After a month here, watching you all, I have to say I'm surprised. A bunch of strangers from different worlds, and I mean strange— some of you, more than others— and yet you all manage to get along relatively well.  I can hardly say the same for some of the people  I know who share the same world.

[ that is, relative to the clusterfuck that is vampire society. ]

So what's the secret? Survival, practicality, boredom— because as neat as being on a spaceship is, we're still confined. A month has passed, the novelty's wearing away, and now it getting kind of dull.

Which brings me to my next question: What do you guys do for fun around here?

Gonna start a plot of tobacco in the Gardens. Cure it somewhere else. You want a cut, you gotta help or pay up.

Rest of you fuckers stay away from it.


{PRIVATE TO TOSHIKO:}

Couple-a people said I should talk to ya. Lock this.

[Bossy much?]

[ A dark corridor, incredibly low light and clearly not quite on the beaten path. The camera is steady, and something dark moves soundlessly into view. The cape that sways across the corridor is ink black, like shadow moving rather than fabric. An arm moves out of the bulk of the shadow, holding a long tube, and then there's a hiss, air rushing through a narrow space, a semi-phosphorescent, clearly chemical paint sprayed onto the blank surface. The symbol glows as the hiss stops, and Batman pivots on the spot to face the recording device. His outfit is so dark that the whites of his eyes are the brightest point, catching in the pathetic light generated by the device. ]

Remember. I am always watching.

[ He raises his hand again, and a small red light is briefly visible before the device turns off all on its own. ]



[ OOC: The bat signal will be appearing/have appeared in all sorts of places, but particularly the less familiar parts of the ship. Bruce has spent months now orientating himself and learning how to come and go without being seen. Just as a warning: Batman may not be very talkative, might not respond at all and is likely to end any given conversation abruptly. That's just how he is. Also he means it. He's always watching. Fourth walling is on a case by case basis, and people who know his secret identity, you douches can keep it to yourselves, otherwise I won't be responsible for what I might let Dexter do to you. ]

[Kurt's voice sounds sort of...different. It's somehow deeper than usual--as deep as his voice can get, anyway--and has a strange, flat sort of quality, as if he's holding something back.]

I'm tired of pretending like everything's okay.

Horrible things have happened. People have--left. There were monsters. There was...Strela. And I think, oh, everyone else can handle it. They're all fighters. This is par for the course for a lot of you guys, right? Because you're strong. Because you aren't some silly little teenager whose biggest concerns are a cheating boyfriend and a failed musical theater audition, right?

[He takes in a single deep, shuddering breath.]

But then I think-- It any of this supposed to be normal? When does it become okay to be desensitized, to stop letting all of this get to you? Is that when this place--this ship, everything on it-- Is that when they win?

Maybe I'm weak and pathetic. But I'm trying so hard to make things feel normal here, but I can't just shrug off how badly I want to just--scream, just curl up somewhere and scream and scream because all of this is just so freaking insane.

Ugh. [Pause.] I'm sorry. [Disconnect.]

[ooc note; So someone's finally been succumbing to his mask. You can blame some recent events. :|b]