How can people be so idle when there is so much at stake at your inaction?

[It's quiet. The past jump has not been kind to Marius. In fact, he sounds positively unsettled, almost as if he needs to just go to sleep and not talk to the public at large, but he needs to do something and this is the only way he can make his heart less heavy.]

We are slaves here to the whim of individuals we cannot even see, to those we cannot even meet, and -- I cannot keep quiet about it any longer.

[He draws in a breath.]

I know there will be much discussion about why we are here and whether or not we can escape -- and I am interested in hearing all of that, but what I am more interested in is opinion. I want to hear what people feel about being here, be it anger or apathy, rather than the facts of our situation, for nothing has ever been changed with cruel numbers and statistics so much as heart.

[And he stills for a long moment before Marius shuts off the feed -- and, maybe twenty minutes later, he sends out a text.]

[Filtered Away from Enjolras]

What can be done about nightmares?

[ And on the end of this feed: Moran in all his muttonchopped glory, looking exceptionally grumpy. That is, grumpier than he normally looks. ]

My name is Sebastian Moran, number 008-155.

[ For the first time, he doesn't introduce himself as Colonel. As a matter of fact, almost none of what follows sounds like your typical Moran. It's terribly obvious that he's being puppetted through this, and if his Christopher Walken-esque performance prompts anything, there may, in fact, even be cue cards helping him along. ]

Prior to this jump, I made the absolutely idiotic mistake of firing a shot at one of them bleeding cleaning dev-- [ He shoots a doubtful look just off camera. ] A Roomba. I made the absolutely idiotic mistake of firing a shoot at a Roomba.

I've been punished for this with time in the brig, of course, but this is me issuing a much-needed public apology. I apologize for this violent act, and I apologize for being a moron in general. Moron is, after all, nearly my name. Chums.

[ Just before the feed flickers to black, there's a brief shot of him essentially facepalming. What is his poor life? ]

[ normally, this kind of thing starts with jenna scattered, or looking slightly surprised that recording is actually happening. none of that, for once; instead she's sitting in one of the therapy rooms, behind a desk with her comm propped up enough to see a truly righteous amount of brightly colored pillows behind her. she's calm, cool, collected and super prepared, there may be notes involved.

she has a handout, y'all. ]

I have a speech I put together so I'm just going to launch into it, and I'll do the social skill stuff after, honest. [ a deep breath. ] Okay, so. Between earlier in the month with Tony, and-- other conversations, I've realized that there might be more confusion about what therapy is and what it can do for people than I had thought. So! Consider this one woman's very, very biased take on it.

Therapy is, in an overly simplified hippie way, trying to help people heal their brains and their hearts. Not the actual organs-- thoughts and feelings. It's working through problems that keep you from living your life as well as possible.

There are a lot of fields and specialties but I'm going to talk about my preferences and style, since-- I'm kind of it, right now, when it comes to the traditional discipline side of things.

[ looking down again, at an out of frame notebook, jenna takes a breath. ]

The first thing I want to say is I'm not stuck on sitting in chairs and talking about your childhood. If you want to take a pillow and beat the wall and then talk about music? It's your session, go ahead. That doesn't mean we can do whatever you want, but it does mean I understand that opening up to a total stranger is hard and admittedly sucks and most of you don't know me well enough to just assume you can trust me. That's okay-- it's smart, actually. And if you'd like to start seeing me, we can work on building that trust, but I don't expect it to just magically appear because I say I'll do my best to help you.

Uh-- right, second point. I can go over this more in detail one on one, but I'm not a licensed therapist, I'm a grad student. A grad student would be like... a master apprentice? Almost to being a master maker of whatevers myself, but just a year or two shy. Anyway, that makes what I'm doing illegal, back home-- not to mention a million kinds of unethical and more than a little gross. Believe me, I know, and I didn't really set out to declare myself Space Therapist. If me not being licensed makes you uncomfortable I completely understand and respect a desire to hold out for someone who isn't still midway through their thesis, but it was pointed out that until then I should offer for people who don't mind.

...and a quick third: at home, I'd never see clients in a social situation. No one would know about my life, my problems or bad habits, anything like that. But this isn't home and you may see me at the bar, so if that would make you uncomfortable I also understand, but we make do with what we have up here.

[ she clears her throat and taps a few keys. ]

Here, I put together an informal quick list about what therapy is and isn't.

( ic post attachment )

...I think that's about it for the official side.

[ and with that the attempt at Serious Posture and Mature Gravity fades back into something more naturally jenna. ]

Now I get to be normal life Jenna, not therapist Jenna. [ offering a wave. ] Hey, new people-- I'm Jenna, if you missed Tony's last scientific doom post. I mentioned it there too, but again: if you don't mind being expected to lend a hand helping in some way or another, dinners happen nightly on the kitchen nearer to the lower numbered rooms, floor one. It's not exciting food, but I can promise it won't completely suck and there will be enough for anyone. Anyone who wants something fancy can... make it for themselves, pretty much.

...does anyone do haircuts, on a completely different end note? We can talk trading if you want, I just need a trim. [ her mouth twitches, mischievously. SUP CHAPEL. ] And a friend told me it's good to make sure people know how to cut hair to the right length before you ask for the haircut in the first place.


( locked to damon salvatore » 100% )

[ The video is sent from the holodeck the Baron Vladimir Harkonnen has frequented of late. A backdrop of red marble and dark metal appears for several seconds before the camera angle is adjusted. The man who appears on the screen is older, red-haired, and tremendously overweight. He scrutinizes the screen for a moment before he begins speaking, his voice a deep basso rumble.]

"Attention, Tranquility, I am the Baron Vladimir Harkonnen. I have a query for those on the ship who might have pertinent information."

[One can only sit on a holodeck brooding in artificial simulations of home for so long before it grows exceedingly dull, which has grown obvious of late. The Baron suspects that there may be other things to do, somewhere, and, has begun to wonder about a subject in particular, which has not held much personal interest for many, many years. Having far too much free time on his hands, however, he has begun recollecting a certain pastime of his now rather-distant youth.]

"Is anyone aware of any musical facilities aboard the ship? Listening areas with catalogs of recorded material are of interest, but, I would also like to know if there are any facilities containing musical instruments of any sort. Also, are there any musicians aboard the ship?"

[So long as Gurney Halleck does not appear with a damned baliset, perhaps this will prove interesting, he thinks, and sinks back into his seat to await any responses, sipping from a glass of Spice-laced wine taken from one of the bars.]

[ The feed opens to Sherlock seated at his lab table with finger steepled, smiling in a way that seems almost pleasant if not for the inherent sense of smouldering rage in his eyes. Oh yes, he is a wee bit peeved. And do you know why, Tranquility? Because someone is taking his shit. ]

Good afternoon. I require some assistance in the gathering of suspects after a theft of a personal item despite the constant and clearly ineffective presence of security roaming the halls like a herd of stray cats. It's a matter I would prefer to handle personally, in any rate.

[ Seeing as, you know, he maybe sort of kind of stole the stuff from the Science Department first, but who really cares about the semantics? And anyway he could handle the back and forth of snatching items with whoever's involved up until his precious electron microscope was stolen. He loved that scope. That was too far. ]

The man I'm looking for is unusually tall - I'd say just shy of two metres - aged somewhere in the range of his early fifties. Physically fit, impeccable posture and hair that's, oh, I'd say waist length with some charming hints of gray. Personality-wise I would say I'm in search of a self-important megalomaniac with a God complex. If you know anyone of that description and could be so kind as to send them my way I would most appreciative.

[ He then leans forward, eyes narrowing at the screen. ]

And if you are the man I'm looking for and you'd like your highly detailed notes returned please feel free to contact me personally.

[ With another overly-friendly smile, he leans forward and ends the feed. ]

Hello, Tranquility. I am SHODAN.

Perhaps this has been discussed amongst those of you previously inhabiting this ship, but I'm looking for more definite information about these 'jumps' I've heard so much about. If anyone knows what happens during them, specifically...

[ SHODAN's reaching out to a wider audience at this point. Get to know the preypassengers aboard and what not; Obtain some useful knowledge in the meantime. ]

[Sma's been around, quietly keeping track of things and mostly being an observer of stuff. Her curiosity on a subject is now up, so have a video post.]

Hello, Tranquility.

So, I've been through a jump now as a resident and not a new arrival, and I've been watching things and—actually, let me give some context.

Where I come from, a ship this size would have what we call a Mind. It's an artificial intelligence that runs at a considerably higher rate of speed than the average human-form sentient. Some like to talk to the residents directly, and others create humanoid avatars for interactions. They've got interests, personalities, and a predilection for interesting names, like the Very Little Gravitas Indeed and the What Are the Civilian Applications?.

Our settlements are run by Minds as well. We've also got what we call drones, which are human-equivalent sentient AIs, operating independently of Minds. We also have sub-sentient AI for menial tasks—maintenance, that sort of thing.

So there's the context. What I'm wondering is—does the Tranquility have any kind of AI at work here? And are any of my fellow-passengers familiar with AI technology?

[When the video feed starts up, Laughing Beauty looks to the camera nervously, still unsure if making this kind of request was the best to do publicly. But what choice did she have? LB knew she couldn't do this herself.]

Hey, uh -- heheheh -- hi.

[Yes, this was already getting off to a smooth start. LB gives the camera an awkward smile, before continuing.]

There's a lot of people here who can fix things... right? So, if anyone had any spare time, I was wondering if they wanted to try to fix-- [She swivels her communicator around, in a blur, until it focuses on a broken down, unoccupied Octopus Suit. With it occasionally sparking and one of it's tentacles broken apart, it's certainly seen better days, to say the least.]

I, uh... [The camera focuses on her face, deep in thought as she tries to think of a convincing lie as to how her suit got broken in the first place. After a while, however, she glances away from the camera.] Ah, fuck it, I broke it in a fight. But it's okay! Heehee! I... don't think I'll have to worry about that person anymore.

[Which is her roundabout way of saying that she hadn't seen Zer0, since after the fight, and she was pretty sure she killed him (even if that wasn't actually the case). It was a little sad, because he seemed like someone she could be friends with, but it seemed that wasn't the case. Regardless, she's not admitting to anything.

As she scratches her head and generally looks uncomfortable, it might be easy to tell that she's possibly hiding something.]

A-anyway, I'm not sure what I can offer anyone in return, but I guess we can discuss that later.

[After that, she had intended to turn her communicator off, but there was another burning question on her mind, lately. For this inquiry, she hesitates even longer, before finally spitting it out.]

Also... does anyone know if the masks give you any power or benefits? Hahaha? For a while, I had a bad feeling about them, but lately? I've been wondering if maybe I've been thinking of things in the wrong way.

[LB positions her deceptively cute mask next to her face, mimicking the expression with a smile.]

Besides, I'm no stranger to wearing things that are unsettling.

But - ah - that's all, I guess. Eeheeheeheehee... thanks in advance.


[[I've got it planned out for Peter Parker to fix the suit, but people are still welcome to inquire about it!]]

[ Cibo has made herself scarce after the last jump, because something didn't feel quite right from the previous month. Like something hadn't settled in her mind the way it should have. After resting the week after the jump, she wakes to a pleasant surprise and a newly rejuvenated attitude. And the video pops on to show it. ]

I'm sorry if I avoided you or didn't respond to you since the jump. I just couldn't bring myself to speak to anyone for some reason, but I'm feeling much better now. And my dream wasn't frightening like usual, so that may also be a sign that I'm better. Right?

I wish to meet with all of my friends soon. If you have some free time, please let me know.

[ And that's it! She'll trot off to the gardens to sit and watch her fish now. Possibly skim the network while thinking of some sort of interesting story that she would want to share with Murphy or Wheatley. Nothing she thinks of is as good as their stories are, though. Gosh. ]

[ York's clearly at ease with this type of technology--it's not precisely what he's used to using, but the principles are pretty easy to figure out. He's also a lot more relaxed than a lot of the other newcomers who have made appearances on the network so far; at least here, he has shelter and food, and it seems like he's out of reach of the people who were pursuing him, so really, it's the least stressful his situation has been in quite a while. 

The weird angle of his face on the screen is easily explained by the way he's sitting with his feet kicked up on the table, and the way the comm device sits propped up on its surface. He knows his most striking feature, of course, and so he's set it up so that the comm unit is to his right, but the observant viewer will notice the scarring on the left side of his face whenever he turns his head to speak more directly to device, especially the fact that his left eye is milky white. He knows it sometimes shock people when they meet him for the first time, but it doesn't bother him enough to avoid using the video stream, especially when what he needs to talk about is something so important to him. ]

Hey, there, folks. I know all of us who are new have had some time to settle in--oh, yeah, I'm Garrett, by the way, but you can call me York if you want. I'm happy with either one. Anyway, I hear that for whatever reason, AIs only come on board in their own bodies, and I didn't know about that when we first came on board. So I'm just hoping...if anybody's met a guy who just goes by Delta, or if you're listening, D, I'm down in room 161. [ The pensive crease on his forehead only lasts a fraction of a second; he means to make a good impression, and he doesn't want to burden anyone else with the way D's disappearance has left him feeling more than just a little bit lonely. After all, D's lived in his head for quite a while. It's strange to have his thoughts to himself. ]

Other than that, I'd just like to let everyone know I'm offering my services as a locksmith. I'm not sure how these room locks work, seems like they're linked to our ID tattoos, but if anyone ever has any kind of trouble with 'em, I'd be able to help. [ He cocks his head back with a grin. ] Mainly I'm just looking for stuff to do that'll keep me out of trouble. You have no idea what kind of mischief a bored infiltration specialist can get up to. 

[Celes is still a bit confused by everything, especially by the fact that they're in space. Where Celes is from, space travel had never even been thought of.]

This place seems nice and all, but I'd like to know which rooms contain any danger and/or creatures of a dangerous nature.

[Oh, how she hates to ask for help, but, well... it can't be helped! At least she's not asking how she got here or where she is, anyway. She figures she can found out those answers on her own and save herself the embarrassment.]

If so, I would like directions to those areas.

[Is she crazy? Perhaps, but she really just wants to see if there are any creatures from her world on here. Even if it's a monster, just knowing that something from her world is here would give her some comfort... And maybe she wants to take out her frustration on something.]

a Voice.

being watched.

"doing well so far".

[there's the temptation to put 'home sweet home' but yeah, like hell Aperture's her home.]

if there's something watching, it can be defeated.

[the feed opens to a shot of david sat at the table in his assigned room; grey standard uniform in place, despite the black jumpsuit he was given upon arrival. having that one strain of familiarity on his person...helps. not that he'll ever admit to that. perfect posture and not a hair out of place; there's something a little off about the picture, but unless you were here for those old transmissions, it shouldn't be obvious as to what that is. he's made to appear completely human afterall.]

A question for each of you. Who do you consider the biggest threat to your safety here? The figure who goes by a red, smiling emoticon? Our Captain and Chief Engineer? Or perhaps it's one of us; one of those who have been brought here against our will?

Considering that it was those amongst our number who attempted to commit mutiny, released a fear toxin, and unleashed a series of windows to parallel worlds, is it the ship we should fear, or those aboard it?

Curious minds wish to know.

[and then he'll just be. switching the feed over to a locked one now.]


[locked to OPERATIONS and SCIENCE departments]

I hope this isn't too forward of me. [not that he particularly cares if it is] But my name is David, and prior to my arrival here, I performed the role of Mission Attendant aboard the USCSS Prometheus. Whilst the details of our mission must remain classified, I can assure you that I have a great deal of experience with the operation and maintenance of an FTL space exploration vehicle, hypersleep stasis, and earth sciences including medicine.

As such, I wish to offer my services to both of your departments, dependant on which areas you believe I can benefit the most.

Thank you for your time.

[ click! as the video starts recording, revealing: a rather skinny, disheveled fellow sitting in what looks like one of the rec rooms around the ship's hallways. soysauce sits back from where he's leaned forward to start the recording, looking rather haggard and sleep-deprived, his hair mussed up and his tie hanging loose around his neck. he's swaying a bit in his seat as he runs a hand back through his hair -- the empty liquor bottle visible at the edge of the video suggests he miiight just be trashed out of his skull at the moment.

still, at least he sounds half-way coherent as he starts talking. ]

Eh -- hello. Good afternoon. Evening? Either way, I do hope this isn't too much of an interruption. [ a small, polite bow of the head. ] To those I have yet had the pleasure of meeting, please call me Soysauce. Traveling musician and gunman, at your service.

[ a slight, uneasy sway on his seat as he gives the camera a goofy smile. nodding once to himself before continuing. ]

Nothing too important, but ah. Just two -- three! [ holding out two fingers. ] Three things I'd like to say.

First -- I seem to have lost track of, ah. A small model of the hoverbike I used at home. About this big -- [ holding his hands up to shape something roughly the size of a loaf of bread ] -- based off a robust model, fully functional, a little thing made of metal. If anyone happens to see it zipping by, I'd be very grateful to hear some suggestion of where it might have ended up.

Second. [ pause. ] What passes for whiskey here is rather lacking, no?

[ sigh. and then one those deep breaths that suggests he's trying to sober up somewhat. brows slightly furrowed as he speaks a bit more slowly. ]

And third. As ridiculous as this may sound, I'd like to ask if anyone is willing to spend some time as a sparring partner -- or instructor. Close-quarters combat has never been my forte, but given the vast differences between methods of combat here and where I'm from, I've given to thinking this problem may need to be addressed. Not to mention, what I do know, I feel I may have been growing rather rusty with as of late.

I'd be more than willing to compensate for any time with, well. Anything I can offer.

[ pause. he's spending a lot of visible effort trying to make sure he hasn't forgotten anything before giving the camera another sloppy, drunk smile. ]

Ah, thank you for your attention.



[ ooc ; also open to action, if anyone wants to actually bump into his drunken ass lurking in the rec room! the scale miniature of his hoverbike is going to ultimately end up in rickon's hands, but please feel free to have seen it zoom by in the hallways or bump into anyone's ankles! ]

[THIS IS A RECORDING OF A WALL THAT HAS BEEN SMEARED WITH WHITE PAINT. well it looks like white paint.

obviously this is very exciting but what's more exciting is a vague humming sound coming from somewhere off-camera. it continues for a few seconds and there's a popping sound, and the once-empty white wall now bears an oval shaped opening outlined in glowing orange.

within that orange portal is a room, and in that room is a bed, and on that bed is Chell (sitting around in her underwear, what a slob) holding a working Portal Gun in her hands. she hops off the bed and strides towards the camera. she walks through the portal and bends down to pick up the device.

she looks...vaguely pleased and shuts the video feed off.]

[the next bit is text.]

avoid blue and orange gel.

trying something.