sirenspull | Entries tagged with c: vincent law

Well, that... was an ordeal...

Can we make an agreement to never do that again, or is even that asking too much of the Core now.

halfagirl

[ the feed opens to a view of the dying sunset and stays that way for a minute or so, until the sun disappears below the horizon, before turning towards the person who had made the broadcast: a pale blonde girl in very weather-inappropriate clothing. that much is evident even in the dim light. ]

I still can't believe this shit happens. And every day, too. You guys are all used to it?... It's fucking crazy.

[ but the sound of monsters rising out of the darkness makes her crack a smile, and she reaches for something leaning against the wall that turns out to be a serrated, saw-like sword. or two of them, even. ]

... Monsters, though, I know how to deal with.

fitofgrandair

This is…

[A man’s face appears, expression an odd mixture of the sardonic and amiable, with perhaps somewhere a buried uneasiness. His eyes speak of unbelief and an energy without direction.] This is the strangest book that I have ever seen. Consider my very conception of books boggled, beaten into an utter absence of understanding. I have seen a book made… What is it they call this, again? No matter, let us say ‘made monstrous,’ reshaped to suit an unearthly purpose. Am I speaking to you? I’ve no idea who you are, or whether you exist. Yet let me speak! For there is no thrill in life equal to the sound of one’s own voice.

Let it be know to all naysayers and reluctant theorists, to every doubting Thomas, that we truly do exist in the most glorious of worlds, where a man may perish one moment and roam free the next! How foolish we are to believe we might die, how foolish to fear the end when every end is a beginning! Why, just think, we may continue in this manner forever, cycling from one life into another into another, and never forgetting, and never finding darkness. The scholars of optimism would call us creatures of eternal light. Why have we wasted such years in shuddering before the great god Death, when we might in rapture have praise the god Unending?

Will it never, never end. [He blinks, appears discomforted for an instant, than shrugs.]

And here stand I, believer in nothing, adherent to no doctrine. You may count me as lost as any other man, here and elsewhere, now and forever. I am a man without port, a creature lacking in connection. I belong to this world no more than to any other… ‘This world.’ I’ve yet to know what this world is, or if it is a world; if I may be classed as alive, dead, mad. What of these titles? Call me exile, call me one of un-belonging. I will answer or ignore to my liking.

But while we’re at it, a drink? What do you say? Ah, I would give my kingdom for a bottle of wine. Of course, my kingdom amounts to a thimble—That isn’t so, I haven’t got a thimble. But I would gladly take the wine, anyway. Come, lend a hand. If you must have payment, let me serenade you with a harangue or two.

I will tell you what most surprises me: that it is not emptiness that waits beyond, but more life, or whatever we would feign call life. This, well… This puts all of my knowing to shame. [Grantaire smirks, any sign of unease covered.] But that I am accustomed to, for who can trust to knowledge? It has been a joy speaking to you; we must do this again sometime. [With that, the screen blanks, and he is gone.]

vamping_it_up

[Layla's been careful to wait until the disorientation has worn off before making a post on her NV. The Greeter has explained some of the basics, and while it's all a little hard to swallow, she's aware that she's not being lied to.

When she turns on her NV, the network gets to see a teenage girl with red eyes, dark hair, and an odd skull hairpin that's matching her facial expressions, if one is watching closely enough. Another detail the more observant denizens might pick up on is her long incisor teeth, but only if they look carefully. She's not showing her fangs off.]

Hello, Siren's Port. My name is Layla Delacroix. I'm not from around here and I've got a few questions for you. First things first: have any of you seen my little sister, Nina? She's got green eyes, purple and black hair, she's tiny, friendly, and she loves chocolate. She'll probably be totally freaking out, so if you find her, give her some chocolate and let her know that Layla's going to come and find her, all right? Also, if anyone's seen people named Tiffany Winters, Diodore Renoir, or Kade Whiteclaw, let me know.

[Even with just the limited information she's managed to learn so far, Layla really doesn't like the idea of her innocent little sister running around here unattended.]

Second: I need blood. I'm ah...severely anemic. I also get very bad sunburns, so it would be better if we met after dark. Help a girl out? I can't exactly go and get a job if I'm too out of it to work.

[No one will figure out that she's a vampire, right? Of course not.]

Third: Cute clothes. Anyone know where I can find some in this city? As nice as my dress is, wearing it every single day is all kinds of tacky.

[She makes a face. Whether it's the idea of wearing the same thing every day or her next question that she finds distasteful is anyone's guess.]

Oh. And my fourth and last question - is anyone hiring for later shifts? I'm kind of a night person.

therightchoice

[ The NV clicks on. There's Jesse again, looking exhausted and forlorn. The room he is in is mostly dark, but a lamp is on, casting the room a warm but lonely light. Jesse seem to prop his NV up on something, the video showing him in his pajamas, legs folded up to his chest. To his side is his blond mutt of a puppy looking up at him, tongue rolling out of his mouth and panting. There's a hamster in a clear plastic ball, levitating up to Jesse's head. The only reason it hasn't reached the roof is that the boy has put a hand on the ball, preventing it from floating upward. Clearly Jesse gotten himself a new pet.

When Jesse speaks, he sound as tired as he does look. ]

I'm sorry, everyone.

[ He hesitated for a moment before continuing. ]

I didn't know what was happening this past week until today when it got really bad. I'm sorry it got out of control. Everything is back to normal now.

All the damages on the buildings are gone, like it never happened. You don't have to stay in the hospitals anymore if you're hurt.

[ He paused again as he looks away, idly spinning the levitated hamster cage. The hamster seems annoyed at the gesture by the look of its beady eyes. ]

I'm sorry that I can't bring back the dead. I tried, but it didn't work.

[ He lets out a heavy sigh that seems too big for his small frame. ]

Sorry.

[ And with that, he clicks off the NV. ]

aggravating

-before sirens on the 6th-

Hi. [Why look, Siren's Port, this is one very annoyed person on your NV's today. All bruised and bumped and covered in grass stains. The norm of those who just fell through the sky. Again.] I'm Tony Stark. And for those of you who may not have noticed, we've been blatantly kidnapped. I've been told this is, uh, not something new, here? That some people have been living in the magical land of Stockholm Syndrome for years without actually realizing just how bad it is?

[His bullshit meter just hit so high it practically punched a hole through the stratosphere, guys]

I need three things. First, the nearest Starbucks and not whatever coffee equivalent Canada's pushing out. I will practically marry you if you can supply me with a coffee IV drip right now. Second, access to a computer for three days straight. And it cannot be some crappy brick from 1997 that still thinks Internet Explorer is too advanced to run up to speed. Third: information on any and all major businesses that have even the slightest interest in technology advancement.

[He reaches up a hand to rub two fingers against his temple, a headache more than just coming on.] Get to it, Port. And remember: Coffee. First.

hejhej

I guess it's the island's time of the month.

[That's right - new arrivals.]

lockandkeyblade

[You're very tall today, Siren's Port. Or rather, Sora's in a place high enough that we should all watch our step or risk a very, very long fall. Sora's rather at home at the edge of the rooftop though, and the NV's steady where it's been set. Sora's busy chewing on his pencil's eraser, pondering what to write.]

I've been thinking. We've all got things we regret. We beat ourselves up, even if there's nothing we can do about it.

[Sora's pencil takes to the paper, scrawling out his thoughts.]

'If I could just go back in time, maybe I could fix it. If I could do it all over again, I'd really change things! Make it all better.'

Right?

[He finishes decisively. Then... turns it over, folding it lengthwise. Corners down, foldback the edges and... there. One completed paper airplane, wings branded with Sora's distinctive handwriting.]

The other day, a really brave friend taught me something important. Me and my friends, we've been in some pretty scary places. When you're lost in the darkness, it can get really hard to find the light.

[He pushes up off the ground with a small bounce an stands upright on his own two feet.]

But it's always there-- you just gotta look for it. I mean, if things never happened the way they did, who knows where or even who we'd be. I'm me because of the good and the bad. Mistakes and all. I'm me because of my memories, and the people I've met along the way. Including everybody here in the Port.

It's not easy letting go. Sometimes it takes forever. But one thing I know that really helps... [One flick of his hand sends the paper airplane flying off the edge. Sora shields his eyes from the sun and stands right at the edge, watching as the wind sweeps it up and takes it on a spiralling path out of sight.

Feels good.]

... is having a somebody who'll hear you out.

So how about it?

Ever look back? Or wish you could do something all over again?

comeshonesty

[ the video reveals an older man, thin nearly to the point of being skeletal, dressed sharply in a black suit and with his black hair slicked back. he's sitting neatly on a bench somewhere under a street-light, surrounded by the darkness. he seems comfortable enough with it, though-- it suits him.

there's a silver-headed cane propped against the bench beside him, a drink in a paper cup next to his thigh, and he's balling up the foil from what looks to have been some kind of chili-dog. there's no telling how his device is propped up, because it simply seems to be hovering in the air.

he finally glances up at it, black eyes strange and somehow terrifying despite his relatively harmless appearance and mild expression. long fingers curl around the cup and he takes a sip through the straw before seeming to settle on what he wants to say, his words deliberate and tone even, hinting at no particular emotion beyond perhaps the faintest trace of annoyance. ]

Well. So much for the star that I was rather occupied with. How is it I wind up on this dismal little planet so often.

[ he licks his thumb, setting aside the foil. ]

I suppose I could blame it on a certain significant other--[ chuck, he's looking at you. 8| ]--being rather himself. Or the Winchesters, perhaps, given their remarkable lack of self-preservation as a family. Or the little winged children bickering so much.

[ a pause, gaze lifting again, intense and disturbing. ]

Well. Shall we all coexist peacefully, then, or will I need to turn someone over my knee?

seaphonic

_{[The feed starts with a sickening crack of a clam shell being smashed against a rock, long fingers prying the shell open with ease. The poor clam is scooped out of its shell and eaten immediately before the shell is tossed carelessly away into the sea water. Syrena's hair is wet and windswept and she tucks part of it behind an ear, scraping a nail against the surface of the rock she's leaning on. Part of her golden tail can be seen for a moment as she lifts it up to splash some water on her back before letting it fall back into the sea water behind her.

She seems, if anything, a little troubled. If she is though, it doesn't show much.]}

There is something I do not understand.

_{[She pulls herself up a bit on the rock then, cradling her face in her palms as she stares at the NV, elbows propped up on the rock and her long hair keeping what would be a rather bare chest out of sight for now.]}

There was a ritual held on the beach this morning. A man and a woman were dressed in white clothes and a man who spoke in the name of God joined them together. I do not recall every word shared but their hearts and souls became one and the same. That is what the man in black and white said to the man and woman. There was music and laughter, movement and song. I wished to sing with them but I did not. I stayed silent and hidden.

Their ritual seemed sacred.

_{[She seems a little forlorn at this if not a tad bit jealous of the happiness she'd witnessed earlier, letting her gaze trail away from the NV to the wet surface of the rock.]}

But I do not understand. What was this ritual? Why were they, until that moment, incomplete? Am I incomplete? I was told that I have a soul, but I do not understand what that means. I was told that I was one of God's creatures, but I do not know of God.

I knew nothing of these things until Philip. Even now, I am ignorant.

How can one who does not know what a soul is have one? How would another person know if one possesses one? It is an important thing, a soul, is it not? If it was not, I do not think Philip would have tried to save people's souls.

_{[She rakes her nails across the surface of the rock before looking back at the NV.]}

If I have a soul, what is it to me? I do not know.

askedtobe

[ Anonymous and untraceable, Peter has a question. ]

If you had the option to give someone back their past, would you? Even at a detriment to yourself?

failedparenting

Who the hell do they get to write the horoscopes? This shit is ridiculous. Look:

[Port, he's finally learned how to do multimedia messages without breaking everything. Isn't that amazing?]

You're once again a creature of genius and romance. Sadly, this special intensity rarely lasts for more than a few days at a time. Don't worry, though, because your love light flickers off and on all throughout the week. Expect overwhelming high points near mid-week. Maybe knowing this will help you between peaks when your heart sinks to subterranean levels. Your emotions enter more rational territory after Wednesday, when the distance between wishes and ability wobbles toward a reasonable balance.

Where in the hell do people get this?

[Nope not in denial about his horoscope at all, no sir.]

If they're gonna keep publishing this shit, at least make it entertaining. Weekly World News unbelievable, at least, not this crystals and true love crap.

cursedarrows

Is there anyone who knows the Darkness and the city well? I have some things to find and am in need of a guide.

( Message to Tim. )

For curiosity for anyone else . . . has your horoscope ever come true?

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.]