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Any entries earlier than this were pre-reboot.

Jun. 11th, 2016 03:33 am
aspeggysays: (to say)
[personal profile] aspeggysays
It had been a precision operation, and it had all gone to hell when the boat was late. They'd split up, Peggy and Dernier going back up the cliff to signal again, Barnes leading the rest of them up the beach, their footsteps covered by the sound of the surf and their dark clothing disappearing into the foggy gloom. Barnes thought there might be a way over the rocks, another possible escape route, just in case the boat never showed up at all.

It had been sheer bad luck that Peggy and Dernier had run into a patrol at the top of the cliff. They'd run, forced toward the enemy base by shouts and shots in the dark pines. It had been startlingly good luck that they'd spotted a sentry at the base taking an unauthorized leak and managed to sneak past, leaving the patrol to search and shout to no avail.

Dernier had taken a shot somewhere in the confusion, Peggy didn't know when because he'd kept silent about it until they'd found a little hidey-hole, and then collapsed.

She'd gritted her teeth and glared at him, fixed him up as best as a former nurse could with no medical supplies, and then left him behind. She needed something to fish the bullet out with, and better bandages. "Don't you dare die," she whispered in his ear before she left. He rolled her eyes at her. She thought it would have been more appropriate the other way around.

Somehow, when she opened a supply closet door and found the hotel on the other side, she wasn't surprised. She used one of the phones to get the staff to deliver what she needed -- she didn't want to risk wandering too far from the door she had to go back through -- and turned back to the doorway that led back to her home world.

Just as she was about to step through, she sensed someone walking up behind her as if they might intend to follow her through. Or maybe they were just curious about the door. Peggy didn't really have time to speculate.

"If you want to help save a life, come with me," Peggy said. "It will be dangerous."
aspeggysays: (to say)
[personal profile] aspeggysays
From the nexus, it looked like an adequate setting for a rest cure. A big house, surrounded by a lot of land; sunny days, clear nights. A few more amenities than Merry Olde England, which she'd also considered for the purpose, but no shelling, no gunfire, and no planes flying overhead. Peggy stepped though the doorway with little hesitation.

"My dear Mr. Bennet," someone said from down the hallway, "how can you be so tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them."

Peggy flinched and froze, her thoughts immediately jumping to Steve. But the conversation continued, Steve was still dead, and Peggy was done jumping at shadows. She continued down the hall and settled into a chair in the parlor. That proved to be a mistake.

The room soon filled with young women, chattering about a Mr. Bingley. They took Peggy's presence without blinking, but oddly, insisted on calling her Lizzy. She did her best to fade into the background as the conversation circled endlessly around the question of marriage. It hit her on a raw spot, all the talk of marriage when the only man she'd ever thought about in that way was dead, but she had endured far worse. Her smile never cracked, her eyes remained dry. She found the door back to the nexus with some relief.

The next time the nexus threw her into Longbourn, they family was about to leave to attend a ball. Peggy had never been to a ball; she tagged along. She even danced a few times, but she didn't mind that it wasn't more. Afterwards, the cozy talk with Jane was a nice bonus. Peggy found she enjoyed a little sisterly gossip.

She came back a few more times after that -- to talk to Jane, she told herself. To encourage Lydia in her little rebellions against the social limits. To run interference for Mary when she wanted to play the piano. Just to get a good night's rest. It was half way between the rest cure she'd been looking for and picking at a scab. The talk of marriage, the constricted choices reminiscent of the childhood she'd fled at the first opportunity -- but the sisterly chats, the quiet nights... and the knowledge that whatever troubles any of these people had, none of them were going to die. It was more than she knew about anyone back in the War.

And then, today happened. Peggy arrived, and as usual, no one noticed that she'd been away. "Have some fish, Lizzy," Mr. Bennet said, so Peggy did. It came as a complete surprise to her when Mr. Collins, the family guest, asked to speak with her.

Five minutes later, she found herself breathing harder than usual, her voice a low growl as she threatened to gut Mr. Collins with a fish fork if he didn't learn to listen to what a woman was actually saying instead of only to what he expected to hear. She was not going to put up with this.

She stalked out without looking back, trusting Mr. Collins to come up with some explanation for the rest of the family. He didn't seem like the type who'd admit that a woman had frightened him.

Peggy took a seat in the garden, feeling pleased with herself, and just a tiny bit guilty as well. Good thing she hadn't done that to any of the more annoying men at home. But when she heard someone approaching, she turned to greet them with the dangerous smile of a woman who had just let loose, and was willing to do it again. "I think the next step in this situation is Meryton. Steal a uniform. Find a war. Want to come with me?"

[The only thing I'm taking from the miniseries "Lost in Austen" is the basic concept. Peggy knows who she is, but none of the NPCs do, they think she's Lizzy Bennet and react to her as Lizzy Bennet, don't notice any discrepancies, etc. Replace any and all Austen characters in the same way (don't feel like you have to follow the Austen plot, either), arrive as as an era-appropriate version of your character (no Austen double required), or simply have them show up as themselves, no door changes (though for the sake of not getting stuck on details, let's just say that the NPCs aren't going to freak out about them not belonging or anything, these are some really accommodating NPCs!) Just please be clear about what choice you're going for, and feel free to drop me a line if it gets complicated :)]
ourselvesalone: (puzzling)
[personal profile] ourselvesalone
He returns to the Nexus, his mind whirling with the events that have just happened. He clutches two ornate jars tightly in his arms, trying to breathe out evenly and convince himself that he is no longer being chased for thieving several organs of the man he's just helped to mummify. Of course he'd known that the doors lead to other places, of course, and yet he hadn't expected to step through his bedroom door and find himself in the very land possessing the gods and goddesses that they, apparently, are entertaining in the present day via Miss Ives.

Hidden goddesses, ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs on vampire bodies, and yet the only thing Victor had cared about had been the fact that he was being handed the opportunity to take part in the ritual. Yes, they had snapped at him at first in a language Victor hadn't understood, but medical skills speak louder than words. They had allowed him in and his careful, precise cuts had earned him awe, along with some respect.

Basking in that, Victor had immediately set his mind on something else. The heart and the lungs. The jars filled with the organs sit ready to join the preserved body in the afterlife, but Victor had quietly excused himself from the procedure and that was when it turned to an escape.

He'd found the nearest hall, slamming one door after the next in search of his escape back to the Nexus. Unfortunately, he has always lacked the luck and grace that his brothers and sisters possess and his fellow carvers soon notice that integral parts of their task are missing. The shouts of a chase are unmistakable, but it is with some determination that Victor continues on, only thinking of the fresh, viable nature of the organs he now clasps. With luck, perhaps he can use them on his subject. With luck, he will turn his Creature's attention elsewhere.

By the sixth attempt, a way back had finally been found and Victor had stumbled through, now standing here with his back to the thick wood, head tipped upwards as he draws in the breaths he has always struggled with. It is no surprise that he is in the library. He always finds himself in the library when he arrives here, as if the reminiscence to Sir Malcolm's is a joke he must endure every time.

"Ice," he demands instantly, of whomever is near. "I need ice."
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[personal profile] concierge
Throughout the day on the 14th, the Nexus staff deliver single roses and accompanying notes to designated hotel guests in celebration of the Valentine's Day holiday. For some, the gesture will be a foregone conclusion; for others, it will be a surprise. For some, they might only guess at who sent them the gift in the first place.

[Comments with deliveries will follow are done. You may reply to yours with a reaction if you like!]
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[personal profile] concierge
The fog had begun near the dusk hours, coating all the plants and flowers in the garden. It settled, heavy, and blanketed everything with a new cover that was only matched in mood by the graveyard that had unearthed itself from the grass and the moss. Names were etched on each gravestone, but the most unnerving part was that every few steps, if you stopped and listened very, very carefully, you might hear a knock of a human hand against hard wood. It was almost as if the dead were being called upwards.

The maze stood normal, but inside around the corners, there were things lurking and waiting.

Outside might have become frightening and gloomy, but the contrast to indoors was stark. Inside, carved pumpkins lit with candles turned the ballroom and restaurants into amber-lit abodes, costumed partygoers twirled to the music played by the band in the lobby (while the DJ had set up in the conservatory). Candy and small hors d'oeuvres circulated on the trays of immaculately clad waiters and though outside it was stormy, foggy, and spooky, inside was a delight of themed drinks, delicious food, and the manic and half-crazed mood of people in the midst of their fun.

The party for Halloween had begun.

And there was no telling when it might ever end.
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[personal profile] concierge
Anyone who passed the billiards room in the evening was treated to the sound of light laughter, billiard balls being struck with firm confidence, and the clatter of glasses and plates. The notice had been posted only that day for the tournament, but all were welcome to join in and play, while free drinks and small morsels of food were passed around for the enjoyment of all. The two billiard tables were rarely empty, even though the prize wasn't much to speak of, but pride was always a great motivator in people's ambitions and the ability to say you'd won was always on the line.

The billiards tournament was casual and many were lingering around, watching as the players took their turns. Waiters circulated the room with their trays, and every once in a while, new competitors were welcomed into the informal billiards competition that had begun only a few hours earlier.

Everyone was welcome, though some people would be leaving the event with a loss on their backs. It was lucky, then, that there was alcohol, food, and good company to help dull the defeats.

Aug. 10th, 2014 08:56 am
ourselvesalone: (eyes upturned: by sways)
[personal profile] ourselvesalone
The tenth of July in the 2014th year of our Lord | Nexus Ballroom

Victor is awash on a strange sea, not sure what he means to do next. He thinks perhaps it is also because of what he knows to have happened between Mr. Gray and Mr. Chandler -- after all, how often is it that you meet a new acquaintance and already know their preferences when it comes to sexual positions? Flushed with the thought, unsteady for the withdrawal, Victor feels particularly out of sorts. "Not as well as you know them, I'm afraid," he replies, able to dig out a slightly wry barb and the curves of his lips playing at a smirk.

Victor Frankenstein finally meets Dorian Gray.


Jul. 12th, 2014 07:48 pm
namesgiven: (03;groundhog)
[personal profile] namesgiven
The humid air of the greenhouse was not what Vanessa was expecting to greet her. She paused just inside the threshold, hand still poised on the door. She kept expecting the rush of cold air and falling snow to hit her, but the scene in front of her was unwavering.

Fear mounted inside of her momentarily. A greenhouse -- a place that seemed pivotal now in the recounting of what had happened in the last few weeks. But this certainly wasn't the greenhouse she had been to previously. It was smaller for one, and while she expected the atmosphere to be tinged with malevolence, it wasn't. It was simply unfamiliar. Every inch of it. So much so that it was actually a curiosity. She let her hand leave the door and she continued on inside, ignoring how the heated and damp air made the collar of her dress stick uncomfortably to her skin.

This was London. That was the first thing the flowers told her, even though they were all from places far off. They whispered that they were not only from London, but this place was not home, was not London. There were flowers and plants she had never seen before and were quite unlike anything she had seen before. She paused at the sight of each one, letting her mind fixate only momentarily, fingers brushing the air near where leaves were.

No, this wasn't home, but that didn't explain how she had come to be here or how she had arrived.

Vanessa glanced up and around for another moment, and then, disregarding that she was in public, pulled out her worn pack of tarot cards. In such a strange moment, this action seemed allowed. She began to shuffle them slowly and then place them on a wider ledge, close enough that they nearly brushed the dirt.
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[personal profile] shifting_skin
The taste of ozone lay at the edge of her tongue, the faint pull of muscle and skin knitting too slowly back together at her calf keeping the rush of days just past firmly in mind.

Having found herself from one step to the next transported from the beginnings of a chase she had come to find familiar through the halls of one lush hotel and into an entirely different setting of one, Mystique had thought little of the consequences of her actions and pulled the door closed after her. One shape had melted smoothly into another at the sound of voices approaching, the skin she had worn as her only for so long one she pulled over herself then out of habit and without thought. Gone were the blue skin and red hair, the yellow-gold eyes lacking the human whites that people so preferred. Gone too was the shape of a lobbyist she had borrowed for the sake of a key and a room charged to an account that was not her own.

When a pair of strangers had rounded the corner, swept up in their own conversation and too busy to notice her as they passed, she stood the same blue-eyed blonde young woman she had lived as so long before.

The hotel had made little less a mystery after two days within its walls, an ear kept ever open for anything she might learn in overhearing the conversations of others. The others spoke easily of strange worlds beyond the doors studding the walls of the hallway. Those that served behind the desk had handed her a key to a room of her own with no question of how or why she had come to be there. She had moved through those days with little more than skimming the surface of everything around her, unsure of what to make of the collection of people who walked and lingered through the many bright-lit rooms, less sure of what to make of herself.

She had been drawn in her uncertainty to the massive library, the shelves heavy with books and comfortingly familiar in that same feel all libraries held within their walls of words and of knowledge and of quiet. She stood then fingering the edge of a book's cover on a shelf before her, a smile pulling at her lips as she considered the twisted sense of humor chance had had in her fingers catching over the gold lettering of its title.

The Metamorphosis, indeed.
ourselvesalone: (in motion)
[personal profile] ourselvesalone
Here it is. Everything.

His own words come back to haunt Victor when he closes the door to his workshop behind him, his subject's body cooling in the bath of ice that will be her new home until he can harvest healthier parts to replace the diseased and decayed ones that plagued her in life, ones that he knows intimately well from his past. When he lifts his eyes to search his rough and abused quarters, he finds himself struck by the impossible. Though morphine is in his blood, it merely dulls the pain and not the awareness. Still, by all accounts, he has managed to find himself in the approximation of Sir Malcolm's library.

Chilled, he thinks of the weeks he had spent in this library, trapped while a demon held them hostage upstairs and another demon lurked outside his door. It takes Victor only a brief moment to realise that this is not Malcolm's home and Victor has found himself transported as if on the wings of some temporal being into a place of such wonder and such advancement that he can hardly say.

The lights, the lights, they burn with electricity unlike any he has ever seen and he wonders if this is how Proteus felt, if this is how his creations looked upon the world with such wonder, at seeing things for the first time and discovering in them the newness and potential of being.

"Fairy lights," he echoes to himself with bitter remorse, reaching out towards their luminescent glow before he retracts his fingers tight to his chest and thinks of all the heartbreak and the happiness that Proteus had not experienced because of his past sins and shames and mistakes.

Swallowing back that regret, Victor turns towards the door to summon forth courage of being, knowing there must be more to this world than a mere echo of a library he has come to know so intimately and with such despair. Still he searches each crevasse and corner, beholding wonders hidden in plain sight that he cannot rightly account for. Eventually, he strays far enough until he finds himself gaping upwards at the most wondrous chandelier powered by such electricity that he could power his laboratory a dozen times over with the power it seemingly contains.

"Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile," he murmurs Shakespeare's words to himself as he cranes his neck and turns his gaze upward, having already decided he must learn everything of this strange world that lurks behind the door of his laboratory. He very stubbornly does not think of the lines that come next.


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