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HOW'S MY DRIVING?

Comment here with feedback, suggestions, concrit, insults, praise or what have you for my Philip.

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I'm sorry, livejournal. It's just not working out between us anymore. It's not you, it's-- No, wait. It's you. It's all you.

This journal will be kept as an archive, but further Philip can now be found over here at dreamwidth.

(OLD LINKS: HMD || CONTACT POST || WONDERLAND STATS || CHARACTER INFO || LOG ENTRIES]]

( [ BACKDATED TO EVEN BEFORE THE CHRISTMAS PARTY ] )

( [ BACKDATED TO ~PRESENTS!~ ] )

( [ BACKDATED TO THE DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS )

[ Very lastly Philip is bound to wander the halls during the Christmas event every once in a while, so if any mirror or regular would like to run into him (most likely while looking gloomily at mansion-magical pictures of him and Daniel or him and Timsky), then your chance is right here! ]

[ The first thing you will notice when looking at this transmission is a zoetrope sitting on a desk, obstructing most of the video feed.

The second thing you might notice are a pair of feet in the background; specifically a pair of feet sticking out from under a bed.

The third thing you will notice is-- ]

No! No, hey, come b-- You'll be much happier back in the closet, I promise! Just get oOW! Christ, see, that's why I wanted bourbon and not you...

[ And the rest? Well, expect some more muttering and cursing and... maybe a nervous howl or whimper. Conversation? You'll have to strike up one of your own, he's a little busy under that bed, sorry. ]

[ And then this happened and Philip was back in his body. Just like that. Just... like that.

Not that the time off was a breeze, oh no. The things he said to some people, the things Clarence did, but... there are the things he didn't do. The things he could've done so easily and yet--

And yet Philip is back in his body and nobody is hurt. Nobody is dead.

But the conclusions he's supposed to draw from this...

He takes a sip of whiskey. His first empty bottle now and quite likely not his last. That's how everyone will find him during the day: Sitting in the kitchen. Sipping on glass after glass, trying to make sense of what the hell happened in those past five days.

...Only later in the afternoon has he finally made his mind up about some things, leading to the following three audio transmissions: ]

[PRIVATE AND LOCKED TO DEAN]

( ..... )

[PRIVATE AND LOCKED TO SANTANA]

( ..... )

[PRIVATE AND LOCKED TO BEISTE]

( ..... )

[[OOC: Slightly pre-dated to early afternoon on the 10th]]

( [ THE STORY ] )

[ ...And then it's four days later and Philip seems perfectly fine. Well. "Philip" does at any rate. He still looks a bit gaunt, but that's nothing another night's sleep, a healthy meal and some more water won't fix. ]

[ LOCKED FROM EVELYN ]

[ Right now he's enjoying a good book and a cup of tea in the library, but most of all he's really, really enjoying himself right now. ]

So which side won, anyway? [ He laughs. ] Because I'd, er... really hate to have died if nobody even kept score.

[ He raises his cup and toasts into the camera. ]

[ PRIVATE TO EVELYN ]

[ And now? Time to turn that smile upside down. He ends the transmission and takes a deep breath, making sure to leave no trace of cheer when he makes the next call: ]

Evie, um... remember the next- the dinner and the movie we talked about? And then we didn't get to it, because-- Anyway, I... I thought if you're... if you've got time this evening, I'd... I'd love to catch up.

[[OOC: Oh look, it's an early Christmas present: A Clarence! Long story short, Philip felt miserable and the virus took over. Feel free to talk to him or even approach him, he won't actually bite or stab or otherwise maim. This time. ~~Probably.~~]]

[ First Philip met up with Dean. Then unhappy memories were created.

And now the adrenaline wears off and Philip wonders if there was a point to his escape to begin with.

He remembers when Clarence of all people reminds him that he meant to warn "the love of his life... oh yeah, and Evie too".

And so he reaches for the communication device, hoping that Dean doesn't lurk around the next corner to hear... not before his message is sent. ]

Evie, listen, I was wrong about Dean, he won't help he's one of them just stay away, don't....

[ Then his train of thought breaks and he forgets to dial the second number, unaware that his private audio turned into a public video (the image of which is, granted, mostly obscured by dark red smudges on the screen).

Having done his duty he leans back against the cold stone. Just a minute to catch his breath. Just a minute... to rest and... and then he'll get up... again... probably. ]

[[ OOC: Backdated to the event's first day. Philip is still alive and up for a friendly chat, but unfortunately he already has a date with Santana which he just can't miss, so action is only an option for those who have no intention of helping or killing him.

All threads take place before his encounter with Santana, unless you want to find his body and use it as a decorative wall element. ]]

[ MEANWHILE in the darkness of the caves under the mansion somebody is starting to wonder why he picked this character to begin with. He's so going to drop the guy after he's wrapped up his last plot, but for now Philip!mun faithfully puts on his offensively red parka, grabs a glowstick and a pickaxe and goes about his business.

His business is stopping to proclaim to nobody in particular: ]

I'm really afraid of spiders. I hope there aren't any spiders around. Because I don't like spiders. At all. Apparently.

[ After having said that with the passion and dedication of a lobotomised asylum inmate reading a phone book Philip!mun shoulders his axe and ventures boldly onwards... ]

[ Philip is sitting on the couch, flipping through his notebook when the camera turns on. His usual reaction is to reach forward and switch off the offender as quickly as possible. Only this time he hesitates and finally draws back his hand. ]

I've um, I've been...

[ He clears his throat. ]

Am- am I supposed to... celebrate that? An anniversary here?

[ With a sigh he lets his head sink, eyes focused on the notebook in his hands. ]

I just didn't realise it's been so long...

[ A pause before he looks up again and forces a smile. ]

Well. Anyway...

[ An apologetic shrug and the accidental feed is turned off again. ]

[ After celebrating his juicesplosion-free event victory Philip-- Well, he sat down to contemplate some things, but those won't be addressed until later. For now it's important to note that he finally finds the time to take care of some unfinished business.

He grabs a pen and enriches the surface of the mirror in his room as follows: ]

[[OOC: Mostly taking care of some mirror!Dean business here, but everyone is good to tag if you like. Philip assumes that his own Mirror will be the only one to see this message, but other Mirrors are free to prove him wrong and regulars are welcome to catch an accidental video of him writing ~~or storm into his room for no apparent reason~~]]

[ It's the event's second night, around four o'clock in the morning.

The narration trusts that at this point everyone has found somebody to room with and is tucked into bed.

Fast asleep as opposed to completely deprived of the same ever since the event started.

And definitely not building a donut replica of Westminster Abbey in one of the conference rooms.

Nope.

Not happening anywhere at all. ]

[ ...For everyone who does not enjoy a little action at night, Philip will emerge from his building project in the morning and can subsequently be found
a.) making coffee in the coffee area
b.) drinking coffee in one of the cubicles and
c.) throwing coffee at the backstairs spiders

If you hear him humming a strange tune, well, that's just the melody his hot beverage gives off, because who needs a sense of smell when you can have a constant soundtrack instead? ]

( [ACCIDENTAL VIDEO - Cut for length. ] )

[ Philip's voice is heard again soon after that, though his final decision on what to wear will remain a mystery, at least during this brief (yet deliberate) audio transmission. ]

Um, is there-- We haven't got... someone like a barber here by any chance, do we?

[ Click! And that's it! ]

- - - -

[ ...Until later that day when Philip takes his troubling thoughts out for a walk on the beach for accidental and deliberate action encounters alike. ]

[ It's been almost a week since ex-mafia!Philip had a very unfortunate event run-in with still-mafia!Dean. The result? His previous Wonderland lives are still intact, but he's down one eye and his arm isn't doing so well either. And that's the understatement of the day.

So. It's been almost a week. Hardly enough time to heal all wounds (or any of them for that matter), but time enough for Philip to get over the worst and out of his room. Or try to, in any case.

Right now (now being 11 in the morning) he's standing in the kitchen, arduously slaving over his attempt at late breakfast. The injury to his right shoulder is difficult to hide, what with his arm in a sling. But at least his left eye (or lack thereof) is cleverly concealed behind a pair of sunglasses.

To reiterate: Kitchen. Breakfast. 11 o'clock. Right arm in sling. ~~Ridiculous~~ Fashionable sunglasses. Shattered glass.

...Shattered glass? ]

Jesus, not again.

[ Stepping aside Philip looks at the mess. After six days improvements are coming along at last, but missteps (or misgrabs, as it were) still happen all too often. Oh depth perception, he never knew how much he loved you until you were gone.

And yet the milk keeps dripping on the floor; cold, cruel and undeterred by his struggles and frustrations.

To continue: Paper towels. Broom. Scoop. New try. Deep sigh. ]

As the dust settled on a stack of yellowed magazines I remembered why I had learned to love the silence. Silence was all I had left now. Silence and books that were never bought, a telephone that never rang.

Every day I would pour myself a cup of coffee, sit behind the counter and read the paper. Later I would do inventory and I would stop near the grimy mirror in the corner and look for a familiar face that never showed.

I would dutifully wait for a customer or two and at the end of the day I would grab the old broom and sweep the floor. Every day I would wipe the counter and every time I would wash my hands before closing and wonder if I would ever stop smelling the blood.

Then, after every burning sunset, I would lock the store and for my own benefit I would pause for a moment and fake disappointment and surprise at yet another day without sales gone by.

In a city that was bustling with life at every corner my little shop was only a relict; dead and long forgotten. We had that much in common at least.

Outside the noise of the morning traffic slowly died down like a drizzle of summer rain. I grabbed my cup and the paper and sat down behind the counter. Today, I thought, would be just like any other day.

[ OOC: Information on noir!Philip is here. All threads take place before his encounter with Dean, unless somebody wants to play medic. ]

[ Hello, mansion!

How do you feel about an accidental audio transmission featuring this song played on the guitar over and over and over and over again in various qualities ranging from sort-of-okay-ish over mediocre to physically painful?

I hope your answer is 'highly enthused', otherwise Philip's new hobby might not be as entertaining to you as it currently is to him. ]

[ For Philip the last 1 1/2 weeks were-- Actually, let's not talk about the last 1 1/2 weeks. Let's just say that being wide awake at night was what he expected and that the hunger made sense, given that he hadn't been able to keep any food down for a while now... and didn't particularly feel like trying either.

So when he finally got up around six in the morning his pale and haggard reflection (oh yes, they do have one in some canons) hardly looked any paler or more haggard than usual. He stared at it for a while, sighed, splashed cold water on his face and went about brushing his-- AHHHH OH GOD TEETH! ]

{Wow. Monkey, I'd recommend talkin' to a doctor about this, but I don't know how much they could do for you, seein' as... you don't have a pulse anymore. }

[ And that was when Philip got dressed and rushed up to the tenth floor.

You may catch a glimpse of him on one of the hallway feeds, but he will likely be a little too preocuppied to answer transmissions right away. If you leave a message though he might get back to you later.

Of course you could always run into him on his way up. Or you might be the one whose door he will be knocking on frantically... ]

Dean? Dean! Dean, open up!

[ Philip will be making extensive trips to the other side a few times and running into him along the way is entirely possible throughout the entire event.

It's also entirely possible to meet him at the party, although the festivity of his mood is questionable.

What you're seeing here however is an accidental video on the evening of the eighth of April.

Philip is wearing gloves and a surgical apron. After taking a deep breath he tentatively approaches his bed and starts tucking at the pillows, then at the sheets.

Tucking. Tucking. Pausing. Shuddering.

Tucking. Tucking. Tu-- Stepping back, cringing and throwing the apron and gloves on the bed with a frustrated sigh. ]

I... can't. It's not, I-- [ He groans and rubs his eyes. For a moment he stands still.

Then he moves towards the closet and fetches a sports bag.

The rest of the feed is spent packing up his personal items and a few other assorted goods.

If you are Daniel, Dean or Tim you will also receive the following text message a while later: ]

Moved to 18, 5th floor. Just wanted to let you know. - Philip

[[Fourth wall guest spectators most welcome~ ♥]]

[ The year is 2011. The place is Wonderland. The exact time is exactly some time after the events of this log.

Both audio and video of this transmission are on, but the view leaves something to be desired. A white ceiling, half of which is obstructed by a smudge of blood.

The voice quality is top notch however and some may be able to recognise

echo_of_utopia and

sadfreezingbrit talking to each other not too far away. ]

No, I... I don't-- I can't...

Perhaps your room number?

...Five... sixteen on the... twelfth floor.

[ Short pause. ] All right, just a moment. [ Longer pause. ] Please look straight ahead and follow the light with your eyes.

[ Even longer pause. ]

Thank you, now--

...W-wait, there's-- Can... Can you...

Ah, of course. Let me just turn it off.

[ The sound of footsteps draws closer and for a moment the video displays part of the clinic, its most notable feature being a bed occupied by one not exactly stellar looking Philip LaFresque.

The other participant is of course none other than the good Dr Lamb who promptly pushes a button on the device, thus ending today's episode of ER: Wonderland Edition. ]

[[OOC: Video/audio/text replies from both

sadfreezingbrit and

echo_of_utopia are possible. Action tags at the clinic are also very welcome. Please specify who you're calling, in case you have a preference.]]

First floor, room somethingorother. This is a boring feed. There's the sound of furniture being moved in the background, but all that's visible is a wooden door. For a moment it sounded like there was a knock on it, but that was probably just the background noise. Really, it doesn't look like anything will be happening here anytime soon. Honestly, better change the channel to something moreOHGODPICKAXE!!!

( Dial 555-DENIAL for hot Philip on Philip action. )

[[OOC: ICly cut for length. Philip will answer video and audio with a slight IC delay while being chased. Both Philips can be found outside the mansion for action interaction.]]

[ There is something Philip has been wondering for a while now. Today he would like to share this thought with the mansion. ]

Alors, euh, je me suis demandé ce qu--

... [ No. Wait. That... doesn't sound right. He laughs nervously. Must've been a weird slip-up. ]

Je m-- [ And there it is again. ]

Je... me suis... de... mandé...

[ ... ]

Anglais. [ He stops, exhales in disbelief. Says the next part very slowly and carefully. ]

...Quelque chose en anglais.

[ Neither English nor something in English seems to be working. Maybe if he just tried to-- RAPID SHAKESPEARIAN QUOTE ATTACK! ] Etre, ou ne pas être, c'est là la question. Y a-t-il plus de noblesse d'âme à-- Putain!

[ ...Nope. ]

{ ...You know, whoever is responsible for this is a bloody genius. I'm genuinely embarrassed that I didn't come up with the giant OUT OF ORDER sign on your entire English language section. Tant pis pour toi, eh? }

[ Yeah, apart from the tough shit sentiment he didn't exactly get any of that, but it's probably for the better.

He sighs and rubs his temples. This isn't happening. ]

...C'est pas vrai. [ SIGH, take 2. ] Bon, alors...

Est-ce que vous me comprenez encore?

[ Do you still understand him, mansion? Please say oui. PLEASE JUST SAY OUI. ]

[[ OOC: I'm confident that my tagging is slow enough without adding awkward translation time to it, so most of everything else he says will either be summed up in the narration or said in English with a 'Disclaimer: Insert French-sounding gibberish here' sticker attached to it. With everything else I apologise in advance for any errors my French ~~will most definitely and without a shadow of doubt~~ may or may not contain. ]]