So, how am I doing? Too serious, too spastic, so out of character you could just die? If I'm doing something wrong let me know here. Any critique/suggestions/comments whatever is welcome and greatly appreciated. If you need to get in contact with me for any reason, you can also do so here, be it for plotting, crediting some icons, or some other reason. If you want to talk to me personally, you can also get me by my AIM handle  Saffirepersian  or by e-mail undersaffiresky [at] gmail [dot] com .

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  So have at it

[The video feed flickers on to center in on a tall man moving briskly down a narrow, deserted hallway towards the room where the communicator is undoubtedly resting. As he draws closer it's easy enough to tell he is obviously distracted, talking into some microphone on a headset that obviously not from the city.]

What do you mean they broke through? What do we know? Anything? Has one of the golems managed to get a lock on th--

[He cuts himself off as he finally finds himself in the room at the end of the hallway. He hesitates, scanning the room with a look of sudden realization, his tense form visibly relaxing somewhat.] ...Ah.

[//Filtered to members of the Black Order]

I can't find her.

Kaaaaaaanda, your golem's finished! Come get it!

[[//Filtered To Members of the Black Order. Unhackable.//]]

All right. I want to everyone who is here to check in.  If someone from the Order is unable to get to one of these communicative devices or is otherwise preoccupied, feel free to vouch for them.  I also want to know how long each of you have been here--if you can't remember exactly, estimate--and if any of you have tried to get out, what have you done to do so. And if there are any individuals from our world that have been here that you can recall, but are no longer here, mention it so I can keep track.

[//end filter.]

[ooc: I assume Komui gave Kanda some kind of crude device to use until his abused  golem was finished. But *shrugs*.]

Now to get all this hair out.

It's still even in the coffee.

Right.

To my students enrolled in my Synthetics & Scientology course or in my one of my sewing classes: class is canceled. Fourth time this week, I know. But does it matter? Go back to sleep, break your alarm clock, hakuna matata, and all that.

I'd go ahead and say finals are as of now canceled as well, as I have no idea what I'm going to test anyone on, but unfortunately I'm required to have them whether I want to or not. My best advice to those of you who have nerves as thin as a piece of string, is to chill, have a cup of coffee, and just relax. It isn't worth stressing over. No need to even study. If you know the material you know the material, if you don't, you don't. Ohhhh well. That's life. Nobody's going to hold it against you in the long run~

I won't, anyway.

I'll also be at the Turnabout Café if anyone needs anything.

[Have a tall, Asian man wandering nonchalantly about the city. He seems more curious than distressed, and is checking everything out in the city that catches his eye with a great amount interest, perhaps lingering a bit too long at any and all coffee shops.]

[At one point, he finally takes notice of the communicator that has somehow found his way into one of his coat's pockets, and takes it out and stares at it, intrigued. Because, hey, buttons. This, of course, leads to him trying to figure out what the communicator does. Which in Komui's terms means poking at a lot of buttons at the same time until something interesting happens, then rinse and repeat. This, of course, likely leads to small, few-second-long video or voice feeds at very random intervals.]

Huh. Must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. [He shrugs his shoulders and continues to fool with the buttons perhaps like a cat would a toy mouse in its efforts to try to get the toy to do something.] Ohhhhh well.