( She isn't the Oracle: she has very little faith in the security of this network. Either it has to be a tool for the Huntress, or for Helena Bertinelli. All things considered, Huntress feels a little more pressing.

When Helena speaks, there are traces of Sicily, it's all very charming. With the Huntress, it's all Gotham, rough and harsh, words bitten out more than spoken. )

Any Bats in the belfry?

( A beat. )

I'll rephrase that: keep your eyes on the skyline.

( There's a brief pause and for the trained listener, they might realise that is the sound of a fight happening in the background. Don't interrupt with Huntress with an attempted mugging when she is trying to talk, okay? Okay. )

Anyone else who's washed up here from Gotham, well. On the bright side, ( that was the sound of someone getting kicked in the face ) there's not much this place can throw at us that we didn't have to deal with back home.

( Look at her, being all optimistic. If only it didn't sound so close to scathing. She's on the move, and there's a breath - maybe she meant to say something more? - before a clatter, the pained cry of a male assailant, a sharp crack, and suddenly: silence. At best, she's faintly irritated.)

Nice to see some good, old-fashioned manners. I feel right at home.

( So much derision, and then the feed cuts. One can only imagine how much information she'll try to get out of that guy. )

[Rose is dressed in a simple purple blouse and black skirt when she appears on the screen, sitting in a high-back, fluffy red chair she found somewhere. She's holding the camera at arms length, and then she leans forward and sets it down on a table. There's a battered, somewhat worn out couch half-visible off to the side.]

So. That was certainly more than any of us signed up for, I suspect? Waking up in foreign bodies, different ages, different genders, different species at times? I imagine a qualified person with enough time and resources could dedicate an entire library just to the experiences of the last week or so.

Unfortunately, this is hardly the proper environment for large scale publishing, so those of us with a particular talent towards assisting others with their mental well-being just have to make do with actually helping people rather than just theorizing and becoming famous authors.

Which brings me to my point, in as roundabout a fashion as I could manage. If anyone here would like to discuss what took place recently, and of course I mean our recent intra-body experiences, I'd be more than willing to find some time to help you work through any lingering emotional concerns you might have developed. Suddenly feeling like a stranger in your own skin, or finding that you actually miss certain aspects of a body you had never previously considered? I'm quite certain we can work through it together.

[She smiles.]

But don't think this is limited to just particularly recent developments. I realize this place has a tendency to lend itself towards rather unsettling and lingering trauma, and I am more than happy to discuss any of those with you as well. We'll get you through this.

[She reaches out to turn the camera, and reveal the couch she had found. The room is a bit battered, it's hard to say precisely where it is, she probably just moved into an empty building with it.]

I even found a suitable couch for that authentic psychological office feeling. So, please, feel free to contact me, whenever you need to.

[And she turns it back, offering a small, polite wave before she hangs up.]

[When Rose appears on the camera, there is definitely something wrong. She's standing in the center of her apartment, and is holding the Thorns of Oglogoth in her hands, the dark energies of the wands encapsulating her entire body, a sort of festering shadow that seeps and writhes off her form. She has one wand pointed forward, presumably to where the camera is, and it jostles faintly, apparently held in the air by her magic. Her expression is still pretty calm though, if somewhat annoyed.]

Og'lith t'n v'shrn qun.

[She starts to speak, then hesitates, frowning at the camera, and the annoyance in her eyes gets worse.]

Bith v'shrn o'lith'gor fib'ru mrup vis'th tor q'yub vas sh'n g'hruug. G'ron fnlth g'rsash j'rg htlath k'fvash ogl'athr v'ashtar. [She waves her other hand around some as she speaks, as if she is explaining something very important.] T'lsh a un'glo glon'a vish hys'lin stul'von 'ultp bom. V'ultkinta, tish vn'ah usl'p gr'othrs h'rp tho'ag s'hign, ths, vnp, otot. H'rugleth?

[She seems to be waiting expectantly, and then after a few moments she just makes a frustrated noise.]

Shruggot.

[With a wave of her wand, the camera shuts off.]

[When the video clicks on, it's easy to think the owner of the tablet might have turned it on by accident, as it is sitting in the lap of a young woman in a bright orange robe, the hood of which is tugged down to half-hide her face, and she is looking away from the camera, out at the city. She appears to be sitting on a bench near the arrival building, if the faint bustle of people rushing about is any indication around her.]

[After a moment though she glances down at the camera and smiles faintly, one violet eye and some blonde hair visible past the edge of her hood.]

I never really thought about it, but when you know something was destroyed, if you find it again it's nice even if it's nothing like you expected.

[She shifts in a way that might be a shrug.]

Although that's assuming this isn't all simply some trick, I suppose. Or a frighteningly elaborate, complicated dream bubble. Hmm.

[She seems like she's going to say something else, then she hesitates, and after a moment's thought, reaches out to turn the tablet off. A moment or two later, there's a text message from the same account.]

( Cut for lavender courier )