[Bike-riding aside, Castiel usually only posts to the network when he has something important to say. He's about to break pattern, because while there are various things to address--like people exploding--none of that is currently as pressing as the situation he's found himself in.

Castiel had been napping at the kitchen table, minding his own business, until he'd been suddenly awoken by being generally uncomfortable. It had taken a moment to figure out why, but it's very obvious as he turns on the bracelet, looking not at all amused.

Massive black wings are partially visible in frame, folded against his back; the wrist joint is arcing almost a foot over his head, and though it's impossible to see at the angle, the tips of his primary feathers are just above the floor. His wingspan is probably a good fourteen feet.]

This is not amusing.

[He is so incredibly displeased. How had this even happened? He still looks just as annoyed, but slightly more uncertain as he asks his next question.]

Has anything like this happened to anyone else?

[All these deaths, the stabbings, the trickery, and the callous way the gods (well, mostly Baldr and a little Loki) have handled it seem to have left their mark on Nier lately. He's a bit on the angry side, and having convalesced thanks to Keine's helpful healing and the doctors making sure there's no lasting damage, and the unfortunate idea that there's a coming conflict between mortal and not just won't leave him.

Frankly, he thinks it's time to summon the troops.]

Question. How many of us 'Travelers' here have any combat experience to speak of?

[ if she wasn't annoyed during her first post, she's sure as hell annoyed now. oops. her words are tight, and her posture almost overly straight in an attempt to rein herself in. ]

If anyone can tell me how long it's been since the cold snap, or what has happened since, I'd be grateful.

[ she looks to the side, refusing to show how much losing this much time is affecting her before a flare of anger wells up. faster, almost spitting the words out, ]

But seriously - what kind of gods take people from their homes, bring them here, and then let them lose entire weeks just wandering? Some gods.

[ she hasn't been gone that long, but the fact that she's lost any time at all, not knowing what she was doing or what was going on scares her. so she covers with anger.

she takes a deep breath, forcing herself to relax. a cool, collected smile, reminiscent of being forced to attend socialite parties when she'd rather be anywhere else, crosses her face. ]

Any information would be helpful. Thank you.

[ she presses the button, but her hands are shaking (bad for an archer and she's hating herself for it), so it doesn't quite catch. so while the screen turns off, the feed doesn't. she stares down at the bracelet for a second before almost snarling at it, ripping it off and throwing it at the wall.

then she remembers just what got her into this mess in the first place and sucks in a quick breath, snatching it up from the ground. there's a shaky 'fuck' as she slides it back on, and a deep frown as she realizes it's still recording. here, have a hand over the top of the gem. ]

((ooc: she's been lost since the day before the old man showed up, but since the cold snap was the last big thing, and she knows how long it's been since that...))

[ the boy — teenager — looks somewhere between utterly bemused and thoroughly entertained. for a few moments, he simply fiddles with the bracelet, the video feed alternately displaying him, the floor, and the ceiling. eventually, however, he does let it be, but not without murmuring something along the lines of 'worse than one of henry's devices'. for those familiar with it, there's a hint of welsh to his accent. he looks tired, but not overly irritated — although that will come — and his clothing dates him as being from the late 1870s; his hands are covered in a number of faded scars, and it's undoubtedly obvious that he does a lot of work with them. ]

—If it hadn't been for the explanation, what of it there was, I might have thought myself to be like little Alice, having tumbled down a rabbit hole. I dare say the faceless woman I spoke to was as discomforting for me as the Caterpillar managed to be for Alice, and made approximately equal amounts of sense. I've not entirely lost a sense of myself though, for better or worse, nor have I had any desire to question whether or not I was changed in the night, or even my name. Perhaps that will happen tomorrow after breakfast, once I've eaten.

[ he stops speaking for a moment, a frown briefly marring his features. ] Hel. [ his lips quirk. ] I'm fairly certain I'm not dead, and I think I'd be quite disappointed if this is the realm of the dead. I've been assured it is both hot and cold depending on one's sins, circular, and I'm not sure that I recall any mention of guides without faces. Whatever the case, it seems rather counter-intuitive if I am truly here to bring life to the world. [ a beat. ] And speaking of life, I'm sure there are more enjoyable ways to bring it into the world.

[ pause. ] And if this device is meant for conversation and communication: William Herondale. I won't decline any further explanations, even if they happen to come from hatters and caterpillars and assorted small mammals with a fondness for tea and an inability to correctly tell the time. [ another pause — hesitation — but he ends the video there, albeit not without a degree of fumbling. ]