» the city network

Has anyone seen Brook?

I haven't seen him all day and he's not in his room.

i know we lose our powers and stuff
but did anyone else have someone else in their head and lose them too?

do those people show up here?

just in case

[ Then, because grandpa raised him to be a polite boy - ]

sorry, this is yuji itadori! nice to meet you!

[The video opens on Junpei in an office chair - in his Secret Club Meeting Room (read: generic office building conference room) although this is not a secret meeting. This is Junpei spinning slowly in an office chair while he holds the camera up, tilting as far back as he can without tipping the chair over. So it's going great.]

So, city-zens, [.....ahem,] I've got some miscellaneous questions for you.

First, time travel: real? Let me know. [......,] I mean, you know— Before you got here, that is. Like how experienced are you in the realm of quantum... quantum-y goodness? I just thought that maybe it would be real for somebody else by now, but I dunno... Let me know that one instead.

[Cough. Anyway.]

Second, are we all just, uh... hanging out now, I guess? Um, like— who's trying to clip through the weird fog and get out still? Anybody? I'm looking for group, or whatever you call it. We can do code names.

[Junpei is not a gamer.... don't believe this... he's just cringe and thinking about half-press-A-ing through the universe, to wit as he spins faster in his chair:]

Third, whoooo's all in for simulation theory? [as dryly as possible, womp...] Eh? Woooo yeah... simulation theory...!

[The video tilts as he lets go with one hand to hold up... a pinched-fingers hand puppet 🤌... it's still fine, he's doing great. He pitches his voice up higher for the puppet, because of course he does:]

But Junpei, how is this a simulation? Well duh, why else would this place be like a city that doesn't know what a city is supposed to be like? And all the weird loading fog? C'mon! Buuuut Juuuunpei, are we all full of tubes and stuck in goo pods like in that movie?— [Ah, ahem, cough. He puts his hand down.] Maybe.

Or uh, whatever else is in the theory pile. Half the people I was messing around with about theories went and disappeared, soooo... Well, I'm gonna get serious cabin fever if I can't figure something oUT—

[Local Man Tips The Chair Over and Totally Wipes Out, stay tuned for updates. The video ends when the phone drops face down onto the floor, bye.......]

[ the video begins with badou wearing one of his usual tees, carefully setting his phone down so the camera angle can spot him sitting on his living room floor surrounded by an array of dresses. affixed to his wrist is a little cloth pumpkin, stuck full of needles and pins. he's without his usual cigarette, instead sucking on a lollipop that stains his lips bright red. last time he made a post on the network his neck was bruised and bandaged — this time it's the same thing, but the bruise is angrier, spreading across his neck and shoulder, disappearing under a bandage and gauze that looks about ready to get changed in an hour or two. ]

Evenin'.

[ he picks up the skirt of one of the dresses, flipping it inside-out to access the pocket he'd been working on attaching. ]

So I'm sittin' here, mendin' dresses — as you do — and I nicked myself pretty good and I'm thinkin', well, shit, that's another one I gotta wait on, y'know?

[ he lifts a forefinger, displaying a bandage that looks an awful like like dora the explorer, and wiggles it in the direction of the camera. ]

It got me thinkin'—

How many of us here are just regular ol' humans? Or whatever. I'm talkin' no magic, no special augmentations, no fancy shamcy abilities that got you doin' better than the average guy.

[ he pauses to finish off a stitch, making a knot with his thread and cutting the excess with his teeth. ]

See, where I'm from, that ain't the norm. But that doesn't seem to be the case around here.

[ oh, one more thing— ]

And if you are one of the special ones, go ahead and tell us what you can do. Why not, right? What else do any of us got to hide at this point?

[Normally, Brook would be perfectly happy to make a video post. It'd just be like his weekly recorded updates for his blog back home. Given the state he's in, though, he doesn't want to risk putting his face on camera. What if he looks as bad as he feels?

Why does he feel bad in the first place? Nothing makes any sense.]

ok, i know that for whatever reason, everyone's powers and shit have been weakened since they got here.
but has anybody else been feeling... weird?
like wobbly or your head hurting. or your legs not working right.
or like you have to lie down for a while until your eyes go back to normal.
idk, is this smth else that just happens here like weeds trying to eat you?

((OOC: Brook just hasn't realized that nerfing means he has to eat and sleep now, so he's been wandering around on little more than a Starbucks cake pop and no rest for days. That said, once people help him figure that out, he'll likely react to the thought of eating with disgust. This might hit a little close to disordered eating patterns, so please keep yourself safe if that's a trigger! Brook also has a permissions page with a long list of content warnings and an opt-out form, because I'm the Grim Reaper is a minefield of common triggers, and I don't want to suddenly spring anything unwanted on anyone.))

So there's a problem.

[Introductions? No, none of that.

The video comes online to show two individuals: Alucard, who clearly has seen better days on account of how grungy he appears, twigs in his hair, and a bottle of wine in his hand. Rosella, clearly dressed in a gown fit for a princess, is on the ground with eyes closed and not breathing. As Alucard moves his phone to show her looking kind of dead, it's clear that both these people are in the recently revealed gardens where the suspicious tea party is located.]

I found this young lady like this, along with an empty tea cup. Presumably, she's been poisoned, but I lack any ability to undo the damage done. I don't believe she is dead, but who knows how much longer she has.

[He has a drink from his bottle before he continues.]

If someone has any knowledge on these teas and what best to do next, that'd be ideal.

[ Though the video feed may be started with Daniel’s username, it seems like the man isn’t the only person visible when the message starts. Robby is right there next to him, the man with a friendly smile on his face and the boy smiling, though not as brightly. ]

Hello, everyone! As I’m sure many of you have experienced yourself, suddenly arriving in this place on the train can be more than a little disorienting. And though many people here are incredibly kind and willing to help, Robby and I thought that it would also be nice to have a place where new people can be directed to in order to get some information, a warm welcome, and some equally warm food. So we’re planning on clearing out a space somewhere near the main train station to turn it into a welcome diner of sorts.

We know people are arranging clubs and have regular meet-ups, [ speaks up Robby this time, ] so we thought they'd be a good place to advertise them. Let them know who's running clinics, who to ask about the kiosk or the city. Share what's happened here, too.

[ There's the faintest shift in Robby's tone at the mention of that, but he quickly adds: ] Oh, yeah, and we know there's been talk about how supplies are doing. The food's gonna be packaged and good to take out if people want it–if you wanna help with recipes, or help out with the idea in general, let us know.

[ Daniel is definitely smiling like a proud dad sensei the entire time he’s listening to the boy speak. Please don’t mind a man being very embarrassing, even ruffling his hair once Robby is done speaking. The highest form of humiliation a teenager can suffer. ]

Really, Robby deserves all the credit. He really does always have the best ideas. Everyone, make sure to befriend him, alright?

[ There's a very teenage huff from behind Robby, and the video feed is moving as: ] Okay, I think we're done.

[ Yes, that's Robby reaching for the phone to end the post. Freedom!!!! ]

I've an odd question to ask, if you'll indulge me.

Let us say a world exists where all work toward the betterment of their world, where none go without, and no one need be separated from their loved ones before they could bid farewell. Each day is peaceful and productive, and you know your place within it. You need not leave until you are ready, and only when you feel fulfilled.

Would you choose to live in this world or the one you came from? Why?

And to those who know why I ask this question, I pray you answer as well, and do so honestly. I promise 'tis in the spirit of keeping an open mind.

[Crowley flips on the camera before sitting back in an office chair in his usual slouch. Behind him is the backdrop of one of the labyrinthine office buildings, the shades of beige and grey a sharp contrast to his black clothes and red hair. There is a peculiar tension about him, something about the way he's square his shoulders, and the considerable supply of unopened bottles next to him suggests there is some need for the liquid courage.]

Right then. The mall here, yeah? Only marginally worse than the normal kind. And hey, at least we'll never have to deal with the Boxing Day rush, eh?

...That'd be analogous to Black Friday for all you Americans. I don't know if there's a Canadian equivalent. Never stuck around long enough to find out. Saw a moose once and decided that place could just be someone else's problem.

[He shuffles uncomfortably.]

Okay. Yeah. Enough small talk. Time to rip the bandaid off.

[Deep breaths, Crowley.]

So the thing I was worried about happening? ...Happened. For the exact reason and in the exact way I thought it would happen. I'm sure I'll look back and laugh about it one day, but right now I'd like to get ahead of it happening again. No more fun little surprise exorcisms. At least none that I won't see coming.

So, here we go. Let's get this over with.

I'm a literal demon from literal Hell - yes that one - and their former operative of Earth, presently retired.

Ask me anything.

[He's already popping the top off the tequila. He's going to need it.]

When people disappear from here, has there been any indication of how? Or where they go?

[ good morning city-folk, how's your day? today's broadcast is brought to you by our sponsors Fuck This Place, in partnership with Fuck Heine Especially. the video begins after the phone's owner sets it on the ground, so the camera angle is a little strange, but he never claimed to be some marvel of photography here so you get what you get okay.

badou also plunks himself on the ground in what appears to be the sidewalk in front of some nondescript convenience store. the shelves of which he'd just raided if the plastic bag he sets down beside him is of any indication. within its contents one can find a bright pink energy drink, a generous helping of cigarette cartons, and what appears to be a family-size bag of off-brand twizzlers. #bachelorlife, amirite?

there's bruising on his neck that's only just begun to fade, and a splint around his left wrist that's already got various crude drawings on it, all courtesy of mr. artist himself. he works on fishing himself out and lighting up a brand new cigarette before even addressing the camera (made all the more difficult by that fractured wrist) so enjoy five minutes of nicotine addict ASMR. ]

Hey. 'Sup. How ya doing. Have y'all seen my dog? Lost him a bit ago, about yea high, real pale, red eyes, no eyebrows, answers to the name Heine or Fuckface.

[ for ease, he's provided a supplementary visual, which he holds up to the camera with all the flourish of a child's first finger-painting. BEHOLD his uncanny portrait! yes, his commissions are open. ]

( cut for image :') )
[ he crumples the paper with perhaps a lot more ire for someone supposedly "missing" his ""dog"" but a deep drag of his cigarette quickly calms him back down. there's a beat-up lighter in his hand he can't seem to stop fiddling with. ]

Thought about putting some signs up and slappin' 'em on some milk cartons but who knows what the fuck whoever's-in-charge-here considers """vandalism""" and I ain't about to go around testin' it like some of you can't seem to stop yourselves from.

[ a-hem. ]

Speakin' of — that survey we were given here. How many of ya answered that honestly? Shit's startin' to get real personal, though I think I'd remember if I'd been asked about the worst fuckin' day of my life.

[ which begs the question he's sure everyone's already thought about by now: how the fuck do these people know them that well? ]

---

( EDITED: because someone (me) forgot to include injuries.... smh )

╰(▔∀▔)╯ ( ´ ▽ ` ) ╰(*´︶`*)╯

i'm looking for data on ability users in this place! no need to tell me what it is! just tell me - is it perfectly fine? help a detective build a case! ٩(｡•́‿•̀｡)۶

[ the video comes first!

heine films from where he's sitting on top of a mailbox on a street corner. it's a slow pan across an empty intersection just northeast of the bank—the bank building itself is visible, as a landmark for where he is, but he also makes a point of filming as much down each street as he can manage. master film director heine is not, but at least he manages to pick out a few identifying storefronts so people can triangulate themselves!

there's no talking, or really any sound at all (which for heine is still one of the worst parts of this place). once he's filmed enough that he thinks the location has been conveyed, the video cuts off.

when he uploads it, it's with a text accompaniment: ]

let me get this out of the way first: i'm not trying to die
and i also don't want to kill anyone [ today, anyway! ]


but if you're also here without the weapons you're used to
don't want to get stuck with your thumb up your ass if shit goes wrong
and think you could use a good fight to keep your skills sharp

then hopefully you can figure out from the video where to go
if you can't then [ he is judging you slightly ] ask for directions



rules:
1) i have knives but if you want to use something else that's on you
2) no sparring bullshit, we fight like we mean it
3) i'll go easy if you need but don't ask me to teach you

[ When the video begins, the room being recorded is dark except for two lamps on either side tilted to create a spotlight in the center. A woman has her back to the camera, wearing a black leather jacket, a tank top, and red pants. ]

Things sure have been getting interesting really quickly. Murder, mystery, organized fights to the death! I thought this place would be dull, but it's been really lively.

However, it's also been grim. I think it's time to brighten the mood.

So, tell me-

[ Now she turns half-way, whipping her hair out and twisting her front side to be noticeable. It's all about the T&A. ]

When it comes to women, what's your type? [ Then, she smirks. ] And if you think a boring answer like "I don't like women" will suffice, I'll just say-

[ Then she twists and whips in the opposite direction, back side still front and showing off her flexibility. ]

When it comes to men, what's your type!? Don't even think about evading the question because I will get an answer, one way or another.

Is this thing working? I think it is.

[ a flat voice can be heard, calm and quiet despite the current situation. oda clears his throat, and continues with a sigh. ]

I figured I would introduce myself, since it seems I won't be going anywhere anytime soon. My name is Oda Sakunosuke. In my world I worked as a detective, so I guess if anyone needs something like that, I can give it a shot.

[ he doesn't think he's very good at it, perhaps third-rate at best. but it's good to pool your resources together, right? collaborating in times of need or something like that. ]

I'd like to know what others did before coming here, and if you're still doing something related to it. Also, what's your favorite food? Mine's spicy curry.

( cw; cannabis )

[ There is no softness to the voice that murmurs onto the network in the midst of the night when people should be sleeping. Those sweet souls are not her concern if they don't wish to hear. She offers no comfort, but a reminder of what's been lost—what can still be taken.

In doing so, the woman's raspy words creep out from beneath the shadows with a voice that drags—no, it crawls—over ceaselessly hot coals. In its shudder to whisper out a poem borrowed from home, there is a smolder always bordering on a choked gasp. But no hurry, no hurry. Where do you have to be? ]

Old Yew which graspeth at the stones...that name the under-lying dead; Thy fibres net the dreamless head, thy roots are wrapt about the bones.

[ To that, a pause that looms with omen. ]

The seasons bring the flower again, and bring the firstling to the flock; And in the dusk of thee, the clock beats out the little lives of men.

[ Now, a strange yearning nearly begins to dissipate the smoke that seems to scorch her throat.

Hush, take a moment. Take a breath; hold it. Feel the shiver of a fingernail at the nape of your neck, feel it trace the curve of your ear to borrow your attention. Only just. No, don't turn. Don't touch. Just listen; the whisper can still singe. ]

O not for thee the glow, the bloom...who changest not in any gale, nor branding summer suns avail, to touch thy thousand years of gloom.

And gazing on thee, sullen tree, sick for thy stubborn hardihood; I seem to fail from out my blood...and grow incorporate into thee.

[ For a time, it seems that may be all. Then, in the same hush she speaks with a more particular address: ]

I hear that we have been denied the ephemeral — to exist endlessly within a perverse mirror of God’s image. Here, nature should protest. Instead it menaces with its silence.

[ There is a silence of her own while Vanessa takes a drag to sigh out a thin stream of smoke into the evening air. Her voice now drops so low it grates and pinches too close, like gravel against tender feet. Tickling whispers are gone; they flee the weighted melancholy that persists. ]

We carry on within a dollhouse between worlds. Do not be tempted by its pretty trinkets, lest you truly be cursed to wander the demimonde forevermore.

[ Denial still rules paramount over the rumor of immortality, but the lack of bodies is an...unsettling implication. ]

...The graves lie empty.

[At first it's just an eyebrow with some muttering about stupid contraptions.] How does this thing work?

[He pulls it closer, but there's an eye now. You wanted to see an eye, right?] And just how are you supposed to tell if it is working?

[He sighs before holding it a little farther away.] Well, I do not know if it is working. This thing is unusual at best. I suppose I might as well make an introduction. Hello. [He goes to tip the hat that is not there before making an annoyed expression and moving on.] My name is John Henry, but you may call me Doc. If anyone is better with these things, I believe I may be in need of some instruction.

Unless I am talking to myself. [This is said softer and meant to be mostly to himself.] Perhaps I ought to stop this before I make even more of a fool of myself.

[ There's a blur of color and too-bright fluorescent lights before the camera stops abruptly in front of the frozen food aisle of a grocery store. ]

See that? [ She probably means the frankly alarming amount of eggo waffles, zooming in on a few boxes for emphasis. ] They keep getting restocked somehow. [ And she's taken a lot. So she'd actually know.

Switching the camera view, Sylvie's face fills the screen. She looks awfully stern, like she's about to launch into theorizing or even a warning about the validity of the food. But she doesn't. Instead, inexplicably: ]

All of those are mine—even the ones that aren't there yet. [ ... she's serious. ] Fight me if you want, but I call dibs.