video: un; Deja Boo

[schrodingersghost]

WHO: Danny and anyone
WHERE: Network Post
WHEN: Late August
WHAT: Help???
WARNINGS: None


[Danny looks more than a little stressed and tired today. He is slumped down against the back of his chair as he opens the video feed.]

So... this is kind of a funny request. But does anyone have any advice on learning how to cook? Since it kind of turns out that that's something I need to learn. Long story.

UN: hikari-vi | text

[whiteshroud]

WHO: Jun Nightroad
WHERE: Network
WHEN: August 19
WHAT: Jun got a grab bag
WARNINGS: It's about a stripper pole, so yeah.

I got a grab bag from the goodwill while I was picking up something else. And I have one question.

[He'll upload a photo:]


Why?

video; UN: dabi

[dabi]

[ Cut image is gonna be to a rather odd looking individual with more--are those tattoos?--than he has normal skin, and apparently just as many piercings.

He's got what looks to be a playful look on his face, but what with the uptick of a sigh he lets loose, there's clear annoyance here. ]

Here I thought I already had all kinds'a social media on my phone. [ the guy's voice is deep, like the bottom of a volcano. ] But this one's new.

Ever hear aboutta thing called Marie Antoinette Syndrome? Where peoples' hair suddenly turn fuckin'. White? Due ot stress or some shit?

I ain't stressed, but turns out it might be real.

Anyway. You can call me Dabi.
Gonna' use this opportunity to announce the opening of my shop, Troublebound.
I do tattooing and body mod shit.
If it's your thing, we can talk. I do good work, just look me up on Insta and Snap.

Look forward to working with ya.

artist of the used art here.

video | un: captainkenway

[jackdawvision]

WHO: Edward Kenway and you!
WHERE: Midtown apartment.
WHEN: After he gets some Gacha Goodwill treats from the free bin.
WHAT: Local pirate Assassin is a little bit out of his depth.
WARNINGS: Blanket Assassin’s Creed warnings (most relevant: mentions in narrative and dialogue to murder and conspiracies). Mentions of alcoholism and alcohol-induced hallucinations.

[Scene: a Midtown apartment. It’s a bit cheap-looking and quaint, but already signs of life have popped up here and there: a ship in a bottle, a pirate flag pinned up on the wall, some leather armor hanging off a coat rack. The camera swings around, manned by someone who’s not entirely used to this level of technology but is getting the hang of it, until it stops and focuses on the kitchenette.

And on what is in the kitchenette, which is a rat, having somehow assembled some kind of stepladder, diligently cooking a pot of stew. It’s very good at it, carefully measuring out the ingredients before pouring it into the pot, and it even has a soundtrack playing as it cooks.

Then the cameraman speaks.]

You’re all seeing this, right? And hearing this? Because I’m not sure whether to hope that this is a fever dream brought on by perhaps too much rum, or if this is real and I have a rat cooking for me now.

[A beat. Then, aggrieved:]

Bloody hell, how does it smell better than anything the Jackdaw’s cook ever came up with?