[Alex hasn't exactly been the best at sleeping since -- well, since before his brother died, really. There's his time in the hospital where they had him knocked out on medications, but he honestly has a hard time remembering any of that. Too busy living in his own little world, mostly. Since Silent Hill? He's not a fan of sleeping, period; having a few hours is good enough, and if Heather ever poked him in the direction of sleeping pills he'd have to pass on that for a number of reasons that's hard to really talk about, even with her. He's not too proud of his stint with psychosis.

But talking in general is getting easier (and maybe he should hit up that Irene chick for her heart-to-heart she asked for; maybe he will). Just like... sleeping has. In fact, he wakes up ten hours later with his eyes practically glued shut and has to roll himself out of a dreamy lounge. The dreams were good -- Josh alive and not cold and blue-lipped, Elle hugging him and inviting him out to the lake -- Murphy and Heather, acting as if nothing bad had ever gone wrong in their lives, meeting him for dinner somewhere. He dreams about living here in the ship, happy, content. Dreams that Josh would come here like so many of the dead do, and he could apologize and pray he'd forgive, and they'd get to try again. And he'd do it right this time.

Just... good things. Good -- no, great things. Even with his contentment in staying on this ship, if only for the family he's made... he hasn't been this fucking happy in a long time. Asleep, anyway.

Alex just can't bring himself to think good things just happen here. Not four for four. 

A borderline disgruntled voice comes through in an entry, belonging to a scowling face.]

Okay... ever since the jump, my sleep has been really great, and I've been having good dreams that I've never had before -- no signs of monsters or creepy shadows or... crappy life issues or anything that I usually have to work with; it's all really damn calming and I actually like all of it. Hell, I've been sleeping more than I ever have since coming on board. Since before that, even.


Something's not right here.

24 July 2013 @ 01:05 am
hey tq

too much talk about serious things lately. yeah i know we have to take this place more seriously, it's dangerous, we're overdue for something bad. but i can't do anything about that right now! and that's pretty frustrating.

so. let's play a game to lighten the mood! two truths and a lie. i'll go first.

1. i'm bored and i have a cold
2. i survived multiple attempts on my life before coming here
3. i'm a normal teenager
17 July 2013 @ 12:17 pm
[Taylor looks slightly restless as well as the usual annoyed as the feed clicks on. This isn't an announcement she wanted to be making, but then, when were they ever? Better to get it over and done with. Which also means she doesn't bother with any real introduction before she just starts talking.]

Most of you know about the shooting we had last month. Guy was called Tate Langdon, zero-zero-three zero-ninety-four. He was held in the brig for a short period before taking advantage of a miscalculation in our security in order to escape. [She's definitely annoyed about that, showing through in her tone for a moment before she returns to the same clipped solder-speak she's been using.] Prior to this, he confessed to the murder of Hayden McClaine, zero-twelve zero-twenty.

We increased patrols in the time before the jump, but he didn't enter or leave a gravcouch and his comms are non-responsive. I'm taking that to mean the fucker's a puddle somewhere.

[But she's fully expecting people to argue with her about it. There's a pause, like she's considering ending it there, but decides to continue anyway.]

Newer waves, I'm Tyke, I'm head of security. It's been a week so I'll save you any welcome spiel. [Like she's great at that anyway.] Basics are we run patrols on the populated areas of the ship, and you can contact us if you have any problems. If you've got any armed forces or policing background or relevant skills, we always need more numbers. You can talk to me about recruitment.

Don't go out in the dark. Don't kill each other.

[Cause that's a good note to cut the feed on, right.]
[ there's a part of lydia that wonders if this is stupid. if that after her last foray ( god, why did so many people care about her problem with peter ) with anonymous text and her problems and the network that maybe this was uncalled for, maybe she should just come clean and be herself and ask everyone if they were having problems like this. except, this is just as damning, isn't it? little miss lydia martin thinks killing peter hale will solve all her problems just like she thought doing what he wanted would solve them and yet, here she was, still sleep walking, still with nightmares and still— finding her mind in pieces she didn't know were still broken. ( they shouldn't have been why were they. ) she just wants to be normal again, she just wants to feel normal again. not like whatever this is. ]

When you get gangrene the treatment is to cut off the portion effected in order to try and save the rest of the tissue. Sometimes you have to amputate things, but that's not always what happens. You think that cutting it away is supposed to help. And it does sometimes. Other times you die anyway despite the efforts and it's bullshit.

That's morbid and— I shouldn't have started off with that. Whatever, you think something will make everything right again and then surprise the joke's on you, you still feel like a mess and it's— that's still not the point and is maudlin in ways that I don't do. I'm not even that intoxicated to justify it.

Original point of this, so you don't start laughing at the anonymous freak who can't shut up and get to the point. Has anyone been having sleeping related problems? I don't mean nightmares, because of course you're going to have nightmares here unless you're some person who thinks this is a walk in the park. But, sure, tell me about you special ones that aren't just consequences of the ship. What I mean is sleep walking. Waking up in places you don't remember falling asleep in. And I guess maybe another aspect of that is— have you had black out moments here. Where you're in one place, and then in another but you don't know how you got there. And if someone were to ask you, you couldn't answer what happened. You just were in one place and then suddenly you were in another and you don't remember even walking or running or whatever there.

God, I sound like a crazy person asking this. This is why I did this anonymously. No one wants to talk to a person after they sound crazy like this and I like talking to people for the most part. I don't feel like being shunned like that.
01 July 2013 @ 12:09 am
[ before clara speaks, she cracks her knuckles. this is big news and big business, so she speaks crisply, ]

Alright then, so, for those of you watching the network, Mr. Winchester was nice enough to sound the alarm on subnetwork shenanigans.

ooc cut for copy/paste formatting and spoilers for the tumblrs, if you haven't checked them/solved the clues yet. )
09 June 2013 @ 10:19 pm
[The feed clicks on and there's a beat or two of Heather just sitting cross-legged on her bed before she starts to speak. The pause isn't nearly as dramatic as some others this jump, though; more like she's decided she needs to say something without quite deciding what it is she wants to say. Sure, by now there must be more people on board who never knew Hotspur than people who did, but he should be more than a cautionary tale about what happens if you don't get into a grav couch in time. He died trying to help everyone out of this mess, and that should be remembered.

When she does speak it's calm enough, although in a way that people who know her well will probably realize takes a little effort.]

Are we going to talk about what we heard before the jump? I know there's a lot to take in right now, but... something takes that much effort to say and it gets said anyway? We ought to be listening.
27 May 2013 @ 12:01 pm
We don't all know each other, do we? We hoard so many secrets, because it feels safer, it feels quiet and better if we just don't give into what we want to say.

I don't say a lot. I can't. I lost the ability to speak three weeks after I turned fifteen. My mother thought it was for attention, she thought it was because I was being dramatic. I think it's the opposite of dramatic. No more voice. My voice flew away.

Everyone keeps asking for stories but I think what people really want is to learn about each other. I don't have a lot of stories.

My name is Seraphim. I've been here a year. I'm seventeen. I'm a twin. I don't speak. I don't know how to be alone, but I spend a lot of my time alone. I had a boyfriend, once, who used to call me little dove, and I think I loved the pet name more than I loved him. I play the piano and the violin. I hate going to temple, and I hate church even more. I tried to use math to prove that my brother will be alone for the rest of his life. I miss my mask.

This is the bravest thing I've ever done.

[Encrypted to Medical]

I have a bottle of drugs - they're anti-psychotics, I don't need them, I'm not crazy, I think you should probably take them from me.
At the risk of ensnaring the ire of those of you who would rather live in what is best defined a bubble of willful ignorance— but has anyone noticed that it's been rather quiet in the time since our friendly pirates were murdered?

I'm not complaining, of course, because I do enjoy calm as much as the next person who's relatively sane but it's not as if we have much control with what happens on the ship. And I'd hate to discover that maintaining a normalcy bias— the willful ignorance I mentioned— manages to lull us into a false sense of security.

Then again, perhaps I'm just being pessimistic and that we're just enjoying a break we all needed and I'm just making you, my fellow victims of circumstance needlessly worry due to my own unrest. Still, I am curious as to whether or not I'm the only one who's considered this.
09 May 2013 @ 07:30 pm
[he doesn't post to this forum very often, but when he does there's always some meat to it. Tate likes to see what people will do, he's a provocateur, digging at a wound to see what it'll look like as it bleeds and the reaction it'll get.

this is nothing like that.

his hands are trembling and he's bitten his nails down to the quick. there's something raw and volatile in his voice, and it shakes when he speaks. less like tears and more like fear.]

I can't find— I can't find Hayley.
20 April 2013 @ 06:07 pm
[Taylor's walking as she talks, clearly not caring about keeping the camera steady with the way it dips around. But from what you get to see of her face, she looks pissed off and tired, and when she talks she's clipped and fast, not looking for a discussion.]

These fuckers are loud, I don't need to tell any of you what's going on. And I'm not waiting around to see if they're gonna back up their threats.

Everyone should take what they can carry from their rooms and the nearest kitchen and proceed like we did during the emergency lockdown. If you weren't here for that, grab a member of my team or someone who's been here longer, ask them in person. Communications are compromised.

SEC, I want you escorting people or down there setting shit up. Passenger safety is our priority.
19 April 2013 @ 02:43 pm
[The feed crackles on to show a man leaning in close to the camera over some kind of console. Everything about him seems dry and harsh, from the lines of his features to the colour of his eyes, like too much sun and dust has sapped all the softness out of him. And his voice — when he finally speaks after a long moment of simply looking silently at the camera — is a light, husky tone, rough-edged.]

Tranquility. [A pause.] I am Felix Laurens, I am captain of the Scylla. My crew and I are boarding this vessel. We will take what we want from it, and then we will leave.

[A very long pause, where he seems to be considering something, looking at the camera silently.]

Keep out of our way and you won't be harmed.

[And with that, he's done with the message. He turns and walks away from the camera, revealing a view of the room behind him — though much smaller and less well-kept, it's a clear match to the shuttle bay. Part of a blonde head ducks into view after Laurens finishes speaking, clearly trying to find the 'off' switch for the console.]

Did he just—every time. Every fucking time.

[That remark garners him a bony elbow to the ribs, sneaking in from just out of sight to jab hard at his exposed side, voice quiet but still impatient.] Shut up. [Extending her arm out a little more to jab at the console, Hayes severs the transmission.]
24 March 2013 @ 03:32 pm
In Paris, my brothers and I fought for a republic that has, from what I am told -- now come. Our lives were given to that cause and for that cause; for a day when all the people of the world were to be equal, free, and peaceful. We fought to remove power from the hands of the tyrants and place it in the hands of men who would live as brothers, as they are meant to. That may have come to pass. It may have not. I know there are many on this ship who are from different worlds.

If it has not -- in a place such as this, what does one do? Does he continue the fight? There is nothing to barricade with; there are kings but they do not hold power. My future is uncertain, I mislike it. I need something to do with myself.

I have studied law. I had not yet passed the bar at home, I would have taken it again in the end of June. I am well-versed in various political philosophies and writing articles, speeches, pamphlets, that sort of thing. I am also proficient in canne de combat and various firearms. What might I do here? Assistance would be gratefully appreciated.

[It's late Tuesday--and Alex Shepherd is dragged off into medical bay with broken ribs and a lung that's definitely, definitely drowning in blood. He's sort of okay mentally, all things considered... though, he keeps jumping to worrying about Cid and what this could mean for him--it was just an accident, guys. He probably got confused or scared. It was a misunderstanding. He understands what it's like, accidentally hurting someone. More than once.

... Recently, even.

He gets his network device--probably begged for it, let's be honest--and scrambles to punch in for Murphy, for just a quick word. His vision's blurry, though, and his fingers aren't working the way he'd like. So it's not so much a private message. There's a clang and clatter of equipment and Alex isn't breathing right.]

Murphy--I'm sorry--about running off. Nh-- mad at you, but more everything else --

[He tries for a sigh, but chokes wetly--he has the presence of mind to try to drown out the noise under his hand. Blood's on his palm, of course (why wouldn't it be), and he rolls his eyes at it in a way that is strangely comedic; is he not supposed to do that? He's not really sure, but all he can think is 'my fucking luck'.]

Tell Heather-- [Someone's probably trying to usher the device away or give him oxygen, but he ain't havin' any of that yet. His words draw out, as the word dims down. No, no, wait; he's not ready to lose consciousness. He's got shit to say. He's gotta make sure it's said--] Sorry for--being...

[Nope, that's all he's got. The device slips, clatters loudly, making a sharp noise in the speaker. It's inevitably just lost under the bed as he passes out.]

((ooc: A little future-dated, to later today 'nighttime' |D. I'm totally appointing Dr. Kasukabe the lead in fixing the idiot, but this is just a sort of plot marker for this situation, since Alex can't reply much. It can totally be used for action or anything of the sort, for Alex's CR (you know who you are). Any med bay people who want to be on the scene and help stabilize him and prep him for surgery for the doc is totally awesome Do whatever your heart tells you. :^|b

See OOC note for info and stuff.

07 February 2013 @ 11:46 pm
[It's short and simple.]

I know all of us here have lost at least one person on this ship. So let me ask you...

When did you start feeling like you're always the one left behind?
03 February 2013 @ 01:05 pm
[The feed clicks on to show Miles Edgeworth, James Kirk and Tyke gathered around the head of the table in the Security office. Kirk is standing between the two, Tyke leaning far back in her seat, while the rigidity of Edgeworth’s posture seems to be trying to make up enough formality for all of them.]

Good day. This is Miles Edgeworth of the Security Department, speaking to you alongside Tyke, the head of Security, and James Kirk of the Gunnery crew. What we bring before you today is the new formation of the Exploratory Team.

[Tyke cuts in, there, expression tense and harshly annoyed.]

Before any of you start getting excited over that name, we’re doing this for those of you who think two deaths and one maiming still makes the dark parts of the ship look like a fun fucking time. You might wanna ignore common sense and us, but our job is to keep you safe, which means we can’t ignore you.

[Edgeworth glances over slightly at the profanity, but doesn’t react any more than that.] There may be some among you who will want to turn off this broadcast right now; you may think that you’re already qualified to simply go out there by yourselves. However, there are a few very good reasons why you’d not wish to do that.

First: the entire purpose of this initiative is indeed to keep you alive. “Highly qualified people” have already gone out there, and they have perished, as shall you if you decide that you, a highly qualified person, can act alone. Second, going through the teams means that you’ll not only have other trained people to watch your back, but you’ll also have access to critical supplies. Food, for instance. And weaponry, from the Gunnery crew.

[Kirk bumps in here, both palms flat on the table, and when he leans toward the camera the light catches in the silver at his temple.]

We know we can’t stop any of you going out there, and we aren’t going to try. We’re offering you the option of going out in teams to let us know when and where you’re going. This is both so we can keep track of everyone and so we know the general direction to head in if you get in trouble. That, and there’s a safety in numbers. Those things hunt in packs and they’re smart. If you get ambushed, you may come out less than fortunate.

[see, Erik Lensherr]

Anyone going out should first check into Security with your group. You’ll be required to have at least one person that knows first aid and to have a weapon. As Edgeworth said, if you’re unarmed and you’re going into the ship, contact the Gunnery and we can discuss letting you borrow a firearm. If you don’t have a group, talk to us and we can form one for you.

[Tyke leans in from her seat, finally. And it’s probably a deliberate choice that she’s only wearing a tank top rather than a hoodie or her jump suit, her own encounter with the manticores clearly evident in the large bite scarred around her right shoulder.]

Gonna say again, this isn’t for everyone to get to head out there. This is us making it so anyone who is really gonna insist on it does it as safe as we can manage. You don’t have the people, we’ll get you in with some. You don’t have the skills, we’ll get you training. We don’t need more people dying if there’s shit we can be doing to prevent it.

[Edgeworth nods once.]

I’ll be handling the administrative side of this. Contact me if you want to register for being formed into a group, or if you have a pre-formed group but wish training or supplies. The smartest thing you can do, if you’re considering heading out there, is sitting down and considering whether your life truly is worth so little on-board this ship. The smartest thing you can do is consider: will people truly miss me so little that I can throw away my life by going out there?

The second-smartest thing you can do is at least go out there prepared. And that’s what we’re ensuring.

[Kirk glances to Edgeworth with that little bit of advice, but doesn’t let the curious frown come through in his expression. he looks back to the camera.]

We’ll be here to answer any questions you have.

[and he reaches forward to end the transmission]

[ooc: And thank you for your collective attention, Tranquility! Use this post to ask questions and to form groups if you’d like. Jump each other! Go wild! Meanwhile, if you’d like to have your characters sign up to join groups, hit up this ooc post here.
LOVELY MAGENTA is for Edgeworth, blue is for Tyke, gold is for Kirk.]
12 January 2013 @ 09:53 am
[ the audio feed clicks on abruptly. while this isn't uncommon as a whole for messages that reach the network, it is the first time spock has initiated a communication that doesn't begin with his measured introduction. instead, several alerts criss cross their way through communicators as he speaks. those familiar with him will recognize a curious tightening in his tone. an urgency, but also- ]

ping» [SECURITY]
ping» [MEDICAL]

Request that available personnel respond to coordinates 2.013/581.91 to secure the area.
No visible danger, hostiles likely remain present.

[ beyond his voice, devoid it's typical even cadence, the hall is eerily quiet. the stillness is pervasive. but then he pauses, and for something so brief, it seems to stretch on endlessly. when he speaks at last, it is not only the hallway that is filled with ghosts. fabric rustles, and his feet find purchase on the floor. ]

Chase Kilgannon has perished.

Medical. Please stand by to receive.
Eta four minutes.
[ The camera focuses on Chase and she's quietly sitting in one of the common rooms, hands folded neatly in her lap, a pleasant smile on her face. If you look closely, there's a few art supplies behind her. ]

I've seen it. The truth. And I'm so very sorry I didn't see it sooner. To everyone who does not believes in God that I have been a petulant child to, I apologize.

[ She nods. It's firm, it's full of resolve. ]

It's going to be okay. Not for a very, very long time, but it's going to be okay. But first, there is something I need to do. So--please, don't fight. And above all else, treasure one another. I'm going to help you.

[ There's a brief pause, and Chase clears her throat. Her eyes glow a pinkish colour. ]

No key is needed, the truth will surface. The way will shine and the journey will be new, but They will not. They are watching, and Their presence will be met with red, red, red. There's a place--a labyrinth--that They will claw out of, clutching what they once where. Whispers are no longer whispers. Whispers are roars, are shouts, are screams of the damned and the dead. The murals are laughing. The network is laughing. And--

[ She closes her eyes. ]

There is something I must do. Today, I'm going to try to defy God.

[ She cuts the feed--and to anyone that can pick out what common room it is, they'll find her communicator lying on a table, along with a heavy book from her world. The one item in her possession: her version of the bible, the Ghansgraad. She's taken the art supplies. ]
21 November 2012 @ 10:23 pm
Hey T-Q, how's it going? [ the video feed begins, but the girl speaking isn't immediately visible. instead, you're treated at first to what looks like the corner of her desk, and the straps of what you can guess might be her mask. one that remains safely offscreen. ] Anyway I don't wanna get too chatty, so lemme just run us right up to our next calendar- [ which is exactly what pops up a beat later. ]

Image and video hosting by TinyPic

Alright, lemme break it down here.

Someother-tember the 8th is Wolf's Day! Apparently celebrated by, and I quote, [ is she joking? it's hard to tell. ] throwing sticks, rolling around, and biting for fun. Also eating. There's supposed to be eating.

Someother-tember the 12th back by popular demand, is Slap a Lawyer on the Ass day. I'm not gonna question anybody's taste, okay? It's space, you gotta do what you gotta do.

Someother-tember the 23rd &24th for you lushes is Nog Day- which out of the mercy of my heart has stretched to encompass the next day, to nurse your hangovers and mope generally about how much this place sucks and you aren't at home. And probably drink more because hey, why not, you know?

Someother-tember the 25th is Sinterklaas, where you can throw your amalgamation of miscellaneous holidays together into one massive whole.

Then last but not least, Someother-tember the 29th is Awkwardly hug a Josh Day which is pretty self explanatory, in my opinion.

I'm toying with the idea of next month having a pin the nametag on the squinty-eyes [ she may be referring to the plethora of Joseph Gordon Levitt faces, but you know, she isn't elaborating, so take that as you will ] and probably a sad, sad belated new year's party for all the oldbies kicking around- but you know, if I put like all those holidays on here it pretty much just would've been one giant month of getting drunk for faintly justifiable reasons. Blah blah insert too much of a good thing proverb here. Anyway.

That's it for me! Have at it!

[ Chase's voice is hollow, face void of emotion. She's addressing her communicator by holding it up and pointing it at her face, somewhere in one of the hallways. Slowly, her lips turn to a frown. ]

The walls are painted red, but not with blood. There are three--past. Present. Future. More line the walls but these are the focus, these are what's meant to be. It's Tranquility.

[ Her lips quirk, though through the entire thing she doesn't blink but if you look quickly, there's a flash of purple in her eyes. ]

There's a cross, there's man on a cross and then there's whispers. Keep your secrets and guard them well. There's no violence, only in the paintings, but just in case--just in case. Don't speak to the walls, the walls can hear.

[ Heaven's Fence Encryption 100% - Tyke, Captain Kirk, Spock, Tony Stark, Neal. ]
Some of you told me to contact you before this. I felt a warning was appropriate to the general crew.

Neal told his secrets and now they know. They never forget. [ She clears her throat, and, finally, her gaze falls downwards, finally blinking. ]

Mr. Smiley is not part of the Tranquility. But he's laughing as he paints them and there's--there's...

It's not just machinery in holes. Not just parts. Mind the gap, the gap might bite back. [ Even if she doesn't understand it, she figures it bears explaining. ]
01 November 2012 @ 03:10 pm
[Timed an hour or so after Resnik's announcement. Most people should be asleep still, Taylor hopes, but it'd only take a few people jumping the gun before they had a chaotic mess. They'd managed to avoid anything like that so far, they didn't need it happening at the resolution of this situation.]

Passenger decks are secure.
Power has been restored + lockdown lifted.
People are free to return to their rooms.
Orderly + calm.

Request assistance restoring O2 gardens to prior condition.
Supplies need to be returned to original departments.
Don't just leave your shit for agriculture to clear up.
O2 gardens keep us all alive.

[And one last part, added after a moment of reluctance.]

Advise caution re: masks.
No apparent threat or danger detected.
But we've got no fucking idea where they came from.
All know how this shit goes by now.