[Now this is unusual--the blonde man is on camera! Although it should be easy to figure out that whatever extenuating circumstances have driven him to this were not kind; unkempt, unshaven, blue eyes dead and glistening with tears, his appearance screams of a man in mourning who hasn't left his room for almost a week. And this is, indeed, the case.]

[A text apology would be the path of least resistance, but the last time he tried that people got angry at him, and he's sure that they're all angry enough with him as it is. He wants them to see how sorry he is, even if he's feeling too miserable to leave the first floor dorms. It's about all he can manage.]

[...If even that. Cameras have never agreed with Rick, and as he opens his mouth to try and speak, he realizes that they're certainly not going to be friendly with him now.]

--I-I--A-A-Ah--

[He closes his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut. Don't think about the fact that you're being filmed. Don't think about how everyone checking the terminals can watch your red face blubbering about your horrible mistakes. Which they are already judging you viciously for, by the way. Just ignore that for a minute. Right.]

...S-Some...s-s-s-something-- [Rick grinds on that first syllable a few more times through his teeth, falters, gives up.] --I-I m-m-mean--l-last--th--there--th--u-um--

[He can't do this. Rick swipes off his glasses and buries his face in his hand, taking several deep, long breaths. When he speaks again, his words are still muffled in his palm.]

...I-I've m-made...a m-m-mistake...

[The blonde man sits in front of the terminal for some time thereafter, as if he's going to try and continue, but when the words don't come he quickly reaches over and turns off the feed.]

[He doesn't stay to look at replies to his post--the idea of other people commenting on that embarrassing display almost makes him sick. Instead, he stumbles back to his quiet, dark room on the first floor and curls up in his bed.]

[There's a static, and a bit of focusing, till the video shows Ib. Her orange collar is a bit of a contrast against her red-and-white clothes, her expression calm.]

Hello. My name is Ib.

[She nods, holding up a rose.]

I woke up here with this in my box. So far, everyone I've met doesn't have one. All the same, I thought I should just warn people.

[A pause as she looks it over, then back to the camera.]

If anyone does have one, or suddenly finds themselves with one, don't lose it. It's important.

... That's it. Thank you.

[Ib bows, then quickly ends the transmission.]

((OOC: Ib still thinks this place has something to do with the gallery, but won't go into that unless she's prodded.))