tushanshu | 1, video

[A pair of big brown doe eyes are peering into the camera at extreme closeup, like he's trying to dive into the lens and spot people on the other side. Finally, the eyes pull back, and the video focuses on the rest of the face to go along with the eyes. It's a teenager, with a really weird and ambivalent expression on his face. In the background are his new digs, still shiny and new and clean, and obviously a suite in the Earth sector.]

Wow, okay. This Skype connection is weird, it says I'm on but it's not giving me any user names or pings or anything. It's either broken or I'm doing it wrong, either of which is possible, I guess.

Um.

Yeah, so, I'm Stiles, I'm seventeen, I'm new here and I'm apparently dead. Or something, maybe not. Gotta love that whole hot mess. I thought the afterlife was supposed to be a bit more, you know, well-defined and concrete. ...For an ethereal possibility that's never been proven, except on bad basic cable "Reality" shows.

[Oh, the sarcasm.]

Anyway. Okay, this is a long shot, but does the town name Beacon Hills mean anything to anybody here? Maybe? Beacon Hills, California? 94166? Yes? Holla at yo hometown. ...Please?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Yes, I can understand how that would be troubling. I find myself missing my pack more often than not, but it seems quite common that once one of a group arrives they find themselves followed in reasonably short order by their acquaintances.

[Alas, it's not the case for him.]

But if you find turtles particularly despair-worthy, I'm afraid I can't help you.

[His eyes go wide, and he starts waving his hands in front of the camera.]

Whoa whoa whoa. Back up. Did you just say "pack?" I assume you don't mean a pack of lemurs.

Judging by my lack of resemblance to a lemur or any other such creature, no, I did not.

[He smiles dryly.]

I meant a pack of werewolves.

[He doesn't keep that a secret, he never has.]

[He looks utterly gobsmacked at that, blinking rapidly and shaking his head a bit, an incredulous look on his face.]

For real. You just really came right out and said that? Wow. Um. So...not a secret here, or something?

There's nothing to conceal. But really, there are enough supernaturals and other unusual people here that reactions are generally quite accepting.

[He tilts his head.]

If you're worried about such matters.

[His jaw drops, and he gapes at Lyall for a second.]

...Where I'm from, it's a pretty big secret. Wow. Uh. Doesn't affect me directly, not really. I'm not a werewolf, I mean.

What's your name?

Well, I suppose you are from America. Matters are quite different there.

[Damn puritans. He supposes Stiles must be something like a claviger, a human who assists werewolves.]

I am Professor Randolph Lyall.

[Whoa, "Professor." He should be respectful. Too bad he's terrible at respecting authority.]

Wait, so are werewolves just wandering the streets openly in London?

...Oh, crap, that's where Jackson is. So many things make so much more sense now!

Well, yes, of course. Our pack is based an hour or two outside of it, but we do spend a great deal of time there.

[He wonders who Jackson is. He certainly doesn't know a werewolf of that name.]

Holy crap.

[He just laughs, and makes a mental note to self: Scott needs to go to London.]

Jackson's a friend of mine-...well, not so much a friend, as he is a guy I really actively hate a lot? Anyway, this guy just got the bite, and his parents immediately sent him to London.

Ah, that sort of friend.

[He nods, then looks surprised.]

That's very tolerant of them. Congratulations on his successful metamorphosis.

[Usually in America, if someone turns into a vampire or werewolf... well, they tend to be killed.]

[So now he's wondering if Jackson's parents know more than everybody thinks. HMM.]

If I ever see him again, I'll tell him you said so.

So, um. What do you teach, exactly, Professor? Werewolf lore?

Animal biology, actually. Primarily sheep, though that is of course impossible here.

[They don't have sheep. It's really a shame, he misses his flock.]

...Wait, there aren't any sheep here? For real? So what do we make warm sweaters and lamb chops out of?

The kedan have their own animals, but they're quite different from sheep.

[He smiles.]

Alas, there is a shortage of lamb chops.

Is there a shortage of warm sweaters, too? Because all I got was...whatever this is.

[He fumbles on his desk, picks up his juulan and waves them around.]

And it doesn't seem like a fortune.

The kedan styles run in a different direction, but I'm sure you can find a fuzzy sweater if you look.

[He chuckles, then nods at the juulan.]

It buys more than you might expect, but you'll need some form of employment.

That's what those guys said, yeah. Back where I woke up. I was hoping that had been part of my hallucination that put me here in the first place.

Unfortunately not, but the few hours a day they require will provide a sufficient amount to live on. I'm sure it won't be difficult to find something you enjoy.

Are there any jobs playing video games? I'm good at that.

I have no idea. I'm not familiar with any sort of 'video games'.

[There are clearly quotation marks around the phrase, the way he pronounces it. He is from Victorian London.]

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