Wellspring Arms & Meditation Center, Friday

[hasconviction.livejournal.com]

Coulson tried to pretend that today was just another day of work. But it wasn't. It was the last day of work before a game-changing event. There was a lot to do ahead of that. He'd spent half the night getting some of his ammunition stock distributed to secret drop locations throughout the town, and now - after a few minutes spent on his sentimental favorite weapon in his stock which, no, was not getting passed on to anyone today - he was sorting through some stray parts to hopefully finish cobbling together a couple more guns tonight.

He wouldn't normally do that upstairs in the open, but the sales restrictions usually kept people away from the main floor and there weren't too many people who would recognize some of the more obscure gun parts he was sorting through right now anyway.

There was nothing ominous about that at all.

[OOC: Slow due to work for the next few hours, but I'm home early today! Huzzah! Expecting one, but Wellspring is of course open before that one.]

The Nominal Temporary Wiggin Home Base, Friday

[gameinprogress.livejournal.com]

The clock was ticking, and Ender was aware of it. He sometimes wondered if Peter wasn't, or if Peter had already calculated in their defeat and planned on from there.

It was probably the smart thing to do. Ender just wasn't capable of it: he had to go for the win, had to make this work. Now, here, and as thoroughly as possible.

He'd pulled up a box in the 'common area' of the attic, near all the new supplies, some of the remaining chemicals set up at his feet in little glass bottles. They'd need more tranquilizer for this push - at least, if they were to keep the body count slightly lower than it could be. And he wanted to.

He had too much blood on his hands already.

So he mixed his chemicals and tried not to think - about whether this really would end, or he'd be stuck here forever, playing the part of the bloody bastard, having Peter order him to kill like it didn't mean anything. It wouldn't mean anything to Peter, of course. He was Peter.

He still didn't want to be anything like that.

[[ open for talking to Ender and/or each other. Hit me up in IM or email if you need him to nudge your character somewhere! ]]

Our Lady of Fandom, Friday Early Morning

[doesntbetray.livejournal.com]

It was really not a good idea for Alec to be out today. The last two times he'd gone out, after all, he'd wound up injured. He did not really want to go for a third here.

But detention was being stormed tomorrow, and as a Shadowhunter Alec had access to a resource that a lot of the mundanes in the Resistance didn't: holy weapons caches.

So -- carefully this time, and glamoured -- he made his way from his hideout in the warehouse district all the way over to the island's sole church, where he waited until the coast was clear before approaching the door. He pressed a Marked hand to the door and quickly murmured the appropriate request for passage -- "In the name of the Clave, I ask entry to this holy place. In the name of the Battle That Never Ends, I ask the use of your weapons. And in the name of the Angel Raziel, I ask your blessings on my mission against the darkness" -- and then slipped inside.

Now to find the weapons cache.

[[open i guess, if you want to have seen him entering (if you can see through glamours) or have any business in the church? request for passage above taken from city of bones by cassandra clare, obviously. resistance broadcast only, please!]]

Warehouse District, Streets, Friday Afternoon

[isvictorious.livejournal.com]

Sparks danced around Victor's fingers as he stalked the streets near the warehouses, looking for any signs of resistance activity.

It was fun, sometimes, to see who might be afraid of his powers.

He liked patrolling in general -- not only was it his duty to Umbridge, but it added to an internal database of all island activity that he suspected might come in handy some day. But today, with the extra mission from Topher ... well, today he felt like being out on the streets was a moral obligation.

[OOC: Open!]

The Umbridge Arms, Friday

[emphasisonho.livejournal.com]

Hoshi was feeling awful today. Last night, when she was torturing that dimwit Gunther, she had been this close to breaking him and getting him to reveal what he knew about the Resistance. But then a strange thought occurred to her: her beloved grandfather would have been disappointed in her. She didn't know why, but she actually tended to Gunther's injuries and let him go.

Today, she would not to show any weakness unless she managed to overthrow the Imperious curse again. She was going to take advantage of her shift at the front desk and eavesdrop on conversations. Hopefully she'd learn something more interesting than the fact that the housekeeping staff were calling her a whore behind her back. She'd take care of them later.

Welcome to the Umbridge Arms
Today's Special Is
[Deliberately Left Blank]

Caritas- Friday

[dontphasemebro.livejournal.com]

With everything going down tomorrow, Kitty wasn't spending much time at all up front today. She was much more concerned with anything that might be going on in the back, and really, after hearing radio she felt better being around them than keeping up a front for any minions that showed up tonight. She wasn't sure she could play nice today.

So the place was open, and there was at least one person here crossing her fingers that tomorrow went smoothly.


[Fairly easy day at work, pinging should be pretty consistent from me.]

The Park, Friday Afternoon (Before Detention's Visiting Hours)

[poison-pretty.livejournal.com]

Karla had been patrolling this morning and, Mother Night, was it such a rush. The ability to do as she pleased--so long as she was obeying the rules, of course!--when she pleased and where she pleased was practically intoxicating. She'd been skulking and hiding for so long, hoarding her Craft like a miser, Bah! What kind of life was what? She should have known she was on the wrong side from the moment she'd realized she couldn't be a proper witch as long as she was with the Resistance.

She was using Craft right now, in fact. There were flamingos and the odd squirrel that sometimes took it into their head to make noises at her. Karla was showing them exactly why one didn't sass one of the High Inquisitor's most faithful. No fatalities yet, but the reek of scorched feathers and singed fur lay heavy in the air.

In all, it was a good day.

[Anyone interested in talking to/tangling with an Imperio'd Karla before Ghanima fixes her, now is the time!]

The streets of the business district, Friday afternoon

[hiddenkilt.livejournal.com]

When it came right down to it, Priestly probably shouldn't have been out and about, today. He wasn't sure if he over starched his suit -- hearing the radio report about his lack of care in his clothing this morning had led to some mildly panicked laundry -- but the fabric seemed exceptionally heavy and itchy today. It took most of his focus to keep from ripping the thing off right there in the streets. But he knew he needed to keep moving, today especially. If he stopped somewhere and sat down, right now, he might just burst into tears.

The news had not been good.

The reports of people dying had never been easy on him, but he'd learned coping methods to deal with them. The report of Sookie dying in detention had been harder, but the reports, from both the radio and the Resistance paper, that Karla had been caught and cursed had made it almost hard to breathe.

If they made it to Saturday, they had a chance. But Priestly was no longer even remotely certain they'd make it that long. He was anxious and terrified and angry and inches from flying apart completely, but if he just kept moving, putting one foot in front of the other, then he thought maybe he might be okay.

[ooc: posted for a particular purpose, but open before that.
Content note: Character death]

Devils Nest, Friday

[unfit2print.livejournal.com]

Carl was tired, what with the late nights printing and reading up on witchcraft and spells in any piece of literature he could manage to locate in hopes of aiding the Resistance. But he dragged himself to the Devil's Nest and opened up. He needed the paycheck, after all.

Time to paste on a smile, pretend to like the horror that was Umbridge Island, and lend an ear to all who wandered through those well greased doors of the town's one and only place to purchase drinks of the adult variety.

Anyone of legal age and not a known Resistance member? Come spend your coin. Order a drink! Come tell the barkeep your secrets and woes!

Carl promises not to tell, honest.

But he doesn't promise not to print it.


[OCD free!]