006 ☠ text [encrypted from the other carnies by Parker]

[lilcreep.livejournal.com]

Beware Samuel Sullivan and his carnival.

Something big is going to happen soon that involves this entire city. Be ready.


((Pretend this is late 26th, gd timezones.))

[video] [backdated to midafternoon on Friday 26th]

[outofstasis.livejournal.com]

[Lister's got a bad case of 'why isn't today over yet?' and has set out to try and amuse himself. He's sitting at a table arrayed with a bottle of tabasco sauce, a little jar of cayenne pepper, a packet of chilli flakes (all with labels turned to the camera), and an empty glass. There's a beer on standby.]

If anyone has a more useless "superpower" [yes, he even does the air quotes] than bein' able to eat junk without gettin' sick, please tell me.

[He tips the tabasco sauce into the empty glass, dumps the cayenne pepper in, and then opens the packet of chilli flakes. He removes the tiniest pinch, holds it up, eyes it as if checking it's the right amount, and then tips the rest of the packet into the glass. He stirs the unholy concoction with one finger.]

Bottoms up.

[Yep, he chugs the entire disgusting concoction without flinching. Maybe Rimmer's right about him only having one working taste bud.]

[text]

[make-contact.livejournal.com]

[Private; to Raven Roth]

Do you have a few minutes? I wanted to talk to you just us.


[Private; to Arnold Rimmer]

Can I talk to you for a minute?

✖ revelation 2 [3/26/10]

[redgunmetal.livejournal.com]

[ The video opens on our intrepid redhead, seen almost gliding down the slightly dingy staircase of a train station. If you weren't already aware, blood red lettering on the bottom of the screen introduces you to Carmine "Red" Zuigiber, reporting for the WNN, a network you've never heard of. Chaos reigns around her -- smoke is filling the subway station, commuters are running this way and that, and a growing fist fight has broken out at the turnstiles -- but she is unruffled. In fact, as she makes her way to the platform, one might call her the calm in the eye of the impending storm, or, perhaps, more accurately, before it. ]

This is Carmine Zuigiber, reporting from a downtown platform of the Lexington Avenue Express line. We've gotten word that a number four train has inexplicably turned on itself and is heading back toward this station, where a number five train is fast approaching. It's far too late to reroute any trains -- very dangerous if you ask me -- and with MTA officials declining to comment, it seems that we will be witnessing the inevitable collision in just a few moments. Projected deaths are estimated to be in the hundreds; injuries are likely to number in the thousands.

[ Carmine seems to be uninterested in these facts. She is also casually disregarding her own personal safety, especially as she approaches the edge of the platform, heels dangling over as she gestures for the camera to film the approaching errant number four. When all hope seems to be lost, her smile widens almost imperceptibly. ]

Wait. What is this?

[ Two blurs rush by. Due to the magic of modern photography, or perhaps due to entirely something else, the camera is able to capture, in a brief screenshot, a clear image of the Iron Patriot and Invincible jumping on to the rails. In the time it would take to blink, all motion stops -- the smoke clears, the commuters turn to watch -- and the collision is thwarted. The crowd is shocked into silence, and then, suddenly, bursts into cheers. ]

Chaps, you've seen it all here first. The fate of two trains destined to meet on this day has been fabulously diverted by none other than the Iron Patriot himself, Norman Osborn, who has emerged from between the trains and is now helping scared passengers off. Mr. Osborn, may we have a word? That was indeed smashing! How did you accomplish such a heroic feat?

[ Osborn turns toward our reporter and removes his helmet.]

Well. When I heard there was a problem with the trains, it was only a matter of rushing over here to try to prevent as much damage as possible. Luckily, I think Invincible and I prevented any lives from being lost. We had to stop the trains ourselves. Physically.

Very lucky, indeed. Can you imagine what might have happened should our heroes not have been here? How dangerous these city streets have recently become.

[ The crowd, including the rescued passengers, begin to murmur as Osborn returns to assisting the passengers. Certainly dangerous, someone whispered. This city is going to hell, said someone else. Not even trains are safe. We can't trust anyone to protect us. All of these heroes, what good do they do? Only Osborn... ]

It looks as if the excitement has ebbed for now, so I shall take that as my cue to sign off. We are all a little safer tonight, it seems, because of the man called the Iron Patriot. How aptly named.

[ Video cuts. ]

[ Since War was unable to deal in death and destruction this time, her role was to incite internal conflict. Expect many NPCs to be irrationally paranoid over the next couple of days, lauding Normal Osborn as their savior. Also, if your character is prone to such paranoia, feel free to have him or her experience a milder form of OH MY GOD, THIS CITY IS RIDICULOUS and NORMAN OSBORN, MY HERO. ]

Video

[shockheadedpete.livejournal.com]

[It's a dark day in The City.

...

Actually it's an appropriately lit evening. Uniformed officers are directing traffic around an incident: an ice cream truck (not the music playing after school kind: the big transport of some ice cream store's supply stock kind) has bumped a guard rail and rolled onto its side.

The ice cream...the ice cream has spilled.

Pete's comm films the action from top of his cruiser, and he stands with his back to the scene and his serious face on.

The Mothchan circles mournfully overhead.]

I suspect you all would be expectin' me to be weepin' an' callin' this a tragedy. Well ha.

...

Does suck, though.

[He points a dramatic finger at you, yes you! The viewers at home!]

Don't drink an' drive ice cream trucks!

[voice]

[drainy-brainy.livejournal.com]

I'm not stupid, y'know. Or retarded or any of those things.

After all, I'm still alive, haven't died once since I've been here. Got to be quick in your mind and quick on your feet.

Kept ahead of the whitecoats, killed sheep, found the tod, found a place to sleep.

It's just these flies in my head. They buzz so, and who can think like that? And the words turn in on themselves, and humans can be so strange....

...But I'm not stupid.

XVII. [Audio/Public]

[natureinblood]

It seems I am now less one employee than I wanted to be. Sophie Amundsen has either been ported out or something very grave has happened to her. At the very least, she's decided to stop showing up for work.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't concerned.

[There's mild amusement in his voice as he speaks, before murmuring a few words in what seems like garbled Latin to anyone that might recognize it. Something thuds heavily and he seems distracted for a moment before continuing.]

I've never known any magic but that which exists in my world. Wizards do not make a habit of using rhymes or invoking gods or demons to perform spells. Just the simple act of using the correct words to create the desired result if one were to put it quite simply. Things become complicated from there as a first year would not be able to perform many spells simply because the strength required is beyond them.

Such as an Unforgivable Curses; or a Patronus.

[Yes, he's talking without remembering that no one understands anything that he's saying. Whoops.]

I'd rather not speak about the curses, but a child could do very little with the spells. They are only words to him. Not power. As for the Patronus, very few wizards can create a corporeal Patronus. Even my own flickers from one shape to another, though I wonder if perhaps that has more to do with...

[He makes a dismissive sound.]

I doubt any one who has bothered to listen to this understood that. My apologies. This wasn't what I wanted to speak to the network about.

Or rather, it is. Magic, that is. Not the specifics of advanced magics in my world. There are a number of magic users here now and I'd like to know just how we all differ and how we might be able to pool our talents to the benefit of this city. At the very least, an understanding of the exact limits of our powers in relation to each other may help us avoid... accidents.


[Private to Miles Edgeworth]
Miles, where are you?



[OOC: Yes, he will show people a few spells if they ask.]

twenty-two. teeeeext

[notthebatman.livejournal.com]

Calvin's been ported out.

I'm taking the rest of today and tomorrow off from work. If you need me, just contact me from here.

[ Video ]

[iamnotthemom.livejournal.com]

[ The camera is following a puppy rolling around on the carpet. You can't see much of the room, but you can hear "Telephone" by Lady Gaga is blasting, and strangely, the dog's tail-wagging fits the beat.

There's also a fair amount of laundry on the floor, and school books that are everywhere but inside the deflated backpack. The dog pauses to nibble on a shoelace, and Kon laughs and shoos it away. It yips once or twice and moves onto a math book; he says nothing. ]

So, yeah. I'm keeping him.

[Public | Audio | Translated]

[sekaigaodoru.livejournal.com]

I have a question.

How does the Porter determine the powers you get when you come here? Is it random, or is there something else behind it that helps it choose? Such as a person's personality, or their natural skills? 

It's...something I've been wondering about for a while.


[Filtered to Mytho]

...How are you holding up? Are you okay?


[Filtered to Yuugi]

Thanks for listening the other day. I...I really needed that.