[ The feed opens up as video, to begin with. Of course, neither Buffy nor Giles can actually speak. The whole city is affected by this. But, luckily for the city, this is something these two Sunnydale natives have seen, dealt with, and destroyed before. Buffy already has an incredibly impatient and exasperated sort of worry written all over her face, lines therefrom aging her far beyond what her actual age is.

Giles is focused, all business-- he’s fumbling with a pen and paper, frowning, eyes away from the camera. When he looks up, he’s scrawled a message with a poorly-drawn monster very seriously drawn in beside it.

THESE MONSTERS ARE CALLED THE GENTLEMEN

Buffy’s shoulders rise and fall similar to a sigh, and she taps Giles on the shoulder before yoinking the pen away from him and scribbling something else.

AND THEY WANT TO MAKE YOU VERY, VERY DEAD

She’s not sorry for interrupting though she expects she’ll be scolded for it later.

Giles just watches as she writes, impatient behind the glasses, and takes up his paper again: THEY NEED SEVEN HEARTS -- complete with little Valentine’s-cute hearts jotted below the words, to make it really clear.

THEY COME AT NIGHT -- Giles taps these words for emphasis, raising his eyebrows at the camera like he’s trying to hold someone’s attention. This is a warning: nightfall isn’t safe. If his words didn’t make it obvious enough, the emphatic gestures Buffy makes in the background, like pretending to knock on a door, then opening it, then making an ‘x’ over her chest followed by what appears to be the ripping out of her own heart, ought to help.

Giles taps his throat, now, as he holds up the next line: A HUMAN SCREAM CAN KILL THEM Buffy snatches the paper away and scribbles ONLY in front of "a human scream".


THEY STEAL VOICES -- Giles is drawing again, another wonky Gentleman-doodle with a small cube in its hands -- AND LOCK THEM IN A BOX

Buffy, again, impatiently takes the paper and scritches a doodle of a wooden box that looks like what an older music box casing might look like. Or a jewelry box. It’s small, rectangular, and simple. Something not indicative of evil.

FIND IT AND DESTROY IT

Buffy makes a fist and smashes it into the flat of her other palm. Then she takes the paper and pen again and scrawls one last message.]

DO NOT ANSWER THE DOOR FOR ANYONE
DO NOT GO OUT AFTER DARK
DO NOT ATTEMPT TO FIGHT THEM
ONLY LOOK FOR THE BOX IN THE DAYTIME
AND STAY ALIVE.

[ Then the feed ends. ]

 I would think this some well thought out personal attack, but it seems I am not the only one to receive....pictures of people they are acquainted with. [ Yet Malik, unlike probably most of the others to receive photographs of their loved ones, doesn't really sound all that happy about it. Actually, he sounds downright livid. A tone that he is trying with little success to mask.]

So instead of asking about the "gift" itself, I would like to know who among us thought themselves so great, that they assumed digging into the personal lives of others was an acceptable feat? [ Because as much as he loves his brother, and will likely come to appreciate the pictures in time, this was not something he wanted shoved at him so suddenly and without warning. Not when his brother's death is still a wound that needs to be healed. ] Not everyone is looking for reminders of the past, so whoever you are, you would do well to think before acting in such a way again.

[ Malik out.

Though! Anyone at the Bureau should be warned; Malik is not a happy camper, and will probably sass anyone in his vicinity. Whoops. ]

[SPAM, OPEN]

[Selina is out practicing with her whip. And it's every bit as noisy as you'd think, because she's doing a hell of a lot of marksman training. She has a picture--the picture given to her here--of her and Bruce Wayne propped up beside the leaves and bits of garbage she's found and subsequently shredded with her whip. The picture is untouched. Every time she goes to cut it in half, she changes her mind.]

[VIDEO]

[So she finally makes a post when she's sweating and out of breath, because it's been a long time coming anyway.]

All right, here's what I need: a sewing kit, some fabric, and my own place as soon as possible. I don't share well.... But if you happen to be my roommate, feel free to speak up and make yourself known.

And are there any animals around here? Mice and birds are a plus.

[Remembering what one of the gods suggested to him, Akihiko turns to the network to ask for a specific favor…] Hey! I hope everyone’s having fun at the festival! We should hold these more often! There’s gotta be other occasions to celebrate, right?

By the way, does anyone know how to sew? Not just patch things up, but to actually sew clothing pieces together? I’ll pay for your time and all the materials, of course. Whatever ya need. Hit me up if you’re interested!

( [Locked to SEES & Investigation Team] )

[ Tessa’s voice comes out of the blue, nervous and shaky. ]

-bably working now.

Hello? Hello? Is this thing working?

[ Rustling, shuffling, panting. But not crying or sobbing, Tessa doesn’t whine. She’s wondering for how long will that last though. ]

I am just going to assume I have managed to turn this on. The screen appeared, as well as that…list. I think it was a list, although it was so very colorful…and not very helpful, if I might say so myself. [ Tessa could totally make a better list, okay. ]

But pardon my manners, it’s just that such a rude change of setting- I have lost my composure. My name is Miss Gray, Miss Tessa Gray, from Manhattan New York, 1878, although I must admit that I was in London before I ended up here, not that it matters terribly now. I cannot fathom the reasons behind these summons, but seeing as how I cannot do a thing to go back- [ And excuse her if she sounds hurt about this; she has been kidnapped before, and it sucked. ] –I humbly offer my services and my full intention to help with whatever necessary, little as it might be.

[ Just don’t ask her to go killing monsters, because that’s more like the job of her friends. ]

I would be much obliged to you if you could please let me know if any of these names sounds familiar to you: Will Herondale, James Castairs, Charlotte and Henry Branwell and Jessamine Lovelace. These are, ah, I suppose they are my only friends, and I would feel much better knowing whether they are present here or not.

[ There is a pause… ]

Lord, I certainly hope this thing is wor-

[ And then the message ends. ]

[Coming back to reality is a nauseating experience.

The last time Sam Winchester went grey, he wasn't in a great mental place. He had thought he had officially lost his mind -- and when Sam woke up in the hospital and refused to leave, he was fairly certain he was going to kick it. He hated not being in control of his own body -- it was the one thing Sam Winchester absolutely couldn't deal with.

This time, when he came back, he had had a similar freakout.

It took a couple of hours of wandering around and deep breathing for him to calm down enough to cope with being back in Asgard, a little dizzy and oddly tired. But all of that he could deal with, because Sam was up to date.

The angels fell. Sam had almost died. The trials were a fluke. Crowley was... well, Sam wasn't entirely sure what Crowley was anymore, but he didn't really find it in his heart to care.

Despite all of that, though, Sam felt pretty... good. Good enough to turn on the video feed and deliver his flattest expression, though his irritation is betrayed by the brightness in his eyes and the tiniest upward twitch of his lips.]

I had this speech prepared about the inaccuracies of the autumn festival with the time period of the height of popularity of the Norwegian gods, but then I could've sworn I smelled deep-fried Oreos, and I decided to follow my nose instead of give a history lesson.

[With a brief sigh as Sam turns, the camera revealing that he's just outside of the castle courtyard, where the food is being cooked and smells... pretty delicious, despite Sam's general aversion to things that aren't healthy.]

Maybe I missed something in my vacation into uniformed greyness, but... I'm pretty sure I just saw a native Asgardian eat a hot dog. Are we celebrating our Travelers' heritage or is this some kind of joke? And has anyone told them what's actually in those things, because they're --

[Sam stops himself from his lecture, though, and lets out a sigh that turns into a soft laugh before shrugging, letting it go.]

Anyway -- my name is Sam Winchester and I guess I'm back from the grey-dead, to those that know me or care. And to the new people, uh -- I guess enjoy the food.

[Pause.]

But try to make sure you know what you're eating, first.

[And he turns off the feed.]