WHY IS THERE A MONSTER TURKEY VULTURE TRYING TO ATTACK ME FOR GOING INTO MY OWN ROOM HOLY SHIT NO SOMEBODY PLEASE COME CLAIM THEIR HIDEOUS PET BEFORE I SHOOT IT

THANKS




[ ooc: she's in talk-to-text mode. or... text to talk.. whatever. she's yelling at her communicator and it's translating it to text, right. ]

[ The feed turns on. He sees people on the other side, and he's pretty sure other people could see him, like a small, two-way mirror! That’s certainly progress. (He doesn't trust the device but it's progress.) There's a bit of an emphasis on the "small" part, though, so he puts the mirror closer to his eyes, just short of pressing it against his face. He needs to talk to somebody and get to the bottom of this. ]

Hello there! Can you hear me?

[ The other people in the feed seem to be listening. He takes that as a good sign and continues talking. ]

I’m Alistair, the… uh, King of Ferelden. I would like to inquire about this place, if that's all right. Mainly, where am I? What am I doing here? I’m not… in grave danger, am I? Because I really ought to be getting back to Denerim, I sort of have a country to run, thanks.

Oh, but if none of you could answer that, then can I at least ask for an audience with your… king? Viscount? Leader? Whatever you call them? I’m sure we can work something out. Resolve it diplomatically. I walk away, they get something, good feelings and negotiations all around.

[ The video opens to a man’s face, largely nondescript. He looks into the camera for an instant before glancing away, beyond the device to something seemingly on the other side of the room. It’s an inattentiveness that only lasts for a moment; he’s quick to look back. ]

Uh, this is...

[ There’s a brief hesitation, as if he’s not quite certain what should follow that aborted beginning. He licks his lips, then clears his throat and continues. ]

My name’s Sam Bell. And I’m—Well, I’m new to the ship but I’m not new to space, so…

[ He trails off with a sigh, shrugging. ]

If somebody could tell me who to talk to for a job or, or something to do, I’d appreciate it.

[Loki is sitting in his bed, lounging back with one arm draped across the headboard and one knee hiked up. In his free hand he's holding the communicator. He seems to be getting better with video feeds because at least you can see him this time.]

I wish today to speak of security. There has been much talk of late of ways to make life here more comfortable. I have seen mention of holidays, of designated meal times, and other ideas to give people a sense of structure.

[The hand draped across the headboard rises to scratch the back of his coif.]

What people are proposing may eventually lead to a rudimentary government. As we apply rules to life here we must, also, enforce these rules or our efforts would be for naught.

I am aware that there is already some manner of security force on the ship, but their actions are not currently dictated by any actual law.

Should law come about, what shall the security team then do? What would we consider a transgression here where life is ever at the mercy of machines beyond our control? And how would we punish such transgressions? Would we, as Miles proposed, bring our criminals to trial? Or would we have them promptly executed?

[ Okay, this is an odd sight: What is that hideous piece of furniture? It's awfully out of place.

Well, a little flare to it will ease the sight for sore eyes. Yes, that is a tiger couch on fire in the kitchen and you are watching the poor thing be put to rest. Someone should run and put that out, but just enjoy the view for now. Tranquility: First the turkey, now this. Go figure.

... Is someone whistling Disco Inferno in the background? Burn baby, burn. ]

[ it's obvious this is going to be a serious post just from the look on robb's face. this is the king in the north, drawn up ice cold and stone-faced on the screen and there's nothing of the boy in his face. the direwolf at his side is a hulking mass of fur, teeth bared and eyes gleaming and no, this is not meant to be a light-hearted post. ]

Upon this ship there is a woman called Cersei Lannister, who arrived most recently. In Westeros, she dealt my house a great and terrible injury, and the matter must be settled, for it cannot be ignored. If she hears this, then I call her to treat with me, and submit herself for judgement for her crimes.

[ and grey wind snarls, ears set back and hackles raised, just as robb cuts the feed. ]