[Passengers who've met Heather before might notice she's a bit paler and a bit darker around the eyes than usual. Passengers who haven't are about to get a charming introduction, if it's delivered in a slightly flatter, wearier tone than her usual.]

Been a while since I've done one of these, so I should probably introduce myself. Heather Mason. I'm a double-oh-two and I work in the gardens, which is why I'm speaking to you today.

The oxygen gardens are what keep us all breathing and eating stuff that doesn't come in a vacuum pack. They're not a petting zoo. There are four of us trying to keep that place running and it's hard enough without worrying about the crops getting eaten or kicked over or people's pets trying to kill each other. So here's the deal: You're keeping something in the gardens? Drugs, pets, livestock. Dinosaurs. Congratulations. Now you work there. I don't want to hear any bitching, either. We all depend on the oxygen gardens to keep us alive, so if you're taking more out of them than anybody else, you need to put more in.

Oh, and if what you've got in there might cause damage to what someone else has there? It's your job to make sure that doesn't happen, not anybody else's. Come on.

[She'd add that the people she's just conscripted should contact her for details but... well, they might take that as an invitation not to.]

[It takes him a minute to figure out this comm device business because seriously screw you, smartphone-like thing, but once he does, he finds himself looking directly at its camera. Having spent several long minutes investigating and monitoring the communications going on, it seems like a good time to cut to the chase. He pauses, removing his red-lensed glasses and setting them aside before speaking.]

If this is an alien abduction, I can cope with that, been there. But does somebody want to tell me--[he turns the view to his arm, the tattoo peeking out from beneath his sleeve]--what this is?

[ With a slight shake, the feed clicks on. It is very, very quiet. There's a girl staring blankly into the camera, no older than eighteen or nineteen; the only suggestion that audio is even working is the slight static filtering through. For a minute or two, all she does is stare, wide eyes owlishly blinking at the screen. This stretches on for a little while — there's no morse code embedded in her blinking either — just staring with the quiet crackly hum in the background.

Then, eventually, just before it gets a little too awkward: ]

I am Operative Rosella. 010 » 022. [ Two blinks, followed by a frown: it's a pretty shocking thing to see on such a previously blank expression. ] As a new passenger I do not understand our objective on board the Tranquility. Are we to kill to survive until only one remains? [ Her frown deepens. ] From my understanding, our arena changes frequently. This is my hypothesis. I wish to hear from anyone with previous experience and a deeper understanding from their stay here. Recreational activities such as sports and the care of animals seems frivolous and a use of our time.

[ Without a smile or another glance upwards, the feed cuts to black. ]

[Her phone doesn't work, at least past turning on and telling her there's no reception. She can play Angry Birds all day long if she wanted to, though, which is how Angela spent her first couple of nights in this place, but it's time to be social. This what brings her face on the network feed via the comm device.]

I'm going to accept the fact that I'm--we're all stuck here. Fantastic. [Only not.] I'm going to pretend that instead of a spaceship, this is an airplane taking us to an all expense paid trip to an island full of cabana boys and rum and we're riding in first class. How's that sound?

[Not too good. Not even to her.]

Yeah, I didn't think that would work either. So I guess I might as well introduce myself. My name is Angela Montenegro. I'm from Washington D.C. which is back on Earth. The big round blue thing I'm hoping the Tranquility passes sooner or later. I'm an artist, but I also do some computer work at the Jeffersonian. Have any of you heard of that place? Please say yes so I'm sure I'm not the only person from my world here.

[Sorry, Ange, but you are. Deal with it.]

[Tommy's not doing well. Aside from the usual "Oh my god, I'm in outer space!" issue to work through, he's also got to contend with the fact that he has not one, but two "twins" aboard the ship, one older and one younger. It's like looking into the past on the one hand, and looking at a future he'll never have on the other. Either way, it's depressing.

Tommy's learning, though. He's learning how to hide that depression behind a mask of normalcy, smile, act like he's just another guy. Right now, he's dressed down in his normal clothes, a t-shirt and jeans, black and white converse, army tattoos visible on his arms. There's a wedding ring on his finger. He's not going to forget about Jeanie, even if they're, what, a trillion lightyears and a restraining order apart.

He's sitting on the edge of his bed, acoustic guitar on his lap. He strums a few notes, keeping his words to whatever tune's coming out of his guitar, not full-on singing, but more... sing-talking. It's got a country feel to it.]

Woke up in space the other day,
Not sure why, but I don't wanna stay.
'Cause I'm a long way from home,
And it's a strange place to roam, And--

[And he stops playing around and talks like a normal person.]

That's not gonna be a hit song anytime soon. I think I need... [Strum.] Inspiration. Anyone wanna show me where to get a drink around here? [Yes, please feed his alcoholism and terrible coping habits.] Think I'm owed one after being abducted.

[He moves to turn the communicator off, then stops himself as he remembers something.]

Oh. And I'm Tommy. Private First Class Tommy Burgess. [Bearer of the Big Chicken Dinner-- a Bad Conduct Discharge-- but you don't need to know that. He gives a mock salute with a smile, then shuts the video feed off.]

Hey, Tranquilized!

I know you're all working on a calender, bUT by my mark it's Septemeber 10th. So in two days it's Miles Edgeworth's birthday. Active invites to anybody who knows he'd want him there, and if you're an a--a jerk trying to gatecrash I will hit you with a taser and some rebar. So don't. Especial invites to John Watson, Jack New York Face, Alayne Wolf Girl, Sirius I Won't Eat Your Dude Parts, Jenna Awesome Weed Lady, and Jane Jesse's Girl.

Tenth floor common area, unless anybody has a better place.

[filtered from miles edgeworth]

Does anyone know how to make a cake? Or like...punch? Or party food in general? I got decorations, just--I can't cook. I can pay. Like, a lot.

[open | amended later]

This party isn't obligatory.

[open | even later]

And you don't need to bring presents!

[Bucky has been doing some reading. Quite a lot of reading, about New York, and how it;s changed over the years he's missed, what's gone on -- well, as much as he can manage. And he has noticed one very important thing, here. He fixes the comm with a very serious look, before asking:]

....So, who do I need to yell at for not tellin' me the Dodgers left Brooklyn? Los Angeles doesn't even have trolleys, why do they need a team called the Dodgers.

[A little mutter:] At least the Mets are around, so we don't have to root for the Yankees.

[ Carolyn is sitting in her room instead of lurking around the shuttle bay for once. The reason why should be clear after a few minutes, when an orange tabby pokes his head out from behind her before plopping himself on her lap. Carolyn honestly just looks like she has no idea what to do for a moment before reaching to scratch him behind the ears, speaking to the camera as she does. ]

Some of you might recognize this cat as Jones, who belongs to Ellen Ripley. For those of you who knew her, it appears that she's gone home. I'll be looking after him for her.

[ Still petting the cat, she clears her throat. ]

For those of you who don't know me, my name is Carolyn Fry. On the Tranquility I'm part of the flight crew, but back home I was a pilot and captain of a merchant ship -- a spaceship. As a result, I've been helping people out with basic skills to work on in space. Last month we held a training session on health, fitness, nutrition, shuttle procedures, and basic evacuation. In the case that either myself or Ripley vanished and to keep a copy for anyone who wasn't able to make it or wasn't on the ship, we recorded the session.

[ A link pops up, opening an area on the network that contains a brief description of the session and a link to the video. ]

I'll be posting the videos of future sessions in this spot, if everyone would like to keep an eye on it and update their information posts, that sort of thing. If you have any questions, about this or anything else, feel free to ask.

[ locked to 005 » 075 ]
I need a drink. You in?

[ locked to FLIGHT CREW ]
We should all get together.

<sub>[ This evening is a mournful evening for room 008 092. Jake was resting earlier today, taking a nap and enjoying the fact he received several items from his locker from the tenth wave. One happens to be a skulltop, in which is a wearable computer system and looks something like this. Along with the skulltop, Jake was also blessed with two leg holsters, replica of those that Lara Croft wears in Tomb Raider, and some various movie posters from back home, one with Mystique on it.

What he didn't expect to find after his nap was a pile of other belongings, along with a note. The other items are as listed:
A broken sword for a weapon, known as a Royal Deringer, typically equipped to Dave Strider. He also found a Smurfette plushie, several triangle shades and a shirt with an orange hat on it, neatly folded. All these items very characteristic of his best friend, Dirk Strider.

A note was also attached.

Frantically, he tried to contact them, along with Davesprite for good measure, all over the network, but got no replies. Even when he went to the room donned the Strider crib, he found it absolutely vacant. There was a process of panicking, perhaps some hyperventilating, and some flipping out on his own.

When he finally composes himself, he posts a video to the network, clearly still upset. ]</sub>

... Has anybody seen the Striders? I am trying not to jump to any rash conclusions here like they have been evaporated by some sci-fi-esque movie flick monster but...

_{[ The boy gasps for air. ]}

I am vexed beyond comprehension right now. I apologize if I come off as incoherent.
But I need my best friends here. Please tell me they're still here and you have seen them. I would be obliged.

_{[[ ooc: if you knew davesprite, dirk strider or dave strider, they're all taking their leave and might have left you something behind with a similar note! more about this here. ]]}

Tranquility.

[ It's with a warm sort of politesse that Petyr addresses the network this time around, a crimson sash draped over one of his shoulders and a new set of robes upon his frame. Visible next to him, at the fringe of the image, is a girl with chestnut brown hair and her hands folded in her lap, who should prove familiar to at least some upon the ship. ]

I inquired some months ago as to the existence of a physical library, and was informed that the ship lacked such a facility. As such, I have taken it upon myself to begin one for the sake of those who would prefer the feel of a solid page than the, ah. Furnishings that the ship provides. My collection is meager, but it is more than what was available upon my arrival. Should you care to take advantage of it, I can be found upon the fifth level, next to the quarters that Alayne Stone — [ at the mention, the girl sitting next to him smiles prettily and offers up a wave ] — keeps as a seamstress. She has offered her help in my endeavor, to care for the books in my absence.

That said, should you be willing to part with them, we would greatly appreciate any spare books that you might have. This service is without charge, and meant simply for the comfort of those upon the ship.

I have taken the liberty of attaching the list of the books collected so far, and hope that some of you, at least, will find some use in it.

[ And, with a duck of his head, the feed cuts out. ]

ATTACHMENT.


ooc: feel free to talk to petyr or alayne or both!