[Visual (to everyone)]

[smecker.livejournal.com]

Paul stalks away from the sink, digging out his cigarettes with one hand while punching buttons with the other to send a visual broadcast to anyone who happens to have their tablet on.

He takes a long drag on his cigarette, a long exhale, before opening his mouth to speak.

"Paul Smecker here," he says, his words short and clipped, all business now. It's just like filing a goddamn police report. Just the facts, ma'am.

"The kid calling himself Party Poison stole a personal possession of mine. The thing that showed up here with me from home," he says. Doesn't feel the need to elaborate on what it is, but while they are all here from different worlds, all here with different backgrounds, he's learned enough to know that apparently everyone gets to bring something. He doesn't know who has what, except Wyatt-- Wyatt has the horse, the horse he'd made for his son. Something important.

Paul would bet that everyone here cares about what they brought with them, on some level.

"He took it a few months ago, when I was distracted by icing his broken nose for him. He's refusing to return it, and his brother, at least, is threatening armed force if I attempt to take it back."

"In short, Party is a thief, and I advise keeping an eye on your possessions while you're in his vicinity. Maybe his brother's too for all I know. They're clearly operating on a survival level where they can't comprehend respecting the rights or property of others. So watch the things you don't want to lose.

"And if you're listening, Party? I hope to Christ you don't try and steal from someone who'll break your neck with their fancy superpowers. For your dumbass sake.

"Paul Smecker out."

He stands there a few seconds, smoking furiously, then turns on his heel to go to where he keeps the janitorial stuff, the broom and mop and scrubby brushes and the Chlorox.

He's got a mural he doesn't want on his building any more.

[ooc: Takes place immediately following this thread.]

Comments

[visual / locked]

[aintnoconvict]

Of the roughly eighteen bazillion things Glitch thinks he and Paul ought to eventually talk about (but won't if he has any say because merciful gods no, just no, and some more no) this is probably the simplest, and best responded to in the simplest terms:

"Y'know, I kinda can't stand those kids."

For reference he's curled up on the settee in his office in the palace, a glass of wine in the hand not holding the tablet. There's a bit of rebellious spark in his eyes because...well, everyone else seems so keen on giving those damn kids as many chances as they can to hang themselves, and he's fed up with it.

[visual]

[the-bluethunder.livejournal.com]

Illyria cares nothing for the quarrels of humans. They are but children's games. But this place...causes her more restlessness than she wishes to admit. It is another place she must adapt to. Without a guide.

"He bested you." She looks at him, detached but curious. "Are you to allow his thievery to go unpunished?"

[visual]

[slayersidekick]

The last time they spoke didn't go over so well, and even though it's not a situation of life or death, it's still important to someone, so a very cowed Willow turns on the feed and responds.

"Um... Did you ever get it back? That thing he took from you?"

[tothelightshown.livejournal.com]

The prisoners were a long way from their respective worlds. The things that they had brought with them - whether they were mp3 players or carved horses or frozen palaces - mattered. They were a final link to the place that they were supposed to be and a reminder of the world outside this hated city.

DG was suitably horrified by Paul's revelation and, when she switched on the tablet to reply, her expression was serious.

"What did he take?"

It was probably easy to guess that she intended to try and get it back.