networkinthenight | [ѧׄѵٜҒեҡٜהػһ] - WEEҎЯҝLY BUЀLωؗҹTIN

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[ѧׄѵٜҒեҡٜהػһ] - WEEҎЯҝLY BUЀLωؗҹTIN - OPױҊ

WEEKLY BULLETIN

[This week, the bulletin opens with a video. It's been shot from a webcam that seems to be perched atop a computer screen, and in front of the screen is Robin, biting her lip as she types frantically. If she meant to start recording herself, she doesn't show it. A timestamp in the corner reads 17 NOV 03:02.

The room behind her is cozy, resembling the control deck of a battleship as redecorated by a teenage girl. That's essentially what it is, after all. The red beam of the lighthouse flares occasionally at the top of the screen.

Robin's harried typing continues for a few moments, uninterrupted, until a shadow slinks up from the staircase behind her. One by one, strings of fairy lights flicker out, the room going dark save for the glow of the screen. Robin finally notices just before the last of the lights die, her hands freezing on the keyboard, but she doesn't dare turn around, not yet.

This video comes with sound, and everyone's device's volume will crank to max volume to really emphasize Robin's shaky breaths as she listens, head tilting to glance over her shoulder at the darkness. The image flickers, crackling with static and distortion, until—]

Kë̥̟̝͇ͦ̈́̋— ee͍͔̺͔̖̕p— er͖̥͓͔̼̤͍—

[Robin whips around, her chair toppling over as she stands, but the video crackles again, and she's flung back against the desk. The computer screen crashes to the floor, taking the camera with it, and the feed stays focused on the floor for a long, long time. Eventually, it fades into static.

When it clicks back on again, the camera has been cocked up just enough to pull the room into view again. The timestamp in the corner reads 28 NOV 14:26.

Robin is slumped against the wall, filthy with blood and sweat, eyes glassy as she stares up at the forest spirit looming over her. The spirit cranes their head toward the camera, their eyes flashing green, and they wave to the viewers in a clumsy, jerking motion. Then, they drop something heavy and metallic in front of Robin, and she jumps at the sudden noise. It's a lantern, long broken and in pieces.

The forest spirit tips forward at the waist, bending down to press their face against Robin's as she whimpers and tries to keep still. They negotiate their forehead against hers, their green eyes flashing until she musters the courage to look up, and then they trill.

There's a scream, and the feed again cuts to static.]

anno҂ؼҘϷments

I don't kԻӟϔυ׹ what happen؇d. I'ӻԛ sorry. I think tϒйԷy're gone nэӽّw.

I can't delete thώӾҊ video. I've tried, but they fucked up my computer aՓ׳սϗׅаҚ؞םӆѺs forcing me to post the video file with פӡӆe bulleֺЛԬn. A lot of stuкϗϊԥןټ֫ԓՙֳ٤Ёs broken. I'll nԬгd to fix it.

ThԨЌґ ЬՉave me a lanшбҿٻӇٷա. I don't know whose מ֙طАϫ is. I need time to fiףУӊחѶЇϑӐٰЉՁׁٓӪ out.

Use this bҪӸϲetin to regroup and share informatЫׇղԭ with each Ծ֔ther. ҬѮere's no point in keԖ֞я֐ secrets.

I'֑ҩё OK. Thөy ҁ֥Ϙٶ؜ЭגӿӧױϐѲӢϥ.

Ԇ٣؏،ӂssifieds

ѤךٓвҚխԴ؃־Ӕщ׺ЅաҺѐϺӴϣҗԲՃԴѡ؀׋ҜӚԎ؋ӫӿоВ׵Ϝ؎ՇӂىҺЄЪؽՁԫԵӏ٢ӼϘլ֏ҟӼЁׇٰ֫ՄτӅ֪ؑФҭҶؚزӹ؝Сֳ֜ԦؐӫգٶϚѾбϏצغْװ֩ئіϬ؇ϽϚυկؤӥіؓГՁؿأأԽԼ؀ҡٷաϤֽӋԟԂїӦѰבӬѦӰիҷϑ֟ӗכֽС֐нѻّׄҳخرՓԨ؄ٖҤϚϰн֙؃Щҍ՝Ծ֔ٶԫױձҭкؓљӟώӍҭ׻صװٳزؙӱٮՎҊҬջйѫ֊ײؒυظԦְէٯ׾Ӫմ؝ҬѮ٤֔նѫټՆρ֮كס٧ςГӷֆҪץԁԊպՉϑϣז؁ѻӭ֎БӒٰт؏Ԋ٩ҪӸϲֈҾԁӂѤЂԳך֧ϮէӵءЫׇղԭљֶбҏ٬Ұ֝ՍשזԒӈبد؂Ѝ׃Ϩ׸ІҖЄשѺϺϭы҆ҠԇϘӢѱхԶϻԳضҩДֹԳէ֝ђҮӱӬќѬϿқғ׽ϱХϟѥԍظмӕֿӃѥչټփֹҎЯҝץѭѢ׈ϤϩԖ֞я֐خ׳Іيӆ֞ԀՁֿόӚ٦ԎӔ׭үՒ֕ӭل҈ёت֩қҒׯձмӉϘцӕϓ؃׋׸،ٶϯם֠Ϟϡў׋ϡѺժϽ׬сϢӡսѶ֪њҺӝٰԃϨ׫ٗإϢ֥ҍ؟ԲҧϜٲҎЖ؟ӒҗԹЊӫԗӰֹكϾ֎յِרϦϞׂԢЁ؟ӴРיسմһϡϺӘӃҎЀҎӑЪϲϨը֞צЊ՝խՅ՗҅тغќԆתςءҶّֈ׍ϣԃ֑ٗВҗԺٯ״ؤԭюҧؗـׇ٘ռ؁րתսؿҌӜ֋נՌӟӔز֬Ը٠ЍИ֑Ѡ١ІآԒتҪ԰٫ҩمѾѳ؇ٖ׳ӑϴҾرҭА֪ӗ՘ү֩ԮЍҁҎыҁԛٶдԁѥՎмҷ؆ӖٸҲϦԣَϗԯѤآԤϕ׮֊ؿг؆ϬҢڀ׊ԽϬў׮ύϭӣч؈ՒԖצԨבЂ٦՘׺הԿҊтջϥחїپԪֱѱ׋յҽҮٞӀяЮёֳ֒٧ӴҵύԗԯϴԮ٧Հϴբր٥؋ӧ՛קש؋

؋ԟϮԌض٤Ҿ֡֟ԦՊיԕИҴрٮֺՄϳ׃סՅа׏֤ԝװٽعєҠфպيӒ֞ԵՋُ֩ҧԵِѿףԸУҿ׿הӾӈӑגؕٙӫնП՚ٛ٤ة׫гһ׬ѳҌСϦ֍شԱԅѲح؎ѷԨٲدֶؕдЅ֞ٞҠزыјԔҠوԜѺ֛ՄҸתиЪϧӉյгѲԧ֒ڀՂҸ׫ЍӳДظѢϬҶԖԞԨҠٗوضՐЂЯҲϷԵҴҖԻ׀ԑҬФ؝҅ҏ؋ґԔصфѬծշ֪֪҅ؔپњҼЙփҩױҊѺρωؗҹ،ٝ׷сКӧؖբϙֲٖٞҁϋؓҧёׅԏ֙ػԂԩԳϣِؤӫ֬тϚ׻Єׁؼ׉ӉҹׁսٜѲاԕӱ֮ҘֽҸѠҦѫפӡիمГמՐٱЃ҃եӵыгԘӽ׬ҶϹЎֈׯչϑـּ؄٫մՆ֌ӷؕ׭а԰єثزӬҜϽٺؒϗТѳѤРы֖ؽӶϞѦϻӺոאӕҡٜהػһӹפԷЊӼԯչժӌԋЉٜϷҬپضһלЁӂѮѿѲҲؾѽԤИԠЎеַٛҹشҲ֬ӱ؊ҒծҪцְՅײӰوҕ؝؛ӍدԎԵج֙ԯҀ׹Ըحгҳ׆

Н؉ؙЀٴճֹ׃Ϝتѫيָ׃ֲَѕ֖رպҀԳՖϜϷ՞ؔ֎֞յЈًӟҪيמԃѿ֡Ս٘׋ϕў؈֬ѧׄѵٜҒեЀЊϓπюֈպմӴքدѧֺϹӠՊՔٔҫ׶Ўبؓбئ׮؂ן

Ѩ֞ظ׮ωϾס׼ѷ؂տќЁГպՇӑוϟϑҲӾقֹץեӹֹأϸ٣м؈Տթ՞ϜثاωӘؑюԄ׶յӪҦ҇БԚеֹ҅׷הԈϕڀزאԾФװԗӿՅϠٲсեЌصэϾЬ֗Իςל֣Ճгӣό҅Ө׳ԏѤ֋щ،ӜՄҲׂ֫׉ӘٿϬҠذчҜϓҋҬѭϕآЅ؍ؖՓ֖ٵӼքϪӇՖٚϏԊшϘӏ؛גٝךؘנѐҙԙҬ׷ֻلҗыՖ։ϨАТؘѸҏЃؚ՛ӅնϑӭԌьӕاն֑׻լׅҎЈϵгةؿҢҎ֊սϾӷ؅Ը҂ك҅؟ԀЅѶ׃ЎԠъԢ׬όКׇЄ҆٘ϜךثضՔԩո֟џأՑՌלٟ֯ѣբҶԡּ֦թҴϝ׾ԓӆӎئџНפҍ֏԰֤ԫԘ٫ѿՠқ֒ӥӭйٞѓӵԻϢ؄ѐχԕҕϋփτёЭӉצרןӗ׈٢ЉҞՂѭϤ׎׸֭׵֌ѿپӮփԶԈٳѴ؂׻ӇكքԄ٠ѿٙր֎ҸմٔҖϲПӉֲЏа֗Ԑӥصَ҇ѩѴҳ׬הТҤժؔԝӝҤ׌҅ղَ֚ӼַՅثس֬رמբԹٔդԹϷسҿԇՎЖՔРٳЄٷАѧӚІՊ։١Ҧҥ҄דϦ֠Մ՞Кԏ֙ثئлמջֽ٫֙ׯپϡѬֲӏԿЦ׌ոлֺ؂ٚӢٽҥֽ؏ՀңөҴҙӷր؁٭׷سՕ֙Қ֙ћٳ׎Ӎ՟ЧӽقѩתئجψЗլӽ֢҃ؖϼѾҮֱԍԑүїטҋٜ׍ؙԯրֲҌѭхРӺ֜ѓٞюϭӼԉױ׍׬Ѣ٦ъҲմϳ֘϶ՇԏπٸϿϬДց٦уֱ׿Ҽ֫ѯծЬҰ׌ϡЦӠգҜדْנЛՁгיёҝ֖ٸЙҷ؏Зҽ׵МٲЬթώԧؾԇҍҬؗٯԩֵ֦ԺئӿӰ֕ԝԷԦϗӰԟ׆շϋҌ؟ثЛւԾ؄وϺғӍѵվԂԱѤѶҚԘٕЗغԺّٞԷҮѓټײ֞ӑ٨ٞЂ׌׋֪Ёא֓ՀخԞԊќӳӄώԱ׮ח׳ѡՀ׮҄ذمѳؠҾѹ״ٻϲбԦҾؽٹҦ׀ҸՀϯԪ׸վעՉ׺ӸӮցϻҙϜх՗׉تӚϨրԈ҉Ӣԛ֧ѷϳҠѮ׹ԯ״ҘӗђقטעѾ՜׿ϿԣϊӇ֍֚֔ϯ؜ًЈώ֊Դԩ׍פЗԖҳٟդ׊ϟҌѧԾԕрٟѹҼնӼѩӛЏЛϾֳ֞ДМ؃ѽٗσӽӑғӑҏԐϨѠםтӯ،Ͻчի٩הәӨ҄֬ϻԭٙФҦѼ׹ђ׷ЇضҞѺֻҊϻԸѹҔ֊ՙѮչآ׸םӟӽٳ

If yԭ׭ҹրгϛЍֺԹС to subҼظԘt an advertisement, חոϙӣҞՐ҇ՑԧғτӸВѫ϶se drop them bׂѤ׊؛טҗӐѝըϠӚ׉كՎϛӫ٫ٚ؄ոճحПֹЃРؾϔӽ־Ӎice.

oٌՎطد҆ёװғԟ٢Ӷֶَճؑաӏries

Jչآ׸ם Gordon

Hermione Gӟӽٳnger

GriҊϻz Visser

VaniҔ֊ՙas

Bucky BѺֻԸѹs

DaҰ׌ϡina Clairӭ

Nyx UlrФ؝҅

XayЁh

There miѧӚt be more. WІՊ։١Ҧe still ԇՎЖՔРٳЄٷАѧӚІՊ։١ bodies.

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Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

I'd appreciate that. I know some people who would probably help, at least, they helped me when I was testing my flight out before. Of course, that was just trying to fly along the beach and not into uncharted territory.

[He's gone into plenty of uncharted territory before, but after what they just went through he'd rather have more of a plan than what he's seen so far. Especially since it sounds more dangerous than anything else they've done here.]

I wish I could fly higher...then I could probably use cloud cover.

[ There's a thing about that - about doing this just to get something he wants. People do that all the time, they call it selfishness and pride, they call it light if they feel like its done for just the right reasons, they call it darkness if they're afraid of it, inconvenienced by it.

Riku, he calls that human.

There's warmth on the other side of Riku's palm, no longer leeched away by a tough but pliant suit of dark armor. Riku even questions why he'd done it, it's not like he couldn't have chosen a dozen other ways to remind himself that the darkling - that Vanitas - has come back again, to consider what the cost was this time.

He looks.

There are many times when this is a mistake, because looking at Vanitas is jarring, not only for the bright yellow of his eyes and the reminder of Xehanort and all his iterations, but because of them inside what almost looks just like Sora's face.

Looking now, there's none of the harder sentiments, the anger, the malice, to carve telltale differences in their expression. Their wonder looks the same. Riku's palm retreats, fingers curling into his palm as he lowers his hand to his side. There's an opening forming in the lines of his mouth like there's something more to say - maybe an excuse - but as his knuckles go pale his lips purse together into a flat and speechless line.

The tablet is still there in his other hand, he could use it, could try to fumble his way through what he can't articulate out loud, like Kairi and her letters. What stops him is the difficulty of getting as far as putting these thoughts into words, not the risks of showing Vanitas what might be taken for a vulnerability.

He's tired of losing f--

Riku shakes his head. ]

[ Vanitas, for all he can feel and taste the dark feelings of the people around him, is no mind reader. The intuition he boasts comes from experience, and from learning, and maybe from the past he can't remember— when he'd been a full person, when he'd just been Ventus and not a broken piece riven from him. He casts his verbal net wide to find the weak spot and push on it. But right now, he can't parse what it is Riku is trying to articulate, with his teal eyes gone heavy with some emotion Vanitas doesn't have the vocabulary for.

But Riku lets go, it breaks the spell, whatever it had been, to keep Vanits still. Whatever passed between them, with Riku's hand on his body and the press of his Light right there, right on the other side of his shirt.

Instead, he diverts to the way Riku's mouth opens and then closes. Vanitas, months ago, would have lorded this over Riku. He already did, just seconds ago, needling him about their inequality— so he can't exactly say what it is that makes him move now. If pressed, he might just cite his own frustration. They can't have a conversation when Riku can't speak, but that too is telling. Vanitas, after all, was never all that interested in the listening part of what makes a conversation.

His weight shifts, from one foot to the other. They're already close enough to touch, so Vanitas doesn't have to reach across the space so much as reach up because of their height difference. He's since changed out of the tatters of his armor, so Vanitas' hand is bare when he wraps it around Riku's throat.

They've been here before, too. Only the last time he grabbed Riku like this, he threw him into a wall.

Now, Vanitas frowns with concentration. He's never tried to use Darkness to heal anyone but himself before. The yellow of his eyes come down from Riku's face and look at the shape of his pale fingers against the gauze, his brow furrowing, and he pushes with his magic the same way he's pushed it into himself. It's no Curaga, it's only the utter purple-black of Darkness that flows out of his body and pools into the ruptured muscle of Riku's throat. ]

[ It doesn't take him by surprise as much because Riku watches the gesture unfold; the memory of the times they've fought, the worst of those moments in the Invincible or at what became the ruins of the boathouse, they rise behind the pressure of his fingers encircling his throat. Riku doesn't flinch. It's not because he's too tired to fight, even if he was, he would - promises to keep.

Vanitas presses his Darkness into him. Behind the veil of his longer hair, Riku's eyes round.

He just senses something different, there's no bloodlust. Riku could tell himself he allows it out of curiosity, even as something like instinct kicks his heart into a battle rhythm until he hears the rush of his own blood roaring in his ears.

They aren't fighting, so... there's no need for the buzzy sweep of warm adrenaline and he thinks that's because Riku hasn't really had a moment in the last two weeks that wasn't on high alert or just unconscious, so it's almost like his body has to remember what it's like to cool back down.

It's temporary, he knows it from experience, but the billowing dark that pours down into him cleaves all the jagged edges of pain off the whole host of his healing injuries, cuts and bruises and knitted ribs, the cauterized rip a claw put right up by an old scar in his side, the cut across his chest.

Perhaps he's been tired and hurt for too long. The abrupt relief makes his head spin and to steady himself, his palm falls heavily on him - his shoulder, maybe his arm.

His eyelids drop shut and the exhale he makes isn't really a sound but it's a sigh at the relief, the erasure of discomfort and Darkness's temporary euphoria, the way it sloughs off fatigue and makes him feel... impervious. He recognizes that high.

Dark wisps curl around his nape and out of the corners of his mouth, slip up the hollows behind his ears and at the sudden deep itch in his throat, it convulses as he coughs. He thinks it... hurts, but it's blunted beneath that dark power, the itch intensifies and with it, the urge to cough.

His fingers tighten. They might even leave bruises where the tips have dug into wherever they grasp. He tastes copper at the back of his throat, it tastes fresh, there's a burning tickle that makes him think it might actually be mending, slow and reluctant. ]

[Oh no? Just watch him!]

I'm not-- I'm not going to live there. But there are still people who might need, you know, medical attention or something? And the sleep-- uh, the people who were sleeping, need food and water. Warmer clothes.

I should be back in a few hours. I found a bike! This is so much easier than trying to walk everywhere. But still, though. Ambrose? Be careful in the woods.

Don't worry about me.

( he smiles and even throws in a wink because he can, because he's him. )

I'm gonna be fine, I promise.

[ she switches to voice to make things easier. ]

Yes, on both accounts. What type of wound do you need stitched?

Uh huh, right. I'm totally not worried right now. That really set my mind at ease, thanks. For that.

[Teasing because he can, and because Ambrose knows. Was there. Saw as much shit as Quentin did and fought his way through it. Back to back with him some of the time.]

A--uh. One made by sharp and pointy things? Claws? I think there's about four of them.

[ That's...very ominous indeed. ]

I see. Thank you for informing me about the situation. It's startling to see something like this having only just arrived here.

[ And Shigeru fights monsters for a living so you know... ]

You said the spirits don't want us to go to the lighthouse, but does anyone know why? And I guess the spirits aren't willing to talk or tell us why, right?

[ He hasn't even been here for a week and he's already trying to help, smh. But it's really worrisome and he just wants to make sure everyone is okay?! ]

I appreciate all the help I can get. It's better when working together. What are you familiar with/comfortable with doing?

Procedure wise, I mean.

Of course. I'm not practicing technically, but I do still have my license. [ although she's come to learn that that doesn't hold as much weight here as it did where she's from. ]

I can diagnose and treat most injuries, which is most of what I was doing when the spirits were attacking. Stitches, setting minor bone breaks and sprains, and the like.

Are they deep?

Do I need to come find you and give you a hug so you calm down?

( he would. )

What are the limits on your abilities, exactly?

( sort of a personal question, but, imperative for crafting any sort of plan. )

They've messed with the network before, haven't they? The empty static, or the cries for help.

That's what you think is at play here? A signal hijacking?

( bc no offense will but it seems a bit more intense than that. )

( WOW ELEKTRA GOING IN BLINDLY HUH IS THAT A DIG )

I'm not suggesting going without a plan. But it's already been weeks. We don't have the luxury of time, as much as we'd like it. If something is wrong, there's already a limited chance we can do any good. Waiting much longer just narrows that already slim possibility further.

Cao Pi intends to have another town meeting. As much as I hate to wait, the more voices we can get on this, the better.

( hopefully a day or two... hopefully they have that much time. )

[Par for the course, honestly. He'll realize his mistake some day. He may even have the courage to try and fix that mistake when the time comes. For now though, he's too wrapped up in the devastating event aftermath.

Not only did M.K. die to protect him, but Masaomi hadn't even had the presence of mind to grab the guy's lantern afterward.

He has to find it. Now.]

Don't wait up.

[He types like it means anything to Riku. Then he's climbing out of bed. He shouldn't be moving, let alone running.

He doesn't give a shit.]

You think that's gonna stop me?

I'll charm her pants clean off and send you a fucking picture.

I don't know, but-- yeah, probably. They feel deep. Uh, about-- my finger goes in to the first joint? Is that deep? It feels deep.

I'm on my way through the forest, so no? I'm fine. But everyone at the armory woke up. Maybe you want to see Eliot? I'll be back there soon.

[And Quentin out, stuffing the tablet in to his pocket as he parks the bike. Getting ready to talk to Peter about saving Robin.]

[He did see it. He also read it over and over a few times, just to commit it to memory, because this kind of thing doesn't happen to him a whole lot. Not even with people he's combined magic with.]

( matt, that's so logical and smart. )

Think she'll be okay for a few more days?

Eliot doing okay? Bitching up a storm?

( he hopes so since that would mean things are starting to return to normal. )

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[ѧׄѵٜҒեҡٜהػһ] - WEEҎЯҝLY BUЀLωؗҹTIN - OPױҊ

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