Recently it seems that some of us have had our origins and experiences on our mind. If there is anything I have learned from my time here, it is that we do not often suffer a dull day, and that we are all abundant with stories. Stories of ourselves, of the lives we've lived at home, and the lives that we've lived here. We've all arrived here from different circumstances, with a vast array of varying experiences between that, and I think that sometimes we do not allow ourselves time to appreciate that. We have an opportunity to learn so much from each other. [ Oxford pauses, calmly, taking a level breath as he goes on. ] Of course, I don't mean to say this is somehow a priority over the general task of surviving, but I feel that while we keep ourselves and our histories as fresh as we can in our minds, perhaps it could serve us some purpose to keep record of it.

[ Even though he has decided to stick to an audio post, Oxford can't help making habitual, sweeping hand gestures as he speaks. ]

I would like to propose beginning a ship-wide archive, to include whatever information that fellow passengers are willing to share of their lives and worlds, as well as a timeline of events since the first jump. First hand accounts of matters we have tackled, [ with a vague amount of strain, said very soberly ] and a memorial to those we lost. As I've said, this is by no means any kind of priority, just... well, to be quite honest, I like the idea of having a project. Though I would not necessarily say no if anyone was willing to join me in maintaining this proposed archive, I know that we all have our own personal worries and jobs to attend to, thus I am quite glad to take up mantle on my own.

All I really aim to do is to put experiences into words. I'm quite certain that many of you have some extraordinary stories to tell, whether they are from your home or from here, and all I would want is for these things to be shared amongst us. You never know what we might find out each other. [ A vague, mirthless smile is audible in his words. ] I only hope they're relatively good things, of course.

The information volunteered to this archive would be exactly that - voluntary. I won't be hounding everyone on the ship for interviews, because that would be incredibly time consuming and as annoying as conducting door to door sales. Anyone who would like to contribute is advised to come to me - in person or across the network, whichever suits you best. If it happens that I hear of someone's actions through another person's contribution, then I may follow that up.

[ He laughs, mildly. ]

Of course, I might have wasted all this time talking and wasting your time only to have no response. Always a possibility. [ For a moment, he sounds a bit warmer and less business-like. ] Good day to you all.

[ when the feed begins, finch is sitting cross-legged on his bed, a pile of fabric in his lap that's probably the jumpsuit. he's holding one of the legs in a hand and there's a needle stuck through a seam that he's evidently been repairing. finch himself looks tired, drawn, a little too thin (he's definitely not eating often enough, though that's at least in part his fault), and his hair's pulled back with a few fruit-shaped clips, exposing vivid copper-colored eyes.

he tugs the needle through the seam, fingers rolling the tiny bit of metal between them as he glances back up. ]

I was thinking, you know, I oughta' get another tattoo. [ in the tank-top he's wearing, it's evident that he has a number of tattoos already, but-- ] I've been getting one every year since I could first sweet-talk my way into the chair. [ he ties the knot off, breaking the thread with his teeth and then shoving the jumpsuit aside. he brushes the tip of the needle over his thumb, pricking it lightly, before reaching across the device to set it down somewhere. he leans back again, then, licking the drop of blood off his skin with a shrug. ] It's a weird kinda'.. thing I do. Because I haven't killed anyone. 'Cause I'm still alive. 'Cause I'm not anyone's pet sex-monster. [ a quirk of his mouth, leaning back on his palms. ]

--Anyway, if I do--and I know there's people on this tub that can do it--it's gotta' be unique, you know? I could, uh, use some help with ideas. Just saying.

[ another shrug! then he reaches up, turns off the feed. ]

[ dean doesn't look happy when the feed turns on. unlike before, that hint of smugness isn't present either, as it's all down to business seriousness today. he looks tired, a little ruffled you could say-- like someone who hasn't really seen any rest.

and it holds true enough, too. there's no time for resting when you're searching, worrying. ]

There isn't a day on this ship when somebody ain't missing, is there? [ despite the conversational words, his voice lacks anything inviting. he has his favorite gun in his hands, is reloading it with a new magazine, and tossing it into a small bag filled with a few things.

looks like he's going somewhere, and it won't be just a quick trip either. ]

If anyone sees Jo Harvelle, keep her safe and lem'me know. Starting to look like she's been missin' for a few days now… [ he cocks the gun experimentally before flipping the safety back on and tucking it away. ] …which means it's time for a little search and rescue.

SEC, I guess this means I'm taken' a few days off from patrollin' and whatever.

[ a hint in his tone suggests that if that's a problem, keep it to yourself. ]

I'll be back before the jump with her.

[ or he'll try to be. if he isn't… well, that'll be the end of yet another winchester. ]