[ There’s a near on six foot, completely albino man in heavy medieval armor, two massive swords strapped to his back, with a nasty scar down the left side of his face that bisects an eye that looks more like a demon possesed cat’s eye than a human’s. And he is... tilling a small garden. In some corner of the oxygen garden.

The comm device is set up against a nearby plant, more just tossed there than arranged, and gives a kind of skewed view, but he’s sort of more interested in multitasking while giving a monotone announcement. ]

If there’s someone this land belongs to, let me know. Otherwise, try to avoid stepping here. [ He’ll put up some kind of marker later, whatever. ] Once it grows, if you take anything, you owe me money.

[ That bit of totally manly gardening done, he’s pulling out some twine and sticking down twigs to make a perimeter around the area. See, marked off. All nice and neat. So don’t step on his shit, please. And onto something of more importance, he glances up to the screen - mild and unperturbed in demeanor. ] My name is Geralt of Rivia, and I’m looking for Witcher’s work. If that doesn’t mean anything to you - I hunt and kill monsters. If you need something done, contact me.

[ There’s a sound of a plant shifting off to the side, and he seems to remember something, tacking it on matter-of-factly. ]

Word to the wise. There’s a one-eyed elf hiding over- [ Glancing up. Squinting. Pointing. ] -there. If you look human, he’ll probably shoot you. Those less durable may want to avoid the area for a while. [ Ahem, carrying on. ]

A last thing - does anyone know where I can find a very strong alcohol? I need it for an alchemical base. [ Pause. ] And to get shitfaced.

Thanks.

[ The feed clicks on to show a man with blond hair and sharp blue eyes, expression calm - maybe even a bit unimpressed. When he speaks there's a similar nonchalance, emphasized by the slight southern drawl. He's wearing something that looks a lot like a bullet proof vest, and there's a gold badge prominently displayed on the chest. ]

Greetings, good people of the Tranquility. [ An edge of sarcasm, mocking the formality. ] My name is William Johns, and I've got a bit of a problem - I was transporting a dangerous criminal when things went a little haywire. Needless to say, this was not my intended destination.

[ There's a pause to consider the unresponsive screen and the futility of acting like there's anything familiar to be found here, but he goes ahead anyway. It's clear by his tone that he's going through the motions, isn't expecting anything useful to come out of it. ]

If the name Richard B. Riddick rings a bell, it's in your best interests to let me know.

[ And, with that out of the way: ]

Failing that, let me know if you've heard of the Tangiers or Helion systems. I'd also suggest having an engineer look at your cryo-chambers, see if they can't swap them out for models that don't make such a damn mess. [ That's a joke. Mostly. ]

[Crowley has been on the ship for hours.

The whole business was rather unpleasant, as is being branded like some kind of animal, but all in all, the demon is rather unruffled. Transport into another universe was something of another day's work, though it was an alarming coincidence that it occurred so closely to his greatest victory. Was this his punishment for his involvement with defeating the Leviathan?

Unlikely, the demon decides, and so he goes about his business.

First, it is a matter of discovering his locker, of removing his things, and of disappearing. He has little interest in socializing immediately and, as a result, Crowley vanishes into the shadows to dwell and think -- and, most importantly, learn. Within the hour, Crowley has all he needs to know at his fingertips, and with a flick of his fingers, his comm turns on to broadcast his soft accented English to the Tranquility.]

I'm afraid I require a bit of explanation as to why, exactly, someone thought it would be humorous to shove a Hellhound into a test tube.

[There's an artful pause.]

And also the location of the nearest groomer. This filth is absolutely disgusting.

[There's another three second pause before his own transmission ends.

Let's see who decides to come forward with information about why he, the demon King, is here.]

i've noticed crew members talking on the network about wanting to go out to explore the deeper parts of the ship, so i thought i'd reach out here - how many of you would be interested in going out as a search party for *people*, instead of places? so far three people we thought were lost for good have actually been here on the ship this whole time, what if there are more? what if none of the passengers we've lost have actually gone home? the ship is impossibly huge, isn't it?

i know it's a long shot, and i know it's a lot to ask, but i can't shake the feeling that there might be more people lost out there and need help getting back.

and i'd like to leave as soon as we wake up from the next jump.

no plans are set in stone just yet, but i'd like to get a headcount of those that would be interested in helping me.

( INDIVIDUAL PRIVATE TEXTS TO SPOCK, KIRK, TYKE; ENCRYPTED 80% )
i know i should have run all this by you before posting a transmission, but it's cutting close to jump time, so. there's that. am i crazy for wanting to do this? you can say yes. but i'd really you much rather give me the okay to do this because i can't tell you how much it's been bothering me since we all got back from finding the genetics labs.

( PRIVATE TO ERIK LEHNSHERR & CHARLES XAVIER; ENCRYPTED 80% )

message me back, let me know you're both okay. we're long overdue for a talk.

( INDIVIDUAL PRIVATE TEXTS TO JAKE ENGLISH, REMUS LUPIN, SIRIUS BLACK; ENCRYPTED 80% )

hi.


[ooc: mildly aggressive!Raven is brought to you by the letter want-to-wear-my-mask-is-finally-affecting-me. she doesn't have it back yet, but being out in the ship made the pull to wear it stronger, so. yep! ]

[ this five month sojourn hasn't been kind to keller. he's dangerously underweight, gaunt as a motherfucker. somehow trimming his beard hasn't done much to improve his appearance. keller looks more or less unbothered by all of this, fingers tapping on the comm for a long moment before a smile flicks onto his face. ]

Leaves a lot to be desired, you know, this part. [ he gestures up and around at the medical bay. ] I forgot how much noise you people make.

[ keller's voice is rusty, low and grating. it's off just enough to be jarring, as if he's lost track of how to pitch his tone. his fingers tap against the comm again, beating out the tune of a song. ]

While I'm here, who's left? I heard half of you whining a couple weeks ago. That much hasn't changed, huh?

[ there's a breath of silence, keller's gaze skittering up and away, expression flickering into something unreadable. ]

Caffrey, you still kicking around? Give a guy a holler, yeah?

[ ooc | keller's been hanging out in the ship for five months, so he's a malnourished, dehydrated wreck and won't be leaving medical. dibs go to neal for first visit then it's open season for other shenanigans. ]

So where can a fella find a decent scotch in this place?

[ Ladon is on his fifth cigarette since finding himself here. There's something about the trauma of coming to in an alien environment for the second damn time in his life that goes against conservation. At least he's slowed down and is savoring this one instead of furiously puffing away at it. He gestures with it between his fingers, unintentionally drawing circles of smoke in the air. ]

I'd ask too 'bout moochin' outta this joint, but something's tellin' me it ain't so easy. Call it a hunch.

Hullo, Tranquility. Now that we've had a little bit of time to settle in, I have a proposal I want to put to you. I know I'm awfully new here, but it seems like something that needs doing.

I know everyone who's been here for even just one jump has made friends, or had friends or family here from home. And it seems pretty inevitable that every jump, some of those people disappear. I also know that sometimes, things happen here on the ship, and we lose people we care about. I don't think the names of those people should be forgotten. Even if they've returned home and are safe there, they were part of the community here. And I think they should be remembered.

So I'd like to put together a memorial wall of sorts. Not for us to mourn at, but a place to keep all the names of the people who are gone, for whatever reason. I can assemble a list, but I'm going to need some help constructing some kind of display. And...to be honest, probably some help putting that list together as well.

I'm open to suggestions on where it should be, and what it should look like, too.


[OOC: The memorial wall has mod approval. If your character is interested in helping ICly with either maintaining the list or constructing the memorial, please let Tosh know. I wouldn't mind an extra hand keeping track of things OOCly either, so if you're interested in that, please either PM me at this journal, or ping my plurk at verylittlesugar.]

[ There are a few things everyone might notice about this video post. One is that there's no way Jaye could have gotten from the medbay to the kitchen on the 001 passenger floor this quickly. Two is that her hair looks both dirtier and longer than usual, and instead of either happily mussed or neatly groomed, it's just a complete mess. Three is that, judging by the way Jaye sort of seems to be wobbling back and forth on the floor and has burst capillaries in her face, she was just rather sick and might be so again. Likewise, anyone who looked around before or after the jump may have noticed that Jaye wasn't there -- didn't go down, didn't go into the gravity couches, and that Faith Lehane was looking after her animals. ]

So. [ Her voice is hoarse, quiet, and the rasp is completely new and sounds painful –- in fact, she has to pause, clearing her throat for a moment. It doesn't go away completely, but she's a bit louder, at least. ] I-- [ and she winces ] sat out during the jump as an insect. Don’t do that. It was a month. Everything was red, copper and salt, until it ended.

[ It hurts to talk, and Jaye takes a moment to rub at her throat. ] Want a shower, food.

[ She pauses, glancing away from the camera for a moment. Her eyes aren’t exactly wet, and maybe it's from her earlier vomiting, but either way... ] Missed you guys. [ And she cuts the feed. ]

((ooc: MCU!Tony will be getting her from the kitchen and carrying her down to medical. Her replies will probably come from after she's there and probably be in text form. If your character wants to go visit her there (or fuss at her or whatever), I'd be up for it, but be warned that she's having a bit of a hard time talking at the moment and will set Faith on you if she feels shitty.

Also someone might want to clean up the 001 kitchen. ))

[She knows there are kids on board but Bela doesn't give a damn at the moment as she texts:]

Just when I thought this place couldn't get any more fucked up.


Private text to medical personnel. Encrypted.

I need sleeping pills. How do I go about acquiring some?

Please.

( because everyone's my friend in New York City and everything looks beautiful when you're young and pretty the streets are paved with diamonds and there's just so much to see but the best thing about New York City is you and me | pre-post narrative )

[ V I D E O ]

Turn that shit off, Caffrey.

[ there's a clunk, a clink of glass against glass and the feed shakes a moment before settling on keller, who looks less than pleased, frowning at neal over the rim of his glass.]

No, no, you kept complaining. 'Culture, Neal'. [ his imitation of keller's accent is still spot on while drunk, thank you kindly.

...not that he's drunk. no, he's... mildly inebriated.

(he’s drunk. as shit, to be specific. to the point of mussed hair.) ] 'Nobody's got any goddamn culture on this boat,' you said.

So we’re gonna give them culture, your face isn't that special. Hide and seek is over.

[ it’s probably a sin to snort into wine this good, but keller does it anyway, which neal seems to take as a challenge. ]

It was the schooner Hesperus that sailed the wintery sea; and the skipper--

Longfellow? That's what you're opening with? [ to be fair, keller would have said this about anything neal picked. ] Loosen up, Caffrey. Go with something more like--

There was a young man from Peru
Who fell asleep in his canoe
While dreaming of Venus
He whipped out his penis
And woke up with a handful of goo.

[ smug, thy name is keller. who reaches over the comm to get at the bottle of wine, clearly assuming victory is his. ]

...You're disgusting, you know that? [ neal wrinkles his nose and takes a drink right from his newly grabbed back bottle of much too good for this treatment wine, his sober self is wincing somewhere inside. ] This is why rich women like me better and you know too many strippers. I'm only saying, one of us landed a princess and the other one only got to help him run away from her nice babysitters with guns.

[ seriously you two what the hell. there are probably kids watching what would edgeworth say.

...oh. oh. actually-- what would edgeworth say?

neal grins, a little mischievously, and slings a conspiratorial arm around keller's shoulders then takes a long, fortifying swallow of wine. ]

Here, I’ll show you how to do it. Observe.

[ he clears his throat, because at heart neal is two things: an actor, true born, and a total douchebag, equally true born. ]

I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you, and you must not be abased to the other. [ it doesn't sound like a recitation; more a conversation, slightly sing-song and clearly long-memorized. ] Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat, not words-- not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best.

[ he pauses, swallowing a little and taking a breath. ] Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice. I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning-- how you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turned over upon me and parted the shirt from my bosom-bone; and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart, and reached till you felt my beard, and reached till you held my feet.

[ AND WITH A SEATED BOW FROM THE DISNEY PRINCE LOOKING JERK, CAFFREY AND KELLER IN THE MORNING EVENING MOTHERFUCKING OUT. ]



( ooc | blue is neal; grey keller. replies can come from either of them, etc. )

[ everything in neal's life right now depends on coming off as better-- healing, masking pain maybe, but better. as such: time to get back on the network socialization horse.

he's in his devore, this time, and a fedora to boot; armor, but whatever. hot armor. ]

You know what I've noticed? Space is actually pretty boring in between it trying to kill us all.

In that vein, here's something I haven't done in a while. Pick a or b and try your best.

( ic attachment )

That's a, here's b.

You're on a road-- let's say to the nearest drycleaners. If you don't understand why we need one of those, you're going somewhere else that's very important and exciting, all right? You come to a point in the road where the path is blocked by three guardians; their names are Knight, Knave and Chaos. Knight always tells the truth, and Knave can always be trusted to lie. Chaos just blows whichever way the wind is strongest, that day.

To get past them, you only have to do one thing: by asking three yes or no questions (one to each guardian, double dipping not allowed) figure out which one is Knight, which one is Knave, and which one is Chaos.

There is, as always, one catch: the guardians understand English but will answer you back in their local language, so 'da' means yes and 'ja' means no. Or maybe it's the other way around-- probably should have read the guidebook closer.

So. How do you do it?

And hey, why not one more for the math geeks living among us. Finish the sequence:

4, 6, 12, 18, 30, 42, 60, 72, 102, 108, ?, ?, ?.

( locked to matthew keller )

[WOW THIS POST IS SO EXCITING no, psych. it's an average man, holding his communicator in such a way as to just film his average face and average neck and the average background behind him. yawn. he appears to be wearing some kind of red t-shirt, and his expression falls somewhere between neutral and friendly.]

You know, most every kid dreams about going to space at some point, but I gotta say this isn't exactly what I pictured after seeing Star Wars for the first time. No stars, for one thing--you'd figure that would be one of the perks. A whole lot of walls, though. I'd ask about the resident status of little green men, but that might actually be offensive. [SHRUG. his smile is easy, if a little self-deprecating.] I've always been a Xena guy, myself. Funny how things work out.

Okay, okay--I did have a question when I started this, I swear. As a special bonus, it won't even start an ethics debate. This is an open network, right? Like one big interstellar Craigslist, internet arguments and all. I've already done some of the recommended reading--very informative, by the way--but in my experience there's not much an FAQ can do to replace real... experience. So. What's one thing you wish someone had told you when you first showed up here? Anything at all, doesn't matter what. [one corner of his mouth twists up for a moment, as if to say well, what can you do?] Not sure how much I can offer in return right off the bat, but hey, give me a few weeks. I'll owe you one.

[he pauses, looking at the camera with a wry edge to his otherwise still friendly grin.]

Also. Has anyone been able to figure how we end up with the stuff in our lockers? I mean, the--selection process. Because I for one would love to know the reasoning behind this. [he lowers the camera slightly to reveal that he is, in fact, wearing this.] Not disputing the logo, by the way. Just curious.

[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.

[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.

We knew it. [It's a rough, angry rasp, and one might hear the sound of something sharp being dragged against the walls.] We knew it was trap! He just couldn't settle for being wrong, could he? Couldn’t handle the fact that he needed us…

[One might note that the voice is... peculiarly double-edged, half human, and half, sibilant hiss.] Your little prisons have never stopped us before, Spider, and they won’t stop us now! How many innocents must fall at your hands this time?!

[They pause to gulp down a few, ragged breaths, pausing to grasp at their face. They feel disorientated, maybe a little sick. The Other, however, steadies them again, and they bare twisted fangs at the screen.] We’ll rip you limb from limb.

I've been here long enough now to say that this... [ a pause, for emphasis. ] hypothetical spaceship has a devastating shortage of acceptable wine. There's barely even any unacceptable wine, and I believe that, above all else, this can not be tolerated.

I will find a way to fix this problem, so help me, before I have to really find a way to evacuate myself from the premises.

Good day. My name is Miles Edgeworth; I am a security prosecutor in Tranquility.

[This is...relatively similar to how he typically starts out his transmissions…except not quite. Indeed, there are a few differences from the norm. First, his manner is slightly unfocused. Second, it's video, and third, he has a friendly-looking shiba inu plopped firmly down on his lap.]

This is Pess. Pess is my dog. I know you don't like me, but Pess is...

[A slight confused pause, then he continues.]

Pess is completely, completely off-limits. If anyone thinks about harming her, I will - "return the blow with a strength twenty times your own!" [That has the air of quoting something, and his self-satisfied nod seems to confirm this.] You may also have time with Pess, if you are a decent sort.

Erm.

Oh, yes. Did the buddy system work well? I'll take notes...I need paper. [He casts about for a piece of paper; Pess wriggles around in his lap and jumps up to bite his chin and Edgeworth accidentally turns off the feed with his elbow.]