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.]

[Why are things floating.

Libby sits (this time on a table in the kitchens--chairs exist, girl, why are you like this) and she is surrounded by slowly drifting utensils.

She's already figured out how to lie about it. She never told anyone she wasn't telekinetic. (Because who does that?). So she'll just say they made her like this, and Jesse's secret will be protected while Libby gets to show off--because this is wicked sharp, and even makes her confident enough to roll up her sleeves, baring scars and soft white feathers.

She grins at the camera, which she turned on with her mind.]

'Sup, bitches.

[She's not opening this up to the network for any reason. Can't a girl just be bored?]

( [video | 100% encryption | locked to mouse, jesse, nikolai, NOT LOKI >:P] )

[ Tranquility, meet Syg. Syg just came from three years in State - at least, the girl Alias knew in Miami had.

What you see in the icon is what you're getting, ladies and gents. ]

Out of one shithole and into another. At least the last place had cable.

I'm just gonna leave it short and fuckin' sweet: Who do I gotta show my tits to for some cliffnotes on some of the questions I've got? Same goes for a pack-a Reds.

[ It hears cigarettes are a currency here and it wants in. Let's see how your idea of people liking to see other people strip actually plays out, Justin. ]

Oh yeah - I found this too.

[ She holds up a black, leather-bound book. Look familiar, Murphy? ]

Sorry, but I kinda thumbed through it to see what the hell it was and maybe who it belonged to.

[ The glare seems to soften a little. ]

And I know whose it is... [ And it's back again. ] So don't fuckin' try to claim it just because you're bored. That shit ain't cool.

hello

Okay, it's working. Great. ☺I know I got crazy timing since I've been here for a while. Been through this and that, but not really one to socialize. I'm still queasy about adjusting. I feel very out of place.

I'll get to the point. Sorry to take up your time, but I was curious if anyone has any stories to share? Like tales from home, even fairytales? Yeah, barmy, right? I would find it nice just to listen. Storytelling was one of my jobs back home (gig with kids, shush, it paid the bills!), so you could say it would be a good deal of comfort for something... familiar.

Cheers.

-Richard.

(ooc: LOL GIMME A HEADS UP IF YOU ARE GOING TO BE ALL LIKE "I KNOW YOUUOUOUOU.")

[ The video feed opens on one of the rec rooms - specifically a bar area that had been left for passenger use previously, and Justin’s panning the camera on his device along the row of liquor bottles remaining there like showing off a finding of treasure. ]

After many days of hard searching and devotion of hours upon hours of testing structural beams for pole dancing, we’ve found it, Tranquility. A space for a space-club. [ Cue Justin flashing the camera back to him for a melodramatic 8O face before twisting it back to the drink collection. ] So now you can have a place to fully support your bad decision making away from the prying eyes of cops and lawyers and the morally righteous.

Where you can step out of your every day roles and responsibilities and into a carefree, non-judgmental, leave your expectations at the door zone. [ it is a significant prize, despite the gaps in the rows of alcohol. he runs his palm over a counter top, smooth and freshly cleared of dust (like the bottles) and he flicks what he imagines is glitter into the open room, before turning his eyes on the camera from where he's standing behind the bar. ] Just because we've all been abducted and infected (and to some degree traumatized) doesn't mean we don't deserve to have any fun while we're stuck here.

[ no what, he is copyrighting this gigantic fuck you, too smirk. ] We're opening our doors to everyone on board (save for the infants and the preteens with pacifiers glued to their tongues) to—

To drink your sorrows away, dance your sorrows away, use cheap as fuck pick up lines on people way too hot for you your sorrows away, whatever floats your boat, we really could care less. [ Said with a wave of a tequila bottle that he pulls out with a glass, going about setting up a drink. ] The only thing is, we need a sound system set up and a bar keep, seeing as, while I make a kickass margarita, I’d rather enjoy my youth and not be behind the bar at all hours.

Oh, and, pole dancers not included - so you’ll have to get your ass drunk enough to do that yourself.

We're looking for someone to rotate, between the two of us. As for the questionable matter of pay, it might have come to your attention that we're extremely lacking in the economy department. If donating your time to a worthy cause doesn't do the trick, we can negotiate the cost, barter our way to hell or you can realize that this job doesn't have a dress code or a zero tolerance policy on being shitfaced on the clock. [ this is his cue to snag a bottle of Jim Beam, twist the lid and join Justin in clinking their glasses together. ]

A toast, to the temporary end of the ongoing: what in the fuck is there to do on board, aside from staring at the wall and/or pissing away my time?

I've been here long enough to know that alternate and parallel universes exist. I can say with confidence that this ship holds multiple versions of the same person; for instance, there are three Sherlock Holmeses and three John Watsons. Naturally, each correspond with their own Sherlocks and/or their own John. As the months go on, it will be increasingly difficult to tell between myself and others, which is why it's handy to have our communicators. With each message, your unique number shows up underneath the initial post: this is a good way to ensure that you're talking to the 'corrrect' Sherlock (though know that we share our devices when the whim strikes us).

In short, stop being stupid.

Now, onto my initial reason for addressing the network: I have experienced several different memories that differ from my dopplegangers. Because of this, we can assume that there are subtle differences in behaviour, reactions and interests. Whilst we remain the same in many ways, those differences might end up defining us (which is frankly appalling, but then who am I to judge a 'thriving' civilisation of six months?). I am the third Sherlock Holmes to arrive, though my likeness is shared with only one. An intriguing phenomenon, but our memories are reasonably inconsistent.

I've decided to tell you about my stay on the island of Atia, though I intend to make it quick. I have in my posession the communicators we used to talk to one another. Whilst the connection to the network has been severed, a few things still remain, such as the guides thrown out to every new comer in order to save both time and effort. You may have gathered that this island is of a seedy virtue, and your impressions are entirely correct: we were forced into collars like animals, prodded and poked into actions one might not normally take were they under their usual inhibitions. As the strange little rabbit wearing a dress says, it was not a holiday.

And yes, I'm aware that both guides are incredibly hideous.
SH

P.S: A certain prosecutor has insisted that I put up a warning for those that are of a certain age and/or for those that have a weak stomach. Personally, I think 'don't be stupid' covered every base, but apparently one can't be too sure.

Transferring... guide.pdf

_{[ ooc: link is nsfw. sort of. ]}

[The feed opens and Mary is smiling pleasantly into the camera. She's much more versed in the communicator than when she made her first network post.]

Hello Everyone. Mary here. I know anyone who was sick has recovered or is well on the way but if anyone needs anything- anything at all- I'd be happy to help you.

[She tucks a piece of her hair back behind her ear.] I thought I might as well check in with those who know me. So please, let me know that you're alright.

[She smiles again, having said all she wanted to. She looks as if she's about to cut the feed when an idea occurs to her then she adds one more thing as an afterthought.]

Oh. And I was just wondering, who else didn't get sick? I know there were some of us out there- and I don't know about you- but I'd like to know why.

[She gives a little nod and cuts the feed.]

[Tate sounds excited, somewhere between shocked and amazed and horrified]

Holy shit. Guys- guys I know there's some serious shit going down right now, but did anyone else see the fucking alien in the grav chamber?

I saw that thing take some people out! Was that on the ship before? Does anyone know?


[ooc: anyone who doesn't know, he's talking about this.]

[ It's a risk. It's a trouble. And yet, Alias feels desperate to try. If it's been captured, perhaps James has been too. If it's in space, perhaps more like it will be here. Counsel is needed. ]

[ The network will receive an odd message indeed. It sounds like... singing? No words, just tones, humming slowly, repeating. One voice, soprano, then a second voice, bass, joins. A mournful note. It takes the nanites and communicator a second to translate it. ]

Are you there? Are you there?

I apologize...

I request consultation.

Are you there? Are you there?

[ Even still, the translation sound melodic, overlaying the quiet song. ]


(( OOC: This is the day of the jump. ))