[identity profile] lecter-md-phd.livejournal.com

A man is walking down a street somewhere in the Bahamas. He is in his 50s or 60s, but moves like one much younger. He is carrying a hunting bag.

A light flashes and the world melts away. When it returns, he is in the middle of a wasteland. He frowns, perplexed, then shrugs and looks around. After a few moments he decides to start a campfire, and does so.

He takes some meat out of the hunting bag and cooks it.

I seem to have been transported to America--or what's left of it. Looks like the midwest, Kansas or maybe Nebraska. Flyover country, he thinks. How odd.

He starts eating.

[identity profile] broodingbacchus.livejournal.com
Imriel is sitting in the shelter.

Brooding.

It's a hobby of his.
[identity profile] shakenstrfaith.livejournal.com
Groom Lake USAF Base (Area 51)
Date: ???
Nevada, USA


There was a flash and a bang, and an FBI agent landed amidst the rubble of the base lying in the dry saltbed. The chainlink fences were in disarray, and she slowly got up, staring around at everything. One moment she was leaving the hospital after Mulder had been abducted and she had learned of her pregnancy. And now... the surroundings looked like any number of bases in a desert setting. But there obviously were no people here, and signs of some battle or disaster took out much of the facilities. There was nothing to do, but start walking, and try to get her way to a civilization.
[identity profile] and-unreflected.livejournal.com
Johriel Ashedoi has a purpose.

It's one she chose herself, which is abominably odd, but still. It's very comforting.

Which is why she's currently patrolling the Cooper farm, keeping an eye out for potential threats and generally looking as businesslike as a colourless Solid Lady in a slightly dingy white dress can look.
[identity profile] eureka-bell.livejournal.com
Stephen Bell has taken over much of the Cooper living room, and is buried in blueprints and choice pieces of salvage metal which are starting to take the shape of complicated switchboards and ridiculously powerful engines. Tremble in your robot boots, Jetstorm, because Vader II is rising Frankenstein's monster-like from the wreckage.

Gabriel Gray is outside again, reading again, under a tree again. Got to make the most of the weather now it's warming up for spring.

Intuition is necking in the tall grass continuing in her quest to explore the farm and its various residents.

Hibym a Jona is, shockingly, in the kitchen; today she is exploring the possibilities offered by that delicacy known as Welsh Rarebit In Huge Quantities.

Bayami is floating about in the stratosphere, waiting for the weather to change.

And a strange and unusual and really quite hungry-looking plant has found its way down to the kraken pond, where it sits in its pot and ponders the water. If it was (a) sentient and (b) on a strict diet of human bits (both of which suggestions are of course ridiculous), one might almost think that it's looking for a kindred spirit. Alas, it has not discovered ham.

The mun asks only that you mention who you're tagging. Have at!
littlestcooper: (look to the sky)
[personal profile] littlestcooper
Right.

Remember Lucy?

This is, actually, her house.

And she's perched comfortably on the kitchen counter, left arm wrapped around her knees, right hand holding a peach, from which she takes an occasional bite.

(The bowl from which the peach originated is beside her. She's accustomed by now to having food with her at all times, in case someone edible happens to show up.)

Come say hi! She'll probably say hi back. Or just stare at you creepily. Either way.
[identity profile] ungoldenlock.livejournal.com
It had to happen someday.

Ladies and gentlemen, there's an Intuition alternate wandering around the farmhouse. (For a given value of 'wander', considering that here is a person who always knows where she is going.) She's wide-eyed as a child, colourless as a displaced Indivisible, and very interested to meet some of the various selves of Gray and herself who apparently reside here.

About as botherable as you can get; after all, she's here to meet and greet.
[identity profile] letyousaveme.livejournal.com
Here is Gray.

His clothes are torn and bloodstained and he's sitting under what remains of the roof of an abandoned gas station, cross-legged on a space of floor mostly cleared of rubble, feasting on scavenged meal replacement bars which are (contrary to packaging) not at all delicious.

But he has his freedom, and therefore all is well.

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