nobody down here

[ Private; Hackable with effort ]

I have chased truth to the exclusion of all else; risked and sacrificed everything I held dear. My career, my life; those I loved; all casualties in the pursuit of some inexplicable explanation, a tangled web whose ephemeral strands I've sought to grasp without thought to the cost or the consequence.

And now I find myself the agent of secrecy, the architect of my own small conspiracy; not because I know the end is coming, but because I know it is not. I have seen the end of the dark passageway my partner is walking; have been blinded by the light of day that lies beyond. I've lived the days she doesn't dare to hope for, in these moments when her faith in science rallies its forces against her faith in herself, her belief in God.

Is it possible-- is it wise-- to bridge the years between us, the distance I attributed to shock? Would it drive her away, to know how close we have yet to come? Or will it do more harm to keep these things from her; a future she cannot fight, waiting upon her return to the real world.

I can't keep this secret... But I don't know how to share this truth.
[ /Private ]

[ Filtered Away from Scully ]

So. Question of the evening-- who comes from a world where they've figured out to cure cancer? Better yet, who can do it themselves?

Yes, there is a certain amount of urgency involved here.

[ /Filtered ]

( Police Filter // Viewable to those investigating the stonings )

I'm glad I got away without having to enumerate my near escapes; I wouldn't have had time to listen to the stories the City wanted told.
I thought, once, that I remembered dying, though often I can't tell what I've seen from what I've dreamed. November twenty-sixth. Someone told me that souls mate eternal; that though we don't recall, in some inscrutable way we stay side by side through the years, the lives, the deaths. Born sisters once, mother and child a second time, lovers third; and yet some lives we meet only in passing, lonely and disconnected, seeing for an instant unknown faces that strike a chord deep within us, though we know not why.
We aren't the damned, or the saved, who have fallen down this rabbit hole. Perhaps it's but a dream from which we'll wake, some shared unconscious memory lying at the root of all realities. Perhaps there's no rhyme or reason behind it; a land where dead men walk with figments of dead men's imaginations, where dreams and nightmares mingle with reality.
Is this merely the logical end of a long journey, a walk through darkness begun with eyes open wide in naive fascination? A restless search for a truth I couldn't comprehend, only longed for with a child's stubbornness? Here so many truths lay bare, so many are handed to me, unsuspected-- and questions raised for which there are no answers in sight, questions I could not have asked had I not been pulled off my path.

[ooc: The count for investigators I'm working with is Harry Dresden, Molly Carpenter, Carlos Ramirez, Karrin Murphy, and Vincent Valentine, as lifted from Harry's filters, but if your char has been involved with the investigation feel free to assume they're on it too? ^^;]

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. >_>;]