[Hey Tranquility. This is a face that's been kind of missing for a while, and boy does he look tired. Tired and worn and just kind of like a kid who's seen way too much shit in way too short a time.]

Hey, um. [Well, that's eloquent. And kind of scratchy, like he hasn't actually spoken in a few days. He clears his throat, shifts around a bit, and tries again.] I'm back, sorry... for disappearing, I guess. We got stuck in a weird part of the ship when lockdown hit.

[There's a long bit of silence where James just kind of looks off to the side of his communicator, spacing out. And it's more than obvious that he's pale, with dark circles under his eyes. A bit gaunt from not really being able to find much food from his little getting lost thing.]

Libby's... gone. And I found... if I can just- if a Miles and a Jesse who knew her can get in touch, that'd be... she told me to tell you.

[For now, he's saying nothing about the latest addition to his room.]

May I have a word with any of you who have been taken to a place against your will prior to this one? A place not your own world. Perhaps an island, though I will speak to others if this description merely fits a majority of what I've described, as well.

[While Japan waits for replies to that, he'll be hanging around the gardens in surprisingly modern clothing considering the katana at his waist. A scarf, too! He's taking his time, walking, enjoying the plants (as much as he can in a garden like this) and occasionally sighing to himself or making quiet, mumbled comments about not being able to observe the seasons properly and his age.

Well until he stops for lunch that is. Still in the gardens, he'll be having his lunch here, and offering an onigiri to whoever might pass by, stranger or not.]

It seems I've prepared extra, if you'd like one.

[ the feed starts of shaky, and red due to quinn's hand being over the lens. a few seconds later she is visible in the music room. she still isn't looking great. there are bags under her eyes and her hair is messy and limp. it's also obvious she doesn't realize the camera is on as she moves about the music room.

she sits down at the piano. she's been playing it a lot more since arriving on the ship. maybe because it's something thats both tangible and relatively normal. she plays a few random notes, and then stops and sighs. for a moment it looks like she is going to get up, but then she sighs and starts to play lana del rey's "born to die." it's a stripped down version, and maybe a bit more raw. ]

Feet don't fail me now
Take me to the finish line
Oh my heart it breaks every step that I take
But I'm hoping at the gates,
They'll tell me that you're mine...

[ she continues to play, and sing the song. her voice cracks a bit, but it doesn't stop her. ]

Come on take a walk on the wild side
Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain
You like your girls insane
Choose your last words,
This is the last time
Cause you and I
We were born to die...

[ she finishes the song, still completely unaware that she's live. when she's done she sighs and then rests her head in her hands. she's tired. tired of the ship. tired of everything that happens on the ship. just so ...tired. ]

If a rabbit could talk, what do you think he might sound like? It's a boy rabbit. A nice one, but not too nice. Tolerant but fair.

[Bed rest sucks.

[Now that we've got that out of the way, you know what doesn't suck? Dutch weed. Just a little bit of it. Not only does Murphy not feel like he's been royally screwed over by a bullet wound and injuries and sicknesses he'd endured from Silent Hill, but he's feeling pretty much like the universe is an okay place right about now. No nightmares of dead children and angry wives and shackles, prison, being a monster...

[Nothing's okay, everything's fine, fine fine. And we have Murphy here. Now's not the time to be tacking away over text! Instead, we're treated to a hoarse, haggard voice of a swell and phenomenally high man:]

"Y'know what's really somethin' that I've never taken into consideration before? We're in space.

"I said it, we're in space. You'd think the novelty of it wouldn't wear down after so long, but..." [He scoffs.] "Never even was one of those kids who... y'know, wanted to be an astronaut when they grew up, but...

"Hey! Here's a question: What did you wanna be when you grew up? Grow up. Sorry. Some of you are kids. But still...

"Me, I always thought it'd be kinda cool to be like Mr. White, uh... Minus the gettin' shot at part. 'Cause bein' shot really hurts, and..."

[There's a pause. Are we going to finish that thought? No?]

"Shit, I think I can feel my brain..."

[Another pause. There's a sound of something creaking.] "I'm really bored right now."

[Somebody take Murphy's communicator away before he says/does something he's going to regret... Or just talk to him, because goddamn.]

[So, this last jump? Aaron got a gun. Just walked up to his locker for his clothes, clicked it open, and there it was. Sitting on top of his leather jacket, a few cases of ammunition behind it.

He really missed his gun.

Which is why, today, he's not addressing the network through text. Instead, he's sitting in his room, a single gold case (it almost looks like cigarette case) hanging around his neck, face serious and posture... well, it almost looks a little threatening.]

I need to know how often people from your worlds show up, people you know. When one person ends up here, do other people follow? That sort of thing.

Also... I need a chemist. [His expression tenses a little, almost darkens] Consider it urgent.

[There's a quick pause, and Aaron's lifting up the handgun he'd been given this jump, wiggling it in plain view of the camera.]

People from Outcome... Byer? You know what this means.

[And, almost looking smug, he leans forward and flicks the feed off.]

[Remus looks pale and has awfully dark circles under his eyes, as per usual, and there's a fresh pink scar along the bridge of his nose-- but that can hardly be seen, because right now Remus is too busy flailing his hands around everywhere. He's in the media library, tucked between two stacks, far too many datapads surrounding him.]

Have you all seen this? Have you all seen this? Look at it! Oh, Merlin, I've never seen such literature-- and it's so extensive! I can't even choose, there's far too many-- Sirius Black, you are in trouble when I see you if you knew about this and kept it from me--

[He pushes his fingers through his hair. It ends up sticking up, but that's all right; he's too busy glancing down and scrabbling through the pile of datapads surrounding him.]

Like-- oh, look at this, it's this one story of a-- well, I can't hardly understand it, it's not of a human life, but I think it's a royal hierarchy on this one planet-- and oh, oh, there was one I found where it was entirely about time travel, and going to the future of a planet, and how he dealt with being a thousand years in the future-- oh, they're all so wonderful, I only wish I had more time--

[He glances up at the camera, manic and delighted-- but, because he's Remus, he bites his lip and tries to calm down a little.]

I can't understand why I'm the only person in here. There has to be at least one other person on this ship who'll be pleased by this public service announcement.

[ and now, a quick word from Wichita; ]

For anybody that's interested, I've set up a shooting rage on the eleventh floor, in one of the recreation rooms. I'm sure there's some kinda protocol I'm ignoring by doing this, but whatever, that's why I'm giving everybody a heads up here. If you hear gunshots from that hall, it's just me. I've left a chair outside the door so you all know exactly which room it is, so nobody should come bursting in or whatever when I'm shooting. [ lookin' at you, cop and hero-types. no need to get all huff-puff "I've come to save the day" on anybody. ] I know I'm usually kind of a goofball whenever I show up on the network, but this isn't something I'm taking lightly. I can't dictate who comes and goes, but don't disrupt unless you've got a good reason to.

Basically, this is a PSA to not be a dumbass and wander into the room I'll be open firing my gun in. [ shrug ]

If you wanna join - as in you've got your own gun and you wanna practice and you aren't a jackass about it - then by all means, stop by. Just knock first, yeah. And bring your own targets, I only set up about a dozen for now and I'm not exactly swimming in stuff to shoot at.

[ sigh. ]

Right.

-- Oh yeah, Colonel. Guess now's your chance to show me what you got.



[ ooc: and here is the open log. ]

[Cersei has practiced this speech, carefully planned it and learned it off by heart. She is dressed as formally as she can muster, her crown in place, and a deliberate warm half-smile is on her lips.]

Dear people of Tranquility, I have created this visual message in order to ask for your aid. Some may already be aware that a man by the name of Robb Stark attempts to usurp my position and take my life. While I am not typically the type to ask of favours of others, I must request your assistance on this particular occasion. I have held the title of Queen uncontested for sixteen years. Nevertheless, upon arriving at this ship, I have been threatened with both the stripping of my position and my death.

While some call for a woman's head, I implore no such monstrosities. Instead I ask merely for protection from Stark and his violent men. Is there anyone in this ship who might be able to guard and protect me, increasing my safety? I am a woman and am thus unable to defend myself. There is enough turmoil and danger on this ship already. I feel that we need not add to it.

[and here's the charismatic, smiling face of James T. Kirk. he has business to tend to, and it's clear in his expression]

Morning, Tranquility, this is Jim Kirk.

Some of you may have heard my name floating around. I'm here to answer questions if any of you still have them.

[but this broadcast has the air of purpose, and he gets down to it pretty quick.]

Those of you that have been around for at least a handful of jumps are going to know what this is about, but for those of you that don't, during our stay on the Tranquility it has come to light that some of our number require more than what humans would consider regular dietary needs. Unfortunately, we haven't yet been able to synthesize all of these needs. Therefore, on behalf of one of that number, I'm asking some of you to come forward to donate to keep this individual from starving to death while on board. I'd like anyone with substantial stamina willing to volunteer to contact me. The procedure will be safe, and medical officers will be present at all times.

Kirk out.

[ooc: for those of you that don't know, this is in regards to THE WRAITH FEEDING PLOT that's an ongoing kind of thing. we need at least 10 volunteers so gimme all your victims do gooders!! if you have any questions you can contact me or pyraven!]

[The feed comes on to show Taylor looking pretty annoyed, a sharp frown pinching her brows even as something a little more weary lingers in her eyes. Her tone, when she starts speaking, still comes out strong, more authoritative than might be remembered from her before. Her first real announcement as Head of Security, she's keeping her shoulders set and her gaze level.]

I was thinking that this was basic fucking common sense, but seeing as some of you seem to need someone to actually say this shit, I'm gonna lay it out for you.

You don't kill each other, you don't assault each other, you don't steal each other's belongings and you don't damage each other's belongings.

[A pause, making sure those sit clearly before she carries on.]

There is a security team here, we're active and we will take action to enforce these basic rules and rights if we see or are informed of them being broken. Each infraction will be dealt with individually, so don't ask me for a blanket 'what will you do if'. SEC's here to keep everyone safe, not to control your lives. Most of you know the kind of shit we've had to deal with here - if you don't, you should've read about it. It's bigger and it's nastier than this kind of sniping, so calm the fuck down and stop fucking with each other already.

[A moment, keeping the same hard expression before she seems to relax slightly, looking away at something off camera and then back again.]

Personal request: if there's anyone that can do tattooing or just art shit, drop me a message. [A slight motion of her shoulders, almost a shrug.] Been doing them myself, but I want these somewhere I can't get at. Can show you how to do it bare-bones, if you don't know.

[ it's obvious this is going to be a serious post just from the look on robb's face. this is the king in the north, drawn up ice cold and stone-faced on the screen and there's nothing of the boy in his face. the direwolf at his side is a hulking mass of fur, teeth bared and eyes gleaming and no, this is not meant to be a light-hearted post. ]

Upon this ship there is a woman called Cersei Lannister, who arrived most recently. In Westeros, she dealt my house a great and terrible injury, and the matter must be settled, for it cannot be ignored. If she hears this, then I call her to treat with me, and submit herself for judgement for her crimes.

[ and grey wind snarls, ears set back and hackles raised, just as robb cuts the feed. ]

[Leoben has been letting most of his encryptions on the network, when he bothers to use them, hover at around an 70-80% effectiveness, and basing them off the work of others so as not to tip his hand too much. It's still early in the game, and he hasn't had any pressing reason to break out his real talents.

This post, though. It's sent to everyone, original crew included, but anyone trying to figure out what number it came from is going to be dealing with an absolute bastard of a coded encryption, full of traps and false backdoors, created by someone who's not only an AI himself but a specialist among AIs in coding, network jamming, and sabotage.

Of course, there are probably one or two people onboard who will guess immediately who it came from, but oh well. Leoben's annoyed.]

Being ejected out the airlock of a spaceship isn't all that fun a way to die. Take it from someone who knows.

If we're going to be talking about instituting a death penalty for crimes committed onboard, fine, although I'd rather restrict such a thing to crimes actually already committed, and committed here on this ship, rather than those that're just potentially maybe possible if we don't act now and preemptively murder them. But either way there are more humane - if you'll excuse the expression - ways to do it.

And if you've been making jokes about it because airlocking doesn't seem like a real threat to you, or you assumed it was some kind of clean and painless space death, please keep in mind that in some of our realities it was the customary method of execution without trial for political prisoners. If you're going to be funny, maybe you should mix in a few references to firing squads and mass graves just to keep it evenhanded.

You throw garbage out an airlock. That's what's being implied when you kill someone that way. And aside from everything else, it hurts.

[ it's been a rough couple months for everyone, and the mystic fall contingent no less so. still, when jenna opens the feed she looks more alert and cheerful-- not to mention: less inebriated-- than she has in a while. the locker full of things both useful and frivolously, uselessly cheerful made a few conversations come back in stark relief, and with new light.

she waves a little, shoving her hair out of her face impatiently after. ]

Hey. Okay, so. If you're new, hi, I'm Jenna. Everyone else-- yes, this is what I look like without a bottle in my hand.

[ she rolls her eyes a little, ducking her chin. ]

Bad joke, but that's part of my point. I've been here since jump one, and it really doesn't take a genius-- [ sup, tony. ] to see that the stress has been getting to me. And while my method of coping ended up being attached to a few too many embarrassing in retrospect public posts, I know I'm not the only one. Whether we've been here almost ten months or a little over a week, this is a stressful situation and I hate to be that person, but it's not getting less stressful.

The point is, nobody wants to be Steve Buscemi in the asteroid movie. Not the Morgan Freeman one, the less intellectual... disaster movie. Anyway. [ she exhales, waves a hand. ] Sorry. The actual point is high pressure situations lead to people breaking down, and we've already started down that way. We need to pull back on that, keep ourselves as healthy and happy as we can be.

[ or we'll end up like gallagher, is what she doesn't say, but for the well-informed the subtext is clear. ]

I have a list. Of suggestions, pretty much. I'm not nominating myself leader for change, I'm really not, but if they help... [ she trails off, then taps a few keys. ] It's not very long, just a few basics.

( ( IC TEXT ATTACHMENT | CUT TO SAVE FLISTS ) )

And I had one more idea, but this one is a little more personal. Godric and now that guy with all the meat got me thinking-- yes, okay, we're all in space and no one can remember signing the kidnapping permission slip. But we're from a million different worlds and times, and-- maybe some kind of organized story swap? Like a culture exchange. [ she's more animated now, moving her hands as she talks. ] Like, okay, for example. I'm someone's bannerwoman, but until Alayne explained the reference to me I didn't get why the word 'banner' came into it at all. And forget knowing what Jersey Shore is, there are plenty of us who have never even seen a tv.

Even just vocabulary is so different in places, seeing us all mix together would be a cultural anthropologist's dream. [ oh right, not just babbling. clearing her throat, jenna shrugs. ] Anyway. I don't have a framework, but before I try that is anyone interested? I thought a place where talking about home is the whole point might be helpful for some people, too.

...I never know how to end these things. Over and out? I guess.

[ she should probably buck up and make this a video post, she knows that. but it's easier to just talk into the microphone, not worry about her expression, just the tone of her voice. ]

For those that knew him, Charles Xavier is gone. The one that arrived in the seventh jump, um, oh-oh-seven, one-four-seven. I've been trying to get in contact with him for a little while now, over the past few weeks, but today the messages started bouncing back, saying the number doesn't exist. That means that's it, right?

[ there's too many possibilities, too many things could have happened, and none of them are any better or less terrifying than the last. she figured he was busy in the labs all this time, needed time alone after Erik left, but who knows? maybe he'd been lost. and she didn't do anything, she didn't look. not beyond the 'safe' parts of the ship. he could be dead, lost his communicator along the way. the weight of the things she doesn't know is making her chest feel tight all over again. ]

We should-

I just know, I know Charles wouldn't have gone wandering around the off-limit parts of the ship, especially by himself. He's smarter than that. So I guess what I'm trying to say is that we might need to look for a body. Not! Not that I think someone hurt him, I just- something must have happened, some kind of accident. Or- I dunno.

I have no idea where to look. Or who should even be looking, I don't want to put that responsibility on anyone, I'm not expecting anyone to or anything. I'm just trying to figure out how to handle this. [ she's starting to sound detached, nothing like her usual tone. her eyes blur. ]

If somebody could just come with me for one more look around the ship, I'd appreciate it a lot.

[ river is sitting on the floor of her room, staring at the screen, and frankly it's easy to tell that there's something not quite right about her. she looks unfocused, and there's something haunted about her. unhealthy and not all that sane.

more notably, though, if you're not inspecting her face while she sits there silent, you might notice that she must have gotten her hands on a knife at some point, because half of her jumpsuit is missing. she has mangled the tranquility crew uniform - the legs of the suit are cut off at the knee, and the sleeves are gone entirely. she's decided to forgo shoes, too. it seems like she's trying to say something, but can't quite manage. her eyes drop to the floor. ]

You're living on a graveyard. [ she's not quiet, but she sounds distracted. ] Gathering wool. Everyone's a cotton farmer. They thought we wouldn't notice if they took our eyes, but the ears are a requirement for watching. Seeking. She can't hide, everything's exposed, tore you open to see how it ticks and they didn't sew it back up, your stomach acids will leak on the floor and give you away. They will. They'll come for you in the dark, it's why they put out the stars. It's all going to - to fall. Tiān fān dì fù.

[ she frowns, twitches very suddenly, like she's snapping out of a trance. she looks up at the screen. ]

... This isn't my space. [ and like a frightened child: ] S-Simon?

Hey, Tranquilized!

I know you're all working on a calender, bUT by my mark it's Septemeber 10th. So in two days it's Miles Edgeworth's birthday. Active invites to anybody who knows he'd want him there, and if you're an a--a jerk trying to gatecrash I will hit you with a taser and some rebar. So don't. Especial invites to John Watson, Jack New York Face, Alayne Wolf Girl, Sirius I Won't Eat Your Dude Parts, Jenna Awesome Weed Lady, and Jane Jesse's Girl.

Tenth floor common area, unless anybody has a better place.

[filtered from miles edgeworth]

Does anyone know how to make a cake? Or like...punch? Or party food in general? I got decorations, just--I can't cook. I can pay. Like, a lot.

[open | amended later]

This party isn't obligatory.

[open | even later]

And you don't need to bring presents!