[ Since there's been no fall out from that strange picture curse, Yusuf assumes that he's safe. He's congratulating himself-- he hasn't been inundated with pictures, nor contacted about any unsavory photos of himself (so obviously he's flown under the radar for this one, right?)-- on a job well done, when a picture falls out of his notebook and onto his work desk. 

He makes a face, and picks up his device, showing the image and, for once, turning the camera to address it purposefully. ]

Should I throw this away?

[hark! it's an angel! in the sky! flying! er, well. he was flying. now he's falling. fast.]

Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!!!

[CRAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSHHHHH. party in the square bros.]

Oh, ow. Angel pancake deluxe... [he peels himself up off the pavement] Uh, Lady Palutena? You usually give me a warning when the power of flight is about to run out. Yes, sure, that warning does sometimes come when I'm in the process of plummeting to my death but a warning is still a warning! [pause] Lady Palutena? [another pause] Oooookay. Viridi? HADEEEEEEEEEEEEES?

--Ew, no, I just incinerated you with a gigantic laser. And I wouldn't want you to answer anyway!

[he jumps to his feet, puts one fist on his hip and thrusts the other skyward.]

Lady Palutena! It is I, your loyal servant Pit, and I beseech you to heed my call!

[...]



[.......]



[..............ok obviously this isn't working. Pit drops his arm and sighs, but perks up again when his gaze lands on the carousel.]

That looks so fun. I guess I'll...wait for your reply...on one of those horses. [said as he inches his way over, then just goes for a mad dash. AW YEAH CAROUSEL.]

I found a lot of photos.

[ because simon's been going through everything he finds frantically for incriminating pictures... ]

If anyone wants, just...tell me and I'll give you the ones I find of you. The ones that aren't of me.


ooc | anyone who wants simon to find photos of them, just say the word!

Yes, pixels, nitrate, lenses, angles, optics, shadows, light and paste - photographs. Charming.

Now that everyone's inner voyeur's been duly sated like a dashing Cyclops newly come upon vore, I shouldn't want - and yet I do, I do, I do - to draw the eye, the single eye to more pressing matters.

There've been... shall we say, hmmmm. Carnage? Cutting? Cunning? Rape? Death? Death. No, deaths. Madonna Death's walked amidst us, and not only stumbled, but claimed for her own.

And what I am willing to ask, as opposed to, say... tearing tongues out for my answers is:

Who's minded the recent murders?

What do you little pests know?

And how much for you to speak of it?

Now be good boys, and girls, and things and speak and spare yourselves the love and the gore of a serial killer. While I still ask so preciously.