WELCOME TO DREAMWIDTH, HERO...

I have need of a telepath. Or a bodily possessor, or a magician – any of the above would suit this purpose.

And before you lot so flippantly ignore this call for aid, I want you to consider this one tiny little detail: you’re not doing this for me. You’re be doing it for him.

[Camera scans to Katurian, sitting listlessly and looking at nothing in particular. He simply stares, seemingly catatonic. Motionless. Desireless.]

( for ooc context )

Most of us perceive time as linear, wouldn't you agree? Even here. Even now. But really, events tend to possess a more circular pattern.

( Read more... )

[His drawl is casual, idle even.]

Scenario: your daughter is a sadistic psychopath with a history of, oh I don't know, brutal homicide and savors a penchant for torturing people. She's ruined countless lives during her reign of terror, and finally the law has caught up with her. She's sentenced to a rather deserved death. But oh, your sickly significant other -- whom you love so deeply -- can't bear the idea of your only daughter dying. They concoct a plan that would ultimately kill them in order to preserve your progeny's life. This plan is fool-proof and will indeed work. You try to reason with them, to no avail. [His voice pitches higher:] It doesn't matter, they argue, I'd die within a few months anyway. This is my final wish, honor it if you love me.

There's the scenario.

So what do you do?

Do you -- Choice the first -- honor your loved one's dying plea and kill them in order to subject your psychotic daughter to a lifetime of hiding, and thus run the risk of her killing again.

Choice the second, you decline your lover's begging and sentence your daughter to her death, earning the hate of your lover in their final days.

Third choice, you agree to your significant other's wishes and only until after they die do you kill your daughter. This ensures she cannot murder again (because oh, you know she will) but it's also a silent betrayal.

Fourth option: do you remain loyal to your lover but, once they die, you wipe your hands clean of your responsibility and leave your daughter to her own devices? Perhaps she'll get caught again, and then you're under no obligation to protect her for her years to come.

You must choose one of the solutions above, because that's how this game is played.

Tragic, isn't it? The disappointment that haunts endeavors. Individuals. No matter how much faith you invest, no matter how much you care. No matter what guidance you offer.

This is why I never took on sidekicks.

When does a person no longer deserve a second chance? Is there even such a thing?

[Encrypted to Mitchell Hundred.]
I'm obligated to speak with you.

A real curiosity, isn't it? A real delving question, how mythos -- how stories -- can so easily carve the details of humanity's failings. I cite Daedalus, a man who created puzzles to hide monsters. And his son, Icarus: a disappointment, a fluttering fireball. A boy whose greatest story was death.

Cringe-worthy, isn't it?

So -- how does that comment upon yourselves? Do you follow a story, a pattern, or do you create it? During these darker hours, full of death and loss and chaos, what narrative do you whisper to yourself?

[Encrypted to NORMAN OSBORN]

Urgent. Unforeseen problem, ready your Avengers.

[Encrypted to ACTIVE THUNDERBOLTS]

All active and able Thunderbolts, report in. Now.

ooc || right before this scene.

If we might all take a momentary break from the mundane melodrama afoot? I’m sure some of you would be engaged by this scintillating scientific discovery: astronomers have detected perhaps the most ancient thing in the universe up to date.

And no, I’m not speaking of Lust.

A galaxy estimated to be thirteen-point-one billion years old. Think of a birth about six hundred million years after the Big Bang. Breathtaking, isn’t it? Of course, people tend to cling to chronological order, when speaking of time. There are more angles to such a concept, but one is favored above all else. Why? Perhaps because, occasionally, something bad happens to us, something terrible, and it gets displaced on a linear time scale. You can’t quite pinpoint it again; it’s almost questionable if it happened at all. Repression, invoked amnesia -- the names for this are endless.

Perhaps we are not the architects of time, but its editors.

Or its cowards.

[ Encrypted to Norman Osborn. ]

Speaking of old, have we missed your special day?

[Video switches on. The screen pans around a room belonging to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, in the Egyptian exhibit. There are momentary focuses on statuettes of Osiris and Iris. Eddie speaks behind the communicator, drawing his vowels out lazily, mimicking the documentary narrative voice.]

I’m hardly one for the infamous Ozymandias line—Percy Shelley was always a bit dramatic, wouldn’t you say?—but the general entropy of power draws my interest. Let’s take, for example, the largest power of the ancient world—the Achaemenid Persian empire—which reigned from 550 to 330 B.C. Throughout its history a pattern of power was established by the opportunistic and the pragmatic. Darius the Great is a prime example, having claimed relation to Achaemenes after the current king’s son died en route to Persia, and thus establishing status as the heir apparent through possibly unproven, or dare I say potentially forged? documents. Nevertheless, this was a significant political turning point that had sown the seeds of a genetic legacy. Curious thing, isn’t it? The world was changed because of a single moment seized. But then again, what empire hasn’t fallen on its knees before the opportunistic and pragmatic?

You’re welcome for this educational tidbit, by the way.

[He meanders, after stationing the communicator nearby, hands folded behind his back, before the collected ruins of the Mastaba Tomb of Perneb.]

Of course, the rival power to the Persian Empire was Egypt. Is it all making sense yet? The capital of Memphis fell in 525 B.C. following a ten-day siege. Five-Two-Five-Ten. Heh.

[On his left is the blue-tinted Sphinx of Amenhotep III. He halts, staring at it.]

Well. [Pause.] Hngh. That brings back memories.

[He looks at the sculpture a moment too long before walking back to cut video feed. All replies will be in voice, unless otherwise stated.]

[There is absolutely no background noise; he's inside and alone.]

If it's not one thing in this City then it's another, isn't it? No rest for the wicked, I suppose--well, if that held true, we'd all be very bad people. Surely that's not the case? But then we've come to expect chaos. Perhaps we're just desensitized to unrelenting stream of action and trauma, perhaps we're cynical. Or perhaps we're addicted.

On another note, how does one celebrate a year spent here? Do you blissfully ignore it, or hope the night goes out with a bang?

[Encrypted to all Thunderbolts, individually.]

Thunderbolts, report. Time to shine.

[Private to Mitch Hundred.]

I'd like a word.

[His eyes are peeking betwixt ungloved fingers, wide and wild. Edward does not blink throughout the entire transmission, but his pupils are consistently darting to and fro, darting about at a hummingbird’s pace. He looks disheveled, wretched and yet glowing with some intangible, nigh-golden force.]

I can—I have tried—over these past few hours—youhavetounderstanditisalotto—

[A pause. He seems captivated by something; he takes a deep, sensual breath.]

Cameron—who? Their safety—John and—and—Kyle and GLaDOS and who--? That can’t stop the cold. The lonely—that feeling won’t—look, I’m sorry—

[Grabs at the communicator, shaking it.]

Don’t. Don’t ignore this. The Porter—Don’t attack. I can see it, feel it, God it’s almost like being it, Alastair, don’t yield to that—It can’t end well—bloody hell, someone stop him! Someone stop it.

[A crack in his voice; the strain is apparent.]

Desire. Please. Stop it.

ooc || Eddie’s been hooked to the Threshold! That means he’ll be spewing desires from this permissions post throughout the span of comments here. If your desire wasn’t mentioned in the opening (didn’t want to bullet the material) fret not! Eddie will be sure to play the sibyl to someone.

--You need to turn on your--- [Pause. The voice was distant, slightly muffled, and there’s some brushing rumbling sounds as a hand searches his pocket.] This isn’t---

Oh. Oh dear. No, no, no, don’t do this to me!

[He takes out the communicator and switches to video. There’s a cell phone in his free hand and an incredulous, somewhat furious expression on his face. No question marks on his suit! He was on a date, you know.]

I was on a date, you know. A date with quite a divine young woman and I wasn’t done. Whatever will Angela think? I’ll be entirely bored if I ever return to that moment now. Thanks a lot.

[Switches back to voice. Muttering.]

Unbelievable.

There really is no end.

So what have I missed?

[Encrypted to Norman Osborn]

You’ll have to excuse the theatrics, Osborn, I couldn’t have the whole City aware of my return immediately. I doubt anyone of significance will question, anyway. I took the liberty of utilizing my first few hours back to scan recent events. Apparently I’ve missed roughly a week.

And apparently our little plan concerning your boy is in motion. American Son, really? I detect a theme of yours. Of course, I’m able to detect a lot of things again.

[Encrypted to Tony Stark]

Goodness, Tony, we really need to chat. Long time no see, and so forth.

[Encrypted to GLaDOS]

Hello.

[Dododo dododododododo dododo! CHANNEL FOUR NEWS flickers onto the screen for anyone whose communicator is on. The urgent harbinger of monosyllabic dos bring attention to a flustered and clearly unscheduled broadcast.

An attractive male, mid-thirties with a strained smile, sits before the screen. The perceptive will notice he’s clenching the papers in his hands just a little too tightly.]

This is Rath Danners reporting. We at Channel Four alert you to breaking news: in addition to the extremely violent outbreak of rioting in the downtown area, a record high of audacious looting and robberies has struck uptown, reigning terror upon that district. Twenty-four counts of murder and manslaughter have been recorded thus far. Disputes are amassing in greater numbers. There is no suspected gang activity—it appears—it appears that these larceny prone mobs are—accumulating at random. Local and notable psychiatrist Doctor Franklin Raud explains—blahblahblahblah.


( LIVING BEYOND YOUR MEANS. )