caughtthebullet: (dancing in the street)
[personal profile] caughtthebullet


Veidt. Leave a message.

call, txt, or tag at will
it's a smartphone after all

voice message;

Date: 2009-03-16 10:27 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] miss-waldorf.livejournal.com
A cordial invitation (http://community.livejournal.com/poly_tldr/1017474.html) has been sent to you.

I look forward to your attendance, Mr. Veidt.

Message:

Date: 2009-04-24 04:41 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lastpunchline.livejournal.com
It's 1945 and Inkblot wants to fuck up some Nazi's.

Join or don't, up to you.

Message: GET THE TOYS

From: [identity profile] lastpunchline.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-04-24 04:47 am (UTC) - Expand

Message: LIKE THIS ONE?

From: [identity profile] caughtthebullet.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-04-24 04:49 am (UTC) - Expand

Message: YES

From: [identity profile] lastpunchline.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-04-24 04:50 am (UTC) - Expand

Message: JUST LIKE OLD TIMES

From: [identity profile] caughtthebullet.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-04-24 04:55 am (UTC) - Expand

Message: OH THE NOSTALGIA

From: [identity profile] lastpunchline.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-04-24 04:56 am (UTC) - Expand

text; private obv

From: [identity profile] miss-waldorf.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-05-17 11:33 pm (UTC) - Expand

text; private obv

From: [identity profile] caughtthebullet.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-05-17 11:36 pm (UTC) - Expand

text; private obv

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text; private obv

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text; private obv

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text; private obv

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text; private obv

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text;

Date: 2009-06-04 03:04 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] miss-waldorf.livejournal.com
got a job vacancy?

text;

Date: 2009-06-04 03:23 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] caughtthebullet.livejournal.com
For who and where will I find a cover letter?

text;

From: [identity profile] miss-waldorf.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-06-04 03:26 am (UTC) - Expand

voice message;

Date: 2010-01-23 07:10 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] miss-waldorf.livejournal.com
Mr. Veidt.

I was told that the Piaculum Palace is now under your care. I would like to make a proposal in regards to the establishment of a club --a private club.

As I'm sure you've also noticed, the City is severely lacking in elites. But elites are more often made, not born. An exclusive club of the most influential people would be a power against to be reckoned with, both for the masses and the deities. Of course, it won't all be business. We will aim to provide the ultimate in dining and entertainment for the members.

A secret wing in Piaculum Palace seems to me the perfect location. What do you say? Do call me.
Edited Date: 2010-01-23 07:10 am (UTC)

callback;

Date: 2010-01-23 07:30 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] caughtthebullet.livejournal.com
[Adrian Veidt's interest is piqued, therefore Blair Waldorf's phone rings.]

callback;

From: [identity profile] miss-waldorf.livejournal.com - Date: 2010-01-23 07:33 am (UTC) - Expand

callback;

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callback;

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callback;

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callback;

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callback;

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callback;

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callback;

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callback;

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callback;

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callback;

From: [identity profile] miss-waldorf.livejournal.com - Date: 2010-01-26 02:22 am (UTC) - Expand
From: [identity profile] caughtthebullet.livejournal.com
Young Ozymandias is on a mission. At the tender age of twenty--or is it nineteen--the young man is determined to unravel the mystery behind Hooded Justice's untimely disappearance. To make a man vanish without a trace, body only reported but not quite identified, speaks of duplicity and corruption. These are the very ills he wishes to erase from this world, this above righting the wrong made against a member of the old guard. For these reasons he's come to Dockland following the trail of an operative. One day he'll know this man as Edward Blake, The Comedian, a stain on the street below. That day is far away. For now, there is only Ozymandias dressed in darkest hues of purple and tarnished gold, lacking the kevlar he'll sport later, wandering through a decrepit warehouse, in search of the truth.
From: [identity profile] lastpunchline.livejournal.com
Eddie Blake will never go to seed; his body is his weapon, and Eddie's good at keeping his weapons in working order. But at this age, his forties, he's in prime shape and speed, and what's more, he knows his beat. The second that that smartass kid stepped into the warehouse Eddie knew, and he lit up a cigar after a minute of watching the kid.

It's not that the Comedian didn't like Ozymandias. But the older Crimebuster was already jaded about the whole thing. He smokes, and after another minute passes he leans back against one of the warehouse's old, beat up walls and pulls the cigar out from between his lips.

"Looking for something?"

[text]

Date: 2010-05-31 07:16 pm (UTC)
inmyothertights: (Billy - My nightmares scare me)
From: [personal profile] inmyothertights
gonna have to cancel any magic stuff today

srry

we're running with blood on our knees

Date: 2010-06-06 11:32 am (UTC)
neverplay: (from the wrong to the right light [2])
From: [personal profile] neverplay
Fighting against golden armored soldiers has never been a part of Mindy's repertoire, conditioned rather to your usual goons, idiots, and mafia bosses. Cumbersome and tricky, they certainly didn't make for an easy fight, but with her ability, she had enough confidence to make it into an exercise with only a few scrapes as memorabilia. Nothing serious. Nothing she wouldn't have completely forgotten about by the time she returned home.

To Eddie's home, she means.

The Comedian's cut a different route home, and she's just fine with that. Rushing home, leaping rooftop to rooftop with the rush of the wind catching her cape, she blows off steam from the heat of battle. Undoubtedly, Mindy's keeping a keen eye and ear out for anyone who might be tracing her, but she's confident enough in her solitude to leap off a building's side ladder and onto the pavement-- no one would notice her even there in the shadows. Her boldness goes as far as Mindy slipping off her mask to clear the warm sweat gathering behind the fabric.

Only for a moment.

we're running with blood on our knees

Date: 2010-06-07 12:13 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] caughtthebullet.livejournal.com
Adrian catches the motion of mask removal but the angle he's at doesn't allow him to see her actual face. No matter, he isn't here to uncover secret identities. He's here to learn about Hit Girl who is far more interesting to him at the moment than Mindy Macready. Were he to know of the two's relation to each other he would still be more interested in the mask. That was one of the things people failed at in trying to understand Adrian Veidt. Was he Ozymandias? Who was Ozymandias? These things had all worked to his advantage.

Under the fire escape he rolls out from the shadows as if her landing could have potentially been on top of him. It's the only ruse that comes to mind, but even so, he rolls with the punches.

"Careful," Adrian remarks. He is unmasked himself. It's been a long time since he needed one.

we're running with blood on our knees

From: [personal profile] neverplay - Date: 2010-06-07 12:46 am (UTC) - Expand

we're running with blood on our knees

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we're running with blood on our knees

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we're running with blood on our knees

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we're running with blood on our knees

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we're running with blood on our knees

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we're running with blood on our knees

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we're running with blood on our knees

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we're running with blood on our knees

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we're running with blood on our knees

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we're running with blood on our knees

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[call]

Date: 2010-06-12 04:01 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] kicksmoreass.livejournal.com
Hey dude, uh, it's Chris D'Amico, you won my auction a few days ago there, just wondering what you wanna do for that.

[call]

Date: 2010-06-12 04:05 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] caughtthebullet.livejournal.com
I've been expecting you, Mr. D'Amico. Do you wish to be called something else?

[call]

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[call]

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[action]

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→ HAUNTING

Date: 2010-06-16 02:44 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] prefers-chess.livejournal.com
[A white pawn has mysteriously dislodged itself from its usual place in the second row of the chessboard and advanced forward two spaces in a classic chess opening. Which is a highly unusual occurrence, as there are no opponents in the room, and thus there is no one present to move the pieces.

Or is there?]

→ HAUNTING

Date: 2010-06-17 12:37 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] caughtthebullet.livejournal.com
[Adrian has his back to the readied board but when he hears the movement his reflexes kick in. Once glance thrown over his shoulder has the blond noting where the piece lands but he's alone in the study and that is not good.]

→ HAUNTING

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→ OBJECT

Date: 2010-07-02 02:23 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] prefers-chess.livejournal.com
[Sometime late Thursday night, a parcel (http://i669.photobucket.com/albums/vv60/Fortunes_Wings/Polychromatic/macbookair20envelope.jpg) is delivered to the Palace, addressed in beautiful calligraphy to one Mr. Adrian Veidt. The handwriting on the filled pages of the notebook (http://i669.photobucket.com/albums/vv60/Fortunes_Wings/Polychromatic/RudyChart.png) within is not nearly so neat, but still distinguishable as coming from the same hand.]
From: [identity profile] caughtthebullet.livejournal.com
Adrian Veidt has seen this occurrence before, the unusual influx of new faces to the world between worlds. When it happens--the few times he's seen it happen--a part of him hopes a facet of blue will visit. He doesn't miss the superman, knows the superman could be the end of him, but maybe that's what he desires most from him. That man, a man who is more than a man, is one of the few who can uproot his world. Mind, it has happened only once (twice), but a single incident is enough to strike its permanent place in Adrian's memory. It was unexpected, unplanned. Ozymandias still prevailed, in the end, but it was memorable. He tells no one of these things because no one has the true capacity to know Adrian. He has no complaints about this. He continues to age in a world he helped to make a better place like this. Well, that is, back in New York. But here should be no different, right?

He wouldn't dare to presume the answer to that question. He knows better. Adrian continues his walk along the street, having nowhere to go in particular although he makes sure to carry the posture of a man with a purpose. A part of him hopes some meaning will find him instead. But far be it for him to cloud his own thoughts with such seriousness. He compartmentalizes with great ease. The blond looks over the expanse of city street, noting and remembering each face he sees. Some are new to his memory, some he recognizes from his monitors though they have never formally met him. One man in particular he notices is frumpy but his manner implies otherwise. What a curious contradiction.
From: [identity profile] greatfear.livejournal.com
George stands apart from the people that pass him by not so much in distance but carriage, the posture of someone accustomed so a well pressed suit and label fresh button-down and the cold, damp air of a house never big or small enough for a single man. Around him are city streets that lack the dated yet enriching architecture of London even as they also lack the gritty toxicity of Los Angeles parking lots and downtowns. He has received clothing that does not fit from a well-meaning stranger who took pity on an aging man in nothing but his bathrobe as well as a briefing on his location but that is just as ill a fit as the clothes. There are enough things here to suggest this is not a dream and even more of them to suggest that it is, and when he begins moving again, turning toward no particular direction, another aspect adds itself to the latter's list.

He catches that face that has somehow caught onto his own form too; he knows well enough how to watch people but also how to tell when he has been watched if only for a second, but nothing so coherent threads its way through his mind.

That face.

It's all wrong even in the rightness and it isn't the hair color that tips him off so much as having known Jim well enough to be able to tell without even trying.

Not him. Never him.

And anyway, George knows he can't go back, knows too well with his age and his sureness that the time up until now from Jim's death has been only what it is--living--and nothing more noble than that simplistic continuance of a schedule that has kept him together enough to recognize who and what he is in the morning mirror. Jim is dead and George is simply not the kind of man triggered into a flurry of what-ifs. What is the point in such fantasy when the truth is ready to flag the individual down at every turn?

Jim is dead and whatever a lookalike has to do with anything, it isn't anything at all to do with Jim and probably the same amount to do with George himself as far as he can figure. Even knowing that can't stop him staring, however; it feels like so many years rather than so many months that he could feel the pain in his heart from something other than the intangible quality of memories too invaluable to explain. More accurate maybe to say that he doesn't stop watching him, though he chooses similarly not to approach this man who has a face dearer to him than his life but which manages to be as much a stranger to him as anything all at once. Contradictions indeed, but it isn't just him this time.

Who is he, he wonders. And what was he looking at--rather, what kept his attention? Not pity. Nothing so transparent even to the man with the attire that clearly did not originally belong to him. What then? The England native finds himself unable to put his finger on it just yet.

✆ Call

Date: 2010-07-22 04:42 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] justdoingmyjob.livejournal.com
[ ring (goes the slug but much like calls don't really have icons, the intent is quite invisible, how lucky) ...ring ]

✆ Call

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✆ Call

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✆ Call

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✆ Call

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✆ Call

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✆ Call

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...

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From: [identity profile] justdoingmyjob.livejournal.com
This line of shore is close to a dig site Peter Petrelli no longer has any desire to be near---not that he ever did really but the slug was convincing enough to have him there for enough time that everything ached in a way that promised to for a while...well, that was until he borrowed the convenient power from Claire--Claire who he has to find once this is finished. But Peter being Peter, though he has learned enough to know he cannot necessarily mount a one-man rescue for everyone, still intends to try and rescue someone. Said man happens to be approaching his path, which is not coincidental, Peter having pretended to still be infested--to the point of helping dig, even--and kept an eye out, checking every now and then for the blond. Having seen him farther off, Peter went back to digging for a short while before seeming to decide to go for a walk---usually entailing going to grab another host, or rather hosted type. This is in no way his actual plan, it being quite the opposite, but he doesn't let on as he gets closer and closer to Adrian Veidt. Vaguely he remembers being more careless, a little power-hungry, a lot dry and caustic and not-at-all himself; somehow he pieces together the expression that goes with all of that, muscle memory maybe. It was not that long ago, really.
From: [identity profile] caughtthebullet.livejournal.com
Not but days later, Adrian Veidt--rather, the parasite who poses as him--is still feeling a bit sore from his last unsuccessful encounter. His only unsuccessful encounter, mind, which makes the soreness sting a little more. That it came at the hands of one such as the slug nestled around Peter Petrelli's brain merely adds insult to injury. Figurative injury, got it? So when he sees the brunette approaching him as he surveys the dig site from afar, the better to assess potential new points of burrowing, Adrian Veidt wrinkles his nose in distaste. It does not take him long to leave his position of command to approach the other man, using his own imposing height to look down at him.

"What do you want," he snaps, "were you authorized to enter this sector?"

[voice message]

Date: 2010-08-12 11:34 pm (UTC)
thewildone: (i think it's meaningless)
From: [personal profile] thewildone
Hey, it's Curt. Me and the band have played in a couple bars and clubs, plus that last-minute curse day thing, but I wanna do something bigger now that we actually have enough material for a full concert. Still have to find a venue, get posters printed up, all of that. So...I need your help.

[voice message]

Date: 2010-08-12 11:35 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] caughtthebullet.livejournal.com
Good to hear from you, Curt. I'd be more than happy to oblige.

[call]

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→ ACTION | BACKDATED | TRICK OR TREAT

Date: 2010-11-02 12:17 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] prefers-chess.livejournal.com
[On the night of the 31st, the inhabitants of the Palace may be treated to a very unusual experience--the sort that occurs once in a lifetime, for a few fleeting seconds, and then is never referred to again:

The sound of Rudy Miller, currently in the guise of one Han Solo, raising his voice to bellow "Trick or Treat" at the door.]



[OOC: Mindy will be tagging in momentarily to join in! Please hold all responses until she gets here. ♥]

→ ACTION | BACKDATED | TRICK OR TREAT

Date: 2010-11-02 12:37 am (UTC)
neverplay: (✾ CURIOSITY)
From: [personal profile] neverplay
[ Mindy stands beside Rudy, currently dressed in a white sheet with cut-out eyes: a ghost. A terrible make-shift ghost, but it was either this or Princess Leia. That would mean Rudy and her would have matched, and she'd have none of that.

Her visit to this house is inspired by more than a want of candy; she's curious to observe Adrian Veidt in the guise of a child. ]

→ TEXT

Date: 2010-12-20 06:55 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] prefers-chess.livejournal.com
We previously had an arrangement with regard to the safety and well-being of one Mike Webster. As it has been over one month since his departure and there are currently no signs of his imminent return, you are welcome to consider that agreement void.

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→ GIFT

Date: 2010-12-25 05:55 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] prefers-chess.livejournal.com
[Without fanfare, a package arrives at the Palace sometime on Christmas morning; it is neatly but plainly wrapped in brown paper, addressed in impeccable calligraphy to Mr. Adrian Veidt, and contains a gift (http://i669.photobucket.com/albums/vv60/Fortunes_Wings/Polychromatic/Poly%20Christmas%202010/From%20Rudy/350_BY-M0017.png) of cufflinks, courtesy of one R. Miller.]

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