508 Ricardo Drive
[Crown has awakened from his sleep to find himself in a strange room. This was not his bed. He didn't remember these decorations, the things that hung over his bed. Pictures hanging around the room, himself in them with strangers. More over, how the hell did he appear in these pictures. This was too odd. Too bizarre. But he couldn't panic. He looks around the bedroom for his sword but...it's not there. This is getting bad. What was the logical thing to do right now?
Well, get dressed and walk outside to look at these strange surroundings. Gain familiarity with this foreign territory. His eyes are narrowed, dark even as he suspiciously looks about. Where had he been taken? For what purpose even? Was someone trying to remove competition from the Hierarchy's cup? If that was the case why not cut his throat? No it had to be unrelated. But they took his sword, which almost answers itself. Who would want their captive to have a weapon?
Well at least he can still summon swords. Crown lifts his hand to create a sword, only to find no sword was appearing. All right...magic is blocked too. Definitely a prison of some form.
If someone comes by, he's standing at the side walk looking very deep in thought, a hand to his chin as he ponders what is going on.]
[He has picked up the phone, eyeing it with curiousity. Cross mentioned these things, it was how non magical people communicated. They would often lift it to their ear and talk, right? Doing so he speaks clearly and with purpose.]
Hello, if I am speaking with my captives I would like to inquire as to why you have put me here. Also I would like to know where 'here' is. I would even so go as far to question as to how you can block my magic. Though it almost seems fruitless to ask at this point. After all, you would probably like to keep your captive oblivious and break under the pressure. No matter, I will find the answers myself if that is the case.
[Crown has taken to the streets. He has a kitchen knife tucked in his belt, but scowling as he moves. A knife was no weapon, especially something so flimsy. If he see's you he turns to you, his stance becoming composed but his expression looking very serious and possibly a bit annoyed.]
Excuse me, are you one of competent speech and thought or are you one of this massive collective that will grace me with platitudes and be otherwise unhelpful to me?
[Blunt much for you?]