Eighth Inquiry [voice] BACKDATED TO 3AM

[nottheanswers]

You now, there are some questions that you'll be unlikely to ever get an answer to you can share. Not entirely impossible, as this place has proven, but the usefulness of the information, how it may apply to anyone else, is always suspect.

I've got one in particular in mind, but the answers will probably be different between here and home, and there's good odds they'll vary from person-to-person.

But I'm using a lot of words to make a very simple inquiry. [sorry everyone, he probably hasn't slept in a few days] What do you think happens when you die? Or, at the very least, between when you die here and when she decides to bring you back?

I have my own thoughts, of course, but my answers aren't important right now. Just the question.

[ video ]

[niceassassin.livejournal.com]

[Whoever just turned on the communicator doesn't quite know how to work it. Flashes of blue sky and green leaves blur past the screen, replaced only sporadically with flickers of brown skin and tan leather (which looks, even from glimpses, more like something out of a Renaissance faire than an item from a fashionable store). Long, quick fingers turn the device curiously. The male voice that cuts into the parade of disjointed images sounds more amused than alarmed, though. Also, heavily accented in a way that is almost but not quite Spanish. Close enough, anyway.]

I have been told this artifact will let me speak with my fellows from, as they say, other worlds...how could I pass up such an opportunity? The people of this realm are welcoming enough. What more might I expect from other "imPorts" like myself? But forgive me for my ineptitude. I gather that whatever power brings my voice and image to you is beyond the comprehension even of the Circle of Magi, and I am no mage at all.

[Enthusiasm picks up his tone, and his hands still on the communicator, leaving it focused on the curve of his shoulder, a flash of white hair, clothing that is definitely old-fashioned leather armor.]

I came to your City last night and found it bright as day, the stars washed out of the sky. Tell me, is it like that every night? I have seen no dwarves, only great throngs of humans, but the profusion of your buildings would put the smiths of Orzammar to shame. I must wonder...some of them are very tall, are they not? Taller than any tower I knew in Antiva or Ferelden. Your human men, they are not trying to hide something, no?

Ah, but it is not my place to say. I promise, I will not judge them. As the Chantry says, we are all in the image of the Maker, although I suppose it is spoken a bit differently here.

My name is Zevran. I swear, I will do my best with the time I have in this realm.

[And apparently, making insinuations about the relation of the City's architecture to human anatomy is part of doing his best.]

spook one ▪

[chasingspooks.livejournal.com]

[The feed starts out as audio only, filled with the clinking of claws, and the ruffling of air.]

Balls! Where am I? I knew this would happen chasin' down all them spooks. Now one's gone and zapped me clear across the country!

[There's a small doggy-like sigh in addition to some more ruffling, and finally the video flickers to life. A round little pug is sitting down, looking as grumpy as can be.]

This place sucks. The Wise Dogs shoulda taught us how to fix this kinda problem. A lot of help a protective circle does me now! Stupid witchcrap! Ain't no spell for this. It'll take me months to walk back to Burden Hill with my stumpy legs.

[He looks into the camera for a moment, letting out three long howls.]

Wise Dogs! Any of you there? -- What's the point of givin' me this thing, I don't have any thumbs to use it right...

Whitey? Ace? Rex? Jack? Orphan?

[After a minute of sitting there, the little canine wanders out to the sidewalk, and his expression immediately drops when he sees the traffic.]

Ahh hell. What is this place, Roadkill City?

0016 ☆ video.

[hexappeal]

My manager was recently ported out. Doing things myself reflects poorly on me as a professional and it adds unnecessary stress. So, here's the thing: I'm actively looking for a new manager, a few stage hands, and a rotation of three or four assistants who will have minimum participation in select shows. The manager will be responsible for booking the venue, shows, and various public appearances -- I'd intended on doing a nationwide tour over the summer, so you'd pick up from there. Stage hands will be required to make sure everything is working and set things up, assistants will sometimes be involved on stage and usually have some work that overlaps what the stage hands do. Also, bunny wrangling.

Applicants must be 21 years of age or older. Exceptions will be made for those in the field of magic and for people that I know because I'm a jerk like that.

( introduction, text ) 18th of april, 2011.

[silenthillyways.livejournal.com]

It's taken me a week, but I believe I have this little machine nearly figured out. The letters are familiar enough, but this is no printing press I've ever seen. Not in my wildest dreams could I imagine mankind would come so far - reading each other's words, almost at the speed of thought!

My name is Daniel, and that is the sum of what I know. Not too long ago, I was a dead man, hunted by something beyond even the basest comprehension. Even now, I catch myself looking over my shoulder at the slightest sound. Sleep is an impossibility, and there is a weariness in my bones I fear may never mend itself.

I cannot possibly repay the debt I owe for this chance I've been given to live yet again, and make a life anew in this wondrous city. Not a day passes that I am not left in awe, and every building here is a testament to the sheer ability of man to create. It reduces me to a Neanderthal in this civilized world. It is a unique, and frightening prospect: with no memory, not a speck of recognition in this world, I am forced into a most literal rebirth.

Yet, the thing which vexes me most is the title hero. I've been told that I can ignore my duty here with no repercussions, and yet, how can I not have been brought from my inevitable grave for some higher purpose than simply to exist once again? Why am I here? Am I meant to recreate myself as a better man?

Or am I seeing meaning where there is none?

[TL;DR FOR THE AUDIENCE AT HOME: DANIEL TALKS ABOUT HIS LIFE AND NO1CURR.]

Video | Number 2

[megamaniacal.livejournal.com]

[ Someone might have programmed a brainbot to be his new communicator...and this might be on a lot of TVs. BUT HEROES ONLY HACK HEROICLY. Every now and then, there's a faint 'bowg bowg'. All you see at first is what looks like a stage. Did he really build a stage? Why yes, yes he did. They're obviously on the City equivalent of Times Square. The people milling around are looking a little curious, but nothing much is happening, until there's pretty much a huge explosion of smoke, and lasers. This song starts playing on a very large speaker system that looks custom made off to the side. There are several more zipping around back and forth, and the super observant would probably notice there are more working the smoke an lasers.

FINALLY THE HERO ARRIVES. He's jetting in on a jetpack, in full leather and spikes clothing, and finally, he cut's the music off mid-song. ]

Good evening, Thesity!

As I have already told the network, your greatest hero has arrived! [ No, really. Complete enthusiasm on his face here. ]

Now you, the helpless citizens of Thesity must let me help you! I've devised a particularly ingenious way of allowing me to help you!

[ There are several boxes off the stage, and the bots are picking them up now and tossing what look like little black cylinders with big blue buttons on top. ]

These are Megamind communicators! [ some of the people are walking away. This might look like a promotion. ]

Since Thesity obviously refuses to grant my request for a signal light, you, the helpless people of Thesity should have a way to get into contact with their new hero! These are free of charge, a gift to you people!

Thank me!

[ Except he's not waiting for thanks, he's flying off! The Commbot starts to follow him, before he makes a cutoff motion with his hand, and the feed cuts. ]

Kids: Audiovisual clusterfuck.

[hardonic.livejournal.com]

[how do you like audio posts with sudden, rustling noises that turn off with no explanation?]

[how about several of them?]

Egbert, for once could you not be a total fucking dipshit--

[click]

--told you. It'll totally work! You just have to let me see it for a secon--

[click. that is a lot of spam, folks.]

You're breaking the-! You're gonna break the shit--

[a sudden, shaky shot of two pairs of shoes, one a dapper shiny black and the other golden yellow. the image wiggles around then cuts off.]

[ it turns back onto video and a girl peering in now, looking rather... unbothered by all of this. two boys peer in on either side of her ]

It seems I am forced to apologize for experimentation on the communicator from our side. Too many cooks in the kitchen.

As it is, we are new to the City and would like any information that you could give us that would help in our stay.

Thank you.