03 Procyon family BIRDMAN, RX' chromosome abnormal

Hi everybody, Nicole here with a rather long overdue concrit post.
I know that Galerians is kind of an obscure fandom, but regardless, if you feel like I could be playing a better Birdman or have any suggestions on the way I write him, please feel free to leave a comment with your thoughts. Don't be afraid of really busting my ass about it either; if there's something you honestly think I could be doing better here, I'd be very interested in what any of you guys think it could be so that I can work at it and become a better player.

All comments for this entry are also screened. B:

[Camera flickers on, and there, filling the screen, is a face nobody ever wanted to see ever again even in their worst nightmares.]

Hi there, kids.

[Pauses and lets the face that he's NOT DEAD really sink in for a minute.]

I know this is a great big happy surprise, but unfortunately, I come to you with some bad news this time around. You all remember that fine fellow Mr. Parano, don't you?
Think hard. I know you can do it.

It is with deepest regret and sympathies that I inform you of the passing of Mr. Parano Whateverthefuckhislastnamewas.
He was a good man until the very end, and he did not deserve the kind of death he got.
No, he deserved so much worse than what he got. Traitor got off easy. How's that for justice, hmm?
But you know, in his final moments in this world, he confided in me his final wishes. He just couldn't live with the GUILT of his betrayal, friends. Couldn't live with that at all. It was just EATING HIM UP INSIDE, that guilt of betraying his only real friend.
I did him a favor.
And he asked me, even though he was choking and dying and didn't have much of a head left, "Oh Mr. BIRDMAN my dearest friend, please, if you have even an ounce of real decency in you, you'll finish what we began and pay the deserving back." He pleaded and cried, ladies and gentlemen. He didn't even have any hands left to plead with, but he did it anyway. What a fucking effort.
And how could I say no to a dying man's last wish? What kind of horrible little person would that make me?

HOW COULD I SAY NO, FRIENDS?

[Claws at the webcam and pitches it across the room.]
[The image snaps off suddenly in a flash of static in the middle of screaming laughter.]

Ms. Lilia?
Dollface of mine?

Sweetpea?

I have something I need to talk to you about, SWEETPEA.

You know something?

We've had a lot of people go poof lately, haven't we.
Isn't that sad? Everybody's getting beamed back up to the mothership and here you all are still stuck down here. Just terrible. How tragic.
We've all lost loved ones, haven't we.
Whatever loved ones means, anyway.
Off they go into the sky, and we just never hear from them again.
Sad. So sad. Isn't that sad.
They're probably dead~


Hey, Rion.
Come to think of it, I haven't heard from that pedophile lately.
IS EVERYTHING OKAY?
IS EVERYTHING OKAY RION?
I'M WORRIED ABOUT YOU NOW IN THIS TIME OF LOSS.
YOU TOO?

Hey.


Hey Parano.


How're you feeling Parano?

God almighty.

Perfect.
It's too perfect for words.

Change of plans, Parano. We don't need the tanks - only something similar to the technology preexisting within ourselves.
It'll make a fine Rabbit replacement, won't it?
Less work for you.
Infinitely less.

( [complete lockdown to absolutely private, NIGHTMARE MODE even for the Galerians] )

HEAR YE! HEAR YE!

As my first decree as your newfangled MONARCH TSAR MAYOR, I highly suggest that all you fine New Yorkers immediately stop drinking the water.

Whatever they put in the water here that's making the computer I'm using suddenly have eyes, apparently for staring right back at me, I'm plenty keen on having all to myself.

Thank you.

[The message is coming from what was once Cloud Strife's radio.]

[Static, crackling, a strange incessant buzzing. The signal is horrible, the message coming over the device barely sounding like English until the holder fiddles with it a little more - fiddling mostly means hitting it against what sounds like a metal locker a couple of times - and things become somewhat clearer. Marginally.]

[Staticy chuckling, low and slow and way too close to the radio's microphone.]

Is this thing on?

[Fumbling, the radio pulled somehow even closer. There is a repeating noise in the background, sounds that only translate as static but slowly grow clearer as he continues to fight with the radio.]

Excuse me?
Hello?
Has somebody been looking for a Mr.- uh-
Mr.-

[Audibly leans away, screaming at someone else in the room, though the message is nearly lost in electronic haze.]

__AT__AS ___ NAME A__IN?

[The answer cannot be heard over the roar of interference, but the man leans back into the radio regardless, having heard it just fine himself.]

Yes Mr. Cloud Strife I think?
People have been calling for him lately? Lots of messages on this thing.

[The repetitive noise in the background fades even harder into static as though the sound is trying to conceal what it actually is.]

I'm sorry to say though, Mr. Strife can't come to the phone right now.

[The noises, without warning, becomes horribly clear.]
[It's a man, screaming with a ruined voice, and while what's being used isn't apparent, he is being viciously beaten. Wet blood splatters are barely audible over the sound of something smashing again and again into the man's body.]

He's a little, uh.
Tied up at the moment-

CAN I TAKE A MESSAGE?-

[A sudden wild screech of laughter from the BIRDMAN at his own unfunny joke; a noise, clattering of god knows what, the man's screaming growing louder and closer for all of a few seconds,]
[CRACK.]
[The radio explodes into static.]

Oh, ah.

Faggot-
excuse me, Parano.

I've been meaning to ask you before you come over with them sandwiches.

How good are you at mechanics.

Who's hungry.

Are you hungry, kids?

I'm hungry.

Are you hungry, kids?


Rion.
I know you can hear me Mr. Steiner. You and your little SUPER CUTE text reader there.

Paging G76 -S.
Come in G76 -S.

Tell me a story.

Excuse me, Ms. Fey?

You seem to have vanished right in the middle of our very important interview.

You don't know how bad they're going to have my ass down at the Michelangelo Times if I don't get this article in on time.
Don't do this to me now.

You've still yet to answer me on the little matter of whether or not you remember a few choice things.

Would you mind, dollface
miss?

Ahhh dear dear dear.

My friends.

Haven't we had the most interesting little adventure recently. So much going on, the whole world turned topsy turvy under our feet, what with this machine code and Mysterious Mr. CFP-TCI and all.

C____ F____ P____ - T____ C____ I____, hmm?
C____ F____ P____?
C____
F____
P____

C____
F____
Project?

C.F. Project?
C?
F?

But on to things we actually give two shits about.
Hasn't life just been terrible to us all lately? Obvious things aside. You and you and I, we've been plucked from what we know as familiar, from our times and homes and families and what have you, thrown into this C.F. Project, watched like lab rats. And now, this.

I ask you, friends.

Where are our so-called administrative figures in these times of deep confusion and crisis?

Where have our self-elected leaders been, for instance, when A DANGEROUS MANIAC tortured a minor for hours in a back alley off Riverside Dr. and permanently blinded him?

Where were our self-elected leaders when the monster, or Big Mama as we all knew her, was killed for the first time? Why weren't they - why wasn't she marching the apparently brain dead masses into lifeboats and rafts to cross the rivers to safety?
Instead, why were they doing nothing about the partying that happened that wasted so much time that the monster somehow came back to life and trapped us all here once more?

What's up with this self-elected shit anyway?

Have we become a monarchy, one ruled by the first asshole to come along and capture the flag, so to speak? This is still the United States, my friends, and back in 2009, I'm relatively sure democracy was still in full effect here in this little country.

Which is where I finally reach my point, ladies and gentlemen.

This city has no room for ineffective, self-appointed dictators such as those you might have known during your stay in this big beautiful city. After nice Ms. Brea's conference, who even knows who to trust anymore.

We are currently ruled by one self-appointed dictator.
A lawyer.

Do you know what a lawyer is, friends?

It's someone paid to lie to you.

In that sense, our current "mayor" and I come to you from very similar situations of public distrust and unease.
Don't we.
We're not so different, Ms. Mia Fey and I.
But it isn't fair to you, the people, for someone we truly don't know to stick herself in a chair and dictate us all as though we're communists.
One second-

Two hundred and twenty two years ago, in a hall that still stands over in Philly somewhere, a group of men gathered and, with these simple words, launched America's improbable experiment in democracy. Farmers and scholars, statesmen and patriots who had traveled across an ocean to escape tyranny and persecution finally made real their declaration of independence at a Philadelphia convention that lasted through the spring of 1787.

The document they produced was eventually signed but ultimately unfinished. It was stained by this nation's original sin of slavery, a question that divided the colonies and brought the convention to a stalemate until the founders chose to allow the slave trade to-
...wrong speech, wait-

Yes, we can.
Yes, we can change. Yes, we can.

Yes, we can heal this natio- city. Yes, we can seize our future.
And as we leave this great network with a new wind at our backs, and we take this journey across this great city, a city we love, with the message we carry from the rooftop of the Chrysler Building to the hills of what remains of Central Park, from the Harlem baseball parks to the East River coast, the same message we had when we were up and when we were down, that out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we will hope.

And where we are met with cynicism and doubt and fear and THOSE OF US who tell us that we can't and that we should stay inside and not panic and ignore who was the only two-faced dictator woman who had access to the food supply in Madison Square Garden when it went missing late last year, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of the Neo New York people in three simple words.

Yes, we can.

Thank you, NYC.
I love you.

~*VOTE BIRDMAN FOR MAYOR*~
Remember, everyone.
A vote for BIRDMAN is a vote against liars who start mass hysteria, incriminate upcoming leaders, trap you in a dead city, and steal your food and leave you to starve and die.




-Cloverfield.


CLOVERFIELD PROJECT?

02 Sirius family. RITA, RX negative chromosome abnormal.
04 Pegasus family. CAIN, Q7G chromosome abnormal.
ANGER / PARANO.

05 Pegasus family.
"RION,"
G76 -S chromosome abnormal.

Each of us, GALERIAN.
We are a proud race. All of us. Living or dead, birthed or aborted.

My brothers, my little dollfaces.
My truest and dearest friends of all.

What are we doing?

Why are we continuously clashing with one another? Are we not all of the same blood, flesh, bone, chemical?
We are all her descendants. We should not damage what is ultimately our own selves. We are all one, even if MOTHER does not exist yet, has never existed.
We are united in that same ultimate purpose, aren't we?

I think so.

Why do we fight amongst ourselves when there is an entire city full of Homo sapiens to slaughter.

Talk to me, my brothers.

I think we have some thinking to do ourselves.

Hello all.

I figured I'd act as your neighborhood watchdog today and let you know that a dangerous sociopath Mr. Parano is living in your local neighborhood Babeland in SoHo.
That's 43 Mercer St. for those of you who aren't familiar with the area.

I suggest you lynch mobbers all pick up some torches and pitchforks on your way there.

No need to thank me.

So now if you'll excuse me.
I have some moving to do~

You know friends,
I haven't talked to the whole lot of you in a long little while, I just realized.
We've been experiencing technical difficulties since late autumn here at the radio station, you see.

How are things?
We never talk anymore, you all and I.
Any new stories I've missed out on? Any fresh grudges, alliances, deaths or births in the family?

I'VE MISSED YOU ALL SO MUCH.

A ceasefire for a moment in favor of some halfway-halfwitted-intelligent conversation, ladies and gentlemen, hmm?
A thought occurred to me in the middle of the night, and I think I need to ask the peanut gallery about this one.

RIDDLE ME THIS.
Where exactly are they all going?

And I'm not talking about those who are lost and then found some time later and not about those who choose to lose themselves in this city for a small period of time.

Sometimes people wake up one morning, and the person they were sharing a room with or an apartment with or a liquor store with is gone. Vanished without a trace.
And they never come back, do they.

Where are they all going, friends?

`Someone taking them and not feeling entirely up to giving them back, hmm?

Out of curiosity, when is this supposedly-promised REFUND exchange party coming again?

You've yet to show your face, you know. Feeling a little lonely now that you haven't come `round.
Built up my hopes and dreams and expectations, you did.
Got some chips and dip for the incoming bash. How dare you make me waste my hard earned money.

Poor old Jack Pumpkinhead. Poor Sawhorse. Poor Scarecrow, poor Tin Woodman.

Little boy Tip isn't what he seems, you know.
And Mombi has eyes.

[He simply rises and leaves both the table the computer's stationed on and the entire apartment then, not bothering to turn the recording device off as he walks out the place's front door. Maybe in new search of something. Maybe pursuit.]

[The computer records the sound of silence indefinitely.]

It's RUDE to keep people waiting, Ebenezer.
I put on my Sunday best for this little get together, you know.
Do you have any idea how difficult it was to find some Sunday best, Ebenezer.

¿ʇsol noʎ ǝɹɐ

HELLO Mr. City's sudden numerous newcomers.
Aren't you just curiously plentiful lately.

I DO hope every last one of you out there is feeling well this holiday season.
Awful chilly out tonight, isn't it.
We wouldn't want any of you poor things getting sick.
And what a terrible time to catch cold, during these holiday seasons of ours, yes?

Good health, well heated, overfed.
Warm wishes upon the heads of you all.