MarinaNova Asylum

( Closed to Spike )

[The camera opens up on a dimly lit room, only the sight of a man's hands hovering over the keys of a piano. He cracks his knuckles and then his fingers glide over the keys, starting into and playing out a solid rendition of Für Elise without error. The further into the song the faster his hands move, until the end where he abruptly shuts the lid of the piano closed.

He leans down to look in the lens, offering a wide (and wicked?) grin.] I'm up for taking some requests on what to play next.

Good morning, residents. I hope you've recovered from the last few days — if you require a more thorough scrub, the spa in Sector 3 might be just what you're looking for. Bull's Eye also carries excellent cleaning supplies, if you want to extend this cleanliness spree to the rest of your domicile.

That's all for today. Stay safe. Your well-being is very important to us.

[ And as always, a jaunty tune. ]

[The video feed is very, very dark; the room is dimly lit by candles so old that trails of wax have encrusted them to their holders. But it reminds him of home. It's quiet and lonesome, the sound of tin and glass clinking before Tyki lowers himself into a seat at one end of a dark lacquered table. More like falls into it, with a bruise forming on his jaw and a sallow, nearly waxy complexion hidden behind grown stubble and thick rimmed glasses. Waking up with an integral part of your being forcibly removed and dealing with that sudden loss takes a lot out of a man; especially one who heavily relied on the balance to keep him... sane. The pleasure checkmated the guilt into submission time and time again and now it's just an aggravating mess and a sour taste left in his mouth.

His bar was just a slathering of salt into an open wound, though oddly deserved. He would've admitted that before, perhaps, but it still irks him to see his place taken over. No, no it was Greed's bar. Perhaps that's why it bothers him so much now-- because it was born on a human connection and that's all he has now. A pitiful human existence. He draws a tall bottle of wine close and fills a dented tin cup with it. No glitz, no glamor here. Just aches and pains, a miserable existence and a strangely human presence behind his dark eyes.]

You know who you are and what you did. [He drinks, tipping back his cup.

His voice is raspy and he drops the empty cup onto the table, slouching backward against the wall.] Congrats. You won.

[And then he reaches forward to shut off the broadcasting feed.]

Jack has not had a good night. Ianto didn't come home and that's so unlike him – as in, it's the first time it's happened, ever – that he spent most of the night sitting up, worrying, except for the time he spent trying to call Ianto over the network. He even headed over to the library at one point to see if Ianto had just fallen asleep there, but there was no sign of him and he couldn't think where else he might be. And he didn't want to leave home for long in case Ianto turned up there.

But he didn't. And the morning has brought confirmation of why not. As he listens to Veridical's even-more-scathing-than-usual morning greeting, the blood drains from his face. It's as if all his worst nightmares are thrust upon him at once. He sits there shaking, and it's a while before his legs stop trembling enough to grab his coat and head for the door. But he doesn't get any further than the door, because there's a dismembered arm waiting on his doorstep. He stares at it, face ashen, and then picks it up gently, as if to avoid hurting Ianto any more than he's been hurt already, and brings it into their home.

Eventually, he gets his headset back on and starts making some calls, his face pale and grim, mouth set in a straight, tight line.

[Video – locked to Tyki]

Do you have a deathwish or something? Did you miss what I did to Spike when he messed with my boyfriend?

[Video – locked to Kitty]

Please tell me we have some way of dealing with Tyki?

[Video – open]

[Very, very grim.]
Anyone spots Tyki anywhere, let me know.

Likewise any – [choking on the words] - any bits of Ianto.

[Things happen in threes. It's the way of the world, somehow. The Holy Trinity is a fine example, ironic considering the tone of the night for one Tyki Mikk. But three has always been a number he's fond of, so he obeys the rule this wicked night. The scent of blood is strong and it's everywhere, caked underneath his nails and staining his skin, flecked across his face and even soaked into the cigarette he's lighting in the darkness of the Devil's Compass. His floors haven't been this ruined since he and Road bled Cross into the floorboards of their home. The human body bleeds so, so much.

There are a few things he needs to get to while the blood drips and settles, dries dark into the wood to stain it one of his favorite shades. Without cleaning up in the slightest he goes to work, walking silently through the dome to leave his trinity behind. His eyes glow amber gold, the look behind them madder with each step.

One, with blood spilt and collected he writes an assortment of messages on walls he passes. "Psalm 55:11, Psalms 7:15, Job 10:21, Psalm 3:6. 'Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth' being the last, scrawled in blood along the outer wall of the church. The last are left on the wall inside the Devil's Compass, scrawled almost contemplatively: The heart is more deceitful than all else And is desperately sick; Who can understand it? Lines below it; And when the devil had ended every temptation, he departed from him until an opportune time.

Two, whilst walking he has doubled his purpose by bringing along the dripping remains of Ianto in pieces. One sinewy arm hacked off and left upon Jack's doorstep, a glistening heart for the step of the Defense Force's HQ and many other pieces scattered without rhyme or rhythm across gardens and greenery. He doesn't care who sees, who finds. Road would really be proud.

And three, he retires to the church for the evening's last few minutes before an artificial sun begins to rise. Trails of red left by his fingers dragging along the walls and pews, a husk of a corpse left to lay on the floor of the Devil's Compass, Tyki feels sated, satisfied as he sits upon the bench of the piano and cracks his stained knuckles. He puts his fingers to the keys to play for the remainder of his time before they come.]


(ooc: phone posting ATM but may edit later, however this is more a post for people pursuing Tyki as well as a note of what he left around the dome. Feel free to see... Or find things! Pm, plurk or leave me hmd notes if you have questions and ill get back to you ASAP)

[Consider this the final straw to break the camel's back, at least in a matter of speaking. Days and days had passed with Tyki in the knowledge of knowing that this world was not what it seemed, that it was 'virtual'. Like one of Road's dreams it was a reality apart from his own and while this irritated him to his very core, there was very little he could do. Today's confirmation only reinforced the crease in his brow and the narrowing of his eyes as he followed along, silent in contemplation before he decided - ah, yes. He decided this was the last day.

The last day of getting by by getting by, by letting this place tame him. There was no way to make this like home, where his white and black lives were so distinctly separate that should he choose to live with his humanity intact he would be away from all influence, from temptation and people knowing the blistering creature he had confined inside. There's no staying in it, no playing house despite his best efforts. He's laid low but today, ah yes. Today was the last day.

He'd rekindled the growth of his Tease by days inside the jungle of sector six and that morning he went to tend to them and gather them up; letting them nestle inside him while he followed a rather succinct list of things he had to do. He returned to his nearly abandoned home in sector four and he scrubbed filth from his skin, the dirt from under his nails and every trace and smudge from his face. He shaved, he groomed his hair and pinned it back and he found a crisp white button down and vest, tailored pants and polished shoes. You have to look good when you're going to wreak havoc, after all.

Well dressed and the devil in his eyes, he shuffled a deck of cards as he then left the house at nightfall and began to walk the streets for opportunity to strike. He could pick his targets, that was true, but first he wanted to see what he could drum up by chance.]

[Kitty is up and out early. Working out in the training center and after a shower making some rounds through the prison. It may not be strictly part of her Defense Force schedule, but it helps clear the head and keep her active which is nice after the whole spilling every little thought thing that happened just a couple of days ago.

Of course there are some new obstacles out in the prison today to keep things interesting.]

[You won't hear them coming. You won't see their snare. The mistletoe bots are out and they're hunting you, two by two. You can run and you can hide, but eventually you will be caught, and then there's nothing left to do but kiss your way out!

Chapstick stations will be available.]

(OOC: Mistletoe Bots Info)

[It's not until night fall that Tyki bothers with this, yet another 'exciting' day of celebration having gone by to honor 300 days of captivity. Two hundred and seventy days for him, specifically. Why this merits flashing lights, games and a parade of food is beyond him but humans were always fond of doing what they were expected to. And in this case they were celebrating their own lives wasting away like sheep. He'd find this more fun to watch if he wasn't also wasting away with them rather than a witness.

He could be busy, but he has things to strike off the docket before he can relax again. Punishments, specifically. Tending to horses was easy enough, but he still owed a performance of some kind to his fellow inmates. So late this evening as things wound down and the night swept over the dome, he'd borrowed from the sector 0 stage a violin and sat himself in shadow on the floating speaker island. It was a little past midnight when the music from the speakers lulled away. And it was then that he set his device aside to record the dark; the hard to distinguish outline of his silhouette moving every so often, bathed in shadow.

He had borrowed a violin, stiff as he was to try it again. Fiddling was an easy way to make a buck, a cheap instrument to travel with as well. He'd had one a long time ago until it'd splintered, and hadn't picked up one since. But even after all that time when he began to play, the notes floated back to him with ease.

He doesn't speak, he just plays. You like what you hear? Well, there's more to follow.]

Happy Anniversary, Marina Nova!

You may have noticed the veritable fleet of maintenance bots zipping all over the dome throughout the night, working hard to clean up the dome and set up decorations for this momentous occasion. Come morning there isn't a corner left unfestive, with brightly colored garlands hanging across the streets and wrapping around the sector gates. Even the trees have been primped for the occasion, colors changing into rich reds and oranges. Strings of light hang from the branches and lanterns line the streets, here and there broken up by a pile of stacked hay bales perfect for taking a rest on.

Of course, that is far from all! There wouldn't be much of a festival without entertainment and your loving wardens have made absolutely sure that there's something for everyone!

( Let the celebrations begin! )

Enjoy!

Good morning, inmates. Today is day [ 298 ] of the first generation. The weather scheduled for today is [ warm with the occasional drizzle in the evening ].

For this day only the museum will host an exhibit on [ waterfowl consisting of polymers of the organic compound isoprene, with minor impurities of other organic compounds plus water ]. Please take this opportunity to further your education.

Have a nice day.

[ And like always, we end this message with a jaunty tune! You're welcome. ]

(OOC: The museum will hold an exhibit on rubber duckies for this day only!
Kiosk requests will be handled by Conscienti unless otherwise requested! Warden request post is HERE for your convenience! Mail submissions go here! )

[The last thing you remember is walking through a glowing door. Whether that was a good decision or a bad one is going to depend heavily on how claustrophobic you are, because right now you are fully encased in a very streamlined, sophisticated pod. It is regulating your body temperature, monitoring your vital signs, administering nutrition and dozens of other odds and ends to keep your body functional and healthy during its stay.

You're not usually conscious for this part of things. If you were, it would be a pretty boring experience. On the plus side, there aren't any tubes or wires attached to you. Those are a little too outdated for technology like this. The other plus is that you can open your pod hatch with a push. Luckily for you, those muscles in your arms and legs haven't atrophied. That's part of the science, but it's not perfect. There will be some aching and discomfort.

Take a minute to take stock of everything. You're wearing a bodysuit you don't remember putting on. You're in a giant, spiraling room you've never set eyes on before and your powers—if you have any—are blocked. But you're not alone. There are other people pushing their own pods open or lying still and silent in theirs. In fact there is a very large number of pods. You might not recognize everyone, but that doesn't mean they weren't an inmate at one time—they were even if it was brief.

For the moment there are no bots coming for you, no alarms going off that you can hear, and no immediate threats. The space is vast and the doors aren't locked, but you also might not recognize them as doors or understand how to activate them just yet.]

(OOC: This mingle is for those who went through the doors only. There will be two additional mingles for those who went through the doors and one for those who stayed behind. This mingle should be confined to the central core. The next one will be for exploring. EVENT INFORMATION | REAL MARINANOVA INFORMATION. Make sure to read these links. They have additional information you'll need for this setting.)

[ Camping out on the beach is fun, right? Sleeping under the stars, lulled to sleep by the lapping of the waves and the rustling in the palm fronds. This isn't a refugee camp, this is a resort!

Several larger tents have been prepared on the beach. If this isn't enough there's a bunch of smaller ones ready to be set up, along with the permanent beach huts if tents aren't your thing. The makings of hot dogs and s'mores are available by the fire pits and if you have additional dietary desires, the convenience store isn't far away!

Enjoy! ]

(( ooc: Event information HERE! Please remember that if your character does not spend the night on the beach, they'll be forced to camp out on a park bench or in a coffee shop. The apartment buildings are off limits until next dayweek. ))

So, first question is - how many of you have been here longer than three months? Just a general survey.

( she smiles, pleasantly. ) If you haven't, I'm Claire. I apparently took an almost-three-month hiatus, but I've been here before.

Second question - is there still a cheerleading squad?

And, third question... Cupcakes. How many of you like them?

( Closed | Action | Housemates )

[ Open | Action ]
[Kitty didn't take her communicator with her this morning. In truth she didn't even realize it was hers. As luck would have it she also didn't take her claws, not seeing where she had secured them the night before. She can still be dangerous though. She eyes the prison with suspicion as she explores.

She doesn't remember anything of her time here. Her last memories are of battle at home. She doesn't remember taking over the Defense Force or learning to love again after Piotr. She doesn't even remember what it's like to have humans not fear and hate her for what she is. She's moving stealthily, but she's bound to encounter others.]

( OOC note )

[ The audio is a little fuzzy, Clay realizes, but that doesn't matter. He's not looking for quality, here, and he's not showing his face. The people who need to hear this message will know who he is soon enough. ]

So, Marina. It's a balmy sort of day. Cool, pleasant, nice. You know, besides being stuck a thousand leagues under the ocean. Makes everything distinctly less pleasant.

[ A long, long pause, before Clay laughs, manic and strung out. ]

What's your stance on revenge, Marina?

[ The thing about being in the FBI is that sooner or later, you stop being careful. It doesn't always matter and sometimes you have to risk life and limb in order to achieve whatever it is you want — save an innocent, take down a bad guy, get information. It's so easy to forget about your own safety and without Morgan here to tackle him every so often, Reid has started to do just that.

Part of it is emotional. A lack of caring. Everything hurts and with the recent tension between him and Kitty, there's not enough good to soothe it.

Still, he's not so careless that he'll go out this late unarmed. Not with Tyki being a very real danger again — his revolver hangs fully loaded on his hip, even though he knows fully well that it takes more than that to take down a man who can move through whatever he pleases. It's a false kind of security, but what isn't? What's even left to rely on? ]

[This video feed starts slowly, with Tyki flicking a match to light as he reclines on a bed. Which is a notable change for the few who know him and how as of late he'd taken to a hammock or a shitty flattened mattress in the middle of Sector six. But today he sleeps in his old bed, smoking cigarettes all day and looking rather ragged. Which also is a notable change for a man who prides himself on his appearance half the time. The other half he outright neglects it, but for today he hovers somewhere in the middle.]

I'm supposed to apologize. [He coughs, smirks slightly and leans his head against the head rest of the bed. He takes a long drag of a fresh cigarette, exhaling through the corner of his lip before flicking ashes aside. They fall to the carpet carelessly.] Apologize for getting injured by the graceful, shapely head of the Defense Force here. Your leader, Miss Kitty Pryde, the elder.

[Next to him he pans briefly over a pile of books, some with worn covers, others dusty.] [Next to him he pans briefly over a pile of books, some with worn covers, others dusty.] A man can only read so few books before he seeks something fresh, and just the other day I sought a few books from the library here. A public resource I'm sure many have you used. Yet Miss Kitty Pryde refused me. You know what she did, without warning or any sign of hesitation? She stabbed me.

Right here. [He sits forward, bringing with him the camera towards the wall mounted mirror. He lets it focus on his reflection as he unbuttons his shirt, letting the buttondown fall open to show off the stitching on his midsection from not only one stab by Kitty's claws but two. It's a haphazard of lines he honestly could've avoided but didn't. But that's unimportant. His hand roams over it, touching to scabbed skin.]

How fair do you think that is? All because at the same time she and her cronies were in the process of torturing a man. And she didn't want me catching wind of it, you see, to throw any wrench in her plans. I consider the man they abused to be a friend, and that's why today I only ask that you stop and you think about this place. And how these people have risen to power among you, taken authority over you for no reason. They take this power and abuse it, to hold it over your head. They execute their own agendas, their own punishments, without consult of their peers. I would guess that if you all knew of their plans, you might want a little say. Because they could do the very same thing to you if you don't fall into submission.

Are they really protecting you? Or are they just keeping you contained. Under their thumb. Have you not noticed that we're all criminals here, yet those few seem to think themselves better than the rest. Purer. Like they don't have just as much blood on their hands like the rest of us.

Am I the only one who sees the irony in this? The problem?

[He chuckles.] I warn you to consider my words. And ah, yes. I am so sorry that Miss Kitty Pryde stabbed me.

Well, you all got what you wanted. I suppose 'force' is a rather fitting word now that I think about it.

[Her tone is icy and directed at a few people in particular. They'd know who they were.]

Is this how it's going to be? Step out of line and you get punished? I thought the wardens doling out punishments out was bad enough, but I guess not.

[The feed ends abruptly after that.]