sadfreezingbrit_archive | Entries tagged with .event

[ 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. ]

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. ]

[ 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!

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. ]]

[ Philip's face is looking perfectly normal (if a little crabby in the strictly mood-related sense of the word). Shoulders, arms, no problem there. His chest, not currently covered by any sort of clothing, is looking just a tad more blueish and... transparent than it should.

Opacity only decreases from there, making Phil entirely light blue and see-through below his stomach. Below the waist it looks like he's been torn and tattered, his body segueing into a thick bundle of thin tentacles where his legs should be.

Or in other words: Philip, now with roughly 65% more this. ]

How is that even--

[ The blue tentacles whirl around as Philip turns and spins nervously in front of his algae-encrusted mirror, placing his hands behind his back to confirm that there is indeed nothing whatsoever between the front and the back of his body.

He spins a few more times before letting himself drift onto his mattress with resignation. ]

...I want my organs back.

[ This looks like it's going to be a very boring video feed. An empty (though hardly unfurnished, mind!) room with an open window, its only exciting feature being the set of drapes only somebody more familiar with Philip's room would recognise as new.

Sure, there's a life-sized mannequin sitting on the bed while holding a potted plant in its hands, but--

Wait. Back up.

Life-sized mannequin. Female. Brown skirt, beige blouse. Dark brown hair in a French braid (It used to be much lighter and greying, but for its owner that simply wouldn't do. There is never anything wrong with looking your best). It looks old for your average display dummy, but early 60s are hard to mimic in plastic.

And then the strange still life takes a turn for the really strange when the mannequin gets up and carefully places the potted plant on a desk. Then it turns around and stiffly walks towards the closet, opening it with jagged movements.

It drags another, bigger plant out into the open and slowly begins moving it to the other side of the room.

As it does this the feed scrambles a little and is briefly interrupted by what looks like a man sitting at a kitchen table with his head in his hands. ]

--still up there.

[ Then the semi-static ceases and both video and audio return to the silence of the room where the mannequin woman is now sitting on a chair, checking her watch impatiently. ]

[[OOC: So just to clarify, Philip is sitting in the kitchen and will probably respond to audio or video with his personal communicator, though you're welcome to "talk" to the mannequin in his room as well or go for a kitchen action tag.]]

( [ THE EXCITING AND OOCLY-CUT-FOR-LENGTH PREQUEL ] )

[ About an hour later the picture returns, for once turned on by Philip himself. It shows him cleaned and dressed, more awake but no less confused, staring warily at a plate of star-shaped cookies in front of him. ]

Did uhm... did anyone else get one of those?

[ His voice sounds a little more urgent than a bunch of baked goods may warrant. ]

Because when I got up this morning I--

[ The sound of bells interrupts his voice. For a second Philip's head drops and instantly jerks back up, similar to someone who's been nodding off.

He looks at the screen, not resuming his message. Then he simply stands up and walks away, leaving the video to show an empty chair and a full tray of delicious cookies until the feed times out.

Huh. Must not have been that urgent after all. ]

[[OOC: Responses to video, audio or text will be ICly delayed. Action taggers might want to turn their attention towards the kitchen.]]

$sadfreezingbrit_archive: ({Dancing jigs until I'm crippled})$

[ Philip is standing in the kitchen next to a bottle of whiskey (empty) and a half-eaten fish (raw). He whistles a cheerful tune while sharpening a meat cleaver. In other words, everything is perfectly normal and there is absolutely no cause for concern. ]

[[OOC: Replies will, in fact, still be by

sadfreezingbrit, although those who have spoken to him before may notice just the ~slightest~ bit of a change in his accent.]]

[ It's been one week since Philip last left his room, looking for help. It didn't go too well and he's been persistently reclusive ever since. No checking the network, definitely no contributing to it and most, most definitely no leaving his room. ]

[ When the feed switches on early in the morning it shows Philip lying in his bed, tossing and turning, eyes wide open. ]

[ When the feed switches on a few hours later it shows Philip lying in his bed, asleep. ]

[ When the feed switches on at noon it shows Philip lying in his bed, still asleep. ]

[ When the feed switches on early in the afternoon it shows Philip's bed, empty. When he returns to it a few minutes later he is still wearing a set of grey pyjamas. He halts when he walks past the bleeding mirror. "It wasn't funny the first time you did it."

He looks annoyed, but suddenly falters and stands still. Then he reaches out to touch the red liquid with two fingertips, staring at it curiously. After a moment he shakes his head.

"Yeah, right." He finds a tissue to wipe off the blood and goes back to bed. ]

[ ...where he lies when the feed switches on again later in the afternoon. He's on his back, staring at the ceiling. ]

[ In the evening he sits on his bed. A candle illuminates his slightly haggard features. One wonders if he may not have eaten much of anything during that last week. He certainly didn't shave, that's for sure.

The feed ends when he stands up and fetches a bottle of Jack Daniel's plus a tablet box from the closet. ]

[ Later that night the feed shows the candle's last flicker before it dies, its wax still dripping from the bedside table. Philip is lying in his bed, fast asleep. ]

[[OOC: If you want to interrupt his exciting daily routine with action, video or audio, please let me know at what point your character shows up.]]