nobody down here

[DISCLAIMER]: First thing's first: I am not Fox Mulder, I am not David Duchovny, I am not Chris Carter, I don't know any of them or anyone else who worked on The X-Files. I'm not making any money here and I don't claim to own anything mentioned here. I am not the key figure in an ongoing government conspiracy. I am writing to have fun, and I am enjoying myself. This is just roleplay, friends; don't take it too seriously.


THIS is my OOC contact and critique post, in case you want to say UR DOIN IT WRONG. Anonymous is allowed, screening is off, but really I'd prefer you not to hide behind anonymity. I'm dealing with six years of intricate mythology behind this boy, and it's easy to forget stuff, so if you have a problem with my characterization please give me a poke here.

If you'd like to plot with Mulder (or any of my others ♥) give me a poke any time. You know the drill!

[Private; HACKABLE]


[x - 40253]
current location; unknown
present: (city date)
- 04.01.09
- 07.04.09

- actual nature, whereabouts, & temporal situation unclear
- appearances coincide with a semi-regular City occurrence wherein assorted, apparently unrestricted 'outsiders' visit for a 24-hour period; documentation here


[x - 73317]
current location; unknown
present: (city date)
- 01.19.09 through 04.16.09 [realtime approximately 1997?]
- 04.30.09 through 07.28.09 [realtime unclear - presumed after 1999]
|

[/Private]


Two weeks.

For anyone who knows her, Agent Scully has once again left the City.

Yesterday was far too reminiscent of the mushroom thing for my tastes. Then again, I've been waiting for this place to dissolve into a pile of green goo since October.



[ooc; i've been having muse troubles with him, but he's not gone quite yet >>]

Does it really have to snow, I was already freezing half the time...

My head is killing me. I think... maybe I just need a couple'f days off.



[ooc; he's sick, mmyep, and he's been doin his best to ignore it. ^_^]

...I don't remember it very clearly, but I have the depressing feeling that this weekend involved sequins.


[ooc; ngjkgndf belated. Mulder spent the weekend being a Beautiful Assistant. ;D]

Agent Scully has left the City.

Nothing is harmless, here. First Sam shows up-- shit.

I thought she might come back, after the curse ended, but no such luck. Maybe it's for the best. She'd still be sick, if she had.



I think... I need to get out of the house for a while.



[ooc; re this~ sob, if only you were seventh season, mulder, you'd know better than to wish anything ever. ALSO SORRY MY ACTIVITY HAS BEEN... fgfsdg... ::tries harder. loves you all.:: going out soon but wanted to get this up, will catch tags this afternoon bbyz]

( Private | Easily Hackable Due to Curse )

Something's up today, but I'm not sure what. Speaking of which... considering the new City guide (guides? I know at least one person was planning to write one, and at least one other person already has,) I wonder if it would be beneficial to try and compile a list of them? Obviously we can't document everything, and some of them are tricky to identify... but it might give new arrivals a better idea of what to expect.

Think it's worthwhile? And, would anyone be interested in contributing to the project?


( Horoscope : Your Negative Side )

[ooc: SOB I LOVE THIS HOROSCOPE. *_____* Anyway. Waay back when with the Mardi Gras curse, Mulder went out and slept with... random NPC chick #5, I guess... annnnd is now preoccupied with that re: his horoscopey emotional isolation blah blah blah. :3 FEEL FREE TO HACK HIM.]

I feel...

Weird.

[ooc: LET'S PRETEND I DON'T SUCK AND POSTED THIS EARLIER ORZ. backdating get. Mulder - Lust, ahaha. Somebody sleep with him plox.]

ALEX KRYCEK.

I got you this. ♥

( Non-IC cut )

Be my valentine?

[ooc: oh god i'm so sorry. >D]

Question of the day: where are my pants? This samurai getup wouldn't be too bad if it fit, but my ankles are freezing.

In other news... It's worth mentioning that even though my partner has lost her mind memory and doesn't seem to mind what she's wearing, I'm pretty sure she does still know how to use her gun, so it might not be a good idea to mess with her.

[ooc: switched with crossshapedscar ^^]

We may choose to question, to doubt, the evidence of our senses; but we cannot easily deny them. We interact with the world through our bodies; and so when we find them changed, might not our perception of the world change? Or am I me in some fashion that defies the flesh entirely. I'm not touching the battle of the sexes nonsense with a ten-foot pole, because that kind of conversation never ends well for the males involved... But I'll admit it was interesting to look through different eyes. Seeing the same world from another angle. I don't know that I learned anything, except that I don't like being short, which I really could have guessed.

Still, food for thought. If it's in essence an accident that I am the man I see in the mirror every day, what does that say about the person I believe myself to be? If I'd been born in the body I found myself in the other day (admittedly not without its advantages,) would I be where I am, who I am? Or would my life have followed some other path, impossible to imagine or predict?

I don't think we're meant to learn anything from these curses-- certainly theories abound to explain them, though whether any do, who knows-- but that doesn't mean we can't.

Anyway. In other matters-- has anyone heard from Donna Noble recently? She's been uncharacteristically quiet for a couple of days...

i call foul play

nopjun intnded

the beer thig, now thisd

THIS IS BEXACTLY HOW THEY MAAKE GOOSE LIVEER PATE.

I know, I know, I've been kind of scarce since the whole zombie apocalypse thing. Thank whoever I'm supposed to thank that that's over. I'm sorry if I ate anyone's face or anything, I really don't remember much of it except that being eaten by zombies is a really, really crappy way to go.

I am once again alive and more or less well... somewhat bruised, though, because I swear, every step I took outside today, I pretty much fell on my ass. Guess the Deities are too cheap to spring for rocksalt out there? Ugh.

So! How have you all been?

Oh god, seriously? Mistletoe?

[OOC: WHO WANTS TO MAKE OUT WITH MULDER? :D :D Male, female, human, otherwise, all comers are welcome. I mean, not in his opinion, but tough luck for Fox. Feel free to assume you did and/or actionspam if you prefer~~]

I don't even get a kung-fu grip or shoot nerf projectiles or anything. I feel like I'm missing out.

...And my badge keeps falling off.

I'm David Duchovny.

Before you run out and get your flu shot, you might want to think about who you're letting inject you. Where did these vaccines come from? How do we know what's in them? Whether they'll work? Whether they're serving some other purpose? Genetic markers. Biological or chemical testing. You never know.
I'm pretty turned off to getting mysterious shots, I'll take my chances getting sick.

In other news, I've heard about the recent occurrences of petrification. If you've got any information on them and wouldn't mind sharing it, I'd like to hear it.

[Police Filter]
Do we have any more information on the explosion the other day?

[ooc: o_o! anonymous person. th-thank you! ::flattered... goes back to cropping screenshots::]

They say that on Halloween, the boundary weakens between the world of the living and the land of the dead; that ghosts and ghouls and monsters can walk among us for that one night. What that means here, where the dead walk among us while we go grocery shopping, I'm not certain. Perhaps nothing; I've never been inclined to assume that the divide was so great in the first place. The truth is out there-- and so are a lot of other things, and I'm not convinced they need to wait for the end of October to come say hello.

You throw a hell of a party, City, and I appreciate the costume help. Peg leg? Hard to balance but still really, really cool. Glad I don't have to deal with it on a daily basis, though. Pirate was the right costume choice, in any case; much worse stuff to be stuck in. Indiana Jones was a close second, but I didn't have a whip handy.

Rose went home; I'm beginning to see what people have been saying, about how unexpected it can be, the way people come and go. No apparent pattern or logic governing it. Anyway, I hope she's okay, whatever dimension she's in now.

Funny that I find myself looking for some kind of scientific explanation, here, when I'm used to disproving the so-called rational theories. Maybe I just like the challenge.

What is it that we find so captivating about the concept of a man shedding his humanity and becoming a beast? Is it merely the appeal of the uncanny, the unfamiliar arising in a familiar setting—the wolf where no wolf should be? I’ve always suspected there’s an element of longing we don’t like to admit to; the desire to shed not only the form but the trappings of our day-to-day existence, an association of what we perceive as a simpler form with a simpler way of life. And yet, who’s to say we’d be happier, thrust back into the food chain we’ve spent thousands of years trying to ascend, trading office politics for the rule of eat or be eaten?
Still, as the City seems to know, the concept of transformation remains rooted deep in our minds. The first X-File, created and shelved by J. Edgar Hoover himself, dealt with a man who was more than a man—hidden away so people would stop fixating on the circumstances. But such things always come back to haunt us.
For those of you who don't usually check the homo sapiens box on the form, feel free to substitute your favorite species for the top-of-the-foodchain spot; I can only speak for my own facet of reality. Do the things that go bump in the night have dreams and nightmares of shedding their wings and fangs for suits and ties and ending up the pawns of bureaucracy? Now that is a horror movie in the making—not the man waking up to find out he’s become a cockroach, but the cockroach waking up to find a cubicle with his name on it.
Lions and tigers and bears, oh, my.
Sorry, I couldn't resist. So, who's been keeping score? Looked like a lot of cats and dogs, a handful of more exotic beasts and birds, a couple of things I didn't recognize and a number which don't exist where I'm from. For those of you affected, out of curiosity, any idea why you ended up with the fur, feathers, or otherwise you did? Or is the City’s madness without method?

I didn't end up with paws yesterday, so points to the deities for not making the cheap and obvious joke. I'm pretty much waiting for something dreadful to happen, since so far I haven't really been affected myself. Just a matter of time, right?

Rose, I'm afraid I had to ...borrow some of your things yesterday. It was for a good cause, I swear. Anything I can't retrieve, I'll replace, I promise. I would've asked but I didn't have a chance.

( Private to Lucy Saxon )

( Private to Clow Reed )

[ooc: orz, this would’ve been up earlier but I had to go out unexpectedly. >< per Cap’n Kuchiki’s request, Mulder’s put on his investigative hat. Lucy- and Clow-muns, I hope this is an acceptable way for him to harass you, I thought it’d be a little weird for him to just pounce your entries. >_>;]

We seek to persuade ourselves that the fabric of time and space is whole; we speak, if at all, of a tear, as though some fundamental, solid reality has been violated. A wound through which we pass out of our rightful world into some other space, some other time; another world.
And yet, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, we want to believe that this fabric is tightly-woven and in and of itself, inviolate. This place makes me wonder, though; are there cracks through which we've slipped, somehow passing in between the warp and the woof into this City? Perhaps the weave is not so fine; stories, images, lives trickle from one to another, distorted and reflected, as we've fallen through into this one.

My name is Fox Mulder. I ended up here yesterday, and I've already been told I'm stuck. So... Might as well get the practical stuff dealt with-- I need a place to live. Couch is fine if no one's got an extra bedroom. I don't take up much space since I've got nothing with me. Happy to start paying my share of rent once I get a job. I don't mind rooming with people who think I'm fictional, provided you promise to be gentle with the existential crises.

Which, uh, brings me to the other matter. I guess I'm probably going to apply to join the police here, and they'd like a couple of letters of reference if it's possible. Which I guess, under the circumstances, it might be. So, does anyone want to recommend me to them? Only the nice stuff, please.

[nick / name]: Alms
[personal LJ name]: gossamerrain
[other characters currently played]:
Rudy Cooper :: Dexter :: cold_dry_pieces
Silk :: Book of the Long Sun :: silk_for_calde
Aziraphale :: Good Omens :: mr_phale
[e-mail]: [REDACTED]
[AIM / messenger]: [REDACTED]

[series]: The X-Files
[character]: Fox William Mulder
[character history / background]: takin’ the lazy way out-- here is the wiki~ And there’s also the x-files wiki article which is more informative but might make your eyes bleed with its tl;drness.
[character abilities]: Nothing special. He’s intelligent, well-read, has a photographic memory (or nearly.) He’s in good physical shape and has experience with firearms.
[character personality]:
“I'm the key figure in an ongoing government charade, the plot to conceal the truth about the existence of extraterrestrials. It's a global conspiracy, actually, with key players in the highest levels of power, that reaches down into the lives of every man, woman, and child on this planet, so, of course, no one believes me. I'm an annoyance to my superiors, a joke to my peers. They call me Spooky. Spooky Mulder, whose sister was abducted by aliens when he was just a kid and who now chases after little green men with a badge and a gun, shouting to the heavens or to anyone who will listen that the fix is in, that the sky is falling and when it hits it's gonna be the shit-storm of all time.”

For someone whose motto is trust no one, Fox Mulder is surprisingly open-minded. He’s willing to listen to anyone’s crazy story about aliens, werewolves, their night of passion with Luke Skywalker, being attacked by the Jersey Devil, or, well. You name it. Seriously. The truth, after all, is out there, and bits of it can be found in the most surprising places.
Mulder’s search for the truth—about his sister’s abduction, about extraterrestrials, about the government’s conspiracies to cover-up their existence—is his primary motivation in life. He’s driven; some would say obsessed. A well-known author, for example, once described him as “ticking timebomb of insanity” whose “quest into the unknown has so warped his psyche, one shudders to think how he receives pleasures from life.”
The passion and enthusiasm he has for his work has led to a trend of disregarding authority, and a habit of pissing off those in power. He’s often seen, not without reason, as reckless and even dangerous, more concerned with proving his pet theories than doing his job. The mounting evidence of corruption and conspiracy within the government has only served to increase his mistrust of authority, and as such he won’t hesitate to disobey orders if he disagrees with them.
Mulder has a well-earned reputation for being arrogant, aloof, and emotionless among those who don’t know him well. He tries (but often fails) to keep his distance from cases; while he wants, desperately, to believe, he knows it’s necessary to take tales of the paranormal with a grain of salt. When something touches a personal chord, though—for example, reminding him of his sister or of his own experiences, Mulder is prone to dangerous leaps of faith.
Those who know him a bit better are well aware of his cynical, sarcastic sense of humor, though his jokes often go over the heads of those he’s mocking. He’s fiercely loyal to those few who’ve earned his trust, and will go to great lengths to protect them.
As such, his true friends are his greatest weakness—particularly his partner, Dana Scully. Although she was originally assigned to the X-Files to debunk his work, putting them at odds, they’ve grown incredibly close over the years. She’s become an important part of his life; his devotion to her far exceeds the bounds of their professional relationship. In addition, Fox blames himself somewhat for everything Scully has suffered because of their work together. At this point in canon, their relationship is almost certainly a romantic one, though it hasn’t been publicly acknowledged as such.
In terms of his personal life, he can be a bit of a slob; Mulder’s apartment is your typical bachelor pad. He tends to sleep on the couch, often watching porn, although for a brief period he took advantage of the waterbed he somehow acquired. Until it sprung a leak. He’s still not sure where the damn thing came from to begin with, but, well. After a while you get used to strange things, in his line of work.

[point in timeline you're picking your character from]: Just after 6x21 [Field Trip], right before the end of the sixth season.

[journal post]:
[Voice]
[Almost inaudibly]

Shit.

[Long pause.]

O-kaaay… Not in Kansas anymore. Look, if I’m dead, Clyde Bruckman? You owe me an apology.

So, working on the assumption that I’m not… Is anyone out there?

I could use a hand here.

[third person / log sample]:

You would think, by now, that he’d be used to strange things happening.
Yet he lived in a daze, half-waiting for the world to fall apart again, dripping yellow as his consciousness recalled glimpses of the viscous, organic acid slowly eating away at him. He’d seen hundreds of unimaginable things, lived to push the boundaries of reality— but somehow it was different, being trapped in his own mind while his body lay calmly underground in North Carolina. He’d abducted an alien. He’d shot Skinner. He’d gotten Scully to admit he’d been right all along. They’d both been so certain, the last time, that they were out—that they’d escaped the hazy unreality—until he’d stopped to think about it, until the world dissolved once more.
Was he out now? The burns were healing, but sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder. What was real? How could you know, ultimately, whether you existed? That you wouldn’t wake up suddenly from what you’d imagined your life to be?
He started awake in the middle of the night; as he had years ago, but without the quiet cracking to calm him, his father eating sunflower seeds in the next room, reassuring him he wasn’t the last person left alive. But the world hadn’t fallen apart yet. He’d lay waiting, watching shitty science-fiction or cheap porn—whichever he found first— until he fell asleep again. Not even trying to make sense of the vast questions lingering at the edges of his mind; just trying for rest.
What could he be certain of? The question came unbidden to his mind as a cloaked Tom Mason drifted across the screen, an unconvincing replacement for Bela Lugosi. What if he didn’t know everything he imagined he knew? When his perspective seemed to shift every day, what could he be certain of?
Trust no one was a pragmatic mantra, one he'd taken on himself although it warred with his inherent desire to believe, to trust in truth. He'd told Scully, years ago, that trusting her meant he had more than himself to rely upon; he valued that most of all. Even when she didn't agree with him. Because she didn't agree with him; he had to fight to prove himself, and it kept him honest. He often suspected that in her own way, she, too, believed; believed in him, though she could never credit the things he claimed.
A woman shrieked awkwardly onscreen; he shut his eyes.
There were always things to trust; instincts. The sun would rise. Kersh would hate him. His partner would give him a hard time about everything, despite six years of his being right most of the time. The truth always comes out, despite the best efforts to erase it. It wasn't certainty; but he felt too old, too jaded for that, anyway. Crack. Crack.
He fell asleep, and didn't dream.