[His typical spiel is quite cursory.]

My name is Miles Edgeworth. I'm a member of the security team. All new arrivals, please do not hesitate to contact me if you have either questions regarding security or a desire to volunteer; we are always looking for new recruits. Similarly, if you run into any troubles or find yourself in distress of any sort, kindly inform us.

[And, moving onto the meat of this post:]

While I am not normally one to give any sort of credence to claims of psychic phenomena and the like without significant proof of the same, the past month quite definitively proved that some degree of...mental connection is possible on-board this ship. And given the proliferation of reports of experiencing flashes of memory from an unknown source in the past day, it seems that another sort of mental connection may well have been established. Moreover, it sounds as though several people have perhaps seen different things.

Here is my request for you all. Please use this broadcast to compare and contrast what you did see. Anyone who seems to have experienced memories of the same individuals, speak forth on the matter. If we spread information as widely as possible, the likelihood of our defeating whatever threat or development that might be looming on the horizon is considerably heightened.

I shall begin. The situation I saw in this memory occurred, apparently, after Captain Gallagher went mad, as we have seen attested in data recovered in the past. The man whose memory I received was lost in the depths of the ship. He encountered a woman named Matine, an individual he trusted; he found her in a state of madness herself. The memory concluded with her murdering him.

[A slight, grim pause.]

Please contribute what you witnessed.

[ the device is set just beneath one of the trees in the garden and allows the viewer to see that someone hanged chains upon chains of these from the branches!! ]

Hey Tranquility!!

[ so where is Rapunzel? heard but not seen! ]

Oh!!

[ and then, from the top of the tree, a waterfall of golden hair flows down and Rapunzel slides down on it until she reaches the grass. ]

Ta da! I hope you're all doing well. I had an idea! You see, Jenna gave me all these pillows -

[ she points towards a small bunch ]

And I have seen others! and blankets! so I decided to build a pillow fort! in the garden! and since it doesn't rain here ever since we're inside it will hold and not get wet, haha!

But I need more blankets and fabric. so if you have any to spare, I'm over here at Chameleon Land at the gardens!

[ Chameleon Land. that's what she said. yep. ]

Thank you!!

[The feed clicks on to show Taylor sat in the security office. The jump usually leaves her unwilling to really deal with people for a few days, and she doesn't precisely look friendly, expression set level and maybe slightly annoyed. Not interested in messing around, which only becomes clearer as she starts talking.]

I don't do the welcome committee, so I'm gonna keep this short as. My name's Tyke, I'm first wave and I'm head of SEC here on the Tranquility. The Security team are here to keep you safe and alive, and we do that job because this ship is going to try and kill you, or maim you, or fuck with your head. You can be stupid, or you can help us out by letting us deal with the real problems instead of dealing with you.

The rules we enforce among passengers are basic. You don't steal or damage each other's belongings or the ship, you don't assault each other, and you don't kill each other. If you break any of these rules we will take action. Punishment is decided case-by-case - we have a brig, we run infractions by Captain Ward. So don't ask me 'what would you do if'. I'm sick of hearing it.

It's additionally strongly advised you do not enter the unlit central sections of the ship. Whole place is hostile territory, but the dark is where the real fucked up lives. So stay out of it, if you want better odds.

If you've got a fighting, military or police background, we could use your skills on our team. If you don't have any of those skills but are still interested, we offer training. But keep in mind what you're signing up for. I run recruitment, contact me or Miles Edgeworth to schedule assessment.

[A pause, and she glances off camera at something briefly before adding,]

There's a dog here. German Shep. [And because she knows what response some people might give,] No, it's not mine.

( [FILTERED TO SECURITY | ENCRYPTED 95%] )

[It's not very often that Asato makes a post to the network, preferring to read and hear what others have to say, offering bits of awkwardly-worded input when he thinks it could be useful. He's not one to draw attention to himself, and though it might seem difficult for a relatively big guy with cat ears and a tail, he tends to manage it too.

He's just a quiet guy minding his own cat business, part of which he's spent in the gardens, carefully tending to something each and every day. The result of nearly a year of watering, trimming, checking and double-checking, is what he moves the video feed to quickly after he sees the feed is on, offering only a quick glimpse of his face.]

I have--these.

["These" being a little pile of some kind of fruit. They're somewhere between a peach, an apple, and a currant, the size of a baseball at their largest, ranging from magenta to purple in color. He can't show it through the feed (much as he wishes he could!), but the scent that's coming from them is a strong mix of sweet, sour, and spicy.]

Kuims. Is what they're called. I planted them. I can't eat all of them, but I don't want them to go bad. [Which is why he's happy to offer some to whoever wants to stop by in the gardens and try them out.]

They're really good. In my world, lots of people like these the best. [A great advertiser he is not, but he's trying, and his enthusiasm is genuine.]

Please come have some. I don't need anything in return for them. Um... They're good in cakes, too. [That...should wrap things up, he figures, so the feed gives a shake, comes back to his face one more time, and clicks off.]

[The feed opens with a glimpse of sunflowers, an ashtray - contents still smoking - and a couch, before two hands darken the view. By the time the video adjusts to their removal Netherlands is already flopped back on Russia's couch, wearing his football uniform and lightly leaning against the other nation's shoulder. He's too boneless to be sober but not so fucked up that he looks anything but his usual cross between bored and overly serious.]

There aren't any history books here. From Earth.

[Russia’s letting Netherlands take care of the speaking this time, a bit amused that despite how nosy he is he hadn’t managed to realize that there weren’t any history books in the Media Library, or rather, that he hadn’t visited that particular bit of the ship in the entire time they’ve been here. So he just sits back and rucks a hand through his hair, relaxes.]

Not much of anything from Earth. [Idly, he reaches up and straightens the scarf about his neck, smoothes the lapels on his uniform.]

Thought America said it was after Earth, [Netherlands mutters, more of an aside to Russia, before he returns his attention back to the video.] We can write some of it, if there’s a way to write - media books.

[What the hell are those things.]

As far as he knew. [Russia rolls his eyes and murmurs, follows Netherlands’ gaze over to the video, nods a bit.] Not going to write it all though, too much shit to deal with.

[That gets a flick of Netherlands’ eyes to the ceiling in return, before he settles further back into the cushions and continues.]

So we’re taking requests, then.

[Not actually a question. They’re now taking requests.]

Can do some right now... not doing anything else. Nothing after - [a flicker of a look between Russia and the feed] - 1900. Unless you want us to write it. Later.

[ Azari isn't the best at... people. Shhhh. He's working on it. Still, he comes across a little stilted, like he's trying to be polite but is more nervous than anything.

To think that the Black Panther can be nervous about something as dumb as posting on a network, jeeze... Pym would mock him for the rest of time. Though he'd welcome it if it meant Pym being here.]

Hello. My name is Azari, if we haven't met before.

I was wondering if anyone on the ship would be able to race in one of the jungle levels in the oxygen garden. I run through there a lot, but it's more fun if you've got someone to race.

[ pause, while he makes sure his thoughts are straight. ] I'm looking specifically for people with somewhat enhanced speed and agility, since I'm pretty sure that through that underbrush, I could beat any average human that wanted to try. ...Not to say that I won't race you if you're an average human, but it probably won't be much of a race. That's all.

...Yes. So, if you could just... let me know. If you're interested. Thank you.

[ click. God, that was mortifying. ]

[ he's sitting in the oxygen gardens, a wooden pipe in his mouth and large white smoke-rings curling from the end of the pipe. there's an open book in his lap and there's a lingering weariness in his posture, despite how relaxed he seems.

still, when frodo speaks up, his voice is fond, light, moving his pipe away from his lips. ]

Where I come from, smoking pipeweed is considered an art. Making good smoke-rings like this--there's nothing quite like it.

[ frodo pauses; glances at his book then. ]

My dearest friend told me that he wondered if anything we've done would ever be put into 'great stories.'
"The stories that really mattered, that stayed with you."  As a lad I spent most of my life reading about stories, learning them and I'd always had my favorites with my Uncle. He went on a many great adventures.

[ he smiles quietly ]
Sometimes stories can be..quite different than we imagine them to be when we begin them. The same could be said of adventures.

Do you have a story like that? One that's stayed with you. Perhaps something you knew as a child, or one you found in a book. Perhaps it isn't a story but a moment that you've shared and relived with others over and over again. I'd be glad to hear them.

If a rabbit could talk, what do you think he might sound like? It's a boy rabbit. A nice one, but not too nice. Tolerant but fair.

[ when she sees Moran with his rifle, strutting down the hallway like he's all that and a bag of sliced bread with potato chips, Wichita knows that he is up to Absolutely No Good. she can just tell. so naturally, she follows, maybe hoping to discover some blackmail material, or something she could make fun of him for later on when he least expects it. you know, the usual. but after a while ( where the hell are they going? ) she gets bored, and turns on her communicator. she switches the video feed to show ( kind of ) what she's looking at, which is Moran making his way through the hallways, her stalking casually following him a few yards behind.

when she talks, it's in a dramatic stage whisper. ]

Oi viewers! You've just tuned in for another cracking good episode of Wild Safari Adventures With Sebastian Moran. This week, we follow the wild Maroonie into uncharted territories! [ nah let's not try for an accent here. she laughs, as quietly as she can, then starts again. ] No, but seriously. I know this is creepy as shit, but this guy's been creepy as shit too, so it evens out.

[ Moran has his rifle balanced rather jauntily on his shoulder, but his ears are tuned into Wichita's entire commentary and his mood is slowly souring. Thanks, Wichita. He sounds nothing like that. He gives an exasperated sigh and eyes her over his shoulder. Gurl, you in trouble now. ]

I've heard sneakier footsteps from an elephant. An especially large one. With a limp. Have nothing better to do with your time, then?

( --hup! Discovered. )



[ooc: the cut is ooc, just to save your flist. UM. Moran is ORANGE, Wichita is BLUE. replies will come from both once Hannah wakes up again and Moran is done, um, running. have made plans for someone to come pick her up, but she'll be talking ( kinda! ) to anybody that answers. i'll include random notes in the tags as we go. idek.

BUT YEAH. YAY GUN RANGE! underneath all this ridiculousness, the ship's actual gun range has been discovered! Wichita will give directions once she's got medical attention. :D ]

[Bed rest sucks.

[Now that we've got that out of the way, you know what doesn't suck? Dutch weed. Just a little bit of it. Not only does Murphy not feel like he's been royally screwed over by a bullet wound and injuries and sicknesses he'd endured from Silent Hill, but he's feeling pretty much like the universe is an okay place right about now. No nightmares of dead children and angry wives and shackles, prison, being a monster...

[Nothing's okay, everything's fine, fine fine. And we have Murphy here. Now's not the time to be tacking away over text! Instead, we're treated to a hoarse, haggard voice of a swell and phenomenally high man:]

"Y'know what's really somethin' that I've never taken into consideration before? We're in space.

"I said it, we're in space. You'd think the novelty of it wouldn't wear down after so long, but..." [He scoffs.] "Never even was one of those kids who... y'know, wanted to be an astronaut when they grew up, but...

"Hey! Here's a question: What did you wanna be when you grew up? Grow up. Sorry. Some of you are kids. But still...

"Me, I always thought it'd be kinda cool to be like Mr. White, uh... Minus the gettin' shot at part. 'Cause bein' shot really hurts, and..."

[There's a pause. Are we going to finish that thought? No?]

"Shit, I think I can feel my brain..."

[Another pause. There's a sound of something creaking.] "I'm really bored right now."

[Somebody take Murphy's communicator away before he says/does something he's going to regret... Or just talk to him, because goddamn.]

STAY CHEERY.
MRS. NESBIT✿

( OOC: Sorry about that, I woke up late... /posts three hours later

LOL and omg i swear the god i didn't copy Ianto's post this is the funniest coincidence FLOWERSQUILITY. Anyways, enjoy. )

[ There are a few things everyone might notice about this video post. One is that there's no way Jaye could have gotten from the medbay to the kitchen on the 001 passenger floor this quickly. Two is that her hair looks both dirtier and longer than usual, and instead of either happily mussed or neatly groomed, it's just a complete mess. Three is that, judging by the way Jaye sort of seems to be wobbling back and forth on the floor and has burst capillaries in her face, she was just rather sick and might be so again. Likewise, anyone who looked around before or after the jump may have noticed that Jaye wasn't there -- didn't go down, didn't go into the gravity couches, and that Faith Lehane was looking after her animals. ]

So. [ Her voice is hoarse, quiet, and the rasp is completely new and sounds painful –- in fact, she has to pause, clearing her throat for a moment. It doesn't go away completely, but she's a bit louder, at least. ] I-- [ and she winces ] sat out during the jump as an insect. Don’t do that. It was a month. Everything was red, copper and salt, until it ended.

[ It hurts to talk, and Jaye takes a moment to rub at her throat. ] Want a shower, food.

[ She pauses, glancing away from the camera for a moment. Her eyes aren’t exactly wet, and maybe it's from her earlier vomiting, but either way... ] Missed you guys. [ And she cuts the feed. ]

((ooc: MCU!Tony will be getting her from the kitchen and carrying her down to medical. Her replies will probably come from after she's there and probably be in text form. If your character wants to go visit her there (or fuss at her or whatever), I'd be up for it, but be warned that she's having a bit of a hard time talking at the moment and will set Faith on you if she feels shitty.

Also someone might want to clean up the 001 kitchen. ))

[ The video clicks on and there's Chase--smiling, if gently. She looks like nothing at all has happened to her, asides from maybe going on a pleasant stroll through the oxygen gardens. ]

Those that have come out of the fog, congratulations. I trust you're all back safe, if emotionally harmed. Please seek assistance from the designated persons aboard this ship if this is your case.

Furthermore--be it the mist or rust, please be aware that it's the least of our problems. The endgame, as it were, is still to try to figure out why we're here. God may have willed it, but there's always need for a further explanation. Please keep this in mind while investigating the ship, if you so wish to do so.

And, lastly, if anyone has some chalk, I'd like it. [ A beat. ] I want to learn how to play hopscotch.

Hey. I, uh... I know things went fucking crazy for a while there.

[Well, this isn't an easy post. But then... He knows he's gotta at least throw it out there. Heather's missing (god, please don't be dead, please don't be dead), and Murphy's hurt and Anne's probably freaking out for his well-being. So. He's gonna just get it over with. Sure, he'll probably get some pretty bad replies, but honestly? He's already fucked up anyway. Got some nasty injuries from some of those fights and he's not planning on leaving the room until the jump happens. Or at least, he'll try not to leave the room. We'll see how that pans out.

He runs a hand through his hair. If Heather had caused this, then... Keeping everyone focused elsewhere would be good. And if it's not her? Then hell, it probably is him, or something. He did piss off two whole towns in one swoop.

His voice is raw, hoarse from the miserable time the last week's unleashed.]

Listen.

The place you were at—I've been there before. Back home. It's was a bunch of supernatural bullshit that might be from a place called Silent Hill. I... used to live next door to it, in the neighboring town. Came back home after a few years and walked right into an empty Shepherd's Glen and some secret cult and their weird mystic shit... Almost didn't make it out of there myself. A pact broken with my town caused everything there to turn into what you just went through now. The otherworlds, the monsters, the puzzles, everything.

... I don't know how it got here. I don't honestly know. Hell, I don't even know most of what happened to where I used to live. But I do know that it was from my world, right the fuck next door, wherever the hell my world is supposed to be out in space. There's nothing I can do to change that, and I'm sorry. I wish I knew how all of this even went the way it did. But if there's anything I can tell you about it, I'll do my best. There's not a lot I even understand, but you deserve at least that much.

[A breath. His chest feels tight. What else can he even do? He drops his face in his hands, sighing.]

... Being in the dark wouldn't be fair to any of you. I'm—

I'm really sorry.

[Loki is sitting in his bed, lounging back with one arm draped across the headboard and one knee hiked up. In his free hand he's holding the communicator. He seems to be getting better with video feeds because at least you can see him this time.]

I wish today to speak of security. There has been much talk of late of ways to make life here more comfortable. I have seen mention of holidays, of designated meal times, and other ideas to give people a sense of structure.

[The hand draped across the headboard rises to scratch the back of his coif.]

What people are proposing may eventually lead to a rudimentary government. As we apply rules to life here we must, also, enforce these rules or our efforts would be for naught.

I am aware that there is already some manner of security force on the ship, but their actions are not currently dictated by any actual law.

Should law come about, what shall the security team then do? What would we consider a transgression here where life is ever at the mercy of machines beyond our control? And how would we punish such transgressions? Would we, as Miles proposed, bring our criminals to trial? Or would we have them promptly executed?

<sub>[ This evening is a mournful evening for room 008 092. Jake was resting earlier today, taking a nap and enjoying the fact he received several items from his locker from the tenth wave. One happens to be a skulltop, in which is a wearable computer system and looks something like this. Along with the skulltop, Jake was also blessed with two leg holsters, replica of those that Lara Croft wears in Tomb Raider, and some various movie posters from back home, one with Mystique on it.

What he didn't expect to find after his nap was a pile of other belongings, along with a note. The other items are as listed:
A broken sword for a weapon, known as a Royal Deringer, typically equipped to Dave Strider. He also found a Smurfette plushie, several triangle shades and a shirt with an orange hat on it, neatly folded. All these items very characteristic of his best friend, Dirk Strider.

A note was also attached.

Frantically, he tried to contact them, along with Davesprite for good measure, all over the network, but got no replies. Even when he went to the room donned the Strider crib, he found it absolutely vacant. There was a process of panicking, perhaps some hyperventilating, and some flipping out on his own.

When he finally composes himself, he posts a video to the network, clearly still upset. ]</sub>

... Has anybody seen the Striders? I am trying not to jump to any rash conclusions here like they have been evaporated by some sci-fi-esque movie flick monster but...

_{[ The boy gasps for air. ]}

I am vexed beyond comprehension right now. I apologize if I come off as incoherent.
But I need my best friends here. Please tell me they're still here and you have seen them. I would be obliged.

_{[[ ooc: if you knew davesprite, dirk strider or dave strider, they're all taking their leave and might have left you something behind with a similar note! more about this here. ]]}

 [Welcome back to another exciting adventure in the world of Topher Brink. There's a methodical clanking of tools and, once again, it seems Topher has turned his communicator on with the purpose of saying something, and then gotten distracted. Luckily, you're not stuck with ten minutes of dead silence with the actual sounds of someone working. In fact, it's only a few seconds before he starts talking.]

Sometimes I really think I'm the only one who doesn't spend an hour of every... relative day, I guess, thinking how bad I wanna go home. Don't get me wrong. I didn't get possessed by demons or nearly assimilated into a hive mind or chewed on by hellbeasts back home, and all of those things suck, but... It's not that bad. Everyone dies eventually, right? Why not die in space. ...Okay, so it's a touch cynical and I know- I'm terrifying the children. Cover their ears, ban that last bit from future broadcasts, whatever... The point is...

[There's a pause, followed by a pained noise, because genius here probably pinched his fingers or something.] The point is, uh... [Oh, did he have a point? He totally had one.]

... I don't remember what the point is, but I'll tell you something else. Hayley's post got me thinking about the whole... lack of dates thing. And I know it doesn't mean much to most of you, but it was, like... Late May or something when I showed up here and I've been here for eight months now, which means if time in space weren't so kerflooey, it'd be late January. So that means I'm 28 years old now, which... Yeah, that means exactly what I'm implying.

And this is not some big extravagant plea for gifts or attention or anything. I was just thinking about how this time last year, my birthday went by unnoticed and most of the time... Yeah, let's just say I've never had many people to celebrate it with. But here... If I said I wanted to gather some of my buddies up and sit in a common room and... I dunno, raid the library for something watchable and eat cake... It could happen. Not that I'm suggesting that either, because I have my doubts about whether the library has the best kind of bad science fiction when we're living the best kind of bad science fiction, but I could do it. And that means a lot to me.

Ah, I found my way back to the point. With all the bad stuff that happens here and the imminent badness continuing to loom over us and the fact that we miss the people we left behind back home... We can't forget that for some of us... This stupid ship has actually given us something. Fresh starts, the families we never knew we needed, friends, whatever. And that's a good thing.

[There's a thoughtful sigh.] I dunno. It does kinda make a guy wonder what happens if we do all go home. Sure, we lose all the bad things, but what about the stuff we actually wanna remember?

[Claire's holding her imprint wedge in her left hand, staring at it for a moment before her other hand brushes over some brown curls.]

This place has got me thinking. I know there was someone offering to erase memories-- [And she has her own feelings on that.] But if everything you knew could be erased and you could simply hit 'restart' on your life, would you? If you could start again, forget what you know about this place, about the future you may or may not return to, would you?

[Not that she necessarily has the ability to. The imprint wedge is only a piece of the technology needed. But at least if anything happens to her, if she's damaged, she has this as a back up.]

But starting over could simply lead to the same conclusion. Or you would not be the person you are now, for better or for worse.

[Her face steels again, fingers edging over the wedge before she brings the hand into her lap. Would she want to forget? Truly? No. At least what has happened is real. She's experienced it. It has made her who she is in this moment, no matter her name or her programming.]

Then again, with the erasure of everything I know, it could also be a devolution. [Certainly Alpha would think so.]

This is simply me thinking out loud. With the abilities and things offered here, it simply got me thinking again on what truly makes us who we are.