Fuck it all.

First I was a bleeding garden then the old man went small and rabbited on, and I haven't seen...

Oh, hell.

HAS ANYONE SEEN THIS MAN?



He'll reply to: idiot, old man, jerk, arsehole, and occasionally Constantine. Been missing for five weeks or so. I checked the hall, and he's not in it. He's a bit of a toe-rag but I'm up to ninety and it would be nice to know where the fucker is.

Wall-falling, the lot of you. Just get in the Arthurs, you'll be find after an hour.

[ooc: Yes, I know that John's mun is on hiatus, but she doesn't ~__~]

I was sleeping.

What the hell is going on?

Matt, you okay? Better? God, I feel like something died in my mouth.

People still getting their clackers in a rut?

's a bit odd, innit?

We're all stuck here.

I mean, I knew it before but I kinna got it today.

Why are yeh stuck here? What are yeh learnin'? What's pausin' yehr life?

Can' be for no reason.

Just sayin'.

Sing to the four quarters,
Split them and scatter them,
Weaker in numbers and severed in spirit,
Trapped under stone and tapestry,
Bound in honor and in rivalry,
Join these quarters and see them right!

Cut the wounds with acid,
Behold the blood and grime,
Forget the fortunes and...

Wh-what....what is...

M-matt? Lu-luke? John?

I'm bleedin'.

...issit...

Some kind of orange?

Lick me at your own fucking risk.

Private to Matt//unhackable

I got the stuff for cake. You buy the beer. I'm learning to make...wings? Something with chicken parts. Does he like those?

Fucking hell, what a load of bollocks this has been.

I've been a bit wide about it, but you know it's a headache, what with some idiots forgetting and others summoning demons, and all and that. Matt, you're okay, right? I'm sticking myself out of this.

John?

Dunno what else. I've sort of been in my room, tinkering messing around with this computer thing. It's not so bad, you gotta tell it exactly what you want. I suppose that's the point, innit?

[ooc: Strikes unhackable!]

Fine.

Fuck it all.

Everyone just shut up.

I'm going to sleep.

[ooc: The pressure is lifted, may the blood once more freely flow. She was convinced last night]

--lo-d and h-r-r [the crackle of static, and the connection goes out, then flickers back on] and night-ares...

[The connection goes out again, and then comes back on once more, this time it's stronger. Magic users and sensitives can feel a press against the City, like a giant smothering glove]

Time to go home. Shite.

That was harder than anythin' right.


[ooc: Plot begins! Feel free to notice dust instead of blood if you get cut, too!]

Are you fucking kidding me?

It's Sid, Sid blood, not fucking pixie or whatever bullshite this is. I'm in the gaff and suddenly I feel like my backs aflame and this crap blows out?

Go to hell, City.

And now the Network is jammered with all sort of people reciting bad tan poetry?

Excuse me. No.

And you're a raging cuntbag. Stay away from him if you know what's good for you. I know all about your secret, mind, and I don't care if the entire City shares in the bloody details!

Welshman, I need a drink and you're on my list of people I'd like to get to know. Take me up on it?

So usually bullshit is a pretty good word to bandy about. I have a pint of Arthurs and I'm pretty inclined to get pretty bleeding pissed, right about now.

Any arseholes who haven't been accounted for yet? I know of one in particular. I should probably go seeking, since he's kind of an irresponsible idiot. He'll probably end up eating shite, and then I'll be the one to get the blame.

Meanwhile it's like a fucking day in the park, isn't it?

Matt, you really should learn how to hold a gun. And maybe how to take the safety off. I can't honestly believe McClane hasn't shown you yet. I'll teach you if you show me all about this computer shite. Deal?

Hey, Nicholas Brocklehurst. I want a job. I don't care if you were special ops, or what, you know that I can do for you what no one else will. So cough it up.

[ooc: Green font is Irish Gaelic]

Oy, old man, I heard you were in some shitty kind of scrape. You want to let me know before I pop off and ask someone else? You have to be wider about that kind of shite, you know.

Speaking of, aging like that wasn't half bad. I don't know if I'm a looker or what, but at least now I know I don't turn into a scanger.

Anyway, I'm down to odds now. I really should start looking for a place to live; the church is fine but I'm getting the feeling I'm starting to put myself on here. Anyone have any suggestions?

So all the noise is about who's going to be Warden next, right?

Well, I suggest you go and vote for:

John Constantine

After all, he lived through Thatcher so he bloody well knows what not to do, and he's not too concerned with shite that people do that isn't fucking murder, and even then he might be willing to negotiate.

And let's remember to love the sinner and hate the sin, and that shite. Do people really want a police state? And John may be a lying sack of shite but he doesn't murder and get caught, anyway, drink blood or bite.

And lets remember that John respects the non-human population, but he thinks he can rule as Goblin King. Say, don't we already have one of those?

What's going on? First this idiot goes and locks himself in the bleeding clock, now the boys around here are acting like they're not the full shilling, and I have to root for a bit of fucking sanity in this shitty place.

I don't want a shift, a scon or a shag, so stop asking.

....there's a voodoo doll following me around.

Shite. I hate this place.

[ooc: Flirting is a go, join in if you like :D!]

I'm not doing it on purpose.

I mean, I do a lot of shite on purpose. Talk like a girl who knows what she's doing, hate magic, generally that shite? That's a-purpose. Drinking three pints? A-purpose. I only weight forty five kilos, sopping wet.

Fucked up right and proper, I am. Straight away on my back.

I want another Arthurs. I want John. Anyone want to drink with a former freedom fighter? Sure, they called us terrorists. But I'm all out of money, and I want another drink.

Who's in? Any takers?

You know what?

...this place is fucked up. I want to go home.

Private to John Constantine//hackable

So.

Yesterday didn't happen, did it.

[ooc: Strikes in Irish Gaelic]

The prophetess Fedelm, from the Sid of Cruachan, a poetess of Connacht am I.

Speak to me your joy, your peace,
and I will speak to you my prophecy.

Blood rises from the wells,
Pours and spills,
And the rivers will run white,
Foaming

See it in red,
Drink it in,
Revel in sights that are your last,
The golden hound of Culainn comes
His gae bolga in hand.

Bring your host, bright Mebd,
Crimson-red from blood they are;
I behold them bathed in red.

[ooc: She's sitting in the square, in a large, spreading puddle of blood, singing. Action and comment spam. She'll tell you your prophecy, if you ask nicely]

They say so far, so good. I say that this place is full of some of the most fucked up crazies my meager years have ever seen. Not a sane head on most of your pretty heads. Half of you are touched, the other half omadhaun, then there are some of you who are on the okie. Lots of tan, too. Any good old red necks round here? DNS? Anything?

Some of you aren't so bad. Granted, got their fair share of misfortune, but better than nothing.

And as for the wizards round these parts; can't be fancied to spell your own gammy selves a nice flitter? Just know what you've got now, boys.

Looking for a job. Anyone willing to hire?

( Written in Irish Gaelic )

Bleeding hell.

Soaking wet, wishing I was dead, and I think my fucking arm is broken. This shit isn't Belfast. The air is too clean, too thick, and the streets look like I'm in London. No Bombadiers.

Someone want to share what's going on here? Because this thing; it's like the internet but more sophisticated, and I've only been on that thing once or twice, but now I have to know, and the geeks back home used to say that everything's on the thing, and I don't have the patience to be dog wide about this.

I'm jaded and I have a mouth on me, so spill the news and point me the way home.