» the city network

( kromer, famously, almost never uses the video function—it's a taboo in n corp to take pictures, record film, things like that, and she's spent enough time there that it feels almost criminal to do so. she does it only for very specific reasons: to make sure people know she's not paying attention to them, or...

well, today it's because she's making cookies! welcome to Cooking with Kromer. the kitchen is well-lit, her ingredients are out, everything in its place... )

Good afternoon, City folk. For those who know me, how're we doing? For those who don't, I'm Kromer. Pleasure.

( ...haha. )

Anyway, first you're gonna wanna make sure your butter's nice and soft... Room temperature's best, but you just don't want it cold. It won't cream as well that way! Now... ( she doesn't want her voice drowned out by a fucking MIXER so she's creaming it the old fashioned way, thanks— ) I didn't start this up just to show off my baking skills. Actually, I had some pretty important stuff to say!

( add vanilla and the powdered sugar... work that in... )

So recently... You could say I've been causing a little bit of trouble. Sort of testing the waters, seeing how much you could actually pull here before whoever's in charge of our iteration got tired of it.

( once that's come together, flour... )

I found it, and let me tell you... You don't really wanna cross that threshold. They'll kidnap you to some crummy facility—by the way, totally empty. Looked kind of like a hospital, but all the rooms were locked... You know how it goes with locked doors around here, right? I wasn't gonna try 'em—anyway, they had some of those rooms I woke up in, they had some sleep monitoring ones, things like that.

( dump out the dough onto a floured surface. shape it into a rectangle, and wrap it in plastic. kromer smacks it a few times with her hand, looking pleased. )

I'm not really keen on talking about what went on, but I can say... Did anyone else read those papers about Pavlov or whatever? They're using that guy's thing with the dogs.

( ................

she retrieves some already made dough from her fridge. she is deadset on her fucking cookie-making right now. )

Just wanted to let everyone know not to cause too much trouble, alright? Let's really get along, make friends, and do our best to make a community we can alllll be proud of.

( she doesn't sound all that enthused, though. )

Oh, and if anyone has any shortbread shape ideas... I'll take 'em. Nothing childish, okay? I'm not making a bunch of dicks.

On a professional level:
unless it's an emergency, I'm not currently handling patients at this time
so if you have a general check up or you're worried about a rash or something seek out one of the other doctors
great we've got that squared away

Non-professional question:
what's waiting for you back in your home?
Family, friends, saving the world, a hot date?
just a bit of curiosity on my side
Cheers

( 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.

I'd like to keep this as efficient as possible, so I don't plan on talking your ear off.

Call me Daan. I'm a doctor. That should about cover all you need to know about me.

So, first question: is there already a clinic arranged by someone here? Have there been any injuries on top of there being a willing killer out there? Illnesses or whatever else. I can probably help you, even a little.

Second question: who has been here since the start of this whole mess of being trapped in a part of this city? Ideally, I'd like someone who can be informative, but I'm not overly picky.