And now, children, have we learned our lesson on discretion?

Never give confession to an audience whom you can't blackmail later.

I believe they call this - what was it? Elementary.

As elementary as the instinct to give the lie to the liar's tongue, when it's spoken.

So, to that purpose: have we many... children here? Without their dear mothers and papas and ever so distraught for the absence of the blood of their blood? I've a task for a few poor, wretched, hopeless, true orphans.

[ Hullo, good City! Enjoy the soundtrack of several screaming citizens, whose pleasant stroll in Xanadu was just interrupted by the sight of an angel sitting on a bench, blood everywhere: from his face, to his hair, hands and the morsel with which he's teasing a stray cat. ]

Shhhhhhhhhhhhh... you'll scare it.

[ The cat meows, apparently put out enough by the alarmed masses to forget its appetite; it sniffs the offered treat, then turns away from it completely. ]

...now, now, oh so rude. You won't have bread, you won't have blood, you won't have bone. Then, what is it your sort eats, hmmmmm?



[ ooc: aaaaand back in the City, with a lot of apologies for the delay, orz. Worry not, no NPCs were harmed in the making of this post, the blood came from a rat! Network / action / anything goes! ]

Yes, pixels, nitrate, lenses, angles, optics, shadows, light and paste - photographs. Charming.

Now that everyone's inner voyeur's been duly sated like a dashing Cyclops newly come upon vore, I shouldn't want - and yet I do, I do, I do - to draw the eye, the single eye to more pressing matters.

There've been... shall we say, hmmmm. Carnage? Cutting? Cunning? Rape? Death? Death. No, deaths. Madonna Death's walked amidst us, and not only stumbled, but claimed for her own.

And what I am willing to ask, as opposed to, say... tearing tongues out for my answers is:

Who's minded the recent murders?

What do you little pests know?

And how much for you to speak of it?

Now be good boys, and girls, and things and speak and spare yourselves the love and the gore of a serial killer. While I still ask so preciously.

Drowning, rotting, screaming, bleeding, miscreant, a whip of the idols, well, what is the thing? And where're its... kin?

Odd. Odd, odd, odd, oddest still how they serve in the same name, but never greet one another, never cheer, never kiss, never bless. Never bite. No alliance between these false gods of yours, no rivalry, no open communication. Nothing. Silence. Coexistence between equals carried out in void.

...my, but it would be worth blood-coin for a peek at the politics between them.

[ Ah, the cheerful sight of vaguely evolved trash cans, taking a street by storm! Nothing too especial today, except -

...this squad of five Dalek representatives keeps rotating in one and... carrying an organized protest? Chanting? Cheerleading?! ]

SE. TSU. NA. GIVE. GIVE. SE. TSU. NA. GIVE. SE. TSU. NA. SE. TSU. NA. SETSUNA. SETSUNA. GIVE. SETSUNA. SETSUNA. SETSUNA. SE. TSU. NA. GIVE. SETSUNA...


[ Rosiel, meanwhile, will be visible somewhere in the background, quite openly facepalming. ]


...ah. Don't engage indeed.


[ ooc: yes, he tried controlling the Daleks. No, it did not go quite as planned. The 'protesting' Dalek team will be trolling through the City, doing its... cheering, for all to kick around :( b ]

[ For a first few minutes of footage, it seems a neatly groomed Rosiel's discovered the camera lens as an impromptu mirror, using it to... fuss nervously over the lace collar of an over-complicated coat. Finally - ]

Ma... ma? Mama. Mommma. Mother. Yes. Yes, that. A mother. Why, we're seeking a mother for hire -

[ The bit of lace is set two millimeters to the left - then three back to the right - left - right - left- right - ]

...for a little boy: frail, somewhat deluded, hardly devout, perhaps - if you're blind - handsome. A charming child.

[ ...left... right... is that a speck of dust on his shoulder, why, even its shadow is removed immediately - left - right - ]

You needn't love children, only... do please don't smother him with the finer set of pillows. Candidacies open to all, interviews to be held, payment in full, references unnecessary, bribery... appreciated? As gestures go -

[ ...and left, right back in its original position. ]

...there. How does it look?


[ ooc: ...Justin would be the little boy in question, just. Just in case you were wondering. ]

[ Good day, Citizens, please enjoy a complimentary desert view focused on... the corpses of two armed gentlemen, both shot, with a slithering mass of gelatinous friends of the brainwashing persuasion cuddling in their vicinity.

...meanwhile, a slight figure is kneeling by, and to all extents and purposes, cooing. ]

And from sand and water He made them, clay within clay, dust upon... dust...

[ The slugs are collected with the very tips of overly manicured fingers and carefully placed in a tin box already hosting a writhing pair.

Have a wave, camera! ]

...my, my, only so few. Won't someone spare a three-five-ten more of these precious darlings? They're to make a young boy his gift. We shouldn't wish to leave him wanting, now... would we?


[ ooc: network replies, or action in the desert area, if anyone'd like to... deliver... slugs... ]

[ One angel + a myriad of candy pieces = apparently far too much chewing, as he takes one every so often.

Munch. Munch. Crunch.

(And the occasional wince, maybe when the candy-induced vision's a little unkind.) ]


Oh, enough with the warnings and the ever-weeping Cassandras. Shall we make a contest of it, then? A wager?

Whose tongue can take the taste of more of these? Come, come, no need to be shy. It's only indescribable humiliation for someone else, after all.

The same substance, in a tea spoon's fill is cure, in excess is... hmmm. Poison.

Well, Paracelsus be bless-damned, I shouldn't want more than a bite of you nomad tribes any-the-how. Unless you bring and maybe sing news, or blood offerings, or prayers.

But mostly news. Come, come, parasites. I'll take your news.


[ ooc: nothing past AS vol. 18, please ;; ]