Hardly much to report when there's a Nap Holiday, my calendar appears to be out of date!

Anywho, this is me giving your tushes a light pat-pat! So down in the dumps, very unlike you all. There's not much to say, oh, 'he/she is a drooler,' 'he/she is a snorer.'  ♫ I like a nice fresh batch of goodies and things to whisper over. I could give you what I have, but we need to have something for everyone, don't we? We need to share, you kno', sharing is caring!

And I know some wonderful things, I do. But I'll keep you in the suspense. It will be worth it.

Bye bye, go chase after something terrible. Call for me if you should be feeling gossipy, I love myself a good chat.
 

MRS. NESBIT✿

( ooc: Direct line to gossip/rumor post is here! Always open and screened oh man. P.S. Hannah is not allowed to post in it. )

[ Perhaps it a bit too late for this sort of conversation, but Erik necessitates its need anyway; the Tranquility has nearly always been a bastion for acceptance and tolerance, and the idea was constantly perpetuated throughout his previous stay here, something that deeply unsettled him. He's in a deserted room, particularly one that Alex Summers might be familiar with from their training sessions long ago, but his reason for being there is more along the need for silence. ]

For those of you who remember my face, I can assure you, you're not mistaken. [ He pauses for a moment, because while it needs to be said, it still angers him that he's back here. ] The ship has brought me back since then. For those of you who don't, [ welllllll. ] I expect we'll be acquaintances soon enough. [ But not really. ] In the meantime, you can call me Magneto. [ Except the fifty billion people that still call him Erik. ]

No doubt all the lectures have made it clear that the ship is not, in any way, safe, and this is hardly any different. I won't speak on false pretenses that unity is what matters, but my issue at hand is this: if you are non-human of any sort, vampires, werewolves, mutants, what have you, I urge you to seek solidarity only among your own kind. It is our strengths that will allow us to survive, our own inherited abilities, and we must use these to secure the ship against its ongoing threats.

We must defend ourselves by striking out towards the enemy and to an equal degree, protect the sections of the ship we have acquired. While the Security team has this under control, the ship's size makes this difficult. [ Considering Erik is on SEC, this is just asking for double protection. ] Your offense is our best defense.

PRIVATE » Alex Summers [ All that he gets is a ping to notice this, because the location should be familiar to him: its where Alex and he had trained a while ago and there are some things better discussed in person than over these. ]

[when he flips the feed on, it's to a shot of him sat on the floor in the middle of an empty room, walls covered in sigils. there's only one person around who knows where that room is, and he trusts her not to tell anyone. there's a reason he wants the solitude it provides for this message.

on the floor in front of him is the game sorry!, the board already laid out and cards in place. the pawns however, are all largely gathered together. blue (minus one pawn), yellow, green; all placed on the red start location. the red pieces are scattered across the board; one on the spot directly outside the start, one on the first square of the safety zone, one on top of the pile of cards. the last is still in his hands, along with the missing blue pawn. it's where his gaze sits when he starts talking.]

With all that's happening on this ship-

[a sigh. okay, he needs to focus on what he's trying to say here.]

Last time I made a mistake by not…asking other people for their opinions. [be proud, tyke? he can at least admit he was wrong before.]

I can't do that again. But I want to help, and I can't just keep-

[he places the fourth blue piece down with the group of pawns, purposely putting it to the back.]

Games are simple. They have rules to follow, and as long as you stick to them, things won't go wrong. You can win or lose, but the purpose of the game is for you to have fun with those you're playing with.

[the red pawn gets put down now, directly in the middle of the board.]

This ship…doesn't work the same way. There aren't a clearly defined set of rules, and people try to break the original ones all the time. [smiley. the manticores. ward and resnik. a pawn for each of the known groups. a last for whatever else is still out there.]

It isn't a game here, but there are still players involved. There have already been sacrifices made. People…keep dying, and there's little we can do to stop it. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't try.

[that blue piece gets moved now; pushed toward the front so it can be picked out first. maybe that's the real reason he was sent to this ship. maybe this is his new purgatory.]

I want to, but I don't know how.

A-all right. It's been about -- it's been a while, a few weeks, but who knows for sure? It's hard to keep track of time around here, isn't it? I can't be the only one having this problem.

[ The video doesn't show anyone at first, just a dark room; after a few moments though, Harry turns the camera on his tired, pale face, the shadowy lines rimming his eyes stark in contrast especially in the poor light. He's lying back on his bed, so it seems. In fact, he has the look of someone who has probably not left his room much recently, if at all, because spoilers: he definitely hasn't. It's a legit look, albeit subtle. ]

Since I've been here, that is. Time flies, I think. It's at least doing a good impression of passing.

[ He does manage a smile, though it's perhaps a slightly unnerving one. Very detached. ]

Certainly enough time to immerse myself in the reality of unreality. That's the way to do it, right? Accept the dream, no questions, it's easy and I know how appealing easy is. Really. At least the food tastes like food and the beds feel like beds. Uh -- a pretty perfect simulation, if it is one. The monsters and mayhem are a nice touch, too.

But I -- I can't really get my mind around it. Someone told me we were supposed to be like a flight crew, but this feels a lot more like a giant psych ward to me. I don't know why I'd be here. None of it really fits together b-but maybe that's just the newness talking.

[ His eyes narrow slightly, wearily, his eyebrows furrowed a little skeptically. There's something mildly paranoid about his expression, though he does a fair job of repressing it. When you're prone to hallucinations, staving off the discomfort of withdrawal, almost (or actually?) died and keep yourself creepy and antisocial, it's hard to know for sure what's real and what isn't. ]

Uh. It's Osborn, by the way, if anyone can really hear this. Harold Osborn, though most people just stick to "Harry." Hi.

[ There's a cowboy on the ship.

Well, cowboy isn't an accurate term – Jake Lonergan doesn't herd cows for a living. In fact, he used to rob people for a living, but he only knows that through seeing his face on a wanted poster and people saying they know him and little fragments of memories. Either way, “outlaw” is a better technical fit than “cowboy”… but he’ll take cowboy if he has to, if it means not explaining that he’s an outlaw.

Either way, he’s on the ship, and in front of him is a shot of whiskey – and next to it, a newly opened bottle of whiskey. His hat’s down low and he doesn't say anything for a moment before his head lifts a little, just enough for bright blue eyes to peer out at the camera and for him to speak, voice low and somehow dusty. ]

Free shot to the first person who can tell me somethin' interesting or useful that wasn't in all that reading.

[ There's a pause as a border collie noses its head up and Jake scratches it behind the ears. ] Nathan, your definition of interesting doesn't necessarily count.