voliere: (that's not adding up)
[personal profile] voliere
[ Because she's still trying to get the hang of this thing (she much prefers to talk to people face to face if she's going to talk to them), Elizabeth's expression is determined and a little frustrated when she comes on the recording. It takes a moment - and then she figures out that she's recording and looks pleased with herself. ]

Hello. [ A pause, as she pulls the camera back away from her face. ] My name is Elizabeth. I've met a fair few of you, before. [ She speaks a little louder than she would normally, if only because she's so used to the distant and crackling way recordings generally sound in her time. ] I haven't been able to find a way out, like I promised, but what I can do is try to help in the best way that I can.

[ She has no idea how she's going to show this, since she has to use both hands to open the tears - so she doesn't quite yet. Instead, she begins to pace, walking slowly back and forth along the sand of the beach. ] Is there anything that the people here need? Supplies, maybe, such as bandages or ammunition. Or anything, really. I can bring it through.

I can't exactly promise that all of it will be in good condition, or that I'll find it at all, but I have to do something.
lightgunhustler: (089)
[personal profile] lightgunhustler
[The young woman peering into the camera looks more than a little worse for wear, her lower lip split open and the side of her face streaked with dried blood. She rakes her hair away from her face, revealing a long but shallow cut on her forehead, no doubt responsible for at least some of the blood, though there's too much for that to be her only injury.

She rubs the heel of her hand against her eye, grimacing as she sets her jaw, giving a quick, anxious glance over her right shoulder before turning her attention back to the video feed.]


Whatever's going on, I'm not laughing. If there's anyone out there who can offer an explanation, I'm all ears.

[A communication device meant that someone had to be out there listening, didn't it? Honestly, she doubts anyone thinks this is some kind of joke. She's pretty sure she hadn't made it out of that hardware store alive. So what the hell was this?

It wasn't like any afterlife she'd ever imagined.

She looks hesitant, biting at her lower lip for a moment before speaking again.]


Mom? Sam, Dean?

[They'd been there. They couldn't have gotten far before -- well. Before this. It was worth asking, wasn't it? Whatever was going on, she'd feel a lot better knowing they were in this together. Or maybe it really was some kind of run-down afterlife. Maybe she really was alone.

God. She hoped not.]
theservant: (reading)
[personal profile] theservant
Good day -

I am looking to trade some items if anyone is interested. I have snared a few hares and one wild boar. In exchange I am looking for:

- Some pots and a frying pan
- tarpaulin or heavy canvas
- various lengths of ropes

Even if you have nothing to trade I've caught more than I can eat on my own so any assistance is appreciated.
rulebreaks: (just listen to my overcomplicated explan)
[personal profile] rulebreaks
[Buffy's face is close to her wrist band. A little too close. And she doesn't seem happy with this turn of events.] If this is a joke, can someone please relay to the joke-tellers how unfunny this is? It's like when peanut butter sticks to the roof of your mouth and it should be funny when really it's just full of the peanut-buttery goodness that could've been. ...Your mouth, that is. Is full of--

Metaphors are stupid. And so are... are robot bears! Bears of any kind, really, I don't think their IQs are that high and I don't have a high opinion of robots either. Call it a childhood trauma. Even if that was like, two years ago.

Alright, someone be spill guy. I'm running out of babble. [a beat] ...How do I turn this thing off?
theservant: (concerned)
[personal profile] theservant
[The audio recording begins with a cough. It’s lucky Mordion hasn’t turned the video component on, because the device on his wrist is being treated with a very close investigation, and he’d rather not subject anyone to that thank you. He’s not convinced this isn’t still The Bannus, but why it’s changing the scenario now is beyond him. Better to be safe.]

Good day. I am searching for a small number of people and would appreciate any assistance finding them again.

A petite young women. Darkish skin, curly hair. Last seen in a blue gown with headdress.

A teenage boy, on the tall side, wearing leather armour and perhaps carrying a sword.

An old-model Yamaha robot, series nine. Silver, but with extensive repair. I tried my best to maintain his integrity as an antique model, but I was working with limited supplies. Answers to the name ‘Yam’.

Vierann, Hume, Yam, if any of you are listening I do appreciate not being kept in the dark.

Thank you.

[He disconnects.]
heavensmostadorable: (afraid)
[personal profile] heavensmostadorable
[Truth be told, he's nothing but confused. He's panicking quietly as his shaking hand messes with the device on his wrist, the one that just talked to him, trying to get it to give him more information, but it's not going well. Human technology isn't something he's ever bothered to figure out for a lack of needing to use it, and it doesn't help that he keeps throwing wary glances around himself every thirty seconds. Eventually though, he finds the video function and the feed flickers to life.

Hello, Cape Kore, have a rather frightened looking angel, propped up against the first building he could find, staring through the feed. Of course, to the untrained eye, he appears to be nothing more than a battered minor, but regardless, he's there. He's just been through torture for weeks on end, and unfortunately, it shows. The appearance clashes rather oddly with the bright red and white uniform he's wearing, but that's hardly a concern as he's focused on the device, trying to sort out what it's doing. He's tired and confused, not to mention in pain and possibly still bleeding a little. It's hard to tell, and he hasn't bothered to check. Nonetheless, he does finally realize the video has to be transmitting to others, and figures he ought to take advantage of it.]


...Hello? I don't...understand what this is, or what's going on...

[He trails off with a look that's a mixture of distress and frustration, and yet another glance around is taken, as though he's waiting for someone to jump out at him any time now.]

Cape Kore? That's--...That's what this place is called? But...this isn't where I was, I... I don't understand... [Then he realizes he probably looks like he's freaking out. Because he is, but he's supposed to hold his composure no matter what. A pause, and a breath is drawn in as he tries to calm himself down. It doesn't really work, but he manages to at least look a little more calm.] I don't know if there's anyone else here... This place looks deserted, but if there are people here...I think I need assistance. Even if someone could simply explain what's happened, or what this place is...

[He'll also take answers on how he got here if anyone has them, but honestly, he's still pretty unsure that there's anyone out there to hear him.]
voliere: (over the edge)
[personal profile] voliere
[ Okay, so figure out the things you know, Elizabeth. List them off for sure.

This is solid ground. She knows - it's a little disorienting, really, because as stable as Columbia is, you're always aware you're on what is essentially a giant hot air balloon. Sort of. Not really. The physics are complicated.

She's in a church. It's devoid of the imagery she's used to, though. No Prophet, no Lamb, no False Shepherd. No Booker. No men trying to capture her (yet). And no tears, or at least, none she can see at the moment. The thing on her wrist is a little like a voxophone with a screen, she's thinking, squinting at it thoughtfully. It had spoken to her a few minutes ago, but she hadn't been able to get it to play again. In fiddling with it, she's managed to start recording herself, though she has no idea that she is on camera.

Alright. So that's figured out. Now to find Booker. He has to be here - did she accidentally bring them somewhere? They'd just been outside the Hall of Heroes - she had heard gunfire, and then she was suddenly here. What's going on? ]


Mr. DeWitt? [ She calls quietly, the camera only half on her face as she opens the door to the outside, frowning. ] ... Booker?
recognize_an_opportunity: (Default)
[personal profile] recognize_an_opportunity
[To say that the video function on the communicators makes Meyer uncomfortable is an understatement, but he recognizes that there are times that they prove useful, so he's grudgingly using it today. When the video comes on, he's smiling and wearing the suit he'd been wearing when he arrived; in his opinion, that's the only outfit appropriate for doing business.]

I don't think I need to go on at length about the fact that we're all stuck here. We all know that. It's a place of many... uncertainties. I also don't need to say that given the uncertainties, there are times we might forget to do things to enjoy ourselves.

[He leans forward a little, his smile growing wider.]

That's why my partner and I have decided to start a card game. It's nothing serious, nothing formal, just a place where people can play a couple rounds of poker, have a couple drinks, talk with each other, maybe be entertained for awhile.

You're all invited to opening night, no matter what level of skills you may possess at playing cards. The way we see it, since money's no use here, people can bring along items they might want to gamble with -- cigarettes, food, coffee, that kind of thing.

This is an unfortunate place to be stuck, but it doesn't always have to be an unpleasant one. If you're interested or have questions, let me know. I'm always happy to be of service.

[And, with that, he cuts the video, hoping to at least have piqued some interest.]
greenisnteasy: (h: you're tacky and i hate you)
[personal profile] greenisnteasy
[ The Hulk woke up outside his and Banner's place with this black thing strapped to his wrist, and he's pretty pissed. Not pissed enough that he's going to tear shit up, he's just angry because he doesn't remember getting here. He doesn't remember forcing his way out of Banner, and he can remember each and every time that happened -- until now. Except for this one.

When the feed switches on, it's because the Hulk's fingers are pulling at the thing, trying to yank it off; that's when he notices the screen doing something -- filming -- and so now the feed fills up with one enormous green eye. He pulls his wrist back and tilts his head. He knows what this thing is now. ]


What happened to Banner? Where's Tony?

[ He glances around him, and then narrows his eyes at the camera. ] This place is stupid.

[ You've just been served. ]
greatatboats: (i have an ouchie. fuck off.)
[personal profile] greatatboats
[ The last time Clint felt this bad was because of very strange mission in Russia. It consisted of a shit ton of booze, food poisoning and several head traumas. This actually felt about ten million times worse than that morning. Yet he was standing and walking on his own. That didn't mean shit though. The power to carry on could grow to be very strong in a person if the situation called for it.

He felt like a tank ran him over and then decided to back over him once more for good measure. The shirt he was wearing was torn and tattered. Through the torn material you could see evidence of bruised skin and on the other side of his chest near his ribs was a gash. He looked like a more bruised and mashed version of Clint when it came to his face. He had bruises on his face along with some dried up blood. Mostly superficial, but still nasty. Whatever happened to him had not been pleasant. He was free though right? He was away from wherever and back in this town. He never would have thought he'd be this happy to see this place in his life.

The woods were behind him and he could see houses in the distance. He was fairly certain that his was actually on the other side of the town. He was trying his hard to remember the layout, but with each step came more pain. He checked the communicator once more and finally it sprang to life. That was a good sign. He could at least broadcast something and maybe get a hand back to his godforsaken attic.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He finally cleared his throat and found his voice. Out came a shaky breath to whoever was seeing this. ]
I don't--know what happened, but I could use a hand. [ Clint hit his knees finally and his wrist dropped to his side. ]
onteamdyson: (Default)
[personal profile] onteamdyson
[The feed starts out as audio of two idiots giggling, snickering, and clanging some pots or some shiz around until idiot number one remembers how to switch to video. Suddenly there's a shirtless Jesse standing in front of the stove with a frying pan in hand while Kenzi sits on the counter filming this magic.

You're welcome, Kore.]


Expandcut for length )
tryingitall: (on a bench)
[personal profile] tryingitall
[Balthazar appears in the feed looking more or less the same as he ever does--except there's an inchworm in his hair, and he seems oblivious to it. A tiny, bright green thing, it's creeping along his temple like it's planning on hiding behind his ear. Someone should tell him.

But that's not what he's popped up to ask.]


So, we're doing the honesty thing? My confession for the day is that I'm bored out of my mind and I thought I'd try growing something, as it seems one of the more useful pastimes I can take up here. Unfortunately, I have no idea what I'm doing.

I've dug up the ground a bit, and I have some seeds. Looks like radishes, basil, and yellow squash. I could use a bit more instruction than what's written on the packets, though. Do they really need to be exactly 1/4 of an inch deep? Seems overly specific.
charring: (firething)
[personal profile] charring
[It's obvious this is accidental video. The angle is sideways and shaky and the owner of said device isn't in view. Whoever it is, they're at the park and they're setting something up on a picnic table, one that's slightly a ways off from the others.

There's a brief view of Charlie, the girl clearly oblivious to the fact that it's recording, and then there is a view of a row of cans set up in a line. Some of them are dented, some look like they've been burned in spots.

Charlie moves away from the table, standing a couple yards away from the table. Her device shows part of the table, again at that awkward angle from before.

Nothing happens at first but then, there's a hissing sound and a bright flash of orange-yellow light. A small ball of fire (yes, fire) flies at the first can in a row, knocking it off the table. This happens over and over until all of the cans have been knocked away and then Charlie moves to set them up again.

It's when she bends to pick up the first can that Charlie notices the device is on. She sighs, rolling her eyes and her shoulders slump in mild defeat. She offers a half-smile, one that doesn't have a lick of amusement in it, before she turns the device off without saying a single word.]


[ooc: open to action, too! because charlie needs the stress in her life.]
nedofpies: (feeling good)
[personal profile] nedofpies
[ The problem with Ned having a communication device attached to his wrist at all times is that it makes drunk dialing very, very easy. So, after he has deposits Charlie back at his house, it gets into Ned's head that he really ought to call River. It doesn't occur to him how late it is, but he does have the presence of mind to (after a great deal of effort) fix the settings so the video will go only to her.

So River's going to be getting a screenful of very drunk Ned, his hair a mess and his cheeks and nose red with intoxication. But, at least, he's smiling ]


Hey, River. Y'there? Hello?
onteamdyson: (yep we're fucked)
[personal profile] onteamdyson
[The communicator turns on with a sharp whack before suddenly turning off again. And on. And off. And on--] Stupid piece of spy-reject, cattle-tagging crap. Get. OFF!

[When it comes back on and stays on, it's obvious by the scratches in the paint that it was being banged against a wall. Kenzi turns the device on her wrist to peer at it, into it, and she stares... until realization hits her.]

... Oh. Oh shit.
mentis: (= | a tough kid who)
[personal profile] mentis
[ He's in the library, that much is evident by the rather large collection of books to his left and the stacks behind him. His too large shirt sleeves are pushed up and his hair is a mess as though he's spent hours running his hands through it in frustration. But it's a good place to be and if he doesn't do this now he might never. It's important. For Charles the library is neutral territory, it's public and open and safe ( or as safe as anywhere is here ). He wouldn't want to do this at home any more than he would ask people to come to him out there. The elbow of his right arm rests on the table as his other hoists the device up for him to be seen. ]

The past couple of weeks have been interesting, yes? [ Charles doesn't sound as bright as he usually is, if anything he has steel under his voice. This isn't the post of a soft, bumbling professor, this is a man who's decided to take action. ] It made me think a great deal. Erik coming back helped solidify this. [ There you go Lehnsherr, he knows you won't announce yourself to the masses so he'll do it for you. ] The more I talk to people the more I realise we're all rather blind to each other and the experiences of this place. Different camps, divides and distrust and a very distinct layer of fear. I believe our captors would rather like it if we turned on each other, destroyed ourselves from the inside while they continued their little experiment. I don't think we should allow that. So I have a proposal. We each have skills that would be of use to each other, abilities that someone might find themselves gravely in need of. I'm aware some of us have teamed up rather effectively and well done, that kind of initiative is splendid. I have an idea to make a recording of each of our skills; something we can access in times of need rather like Mr. Rogers' idea of keeping paintings for when one of us goes missing. So if someone needs to ... install a window or rebuild part of a wall, we will be able to go to the person who would now how.

[ A pause, and then his expression shifts. He is no longer talking of building or of gardening anymore. ] But I also know there are those who have rather abnormal abilities. You might be too afraid to speak of them and I understand, I do. But you should not be frightened. In my world we call these specific powers a mutation. You might call them something different and that's all right, I'm not going to be pedantic. These evolutionary gifts can be alarming to some, may invoke fear to the ignorant, but hiding them - especially in a place like this - will do no good. [ His shoulders square slightly. ] If any of you are worried that this is a trap, that I could be leading you into danger, I will put you at rest immediately.

[ Blue eyes serious. ] I myself am a mutant. Some would call me a telepath. My mutation allows me to read the minds of those around me. [ A small, crooked smile. He thinks of Jubilee telling him he should try and push out further, thinks of her thoughts on the X-Men and his leadership skills. He's afraid that announcing this might put some people off him, but he has to. Perhaps he is not that man yet but he would like to be. ] There are other things this ability allows me to do - things that may sound terrible but in the right circumstances can be useful. [ Unbidden the image of Ned's blood on the floor comes to him. Perhaps this will be good, a layer of accountability for Charles himself. Though it is not the main reason and cannot be. ] I am telling you this simply to give you an idea. We might worry about how people will see us if our powers are strange and unusual, are seen as dangerous, but that will have to be accepted. The people who are hostage on this island are not the enemy. So I'm asking each of you to be brave. [ Another small smile. ] And to trust me.

[ It's done now. ] If you would like to come forward in person I will be here for the rest of the day. Thank you.
gleans: (say what?)
[personal profile] gleans
[ At the very least, Galen looks a good deal better than he did the last time he showed his face. He does look tired - when doesn't he? - and there's still a note of worry in his voice, when he speaks. For the most part, however, he manages to keep his slight panic down, nudging at his glasses nervously. ]

Hey, guys -- I don't wanna cause any more alarm, but... if you could keep an eye out for Kenzi, we -- all of us, we'd really appreciate it. She might not be gone, but I haven't -- uh, better to be sure, right? So -- Kenzi, early twenties, goth-lite, long black hair, super tiny, ridiculously friendly.

Thanks, guys. Stay safe.

Expandp r i v a t e: bruce banner )
nevermindtherunning: ([ten] vindictive)
[personal profile] nevermindtherunning
[The video clicks on and there's the Doctor, brainy specs in place, sitting in the kitchen of his house. Behind him was the kitchen table, but not useable as various disassembled toasters, radios, and even an oven could be seen on the floor. Parts were everywhere and had looked like a tornado had blown through.

Stacked to one side of the wall were some books, next to his hand was his notebook, full with stuffed papers in it. He looks stern, quiet, serious, perhaps brewing an oncoming storm?]


It's been four days since this curse-thing has been over. I haven't seen Sharon... or Natasha, [There's a pause, because sad enough as it is, he wasn't entirely sure that was her name.] There's significantly less traffic around town, which leads me to guess others are missing too.

This may seem ridiculous that I'm saying this, but don't travel alone, don't be alone, [Ignore the fact that he was currently.], let others know if you're going somewhere. Use the buddy-system if you have to.

[There's a pause as he looks away, licking his lips.] I've been doing research, as most of you are aware, and after running the calculations 3-4 times, my evidence is conclusive. If this is Earth, which I'm not for certain if it is yet or not, I must admit... We're in the northern hemisphere, judging by the weather patterns and the sun's movements in the sky. The winds... Westerlies, marking us at about 30-60 degrees latitude. Of course, this is all based off of if we're on Earth.

This leads me to my next hypothesis, which a couple of you have already thrown out there - bravo! Good for you! - I think we're in a pocket universe. Time doesn't flow linear, it never had, it's all... wibbly-wobbly, of course, but the star charts aren't quite right, which doesn't make sense at all if this is, in fact, Earth. I said Northern hemisphere, but if you look up at the sky, the charts don't match that correctly. It's a blend... I can't locate us due to that. And with so many people coming from other worlds, universes, alternative timelines, it's making this all rather strange. I know very few species capable of this feat, which... [He trails off, not wanting to think who has this kind of power and technology they possess. Enough to rival his own TARDIS, that is for sure.]

There's a chance I can get us out, but it'll take time. If there's any tools, scraps lying about, unused appliances, radios... I'd like to have those, please.

ExpandPrivate Messages )

[VIDEO]

May. 1st, 2013 11:31 am
primogen_vampirate: (Default)
[personal profile] primogen_vampirate
[Mina's sitting at a desk of some kind, leaned back, feet propped up and crossed at the ankles. She has a relaxed air, despite putting ample amounts of willpower into ensuring that her image comes through on the feed.

For a moment, she plays with the earring in her right ear (she doesn't wear on in the left), her tongue running over the tips of her teeth.]


Well. Now that we've made it through this sensational ordeal of seeing life through each other's eyes, embracing our differences, and coming together with a good, old-fashioned sense of community. Or whatever it is we did. I suppose now is as good a time as any to inform you all that I am, in fact, a vampire.

Yes. I am a legally certified doctor.

No. I don't feed off of my patients.

Yes. I do drink blood.

No. I don't want yours.

[A pause.]

And no. I don't sparkle.

If any of you have some sort of problem with this, you're welcome to come over to House 18 and kill me. It would certainly relieve the monotony of life. And it seems you have no need for a spare doctor around here. Otherwise, goodnight and do have a pleasant tomorrow.
rigging: (tattoo neck.)
[personal profile] rigging
[ It's early in the morning. Before most humans should really be awake, honestly. So that's why maybe it's surprising when the communicator, and by extension, the network, catches the sudden panicked inhale of breath and the panic that follows. There's a good minute of rustling and noises that sound a little like whimpers before the sound settles down.

And then it's quiet. A beat. Another, then: ]
Fuck, where --

[ That is definitely a familiar voice. Deep breath. Slow exhale - and the recording cuts off in the middle. ]

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