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radiopalkiller) wrote in
entrancelogs2013-06-29 07:25 am
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Entry tags:
If you could be any you, who would you be? [OPEN]
Who: EVERYBODY!
Where: TV Wonderland
When: June 29th - July 1st
Rating: anything from Teletubbies to Game of Thrones
Summary:
As announced this will be a catch-all post for shorter scenes, commercials, or things you simply don't want to make an entry for.
Over the course of the event, everyone will be forced to act out various stereotypical roles and common tropes. The setting immediately around them will change randomly into settings from cliche popular media, complete with mediocre side-character NPCs who will never break character. It will become clear very quickly that they are expected to act out a particular role in the scene. They might be expected to be a tough cop, or a handsome sexy doctor, or someone’s evil twin come back from the dead, or any number of terrible tropes – and these tropes do not necessarily have anything to do with who the character is or what they do for a living. They could be the most innocent person and suddenly find themselves forced into the role of a hardened criminal.
Where: TV Wonderland
When: June 29th - July 1st
Rating: anything from Teletubbies to Game of Thrones
Summary:
As announced this will be a catch-all post for shorter scenes, commercials, or things you simply don't want to make an entry for.
- If you want to involve your character in anything and everything, leave a blank comment with them and see what others drag them into! Other characters will respond and set a random scene for the two (or three or seven) of you.
- If you only have one particular thing in mind then set it up in a comment and wait for replies of anybody who wants to play along with the idea and stumble into that scene in their next response (or mark the thread CLOSED if you already have participants in mind)!
Over the course of the event, everyone will be forced to act out various stereotypical roles and common tropes. The setting immediately around them will change randomly into settings from cliche popular media, complete with mediocre side-character NPCs who will never break character. It will become clear very quickly that they are expected to act out a particular role in the scene. They might be expected to be a tough cop, or a handsome sexy doctor, or someone’s evil twin come back from the dead, or any number of terrible tropes – and these tropes do not necessarily have anything to do with who the character is or what they do for a living. They could be the most innocent person and suddenly find themselves forced into the role of a hardened criminal.
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"Don't usually see many people out this early," he commented, gesturing around to the area, empty save for them. He's still going through the motions, but it doesn't seem like he needs to employ too much thought into the motions. "Here for a workout, or are you just passin' through?"
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The grin tells a different story, though. Blake seems to be more chipper than he was during their first conversation. Maybe he's been getting more sleep.
"I was just planning on taking a walk," she replies. "I also wanted to see if the event doesn't extend out here." So far, so good. "I probably should exercise a bit more, come to think of it," she admits. "I've been relying on my trek up to the eighth floor day in and day out to sustain me." And she seems to be in decent shape, but there's nothing wrong with getting a bit more of a workout. It's not like she doesn't have the time for it here.
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"Hey, do what you gotta to get by, right?" He said as much without really pointing out to Martha where it connected in with her previous statements. As John turn another turn, his foot dug in and he came around to a sweeping motion that stretched him in all the right place.
"Should join me," he offered, holding the stretch for a long moment, breathing into the tense areas as if being instructed by a yoga teacher. "Here 'bout every mornin'. Here now, actually. Could use the comp'ny."
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"Not really dressed for it, but all right," she said after a moment of contemplation, stepping up to stand next to him while giving him at least an arm's length of space. She didn't know if she'd be coming out each morning, but it was good to know that she had a potential exercise (and possibly sparring?) partner.
"I've never really done anything formal like this before," she admitted. While traveling the world, she'd more or less learned as she went along. "So bear with me, yeah?" She was planning to mimic his actions, at least to the best of her ability, and then go from there.
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"Lotta the stuff I learned was 'bout letting the energy flow. Like water," he offered, his arms moving in fluid patterns as if to illustrate his point. "Gotta center the mind, really think 'bout being loose, and just sorta... let go." Simple as that, right? He was reminded of all those drawing tutorials he'd seen as a kid: draw a circle, add a line, you drew Wile E. Coyote. Sadly, sometimes those middle steps weren't quite as clear.
Blake returned to the beginning of the sequence, repeating six separate moves, each moving from one into the next without so much as a pause.
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She wasn't sure she knew how to "let go," for one thing. She was always putting herself into the middle of things, focusing on what to do next, so letting it all go wasn't something that came easy to her. Still, she had to give it a try, at least, and so she let out a series of breaths and then, once Blake started over, followed along.
Martha got about three movements in before she lost track of what Blake was doing, which caused her to throw her hands up into the air and let out a laugh. "Oh, no, I'm hopeless," she said through the laughter. She realized it was probably because she was concentrating too much, but how could she not?
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"Naw, definitely not hopeless," he assured, gesturing for her to begin again. "Just gotta take it a little quicker, actually." One might think it better to slow down, but the slower and more controlled the movement, the harder the muscles are working to maintain. "Don't think so much 'bout precision, just try to get from one place to another however you gotta."
Truthfully, he's never been much of a teacher, but he's practical. From experience, he knows there's a lot of different ways to do things, and sometimes it takes a little trial and error to find the right way to get through to a person.
"Try these three together," he said, stringing together three motions that probably look a lot more like one sweeping gesture.
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She reflected on Blake's words, even though they were hard for her to swallow. It was easier for Martha if there was a specific way to do something, a "right" answer, rather than something you felt out until you got it right.
Still, she could accept the fact that she had to get the basic idea down before she fine-tuned it, and so after she took a moment to study Blake's actions, picking out the three movements and putting them to memory, she turned away from him slightly and repeated the process with a little more speed, like he'd suggested.
It didn't feel as fluid and seamless as she would have liked, but Martha at least got through it, if somewhat awkwardly. She felt ridiculous, like she wasn't meant to move that way, but it was all a matter of practice, wasn't it? "I have to ask," she said after a pause. "Do you do this for practical application as well?" She got the feeling Blake didn't practice T'ai Chi purely for exercise and meditative reasons.
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She was stiff. And unbelieving, on some level, though John suspected that had more to do with what was happening on the inside than what was happening on the outside. He reached out, and in following her movements, made a gentle correction to her arms, all the while considering the question she'd put to him.
"Use it defensively," he informed her, as if that explained anything at all. Meanwhile, he was sweeping in a foot to tap on one of hers, nudging her to adjust her stance out a little wider. A few seconds more to interpret the way it changes her movements and he was nodding and stepping back. Not bad, not bad.
"Think you're willin' to take a little journey? Might find benefit in meetin' a part of yourself." Be that spirit animal or a personification of her inner spirit.
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But it was meant to be used defensively...? Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea for her to practice some more, then. Martha didn't really want to learn more about sword-fighting or gun-shooting, because that wasn't in her nature. Even if she did get good at either one of those things, she doubted she'd be able to make use of those skills when push came to shove.
Defending herself, though -- that was something she could swallow. If she could learn an easy way to knock someone else out, even better. She was realistic enough to understand that there were people around here who might mean her harm, especially when the mirrors crossed over.
At Blake's question, Martha paused in her movements, glancing up and over at him. "A journey?" Normally Martha was more than happy to take off on some adventure, but she could tell Blake didn't mean that kind of journey. "How do you mean?"
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"There's a powder," he began, "made from the root of a specific plant. It's... something of a sedative, and it opens the mind. Entirely natural, mind you — comes from the mountains of Tibet — but it's a direct path. Just takes bein' brewed into tea."
It was something of an offer without actually being an offer. Blake didn't want Martha to think he was some kind of pusher, and he knew she was a medical doctor, but some things weren't accounted for in Western medicine. A lot of things, actually, which he'd learned very quickly when he began his travels throughout the world.
"That somethin' you might try. Think it could help open a lotta doors for you."
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It was natural, Blake said, and Martha doubted he would suggest anything that would have a chance of harming her, and yet she had to take a few moments to think it over, letting her arms fall to the side and her stance loosen up as she considered it.
She was somewhat familiar with certain Eastern medicines, but she'd never heard of this particular method. "A direct path" didn't actually give her that much of an idea of what she was in for, but...
"If you're certain it's not dangerous... How long do the effects last?" Martha couldn't afford to be out of commission for too long, not when she had her duties to fulfill at the clinic. At the same time, she thought it would rude to refuse Blake.
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"Shouldn't be longer'n a half hour, I'd say. Maybe 'bit more if you find yourself relaxed enough to project yourself outside the influence of the root," he explained. He didn't know the mechanics that ensured the spiritual experience, not did he expect they might be the sort of thing not to be tampered with outside years and years of experience. In this scenario, Blake was the expert and that meant he had the knowledge.
As he looked down at his watch, he nodded to himself. "Be 'bout the right time if you let me go in a get the stuff. We'll go out into the maze, sit on a blanket, and wait for the sun to set before drinkin' the tea. Twilight hour's a good position to be in when tryin' to communicate 'cross realms. Gonna need to bring some water, too. Real important, that."
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Granted, she was still skeptical. Communicating across realms? All from drinking tea? It sounded mad, but Martha had become more open-minded ever since her travels with the Doctor, and she was more or less of the opinion that she would try anything once. There were probably a few exceptions to that, but this wasn't one of them.
She shifted her weight from one leg to the other before letting out a sigh and nodding. "Right. I don't know about projecting or communication through realms or anything like that, really, but I suppose there's only one way to find out." She made a mental note about the water, figuring that Blake would bring the rest. "I'll... meet up with you tonight, then?" This was probably a bad idea, but he seemed too eager about it for her to refuse.
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Blake offered a firm nod and bid Martha goodbye for the time being. He hadn't dealt with a mental journey since he'd been home, and even then it had been a very controlled experiment. Since then, he'd been forced into the world of hallucinations thanks to Scarecrow's fear toxin, and while that had provided him ample opportunity to try to control his mental state, it wasn't exactly controlled experimentation either.
No matter. This would be different.
Making the tea didn't require a lot of thought, just some gentle attentiveness. He was required to stir almost the whole time the water was boiling, so he let his mind drift as his eyes followed the swirl of ground root spinning in the pot.
A journey of the mind was generally a powerful experience. Some part of him wondered if Jones could handle it, but to her credit, he'd never seen her mishandle something. Then again, they hadn't spent a lot of time together. In any case, around the time he was putting the tea into a thermos, he decided no matter what, it was only a half hour and they'd eventually dump out the other side no matter what was happening internally.
Blake arrived at the agreed upon destination, and had to admit to himself that his nerves were plaguing him a bit. She realized it was a shared vision, didn't she? He'd have to make sure before passing over a cup.
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As he prepared, Martha returned to her room. She took a nap, if only to steel herself for whatever might be coming, and then asked her closet for a backpack to store some water and snacks in, just in case.
She grabbed a zip-up cotton jacket as well, which she pulled on as she made her way into the hedge maze. The very act of finding Blake was a journey of its own, but after getting good and lost she finally turned a corner and found him there, setting down a blanket.
"I made it," she said with a small smile as she walked over and set down her pack. She might still be a bit nervous about all this, but she almost always kept to her word. "I've had plenty of tea in my life, but nothing like this." She was curious to find out what it tasted like, if nothing else. That was the only thing she could actually brace herself for, and so she focused on it.
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"Well, might wanna hold your nose," he warned, as he unscrewed the cap on the Thermos and poured a small cup. In an effort to show her there was nothing to fear about the scenario, he immediately tipped back the tea in one shot.
The bitter root only intensified with heat and John's face screwed together, pinched tight from the taste. Ugh. It was truly awful, but its effects were swift and powerful, and he had a feeling Martha would forgive him the taste if she found the experience as enlightening as he once did.
He settled and offered over the refilled cup. "Gonna see you there, okay? We'll walk the same plane if you decide to go through with it. Works pretty quick, so drink up if you're comin'. Otherwise, lemme sleep it off."
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She hadn't realized it was a shared experience. Martha was shocked that this root was something that actually existed in her own world; it was the sort of thing she would have expected to find on some distant planet. But maybe she needed to open her mind a little bit more. It wasn't as if she knew all that much about Eastern spirituality.
About time to find out, then. She took the cup from him and nodded. "See you there, then." Martha hesitated for only a few seconds before she brought the edge of the cup to her lips and then downed a sizable gulp of it.
The taste was even worse than she'd expected, the bitterness causing her nasal passages to burn, and she almost coughed on it -- but still, she got it down. Blake was right about it being fast-working. She felt like only a few seconds had passed and she was already getting drowsy...
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The scene that formed around them was suspiciously vivid. They remained outside, but Wonderland had disappeared and in its place was an urban park-like plot. The world was basking in the springlike weather, birds tweeting away merrily. The mid-morning sun carried a warmth, and with it smile to settle on John's face. It had clearly worked and he turned on his (fashionable) heel in order to spy for Martha's arrival.
Blake slipped his hands into the pockets of his black longcoat, slightly too big for his frame. The fine suit beneath was equally oversized, though the shoes appeared to fit correctly. It was familiar. An analog to Gotham, mixed with a half-formed memory.
"Over here," John said, voice carrying through the space extra efficiently. If she was around, she'd certainly hear him, which he imagined would lead her to the statue in the center of the plot, where he awaited her along with a particularly handsome friend.
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Her clothing was also a familiar thing. It was more or less the exact same dress that she'd worn to Lazarus' exhibition, which didn't bring back the best memories, but Martha worked to keep that under control. She didn't know how much her thoughts would influence the scene around them, and the last thing they needed was for a monster to come speeding around the city block.
She stepped over to Blake, drawn to him as if by an invisible string. It took her a few moments to notice, but there was a similar friend following after her, flitting from branch to branch as Martha headed toward Blake, walking with confidence despite her heels.
The statue earned a glance from her before she tilted her head up, taking in all the buildings around this small patch of greenery they'd found themselves in. "So... is this supposed to be a metaphor for something? How's it all work?" She was probably overthinking it, but Martha had a hard time turning her thoughts off. It was what t'ai chi hadn't come easily to her, after all.
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Blake cleared his throat and looked at Jones. She certainly cut an attractive silhouette in that dress, but he couldn't help wondering if she wasn't a little chilled. To him, the air felt cold and crisp, but there was a good chance she was feeling something entirely different.
"This is gonna work kinda... loosely. See, when I—" He paused, a hand coming up to scratch at his eyebrow. "When I did this, it was a cloud talkin' to me. Sat at the top of the mountain and looked up into—"
"Don't tell her that," the robin tweeted, chirping merrily in a language understandable only in a landscape like one of their shared minds. "You're looking for meaning, aren't you?"
Blake gestured to the birds on the branch. "There you have it. That's how it works. 'Parently we're lookin' for meanin'."
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She glanced up at the birds, and recognized the one that was meant for her. A nightingale. A certain Jack Harkness would have found amusement in that.
Martha returned her attention to Blake as he started to explain. Talking clouds, was it? That sounded far more otherworldly compared to their current setting. She would have been interested to hear more, but that robin had something else in mind.
"Oh my god, it talks," she said, taking a half-step away out of surprise. But those birds -- they were meant to guide them, weren't they?
"For meaning," she echoed after a small pause, eyeing both of the birds as if they'd suddenly give them all the answers. But it couldn't be that simple. She crossed her arms and let out a sigh, glancing over at Blake once more. "Should we start looking around, then?" She had no idea what they would find or how it would help her find her inner self or whatnot, but they'd already started the journey. It didn't seem like they could stop now.
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He shifted to look at Martha, eyes following along the line of her in the most analytically casual manner he could muster. If she shot him one of those looks that said to back off, he'd adjust, correct, re-approach, but for the time being, Blake was seriously considering the meaning of the bird's words.
"So, what you're sayin' is that Martha—" Blake indicated Jones with a sweeping hand, then continued on to do the same for the Nightingale. "—shares some remarkable traits with your fine feathered friend here?"
The robin tweeted its laughter, took off from its perch, and landed squarely on Blake's head. The former cop's eyes pointed up to follow the spirit, but the angle was all wrong. Shifting uncomfortably, he steered his mind from the possibility of the bird taking a dump in his hair and tried to remain focused. Hopping forward, the red-breasted bird whistled at the nightingale. "She is independent. Clipping her wings would go against nature," he observed. "Would you agree, Martha Jones? Are you also independent? Not to be deterred?"
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She noticed the way that Blake was eyeing her, and while it was a bit uncomfortable, she was used to being give the once-over. Besides, he didn't do it with the same look in his eye that most men adopted when they were undressing her with their eyes. He was just trying to figure out what he could find in her.
Martha hadn't expected the bird to land on Blake's head, though, and she had to fight back laughter. A spirit dream probably wasn't the time to be giggling at someone else's expense, after all. Or maybe it was? She really had no idea at this point.
Before she could answer its question, the nightingale itself sang back to the robin. It was actually rather beautiful, the way it sang, but that was what they were known for, wasn't it? It hopped forward on its branch and gave a small nod. "Giving up is an impossibility, I would say. And her voice must always be heard."
Martha frowned and tilted her head up toward the nightingale. "Oi. Is that meant as an insult?"
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"There is no gain in holding back," the robin replied helpfully. "It's against your nature not to share your song." As he twittered his answer, the bird hopped from Blake's head to his shoulder and perched there, pecking absently at a button on his jacket.
John shook his head. Had life served him differently, he'd have no trouble sharing, but as it stood, there was a lot that brought him up well shy of social and outgoing. He just didn't connect with anyone. Not even his own spirit animal.
"Not sure what I'm s'posed to be tellin' here. Think Martha knows I keep to myself. No explanation needed."
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