[Look who finally bothered to figure out the communicator. After how many months of being here? But, well, he's conversed enough that Tyki figures he can figure out how not to flub up his own entry to this bizarre communal journal too much.

He sounds the picture of a good-humored gentleman but you won't see his face. Better not to show too much, with Allen around - the boy knows both his White and Black forms, after all. Tyki wouldn't want to blow his cover for his White side, or let Allen do that. Cover might well be a problem eventually.

But not now and who wants to think about that? Now, he sounds the picture of a good humored gentleman, even if there's no saying one way or another that he looks it.

A chuckle.] Do you lot complain as much at home as you do here? Or have as much philosophical conversation? Either that lot have really terrible luck targeting their little device, or your homes must be very dry places.

Who else is looking for some fun while you've got a chance of it? Let's talk. It's always good to find a new pastime, isn't it?

[Lara comes onscreen, and she looks tired. Tired and disheveled. Tired and disheveled with some cuts and bruises.

But mostly so, so tired. Perhaps a better word would be "beat" or "disheartened."]

... I was wrong.




About leaving, to clarify. The Initiative is ... well-protected. But to be fair I am not often wrong.

[She gives a sigh.]

... I am going to explore the area, then. See what has happened to my homeland.

[Meliantha, looking a little older, with an eyepatch and her hair much shorter, looks out of the screen.]

Okay. I've got a couple minutes, so.

Someone go to the path where Chelexthia, or whatever she called herself, killed me, find my sword, and bring it to my room. Leave it on the couch. I'll leave myself a message that, when I get brought back to life, to pay you for the service.

Thanks.

( Oh hey, it's that questionably metrosexual guy with some other dude's voice and bright green eyes again. It's like he can't conjure [haha get it because he's a mage or some shit] an expression that isn't a scowl or something. Damn, what an asshole. )

I'm certain you're aware, but unless you were quite a bit too dense to notice -- the sun does not seem to shine here. At all.

I have been patient in my time waiting for any sign of its familiar illumination but it seems to be entirely in vain.

( Frankly, this shit doesn't make a lick of sense, and he isn't happy about it. )

I cannot be the only one bothered.

( Well, that was... harmless enough, right? Probably.

Click. )

It's the start of a new year on Earth!

[ Laisa seems delighted by this tradition. She's holding a plastic flute of something bubbly. ]

By the Gregorian calendar and by astronomical year numbering. There will be other new years in the coming months, I'm finding out.

I wanted to play you the recording of this song. I've never heard it before. Can you imagine the people of Earth, before the wars that created Exsilium, singing this song? It's a lovely picture.

[ Embedded is a link to a recording of Auld Lang Syne ]

There's a small gathering in the Initiative Hold, if anyone would like to celebrate the calendar changing. We have what the Initiative calls champagne, and some other fizzy drinks for those who don't partake.

[Someone managed to get ahold of a digital copy of A Christmas Story and is feeling a little nostalgic]

It's that time of year where people break out the spirits, eat too much food, and start contemplating the true meaning of Christmas. Which, as any kid can tell you, is to get as many presents as you possibly can.

So, I've got a question for all of you who celebrate Christmas, or Hanukkah, or any other type of holiday where gifts are exchanged:

What's the best present you ever got?

For me, it was a Flexible Flyer when I was eight years old. I'd been begging for one all year--hell, I must have sent about a dozen letters to Santa, and when I found that beauty under the Christmas tree, with a big red bow on it... man, that was the best Christmas ever. Totally made up for all those other Christmases where I got nothing better than socks and itchy sweaters.

So what about you guys?

[ This is a video post! But you don't actually see the scruffy guy talking this time, aside from maybe parts of mechanical limbs and a trail of cigarette smoke—yeah, some cyborgs can pull of tricky feats like broadcasting what they see with their own artificial retinas. Cool shit. He seems to be looking outside the window—not a whole lot of festive decorations in the street, phew—, so probably nothing interesting here for you guys, which means you're more or less forced to listen. ]

So, Christmas. Doesn't seem to be a big deal in this time and place compared to 21st century America, which I'm actually kinda grateful for. Bigger problems, after all... [ Because wow Christmas sure sucks when your family is dead and you don't have a partner. ] Bet the majority of you don't even know what it's all about. Personally I just care about eggnog right now -- and so should you if you like having something good to drink.

[ Priorities. Adam's downplaying this a lot but he still got a select few people gifts... speaking of gifts. ]

Oh yeah, I think somebody forgot this at my place...

[ And with this, he means a black lace C cup bra, which he's dangling in front of his own eyes. ]

Unless this is supposed to be a gift. I'm not sure what to do with it. Might wanna come here and pick it up before I get rid of it or give it to someone else -- it being Christmas and all.

[ Adam sounds remarkably indifferent despite the implications. He's so gonna get spanked for this and that's actually exactly what he wants AHEM. Anyway, there's a private text message tacked onto this later—for Vanadi. ]

You too.

[ Yeah, just that. ]


(( ooc: also, linking Adam's CASIE permissions post again c: ))

[somewhere out beyond the city there begins the shakiest video post ever. it's clear that whoever handles this device is not accustomed to using anything like it--but eventually, it rights itself, with some muttering and swearing, and then hello, there's Arthur, in his full armor, standing in the barren outlands. there's a smudge of dirt and blood on his forehead, but otherwise he's very clean and presentable and princely (all indignity of technological unfamiliarity aside).]

I am Prince Arthur of Camelot, recently brought to this place. I do not take kindly to being pressed into service, but as our captors have said, they have no choice in our being here. [yeah right. even with his princeface on, he sneers a little at that. but.]

If we take what we have been told as truth--that there is a force that threatens all of our kingdoms--then our way is clear. We are not united, but this threat gives us common cause. [though the way his mouth tightens when he says that indicates how very not pleased he is by that.] I am not content to wait to be told what to do when my kingdom is threatened. So it falls then to us, to organize ourselves. The training sessions that this Initiative provides--I have found them to be wanting, yet they can be used to our purposes, should we chose to.

But we must first know what strength is ours, and what weapons we have been given. No force can be organized without this information. And if this United Earth presumes to steal resources from our kingdoms, we must know what it is that they would look to steal, so we can better protect against these threats when the time comes. And it had best come soon.

I have set the task of collecting this information to my servant, Merlin, wherever the idiot's gotten off to. He will ask each of you in turn, or else you may come to him.

[and you will answer, that's the message here, and with an imperious nod, he reaches to--fumble around with the device again, and the rest of this is muttering.]

Damn-- thing--

[Drake's never cared much for technology, so it's no surprise that the feed starts abruptly and with a loud thud at an odd angle displaying the right horrific mess that has become his room.

Remember that time we all got sent into medieval Russia? Yeah, you might find some familiar weapons around along with some trinkets. Drake's standing with his back facing the camera, his trusty sketchbook in his back pocket, hands on his hips, looking around.

Quite unceremoniously, he shoves things around and they sort of crash into the walls.

Which causes a Mongol Bow and a scimitar he had set up to come crashing down.]

Crap.

((ooc: roommates and neighbors feel free to notice the destruction he's causing, if not, carry on))

[Nick is sitting at a table in his favorite bar, a glass of beer sitting on the table and a silver-plated lighter in his hand. He’s turning the lighter over and over, tapping it against the table occasionally.

His usual pissed-off look has been replaced with one that’s more somber.]

Y’know, I’ve never actually killed a person before. I’ve killed hundreds of zombies, and my dad took me hunting when I was younger – deer and elk, mostly. But I’ve never killed an actual person until that mission we went on.

It felt… different… than I thought it would.

[He taps a sealed package of cigarettes lying next to the beer.]

I gave up smoking about ten years ago… I’m starting to wonder why.

[The pissed-off look is back as he shakes his head irritably.]

Fuck this shit. We went back in time, right? By our standards, those fuckers had been dead for thousands of years. We were just… reenacting history. Nothing to feel guilty about.

Well, that was something of an adventure! Between the Russians, the newest arrivals, and our monstrous friends, why there's been quite a few things to keep track of. An awful lot of people. One of which in particular I seem to have misplaced... I don't suppose anyone has seen Bela lately? Bela Talbot?

[ A pause, as if he's actually listening for a reply. Or maybe just asking a completely rhetorical question and taking a moment to gather himself afterward. ]

Well, it was always difficult to keep her in just one place. Not like Sierra, Annalise, and Adamo, three natives caught by the UE bombs, near a month ago now. I would say they were entirely too — too stationary. That old woman in the market, too— with the jerky stand? She always claimed it was dog meat, but I really had to wonder. But she always had a kind word for anyone who stopped to chat, didn't she? I found a bit of her stand some time ago, but no sign of her. Maggie, she told me her name was...

My apologies, to anyone who knew any of those caught in disaster. At least we've managed to turn this latest one back to the status quo, mm? We have that much.

[ Another pause, and this one comes with a slow breath out. So... that's awkward. But! He can make it better. When he speaks again, he sounds just as cheerful as he had at the beginning. ]

You know, for all their flukes and faults, I would say there's one thing the Initiative is truly bad at. They can throw our lot into a room with food set out, but that's not any sort of party. So I propose we arrange one ourselves! We've the musicians for it, don't we? The cooks, surely! The tailors, seamstresses? We certainly have the headcount for it, by now!

Any opinions, mm? I'm thinking, perhaps, a masquerade. A ball! We kitrites excel at the organization of them, you know. I would be pleased to offer my services to a properly interested crowd! Have I any takers?

I'd planned on makin' this announcement after the whole monster attack bullshit was ower an' done with but with all these folks blabberin' on about formin' alliances I ain't takin' chances an' losin' out on the potentially interested to 'em.

[HE'S LOOKING AT YOU SYLVANAS but he's also pretty sure some others had mentioned doing something similar, the open network post about it just spurred him on to finally do something.]

Any a' you here a while should know who I am; for those a' you who don't, it's Eridan Ampora. Alternian royalty an' Prince a' Hope. Fact a' the matter is I been here about eight months now an' the initiatiwe's done nothin' to prowe to me they're worth trustin'.

We got barely anythin' to go on most of the time an' almost ewery bout a' time trawelin' nonsense leads to more problems an' at this stage I'm sick of it. Got no more patience for these guys doin' the remotely competent an' straightenin' up anytime soon.

So I'm proposin' my own alliance with the shared goal of takin' charge. We'll finish this war ourselwes once we'we owerthrown the fuckups who think they're leadin' this sham of a union an' then whatewer you wanna do afterwards, go for it. I don't giwe a' fuck what your own goals are once we're done playin' nice an' pretendin' as if any of us actually like each other.

For the record, anyone who don't wanna join us is fine; but we'll control the machine that sends you home an' you'll either do as we say once we do, or you can rot here forewer. Your mowe.

[Sure is a thirteen year old kid trying to lead a potential rebellion. Laugh at him, take him seriously, your choice really.]

Can I ask someone some questions about human parents? Like if you have them, or if you are one!

[ With the way Feferi has her face all up in the camera, you would think she had never used technology before. But no, she's just very exuberant, more so than usual. ]

Oh yeah, and that's not the only thing I wanted to say! So who remembers that we were working on a guide for new people? Well, it's finally ready!

[ Link Attached: A Newbie's Guide to Exsilium ]

But before I print it out, I want everyone to see it. What do you all think? And some people can be relieved that there are only plain, boring fonts, thanks to the all the help I got! If anyone else has anything to add, tell me! Also, it would be great if some people would volunteer as contacts for the new people. You know, like an on-call question answerer!

( ooc notes )

[Nick's looking much cleaner and neater than he had in his last entry, but he doesn't look to be in any better of a mood, and the bottle of scotch on the table next to him is half-empty]

How the fuck can there not be any casinos in this place? Or 'houses of ill-repute.' Given that we're supposed to be, like, a thousand years in the future, this place is pretty damn disappointing.

I have yet to see one flying care anywhere. There's also no robot butlers, no hot robot chicks, no weird-looking alien kids who like reese's pieces... there aren't even any 'damn, dirty apes.' And instead of living on some cool space station on Mars, we're stuck in Assholeshire, England, digging through post-apolocyptic rubble. There isn't even a god-damned McDonald's.

[He suddenly leans forward, his face taking up the entire screen.]

So if whoever's in charge happens to be watching this, I've got just one thing to say:

I want a fucking refund.

[S'up Exsilium, resident fishdouche at your service.]

Two things. Firstly, this whole We-R bullshit experience has at least taught me somethin'; I'm startin' to really tell why exactly it's such a big deal people keep goin' on about how much some a' you suck at this war thing. Kinda puts us who got firsthand experience at a disadwantage tryin' a sawe your asses.

So I wanna get an idea a' who here can pull their own weight. What's the most impressiwe thing you'we ewer done combat wise? I'll start us off. I conquered a planet of Angels once then killed the whole lot of 'em.

Your turn, initiatiwe.

...

Also, for those a' you more inclined in the field of wipin' out that which was once thought of as fictional, here's another question.

How the fuck do you kill a Rainbow drin-...uh, wampire. And for all a' you smartasses out there, yes, I mean-

[Suddenly text!]

VAMPIRES.

[As the video starts recording, an older gentleman inspects the device, unsure if it's actually recording. After a few seconds, he shrugs his shoulders and decides to leave it be and sits in an uncomfortable looking aluminum chair in front of it. Victor Sullivan, an older mustachioed gentleman, sporting a worn Havana shirt and holding a lit cigar in his right hand. Looking exhausted and in need of sleep, he leans back in the chair casually and looks directly into the camera.]

 

Goddamn, I must have one helluva hangover. I feel like I've been stuffed in a barrel...

 

[He taps the ashes of his cigar on an off screen ash tray, and takes a drag from the cigar. He returns his attention to the camera as he exhales slowly.]

 

Look I don't know what I'm doing here, one minute I'm in this peaceful little village chatting up a friend, next thing I know this, actually pretty cute, woman is talking nonsense... offering me weapons, I think she might have been coming onto me? I don't know I didn't get her number... Then suddenly I'm in this room... cigar in one hand, this little electronic doohickey in the other. Apparently this is to be my "living quarters", hah, as if. Nate, I don't know if this can even reach you, but I hope you're alright. Assuming you are, get over here! Quick! I need you to come pick my ass up, pretty sure you owe me one after I used all our money to bail YOU out. Christ I feel like I'm on lock down!

 

[He puts the cigar down and leans forward in the chair, moving in closer to the camera. He sighs and smoothes his mustache anxiously]

 

Seriously though, if anyone get's this message, anyone at all.... someone please fill me in. I could really use a familia- hell even just a friendly face right now. 

 

[He laughs nervously, his weak smile quickly fading in defeat. He stands up out of his chair and picks up the camera.]

 

Yeah... well it was worth a shot anyway. ... I need a drink...

 

[The video abruptly stops]

[The video feed sparks to life as Chloe taps repeatedly at the screen, offering the net a view of a woman with shoulder-length dark hair and bright eyes, wearing a stylish biking jacket and a few layers of leather necklaces with various little charms hanging from their ends. The city's skyline is visible behind her from a particularly high vantage point, and it's likely that she's found herself a resting place somewhere atop the roof of one of the taller buildings. She wiggles a few fingers lazily in greeting before speaking up with a distinctly Australian accent.]

Evening, everyone. Chloe here. New arrival, in case you haven't noticed. All right, somewhat new. Got dragged into this mess a few days ago and decided to take my time getting settled; never know what's out there if you don't bother to look first.

I was a treasure hunter back home-- one of the best in the business, I might add. Problem is I'm getting the impression that there's not much treasure to be found here on Alcatraz, and I'd prefer to stay sharp while things are relatively quiet. So here's the deal: if you need something of value-- for a price-- I'm more than happy to lend a well-trained hand and fetch it for you.

[She moves to shut the call down before adding, thoughtfully]

And in the meantime, if anyone out there knows a place that serves good drinks, I'm all ears. After all this I could sure as hell use one.  

[The video clicks on to show a pale woman talking to someone off screen, mid conversation.]

-nd then what happens?

...Introduce myself? Why would I want to do that?

It's going now!? Dammit! Uh...

[She finally looks at the screen, looking flustered and annoyed.]

Oh fine, hello, I guess. I'm Ionae, and I've been roped into this doomed crusade in much the same way that I gather all of you have. With any luck, I'll get out of it without dying.

...That's it.

[Click.]

[If you happen to live in unit 303, you may notice a strange woman with a cloak looking over your stuff. By the look in her eye, it's only a matter of time before this switches to looking through your stuff.]

[The video clicks on to a claustrophobic view of what appears to be dark fabric, then abruptly shifts, tipping upwards to reveal a scowling man looking like he's seen (much) better days. Judging from the angle, the netbook is being propped up on his knee with one hand while he sits reclined against a wall; the other hand is pressed firmly to his stomach. It quickly becomes clear that the fabric isn't dark - it's just covered in blood, both beneath his hand and again at his left shoulder. His face is similarly accented by a few cuts and bruises, not to mention a fair amount of dirt.]

Testing, testing- [A strong English accent, interrupted by a cough.] I don't know what the hell this is about, but I'm guessing it's not heaven. Either way, I'd like to stick around long enough to find out. The odd woman said I could get assistance on this thing - so here I am, calling for assistance.

Can I get a sodding doctor over here?

Look, I can’t say I’m exactly pleased about being brought here -- wherever the hell “here” actually is -- but I’m not going to complain too much. Yet. I mean, the alternative was getting eaten by a bunch of zombies, which believe me, was not high on my “to do” list.

The problem I have is being asked to fight in a war that I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be giving a shit about. I look after only one person: me. Just make sure you remember that.

Oh yeah, anyone happen to know of a decent tailor around here?