(no subject)

[atrophied]

[ Forward dated a few hours: ]

Good morning, fellow castle-bound brethren. A note. Unless you are actually bleeding out of extra orifices, your eyes are melting or your skin is peeling away from your bones, the clinic is closed. We're not equipped to treat pathetic whining.

If anyone has a problem with that, we don't care.

Today's public service announcement brought to you by Tide. Tide. For all your stain removal needs.

Disclaimer: results may vary.

Tadchan-a-Toloth; forward dated to the afternoon; action/journal

[inafadingcrown]

[By now Galadriel has realized the futility of attempts to remove the markings from her arms. Her hands remain the dark red of dried blood, splatter marks trailing up her forearm. That she could deal with. But she had spent far longer trying to remove the writing that encircled her right wrist like a bracelet. “Kinslayer.” There for all the world to see.

So be it. It was true and easy enough to learn of in her own world anyway. And if it shamed her still- well, it should. She wouldn’t hide herself in an attempt to run from it. So, instead, she’s taking advantage of the calming influence of Alexstrasza's tree, sitting by herself and alternately flipping through the journal or reading from one of a few books she has brought with her.

Eventually, she decides to speak to the castle at large through the journal.]

So many of us with blood on our hands. So many more with other marks of shame. [And, yes, she does mean “us.”] I will not tell you that you should not grieve for what you have done, nor will I offer forgiveness; it is not my place. Yet if you are to take something from this...event, perhaps it should be this: you are not beyond redemption or change. That this troubles you so proves that you are not past all hope. And that so many of us suffer similar afflictions proves that you are not alone.

[Friends, allies, and acquaintances]

Who among you intend to join the expedition?

[ooc: As described above, her hands are stained with blood and she has "Kinslayer" written in a circle around her right wrist. Feel free to run into her on the castle grounds under Alex's tree or respond to the journal.]

10 DNA Strands - Blood, Forward-dated to just after 6 am

[kid_apocalypse]

[Evan had awoken, like most mornings, at 6 am. Almost immediately he could tell something was off. His hands were stained a dark red color, as though he'd washed his hands in blood, though he couldn't remember doing anything the previous day that might have caused that. It's not until he gets out bed and strolls over to the bathroom that it really registers in his head what's going on. On his chest is a symbol he knows all too well, and his waist is adorned with a large letter A. Worst of all, the mocking nickname Quentin gave him was scrawled across his forehead in big letters, broadcasting to all that he was "KID APOCALYPSE". It's almost more than he can bear, and he staggers out of the bathroom, his emotions welling up beyond his control.]

No...it's not....this is not who I am!

[Thinking quickly, he runs back to the bathroom to try and scrub it off, but no matter how much soap and water he applies, no matter how hard he scrubs, the stains won't come off.]

God...I'm...I'm not...NO!!!

[Anyone on the third floor just now will hear a loud explosion come from the room marked "Evan Sabahnur", and his door will fly off of it's hinges a few moments later, and what was an ordinary castle room will have been reduced to a blackened husk, with Evan at it's center, his journal laying open in front of him. Try to approach him, and you'll find yourself buffeted by an invisible force coming from Evan himself, though he has no control over it. For now he's just gonna sit here and sob, his tears falling large and wet on the journal's pages.]

3rd Memory ~ [Dictated]

[deltacain]

[There's something that David didn't want to be reminded of, and it was there this morning.

Staring at himself in the mirror, David finds his eyes drawn to his head... and a red stain showing there, across his scalp. As though something had cut the skin.

His eyes widen and he backs off, bumping the table the mirror was on. His journal falls to the floor, open.]

No... It can't be... that was....

[He stares at his reflection again, eyes straying down to his stomach.

He reaches down, blindly fumbling for the journal.]

I think... I think I need a doctor.

((OOC: David's Samkranti stains are from when he was shot that fateful day. One across his head, a bullet-shaped one in his stomach being the most prominent.))

[Dictated]

[lightbranded]

 [Will woke to the bitterness of ashes on his lips and the stain of blood on his sleeve.  Blood which had soaked through from the scar on his arm in the very familiar shape of a perfect circle quartered with a cross.  The same shape that had been marked on his arm like a brand during his first encounter with the Dark. 

It had been a burn, long ago. One that had been healed by the Lady herself.

This wasn't possible. Will knew that.  Nor was the faint powdering of white ash on his hands that left a trail of white dust on everything he touched,

But Will doesn't panic or cry out. He very sensibly wraps a towel around his arm and presses on it in an attempt to stop the bleeding. And then he reaches for his journal, not caring in this moment that he was leaving fingerprints of white ash on the page.]

I am wondering if anyone has any spare bandages and some time?  I'm afraid this might be a little difficult to handle, myself. 

[But with these tasks done, Will curled in on himself with grief.  He suspected what these signs might mean.  White ashes for regret, wasn't it? Blood from a wound that would forever mark him. It did not take the wisdom of an Old One to read the meaning here.]

[Dictated]

[schrodingersghost]

 [It had started slowly, with just the faintest stain of blood tinged ectoplasm on his hands.  Danny hadn't recognized at first, and figured he must have just rubbed some dirt on his hands. 

He'd never been accused of being very observant.

But it wouldn't rub off, no matter how much he scrubbed.  Wouldn't phase off, no matter how much he tried.  And it kept getting larger and darker.  Glowing green ectoplasm and bright red blood, all mixed up together and dripping off his hands.

But it doesn't end there.  A single phrase begins to appear on his arm, just where it would have been covered by his gloves as a ghost.

You're a freak! Not a ghost. Not a boy. Who could love a thing like you? 

He can't rub this off either, no matter how desperately he tries. FInally, in frustration, he reaches for the journal.]

What the heck is going on here!

- 4 - There is no witness so terrible, no accuser so powerful, as conscience which dwells within us.

[toobravehearted]

[ "Check out this bone structure, Doctor, 'cause one day, you're going to be shaving it!"

It pays to be fastidious and he does think it befitting of him to at least be turned out presentable. He's long grown out of the bohemian style with mile long scarfs and the Edwardian cricketing gentleman is far more 'him'. It's a case of personal choice, not vanity.

Only half dressed right now and with a paisley dressing gown over his top half, he's in the bathroom of his castle room lightly humming a tune. Outright singing in the bathroom isn't unheard of for The Doctor, but a better mood than the one he has is required for it.

Instead he's thoughtful, mind occupied with the events of the last few days. The humming he's doing is attributed more to an absent minded habit as he shaves.

Yes. Time Lords do have to shave. It wouldn't do for him to grow a beard now, would it?

Swizzling the razor in the sink, he notices blood on the ends of his fingers. ]

Oh, well that's just typical. All of time and space and now I get a cut from shav-

[ Except there is no razor nick and the blood on his fingers is spreading. He stares at his hand and then the other; blood slick and horribly dark slides over the backs and palms of his hands, quickly making its way up his forearms. ]

Oh no. Now that's-

[ Dropping the razor he reaches for a towel. He's still got shaving cream on his face but that is forgotten for now while it's quickly apparent that the blood isn't going to come off of his hands. Catching sight of his reflection he stops stock still, stunned as he reads words on his body reversed in the mirror. ]

No, no, no! As if I need to be reminded?!

[ Striding out of the bathroom his first port of call is the journal, flipping through pages to see if there's anyone else or just him. He's conflicted to be seriously worried or relieved when he finds out he is not alone. Forcing his voice to be level, he dictates directly to the journal. ]

Anyone discovering... markings of some sort on their person, please... try to remain calm. You're not the only one's to have done so. As distressing as this is, I implore anyone affected to try not to panic. Yes, I know that's easier said than done. Some comfort can be taken in that we are in this together.

[ The Doctor debates before saying his next. He's not sure if offering will help in any way. But he is aware that some people here have powers, and there's no telling how they may cope if they end up bloodied like him. ]

Does- I mean to say- Anyone particularly affected and in distress... I can assist a little. I have an area in the TARDIS that promotes rest and calm. If anyone severely requires it... Please let me know.

4th case

[not_nikkiheat]

[Kate has long since given up on the blood stain over her heart. She had panicked at first, but once she couldn't find a wound, she gave up, putting on a shirt and walking to the mirror.

That's when she notices it. Black letters spelling LIAR perfectly across her lips, almost like grotesque stitching. She tries scrubbing, then lipstick, then concealer and lipstick. The black letters don't even fade. With a sigh, she reaches for her journal.]

I think I'm going to lay low for a few days, and hope this blood and freaky word phenomena passes quickly.

Forty-fourth Spell

[courageous_wit]

[carefully Hermione takes a breath. She tries to speak in a calm and even tone, though it's hard to mask the tremor in her voice]

We are all still recovering from the earthquake, and now this is happening. It... it should pass. Shouldn't it? It's only the castle doing its best to cause an emotional stir. It won't last forever.

[she bows her head and adds quietly to herself:] It was still unforgiveable.

66; action/dictated

[gottaknockhard]

[Spike hasn't made a habit of checking the journal as soon as he gets up in the morning. If he had, he may have been able to avoid the scenario that took place as he reached for a coffee mug in the kitchen.

Somehow he doesn't notice until that exact moment that there is a telling purple bite mark wrapped around his wrist. He stares at it long enough for panic to set in.]

What the... [He didn't even feel it.] Just won't die, will you?

[What happens after can be heard all the way in the lobby. Determined to find what he knows is slithering around here somewhere, he begins shoving appliances off counters, emptying drawers, cabinets, throwing pots around, and finally... he starts the daunting task of taking apart the fridge. (Clearly his way of helping after the earthquake.)

That's when he remembers the journal.]

Hey, there's -- [A whole lot of chatter going on in there. He hesitates...] -- a mouse or something in the kitchen. You'll probably want to stay out for a while.

[He hasn't even noticed the blood running down one side of his face. That's what happens when you haven't had your coffee yet.]


ooc: open on journal/in the kitchen!

6 Famiglie~ [Accidentally Dictated]

[is_mafia]

[Giotto had woken up and he had known something was wrong immediately when he had looked at his hands and had seen the words on his knuckles and the familiar number on the palm of his hand. He had discovered his eye and the crest on his head a few minutes later, along with the blood flecks that bled through his clothes. Giotto had tried to scrub it all off, but it had stubbornly stayed imprinted on his skin. All he could think of was the castle had done this, and checking the journal, he found out that he wasn't the only one.

Currently he was trying to get dressed, and his clothes seemed to never fix, no matter what he did to them. His shirt stubbornly stayed wrinkled, his hair a mess, and red pinpricks of blood kept seeping through his shirt. His mismatched eyes stared back at him, and his hands shook as he tried to fix his tie (the eye seemed familiar, but he couldn't seem to place it). How had it even known exactly what his regrets and shames were? He didn't advertise it, he wouldn't admit to half of these things. It unnerved him, that a castle had this much power, to send him trembling and full of guilt and shame.

He couldn't even stand to look at himself right now. Angrily and feeling helpless, he kicked the mirror hard, cracking it.]

Damn it.

[He cut across to his desk, leaving the mirror, and quickly dictated a filter.]

( Tsuna )

{003} dictated;

[ol_northy]

Has... whatever this is happened before? It's like rust. Has anyone else had any luck getting rid of it? I don't think it's anything serious, but maybe we should just take it easy for the day.

[Because now he's walking around with bloodstains on his hands and wrists and the symbol for "theta" bleeding through his clothing over his heart. He's tried to cover it with his armor, and now the strain is rust-colored on his chestplate. If you catch him walking around, he'll have his little purple and pink AI companion hovering nearby. A security blanket.

If you do go wandering later in the day, you'll catch him sitting in the kitchen, having a nice little conversation with his AI, Theta.]

8th Widows web - Dictated

[well_assembled]

[Earthquakes, lost friends, drunken choices... this doesn't even surprise her.]

Apparently we all know the castles latest gem, so fair warning I am not the prettiest sight right now.

Still I have things to do, so I understand if those who know me would rather avoid me until this runs it's course and I won't be seeking people out.

Unless I'm needed I'll just be carrying on as normal.

[The journal was closed with a hand that ran red in blood, like most of her body.]

Capture 6

[panicswitched]

[ for those who haven't seen ashley in a few days -- which is most people, as she's been avoiding nearly everyone lately -- the fact that she's addressing the journals is likely a slight surprise. but fear not. her tantrum is only beginning. her voice is dripping with sarcasm here and those who know her well might be able to hear how her tone wavers. ]

Thanks, Castle. Really. You've outdone yourself with this one. It's beautiful, such a nice welcome back for me. Just when I think I might be okay trying to talk to someone, you have to remind me of things I'd rather not. Thanks, really. I owe you one.

If anyone needs me, I think I'll be hanging out somewhere else for the rest of the month. I'm done with these warm welcomes.

[ Filtered to Helen Magnus ]

[ she pauses for a while here, knowing she needs to do this, but unsure of how to even begin. ]

I'm not mad at you. For the record.

[ Filtered to Galadriel ]

...So about that game night. [ she owes galadriel an apology anyway. ]

003

[littlesoul]

[She's bloody, of course she's bloody. Her hands, her feet, her face. She's blood soaked and burning with a displeasure that says she is not pleased at all with this.]

[She writes the entry with the bloody dripping from her fingertips, so it may come out a it smeared but the sentiment is there all the same.]

Blood isn't scary, neither is ink, ash or old lipstick. Don't be afraid, don't let it win. We all ache inside for something, all mourn the mistakes we made.

But

[her hands start shaking a little as she thinks of her own regents, her own mistakes.]

But we are meant to learn. To grow out of what they taught us. We are more than our mistakes, we are triumphs and blood and love and hate and vengeance and passion.

\We are not defined b our stains.

(no subject)

[willrememberthat]

I hope this goes away soon...

[There's a small, uncomfortable little whine that escaped, here. Clem's been sitting on her hands ever since she looked down at them and saw that they were red.]

It's hard to take your mind off it, when it's on your hands. Maybe... does anyone want to watch a movie? Or even share stories. I like hearing stories. I think it would help.

(no subject)

[dontpatr0nizeme]

( Private )

[When he finishes, realizing it's a waste of time... He goes to get his journal out, though he inadvertently leaves a reddish smear on the page on opening it. Thankfully, he wrapped his hands to keep it from getting worse. When he speaks... He sounds calm on the surface at least. He's doing his best to not let slip how much he's freaking out at everything being laid bare like this. It's like a living nightmare.] Until further notice? I'm indisposed. If you need to talk to me, it's going to have to wait until after the castle finishes this bullshit.

Well, that or contact me through the journal and I'll get back to you when I can. I'm not leaving my room any time soon. [And there aren't many in the castle likely to get through that lock.]

[softly]  There are some things the world doesn't need to know about.

3rd Elevator (Action/dictated)

[honeytoes]

[ Anybody going near the kitchens will come across alot of crashing, banging, and a whole lot of swearing.

God DAMNIT!! Why won't you come off?

[It started with him noticing a small blood stain on his right palm when he went to get his mid-morning coffee. Rubbing it didn't help and neither did running it under the tap. Now it's dripping down both his forearms and getting more and more on his nerves.

He's basically rummaging around the cupboards under the kitchen sinks looking for cleaning supplies.]

What the fuck are you doing to me?...oh god no!

Not here...not now!

[And now he's noticed that the blood on his left palm has cleared slightly to reveal a burn mark in the shape of the symbol of The Ancient Ones. He freaks out. It's partly because of his paranoia that they're coming for him and partly because he has no desire to reveal his secrets to anybody in Paradisa.

He gets back to scrubbing his hands...only more franticly and occasionally cursing under his breath.]

ooc: The symbol in question on Garys hand is images2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20120920040705/thecabininthewoods/images/9/96/Ancient_Symbol.jpg

Number 4. [ Dictated ]

[patching_up]

[When he awakens in the morning, he doesn't feel anything out of the ordinary. It is only when he passes by the pointed shard of mirror he'd propped up against the wall beside his bed that he freezes, mortified, raising a hand to the burn that has spread across his eyepatch. He remembers exactly where that mark came from. How could he ever forget? But it wasn't supposed to be there anymore, it had been gone when he awoke in this place...]

[He moves to pick up his journal, speaking tentatively into a blank page, his voice strained. He just has to get it fixed, that's all. That's all. He'll make it go away.]

Is anyone here good at sewing? I need a favor.

[He's shaking as he sets it down again. There's a mark on his back, but he doesn't see it; he's too busy burying his head in his hands.]

Twenty Five Truffula Trees

[whichwayyoulean]

[Well, at least the Once-ler doesn't sound panicked as he finds his journal today. He does, however, leave a big black smear of something that looks like what would be the result of tar and oil having a horrendous pollution-filled love child. Better not touch that. Side effects include extra eyes, webbed appendages and minor cases of glowing. Still, the Once-ler is not panicking, he KNOWS what this gunk is and he has dealt with it many times before. He has a very sympathetic tone as he speaks into the journal...if 'sympathetic' is another term for 'patronising']

Wow, gosh, it sure must be so upsetting for everyone here to have whatever they regret or are ashamed of the most hounding them every waking moment of their lives. To never be free, even for a second of the terrible knowledge of what they've done wrong. Not a moment's reprieve to forget it and enjoy their lives for the briefest of moments. Man, I can't imagine what that must be like.

[One of his little unless-es starts scrawling itself across the page, almost as if on cue]

Oh wait. Yes, yes I actually can imagine that. [Yup, any fake sympathy is gone] When its your permanent loss, you know, something that's with you permanently, then try complaining. I might actually start to care.

[Once-ler that's kind of what the unless thing is all about, you know CARING. There's another SPLOT of schlopity slop on the page]

Ugh. Thanks for the double dose of regret, castle. I'm just going to go sit in my shower and drink soup through a straw until all this is over.

15th Card [dictated]

[legacydeck]

[There's a smudge of ash on the journal, where Clow opens it, and then he speaks, a certain cold irritation underlying his tone.]

It looks like the Castle is trying to give us a scare. Wonderful.

[He sighs, and then when he continues, he sounds a little more like himself]

For the time being, the pie shop is closed due to the damage from the earthquake the other day. I'm not quite sure for how long, though I suppose I may as well take the time and do some redecorating as well. I'll make an announcement when we're ready to re-open.

[Filtered to employees at the pie shop]

If you help with clean-up, I'll pay you your normal wage. At the shop or around town - we're not the worst-damaged building there.

Thirteenth Gate

[forsometimenow]

I can't do anything except continue to do my job and treat people. ... but if having my opinion of myself written all over my body makes anyone uncomfortable and they'd rather see someone else, I understand.

[There's a spot where her pen rests, then nothing more appears on the page. Jennifer has the mark of a large scar on the right side of her forehead, along with words/phrases like "Incompetent" "Doesn't belong" "Neglectful" "Never fitting in" visible all over her body.]

9th Sortie

[solowingpixy]

[Pixy is lounging on the couch on the lobby, looking a little worse for wear today, while a little shiba inu puppy (that he had adopted eleven days ago from town) was laying on the floor by the couch. When he woke up and read the mess about 'stains' over the journals, he almost wondered if he was exempt for once. Of course, luck wasn't with Solo Wing this time, as they eventually got him too, and he currently looks like he just came right out of a plane crash. Dirt, scuff marks, dried blood and fresh blood are all over himself and his clothes, but he really doesn't seem to care as he talks to the open journal.]

So everyone's bent on believing these "stains" - as they keep being referred - are symbollic to our psyche in some manner? It's got to be linked to 'guilt and regret', huh? It's amazing how people look for hidden meanings behind the actions of this place and don't just chalk it up to it messing with us.

[Of course, he doesn't know the extent of some peoples' stains, but naturally he doesn't particularly care either. He reaches down to pet the puppy while staring at the ceiling, but starts to feel an awful burn on the back of his right hand. He pulls his hand back up and looks, frowning when he sees a scar, that looked like it was caused by a chemical laser, shaped like the number '0'. He scoffs.]

...well, that's awfully ironic.

( Dr. Beckett )

11th Trick Shot ~ [Dictated/Action]

[compromisedarrow]

Clint is in the kitchen, rummaging around for some lunch, when he stops, staring at the back of his hand. A spiderweb of light blue stains, matching the pattern of his veins, is weaving across the back of his hand...

And the rest of his body, for anyone behind him.

He doesn't freak out, he knows what's going on, he just sighs exasperatedly.]

You've gotta be kidding me.

(no subject)

[heliotroping]

[Filtered to anyone who can transform]

N--nobody feels... a transformation coming? [his voice is forced calm, but still shaky from something]

I don't feel anything, but... I have... vampire bites scars that just reopened. I'm worried all of this is a precursor. If it is... we need to take precautions.

(no subject)

[originalcopy]

[Church was doing pretty good, all things considered.   The earthquake had sucked, but no one he actually gave a shit about got seriously hurt.   He'd actually gotten to be useful and put some of his new knowledge on how to use his armor to use.  Then the castle had to go and do what it does best. 

He was out walking around the castle when the corner of his eye itched.  Which was weird enough in itself, but then everything went black.]

Aw Come On... what the fuck!

[He stumbles around a bit, until he walks into something hard and is knocked to his ass.]

This is fucking bullshit!

Case 3

[lawfulmanicure]

 [Kristoph, still holed up in the music room, has finally fixed that old violin the castle had so graciously gifted to him. Having repaired it, his mood was considerably better than it was after that April Fool’s fiasco he would rather much forget. Now that he was in that all too familiar state of jumbled thoughts and annoyance, Kristoph’s determined to play again...

 

He patiently flips through what he was hoping was a book of sheet music on the stand he stood at, only to find every page blank. Hmph...so the castle’s playing with him again? Well, Kristoph still won’t lose his cool, not when he has a means to calm himself further and organize his thoughts. The journal, originally laid out on an empty chair, is now set on the music stand in place of the useless sheets of paper; for the sake of keeping an eye on the rest of the residents, as well as a means to broadcast his music.  

Kristoph decides to simply play what he could remember first of a violin scale. Yes, test the notes first, then move onto a melody. There must be at least one song he remembers, even if he hadn’t picked up the violin in well over ten years...perhaps more. A thought occurs to him and his playing slows]

Hmm...Now, what was it that they used to play? Ah, yes.

[The notes soon form into the melody he didn’t realize he was looking for until now. Recalling all the memories he had of both practicing in the past and his brother’s popularity as a musician, Kristoph’s playing shows more confidence in the song, though something about it seemed a bit off. Kristoph had slowed the original tempo down considerably, remaking the piece  into a chilling requiem. Fully concentrated on his playing, Kristoph had no idea that as he continued to play the song, marks began to show up on his skin in two forms: of blood splatter across his face and glasses, and of faintly glowing pale blue smears on his fingers.

He could think clearly now, and that was all that mattered.]

[[OOC: Combined action and dictation. Have some creepy violin music seasoning to go on your angsty Samkranti steak. :D]]