[Caterina] Cat in a hat

Perhaps a gift....

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning. James 1:17

Such is the philosophy I have been taught, from my earliest memories. I'm old enough to not blindly accept it, anymore. But I still find myself falling back on this, in spite of myself. I find myself wondering if being here, in this place, is some sort of gift.

Or is this merely a flight of fancy? Why do you think we're here, fellow residents?
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    Cake - Short Skirt, Long Jacket
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So the Tenth needs new clothes 'cos he keeps waking up here in pyjamas. I want to know where you either get a job as pointless as it is to get an illusory job, or if you can somehow bring money or shit like that into Circadia.

... If there're any students here, I could tutor you for money or something, I don't know. And you better be grateful cos only the Tenth deserves my attention like this. Under normal circumstances.
[Caterina] Cat in a hat

You reign under a broken crown....

I cannot help but wonder why we are here. There is a purpose; there must be.

Abel, I need to speak with you, if you can read this.

Also, I cannot help but wonder why I've been wanting to sing. And secular music at that. This is hardly appropriate behavior for a Cardinal, surely. And in public, no less. How utterly annoying.

I revel in this nightmare, but did I just wake up too soon?

Am I still haunted, haunted by the thought of you?

Do you believe in destiny or are you merely testing me?
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    Jill Tracy - Haunted by the Thought of You - I revel in this nightmare
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    , ,
facing the wind


There are people singing here in the city. It's curious to watch them. Sometimes the song is happy, and other times sad. I heard this one coming from someone in a strange language and after some research, found the words in Amestrian, or whatever language is close enough to Amestrian, here.

And then the boy falls asleep

The flame inside the breathing ashes, one then two

The floating swelling, the dear profile

Thousands of dreams, dreams, that pour onto the earth

On the night when silver eyes swing, the shining you, who was born

Millions of years,

No matter how many millions of years, return the prayers to earth

I continue praying

Love for the last

And then the boy falls asleep

The flame inside the breathing ashes

One, then two. The floating swelling, the dear profile

Thousand of dreams, dreams, that pour onto the earth

On the night when the silver eyes swing,

The shining you, who was born

No matter how many millions of years, return the prayers to earth

I continue praying. Love for the last

Kiss for the joined hands

I wonder what they mean. They're so... poignant and tug at me.
♌ and it all comes down to you

Empty Inbox

TO: captain.harkness@torchwood.org.uk
FROM: cooperg@south-wales.police.uk
SUBJECT: Really strange dream...


I know this is going to sound strange, but I've been meaning to tell you about this really strange dream I'm having.  To be honest, I'm not entirely sure it's a dream, because I have it every night when I go to sleep.  I wake up in a flat that I know is mine, in a proper city, and there are people there I haven't met who are just as real as anyone in the waking world.

The thing is, I found Owen there last night.  He's still dead, Jack, but he's not... he's actually LIVING in this other world! 

If you could keep this just between you and me I'd appreciate it.  Let me rephrase: PLEASE don't tell Ianto!  I not this sounds mental but I believe this place is real.


Looking at this, it sounds utterly barmy and there is no way I can sent it to Jack.  No possible way.

But more than anything I want to tell someone about Circadia.  About the people I meet and finding Owen, which I don't even quite really believe.  I don't even know yet if I can believe it's not all some dream and I've really just snapped.

And then part of me wonders how many people I know wandering around this city that I just haven't found yet.  Or how many people feel just like I do.  If anyone is really real here at all.  Maybe I am a complete nutter.
via Mk. II

Transmission 003

When you go to sleep, and you're thinking of something too much, usually you dream about it. So I kind of hoped that if I kept thoughts of the Mk. IV in my mind, I'd end up with it here - I thought it could be useful. Doesn't look like it worked, though.

It wasn't a total failure - when I turned on the computer to post this, all of my designs were stored in a file. It seems like I was able to transmit the blueprints, essentially, if nothing else. If I could find the right equipment, I might be able to build another. It's not like I've only made one...

It's not easy to fall asleep on command - it's been so long since I've really laid down in a bed at a set time and decided I needed to sleep, but it was a theory I had to test....Usually, when I'm not here anymore, I wake up passed out at my desk, or something. I guess I don't have healthy sleep patterns...I don't think I ever really have, but...

I think I avoided the problem with the doors. I haven't heard of it still happening. I still don't know if I think it's safe to go out. It's like being in a musical, I guess. Or a Disney movie. At least that's what the paper says and what I've seen from looking around the network.

I guess since this is a dream, kind of, weird things are bound to keep happening. I can't stay holed up in here forever or I'll never get anything I need. Maybe I'll take my chances...I didn't see any place that might carry the kind of things I need while I was out the last couple of times, though...


I can't imagine that thing about Zack is true, but if it were, the parts would be useful...

[OOC: Strikes have been deleted, upon Otacon remembering that the network is oh-so-public]


Tch. What is up with this place? Everywhere I go, I hear singing. First there were the pirates, then the doors didn't go anywhere I wanted to, and now singing? Does something new happen here everyday?

And yeah, I know this place is called Circadia- I've been reading that bullshit they call a newspaper.

Any warnings for today before I get out of this stupid apartment and brave the streets?

(no subject)

Rasler.. I keep losing you.

Where are you?

It feels like I keep getting turned upside down every time I go to sleep. I can't tell what's real anymore.

Will you come see me? I'm not even sure you're real.

((OOC: strikes just barely visible)
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I would rather the newspaper was joking about the bursting into song, but apparently many feel the need to have strong emotions and interrupt my coffee.

I shall have to invest in a coffee machine eventually; but not right now, for now I will be staying far, far away from these overly emotional, tone-deaf nit-wits.