[Jim addresses the network with prim efficiency this jump. his voice, curiously, is devoid of most of the warmth and infectious rabel-rousing it normally has. instead, it's clipped and professional; the voice of a captain stating facts and orders. anyone who has been around a while will know that something is off, and as he goes on, it becomes clear why.]

Tranquility this is Jim Kirk. To anyone joining us, welcome, and to anyone returning, welcome back.

I know you all have questions. Myself and those who have been on board for a while will be happy to answer any that you have, but before doing so I'll clear some of the more obvious ones up.

You're on the space ship Tranquility, a colonization vessel in a parallel universe to your own. The year is 938 A.E., and presently, we have no way of returning anyone to their home continuum. We ask, instead, that you lend a hand in the running of the ship. This isn't mandatory, but we are all that's left of a crew. Even if you have no previous experience on a starship, we'll be able to find a place for you.

Attached to this broadcast is what we have of a map of the ship. It's a rough outline, as we've found corridors spontaneously change, commonly with each jump. I ask everyone to be cautious when moving about the ship, and to avoid engaging the entity commonly known as "Smiley" on board.

[here, the pauses briefly, the crux of his attitude coming to light.]

Presently, I'd like anyone with information on missing persons to come forward. Dean Winchester and Doctor Leonard McCoy have both disappeared from our number, and I have the feeling they aren't the only ones.

Kirk out.


( PRIVATE to OCTOBER BANTUM | ENCRYPT 80% )

SMILEY.jpg
MAP.jpg
JOBS AND RANKING.txt
ALPHA/BETA SHIFT.txt

78ASACSDKAKI89891N
NAJ
NAANOSFW990990PIOP90000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
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[ the view is black when the feed finally enters video mode, but the sound well. that leaves much to be desired. whatever he's doing to make the communicator make that noise should definitely be illegal.

it's actually kindof. terrifying.

the camera picks up a handful of images of the oxygen garden as it spirals backwards and drops a few feet, sorry to those of you who get motion sick. the communicator comes to an abrupt stop on the ground (the clunk of metal on grass isn't as bad as it could be, but still isn't all that promising) and for a long stretch of moments, you're pretty much stuck looking at a tree trunk.

until-

a stick. s l o w l y turns it over onto it's back, and you get a nice view of the treetops overhead. guys we have a nice oxygen garden, it's really pretty in he- oh wait, nope, you're being rolled back over onto your other side now. silence, and on the other end of the feed, peter is leaning over to listen, which gives you a glimpse of a blond curl at the top of the video, before it's snatched away. WELP. he's satisfied that he's killed it. ]

O, the cleverness of me!

[The feed doesn't transmit any image, just the sound of an angry teenager with a thick and far from proper English accent trying to show the ship how many fucks he does not give.]

Fuckin' fancy prison we got here, yeah? Nothing like this back where I come from. No, you'd be lucky if you could even take a step in your cell. The guards don't give a fuck about the stuff they brought in with ya, either, [and he got his hoodie and a pack of cigarettes - among other things - so.] Is there anything else they'll wanna shove down my throat, though? 'Cause I'd rather take their cells than any more of that.

[He could throw out the threat that his family will know he's gone, but there's the very clear notion that if Miles ever went missing the reason would most likely be attributed to him having finally decided to run away. There aren't a lot of people who would bother to try and bring him back, which... would have been a good thing for him if they'd been right. Alas.]

The food's shit, by the way.

Heyyyyyy, this is Ned.

[ Heyyyyyy, that's not Ned. That's a golden retriever panting into the screen. The Pie Maker eventually leans into view while the dog moves aside. Definitely a dog with manners. ]

How many of us on board have... pets? [ —Can't quite pinpoint the right word. He really means Digby as a friend rather than a pet. "Pet" doesn't sit well on his tongue, a taste he would easily spit and replace with... "a best friend." The lightened mood in his expression is evident, reunited and doomed together in space, but it's just a little odd how carefully distanced he is from the dog, clasping his hands together. An allergy seems to be the logical excuse. ]

I'm sure Digby would enjoy the company. He does at home, but you know, that's not really the case anymore. [ A pause. Something he had forgotten: ] Yeah, to the newcomers... Ned. Digby. [ A bark. ] Hi.

[The comm’s broadcasting voice, because it’s simplest. It looks like a fancy walkie-talkie, why wouldn’t it work like one? Bucky sounds -- well, a little tired, and a little confused, but being alive is good enough for him right now.]

This is Sergeant James Barnes, 107th infantry. Does anyone wanna tell me why I’m on a spaceship, or am I just hallucinating I’m Flash Gordon or Buck Rogers?

[A little bit of a pause.] A year would be good, too. Since I’m pretty damn sure this isn’t 1945, and I’m going to assume that since the controls aren’t in German, we won. We did, right? [Howard's told him a few things, but -- not everything. There's a lot to catch up on, after all.]

….Anybody out there? Help a fella out.

[ Things escalated quickly, as any meeting between similar kinds of their nature would. He supposed... but he wasn't supposing much at the moment because he's busy being in the corner of some room. His counterpart put him on his ass very fast and very thoroughly, let's just say. This was not like him. Not like him at all, but panic, and panic, and a side helping of - temporary - hopelessness. He did not care who heard. It would be forgotten, he hoped, in the wave of people and in a few days he would have himself picked up and all would be well again.

He'd have a plan. Until then...

When it sounds like a voice message is about to be spoke, there's some silence first. The device is on the floor. He knew he'd lost and he knew what was going to happen now. He, himself, just had too much pride.

Damn it. He had plans, too. Get yourself together, get yourself together, just. Get yourself together. It was the bifrost all over again. He didn't know what to do.

There is a slow inhale to be heard and then a quiet, numbed: ]

I'm sorry.


[ No, screw you. Two can play at this game -- close to heart as it is.

ooc: confused? good times ]

[The comm flips on to this gorgeous hunk of manhood. There's no introduction, no preamble, he just opens up with:]

Yo, do any of you people know your way around a set of clippers? I need a trim pretty bad.

And I want a pack of playin' cards. I'll trade you somethin' for 'em.

[That's it! Peace out, Tranquility. Have a cheeky salute as he signs off.]

[The voice that speaks is calm and even, with a rumbling Nordic accent.]

A vessel of lost souls drifts through the stars and her name is Tranquility. An unfit appellation for a place that so frequently seems to be in a state of dire urgency.

[A calculated pause]

As I am now trapped within these walls, I suppose I should offer my hand: I am Loki, and I will lend my strength and my power to you for as long as I am able. Consider it recompense for the illusions you now see. I was panicked and angry when I awoke and, in my foolishness, I lashed out at my very surroundings. For this, I do apologize, 'twas an honest mistake.

Speak, now! If Loki is to assist, he would know more of the people that haunt these corridors alongside him.

[Great, one of these things again. This was all feeling a little too familiar. A video shows up on the network, but Lisbeth's face is barely visible. It may seem more like an accidental video. The left side of her body is visible.]

I don't do well in confined spaces.

A girl wandered the ship, and not the outpost. She knows there were cruel things there. Evil things. [Because more than anything else, a girl listens and watches.]

A girl would ask a question of everyone, to distract from those things. She hopes all may answer, for there are a great many foreign things to her here.

What city, country, planet [yes, she remembers these strange but important words] do the people of Tranquility call home? Where do they come from, if they have no home? What are their names?

A girl regrets that she cannot answer well. A girl is of the Faceless Men, and so she has no name, no face. Her only home is in Braavos, Essos, on a planet that has no name, like the girl.

[Maybe it's a warning, in the end, now that she knows the kingslayer is to gain a hand: she knows that the only people who will really understand what the Faceless Men are, are few on the ship; but there are others, she thinks, who will interpret the words she does not say.]

A girl will listen to true and false answers alike, if she must. She only asks for answers.

In light of recent events upon the outpost it's clear that there are a number of us who are suffering the after-effects of torture. You all have my utmost sympathies - I have witnessed such things before and I will offer the same services here that I gave to my dear friend when he was put under a similar duress.

[ A duress that Durham himself instigated, yes, but that's another matter entirely. Or so Durham tells himself. ]

Whilst those who have been subjected to a torture most terrible are undoubtedly brave, it would not be thought of an act of cowardice to wish to rid oneself of the memory of such a trauma. Torture does not end just because one has been released from the cell; there are the lingering effects of anxious melancholies, exhausted spirits, weakened nerves... to say nothing of restless sleep.

You need not bear these memories as a millstone and for those that wish it I will gladly relieve you of such a burdensome weight. You may find me in my cabin - the eighth room upon the eighth passenger deck. Ask for Thomas Sutton - [ A thoughtful pause, then he adds: ] - or perhaps it would do better if you were to ask for Durham. Either way, I shall endeavour to do my utmost to help those that are prepared to ask for it.

[ Another pause, longer this time, and then Durham picks up again. This time his voice is harder, cooler; this is a matter of business, rather than a favour. ]

And while I am here I may as well announce this too - Oxford. Your Durham has disembarked. In light of this I propose a parlé. I would request that we meet un-armed but as both of us possess weapons that are not so easily cast aside, might I simply ask that it be under a white flag of truce? I do not know how many of your fellows remain on board but I suppose they may attend as well.

( OOC : Durham is essentially offering a bit of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Hit me up HERE if you have any questions! )

[There really is no segue-in for this. Just soft music playing quietly for a while--a little static-y, as if it were playing on an old-fashioned record player--and then about a third of the way through a beautiful voice starts singing, hitting every high note perfectly.]

Wishing you were somehow here again
Wishing you were somehow near.
Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed, somehow you would be here.

Wishing I could hear your voice again
Knowing that I never would.
Dreaming of you won't help me to do all that you dreamed I could.

[The voice stops singing and the rest of the song plays through, and that's all there is. He said he's sing for everyone on the ship someday, but didn't think it would be like this.]

[The video feed is shaky to start with--a view of a corridor floor, to start with, and then the walls--a flash of grey wolf fur before it comes to fix on the ceiling-- There's whispered conversation in children's voices as well, one more irritated than the other. Whoever is handling this video is not accustomed to doing so, but eventually it straightens out enough to fixate on the subject of the video: Bran Stark, who is, impossibly, standing.

...and also wearing triangular orange sunglasses as well, but it's the standing that ought to be most astonishing.

He doesn't realize that the camera has finally found its focus, not at first. He is looking beyond still, at whoever is making the recording--but then he smiles, and glances self-consciously down at his legs.]

I don't want to make a very long speech. But--I'm Bran Stark. I have been aboard this ship for some months, so I have seen the threats and the dangers that lie on this ship. But I think it is important for people to remember that there are good things as well. [He bites at his lip, aware of how childish this might sound. He pushes his fingers through the thick ruff of fur at Summer's neck. The direwolf is standing beside him, and somehow the contrast of their size--a boy, and a direwolf nearly the size of a small pony--is even greater now, though Bran is standing.]

When I first came here, I was crippled, but as I have come aboard this ship, my friend Dirk Strider has made these robotic legs for me. [The way he pronounces the word is enough to prove that he is yet unfamiliar with it, and he smiles awkwardly to acknowledge that before he takes a deep and steadying breath-- and then he takes a step. It is a little uncertain, but he does not falter and, concentrating, he takes a second step, and then another, and he laughs, so pleased with his own success--he has practiced for this moment, but there is a difference between small steps in secret and a display such as this. His momentum is too great, and he knocks against the wall--Summer is there, pushing against him, and he steadies himself between the direwolf and the wall, his grin exhausted and exuberant all at once.

He gets in a breath to try to recover, but he is still grinning hugely, unable to banish the expression from his face.]

It isn't showing off--it's only proving that there are good things to be found here, too. And it's a surprise--I wanted to show everyone at once, in some way. [This is an unspoken apology, to Robb and Alayne and Jon especially, and he looks down with a little touch of shame, though not enough to quite overtake his smile.] And that's the end. Thank you.

[And with that, with his final little smile, the video turns around toward the ceiling again, shaky--there's a clatter, and it switches off.]

Unless your doctor will inject themself too don't let anyone in medbay put anything in you.

I'll be back in a little while.

[Except she won't. Loki has Libby's comm device and her tattoo at the ready. He is masquerading as her. PS Loki's responses might be slow due to his writer having work. Also have a relevant post. Libby's answers are all under coercion.]

[ Daenerys has kept quiet minus speaking with a few others. She's been gathering her bearings, trying to learn what she can but it hasn't been much - not when things are so different.

Which is partially why she's posting now. There haven't been many that have found this all too strange (minus the confusion that she's heard) ]

I am awed [ worried. curious. confused ] by our presence here.

[ Daenerys's words are soft, and calm. She's looking to the communicator, having been taught its uses, her long white hair let loose about her ]

The magic that brought us here is great, and to be feared.

[ She also fears that the Usurper may be here and hiding, that she has had that kept from her. There is much that Daenerys does not know or understand of this place and the people in it, familiarities with the 'ship' for one, and the mentioned secrets ]

I have travelled by ship before, my brother told, and also by horse. I find it strange to travel but it be without my silver, and with no water to be had. This ship- it is grand. I- [ Fear. No. She may fear such things, past experience giving her cause to but she cannot admit to it ] I give caution to believing the magic - it is more deceptive than you see.

[ Daenerys gives a small nod before waiting, moments later remembering to (and how to) turn the video off ]

[ She's not a public speaker on her best days, and this wasn't one of those. Her talk with Fry has kept her thinking, enough that when she wakes up out of the nightmares covered in sweat, she pushes the ache in her chest away with thoughts of something to do, something to work toward.

Fry had relegated her to doing this anyway. Schedules in space were different than on a world generating its own night-day cycles and perpetuating natural circadian rhythms. She's freshly showered, hair starting to dry in a tight, curling mess. The camera comes on as she's right up close to the eye. Stepping back, she gives a little perspective. It's a vid-phone. A conference call to anyone out there listening. ]

For those I haven't met, I'm Ellen Ripley. Carolyn Fry and I are offering to help people acclimatize and familiarize with operating full-time here in space. What we've got working here isn't an exact match for what we're used to, but it's close enough to help show the ropes to people who don't know and who want to get an idea. Call it a crash course in space-readiness training, without the option to fail out and stay down on Terra Firma.

That said, what are some of the questions you have on your mind relating to surviving in space? Or about the technology we've seen here so far. Knowing what questions you'd like answered helps us all out in the long run.

[ She reaches out, pausing. ]

Anyone with experience willing to work with us on this, get in touch. We can use you.

[ Vid over. Time to see what bites back. ]

A few items of business.

First: We need to start tracking ourselves more precisely. Two people in two months have perished because because they caught outside of the gravity couches at the time of a jump. What I propose is a simple check-in list for the jumps and someone to take roll. If anyone hasn't shown up one hour prior to the jump, then a search party can be organized. Is there any preexisting framework for such a system?

Second - [And here Edgeworth looks perhaps just a bit self-conscious - ] I'm looking for someone adept at construction. Please speak up if you have such skills and are willing to barter for labor.

[He recovers but frowns, just a bit hesitant before the next item.]

Third, a general question; bear with me if it sounds odd or intrusive, and responding to this is, as ever, completely optional. [He looks down; it's clear he's now reading off a page that he's prepared.] Respond in the affirmative or negative: "I would describe my life as 'peaceful' - id est, a life in which I have not witnessed or been subjected to violence."

[He looks up again.]

Your responses are appreciated.