Third floor common room [laaaaaaate]

[gudspellr-claud.livejournal.com]

Okay, so Claudia had just had the freakiest experience of her life (wtf, creepy little girl trying to eat her, wtf), so she wasn't going anywhere that wasn't brightly lit.

Thus a common room. And a huuuuuuge comforter. And a small mountain of junk food.

And anything but a horror movie on the television.

First Floor Rec Room - Sunday

[joan-notjane.livejournal.com]

Tibby still had no idea where she was or how she got there. She had handwavily spent the previous day exploring the town and came to the conclusion that she could get some amazing footage for her suckumentary.

Since she couldn't find her own equipment, she had borrowed some money from the wallet of the girl who looked freakishly like her and bought some new stuff.

Then she decided to set up shop in the rec room, hoping to get some good interviews.


[ooc: "Tibby" is looking for some fun people to interview! I'm here for the next three hours and then AFK for part of the day but will happily pick up tags this evening and am totally down with SP for anyone who wants their pup's AU weekend antics caught on film. In the rec room so it can be open to adults too!]

Shooting Range, Sunday Afternoon

[sixstandingby.livejournal.com]

He hadn't slept last night. There were new sounds, people moving and he'd been twitchy, ready to pop off at the next person who came close to him. He was stuck in a fucking crazy house with monkeys and people who thought they new him.

No one knew him. He didn't know himself. His life had been a lie. He was trying to map out the truth, cut out a real life but now he was stuck in a place where he was fucking alone.

Fuck. He missed Fox. He missed getting beat on. At least that had been familiar.

Eventually, he'd found the weapons locker, found a gun and found the gun range. This is what he needed. He set up the targets, put on the required safety equipment before taking a few straight shots to get a feel for the gun. And then, he started curving bullets into the target.

He started feeling better immediately. Fuck the world. He wasn't gonna fucking lay down.

[Totally open! Come on, I had to get the bending bullets bit in SOME TIME.]

The Deck, Saturday Evening

[once-a-traitor.livejournal.com]

Prince Edmund of Narnia was no stranger to cold weather. When he'd betrayed his pitiful siblings to the Queen and taken his rightful place as her Prince, he sealed Narnia's fate to an endless winter. The cold made him sharper, more focused on the task at hand. Besides, he reasoned, if it was still above freezing, he had no place to complain. Not that princes of Narnia complained in any way. That was a sure-fire way to get turned into stone.

He'd spent today trying to find a way back to Narnia, but to no avail. Now he was sure that this was a test. His Queen would not have sent him to this island if she didn't intend for him to conquer it. Unless, of course, she'd found out about his plan to eventually betray her as he had his brother and sisters and take his rightful place as King of Narnia. He was going to go on the assumption that that plan still remained a secret.

But conquering took planning. He had time. That was why he stood on the deck outside of the dorms, ever-aware of the power of his wand in his pocket, dressed in full black leather and a billowing black cloak, and looked out upon his soon-to-be new kingdom.

[OOC: Edmund is Prince Edmund of Narnia, dark, brooding, magical darkfic version of Edmund. Open as decks are.]

5th Floor CR, Sunday Afternoon

[withoutverona]

Luke still didn't really know where he was, and the Seavers hadn't picked up when he called. He should have known better than to be taken in by all the "Luke, we're your family now" stuff, right? Dumb. And this place seemed to be strange, but a little better than the streets.

Anyhow, he had a full fridge and a pile of creative sandwich fixings, so he knew he wouldn't have to steal food again. So far, he'd made ham and swiss, turkey and cheddar, salami and American, peanut butter and jelly, and tuna salad with potato chips, and he'd probably keep making them until he ran out of bread. Either he'd share them or he'd eat them himself.

The TV was tuned to some moddable sporting event on ESPN, and Luke was trying to decide who to root for as he cooked.

[OOC: Open CR! Have a sammie!]

The Roof, Sunday Evening

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

Another day, another mopefest.

Razormouth was up on the roof again, in the same corner as yesterday, staring out over the island and pondering all the important questions of life.

Why am I on an island?

Where's Wallflower?

What's the value of pi to thirty-seven digits?

How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

Does the spearmint lose its flavor on the bedpost overnight?

αυτό που εσείς θα έκανε εάν τραγούδησα από τον τόνο?*

How many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop?

Sigh. Being a broody superhero was a rough life.

[OOC: * - What would you do if I sang out of tune? At least according to Babelfish.

For Wallflower primarily, but open! I may not be right in the head.]

3rd Floor Common Room: Sunday Night [2-8-09]

[darkangelsawyer.livejournal.com]

Peyton had spent a fair amount of time trying to figure out how she'd gotten here, and what Dan expected to gain by sending her so far away, with little result. She was tired now and just wanted to not think for a little bit.

She made her way to the common room and decided to see if there was anything on the television. Imagine her surprise when instead of the three black and white stations she was expecting, there was color and more channels than she could ever imagine watching.

She settled herself demurely on the couch and began doing what another generation would refer to as 'channel-surfing'.


[Open like a common room!]