sirenspull | Entries tagged with c: butt-head

[The video clicks on, and there's Aoko, perched on a stool, that firm set to her mouth almost swallowing her lips in that firm, white line. Someone's going to get it . . . and they're going to get it good.]

I'd like to make a public service announcement.

[Her spine straightens, chin lifting, and almost veritably, she glares at the camera.]

If your new TV or microwave or disco ball or whatever doesn't work . . . maybe you should make sure it's plugged in before calling tech support and fussing at them for half an hour.

And then figuring it out and hanging up on them because you're embarrassed.

Jerks.

[That last part is obviously directed at certain unspecified individuals and not the world as a whole, but Aoko doesn't look as though she's in the mood to specify, bright pink by the end of it all. With a toss of the head, she looks tempted to say more, but flicks the NV firmly off.]

gold_wolf

[Kouga has finally gotten the hang on the NV... somewhat. He's currently giving it a look, apparently questioning what exactly he's seeing. It takes him a while, and when he decides, he still looks kind of surly.]

What is the meaning of this?

[Yes, he totally expects the device itself to have an answer. Or one of the other people using them works too.

Maybe he should have thought out a better opening. Of course, he's not sure what to say other than it feels like darkness is lingering everywhere. And that's not a great first announcement.]

Why is everyone here obsessed with pie? What kind of city is this?

bestie

- a camera? That wasn't there before!

[The lower half of someone's face filters into focus, right up against the lens. Hope you don't mind an extreme close-up of someone's chin, because that's what you're getting while Jane tries to sort this out.]

Roxy, are you even listening to me?

[Meanwhile, this other person's squealing up a storm in the background.] Janeeeeeeey! Can you fucking believe this shit? It's, like, one second, I'm scramming from the scene -- ravenous creeps all over the damn place, Jane, you wouldn't even believe -- and now!

[There's a pause.] Heh... I hope you're not mad at me still! It's not like I meant to fall on you.

[And then another excited squeal.] Janeyyyy! Come here, ya damn tightass. [Roxy suddenly pulls the other girl in for yet another forceful hug, just before noticing the object in her hands.] What the fuck are you doing with that shit, eh? Didn't I tell you to toss it?

I'm trying to figure out when- [She lets out a little yelp and drops the Tiaratop. It clatters down to the dirt, still recording the girls' feet.] -when it got a camera feature! Something's really fishy about this.

[A pause as Jane leans down to pick up the device. She looks right into the camera.]

Wait, is this thing recording?

I told you not to trust the Batterwitch's shit, Jane. When are you ever gonna learn?

[That last question catches her attention, though.] Oh, really? [She shoves her face right against Jane's cheek to fit into the camera's view.

And now she's making kissy faces at the camera and winking suggestively. Yep.]

((OOC: Jane and Roxy! Apologies for the bright colors ;_;))

ex_stakes70

[ At first ,all that's seen is dark. The occasional glint of light shining off of metal occurs, and the singing of the blade as it swings through the air can be heard quite clearly. There's a loud grunt, and a crunching, disgusting squelching sound. Another grunt, the distinct slicing of blade to hard flesh... And then a huge thud. There's a glass spider, laying dead now, in front of the NV. The click of heels on pavement approaches, and the owner of the NV picks it up and her face becomes clear.

There are some scratches, some bruising, and a bit of blood. Her hair is relatively unscathed though slightly more mussed than she would like to have kept it, and she's breathing heavily. The blonde peers curiously, and also with a very determined crease to her brow, into the NV. ]

Huh. [ She looks around for a second, then back to the feed. ] Safe to say I'm not in Manhattan anymore... So. [ There's a small thud as she plops down, sitting on the monster's carcass without much thought to it. She's not on a bloody oozy gooey part. No big deal. ]

What's a girl gotta do to find a decent dry cleaner's around here? [ Yep. Her clothes are all gross now and that's what matters. ] – And for that matter, some shoe-shine. I think some guts spattered on my -- my boots! Ooh, if I could kill another one of those I'd – do it... without my shoes on. [ Weird to say. ] – Okay, so, dry cleaning, good leather polish, and maybe a half-decent place to crash. Preferably fluffy bed? But a semi-squishy couch'll work in a pinch. Don't wanna get all cozy with the natives, cuddle-uppy and monster-vulnerable. And I am in serious need of a de-insomniatic napping attempt. Appreciate the neat phone-doohickey though! Nifty high-techish stuff. Way more expensive-looking than anything I had back home.

[ Wait. FOCUS. Focus, stop being distracted by shiny and new. ]

Soooooo… Anybody? Listening ears, big plus.

drinkthebleach

[It's Pickles the Drummer from Dethklok, and he's being fucking festive right now, wearing a green T-shirt and his dreads pulled back underneath a darker green beanie. The bruises from the fight with AGI have even faded, by now (much to his appreciation)—they’re more of a pallid corpse yellow as opposed to that obnoxious purplish-black. He lights a cigarette with one hand and leans back.]

Okay. Everybody knows holidays suck an’ there's no point to any of them. There's only like, two that even matter: [Counting them off on his fingers.] New Year's Eve, an' this one right here. An' I know there's gonna be at least five or six culture-shocked dildos makin' videos askin' 'bout the green an' what's goin' on an' all that crap, which gets really annoying, after a while. I'm just gonna lay it all out for you right now. Saint Patrick was this dude a really long time ago that cleared all the snakes outta Ireland—that was important for some reason, I dunno. So now we all celebrate him by listenin' to depressin' folk music in bars an' drinkin' a crap ton of booze in one night. Everyone gets involved: even non-Irish dudes wear green an' get drunk. S' all about gettin' totally hammered, 'cause throwin' up is supposed to be symbolic of spiritual renewal, or whatever.

Big surprise, yer gonna see me passed out before eleven, tonight. An' then I'm doin' a total overhaul of my fuckin' life over here. So all this shit you see? [He tilts forward to take control of the NV again and swivel it around the room.] S' for sale. I’m leavin' this dump in the dust, an' I don’t wanna take anythin' bigger than a duffel bag with me. S' just the way I move.

[A long, almost contemplative drag, which he traps in his lungs for a couple seconds and then exhales through his nostrils.] Anyone need a TV? A chair, or whatever? I got a side table that has this little mirror-thing that comes out—I'll sell it to anyone that wants to do some coke.

If none of that interests you, I'm also givin' this up:

[Pickles sets his cigarette down somewhere off-screen (presumably in an ash tray) and reaches for an electric guitar. He brandishes it by the neck for everyone to see (and looks like Christmas in the process, with the cherry red instrument standing against his shirt).] This is a JS22R Dinky. S' not a Gibson, but s' not that shitty, neither. Chrome bridge. Heavy tone. Humbucking pick-ups, y'know. Round near the nut so you can finger the thing pretty good.

'S all yers—y'know. If you don't mind the fact that the dude that had it before died in a fire. I even thought 'bout burnin' his guitar too, I dunno. That's what I'm gonna do with whatever doesn't sell--I'm just gonna light it all on fuckin' fire, probably. Give it a viking funeral. I just figured waste not, want not, y'know? An' I could use the extra cash.

So yeah. [He lifts his eyebrows at the NV.] You gonna help me out, friends?

hostage

[Jesse likes videoblogging. It reminds him of that documentary he'd been working on back home, the one he and Badger were going to send to VH1 ages ago. He spends some time readjusting the camera angle even after he's already started broadcasting. Then he seems to realize he should be talking. He flashes a bright smile, boyish and luminous and at odds with his scruffy appearance.]

Hey, yo. What's up, Canada? Land of weed and universal healthcare, man. Right on. Vacation in future Canada. Love it, seriously.

The name's Jesse. I'm from the ABQ - that's Albuquerque, New Mexico in the U.S. of A. circa 2009. Not that long ago, but time travel... Man, that's still pretty cool even if it's only a couple years, right?

So I'm looking for anyone who's up for a party tonight. Drinks on me if you show me some cool places to hang 'round this town.

[A pause. His eyebrow gives quirk as he glances off to the side and wonders aloud:]

- They take American cash here, right?

[A quick shake of his head.]

Uh, drinks maybe on me. Yeah. So... Hit me up if you're down for cruising. Peace out, yo.

theosen

[ The feed opens, a sliver of broken light filtering down into a narrow alley, largely left in shadow. The resin of darkness is thick in the night air, almost pulsing with malignancy as sounds of the already dead break the stillness with distant shrieks.

And yet it does not phase him, a faint outline of red molded against the dark. Two pinpricks of light shine, but coldly from where he sits, leaning against crumbling brick wall, his features largely obscured. ]

The truth.

[ The voice is soft but clear, a coarse resonance like age-old gravel. ]

Ever since the world began, it has been a thing greatly sought after. For ages long, men have questioned, seeking with all diligence the hows and whys of creation. They have traveled far, leaving all else behind, for the answers they so ardently desire. Desperate to know, desperate to see, they've torn themselves and their worlds apart, sought counsel from the very gods, and still come away dissatisfied.

[ He turns his head, a piercing weight to that eerie stare. ]

Tell me, Siren's Port. What is your truth?

axetrid

_{[When the feed comes on it's unstable for a moment before the NV is set down, finally stabilized to show a pair of bright blue eyes and beautiful golden hair. The scowl on her face however, is anything but pleasant. Meet Astrid, a beautiful, deadly and now extremely irritated Viking.]}

One would think Loki had a hand in all of...this _{[She gestures with her hands to everything in front of her and around her with an exasperated huff.]} considering he's the trickster god and all, but really? Just what in Odin's name is going on?! Some guy snuck up on me from behind while I was just standing around and then had the nerve to get angry at me when I knocked him down with my axe. How was I supposed to know that he was trying to help? You shouldn't sneak up on a Viking if you don't want to get whacked.

_{[Her anger soon begins to shift into anxiousness as she stands, gaze shifting to and fro.]}

Nothing makes sense - even the signs are meaningless to me, all written in some strange language I can't make any sense of. _{[English is strange looking, okay!]} If people can understand me, then why can't I read the signs? Where are all the dragons? Are there even dragons? And what's with the weird tall buildings? Are they homes or temples or what?

I just...I don't know.

socius

( Internal angsting under the cut. )

[As it is, there's one tired looking ginger glancing down at the camera in hand.]

..Hey Port. Long time no see.

harriedosborn

So.

[ He's speaking a little slowly, the bitterness properly enunciated in the slight tipsy slur to his voice. ]

… You know. I wasn't going to think anything of it, I have way better things to be working on and thinking about, but the more I think about it the more it's really burning me up. I mean, I really wasn't going to think anything of it but then--

[ He clicks his tongue and pauses to take another sip of whatever he's drinking. ]

I think that's really great. Really. My dad never remembered my birthday and he always blamed it on the leap year, but -- but my birthday's the twenty-eighth, that's just bullshit, right? I -- I, um -- it's so stupid, I don't even know if they remember either because I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be dead--

[ There's a clink as something breaks, and apparently spills as well. ]

Oopsie. What was I saying? Oh -- no, the worst part is I forgot about my birthday too! [ He laughs a little, quiet and forced and slightly whimpery. ] Usually Liz says it to me in the morning, but…

'm not sure what I'm trying to say actually. I'm just giving myself a headache.

duomaxwell

[Good evening Siren's Port! There's a braided teen on the feed tonight, and he's looking rather thoughtful.

Yes, Duo is thinking. Be afraid.]

So. Port... ites. ... Portians.

Man, we do we call ourselves?

... right. That's not actually what I wanted to ask.

So... few weeks ago - during that snow storm, actually - I finally found out what my damn power is. I've been here over a year, so it was a little frustrating to go that damn long without bein' able to figure it out.

Left me wonderin', though, did anyone else take a really long time to figure out their Core-given powers? Or hell, even their OWN powers? What was it like? Anyone not figured their powers out yet?

I'unno why I'm thinkin' so much... I just am. So humor me, port. Lemmie know your thoughts on all this.

mademyhell

 [Trauma has the camera turned to himself, looking irritated (Possibly more than usual? Hard to tell.) and walking into the kitchen as he talks.]

So. You'd think I'd get used to this shit. I mean, we kill enough appliances to be responsible for half the junkyard.

.....But does anyone want to tell me who the hell to blame for this one?

[He turns the camera and shows the microwave….which seems to have some weird blackened sludge, wrapped in what must be tinfoil, on the plate. The light is off, and there are smoke stains on the insides, up the walls and on the ceiling of the poor thing. The microwave itself has been unplugged and pulled away from the wall.

It's an unholy mess, to put it mildly.]

Just so you know? My money's on the guy who doesn't actually live here.

manofthenorth

[ Eric appears, looking quite calm, though there's a rage behind his eyes that anyone watching carefully might see. He stands beside a window, looking out, and only the light from his desk table illuminates both him and the room. Heavy club music is heard in the background. This is his office, but it's utilitarian rather than gothic, in all but the huge throne like chair visible at the edge of the screen. ]

Good evening, Siren's Port. My name is Eric Northman.

Some of you who have spoken to me before know me as the manager of the Afterglow club Fangtasia. Most of you will know that I am a vampire, regardless of whether we've spoken before.

You would imagine, perhaps, that this would be a fact I would try to conceal, particularly considering recent circumstances, but the time for such secrets is past. Vampires in my world were recognised, and given the same rights as humans. I obey the law, and I pay my taxes, just like everyone else.

I am not here to change your minds about my kind, I doubt I can, but I am here to tell you how to defend yourself none the less, in some small hope that it might save some lives, and redeem us in some way. Defend yourself, not kill us. You have no more right to do that than I have to kill any one of you.

[ Eric steps toward the desk, and picks up a silver chain from just in front of the NV. He raises it a little higher, so that the light glints against it, and so it can be seen. It burns his skin violently where it touches him, a hissing steam, leaving red welts behind where he trickles it across his fingers. ]

Silver. A vampire, at least a vampire from my world, can be paralysed with silver, or at least driven off. Wear it close about your neck, or around your wrists.

[ He doesn't mention that vampires like himself or Godric would be difficult to beat with silver alone. Too old, too fast. It'd have to be a lot of silver. A lot. He dropped the chain without a word more, working his painful fingers. All that matters is the illusion of being a helpful member of society. ]

Better still, stay at home. A vampire cannot enter without invitation.

slipperysoul

[ When the feed starts, it's with the heavy thump of a body dropping to the ground, covered partially by the shadows in a remote alley. But Angelus tilts his NV just so, so everyone can get a good look, because why the hell not? Might as well make a documentary of his exploits, right?

It's just a John Doe, but this John Doe is dead as a doornail, sucked dry, save for the blood accidentally spilled down the front of his shirt and making a ring around his neck. But that's enough of that, and Angelus is flipping his NV around and smirking for the audience. Because he sure does love a show.

For those who thought they were familiar with this face, this is no longer Angel. Not anything close.

This would be Angelus, who's already on the move once again and letting his NV hang at his side, because it's been awhile, and he's still hungry and the night is ever so.... young. He does have a thing for virgins after all.

But he's making sure everyone can hear him when he does actually speak up: ]

Boy, it's good to be back.

igottagay

So this might come as a huge shock to a lot of you people, but despite acting like Satan's most recent coming, I'm down with a radical hippie named Jesus.

[This rather prophetic statement comes from Santana's apartment -- and if you squint, you can see the vestiges of some ash on her forehead. Someone went to a service today.]

And for Lent, I'm going to give up something that's worth its weight in gold -- time. And I'm going to give it to a crisis center. I'm not exactly therapist material, because I'd rather slap someone than tell them their problems can totally be validated -- but I'm a pretty phenomenal singer. And whenever I get down on myself and hate the world and everyone in it, I sing about it.

So, for forty days and forty nights, every afternoon, from one to three in the afternoon in between shifts unless there's zombie dogs or whatever wandering around, I'll be outside the performance arts theatre singing for some cash. And the cash collected during that is going toward a fund for GLBTQ youths so that the people coming here can go to therapy or whatever if they can't cope with shit. And for your reference, that's gay-lesbian-bisexual-transgendered-questioning for the people who are seriously considering voting for an old white man for President instead of our super cool black one.

[Pause.]

And if anyone in my stupid glee club from back home wants to come with me, I guess we can be all nostalgic and bust out the super lame Journey for people who want to see us not suck.

askedtobe

Hate having to ask for help with this, but-- Does anyone know anything about bail? How much it is?

Or how to get somebody a laywer? My dad and my brother went to law school, wasn't really my thing and I don't exactly know what I'm doing here.

[ a beat, accompanied by a heavy sigh. ] But I don't really want my niece to stay in jail either. Especially when it's got to do with AGI.

drinkthebleach

[Ever wondered what the office of an AGI accountant looked like? It's rather sumptuous, with a mahogany desk, fully-functional Zen rock garden, and one wall-length window spanning from the floor to the ceiling. It’d give someone a sunburn just from standing in front of it too long.

The window is the focus of the video and the glaring anomaly in the overall picture--not because company bigwigs don’t normally like scenic views, but the gaping hole in the glass.

At this point in time, you might notice the big desk is also missing a chair.

Whoever is holding the NV, they walk towards the damage, almost close enough to peer over the edge.]

...That's good for a two-week notice, ain't it? [For someone that was reported to have died in a fire four days ago, Pickles sounds healthy, at least. Aside from the rage and the tension that's hardly restrained in his voice. It only percolates, becoming more obvious as he continues.]

I shoulda never let myself get tied up with corporate dildo mother-fuckers in the first place. That's my own fault, there--forgettin' they don't screw you any less in fuckin' Canada than they do in the real world. Fool me twice, I’m fucked an' all that. But I'm not doin' this no more. I've had it.

[Glass shards pop under the soles of his sneakers (most likely from something else that Pickles broke in the office).] Fuck you, you bunch of mafia twats. Take all that money I "owe" ya an' shove it up hard. That means I quit. ...An' I pissed on yer desk.

[It's on that note that the feed closes and fades to black.]

ace_of_knaves

[The Joker is sitting on a rooftop somewhere, cackling.]

Dios mio! It's déjà vu all over again!

[He hops to his feet and claps his hands together, looking down at the NV.]

I wonder if tomorrow will be today once night falls away? All the ducks back in a row and round we go.

[He snickers at his own rhymes and grins slyly]

The big question is: Do the dead ducks come back too? I must find out. For SCIENCE.

[He brandishes a handgun meaningfully.]

Come one, come all, comrades. Let's give this city a wedgie and see what happens!

underachiever

[Rare video post from this one. Normally he wears his NV on his wrist, but it's static right now, sitting on a nice kitchen countertop. There's a sharp knife in view, but no Shikamaru yet. He's talking from off-screen. Sounds like he's messing with supplies of some kind.]

Sorry for the spam, but I kinda need the network for this. If you're squeamish, you can turn it off. If you're not and you wanna help me out with this experiment, keep watching.

[He walks back into view with a first aid kit, which he sets down a little further away on the counter. He picks up the knife next, wiping it down with some isopropyl alcohol.]

I think I've got an idea what happened last night. It might've been a fluke, but just in case it happens again tonight, I'm gonna test my theory.

Um, seriously though, if you're bad with blood, don't look. But it'd really be helpful if a few of you could pay attention and try to remember what you see exactly.

( Cut for pretty mild self-mutilation. )