omnomnom_feels: (worry | surprised)
[personal profile] omnomnom_feels
[CW: Torture; NPC death]

Everything is pain. It overloads his body's systems until it is the only thing coming from any of his sensory organs, until so much of his brain is overloaded with the signals that his mind buzzes, thoughts running in erratic circuits. There is no room for thought or solutions, though he'd known since a couple Daughters of Paline caught him that there would be no way out, not until they got bored of him and perhaps not even then.

Demons do have such robust senses of humor.

Even when he could think clearly he wasn't able to entirely convince himself that keeping them busy with a toy they can't permanently break is a hit worth taking for the mortals they would otherwise harass…or that torture for the sake of torture was truly their end goal, though it seemed likely enough. Now, though, there is no attempt to rationalize. There is not even dogged endurance against torture. He is alive because he cannot be other than alive, here because he cannot be other than here. It will end when his torturers tire of it, or it will not end at all.

His body lets out a long, low moan as strong hands grip his flayed, burned arms and haul him upright. How long has it been since he fed? The few brain cells not occupied with his body's pointless attempts to shut itself down spark with the need to fill the void that has grown inside him. He opens his remaining eye to meet the gaze of his current tormentor.

"It's time," she decides, but the words are meaningless to him. "There's someone I'd like you to meet," she chuckles, "A little bird told me peregrines can become archons again. Wouldn't you like that? All you have to do is eat him before he eats you. And if it doesn't work, well, at least it'll be fun."

Blood bubbles out from between his lips as he opens his mouth to reply, and she lets him drop, apparently losing interest. "I'll be back, babycakes, don't go anywhere."

Blowing a kiss at him, she turns to depart. Rashad watches her go, his breathing ragged. She's broken two more of his bones this time, and nothing is healing. It won't heal until he can feed, and wherever they've taken him, it's far away from any mortals -- from their joy, their laughter…their fear….

He does't realize he's drooling until he gives a convulsive jerk as if to leap to his shattered feet and seek out the sustenance he needs. The pain remains, but it is old pain now, a constant he can start to set aside again. The hunger he can't ignore, though, and thoughts that should be going toward escape instead circle back to needy visions of lovers and of riots. Darkness begins to set in again along with shock, consciousness slipping away from him.

And then, a scream and the sound of running. It's not the sound that awakens him, nor the sudden freshness of the air. It's fear. Nearby, coming nearer, yes, a human full to the brim with fright and pity. His eye snaps open to see a man dropping to his knees, reaching with trembling hands for Rashad's torn body. There's no thought, no moment of consideration or of remembering that the being above him is fragile and precious. There is only sensing the source of emotion and immediately drawing it into himself, taking everything the man who came to help him can give and more. The mortal's body collapses to the pavement beside him as Rashad's own begins knitting itself back together and as he breaks into racking sobs. It's like drinking from an oasis in the desert only to be filled with acid. His body is healing but the pain is infinitely worse now that he processes it as cause for fear. That's when he remembers the man, too, and he turns his head to look at his would-be rescuer, his turn now to tremble and reach for the other.

"Please," he gasps. "Please, no."

It's too late now, too late again. The man's body is still, an emptied vessel. Rashad turns his face to the pavement and weeps with the man's pity for him, now his pity for the man. It's already fading away, though, the damage to his body too extensive to allow him to do anything with the energy but heal some of the hurt. His breathing slows as fear and sadness fade. He's still hungry, so hungry, but some semblance of rationality is back now. He looks at the dead man again, this time impassively assessing the extent of the damage he's done before flicking his gaze up and around. Trees. Sky. Paved walkway.

More mortals coming.

He drags himself first to his hands and knees, then to his feet. It doesn't quite register that he's as conspicuous now as he's ever been in his life, drenched as he is in his own blood. He wavers a moment, imagining himself turning toward the sound of approaching people and taking them as well, but then lurches away instead into the trees. In his malfunctioning mind it seems reasonable to suppose he can get out of sight and not be found.
aly_brighteyes: (Join the players!)
[personal profile] aly_brighteyes
"You know, when I was employed as a dog-walker, I rather thought I would be walking dogs," Aly observes to no one in particular. She's been sent out on appointment today, for a trial this time but with the potential for this to become a daily engagement. What's on the other end of her leashes today, however, is a bit more unusual than she'd been anticipating.

There are no German Shepherds nor malamutes nor Yorkies for her to walk today. Instead, Aly finds herself escort to a pair of sleek, wild-looking cats. To Aly's eyes, they look nothing like any housecats she's known, but something much closer to the serval cats she's seen among the Bazhir. Simba and Mufasa, their owner had explained, are rather energetic and require exercise much like a dog, which is why they are now on leashes and strolling through Central Park.

Aly can certainly understand why the two cats, rambunctious and energetic, need to be walked but it still seems rather absurd to her.

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.))
essentiallyharmless: (Steady as drum)
[personal profile] essentiallyharmless
It's Friday night, so Lucy's out supplementing her income a bit. Going to upscale bars, tracking down the people who are assholes, and just drunk enough not to notice her helping herself to their wallet, that's her thing. She has no problem whatsoever fitting in at these places, of course, having frequented them for much more leisurely reasons in the past.

She does make a point never to steal at those bars she'd actually like to drink at, of course, in the event that she gets caught in a way that her time-rewind won't get her out of.

She's on the last bar of the night, nursing a glass of wine and scouting for interesting marks.
wildmage_daine: (a whale needs me)
[personal profile] wildmage_daine
Daine wakes up with an unfamiliar weight on her chest and her mind ablaze with copper fire. For a moment, that's all she can see even after she opens her eyes, but a few blinks bring the world into focus… or they should. But her view has been obstructed by a mound of off-white fluff.

Daine, Daine, Daine! Sarge has, from the sound of things, been repeating her name for some time. Perhaps that's what woke her. Daine, they're everywhere! He doesn't sound upset, just excited, but it's still enough to wake her fully. In a moment, she realizes that the unfamiliar weight on her chest is, in fact, a rabbit. And that there's another rabbit on her desk, and three more huddled under the bed where Sarge can't reach them. Molly probably could, but the terrier is sitting over by the door.

I can smell more outside, she says.

"It's all right," Daine says automatically, mostly for the benefit of the rabbits beneath the bed. Sarge might not mean them any harm, but his enthusiasm can be daunting, especially for prey animals. Moving slowly so as not to spook the creature on top of her, she carefully lifts the rabbit off of her chest. "Odd's bobs," she mutters. This is far more fur than she thought a rabbit could have. Daine sits up and finally takes a proper look at the creature… and finds it impossible not to grin. If she couldn't tell it was a rabbit by the feel of its mind, she'd never believe it. It looks like a toy.

"Hullo," Daine says, brushing some of its fur aside until she uncovers one of its eyes. "What's your name?"

Puffbucket, the rabbit replies, quite seriously. I think I'm lost.

You're not the only one. That came from the auburn animal atop her desk. From beneath her bed, there's a timid chorus: Us, too.

"All right, let's get you all up on the bed. Don't worry about the dogs, they won't hurt you." She first sits on the floor to coax out the three beneath the bed, whose names turn out to be Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur; unaware of the reference, Daine accepts the names without blinking as she lifts them up to join Puffbucket. The rabbit on the desk introduces herself as Agent Scully, which does strike Daine as an odd choice (why call a rabbit 'Agent' anything?), but she merely shrugs and puts her with the others. "You'll be safe here. I'll go get you some food, all right?"

Broccoli? Puffbucket asks, lifting his head.

"I'll try," Daine promises. Truth be told, she mostly just wants an excuse to leave that won't upset them. They will be perfectly safe in her room - but the same can't necessarily be said for all the other rabbits in the base. And it feels like there might be an awful lot of them.

Instructing Sarge and Molly to stick close, Daine opens her door and peers out into the hallway. "Oh, my," she murmurs as she takes it all in. There are at least a dozen rabbits out in the hallway, some huddled together near the wall, and others lolloping along the stone floor like low, mobile clouds. "They really are everywhere."

[OOC: Consider this Daine's open rebel base post. If you'd like to have any of your characters bump into her here at some point during the day, have at it!]
bluesuit_handy: (.surprised | you have to be kidding)
[personal profile] bluesuit_handy
Andrew is snooping, but he's not getting very far with it. The trouble with absurdly powerful, government-sanctioned entities is that getting inside the base of such an organization tends to be a bit more complicated than showing up with a forged Health and Safety ID card. Of course, he could probably get inside very easily if he simply went up to the front doors and announced himself, but somehow he doubts he'd be likely to come back out without making a grand production of escaping, and he doesn't want to be too late coming home and make James worry.

The other trouble with Romac is that they're too smart to have anything interesting going on outside. After quite a bit of loitering -- more loitering than is probably wise -- all Andrew's seen is fairly ordinary people going in and out of the building. Disgruntled at their failure to be even the least bit interesting, Andrew finally gives up in disgust and decides to walk to the rebel base in order to say hello to a few people and use their private library.

He makes it less than halfway to the park before disaster strikes. Later, Handrew will be mortally embarrassed that the crisis didn't come about because some Romac agent spotted him and decided to make trouble, or because he had to run to intercept an alien, or even because someone got it in their head to mug him. No, this disaster occurs simply because neither Andrew nor a certain speeding taxi driver happens to be looking in the right direction at the right time. As the meta-crisis steps out into the intersection of Lexington and 59th (against right of way, if he'd bothered to notice), there's a deafening screech, an impact, and Andrew quite unexpectedly shatters.

The reflex to use his power when surprised likely saves his life. Twelve tiny Andrews are scattered across the road a moment later, all of them stunned to one degree or another. As they recover and realize what's happened -- and hear the yells of a few people who saw -- they all take the same course of action:


Unfortunately, very few of them run in the same direction. There's no plan or pattern to it, and very quickly the Andrews scatter to the four winds -- or at least to the four corners of the intersection. There are a few shouts (even New Yorkers tend to notice when someone explodes next to them) and one person even stoops and tries to grab one of the four-inch-tall Andrews, but he has quite a bit of experience in running for cover.

[OOC: Let me know where you want to encounter one or more Andrews, and I will write up an explanation of how he got there. The accident occurred at E. 59th St. and Lexington Ave. (the game map might help you here), and the Andrews have gone in every direction. Some Andrews will take advantage of the nearby subway entrances; depending where he enters he could do as he intends and go northwest, or he could get on the wrong train and go northeast, which would take him past Romac housing. Really, anything is possible -- though he's trying to get to either the Rebels or the TARDIS, he could get lost in any direction, or stay stranded near the intersection. Just write a tag indicating where your character encounters an Andrew and I'll work it out (or you can PM me or ping me on AIM if you want to hammer it out together). He'll be staying in twelfths, since merging into sixths would make him a foot and a half high, meaning he'd be still too small to get around without trouble but too big to go unnoticed. There might be multiple Andrews traveling together, so let me know if you want two of them.]

UPDATE, November 14: Nine Andrews are accounted for so far. One Andrew each currently reserved for Lucy, Spike, and Topher, meaning no more Andrews are available.
aly_brighteyes: (Plain and honest as dirt)
[personal profile] aly_brighteyes
Maybe she's really just spent too much time as a goat herd, but Aly finds herself not minding her current position in the least. Having a job keeps Daine happy that Aly's spare income isn't totally comprised of the contents of other people's wallets and it gives her routine. Even more fun, the fact that she's now employed as a dog walker gives her a level of access to people's homes that utterly delights a spy such as herself. Even with no set goal in mind, it's always fair useful to keep her skills in practice, rifling through files and folders, avoiding leaving fingerprints and essence. These are skills she needs.

Being a dog walker also keeps her up and about, moving through different areas of the city. With her constant pack of wagging tails, there's no nevermind made of it.

It's really a useful solution, she thinks, walking briskly through Central Park behind an Australian shepherd and a pair of dachshunds. She's even getting exercise for her trouble.

[[Feel free to have your character interact with the dogs as you like and find her up and down the park. She'll be doing this for most of the afternoon so it's open to lots of people.]]

i_jones: (he flexes like a whore)
[personal profile] i_jones
If there were any witnesses - but there aren’t, Ianto makes sure of that, smuggling his equipment out into the Ramble after the park has closed for the night, as close to the rift center as he can get without a boat. As far as rift manipulators go, it isn’t much:: two car batteries, a laptop, and what might be (underneath heavy modification and a liberal amount of cables) two tall computer towers. If he’d had space and funding and probably a lorry he might’ve gone for something enclosed, maybe a homemade Stargate sort of aesthetic, but. Needs must.

He rubs his gloved hands together as he waits for the laptop to boot up. According to his exhaustive mental checklist, all that’s left is a final software check and calibration. It will all check out, of course, he’s spent the two months since he arrived writing and rewriting the software based on Tosh’s work. That was patchy in places, although it was easy enough to fill in the blanks. The rift manipulator itself might’ve been more of a challenge, had he not the blueprints of Torchwood’s original committed to memory. Getting the requisite parts (or their equivalents) was more difficult, but he didn’t take up with Romac for the cushy flat. Though that was a bonus. He would’ve liked to get in with the rebels as well, undercover, maybe, nick some of their rift knowledge and equipment (if any), but getting caught by either side was too great a risk.

The laptop bleeps and begins the checks. For tonight’s test - because he’s hardly going to throw himself into this thing headfirst without a trial run - he’s got his jumper from when he first arrived. If all goes well, he’ll try his trousers the next go around, and if necessary, his shoes. The socks are already gone, disappeared accidentally in a preliminary test to determine the right frequency. They’re in some New York, somewhere, he supposes.

He sets the jumper in its place equidistant from the towers as the laptop gives its final bleep. The dialogue box gives the all-clear, but he scrolls through the results just to make sure everything is within set parameters. He may be giddy with excitement, but he’s not stupid. After a double-check of the equipment, the batteries, and the connections, and quick prayer to Saint David, Ianto initializes the program and brings up the timer. The machine is set to power down after three minutes total, one to warm up, one to run, and one to cool down. He can’t very well come close to turn it off when it’s running, not without lead boots and a tether or three. That gives him a minute to get a safe distance away - very generous for the five meters that he walks, taking up place behind a small tree on the path, but better safe than sorry.

After an interminable wait filled only by the hum of the rift manipulator, something gives, tugging the jumper through the dirt with an unseen hand. It inches slowly at first, then tumbles in jumps and starts, until suddenly, as though buffeted by the wind, it’s pulled through the doorway and disappears into the light. Ianto breathes a heady sigh of relief and chuckles. Some homeless New Yorker in his universe will probably find themselves a nice new jumper. He has no way of knowing for certain if it made it through to the other end, but the rift manipulator has acted accordingly with his calculations so far. That’s as certain as he’ll ever be.

The machine makes a knocking sound and its whine changes, kicking up in frequency. In another minute, it should be safe to approach. Ianto’s nerves are thrumming with anticipation to examine the readings and the adrenaline of an impossible experiment. It’s almost overwhelming, his need to get to the machine, to see the results - every second faster that he works is one second sooner he’ll be home. He almost trips over his own feet. )
fucking_ebay: (misc | teleportation)
[personal profile] fucking_ebay
For once, Peter hasn't waited for his money to run out before he started busking. Celebrating allowance day with a bout of shopping, restaurant-going, and drunken debauchery twice per month has been the closest he comes to feeling a sense of satisfaction at being able to live the kind of life he wants to live, but this month...this month he's only three days out from allowance day and already feeling listless, even stir-crazy. He tells himself it doesn't hurt to save up a little extra to blow on the next binge.

For once, too, he's gone out and invested some of his allowance into new equipment -- flash paper, in particular, though there are a few other odds and ends he's picked up and started playing with. If asked, he'd say this is all still piddling bullshit and completely beneath him, but there's a certain sense of pride trying to sneak in now and then when he really gets a gaggle of tourists going. Today he can be found around the same part of Central Park he always frequents when he's busking, drawing in passersby for some close-up magic.

[OOC: Since Peter will ostensibly be at the park for hours, he can meet multiple people throughout the day. Each thread will be assumed to take place at a different time of day so they don't overlap.]
bluesuit_handy: (.smile | putting coat on)
[personal profile] bluesuit_handy
The fact that tonight is the night of the full moon seems entirely coincidental to Handrew. It's something he notes idly in passing, the same way he more or less notices all the odds and ends of the Earth calendar as they go slouching by. It's a night for witching, if old superstitions are to be believed. Or, in the modern day, it's an evening for bundling up in all his warmest clothing before coming by the base to pick Daine up for a sleepover. His and James's vague affiliation with the rebels gets him past Phil without a hitch once more, and then he's off through the maze of hallways, miraculously only going down two wrong turns before he finds his way to Daine's door and gives it a smart rap with his knuckles.
beastisbeauty: (roars)
[personal profile] beastisbeauty
Bruce is slowly acquainting himself with this version of New York City. He tries to spend as much time as he can in his labs, but there is only so much that can be done in a day. Sometimes, science requires patience, sitting back and letting things happen.

Also, there is the very real possibility that he will spend the rest of his life here. Bruce doesn't intend to spend it alone, isolated from the people of this world. He's had enough of that in his life. As difficult as it is for him, Bruce knows he has to make connections and find people who are willing to accept both him and the Hulk.

He needs the Hulk to learn how to quickly tell friend from foe.

Unfortunately, Bruce's deep thoughts mean he is not paying enough attention to his surroundings. He crosses the road at the last moments before the crossing light changes from "walk" to "don't walk." Unfortunately, a car also speeds towards him, barely pausing at a stop sign.

The result is Bruce getting hit in the side by the car and going flying over the hood.

This wakes the Hulk up.

Hulk ignores the driver, who gets out of the car to help Bruce and then flees, when he sees the Hulk. Instead, the Hulk focuses on the man's car, pummeling it angrily and tearing it into pieces. This only takes a few moments, then Hulk stops and looks around the street. People are screaming and running, but, so far, no one is trying to hurt Hulk or shooting stupid bullets.
aly_brighteyes: (Sun of Rajmuat)
[personal profile] aly_brighteyes
New York city is a good place for a girl of Aly's talents. So many people are constantly rushing from place to place or else gawping at the sights that it's very easy for a nimble-fingered thing like her to relieve them of a wallet here or there. Credit cards, she finds, are particularly fun and she's made some very exciting purchases at stores with such fun names as Trash & Vaudeville and Search & Destroy. Once she's assembled a better wardrobe, Aly quickly changes and stuffs her plainer clothes into the bottom of a shopping bag. It won't do to exult her victory while wearing clothes that a sharp eye in a crowd might remember.

Partially out of playfulness, Aly chooses a loud and colorful outfit. It's not the strangest thing she's seen in the area called the East Village but it's certainly eye catching enough that someone might easily be distracted into watching her clothes rather than her face. And all her knives are concealed within her many layers though to any onlookers, she's just relaxing at a bar seat eating chipped potatoes with sambal sauce.

She's adjusting to the changes in her Sight, learning to recognize the rolling heat lines that indicate someone who's passed through the rift and the starbursts that tell her someone is what Daine has explained as an alien. Plying those skills, she glances around the tiny eatery.

[[OOC: Open until the cows come home. Aly is in the East Village and feel free to find her in or walking out of the place.]]

aly_brighteyes: (Default)
[personal profile] aly_brighteyes
Aly waits in the Robing Pavilion for her mistress. She will have to dress Dove properly to go to one of the outdoor pavilions and then follow along to fan her so that she can be within earshot of important conversations. It shouldn't be very long now and so she tucks away her darking necklace but, as Aly turns to get out Dove's next gown, a cold wind passes over Aly's shoulders.

As she turns, Aly realizes that the landscape has changed significantly. Rather than the Gray Palace, she is in an open field more reminiscent of winter in Tortall than of anywhere in the Copper Isles. Nervous, she loosens the two knives at her wrists, even as she shivers and looks up to the sky hoping to invoke her patron god. "Kyprioth," she says in a sweet, quiet voice. "Explain yourself."


bigapplesauce: (Default)
The Big Applesauce


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