asgardeventide | [video]

[The feed lurches disconcertingly. Sheets, ceiling, a rather plain wall, a stack of books, all follow each other in rapid and confusing succession until with an intake of breath, the flailing stops and the feed settles into a child's hand grasping the edge of that sheet; the shadow of a sitting up figure projected onto the wall beyond.]

... back here. A dream?

[Too vivid, too real for that. The shadow shifts, hand going to its head as a deep breath is taken. It's a hard transition to make, almost feeling like he's losing Tokyo and everything there all over ag--]

What the--

[The bracelet gets jolted wildly as Conan explores his hair. It gets in the way and is roughly discarded onto the bed, giving a much clearer view of a pale seven-year-old, methodically working his way through his fringe -- what's left of it. There's a patch been shaved off either temple, and something taped onto it with medical tape.]

Doesn't hurt -- a sensor? But that should mean --

[Not wasting any time, Conan slips out of the bed. He's been dressed in a man's shirt, as big on him as a hospital gown, a fact which gives him a moment's pause, but he's undeterred, rolling up the sleeves before turning to pick up his bracelet again -- and making another discovery. What he thought was a bed was a --]

Coffee table.

Looking for this?

[Conan turns to look at Sherlock, standing in the door way, smartphone in hand. Conan doesn't bother with a greeting, making his unsteady way over to snatch at the smartphone. Sherlock lets him, expression simply distant.]

Monitor higher brain functions ... ? Ha, there's an app for everything.

[Sherlock might be looking as unamused as ever, but a new face makes it's way around the door, with an expression that is clearly more welcoming.]

Conan! You're finally back with us?

John's glad. He was complaining that you were unsanitary.

[Conan's clearly not sure how to react.] Why the coffee table? Couldn't you have monitored me from my room -- o-oi-oi!

Don't get excited -- your bracelet. [Ignoring Conan's protests, Sherlock's casually taken hold of his arm and is reaching for the button that will end the feed.] You're broadcas--

[And cut.]

((ooc: Sherlock, John and Conan -- who is going to be doing most of the responses to this post! Finally back after his canon update sleep /o/ ))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Yes -- check it out! Not the best photo ... Sonoko-neechan's got her elbow in my face, but you can tell it's us!

[The headline reads Three Strikes -- You're Out for Unlucky Crims! and features a photo of two beaming high school girls, one proudly posing and taking up most of the picture, the other recognisable as the girl who stabbed Conan, looking somewhat self-conscious and in the bottom corner, being squished by Sonoko's elbow -- Conan, making a half-hearted attempt at the Victory sign.]

[She accepts the paper and skims the article, and sure enough, it's exactly like Conan said. Her face screws up in concentration as she tries to come up with a logical explanation for this, but...]

... it makes no sense. None at all.

It's a pretty bad pun -- and factually incorrect! Those guys had three previous convictions already -- robbery would have been the fourth, so really, it should have been 'four strikes' -- but of course, newspaper headlines aren't always accurate!

[MISSING THE POINT.]

Conan! [She's this close to thwapping him in the head.] I mean... all of this. How could you fall asleep, monitored, and be somewhere else? Do they... do they not have all of us here?

You think so too, huh? It could explain a lot -- how death doesn't seem to last here, why people turn into grey citizens if they lose their bracelets ...

Is that really possible, though? A soul or a spirit brought here, given a body... and it can travel back to its old body in sleep... it also explains people like me, but.

But it's crazy, isn't it?

[The 'like me' is hard to hear as always -- but they're talking seriously. Later Conan promises himself.]

Crazy compared to what exactly? The gods actions so far? Their explanations?

I just want something to make sense! [She slams her hand down on a nearby table.] I mean, should we just give up, say the whole thing is crazy, and just live our lives? Is that the best way?

We might not know why -- but I think we've found something that makes sense. More sense than how the gods might be able to physically transport people here from worlds where that would be near impossible. Give the idea some time to sink in -- it won't seem as weird in a day or two, I bet.

I guess... I just never thought of spirits or souls as real before. It'll take a lot of getting used to.

[Guess who just realised that this implies he has a soul.]

It's weird even by Asgard standards, isn't it? [She sees the shock on his face.] You have to admit it.

I guess you're right. There's -- more here to consider than I thought at first.

Do you think it's worth trying to ask one of them next time they speak up?

I think so. Ne ... you've had longer conversations with them?

Not really. I only exchanged a few words with Loki when I found out about not being able to go home. Most of my messages haven't been answered.

We're in the same boat then -- I only had one conversation with Hel and that went nowhere.

Yeah, I've heard some of them can be kind of... roundabout. Talking without saying much.

Or just being unhelpful on purpose.

That's weird, because Loki is the trickster, and he took me totally seriously. He called the question depressing, but he answered seriously.

Further proof -- if it were needed! -- that we can't trust the myths we know to help us here.

Well, you've got the proof you need... can we get out of here? [Shifting from one foot to the other anxiously.]

[Leave?]

Ah -- sure!

((shall we end here? is there any more you wanted to do?))

((that's good for me -- Conan's registered Nakama's discomfort and would like to ask her about it, but that might be better off happening later!))