[ it's a rare thing when damon decides it's time to pick up his communicator and make a proper post to the network. typically these things are waaaay more...self-serving, especially for him of all people. but in the light of recent events there's an inkling of obligation that's been nagging at him.

he should know by now on this goddamn ship that maybe running into the arms of these not-so-standard impulses is not the way to go. pretty ironic considering the message he's trying to send here. ]

Hey, newbs and the rest of us who've been here way too long—I don't know what it is that makes you completely ignore advice, over a year of evidence, the most basic of human instincts like hey, maybe this is going to be a dumb idea. Either way you're failing miserably and I'm going to take it upon myself to reiterate this reminder:

Do not go wandering into the ship.

Really, I can't be clearer than that.

[ there's a pause on the audio feed, like damon's sudden thorough irritation is stopping him from saying the other important thing on his mind. the silence only lasts about ten second, and when he speaks again his voice is way less authoritative and way more solemn. ]

For anyone who knew him, Stefan Salvatore is gone. Home.

(  text | private | to elena 013 » 066  )

[ irene's not sitting in her room, she's sitting in someone else's. namely, the room that once belonged to her version of sherlock holmes. on her index finger are three gold rings that she fidgets idly with while she speaks. ]

I see our very own cautionary tale has graced us with an echo. For those newly arrived, I'd say pay attention to that, and note what happens if you don't get yourself into a pod before the jump time. It leaves in quite a mess, or so I'm told.

[ there's a clink of rings as she shakes them off, letting them fall onto the side table, edging them lightly into place with her fingertips. ]

Now, having that settled, I suppose I'd ask an introduction on the part of those newly arrived. All those newly arrived. In all the chaos of your arrival, it's only polite that we all introduce ourselves. We are to be living in rather close quarters for the foreseeable future, are we not?

This is quite a craft.

( the attached voice is feminine, ~*~dark~*~, and colored with an impossible to place (vaguely russian, but... not......) high fantasy accent! she also sounds just slightly detached from current proceedings ― like this pants shittingly terrifying transdimensional jaunt is something she's observing from an outsider's perspective, not her own. )

Not to my tastes, I'm afraid; a man could shred himself on this architecture, and your Tranquility exudes anything but. Still, I'm certain it could be worse. ( KNOCK KNOCK. this is someone rapping their knuckles on some sort of metallic surface. ) She's quite sturdy. Better a well built mausoleum than the alternative.

( hardy har. a beat. )

Your guides mention hostile creatures, but not the breed. I would hear of them, if you'll indulge me; their appearance, their behavior, where they roam, how often they've been seen.

Call it grim curiosity.

[Smart phones this advanced are not something Mohinder is use to. Luckily, he's a child of the information and technology age and figuring out the more or less intuitive operating system of the device in his hand is not at all difficult. Thumbing along the touch screen, and bypassing the entertainment sections (films and books on a mobile? How remarkable!), Mohinder comes across what looks to be an electronic bulletin or message board. At least, that's the closest approximation he can make for the network. Perhaps it's similar to the listserv his University uses? Either way he has every intention to check into it later, after he leaves this post:]

My name is Mohinder Suresh. I seem to be unable to contact anyone I know using this device, as it it does not seem to be connected to a cellular network. This might sound ridiculous, but could someone tell me where I am?

[Mohinder is not known for making sound life decisions, but he'd rather think he is lost and this really is some sort of odd American hospital than going mad. He hits the send button and glances around again the hallway he's paused in.  Nothing looks like a hospital around here at all. 'Going mad,' unfortunately, seems to be what's happening after all.]