[ surprise, surprise, Wichita's broadcasting from the back room in the bar, like she did more often than not before she left. it's not like she's had any "man, it's weird to be back" feelings, because- well she didn't even realize she was gone for however many months when she first woke up after the jump. but then she turns on her communicator and there are a million transmissions about shit she doesn't understand, like, at all, and so she figures she better get to this sooner than later. ]

Hey.

[ hey. complete with a single wave and a somewhat sarcastic kind of grin. ]

First thing's first, for all the new kids on the block, I'm Wichita and whether you want to or not, I'm going to get to know a decent amount of you, because I'm a bartender at the space bar on the 6th level of the passenger quarters. AKA, the only open-to-everyone bar on board. I'm there pretty much all the time. Before anyone asks, no, Wichita isn't my real name, but no, I'm not going to tell you what it is. It's been a really long time since I've been home, but back then I had to learn how to use a gun, and I've gotten pretty good at it, so I also offer up shooting lessons for anybody that wants them. My two rules when it comes to all that are one, no mixing booze and guns, on the range or in my bar, and two, don't be a douchebag. So. If you fit those rules and want to come by the bar or sign up for a shooting lesson, consider this an open invite.

And there's that introduction.

Uh.

Second thing's second, I understand that my old room was left unlocked while I was gone, and that usually means that stuff is up for grabs, but that's no bueno now that I'm back, so this is me saying it needs to be returned. Immediately. [ the stuff she took from the kitchens and various parts of the ship she doesn't care about, but the stuff her friends left behind.. ] It's a short list, at least. Just drop it off here at the bar, or put it back where you found it, I don't care. Just refer back to rule two if you're looking for inspiration to not just hold onto it.

Yeah.

[ attached is a typed out list of about ten things, which include Justin Taylor's sketch pad, Isaac Mendez' sketch pad, this gun, this shirt, this hat and this gun, and a couple more random things that people she was close to might've left behind I just can't think of them because it's 3am, hehh, all described just enough to know what she's looking for. ]

Oh, and if somebody wants to explain what the hell's been going on on this ship for the last few months? That'd be- great. I guess. [ which is her cue to grab a drink, yep ]

[It starts with a close-up of his face. But he remembers such things from once before; namely, how he doesn't need to be so close to be heard. So he leans back, jaw clenching before he speaks.]

My name is Ichabod Crane. I have been - remiss in introducing myself, and for that I am truly sorry.

[More sorry that he's still here at month #2. He sits with a thin makeshift bandage wrapped around the knuckles of his hand and a broken mirror behind him. His patience with the ship wore thin for a moment. But then he's still concerned by thoughts of the Apocalypse and the fact that his wife still sits in Purgatory.

But for the moment, he's collected.]

I have a query, queries, if you will, for my fellow passengers. Do you believe that we are brought aboard this ship in some indiscriminate fashion? Or are we chosen, our fates intertwined for some greater...perhaps sinister purpose? Was anyone on a mission of utmost urgency only to have it suddenly interrupted?

[And, while not the most important, there is one other thing that he'd like to know:]

And does anyone find themselves missing Starbuck's coffee? Given the size of this vessel, there should be no less than five on board.

[Ichabod shifts his gaze, almost abashed about it.

But damn, those baked goods.]