14 November 2013 @ 06:12 pm
[Well, hell. Is this thing on? It better be, or he's going to look awful funny talking to himself for next minute or two.

Needless to say, Booker is still getting used to his strange, newfangled communication device. The video is a little shaky at first, but it evens out after a moment or two of fumbling. And it's then you can see the man's face -- he looks tired, especially around the eyes, but he seems to be toughing it out. Frustration is etched into his frown, but his tone is relatively even and straight to the point.]

Name's Booker DeWitt, and I'm not gonna waste anyone's time. Got a few questions, in order of importance. I'd be much obliged to anyone willing to answer what they can.

[With that preface out of the way, he presses on:]

Anyone seen a girl named Elizabeth? [Here you can hear a little concern out of him, but he doesn't pause long enough to let it settle.] Blue and white dress, short brown hair. Might be stickin' her nose in other people's business. If you have, let me know.

Secondly -- I don't know how things work around here, if anyone gives a damn about money or trade -- but where does someone find ammunition in a place like this?

[This time there is a notable pause. Thirdly:] Or something to drink?
10 November 2013 @ 09:39 pm
[Armin's looked better -- his hair is a snarly mess, there are dark shadows under his eyes and there are literally stacks and stacks of datapads around him. But he seems pretty content, in his element, even, making notes on one of the datapads -- he can adjust! He can learn how to technology! -- and adjusting the communicator (probably perched on one of the stacks) with his free hand.

Then he'll look up, set down the data pad, then hold his hands about eighteen inches apart.

Grappling hook.

[...that's all he says. Apparently he figures anyone who can help him will start with inquiring further. He nods, once, smiling, then returning to his note-taking. After a moment, he remembers the communicator is still on, reaching out without looking up and switching it off.]
08 November 2013 @ 07:06 pm
While all of you are no doubt rather busy with your reunions and other such things, I believe it is prudent to take this moment to offer the services of myself or my colleague, Miss Sommers, in dealing with any of the issues that many of you have been confronted with in the last few weeks.

[ Hannibal is all neat collars and cuffs as usual, his black hair neatly groomed back, the lights adjusted so that the red in his black eyes stays hidden; the kindly and professional Dr. Fell, that's all. But for those who received memories from him, there might be a rumble of some familiar evil that menaces them; perhaps something they can't quite put their finger on. ]

Memories, particularly those of the kind we experienced, are difficult enough to overcome when they are indeed our own. Emotional conflict, losses, and for most the absence of friends and family that is not even your own to mourn, can be devastating if not turned in the appropriate direction. Some of you have been the victims of more vicious and unsettling images, such as may conflict with your own peaceable nature. I urge you not to combat these on your own. The psychological impact may be more grievous than you might at first imagine, and in those cases, the experience of a professional is a crucial tool in your continued well-being.

You are welcome to drop in any time. Please do not hesitate. If a confidential meeting or 'home visit' is required, please contact myself or Miss Sommers directly. Thank you for your time.
07 November 2013 @ 11:32 pm
Hello, everyone. I hope you're all doing well -- or, at least, better than you were before. I had a lucid dream recently. I dreamed of constellations, of patterns, of meaning. Then I awoke and quickly wrote everything down, hands trembling, smearing ink across the page. I'm out of practice with pens.

In any case, I feel it is my professional duty to share these revelations with you. They are as follows:

Read more... )
06 November 2013 @ 03:45 pm
[Thankfully, for once, this isn't a security alert. Or maybe not so thankfully, because Taylor thinks she'd know how to deal with an incident like that way better than how she's been dealing with this one. The constant press of memories and invasion of privacy has left her tired, and while she looks (as usual) aggravated by something as she flicks the feed on, it seems just as dulled at the edges as when they were all suffering from insomnia.

But at least she doesn't have to talk much for this video.]

I just punched a wall.

[She holds her left hand up in demonstration, the skin on her middle knuckle split and bloody, the rest already starting to bloom red in early bruising. It's bad form, but she hadn't exactly wanted to take the time to wrap them, and lessening the pain would've defeated the point.]

If your hand hurts like this, stop what you're doing and contact me immediately.

[There's a pause, and she's pretty sure that whoever she's linked with has stopped, but just in case they decide that was a fluke and start up again--]

If you don't stop what you're doing, I'm gonna keep punching the wall.

[Not that she ever looks like she's joking, but she very evidently isn't right now.]
[There’s a soft, muffled expletive, then a few seconds of near-silence during which the transmission’s sender is obviously fumbling with his communicator.

When he speaks, Ryuuzaki’s English-accented voice sounds weak, rough, and exasperated: he’s been throwing up for the past few minutes.]

I could use some help with something.

[A beat of hesitation--]

It’s urgent, but you’ll need a strong stomach.

[He knows his condition isn’t too serious, but while he’s in this state, he’d rather not start by broadcasting his location to the entire network if he doesn’t have to. Never mind the fact that someone could probably find him by the reek... it’s as likely to keep people away as it is to cause them to investigate. He's considered just leaving the can in the kitchen, getting himself to medbay or at least a different kitchen for fluids, and allowing the entire situation to be someone else's problem, but that would only work if it couldn't be traced back to him. Just now, it probably could be.]

[OOC: L has fallen victim to a locker horror with an appalling stench: an unlabeled can of surströmming. He might need medical assistance (see this video, this video, or this video for what I mean, but be aware that it’s a lot of people vomiting). His current empathy link isn't helping matters.

However, he’s also looking for help with/advice on disposing of the fish, preferably without carrying it through the ship. It’s technically edible, if you’re interested in having your character feed it to a pet, or if your character wouldn’t waste food, no matter how disgusting; it could probably also be buried as fertilizer in the Oxygen Gardens, but it'll stink up the route between points A and B for a while. A character who eats the surströmming wins a more edible prize! Further details will emerge in tags.]
28 October 2013 @ 06:35 pm
[This is a really crooked video feed, and the jerk recording it didn't even bother to wipe his nose before he started, as evidenced by the fact that his face is maybe a little covered in blood. Gross.]

This is a--this is a PSA--that is…public service announcement, for those of you not--not in the know, as far as acronyms are concerned.

I'm just going to start listing things, and if any of it sounds familiar, please come to--to collect your memories, I don't want them. I had more than enough of other people in my head back home, I didn't--

[Right, just give him a second to try and take care of that nosebleed.]

It didn't start out so bad, but now I'm pretty sure I'm dying, or my head is going to explode, or I'm going to leak out all my blood through my face, so if we could all--could get this sorted as fast as possible, I'd appreciate it.

[Here is a big, gross, snotty inhale, as if to emphasize that he is, in fact, dying. It sounds like SSNNNRRRKKK.

When that doesn't work, he drags a hand across his face, leaving an attractive smear of red up his cheek.

If anyone has, at any point this month recalled not having any arms or legs or being a sort of--sort of ball-shaped robot, that's me, hello, and I'd like to--like to talk with you as soon as possible. Confusing, yes, I know, but seeing as I can't really put owners to the memories of…the monster fights and the gang fights, and the--you lot get in a good deal of fights, don't you?

[Cough. Sniff.]

Bill Murray. Is the bloke's name. If that sounds familiar to you. At all. You had a pretty good time, with him? In his house? To my understanding? Then he died. Your friend? Your friend shot him, but, uh, if I had a friend who went around shooting my other friends, I would sort of--sort of reevaluate where we stood, as far as our friendship was concerned. So, uh, sorry for your loss, either way. You can come get your memories, now.
28 October 2013 @ 07:25 am

[ will sounds like he's giving a lecture when he comes on the screen. he's looking directly into the camera — it's easier to make eye contact with a device. ]

That's the key to all this. If you're receiving foreign sensation, you need to track down the person it originated with and make skin-to-skin contact. It'll stop the side-effects, and eventually — hopefully — break the connection. Doesn't have to be more personal than a handshake.

[ a pause, and he glances down, off-camera, visibly discomfited by the fact that the hand not holding his device is in the grip of another. ]

An... extended handshake. Whatever timer this thing is working on, we think letting go resets it.

[ the screen’s upended as sherlock hijacks the device, settling on his face (at an admittedly slightly awkward angle) a moment later. ]

But in the meantime— I’m sure you’ve all noticed that the physical links are current, unlike the memories, and arguably offer us a great deal more control. Passive sensations are the exception, but if I were to hypothetically hit my hand — as our resident neurologist has demonstrated — then Mr. Graham would feel it. [ and by hypothetically he means he's tested it, several times. ]

In the case of mutual sensations, like, say, holding one’s hand, this creates a unique feedback loop; the sensation of their hand in yours, and yours in theirs, et cetera. [ speaking of hand-holding, holding will’s hand is getting in the way of his usual gesturing; the screen's unsteady as a result. ] While I'm reluctant to test the theory with present company — no offense — I imagine this could apply to other neutral or positive sensations. If one were to engage in sexual intimacy with their link partner, for instance, then the moment of—

[ in another blur of abrupt motion, will takes his device back — and also his hand. no offense. ]

Better reset the clock to zero, Mr. Holmes.
[ faith has exactly one concern in all this bullshit: empathy is not so much her gig. ]

So, seems like everybody's all about sharing and caring. And that's cool, whatever gets you off. Play Missed Connections on the Love Boat from hell all night long— have a blast, I don't give a shit.

But just in case anybody else gets any bright ideas about 'maybe we should talk about it'— [ gdi topher— ] maybe nothing, get me? You think you picked my brain, sucks to be you but don't blame me, I didn't sign up for this crap and I don't wanna know about it. I got zero desire to talk about whatever anybody thinks they saw, end of story.

[ because not-terribly-blissful ignorance is better than pity!!! or something. she's emotionally healthy. ]

And just so everybody clear, I'm talking the kind of leave me out of it I'll throw some muscle behind backing up. Keep it zipped and to yourself or I'll break it off, it's nothing I wanna look at.

[ and with the snick of a lighter and a mumbled curse then a long inhale, she's out. ]
25 October 2013 @ 08:16 am
 [What you are seeing is Topher. Topher looks a little like hell. Someone may or may not have been avoiding dealing with one of his empathy links for SCIENCE (the first one worked out fine- that's how he knows enough to figure this out, but the second one...) ... Also, it's possible he's been occupied running scans and trying to figure out if he's wrong, which... he's still not convinced he's not.]

I've been working.... [He pauses, plants a palm on his forehead, and sucks in a breath.] I've been working on a theory. It's not entirely sound yet, but I was trying to run through every logical possibility before entertaining the notion that it might actually be... that, and... no dice. None. And it was bad enough when it was just memories, but now- now. Oh, it's much worse. 

Whatever this is, it's on a synaptic level- whatever one person feels, the other person feels too. Observe. [He picks up something sharp and pricks himself, which makes him hiss in pain.] Now someone out there felt that. That means that we are doing some serious groupthink weirdness without the whole "all of us are Borg" BS- SO FAR. Who knows what it'll be in a few weeks. Or days. And what was the last thing 90% of us experienced that involved groupthink? Anyone?

[YEAH, TOPHER'S HAVING A BAD DAY. HOW ARE YOU?] I think we might be in trouble.

[He rubs his face.] And is anyone who was fully assimilated on Strela even still around? 'Cause that'd be a start to maybe possibly proving me wrong. Or right. But let's err on the side of blind optimism and assume my fancy medical degrees in neurology mean nothing and I'm just talking out of my... bottom area. Whatever.

[Maybe you should deal with your link first, Topher. MAYBE. There's science to do, okay.]
22 October 2013 @ 08:34 pm
[rikku is literally sprawled out on one of the cargo shuttle wings, holding the comm above her face so that the shot is a little crooked but it isn't as if she cares right now. she is one grumpy al bhed.]

Look, I get that sometimes getting into someone else's head can make you feel all warm and fuzzy and you know, brings us closer and whatever, but seriously. Seriously. Memories are meant to be kept inside, private, unless you decide, "Hey, I'm gonna tell so-and-so about that time I did the thing with that guy in the place!"

Our brains aren't like some big screen that anyone can just flip on whenever they want so they can watch that time my cousin wore a swimsuit that made her look exponentially hotter than me and I was maybe a teensy bit jealous because okay, she doesn't usually wear things like that and it didn't seem fair at the time.

[she does not seem to notice that she's doing exactly what she just said she didn't appreciate]

And I don't wanna see anything in your guys' brains either, you know? It's just weird. Way too weird for me.

18 October 2013 @ 01:57 am
hey so i know everyone is really busy having their deepest darkest secrets and shit jammed into each others heads and stuff but what is this

:) <---- red????

??????????? p what? d what?

[Because she's been reading up on this stupid place but seriously, is this some kind of weird future spaceship code she's not getting?

On the plus side, you know what's fucking awesome? This is. The communications network or whatever is seriously cool.]
17 October 2013 @ 08:30 pm
[Initially, he was going to give a proper sort of introduction over the network; enough time had passed for him to "settle in", as it were, and he felt it necessary to pierce the veil of non-communication sooner or later.

But now, the point seemed rather moot, what with everyone's memories being tossed about the place. It appeared that the residents here were already forcibly getting to know each other a bit better.

Regardless, he settles for text.]

What does it feel like to have your most cherished memories, your most hated actions, your darkest secrets -- all potentially flitting about in the head of a complete stranger? Is it freeing? Humiliating? Or are you indifferent; what is a single memory without a lifetime of context, after all?

And as for those who would rather not wax philosophical: Hello, Tranquility. What a welcoming this is turning out to be.
16 October 2013 @ 04:14 pm
First, a rejoinder to the speculation that has been going on of late: It does not matter whose memories, if anyone's, you are experiencing. Aboard the Tranquility, we must all be good neighbors, and being good neighbors is respecting others' privacy. So do your part to maintain our air of cordiality; do not discuss your psychic connections with anyone. Indeed, try to forget them the moment you experience them. They are of no consequence.

Additionally, if one of the passengers new or old is responsible for all of this, I beg you to stop at once. This constitutes a psychic attack, and if you are discovered to have been responsible for this, you will be subject to repercussions. This is neither amusing nor helpful in any way.

To any new arrivals: my name is Miles Edgeworth; I'm an officer on the security team. Anyone with combat or law enforcement experience, please contact myself or Tyke (001 >> 011) to arrange employment with SEC.
16 October 2013 @ 01:53 am
[ When the feed first begins, the crown-wearing woman on the other end takes a second to turn the device every which way. Despite looking quite exhausted, she still manages to look regal. Finally, upon deciding that she is doing this correctly, she smiles. Oh, yes, she is quite pleased with herself even she is still wary of this technology. If nothing else, it's at least helpful. ]

I have yet to become accustom to.. [ A pause, as she glances around. ] .. this, but I am certainly grateful that those who dwell here alongside me have been helpful. It is because of this that I feel I should apologize, even knowing I cannot help what I see. These glimpses and fragments of memories that are not my own..

[ And now she has to wonder what others may have glimpsed from her own mind. Her smile suddenly turns apologetic. ] Not all are pleasant, and I am sorry for that, but it is not my place to divulge the contents of them. I can only hope those memories are not a constant in their lives.

Are we meant to deal with such invasive happenings often?
10 October 2013 @ 02:38 pm
I suppose I might as well...

[This is muttered accompanied by a shaky sideways shot of two bare feet against the floor of one of the cabins, before the communicator is swung upwards (sorry to anyone prone to motion sickness) and set on the nearest flat surface. Armin messes with it for a moment, scowling slightly and mumbling to himself --] If it would come apart I could understand it better...oh well.

[One more adjustment and the video picture is steady, though Armin has both hands held out as he steps back, like he's expecting it to fall. Once he's reassured it won't, he's all business, straightening his shoulders and saluting smartly, one arm across his chest and the other at the small of his back -- though his expression clearly says he feels ridiculous saluting a mechanism rather than another person.]

This is Armin Arlert of the Scouting Legion, formerly of the 104th Trainees Squad, until recently...very recently...a part of the 57th Expedition. I have...absolutely no idea what's going on. If there is any sort of central information base... [He trails off, then suggests hopefully:] A library, maybe? With books? Are there books here?

[Remembering his intentions, he straightens again and finishes:] Also I seem to be minus the more important parts of my gear. I don't appreciate being left unarmed. If there is any way I can recover them, or similar weaponry, that would be most appreciated.

[He nods, steps forward to end the video, then stops and adds in a slightly more desperate voice:] Please.