16 September 2014 @ 10:00 pm
Morning, Tranquility. This is William Tsang. I'll be taking over as Chief Medical Officer down here in Medbay for the timebeing, in absence of 1) Peter Petrelli, may his time back in his homeworld be characterized by frequent adventure and beautiful companions irresistably drawn to his ample brown-eyed lust for both, and 2) a specified succession procedure. Hopefully with this change we will see an end to the last of our technological cockups for a bit.

I'm familiar with our equipment and our staff and our weird plagues. I will be referring out appropriately.


Recon Filter | or you're Seraphim Dias | 80% Encryption

Hey. Hello, recon. [William's face flickers into view, medbay in the background. The camera wobbles because he's putting the comm device down after thumb-typing fastidiously in what he felt would be the least time-consuming format for the PSA's audience. He looks normal/slightly hungover.] I'll keep it short.

I been hearing about symptoms experienced by some of us who we's went into the corridors under Commander Shepard. Unlike the syndrome we experienced this past cycle, no two set of symptoms seem alike. Some is emotional, others physical, or behavioral. The degree of impairment is likewise variable. For some of us, they seem to come in and out, possibly coinciding with stress or situational factors. I've yet to confirm everybody's suffering some shit, obviously-- but if you are, know you ain't alone.

If anybody's got a fix, I'm sure we'd all appreciate to know about it. If you'd like to discuss, I'll be in the medbay. I'd also like to run some tests, if you're amenable. No bonesaws, promise. Cheers. [His hand thumps the lens once before the disconnect.]
 
 
17 July 2014 @ 12:18 pm
Hey everyone.

I'm sure some sort of demographics survey has been done in the past but I haven't seen one since I've been here and I'm curious. I've tried to keep it pretty basic. I know people are touchy about their privacy, and I know some aren't cool with being asked about special abilities/skills/powers/whatever, so obviously skip questions if you want to, no hard feelings. I'd rather just get name/age/planet than nothing at all, you know? Not like I'm going to hunt you down and force you to fill it out. But if you're willing to be more complete that'd be awesome and if there's something you think is important that I didn't include a field for, let me know.

Maybe there's a pattern here somewhere, maybe there's not, but at the very least it might be interesting or provide some useful data for department recruitment or something. Maybe you'll find some friends, whatever.

Thanks!



UPDATE: On request from several of our fellow passengers, I'm adding a 'relationship status' field. You're all welcome. Feel free to edit/update your entries accordingly if you want to.

(ooc: feel free to treat this as threadjack city as far as I'm concerned. if you squint it's kind of almost like an ic cr meme?)
 
 
16 July 2014 @ 07:43 pm
I'm missing a Dwarf. [ The introduction's abrupt and distracted. It's also noticeably Scottish, and there's the sound of a locker banging shut before he continues. ] Not a dwarf-dwarf, it's a— it's a drone, and it's a very, very delicate piece of technology.

He's not responding to remote commands, so either he's been damaged or someone's— [ Someone's disabled it or shut it away somehow, which isn't a very charitable accusation. Fitz corrects himself for the sake of diplomacy. ] He's gotten himself stuck somewhere. About the size of a golf ball, black, blue lights. I've attached a picture. If you've seen it, please give me a call.

[ Losing important robots, great start. The feed ends as abruptly as it started, but Fitz picks it up again about half a second later to add a quick: ]

And if you've stolen one of the roombas, I'll be needing them as well.

[ Diplomacy!! As for the promised picture, he completely forgets it until a few minutes later. So, somewhat belatedly: grumpy.jpg. ]
 
 
10 July 2014 @ 04:43 am
And we're back. To those of you who are new, welcome to the Tranquility. For the rest of you, you know why I'm speaking to you now. It's been another month, and those of us who ventured into the hallways last month--whether we made the choice ourselves or had it made for us, here we are. This is our home now, we chose it.

On the topic of Shepard's last message, I know many of you are divided. Let me better frame it for all of you, in the hope it helps you to understand why my stance on it is so hard line. Shepard was punished for trying to pick apart the ship's secrets, held until there was no hope of her getting out. She and her team sent out messages deliberately intended to snare us into the trap - in places they didn't even know what they were saying - to get us to go in there. We resisted. We fought our way back when it threw everything it could at us to get us to stay. Now they apparently want us to go back in. Well it's not gonna happen, and I strongly advise you not to try, even if it's true that I can't personally stop you. Why am I so convinced? Because of something Shepard said.

[ A clip from the message plays, Shepard's voice: ] Formally suggest volunteer only operation. Something is different. Something’s in my head.

Ultimately it's your decision, but don't say I didn't warn you. And believe me, I know what you saw. I saw it too. I saw what I want most in the world, but here I am, and this is where I'm staying.

Javik and Shepard, as usual with those who go missing as well as those lost during the jumps, have been added to the mourning wall in the garden chapel. These were good people, their actions were the actions of heroes, not fools; but most of all, they were friends. I've got a mean streak in me, so here's the deal: you got a bad word to say about them, keep it the hell to yourself. That's my last word on the matter.

[ Nathan is pure Tranquility by now. Gone is the suit jacket and tie, last seen long months ago. He wears clothes bartered for at their last stop, a three quarter length brown leather coat and functional, hard wearing clothes underneath, space age fabrics in dark forest green and darker brown. He's still the same man, but he's adapted. And he's only half done with his talk, his expression still serious. ]

Alright; Tranquility business.

There's gonna have to be a few changes if we're gonna keep living here. Don't mistake me--the ship's gonna step up whatever it's got in store for us, and we can't keep losing unity the way we are. This is jump thirty three, that means thirty three floors; more floors than we have security. Those of you who are new will discover that fresh food from the gardens is only being distributed on floors marked 1 and 6; alternative food is still available in the kitchens on other floors. So agriculture is terrible, the security situation is equally troubling, and then medical most of all; the latter is presently, by way of seniority and...well, other things, in the hands of my brother Peter--you'll find him an apt leader, but he's no surgeon, so good luck if you get appendicitis.

What I'm getting at is a crucial need for people to join departments. Now we've been working on a volunteer basis this far and it's worked fine, but if we don't get people growing food and cleaning up medbay after the jump, fixing shuttles, protecting the halls and maintaining our communications network, survival here is gonna get more and more unpleasant. You like your conversations getting to the right people, don't you? Well so do I. How about them apples? And getting off the ship, despite being a damn deathtrap near every time we do it, that's real great when the oxygen isn't whistling out of the shuttle you're in right? Yeah, I think so too.

If more people don't sign up, we may have to start rationing luxuries...at worst people might start dying, and there'll be no escape route if the ship is gonna blow. I don't want any of that to happen and neither should you.

[ At last it seems like he's close to wrapping up. ]

Last month's losses shouldn't change how we continue to approach survival here, and believe me when I tell you that your first battle is to survive. To do that, we all need to pull ourselves together and keep doing what we usually do, irregardless of our personal feelings. Fight club, space training, weekly dinners, and above all work--routine is how you stay sane; take it from someone who's been here for a while And remember if you decide to get wasted on space alcohol nightly that when your liver fails nobody around here can do a damn thing about it.

But most of all we can get through this if you're all there for each other; we're stronger together. We'll survive together.

Petrelli out.
 
 
03 July 2014 @ 12:51 pm
Good day. My name is Miles Edgeworth; I'm with the Security team here.

It seems that, by now, most have returned from the hallways. If any know of any who have not returned, or if anyone has firsthand knowledge of someone perishing out there, please let us know. We will organize searches for those not returned who may yet be alive.

There does seem to be some design behind what is put before us in this place. The ship, or whoever controls what happens upon the ship, has a malicious sort of genius for ensuring that whatever we must do will cause us to suffer.

This time, it was confronting us with what we have left behind: the worst of it, and the best. The former was difficult; the latter was so very much worse. All of us still here saw our homes, or our schools, or the places where we were happiest, and we chose to reject them. We made the active decision to come back to this place and continue fighting. Perhaps this decision was foolhardy; regardless of that, it was courageous.

So though perhaps I have no right to do so, I want to commend and thank all of you for your courage. I want to commend and thank all of you for the courage you displayed in not letting your friends go easily. These days since we've come back have been difficult as we've mourned what we don't have, and the days to come will be difficult as well. The months and years to come will be difficult. But you have shown, time and again, that you are able to fight; just keep strength, keep courage, and we will continue to overcome.


[And, tacked on a little awkwardly:]

A reminder that SEC is always searching for new personnel. Please do contact myself or Tyke if you are willing to volunteer. Additionally, we are willing to help coordinate training for those who feel as though they're unable to defend themselves. The dangers of this place are real, but there will always be support to help you in defending yourself and, indeed, people to help protect you.
 
 
02 July 2014 @ 09:10 pm
 
How do you keep faith, here? How do you remember that God wants...how do you keep some kind of faith, keep from losing your mind with the things that happen to us?

My whole life I've heard God; all I had to do was listen and there He was, like music, like a symphony, and even when I was at the height of being terrified, there He was just working the notes of this great symphony. But then I followed that music, I followed Grigori, and I did something and now I can't hear anything, for the first time I've lost God and I just want Him back-

What if I did was unforgivable? What if saving another person isn't enough? What if what I did has stained my soul?

How do I keep believing that God loves me when I can't hear Him anymore?

How do you keep faith?
 
 
26 June 2014 @ 09:57 pm
Text  
Has anyone made it back from this rescue trip yet?

Also if you're not going but bored and looking for something to do. The gardens always need people.
 
 
22 June 2014 @ 07:15 pm





             
NIGHT SPEEDS BY, AND WE, AENEAS, LOSE IT IN LAMENTING. HERE COMES THE PLACE WHERE CLEAVES OUR WAY IN TWAIN.






[ ooc: as characters begin to return from their journey into the depths of the ship, :)'s post trails more activity on the tumblrs subnetworks to be followed and solved. ]

 
 
30 May 2014 @ 08:50 pm
While I am looking into joining some branch of the science department on board and am generally taking time to acclimatize to new surroundings, I'm not used to having so little to do. I've been taking advantage of the media libraries and reading back on the network, but I'd really prefer to have something to work on. If anyone has any odd jobs, needs anything fixed or built depending on whether the materials are available, consider this an open offer. Trade is negotiable, since this is something I'm asking for.

I can provide character references if people are worried about their belongings being damaged. If the term means anything to anyone, electrical and mechanical engineering are amongst my specialties.


[Which is as polite a way as he can think of implying that he has more than one without it coming off as bragging.

Also he has probably typed and re-typed a lot of this, but at the same time thank mutant baby Jesus goodness something like text function exists in all it's glory because it's made life about ten times easier to navigate.]
 
 
11 April 2014 @ 03:19 am
[Before arriving on the Tranquility, Josias did not get attached to people. His entire life was constructed that constancy fell in place with falsity, and any more genuine encounters he had were always transitory and measured by worth. Over two years on the ship, and he is not the same man, but he still hasn't really learnt how to cope well with the loss created by having attachments suddenly severed. Mostly, he just gets very, very annoyed.]

Two years on this ship and I am just about fed up of people buggering off already. I'm beginning to wonder if it isn't some evasive measure they take instead of admitting defeat over the problem they'd promised to fix. Give two supposed geniuses a year and it turns out you still get remarkably little progress and then left on your todd to deal with it anyway.

So in the month's apparent theme of recruitment, I'm looking for some new expert assistance. Genius level or not, as it appears it makes no bloody difference. I have something known on my world as a neuroimplant, a computer in my brain, and it is currently infected by a virus I picked up during the lovely tour to the genetics labs we took last year. This is corrupting the majority of the implant's functions and a few of my cognitive ones, and I'd really like it gone. Apply within if interested or qualified, etc. Preferably qualified.


[And that might not be such a good impression to follow on from, but he adds,]

Department wise: join Agriculture if you don't join anywhere else, as learning to garden is one of the easiest skill sets that can be passed around. You'll also get some actual job satisfaction, as even when everything else on this ship is going tit's up, the plants still grow. And we all need to breathe.
 
 
16 March 2014 @ 07:13 pm
what happens to the stuff that goes in the toilets
yknow
poo n the pee
and whatever else you flush down those things anyway
like do they get released into outer space to drift forever
so aliens can find it and go what the fuck
or is it like reused in the gardens
what if thats our sole purpose on this ship
to keep the plants growing with our matter and shit
no pun intended
what if the plants are actually alien overlords
oh my god
 
 
15 March 2014 @ 08:08 pm
 
In India, there are villages where the people wear masks on the the backs of their heads, because tigers won't attack someone who is facing them. It's functional, and it's real, but you can take it as a metaphor. You face something that will eat you, and you do it by not turning away. By showing them your eyes.

Wolves are different. Wolves will attack something facing them, but not the way you think. It's a hunting tactic, you know. Wolves attack faces - that's just how to get an elk down, to bring it down by the nose. How do you even deal with something like that? You face it down and it aims for your nose. There's not even logic in that!

Frankly-

[There's a sigh]

Frankly, this place is getting to me. Tigers and wolves be damned. I didn't think anything was worse than a fifteen hour international flight into Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport but apparently what's worst is a pleasure cruise to God knows where through the far reaches of space.

Man.

Fuck anything that attacks you by biting you on the nose.

By the way, who's taking care of all the farm animals in the O2 Gardens, and are you willing to trade for them?
 
 
[ after spending a lengthy amount of time sorting herself out and making sure every possible trace of blue... stuff from her hair, eleanor eventually opts for the voice option on the communication devices, despite being reasonably satisfied with her now clean appearance. mostly because the bed in her room is actually half decent - all things considered - and she can't be bothered not to be horizontal, and that wouldn't make for a good camera angle.

she sighs, mildly and a little flatly.
]

Such a shame that the future of space travel and such has sacrificed good taste completely in the name of practicality. My kingdom for even a well-stocked Primark, to be perfectly honest. [ a pause. ] No use crying over spilt milk and all that, or whatever the appropriate turn of phrase might be, I'm not in much of a position to think about it too deeply right now. Still getting used to that space bit.

[ she smiles to herself, without much amusement. ]

The tattoo's rather on the nose, isn't it? I suppose post-it notes have also gone out of fashion and use around here. [ in her own company, she lifts her arm to look at it once again. ] I'd have much rather a typed memo than a permanent stain, but that really can't be helped. What's done is very much done.

[ pause. ]

I'm Eleanor, by the by.

[ she's usually quite good at conducting herself in these sorts of situations, introducing herself to a pack of strangers, but- well, the more time she has to herself here, the more it's sinking in that she's not at all where she's supposed to be. it's throwing her off her game. ]
 
 
12 February 2014 @ 11:09 am
[ peeta's got the device propped up on something when he switches it on, and it stays steady when he steps away to take a seat on the edge of his bed. he's wearing the standard issue tranquility jumpsuit, sleeves rolled up against the heat in his room, and he leans forward onto his elbows as he begins to speak. his tone matches his posture; despite the arguably tense topic, he seems relaxed. ]

I know people are worried about what happened on the bridge. I agree that we should find out what went on inside, but others already have that covered — and I'm more interested in why none of the mutineers are dead. [ slightly harsh wording. nobody had expected them to get out of there, so there's no point in talking around it. ] I've only been here for a month, and people have a lot of warnings about the ship being dangerous, about how it's out to get us. Which makes me wonder why all of us aren't dead, either. Some of you have been here for months already, right?

[ it's a rhetorical question. he's heard months, over a year. he still pauses before continuing, if only because he's making a slight switch in gears. ] Where I come from, the people in charge have a system. They created it to make people frightened and to keep them from having hope. They could probably just kill everyone if they wanted to, but they still need us — they need us to work, keep their Capitol running.

I think the ship's the same. I don't think it wants to kill us. I think it needs us for something, and that the events I've heard about — the stations it brings you to, the trials it engineers, they're trying to push us to do something. But this is where the comparisons to the Capitol stop. If all it wanted was inaction, it would've killed everyone on the bridge, but it didn't. I think it wants something else, and it needs us to do it.

[ another pause, and this time he offers a slight smile when he continues. maybe a bit out of place, but it becomes clear enough that he's taking amusement at his own expense. ] But I'm new here, so I couldn't tell you what. Normally I'd say it wants us to fight, but I've been told that doesn't accomplish much. I guess that's why I'm asking you — if there's anything that seemed like a hint, or a command, or a reward.

Everyone's caught up on solving the mysteries behind these things. I know this is probably just because I'm bad at riddles, but I'm more interested in the results. How they make us behave and what we're being taught to expect. I have no idea if we want to listen, but I think it'd be a good idea to try to figure out what it's asking us to do.
 
 
30 January 2014 @ 10:52 am
 
Ship - Tranquility - I have a bit of a crisis-

So I need everyone to stop a moment and think very hard, and I mean incredibly hard, about this, because forget the bloody temperature and the mess with all that and everything else because, well.

...I've run out of tea.

Proper tea, not the space tea that tastes like the stuff you get from the blank boxes that they sell at the Co-op. Or worse, the off-stuff from Tescos.

Does anyone have real tea?
 
 
21 January 2014 @ 01:02 pm
[Bran's smile is only a little wan--and that is only because he is distracted, because Summer is distracted. The great direwolf is sitting at his feet, but Summer has grown large enough that he is still visible in the video feed. Something is ailing the direwolf, making him skittish. He huffs a whine as the video begins, and Bran looks down at him, and lays a hand atop Summer's head.]

Be still.

[Summer's ears flick, nervously; he blinks, and whines again. Bran looks to his device, his hand still resting atop his direwolf's head.]

I am looking for paper--perhaps twenty or thirty sheets of paper, that is not being used. Most things on this ship are written by typing, but there must be some paper somewhere. I can make a trade for it, if it is necessary. And I will need tape-- [That is a new word, but he says it smoothly.] --and scissors, with which to cut. They must be able to do fine work, I think.

[Restlessly, Summer raises his head. The video jars a little, and Bran quickly reaches to steady it, as he gives his direwolf a slightly anxious look.]

In Westeros, great tourneys are often held, where knights prove their merit in the lists. That means a joust, though there is sometimes melee fighting as well. I have never seen a tourney, only heard tales of them--and we have very few knights here. So we are going to let our direwolves race instead, and have a feast, just as if it were a true tourney. [Summer whines again, more plantively. He shrugs out from beneath Bran's hand, turning in a tight circle.] Summer, quiet. It is only a shadow.

There must be a prize, at the end, and I have been trying to think of something good. I have ideas, but they aren't very good, so I thought--

[But what he thought is never realized, because Summer moves quite sharply then, twisting away from Bran and the video with a sharp growl. Bran's face pinches in worry, and he grabs hastily for his device, to steady it again, before he shuts it off. It is an ungainly end to the message, but his concern trumps his good manners.]
 
 
20 January 2014 @ 12:49 pm
When you’re a kid, maybe you say to yourself:

"I wish I could go to Disneyland."

"I hope I'll get my cock sucked by fifteen. By sixteen, I better be banging someone in the back of dad's favorite car.”

"One day, I’ll get into Harvard and become a brown-nosing yuppie making bonuses bigger than my insecurity complex. I’ll get married even. Have a kid, maybe two. A dog. And if I'm really lucky, I won’t be miserable.”

Those are the sort of wishes that come true. The mundane ones. You don’t say: "Well, one day I’d really like to go up into space. Maybe spend a night or two in a space ship. A journey through space? Oh man, why not? Not like we've only gotten as far as the moon. ”

And then, bam. Space.

Life doesn’t work like this. You don’t get what you want and when you do, it never comes free. So, what’s the catch? Probing, space slugs taking over our brains, being sold as human cargo to a far away planet, a floating menagerie? The options are endless.

((ooc: If you guys could hit up this permissions post, it would be much appreciated. ))
 
 
17 January 2014 @ 08:29 am
[There's a fleeting glimpse of this guy - bare shoulders, wet, wildly uneven hair, grouchy face still pale and a little shocked - before the screen jumbles around, finally landing on one hell of a mess strewn across the 002 bathroom counter. What used to be the mirror over the sink is now the mirror in the sink. And on the counter. And across the floor. And - broken glass is everywhere, really, interspersed with shorn tufts of hair and a scattered array of clippers and product.

Not that Netherlands is here to talk about hair. When he speaks it's low and careful, measuring out his words as he goes.]


Has, uh -

Wanna know if anyone else has broken one-a these things. It's... weird.

[…



just dead air and a stationary view of the wreckage for a few seconds, then he clears his throat and flips the video off.





Aaaaand about thirty seconds later flips it on again, just voice this time, all business.]


Gardens are always hiring. An' come talk to me, if you smoke. Can set something up.

[Because if he's gonna bother to post to the network he might as well make it useful, right. PRIORITIES. He's your grumpy neighborhood agriculture-head-slash-smokeables-dealer. Impromptu advertisement complete, he ends the feed for good.]

[ooc: dude broke the mirror. also threadjacking is a+ recommended]
 
 
16 January 2014 @ 07:10 pm
[Eric really isn't the type for posting to the networks himself, but he has a need. A very specific one. With all of this temperature fluctuation, he needs to keep his body temperature more stable, since for some ungodly reason the changes in temperature actually bother him this semester. And that means regular feedings. Normally his smaller collection of donors is more than sufficient each month. This month, however, is far, far from normal.

When Eric turns on the camera he sits very still, legs crossed, hands folded in his lap. He's trying hard not to look as miserable as he feels, with all of this hot and cold that he's not supposed to be able to feel. And he's putting up a rather impressive front, at that. Behind him, Godric stands, just as still and straight himself, although a soft smile graces his own features.]


Ladies. Gentlemen. [The corner of his mouth quirks slightly, a show for the camera.] And the rest of you, whatever you are.

We're looking for volunteers. Donors, if you must be specific about it. Some of you might remember a similar request a while ago. Unfortunately, Captain Kirk is no longer here to speak on our behalf. That does not mean that we are asking you to blindly offer yourselves up. There are those on the ship that can vouch for our character in his stead.
[He won't name names specifically on such a public forum, but they know who they are, and they should know that they're called to account, here with these words.]

I'll give you the Sparknotes version. Godric and I are Vampire. We drink blood, it is how we survive. Without it, we starve. [His eyes are fiercely blue.] Or freeze, as the case may be. As it stands, we need more than usual to make ends meet this month, thanks to the ship fucking around with its temperature changes, and deciding we need to share in the same effects. And that is where you come in.

[It is Godric's turn to speak up now, sensing that his progeny's temper is getting the better of him for the moment.] We have regular volunteers who donate to us, and their contributions are usually more than enough. But this is an usual situation, and we do not wish to overburden them. We're asking for temporary volunteers to supplement what we already receive. And any form of donation will do; if you have your blood drawn in the medical bay, they can set it aside for us at your request.

[Eric shifts in his seat, leaning against one of the arms of the chair.] Donors may remain anonymous, should you decide to take us up on this request. [He brings a hand up to rest his chin his hand. He sounds slightly bored with the spiel, and rehearsed as well, as though this sort of announcement and public speaking in general really isn't new to him at all.] Questions?

((ooc: Blue is Eric and green is Godric! There will be a log for this up shortly as well so keep an eye out for that!))
 
 
16 January 2014 @ 09:24 pm
[ lucrezia borgia sits on the swing in the garden, pale blue silks and hair held up against the heat. despite it all, she's all but running on sunshine, not walking on it. ]

a verse!

[ listen carefully, tranquility, it's been a while, after all ]

Set me where the sun burns flowers and grass,
or where he's conquered by the ice and snow:

[ a meaningful look, here. ]

set me beneath his temperate chariot,
where it rises or where it descends:

set me far from fame, or let me be known:
I'll be what I have been, live as I've lived,
continuing my fifteen years of sighs.

[ a hum ]

a bargain, tranquility. I have sighed all that I can for weeks, it would seem. smiles would do better, dancing would be sublime, if you care to join me.