They're... gone?

( A very confused Fenris holds his hand up to the screen. That he has no clothing or armor covering his skin already makes the moment unusual; but that he also lacks his typical lyrium markings makes the moment so impossibly rare. )

Gone indeed, and I've no idea how. It's as if they've vanished overnight.

( He flinches as he touches his arm, but only out of habit, as if he expects to feel some pain or discomfort. On the contrary, he feels nothing; just a cold, metal claw on his arm. He feels the way he used to. Better yet, he feels truly free.

For once, Fenris allows himself to do something that vaguely resembles smiling. )

I was wrong about this island. Perhaps there is some good in it.

And the trend of strange things happening on this island continues...

[ srrrrchk, and the audio cuts in: ] -- working or not.

Do I have to wait until tomorrow to say I was born yesterday? Because this might be the first time I can actually get away with it.

[ anyone? anyone? ... Bueller? ]

Are demons so common here that we feel no need to mention them over this network?

No matter. The demons are far less prolific than darkspawn, but they pose enough of a challenge. At the very least, it is worth leaving the apartment for.

I was worried that I would be out of practice after not fighting for so long. I am glad I have nothing to fear in that in that regard.

WHO: wilddog and detectivewonder.
WHAT: Fenris takes makers a little too seriously sometimes.
WHEN: Sunday night.
WHERE: Out on the streets. (Word.)

Fenris' decision to go outside and attempt to find his target for the markers game was half-hearted, at best. He'd been given a marker and a person to find nearly a month ago, and only now had he decided to leave the confines of his apartment and actively participate in something he had willingly volunteered himself for. Unfortunately, his reclusiveness was one of only two reasons he was still in the game: Fenris was used to being the hunted, not the hunter; and after an hour of wandering the streets of New Moore, he decided to just give up.

If there was one thing the elf knew less about than finding one person on an island, it was learning to have fun. Fenris initially decided to take part in the markers game to give himself something to do besides live in fear of who might turn up. It was a fear he thought he had learned to suppress, until he learned that even the dead could be brought back to life on New Moore.

On the other hand, that same hypervigilance was the second thing keeping him in the game. He wasn't just used to being pursued; he was used to escaping his pursuers.

Fenris had pocketed his marker, but that didn't mean he wasn't playing. John once said to him that if he had a target, he was a target. Just because he didn't care enough to track down the person he was supposed to mark didn't mean he was going to let himself be marked as easily.

I am not sure how much I care for this game.

If this is what people do to pass the time, I can understand. But it seems pointless to go running around, trying to mark others in ink.

I understand I have a target. Perhaps I'll seek them out, if I'm ever in need of something to do. Until then, I'm perfectly content to sit back and let others enjoy the game without me.




I'm not a target myself, am I?

TO: Souji; Chie; Naoto-kun; Kanji; Ted
SUBJ: EMERGENCY!!!!

Meeting @ South 201 in 1 hr - don't care if it's "date nite" this is MAJOR!!!

---

Hey, what happens when a convicted murderer shows up on this island halfway through his prison sentence? Just... hypothetically.

It seems quite a few people have disappeared. "Released," even. They should be so lucky.

New Moore is neither enjoyable nor unpleasant; it simply is. Knowing the dead can be revived here prevents me from settling into life on this island. It seems that Danarius can haunt me even after his death. Even though he would have no authority here... I worry that he will return.

I thought I would find a renewed sense of freedom here. Clearly, I was wrong.

[ The first thing anyone'll be able to see is the flicker of a screen, paired with clattering and some falling, shattered glass... They'll see some glimpses of a wall... The lens is pointed straight upward. Anyone familiar with the area might recognize it as the outside of the hospital. Soon after, a larger crash is heard - breaking glass - and something not too different from this comes into view. A blonde girl, plummeting from above, straight to the ground. She lands not far from the communication device itself with a thud. A blood spatter or two covers part of the lens.

After a moment or so of silence, there's rustling. Stirring. A couple of grunts. The device is lifted, something wipes over it to clear it of the blood... Then the girl's face comes into view. She looks to be anything but happy, and there are a few winces here and there as she pops her own limbs and things back into place. ]

My name is Claire Bennet. I'm real. I've always been real. And if you think you can keep me here by putting me in some sort of lockdown, you're wrong.

[ Her cheek and mouth and one of her eyes are pretty visibly banged up, but... Healing. Very, very quickly. Some of the blood stays behind but the wounds are just... disappearing. ]

And no matter what you say? I'm leaving. Now.

[ Black. Silence. Yep. Preeeetty much she just hung up on everyone and everything. ]

Who: Fenris and Tavros (OPEN to masochists anyone).
What: Tavros dreams about having real legs. Fenris has nightmares about being a slave.
When: Any night (or day, for Tavros) during the dream plot, since these are both late.

Tavros' dream:
( Walkin' around on those... what do you call them? Oh, feet. )

Fenris' nightmare:
( My skin will not be my own. )

Hn.

It's... odd. With so little to do here, one would think that a... full night's rest would be... sufficient...

( Snore. )

On this.. nnghblightedisland...

Um.

Amy probably won't be pleased with me because she said I need to be resting as much as I can.

But I needed to say:

Thank you. And also sorry for all the trouble, but mostly thank you.



And I'll try not to let that happen again? I'm a little embarrassed, honestly.

WHAT: Log/actionspam re: rescuing Whiny McWhinyPants I mean Rory.
WHO: All the people who apparently like Rory???? Who are you. Participation not required, etc, but pop by if you want.
WHEN/WHERE: The Dark Hour, Monday the 13th, somewhere that essentially looks like Amy's childhood home: big house, lots of rooms. For reference.

At night, Amy's empty house is just a little bit foreboding. Everything creaks, and every single sound becomes a possible robber, a monster, a vengeful spirit. Or at least, that's how it was when Rory was allowed to stay over when they were small.

Now, Rory lies in wait. He paces around the room, his path marked by the clothes that frame it on the floor. He mutters to himself, half-remembered memories of another time he spent waiting.

The other Rory, suitably chastised after trying to fight his extremely vocal and more capable counterpart, sits on the bed, handcuffed to the bedpost. Every so often, when he thinks he hears a sound, he tenses.

"Don't worry," Rory says, stopping his pacing to address him, shaking the little Amelia doll he holds in front of him. "Chances are no one's coming. But we've got practice waiting forever, haven't we?"

The other Rory bares his teeth, "We have nothing in common."

The room the two Rorys occupy is not an easy one to find. Cloaked by a perception filter, the door cannot be found by a simple look around. Rory's rescuers must be careful, and look where they wouldn't usually look.

When the door finally does open, and Rory sees their visitors, he starts laughing. The other Rory tries to get up from the bed, and the bedframe rattles.

Rory hisses, "Shut up."

He turns back to his would-be rescuers and makes as if to straighten his tie--an empty gesture, as it's more than ruined.

"Welcome! We thought you'd never get here."

Now you HAVE to acknowledge me.

Though I'm still not entirely pleased with being pulled from my post, it looks as though I have no say in the matter. New Moore looks to be my home for the time being, and so I will continue to do what I know best, in whatever capacity I may. I am Aveline Vallen, Guard-Captain of the Kirkwall city guard, though I am sure the title will not carry much weight here. New Moore will be an adjustment, but such is life, I suppose.

It seems a notice was left on our front door.




... am I to assume that it was intended for the fish-boy?