Hello, little foreign children.

[The new speaker addresses the camera from an usual place: an empty, slightly faded room inside the castle (judging by what can be seen from the window, anyway). The room is dry, but her clothes seems damp despite that.]

My name is Ran. I am known as the Lady of the Sea, the Queen of the Deep City. I can't say I'm terribly fond of the rigid old king of Asgard, but as Thiazi is a right bitch I'm extending alliance to Asgard and those already at her side.

I am told that one of the children of Vanaheim has been kidnapped, as it were, postmortem. It also seems you'd prefer to bring him home like the little heroes you all are. You'll need unheardof information for that, and you'll need my help to get it. That makes us friends for now.

Those of who who wish to retrieve that information should gather outside the Gate of Fog at dawn in five days. You'll be given lodgings and food and any other aid I can provide.

If you can't or won't swim, you needn't show up. And of course, no one knows what else lies in the place you're going. You could get eaten, so cowards can stay put too.


[OOC: this post is in regards to this plot. Any OOC questions can go there!]

[as ever, asgard, you only get to see half of ushahin's face on the video screen. behind him appears to be a shelf absolutely brimming with books]

While the influx of odd candies and lovely flowers has been quite intriguing, I would appreciate a moment of your time for a different distraction. I have recently come into possession of a bookshop, now called Darkhaven. It can be found in Loki, nearby the castle and hospital both. The books are priced quite reasonably, and if one is curious, I may have some other little baubles and gewgaws as well. There is space to read, as well, and those who care for the books are welcome to do so.

For those seeking employment, I am hoping to find two clerks. The ability to lift and carry the occasional heavy item is necessary, and those willing to travel to Utgard regularly or responsible enough to mind the shop on their own would be most welcome.

[more details about the bookstore can be foundhere.]

[Here's a face some have seen before. Given a technical device, could it be in doubt that he wouldn't turn it on almost immediately? Of course not. He's got to see how it works, what it can do. Instructions? HA! Half Time Lord. Instructions are for lesser beings! This is probably why the first shot turns into a three hundred and sixty degree shot of everything no one wants to see (such as Theta's purple trainers and the zip of his Nine-ish leather jacket). Yeah. Those instructions were probably made for a person like him.]

[Good thing that at least Loki's guide plays automatically. Weird. Should it be recording if it were being turned on for the first time?]

There are pink clouds around the 'hooray'.

[This is said in the same tone one might say 'There was a horrible accident down the street with body parts everywhere'.]

By Loki? That's my god! Brilliant! Torchwood could use one of these. I think I know a Loki. There was alcohol involved. Can't remember much after that.

[The camera finally spins back to his face. There's a better than average chance Theta knows exactly what he's doing with his false bumbling about with the thing.]

Hello Asgard! If you see someone like me, tell him that Theta Sigma is looking for him! The look on his face will be worth it. Unless he's listening. If he is, hello Doctor! It's been two months! What have you blown up? Hello everyone else! It's good to meet you! That grey really is horrid, isn't it?

[It would appear this was not a decaf coffee morning before arrival.]

[ For the moment, the video function remains off. Which is a shame, because dem ginger curls. But he's testing the waters, so for now it's only the Scottish brogue that filters over the network. ]

It figures. The one time I dial 999 and nobody bloody answers.

[ It's probably a good thing no one answered; Ashley isn't even sure what he would have said. This was all too surreal already. ]

That's just typical; years of loyal service and putting up with government standards and this is the thanks I get.

So who am I talking to? To whom do I owe the great honour of experiencing this mental clusterfuck, and when do I get to wake up? More importantly, where can I find a pack of cigarettes. Mine's almost out.

[ All things considered, Ashley sounds pretty calm. His tone is light, if a bit annoyed, though the sarcasm that laces his every word runs deep. ]

( VIDEO )

[ yeah, out of all the curses that's transpired in this fair city - this one - holmes possibly likes the least. he's had this insatiable urge to sing Franz Schubert's die forelle - each note that he is forced to sing ( or in the manner of his attempts at suppressing it, to hum ) - leaves an acerbic after taste in the back of his mouth. die forelle reminds him of two things: a game and an opera singer.

to save everyone from his voice, he switches to text. ]

You'd picture the gods would have a more creative curse up their sleeves, would you not?

I understand that we are faced with most inconvenient circumstances. But must you all carry forth in broadcasting your misery? You're all tone deaf. Spare our ears with your contrived melodies.

[ someone's grumpier than usual. ]


( OPEN ACTION FOR THE HOLMES-WATSON FLAT / ANYONE NEARBY. )

[ all you see is a weft of black smog emitting from holmes' window. it seems a chemical experiment of some sort has gone awry and holmes has decided that lethargy has trumped his need to sort things out. you're not sure if the smog is actually dangerous, but it smells oddly of rotted cheese and desperation. any noises of urgency are replaced by the melody of a sad, screechy out of tune violin that is desperately trying not to play die forelle.

from the inside, a goat peeks it's head from the window of the room. looking sad.

save the goat? y/n. ]