Bucky Barnes
02 October 2016 @ 10:27 am
[It's all over.

He's almost glad that he has John and his grief to focus on right now, because otherwise his paranoia would be burning a hole through his head. His username is out there, linked with his real name, linked even with photographs. They're public, anyone can see them, so many people already have. He has to do something about this, stop people from coming after him. Not that he doesn't deserve their anger, or their revenge, but it will just lead to more people getting hurt.

There's only one thing to do.

He can feel fear twisting in his gut as he picks up the tablet and sends out probably one of the shortest messages that's been broadcast.]


My name is Bucky Barnes. I'm not safe to be around. Stay away from me.
 
 
Alfie Solomons
[The terrible things have been piling up without reprieve, as they often do in Norfinbury - and it's to the point that even Alfie, master of the poker face, can't hide how much it's been wearing on him. Still, it's not long after this that he appears on the network. He sticks to audio, but his voice is frayed.]

I've got business with the Joker. I need to speak with anyone who's seen him recently, anyone who's heard from him recently, anyone who has an inkling of where he might be.

[He'd like to murder him and dump his body somewhere cold and dark. He'd do it in a heartbeat, if he could guarantee that he wouldn't just pop back up again. But that's the flip side of the revivals here - they're great if you want someone alive, and terrible when someone really does need killing. But at the very least, he wants to find out what happened to the rest of Fiona's supplies and personal items, and get them back if he can. The rest will happen as it happens.

He doesn't say anything more. He just shuts the feed down.]
 
 
Bruce Wayne
Characters: Alphonse Elric, Bruce Wayne, Fiona (RIP), Joker
Location: possibly 131 (hospital), 130 (pharmacy),
Date: hospital, evening (160); pharmacy, afternoon and evening (161); (164)
Summary: Al and Bruce spot Joker leaving in the event mess. They pursue the next morning, only to discover Fi's body. Then they FIND HIS ASS.
Warnings: will add

Read more... )
 
 
francel de haillenarte
02 October 2016 @ 02:53 pm
[the video comes on to a view of the collapsed roof in the museum.

it's from a different angle than people outside the museum have seen before, but it's clear that the group working to dig a path through the pile has made significant progress. francel's feet come into view a few moments later, as he walks from behind the tablet towards the rubble in front of it.

but he's trying to walk on his injured ankle — really walk on it, with no limping or cane involved — and so it's probably not much of a surprise when his leg fails to support his weight, and he collapses and falls onto the floor. francel must be in a considerable amount of pain — but he just laughs, long and loud and almost pleasant, as he lolls his head against the cold stone floor and runs one gloved hand through his hair. his hat has fallen off his head; it blocks part of the camera on one side.

static cuts into the video feed periodically. not that it matters. francel wouldn't be making much sense even if he weren't being interrupted.]


Can you hear it? Can you hear it, friends? The turning of the gears, the passage of time, the dead and gone a̷̧̱̱̬̣͍͎̬ͥ̾̀l̴̤̭͉̮͕̽͝l̶̛̠̺̹͓̫̮̰̞ͬ̌̅̿͡ ̧̡̘̓͆̌ͨ̽̑̂͟ą͕̗͚̤̣̳̃͌ͣ̚r̤̯̭̣͔̩̻͔͋̃ͣ̋ö̜́̉̈̐̆̇̕͡u̩̖̻͙̟͉ͦͥ̆̎͜͠ṇ̟͐͂̾̈͑̉͐̚͢͜ḋ̶̴̺̝̩̱̭͖̯̫̏̊̅͝ ̭̭͙͌̓̾̎͟m̘̿̓͋̎̎̐̄e͇͉͉̺͍ͤ̄ͩ̃̚ —

— w͉̮̲̞̜̔ͬ͗̏͢͡e̯͉̪̥͕̩ͫ̊ͫ̿̕̕ͅ are dependent on Halone. She is our wisdom, our righteousness, our sanctification, our redemption. She has given me strength where no one else could. And where is She now? Dead and dying! And I have not the strength to save Her, for I was never one of Her chosen, I was merely Her pawn, Her puppet, Her patron saint of failure and falsehood and wͩ̾҉͈̱̘̻̘̟̞͔̻͘o̷̩̩̍̋̂̇̀r̴ͮ͆̑ͬ҉̜̬̜ṱ͈͈̦̓ͦ͡͠h̡͓͇ͭͮ͘l̶̳̘͎̫͈̰̯͙ͥͧ̉͑e̶̥̭͈̲̘ͭͣͤ̄̚s̛̝͙̹͓̪̦ͮ́͆̚s̸̝̰̰̖̣̩̮ͤͪ̍ͪ̍͢ ̲̖̯͍̯̱͂͜f̟̬͕̤̤͍̜̊ͧ̌ͨ̄ͫͯͅi̓̋̓ͩ҉̖͇̖͇̦̫̮̕ḷ̡̢̝̠̋ͨͥt̟̙̦͑̓͂̊̀ͫͮͭẖ̨̰̦̼ͫ͌ —

[then he sobers up, and declares, with startling clarity:]

But the old gods are dead. And long live the new.

[francel must see something that his viewers don't, because his expression softens as he seemingly welcomes some invisible companion to his side; his arms wrap contentedly around the void in front of him, and he smiles as his right hand moves back and forth, petting the air.]

Hello there, my old friend. And what are you doing here, with your face so gaunt and your mouth sewn shut? Did they tire of your prattling at last? You must know — you must know that only I would listen so patiently. Anyone else would scream to see you thus, but only I, my friend, only I...

[his head turns as he addresses some other apparition:]

Stephanivien, ah, Stephanivien — was it you who made this town? Did you do this for my sake? To send your brother to an endless dream, a nightmare made tolerable only by the presence of one angel, and thus quietly his quietus make! And here I thought you had forgotten me, after all these years — these namedays past and the trinkets you gave to them and not me, to them and not me. Thank you, Stephanivien; I thank you for these dreams. Good night, good night, good night.

[lying on his side, laughing wildly, with his hand perched in mid-air as if resting upon some unseen friend, francel reaches out to his tablet, and ends the transmission.]
 
 
Grey Warden Cousland
Ah, well. That was... bracing?

[ She sounds half bemused, half slightly horrified in retrospect - sort of like someone that just realized they narrowly missed getting eaten by a shark while out for a frolic at the beach and is fascinated by the almost-consequences in a morbid sort of way.
Really though. That static stuff was completely bonkers and she's kind of caught in a logic loop trying to process exactly what happened. When in doubt, blood magic and ominous chanting cultists are to blame. ]


You lot sure know how to throw a party. A highly terrifying, headache-inducing, demon-raising, let's never do this again kind of party. The lack of streamers was a bit of a disappointment, though... swap out the religious flimflammery for some party poppers, and trust me. It'll be received much, much better.

On another note, I've found myself in need of a whetstone if anyone would be willing to sell me one for a sovereign or two.