MarinaNova Asylum

[devil's compass]

[Old soul or new maybe today's the day you wander into the Devil's Compass, an old-fashioned bar in Sector four. In fact the door's propped open late into the afternoon, before it shuts again with the oncoming rain and traps in the smoky atmosphere. Behind the bar for the most part of the day will be Tyki Mikk himself, a tall and dark haired man in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled back and a well fit but unbuttoned vest. He's tending to the bar with a rag, occasionally moving over to sort out an arrangement of bottles. Quite at home.]

[prayer facility]

[Sometime into the evening a faint tune is floating out of the non-denominational prayer facility in Sector five. If you care to wander in you would see Tyki sitting by the piano, playing it with lazy ease and a briefly bowed head in concentration. He's not wrapped up in the music so much as he is in trying to remember the keys, occasionally slipping and restarting sections or playing through the flaws. Practiced but not perfect, his fingers fly by on the faster sections and linger on the slower.

It'll take him a moment to realize anyone's watching. Didn't think he'd be found here of all places.]

[It's really only through luck that everything is steady and not like being moved up and down or side to side with his fiddling of the earpiece, but after the incident that was Helen and her weird future communications device he's learned not to mess too much with things. Well, sorta kinda ish, at least he hasn't messed with the thing on his leg.

But the video turns on to one bearded English gentleman standing in front of a weeping willow and he's standing rather steady-ish as he talks because he's not sure how these things work and if jostling it will do something weird to it.]

Last I checked removing a gentleman's clothes and hat was exceptionally rude and not really the best way to insure he is willing to stay in your attempt at a prison. [If he doesn't sound all that pleased, well he's not. At least for a brief moment before he sighs and brushes his hair down.]

But I suppose not everyone has Scotland Yard's sensibilities when it comes to the well fare of it's prisoners nor it's taste in what to give them to wear. Even Lestrade is kinder and I have yet to meet someone as rude as he can be in his line of work. [He pauses to do what amounts to a huff before fixing his hair again because he lacks a proper jacket to mess with and really how rude can you people get giving him a bright orange jumpsuit without a jacket.]

But be that as it may, I suppose I should ask if there is anyone here by the name of Helen, with a similar accent to my own. Blond or brunette, I know two women that share the name and accent and I wouldn't mind speaking to either nor to anyone that knows of them. Or someone who happens to know a different woman from my Helen's [It really sounds weird to say that.] we can discuss similar traits in such ladies if you prefer.

[Okay so that's not the best way to go about introducing himself to people but he doesn't really care especially as he totally forgot to actually introduce himself whoops. This is all said by the way, from Sector 3 where he's been wandering about before settling in near the weeping willow if anyone feels up to poking him there.]