Ah- hello.

[ Hey there Asgard, it's that girl that dresses like she's on a period movie speaking. ]

My name is Tessa, Tessa Gray. Miss Gray for those so inclined. [ None, because you're all rude without meaning to. ]

I gave this quite a lot of thought, and I think that while it's surely of minimal importance in the grand scheme of things...if someone could point me towards somewhere I could purchase clothing, I would be much obliged. I have made by with what I had ever since my arrival, but that is just not going to do anymore.

I might even have to give up and wear that which most of you call clothes in your own worlds.

Ehem.

[ She clears her throat YOU HEARD NOTHING. ]

On the same vein, I've been made aware that there are several of us so called Travelers that have a business of some kind. To them I ask if it would be terribly problematic to let me work for you; I can do most simple chores, such as cleaning and ordering, as well as cooking if required. I don't need much money, all in all, but I guess you can only go for long enough without it.

And that was all I wanted to say. Thank you very much.

[A lot of things happen in Asgard, but in the small, sleepy house of Freya - Uzumaki Naruto is attempting to cook.

It's the most ridiculous thing, actually.]

So, I asked the food table thing for the stuff I need t'make pork ramen?

[He turns his bracelet around on his arm, showing the entire population of Asgard the kitchen side in Freya-- On it, there is an assortment of very badly cut vegetables, noodles, and a strange lump of something that looks like it's been drowned in foil...]

So, I'm just gonna cook the meat. The noodles need to go in the frying pan right? But how to they go all... wiggly?

[Whilst he's talking, he quite casually shoves the hunk of pork steak he'd so carefully covered in tin foil into the microwave, throwing the door closed and pressing buttons until he's satisfied.]

The vegetables have to go in water though right?

[Good morning, Asgard, your bracelets are currently being serenaded with the sounds of crashing glass and muffled yelling and bunch of shuffling going on. It's probably not the first sound you'd expect, coming from this bracelet in particular, but after the recent escapade made by the Assassins who knows these days.

The racket you hear is continued for a few minutes, with breaks of actual words heard every so often- "let go," ""Ya Homaar!" "CAZZO!" The voices are somewhat distinguishable, and somewhat not. But when the sounds finally die there is a sound of a very frustrated Italian running his mouth off in a frenzy of insults.]

Ha una faccia tosta testa di merda! Sono incazzato! [There's sounds of angry struggling, and more incomprehensible swearing.] Let me go, stronzo!!

[For those within the shop A Needle in a Haystack, you can hear this entire commotion going on in one of the back storerooms. Which is getting entirely destroyed, by the way. You're welcome.]

Not until you speak the truth! Who are you, and what is your business here? What is this place?

How should I know, you are the one who's causing trouble!! Faccia di merda! GET OFF ME!

[There's a large WHUMF and the camera flicks on and smacks into the ground, the bracelet sliding off Altaïr's wrist and clattering across the floor. There's two men among the mess of what looks like a storage room, in white robes, one pinning the other to the floor. For those who know the voices, they will recognize that Altaïr is the one holding the other down- and the one on the ground sounds awfully familiar. Like Ezio, only… younger?]

I will ask you once more. Give me your name and return my blades, and I may spare your life.

[Ezio hisses angrily.] I don't have your blades! You have mine! Give me back my father's blade now-

Enough of your foolishness. You had your chance.

[With a sudden twist to the side, Ezio manages to escape Altaïr's pin and rolls to his feet. He rushes Altaïr in an attempt to gain the upper hand, only to essentially be suplexed and hit the floor with a loud thump. A cry of pain escapes him as the wind gets knocked out of his lungs, and Altaïr lets go long enough to grab the bracelet and cut off the feed there.]

[ooc: As punishment for their hubris as the ringleaders of this little expedition, Altaïr and Ezio have been cursed to become younger versions of themselves—Ezio is 19, and just from his killing of Vieri di Pazzi and Altaïr from one day before the incident at Solomon's Temple. Which means they're jerks now. The curse will last for three IC days. Have fun! Also, threadjacking is highly encouraged.. Bracelet replies will come after an IC delay once they stop fighting and get curious about the talking jewelry.]

[Ender is ragged, eyes still red and throat still sore, and stomach still tight as if he might be sick at any moment. Which are among many reasons why he opts for text] 

I have read the letter issued to me upon arrival. I am not trained for this type of mission. But if I have been selected then I have questions

[The use of the bracelet has proven to be extremely basic. Even the beginner levels at Ground School had more complex devices to train with than these. Back then they had had things that did more than record and emit messages. These bracelets were phones, essentially. Antiquated phones.]

Gods and Giants --- are these your army names? [He's taking mental notes as he asks. Houses had been mentioned. This could be some more fantastical form of Salamander, Dragon, and Leopard Armies, but as of yet he hasn't seen any uniforms or anything he can recognize as proper training or battle facilities.]

Or are the individual God houses your divisions? How are battles arranged?

[This place seems more like the game on his desktop interface than the battleschool, with things named after giants and gods, and castle structures.

He rubs at his forehead against the start of an ache at his temple before typing another]

Where can I find a commander?

All right, so I was planning a much more exciting introduction to the wonder of Santana Lopez, but instead, you're gonna have to deal with this because, OK, I've only been here for ... not very long, and do people just have this weird compulsion to keep killing each other? I mean, if we're supposed to buy this whole "God Thing" -- and trust me, I'm not sure I do -- aren't we supposed to also expect them to stop murders and crap?

Come on already, if you've really got the need to keep murdering people, can you stop broadcasting it to everyone? And if you find a dead body, why do you have to make sure everyone knows? Apparently it's commonplace.

Because seriously, I didn't exactly choose to come here, and now people are forcing me to give a damn about a bunch of people who have died.

[The truth is that she's scared. But Santana Lopez is not going to admit to that.]

And you know what the solution to that is? People not dying.

So get on it. Gods or ... whoever. Or be like real murderers and make sure that no one finds out.

Oh, and give me my damn voice back already because if I've gotta take up being a mime for the rest of my life—well, let's be fair. If people have to look at me, they won't mind, but I don't want to deprive the world of the rest of what makes me awesome.

[Backdated to day 342.]

There isn't a face in the feed yet, only a quick splay of rooftops and colored awnings. Whoever is filming right now appears to be chasing after something, and he sounds slightly winded.]

Asgard. City in the asshole of a pan-dimensional nexus. Home to a hella diverse collection of creatures and people. Also home to poor SOBs in rad shades cursed to grow furry appendages. Let us examine one in particular as he moves within this treacherous environment...

[And so the feed peeks over the edge of a roof, peering down into a semi-crowded street where one Dirk Strider (sporting a viciously-whipping blonde cat's tail) and one Davesprite (in all his winged glory) are currently having a stare off.

Davesprite is saying something -- it sounds vaguely like, "...ill-advised, one-way tickets to the Twilight Zone and there's no way I'm gonna give in to such a base impulse. No matter what kind of yankable vibe your tail is giving off right now." just as a shadow rises from the ground between Dirk's feet and gives the "furry noodle" (as it was just previously described a moment ago) a swift tug. Catboy yelps and spins, and Birdboy takes the opening by darting forward and giving the tail a quick tug.

(Whoever is filming lets out a low, soft chuckle.

Crows are douchebags.)]

-- you're going to lose feathers in a minute --

[That's Dirk as moves forward to swat at Crowboy, who hops backward on his toes without so much of a flick of his wings before taking off at a full run.]

Oh shit, someone needs his catnip! [That is called over Davesprite's shoulder as he vaults over a fence and darts out of sight.

Dave lifts the bracelet up and holds it above his head in a practiced sort of way. With his free hand, he cocks his thumb and index finger at the feed and smirks.]

Submitted for the approval of the Asgardian Nature Society. Part two coming in approximately four minutes.




[Sorry, not sorry, bros.]

Hey, so I got this from home a while ago.

[ Outside in Freya's district, Scott shows a shot of his bike using the bracelet's camera. ]

I got it back when those apples were everywhere. I'm calling it Kermit. [ Because it has to have a name and it's really green. ] You know, like the frog? [ It's cute, okay? Shut up. ]

Anyway, because it's from my future, I don't know how to ride it. [ Yet. ] And my best friend is worried I'm gonna break a load of bones teaching myself, so I'd really appreciate if someone with motorcycle experience could help me out? Give me some pointers? [ Teach him how to not crash and burn, basically. ]

Does anyone else have a motorcycle here? Maybe we could start our own club. [ Scott McCall's motorcycle club. That would be hilarious. ]

Okay, so guys, hear me out-

[It's Ellie. A few of you folks might know her, but this is her first-ever post to the public at large. Because this shit is some important shit.]

I just found this actual working arcade and it is amazing -- but I have nobody to play with and I haven't got any quarters.

Or runes, whatever it is they take, they've got a square coin slot.

So, anyone want in?

I promise I'll pay you back and then some. In oranges, or horseback riding lessons, or archery lessons, or I'll clean your room. Whatever. You pick.

A brief announcement, if I may have your attention for just a moment.

[Severus is sitting stern and straight-backed at his desk in his room. On his desk are several stacks of books, along with a small but neat pile of papers, the masquerade mask Miss Liddell made for him, and a few jars of preserved swearing toads and other small creatures he's procured mostly from Gefion Park. Behind him hanging from the ceiling and along the wall are a few bunches of drying and curing plants.

He knows the Dark Lord is probably watching this. Ever since learning of the Dark Lord's arrival in Asgard (Severus can only think of him as the Dark Lord; the name Lord Voldemort makes him feel ill to his stomach with disgust) and ever since happening upon him at the festival, Severus has been on a high state of alert. He manages only through years of practice to make himself seem solemnly composed and authoritative to those watching the video feed, but he's inwardly twisted into a dozen uneasy knots.]

For those who don't know who I am, my name is Professor Severus Snape. I was a teacher and Potions Master at Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry for close to twenty years. [He was also briefly Headmaster, but under circumstances that make him feel ill to his stomach to think about; and mentioning it as though it's a title he's earned feels like a tasteless display of dishonour and disrespect to Dumbledore. And so, he leaves that part out.]

It's come to my attention that Asgard is sorely lacking with regards to any kind of structured education. I would have thought that the gods, having annexed young people for their, shall we say, agenda, would have at least seen fit to implement some manner of methodised tutelage for those still in their formative years. Having taken up the task of tutoring one young person in Asgard, it's occurred to me that there are others who would be in just as much need of educational guidance and academic discipline. And seeing the gods seem to care not a whit for organising such things, I have taken it upon myself to scope out who, exactly, would be interested in attending structured lessons in a class setting.

[As much as it's been constantly weighing on his mind what his next step ought to be with regards to the Dark Lord, he needs something else to help him stay focused. Occupied. With the appearance of being in complete control; being with direction; being with purpose. More than that, though, Severus needs to find a way to stop the Dark Lord's influence from infecting the minds of others, especially those most impressionable, and he's decided that the best way to do that is to involve himself in Asgard unassumingly. A teacher, after all, is necessary to every society and Asgard is no exception.]

Reading, writing and comprehension will be on the curriculum, to give an idea of what I would be offering, as well as mathematical and scientific application. As I have extensive knowledge in herbology - that is, the study of plants -, alchemy, astronomy and a few other choice specialties teachable on a practical level in Asgard, these will also be included.

I've yet to lay out the finer details but in the interim, I invite any person under the age of 18 to come forward and express their interest in attending my classes. Should you have any queries, direct them to me personally.

[With nothing more to say, he abruptly ends the feed.]

[[ooc: the tl;dr: snape is offering class tutoring open to all kids below 18 in asgard! that said, adult muses can also inquire if your muse is looking for a tutor. if you've any questions about this, don't hesitate to drop me a line at my ooc contact post or over at my plurk. ♥]]

[ 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. ]