apidae: (ohmygosh!)
[personal profile] apidae
Well, rain isn't the worst thing that could have happened. This was meant to be the day Daine helped her set up the new hive, and it wouldn't be impossible in the rain, but it doesn't feel very welcoming, and it wouldn't allow Bee to spend all her time up on the roof like she would wish. And no one would want to come up to join her! That wouldn't do at all.

She'd sat in her apartment for a while, picking at the book Spike gave her, alternately pouting at the rainbeaten window and staring glumly at the ceiling - wondering if she should try to foist her company on one of her new friends - before she finally decided to snap herself out of it on her own. Which is how she found herself in the park, in the downpour.

Shoeless and armed with an umbrella she just bought from a convenient little sidewalk kiosk, Bee marches through the puddles, enjoying the smell and sound of rainfall, willing herself to feel better. This is certainly preferable to sitting inside. And if the weather clears up tomorrow, then she can set up her hive, and all will be well.

There aren't as many walkers out as usual, given the conditions, but it's not too long before she gets a glimpse of the telltale Rift-patterns - another rifty nearby. She focuses her gaze, seeing a young woman walking a dog - oh, how sweet, wearing a matching raincoat and little boots! Bee's delighted by the sight, so she comes a little closer, focusing on the dog, and - no, no, not a dog at all. It came through the Rift as well - and it isn't of this world. She stops and frowns intently. What on earth?

She comes a little closer, deeply curious, discerning scales and teeth beneath the raincoat, and...

A name flashes through her head: Quarkbeast!

Suddenly she remembers her dream - so real and so eventful, so many people she'd met! And the little man, Aglet, who told her about his friend and her Quarkbeast, who eats metal - what was her name? Jennifer? Yes, Jennifer.

No amount of practiced social grace and keep Bee from hurrying up in excitement and exclaiming, "Are you Jennifer?" to the unsuspecting fellow rifty.
vlad_dracul: (peeks)
[personal profile] vlad_dracul
Once Dracula learned that the soil of this land would give him sleep, he set to work. He had no desire to become involved in the conflict between ROMAC and the rebels, particularly with such scant information. Fortunately, his actual needs were simple. He needed blood, easily supplied by the rats and vermin of the city. He also needed a place to sleep. Well, sleeping in a coffin, even one occupied, was something he had done before, when necessary.

He preferred a comfortable house or apartment, though. For that, he needed money. He had a small bit of gold in the lining of his jacket, a holdover from more dangerous times, but selling the gold would probably draw more attention than he wanted. Dracula needed a way to earn some honest money. He refused to stoop to crime, especially theft, which he despised. Fortunately, this city, even more than others, had a criminal underbelly willing to cater to those in need of new identities. After earning a small amount of money doing odd jobs, Dracula was able to get enough identification to get a job...at least in places that didn't check backgrounds too carefully.

Now, Dracula is gainfully employed as a bouncer at Wilmot's End. His job includes breaking up fights, preferably before they begin, and making sure minors don't sneak up onto the second floor. Dracula goes back and forth between the floors, making sure the clientele can see him clearly. Wilmot's End has a reputation for not tolerating trouble and Dracula has not hurt that reputation at all. He wears the uniform of black jeans and a black button up shirt well. It's an easy job and Dracula rather enjoys it, even if it is somewhat menial. Ah well. He's developing a solid reputation and gets along with most people.

Even on busy nights, Dracula tries to find time to talk with the clientele. The more they know him and the friendlier the relations are, the easier it is to get people to listen and cooperate. He's always willing to chat for a bit.
mr_fring: (neutral)
[personal profile] mr_fring
[[CW: Ableist slur // Breaking Bad spoilers in the first bit]]

The door is shut. Tyrus turns Hector to face him. It is quiet, hospital quiet. The quiet that falls before death.

"What kind of man talks to the DEA?" Anger boils under his skin. Acid under his tongue. "No man," he says. "No man at all."

A little click as Tyrus removes and prepares the syringe. Gus isn't interested in Tyrus. He takes one of the guest chairs and he drags it harsh across the floor, scraping it into the scoured linoleum. He brings it within arm's length and sits.

"A crippled little rata," he sneers. "What a reputation to leave behind."

Hector refuses to acknowledge him, once again. His mouth twitches furiously, his eyes glaring hotly at the wall.

Tyrus offers the syringe and Gus takes it without moving his eyes from Hector.

"Is that how you want to be remembered?" he murmurs, extending the needle. He sighs heavily. Disappointing. "Last chance to look at me, Hector."

He won't look. The man may be a rat but he still has his repulsive pride. Doesn't matter. He's the last one now, the last one to be rid of. Gus will be rid of him and then it will be done.

He leans forward, fingers searching out a vein. Something, some sense, flicks his gaze back up, and he sees something he has never seen: he sees Hector's eyes, meeting his own.

And he is frozen, his lips parted in a slow exhale. Stunned, stilled, gently paralyzed by this moment he thought would never come.

But it isn't right, it isn't right at all. Hector's expression shifts, warps, turns ugly and malicious, like the old Hector, the Hector that smirked when he shot Max. He looks like a rabid dog, a wild animal. He looks triumphant. He looks proud.

No. No. Something is wrong. Tyrus has missed something. He has missed something.

Hector rings his bell, frantically, incessantly, like he does, but this is no call for help. The sound is wrong, duller, muffled. Gus is still holding the syringe balanced between his fingers but there is something wrong, he can't do it until he-

There is something on the wheel, affixed to the wheelchair-

He screams, a raw animal noise, broken and wordless, as his body snaps up, but it is too late, the bomb goes off, rips into his skin and his muscle, and he doesn't really understand what's happened when he steps out of the room, straightening his tie, he doesn't understand how much of him is gone, not until he's really gone, really, totally gone.

Gus blinks awake.

Something's not right.

He sits up and his back is horribly stiff, his clothes unclean. He's been asleep. Asleep on the ground. Him.

He stands up quickly, eyes darting around. No one's seen him. There are people, but they are distant, they aren't looking at him. He moves to straighten his tie, and his hand goes very still.

His fingers are trembling when they ghost over the right side of his face, but it's there, skin and bone and muscle, all of it unbroken. His glasses are there too, good as new.

What the hell is this?

Why is he here? It's Central Park, no mistaking it, but he cannot reconcile this.

Mike. Have to talk to Mike. He reaches into his pocket but his phone is gone. Everything is gone.

He stands there in the park and for the first time in a very long time he does not know what to do.
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.
jennifer_strange: (neutral - gentle)
[personal profile] jennifer_strange
Jennifer's neighbors will probably never get used to the Quarkbeast. Those fortunate enough to actually have seen the creature in all of his scaly glory tend to, at the very least, plaster themselves to the wall as she passes by. On the bright side, her only other semi-public idiosyncrasy is so mild by comparison that no one minds it in the least... even though she is the only person on this floor who knocks on her own door before unlocking it and heading inside.

It's only fair to give Aglet some warning. He usually manages to be back on his shelf by the time she steps inside, especially when she's come back from walking the Beast or some other errand the timing of which can be roughly judged, but she's well aware that he spends at least some of his alone time sneaking around the flat and nicking whatever he can get his little hands on.

The first time she caught him in the act, he'd actually been on the floor (on his way back from a successful trip to the kitchen, judging by the sugar cube that had clattered out of his bag when he dropped it in his surprise). She'd found it more amusing than annoying, but his terror at suddenly finding himself within easy reach of the Beast had been so great that she'd taken pity on him - and taken to knocking.

While she waits for Aglet to do any necessary scrambling for cover, she lifts the flap over her bag's outermost pocket to look in on her new friend. "How was the ride?" she asks the little Handrew. She'd tried not to jostle him, but that doesn't mean she was all that successful from his perspective.
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.
jennifer_strange: (dubious)
[personal profile] jennifer_strange
The day after Aglet's arrival, Jennifer had headed to Romac with his registration forms, which she'd filled out to the best of her ability. She's confident that there's enough information for Barry to make sense of, and hopes, for the Borrower's sake, that no one else will insist on interviewing him. Given how terrified he was when he first met her, and his continuing tendency to get twitchy whenever she gets a little too close, she's guessing he wouldn't appreciate meeting any new 'Beans.'

She'd made it to HQ without any hiccups, despite having the beast with her. Leaving it at her flat hadn't seemed wise; she knew Aglet would have been terrified to be left alone with it, and she didn't know if the beast would stay put, or if it would just chew through the door so it could follow her. Fortunately, the puffy little coat and booties she'd dressed it in did a good job of hiding its actual appearance, and no one had looked twice at it the whole way over.

But all that good fortune had to end sometime, and as she walks down an unfamiliar hallway on what is quite possibly the wrong floor, she reluctantly concludes that she's lost. Apparently, she wasn't as certain of where Barry's office was located as she thought she was. Damn.

Well, better to admit the error and get help than continue to wander about the tower like an idiot. There's an open door a few meters away that's spilling natural light into the hall, and she approaches it with her shoulders squared and the Quarkbeast trotting by her side. A peek into the office reveals a young man at a computer, and she gently raps a knuckle against the open door.

"Excuse me - sorry to bother you, but I'm a bit lost."
jennifer_strange: (neutral - soft smile)
[personal profile] jennifer_strange
It's fortunate that Quarkbeasts are so obedient, and doubly fortunate that this one seems to be unusually good natured. It's made it relatively easy for Jennifer to convince Romac that he can be safely taken out into public, provided he's adequately disguised.

To that end, she's put together a rather horrifying little ensemble for the poor creature. He's wearing a mauve winter coat, faux-fur-trimmed hood hanging over his eyes (which is sort of a pity, as they're a close match for the color). Little black booties keep his paws warm, and his claws hidden. He looks ridiculous, but at least he doesn't look like a Quarkbeast at first glance. Someone would have to really stare if they wanted to pick up on the fact that the few exposed bits of his legs are covered in scales, not fur.

Of course, if he opens his mouth, there's no disguising the fangs.

If you ask Jennifer, the most ridiculous element of the whole ensemble is probably the leash; the aforementioned fangs would make short work of it if he decided he wanted to run off. Until the titanium alloy chain arrives, though, all she can do is rely on his general obedience and his willingness to stick around. Which, to be fair, was enough for her former Quarkbeast. So long as no one pulls a gun on her, there should be no cause for worry.

She keeps her head down as she walks him around the reservoir, relying - perhaps a little too heavily - on the native New Yorkers' tendency to ignore others. It's probably too long a walk for their first real outing, but so long as no one panics, it'll serve as proof that she knows what she's doing.

[ooc: it's a big reservoir, so Jennifer could conceivably run into more than one person.]
watchesthebeans: (surprised | badly frightened)
[personal profile] watchesthebeans
All is quiet in the darkened shop as Aglet crouches in a vent set high in the wall, silently readying his tools. There won't be any Beans about; the grocer's closed hours ago and its owner is safely absent. He's long used to borrowing in a house full of sleeping Beans, though, and even those members of the Settee family who have never borrowed from anywhere other than an empty shop don't go around making noise where there's even the slightest chance of a Bean hearing them.

They don't really need another bag of granola yet, but Aglet's been feeling restless and more than a little left out. Aunt Euphony doesn't talk to him as much anymore now that there are other Borrowers around, and every time he tries to talk to one of his cousins he comes out sounding like a complete idiot. He's tried, of course, and he'll try again -- and tonight he'll show them that at least he isn't useless. He'll come back with his bag stuffed with granola from one of the giant bins, and then they'll see that he's not so stupid as he thinks they think he is. He's done having everyone take care of him; it's time he shows that he can provide for the family, too.

"Here we go," he whispers under his breath, shouldering his bag and giving his coiled string one last tug to check its connection to the grappling hook on the end. He takes a deep breath, then pushes open the loose vent grate and props it open a scant inch, dropping down a string ladder fastened to the floor of the vent. Down this he climbs to make a ginger landing on top of the shelf that runs over top of all the bins. Without pausing, he scurries along the wall, making a beeline for the dry goods.

The moment at which everything goes wrong comes when he's stooped above the bins of cereal, squinting down at them and trying to remember which kind is the granola his cousins like and which is the kind they said was gross. He's about to just shimmy down and do a taste test when the world gives a sort of lurch. Aglet flails, grasping vainly for handholds on the box of wheat germ beside him, and lets out a sharp cry as feels himself topple over the edge.

He does not, as he expects, hit the hard plastic lid on the nearest bin and break all his bones. Instead, he lands on something surprisingly soft, bouncing back up a little ways before he settles on what feels like fabric. He lays stunned for a few moments, staring up at the ceiling, before he realizes something rather important:

The lights are on.

Gasping in fright, he flails, clawing his way out of where he's sunk into the soft material. After several seconds of panic he finally manages to scramble to his feet, arms out for balance and stance wide. He's not where he was, he realizes, but at the moment the question of where he is pales in comparison to the question of how he can get out of the open. On three sides, giant upholstered walls rise around him, and in the other direction is a sharp, unforgiving drop-off. Standing in place, he looks around frantically for some hint as to what's happened and how he can possibly get down.
jennifer_strange: (perturbed)
[personal profile] jennifer_strange

The Quarkbeast's loss was recent enough that muscle memory has Jennifer turning toward the sound even as her actual memory reminds her that her Quarkbeast is gone. But there one is, standing half-in, half-out of the Transient Moose's left foreleg and panting at her. Her throat tightens as her brow furrows in confusion, and she plants her hands on her hips. She is not going to start crying in one of the common areas where any given wizard might see her.

"Where did you come from?" she asks the little creature, pleased to hear no trace of a quaver in her tone.

"Quark," the Quarkbeast informs her, trotting forward and leaving the Transient Moose to continue rubbing his side against one of the kitchen's refrigerators. It's hard not to flinch; this isn't her Quarkbeast, after all. Even if it had been, it still might have been hard not to flinch at the approach of a creature that looks like the unlikely offspring of a velociraptor, a Border Terrier, and a knife drawer. It sits down in front of her, its scaly tail wagging scuff marks into the linoleum floor.

After a moment's hesitation, Jennifer drops into a crouch, the better to peer into the creature's large, mauve eyes. Legend has it that Quarkbeasts are sent by dead relatives to watch over people during times of difficulty, and she's certain her father sent the last one. It had been comforting, after its loss, to think that its death had meant something, that it had fulfilled its purpose. Now, though, following that same logic doesn't lead anywhere especially comforting.

"Don't tell me I'm in need of another one," she mutters, more to herself than anyone else. Things have finally started to settle down, at least to a point - you can only get so settled when you're managing wizards, especially now that everyone is back to their old strength again. But things have been good. If she's really being sent another Quarkbeast, that doesn't bode too well for her future.

Still, she can't help but be glad to see it. Against her better judgment, Jennifer reaches forward to run a finger over the comparatively soft scales behind the Quarkbeast's ear.

A flash of light blinds her, and she topples backwards, throwing out a hand to catch herself. Said hand sinks wrist-deep into what feels like snow, and she staggers to her feet with a yelp.

"Quark, quark," she hears the Quarkbeast say, and she suppresses a groan of irritation as she waits for her vision to return. Everyone at Kazam should really know by now to keep their more volatile experiments confined to their own quarters. Blinking furiously and wiping her hand on her pants, she registers the sound of running water and that the air is downright freezing. She gives her head a little shake, still waiting for her eyes to sort themselves out. Creating a miniature winter in the kitchens is an impressive feat, but someone's going to have to clean this up - and do the paperwork. It sounds as if one of the pipes might have burst, and she sighs, already mentally filling out the P3-8F form.

Her vision finally clears, and Jennifer lifts her head to take in the state of the kitchens... only to not see the kitchens at all. She's outside, on a cold winter's day. Turning in a slow circle, she gapes at the snow-covered woodland around her, brow furrowing as she lays eyes on a rather wonky-looking bridge she's never seen before.

She shivers for reasons that have little to do with the temperature. It was summer in Hereford, which means she's either traveled a great distance to reach somewhere with snow, or traveled a shorter distance and a good five or six months through time, at least. Even in his prime, the Great Zambini had only been able to teleport over a hundred miles, and time travel is a whole different bucket of shrimp. How many shandars of magic would it take to transport her through space and time?

"More Big Magic," she mutters to herself as the Quarkbeast blinks up at her. "Wonderful."


bigapplesauce: (Default)
The Big Applesauce


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