[ When the feed first begins, the crown-wearing woman on the other end takes a second to turn the device every which way. Despite looking quite exhausted, she still manages to look regal. Finally, upon deciding that she is doing this correctly, she smiles. Oh, yes, she is quite pleased with herself even she is still wary of this technology. If nothing else, it's at least helpful. ]

I have yet to become accustom to.. [ A pause, as she glances around. ] .. this, but I am certainly grateful that those who dwell here alongside me have been helpful. It is because of this that I feel I should apologize, even knowing I cannot help what I see. These glimpses and fragments of memories that are not my own..

[ And now she has to wonder what others may have glimpsed from her own mind. Her smile suddenly turns apologetic. ] Not all are pleasant, and I am sorry for that, but it is not my place to divulge the contents of them. I can only hope those memories are not a constant in their lives.

Are we meant to deal with such invasive happenings often?

So we're all up in each other's heads, which blows, obviously. I feel like I'm ten people right now, and I have no idea who half those ten people are. I was gonna ask around, try and figure it out, but I have a better idea.

[ for a certain definition of "better". ]

Presenting, The Tranquility's Freaky Memory Swap Directory.

Here's how it works: you drop the details of stuff that doesn't belong in your brain. You know, names, places, events, incriminating secrets. Then comb through what other people leave and work out who got all your dirty laundry so you can bribe or threaten them into silence. Got it? Great.

<font face=courier><strong>My name is:</strong>  <strong>Seeking:</strong> M/F/? <strong>Do these names mean anything to you?</strong>  <strong>I know about your:</strong> </font>

(( i won't be back to this post for a few hours for any tags meant specifically for stiles, but i turned comment emailing off so tag each other!!! you are welcome to ignore the form.))

My name is Thranduil. I am King of the Woodland Realm in Northern Mirkwood, in Middle-earth. That which has happened in these last days is unsettling, but since I am unable to stop it, the best comfort I may offer you is this: if you experience any of my memories you find troubling, you may speak to me about them. I do not mind. Perhaps I may put your mind at ease, for you are seeing only a little of a very long story. I do not expect the same of you in return.

[OOC: Side effects of an empathic link with Thranduil are here. Memories for each of his empathic links can be found here. This post can be action, text, voice, whatever you need, and used as a catch-all for his interactions for the month which are related to the empathy plot.]

[In light of all this... mess, really, going on with everyone's minds (it did seem to be contagious), perhaps now was not the time to explore new things. Perhaps now was the time to really hold in place what one's personality ought to be, and to cling to it.

Despite that, Jehan and Courfeyrac have decided upon now to finally take the foray into modern fashion. Jehan can't say he's thrilled with the result, but the clothing items they have lifted from the Cyllene at least fit... for the most part.

Being rather dismal with technology still, he'd meant to put in a call to Combeferre, whom he thought might be amused with the antics (...and might tell them what he planned to do with those dresses, finally.)

Instead, network, have a man in his early twenties, from 1832, in front of the camera wearing a streamlined, white jacket. Which might not have been so bad, if he had not insisted on wearing it with a bright tie, which he had fashioned into a bow around his neck.

Courfeyrac had done... something to his hair, with some form of goo he'd found in one of the bathrooms on the other ship, and he had not liked it. It was sticky. He'd tried to comb it out with his hands, and the result was that it now more-or-less stood straight up, tilted to the side violently, and had frozen like that, as if in shock.]

Is this-- is it recording?

[A pause.

He had no time to be embarrassed. He had a few questions.]

This is absurd. The buttons on these costumes-- they have no button holes, the half of them. Are they meant to connect to nothing?

[In his attempt to figure out why on earth a jacket would have buttons that were only for show, he's fastened two into the same hole, in a few places; with a herculean amount of effort.]

And some of these pockets are stitched shut.

Is all clothing like this, past our day? Do men really wear pants quite so tight; and how do you go about fitting suspenders onto pants that have no buttons in the back?

[He has figured belts... to an extent. As the pants he'd taken sat much lower than he was used to, he'd used the belt to fasten them nearly to his waist, putting it through only one loop and pulling tight. Over the jacket.

The result is more or less a disaster, and he'd readily admit it leaned towards more; the clothes simply didn't make sense.]

Really, I cannot say I imagine I am wearing this... absolutely correctly. But is it made correctly? These are pieces we have found, and I've seen all manner of clothing on board this vessel.

Are such things really comfortable? I can't say they seem useful, exactly...

Are all pockets in the future stitched shut?

[Someone has to ask the Serious Questions, Tranquility.]