[It was only a matter of time before Quentin finally cracked. Initially, his frustration at this place and the frankly fucked up Circumstances had kept him a little too irate and resentful to truly begin looking in to the local magic. He likes the system back home, he's good at it, and the fact that the substance of this place doesn't want to bend under his fingertips says more about it than it does about him, in his not-so-humble opinion.

But stop learning magic?]

So.

[Not an option. His fingers itch idly through the air as he regards the camera, like if he catches the world at just the right moment it will bend for him, the magic will come.]

Who's looked at these runes they have locally? What have we got in terms of comprehensive resources there, if anything? Let's do this.

[Because if there is anything like what he left at home available, he is going to learn it from the ground up.]

Oi, [Comes the booming voice of one redhead, trying to understand this thing on her wrist. For a moment she shakes her wrist before looking back down.]

You lot, if y'can see me. [She's just looking down scornfully. Wildlings don't even understand Southern technology and you want to throw this at her.]

I have a few choice words for your gods, but first. Jon Snow, if y'be here, you best reply to me here. Don't think I've forgot about you, just 'cuz I've wound up here. You know nothing. [She has some hope that if these gods could choose her, he'd be here, too. Then the Crows wouldn't matter (not that they did to begin with). But neither would the Wall nor her people.]

You other lot, not bein' Jon Snow, I'd ask the same as I did them girls I talked to. What keeps you from goin' outside the city? Where I'm from we do as we please, the Free Folk. No god cares 'bout what we do as men. Or women. Why fight their war? I fought my own war because some Southern king decided years ago he'd put my people behind some great wall. I decided to be a spearwife to lodge me own spear up every Crow whose crossed into our land's ass. [That didn't exactly happen, but semantics.]

It was my lands though. If y'can't fight for what's yours, maybe you never deserved it. Don't need no named god tellin' me that.

[ spike is bustling around his kitchen, tea and toast in the making. he pulls a slice out of the toaster and starts smearing jam on. ]

It's been a little while, you lot. Or, well, guess I saw most of you on the train home. But now there's new folks and old folks coming back and the like. Par for the beginning of the month, or whatever frame of time it is they use here.

[ now starting in on the second and a thoughtful look crosses over his features. ] I would say this place gets less agonizing the longer I'm here, but I think I know better than to jynx it by now...

[ the kettle goes off, startling him into spinning too quick and knocking the toast off the counter - jam side down. ] Oh come on!

Bloody hell. Where was I? Oh, yeah.

Sober two days, you bunch of bastards. Hope you're happy.

[ the feed is about to go out but a few muffled words make it through as he's cleaning up the jam: ] How did hair get in this? Ugh. Crooks.

[ - and zamo. ]

Uh...hallo? Anyone there? Oh nelly it sure is cold here. Even colder than when I went ta tha Crystal Empire tha first time. Brrrr.

How do ya'll even walk? I can't keep my balance, like I've been drinkin' too much cider or somethin'. It's gunna take me a while to figure out just how ta work this new body.

[There's a short pause for a moment.]

I can't even begin ta understand what happened ta me. This just ain't right, I tell ya. I don't understand what's going on here either, but I'll do my best ta help out.

[There's an even longer pause before something else is muttered, mostly to herself.]

I guess I should find some clothes...at least I still got my hat.

[ Contary to popular belief, not all of her reminders are sudsy faux pas at raising morale by glossing over the near-imminent end of days with errant chore routines and rehearsed domesticity for the sake of her team, but swapping one apocalypse for another version of the Armageddeon was enough to induce internal hemorrhaging on both accounts (granted, if a certain Assassin hadn't already beat them to the punch). Ascended Fridge Horror was an eternal trope in her line of business.

But Stillman remains composed in her attempt to infuse some vestige of credibility into her message. Professionalism didn't cut slack for even post-mortem workaholics. ]

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Lucy. I'm a ... researcher. In light of everything that's occurred recently, I believe it's high time that I become acquainted with you all, if only to extend my support in our shared endeavors. I'll do what I can to help.

That being said: would anyone like self-defense lessons? I realize it's not that much to offer, but if anyone needs a sparring partner, I'm capable of handling firearms, blades, blunt weapons, and hand-to-hand combat. I wouldn't be against polishing my technique with your assistance, either. Payment isn't necessary, but I do have a preference for fixed appointments. Let me know if you're interested and we'll hammer out the rest of the details together. [ There's a nearly pedestrian, lilting pause as she invokes the real intent behind using the network system to contact the general public in the first place. ]

I understand that, for better or worse, we were chosen and forcibly brought to Asgard. But the extenuating reasons behind that decision — whether it's by chance or through ulterior motives — are completely beyond me. I take it some people have had quite a long stay here, and others, like myself, have only recently arrived, but it seems we all share an equal opportunity to leave. The thing is? It isn't on our terms. Only random selection at any given time of day.

I'm open to all possible theories you might have concerning any Traveler's sudden departure, however.

And while I'm at it, is there anyone out there who's returned to Asgard from their original world on more than one occassion? If so, I'd like to ask a few general questions about the experiences in each iteration. Nothing major. [ A beat. ]

Thank you for your time. I genuinely appreciate it.