tide pulling him in and down and through the rabbit-hole, shadow-thin and darkling deep.

The body that is supposed to be his—that has had his name written over and across and around every fiber of its being since its conception—is suddenly far away, and he is wrapped in the old, familiar skin of a vessel he’d left dying in Detroit, flesh given freely rather than claimed by divine right. And then he is a streak in the sky that hits water and sinks like a stone.

Under the water, cold and getting colder from the seed crystal that is his freezing Grace in its mortal house, he can feel the vast emptiness where Heaven should be above him and isn’t; the universe is silent and it is deafening, a tinnitus ring where there should be angels’ voices. Lucifer grabs two fistfuls of space-time and pulls, moving himself from under the water to standing in the shallows at the bank, and behind him the lake’s surface is already frozen over thick like it’s the dead of winter. The water around his feet is sluggish and barely liquid, filmed over top with a thin frozen layer that breaks and flows around his ankles.

Someone approaches him with a towel, and there is no Hell below him and above him only sky, and he makes no reply; he banishes the water from his clothes with a thought before he puts his fist right through the man’s chest.

[[ooc: So this is going to be the hottest of messes; see mod comment for post instructions and fun stuff like that.]]

[[TW: gore, major character death.]]
apidae: (sweetheart)
[personal profile] apidae
[[ooc: It's beehive time! Bee is gonna be up on the Rebel apartment roof most of the day, hangin out, and she'll be sending an open text to all the Rebels (and some other friends) about it, inviting people to come join her. The first thread is gonna be Daine helping her set up, but after that feel free to drop by!]]

Everything has to be perfect.

Bee's got the boxes stacked nicely, all ready for their new inhabitants, with a couple rows of box flowers and a beautiful little water garden she'd been lucky enough to find in her eager search for supplies. Not a completed project yet, but it's a lovely start. And thank goodness the rain has stopped; she can be out here all day, in this beautiful weather, until the sun goes down even—and then, fireworks! She grins at the thought of it. She hopes people will join her.

Nearby there's a broad umbrella with some thrift-store cushions underneath, a shady little sitting area, just temporary before she can get something nicer set up. Snacks and a cooler with water, sodas and beer. She's not anticipating a party or even that many visitors - as excited as she is, she knows not everyone is eager to come be around a bunch of bees. But hopefully at least a few of her new friends will be interested enough to take a peek.

For now, she stands near the edge of the building, the wind whipping around her hair and her dress and the netted veil of her homemade protective hat (she has no suit, but she's not overly concerned), watching the sky, waiting for Daine, and her new darlings.
peeta_mellark: (Default)
[personal profile] peeta_mellark
After breakfast, Peeta spends most of the day camped out in various areas of the park, sketching whatever catches his eye and people watching. He'd hoped to come across Daine while he was out as he hasn't seen her for a couple of days, but neither she nor the dogs ever appear at any of the places he stops. He settles for working on one of his sketches of her with Molly.

Near three o'clock, he packs up his bag and heads toward the northern end of the park and Sunshine's apartment. He's never been to the rebel apartments before, but Sunshine gave him directions on how to get there, and he dutifully pulls those from his bag as he leaves the park near 96th. A little while later he's outside the building, a nondescript apartment complex that stands out from its neighbors only by its comparative simplicity.

After a last quick glance at the directions sheet, Peeta folds it and returns it to the bag. Then he finds Sunshine's apartment number on the call box and presses the call button.
peeta_mellark: (Hurt)
[personal profile] peeta_mellark
Peeta jerks awake in the dark hours of the morning, falling out of a nightmare that has become all too familiar and into the gloom of his base quarters. He fumbles for the bedside lamp as he shifts to sit on the edge of the bed, running one hand over his face as the other finally finds the lamp switch. Sitting in the warm circle of light, he tries to push away the dream - the memories - of Daine dying in the Games.

A glance at the clock on the nightstand causes him to wince. It is bitterly early, but there isn't any possibility of him getting more sleep tonight, not with Daine's death fresh in his mind. He knows it was just a nightmare, has already lived through waking from that horror to find Daine alive and well and at his side. Having relived in raw detail, however, it's difficult for him to let it go. What he wants - what he needs - is to find Daine, to see for himself that she's okay. He almost convinces himself that he could slip down the hall and peek into her room without waking her or the dogs, but he refuses to risk it. There is no reason for her to lose sleep over his troubles.

Instead, he rises and dresses, knowing that the sooner he finds something to occupy his mind, the better. It's early yet, even for bakers, but he decides to head to the kitchens, purposefully taking a route that keeps him away from Daine's room.

After puttering around aimlessly for a little while, checking the stock and pondering recipes using some of the new ingredients he's discovered in this world, he decides to start on the day's bread. The mindless routine helps calm his anxiety, drawing him into the steadying, soothing rhythm of the task. For a while, he forgets the terror that woke him.

Then, as he is kneading some uncooperative dough, he has a flash of hard, unyielding dirt beneath his hands. For a split second, he feels as if the wind has been knocked out of him. Breathing through the sudden pain in his chest, he kneads more purposefully, distracting himself by mentally reciting every recipe he can remember. Daine is fine, he tells himself angrily. He feels better by the time some of the other kitchen staff appear, but he can't help but glance up every time he catches sight of someone entering the cafeteria.
rae_of_sun: (excuse you)
[personal profile] rae_of_sun
Sunshine is out enjoying the summer weather and attempting to read 'Out of Thin Air: Teleportation and Summoning for Beginners.' 'Attempting' is the operative word; reading anything in daylight (or lamplight, or anything but the near-full darkness of a closet) is a bit of an endeavor. If she moves the book or moves her head, the words seem to heave themselves into three dimensions, and there is nothing entertaining about words literally leaping off the page. She has to lie belly-down in the sheep meadow with her face directly above the page to make any progress.

So, the buzz of her phone isn't an entirely unwelcome distraction. She digs it out of her pocket and thumbs open the text, and--

THERE

--it's from Spike. It's also a line of gibberish that takes her a few seconds to parse, but once she does, she pushes herself upright, book forgotten. She fires off a quick text back, because her internal compass is only giving her direction, not distance, then shoves the book back in her bag and lurches to her feet.

And it's still--

THERE

--even though her phone is back in her pocket, and she breaks into a trot in the indicated direction. It's not just an awareness of where he is, it's a tug, and if his stupid undead life wasn't at stake in peril, she'd probably find it unnerving. It is unnerving. But not as unnerving as the thought of him bursting into carthaginian flames before she can even find him.

Fortunately, it doesn't actually take her that long to get to him. And he's just… sitting under a tree. Looking completely fine. She slows to a walk, then stops dead in her tracks and stares at him as she catches her breath. What the hell kind of cover does he call that? She'd assumed he would at least have been in a building. Oh, gods, is he just making shit up?

Once she's caught some of her breath back, she snaps, "What the hell." She thought this was a klaxon-worthy emergency.
bagropa: (Default)
[personal profile] bagropa
Croach has never wished his senses to be inaccurate, but the longer he goes without sensing a familiar human, the more inclined he is to desire it. He searches, sleeping when necessary in the small groves the humans call parks. For safety, he travels mostly at night - his senses are as hale in the darkness, and he finds it is quieter. He interacts with the occasional being, usually inebriated, often complimenting his 'costume' and wishing to take a 'selfie' with him (for which he places them under onus, even though (or because) it is unlikely he will ever encounter them again).

After several medium units of time observing the humans from a safe distance, though, Croach finds himself... lonely. These brief relationships are of a less satisfying depth. One evening, when the lack of companionship has become too conspicuous to ignore, Croach sets out into the city earlier than usual, before the sun has set. He assists a woman looking for transportation, rescues an Earthen feline from a tree, and helps an elderly woman navigate across a busy road. If he truly is here for a reason, he is confident he will fulfill it among these 'good deeds' eventually.


((So Croach is gonna be wandering around the city actively looking to help anyone who needs it. Dropped your keys down the drain? SURELY THIS WILL AVERT SOME FUTURE CATASTROPHE. CROACH WILL ASSIST YOU IN RETRIEVING THEM. Et cetera. Big problems, small problems, Croach is here to help.))
wildmage_daine: (a whale needs me)
[personal profile] wildmage_daine
Daine wakes with a start, heart pounding and gasping for air. The first few breaths are difficult, and it takes her a moment to dispel the memory of that choking liquid mud and realize the real reason her lungs feel sluggish: Sarge's head is resting on her chest.

Daine? She can feel his worry as he lifts his head and steps back a pace to look at her and sniff at her face. You're awake?

Good. That's Shadow, and a moment later, a rough feline tongue scrapes against her forehead. He's crouched beside her on her pillow, and she can feel the familiar shift of Molly's body along her side. She's in her room. It was just a dream - a nightmare - but it's over.

One slow breath, then another. Molly shoves her head beneath Daine's hand, and she gives the dog a comforting scratch. Okay. She's okay. None of it was real, not the monkeys or the drowning, and Peeta--

Wait. Is Peeta awake, or is he still in that gods-cursed arena?

Daine sits up sharply, earning a soft meow of complaint from Shadow. I have to wake Peeta, she says, swinging her legs off the bed and lurching to her feet. Her head swims for a moment, then clears as Sarge leans against her left side and Molly hops off the bed to press against her right. We have to wake him up now.

She's at his door in less than a minute, not having bothered with shoes (or with anything else that would have slowed her down). Sarge and Molly are at her side, and Shadow is bringing up the rear as if he coincidentally felt like taking a stroll in the same general direction. "Peeta?" She raps her knuckles against the wood, then pauses to listen for a response. Nothing. "Peeta, are you up?" Another pause. She thinks she hears something this time, a quiet sound of distress.

No more knocking. Daine tries the doorknob, finds it locked, and lets out a frustrated huff. Fine. She'll do this the hard way.

She can't shift completely - not without wrecking her clothes - but she can still give herself the head and shoulders of a bighorn sheep. Her collar digs into her neck a little, but she doesn't care. Daine backs up a pace, then slams her newly fortified skull against the door. There's a crunch that masks the faint tearing sound of her collar giving way, then the lock splinters and the door swings open, juddering a little from the impact. Her head snaps back to normal as she stumbles inside and makes a beeline for his bed.

"Peeta!"
interndana: (disappointed | lonely)
[personal profile] interndana
She is so close to being free.

After talking to Cecil, Dana pockets her phone and takes a deep breath, looking at the door before her. A slight breeze sends hot desert air into the shadowed stillness of the house, and Dana misses that dry desert heat more than she thought possible. She is surprised at her own hesitation to move, but she thinks of her mother and brother, her friends, her work at the station. She exhales shakily and steps forward.

Dana stumbles as she steps through the doorway. When she regains her balance, she looks up and for a moment cannot move, all her forward momentum dissipated into the void. She cannot believe what she is seeing, can barely register the sight at all. For that moment she is numb.

Cold. Dana feels cold, the shock of it cutting through her hoodie, her skin, down into her bones. It is such a violent difference from the light and heat and hope of the desert that she saw through the doorway that it makes her stomach clench.

She is not outside at all, but in a cold room. The air is dry and processed, odorless, sterile. Dana blinks, and when her eyes adjust to the sudden darkness she sees blue-gray walls and alcoves. She looks around, looks behind her at the doorway, but the doorway is gone. There is solid wall behind her, and something else. A framed black and white photograph, lit from above by a subtle recessed bulb. Dana's eyes widen—


a black and white photograph of an worn wooden door with a heavy old chain coming out of it. Below the chain is an intricate metal latch.

The card next to the photograph reads:

Latch and Chain
Ansel Easton Adams (American, San Francisco, California,
1902-1984 Carmel, California)
1927, printed ca. 1936
Gelatin silver print


"What..." Dana murmurs, dismayed. She turns away and sees that the dark walls are hung with other photographs, black and white, the only bright spots in the room. She is in a gallery, and it feels so much stranger to her, somehow, than the dog park or the old empty house. There is nothing dreamlike here, nothing to suggest this place bends reason or physics. It is just a room of photographs, and cold air, and it is so mundane that it terrifies Dana a little.

There is no sign of the doorway through which she entered this place, and the image on the wall before her seems to imply that the way is barred, the door is shut. Dana feels with a cold bleak certainty that she will not go home. Not this way.

"What in the world," she says to herself, looking out at a hallway beyond the gallery's exit. "If this is even the world at all..."

Dana finds herself in a veritable maze of galleries and hallways, and there are other people, which is much less intimidating than being in a large and unfamiliar museum alone. But the other people are all looking at the artwork, or engaging in conversation, and Dana feels the urge to keep moving and see what is beyond the walls. Perhaps if she finds the exit, perhaps this time, finally, she can get home.

She checks her phone; it seems to be getting much better reception than in the old house, and the screen no longer has silvery spider-shapes crawling around the edges. This is probably an improvement.

When she finds a map and directory, she stops, peering at it. The name is familiar to her somehow. Dana frowns at her phone while she composes a text.

[So Dana's at the Met! She'll be making her way into the park from there to see the sights, and if she runs into anyone she will be Extremely Delighted to know that she is in fact corporeal and people can interact with her. Hooray!]
peeta_mellark: (Hey Girl)
[personal profile] peeta_mellark
Four days in, and Peeta can already feel himself settling into a routine. He's never really thought of himself as adaptable - more in terms of someone who doesn't see the need to make waves, who rolls with what comes his way - but even here, in a completely different world, he's already found a niche for himself. The same niche, really.

Since he has little else to do, he's been spending a majority of his time in the kitchens. The kitchen staff - an assorted crew (some would say motley, but he's too kind to even think it) - welcomed him into their fold when they found him in the kitchen a few days ago. His competence and efficiency were welcomed, too, especially since they made things easier for everyone. In short order he was baking massive batches of bread and attempting to teach the others some of his techniques.

So even though he still feels strange in his new clothes and his new surroundings, Peeta also feels strangely at home, flour under his fingernails and the persistent smell of fresh bread following him around. Since sleep is still difficult (his body hasn't quite adjusted to the time difference between worlds), he chooses to work the morning shift in the kitchens. It's what he's used to, anyway, and that much more routine makes things feel the slightest bit more normal.

It's near the end of the morning rush that he finally emerges from the kitchens, plate in hand, to see to his own breakfast. Spotting a familiar face at a nearby table, he makes a beeline in that direction.

"Hey, Daine."

applesaucemod: (Default)
[personal profile] applesaucemod
On the morning of May 6th, 2013, the citizens of Rift York will awaken to find themselves with a new and unexpected roommate. Or two. Or five. The good news: these new roommates don't eat much, they're quiet, and they're pretty adorable. The bad news: no one asked for their homes to be overrun by Angora rabbits.

The rift isn't in the habit of giving people what they ask for, though, so you're just going to have to deal with these bunnies everywhere until the evening of May 8th, when they will disappear as mysteriously and suddenly as they arrived. In the meantime, you might consider them a goodwill gesture from a rift that isn't always so kind. The rabbits seem to be most heavily concentrated in areas where rifties are staying, after all. While Manhattan at large might not appreciate the full extent of the bunnypocalypse, the rifties will find the creatures quite difficult to avoid.



Feel free to post your character's reactions here, or to make your own entries under the event tag. The event will be running for the next two days in-game, or through January 19th in real life. As ever, backdating is allowed and encouraged.
rae_of_sun: (faint amusement)
[personal profile] rae_of_sun
It's o'dark thirty, and Sunshine is in the base's cafeteria, making muffins like it's her job, because it used to be. Her hair is in a messy bun and her face is streaked with flour, but she's in… well, it's probably the best mood she's been in since she got here.

It's been a week since she arrived, but her internal clock is still set to coffeehouse hours. She woke up a little before four, stared at her ceiling in disgust for a few minutes, and then rolled out of bed and came to the one place she knows that has a decently-equipped kitchen. She is going to make some goddamn muffins, and that's that.

This is the first time she's used the place, and it's deserted… so whether it turns out to actually be all that decent remains to be seen. There's no one to introduce her to the ovens and their various quirks, and she's had to track down the equipment and ingredients she needs via intuition and guesswork. She sort of prefers it this way, though. She's used to being queen of her domain, not having some other baker breathing down her neck while she works. (Okay, so this isn't her domain - but as long as no one else is here, she doesn't feel so much like a trespasser.)

Speaking of, she figures she might have an hour before the quote-unquote real cooks arrive to make the real breakfast. But that's enough time for her to turn out a few trays of excellent muffins, so how upset could they really be if they find her here? She's basically just making their jobs easier, right?

Never mind that she's also that desperate for a little bit of her old routine. Well, if she wants to land another gig in an above-ground bakery, she's going to need a resume, which will mean borrowing these facilities, anyway. She's just being… proactive. And they're pretty well-stocked, so it's not like she's using up the last of their anything.

Yes. This is totally fine.

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