[The video feed clicks on, and Muraki is curled up in his computer chair, wearing a thick, white bathrobe, and a throw blanket wrapped about his shoulders, nursing a steaming cup of something. A warm flickering light can be seen in the shadows of the room. White flakes can be seen falling in the one dark window visible in the background, and the wind can be heard moaning.]

Well, I've said that I'm fond of the winter, but... it seems to have rolled in over the end of summer and the beginning of autumn. Freak conditions, perhaps?

((The wintry weather is mean to characterize how cold Muraki has allowed his heart to become, in order to protect himself from being harmed ever again.))

Theoretically, speaking. If one could travel back in time or into the future. Where would you go and why?

[The webcam switches on, and we have a view of a garden terrace at twilight, a few bushes in bloom and a few early fireflies flitting about in the grass and trees.

[Muraki is lounging on a chaise lounge, dressed in a light, summer-weight shirt and slacks, collar open, reading through a pile of letters, a pitcher of something cool and bright with ice cubes on a table beside him. He'll reach behind it, picks up a glass, sips from it. He looks utterly relaxed and contented. But there's a big pile of letters for this to be a typical summer evening...

[He glances up and smirks at the camera.]

Would anyone care to help me open the mail that piled up whilst I was away on a working vacation?

[The camera clicks on, but for the moment, the view is partly obscured by the cuff of someone's grey silk shirt sleeve as the operator adjusts it. The angle yaws back and forth several times and in so doing, we get a glimpse of a narrowed grey eye squinting at it. Mozart's "Voi che sapete" can be heard playing in the background.

[Finally, the camera stops wobbling and the hand encased in the sleeve withdraws; we get a view of a tall, slender man with a pale complexion, peering at the camera through platinum blond fringe that obscures one eye. He's rather expensively clad in a grey silk shirt, open at the collar, with a white linen waistcoat, also unbuttoned. The bookcase-lined room behind him suggests a Victorian gentleman's study, though a few ukiyou-e prints can be seen hanging on the walls as well.]

There we go: you'll have to excuse the camera abuse, as I would be the first to admit, I'm not as adept with a web camera as I am with a scalpel. [Said with a bit of a smirk]

[He clears his throat delicately]

Please allow me to introduce myself: I'm Kazutaka Muraki, a surgeon working out of Tokyo, residing in Tokorozawa City, though I've worked on and off as a private physician to some wealthy families here and abroad. This site was recommended to me by a young colleague of mine, who suggested that the younger physicians might learn a few things from another professional who's a little bit older and more experienced than they, but not quite old enough to be considered a seasoned physician.

I'm looking forward to chatting with you, barring technical glitches and human errors: perhaps I can learn a trick or two from you.

Oriya, you have terrible timing for phone calls.

[Muraki sounds groggy, and utterly unaware that he's being recorded. (Un)fortunately, the community only gets to hear his end tonight.]

I have an important flight to take tomorrow. Can you wait two days?

Will you pay for the new ticket from Kyoto?

[He sighs and a lighter flicks on.]

If you were anyone else, I wouldn't do this. But I'll take the next train there. If it's so important, I should get there to take care of the problem as soon as possible.

[A framed picture of a girl is visible on the desk Muraki's computer rests on, near a medical journal dated December 18, 1996. After a moment, he steps into view and takes a seat. Rather than the suit he had on before, today he's in scrubs, looking a little more exhausted than he was before.]

How many of you are from worlds with advanced medical technology? By that, I mean being able to treat and cure some cancers, reattach severed digits, transplanting organs from one person to another, or other similarly complex things. If there's magic instead, what sort of ailments can that magic cure?

I'm a surgeon specializing in children, you see, so I'd like to know where my home is in comparison to others.

[He'd say more, but his pager goes off then. Muraki checks it, frowns, and quickly shuts the computer off.]

[OOC: Replies will happen IC hours later, once he's done with the situation demanding his attention. For people who want to get in on Muraki's current plot and haven't spoken to him, try to comment here so he's not going after complete strangers. Otherwise, I can assume his power stuck him in the wrong place or something.]

[Have one slight bruised, exceedingly pale man. He adjusts his glasses and smiles politely at the camera, fully aware of himself unlike some newcomers.]

I seem to have gained access to a very strange forum without registering for it myself. Or perhaps I signed up during one of the recent days that I don't have good memories of. In either case, you all can call me Muraki. Are there any rules or other things I should be aware of before I explore further?