The Universe's Mixer

Boyd found his way through the throngs of screaming people to a quiet space. Some place away from all the blood and death and pain. Away from the zombies and all the things that he wasn't used to.

Not that he was really thinking about any of that when he did it. He just felt drawn to the place in the park that he now stood. Felt like he needed to be there. Or should be there. Or whatever the equivalent emotion a brain fried walking corpse might have, if it might be called that.

He was only alone in the park for a few minutes. Or it might have been hours. Then they started to join him. One by one. Two by two. A dozen. All like him. If he'd cared about the smell, that alone might have driven him back into the streets looking for more squirming food.

But he didn't care. And neither did any of the others, apparently. They stood, staring blankly, just as he stared blankly. Moaning occasionally. Grouping together. Huddling, almost. Being in the park as one, together.

One might say, supporting one another.

( ooc info )

continued from here

There were less people than he'd thought there would be. Which was good, he supposed, in the way that they didn't really have to worry about supplies. But it was bad, because it either meant that people hadn't seen his sign, or that they'd all been bitten and there wasn't anybody to come find shelter here.

It worried him.

It also worried him that he hadn't seen Buffy. She hadn't come back to check in, and she hadn't sent anybody in this direction. Nobody wandered in carrying her name on their lips to assure him that she was okay.

There were others he was worried about as well. He'd not seen hide nor hair of them, and he couldn't help but fear that they were monsters now too.

Aside from Zoe and the kids, a few of the City's regular residents had popped in for shelter. Those who didn't come from some place or time outside of this one. They had no special abilities. No extraordinary skills. It was easy to forget about them in day to day life, because they just tended to blend in with the background. These were the people who had no idea that their city was alive, because they'd always lived with it. These were the people who didn't think it was bizarre how the streets and buildings shifted. How people popped in and out of existence. They were the people that needed the most help in this.

Jesse sat, looking out one of the holes in the stained glass in the choral balcony. The streets seemed dead outside. In more ways than one.

Being undead had it's moments.

The reaper's feelings on the current undead predicament was decidedly mixed. On one hand, there was a part of George that couldn't help but think that zombies were really cool. But this feeling of childhood glee at being involved in a real life George Romero flick was undercut by guilt. Not too much guilt. Just maybe a little. George's low income apartment complex was one of the first areas hit by the new zombie plague. Being undead herself she blended in well. No one bothered her. Literally. Gone were the noisy neighbors upstairs that threw parties at three in the morning once the bars closed, gone were the neighbors to the right of her that insisted on having loud sex competitions for who could scream the loudest.

Her zombie infested apartment was peaceful and George unrealistically hoped it would stay that way without spilling out into The City and causing larger problems. Perhaps it was better to take a look at the rest of The City. George no longer needed to lock the door to her apartment, not particularly worried that A, one of her newly undead neighbors would try to steal her crappy stereo or that B, someone would be dumb enough to walk into a zombie infested apartment complex to steal her crappy stereo.

In the hall George came across one of her neighbors.

"Hi Thomas."

"Mmmrrrrrrrrr..."

"Yeah? That's cool."

"Mnnnrrrrrr..."

"Well, just stay here and don't eat people, okay?"

"Nnnerrrrrr.."

George didn't know if her neighbor was actually named Thomas but not having anything else to actually call him, Thomas seemed pretty cool. Yesterday Thomas had a detached arm he happily chewed on which George felt necessary to confiscate from him. She was fairly certain that no one else would ever have the privilege of seeing a zombie pout before, but the reaper had. It wasn't until she met who the arm belonged to and saw the victim was not dead, just undead like the rest of her fellow tenants, that she was okay if a bit of limb swapping so long that it was each other's. She hoped it was a sign that they could be a peaceful zombie commune, until she spotted that once a zombie they seemed uninterested in chewing on each other.

George, Queen of the Zombies, took the stairs and encountered other walking corpse-like neighbors who were equally uninterested in her before stepping out onto the street. So far it was mostly quiet. Quiet was a good sign, wasn't it?

Halloween.  Tony Stark's favorite time of the year.  The weather was perfect, not too hot or cold, trees around the city were changing colors.  And he had no reason in the world to complain here.  He and Pepper were together, and it'd been a blissful few weeks since their initial union.  For the first time in years, Tony could say he was happy and satisfied.

He'd sent out invitations city wide in hopes of drawing in the citizens to his home for him to have a chance to meet them.  He hadn't ventured out much since he'd been here, mostly because even if he was ever the social butterfly, Tony was too focused on fixing the once damaged relationship between him and Pepper.  Now that was all taken care of and here he stood in his bedroom putting on his costume.  He'd laid his choice of cstume out on Pepper's bed for her to put on, chosen since she'd lost to him in a little game they'd played to determine what they'd spend this night as.  It was custom tailored to fit her form perfectly, having taken the dress she'd worn for their first night together and used its measurements.

He stared at himself in the mirror, thinking that his goatee would make wearing the mask a little awkward at best, but he didn't care.  He thought since he should play the mysterious host of the night, that he should don the look of someone just as mysterious.  Taking a step back from the mirror, he attempted to twirl the cape, almost tangling himself up in it the first few times until he got the hang of it and smiled.  Affixing his mask to his face, he smirked as he gave his appearance one last once over.

The Phantom of the Opera was ready for his grand entrance.

[ooc: If you're character is showing up, feel free to start your own thread under this.  Tony will attempt to greet everyone but might not for getting sidetracked by others.  If you plan to crash the party, I will start a separate thread after a day or two to give people a chance to do regular party stuff.  Have fun, and don't be shy with your characters!  This is a very social log!]

Jeannie had been thoroughly disappointed by her visit to the Magic Box. The Willow Witch was not there and the lady to whom she spoke did not know where she had gone or when she would be back. Nor had she, herself, heard of Spike. That was very depressing for the djinn, as she was quite fond of him. He was so very sweet.

Standing on the street corner after leaving the shop, she chewed her lower lip and watched the street light for a few minutes, hoping that her master would give her a sign. But the City was somewhat silent, telling her only that she could now walk. So that was what she did, crossing the street, but once on the opposite side, she paused again.

Looking down, she unsnapped her purse and looked inside. There really was no other recourse. She had no one else to talk to. She knew only a handful of people in this place, and one of them was currently missing. Besides, now that the rude leprechaun was in a size more appropriate to his actual importance, he was far less irritating. And he might possibly be beginning to grow on her. Who knew. Someday, she might feel bad enough for turning him into a Chihuahua that she would return him to his previous form. Not any time soon, but someday. Perhaps.

“I do not know what else to do,” she confessed to him. “I have looked everywhere I know to look, and I cannot blink to where he is. I have tried that. Nothing happens. I find that very worrying, do you not? That my blink does not work in locating my friend? I do not think that should happen. What if something has happened to him? Oh dear.”

Jeannie sighed and looked up, glancing around as though Spike might suddenly appear, simply because she had been speaking of him. But he did not, and she could only repeat, “Oh dear.”

Lex Luthor wasn't used to doing his own laundry. He wasn't used to doing a lot of things on his own. Oh, he could do his laundry, he just...wasn't used to it. Thankfully a dry cleaners was just down the street from his apartment. The same apartment that this City had provided for him with furniture and decor and suits in the closet. The past weeks had almost been a blur, but in a way it was almost refreshing. No responsibilities. None at all. All he had to do was wander around, getting acclimated with the City, finding his way.

He hooked the hanger over his shoulder, making his way down the street, not really in a hurry. Honestly, he had no where to be. No pressing meeting or corporate take over. It was nice. Nice was an understatement. Lex Luthor, President of the United States, was picking up his own dry cleaning. And he was in a good mood.

Mad Sweeney was drunk.

Not just drunk. Soused. Completely and utterly shit-faced. It didn't help his cause at all that he made an event of trailing from bar to bar, having his share of whiskey and cokes at each, before growing bored and moving along to the next one with a playful hum and a fist ready for a fight if anyone should cross him the wrong way.

Too bad Sweeney was in no condition to put up a fight if it was actually presented to him. He wobbled and swayed as he walked, feeling like the earth was betraying him entirely and his ability to move correctly. But it was no fault other than his own and the man formerly known as Suibhne Geilt would know that the second he sobered. Which at this rate could be weeks or months into the future.

"Tu... ra... lur... a... leh..." he sang softly, considering at this point moving along to his next destination. "Is has been a fine time, my friends, but I must move on." The ground suddenly shook and Sweeney gripped the table to keep his balance. Then it shook again, his long and gangly legs nearly buckling beneath him. "I bid you... adieu."

The earth continued to shake in bursts. Confused, Sweeney stood still for a second. As still as he could which meant he was still swaying from side to side.

"Earthquake!" He shouted suddenly, ran for the doorway and pressed his hands and feet to the frame.

Cold. It was very, very cold. And dark. Terribly dark. For a startling moment Jeannie wondered if this was what death was. It had been confusing enough when she had been in the apartment with that yelling girl and the other dead people. But just as she had been growing accustomed to that, she had found herself here.

( Wherever this was. )

OOC: Did you die in the MM plot? Feel free to join in.

This was out of her league. Not only had her work load doubled during the reign of the mass murderer but none of the souls were moving on. She was pretty sure they were just being stubborn, but dirty looks weren't working. Ignoring them wasn't enough either; dead people were near impossible to ditch. Something about being able to walk through walls.

Eventually the reaper hunkered down in her apartment, sitting on a love-seat she'd salvaged dumpster diving, and hoped someone would just catch the serial killer already. She was half tempted to ask the recently deceased so she could pass on the information to Dexter, but if she did that she realized it would only encourage them to stay that much longer.

After the first week George finally posted a sign on her wall that read: YOU ARE DEAD. GET OVER IT.

A new dawn.
A new day.

Only, it was Twilight.

The City spoke again and off to the streets again I went. Another chosen. Another task.

Would she struggle? Or go quietly into the night.

*blink* There she wasn't.

*blink* There she was.

There she sat, a vision of pink and blonde hair. It would have to be quick or she'd be gone, and that just could not be. The City required her, and the City would not be disappointed. Soft footsteps on the grass and then on the sidewalk and I approached the bench from behind.

The knife.... ah there i was, resting in my pocket, my hand tightened over the hilt and I stood behind, watching.

It would be quick. One fast slice over her throat. The blood would flow and clash against the bright pink of her outfit, marring her flawless perfect skin.

It would be beautiful.

What brought her back to the wharf, Jeannie could not rightly put her finger upon. Certainly, it had not been her intention to return to the waterfront any time soon. And most definitely not today. Today, she had planned to find a town square. Every good city had a town square, so this one must as well. One could tell much from the town square.

After the disastrous incident at the bank, which left Jeannie without a checking account, she did not know how she was to get a job. And she really ought to have one. It was the best way to meet people, and she felt that she really ought to meet more people. That was the best way to get to know them and determine if they needed her help. Her new master wished for her to help them, so that is what she must do.

Apparently, she must find them near the docks, since several wrong turns led her back to this place and Jeannie did not believe in coincidences. But despite the fact that it was early afternoon, there did not seem to be many people around. It was somewhat disheartening, and Jeannie was nearly ready to give up and move on to a different location when she spotted the restaurant.

She had the thought that this building must simply be full of people, since there was quite a lot of noise coming from within. Perhaps there was a band. Besides, she reasoned with herself, she always liked seafood and she was a bit peckish. Optimistically, she pulled open the door, ignoring the way the bass notes thunked through her chest, and made her way inside ( The Happy Clam. )

Carl was having a bad day. He'd missed lunch because the sandwich counter misplaced his order, and he couldn't wait around to get another. When he held the door open for the lovely young woman and attempted small talk with her, she had shot him down coldly. The pants of his guard uniform were too tight, indicating he had to go on a diet again. And now two men in butterfly costumes had touched down on the sidewalk just outside the doors of the bank.

"Great. Longjohns," he thought. "Lame, evil longjohns."

Angrily, Carl slammed the emergency lock button next to him. One of the butterfly-men, attempting to burst through the door, found it closed fast, and crashed into it. He bounced back, dazed, his mask slightly askew. The tall one laughed at his clumsy partner. The fat one yelled something in response, and the tall one, still snickering, trotted over to the nearby window. He pulled something from inside his unitard - a small metal thing like a pen - and pressed the tip against the glass. It made a "pop," and the entire window collapsed into tiny blue chips. Carl had his gun drawn and trained on one of the men by the time they were both inside the bank.

"Freeze!"

The tall one drew a tiny, yellow gun and, pointing it at Carl, went into a roll. Carl managed to squeeze off a shot, catching the intruder in the calf, and making him squawk like a frightened sheep. At the end of his roll, the tall one fired and something hit Carl's neck. He pulled it out - it was a little dart with yellow butterfly wings. As he felt his eyes closing and his limbs grow heavy he saw the other intruder perform a timid (and pointless) somersault in an attempt to prove his own prowess. Carl collapsed on the floor and saw no more.

"All right, people," said 21, standing up from his acrobatic feat, "this is a stickup!"

Things were not going at all the way that she had hoped they would. Jeannie had not found the fluffy slayer for Spike as she had intended. She had not even succeeded in getting the Red Witch to come with her to speak to the man who had been so helpful to her. Though she had received a phone number.

( As much good as that did her. )

When Jeannie frowned, she did it with her entire face. There was no halfway or tentativeness in the action, her expressions were a clear indication of exactly what she was feeling. Unless she was attempting to be sneaky, and even then, occasionally the slyness somehow managed to paint her features with her thoughts. In short, when Jeannie frowned, it meant she was displeased.

( Today, that was an understatement. )

So things had settled down and it was time for Catwoman to go prowling. She had the perfect target too; a priceless magenta pink diamond bracelet had just arrived in The City. There had been a small blurb in the paper about it, and its rarity, and after the description of the bracelet, she had decided that she wanted it all for herself.

She skillfully went over the fence and slid past the alarm system. The owners of the mansion and of the coveted bracelet were out of down, and their security system has been easy to figure out. After picking the lock to the back door, she clicked on her night-vision goggles and avoiding all of the trips to the alarms, she headed up the stairs. And she was feeling greedy too, for she knew that there would be other jewelry to check out in the safe.

She had studied this job for a time, and she knew the security system and blueprints of the house well. Catwoman didn’t do a job without knowing all of the ins and outs of a home such as this.

She knew exactly where the study was, and she knew that the safe was stashed being a really hideous painting of toilets. (This she knew by staking the house out. Fortunately, the people were idiots and their study was in plain site.) Who on earth would buy a picture of toilets and put it up on their wall. These people didn’t deserve to have such a gorgeous work of art as the bracelet if they had such horrible taste in other art.

She skillfully and easily got into the safe and was riffling through the rest of the jewelry when she thought she heard a noise.

Jeannie was still not all that certain that this was the best course of action. No matter what Spike had said, she could not shake her apprehensions about taking him to see someone who liked to call themselves a “slayer.” In her experience, those sorts of people were never to be trusted. Which was why instead of blinking Spike to this person by himself, she had chosen to join him. So that she could keep him safe. She refused to believe that her new master would tell her to help him only to see him harmed. That made no sense. No, this was the best way. Definitely.

From the well-lit street corner where she had met him… or was that re-met him? He did seem to think they had met before. Or at least he had met her twin sister. So that meant that they had some further connection perhaps. Which made it doubly important for her to keep him out of trouble.

From the well-lit street corner where she and Spike had been recently standing, they blinked into existence in a very dark place. It took Jeannie a moment to recognize it as an alleyway. A very dim and dirty alleyway. It smelled. Was this the sort of place that a slayer person was to be found? It was most unpleasant. A half second later, she squeaked and jumped closer to Spike, grabbing on to his arm as something greasy and furry scrabbled across her pink slipper.

“Oh!” she fumed, stamping her foot to make sure it was clear of the rat. “That is… this is… oh!”

Stepping slightly away from Spike, without releasing his arm, she commented, “I cannot see a thing, can you? This is not at all acceptable.”

With a quick nod and blink, a set of streetlights appeared, three on either side of the alleyway, completely filling the formerly darkened space with bright, warm light. Pleased with her accomplishment, she beamed at Spike, looking for his approval. “That is much better, is it not?”

The purplish bottle bobbed on the surface of the water, the crystal stopper in the top glinting in the sunlight. Caught in the wake of a small trawler, the bobbing became tossing as the bottle rose and fell in the violent ripples created by the passing of the boat. It was bouncing enough that the stopper should have fallen out from the movement alone. Should have. But it did not. It stayed in place as though stuck with glue. And from inside, there were tiny squeaks and shrieks of irritation.

Which was understandable, as each toss and buck of the bottle threw it about, the occupant inside was jostled as well. There was only so much to hold onto inside the container, and though most of it was padded, there were a couple of hard objects to bang a head into. As she found out on a particularly dramatic drop. The string of curses that fell from her lips would have been enough to make anyone blush, even if they did not understand the language in which they were uttered. If they did, they would probably cover their ears and look at her in horror. People should not say such things about Hajji, Chief of all Genies, without expecting to have some sort of retribution enacted.

Jeannie was angry enough that she did not care. Well, she did not care in that moment. But as soon as her own voice reached her ears, her hands were clapped over her mouth as though to stop it from running away with her. That had been very unwise, and she was immediately sorry for what she had said. Looking upwards, towards the top of the bottle, she whispered an apology that she hoped would pacify. As if her situation was not bad enough, she certainly did not need Hajji to add punishment on top of it.

( On top of abandonment. )