entrancelogs | [EVENT/CLOSED] What a glorious feeling;

Entry tags:

[EVENT/CLOSED] What a glorious feeling;

Who: Angel/Angelus, Cordelia Chase, Buffy Summers, Adam Milligan, Meg Masters, Stiles Stilinski, Jackson Whittemore, Ellen Harvelle, & H.G. Wells
Where: All over the mansion, as well as the grounds after nightfall.
When: October 30th - November 2nd
Rating: R for violence, death and possible torture.
Summary: Angel's mirror is in the driver's seat for the last few days of the event, meaning that Angelus himself has run of the mansion. Anyone looking to write him off or underestimate him as a common vampire is in for one hell of a surprise.
The Story:

God, this place was so much better than where the Mirrors were usually stuck. Full to the eaves with what amounted to walking Happy Meals, and the way he'd heard it? Death wasn't permanent. If you liked someone enough, you could wait around for a few days and help yourself to seconds. Now that was some pretty impeccable service.

Of course, to be on this side in the first place, he was stuck in his Real's body, but that wasn't all that different from the usual state of affairs. It was strongly reminiscent of the days before Wonderland, except this time, that pesky soul wasn't doing anything to hold him back. It had taken a day or two, but Angelus had managed to overpower the safety that had been put in place by that curse all those years ago, and the sheer feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction was just exhilarating.

Bedrooms, of course, were off-limits. He couldn't cross the threshold without an invitation, but the rest of the mansion? Oh, everything else was fair game. The ballroom, the kitchen, the library, the clinic-- though currently he was making his way along the main corridor that housed the tearooms, singing to himself as he went from door to door, kicking them in forcefully at each stop. He could smell someone hiding down here. He would find them. It was only a matter of when.

"Singin' in the rain-- Come out, come out, wherever you are!" Bang. Another door kicked open hard enough to smack against the wall behind it. "Just singin' in the rain, what a glorious feeling, I'm happy again--"

Bang, bang. "I'm laughin' at clouds, so dark up above, the sun's in my heart, and I'm ready for love--"

He stopped short after kicking in another door and smiled to himself, letting out a low whistle as he looked down the length of the corridor. "Only so many holes for the mice to hide in around here. Be coy all you want. It just means you'll taste better when I get there."

He always loved it when they ran, anyway. Fear and adrenaline only made them taste sweeter.

[[OOC: Wherever and whenever you want Angelus to stumble upon your character, there he'll be. Replies will come from onehappyfella. Action or prose is fine, I'll gladly match you!]]

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Going after the encroaching vines had become something of a pet project of Angel's since the Mirrors had invaded. While some of the Mirrors themselves were violent, engaging them directly didn't seem to be the answer -- the bodies they were in weren't theirs, their Reals essentially innocent bystanders. It was the same as coming up against someone who was demon-possessed. No matter what the thing inside had done, you did everything you could to keep from harming the vessel. So far, he hadn't needed to intervene with too many Mirrors (or Reals) gone off the rails, but what he could do was dedicate himself to doing a little pruning -- cutting back as many of those roots and vines as possible to keep them from attacking or turning anyone else.

He couldn't be everywhere at once, he couldn't get all of them, but he could damn well try.

He'd been doing a steady sweep of the lower floors, doing his best to ignore the constant prodding from his own Mirror at the back of his mind. He hadn't been lucky enough to avoid getting attacked, but all that meant was he didn't have to be quite so careful about avoiding the vines from here on out. So far, he had been able to keep his Mirror contained. For the best -- his Mirror's identity was exactly what he'd thought it would be.

As long as Angel was able to keep himself at the helm, he would be fine. Everyone around him would be fine.

He shoved his way through the door to the library, letting it swing closed behind him as he entered, broadsword in hand. He gave the place a quick, cursory glance, appraising it as he searched for any signs of life before heading down the center aisle.

"Anyone home?"

He's not hiding or cowering, but he does hear sounds. Werewolf hearing comes in handy. Someone is stomping around and kicking in doors. Loudly. He thought he could hide out in his room alone. He thought he'd be fine, but then the vines came. Hard to avoid and even harder to fight. His claws came in handy. He could cut the majority of them before anything clipped him. One did clip him though. Punctured the meat of his left leg. It hurt at first, but then it was like going to sleep. Slowly. After a few moments he was up. Up and moving. He felt the same except for the scratching in the back of his head. Then his voice was there. Telling him it was okay.

Jackson let him take a spin before he finally decided he wanted back in the drivers seat. Everyone needs a break now and again.

Back to his task at hand. Investigating the sound of those noises. Loud and booming. The smell it different too. Dead. Makes him wanna gag, but he moves forward. Follows the sound until he turns a corner and sees the back of Angelus. He's not sure who he's hunting, but Jackson can't help the desire to actually help. He doesn't know any of these people and he doesn't owe them a damn thing, but this guy looks dangerous. Worse than Derek Hale on his worst day. Still he goes toward him because maybe he wanted to help someone. Help someone like he couldn't help Lydia.

"Dude, you're gross." He caught the part about wanting to eat them. How they'll "taste better". Ew. His eyes flash the bright blue and his claws come out. He hasn't shifted yet, but he's more or less trying to puff his chest to look scary.

Edited 2013-10-31 03:34 (UTC)

Things were a little different this time around.

From memory, Jasmine, not Cordelia, had had complete control of the vehicle a year earlier. Cordelia had been silent; like a ghost of a memory that one couldn't quite recall very clearly, she hadn't taken on the form as an annoying itch. Mirror!Cordelia remembered exactly what it was like to be trapped within that body; while the Real didn't particularly find it very fun, she had. The power. The respect. She didn't need the Powers That Be to define her value. She had it all within the palm of her hand.

But it was different now, and she wasn't certain if it was for the best. When that root had grabbed Cordelia's ankle like a nicely tied knot, Jasmine had taken control of the reigns almost instantly. Like the symptoms of an impending migraine, Cordelia was yelling and screaming and threatening and claiming how bored she was with this channel that Jasmine had currently turned on. But that didn't cause her to relent. She kept pushing her down, as if underwater, and while Cordelia thrashed beneath the surface, Jasmine had found herself in the driver's seat for longer periods of time. There were short, pitiful bursts where Cordelia had resurfaced, but Jasmine had possessed power and great perseverance, something that Cordelia didn't quite hold. If she did, perhaps she wouldn't be six feet in a grave.

She tried tuning her out. Calling herself Jasmine, just to irritate her other half, only seemed to make the sounds and the knocking against her skull get louder and sharper. Cordelia fought as if she were in another apocalypse. Jasmine only reiterated the name that not many people knew nor bothered to mutter. She did it quietly, though. Just in case.

Jasmine wasn't stupid, either. While she knew it was easy for her to pretend to be the real Cordelia (it wasn't that hard and hadn't been that difficult in the first place to mimic all her actions and words), she knew that one particular person would, quite possibly, know something was amiss if he had ever crossed paths with her. She made a point to stay clear from Angel, despite wanting to manipulate him around her finger and unpick the stitches that he and Cordelia had been tentatively and very carefully threading together.

But fate wasn't having any of that. There was a loud commotion coming outside of the room she'd housed herself in. And while she recognised that voice, the tone and singing were something that went along with his handsome face, but a very different animal. She wasn't in Cordelia's room; her closet was full of too many shoes, of clothes that were just a little too young for a woman of her age and her lively status, and Jasmine had an inkling that Angel or Buffy would look for her there. And she didn't particularly think her closet would spit out the things she needed in order to curse her Real.

When he kicked in the door of one nondescript room in, he'd find her there, leaning casually against a table within the room. She frowned, feigning uncertainty, "This is the part where I squeak, right?"

[ she jumped as angel once again found her on the second floor common room. she was bound and determined to get her training space together despite the chaos of the mansion -- it was all just par for the course anyway. she visibly relaxed though really, she wasn't so happy to see him. ]

Angel. You scared me. [ it wasn't exactly true, but she waited for her heart to stop racing to look up at him, shaking her head as she went to draw the curtains. ]

It's crazy-bananas out there.

Adam hadn't exactly made his physical health a priority during his many thrilling weeks of lying in bed for twenty three and a half hours a day, and for a Mirror trapped in a feeble body, laying low during the initial days seemed the best choice. He'd washed the baby, dressed the baby, fed the baby, and with the baby's consciousness fast asleep in the back of his head, he'd gotten to do whatever the hell he wanted with the body. Not a bad deal for someone who'd wondered if the end was nigh when the roots had started attacking the Mirror side.

Angel's question received an amiable, "No," from somewhere further into the room. Adam's deep, friendly voice, but not Adam himself, not really.

If Angel bothered to follow the voice, he would have little difficulty finding its source. Adam was sitting at one of the large study tables, feet propped up on a pile of books on the tabletop. For the afternoon, he’d transformed the library into his own personal movie theatre, complete with a bowl of popcorn, a projector, and a movie playing on a makeshift screen he’d fastened to one of the bookshelves.

Everybody needed a break from the plant apocalypse sometime, didn't they? That wasn't a crime. Between the roots and the people who might take unkindly to a Mirror riding Adam's body around, the roots were the greater of two evils. There weren't a lot of reflective surfaces in a library, though! Perfect place for a little respite. Being opportunistic and resourceful even on his worst day, Adam's Mirror had taken advantage of the locale, and he planned to keep doing so until he grew bored enough to tempt his luck outside again.

Angel raised both eyebrows to himself before turning in that exact direction. The last thing he'd expected to find was someone who seemed to be entirely at ease with the current goings-on, but there Adam was, sitting with his feet propped up and watching -- what was that, anyway? -- looking like he didn't have a care in the world.

For a brief moment, Angel was almost jealous.

"Hey." He came to a stop a few feet away from the table itself. Unlike the actual angels that seemed to have the run of the mansion, Angel himself was a big believer in respecting personal space. "It's probably not safe to hang out in here for long. The roots haven't made their way here yet, but there's always a chance you could get blocked in."

[He cocks his head at her, curious as he casually leans back against the wall beside the doorway. She may look relaxed, but the scent rolling off of her says different. Anxiety. Unhappiness.

He smiles to himself, gently prodding at the consciousness hanging at the back of his mind. Angel, Angel, Angel. Always making things so complicated. So painful. So easy to exploit.]

Didn't mean to spook you.

[That smile fades, and he gives her his best Serious Eyes.]

You're telling me. It's a free-for-all. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.

Well, well. If it wasn't his favorite plaything.

Getting his hands on Cordelia had been a near miss the last time he'd been let out to play. This time, he wasn't going to let the opportunity pass him by. Of course, there had been other factors then, but the fact was that she meant something to Angel. On top of being soft to the touch and sweet to the taste, she meant a great deal to the Real he'd managed to shove down -- a victory if he'd ever managed one, on that note. Angel was nothing if not persistent. Being able to shove him aside not only felt good, it felt right.

Angel was a mask. An irritating, whiny, self-righteous mask he'd been forced to wear for far too long. Now it was time to make that soul of his shudder and break, the best way he knew how.

"Hey, there, kitten." He grinned wolfishly, swinging the door closed behind him and giving it a solid kick so that it all but rattled in its frame once it had slammed. "Only if you want. Personally, I'm partial to screamers."

As ever, he had all the subtlety of an anvil.

It's the scent of something more than human that stops Angelus in his tracks, well before he actually sees Jackson arrive. His mouth hitches upwards into an easy but cruel smile, one with a hard edge to it as he looks the boy over, appraising him.

Whatever he is, it's powerful. That's for damn sure. That always makes them more fun. The stronger they are, the harder they fall -- and the more fun it is to lord it over them.

"Huh. What have we here." He takes a single step forward before inhaling, giving him another a once-over and catching a glimpse of those claws.

"Werewolf. Been awhile since I've gotten to play with one of you."

Apparently, Jackson puffing his chest out wasn't quite doing the trick.

[ the smile strikes her as off but she wants to believe she's really him. she takes a stilted step forward. ]

You're just... you up there? No evil queen stuff? [ she asked, trying to make it idle; she's just curious. right. so convincing. ]

Alex said not all of those guys are evil, though. That's um, Xander's mirror guy. ...You know he's back, right? Xander.

Or he will be. [ dammit. ]

One could say he was studying up on applicable reference material. He'd chosen some no-name, low-budget apocalypse B movie to set the mood, and he glanced away from the scene--a shrieking girl getting stabbed with a screwdriver--to tip his head over the back of the chair and give his guest an upside-down look.

"Hi."

Sure, the library wouldn't be safe forever, and people-shaped danger was always capable of finding its way inside along with the roots, but he had no intention of falling to either side of the fight. Even to someone with a giant sword in their hand.

His greeting was greased with a hang-loose easiness. Acting came much easier to him than it did to his Real. Adam couldn't have played off the shadows under his eyes or his overall ill-looking appearance very well, but he could. Maybe he was a threat, sitting there like nothing was amiss in the world, maybe he wasn't, but he wasn't a target.

"Ah well, they're only plants." He popped up popcorn into his mouth. "What can they really do that a good bushwhacking won't fix, right? But you look like you're on the hunt for trouble."

It's late. That time of night that's practically morning, when most people were conked out in their respective sleeping spaces and all is silent in the world.

Except, all is not silent in Wonderland.

Meg doesn't know, or care, who is still up and about, but she knows not many will be getting any sleep as long as the vines are going out of control, and the mirrors are taking over bodies. She's run into a few interesting mirrors herself, but overall she's just trying to keep her own out of her personal space.

She has total confidence in her ability to shut her mirror up in case she does end up tangling with a plant or two, but it would be a headache she'd rather not deal with right now. Meg, as a demon, is a very overwhelming presence once she is inside a body, and having grown attached to this one means she's going to avoid dealing with messy mirror shenanigans in her own body.

Lost in her own thoughts, it takes her a minute to actually hear a commotion going on. Sounds like some singing, actually, and she'll take a moment to thoroughly roll her eyes.

She never understood the theatrics of singing while causing mayhem. She might be a crazy little tortuous demon, but she isn't completely off her rocker.

Following the sounds, she comes to a long hallway with a figure that appears to be the cause of such jubilant sounds. He looks familiar, and it takes her a second to pinpoint his name - Angel ironically enough. What the hell is he doing?

She comes closer, not masking her approach.

"There's a music room somewhere in this place. Why don't you shack up in there and do your little show?" She's close enough now so she can snark at him without yelling it down the hallway. "Silence is golden and all that crap."

Ellen wasn't in the mood for... anything. She'd traded her baseball bat for a machete. Because she needed the blade when it came to the vines. Her gun is tucked in her pocket, because damned if she's going to be without that.

Her blade hacked at some vines and left them to die on the floor. She wanted to make it back to her room and barricade herself in for some very well-deserved sleep. Just a few hours and then she'd start looking for the boys.

Or Castiel.

Or... hell, she didn't know any more. This place was so screwed up, she just wanted to kill something. Permanently.

Hearing someone singing, Ellen dropped into a shadow and stayed there. That did not sound like happy-to-see-you singing, despite the song. And who sang Sinatra anyway?

Stiles' mirror was officially pissed.

It's a matter like this. You make a plan to take down the alphas, either one of them. You prepare yourself on the mirror side for your moment to strike. Everything's perfect, until your real's body feels useless and cumbersome and you get your ass kicked. He's not in Stiles' room, because the place smells disgustingly like McCall and it's only making him angrier--rather, he's in one of the tea rooms, nursing his wounds from Derek wiping the floor with his beta ass. It's despicable how easy it was for him to lose, and when the door bangs open, whatever's been holding his already volatile temper back breaks, and he jerks up, upending the table he's sitting at and sending the delicate china atop it smashing to the floor. "Hey, asshole, your Broadway needs some fucking work!"

When he catches a whiff of the guy, he scowls. He's not human--he smells old, coppery, like an old sword once used in battle or something. He ignores the faint trace of ozone underneath, something powerful, but it doesn't take long to click and he snaps his teeth irritably, looking him up and down with a face that could only be described as condescending and pissed at the same time. "Maybe try going for a sing in the sunshine till you burn to a crisp, how about that one."

Goddamned bloodsuckers. Maybe Stiles found his punching bag, after all.

His mouth twitched a little as he took a moment to consider what dangers plants really could pose. It was interesting, really, how the moment something inanimate became animate, you stopped asking questions and just accepted that it was unnatural and decidedly Not Okay.

"They could squeeze you. You know, like a--" He paused to gesture vaguely. "Like one of those snakes. The squeezey ones-- boa constrictor."

He was at the top of his game today when it came to eloquence and articulation. He gave up on any attempt to salvage his dignity and instead lifted his sword once it had been alluded to.

"For said bushwhacking. Someone has to beat the roots back, or at least try."

Of course it's me.

[He raises an eyebrow. How could you doubt this face, Slayer?]

Never crossed paths with him when he was here the first time. [Xander and Angel don't exactly get along, so that doesn't surprise him.] I'm sure you're glad to have him back. And he's all in one piece?

[Just curious.

He smiles again, almost leering as he tilts his head to appraise her.]

So, what. You two finally an item?

"Hey, now."

Angelus folds his arms over his chest and leans against the doorway, raising both eyebrows as he gives a critical cluck of his tongue. How rude.

"Words hurt." He lays a hand over his heart. Really, wolfboy. Have a little compassion for your fellow monster. The smell of what this kid was is almost as powerful as the smell of blood from his open wounds, though those seem to be swiftly healing. Pity -- but easy enough to reopen.

"Didn't expect to find a stray dog down here. Don't they have leash laws in this place?"

"Sorry, sweetheart." He flashes her a fanged grin that isn't sorry at all, in fact -- seemingly unbothered by the interruption. The first of many, he expects, but each one will be as welcome as the last. God, he loves when food gets delivered.

"Been silent way too long. Gotta enjoy this while I can." Though he has every intention of staying if he can manage it. Angel being the one in control has always been laughable to him. A mask he's forced to wear.

"What, was I a little flat? Even I have to admit I'm a little rusty."

He caught her scent before he spotted her, stopped short and smiled to himself as he tilted his head upwards and gave the air another experimental sniff.

"I can smell you, sweetheart," he called out into the dim corridor, singing and kicking in doors now forgotten as he shifted his attention and slowly began to move in her direction, cautious and deliberate. "And I can hear you breathing, too. Don't be shy. Come on out and say hello."

Or he'll come to find you himself.

"Oh, I like these kinds of games!" Adam's Mirror piped up in response to Angel's amusing attempt to describe boa constrictors. He pointed with his index finger. "Or... maybe they could, you know, burrow inside a person and lay their evil eggs in them. There's probably a movie about that."

Or the roots could just deposit people's Mirror reflections into their bodies, which was closer to fact than fiction. But who was counting?

He smiled, relaxing where he was. "Ah. Finally, lawn maintenance shows up to take care of this plant problem?" A little late for the Mirror side, all things considered. C'est la vie. "Good. I'm glad someone's taking the proactive approach. Shit's getting real and I'd rather not find out what plant monsters might hatch out of a person."

She doesn't have silver on her. But she still has her holy salt water, and a few other things. And she has her machete. She's not helpless. Her hand drops down to grip her gun. Slowly, she pulls the hammer back. Her ammo is running short, but she's doing okay. She'll be fine.

Ellen fully believes this about herself. A deep breath and then she takes a step out of the shadows. Her gun is pointed down, but that can change very very quickly.

"Haven't ever been accused of being shy. sweetheart."

What the hell? Play? He doesn't wanna play with you, man. You're creepy and kind of look like you're as old as his dad. Jackson isn't sure if he wants to stick around and find out what this dude's into, but he can't run away now. He's already stepped up. He's not any good at this hero gig, but this guy just screams trouble. Lydia may be gone, but Allison is still here. He doesn't want to see her getting hurt. She's good at hunting werewolves, but this dude is not a werewolf. He smells--dead. Way dead.

"We're not playing. You're like--old." He should attack. He shouldn't sit around and chit chat with him about how things are gonna go. Sometimes tells him that he's not gonna be spooked by claws and just turn to run. Jackson shifts. Hair and teeth. There's a loud growl as he charges at Angelus at full speed intending to spear tackle him. Lacrosse moves aren't gonna save him now.

Angel deflated slightly. His own inability to be articulate really was embarrassing at times. This? This was one of those times.

"There are demons that do that, too," he said flatly, making an effort to regain his gameface and maybe, just maybe, make himself look like someone who actually knew what he was talking about when it came to the bad and the ugly, creepy roots, vines, and nasty Mirrors included.

"Cutting them back doesn't stop them permanently, but it slows them down. If you're going to leave the library or move through the mansion, it might not be a bad idea to use one of the closets to arm yourself. Keep them at bay if they get too close." He paused before awkwardly adding, "Don't get any ideas, though. I'm not looking to be a groundskeeper full-time."

The sunlight kind of kept that from being a viable career choice.

He smiles broadly when she steps out and reveals herself, letting out a low wolf-whistle of appreciation. Oh, this one was feisty. Those were his favorites. He loved his meals to have a little spark. And this one? This one happened to be well-armed.

She wasn't a Slayer. He could feel that from here. Even if she was the kind of woman who could hold her own in a fight, he wasn't terribly worried. Perhaps it was overconfidence -- or maybe it was just centuries of besting every human hunter that ever came after him that made him bold.

"Well, hey there, little lady. Aren't you a dish." He raises both eyebrows, giving her a once-over before fixing his gaze on her gun, biting at his lower lip to stifle a laugh. Bee stings, if she shot him. "Itchy trigger finger?"

"Trust me. It doesn't require your participation." He smirks. Take that as you will, kid. You can twist it all you want, but really? He just wants something to eat. It's been awhile. Way too long, and no matter how hard Angel is railing against him in the back of his head, he's not about to let that self-righteous bastard take the helm again.

He braces himself for the attack as Jackson shifts, stepping back and raising an arm to try and deflect it, keep Jackson from headbutting him. They collide, but it doesn't trouble him -- he laughs, instead, shaking his head as he rolls his shoulder back and prepares to retaliate.

"Kid's got teeth! Guess what, pal." He grins, and suddenly his face shifts, yellow-eyed and contorted in a way that resembles nothing human.

"So do I."

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[EVENT/CLOSED] What a glorious feeling;

Angel & Adam, Backdated to 10/28

November 1st? They need ample time for torture.

november 1

whenever wherever we're meant to be 2gether

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Oct 31 - late night

October 30th, because I'm a jerk

Let's do 10/31. 2 spooky.

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2 spooky it is.

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