Tu Shanshu

[It's been near a year, Arno's shocked to realize, and it's the mention of the Christmas holiday approaching that tells him as much as that. Last year seemed to have mostly...not gotten involved in things but this year? Perhaps it can be different. He'd like to find out actually, which is why he is here, in front of the camera, smiling a bit expectantly, hands folded as he looks into the camera.]

A query, if you would.

I am told that Christmastide will soon be upon us here, and that there are some who intend to celebrate it. ...How? If we're so far from home, stuck here in a world where it isn't native...What does everyone Do?

The giving of gifts is easy enough, but are there parties? Is there Revellion, the watching? It's seemed like just a day to me before, but knowing I'll be HERE for it...that does change things quite a bit.

Does anyone have any ideas, parties to invite me to, or tips for throwing my own?

[Insert Arno, looking particularly dishevelled, bottle in hand, hair loose and flopping everywhere, and half dressed in only a loose shirt and trousers, there's a long moment before he's glancing into the camera, scoffing a little, though his eyes are blurred.]

It's invasion of the dread chihuahuas at long last, is it? Well, welcome to our happy little turtle. I guess you've already gone ahead and fetched your own treats, have you? Sounds a little cannibalistic and morbid, that, but you've gotten what you want here, no?

[And then there's a laugh. A stupid, drunk attempt at humor, clearly.]

I think we are supposed to learn by their example, somehow. Maybe that there's no real way to get away from any bloody thing, that no-one has the power to do a damned thing to prevent what's wrong from happening, and we are, ultimately, on our own.

Not very bright a prospect, but a true, and...work in progress, right?

[And then, Arno's slumping down in the chair he'd borrowed, letting himself slide to the floor under the table the console's located on, then staying there until the recording eventually runs out. At least once he's out of the picture, it's easy enough to see a few features showing the public console at the cafe he's chosen to pass out in.]

[Arno's a fast learner, anyway, and even though he's not adventurous enough to try playing with the console configurations he's been taught yet,or actually inspecting it with someone not around to wonder what the hell it is he's doing, he might as well announce his presence here. Obviously, his robes are off, currently drying after he cleaned off the evidence of his romantic encounter with whatever was in that stable nosing him when he came to, but the hangover's worn off, he's relatively accepted that the story he was told is not some drugged hallucination, and that he's not suddenly discovered Hell is real, so that is something.

There's a beat, and he's leaning forward, pasting a charming, almost too charming grin onto his face. Practiced social smile though it is, there is at least something sparkling in his eyes, even if he might be just a bit more nervous than he's planning to let on. At any rate, he's shrugging at the screen a little, muttering a little to himself for just a moment.]

What is it they say about not being able to beat them, and joining in?

[There's another beat and then he's speaking, this time for real.]


Well, let us get the introductions done with, shall we? I think they've given me enough detail to explain what's going on here, even though the last time I got hit with half of this, I wasn't exactly sober, and were it not for lacking the requisite headache, I would probably assume I've either drowned my current sorrows way too much, or someone somewhere's dosed me with something, again. It wouldn't be the first time it's been tried.

Speaking of druggings, other people, and the like, I don't suppose anyone here's spotted a redhead with a sword who looks like she was born to it? She would as likely run me through as soon as hear she's pretty, but all the same between us, Elise de La Serre's rather stunning, sometimes literally if I'm not being careful.

[At which point, he's rubbing his temple exaggeratedly, the implications of that pretty clear, even before the smile turns into a smirk instead.]

Since I am pretty sure, I'd rather not be knocked out in a strange new world, where the boundaries between reality and dreams are blurred, humans are part of an invading force, and local gangs don't like us much, you can say that Arno's been sniffing around for her, and things shouldn't get too heated.

While I'm waiting the mademoiselle's appearance, what's the going rate on work and food these days, have foreigners become the national symbol and currency of the current situation like the nobility's done in Paris, and is anyone eager to tell me how delivering our heads to whoever runs came about if what seems to be true is true?

The real story, not this vague "war" answer I've been getting. Every good war has its stories, no?

I wait with baited breath if nothing else.