andhiswife: (profile - uncertain)
[personal profile] andhiswife
The practical, sensible part of her knows this might not be a good idea. It's too sudden, too quick, too much responsibility striking like a bolt of lightning out of a clear blue sky. Greta's still raw and aching, the Witch's blunt exposition and the Balladeer's more gentle but no less horrible refrain replaying themselves in her mind with exhausting regularity. She shouldn't even be alive; what business does she have taking in a child? Especially one who, from the sounds of things, might as well have been raised by wolves?

Well. She doesn't have any business, full stop. That's rather been the problem, these past few days. Waiting to go home had been her chief occupation, and there's no point in that, anymore. If she doesn't find some way to fill the hours, all the loving support her friends can offer won't be enough to keep her from going mad. She needs to do something.

She can do this.

Her apartment was already neat as a pin, and it's been livened up with some art supplies and a few toys. It's not enough for the long term - the child will need far more if Greta's going to care for her indefinitely - but she thought it best not to jar the girl with an overwhelming display. Aziraphale only asked for help, after all; it would be rash of her to act as if it was a given that Lilly would be staying here forever. Maybe she'll only end up watching the child for a few days. Maybe Lilly won't even like it here.

Greta really hopes she does, though. Now that a potential purpose has been dangled in front of her nose, she can't help but grasp at it. And if she's a little too eager, well, that's better than the numbing fog she's been drifting through of late.

How refreshing, to want something she can actually have.

She looks around the apartment, as if to give the furniture an opportunity to object to the impending visitor. Then she picks up her phone and texts Aziraphale one last time.
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
bibliophale: (excuse you | no)
[personal profile] bibliophale
Aziraphale is up bright and early, in that he has been up for several days straight, finally having a bit more luck not getting trapped in the Rift's infernal dreamspace. Melanie is still asleep and he doesn't want to disturb her, so he miracles himself some tea silently and drinks it just as silently, mentally preparing himself for the task that awaits him. He promised to help Gabriel with this new child, and he will help. Melanie had seemed both excited and a little daunted by the prospect of having a real human child around, but he isn't terribly worried about how she'll get on. It's himself he isn't so sure about.

Well, nothing for it but to get on. He'd been directed to the apartment below Gabriel's - the evident home of his so-called "boytoy" - to retrieve the girl, so he focuses in on the place and the minds therein (odd little minds, both of them) and departs.

He arrives to find the young man sitting at his desk with a cup of coffee, smiling faintly at the little girl, who appears to be playing with a rabbit. Johnny startles slightly to see the new presence, looking vaguely annoyed. Perhaps he should have knocked.

"Sorry," he says. "Er, Johnny, right? I'm here for Lilly?" He looks at the little girl and offers an uncertain smile. "Hallo."

The childish crayon drawings that cover the wall have certainly not gone unnoticed. Such behavior will not be allowed at his house. That will have to be corrected.

"Nice to meet you," says Johnny in a tone that makes it very clear it isn't. What an unpleasant little man. When he addresses the girl, however, his tone becomes completely different: soft and gentle. Hrmph. Why isn't he good enough to keep the child around?

Perhaps because he allows her to draw on walls.

"Lilly," says Johnny. "This is the guy we told you about. He's gonna take you somewhere nice that you can stay, okay?" He glances up at Aziraphale. "Is there anything she can call you that isn't that many syllables?"

"There is not," says Aziraphale, mildly affronted at the suggestion.

Johnny stares coldly at him, then says pointedly to the girl, "This is Greg."

A very unpleasant little man.

Shitfit!

Apr. 26th, 2015 07:28 pm
applesaucemod: (Default)
[personal profile] applesaucemod
All is right in Manhattan this week.

It is a week like any other. The little creatures that dot the surface of the land scuttle to and fro about their business, each amusingly convinced of its own importance. A number of them relocate themselves with an unusual degree of difficulty. Some die. Some do not die. One or two new ones, the special kind, arrive.

And then…and then something is not right in Manhattan. Something is, in fact, wrong, incorrect, and unacceptable. Two -- no, four -- no, two of the little scuttling things --

-- THEY HAVE NO RIGHT --

-- WHY CAN'T IT --

-- CAN'T CLOSE, CAN'T STOP THEM --

GONE!


Gone!! The Rift claps furiously closed, but too late. Too late! They're gone, they've left, and they had no right! It did not permit them! Two they took with them only even existed thanks to the Rift, and those -- THOSE UPSTARTS --

It can't reach the ones who caused the superficial injury that's already healing (that's scarring over, it will NEVER AGAIN ALLOW THIS), and so the Rift lashes out at the ones who remain in their place. It can feel the little pets that remain, all of them, and it will remind them who owns them.


[OOC: Right! Andrew and James have escaped from New York just like Snake Plissken and the Rift is having a shitfit over it. Tag into this post for general Rift-related shenanigans; there will be a separate post for characters who want to attack ROMAC.

The Rift will inflict a wide variety of little inconveniences and torments on the people it considers its own, and players can choose what their characters will face. These should be things that could more or less go unnoticed by the population at large (so no city-wide effects, and please be careful to avoid anything that would effectively godmode other people's characters). Anything that's happened in a past Rift event is fair game, as are personal rainclouds, randomly appearing objects and animals, involuntary transformations, and just about anything else on the personal level. On a somewhat broader level, expect to find random acres of the Ramble transformed into jungle, redwood forest, wintery pines, and various other types of Incorrect Wilderness.]
bluesuit_handy: (.misc | sneaky)
[personal profile] bluesuit_handy
This is probably not a bad thing he's doing, Andrew rationalizes. Yes, they twisted his arm a bit with all that stuff about having put together the pieces and worked out that he'd let the Rebels register him. No, he's not impressed by ROMAC's line about 'only' wanting him to prove his loyalty by putting his connections in the other organization to use. He's hardly fit to be up and about yet, let alone tottering out into the world in search of missing persons, so at the very least they're being terribly negligent about their choice of field agents.

Still, the missing person in question is a missing child, and he'd hardly be doing any harm just by checking it out, would he? The name had rung a bell, but it took him a while to remember just where he'd heard about a Melanie formerly of ROMAC...and just where he could expect to find her now. If he trusted ROMAC to be telling him the full story he could simply tell them what Daniel had told him in a dream, but he doesn't and so he didn't. He knows she was taken away from ROMAC under mysterious circumstances and he knows that she was under quarantine before that (it's not entirely clear whether he's meant to believe that was for her benefit of that of others), but he doesn't know why and he's well aware that he doesn't know how she feels about all this. His assignment is to simply find where she's being 'held' and report back, but he's rather more inclined to have a chat with her and/or this Aziraphale person and then either bring her back himself or cover his tracks and do a song and dance to convince ROMAC he gave it the old college try.

It's not so very difficult to locate the relevant apartment within the building, though each person he has to ask about it is a person too many. Luckily he hasn't run into anyone who knows him well enough to make anything of his sudden reappearance around Rebel-Land, but all the same he doesn't care to linger longer than he has to. He spares a quick glance up and down the hallway, then knocks briskly on the door, bracing himself to shoulder his way in should the door actually be opened.
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.]
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.]
bibliophale: (excuse you | no)
[personal profile] bibliophale
"You did WHAT?!"

Oh dear. He did not mean to snap. He shuts his eyes and draws a breath for patience.

When he'd asked Melanie if she'd had a nice time in last night's dream he had been making conversation - it was a lovely dream, surely nothing bad had happened, but in fact exactly that had happened. She met Rashad, AND Illyria. And she invited Illyria over.

"I'm sorry," he says in a clipped tone, "it's all right, I'm not angry, I'm just - I'm concerned, is what I am. Illyria is very dangerous. I do not want her knowing about you. And it seems like every time I encounter her she wants to do battle."

Oh lord. Is he going to have ward her out now? She won't like that. He saw how she tried to break through the barrier around the island, which is far more powerful than anything he could create. He sighs heavily and drops his head into his hands.
bibliophale: (resignation | welp)
[personal profile] bibliophale
Aziraphale's personal spaces are beginning to get a bit crowded. It isn't that he requires privacy wherever he goes. If that were so he wouldn't have put his shop right next to Sunshine's bakery. Spike is a wonderfully effective and low-maintenance employee, and Sunshine is a friend who brings treats when she visits. Crowley's occasional (increasingly occasional) stays in the back room are an assumption. And he certainly doesn't mind having Melanie in his flat - that's quite nice. Nicer than he thought it would be.

So really it's just Illyria. Suffering the God-King of the Primordium, squatting as they are, both in his shop and in another person's body, is really a bit much to ask, he thinks. All the rest would be fine. If it weren't for this one nuisance.

Well, at least she doesn't make too much trouble. And she seems content to mind her business and sit motionless for long periods of time.

Actually, that last part is a little creepy. And right now, as he's trying to read the lovely 1893 copy of the Sanskritized Hindi translation of Macbeth he had the good fortune to come across, it's distracting.

He lowers the small volume and looks at the God-King. "Illyria," he says, "do you ever sleep?"
bibliophale: (prissy as hell | fashionista)
[personal profile] bibliophale
[ooc: this post will cover the evening of the 30th to some point on the 1st when the rain effects wear off.]


After the day he's had, it's quite a relief to go home, and it's nice - very nice, and a little strange - to know there is actually someone waiting there for him. Of course ordinarily he'd have tried to see what Crowley was up to and if he fancied getting drunk, but they've been giving each other a wider berth than usual lately, as though Lucifer might pop up the moment they got alone together. It's an unpleasant situation, but Aziraphale doesn't dwell on it. He transports himself directly into his flat and shucks off his coat, which is still a bit damp from the morning's rain.

"Hallo," he says to Melanie, who is currently engrossed in another of his books. He strolls into the kitchen and starts setting things about for tea. "Was your day all right?"

It's only a moment of fussing with the kettle before he realizes Melanie hasn't replied, and that's very strange indeed. He blinks and turns back. The book must be very engrossing indeed. "Melanie?" he prompts gently.

Postscript

Nov. 12th, 2014 07:33 pm
all_the_gifts: (Default)
[personal profile] all_the_gifts
Melanie wakes with a start, feeling anxious and bereft. Her hand gropes blindly for fur or feathers, convinced there ought to be something - someone - there with her, but she only finds empty sheets. Sitting up slowly, she takes in the predictably empty apartment with a little frown. It's not uncommon for Aziraphale to be out when she wakes in the morning, but she wishes he was here. Not quite badly enough to call to him, but enough so that rather than get up, she stays in bed, curling back up under the covers and clutching onto her pillow.


[ooc: follows hard upon the heels of this hot mess]
apidae: (Default)
[personal profile] apidae
Today Bee is restless. She doesn't feel like being still, but she doesn't feel like being alone, either. Sunshine and Spike are both at work and Daine hasn't answered her phone, which probably means she's off meeting animals. She's cleaned, she's eaten, and she's tried to read, but now she wants to go out. Better yet, she wants to go and visit her darlings, but she wants to take someone with her. She considers Peter, but she's not quite ready to knock on his door again after their last meeting.

That leaves Aziraphale. She's only met the angel a couple times in passing, but he seems very kind. Perhaps he'd like to meet her darlings.

She steps barefoot out into the hall and pads down to his door. She hasn't seen him since the day the dangerous creature came through the Rift, when he went out and reportedly got hurt. That was a long time ago now. She chews her lip nervously before knocking.

Someone's inside, she can sense that much, but after some consideration she doesn't think it's Aziraphale. There's nothing familiar about it, in fact. She frowns curiously.

"Hello?" she says after a moment, raising her voice just enough to be heard through the door. "Is someone in there? It's Bee, from down the hall."
bibliophale: (stern | defiant)
[personal profile] bibliophale
It takes Crowley a few hours to get back to his initial query, and when he does it is with the grim but unsurprising news that ROMAC does not intend to let their fungus child live in peace in her little dungeon hideaway. Even if their intentions are pure, as they might well be in this instance, Aziraphale doesn't like the idea of Melanie as a test subject, and something tells him she won't like it either.

More importantly, it just doesn't sit right with him, a little girl living in a place like that. It would be heartless to just leave her there. Rescuing her is the right thing to do. The angelic thing.

As soon as he's decided, he closes up the shop and vanishes, leaving his phone on the counter (not on purpose, though it's probably for the best, the way Crowley keeps going on).

He doesn't quite know where he's heading. The Base itself is easy enough, but he's only got a fair guess at which level is Melanie's. He finds himself in a corridor more or less resembling the place from his dream, and takes a moment to fish around, seeking something young, human, and also not quite human. Her consciousness doesn't exactly stand out, but it is odd, and after a moment he gets a faint sense for it, lower in the earth.

He slips into a stairwell and hurries down a few flights. He passes a few men and women with security badges, and all look right past him. He's no one. He's definitely supposed to be here. On the cameras, of course, he won't show up at all.

Coming out the stairwell into Melanie's cell block, he immediately finds himself face to face with a guard, who raises his gun with a sharp "Hey!" Aziraphale steps around him with the grace and nonchalance of a professional spy. The guard fires a warning shot, a thin stream of water grazing Aziraphale's upper arm (sometimes old tricks are the best ones). Aziraphale passes a hand over his arm to dry his blazer, and, as an afterthought, encourages the guard to take a quick lie-down, and just forget about that odd little dream with the mild-mannered intruder.

He hones in on Melanie's room without further incident, passes a hand over it to undo each of the five locks, and steps inside.

She's there, as small and innocent as she looked in the dream (can this child really be dangerous?), reading a book that looks much too complex for a ten-year-old.

"Hello again," he says pleasantly.

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