video; un: rtozier

[summertimeblues]

[Surrounding a pair of stained and rumpled tomes is a jumble of a barbershop quartet. You have Yusuke Kitagawa, focus plastered to whatever he’s sketching in a tidy notebook. Red, last name unknown, is continuing to copy letters into her own collection and keeps her phone ready at her side. Richie Tozier and Dorian Pavus are the only ones paying attention to the video feed. Ironic, as neither one of them should even know what a livestream is.]

Greetings to the damned, coming in live from the asbestos-caked halls of learning down here in Olympia’s residential nerd district. My name is Rich, this is Dorian. Say hi Dorian.

Greetings, from your local residential… nerd? What does that even mean, dear Richie?

It means a well dressed man. [Richie smiles sweetly at the fossil sitting adjacent before turning his attention back to the camera.] Over here and ignoring the masses are people of lesser import. Anyway, we’ve all gathered here because we took up some of that under the table money in exchange for odd jobs, and today they stuck us up here in the book prison. We’ve been tasked with translating all this old hocus pocus and we found some interesting stuff, looks pretty well like a related spell. I know some of us remember that cuh-lossal skull in a cave. Terrible vacation destination, by the way, piss poor accommodations and it’s definitely haunted. Just a hunch, but I think something died in there.

More like they were rather exquisitely prepared, died, and then proceeded to serve a "higher calling." [Dorian rolls his eyes, leaning forward to take up more of the screen.] It’s a question of what that higher purpose is. Judging by the preparations of the whole thing, it’s either incredibly sanctimonious or incredibly… condemning. Shall we show them the texts?

[One of the people of "lesser import" look up at this time — the one with bright red hair — as if on cue ( really, it was just some good timing ). Takes a brief moment to roll her eyes at the dramatics unfolding in front of her, but she reaches for her phone nonetheless; soon, a text attachment shows up with the video. Otherwise, she doesn’t look like she has anything to add, and quietly returns to her work.]

There you have it. Take a looksee, it seems we’re missing a beginning and an end there. Any other fun tidbits would also be appreciated if you’ve got them. I personally have always wondered how bar mitzvahs are conducted in magical medieval empires. Do they have a ceremonial gremlin for it? I’m too scared to ask the locals.

[Richie suddenly frowns, sidetracked by the human noodle etching in silence across from him.] Hey Stringbean, what are you drawing? Is it me? [He leans across the table to snatch the notebook. Lovingly (and quite skillfully rendered) is the skull in said cave. Richie gasps in delight.] It is! It’s me when I’m dead! What a cuuuutie!

[He’s now leaning bodily over the table to pinch at the teenager’s cheeks. Red makes a face, the camera jumbles and goes flat and pitch black on the table. The last thing heard before the feed cuts is Richie’s yelp of pain (Red's boot has found his shin) and Dorian’s long groan.]

((OOC: The text will be added as a comment to the post! Any one of the four losers present may reply, but it's mostly going to be Richie and/or Dorian.))

Comments

Video | UN: priorly

[priorly]

[Hello Dorian and... Dorian's friends. And also what the fuck, but that's a fairly standard reaction to network posts lately. This is quite something though. Prior remembers that skull a little better than he'd like.]

From the look of your texts I'd worry less about Bar Mitzvahs and more how they do a bris.

[summertimeblues]

[Richie snaps his fingers and slams the table.]

Bris! That's the word I was looking for. Bless you sir, I wasn't there went my buddy Stan Uris got the nip, being a Methodist and all.

[priorly]

I admit, I'm less familiar with the ceremony than the result, myself. So - while reading about cannibals for fun and profit's one way to spend an evening - I'm not sure where we'd look for the rest of the spell. My little book of sacrifice, tucked down the back of a couch with suspicious stains?

[summertimeblues]

[is he implying —

....yeah probably implying. "Familiar," you bet.]

Probably under the mattress, more like. These folks have a pretty big boner for witchery and the macabre. Have you been up in the library at all? Or...what's the equivalent in Wyver? I haven't spent much time there myself, but seeing as how both these passages are leaning southerly, it wouldn't hurt to check.

[priorly]

[Ritchie, look at the video screen. If he wasn't currently addressing you wearing a floral kimono it would still be clear that's what he's implying.]

A little revision of harvesting procedure and then off to sleep? Look what happens to a culture deprived of Harlequin Romance.

[Three guesses and a pin to stick in an anatomy textbook at figuring what the harvest may be.]

Speaking of restful nights - I got out of Wyver as soon as they let me, but I did spend some time inside the skull. I think I saw the parts they left out.

Who wants this translated, exactly?

[summertimeblues]

[it could have been a girlfriend's...he's a dumb pre-internet hetero, let his caveman mind stutter and wheeze]

Are you planning on filling the void? I haven't seen Nora Roberts in the snooze tubes, perhaps your time is now.

[Richie frowns, suddenly a touch of the serious sits about his face.]

...You too, then, huh? I was hoping to pass it all off as too much Welsh Rarebit before bed, but you know.

Voss and his cronies, na-chur-ally. Paying fifty silver for the hour if you get results too. Want to get in on the action?

[priorly]

[Prior's from 1986 himself. Dumb, pre-internet heteros are all he knows.]

I don't think so. I always got the feeling romance authors lacked a certain amount of void filling in their own lives.

[Prior can appreciate the ability to switch between the serious and the absurd like a lightbulb on the fritz. Often enough one's how you get through the other, after all.]

And me too, so either that's what passes for a movie theatre in the Wyver suburbs or there's real magic in that spell. They're paying well, too, for a cultural anthropology research project.

[summertimeblues]

[i'm sorry for prior's eternal suffering]

What a crying shame. I bet you'd make a mint, the market's untapped. Virginal even.

[Oh buddy oh boy, you've hit the nail on the head there. It's Richie's truest vice.]

Damn. I mean, there's a line of thinking... [He frowns more deeply, pulling back to rub at the junction between his eyes. He halts here for a moment before the hand draws away, thoughts compiled. It's a lot of clutter to fish through, he'd ditched a lot of hookum and spookum as time wore on. Fetching back his childhood know-how of the supernatural still doesn't come easy.]

Some people think ghosts are less unfinished business and more like an imprint. A scar if you will, silly as it sounds. Some dirty dealings striking bad on the fabric of a place and leaving behind echoes of what happened thereafter. A lot of movies and shit used to capitalize on that. Old horror comics. Maybe it's something that holds water in a place like this.

[priorly]

Echoes, held in granite and replayed like videotapes. I've heard the theory. It does sound like a theory, though. Doesn't it? Neat, something you don't have to be terrified of. Practically scientific. The supernatural sanitized for the skeptical.

[He plays at something pompous in his tone. Or sanctimonious, to keep the alliteration running a little longer. Only for a moment: it's not a natural state to maintain. He reaches for a glass of water, drinks, and goes on casually, if with some small nod to dramatic flair.]

It's definitely the kind of thing I'd want to believe, if I didn't want to believe the shiver that just ran up my spine could do me any harm. And maybe it's true. There could be imprints and something more. If I'd been harvested, I'd want to haunt somebody for it.

[As it is, he's been haunted instead. And he didn't practically piss his pants over a supernatural video rental.]

[summertimeblues]

[Richie takes on airs himself, eyes narrowed in suspicion and adopting a voice that might strike as a ghost of the past in itself. If Prior ever paid attention to the heyday of anthology television, that is.]

A land of instant replay, lost memories on parade. Secrets exposed and mysteries unsolved. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call...the Twilight Zone.

[Then he too slides out of the act, and privately decides he rather likes this spindly fellow. He's thoughtful and takes a joke, seems to know his way around a dictionary. Artistic type, that's a bonus always.]

I'd say you've got a fair case for revenge haunting, certainly. We don't have a spiritual soothesayer among all these firebreathing warlocks and secret agents, do we? I've learned to expect the unexpected but never the useful.

[priorly]

[It was the sixties, baby. What else was on. Prior laughs, clasping his hands together with the pleasure of recognition and - something mutual. It's so rare here. Though, as Richie goes on he shakes his head. He doesn't talk to ghosts, they talk to him.]

I'm sure I couldn't say. All this ooky-spooky talk's giving me a case of the vapors. [He fans himself, momentarily a Southern Belle.] And revenge may be a dish best served cold, but who knows how one serves revenge for having been a dish yourself.

[He pauses a moment, indulging a slight tic of worrying a corner of his mouth in thought.]

I'm no student of the archaic and arcane, but I am curious, I admit. I wouldn't mind a look at the text. [Who knows if revelation's as applicable to ancient lore as it is to people. He has a book of dubious mysticism written through his blood: like may call to like.] My concern is why the translation's being done - the timing of it. Somebody protected this, and protected it well.

[summertimeblues]

[The laughter is like being showered in gold. More attention and applause, please, a former celebrity (minor but much beloved by listeners in LA and beyond) languishes without regular reassurance they still had it.

Even more delightful, Prior plays along and not shabbily, either. He switches to his own creation, Colonel Buford Kissdrivel: old southern money and pompous buffoon.] Well, I reckon anuhtha mint joo-lep oughta clear the air, mah dear, I'll meet you on the veranda with a pitchah and a pair o' highballs. [Normally, now.] I'd say standard spooks and rattling chains like old Jacob Marley might help. If you could drag the culprits down to hell with you that'd be even stevens.

[Prior brings up a good point. One he shamefully failed to consider, it's an obvious thing in retrospect. Richie puts his chin in his hand, rapping his fingers thoughtfully against his lower lip.] You're right. It is suspicious. The text itself only refers to stuff around Wyver and the religions there, even if most of that didn't turn out into complete sentences. Maybe it's the big wigs up here trying to get a closer look into whatever tricks they might try pulling down south.

[priorly]

[That's quite a selection of voices. Prior shifts from Garland to Hepburn, O Hara to Dubois in the course of most common conversations: tributes less than pure vocal echoes, but good ones. Recogniseable to anyone who would know. And so few do that it fairly well flattens the point. The idea that someone might have a few points of common culture, at least, is almost enough to distract from that dull, dire, foreshadowing feeling settled into his stomach.]

As long as they're not thinking about trying a taste for themselves. We don't have dragons here, but I'd check the small print on any dinner invites for a while.

[There. He kept to the subject. And now leans forward, chin lightly cupped in his hands.]

If only the South here could have had a few more cocktails and corralled its dragons into derbies I might've given the place a chance. But where are you from?

text

[flashystyle]

[It's more like Dorian and his close acquaintances. Not even close, actually—Dorian and his supporting cast. Yes, sounds about right.

But he doesn't know what a Bar Mitzvah is, so he's going to keep quiet and settle for mouthing words in the background of Richie's video feed. Initially, he just repeats their Earth-exclusive words with a question mark and a shake of his head. But eventually he pulls out his own phone to take it to the next, meaningless level.]

🐉🤵💀🍴

[pay attention to him]

text

[priorly]

[And here he thought Dorian had finally formed the pop ensemble his outfits have been crying out for. Prior can probably be seen on the monitor blinking and checking his phone.]

If you're ordering takeout, delete the last digit and add an 0. Try the General Tso's.

[flashystyle]

[Dorian manages to keep a straight face as he reads the text in the background, but he leans out of frame as he starts typing again.]

I don't know if that's the right number for my tastes. Am I allowed to order something a foot long there?

[There's short laugh, smothered by his hand.]

Or, more realistically, a few inches.

[priorly]

[Dorian, what are you. Prior can't exactly focus the video on someone else, so the picture his face makes on reading is clearly visible.]

Well I don't know the menu intimately. You could always ask me to dinner, kill two birds with one stone.

[flashystyle]

[Oh, he knows. It's abundantly clear from the way he's laughing again, probably followed by getting shushed by the infantile supporting cast. He's just grateful they don't ask—he is writing all these things around young people, excluding old man Richie.]

I do wish I could. I'd enjoy the taste of the food, and then you, but I rather doubt I'll be leaving my company anytime soon. What if I brought takeout over?

[priorly]

Arousing as discussing sacred dismemberment is-

No, I take back calling it dismemberment. I don't want to follow where the member part of that word goes.

[flashystyle]

No? But I do. Let's have a morbid little date night talking all about it at length. Or just talking about length.

[priorly]

Do archives always make you horny or is it the linguistics side you're enjoying getting your mouth around? What's ancient Olympian for eating someone's meat, anyway?

Are you bringing your boyfriend if you come over later? I have a thing for the shy, studious type.

[flashystyle]

You joke, but I don't think I should leave this room until I can translate that. I'll let you know all the Olympian swears once I've collected myself from the excitement of it all.

Is Richie my boyfriend? You might be disappointed in the shy department.

[priorly]

So you'll let me starve until you can whisper the right sweet nothings. Seems counterproductive to me.

And you surprise me, he's so quiet. Though never mind, the shyness only has to last until that ripping off the glasses - why Miss Jones, you're beautiful - moment, anyway. Maybe he can pretend.

[flashystyle]

Oh, I'm sure he's more than willing to pretend. The amount of times the librarians have thrown us dirty looks for his recitements of your theater is startling. And the amount of dirty jokes, Maker help me—he's rubbed off, and not in the satisfying way.

Why don't you come here, Prior? I'm sure you'd be a saintly partner in comparison.

[priorly]

Theater? Well now you're really trying to sell me on him. If he sings I may just swoon.

And that's quite the bait and switch. Luring me in with one thing when it turns out a study buddy's what you're after - but if you're chained to the books I suppose I could come and turn the pages for you. Will they let me bring you something to eat or is the dust in the air supposed to sustain you through the night?