[ it had been a just one night since oz's departure and alice had more or less kept quiet. after spending a night searching fruitlessly, she spent the rest of the dark hours sulking with (1) gilbert nightray until they eventually fall asleep, buried in the sheets like sad children who have lost the dearest thing they held at night.

in the morning alice wakes up and her first instinct is to cry, but the second is something more violent... and of course she goes with that instead.

THERE'S A LOUD BANG. something appears to have fallen and shattered, although it's hard to say when things are happening off-screen. and before anyone can attempt to understand what just happened, they get an earful from one angry looking young girl shouting into the tablet. she never did care for this thing, but at least she knows now that someone will be able to hear her. ]

THEY TOOK OZ AWAY! I WON'T FORGIVE THEM. [ her head's clear but it's hard to stop yelling when you're so upset. if someone could hear her, feel threatened by her,

help her

then she might actually have time to think and calm down. ] How dare they take him away without my permission? Don't they know its the master's job to take care of their servant? How am I suppose to do that when he's not here? Huh? SOMEONE GIVE HIM BACK! NOW! I'm waiting!

[ don't be fooled by her tough exterior, she's gonna burst into tears any minute now.

oh. there you go. the tears roll down. ]

This is all your fault, idiot! [ blames the ne..twork... ] Bring him back... useless! Useless....

[The video feed this morning has multiple purposes. Initially it was a simple test, to see if the illusion he'd cast broadcast to the network. It failed, instead, showing a young looking man sitting in the Observation Deck on the moon, face half obscured by his fan. But mostly, this is for information. His tone is arrogant and movements slow and measured.]

I wish to pose two queries to thee.

Firstly, I wish to know what of the enemy thou hast unearthed below. I hath read accounts of war and organization, accounts of those of less human appearance treated within the tenants of fear. Leaving aside such debates upon the validity and consequence of tampering with what hath passed in the mires of one's regret and defeat, tis a great number of conversations upon the future and past, but a dearth of those of the present. I assume such, that thine situation remains bleak, and that the project vile and untoward may have continued... But little of the new face of our enemy.

This world, which hath changed so wild and bitterly from the squalor and civilization it had boasted... do we still have a capable enemy who still strikes at our worlds afar? What sayeth the people below?

Tis true, to attack boldly is suicide. Tis true, spying without knowledge as a guard is suicide. However tis true, to jab wildly at the past at an enemy we dost not understand ... tis foolishness and absurdity. Tis possible we may not have a war that concerns us.

Corrections of this, these assumptions, art most welcome.

[He pauses, folding his fan to tap it at his chin.]

Secondly, tis thus: I desire to speak with one most practiced in the art or pedagogy of science. I hath researched soundly the foundational elements and request to employ an expert in 'chemistry' and 'genetics.'


(OOC NOTE: Rufus Barma is a ridiculous creature who speaks in deliberately archaic mannerisms! BUT, if OOCLY you'd like a plain English version, just mention it in the subject line!)

[A few hours the transports start arriving in the new facility, someone interrupts the moving frenzy with this cheerful broadcast.]

I'm starting to think there's a lot these people don't tell us before we get ushered along to where they want us.

[Korra snorts, crossing her arms over her chest in a clear sign of agitation.]

Don't know if you guys knew this already, but that allowance they used to give us before? Not happening here. Looks like we're pretty much on our own for food and supplies. Anyone want to have a look around the area with me, see what we've got to work with here?

[She grumbles something like "could have told us this before we started moving, jerks".]

Oh yeah, if anyone needs to know how to keep warm in the snow, I can probably give a few tips, too.


(ooc: There is now an ooc post to sign up for the exploration!)

[Hello, friends. A cold-eyed elf with a fairly significant skin condition stares at the camera, his jaw set, his mouth a thin, inscrutable line.]

Talk of a council is all well and good, but we have another matter in front of us.

As many of you have pointed out, there is no formal system of law in place. At present, those of you who acted as peace officers have simply continued as you were in your own worlds. If you brought others to justice, if you spoke about justice -- you have continued to see this as your right.

[His eyes narrow, drawing his long eyebrows together.]

But it is not your right. Your laws are not universal. Your morality is not sacrosanct.

We must decide on appropriate conduct as a whole, with consideration given to perspectives outside of our own.

I propose that any code we settle on be simple and direct. For example:

1. Murder shall be abolished. In the case of murder, execution.

2. Theft shall be abolished. In the case of theft, the hand shall be cut off at the wrist. Repeat offenders shall lose both hands.

3. Conspiring with the United Earth shall be considered treason. In the case of treason, suspected or actual, execution.

4. Bodily autonomy shall be respected. Knowing efforts to mind control, telepathically invade, steal, or otherwise forcibly take spiritual or physical authority over another sentient being will constitute assault. In the case of this assault, execution.

And so forth.  These are merely ideas, of course.

[His lower lip twitches, suggesting that he's perfectly aware of the extremes he's recommended. Suggesting that he's just trying to get your attention, to get you to think about how you would define your own terms. What constitutes murder? Theft? Conspiracy? Justice? He's only asking.

Maybe.]

[After several hours, the post is edited with a very carefully recorded text attachment.]

( alternatives.txt )

[Last time Jaime posted as Blue Beetle, he kept to text. This time, he thinks that people might need a face - masked as it may be - to match to the words. His voice is put through a technological filter, just distorted enough for him to keep from being recognized. He's in the VR room in the most professional looking room he could think of, which is essentially a large table with wall-to-wall windows behind him looking out onto San Francisco - potentially recognizable to some canonmates as a loose copy of the Titans Tower meeting room, which is fairly generic anyway.]

So... hi. I'm Blue Beetle. A bunch of you already know that I've been trying to dig up as much info on the Chimera Project as I can - those are the cloned children, for you new guys - and I think I've got enough information to get going. Thanks to everyone who helped me out with this, by the way - you know who you are. I know everyone must be really tired of hearing people give long speeches by now, so I'll try to keep it short. [He smiles at the camera for an instant, a flash of white, human teeth behind the armour]

[He's making an effort to sound professional, but he's not used to public speaking. Sometimes, he looks down at his lap instead of the camera (consulting his notes as if he's giving a speech for class if he's honest about it) and he's stiff, uncomfortable, but his voice is even and steady. Small victories, and victories born of actually rehearsing.

Are you ready for a fun history lesson, Transports? Because you're sure as hell going to get one.]

( Non-IC cut! )

[There are several plus sides to being roommates with someone you're running about Los Angeles with each and every day.

One plus side is which when one leaves their communications device out in the open whilst you're doing something else - that gives your roommate the authority to use it responsibly, and by responsibly, i mean not at all.

This may earn Travis the consistent threat of being shot until he's dead, but that's small potatoes. TIME TO GO TO WORK.]

So, is there any place a man can go to unwind and pretend they're not hung up over their ex-wife and that their only committed relationship is with a bottle of Germ-X?


[A few minutes later, a second post goes up, this time with the voice function. There's a faint cry of:] Travis!

[And then he clears his throat, addressing the network.] This is Wes Mitchell. And I'm not hung up over my ex-wife. Or that other thing.

I apologize. My partner took my tablet. He's like a five year-old.

Man, do you even listen to yourself? You're so hellbent on making things are 110% germ-free that I'm pretty sure Alex left you because you cheated on her with the sanitizer!

( cut for length )