[ Sharpe has his tablet set on the table facing him, and his foot is on the chair, knee near his ear. His rifle is propped up against his other shoulder, and his fingers and moving down it, fingering the barrel. ]

I ain't one fer long speeches, so I'll keep this short. [ His eyes flicker finally towards the screen, and he stares straight into it. ]

I know I ain't the only one that's being given dirty looks by the Exiles - that's the proper name fer the poor bastards who're here 'fore all of us, fer those of you who don't know. And I'm telling you right out: if I see anyone fighting or using weapons against them, no matter what they're doing, I'll hunt you down and shoot you in the face. [ Said the most casually ever. But he is leaning forward. ]

That's a promise.

[ A second passes, and Sharpe seems satisfied with what he just said, so he drops back to his seat. ]

Listen. I've seen people like 'em before. People who just want peaceful lives but are dumped in the midst of war. [ Snorts. ] You all know the sickness and bombs last month [ pause ] - if you don't know, read back on the buggering network 'cause I ain't explaining shite you can read yerself - [ back to the topic ] and that's more than enough ta make anyone resentful. They hate us 'cause they think we brought the war ta 'em. We all know we didn't, but resentment's never been particularly logical. Grit yer teeth and bear it. Be decent.

If you try ta hurt 'em, it'll make things worse, and I'd rather not have ta make me own tea because the man in the shop I like starts hating me for the stupid shite any of you are doing. [ His eyes flicker up again. ] I don't ever miss, aye?

[ Pause. As if he's just thought of it. ] Me name's Major Richard Sharpe of the Prince of Wales's Own in Duke Wellington's army. [ A crooked smile, a salute. ] If that means anything ta any of you.

[ ooc; for more info, check out the outline about native hostility. I'm the slowest ever. ]

I don't suppose there are many hobbits here. Or any for that matter.

[ He still hates this tab… let thing; technology, what… is that? Either way, he's seated somewhere that's quaint and small and unassuming – his bedroom perhaps? - and there, he's staring down at the tiny camera, fingers fiddling at the hard backing of the device. ]

We're hardly a thing to notice, unless you're looking down, far down, but there isn't much sense in watching one's feet while going. Quite a few of you know that well, hm? [ He hasn't been bumped into as much lately, but that first day in the courtyard… – You guys know who you are.

Clears his throat now, lips pursing, then twisting, then flattening through a shuffle of expressions that border on excessive. At least he's seated and his hands are busy rapping, otherwise he'd have straightened his neck scarf, vest and jacket twice as of now. ] I meant to ask… – I believe a mistake's been made with my being brought here, for hobbits are not well-suited for… whatever business this is. We know gardening and eating and smoking the finest… – [ A pause. Right. The topic is making a wide arching turn to the left and he really ought to bring it back. So. Ahem. ] … But I've noticed there's a, ah, variety of… types here. I've never been quite as well informed when following the relations of you bigger folk, so…………… how is everyone making along? Are – ah, I suppose it would be we – … are we all amongst agreeable company?

[ aka do dwarves hate elves or elves hate men or men hate everyone here too? Because being bffs and singing kumbaya in horrid surroundings sounds so much better. ]

[ Ever since that brief meeting within the courtyard, several questions plagued Cao Cao's mind. He had hoped to find the information on his own with the Initiative's help, but they weren't very...helpful in his opinion. Besides the whole notion of them using sorcery to unravel the United Earth's influences through a series of smaller skirmishes, Cao Cao wasn't certain as of how this war could possibly be won. From what little he's managed to understand, the enemy outnumbers them greatly and there's great dissent amongst the transports here.

Still trying to understand his role in all this, the King of Wei decided to act. He never used such a device before. These "tablets" as they call them were nearly two-thousand years ahead of his time. Though with some luck and minor concentration, he managed to operate one. He was still far from proficient with this odd device, but at least he got it work.

Now staring into the blank screen of the tablet, Cao Cao speaks. ]

Just how many generals sit amongst us? How many soldiers and how many strategists? If this is a war, then shouldn't we treat it as such?

[ He paused momentarily in hopes of hearing an answer, but nothing was said. So he continued. ]

I've won wars before but nothing resembling this kind of scale. Gathering the information necessary about my foes was never so daunting as this. Virtually nothing is known about the United Earth or their method of combat. I'm aware that they hold the most influence in this realm, but how so?

[ Mengde wondered if their were other factions out there who hoped to rebel against their federation. He wouldn't be surprised if there were, but they assist them? Surely this war doesn't fall upon the shoulders of a wayward few.

That would be suicide. ]

In truth, I see no victory in sight but I refuse to die a martyr's death.

[ There's a scruffy, friendly-lookin dude front and center here, sort of recognizable as the slightly older, longer-haired version that used to go around being stuffy and formal. This sheepish smile is pretty uncharacteristic of him from back then, though. ]

Hello! I'm Ashraf. I was here a while ago, co-director of the transport-run clinic? [ He offers a wave. ] So hello again to anyone that knew me. I'm sorry in advance if I don't remember you very well, it's been about fifty years on my end! [ says the guy who doesn't look a day over 20 ]

So, anyway— I figured this could be a long shot, but... does anyone have a way with clothing?

[ Here's where the sheepish smile makes a triumphant return. He pulls up a pair of beautifully embroidered robes, obviously expensive, but currently full of violent-looking rips, tears, and a bullet hole or two. There's also some bloodstains left over from attempts to wash them out. ]

I tried, I really did. At this point, I think it's going to take magic to set these straight. Or a whole new set, maybe. So, um... any takers? I could pay!

[At first there is only a light tapping of claws against a tabletop, then a slightly labored, agitated breath.]

Dialysis.

[Well that was an awkward thing to just blurt out. There is another pause then he speaks again, his rusty voice carrying a note of mingled embarrassment and anger. It's the voice of someone publicly confessing to something he'd rather keep secret.]

Who here can perform dialysis? Mr. Stark... Anyone...

[More tapping then he snaps with a bit more nastiness than is probably necessary.]

And if you're gonna lecture me then just shut up, 'cause I don't wanna hear it.

[ She was bored. So very bored. She wasn't training, because that's what they wanted from her, and the last thing Merida wanted to do was satisfy the people who wanted her to fight for them. She wouldn't do it. She wouldn't! And that was the end of it.

However, this didn't leave her with much to do. She wandered the city, even explored a bit of the Outlands, but she didn't go far. She was daring, but she wasn't stupid. She knew this world was dangerous, and she didn't want to lose her head without a good reason.

So she finally takes the painstaking time to learn to use the strange device she had been given upon her arrival. It took her plenty of attempts to get it working properly, and even when she does, there are several segments of very brief footage of the redheaded princess growling at her tablet in frustration. ]

Oi, is it working now? About time. [ She clears her throat. ] I want someone to tell me more about the land outside this city. [ It was much too crowded, too cluttered here. She wanted a freer space. ] A good place to explore, t'actually, you know, move around - that's what I'm lookin' for. How do you even stand it in this city?

[ She taps her chin. ] An' while you're at it, tell me what you do around here t'keep busy. I'm goin' out of m'mind.

[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!]

( Audio picks up the sound of industrial construction, either things familiar in woodshop, car garages, or anywhere of a similar sort. When the feed goes live, Collette is framed to one side, looking forward and away from the camera.  She's clearly resting on her arms, and given the angle of the ground on the screen, she's probably lying on her stomach in order to do this.  She glances over her shoulder, eyes going to something behind the tablet being used for recording, then smiles as her eyes drop down to the tablet itself.  For all intents and purposes, the camera is positioned to make the viewing audience seem like they're side by side with Collette, wherever it is she is, keeping a low profile in this industrialized looking area.  Concrete floor that she's resting on, packing boxes ahead of her, bundles of cables and chains glimpsed somewhere past her head. )

Guys!  ( She keeps her voice low, not a whisper (they carry further, and can't be heard about the ambient noise), but low to avoid excessive attention. )  Anyone else catch where they dragged the ship off to with that giant crane after the crash? I wondered about that. But I've got news!

( She makes a waving motion at the camera, and it shifts, jarringly, to leave Collette off screen and show something covered in plastic and wiring and cables, a few Initiative workers using welding guns, others wheeling parts away or calling out shouts of questions over the sounds of construction. )

They say the spaceship's salvageable!

[ Usually Sharpe goes for video, but he chooses otherwise this time. He would've gone for text, but writing's difficult enough when he doesn't have to try to press keys in a board that makes no sense whatsoever.

Strong Yorkshire accent. There's a background noise of shaah, shaah, shaah, of knife going through wood. If anyone can recognise it, Sharpe is whittling. ]

They've been telling us this is the future. [ Pause. A quiet snort. ] Or at least, one version of it.

[ There's a longer pause. ]

What'd you do - any of you - if you realise that what you've been doing all yer life don't mean nowt? That yer not remembered at all? Things happened as they should, without you, and there ain't a single thing you did that meant anything?

[ Shorter pause, as if he's going to say something else. Then a heavy sigh, and he switches off the feed.

Over a month ago, Sharpe found the records of the Napoleonic Wars. Practically everyone he knows and everyone who means something to him are not there.

Welp. ]

Oh-! Oh, Exsilium! How wonderful to see you once again!

[The red-skinned, four eyed alien behind the camera looks utterly delighted, though by the looks of her surroundings she’s found herself in a very depressing and shabby-looking building. But still, all four of her eyes are crinkled in delight and her grin is wide, and toothy. She obviously couldn't wait long to post this; judging by the background of the video, she’s in the courtyard of the Initiative Hold, and is occasionally wiping droplets of water from her tablet with one hand.]

Wonderful, again! Has it been long since I was gone!? How is the Clinic? It is thrilling to have returned!

[She pauses for a handful of seconds, and looks away, her expression turning from bright to cheerful, to something more restrained, thoughtful.]

Ah. But. I suppose, I should ask. If my captain has returned. If my friends are still...still well. If the war is still present. Though I am certain it is. [She sighs, then grins once again, her slightly-somber mood apparently over.]

Of course, I am still eager to assist! As I have before! It is my duty as long as I am here!

Transports of Exsilium! I am Kinna Nananea! A doctor- a medical doctor, I understand this distinction is important for humans! Please address to me all your medical complaints!

( PRIVATE to DICK GRAYSON )

( PRIVATE to ZEVRAN ARAINAI )

I don't suppose anyone remembers, but back in December I came across an old synagogue here. I've spoken to the citizens here who use it for shelter every now and then and they also thought it would be a good idea to help clean and fix it up. I'm no contractor and I can't offer anything in return unfortunately... I've only noticed a lot of people asking if there's something to do around here.

If you're interested, I figured helping out the people here would be one small step forward. Someone's got to eventually help with some of these buildings, hm? I also imagine there's got to be a few people who know a thing or two about repairing interiors. I noticed there was talk of building a greenhouse a few days ago.

[ A lengthy pause. ]

And a question since most on the network apparently enjoy them: do you think there's such thing as too much information? [ It's been on her mind for a couple of weeks now. ]

[For once, Koltira's not at his lake, or even in his cabin. He's somewhere in the city--some dilapidated ruin, it looks like. Probably one of the buildings hit by the UE's recent bombing, abandoned and subsequently forgotten during the reconstruction effort. He doesn't really have any other quiet place to go in the city proper, since he (somewhat foolishly, he's now realizing) gave away his Initiative-assigned room. Oh, well.

He sits cross-legged among the rubble, the tablet propped up beside him. It's difficult to discern his expression: the icy glow of his eyes betrays nothing, and his mouth is a set line. His voice is, as always, a guttural scratch, underscored with a strange, otherworldly reverberation.]

Some of you have spoken before of the dead. Perhaps you knew death before coming here, or perhaps this place brought you back. Either way, you are in a living, breathing body, and so that is not the kind of death I'm asking after.

I ask you, instead, about undeath. Does it exist on your world? Do you fear those touched by it? Do you hate them? Are they merely soulless automatons, or do your revenants retain some measure of self, of intelligence?

[He leans forward, and a lopsided, unhappy smile briefly passes over his expression.]

Inquiring minds need to know.

[Arthur Pendragon, prince of Camelot, is wearing a very wrinkled version of his usual shirt, and someone has done up the laces crookedly.

actually, he looks a general mess. he's clearly made the effort to appear slightly presentable--his hair has been recently smoothed down with some water, though not as flat as it usually might lay--but his shirt looks like it was trampled beneath a horse's hooves and the room that he's in is a little hazy with smoke from some old fire. or hopefully it wasn't an actual fire, because it was meant to be dinner.

but he's here to make an official announcement, and so he's composed himself as best as he can--all slightly rumpled clothing and bad hair and smudges on his face aside--and he stares grimly into the camera. this is a dare to anyone to comment, to make any smart remark.]

I must speak with the witch Morgana. She can deliver herself, but I do not expect her to come when she is called upon. If there is any of this city that knows her location, send word to me, and you will be rewarded.

[he's not learned how to send messages privately, so here it is, curt clipped, and that might be all there is to it, but then he glances away, his face tightening into a small glare.]

I would speak, too, with anyone that can be counted honest enough to make a delivery. Your reward will be a smaller sum, but your service will be counted valuable.

[without Merlin, what choice does he have? the smoke seems somewhat thicker in the room now, and it's a good thing you can't smell over the devices, because it would smell strongly of burnt food now. Arthur spares the air an irritated glance and now, finally, he reaches to flip off the video before this gets any worse.]



[[ any roommates, feel free to notice the smoke/horrible smells/et cetera! ]]

[Well, isn't this a face you haven't seen posting to the network for quite some time, Exsilium. What's this weirdo girl up to this time, you wonder, clicking on her video? Surely it's going to be some kind of ridiculous announcement where she's grinning widely and--]

[Well, actually, she looks kind of distressed. And kind of shaky. But that just might be the camera, because she's moving around pretty quickly and you can see landscape behind her. But distressed, definitely that]

Sis, it's not nice to scare people! Are you trying to make me old and grey like Nick?!!

[And she clears her throat, though it's clear her composure is going the longer she speaks]

Has anyone seen my sis? Her name is Mia Fey, and she's a lawyer, and she's this tall [She holds one hand hiiiigh up (no, Mia isn't a giant, Maya's just really short)] and she's got long brown hair and she's really pretty [With a certain two assets you can't miss] and she's really good at defending--! Oh wait, that last one isn't a description.

A-Anyway, I can't find her, she's not in her apartment, and her phone's not working, and I really need to make sure she's okay, so, please, if you've-- [And it seems like her leg caught on something, because--]

Aaaaaah!

[--Because she's tripping and faceplanting right into the ground, dropping the tablet in the process and ending the feed. Yep, she just tripped and fell in the middle of her post, WHAT A CHAMPION]

[OOC: Feel free to action tag if you want to run into Maya in the streets, running around ineffectively looking for Mia. Yep.]

The place sure gets quiet when there aren't any festivals going on, doesn't it?

[The man on the screen is a little bit tilted, probably from the placement of his tablet, and his grin is also crooked as usual. Sitting cross-legged on his bed, Phoenix leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees.]

At first I wondered why Valentine's Day was such a big deal here, but I think I liked that holiday too. I for one would like to know where they got all those toys from, though... but.

[He pauses, sitting straight again. He shrugs once, and that grin becomes a bit more of a grimace as he continues.]

For a place that loves its children so much that they'll throw festivals just for them, these people sure do like dragging those kids into their wars, don't they?

[ This lady's looking a little different, for anyone that's spoken with her before. Not any older, but there's a sort of crooked quality to her nose, like it'd been broken and healed some time ago. She's lounging in the Initiative apartments, looking like she's recently made friends with a superiority complex. ]

I want to speak to those of you who have seen a war before. Not the skirmishes that the Initiative sends us on here, but actual war.

And failing that, I'll take anyone that knows magic — and can teach it. That part is important. Don't waste my time if all you can do is cast it.

[An anxious Cedric appears on screen. He looks from left to right, his mussed hair flying just about everywhere. He taps the screen to ensure that it's turned on---in his mind this somehow serves a purpose. When he's sure everything's working, he waves.]

Hello! This is Cedric again. I've talked about this with one or two of you before. I'm sorry if I'm repeating myself or it's something you've all heard before, but this is something I need to sate my curiosity about. It's just that this world is so different from what I'm used to and there are so many different types of people. If that's even the word you prefer. And sometimes we have conflicts with one another.

So I have to ask: what do you think of people who are capable of using magic? Witches, warlocks, sorcerers, casters, wizards, or whatever you choose to call them. Are they all right, do you think? Or not?

By way of some odd notes about feet, it's come to my attention that yesterday was some sort of a sex holiday. That is, a holiday about sex, not a holiday from sex.

This morning, then, would be the morning after.

In a week or two, you should know whether you've picked up any unpleasant souvenirs of the holiday. Please see the attached document for some information on the subject, unless you are a small child.

[ ATTACHMENT: HELPFULINFORMATION. It's a comic entitled "Capt. Veedee-o and Ms. Wanda Lust in VD CLAPTRAP." Anders doesn't know to mark it not-safe-for-work. This is his work! ]

If you are a small child, you don't know what I'm talking about, and that's as it should be. You ought to go do something fun that doesn't involve listening to grown-ups discuss boring things on the network. Run around! Do you know how wonderful it is that you've got the freedom to run around outdoors whenever you like? I'm telling you, you really ought to take advantage of that. Don't take those freedoms for granted.

If you're a healer or a doctor of any sort, and you are not a small child, the transport clinic could probably use your help. The coming month may bring an explosion of nasty rashes or worse. Contact me, or our co-director Ashraf Salib, or Adrasteius who doesn't want to have a title. We'll put you to work, whatever it is you do.

Oh, and since Merrill's gone home ... [he won't admit he misses her, but: ] I suppose we could also use a receptionist. That's what it's called, yes? We didn't need receptionists at my clinic in Kirkwall. People would just come right in shouting about their wounds, and I'd see to them eventually, when I wasn't hands-deep in something else. Apparently having more than one healer in this Transport clinic means we need to be better-organized, therefore having someone in the front room is nice and useful.

[ So last time Morgana appeared on the network you all got a lovely view of her face. This time? Well the tablet has been distinctly pointed towards what looks like a ruined wall, eroded by time or anger it is hard to tell. ]

She is gone.

[ What a lovely opening. The voice comes from off camera, laced with venom and anger. She did not want to remember, she did not want to experience all that again, she hates them she hates them ─

And the Initiative made her love again. ]

She is dead.

[ If she knew more about the tablet, if she cared, she would filter this to the necessary parties (the only ones who would understand her words) but she doesn't, she is far too angry, far too furious to do such a thing. ]

That girl died years ago while Camelot slept, she died and she is never coming back.

[ Is she trying to convince them? Or herself? Who knows and perhaps no one will, but a moment later with heavy footsteps the camera goes dark. ]

What moron's in charge of the machine that's bringing in the new people.  It's like they decided to say the hell with trying to win this war, we're just going to keep throwing bodies at it till something works.

Anyway.  Back to normal, blah blah.  I'd apologize for what an asshole I grow up to be, but I can't really remember too much of what he did [ He's lying. ], so there's not much point.  Just be glad I'm back to my regular charming self.

[Filtered from Collette (as useless of a gesture as that may be) ]

But uh.  There's a reason for this besides the not-apology.  I don't exactly have anyone specific I can ask, because.  Well, because.  So I figured I'd just kinda throw it out there.

So, uh.  How does dating work?

I mean, I'm not a total social reject, I know how it works normally, but for like a specific girl.  And okay, the last date I went on back home didn't go too hot anyway.

[ He's just going to disconnect before he digs himself any deeper.  SMOOTH, JASON, REALLY SMOOTH. ]

[Nananea isn't smiling for once, and when she talks she isn't making her usual grand gestures with her arms. She’s just sitting, idly fidgeting with her hands, a vaguely concerned expression on her face. A substantially more subdued Nananea.]

I have been thinking lately. About leaving this place- about what truly happens when we go. When the Initiative is done with us. What happens to the people who simply vanish. The popular theory is that we will return home.

[She looks away briefly, taking a second to gather her thoughts.]

But. I have been wondering. If we do return home, do we get to start our lives again just as we left them? Has our home universe been in stasis the whole time we were away? The more likely answer is that life continued without us. That time passed. But how much? I am concerned... that perhaps while we are away, time has passed unusually. Perhaps it has been years back home, and the people we love are dead and gone and our homes will be unrecognizable.

[Another pause, and then she smiles. Not the brilliant grin that’s so typical of her, but at least it’s a less dreary expression.]

In that case, I do not think I will wish to return home. But! I am being quite the pessimist, aren't I? I could be wrong. It is very likely that I am. I wish to hear other theories, if any of you have them. Or maybe I should not dwell on this so much.

[It seems like she’s done after that, but a thought occurs to her, and she perks up noticeably, sitting up a little straighter, smiling just a tiny bit more.]

Ah- one more thing. I have noticed that other people have moved into my housing unit recently. We have not yet met- but welcome. I hope we will see one another soon, face to face.

It… seems to me that the lot of us have returned to ourselves, yes? No more five year olds wandering about, thank gods.

[ He clears his throat a little awkwardly. ]

I used to be somewhat… ah, forthright, I suppose, which is the age I've lately been entertaining. My apologies to anyone I've been untoward to.

( and here is a slew of encrypted messages! )

[ Someone is dressed in clothes that's obviously not his size. His shirt is obviously too big for him and hangs off the side of his shoulder. It's white, and a little dulled and thin from too many washings. The coat he's wearing over the shirt is, on the reverse, a little bit too small for him, the sleeves pulled up tight against his shoulders. The coat is absolutely, completely filthy. It's the kind of coat that you find on a chimney sweep, if chimney sweeps have money to buy coat.

Someone's either thieving from dumpsters or clotheslines or stealing them from beggars. What do you mean, you can buy clothes? Why would you do that when you have free stuff all over the place? Sure, he can pickpocket people, but the easiest targets are in the clinic and he feels bad about stealing from the people who healed him.

Look, just be happy he has a shirt on, okay? He spent like most of the last week half-naked. (He doesn't like charity. Stealing is better than charity, honestly. At least he knows where those things come from.)

The camera spent most of the time stuck onto his shirt before Sharpe tilts it up to his face. Look at his chin! Wait, no, he has it in his face. He stares a little belligerently at the camera for a long moment before he drags a (callused, not very clean hand) through his (sweaty, not very clean) hair. ]

I've got two questions. [ One finger. ] Who knows a man named 'Richard Sharpe'?

[ Two fingers. ]

D'ya think anyone can change their class? Move up the ranks, so ta speak. A rat becoming a gentleman. Summat of that sort.

[ This is important, okay? He knows about his future self (one gets very, very bored on a hospital bed, and he has this tablet thing in his hand), and future Richard Sharpe calls himself a Major. That's puzzling, that's what he is. He doesn't know how he even gets promoted in the first place to Ensign, much less a goddamned Major, commanding entire divisions and maybe even regiments. He's a streetborn rat joining the army to avoid two consecutive murder charges. What the hell? ]

[ It's early afternoon when he makes his broadcast. For those who are familiar with Edgeworth's appearance, there's a couple of key visual differences: less baby face and a less gaudy suit (albeit the same amount of cravat). ]

This place remains just as exciting as ever, I see. It appears that I was amongst the fortunate few to retain memories of their previous time here. [ And even he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to believe it until he saw the meticulous notes in his organizer; a relic from some distant second past. ]

For those of you who I've yet to meet, or as it stands, have yet to meet me, my name is Miles Edgeworth and while I may be a prosecuting attorney, here in this city, my work is focused on establishing a functional judicial system in Exsilium. Five years might have passed...but I don't care for leaving jobs unfinished.

Anyway. If you've any questions in regards to the law, or your presence here in this city, leave them here and I will either answer them or direct you to the proper resources.

One last thing. Does anyone know where I might find some paint and a display frame? I've a need for them.

…Perhaps some curtains as well.

[Getting here and being thrown right into the thick of things? It's kind of like hitting the ground running, and he's nothing if not good at acting on exactly what he's given. But, he thinks in some ways it's made processing everything that much harder.

Too much information, not enough context. It's not exactly a pleased expression he's wearing, but it's not hostile either]

This is Captain James Kirk, of the USS Enterprise. If any of my crew, or any other active member of Starfleet happen to be here, do me a favour and report in.

[He pauses to weigh his next words carefully. Considering the communication methods were given to him, he doesn't trust them to be secure from the people behind this whole thing. Anything he wants to say- It's either got to be coded or done in person. So he changes track entirely]

The rest of you? I wouldn't mind hearing about what you do for fun around here, or just about anything else about this place you can tell me. [Because you never put everything on the travel brochure for tourists, and he wants to know everything the higher ups aren't telling him. Everything that's only figured out with first hand experience and time.

A beat] You know what? Why don't my new roommates check in too.

Gwen? [ A beat. ] Merlin? [ Another beat. ] Arthur?

[ There is something distinctly off when the feed switches on, where there was once coldness now is warmth and concern. She looks around and the camera shakes a little before panning up to a face that looks so familiar but different at the same time. ]

If you're trying to scare me this is in very poor taste.

[ Here is a face some will remember, brave, stubborn, fierce; so full of the fire and warmth she had once upon a time possessed completely. She looks as if she stepped right out of the castle instead of looking as she had stepped right out of a hovel in the middle of a forest.

Morgana's brow furrows, her patience clearly reaching it's limit. What vague memories she has tells her they are here with her, but nothing more ─ so really stop hiding you jerks, it is not cool.

She sits nearby something busy (market most likely) judging by the sounds, tablet in her lap with a look of displeasure plain on her face. She had plans you see, though she barely remembers what they were, only they have been ruined by something; yet another thing she cannot properly remember.

Today is simply not her day. ]

Where am I? This isn't the Heartful House.

[standing over the camera is a tiny mourning dove. it might look like a joke, but the words are coming directly of the bird's little beak, and its cold, disdainful birdie eyes are boring down practically into the soul of the viewer.]

Abduction is a felony punishable by law, you know. [the bird pauses, his childlike voice getting a little higher with poorly concealed nervousness.]

Someone will be coming for me soon if you don't release me. It's really in your best interests to let me go before he finds me himself.

If this is your impression of adoption, I'm not interested.

[ The face in the feed here is kind of the face Vanadi had presented at the Masquerade ball, with makeup over his scar and black hair dye. Except this time there's no need for dye in that full, long black hair, and his perfectly unblemished complexion seems a little better-fed.

He also has no idea where he is and who he's addressing with this thing, but hey, when has that ever stopped him? ]

Charming place, really. The decor isn't bad, for a human establishment. But this... [ He lifts his red mask into sight, one fine black eyebrow cocked at it. ] The owner of this is welcome to pick it up at any time he or she likes. It's not bad, I suppose, but really, it's not quite a match to kitrian style.

And if it isn't yours, you're welcome to pretend it is as an excuse to see yourself over. Some drinks, a few CDs, and this place could be considerably receptive to a good time! [ Insert a totally charming smile right here. ] Don't be strangers, hmm? It will never be claimed that anyone of House Vadarta was anything but hospitable!

 [ Here's a jerk in a faded t-shirt and sunglasses, tossing an old, ragged rugby ball from hand to hand.  It's the crack of dawn and he's been digging around the Hold's training areas, because seriously, who sleeps?  COME SAY HI.]

I've been thinking, this place only has to speeds: Slow and Something is Trying to Kill Us.  I mean, sure we had that masquerade ball thing a while back and managed not to blow up anything, but every other time, something's trying to kill us in these really dramatic ways.  We need some Scooby-Do hijinks mixed in to level this shit out.

[ He stops tossing the ball and holds it up to the camera.]

Anyway, object lesson for all of you swords and sorcery types out there.  This is a rugby ball.  It's a piece of equipment used in a game where two teams try to run it down the length of a field and score points.  

I think.  I'm actually not clear on how you play rugby aside from it's a pretty good excuse to kick the crap out of your friends in the name of sportsmanship.  The more ya know.

Speaking of knowing shit, not sure if someone's put out the note yet, but if you're looking for a blonde mechanic, Winry's gone.

[ This post has been brought to you by restless vigilante kids who don't know how to handle emotions.]

[Exsilium, you are now faced with the greatest weapon in the Winchester arsenal: Sam's puppy face. The young man looks into the tablet with an expression of complete interest in anything that might be shared with him.]

Hi, my name's Sam - I'm one of the uh, new transports around here. I'm really looking for any information you guys can give about this place, hopefully beyond the initial rundown, although some of that could stand repeating too - [he smiles apologetically] I'm sure I don't have to tell you guys it's a lot to take in at once.

Specifically I'd like to hear about these missions, the weapons, and if there's any pattern to those who end up disappearing as I've heard happens - does it usually happen say, right after a mission? Or are the incidents completely random?

Don't have much to offer in return but I can promise I'll make all the information I gather easily available so it could end up useful to all of us. And I'd really appreciate it. 

[screened AWAY from Dean Winchester and Cas]

I've heard I've been here before - if anyone recognizes me - I'd like to talk to you. 

[ The video opens to a pair of hands. Hands, paper, and a line of tobacco. A cigarette being rolled before the camera is tipped upwards and Sharpe comes into view. He drags a hand through his hair, which is more than slightly wet by the rain. It's obvious after a while that he's outside, sitting below the awning of one of the houses in the Hold. His rifle, leaning against his shoulder, is completely dry.

He takes out a lighter and snaps it on, lighting the homemade cigarette and taking a drag. ]

Convenient things, these. [ Tosses the lighter up, and catches it again. ] Works better than any flint. [ Pause, and he shrugs. ] But I ain't here ta talk 'bout fires.

I'm a soldier and I ain't use ta just waiting 'round here. Even travelling and sightseeing [ he grins at this, because going out to the Outlands was fun but not the kind of sightseeing and travel most gentlemen go for ] gets tiring after a while. [ He leans a bit further back against the wall. ] There any books 'round? [ Beat, then he clarifies, because his accent tends to mark him as illiterate: ] Fer reading, I mean. English'd do, but if there's something in French or Spanish, I ain't going ta say no.

[ He takes a drag of the cigarette contemplatively. ]

Stories'll do as well, if no one's got any books ta read.

[ He makes to switch off the transmission, but then he seems to remember something. Scramble, scramble, oops, ash and burnt paper on the camera, which he brushes away irritatedly. ]

Can someone explain ta me how a man and a woman can share the same house without being married or related ta each other? [ He tips his head ta the side. ] It don't say much for decency or the woman's reputation, no. [ Beaaaaaaaaaaaat. ]

And what's those noises on the thirteen floor of that damned building we've been housed in, eh?

[ This is actually Sharpe's point in making the transmission but he wants books as well. Whatever. Look, it's shut off for real now. ]

a little bit later, 10% (crappily) encrypted to morgana

[ Awkwardly: ] How fares you, milady?

[ Look who's showing his face again on the network after ducking his head throughout that entire undead affair! No worse for the wear, of course, seated upon a cushy armchair with a wine glass in hand, next to a roaring fire. Apparently some are living in the lap of luxury despite living in a world of utter dismay.

For some reason or another, Prestor is appearing even more pompous than usual, made even more evident in his snide tone once he opens his mouth. ]

What an unfortunate turn of events lately. It's such a pity the Initiative was not there to diligently protect us from a most unexpected undead apocalypse. [ You hear a faint I told you so, I told you so echo in your thoughts. The voice is chilling. ] That is why it is better to rely on one's own strength than that of the group, or at least one so large. Divide and conquer, you know. It's simple strategy. I see they have yet to implement this, though. You'd think they put more capable commanders in charge, but it's not my place to judge, now is it?

[ Prestor raises his glass to his audience, lips cracking into a grin. ]

But I am curious of your battles, your greatest triumphs, your most renowned accomplishments. After all, it's not bragging if it's true. And who doesn't love a little indulging of heroics?

Tell me of the moment you pride yourself most upon in your life. A moment of glory to lift ourselves from despair.

[ This evening, the calm image of a fair young woman appears over the network. Faintly pointed ears pierce through her jet-black hair. When she speaks it is in a soft alto, almost shy, as this is her first time addressing the network as a whole in this manner. ]

Father...grandmother. I have returned. [ She does not attempt a filter. She is confident her family will see, and she is keeping no secrets. Yet.

Her attention then turns to a larger audience. ] It has been some time. I would know, fellow Transports, what has transpired here since I was away? If any are able to indulge me.

[ Anyone in, or around, Unit 810 may very well run into Arwen in person, as she returns to her temporary home. ]

[After dealing with the uncertainty of being parent (or future parent, rather) and being taken care of by his son more than should be allowed, Kratos has finally decided to ask for help. Anonymously.]

What does being a father entail? Or rather, what sort of things do fathers do with their children and what responsibilities are expected of a father? Conversely, what activities do children enjoy doing with their fathers?

[It's been days, perhaps weeks since she arrived, and it's taken this long for her to feel comfortable broadcasting even her voice in a public place. Even so, the message is short as she makes an effort to keep distress or dismay out of her voice.]

Since we've all been taken from our homes, there must be many out there who have left behind family, friends, and loved ones. As I've been told, there are people who have been trapped in this place for months.

Does time make the ache of being apart fade? Is there a way to make that pain subside?

[ oh hey, this message brought to you by... not the Initiative, not a Transport... a citizen?? ]

Afternoon, Transports. Let's keep this short, as I'm sure we're all busy people.

My name is Thom Sorenstam. I'm Commissioner of Exsilium's police force, formed as of a few months ago. I've been working with Inspector Barnaby Brooks since to establish a Transport unit within the force.

So that's where you come in.

[ shuffling of papers.... ]

We're recruiting. [ a smack -- Thom hitting the table with his fist. ] Two sergeants, picked by myself and Brooks, twenty to thirty constables, two hundred marques' pay per month, a little more for the sergeants. You'll be reporting to your sergeants or to Inspector Brooks, and mostly be dealing with Transport business.

If you're interested, talk to me over... this thing, or at our office on [ X AND Y INTERSECTION ]. I'll want to hear how long you've been here, your experiences, your qualifications, specialties, skills, the whole blasted thing. And I'd love to do background checks on all of you, but that's goddamn impossi-- [ someone in the background interjects. their words aren't clear, but she sure sounds disapproving. COUGH. ] Anyway.

[ more paper shuffling. muttering. ]

Any other questions, crimes, concerns? Leave 'em here. I'll get to them.



[ ooc: original police force sign-ups were here! calhoun/chargethesebatteries and nathaniel/noble_nate will be our sergeants, everyone else will be coming in as constables.

you're still welcome to sign up OOCly. IC signing-on in this post is optional and can be handwaved, so long you've signed up in the OOC post! ]

In accordance to an agreement I made with a certain gentleman upon my arrival 4 months ago, I do believe I'm entitled to some, ah... undead affection. And while I don't mean that attractively pale dead man with the glowing eyes, let it be said that I certainly wouldn't be opposed to that, as well!

But here I'm faced with a dilemma. I haven't heard from this charming corpse in quite some time — do you think I ought to look him up and remind him? Or shall I assume that he's a cadaver of his word and await his making good on our deal in his own time?

[ with a definite smirk in his voice here: ] Or perhaps this much will prove enough to spark a little reminder, hmm?

[ The feed switches on suddenly, image nothing more than blur of images and sounds, it is pure luck that it stills to focuses (haphazardly) on a woman ─ wild eyed and pale, gasping, with leaves still in her hair. She levels the tablet with a dissatisfied look, debating whether or not to toss the cursed thing or inspect it further.

The latter would be harder giving her present condition and any curiosity she may have been feeling has been burnt away by exhaustion and anger.

How dare they ─

The camera jerks suddenly and she lets out a pained cry, tablet falling out of her hand to skid across the ground far from her reach. Though, to be honest, the device is the least of her concerns right now. ]

Emrys. [ She grits her teeth, and pushes herself up from the ground. (off camera)

Too proud to ask for help, too stubborn and angry to realize she needs help. My, what will we do with you, young lady?

So enjoy the view of the top of some house and the sky, for that is all you shall be getting. At least until the feed shuts itself off. ]

voice;

Money in cards and saying me rifle’s been changed.

[ Except that’s not actually how he says it, it’s more like: munneh in cards and sayin’ me rifle’s been changed. Sheffield, Yorkshire haunts the streets of Exsilium now, thanks to one Richard Sharpe. ]

The only cards I know of are those given by weasely merchants looking ta fleece more money out of you. But you ain’t asking for money, are you? Yer asking me to fight with me blood and sweat, and you ain’t even decent enough to give me a half-ration of rum, or even a proper King’s shilling.

[ Thud. The sound of rifle on stone ground. There’s a soft shuffling sound and tapping of fingers on the screen of the tablet. The video switches on. ]

video;

Me name’s Richard Sharpe. [ Blond hair, green eyes, a scar on his upper left cheek. His lips are twisted into a scowl, and at the edge of the screen, you can see the edge of his Rifleman’s jacket. Have a picture.

If you met him during the masquerade, he's a lot cleaner now. Face-wise anyway. You can actually see what he looks like underneath the layers of dirt, and his hair isn't just a layer of dust anymore. ]

If yer name's Patrick Harper, I suggest you get yer arse over here before I shoot it off you.