[ asa usually avoids the video function on the network, if only because he's.. well, extremely shy. it doesn't seem quite polite to do so when addressing the network as a whole, though, especially in this case, when he's planning to offer something that includes a small demonstration.

dressed as modestly as always, his long red hair has been pinned up in a messy bun, small black antlers decorated with green ribbons and tiny silver charms that chime when he bows his head politely. he looks just about as nervous as he always does, though at least he manages a small, tentative smile. ]

Ah-- Hello. [ a slight fidget, a blush rising in his face, golden eyes sliding away from the video slightly. he always feels silly doing this. ]

It was.. suggested to me some time ago that.. that people might.. appreciate my skills, so I thought-- I mean, if it can be useful-- [ he clears his throat, then lifts his palms, cupping them and tilting them toward the camera to show that they're empty. a few moments later, a tiny vine twists out from between his fingers, growing in mere seconds and blooming with a big blue flower of some unknown type. he strokes the petals gently with his fingertips, lowering his hands and glancing up again. by now, he looks like he's seriously two seconds from bolting from the frame. ]

I-- I can do that with any.. any plants. Flowers, herbs, fruits and vegetables-- I can.. maintain large gardens and.. adapt the plants to.. to new conditions. [ his shoulders hunch, ears flattening back, voice growing a little smaller, more hesitant. ] I don't.. know if it can be useful to.. to anyone, but if it can, please don't-- don't hesitate to ask.

[ he reaches out, then, and hastily ends the feed. ]

[Adrasteius stares into the feed silently for a few moments, eyebrows drawn, jaw set.  He's somewhere outside in the city, on a sidewalk, surrounded by an ever-shifting throng of people.  The masses don't seem to bother him, though.  He has the look of someone who was struck by a sudden thought, and then by a subsequently urgent need to voice it.  There's a shakiness to the feed as he talks, which suggests that the hand holding the tablet is quaking--though whether that's from emotion or some physical problem is not clear.]

I've noticed that a number of you claim to be leaders in your worlds.  Princes.  Kings.  Queens.  Nobility of some stripe.  

[Adra pronounces all of those nouns with the same tone another person might use to discuss vermin, and the venom only worsens as he goes on.]

Perhaps you were a general or a lieutenant.  Perhaps a politician.  Or you controlled a gang.  [The tone indicates that he pretty much lumps all of those positions together.]

Whatever you were, it seems clear that a few of you think this entitles you to the same position here.  This is, of course, fucking ridiculous.  But let us entertain, for the sake of argument, that you should retain your privileged status in this place.  I ask: why?  

[His eyes narrow, and he leans low over the tablet, his eyes bright and angry.]

Don't misunderstand me.  I'm not asking for a record of your 'heroic' and 'worthy' exploits.  I don't need to hear about how many battles you've won or organized;  about how many goddamn corpses you've piled up in your past.  I care not one fucking iota about your pathetic, disgusting warmongering.  

Don't fucking tell me about how you can punch through twenty walls with your immense strength, or how your magical prowess is so great that you can conjure thousands of swords from thin air, or stop hearts, or bend minds, or any of that other fucking.  nonsense.  Do you understand me?  I don't care if you can kill any man, woman, child, or other semi-sentient thing you set eyes on, and if you try to brag about it, you will be instantly dismissed as a witless fucking troglodyte.

No.  I'm asking you what you stand for.  What is your philosophy of leadership?  Do you favor fear and violence?  Do you favor control?  Do you claim to speak about cooperation, when what you actually want is doe-eyed agreement from a bunch of teat-suckling yes-men?  Well, goddammit?  What makes you fit to lead?  Fit to serve?  I don't want to know about your muscles, physical or otherwise.  I want to know about your fucking convictions.

[timed after this. Because this is just.... not alright and -- ]

I can't be the only person who comes from a place, where for the most part... elves, fae, bogarts, and all such manner of creatures are something that you hit over the head with a poker before you befriend? Honestly. 

[No, she's not afraid to admit, doesn't care who reads it. They're empathy lacking monsters as far as that goes for home.]

Not that that applies to all worlds, obviously, I'm not an idiot -- and was raised with better manners mind you. But I doubt that I'm alone in this. 

[Says the governess related to Death of all things -- but that's different. Death is supposed to be a killer, and she's also fairly sure he's capable of more empathy than most people would ever imagine. He spared her father for her after all.

But she's worried, all the same. Just because their worlds are round it doesn't mean it can be that different. It was an oddly isolating feeling when the things you knew to be true were turned upside down. Again.]

[This is a short video post from a ponytailed guy in a white lab coat. Someone must have convinced him not to wear the Black Feathery Coat of Revolutionary Doom while working in the clinic.]

The clinic staff is down by a few. Possibly lucky for them, if it means they've gone home, but not so lucky for us. With the conscript -- pardon me, the "transport" population growing in number, we'll need more healers and medics. Not only for the clinic itself. We're also the people who patch you up when all of us get rounded up and sent into battle for the Initiative.

We're a fairly friendly lot, and we're not picky about credentials, as there's hardly a universal standard to go by. I'm a mage and a healer; the fellow who runs the clinic with me, Ashraf Salib, is also a healer. We've also got doctors who use technology rather than magic. And we're happy to teach those who are interested in learning, whatever talents you may bring to the table.

What we don't have at all is a person who specializes in teeth. Did you know how profoundly the condition of your teeth and gums can affect your health? I'll freely confess I didn't. I do now.

Also, we haven't got any psychologists. [The word is a somewhat recent addition to Anders' vocabulary -- in the past month or two, he's learned a little about the subject, enough to know he has no idea what it involves.] That's something many of us could probably use, given the pleasant tasks the Initiative likes to set us from time to time.

I'll say this now, because you might be wondering: We don't report your condition to the Initiative. We don't report your visits, or your diagnosis. That's the difference between us and the Initiative hospital: we've got no interest in tracking or managing you.

We do what we like with what they've given us. But the supplies do come from the Initiative. So did the training in what devices weren't already familiar to our staff, things that originate in this world rather than the ones we're from. And yes, it is not outside the realm of possibility that they've put some surveillance in place. The same principle applies to this network, and to the apartments most of us live in, and to everything else in this city. It's best not to delude ourselves on that score.

But, then, if you're seeing this message, you're using the network, and you've already accepted that inevitability. [He's rambling a little now...] Anyhow. Yes. Reply to me, or send a note to Ashraf Salib, or drop by, or whatever you like.


[[ OOC NOTE: The sign-ups and directory for the clinic are in this post. ]]

[Private to Emma Frost:]

[Wow, she is just the most unsure about this...]

I -- have to ask you something. It probably sounds stupid, I'm pretty sure it doesn't even work this way, but -- do you sense other telepaths? It's just that I don't think -- I -- Charles isn't here any more, is he?

[ End Private to Emma Frost]

[Some time later, the following voice post goes up. Mystique is -- very pointedly not showing her face right now, and she sounds a little shaky.]

For anyone who knew Charles -- my brother, Charles Xavier -- he isn't here any more.

Just -- so everyone knows.

[And she clicks off the feed, because she's going to go have her own private pity party. She knew that the little bit of peace she got here, pretending that things were okay with her brother, wouldn't last ... but she hadn't wanted to think about how exactly it would come to an end. The selfish part of her had always hoped she'd be the one to go home first. It had happened once before, after all.]

[Koltira's at his lake, seated comfortably on a frozen platform in the center of the water. He's half-dressed in armor--no breastplate, pauldrons, or gauntlets, but he's got greaves on his crossed legs. Otherwise, he's wearing a simple, black tunic with a high collar and long sleeves. Byfrost is visible behind him, stuck in the ice and surrounded by a black, animated miasma. His bright, cold eyes are intensely focused on the tablet and whomever he might be reaching with it, and his manner and bearing are as stoically formal as ever.]

In Azeroth, there is a celebration called Hallow's End. I know similar events are common on Earth and perhaps elsewhere, but the holiday had specific, unique meanings for us. Recently, for example, free undead used Hallow's End to commemorate breaking the Lich King's shackles on their souls.

[he grins here, though it's slight and pained, before continuing.]

But prior to that, the humans of my world took it as a period of reflection. They built an effigy, a wicker man, and they participated in a simple ritual. Each of them took up a torch, lit it on a bonfire, and then tossed it onto the dry straw. The burning torch represented the past: memories, anxieties, worries, burdens. By throwing the torch onto the effigy, they let go of their troubles, so as to more easily face the future.

I am not suggesting that the past is so easily cleansed. I know full well that it is not. But I find the ritual worthwhile. It is a moment's peace. A meditation. And it is something I could well use. Perhaps some of you feel the same.

In any case, though the traditional days for this event passed while we were preoccupied, I intend to build the wicker man. If you'd like to help with the burning, you may visit me in a week's time.

[Directions to an area somewhat south of his lake, but still in the clearing, follow. After that, there's quiet for a few moments, then some irritated button-tapping ... this guy just doesn't know how to use his tablet. Finally, he sighs, and adds.]

Chloe, I shall begin work on your necklace shortly. Please bring me a hair tie.

[ A scruffy woman appears on the screen. Her hair is a wild mess and her eyes are darkly blotted with eyeshadow. She rather looks like a girl that got trashed and passed out with her make-up on. Hold onto your pants - it doesn't get much better. ]

Hello! Hello? Pleasure to meet you, I'm Sexy.

No, no, that's not right. That's his name, not for you.

TARDIS! I'm Time-And-Relative-Dimension-In-Space.

No. Wait. Yes, but no. What was she called?

[ The woman ducks her head, thoughtfully, one translucent nail furiously tapping at her lower lip. Nevermind liquor, she's chattering away way too quickly. ]

Ah! Idris! You may call me Idris.

Where's my thief? Thief! Yoohoo! I know you're only ten. I know we've not met yet, but you know me, surely you do. Will. Have. Tenses! Thief? Has anyone seen my thief?

Oh! Andaran atish’an! This is such an interesting way to talk to people, don't you think? I can see your face and you can see mine! It's like a mirror, but it reflects other people back at you.

[Merrill waves, smiling broadly, her large eyes sparkling with delight.]

My name is Merrill, and I'm looking for my friends. I appear to be a little lost. [She swings the tablet around too fast to really see anything useful. Just a lot of stone.] Did you see that? I'm lost. But I have friends who can help me become, ah, not lost.

Sometimes, when I was lost in Kirkwall, Isabela - she's one of my friends - would swoop down from the top of a building and tell me where to go. She's very pretty, with dark hair and a lovely blue bandana. Oh, and a necklace. It's quite hard to miss her necklace and what's below it. And there's Aveline, but sometimes I worry she doesn't like me. She has red hair, like the sun, and quite a lot of freckles. I like her freckles. I wish I had freckles... [Merrill trails off, tapping her fingers against her cheeks as if counting freckles. She comes back to herself suddenly.] I'm sorry, I tend to get lost in my thoughts. I think that's how I ended up here. Do you ever do that? You start thinking and then you just don't come out. What was I saying before?

Oh, yes, my friends! I have quite a few of them. Isabela and Aveline and Varric! Varric is a dwarf, and he's very funny, but his stories aren't always true. He tells me stories about pirates, but Isabela says they're mostly made up. And Fenris, he's elvhen, like me, but--that's not going to be trouble, is it? In Kirkwall, they make us live in alienages, and they're very dirty. I had a nice house, but it was very small. No one in Thedas seems to like the elvhen very much, and living in the alienage is very uncomfortable...

[She stares past the tablet screen for a moment, thoughtful.] I hope there aren't any alienages here...

If you know my friends, would you tell them I'm looking for them? Ma serannas for your troubles. Or, if you recognize this place-- [She ducks out of the frame, an alleyway filling the screen for a few seconds before she fumbles the tablet and then drops it. Merrill's face pops into the frame again, a worried expression on it.] Oh, dear, I hope I haven't broken you...

[ooc: Feel free to engage the very lost Merrill in actiony posts. As a Dalish elf, she tends to speak in the elvhen language frequently. You can hover over the text with your mouse to get a translation!]