sirenspull | Entries tagged with c: rochelle

[Picture it: the grimy interior of an international pancake house, where all good culinary choices go to die in a semi-hygienic grave. One might ask themselves who in their right mind would hang out in such a place on a Tuesday afternoon by choice, aside from stoners and people on dates that they're trying to hide from their friends and the rest of respectable society.

Once the NV is propped up against something (presumably a napkin dispenser) that question is answered in the form of Pickles the Drummer, sitting alone in one of the faded blue and yellow booths. There's a pint of coffee and a giant stack of pancakes in front of him, slathered in butter and maple syrup. He lifts his eyebrows at the camera in response to well...everything.]

Guess this means I'm back for a while. If yer surprised, that makes two of us--I was out there tryin' to destroy that stupid piece of shit, an' it still puts me back in this place? I thought machines were supposed to be smarter than us. I've been here nine months, an' it's shaped up to have less IQ points than a fuckin' vibrator. I dunno.

Anyway, I'm glad that bein' killed was actually pretty brutal. Death, an' people gettin' murdered, that's the kinda shit my band always talked about. It's in all of our fuckin' songs. I mean, I'm a death metal musician, for fuck's sake, that's my bread an' butter right there, y'know? So it wasn't a huge let-down, that's all I'm sayin'. An' that's good: I don't wanna make no more job changes. It sucks.

But apparently the news came out an' said that I was some kinda menace, a while back. Now there's a strip club ten minutes away from my pal's apartment that won't let me back in 'cause they think I'm gonna set the girls on fire, or some bullshit like that. An' that's the fuckin' lamest part. [He rolls his eyes while delivering this hyperbole and takes a bite of pancake. And yes, being banned from a boobie bar is clearly the most inconvenient part about being gunned down by a group of Canadian robocops.]

So what else did I miss?

cruelwonder

[Alice is writing in her NV today, and in her distress, the script seems too jilted, formal, and not in her usual flair.]

On Saturday, Jack Kelly disappeared.

Sirius and I thought to look for him, as he couldn't have gone anywhere without our knowledge, and his NV wasn't responding, but we hadn't found him. Then, Sunday, Sirius disappeared. He never came home and his NV is offline as well.

I know what they say about these things. They've probably returned home.

[But that's not what she wants to hear.]

I've already spoken to the proper authorities.

[There's a smudge of black ink in the corner where she stabs the pen into the paper.]

If you've seen any of them, please let me know. Please.

magnetic_magpie

[Starting at 1000, Magneto starts sending texts. He's had his NV back for two days now, and it's taken him some time to catch up simply on what is addressed to him, he hasn't read the general network yet. All the texts are encrypted and unhackable.]

( Jubilee, Emma, visible to each other )

( Jinx )

( Kevin )

( Mary/John, filtered from each other )

( Franz )

( Walter )

( Kuchiki Byakuya )

( House )

( Anna )

( Blaine )

( Unohana Retsu )

( Daedalus Yumeno )

( Jack/Ahiru/Claudio - filtered from each other )

( Sam Merlotte )

( Former HoA people (sans Castiel and Chuck) )

( NCC Clinic co-workers )

( Patients - any and all who have Dr. Xavier as thier primary or consulting physician )

( Eric/Alan )

( Czeslaw )

( Deadpool )

( Loki )

( Spiderman )

( Nel )

( Hitsugaya )

( Mercy )

( Kitty )

momchester

[GOOD ~~extremely early~~ MORNING it's Mary, looking more chipper than she has in quite a while, actually, giving the camera a cheerful but perplexed look.]

Does anyone know why my bathroom is, uh, an adult store? Very funny, whoever did this, but I need that room. You can transform my room if you want, but bathrooms matter.

[Chuckle. She's taking it pretty well, despite being incredibly weirded out by holy shit sex shop in my bathroom. Mary's rubbing her eyes tiredly when something else seems to occur to her.]

Oh! By the way, um, anyone I was supposed to meet at the Memorial yesterday? [Yeah she was busy being kidnapped and memory-fucked.] I'm really sorry about that- I just lost track of time and must've forgotten that that was yesterday. I guess I'm going senile in my old age. [Because 28 is so old. Yes.

She shakes her head with a little sigh.]

Anyway, anybody who wants to give me my bathroom back, I'd appreciate it. I have work today- do it for my coworkers' sakes.

shifting

[Sam is sitting in his chair, tossing a tennis ball between his hands. contemplative. Frustrated.]

Since I've been trainin' hellhound puppies for the past couple weeks, I'd like to talk with everybody 'bout a topic I'm pretty familiar on - dogs and dominance.

Now, this is somethin' about dogs a lot of people think they understand, but really don't. For one thing, a lot of people don't understand how big it is in socialization. It's as important as it is with people, even if people aren't as ready to admit it's important to them too. We like to view everything as bein' equal, and everybody bein' on the same keel.

Well, dogs don't. Dogs like to know where they stand with each other. They like knowin' who's in charge and what's expected of them. Makes 'em feel safe, makes 'em feel secure. So there are dominant dogs and submissive dogs. And just like with people, dominant dogs can be fuckin' jerks about their power once they know they have it. They can use it to bully everybody else in the pack, just like people do with other people. Or they can be aggressive with everybody they meet no matter how they're treated 'cause they're mentally unstable, same with people.

But here's the difference - dogs don't pick fights they don't think they can win. Not the smart and sane ones. ...And right now you're probably rememberin' some time you've seen a tiny dog pick a fight with a doberman, and you're thinkin' I'm full of shit. Except that most times when that happens, that small dog's with their owner. That's a whole different matter - that's knowin' you've got backup, and a way out of the situation if you bite off more'n you can chew. 'Course, there's times a small dog'll run a bigger dog off, and that's got to do with how confident that big dog is in their size. There's times you can gruff your way through a situation on sheer posutrin', but that's a risky game. An' dogs know it. Most times, the moment the other dog proves he's not gonna buy it - which often means bitin' or a physical tussle - the smarter, smaller dog gives the game up. They crouch low and they stay quiet, 'cause it's clear they can't push their way through his situation. They don't crouch with a snarl, they don't roll over with a growl - they just fuckin' crouch low and wait for the situation to defuse. Or they run.

[He catches the ball one last time and leans forward, staring steadily] You know why they do that? Because it's not fuckin' worth it. Pushin' a situation you can't win, mouthin' off and actin' like a smartass when it's just been proved your ass can't handle what you're spoutin' is suicide. You don't challenge a healthy, strong dominant when you're weaker'n they are and you've got no one to dig you out. You just don't do it. You wait 'til they're weak, 'til they're sick, and you know you've got a chance. Challengin' before that is only goin' to tip 'em off and put them on their guard anyhow.

Now, this ain't the same as when you've got somethin' real to guard. When some bear or wolf or whatever comes into a dog's territory and threatens 'em, or their pups, or their people or their pack - that's different. Then a fight might be your only option to keep your people safe. Not always, but sometimes, sure. But when you've got nothin' at stake - when you're just growlin' at someone dangerous 'cause you don't like them, or you don't like what they do or they did, and you don't have the means at the time to do somethin' about it - you aren't protectin'. You're challenging. Which makes it a matter of proving dominance, and which means that 'less you wanna come out of it maimed or dead, you'd better know your weight beforehand.

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?

paterelohim

[Hey there, bros and brosises. Chuck is sitting on the edge of a stone fountain in a park somewhere, polishing off an iced coffee that's decidedly girly-looking, but shh. He gives the NV a very serious look.]

It's Pi Day, Siren's Port. Have you had your pie today?

discretion

[The text appears handwritten on those NVs that can process it as such: elegant, slightly stylized, beautiful.]

Another birthday come and gone. It's difficult to believe.

At times like this it's hard not to look backward at all of the things you have left behind coming here, to be buried in bittersweet thoughts of what could have been.

For new arrivals, I know it must be difficult to face. There is a great deal of help out here at the Newcomer Community Center, but the best advice I can give is to put one foot in front of the other. In August, I will have lived in Siren's Port for two years.

I consider it my home now. I know for some it will never be home, and I understand why that is. But I hope if it cannot be your home, that we newcomers can still become your second family. The company is what makes this city bearable.

Take care, my friends. My family.

gammas

[ well golly who could this green woman be. she's walking and dressed in wow -- not a unitard though her hair is as huge as ever and she doesn't exactly look that happy. it's earlyish morning when she turns on the video ]

Wow, here again? Does my priorities mean nothing anymore? [ the corner of her mouth pulls and she sighs ] Right-o. So I'm She-Hulk. Shulkie. Jennifer Walters, former lawyer, bounty hunter, Avenger, Fantastic Four member, Defenders, SHIELD, Fantastic Force, Hero for Hire, Lady Liberator, aaaaaaand Fearsome Four. [ she's counting this all off on her fingers btw ]

It's a pleasure to meet whoever's still here. I already know how this all goes so no need to give me the rundown.

[ a beat as she just kind of rubs the back of her neck. ]

So, what's up?

cheerhealer

Sylar has his collar off. If you see him on the streets, run. Fighting against him is useless unless you can cut his head off.

He can regenerate now. [ Blood is smeared on her face and on the little Pomeranian in her arms, mixed in with dried tears. She shuts the feed off immediately after that little PSA. ]

( private to peter ; extremely difficult to hack )

( private to loki ; moderately difficult to hack )

[ OOC: replies to the public post will likely come after a few hours ICly. ]

thelittlestbub

[She's got make up on and is hiding the illness still wracking her. She's managing not to hack up a lung because this is important and you never show weakness. Ever.

She's also in her uniform. Not her normal flat black, though. This one is different. There's a deep red under her arms that goes downward. No one can see the bottom, where the racing stripes down her legs fade from silver to blue, to Magneto's purple. It's directed at someone, because she knows he'll get it. To hell with the rest of you plebeians.]

Good morning. In certain sectors of the Newcomer community this morning, I have no doubt that there are a lot of questions.

I am neither condoning, condemning, nor confirming actions, at this time.

However. I am asking that all who are leaving the House of Awesome do so by noon today.

All belongings left behind will be stored and returned to their rightful owners, at mutually agreed upon times and places.

Temporarily, I am stating that this building will no longer be accepting Newcomers. Until now, we've had an open policy, but as of noon, that policy is on indefinite hold. I am sorry for anyone that this inconveniences.

[No, she's not, but it's politic to say so.]

Of course, anyone that remains here will have leave to come and go as they need. All visitors will be cleared by myself and myself alone.

I am available if anyone has any questions.

[Feed cuts to private filters:]

[HoA, but ONLY those that are staying, and she can pretty much guess who they are, Magneto Filters]

Anyone else who wishes to leave is welcome to. I'm sorry to see you go.

[That's at least honest.]

[Locked to Deadpool, Spidey, and Loki only.]

Deadpool, Loki, Spidey, this house is hereby on lockdown. Until further notice and yes I'm in charge.

[See her? She's the mercenary child soldier trained by Wolverine, Cyclops, Emma Frost and Charles Xavier. Welcome to her world.]

[Private/unhackable to Kenzo Tenma]

[Finally, she drops the facade and just looks tired.]

... I could use a friend tonight, if you've got time to spare. Please?

bestseller

[Alan's voice is unsteady. He's nervous for arriving here mysteriously and having a phone that actually works for once. He doesn't know if he's free, or still trapped in the Dark Place. Especially, if this is in his head, or reality. The phone he has in his hands confuses him; it's similar to one he owned, and other than not knowing how he got it, there's something not right about it.

Even though he's on edge, Alan tries to remain serious. He's been in similar situations, so many times now has he woken up in strange places, but no many how many times this happens, it doesn't get easier.

He's been in Siren's Port for a little bit. Not a long time, but he's figured out the phone seems to be able to broadcast across a network of some sort. That's new.]

My name is Alan Wake.

Siren's Port, Canada? That's all I'm getting. GPS doesn't want to give me further details. But I seem to have found myself stranded here.

Doubt this place is even listed on a map on account of it being in such bad shape. The place looks abandoned. How and why I came here is still unknown to me.

[He suspects it's the Dark Presence, but something in his head is assuring him it's not its doing.

The siren's suddenly blast overhead and stop Alan in his thoughts. There's an eery silence followed directly after that. Alan doesn't know what to make of it. But his quiet is soon interrupted by a hideous inhuman cry that yells out in the distance. You can hear the breath leave Alan's mouth as soon as that monstrous cry emits.]

It's getting dark. There's shelter up ahead. Should anyone receive this message, know that I'm seeking the buildings that are nearby. Stay in the light.

[Just before the voice feed clicks off, the sound of what appears to be a gun loading is heard.]

manicpixiedreamgirl

[Brace yourself, Siren’s Port. Alice is coming.

Alice here being a petite, pretty, impossibly pale girl with short black hair. She looks entirely too happy given the time of day.]

Hi everyone! [Alice gives the camera an impossibly cheery wave. Be more cute, Alice.] I’m Alice Cullen, and I’m a vampire. Apparently that’s not a secret thing here, so...that makes my life is easier, yay.

[Okay, srs time is now.]

I’m actually kind of different from a lot of other vampires, in that I only drink animal blood. Buuuuut...[She makes a face, like someone’s just waved something disgusting under her nose.] it really needs to be fresh. Like, I just caught that mountain lion by myself five minutes ago fresh. So, if there’s a place where I can catch wild game, I’d really appreciate some information. And if that’s not possible, is there a butcher that can get it fresh from?

And if you’re still watching after all that, I’m looking for some work. I’ve got degrees on degrees on degrees, so I’m probably qualified for anything you throw at me. I’m very good with stocks and finances. I’m an expert event planner, as well as a clothing designer and stylist. [She slows down to think for a moment. Well, for her. To the people watching, she’s barely taking a breath.] I love working with people! I’ve never done it, but I think I’d make a great sales person.

[Finally, she stops talking a mile a minute. She looks incredibly pleased with herself, convinced she’s made a good impression.]

So that’s me in a nutshell, I guess.

[OOC: Also, here's a little permissions form regarding your character and Alice's visions. I'd really appreciate if you could fill one out.]

integrity

[The feed turns on to show Crowley in the baseball diamond. He's just standing there -- and he looks slightly different. He's thinner, he stands straighter, and when he looks around, it's lacking that sassy nonchalance. No, Crowley is serious. And while he knows the NV is recording, he doesn't really seem to give a damn.

He's absorbing something. Calculating. Remembering. Catching up with the present.

And suddenly -- the feed crackles and Crowley is lost to static and buzzfeed -- there is an explosion of blue electricity and lights, and the baseball diamond is plunged into true darkness, sparks crackling to the ground, though Crowley, after the extension of his power, speaks calmly.]

Someone has precisely five seconds to explain to me why my dog isn't coming when she's being called.

[And the public feed ends.]

( [Filtered to members of the HoA sans Magneto // Private // Unhackable] )

( [Filtered to Elaine Belloc, Gabriel, and Christina Nickson // Private // Unhackable] )

( [Filtered to the Winchesters and Bobby Singer // Private // Unhackable] )

( [Filtered to Castiel // Private // Unhackable] )

( [Filtered to Magneto // Private // Unhackable] )

defineshinky

[She's standing right outside the Newcomer Apartments, clearly having just been shown there. Yet nothing else about Wendy reads as a desperately lost Newcomer. She looks resolutely unimpressed.]

Okay, the last time I did this, I didn't need to hurl in the Field of Dreams. Not kosher. Boss, come in if the nice men in labcoats were wrong and you're out there.

Somewhere.

[She looks at her NV expectantly, her frown growing deeper with each passing moment that she doesn't get the response that she's looking for.]

Come on, Middleman. Don't make me do the Ride Lonesome bit, that's not my routine.

[Time passes and she gets nothing. Finally, Wendy sighs, accepting the situation.]

Well, guess it is now. Okay, how do I--

[She starts pressing buttons and her brow furrows when she stumbles across the Network.]

Whoa. Uh. Hi.

grifting

[The feed clicks on and a man can be heard whistling an old tune. It goes on for a few seconds or more, footsteps heard in the background. Then, there's silence, and a faint sigh. A man with a thick Irish accent speaks.]

Quite the story, I'll tell you. "Oh, you've come to 2012, my friend! Enjoy your stay." [A puff of a cigarette.] 'Course, wasn't so nice as all that, especially not with that vulgar writin' on the diamond. I haven't had a welcome like that since I was back in the states and I'll tell you...that was a long time ago.

[He takes a moment to take a long drag from his cigarette before he speaks again.]

How do you tell a fella' that he's gone through fifty years in just a few seconds? I'd think I should be sent to the looney bin if I was spoutin' off that sort of shite. [A cough.] Pardon my language, if you will.

[He scuffs his heel on the ground.]

But it's really true, ain't it? We're all stuck on some godforsaken island in the middle o' nowhere. [He breathes out a chuckle.] Just my luck, eh?

[There's a faint noise in the background and Atlas makes a sound of recognition. He clears his throat.]

Ah, that's the other question I had. This is my second night here and I couldn't help but notice the little buggers outside. What's their story? Anyone feel like sharing?

[ooc: while it has no bearing on this post, if you would, please fill out his permissions post!]

laurice

Aw, man...

[We interrupt your lazy Saturday for this public service announcement. Larry's voice seems...small, timid, somewhat embarrassed. But he raises it a bit so he's sure he's heard.]

So...um, let's say you have this friend. And he kinda...ran into a skunk. And the skunk...well...sprayed him.

...

How d'you get rid of the stink? And will it stick to anything you touch, or your house? I hope it's not permanent...I mean, for his sake! I gotta know! Like, right now!

[Passers-by in Sector 6 may find Larry sitting rather tensely at a picnic table in his backyard while Elise the (rapidly growing) kitten keeps a very respectable distance from her master. He isn't holding his NV as he speaks, and would rather keep his hands in his pockets as if actually holding his NV would make it explode.]

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.

paterelohim

[The NV is spinning in the air, the image incredibly confused before the thing hitting the edge of a couch and landing at an odd angle. The video shows legs- feet, a pair of sock-clad feet vanishing into jeans and another pair with shoes on, gathered around what looks like a coffee table, though the table itself is out of the frame.

After a moment something drops into the frame from above: a slender, lifeless hand, obviously dangling off the table above, with blood running down the smooth skin. There's a sob off-screen and someone pulls it away again.

The sound is muffled and terrible quality, but some things can be heard.]

Stop it goddamn it just stop- haven't you done enough? STOP IT.

[Chuck's voice, sounding panicked and desperate. Someone kicks the NV and the sound muffles- a riot of noise, of yelling, and the picture starts flashing, distorting, static and terrible noisy feedback- and then yelling that crescendos into a scream. It's garbled but the NV picks up just a little-]

-THE FUCK OUT NOW-

[Before it distorts again and goes dead.]

[Text post, about 30 minutes later.]

Sorry about that. It's fine. It's taken care of. Okay, that's a lie. Not that it's anyone's business. Someone from Purgatory cover my shift tomorrow. And the next day.

[ OOC: This is open to action to anyone at the HoA. Chuck's in one of the common areas, sitting like a trauma patient on a couch next to a bloody coffee table. Fred is dead, was killed by Angelus, but her body's already vanished by the time of the text post.

The static and feedback was Chuck's grip on His powers kind of slipping a lot and Him accidentally making lights explode.]

presspasskey

[ Lois looks far, far too amused today. And it's not the kind of amused that implies someone did something to entertain her; oh no, this is a Lois Lane who's got something planned.

Two weeks and the apocalypse hasn't come; she figures it's safe to be public about this now. ]

I did some research. Turns out this is the day when women are allowed to propose to men. Apparently in Finland saying no means the guy has to buy her fabric for a new skirt. I think she still has to make it herself, though. Lucky her.

My opinion on 'allowed' is probably obvious, so I won't go there.

[ She bites her lip for a moment to keep from laughing. ]

Anyway, she's got this chance that only comes along once every four years. Say she wants to be extra cheesy because it's also her boyfriend's birthday. The problem is he's only a quarter of the age someone born the day before would be.

A girl really can't propose to someone the calendar thinks is six years old.

Besides, I'm taken.

[ As she takes a sip of what is probably coffee, something glints on her left hand. ]

So I guess you'll just have to settle for 'Happy birthday,' Smallville.