💣 015 | text

[gangsterbaby]

piss shit fucking bloddy basterd

[It's like high-tech graffiti! How exciting. That stays up on its own for a while, but it's eventually joined by another message.]

Wood plancks and rope needed. Money is no objeckt as I am a rich pirate with lodes of cash. Must be delivered here to morsha falls independint housing with delivery fee negotible.

video; 7/15

[cassassin]

[it's a phone. or something very much like one. she doesn't have the word for it, but she doesn't have words for anything. still, she can recognize it for what it is. and she can probably figure it out, she's a resourceful kid. after fiddling with it for a bit and bringing up others' posts, she grasps this can at least reach people who might be able to help. mimicking swiping gestures she's seen from the others walking around her with their phones, the girl--cassandra cain, though that name doesn't mean anything to her yet--blinks in surprise as she sees her own face, filthy and scratched, looking back at her on the screen. her hair is long, down to her mid-back and falling a bit over her eyes, tangled and slightly matted.]

--Ah...?

[her gaze sharpens. so, network, marvel as a nine-year-old girl holds her comm in one hand, gesturing and miming, only managing strangled squeaks and hisses for vocalizations when she bothers at all. she's trying to convey something, though, and her body language is clearly frightened and confused. the girl sits with her knees pulled to her chest, wearing a worn-out shirt printed with cyrillic text, threadbare jeans and sneakers close to falling apart. her arms and neck are cris-crossed with scars, knuckles recently bruised. from what's visible of her surroundings, she's in downtown de chima.

finally, in frustration, and thinking she's gotten across all she can for now, she ends the post there.]