unionjackass: (more than a player of tricks)
[personal profile] unionjackass
[Dawn of the First Day day 142.

England does not actually know it's day 142, but for the sake of narrative, that's how it's going to be written.

Dawn of day 142 begins with whatever usual goings on there are. It is, in fact, dawn; the first light is shed and England is already treading softly into the kitchens intent on potion making and perhaps cooking himself a bit of breakfast.

Nothing like a good fry up with whatever available ingredients to start the day in Arthur's mind; followed by mixing potions and enchanting things to keep himself busy. The thing is, being a nation without standing on his own landmass and looking after his people, examining loads of paperwork and bandying words with fork-tongued politicians just... doesn't feel right.

All is well for a short time until, by means which will remain unclear, a small explosion occurs and sends a mighty clamour reverberating through the previously quiet air.

England is left slumped against a wall, hair and eyebrows terribly singed, face and clothes blackened with soot.

Should anyone come to investigate, they will surely notice the black and blue butterflies spilling and flocking from the oven, the scorched remains of a circle on the floor, ornamented with Old English and Elder Futhark inscriptions--the remains of which, should anyone be able to read either, are asking for the protection of the dead. Or was that bread? Head? At any rate, nothing malicious, as evidenced by the innocent cloud of butterflies, bottles of 'VICTORY GIN' scattered about, and the poor idiot who's rubbing his head and muttering forlorn things at the pile of solid ash in the discarded saucepan.

Apologies sent to those who don't like the smell of burnt popcorn. They will no doubt notice that right away as well.]
blackmagus: (♒ thoughtful)
[personal profile] blackmagus
[Fortescue was in the kitchen, fixing herself a sandwich, when she'd noticed the new bottle in the smattering of supplies and decided to try it. The bottle itself is plain, marked only with "VICTORY GIN" and statistics she doesn't recognize.

Bad call. It's terrible. Smells terrible, tastes terrible. And she's putting out this PSA to prevent anyone else from trying it unknowingly.]


If you come across this in the kitchen, it's awful. Don't try it unless you've a high tolerance for rubbish drinks.

[She'll take what she can get, usually, but this is going a little too far. The selection here is pretty decent most of the time. The screen goes black, as she proceeds to eat the rest of her sandwich to get rid of the flavor.]
deemedworthy: (a million miles away;)
[personal profile] deemedworthy
[He recognizes this place for what it is, at least: a lab. Between the S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier and the temporary facility that had been built up around Mjolnir in New Mexico, he's seen enough of sterile environments like these to know what they are and what they're for, though he's mildly confused about the contents of this particular lab. The camera is jostled as he fumbles with the device bearing it, giving a blurry and crooked shot of the plans, both foreign and familiar, that fill the hydroponics lab.]

These runes...

[The camera is pointed at the floor as he leans in to examine one of the nearest plantbeds, where Nordic runes have been etched. It's held steady long enough to give the viewer a clear shot of his boots.]

Health and prosperity. Someone has cared for these.

[His voice is low, uncertain; the familiar etchings aren't enough to assuage the anger he feels at being dropped, somehow, into some unknown facility against his will. No mortal prison has ever been able to contain him for long, and this, he is certain, will be no different.

He turns the camera back on himself, but clearly lacks understanding of exactly how it works, as it's not only upside-down, but also zoomed in so close that all it projects is an extreme close-up of his right eye.]


I wish to know who dares to toy with me! Whatever game is being played here, I do not find it to be funny.
angelofhope: (surprised)
[personal profile] angelofhope
[A new face flickers onto the screen. He's spent many hundreds of years among humans, and has a tablet computer at home — navigating a smart phone is pretty simple for Remiel, the Compassion of God, who looks thoroughly unassuming in a sun-faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt and jeans. He's not even wearing shoes. But it wasn't exactly his plan to get kidnapped in the middle of gardening, all right?]

Hello! I hope this thing's actually connected to something. [He pauses.] Or I'm not crank calling on accident. Anyway. Hi. I like what you guys did with the hallways. Very interesting. I haven't seen anything that crazy since a family member rigged my older sibling's file system to keep showing her the same file.

[It takes an impressive amount of magic to do that to Barachiel, Heaven's great organizer and planner, and she really hadn't been pleased. But Sariel had had a bone to pick. And she never fights fair.

Remiel's sitting in the cafeteria, hair messy and expression pretty cheerful for an archangel who's just shown up in a different dimension than his own. The fact that he's separated from his family will take some time to sink in.]


And uh, has anyone seen a dog? White and black, friendly, about the size of a small armchair?

[Which is a slight exaggeration, but not really. Not when you're talking about an Alaskan Malamute.]

004 | Audio

Dec. 5th, 2013 11:34 pm
lightgunhustler: (158)
[personal profile] lightgunhustler
[Jo's voice sounds oddly restrained when it comes out over the network, cautious and uncertain as though she's swallowing something down, holding it back. She doesn't trust herself to use the video function at the moment-- and honestly, considering what she has to say, it doesn't seem appropriate.]

It's been a couple of days since I've been able to get in touch with my mom.

[For anyone else, a couple of days might be negligible, but she and Ellen have been damn near inseparable since Jo's arrival. Even after moving to the research center, they'd lived together, kept close tabs on each other.

Two days without any sign of Ellen was bad news.]


I'm not holding my breath. Pretty sure she's gone.

[And for them, going home doesn't mean much. What was there to go back to?]

I just-- I thought people oughta know. She had a lot of friends here.
unionjackass: (Default)
[personal profile] unionjackass
Alright, listen up. If you please--and thank you. [England's barked command is softened only slightly by his penchant for decorum. His outward facade is one of youth, barely into his twenties; yet across the network he radiates a sense of significant age most notably from his eyes which are bright and green and old, and very, very irate.]

I'm not amused in the slightest. If this were some sort of prank I think the joke's jocularity has long since expired. [It isn't evident in this case, but he is actually speaking from personal experience. Whether by his own devices or mischief via other nations' silliness, he's woken in the oddest places. Usually however, the culprits reveal themselves in due time or he at least has an idea of who they are by the obscenities written on his face in Sharpie. In the absence of more typical circumstances and with an unusual distant chill prickling the back of his neck, England has decided to send out a broadcast accompanied by an understated sense of aggravation.]

If I may, one doesn't simply uproot a nation from his duties. It's rude, it's ungentlemanly, and I have paperwork piling toward the ceiling; so if you don't mind...

I would very much like for this to resolve itself so that I can return home.

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