MarinaNova Asylum

( burn the signs, burn the saints. )

[ the video clicks on to a petite grey-skinned girl with curling orange ram horns. marina, you're used to aliens and the sort, right? if you know any of the other trolls, you'll be able to recognize her as one. ]

Well, it's clear that I'm not going to be getting out of here any time soon, so I might as well make the best of it.

From the looks of the network, us "newbies" seem to come in waves! Would there be any interest in a meet-up? We're all in the same situation, after all, so it'd be beneficial to get to know each other, yes? I'm not exactly sure where would be best, seeing as how I just got here, so suggestions are welcome from those who have been around longer.

So, this community service bullshit.

[ a beat - and Agito raises a hand, shoves his fingers through his hair. ]

Any suggestions on how to rack up five hours of that crap? I'm out of ideas.

[All things considered, Zatanna looks fairly calm as the feed turns on. There's no murderous glint in her eyes, no sadness, or even the slightest hint of annoyance...other than the giant earmuffs she had placed over her ears to block out that awful music.]

[Because of this, her voice is slightly louder than usual as she addresses the Network.]

Now, based on past experience with the Gruesome Twosome, I'm guessing "encouraged" is Warden-speak for "practically mandatory"...which, for once, I'm actually kinda okay with. I even have a couple idea in mind. Might need an assistant or two, though.

Any volunteers? I promise it's nothing dangerous.

Good morning, inmates.

Today is day [ 199 ] of the first generation. Those of you that are of a [ mathematical ] persuasion may have noticed that we are approaching an [ anniversary ]. A celebration will be held tomorrow and all inmates are encouraged to prepare [ performances ] for the occasion. Volunteers are also welcome to help out with the festivities.

Requested items for [ Spencer Reid and Wally West ]are now available for pickup at the Kiosk.

[ And like the last few times, we end this message with a jaunty tune! You're welcome. ]


((OOC: Kiosk requests will be handled by Conscienti unless otherwise requested! ))

Almost the end of the day, and still no more therapy groups? Was that just a one time thing? C'mon, that's no fun. Here, I've got an idea for one, I'll organize it myself and everything. It's called People Who Are Pissed About Being Kidnapped And Imprisoned Underwater By Judgmental Omniscient Computers.

Seriously, can we move on and fight the final boss and leave now or something?

[The last few days have been...something. Enough of a something that Bucky decided getting a drink in the early afternoon was a perfectly good idea and the Winery was as good a place to do it as any. He usually lays low, chats up a few ladies now and then, and spends time with Steve--but that won't be happening anymore, will it? He almost wants to ask what the point of being here is now, but he won't because knowing how things work, he just might get the answer he doesn't want.

He snorts at his own stupid thoughts, taking another stiff drinking from his glass and letting it clink-clack as he sets it carelessly back down on the table in front of him. He's sitting loose, clothes a bit rumpled and his hair a little in disarray. Messy, but not like he just rolled out of bed. Even maybe if he had.]

[Audio]
Time goes by fast around here, don't it? [He says it easily, but there's a bit of slur to his words, an edge behind all of the nonchalance.] You just keep going along, minding your business and in the blink of an eye it's like...you didn't even notice how things were different. That's probably what they want. Get us all cozied up and then drop the bombs.

[He snorts, taking a drink.] Think I prefer being shot at by Nazis.

[Jack's been here a couple of hours. He spent the first hour disbelieving and furious, but wary of letting that show too much after his initial, instinctive bout of yelling – which he didn't broadcast, although sorely tempted to, because he's been kidnapped before and he doesn't want to get in too much trouble until he knows far better what he's up against. So he kept his head down and started exploring to get the lay of the land and find out what he had to work with here.

[And then he found the beach. He'd never lost his love of the sea from growing up beside an ocean, and he was out of the horrible orange jumpsuit and into the water before he'd even thought about it. Even if the waves and the sun on his back weren't quite natural, an hour or so of vigorous swimming calmed him down a lot. Enough to make his first transmission on the network with a decent amount of composure and a fair imitation of his normal cocky grin.

[He's still naked, by the way. It's kind of lucky (or maybe not, depending on your point of view) that the video doesn't extend below the waist. Not that Jack cares what you see. He's sprawled on the beach, the waves breaking gently behind him, feeling the sun on his tanned skin, and he's smiling. After all these years of practice, it's a pretty convincing smile.]

So. MarinaNova. [He rolls the name around his mouth, trying it out.] What've we got? Any hot babes here? Or hot guys – I'm really not picky. Maybe some Italian stud who actually looks good in orange? There'd better be something good to pass the time if I'm supposed to be here for the rest of my life!

[ so. take #39487. not that anybody'd know. not that it matters. all that comes to the screen is a slightly tired-looking boy in the jumpsuit of a newbie, making faces at his feet as the lens flickers back on—and is it slightly more battered in its recording than most would be? well, maybe. maybe you're just imagining things. ]

Shit, this feels weird... like some kinda public service announcement or something...

[ but he laughs, low and easy—touches the back of his neck in old habit as his wry mouth curves. ]

I guess the first thing I wanna ask is—how many people're in here anyway?