[ This is new.

A shadowed figure sits before you, Tranquility. Very poor lighting, perhaps done purposely, but you are able to see the face. Well, the mask. ]

Familiar? [ The voice asks, pointing to the familiar face of Sherlock Holmes. Ooh, look at those cheekbones.

( ... Is that a crown on his head? Hmm, must be a fake. )

Not the usual pitch of your loving Consulting Criminal, completely distorted and taken at lower tone. Like a growl. He's taken his precautions and the outlined form appears very steady.

Calmed. ]

This is all very odd, this. [ The audio continues to fluctuate at various points. ]

There's this very small moment between "dandy" and "oh no" around here. [ He demonstrates with the spacing between his thumb and index finger. ] I'm right... there. See that space? It's terribly cramped.

Some people just continue their merry way around here, cover from horrors. Continue to keep themselves mundane, bustle through their very oh-life-is-complicated problems. Dull, boring, dullllll. Dull, full, bull!

It's all very annoying. Life. The routine. The quiet. God, the lot of you... I would enjoy a good waltz before the dip. Maybe I would even let go? Plop! Gurgle!

[ A laugh, scratching at the audio until it cuts off, just for a moment. ]

My, that was very rude.

It was very mean of me, you know? Leaving him in the pool. Christ, he just wouldn't shut up. Laughing. Laughing. Laughing. He just laughed and I just wanted to...

You know. And I did. Good. Cute, but the clingy type. I mean, who even wears a scarf at a pool party? Ri-di-cu-lous.

[ A sting of irritation sways in the mysterious voice. Something about to snap until both hands clasp together, the start of a new topic: ]

This is the point I ask: "Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

( ooc: Moriarty is a little cray cray atm!

Hit me up on Plurk or PM if you want to go over something, like those special few who are able to connect that it's THAT GUY FROM THE JUMP!!!

And go crazy trying to find the source~ Attention is adored! )

[ Abby's kept clear of the network despite having been on Tranquility for a month - partly because being social on a death ship wasn't her first priority, partly because most of her questions could be easily answered by Connor.

But if there's anything that can make her come out of her shell, it's animals. Animals and dinosaurs, which apparently exist here (at least the one does). The feed opens on her face, but the gardens are easily visible behind her. ]

This is Abby Maitland with the theoretical zoology department. [ She sounds only mildly aggrieved, mostly friendly. ]

Is there an official system for tracking the animals loose in the gardens? The ecosystem has managed fine thus far, but we might want to be more careful about interfering with it unchecked. I'm not even sure what some of these animals are eating. [ Hello, Myfanwy. ]

Enclosures might not be a bad idea either. I hate to lock anything up, but it would be in everyone's best interest if we can easily find them during emergencies - theirs included.

[ click! as the video starts recording, revealing: a rather skinny, disheveled fellow sitting in what looks like one of the rec rooms around the ship's hallways. soysauce sits back from where he's leaned forward to start the recording, looking rather haggard and sleep-deprived, his hair mussed up and his tie hanging loose around his neck. he's swaying a bit in his seat as he runs a hand back through his hair -- the empty liquor bottle visible at the edge of the video suggests he miiight just be trashed out of his skull at the moment.

still, at least he sounds half-way coherent as he starts talking. ]

Eh -- hello. Good afternoon. Evening? Either way, I do hope this isn't too much of an interruption. [ a small, polite bow of the head. ] To those I have yet had the pleasure of meeting, please call me Soysauce. Traveling musician and gunman, at your service.

[ a slight, uneasy sway on his seat as he gives the camera a goofy smile. nodding once to himself before continuing. ]

Nothing too important, but ah. Just two -- three! [ holding out two fingers. ] Three things I'd like to say.

First -- I seem to have lost track of, ah. A small model of the hoverbike I used at home. About this big -- [ holding his hands up to shape something roughly the size of a loaf of bread ] -- based off a robust model, fully functional, a little thing made of metal. If anyone happens to see it zipping by, I'd be very grateful to hear some suggestion of where it might have ended up.

Second. [ pause. ] What passes for whiskey here is rather lacking, no?

[ sigh. and then one those deep breaths that suggests he's trying to sober up somewhat. brows slightly furrowed as he speaks a bit more slowly. ]

And third. As ridiculous as this may sound, I'd like to ask if anyone is willing to spend some time as a sparring partner -- or instructor. Close-quarters combat has never been my forte, but given the vast differences between methods of combat here and where I'm from, I've given to thinking this problem may need to be addressed. Not to mention, what I do know, I feel I may have been growing rather rusty with as of late.

I'd be more than willing to compensate for any time with, well. Anything I can offer.

[ pause. he's spending a lot of visible effort trying to make sure he hasn't forgotten anything before giving the camera another sloppy, drunk smile. ]

Ah, thank you for your attention.



[ ooc ; also open to action, if anyone wants to actually bump into his drunken ass lurking in the rec room! the scale miniature of his hoverbike is going to ultimately end up in rickon's hands, but please feel free to have seen it zoom by in the hallways or bump into anyone's ankles! ]

[The feed comes on, and hello, Tranquility, Blake is making a rare showing of his face on the network today. Unfortunately, instead of his usual mild look, he's, well. Angry. Visibly so. Like he turned on the video just to give everyone a good, hard glare.

This probably has a lot to do with the fact that he's worn his mask a couple of times, but good luck getting him to admit to that right now.]

Hypocrites. Cowards.

[Good way to open up, right? Get everybody's attention that way.]

I've seen it. I've seen what happens, when things are bad. I've heard the doublespeak, listened to them make their pretty speeches and then forget about all the suffering. The ones who are supposed to help, the ones who have the responsibility to help, they abandon you. They have their own agendas, money to make, power to gain. What does it matter if the madman is loose, burning everything down?

Back room deals, politics. Dirty hands. It doesn't stop when the world goes to hell. And apparently it doesn't stop on this hellhole, either. Because that's what I see here, and it's disgusting. Everyone scrambling through the mud, trying to feel like they're at the top. The top of what? It's the same pile of mud, it's just a matter of how dirty you're willing to get. People are dying. We're all going to die, if we don't wise up and cut the bullshit.

So keep quoting your poetry. Keep putting up creepy anonymous messages. Keep doublespeaking about how you're just protecting people while trying to keep vital information to yourself for just a little while longer. Keep encouraging the suspicion and distrust. See how long we last, while you play your power games.

[If anyone would like to try and talk (or smack) some sense into Blake, he's in the gym nearest the security office. He might be on a treadmill, lifting weights, or punching a punching bag. Generally being angry and trying to blow off some steam.]

[The camera clicks on to a low-lit room. It's difficult to see anything, but there's something moving in the darkness--

--a face. A wolf's face turned to the side, its jaws bloody and eye narrowed, teeth stretched into sharp, curved fangs. It stares at the camera for a few seconds, sizing it up, before turning. But the other half of the face isn't a wolf; rather, it's a mangled, gory mess. A young face appears on the screen, meshed horribly with the wolf on the other side-- and it's Remus' face, but one could only tell that if one knew him well, as his face is horribly torn up. Torn skin and exposed muscles make up the majority of his face, while blood pours from scratches on his forehead. His teeth are exposed through a hole in his cheek, but that's barely visible, as dripping yellow fat mixing with crimson blood are constantly slipping down his cheek. It's a horrible sight, made all the worse by Remus' sudden low laugh.

--because it's the mask, of course, and he proves that by removing it after a few seconds.]

Enjoy the show?

[There's a noticeable edge in his voice and smile, something colder and crueler than before.]

I think I quite like this new development. It's certainly far more interesting than simply another Jump, don't you agree? And far less deadly-- which reminds me, there's new people here, aren't there? I do hope that's not your first inkling that things on here aren't quite so lovely as they seem; that would be a rather poor welcome.

[He glances down, considering the mask for a few more seconds, before glancing at the camera again.]

You know, I'm always surprised at how kind everyone is here. Aren't you? How welcoming they are to the supernatural creatures. The vampires and the werewolves, the poor castaway souls that have found sanctuary here-- but you know, I don't know if that's so wise. It works out for me, of course, but don't you ever wonder what might happen if one of us snapped?

[He grins fiercely.]

Think about it. Once a month, all that separates me from a potential meal-- that is to say, you (and please don't say that you could defend yourself from me, because I can promise you, you couldn't, not from me when I'm on the hunt)-- is a simple door and a dog. Just a few inches of steel, and I'm sure soon enough the werewolf will figure out how to get out of that.

As for the vampires-- well. I don't think it would be very hard for a vampire to snap, would it? At least with me, you only have to worry once a month. A terrifying once a month, to be certain, and I could most definitely hurt you if I was so inclined now-- but in the end, I have control over myself twenty-eight days of the month. A vampire, now-- well. He could snap at any moment. His cravings are a constant hunger. Imagine, if you would, starving. Having hunger claw at your stomach, making you dizzy, making you delirious-- and then being presented a delicious meal and being told you weren't allowed to have any. Imagine having to deal with that at every hour, every minute, every second of every day--

Really, it's a wonder the poor things haven't snapped by now, isn't it?

[He slips his hand up, his finger playing carelessly at his dogtooth.]

Of course, being a creature of darkness also has its benefits. Strength, hearing, sight, smell-- they all get better. You become something better than a human, something bigger and cleverer and far more interesting. I have to say, I'm a bit surprised no one has asked for the bite yet.

But then perhaps you're all frightened.

[He shrugs and glances down at the mask again. After a moment he slips it back on and turns so the wolf side is facing the Network.]

I suppose you should be.