009 || written/dictated;

[workaphilic]

( [ Private ] )

( [ John Watson ] )

[When he's finished, he lingers, letting the tip of his pen tap rapidly against the page. He's been distracted, hasn't been as up-to-date on the journal as he usually is. But now that's he's skimming it again -- god, sometimes he really just CAN'T STAND you people.]

Tell me, residents. What is it like?

[There's an edge in his tone that he's not really bothering to hide -- not overtly malicious but certainly not all sunshine and daisies, either. Might as well hang a signpost reading HERE BE DOUCHEBAGGERY, PROCEED WITH CAUTION.]

(no subject)

[kamenriderdecade]

[If any of you happen to wander outside today, you'll probably catch sight of a well dressed male just outside one of Paradisa's entrances, looking through the viewfinder of a neat looking camera hanging from his neck.

The viewfinder itself is located at the top of the camera, so he doesn't have to lift it up to look through it, but rather, keeps his head bowed and stares through it, turning every so often as he surveys the new landscape he's found himself in.

If, however, amidst the scenery he catches sight of a person, he'll quickly snap a shot of them through his camera, the loud CLICK noise it creates making it readily apparent you've just had your photograph taken, without warning.

What do you do?]

Twenty-Second Negotiations; Dictated

[succubitch]

It seems strange, thinking I've been here for a year now. I'll give this place credit where it's due though, things are never boring here. [In some ways she wishes it had been. Between Wesley choosing the Texas twig and everything that's happened with Damon, she can't say it's really been a great year for her. Not that she'd ever admit as much out loud.]

Once again I can't help but this it's rather convenient that time doesn't pass at home while we're stuck here. If I had really been gone for a year, the Senior Partners would be ready to take my head. [It sounds like she's joking here. She's not.] They've never been fans of unexpected vacations.

[She pauses and debates saying anything else, and then decides against it. Instead she closes up the book and heads to the Lux for a drink.]

Dictated

[modernholmes]

 [For three days Sherlock had been keeping Conan up all night.  The short separation of the hallway between their rooms was not enough to block the overly loud noises of the other detective's activities.  Midnight violin practices.  That went on for hours.  Constant experimentation and loud sounds.

Conan HAD HAD ENOUGH.  His mind might have been that of an adult, but his body needed as much sleep as any child.  More, considering he still wasn't completely over his cold.  Since none of his requests for silence had had any effect he would just have to get creative.  

He pulls out his journal and begins to dictate into it in his best exhausted little kid voice.]

Sherlock-niichan is being really, really mean!  He won't let me sleep at all!  I tried asking him to stop making noise, but he just told me to go away.

it resulted in seventeen blackouts

[notjamesbond]

[There's the sound of shuffling, as if someone is walking around and not caring much about how loud he is sounding over the journal.]

It's got to be around here somewhere...

[The voice is of one (1) Newton Pulsifer who just happens to be looking for the second part to his Christmas gift. He had misplaced the first part, a key with a small note as to the location of its lock, in his disorganized room a while, and had only just found it after tripping over his stack of books about computers. Time to set things straight, once and for all. He turns the corner, and there's a pause, before:]

Oh! Dick Turpin! It's...Dick Turpin.

[The tone of his voice sounds exactly like the one referred for a really old friend you haven't seen in a while, until you remember that that old friend was the same one who nobody else gets and who constantly humiliates you in public with their existence because they're just that weird.]

Well, you don't look too bad for being out here for a couple months...

[There's another pause, and then an entirely different voice, smooth and sounding a tad bit artificial, speaks up.]

Rain patters the ground
Cleansing away small sorrows
Time for a quick wash.

[Newt can't help but let out a wry laugh.] You haven't changed at all, have you?

[ooc: And so, Newt has been reunited with his car, Dick Turpin, from back home. It recites haikus. We are not joking here.]

first page ❁ hello castle

[bearcub]

[There's a young man standing in the lobby, looking rather confused. He appears to be wearing deerskin clothing and a knitted poncho, and there are a couple of pouches and a large knife attached to his belt.

The teen's hair is a mess, gray in color and rough, like it has never seen a comb. Little blue beads are visible here and there in the dreads-like strands, and he has a black cloth sash tied around his head, covering one eye.

His other eye is also gray, and seems to be slightly unfocused as he's looking around the room. He appears lost and confused, his journal forgotten on a nearby table.]

blog one-oh-two

[bro_codebreaker]

[sometime around mid-morning, the sounds of a unique video game drift over the journal. in fact, for those of you from late 20th-century Earth, it sounds a lot more like someone's watching TV.... until Barney throws his Wiimote down on the couch with a groan of disgust]

Ugh! The AI on this thing is abysmal! I haven't gotten to the Showcase Showdown once! .... That does it. No more single player mode. I need co-players to the Game Room, stat. Or awesomeness hangs in the balance ...

[underneath all that hyperbole, there's a hint of something serious. he's still recovering from Jilly's departure and the way the castle messed with him on Friday. clearly the best course of action is to pretend he's perfectly fine....]

feather 001; because i cannot remember what i was at before. and restarting. ♥

[steelblackwing]

 It was odd, he thought, the madman shaking his head once. How much things had changed. His hands lifted, unseen, to touch those seraphic features. He had lost his sight when brought here and yet now.. now he was comfortable with the lack of vision that remained here and now in his thoughts.

"Hmf."

But there was still the issue of the fact that.. well.. he couldn't see. The place had taken it from him and so he sat out somewhere quiet and open, simply keeping his eyes shut as he meditated. However, any noise nearby would earn his head lifting upwards to glance around for the source of it. Seeing might not have been possible for Sephiroth anymore, but his senses had finally adjusted to compensate.

[ ooc: ohgod, so life ate me and I AM SORRY but here I am back someone come bother Seph, please? C: ]

♅ third

[themistress]

[It's a bit late to be in the kitchen, really. But Mistress is a somewhat nocturnal creature (the night time is the best time for large and elaborate parties, after all), and she gets a little bored when the lobby calms down in the evening.

So tonight, she's decided to explore the kitchen. And though she's from medieval times, it's not the microwave or the refrigerator that's caught her eye. Oh no.]

What are all these foods, exactly? So many of them, in so many layers of wrapping.

[You see, Mistress is used to less-processed food, served with goblets of wine and mead. More modern foods have piqued her curiosity! She's currently sitting on the counter in the kitchen, journal perched in her lap.

Every single piece of processed cheese in the refrigerator has been unwrapped and laid out methodically. Ding-Dongs and Swiss Rolls have been stacked into thoughtful pyramids, with swords stuck through them. There's a large and explicit painting on the floor, done entirely in condiments (mayonnaise and a pickle have been put to particularly good use). Potato chips seem to have been of particular interest, as Mistress has opened and tried every flavor she found in the cupboards.

There are some greasy streaks in the journal as she wipes her hands.]

Are things not made fresh here? Everything seems to be in its own little bag and stored. And who created this barbeque potato chip? I need to know.



[ OOC: open in the kitchen or over the journal. And here is her obligatory permissions post link. ]

Case #02

[cantacquityou]

 [It is late in the evening, and Edgeworth is returning to his room from spending countless hours at the Clinic. Upon opening his room door, something is a little...off, to say the least. He writes to the fellow residents of the castle:]








...I am still but a newcomer here, and I've yet to comprehend much the inscrutable workings of this place, but is finding a complete stranger in your bed considered a normal occurrence?