whofrownedthisface: (pretty)
[personal profile] whofrownedthisface
With his trip to the park having turned out more fruitful than originally envisioned, the Doctor hurries back to the TARDIS, though still with next to no idea what he's up against. Something, that's for sure. Not a riftugee (so much cleverer than riftie, but it just won't catch on somehow), and it doesn't seem like there's any manifestations to investigate on site in the park. But clearly something is up. At least the rift isn't sucking in monsters from who knows where or messing with the park's timescape. And if Daine's affliction is the only trouble, well. Just being honest. Not really the crisis he got out of bed for. Metaphorically speaking.

Upon returning to the TARDIS he sets to with his usual flurry of console activity, calling up maps full of squiggly concentric lines, popping in all the readings he'd gathered, reading about strange weather phenomena involving frogs. Just an oddity to resolve, hopefully in time for lunch (why not cucumber sandwiches?), guaranteed to lift his spirits and maybe even provide new insight into the rift.
i_jones: (ehhhhhhhh)
[personal profile] i_jones
There's a trail of sweets leading him, labyrinthine, through the TARDIS. The rooms, the corridors, swirled along the walls, all within approximate arm's reach of a certain troll. Ianto follows it, fearing for the inevitable candied Lot's wife, though eventually he gives in and plucks a sherbet lemon off of what used to be a doorknob. The TARDIS probably wouldn't allow it inside if it weren't safe. Sugary occurrences aside, it's not been a bad day so far - the nerve pain in his legs is particularly unnoticeable, and dare he say he's even feeling well enough to go without the cane. He carries it still, just in case, but he's feeling optimistic (for once).

The first kitchen he finds has been ransacked by licorice and caramels, leaving him nowhere to sit and nothing to drink. He finds another, blessedly unmarked, although this one has the arguable downside of containing the Doctor, who does not seem as preoccupied by the possibility of some kind of candy minotaur as Ianto is. "Doctor," he starts hesitantly from the doorway, in that companion-esque 'there's something I've noticed that you haven't and I'm waiting for you to tell me if I should be scared of it' way.
rae_of_sun: (lost)
[personal profile] rae_of_sun
Later, she might find it fitting that sunset coincides with the breaking of whatever weird-ass glamour she's been under all day. She doesn't actually see the sun go down - too busy puttering around the kitchen, doing other things - but she sure as hell notices when months of memories reawaken in her mind, yawning and stretching their fingertips down into her gut by way of her heart. She actually hisses, a respectable attempt at a proper, vampiric sort of hiss. Fitting, because oh gods, Spike.

She forgot him. She forgot him, and then she was really kali awful to him - because of course she remembers what a pitiless troll she was in the bookshop, those memories haven't gone anywhere - and oh gods no, this is... this... she has to address this, immediately. Hell if she knows what she's going to say to him ('no hard feelings' isn't going to fly, because he is probably entitled to some hard feelings, here), but she has to say something.

After a short, fidgety elevator ride, she knocks on his door, feeling uncomfortably apprehensive. Maybe she's just missing the moral high ground. Or maybe she's still, perpetually worried that she'll look at him, or he'll say something, or touch her, and it'll be too close to that dingy little room in Grand Central Station and her hands will decide to do something about it. She wraps her arms around herself, her hands tucked between her elbows and her ribs, where they can't do any harm, and she waits.
etherthief: (doin science to a thing)
[personal profile] etherthief
[Iman and Rush are going turn the day's general chaos and Rush's curse of being trapped in reflective surfaces to their advantage and do some snooping in ROMAC's labs. Their goal is to see if ROMAC knows what's going on with this curse event and perhaps could have warned people or prevented it - they may find that, or something even worse. ETA: j/k this WILL be serving as a prelude to faction dissolution, stay tuned.]

'Through some improvised experimentation, the following facts about Rush's condition have been posited or ascertained:

1.) Base observation: Rush is confined within reflective surfaces not limited to but most prevalently mirrors.

2.) He is unable to breach these surfaces but he can communicate with those outside them.

3.) In spite of immense scientific improbability, he is not currently comprised of light, but solid matter. Jury's still out on how that works.

4.) The reflected world around him, however, cannot be interacted with normally. He is limited to electrical/light-based interactions - the sending of text messages, though they are garbled - and there is potential for other electrical interference.

5.) He can move adjacently out of each reflected zone. He is automatically displaced to the nearest adjacent reflective surface. If there is a closed reflective circuit he cannot move outside it. Caution required to avoid entrapment.'

Iman finishes reading these notes and glances at Rush, currently contained within her homemade hand mirror, for approval. She's brought him back to the Base and is now waiting for the elevator to arrive and take them down toward where they aren't supposed to be. Her favorite place.
bibliophale: (prissy as hell | fashionista)
[personal profile] bibliophale
[Aziraphale, Book!Melanie, and Poetry!Spike are gonna be hanging out in his bookshop all day, so feel free to pop by! Melanie can see and hear you, and will communicate with you if you look at her pages. Spike is only able to speak in verse. And if you touch Aziraphale, you will be turned into a book. The choice is yours.]

Aziraphale sets Melanie down gingerly on the front counter, keeping her close. He looks around nervously. He can't touch anything. Can't have tea, can't have any of Sunshine's wonderful baked goods, can't read books. He's going to have to just stand here stoic and keep watch over his book girl.

He picks her up again and holds her around. "Here we are," he says, feeling rather foolish. Spike is due in at any moment, he hopes the vampire doesn't walk in now, as he's showing a book the bookstore. That would look very silly. He sets her back down and opens her up to a blank page. "I'll make sure no one tries to buy you. I'm very good at that. Don't worry."

This is going to be a long day.

[Reply to the post to interact with Aziraphale and/or Melanie, and to Spike's top level to interact with Spike. Time is complicated but it's gonna be okay we'll get through this.]
deadeyedchild: we need to keep going (this is your last chance)
[personal profile] deadeyedchild
He wakes up engulfed in a hot, smothering prison with no distinguishing qualities. Everything is white, mostly dark with some light seeping through, everything is uneven and collapsing. Fabric? He scrambles and can't find any edges, any way to breach the coverings. Where is he?!

He flails around wildly, trying to fight his way out but he can't seem to push any of it back. It's definitely fabric but it's too heavy for him, and the strangely cushiony surface he's on is vast and difficult to navigate.

Distantly, muffled, he can hear Tim calling his name. "Tim?" he answers, but his voice must be so dampened by everything on top of him, can Tim even hear him? He tries again, desperate: "Tim, help me!"

Nothing. He keeps struggling, having picked a direction that seems right somehow, crawling and fighting his way through. He can barely breathe in here. He has to get out. He has to.

There's a harder line of light up ahead. Escape. He scrambles for it like he's coming up for air, almost there, almost-

The air is suddenly a little cold on his sweat-soaked skin as he breaks free, though he's still on this same surface, something huge and equally, abnormally soft in front of him. He's not covered up anymore but he's still - wait, what the fuck is-

He can hear Tim a little more clearly now, but his voice is all wrong, deeper maybe, or just more resonating? He clambers awkwardly toward the edge of the surface and peeks over it.

Like a cliff's drop. He jerks back quickly, gasping for breath.

That was the floor. That was the floor.

He's on his bed.

"Tim!" he cries. He stands up awkwardly, shaking, wobbling unsteadily on the mattress, waving his arms and bouncing slightly. "Tim, I'm here!"

Everything's starting to make more sense now. Well, a certain level of 'sense'. He can see the rest of the room looming around him, his bedside table and his - that must be his phone. The pile of cameras, the windows. He can see Tim, too, looking like a fucking giant.

"TIM!" he yells again, enough that he hurts his voice and starts coughing a little. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He's about the length of Tim's palm and he has no idea why.

Must be Tuesday.
biscuit_powered: (Asmodia | afraid | recoil)
[personal profile] biscuit_powered
There's blood all over their ship.

Asmodia doesn't know what to do with herself on the flight home from the observatory. This isn't the first time she's seen corpses (it's far from even the first time she's been part of the cause of corpses) and it's not like she feels any guilt over killing a bunch of old men who'd made it their lives' mission to stamp out Stig's entire bloodline, but it's unsettling, let's go with that, to see a friend execute a defeated foe and to have it happen aboard their home away from home. She's not sure she'll ever see the deck again without remembering what it looks like right now.

She wonders what the man she killed saw before he died. He's one of the few that went down without a mark on him…and serve him right, the (literally) backstabbing bastard.

They all disperse to their own rooms once Tanna's landed the ship at the warehouse, Stig of course haring off into town to fetch his lady friend and tell her the good news. The stink of smoke that permeates the building isn't enough to ruin the comfort of coming home after a hard day, and at least fighting so close to home means she and Biscuit can have a bath afterward. She takes her time and doesn't bother going back downstairs or putting any of her gear back on afterward, but makes herself comfortable in her room with her books and settles in for a solitary night of contemplation. There are some spells she's been meaning to teach to Biscuit, and she can feel that familiar niggling feeling that comes before a new hex brings itself to mind….

At least, that's how she intends to spend her evening until the banging and clattering noises start up downstairs. Normally she'd write it off (even small explosions are pretty much par for the course around here), but after everything that's happened recently it's enough to get her out of bed. She grabs blindly for her cloak of resistance as she opens the door and --

And everything is suddenly a lot more green than it should be. "What in the --" she starts, lifting a hand to shield her eyes against he relative brightness and spinning in place on the spot, hyper-alert for anyone who might be rushing at her with a sword or lobbing a fireball in her direction. "Biscuit, where --

"Biscuit??" It's then that she realizes her familiar is gone. Her breath hitches as she casts out her senses -- and there, she can feel him! He's frightened, and hurt, and whoever kidnapped and separated the two of them will have a lot to answer for. First things first: see where she really is. A wave of her hand a few choice words should dispel whatever illusion is around her.

Except it doesn't. She doesn't even feel any magic moving through her when she does it. She tries again, and then she tries to teleport back to her room, and then to make herself a crone because maybe if she can just concentrate a little better --

Nothing, nothing, and nothing. Panicking, she tries to scry on Biscuit, and when that fails as well she stumbles over to a nearby fence to lean hard on it, feeling nauseas. It's gone. Her magic is gone and she doesn't even know how or why or where she is or where Biscuit is and why are those people staring at her?!
fucking_ebay: (x goose)
[personal profile] fucking_ebay
Something is definitely not right when Peter wakes up late in the morning. Since when does he pull his legs up into a fetal position when he sleeps on his back? He groans and stretches out his legs, reaching up to rub his eyes and --

And that's not the way legs and arms work -- nothing's moving right, it's like his joints are in the wrong places or stuck moving in weird ways and THOSE ARE FEATHERS --!!!

Peter goes from zero to feathery tornado in three seconds flat, honking and squawking his head off as he kicks and beats at the sheets with the wings he suddenly has today. Beds are not made for geese, nor geese for beds, and for a solid minute he mostly succeeds in making things worse until he finally squirms free and fights his way upright, panting and still as he catches his breath.

Well, shit. Could this be a dream? Maybe it's just a dream. It wouldn't be the first time he dreamed he was an animal. Biting himself, however, results in pain, which either means it's not a dream or that's just a stupid way of testing because maybe he can feel pain in dreams here. He wouldn't put it past the Rift. Right, so he's got to do something about it. He just needs to -- if he can just -- maybe if he --

HE'S A FUCKING GOOSE. Peter scrambles off the bed, crashing to the floor and clambering back to his feet to make a mad run to where he left his phone on the couch. Except he can't use it when he gets there because he's a FUCKING GOOSE and all he manages to do is drag it onto the floor and peck uselessly at the screen.
peacefulexplorer: (Nerdery | Book | Look Up | Huh?)
[personal profile] peacefulexplorer
Today has been...interesting.

That's certainly a word for it.

Fortunately, Daniel has experience with "interesting." He does not, however, have a whole lot of experience with handling felines, particularly of the roommates-turned-felines-who-may-or-may-not-be-incapable-of-digesting-normal-food variety, so figuring out what Seth could eat in his somewhat furrier form has been an exercise in exasperation and barely bit-back amusement. It certainly was a trial attempting to cook while inexplicably hovering two feet above the ground, though cautious experimentation proved that Daniel could pull himself down to regular ground-level, in a manner of speaking, if he clung to a table leg or even the edge of the couch. But as soon as he let go, he would simply float back up again, perfectly suspended two feet over the apartment floor with next to no explanation as to how.

Hopefully this won't last long.

Daniel's phone has been buzzing intermittently all day, which has been both rewarding and frustrating. He's been able to tell a few things - for one, it's not just them. For another, everyone's being affected very differently, from being forced to spill out a slew of secrets to being practically forced to tell lies. Whatever Rift thing this is, the initial amusement at dealing with Seth's feline shape had faded very quickly.

Speaking of which.

Daniel glances up from his phone after punching out the last message to favor the curled-up ball of brown fur with a look of concern. He seems pretty much asleep from his position next to him - well, sort of next to him. Daniel is, for all intents and purposes, sitting cross-legged, though he's still levitating a good foot or so above the bed.

"Someone's coming," he says cautiously, unable to keep the note of apology from his voice. "He's, ah - bringing cat food." Wince. "Sorry."
etherthief: (intrigue | defiance | whoa now)
[personal profile] etherthief
Iman is mostly glad she chose not to move herself to the ROMAC Base. She likes her little ill-gotten Greenwich Village studio and the knowledge that even if Satan drops in on her occasionally, she's not directly under the thumb and possibly well-hidden eye of her sketchy employers. There is not much to be said for the distance, however. It takes her an unacceptably long time to reach the building, where she's SUPPOSED to be anyway for work, but instead she heads straight up to the apartment level, moving right to Greta's door. By this time no amount of frantically checking her stupid traitorous piece of shit little phone has rewarded her with any responses. Greta MUST be up by now, so either she hasn't managed to notice the texts yet, or... Well, she doesn't even want to think about that.

She takes a deep breath and knocks.

She waits, listening. Knocks again.

"Greta?" she says softly, nervously. "It's me. Can... can I come in? Can we talk?"

Nothing. Not even movement. Iman's frown tightens. This doesn't seem normal. Greta doesn't seem the type of avoid a problem like this, anyway.

She weighs her options. Should she check inside? She doesn't like the idea of just walking away, especially when she's not sure where Greta is.

Slowly she reaches out and puts her hand on the knob.

She really, really, really hopes Greta isn't in there. If she breaks in while Greta's in there, she - she doesn't even know.

Whatever. She breathes out and-

-the door is... open? No casual transmutaion required. That's... weird.

She steps inside and looks around. Everything looks fine. Clean. The bed looks slept in and unmade, which is unusual, Greta is so incredibly tidy all the time, and...

Oh thank FUCKING FUCK her phone is on the bedside table.

"Ohhhmygodyes," she whispers to the divine mercy of whatever coincidence allowed this to happen. She grabs Greta's phone, which prompts her for a passcode, good, so someone showed her how to do that.

Unfortunately Iman is really good at breaking passcodes. That's kind of her thing.

"Sorry, Greta," she murmurs under her breath, hacks the code, slides open the phone. Greta has an absurd number of horrifying notifications, ugh ugh ugh. She feverishly opens up her text and deletes the entire record.

Okay. That's done. She is officially the luckiest bastard ever.

She sets the phone aside gingerly and breathes out. With that distress averted, she now takes the time to look around. Where is Greta? Why would she have left the bed unmade - her phone her - her door unlocked? Iman can see her keys hanging on a little hook by the door, chews her lip looking at them. Perhaps she's doing laundry? Shit, that would be incredibly awkward, if she came back up to find Iman here. But no, there's the hamper there with a few things in it.

Shit. Iman stands up sharply. Shit, shit. Where is she? What happened to her?

Is she gone? Was she sent home? Did something happen?

She thinks about Rashad essentially breaking into Rush's apartment the other day - and she thinks about how fucking weird this morning is, Daniel floating, Seth a cat, her phone... Something definitely could have happened, maybe something bad, and she has no idea how to track Greta down.

She paces in a tight circle, not sure what she should do. Well, okay, she knows she should probably calm down, but this morning has been TOO EVENTFUL by half for that to happen. That ship has gone to sea. She is full tilt frantic right now. She has to do something but she has no idea where to even start.

Well. There are plenty of people who might.


She pulls out her phone. She really, really doesn't want to do this.

She sends a text.
johnny_truant: (Default)
[personal profile] johnny_truant
Usually he wakes up from disorientation in the woods, not to it. But today he's stirred by wind on his cheek, rustling leaves and branches, birds sounding much more present than they would from beyond a hotel window. He feels suspended somehow, no solid support beneath his back. He's upright, but he's not on the ground either. What...?

Full consciousness comes abruptly and painfully when he jerks and flails, or tries to flail, quickly stymied by the thorny tendrils that are tangled all around his limbs and torso, pinning him to the unruly underbrush growing around the trees. The brambles aren't very extensive, but he is definitely in their midst, held him fairly fast a few inches off the ground.

Okay then.

Ordinarily he'd think he was dreaming but he's gotten a little too good at knowing the difference. He's definitely awake. He doesn't remember leaving the hotel, doesn't remember anything happening that could possibly explain this. Even with that he doesn't quite panic. This might as well happen. Rift life is already so goddamn weird. Every day is a gambit of refreshing normalcy and staggering weirdness.

He's not tightly restrained and the branches aren't that thick - he's pretty sure he could escape if he could just...

"Ow!" he snaps as the thorns snag at his clothing and prick him all up and down his arms. God dammit. He lets out a frustrated sigh. "Cool. All right."

He pulls his hands into fists and tries to move his legs. His jeans protect him little, but he really can't get good enough leverage to tear himself free. He tries again, a few different ways, and finds it becoming almost increasingly difficult, every time making the minor pains a little worse. He can't even reach his hand to his pocket, though he can feel his phone in there. Finally he just releases his tension, hangs there, defeated.

So what is he supposed to do, just wait for someone to stumble upon him? Maybe if he can get some animal's attention he could ask it to find Daine? He looks around for squirrels or birds but none are close enough, and if a person does happen along he'd really rather not be entangled in brambles and yelling at random birds.

This is the Ramble, right? It has to be. The TARDIS must be somewhere around here, not close enough that he can feel her, but. Maybe she can see him, send someone to help.

Or he could just pray.

No. Not like this. If they're going to talk again it's not going to be for something like this. It's going to be because Johnny goes back on his own.

Which leaves him with nothing to do but wait.

He settles in as well as he can and definitely does not sulk.
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.]
scales_and_silence: (something probably wants to eat our face)
[personal profile] scales_and_silence
"There are places where the layers of reality don’t sit well against each other, like... like wearing a new
pair of shoes. They rub and pull and holes can form."
- Jonathan Healy

Central Park, New York City. (And Not the New York City One Would Normally Expect- At Least, Not the One Alex Would.)

Alex stood dazed for a moment, suitcases in hand. A moment ago, he was unpacking them from the car, getting ready to take them into the hotel room for the night. He and his fiance were driving from Ohio to Portland, with his colony of Aeslin Mice and church griffin, ready to start making wedding plans once they got to his family home outside of the city.

But. This was not the hotel parking lot. This. Looked a lot like Central Park. In New York City. The exact opposite direction of the way they were headed. And Shelby was nowhere to be seen. He put the suitcases down, and hushed the cheering from within. "Not now, guys."

"Shelby?" No answer. Not good. Or possibly good, since that meant she wasn't sucked into this, and that she was probably now looking for him on the other end of it. Comforting thought.

"Crow?" A big, black shape flew from one tree to another, squirrel caught in his beak, fuzzy hindquarters disappearing into the leaves. Alex relaxed a little. Okay, he had... some sort of backup with him. Even if he was only... mostly likely to listen to him.


bigapplesauce: (Default)
The Big Applesauce


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