[There's a kind of mechanical whining on the feed when it opens at first, as if from a smaller machine, a higher pitch whir and him which eventually silences, only to be replaced by a few taps and once again more whining. After a few moments there's a sound similar to a sigh though- seems to border on the more frustrated end. An adjustment- perhaps to the mic, and the small mechanical sound seems to have drawn closer to what's being spoken into, or visa versa.]

I'm finding it to be exceptionally distasteful- the lack of culture here at times. The lack of something with tradition and true exceptional craft. I admit though, that I've been aloof to the the network lately, so maybe I haven't noticed some kind of creative stirring in this usually excremental pool of iniquitous and sassy degenerates.

[A pause, more mechanical whining, a breath.]

So I guess I'll give it a chance- though some I am aware of, minimal, so extremely so- of a few examples- but those who I'm not aware of- those that harbor some kind of artistic worth in this jambled mess of space and time riff raffs and stolen hoi polloi. To you I command to make known to me what types of artistic sway you or your worlds have. Preferably something held with extensive regard.

And don't start anything, let's keep this professional. I don't want to be made angry.

[Today, two unforgivable errors were made: the first, he let Rosette use the kitchen.

The second: He let Rosette use the kitchen.

When the feed blinks to life, the serenity of the figure facing the camera is directly at odds with the thunderous cacophony in the background. Chrono just smiles blandly at his unseen audience as a terrible burst of sparks makes itself visible in—is his back to the apartment's kitchen?]

I just had a quick question. [He might as well dive right into it, as a crash echoes around the apartment. He doesn't even flinch.] Does anyone here know how to repair electronics? A microwave, specifically? I think apartment number 304 could use your services.

[It's here that Rosette comes into view, hurdling around the corner as smoke billows in her wake; if Chrono were actually looking, he might think it seems appropriate for Rosette's definition of an entrance. It's unclear whether she's addressing Chrono or the tablet (even realizes he's talking to the tablet) when she bellows FIRE! THAT'S A FIRE! It's very likely the former based on how the serenity of Chrono's smile twitches into something that speaks silent danger for someone.]

Quickly, if it isn't too much trouble? [The feed doesn't cut off; evidently, his quiet fury is such that he completely forgets to turn off the tablet before hurling it across the room to go perform some manner of intervention.

It lands facing a ceiling that is growing increasingly smokey.]

( action / in case you want to help, judge, or laugh at them. all options are legit. )

[He waves a hand in front of the camera before picking the netbook up, and holding it over him like a teenager taking a selfie in the bathroom. From that angle, one can see his face, and the tunic he arrived in--with one large, noticeable tear in the material over his left breast.]

...What am I to say. This land is beyond Middle Earth, so I've been told, and time has no consequence here. There may be few here that come from before my time--or beyond it. [He laughs mirthlessly.] I would normally not be so inclined to believe such foolery. If I were not seeing much foolery with my own eyes. 

[Boromir then lapses into a troubled silence. He wants to ask about Frodo, and what became of the fellowship. And Pippin and Merry--had they been spared somehow, despite his failure to save them. But there was too much risk in asking too many questions on what he understood to be an open channel. It might divulge too much. So he aims to find the safest.]

...I seek a ranger from the south. He wore black, last I saw him, and a ring set with a green stone. Answers to the name Strider.

[He still seems to want to say more to the magic seeing eye, but settles on that with a firm nod.] This is all I need, but it would help me greatly.



[OOC note: I know this is a little closed for replies. I haven't posted to the intro log yet out of sheepishness for how late it is now, but if you wanted to do something with Boromir there, feel free to shoot me a PM!]

[From the look of things when the feed switches on, a slow nineties R&B music video is about to begin, judging by the dark room, the candles on every available surface, and the rugged man sitting on the edge of a well-crafted wooden bed--okay never mind, that's Thorin. And he looks bamboozled about something.]

The dark does not trouble me. There is convenience to be had in the non-burning lights built into these towers, but they are not necessary. Clearly we have other means. [As he turns to gesture at the candles, the light catches on the soot and gray mixed into his hair, before he looks back.]

...But what I do not understand is the sudden stench of this place. Someone explain to me why darkness would cause a place to smell of flowers. [A not-so-hidden sneer of disgust.] I would like to know.