| John's Laptop |
[Nov. 6th, 2009|03:11 am] |
John was running scenarios, trying to figure out what would be the best plan, or plans, to go forth with taking care of a certain terrorist organization; out of habit, he checked his e-mail.
The message:
*Pearl Harbor. Regroup Priest Lake ID*
Shit. Pearl Harbor...must be code. John stared at the laptop in horror as he figured out what it meant. He sent back a reply: |id verification| Kill Switch here; Status? Deployment? |
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| Undisclosed location, Virginia |
[Nov. 2nd, 2009|08:53 pm] |
John 'Kill Switch' Connor had ventured over the river and through the woods to some out-of-the-way non-disclosed location (which showed up on Googlemaps, including satellite pics). Inside was a cache of information gleaned from the NSA and Joe forces, as well as a collection of G.I. Joe forces who were in the area and heeded the call to regroup.
"Is it still patricide if it's not my dad?" Kill Switched opened; "I mean, and I'm not sure if Billy will exactly give his blessing, but I'd still be acting on his behalf," he continued. "People don't just get to come in and mess with my country and not get away with it." John wasn't going to bring up the fact that this may not be his country due to different universes and all, and focus on the important thing: stopping a tyrannical maniac who exterminates without conscience.
"Unless someone's got a better idea, and I'm taking all ideas here, we need to mount a mission to neutralize Cobra and rescue the President. I'm not talking some sort of namby pamby cease-fire and stalemate, I'm talking cutting of the fucking head of Cobra and ripping out the spine."
He pounded the table with his fist hard enough to make his emptied coffee mug jump. "I don't care about rank and command protocol. As far as I care, the chain of command is what I'll be using to strangle Cobra if I have to. Meet in the SitRep room in twenty." John was rapidly approaching the part of his sliding scale of good and evil where killing people was not 'unavoidable' but 'necessary'. |
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| Virginia Safehouse, Saturday, Sept5 |
[Sep. 5th, 2009|01:24 am] |
John sat on the couch, using his special laptop that was never connected to the Internet, to run tests on some private code. The code was burned on a recordable disc, not a rewritable, and any changes was burned onto another disk for safety.
He did not want this activated without his security protocols...which was the equivalent of a coding bunker under a mountain.
run agatha.exe Systems check.
run rosette.exe Targeting and ranged weaponry check.
run anemone.exe Combat and melee systems.
Sparky sat on the coffee table next to the laptop, with the most important job: holding the electrowipification device in case Something Went Wrong.
[Open for phone calls or visits!] |
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| OOC: Quotes to work in to VampyPast Weekend |
[Jul. 25th, 2009|06:07 am] |
"I was put here to kick ass and chew bubblegum, and we ran out of gum last year."
"Everything is air-drop capable, at least once."
"Come with me if you want to live." / "I'll be back."
More? |
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| Connor Safehouse, Virginia, Thursday afternoon |
[Jul. 24th, 2009|03:28 pm] |
It was a bad day to be John Connor. The 'bots had gotten into the medical supplies, and somehow they'd gotten into his other supplies, and now John was holding a nurses's uniform and crying in the corner because he was so alone and emo.
[open for calls/visits] |
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| Connor Safehouse, Virginia, Sunday morning |
[Jul. 12th, 2009|02:50 am] |
Yesterday, John woke up to find the house overrun with people, ranging from toddlers to fully-grown adults. Big ones, too. Big scary ones.
So John's brain broke a bit when he shouted for his dingbots Sparky and 'Scorpy and two of them bounded out and tried to bear-hug him.
There was a lot of brainglue needed. The big gallon bucket, even.
Today, John woke up to the sound of breakfast being made, himself sleeping on the couch, and what looked like a litter of kids running around the kitchen island as the Scorpion did his best short-order cook impersonation while some of the other 'bots 'helped' cook. Oh, Lord, someone had the phone and was talking to someone.
"Oh, hell, this is going to be a pain in the ass to clean up."
"No problem!" said a chirpy voice behind him.
John sat up and turned around.
"Hi! It's Betty!" It was Betty, but where did she--John decided his life was better off not knowing where a dingbot got a French maid outfit.
[Open for visits and calls! Mod your own dingbot :D] |
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| Room 111, Arms Hotel |
[Jun. 27th, 2009|11:58 am] |
John Connor opened the door and immediately started checking through the cache of weapons and foodstuffs. First things first: secure supplies, then dance the night away.
[Establishy and open!] |
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| Virginia, Thursday of Graduation Weekend |
[Apr. 30th, 2009|01:04 pm] |
John was packing up for a weekend away. What could go wrong?
"Scorpy, you stay here, keep an eye on things." His battlebotthing nodded in agreement. "Try not to blow up the house. That goes for all of you," he said, looking around at the other dingbots. "And if someone comes asking for me? I'm in Guam."
There would only be certain people looking for him.
[open for phone calls & visits!] |
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| Connor Safehouse, Monday |
[Mar. 9th, 2009|01:03 am] |
"What the hell happened?!"
John was still reeling from this weekend and was therapeutically unpacking his travel bag...by strewing the contents over the couch.
"Oh, son of a--! I forgot the damn book!"
[open for calls/visits] |
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| Connor Safehouse, Travel Plans |
[Mar. 5th, 2009|07:31 am] |
Kata form melding into kata form, arms and legs and hips and shoulders moving, fluid, constant motion, moving himself around to move others. To use momentum for him and against others, to be motionless as water, let the wave move, not the water.
He stopped, wiping the sweat from his brow. Lately, some...interesting forms had inserted themselves into the routine, from a weekend where he was not himself. John Connor had become...some sort of cleric. Grammaton Cleric. John Preston. Unfeeling. Unemotional. Moving like clockwork, positioning as if he could dodge bullets, as if the bullets simply wouldn't be there. It was unnerving. There was no...feeling. Just a sense that this was somehow right, to move in such a manner, to know how the flow would move.
It was freeing and a prison.
He wiped his face with his shirt and pulled it off, piling it onto the floor as he went off to shower, rid himself of those thoughts. The chi was enough, without...that.
- - -( Read more... )
He flipped open the phone, dialed a number. Portalocity. Time to find Rosette's grave.
( Read more... )
It was the third portal where everything turned bad.( Read more... )
[so begins plotty. Will continue later as is now dawn and I should be sleeping. Under construction, please ignore spelling errors and plot holes.]
[John is available for calls before he leaves or in the next post.]
[Cut for teal deer, language, and violence. |
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| John Connor's Safehouse, Virginia |
[Feb. 11th, 2009|03:11 am] |
It had been a weird weekend. Stupid Fandom.
He'd seen the pictures taken by the 'bots of who he had been the past weekend, and...it was scary. It was like looking at an older version of him, in a world after Judgement Day, but without Skynet. People who had turned themselves into repressed and suppressed cogs in the machine, made to not feel anything, to deny emotions, everything that made the bulk of humanity. And serviced by some militaristic cleric order?
There were some good points. The bikers who nearly shat themselves in the barfight as this other John moved fluidly, barely moving his feet, dispatching a room with something that seemed to be more Tai Chi than anything.
And the whole time, his (Preston's) fingers itched to pistol-whip.
Later, as this Preston practiced the Kata, everything flowed, the knowledge and positions of where to stand, how to move, what to shoot. John (Connor) tried to retain as much of that as possible, mimicking the Kata movements when he awoke as himself.
He hoped he would never see that world, nor run into one of their clergy. |
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| Connor Safehouse, Virginia. Saturday. |
[Feb. 7th, 2009|04:27 am] |
John Preston woke up in an unfamiliar bed, sheets tangled around his legs, the naked rays of the sun penetrating the blinds. He blinked, bleary-eyed, and sat up, disoriented. The windows did not have any covering...he could see outside. Birds on a branch. Chirping.
This was not his room. This was...
He had not had a dream in some time. He needed his Interval. Quietly, he swept his legs free of the bedcoverings onto the rug on the floor, feeling the weave with his toes. The place seemed familiar, despite the colors. The EC-10 material, everywhere.
The gun hidden behind the medicine cabinet in the bathroom made one side of his mouth twitch almost into a smile. Almost predictable.
[Open! Visitable, phonecallable, IMable. Is from Equilibrium. mwahahaha] |
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| Hat Day Of Doom |
[Feb. 6th, 2009|02:55 am] |
It was a bemused John Connor who started the meeting off. "As you know, I follow a lot of politics, and did enjoy the inauguration, if anyone's wondering. Now, what I have to present here is the following..." ( Read more... )
* * *
It was the second closest bar to John's safehouse, and twice as rough as the first, but the drinks were cheap, and John was not in a mood to spend money, as he would more than likely be fired for his outburst. Piss on them. If he wasn't there to log in to the mainframe by 9pm on Friday...
"I don't like your hat. Hey! You hear me, sissy boy?" The owner of the voice poked John in the shoulder. John smiled into his drink; he had some issues to work out. |
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| Connor Safehouse, Virginia |
[Feb. 3rd, 2009|03:02 pm] |
Ooooookay. John was staying away from any calls from work today, not after what he'd just told a telemarketer.
This better be a Fandom thing.
He sat on the couch as the work laptop rendered, surfing for things on Amazon with the good laptop and checking his instant messenger to see if anyone else was on to ask about this.
[honestly open! calls, visits, IMs] |
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| Connor Safehouse, Saturday |
[Jan. 17th, 2009|12:35 pm] |
"I hate this place," John muttered, scrambling out of bed and grabbing the neatly folded clothes on the dresser that most certainly were not there last night, dressing in layers. He'd been losing clothes, and the last straw was when had to go commando under his BDUs at the office on Wednesday and ... yeah. Good thing he worked from home most days of the week. Kilts and robes did not fall under appropriate business casual.
[Open!] |
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| Connor Safehouse, Saturday morning, Virginia. |
[Dec. 6th, 2008|06:30 am] |
John was up early, trying to get all the damn Christmas lights hung up before the weather got too cold, the snow got too high, and he got too apathetic to deal with it.
He was actually lucky enough to get everything outside before the bots woke up, because while they were very helpful, sometimes they were very "helpful" and he would have to go back and fix the "fixes" and he was not ind the mood for that this morning.
It was very much a surprise when, while standing on the ladder, a gaggle of chattering toddlers came tumbling out of the house. Human toddlers. Human toddlers who insisted on calling him "Daddy!" and "John!" and asking if they can help and where's another ladder and exclaiming they had hands with fingers.
A taller, older kid looked up at John, wearing a shirt with a scorpion on it, his longish hair starting to cover his eyes. "Hi! Have you seen the pink girl lately? I miss her."
John was actively faceladdering the closest rung when the window opened up and another kid leaned out, waving. "It's me! Sparky! Look! I'm a human! We should go do human things! Like go to the park! And eat ice cream! OOOH! Ice cream! Be right back!"
John slowly climbed down the ladder and waded back into the house amidst a sea of about 6 dingbotchildren. "This had better be a Fandom thing." |
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| Connor Safehouse, Virginia |
[Nov. 1st, 2008|04:19 pm] |
Day of the Dead.
It had been a hectic weekend, with trying to explain to the dingbots about carving a pumpkin (and then cleaning up, and then wondering why one pumpkin was moving by itself and "that's not funny"), handing out candy, and thoroughly scaring all of the bratty trick or treaters when the jack o'lantern did move on its own, and Scorpy dressed up as a giant spider dangling in a tree.
Funny how the HOA declared there wasn't going to be an award for "best decoration" once it was determined that a certain house on the block was, indeed, the favorite. Screw 'em.
John lit a candle in the window. "Be at peace," he murmured. |
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| Connor Safehouse, Sunday |
[Oct. 26th, 2008|04:36 am] |
Finished with a round of puttering about the house, John was taking some "me" time and flipping through the channels on the tube, pausing every time he got to a scary movie.
Ah, bliss. Now, if only he could get Sparky to stop trying to fake-stab him with a butterknife every five minutes, things would be better.
He didn't even want to know about the tiny mask.
[open for calls/visits!] |
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