[When the camera turns on, Marty's adjusting it before plopping down in a seat clumsily (grumbling 'fuckin' jelly legs' or something to that effect); he's got dust and oil on him, a little toil and trouble with the clean-up assistance he's been performing on the Tranquility (after pilfering a gun from the Scylla, of course). He's bone-tired and there's a bit of sweat on his brow, but in that weariness he finds temporary redirection from the shitty stuff. He's noticed, of course, people fighting plenty. People looking very tense and unhappy. The halls are even quieter, somehow. And he doesn't fuckin' like it, not one bit. Now, he's not particularly attached to this ship--duh, he's only been here a month and it's a horrible place on top of it--but like hell does he enjoy misery as company. That saying can just go shove it.

I mean, he's barely even smoking it up, lately. In fact, he's stone cold normal right now and empty-handed. They're just clasped in front of him as he leans into his knees.]

You know what I need? A break. A cigarette break, but with more words 'n shit. We've been working our asses off. Keep up the fantastic work, and all that jazz, but how about something else for a second? Juuust a second. I know we've all been stressed out, what with the pirates and the freaky-ass murdering specter captains and the--uh--ship clamped on us like a tumor. So just... Hey, I haven't--really indulged in the fact that we're all from every corner of time and space and universes and all that cool sci-fi stuff.

[He licks his lips as he considers what to say, hands motioning in front of him like he's trying to catch his own thoughts.]

You guys, we have all kinds of worlds on board! Tell me some cool shit about your world. Or about you. Whatever. Can I get some cool facts? Some jokes? Stories? Hell, it doesn't even have to be anything outside of good ol' planet Earth. Or even directed at me. No serious or traumatic stuff needed, just... stuff. Hell, if you're a connoisseur of movies or you have a thing for panda facts or you wanna tell a story about your crazy family reunions.

[He suddenly seems a little more excited, a little less tired, shifting in his seat.]

This entry is now Marty's Share Fair. I'm stuck on a funky space ship and all, so I might as well know more than the bleak stuff.

....

Just don't pull a TMI, okay? I'm sure everyone sees enough floppy nethers after each jump. We don't need to know anything about them other that the promise that you'll find a towel posthaste. Thank you in advance.

(ooc: threadjacking heavily encouraged! it'd be fun to have people find common interests or things to relate to, and I just wanted a kinda free-for-all for the S.S. Solemn Worrywarts)

[Jim doesn't address the ship with a hello this time around, instead cutting to the chase, the only warning the somber look on his face and the fact that he's sitting down. he isn't at a desk and there's a dirty scuff mark on his jaw, so it's clear that wherever he's making this broadcast from, it's in the middle of repairs on the ship.]

What happened with the pirates was a tragedy. [a beat] In my own universe, if we could we'd send the deceased back to their home planet for their relatives to handle. Barring that, we would opt for a space burial by jettisoning the body into the stars, whether through coffin or cremation.

[it's a little romantic, especially for Jim, but while he might not personally be very spiritual or religious, he understands that there are many who can't stand the dead being spoken of as just another body to get rid of. he, himself, still sees the dead as people— individuals he couldn't save. the dead deserved respect, because once upon a time, they'd been living and breathing and thinking.]

I know the final say will fall to medical, as it's their facilities that will need to be used in either case— [and he nods, an acknowledgement to the medical staff on board] — but I believe a funeral service should be held and would be good for all of us. A loss of life this huge can effect people in ways we might not initially expect, and we've had losses of our own number that deserve a proper goodbye.

[he's speaking of literal losses, yes, but he's also speaking of the figurative. a loss of innocence was just as tragic as the loss of a life. Kurt's post, speaking of the girl at the end of the play, came to mind, and the loss of Gingersnap was a startling blow for anyone who knew Tyke and her dogs.]

There's an outdoor chapel in the oxygen gardens, should anyone want to make use of it, or should anyone elect to hold an official service. Enterprise, we'll be meeting at Chase's apple tree on the second level at 18:00 hours. Anyone else wishing to attend is more than welcome.

I realize we have our work cut out for us with the jump only a few days away, but we need to remember to take care of ourselves and our own. We're all we've got up here, whether we like it or not. Taking a half hour of one day won't hurt.

Kirk out.

[ it's time for a musical interlude on the network. for a second, it probably sounds like it caught a radio signal mid-song. hal's accent slips through once or twice, but for the most part it’s an uncanny mimicry of the 1950's original. ]

-back to Constantinople, no you can't go back to Constantinople; now it's Istanbul not Constantinople.

[ he stops abruptly, segues smoothly into speaking. there's no video, but it's easy to hear the grin in his voice. ]

Good evening, Tranquility. I'd like to personally thank you for last week's entertainment, and offer my sincere congratulations on your deft handling of the pirate incursion. I'm sure we can all sleep soundly knowing what we're capable of when we put our minds together. Or our teeth. Or claws, or guns; a fair few swords, if I'm not mistaken.

[ it’s said with an edge that keeps it from being genuine. which it isn't, obviously. it's a thinly guised mockery of the disorder and violence, but the amusement and thanks seem true enough. he picks up the lyrics again a beat later, and he only cuts the feed as an afterthought; he doesn't particularly care if people can hear him. ]

Why did Constantinople get the works? That's nobody's business but the Turks'-

[He hasn't dont anything like this before in his near two months here, but it would seem about time. There's an innate timidity that comes with addressing absolute legions of people whom you do not know and cannot see, with a device you are still not comfortable with... but, well.

After the recent spat of low events and lower spirits, if there was ever a time pluck up an introductory nerve and present a worthy distraction, this was it.

Smiling lightly at what he hopes is the camera (modern communication, why are you so uncomfortable? He is literally speaking to a metal hunk in his palm...), Jehan greeted with quiet enthusiasm,]

Hello. I don't assume many of you know me; my name is Jean Prouvaire. Good to make your acquaintance.

Even if you do not know me, I'm sure many of you must be well-acquainted with the Oxygen Gardens. Though quite expansive for a single ship, I've noticed that the first floor is especially well-kept, while the upper floors are a bit more... untamed.

[His expression suggests that both versions of the garden are equally impressive, as far as he's concerned.]

The other day, it had been brought to my attention that-- along with a number of very beautiful blooms and buds on all four floors-- there might also be some plant varieties that are harmful in all that thicket.

[The boy who had the interest in belladonnas had quite reminded him of that.]

I thought it might be both useful and nice, then, if there was an attempt to map some of the flora of the Oxygen Gardens. If other passengers are willing to help, we could put together some little collection of various flower types and where to find them into a book. It could be advantageous for viewings, for further learning, or simply to know which to avoid, should any be of a mean kind.

[A soft shrug and he tilted his head, unable to help another quick smile.]

I don't doubt that the gardens may be too vast to capture in a single volume, but... There is a man on board named Claudius who hopes to start a paper-book library. The book could be at home there, and available to any who wish to use it or add to it, over time.

[Pausing a moment, he shuffled, looking down, before holding up a bit of paper that he'd begun the project with. Everything had to start somewhere.

But, as he's rambling now and really doesn't know quite how to end the conversation with something that can't speak in return until he has... He gave a last, tighter smile, and flushed only slightly self-consciously as he finished,]

I'd be grateful for any help, as I don't fashion myself a botanist, scientist or a cartographer. Advice is also welcome and appreciated. Thank you.