[Standing in the rain, Shiki stood in front of a ruined castle. His communicator was soaked, the audio a little distorted and the video a little blurry. Not minding this at all, he could be heard walking under a little bit of cover, just to get out of the rain. The steam from his breaths could be seen and his voice sounded somewhat hoarse, as if he'd just been screaming for awhile.]

I wonder. If I killed enough soldiers, would I get sent back? How much would I have to kill for these people for the world to decide my ticket here is up?

Maybe if I volunteered for a lobotomy, I'd be able to work with this.

[Shiki fell onto his backside, setting his comm down and watched the ruins awhile longer.]

I have gotten bored with my old job. I have learned all of the streets and the short-cuts of the city, which was entertaining to do, but now I want a change of pace.

Are there any other jobs a dragon can provide his uses?

edited for bad grammar

[Lawd, this guy is spent. Though he usually likes to broadcast from somewhere in the clinic -- his office, a supply closet, the waiting room -- this time, he's in bed, propped up against pillows and looking weary.]

Folks, we're not exactly out of the woods yet -- as the piles of stinking rubble and even less breathable air than usual make obvious -- but I still wanted to thank everyone who stepped up in service of the clinic over the past month.

[He rubs the side of his pale mouth tiredly.]

We lost a lot of patients, there's no denying that. But we saved plenty of people, too. Saved each other. We did our goddamn best. That's worth something.

[He pauses, as though that's all he's got to say. The feed shakes a little as he shifts around on his bed, his hand finding a piece of paper with a ring on top of it. He closes his fist over the ring, curls his fingers against the paper.]

And -- for those of you who knew him ... Belthazar has gone home, to Azeroth.

[His expression tightens; he's saying this for his own benefit, as much as anyone else's.]

No one who's been there would call our world a safe place. But our cities aren't like this, and Belthazar was just a child. Better that he's gone.

[He thinks of Jericho, so recently killed in the bombing, and Syllona, constantly overwhelmed with fear.]

Better that all the children should go, if their circumstances at home are even slightly better than this.

[HELLO EXSILIUM IT IS A WONDERFUL DAY. Absolute shame you can’t see it because the only thing visible on the screen is a close up of a tortoise’s butt slowly wiggling across the screen as Clyde plods along. You’re welcome. However, sound still works and you can clearly hear a British man (Sherlock) speaking.]

--don’t quite feel like drawing it out today.

[So, dear Exsilium, even though you can’t see it (and be thankful you can’t), a rather scantily clad lady of the night is straddling Sherlock with a riding crop clenched between her teeth since she’s using her hands to unhook the bra she’s wearing before tossing it aside just as the sound of someone else entering the room occurs.]

Sherlock are you -

[Unfortunately, it’s tossed aside just as the door opens and Joan enters the room. Also unfortunately for Joan, the bra smacks her right in the face.

Clearly this lady of the night has very good aim.

Cue the silence, ladies and gentlemen. Oh, and have some wiggling Clyde butt as well.]

...Really? Really?

Hello, Watson. Care to join us?

[There’s a considerably frosty silence that occurs until there’s sounds of someone picking up their clothes.]

I’ll come back next time, unless you feel like paying extra.

[The sound of heels clicking against the hardwood clatter past, but not before pausing, and there’s a partial image of a manicured hand plucking a very lacey bra that’s hanging from Joan’s crooked finger visible between the gaps the tortoise butt is leaving as he makes his way across the communicator. HOOKER OUT.]

I mean, really I shouldn’t be surprised anymore but that was not what I expected when you gave me a duplicate of your house key -

[There’s the sound of a chair being shifted as he shuffles back to where he’s got his lockpick so he can free himself.]

I’m sure you’ve noticed the people’s less than enthusiastic response to us here following that incident last month. I believe sex workers are the key to rebuilding positive relations.

I’m going to stop you right there because I am not having this conversation with you. In fact, I’m just going to leave.

[Whether or not this conversation is going to continue doesn’t matter as by this point, Clyde has made his journey over the screen and kicks the communicator to the ground. You can now see Joan standing in front of Sherlock while he sits handcuffed to a chair, shirtless. Both of them turn to look at the source of the noise and Joan shuffles over to check it out.]

Sherlock -- !

[There’s a look of horror on her face as she realises what just happened and then the feed cuts out.]

[ooc: red is Sherlock, blue is Joan and black is the hooker. Sherlock and Joan will both be replying to the posts, unless you’d just like a specific one! Just wait for Sherlock to pick his handcuffs.]