[AUDIO]

[More violin music over Descole's feed today; it's an incredibly simplified version of Song of the Stars - although really, someone ought to teach him the Jeopardy theme, considering how much that instrument gets whipped out when he's feeling like bombarding the network with both the fact that he can't hold all his feels, and he has something best described as "pseudo-philosophical what" to say.

As before, he plays for a while before the melody fades and shifts into something long and drawn-out, idling while he speaks; the sound is quieter, as though the violin has been directed away from the 'Gear a bit.]

There's a famous thought experiment that poses the following:

Imagine yourself standing outside a large field; you see, in the distance, what looks to you to be a specific animal - for simplicity's sake, let's say a bull. You then form the belief that there is a bull in the field. And you are correct - there is, indeed, a bull in the field. However, the bull is lying down behind a hill, just outside your line of vision; you can't see it from your current position. Moreover, what you actually saw was a tarp that had gotten tangled over a bush; from outside the field, it looked like a bull, but actually wasn't anything of the sort.

Again, you were factually correct, and you had a well-justified true belief that there was a bull in the field. However, can you really say you knew?

[He pauses for a moment, continuing to play quietly while he thinks.]

And if you were to find yourself in such a situation - where a belief is true and well-justified, and yet the proof of it being true isn't where you believe it is - would you say that your belief was any less valid?

[And with that, the feed cuts off.]


( [PRIVATE TEXT TO FLUTTERSHY] )


( [PRIVATE TEXT TO COLONEL ARCHER] )

[Those just turning their Gears on to check the Network this morning will be greeted by strains of music over Descole's feed - something melancholy, being played on violin; the song is something he'd heard many times before over the course of his...stay in Misthallery, and he understands that it's likely in horrible taste for him to be playing it at all, but it's a rather pretty song regardless.

After a while, the melody pauses, though there are a few notes being played lightly in the background, long and drawn-out; the sound appears to have shifted some, as though the violin has been adjusted away from the Gear.]

In a setup to a puzzle that's been around for a while, you meet three men in a wood, at a fork in the road. A sign above them states that one man is God; he knows all, and always tells the truth.

One is the Devil; he likewise knows all, but always lies.

The third man is ambiguous; he knows nothing, but will answer as though he knows everything. His answers are completely useless, and could be either right or wrong.

The sign states that you are to ask the men one question each - three questions total - that can be answered with "yes" or "no," with the intention of determining which person is whom. Were this a proper puzzle, I'd be asking you what question you would ask to which man.

[His hand shifts a bit on the violin, idly trilling the notes a bit while he thinks.]

However, when faced with the possibility that one of the men before you always lies...how are you to know that the Devil didn't post the sign in the first place?

[And with that, the melody seems to pick up again; the feed keeps going for about another minute or so before cutting off.]

[AUDIO]

[Well, the last month has seen Cobra attacking a bunch of children in the name of...taking over the world or something (and apparently plotting something else, if his last post over the Rocket frequency is any indication), one of the new scientists attempting to vivisect a Voltorb and threatening to blow up the lab in the process, Gorthan being a goddamn alien, and some member of the organization apparently losing his mind and going on an anonymous rampage the likes of which are rarely seen outside of...I don't know, 4chan.

Between all of this, March has pretty much confirmed to Descole that he is the only sane man in Team Rocket, and come the full moon he won't be surprised if everyone else in the base mutates into something horrific and develops an unholy craving for chicken hearts.

Today, he's trying to get his mind off of it; he's not exactly in the mood to put on much of a performance for the camera, so you can have an audio post instead today, Johto. His tone is clipped and a bit annoyed; this is due to the fact that he's had this damn...egg-thing for over a month now and he's trying to resist the urge to punt it across the room, but no one really needs to know that right now.]

For those creatures that are supposed to evolve through...I don't know, friendship or happiness or whatever you feel like calling it - how can you tell if these things even like you, much less are close to evolving?


( Private text to Emmy Altava )

[The 'Gear had been an interesting thing to figure out - an amusing little toy, really; while calling it a puzzle would have been giving it entirely too much credit, Descole had enjoyed himself with it for a while. The afternoon had been spent watching the others post to the network; apparently he wasn't the only one that had randomly found himself stuck here. Really, there had been at least one other that day posting to say that they had found themselves in the same predicament.

How odd.

Tonight, his own feed comes alive, focusing in on a dimly-lit room and just enough of a figure to indicate that there's a person sitting in that chair over there, though he's leaning back and the camera is situated at an angle in relation to the person, keeping his face out of view of the camera. There doesn't appear to be too many distinguishing points about the individual, as he appears to be draped in a long black cape of some sort, though toward the upper corner of the frame, there's an obvious fluffy shock of white among all the dark folds of fabric, and the edges of his sleeves are ruffled and white, pale against what's visible of his hands where they're folded against what appears to be a desk or table of some sort.

All part of the act, of course; keep the audience guessing.

When he speaks, his voice is cordial, but almost stiffly formal - not quite rehearsed, but he's clearly been thinking about what to say for some time.]

Assuming this message manages to reach anyone, if someone would do me the favor of actually obliging me and letting me know where I am, that would be appreciated - there was a red-haired woman in here earlier claiming that she was doing exactly that, but unfortunately, she didn't say anything terribly useful.

[He leans forward a bit, the slightest hint of a smirk edging into the frame above that white boa.]

And if anyone just happens to know where my swords have gone...really, if you know what's in your best interests you'll return them as quickly as possible. I can't say there won't be any hard feelings, but I'm sure we can work something out.