voice

Oct. 9th, 2012 03:54 pm
phobic: (ϑ chest that's caving in)
[personal profile] phobic
Recent chatter on the Network has inspired me to make inquiries of you about how your childhoods were, particularly those of you who did grow up to become what the civilian would term a superh--

[Oh, what's that outside? It sounds like...sirens. And the raucous caws of disturbed birds taking flight in a hurry, and a chair pushing back.]

Oh. Oh, that was a quick response time.

Feel free to answer anyway, if you like--but I could be some time.

[click]

[ooc; action for Mitch, text for everybody else - icly delayed by a few hours]

text

Aug. 16th, 2012 09:13 pm
phobic: (§ curtain call for a whispering ghost)
[personal profile] phobic
The City lends itself to no small amount of individual observation.

For example;

• People who obsess over question marks are afraid of certain answers.
• Mayor Mitchell will say anything to quiet you down. What did you expect from a man with a beard?
• Lachesis prefers Gothamites. And she likes to tease us with bats.
• Calendar Man's fetish for his namesake is better left to the imagination.

Go on, fill in your own.

Ψ Voice Ψ

Jun. 7th, 2012 02:18 pm
phobic: (§ against the flame you stood too close)
[personal profile] phobic
None of you are very captivating, of late, but that's all right. I have a free soapbox all to my own, while I recover, and I'd feel remiss if I didn't use it.

Let's talk about denial. I'm sure some of you are familiar with it. All of you live in it, and it's actually necessary to preserve a false worldview, in some ways. To cope. But the damaging effect is cumulative, the more time and effort you put into denial, the greater the eventual collapse.

The flavor of it makes little difference, whether it's denial of facts, or denial of responsibility, or denial of behavioral impact on others, or my personal favorite, denial of denial.

So tell me I'm wrong.
phobic: (§ tremor tones in afterglow)
[personal profile] phobic
I'm in the market for an assistant. Someone with steady hands who knows how to read aloud. You wouldn't believe how many people I'm surrounded by who have, at the most, a third grade education.

Yes, I'll pay - an hourly, twice minimum wage rate. And it's not physically demanding work.

Bats need not apply.
phobic: ([ϑ] i must believe in something)
[personal profile] phobic
[An open room packed with books, spilling off shelves and out of boxes and crates, high on the desk and reading chair--as well as research notes. It looks like an attic, and the single window is covered with a heavy curtain. Candles, strategically lit, throw shadows to all corners, and illuminate broken glass all across the floor in bright little fragments.

Jon's pacing around seemingly unhindered by the hoard, long steps over inconvenient piles of paper and bound leather. Crunching.

Something's definitely nettling him (when isn't it?)]


It's not safe in this world to be a collector of fiction, obviously. I live in positively preternatural terror that the Porter will bring in someone from Swift or Dickens. Do you realize certain copies--certain first editions no longer exist?

Thanks to certain parties, they'll never exist again. It hardly needs to be said, but that's libricide of the most severe degree. I don't care about this supposedly "being fictional" rot, I care that I could potentially never hold a first edition of Gulliver's Travels. Even after fairly--acquiring it. Did you even notice Baum's entire original line was practically obliterated? They're only now reprinting them.

[he sinks back into the chair, opening his arms and sweeping a handful of books from both sides onto his lap.]

It's so cruel.

Ψ Voice Ψ

Mar. 6th, 2012 01:07 am
phobic: ([§] it's scary and it's frightening!)
[personal profile] phobic
It's been highly pleasurable to watch you all over the last few weeks. Running around in a panic, pointing fingers, killing each other, then blaming each other for killing each other. So much better than daytime television.

Oh, and I should address my early release from the cheap Arkham knock-off, No-Hope. Which is far too accurate not to be intentional.

Really.

If Arkham couldn't beat it out of me, what makes you think you could?

Oh, that's not my question.

My question is, how on Earth can any of you think you're sane?

[hangs up. And then like a second later, he's adding]

"That's rich, coming from you!"

There, I beat you to it.
[identity profile] formidophobia.livejournal.com
[The video switches on grainy and blurry and then focuses on a little plate on the bed in front of him. And is promptly flipped off the bed and goes clattering into the wall. There's a long moment of silence and the faint sound of a piano playing some Christmas piece in the background, coming in through the vents, something he either opted or tantrumed out of.]

I have complex biochemical needs that the doctors around here don't seem to want to acknowledge. [a beat, clarifying.] And no real desire to be reminded of the date--or any impending dates, for you wiseacres in the audience.

But I have had visitors. And presents, even. [clearly actively baffled by this, getting up off the bed and going to the little shelf bolted firmly to the wall with books on it.] You know who you are, I'm sure. I'm --gratified. And surprised.

I don't have any thought provoking questions for you tonight.

I just want to talk.

Ψ Video Ψ

Dec. 7th, 2011 01:25 pm
[identity profile] formidophobia.livejournal.com
[Jon's sitting there on a bed, in view of the camera; the swelling has mostly gone down but it's still evident he's recently gone toe to toe with a gaggle of superhumans. He's dressed in plain hospital clothes, a white t-shirt, and he hasn't yet been on good behavior long enough to be allowed his glasses, so he's squinting a lot.]

How pedestrian this Network is of late. Complaining about losing friends. Once you have them, it's only a matter of time until they're gone--until they betray you. That's rather basic.

So, a litany of rather less obvious complaints! The food here is terrible. The sheets are thin. The library is the worst of all, and everyone working here is unprofessional and vindictive.

Your turn. What's really upsetting you?

[ooc; I wanted to thank everyone for making the Shanksgiving plot a roaring success, I'm so glad everybody had fun with it! You guys are the best. As of right now Jon's in NOHoPE and open to visitation threads too.]
[identity profile] formidophobia.livejournal.com
[The comm recording is black. And silent. Audible is a soft shuffling, the whisper of fabric, and then with a sound like a kksshfff, a yellow light like a distant star winks into life. It dances slowly, like a tiny flame, illuminating the black edges surrounding it, contextually suggestive of a glove's fingers.]

What's the worst thing you can imagine? Is it losing a loved one? Losing your sanity? Losing your limbs, or your life? Is it being trapped here, wherever here is, forever?

Do you have more than one nightmare, shuffling, jockeying for dominance in the dark parts of your mind you don't dare go - the places that take your breath away; the places that make you feel fragile and mortal...? That place where all the monsters are?

[the light glows brighter in the dark, catching a jagged smile out of proportion in the dark, teeth white and crooked.]

Can you trace those veins of stark, gibbering mute terror down into the hind-brain, where fear's roots grow deep and thick, entwined around the primal stem... dark cords prickling up and down your spine, sinking ice into your guts?

Isn't it glorious?
[identity profile] crossedstaves.livejournal.com
[Calm and clinical, the man speaking seems to be doing so primarily to himself, at first.]

4:24 PM Eastern time, what appears to be New York. Resting pulse at roughly 80 beats per minute. Transition of memory seamless. Pupils normal-sized, reaction times typical. I'm not discernibly drugged or delusional, but it would make more overall sense if I were.

Do I abide by what I know to be true and real, or do I play along with these new rules?

[That might be a hint of a smile in his voice.]

I suppose I might as well ask if the hospital with the unfortunate acronym is hiring. I'm not going through the trouble of setting up my own practice again, this time with additional handicaps. "Hello, I'm Dr. Jack West, I just came through from another universe so I don't have any credentials with me, but surely you'd like to sit and tell me all about your problems?"

Although, to be frank, it seems like a lot of you would benefit from a bit of talk, which is why I suppose this network sees so much use. I imagine it would be a high risk situation for both doctor and patient, however. Not something I'm prepared for... but maybe in time.


((I'm not getting notifications, so please be patient with me. :|))

voice;

Dec. 19th, 2010 02:29 am
[identity profile] formidophobia.livejournal.com
[clicks on, his voice low and quiet. Subdued in a smoldering way, like the constant carols and colors of Christmas are taking their toll, grinding down on each syllable.]

At what age did you realize Santa was fictional?

At what age did you stop caring about gifts?

At what age did you grow up?

video;

Dec. 12th, 2010 01:30 am
[identity profile] formidophobia.livejournal.com
[a small ratty looking crow being fed fish, pecking at the fingers as it greedily gobbles slivers; Jon doesn't mind the behavior, and shifts to smooth down the bird's wings]

Corvids are social learners. This means the young imitate the behaviors of their parents.

...crows without proper socialization have a high mortality rate. Birds reared by humans with the best of intentions run into hawks and owls, are unwittingly hit by cars, shot by farmers, or eaten by cats. Humans can't-...

[he stops, taking off his glasses to clean them, to compensate for the pause] ...-humans can't teach them what to be wary of, because they can't communicate, and imitating a human's taught tricks is useless - fatal - in a crow's natural environment.

With that in mind, Network. What have you done with the best of intentions that went tragically wrong?


[Private to Terrance]
I'd like to talk to you.

...I'm not angry.
[/Private]

[Private to Angelica]
I'm sending another potential doctor for the hospital your way. How are things? Do you need any help?
[/private]

[Private to Nico]
Your gift is in the mail. It should arrive in a few days. I have no qualms about you being a rebel and opening it early.
[/private]

video;

Dec. 4th, 2010 07:30 pm
[identity profile] formidophobia.livejournal.com
[The video cuts in across the room from where it's propped on the desk, in a nondescript apartment. In the corner is a ragged, crappy looking Christmas tree, and Jon is standing on his tiptoes balancing a skull at the top where a star or an angel would ordinarily go. Crows and bats take the place of candycanes and nutcracker ornaments, and a bunch of badly wrapped presents are jammed under the tree, with black and orange wrapping. Someone is stuck in a different season.

Someone is also singing. It's not a bad rendition, considering the lack of musical accompaniment, but he's not going to be winning any caroling competitions either.]


♫ Have yourself a merry little Christmas, it may be your last,
Next year we may all be living in the past
Have yourself a merry little Christmas, pop that champagne cork,
Next year we will all be living in New York.

No good times like the olden days, happy golden days of yore,
Faithful friends who were dear to us, will be near to us no more.

But at least we all will be together, if the fates allow,
From now on we'll have to muddle through somehow.
So have yourself a merry little Christmas now. ♫


[Jon glances over at the desk, gives the device a knowing grin.]

Ah, the worst time of the year. Tell me, Network. What is it you like least about this miserable season? The weather? The crowds? The hypocrisy and greed? The debt, perhaps? How about the familial strife?

There's so much to choose from.
[identity profile] formidophobia.livejournal.com
[The video clicks on, as it does, in the middle of something obviously not meant to be recorded. The right half of the screen is somewhat obscured by a crumpled, empty fast food bag sitting on a bench in what appears to be a graveyard. In the center of the shot is a boy standing over a rather large hole, filled to the brim with bubbling, brown liquid and littered with floating hamburgers and fries. Yes, really. One Jonathan Crane hovers close by, but Nico's the one speaking.]

--et the dead taste again. Let them rise and take this offering. Let them remember.

[All the ambient noise from insects and animals in the area goes quiet, eerily. Nico glances back over his shoulder, but doesn't seem to notice the device.]

Are you sure you wanna stand this close? It gets- bad.

I'm not afraid, unfortunately. Yet.

[The boy shrugs, and then turns back to begin chanting in Ancient Greek. Even just watching remotely is probably a tad... uncomfortable. This magic is some bad juju.

Jon casts a look around, as if expecting the dead to rise Romero-style, and all of his (few remaining) crows vacate the area, as if concerned for their very lives.]

How long will this-

[Promptly, shadows bleed up from the ground into vaguely people-sized lumps. The boldest makes its way to the sacrifice and stoops down to scoop up some of the pepsi and sip it from his own shimmering, half-translucent hands. When he's done, he appears nearly solid - an old man, with a suit and barely any hair to speak of. Nico visibly stiffens, and his voice comes out strained.]

You're not who I summoned.

[The ghost shakes his head, and points wordlessly over their shoulders, directly at the device on the bench. The feed cuts.]

[ooc: Jon, Nico! 8Db]

Video;

Nov. 16th, 2010 09:12 pm
[identity profile] formidophobia.livejournal.com
[Jon is up and walking around, his shoulder bandaged and a glimpse of a line of pillbottles on the dresser behind him to indicate he's not yet fully recovered, but he looks much healthier than he did some days ago. He's talking to the comm as he goes about the room straightening up, finding and fiddling with a ratty brown suit and an orange tie.]

There's plenty of talk on the Network about criminality, the need for 'heroes' to vindictively punish 'villains', but I haven't seen a whisper about the mentally ill. The--modern day solution for individuals suffering from disorders that drive them to commit unlawful acts is to relegate them to homeless shelters--or jails.

Phasing out mental institutions across America, making weakened gestures towards medicating outpatients, and letting correctional facilities humiliate, blame and crush those afflicted don't seem like actions any self-respecting hero should tolerate. I must ask why anyone does, and why it's taken two years to think about an imPort hospital--is prison really a satisfactory place? Does it really prevent people with unsound minds from re-offending?

Clearly not.

Deinstitutionalization is how the government communicates the little they care for the safety of the sick and the well. Fortunately, individuals like Norman Osborn have enough wealth and conscience to ensure not all America's prosperity is hoarded and funneled back and forth between greedy corporations with no interest in social programs or betterment.

I'm pleased to announce I'll be acting as Director of Psychiatry for the hospital; I can answer relevant questions, or turn them over to my colleagues, as necessary. We're hiring in preparation, if you need a job, I would suggest sending in an application sooner rather than later.

[pauses, and goes over to shrug on his coat, then snags the device]

[Private to Thomas Blake]

All right, it's been long enough. Turn yourself in. I'll be sending Dr. Quinzel to vouch for you at your trial--we'll take good care of you.

[Private to Terrance Ward]

I think we can resume your training. How is your bookwork coming along?

[Private to Nico]

Are you angry with me?

Video;

Nov. 7th, 2010 01:37 am
[identity profile] formidophobia.livejournal.com
[raspy rattly breathing with the fumbling view of a cracked City sidewalk, a quick flash up to a view of the exceedingly pale and drawn face of Dr. Crane. A moment passes as he fumbles one-handed with the comm, muttering.]

Ghn, rot this ridiculously overcomplicated, shoddy cheap piece of--garbage--

[sounds like he's addressing someone else]

--Patience.

[aaaand he finally manages to key in some encryption.]

Private to Trauma )

Private to #16315178 )
[identity profile] formidophobia.livejournal.com
[The video feed cuts in midsentence, focusing on the glowing red cast LED eyes in the Scarecrow's mask, the soft, dimly lit glow of Angelica Einstürzen's golden hair. Neither of them are aware it's on.]

--on't think the blades are quite sharp enough. Do you?

[the sound of a frantic female screaming come through clearly over their voices]

Yes. It seems like a waste to just cut that off, doesn't it?

[the scream reaches a higher note]

Oh, too late.

I love that scream. It's unique. [he hesitates. The screaming tapers off for a moment.] ...you look so beautiful when you're intent on this.

Mm? - Doctor, is that recording?

Oh, how quaint.

[End transmission]

audio;

Oct. 22nd, 2010 05:48 pm
[identity profile] formidophobia.livejournal.com
[raspy metal-on-metal scraping permeates the recording throughout.]

More has been done for the cause of wickedness - libricide, smothering scientific progress, assassinations - by blind mobs and fearful fools than any maverick.

Angels of mercy, vilified, cut down because of kneejerk social conscience. Black and white, imbecilic thinking.

He was more than this City deserved.

Before you break your arms patting her on the back, consider. He didn't kill. He scared them - fear is their weapon, yes - but his conscience... He was kinder than I. You should have killed me instead.

Your mistake.

You didn't save anyone. No-one died. Only Terrance. Dear Terrance.

- My heart is in the coffin there -


(Private to Abby) )

[ video ]

Oct. 21st, 2010 10:55 pm
[identity profile] iknowyourfear.livejournal.com
[ The camera feed is unsteady -- as if the communicator is being held carelessly. The noises around are the sounds of disorder and mass panic and anguish and torture: scurrying feet, screaming, labored breathing, random gunfire, things crashing and breaking.

The video is a blur of a warehouse in darkness and men running. Away. On the ground there are spilled packages of some white powder -- drugs, maybe -- and what looks similar to empty, tear gas canisters.

The voice that finally speaks over the chaos is low, rumbling and distorted, neither clearly one voice or many voices, just faintly tinged in malice and power:
]

Did you good guys a favor. Since you're busy running around on all fours.
[identity profile] formidophobia.livejournal.com
[something's breaking, the tinkle of glass shattering in erratic quantities, like a petulant but eerily silent argument between a warring couple, both huzzing champagne bottles and glasses and anything else they can get their hands on - something larger and heavier crashes to the ground and a scream starts up, a keening, desperate wail that sounds more born of misery than fear.]

Aaaaaauuuuggggggghhhhhh!!

[as if in answer, a dozen crows start up a raucous screaming of their own]

Shut up! Shut - up!

[recording clicks off, but starts up again mid-sentence about a minute later, silence, then the barest of whispers]--o away, come again another day.



Little Jonny wants to play.
[identity profile] dogabuse.livejournal.com
--and this just in.

[ A pleasant generic news reporter stands outside a local hospital, holding a microphone to her mouth as she reads from a sheaf of papers: ]

It seems that those who have been affected by the strange unidentified toxin that has been causing panic, hallucinations, and cardiac stress in its victims can now rest easy.

In a surprising turn of events, it has been reported that two unnamed imPort doctors have produced a safe and effective cure to reverse the toxin's symptoms. This cure has been delivered to local hospitals and is now being administered to afflicted parties.





[ OOC: For the Fear Gas plot! If anyone does a little digging or asking around at the hospitals, the cure can be traced back to [livejournal.com profile] dogabuse and [livejournal.com profile] formidophobia. ]

[Video]

Sep. 29th, 2010 12:14 am
[identity profile] formidophobia.livejournal.com
[the feed cuts in grainy, does a slow pan around a wide and semi-darkened alley; at the end of which are four men who have the rough, grimy, peculiar decline in appearance that homeless, or drug addicts have. Considering the other, unmoving person slumped against the nearby wall, it's likely they're the latter.]

Brave, to do that sort of thing in a City bristling with metahuman superheroes. Brave or ...desperate, I suppose...

[one of the muggers makes a disparaging comment, another something less-than-distinct about the 'two punks who need to move along nice and slow before somebody gets hurt' and the camera twitches up briefly, catches the light of a nearby streetlamp and a raven perched there, then down, and back to the muggers, who are advancing with implements - crowbars and baseball bats.

Jonathan's voice is unnaturally chipper for a man in that kind of situation, and he addresses someone unseen and just off-camera]


They'll do, don't you think?



[ooc; Action for [livejournal.com profile] iknowyourfear, voice for everyone else :D]

[Voice]

Sep. 14th, 2010 04:05 pm
[identity profile] formidophobia.livejournal.com
[Static, a long ten or fifteen seconds of it, then the slow drumming of fingers next to the mic. A voice comes through, muffled, but still decipherable] Do you taste that, City? That nip on the air, the soft turning over of summer as she yields to fall? It tastes like ash, now. A month on and it will taste like needles in your lungs, carrying with it the weary scratching of dead leaves. Quam terribilis est haec hora.

[it inhales, coughs and then continues] The night comes on sooner... bleak, gray, merciless. That chill finds every crack, every gap in your defenses, anxious to touch you. To raise goosebumps on your skin and the hairs at the nape of your neck. To stop your breath for just a second as you shiver, hurry home, and hope the stretching shadows conceal nothing.

So afraid. So alive.

Did you know that during the fight-or-flight response, the human digestive system shuts down entirely? The body understands what the mind refuses to grasp: that you may have already eaten your last meal. That you may be a dead man walking. The body understands fear only too well; the fear of death and of life, and the fear of agony in transit from one to the next.

--Oh, I've missed you, City. I truly have.

Have you missed me?

Video;

Mar. 13th, 2010 12:17 am
[identity profile] is-fear-itself.livejournal.com
[Jonathan is sitting on a high backed chair, one leg pulled up, a notebook balanced in his lap and a tattered, ancient looking crow perched on the chair arm, pulling at its ratty feathers and preening itself slowly.]

--Firstly, I extend my appreciation to the minders of young Jonathan, though I regret that my memory of events is ...somewhat lacking. I presume nothing save for what was recorded. That information was ...enlightening, believe me. Would that I could have met myself.

[a pause, and rustling through the notebook, which has highlighted marks all throughout of various colors, and handwritten blocks of text.]

Mm, I had a question to ask... in light of recent events. Has living here changed your perception of death? If so, how?

[another pause, and Jon leans back contentedly] And for those of you experiencing depressive mood shifts from these rampant, tragic murders, I can write you a prescription, I'm sure.

video;

Feb. 27th, 2010 11:17 pm
[identity profile] is-fear-itself.livejournal.com
[Young Jon is sitting on a park bench, dressed only in his little sweatervest and pants, and his breath is visible in the air, in mid-sentence]--is the Network. Everybody is insane, I mean legally and criminally and generally insane.

[pause; shivers. He doesn't look like he's had much sleep.]

...or maybe I'm the only one. Still trying to figure that out.

[longer pause, gnawing on lower lip]

I need help from somebody.

Please.


[ooc; fighting a headcold, tags will be slooow. Sorry, loves]

voice;

Feb. 14th, 2010 02:27 pm
[identity profile] is-fear-itself.livejournal.com
[click, brief running silence]

I'll just wait until you're finished baring your chemically "love"-induced mental disorders for the entire Network to see, shall I.

[another pause, deep exhale]

Does anyone want to discuss something other than this ludicrous holiday?


[ooc; being dragged away from the computer! back in a while]

voice;

Feb. 2nd, 2010 01:27 pm
[identity profile] is-fear-itself.livejournal.com
[the sound runs in silence for a few moments, recording hissing static and the occasional clatter and bump before the voice picks up suddenly]

Now it shows plainly to you, I hope. There is no justice, no law, no morality - only fear. Those who inspire it gain control of others.

The Joker frightened you - most of you - through publicly broadcast kidnappings, mutilations and murders. And one of you let his fear overpower him at last, and the result is what you see. Heroes cheering on immoral acts, cradling that terror that masks itself as righteous fury, while the faint-of-heart cower over the Network about their perceived misdeeds.

You will make an interesting study over the coming weeks, City. I look forward to it.

[pauses, edits to ask a question]

...what would you give up for peace of mind?

Video;

Jan. 19th, 2010 01:28 am
[identity profile] is-fear-itself.livejournal.com
[the screen switches on to grainy night-time outdoors, an empty street. There's erratic breathing near the mic, and the sounds of feathers ruffling as the camera records jumpy progress to a door, a barren hallway, and stairs]

...hhnnnn...nnnh.

[indistinct mumbling, then suddenly, clearly]

One for sorrow.
Two for mirth.
Th..ree for a wedding --four for birth.
Five for silver...six for.. gold
Seven for a ss-ecret never to be told.
Eight, for heaven;

Nine for h-...


[at a lit landing, the breathing calms, the reciting trails away for a moment. The camera view bounces, held in an unsteady hand; focuses on the familiar stitched burlap face, illuminated from above. He's looked better - the body's trembling, fingers spastic, leaning against the wall next to the door like the floor might give way.]

Nine for h...hnnn...


[pauses; lucidly]

City. Tell me what you love.

[voice]

Jan. 7th, 2010 01:24 am
[identity profile] is-fear-itself.livejournal.com
[click, rustle rustle]

So much to do as of late... so many interesting case studies to track. Meetings to arrange. And the work, obviously, I mustn't... won't forget that. I've almost been too busy to miss Gotham.

[clears throat]

...Dear City. What does the term 'hero' really mean to you?

Private: Edward Nygma - encrypted )
--
Private: Slade - not encrypted )

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WELCOME TO DREAMWIDTH, HERO...

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