[It's some fabulously obscene hour of the morning when Erik bullies into life fires up his network gadget and sets it on the counter in his kitchen to use as an impromptu webcam. His kitchen and living room are attached, so through the monitor one can see not only the front window with its curtains open, but the viva-la-whathehell going on below it.

Erik himself is leaning against the window and smoking, dressed from the day before like he hasn't been to sleep, and contemplating the unfolding scene with acerbic dispassion.]

Your City suffers from a poorly organized case of Revolution, it appears. [Capital letter audible.] Are we soldiering bravely on toward anything in particular, or have we lost one too many games of Risk?

[He smokes. Acerbically, or one of those other synonyms for 'dry' his typist is running through like Kleenex.]

Circumstances being what they are, this does strike me as the ideal time to mention I'm advertising my services as a locksmith. A profession coincidentally also often dealing with securities.

[Wouldn't it be comically inaccurate if this gave anybody the impression Erik was against bloody revolution as a means of affecting change.]

Those seeking safety, Oh Aces [downloaded directions to hotel] is spelled against violence. Anyone is welcome to weather the 'storm' there.



[FYI: He's out and about in the City, observing. So far; none too impressed.]

[A tiny brunette peers curiously at the screen, her short hair framing her cheek as just one brown eye fills up most of the screen.]

What is this thing? A cam-corder?

[She moves it away from her face, revealing the rest of her face and all the ribbons she's wearing-- four red ribbons all around her head, ribbons on her overall-skirt, and she's wearing so much pink and red too!]
Neat! [She's smiling, very interested in the device, turning it this way and that, making the recording blur.] Why does it have sho many buttons, though? With numbers on? Hey, is it a calcuwator? Or maybe it's like a phone without a dial! ... it's so acchonburike!

Pinoko wonders how it got here, though...? Pinoko didn't shteal it, you know! [She raises her head with a dignified air.] Pinoko's not a petty cwook; she's a lady!

[After a moment, receiving no response from anyone, she looked around warily.]

Doc? ... Dr. Black Jack! ... Doc, where've you gone?! Leaving your wife to fend for hershelf... you dummy! [She sounds angry, shouting at the City around her, but the look on her face betrays only fear. She's even shivering a bit, although that might be due to her being rather inadequately dressed for the weather (short socks and a short skirt? Not a very warm combination!).]

Enough!

Everyone just calm down-

[Steve is out in full armor, and he's either trying his best to stop violence or he's making arrests.]

None of this is necessary-

[ooc: action only! If you should choose it, your character can ask for help, throw a bottle at him, help him, or if you want your character arrested, just let me know!]

[ The device snaps on to the foreshortened view of a spartan livingroom. In the corner, a wire-mesh cage with a brightly-patterned iguana is visible. The occupant stirs sluggishly across the interior, tail flicking. Closer to the screen, on the coffee-table, rests a crystal center-piece. ]

[ Someone's frigid little heart is on display for the whole City. ]

[ In the periphery, footsteps rustle. A voice, too flat and monotonous to be 'Li's, mutters, ]

So now the City's getting metaphorical on me.

Pretentious. As always.

[ Belatedly, the speaker notices the blinking device. With an irritable tch, a hand reaches to click off the feed. It won't be near midnight until the device switches itself back on. At a different spot, but with the ice-heart still in view. By that time, it'll have metamorphosed into a new shape. The blue glow it radiates is actually a spark of concentrated heat. Melting the ice from inside-out. ]

[ Hopefully it won't set the coffee-table on fire. ]

Options for Run Ins:

( ♠ At Home (Li/Hei) )

( ☀ Shopping (Li) )

( ∅ Recon (Reaper) )

[ OOC: Too cold to pierce, too hot to handle? Thawing and mellowing? Eating itself alive? Interpretations are up to you xD (Massively backtag friendly!!!!)  ]

[Despite the fighting going on, Raikov needs to get something off his chest, as much as he'd rather just pretend it never happened. He can't afford to act like his Groznyj Grad self in the City though unless he wants everyone to hate him.]

....

[He glances at the device for a moment before averting his eyes to something far more interesting on the desk. It's pretty obvious he's uncomfortable about doing this, as he mumbles when he finally speaks]

... I'm sorry about the way I acted the other week. I wasn't... myself.

[Raikov adjusts the collar of his shirt, still not looking into the device. Oh, look. There's something off to the side now!]

I'm back to normal now though. ... At least, I think so.

[And once he feels that's a good enough apology, he cuts the feed in a hurry]