sirenspull | July 8th, 2012

July 8th, 2012

Sunday, July 8th 2012

Weather Sunny and clear, humid. High 29°C and a low of 22°C (84deg;F/71°F)

Current Moon Phase: Waning Gibbous

Morning sirens go off at 5:22am, and evening sirens are at 9:13pm.

( Horoscopes )

Advertisements

- Don’t pay Ceerow Proofing Services another cent! Mike’s Hardware in Sector 8 is hosting a D.I.Y. darkness proofing workshop, teaching you how to save big money by keep your own residence up to standard code without relying on SERO’s overpriced technicians. Learn easy steps to safeguard your home using a basic toolset and affordable materials. Workshops every Sunday 3-5pm, $35 fee with a valuable coupon book and binder manual to get you started on home projects today!
------------------------
[ News Notification Thread]

hellsadogfight

[The feed clicks on and a scraggly looking kid is all just about glaring at the screen. He's still in the bloody clothes he arrived in. He looks pretty broken, but alive. Very much alive.] Fuck this place, and fuck being stuck here. Look, I don't know how things are done 'round where y'all are from, but in Louisiana, shit happens when you up and fuckin' kidnap someone.

Second chance, my ass. Let me fuckin' die in peace. If I wanted to live, I could'a taken that vampire blood. [Tommy scowls before he shoves his fist into the near by wall.] This whole god damn situation...

[His jaw clenches and he looks away for a moment. A sigh. There's half a chance Sam's here, but he wouldn't be that lucky.] Any chance anyone is from Bon Temps? Sam Merlotte, if this was you, I swear to God...

[Not that he's any calmer, he's still seething, but at least he's... attempting civility.] Right, well I'm Tommy Mickens, if any'a ya care.

ella_of_frell

[ When the video turns on, Ella is kneeling by curious looking chest, pulling things out at random. Or seemingly at random. ]

I think I'm going to have to say Summer heatwaves are my least favorite part of the season. Mandy never seemed to have any problem with them.

[ That may be because of the whole fairy godmother thing. She... also may be dressed in a maid outfit - albeit one altered with a longer skirt. She might have to obey Hattie's order to wear the darn thing, but no one said she couldn't alter it so it wasn't so skimpy. ]

I could have sworn I had something for this last year. . . come to think of it, I can't find my slipper either, since that night at Twins.

[ She sits back against her heels, grimacing. ]

If I lost that, that's going to be a real pain. I kind of liked those shoes.

[ GIving up the search for the moment, she carries the book into the kitchen, glancing around for her housemates. ]

Meg, Hattie - what do you want for dinner? I think Hattie still has some sushi so she can have tha- [ Only when she opens the refrigerator, she blanches. ]

UGH! Forget the sushi, just - ew. [ Burn the evil! BURN IT! She's going to dump it out in the trash. Blarh. Pay no mind to the raccoon on the counter, he's just waiting for a handout. ]

Blech, I think it was still alive. [ She shudders. How Hattie can eat that stuff, she'll never know. ]

towerlocked

[the video shows a young teenage girl with pale skin. She looks dazed, even moreso than others who are newly arriving. Her fingers search for a blade she keeps at her side, just to be sure it's still there]

Where am I...? What's happening? Did Ravenna do this?

[all she can do is move forward and hopefully figure out what was going on]

integrity

The citizens of this city, registered and unregistered, are somewhat pathetic.

[Hello, Siren's Port. Have your neighborhood friendly demon, sounding oddly serious and composed.]

We are brought here, against our will, by a mystical force that none of us can control or see. While we are trapped here, we are treated as second-class citizens, the proverbial Rosa Parks on the bus line that is the multiverse, and not weeks after a neighborhood friendly hunt on the newcomer population, individuals seem to have... shrugged it off. Moved along with their lives and their husbands and wives and paper routes and white picket fences.

[There is a slight creak as Crowley shifts in the chair he is sitting in. He pauses slightly, to collect his thoughts, before he continues. A good orator always knows when to draw the line and when to keep talking. He seems to be deciding where it is now.]

Whether or not this is just another display of humanity ignoring when terrible things occur in favor of the new bright and shiny politician on their doorstep is irrelevant. What is relevant is your amazing ability to ignore what is directly in front of you -- we are held in the hands of a group of individuals no more or less powerful than we are and yet we are the second-class. Even those registered as citizens, those with powers in government -- you can't tell me you are truly invited to the weekly bridge game of our Canadian cousins.

[And suddenly, his voice grows slightly harder.]

What will it take for all of you to realize that we are nothing more than cattle in a small pen being poked at with sticks? Would it be the brutal murder of someone you love or the relinquishment of supposed unalienable rights that you hold onto so tightly? What will it take for you to finally open your eyes and understand that you aren't free. Your tiny little slice of life is nothing more than an illusion fed to you by a series of corporations and egotistical human overlords who think themselves better than everyone else because they have a pretty picture stamped on an ID card. So come on -- be honest. What would you rather have -- eternal peace at the price of freedom or the knowledge that you did something potentially great regardless of the consequences?

[There is the clink of a glass -- and Crowley ceases talking. But the feed stays open.

It's a serious question. And a testing of the waters.

He wants to know how many dangerous people are truly in the Port.]