[The video opens up on a man sitting too close to the screen, poking at said screen to confirm that the settings are all appropriate for his purposes. He looks positively pissed and has a wad of tissue stuck up one nostril. Though the ship-induced insomnia has ended at last, the subsequent identity issues have been especially taxing on a man who has spent the entire last month working through the meaning of life after death while delirious with lack of sleep, antagonizing his closest friend (entirely on accident), and still acclimating to the various ... quirks of the future and The Tranquility.

Not being able to think as himself has thrown him for a loop that he is not best equipped to handle -- and which he tries so valiantly to resist.

It has not ended very well, if the constant nosebleeds and piercing headaches are any indication.

So it has come to this. Bahorel clears his throat and looks directly at the camera, now reasonably spaced away from it, though still not at the most flattering angle. He'll never quite figure this thing out.

His voice is a little gruff and stilted at first, as he is not exactly sure how to address this matter, let alone a full ship as audience. But he sure as hell is sick and tired of this unnecessary invasion of his usually manageable headspace, so he's going to get this out, one way or another.]

Hello. For those of you who do not know, my name is Ambrose Bahorel. I hail from Paris, France, of the 1800s, and am often associated with a handful of others who call ourselves Les Amis de l'ABC.

[A pause. This is so dumb and awkward, and he is really fighting the urge to roll his eyes into the back of his head.

... Nope, lost that fight pretty quickly there. That was less a fight and more a massacre.]

To be absolutely frank, I hope that anyone who recognizes me or my voice from one of their foreign memories will contact me immediately. After the travesty that was last month, now is not the best time to be playing mind games, and I would appreciate settling this matter promptly.

[He contemplates turning the goddamn thing off already, then adds as an afterthought,]

Thank you.


{{ OOC: This will be Bahorel's catch-all for all mid- to late-stage links! Naturally is open to all, and for anyone who wants moar empathy links for any of the stages, you can find a quick ref of Bahorel's available memories here! PM this account or paraverbal if you need/want more deets. :3 }}

[There is a very good reason for the lack of video for this particularly selfy-loving ghost. You're being spared something grave, but you'll have to trust the groaning voice as to why.]

Say you have a friend, and said friend made the creative and life enlightening decision to have a chocolate binging party--not that they're regretting it! Like I said, it was quite enriching. Would do it again in a heartbeat. I mean, my friend would, of course.

I just need to know out of innocent curiosity and all... For my friend's sake.

Is there a hangover remedy like thing for over-binging on chocolate?

Dante had said, remember tonight! for it is the beginning of always.

What shall we be doing tonight, Tranquility?

[ it is late but not too late and Lucrezia is keen on avoiding nightmares and so sleep is not a Thing. ]

I shall be spending my own in the garden. I never before slept upon grass.

[He hasn't dont anything like this before in his near two months here, but it would seem about time. There's an innate timidity that comes with addressing absolute legions of people whom you do not know and cannot see, with a device you are still not comfortable with... but, well.

After the recent spat of low events and lower spirits, if there was ever a time pluck up an introductory nerve and present a worthy distraction, this was it.

Smiling lightly at what he hopes is the camera (modern communication, why are you so uncomfortable? He is literally speaking to a metal hunk in his palm...), Jehan greeted with quiet enthusiasm,]

Hello. I don't assume many of you know me; my name is Jean Prouvaire. Good to make your acquaintance.

Even if you do not know me, I'm sure many of you must be well-acquainted with the Oxygen Gardens. Though quite expansive for a single ship, I've noticed that the first floor is especially well-kept, while the upper floors are a bit more... untamed.

[His expression suggests that both versions of the garden are equally impressive, as far as he's concerned.]

The other day, it had been brought to my attention that-- along with a number of very beautiful blooms and buds on all four floors-- there might also be some plant varieties that are harmful in all that thicket.

[The boy who had the interest in belladonnas had quite reminded him of that.]

I thought it might be both useful and nice, then, if there was an attempt to map some of the flora of the Oxygen Gardens. If other passengers are willing to help, we could put together some little collection of various flower types and where to find them into a book. It could be advantageous for viewings, for further learning, or simply to know which to avoid, should any be of a mean kind.

[A soft shrug and he tilted his head, unable to help another quick smile.]

I don't doubt that the gardens may be too vast to capture in a single volume, but... There is a man on board named Claudius who hopes to start a paper-book library. The book could be at home there, and available to any who wish to use it or add to it, over time.

[Pausing a moment, he shuffled, looking down, before holding up a bit of paper that he'd begun the project with. Everything had to start somewhere.

But, as he's rambling now and really doesn't know quite how to end the conversation with something that can't speak in return until he has... He gave a last, tighter smile, and flushed only slightly self-consciously as he finished,]

I'd be grateful for any help, as I don't fashion myself a botanist, scientist or a cartographer. Advice is also welcome and appreciated. Thank you.

[The feed opens on a young man — very pretty, and eyeing the device in his hand with some poorly-hidden skepticism.]

Good evening. I— this is working?

[A puzzled frown, and a slight cock of his head. This entire thing still seems somewhat dubious. But after a moment, he continues on.]

... I have two questions. First, is it true that our absence is not noticed in our own worlds? I would appreciate assurance on this matter, if there is any to be given.

Second... I am aware that we cannot willingly return to our homes. However... I understand that people do leave, and furthermore that some have found themselves here a second time. If there are any who have, and who remember, I would speak to them.

[A polite nod of his head, and — another frown, as he fiddles with the device. Forgive him. He's new. Finally, it turns off.]

[Should you pay attention to the background framing the very irate young woman, the familiar articles and furniture belonging to the residential cabins will come into view, but that's not very important now, neither is the unfortunate state of the cabin. You should focus on the scowl that refuses to fade on Alex's face as much as she tries to maintain her composure. In her fury, none of this managed to be filtered.]

You know, I have been really sensitive about whatever it is you called your "personal space", Hal. All the "I have a lot on my mind, really." bit and the "I'm not quite adapt at the civilized art of phone conversation, I'm afraid," shite. I was even starting to feel sorry for you. Worry, even! Should've known you were doing all this cocking distance thing so I wouldn't smell the pissin' blood on you.

[She holds a depleted blood bag for emphasis, shaking and pointing at it dramatically] Want to bet on how many I've earthed of those so far? Or did you leave any for the starving vampire children in Africa?

You're a twice dead man when I find you, erse. And don't think I won't be telling Tom about this. Shatter his poor little heart, it will.

Ladies and gentlemen of the Tranquility, good evening.

[From the video, you can see Albert is seated somewhere in the oxygen gardens, on a wide-open patch of grass. He looks somewhat contemplative.]

I have a-- a somewhat personal question to ask of you all, so don't feel compelled to answer if you don't wish to. [He seems to hesitate, and then he plunges ahead quickly, as if he must ask it before he loses courage.]

How many of you here believed yourselves to have passed away before you woke up in this place?

And-- for those of you who don't want to talk about something quite so morbid, maybe you could tell me what year, or what country, or planet you come from. I'd... really like to hear about other people's homes. As for me-- I'm from Paris, France, the year 5053.

I've also got some tea and plenty of cups to go around here in the garden, if you'd prefer to speak in person. I'd welcome the company, and the chance to meet all of you.

[ since the elevators malfunctioned, arthur's returned to dressing in full armour constantly, and so he's clad now in chain and plate as he addresses the screen. he's sweaty, dirty-blond hair plastered to a forehead pinkened with exertion, though his breathing is even. ]

Evening, Tranquility. Back home, in Camelot, I spent a large amount of my time training the knights; and with their honour and devotion, as well as their skills, I honed them into the finest warriors in the realm.

[ there's something rose-tinted about that nostalgia. he's right at the point where he's starting to forget to miss camelot, sometimes, and he's clinging onto thoughts of it fiercely. ]

Though my men are not with us, and I'm lacking an armoury—

[ some amusement in his tone at that. ]

—I thought perhaps I'd extend the offer to any who wish to learn to defend themselves. You'll be assigned training tasks to improve your general fitness and understanding of strategy, and I'll teach you the sword. I'm skilled in plenty of weapons, but not many of them can be substituted with sticks.

[ and then he draws his blade from its scabbard, twirls it in his hand with idle showiness. ]

The amount of time I'll have available will obviously depend on the level of interest. I've already got a couple of pupils, but I welcome more, so long as you're willing to work hard and obey orders. You may think it absurd, but a blade never runs out of bullets.

[ obviously nobody's told him about blasters. ]

[The video switches on, but, unfortunately, it's not pointing at Combeferre's face but outward to his room. Anyone watching this will get a good view of the edge of his bed and the wall it's up against mostly.]

I am told that I'm connected to the entire ship now?

[Like in the messages he'd gotten on this thing earlier, right? He's tried to learn what he can about the ship and he's been reading the "links" sent via the mass message, but actually using the communication box is obviously harder to figure out than it looks. And the view anyone will get right now is the wall and bed slowly moving, turning nearly sideways as Combeferre is trying to adjust things properly.]


I...suppose this is a good time as any to introduce myself to all of you.

[Unfortunately the view now is mostly Combeferre's hand as he's turning the device around again, shakily, and then his face comes into view. In extremely unflattering close up of one of his spectacle lenses which is probably very...glinty.]

I...feel like a complete fool with this, I'm sorry. Can everyone see me now?

[Well, sort of, Combeferre? They can see a lens and an eyebrow anyway? It's...something. ]

At any rate, because I WILL learn how this device works, properly, I'll simply introduce myself for now, all right?


[And this time, again, the view zooms out a little, shaky but...there's his face anyway. And his spectacles are half dangling off one side of his face by a very loose arm, but his smile is extremely sincere.]

My name is Michel Combeferre and I am told that I have missed a great many things from the time that I left Paris and when I woke here. I was a doctor, or was studying to be, and I would very much like to be of help in that capacity again but I will clearly need a lot of study, and some practice, not to mention more knowledge of this world before I dare attempt helping somebody here.

[And he pauses, and he's rubbing his temple and the hand is blocking the camera again for a moment.]

Is there anyone here who would be willing to take on an apprentice of sorts? I am not sure how I can pay you but I am willing to attempt to try at least, if you would be so good.

And on another note?

[He looks a little embarrassed here, somehow.]

Might someone tell me where I can find headache powders? I've had one that I cannot shake...

[And he realizes he should end this properly, but does he address it as a letter, or a conversation? He's really not sure of the proper forms himself. But he settles for another smile.]

Thank you, and goodbye?

[But he kind of doesn't manage to shut off the camera, though the device is set down on his bed and he can be heard softly talking himself through the process of shutting it off. Sorry for the seasickness, everyone?]

[ she did not often use this device. it is distasteful still, no matter how long she's been here now. no matter how long she will be here.

but she is aware that certain things needed to be said. there's a tremor to her hands that no one will be able to see, but she feels and it's enough to unnerve and unsettle.

aithusa was here. she was here. her ally, her friend. and it brought excitement. and pain.

the feed pans to the gardens, before stopping on morgana. her hair is in disarray as usual, black dress and pale skin. but normally tired eyes have a sharpness to them again, and fix the device with a hard stare. ] This place does little to cease its torments, it has no right -

[ there's a rumble, throaty and slight, beside her, off screen. she glances briefly down. she was glad to see the creature, but she was just as equally angry. this ship had no right. if she was subjected to its whims, it did not mean this poor, deformed dragon had to be, as well. she straightens though, composure unwavering whilst on display. ]

I will say this once. In the Gardens, there is a dragon. She is my ally - [ there's an emphasis to the word. ] - And is not to be touched. Not to be harmed.

You will not want to know what will follow if my words are not listened to. [ it's a threat, and she doesn't care how subtle - or otherwise - it sounds. in her world, where she should still be, morgana would have thought hard before announcing such. but here…well, the gardens were only so big. sooner or later aithusa would be noticed.

best all who listen be aware of it now. ] I trust I am understood.

[ authority, unquestionable and final, and the feed ends. ]

[ action; if anyone would like, she is in the gardens, found with this dragon. ]

[hey everyone it's your favourite cocksure captain seated in his green Starfleet shirt to address you all]

To everyone still confused, welcome aboard the Tranquility, a colonization vessel located in an alternate universe to your own. My name is Jim Kirk and I'm sure I'm not the only person up here to wish we were meeting under better circumstances. As it stands, you'll be up here with us for a while, and because of that I highly recommend you stay informed. We've got plenty of reading material, but if you want a cliffnotes version, I'm happy to answer your questions.

[moving on, though, for the time being.]

Before the jump we discovered the genetics department. Passengers are not to go down there without clearance. The place is crawling with, for lack of a better word, monsters. These things are lethal. If you want some details as to what they'll do to you, I'm sure medical would be glad to give you the run down. For the time being, that area is considered off limits. Plans for clearing and extracting information from the department are already under way.

[even if Kirk isn't the captain, he says it as though there is no room for argument on this topic. Security plans on clearing out the monsters, if possible, and Cambridge has already made a call for those interested in information retrieval.]

Passengers should exercise caution when moving around the ship. Just last month we had an elevator malfunction that had people lost in the ship for at least a week. I can't stress enough that you need to keep in touch with one another, even if all you're doing is going to your department.

On that note, if you've just arrived and are looking to get involved, every department is looking for help. I head the Gunnery myself, and we're looking for individuals with previous weapons handling experience. If you're interested, give me a shout.


{ FILTERED TO ENGINEERING }
From what I gather, Isaac Clarke has gone missing as of the jump. [which he brings up because, up till now, Clarke was unofficially heading the department] Just checking to see how things are going down there.

{ PRIVATE TO TOPHER BRINK: KIRK ENCRYPTION 100% }
Brink, I need to speak with you regarding a patient that needs some tests run. Contact me when you've got a chance.


[the following links will blink to life on everyone's communicators and are accessible as text or audio.

• FAQ
  
• EXTENDED FAQ
  
• JOB LIST
  
• SHIFT ROSTER]

[ooc: and last but not least the new GUNNERY FAQ!!]

[ There's a boy on your video feed. Or more accurately: an intense close-up of his face, like he's inspecting it without realising it's turned on. But then before you know it, he leans back with an excited victory whoop. ]

Whoa! I got it working!

[ Now you can see more of him: he doesn't look to be any older than sixteen, but he's dressed in what are unmistakably fine clothes-- a collared shirt, a cravat, a jacket, etc. Even the patterned material is obviously opulent. ]

Man, these things are really ancient... --oh. Sorry. Talking to myself. Where are my manners? I'm Albert...

[ He trails off quite suddenly, as if he were about to say something else after his first name, but then thought the better of it. It's also noticeable that he pronounces it in the French way, "Al-bear", without the t. ]

Anyway! I'm making this video because I was hoping one of the kind citizens of this place could direct me in the way of food! French cuisine is preferred, but I'm not particularly picky. Hunger is the greatest sauce, or something like that.

Although-- now that I think about it, I don't... actually have any money? Oh, goodness. That was silly of me. I'm sorry, maybe just forget the whole thing.

[ He has the decency to look slightly sheepish. ]

In any case, since I'm under the impression that we're all sort of in this place together until we can manufacture an escape plan, I'm looking forward to the opportunity to meet everyone soon. I hope we'll be good friends!

[ irene's wearing her tweed suit, buttons opened at the collar, waistcoat undone. there's a large golden lab sitting beside her, glorying in the way irene's scratching behind his ears. ]

It seems Baron Vladimir Harkonnen has left us. A true shame. He may have been the only man aboard this ship who properly appreciated the opera, and it's always lovely, finding someone with whom one shares a common interest.

[ there's a pause. the dog's mouth opens, tongue lolling out. irene smiles at that, before addressing the device again. ]

I've been here a year, with this passing jump. More than I thought I would, when I last onsidered the matter. I'd had several suggestions as to what to do to celebrate, if celebrate is the word I should use. None of them are quite to my taste, though I'm not sure such a dubious milestone should go unappreciated.

[ she gives a quiet little hum of thought, then raises her shoulder in an uncharacteristic shrug. ]

But I digress. Tell me, is the owner of this fine animal aboard anywhere? I found him in my doorway, but I doubt he's the ship's way of congratulating me on my stay. Majestic though he is, I'd say the menagerie this ship's acquiring really doesn't need any new additions roaming loose.