[ the Doctor sounds a bit... well, shell-shocked, today. and slightly out of breath, as if he'd just run into his ship from the outside and got her into the air before immediately switching the mike on. ]

Right. Well, all things considered, that could've gone worse.

[ raising his voice a little, he announces: ] Bit of advice for you all: if you ever happen to be caught in a tight spot with an Oruplasmian, whatever you do, don't let her try and solve the problem by swallowing it. You think you've seen bad indigestion in whatever your species is, let me tell you, you haven't seen anything until you've had to tangle with the Oruplasmian digestive system.

[ beat. ]

Oh, and while I'm here, has anyone else noticed that Kirei Kotomine and Goldilocks's world has been locked off? Someone might want to look into that, just a thought. Any other time the community's restricted access to a world, it's never been good.

[ another beat, a longer one, this time. ]

Oh, and all those dealing with a virused friend over the next few days, remember to stay in touch. The personality switching ones can be a bit on the hairy side.

Right, I think that's pretty much everything. Ta much!

[ The post starts with Yuri raising both hands in front of the video, showing off her rather obvious lack of a string. She's not affected by this one. (Thank god, she would've been pissed about it.)

Right now she's just decided to give a rude little PSA to everyone. ]

Hey, morons! Stop asking what the hell a string is doing on your finger when there are like 50 other people who asked too. Either check out the other posts or stop complaining.

Anyway, why are so many of you shocked about this? Aren't there a ton of Japanese people on here? For those of you who aren't: It's said that God tied red strings to people who are destined to meet in some way. Two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers regardless of time, space, or anything else. It's basically like a soulmate.

In other words, it's pretty stupid since all of that corny crap isn't real to begin with and the gazillion posts about it are flooding my page. Anyone have anything interesting to talk about?

[ Sorry guys, even if Yuri's involved now... she's still not that interested in this kind of thing. At least if she thinks it's not real to begin with and especially when she thinks someone, even the community, is trying to toy with something as important as caring for others. That is to say.. maybe she's even a bit ruder than usual because this is actually pissing her off. ]

Stupid. [ And the video cuts off. ]

[Eleven swoops into his TARDIS wearing a Stetson and carrying what looks like a short metal pole with a black bulb on one end and a metal ball on the other. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, he's carrying the eyestalk of a Dalek.

He carelessly tosses it onto the pilot's seat as he passes, muttering to himself]

Calisto 5. Claisto 5...

[He moves to circle the console so he can input his new course when he's abruptly YANKED off his feet and falls in a spectacular heap on the floor. He shouts in surprise, flopping onto his stomach and glaring at the offender - his hand. More precisely the red string tied around one of his fingers.]

What? What are you? I didn't put you there? How did you get there? [He rolls his eyes and continues talking as if he's directly addressing his hand] No not you, that string!

[He tugs at it and when it doesn't come off he resorts to pulling at it with his teeth.

What? It might work.]

[an ancient TV flickers to life in what looks to be the basement of the worst episode of Hoarders ever, or a very badly-kept pawn shop. bric-a-brac, large machinery, and crates labeled in a variety of languages and symbols are everywhere. An aging man with a gigantic nose and receding frizzy hair is standing in the middle of it all, bent over what looks like a jury-rigged executioner's chair. he tightens the last of a series of car seatbelts around the man in the chair...

who happens to be a very concerned-looking Kevin Brown. Agent Jay stands by off to one side, near a console that looks cannibalized together from old Mac computers and various machine parts. he looks completely unconcerned, if a little impatient.]

Have you removed all your jewelry? [Kevin just stares at him, unimpressed. does he look like he wears jewelry, moron?] ... Are you allergic to shellfish?

JEEBS!

RIGHT THEN. Smoke 'em if you got 'em. [he moves over to the console and pulls the start cord on an outboard motor attached to the whole thing. it starts to clatter to life, slowly]

[Jay shoots Jeebs an uncertain look] You ever used this thing before?

I used the exhaust once to make some hot-air popcorn, but that's about it. OKAY! Let's make it happen, Cap'n! [the hodgepodge deneuralyzer starts to hum and whir - various gadgets attached from the console to the chair rattle - eggbeaters, literal bells and whistles, pipes .... and then the power blows. the room goes pitch black.] Hmmmmm. [as fast as it was gone, the power comes back back on. the pipes and wires all start to shake, lights attached to the console flash erratically, and all three participants in the process look sufficiently unsettled. it all looks as though it could fall apart at any second, and just as it seems like it might, a teakettle whistles, the chair tips flat onto its back, and Kevin is shot out of it onto the floor, steam whistling from his ears. Jay looks less than satisfied - since it's possible the alien pawnbroker could've just killed his former partner. for his part, though, Jeebs just beams] Perfect!

[the agent and the alien lean over Kevin ... and Jeebs' head explodes in a shower of green goo. Jay beams.] You're back.

[understatement of the century: Kevin is less than pleased.] No.

[... waitwhat? Jay frowns] Then how'd you know his head'd grow back?

[his eyebrows crease in disappointment] It grows back?

Real nice. See, that's the last time I help out a friend.

You remember anything?

[but Kevin's already on his feet, heading past Jeebs as his head grows back to normal size, not even looking back] Goodbye.

Kay, WAIT! I never got the updated software - still workin' off the 6.0. Your brain needs to reboot!

KAY!

Bottom of my heart, Jay, really sorry. I hope this doesn't affect our friendship. All those years of loyalty and trust ... respect for one another ...

[the back wall of the basement explodes in a shower of concrete and rubble, and four nasty-looking alien thugs muscle their way into the storeroom. acting fast, Jay's already diving out of the way. Jeebs points after him, not missing a beat]

Right over there!

Where's Kay?

He's not here, he -- [Jeebs' head explodes again. as he falls over, Jay's standing behind him, pistol in hand]

Kay is officially retired, I'm his trigger-happy replacement. Something I can do for you gentlemen?

Oh great, right in the pie-hole. Now nothin's gonna taste right.

Lower your weapon.

[Jay drops his voice an octave to match the alien's, pointing his gun at the thugs surrounding him] Noooo.

[there's the faintest jingle of the front door bells, upstairs. sorry, Jay, you're on your own...]

((OOC: Action will continue in the threads! You are absolutely encouraged to interrupt our boys as things progress.))

[the community's habit of turning the feed on at the worst of times continues. the TV's on in the background, but neither of the residents of the Brown household are paying it any attention - they're out in the foyer, just visible through the archway of the living room ... so that the community gets its first - and last - look at Elizabeth Ann Reston-Brown.

she's pretty for a woman her age, still, grey hair with the faintest remnant of brown pulled back behind her ears. and she's got suitcases at her side. uh oh. Kevin's just ... standing at the stairs in khakis and a polo shirt, looking like he's not exactly sure how he came to be there. because quite honestly, he's not.]

... So this is ... 'Lizabeth, don't tell me there's nothing I can --

That's just it, Kevin. You're sweet, just as sweet as I remembered you. But that was forty years ago. And ... I've had a life in between then and now, and you --

I tried. You know I tried. But when I say you're not here, I.... [she sighs] We've had this conversation. I don't want to have it again.

But ... what if I could change your mind ...? [even his voice sounds hollowed out, empty. like there's nothing there, like her words are drops hitting the bottom of a well]

Kevin. ... I don't want you to.

[and then she's gone. the door shuts and he sits down with a great, deflating sigh on the stairs. at least he's got his face in his hands, so you're not all completely uncomfortable at the sight of a grown man crying?]

[the feed turns itself on in a pretty nice-looking hotel room. it's not swank by many people's standards, but it's decent - the sort of room that looks like it earned about three stars, and came by them modestly. there's a faint glow of neon coming in through the windows, and the sound of a shower running somewhere in the background.

but mostly, front and center, there's one (1) Kevin Brown, out of his mailman duds and wearing equally old-guy-chic plaid cotton pajamas, a towel draped over his shoulders, remote control in hand.]

Well this sure as hell isn't the concierge channel. I was wonderin' when you folks were gonna show up again, though I guess it just figures you'd crop up in the middle of my vacation.

Las Vegas, in case any've you're wonderin'. It's pretty nice, so far. Little busy, little crazy, little loud, but on the whole, it's been a good time. Though I do not understand why all the Elvis impersonators keep comin' up to me to say hello. I appreciate the King as much as the next guy. Just didn't expect him to ... well, appreciate me.

Wife's in the shower, I got a good half hour or so to kill on my hands. What's goin' on with all've you?

[the feed turns on to show a pretty standard little suburban living room, if your idea of standard is modern middle-class America. there's the sound of a door opening and closing, and keys jangling as they're set down. a few heavy footsteps, and a man's legs come into view - the computer in question looks as though it's sitting on a coffee table.

there are shorts. shorts, and knee-high dark blue socks.]

'Lizabeth? Honey? I'm home! ... God, I am so done with this day, technician from Pitney Bowes took a good three hours to get over and repair the envelope feeder ...

[no response.]

You out in the garden, baby?

[nothing.]

... Huh. Must be. Left her laptop on again though.

[and then the man the voice and the socks belong to sits down on the couch and peers at the screen, squinting. after a moment's deliberation, he reaches out with one questing finger and clicks]

This doesn' look like my MSN homepage. Heck is this ...?