MarinaNova Asylum

----------- [ VIDEO ] ----------

One. hundred. days.

[ Each word is punctuated, as Reki looks into the feed, incredulous. ]

I'd ask what's going on, but I'm not too sure I want to know...

[ Reki needs her bearings. Looking through the communicator made her tense, and to say that the lack of familiar names and faces "troubled" her is an understatement. But she manages well enough to only show mild annoyance -- a typical day in Marina. ]

Has this happened to anyone yet? No memory of 100 days? I think I might need some explanation.

[ She might have an idea already, but she's here hoping that what she's fearing is wrong, that it truly is a typical day in Marina, that she isn't left behind again. ]


----------- [ ACTION ] ----------

[ Reki's at the bar of the Devil's Compass -- a half-consumed drink to her right, communicator to the left but within reach, and an ashtray with a gradual growing pile of cigarettes. She's puffing through another stick, looking towards the door at the slightest sound.

Might be the cigarette smoke, might be the light that are mixed with her hopes to see a familiar face, and thus she ends up looking at anyone coming in, an unspoken and friendly "Hey!" in her eyes --

Is it truly a familiar face, or a new one she ends up looking at long enough? ]


(( OOC: I apologize in advance for my slow as I'm in GMT+8, but I'll do my best to make a.c.-worthy threads! ))

[This video feed starts slowly, with Tyki flicking a match to light as he reclines on a bed. Which is a notable change for the few who know him and how as of late he'd taken to a hammock or a shitty flattened mattress in the middle of Sector six. But today he sleeps in his old bed, smoking cigarettes all day and looking rather ragged. Which also is a notable change for a man who prides himself on his appearance half the time. The other half he outright neglects it, but for today he hovers somewhere in the middle.]

I'm supposed to apologize. [He coughs, smirks slightly and leans his head against the head rest of the bed. He takes a long drag of a fresh cigarette, exhaling through the corner of his lip before flicking ashes aside. They fall to the carpet carelessly.] Apologize for getting injured by the graceful, shapely head of the Defense Force here. Your leader, Miss Kitty Pryde, the elder.

[Next to him he pans briefly over a pile of books, some with worn covers, others dusty.] [Next to him he pans briefly over a pile of books, some with worn covers, others dusty.] A man can only read so few books before he seeks something fresh, and just the other day I sought a few books from the library here. A public resource I'm sure many have you used. Yet Miss Kitty Pryde refused me. You know what she did, without warning or any sign of hesitation? She stabbed me.

Right here. [He sits forward, bringing with him the camera towards the wall mounted mirror. He lets it focus on his reflection as he unbuttons his shirt, letting the buttondown fall open to show off the stitching on his midsection from not only one stab by Kitty's claws but two. It's a haphazard of lines he honestly could've avoided but didn't. But that's unimportant. His hand roams over it, touching to scabbed skin.]

How fair do you think that is? All because at the same time she and her cronies were in the process of torturing a man. And she didn't want me catching wind of it, you see, to throw any wrench in her plans. I consider the man they abused to be a friend, and that's why today I only ask that you stop and you think about this place. And how these people have risen to power among you, taken authority over you for no reason. They take this power and abuse it, to hold it over your head. They execute their own agendas, their own punishments, without consult of their peers. I would guess that if you all knew of their plans, you might want a little say. Because they could do the very same thing to you if you don't fall into submission.

Are they really protecting you? Or are they just keeping you contained. Under their thumb. Have you not noticed that we're all criminals here, yet those few seem to think themselves better than the rest. Purer. Like they don't have just as much blood on their hands like the rest of us.

Am I the only one who sees the irony in this? The problem?

[He chuckles.] I warn you to consider my words. And ah, yes. I am so sorry that Miss Kitty Pryde stabbed me.

[And Lyle has something that is both odd and important at the same time. So he decides to post.

Well that is if he can keep a straight face. He starts the video then he has to cover his face with one hand, both exasperated and amused at the same time. Finally he moves his hand and speaks]

Really? I didn't think I had to add "use a screwdriver" to the list of things that haros couldn't do.

[The Irish sniper then shows why he was laughing. It looks like cabinet doors and everything needed to attach them to the frame: hinges, screws, and the handles all laid out nice and neat on the floor. One would think he was getting ready to attach them... but one would be wrong. That isn't the case at all]

Would you believe when I left an hour ago those were still attached to my cabinets? And on a similar note, anyone know who this belongs to?

[Now Lyle turns the camera back to him and holds up a screwdriver]

[Video]
[Even before the apocalypse, Carol never had one of those Bluetooth devices. She barely used her cell phone, except when Ed needed to keep track of her. After the apocalypse, well, there wasn’t much need for technology anymore. The communicator will take a little getting used to.

Her smile is genuine, if not reserved and a little nervous. Does doing this mean everyone can see and hear her? How many people is that?]

Hello. My name is Carol Peletier, and I would be lying if I didn’t say this is all very confusing. But what else is there to do but make the best of what we’ve got?

[Action]

[The map is useful. She's cautious as she starts exploring her new surroundings. She's making a bee-line for new clothes, but you might catch her grabbing a coffee or hot sandwich along the way.]

[Umi has been pacing and fiddling with the strange visor-phone for a while, fighting back the throbbing in her head, trying to keep her calm. It hasn't exactly been successful.]

Arrgh! Why you-- Turn on! You and I need to have a long talk RIGHT now. I mean it!

[Shakes it and continues fiddling about until she finally sees it turn on.]

[The rest is VOICE:]

Finally! Honestly...if this thing was supposed to be helpful, it completely missed the mark. [...ahem] All right! I don't know who's in charge around here, but I need to talk to you! Now! Seriously, what's with this weirdo crime list? Disturbing the peace? Animal cruelty!? Is this some kinda joke?!

What I mean is, there's been a mistake!

[...] Hello??

[FRUSTRATED SIGH. She's figuring by now that she won't be getting a response. After a moment she adds, sounding both annoyed and surprisingly, quite worried:]

Hikaru, Fuu...I hope you guys didn't end up in this weirdo place too...!

[ A beach in an underwater prison seems a little odd. Despite having listened to the entire welcome message, Murata also wonders if the Shinou is at all responsible for this. ]

I think I should stop by and thank our wardens for such a thorough welcome; it certainly did answer most of my questions. They sound charming.

Anyway, it's nice to meet you all! I'm Ken Murata, a high school student. Please call me "Muraken"!

[They say diamonds are a girl's best friend, but if you asked me what inanimate natural object I'd choose as my bestie, I'd go with a pearl. After all, you never hear about pearls being sold to finance wars in Africa. Pearls are too classy for that.

And they're just prettier. Diamonds have a certain shine, but pearls have both shine and color. Like this adorable pink pearl I got the other day. Every time I look at it, I just feel happy. Not in a creepy brainwashed way — please — but it's pretty and pink and isn't that reason enough? Lilly would have loved it.

God, Lilly. I haven't thought about her in years. Did they even mention her during the reunion? I don't think so. It's strange how people can be such a huge defining part of your life, and then they just... stop. After her murder was finally solved, it's like she stopped existing for me. She belonged to a different Veronica.

Except there is no different Veronica. A different Veronica would have gone back to New York to be with the sweet boy who's never been accused of murder. I've accepted the fact that I will always be rolling in the mud & dirt. But maybe now it's time to accept that Lilly is, and always will be, a part of me.]

[ action ]
[She can practically hear Lilly as she gets dressed — Oooooh, sparkles. Brave choice, Veronica Mars. It's exactly the kind of wild but classy look that her teenaged friend would have loved, and Veronica never would have dared. It seems appropriate to wear it now, while Lilly is so much in her thoughts.

Finding a decent camera is a lot more difficult than one would expect from a futuristic ocean resort prison, but eventually she finds one that she can live with. Now she can really get going.

After Lilly's death, Veronica had stopped taking pictures for fun. She took them for work, or newspaper class, or to practice so she could take better pictures for work. All skill, little artistry. But today she's decided that she's only going to take pictures that are beautiful or silly or fun — everything that Lilly had been.

Her pink pearl is the star for most of them, but she'll definitely try to sneak a few shots of anyone who seems interesting. Hell, she'll even take pictures on request.]

[ VIDEO ]

I am now taking applications to be my roommate! If you're interested you should...[Pausing because he hadn't thought this far ahead.] tell me. [He really isn't enjoying this alone thing.]

OH! And come to baseball practice today. You should really join the team if you haven't already. I think that's it!

(OOC: Use THIS THREAD for video replies. Notifs are off for mingle purposes.)

[ BASEBALL PRACTICE MINGLE ]

[It's that time again! The (usually handwaved) baseball practice! Grab a glove, grab a ball, grab a bat! Come work on your technique, do some drills, play catch, talk to your fellow baseball players and people who stop by to look (and maybe be enabled to join.)]

Day 275? Oh, my...

[So she too had succumbed to the disappearances that plague the dome. Her first thought, quickly dampened, is for Kira. She won't give up hope, yet it seems doubtful that he would have arrived again in her absence, being only a very seldom addition to her life here. As for her second thought, no doubt she'll have confirmation either way very shortly.]

[Woozy from the strange, yet not entirely unfamiliar sensation of her memories of home overlaying her last memories of the dome, Lacus applies her extraordinary focus and steadies herself. The still-fragile peace back home will have to be entrusted to others, for now, and she must come to accept being imprisoned yet again... or still, depending on which memories she favors. Yet more to sort out once she has a moment.]

[In the meantime, she smiles into the video feed, easy and sanguine.] It would seem I've been gone a number of weeks; I should think I've missed quite a lot. Perhaps someone could fill me in?

And, hello to anyone I've not met. My name is Lacus Clyne, and I'm glad to meet you in spite of the circumstances.

[ welcome to forensics: ]

[ He had selected one of the large lecture halls for this class: the distinct separation between the seating and the teaching space was ideal for what he had in mind. Anyone attending will immediately understand why.

Dexter's not standing there in that space where you'd expect to find him - instead, he's at the front of the seating, standing in the second row and leaning against the backs of the first row of seats. He's facing the rest of the seats, giving a 'friendly' nod to each individual as they enter. It's a bit harder to keep this up right now, just after the dream event, but the best form of dealing with it seems to be to dismiss things at dreams and keep up appearances. Everything is normal. Especially him.

Behind him, where you'd typically expect the teacher to be standing, is instead a staged crime scene. He waits for when it seems like everyone has settled in, and then he speaks with one of his carefully crafted cordial smiles. ]

Good afternoon. My name is Dexter Morgan and, where I'm from, I work in forensics for Miami Metro Police's homicide department. Specifically, my specialization is in blood spatter analysis. During the course of this class, I'll be covering the basics of forensic science and investigation processes and how identification, gathering, and scientific analysis of evidence is used to reconstruct the narrative of a crime scene. I thought I would get you all started with a basic assessment of your investigative instincts and a quick introduction to how observation and reasoning are applied in this process.

[ And he glances over his shoulder, gesturing at the 'scene.' ]

This is an extremely simple example of the type of scenes I deal with on a daily basis. I'm going to ask you all to go ahead and take a look at it, see what sticks out to you immediately, and - when you're satisfied with your initial investigation - let me know what you think happened here. It would probably be best if you came up and took a closer look for yourself.

[ And he goes quiet, picking up a box of rubber gloves that he had on the arm of the chair next to him. He moves to the end of the row, where there's room to walk down to the scene, and stands there with them. He smirks lightly as he lifts the box of them. ]

Do be careful not to contaminate my scene.


[ the scene: ]

There's a desk at the front of the room, which is slightly askew, a small amount of fake blood on the front corner of the side that's pushed further back. It's rather convincing stuff - Dexter's personal formula.

His rather convincing dummy victim lies lengthwise along the front of the desk, on their back. There's a sharp puncture wound on the dummy's temple, which has created what would be considered a small pooling around where the the head has landed, alongside the desk just past that corner. It's an extremely simple scene, yet something is most certainly off about it.

If your character would be inclined to look a bit more closely and have the skill or instinct to do so, there are a few additional details they might note.

Clues:

• The puncture wound on the dummy's head is set within a subtle round indentation, slightly larger, which has bruised around the edge. The blood and the puncture wound itself is partially obscuring this, so it will require close examination.
  
  
• There is a spatter of blood on the far wall, toward the bottom of the wall. Just above this is some very light streaking of blood. Neither of these are really noticeable unless you give the entire area a good look-over.
  
  
• You may also note, the dummy is on top of one of its arms, and its legs slightly bent at the knee. That's certainly an odd way to fall.
  
  
• If your character has the knowledge or intuition... that pool of blood by the head really is far too small.

1. Sex

[It's a no-tell motel, dark and cheap and anonymous. Unmade single bed, locked door (it won't open, but you can try it), a black coat on the floor.

Blood.

It's a dark stain on a dark carpet, creeping closer to your feet. If you look for the source--and you will, won't you?--you'll find a blonde woman sprawled across the floor. She's stripped down to lacy black lingerie. More importantly, she's gasping for breath. Blood trickles out of the corner of her mouth and streams from the gashes in her exposed stomach. She looks at you, scared. Her blood-stained lips move, but all that comes out is a rattling cough. Run. That's what she's trying to say.

Will you try?]


2. Birth

[Everything's bright and white. Sterile. It's a hospital, but no one here is hooked up to IVs or being rushed to surgery. No one is screaming or muttering or talking about the last football game at the intake desk. There's no one at all.

Except for Nathan.

The boy is dressed in a prison jumpsuit--orange, of course--and seated on the white tile floor, cross-legged. There's a bird's nest next to him. It's empty, but a single baby bird, young and covered in downy feathers, is cupped in Nathan's hands. It chirps. The teenager looks up at you, confused and a little distressed. What is he supposed to do with this tiny life?]


3. Death

[It doesn't matter where you are. Maybe it's somewhere in the prison; maybe it's someone's home, or maybe it's nowhere at all. All you see is the blood. It's on your hands and your clothes. It soaks the formerly-white bedspread under you (when did a bed get there?) and speckles a business card sitting just out of reach. The card doesn't say much. Dr. Spencer Reid.

Your blood-slicked fingers are clutching pale arms, trying to keep deep cuts (vertical--you cut vertically when you're serious about killing yourself) from draining the teenager on the bed dry. Nathan is prone on the bed. If the knife in one of his still hands is any indication, those cuts are self-inflicted.

Just in case there was some doubt, Nathan addresses you. He's mumbling, but he appears lucid enough. If you can make out his slurred words, you might get the impression that he's telling you to go--to not save his life.

Whether or not you listen is up to you.]


[ooc: Feel free to pick one as a starting point, but know that one scenario might turn into another if things go that way. Also? Warnings for blood, the murder of prostitutes, and themes of suicide. Oh, and your character might get stabbed. No guarantees, just throwing that out there.]

[Dream One : Monkeying Around]
[You're still in the dome. It looks like sector 3 except it's under attack. It's not raptors this time or giant octopi. It's robot monkeys. Well, technically, MONQIs. They can fly and shoot powerful blasts from their eyes. There are also a lot of them. Artemis is already on the scene pulling arrows from her quiver as fast as she can grab for them and shooting them into the hoard, but if anything it seems like there are more than there were a minute ago.]

[Dream Two : Child at Heart]
[Artemis is a bold, brave young woman, but sometimes she still feels like that even younger girl standing in her room, begging her sister not to leave her alone with their father. Jade will already be gone by the time you come in. There's just a very young Artemis with her teddy bear sitting on the blue bed spread in her simple room, decorated by Alice in Wonderland posters.]

(OOC: I'm open to things if anyone has anything specific in mind not listed here.)

[Four days. Four days, and no answers. I've never really been the patient sort, unless patience is called for. And right now? Patience is not a virtue.

So it's time to head into the lion's den — aka Defense Force Headquarters. They may be cops, but at least they're honest criminals. And they may have information I need.]

[ action ]
[Veronica heads into the Defense Force Headquarters. The people working here have been here longer than she has; it's time to find out what they know..]

[Have a Yuuri looking at you, Marina. He looks a little different today. His cheek is adorned with a temporary butterfly tattoo.]

If you go to the tattoo parlor don't tell them to surprise you. Surprises are bad!

[At least it's a very nice butterfly tattoo?]

And we don't have baseball practice again until Day 272, but you should all be there because you should all join the team. [Pause.] Why didn't I just get a purple dragon tattoo? [His team name.]

[Irritated welsh noises make the sound crackle]

Could ... Will you please... Oh go on!

[An irritated welsh woman joins the noises as she finally gets her video going.]

Aha! Knew I could do it. Wasn't that hard at all. Hello. This is my first video... Thingy. Sorry I'm not good with these sort of technical things, I usually leave that up to my friend, she is brilliant. Was.

[She looks stricken. A pregnant pause ensues.]

Moving on. I've already been here a few days, I know, I'm a slow starter. But here I am! Started. And with my own face. Which is a sentence I never thought I'd have to use. Is this going to happen a lot? Do I have to start stocking up on men's boxers? Because all my underwear options lead to very unsettling situations I can tell you that much.

[She clasps her hands to her face]

I must have gone insane. This can't be real. A dream after eating bad pudding. This can't be real.

( Nathan is out walking. Again. (Cut for mentions of murder and suicide and stuff.) )


[ooc: Run into a serial killer in the making?]

[Okay, Veronica, let's think about this.

You've woken up in a prison jumpsuit, with a gawky headset saying you've been convicted of numerous crimes. Somebody has gone through a lot of trouble and money to prank you. Considering I'm right outside a sex shop, I'd say it was Dick, but he doesn't have the intelligence or the commitment. One of his friends?

It could be anyone. Face it, you've made a lot of enemies, and most of them are extremely wealthy and stopped maturing in high school. I didn't think anyone had this much imagination, though. More to the point, I don't think I've been drugged. No headache, no dry mouth, no nausea. Maybe I've just been unconscious long enough for all the common side effects to pass, but that seems a little too convenient. Are there drugs with no side effects?

I really should have studied pharmaceuticals instead of psychology in undergrad. Damn.

So recap: prison jumpsuit, no sign of drugs, no idea who has both the resources and the imagination to pull a stunt like this. You got nothing, Veronica.

Time to see what you can find out.]


[ action ]
[Her course of action decided, Veronica sticks the headset in the waistband of her pants — it's strange and she'd rather not wear it unless she absolutely has to — and heads out to explore her surroundings. There has to be some kind of answer somewhere.]