[ jax is leaned back in one of the seats on the gunnery observation deck, twisting his heavy rings round his finger. the comm is propped ostensibly on his monitor while jax slouches back, ill at ease. ]

While we're chewing over Odessa's offer, I got something else to put on the table.

[ more like a heads up. jax's expression is serious, the twist of his rings a more clear show of anxiety than he's displayed on comms in his entire stretch on the ship. ]

Our rescuers've got us surrounded. Sensors are picking up a mess of ships out there. I figured that's about as worthy of discussion as everything else she and her new best friend are puttin' on the table.
22 June 2015 @ 08:25 pm
hullo im posting a survey on behalf of Support
Support asked me to
answers here please but direct all questions to mr R J Lupin hes head of Support surveys thats why he asked me to do this one for him
interdepartmental unity

[It takes a lot of days for Takeshi to feel brave enough to put something on the network. He's almost done it a few times before, but he was scared — scared and sad and not sure what to do, what to expect of the future. His mom is hurt so bad in the heart (and for really real, she hurt herself on the hip, and he needs to make sure she doesn't strain herself. But it's scary. It's scary when her mom reminds him of how his old mom had first started: sad, disconnected, sleeping lots and just doing whatever people needed her to do. 

It's so, so scary. But Dad's gone, and they need to try to survive, because that's what Netherlands would have wanted from them. To keep living and trying to be happy. When Takeshi feels like crying, he reads the Miffy book in his room and goes to another place for a little bit. He imagines what Heder and Ned would look like as rabbit people, sometimes, and it makes him feel better a little. 

Now's a good time, though. He gives the camera a small, nervous smile and then takes a deep breath.]

My Da — Um, Mr... Mr. Netherlands, he... went home. [He looks down, fidgeting with something off-screen.] I know he woulda' wanted us to keep taking care of things, and when he's gone it's harder to make sure the garden's okay, so if... if people are good at agr-a-culter, you should come be a part of the — the team! We're a good team. We'd get a lot of points in a game. Even though we're all sad, because we loved Dad a lot... he's okay. He's just... not here. He's prob'ly got real important stuff to do at home, too. He's always real busy here, so I think he's busy there, too. He's probably making all kinds of faces where he is, 'cus nothing's getting done jus' right. 

[He sniffs hard, but he keeps his eyes dry and clear.]

M'sorry I only got bad news. 

[Quiet for a moment, his expression brightens a fraction, and he rubs his nose before he lifts up a small wooden dragon, carefully sculpted.]

This is Mattie. She's a dragon Dad made. She was bad before, but then —

[He holds up a fair maiden sort, sculpted with a lovely dress.]

Miss Princess Reika trained her to do good. And now they fly together a lot...

[He drifts off, smile fading a lot.

I love you, Dad.]

It's good, to work together. It's nice to be friends. We're all a team. So — it's up to us to do good things, for people who leave, who worked really hard! And loved us so so much, so much they say they love you, even if they never use those words 'cus it makes them feel weird. So we should do real great things and keep working like they did. 

[He smiles and nods. Keep smiling, he thinks.]

If you see my Mom — Heder — say hi to her, 'cus she's hurting, too. 

.... That's all.

02 May 2015 @ 11:36 am
Something happened.

[there's a moment's pause. It's taking a lot to make this post. More than he thinks he's capable of. But after all that happened with dean--]

During the recent…invasion.

[okay. Right. He needs to just get it out and deal with the fallout afterwards. His voice sounds more certain when he continues. As though he's simply reciting a few facts as opposed to potentially gaining a ship full of enemies.]

Those who have been here for some time are likely aware of the existence of a creature from my world called a Hellhound. They are invisible beasts capable or tearing souls from the bodies of the living in order take them to Hell.

A number of them arrived during the recent invasion. But without passage to Hell available to them, they deposited those souls in a place they considered safe. Here, that meant the room assigned to me.

[and that's…where it gets difficult again.]

Souls are one of the strongest sources of power in existence, and my Grace had been depleting for some time. I didn't…think. I—

[okay. Let's try this again.]

There are those here who people may have noticed have been behaving differently since the invasion. They may not be sleeping as much, or they may be capable of pushing their bodies further than they should. They may be less empathetic than they once were.

There is a possibility that they are a victim of this. If that is the case, their souls are with me.

I need to return them.

[another pause, and a final--]

…I'm sorry.
24 April 2015 @ 12:10 pm
[ Booker's not falling-down drunk the way he'd been the last time he posted on the network, but despite his sobriety, he's still not looking great. He looks tired, more than anything - stressed and worried, with dark circles under his eyes, . ]

Askin' at large here...anyone who knows anything.

[ There's a pause while he considers how to word this. Finally, he shakes his head. ]

Just wondering if anyone's noticed any...odd behavior from anyone lately. Would've probably started about when those things in the hallways were around, maybe after an attack. People actin'...not themselves. Sayin' they don't care about anything, maybe they don't feel anything.

[ Another pause. He runs a hand through his hair, looking uncomfortable. ]

Maybe doin' things they wouldn't normally do.

I'll take any information. Rumors, gut feelings. Anything.

[ OOC: to clarify - Elizabeth had her soul torn out by a hellhound during the event, and Booker isn't too pleased with the way she's been acting since. ]
01 April 2015 @ 10:08 am
[ Any perceptive space folk will recognize the background of the MedBay at once. Any familiar with Elizabeth might be relieved to see the brunette awake after being mauled by a large, invisible, wolfish creature. The girl's long hair is down, unlike her usual, tidy ponytail, and a few flecks of blood marr her otherwise pale skin.

And, strangely, she looks pissed. ]

Ugh. In case others aren't aware, some kind of invisible animal is prowling the halls. It almost took a few organs...

[ She huffs shortly, as if just annoyed with the Hellhound, rather than terrified at her brush with death. Elizabeth places a hand on her bandages briefly, testing the wound. ]

I really need to get back to my room, but I'm fairly certain that there is still some invisible shit out there. If someone could escort me, I'd be glad for it, and it won't go forgotten.

[ There's a smile, but it isn't the bright sort of look she usually offers; instead, it's almost sultry, a little smirk amidst an expectant expression.

Until she winces, suddenly, and looks sour again. ]

Jesus. And I need a drink.
21 March 2015 @ 03:06 pm
[The woman on the screen is probably a familiar face to many by now, even if she does rarely make announcements of her own over the network. Today, however, she looks a bit different; her hair is braided and bound up in a circle about her head and she wears a much plainer gown than usual. Those familiar with it may also recognize her location- the forge.]

It occurs to me that it has been sometime since we have had a proper smith here. I cannot claim to be as skilled as some who have plied their trades here in the past, but I have been trained in the art of metalwork. If there are those who would benefit from such skills you should not hesitate to contact me. I particularly encourage any who remain unarmed to seek a means of defense, whether it be from me or elsewhere. The Tranquility is an unpredictable and volatile place; it is best to prepare for difficult circumstances before they arise.

I am called Galadriel- or Artanis- and you may find me in the gardens more oft than not, should you prefer to speak in person.

Galo Anor erin radeg- May the Sun shine upon your path.

[Action for the forge]

[She doesn't return to the garden right away, though. If she's going to offer to metalwork, she should probably brush up on it. It's been a long time since she's worked a forge, after all, and while her elven memory means that she hasn't forgotten anything, it does not guarantee that it's fresh in her mind. There's something to be said for being in the habit of things- for muscle memory and instinctive movements. Those would take time to build back up.

So she practices, concentrating deeply. It might be a strange sight for any who walk in- an elven lady hammering away at a piece of metal, sweat dripping down her brow. But she is Noldor- and Noldorian royalty, at that; there was scarcely a member of her family who did not have some experience with this. It was natural, in a way, and oddly comforting once she fell into a steady rhythm and pace. So absorbed was she that it takes her a few moments to realize that she has company. Once she does, she pauses, glancing up at the doorway.]

Come in, if you wish. You will not disturb me.
13 March 2015 @ 11:26 pm
[the feed opens on a shot of a half empty bottle of tranquility brand ~space whiskey. along with another empty bottle lying on its side beside it. to anyone familiar with the bars on the ship, it may be possible to recognize the fact that the feed is coming from the wrong side of the bar. that inside of being sat beside it, he's instead stood on the inside of the counter. (easier access to the alcohol. and considering there's no bartender, it made more sense to him. it did take an entire liquor store last time).]


[…okay, whoops. there's a pause; time spent squinting down at the device. he's making a call to the network, so maybe it'd be a good idea if he laid off the "dead" languages. when he speaks again, there's a weight to his words that comes largely from having to focus so hard on what he's saying. on making sure that he's actually using the words he wants to use.]

There are games I have seen humans play before. Ones that involve drinking copious amounts of alcohol for amusement.

[there's another pause then. one that's only interrupted with the sound of a drink being poured in to a glass. far more than a single shot. it's gone moments later; swallowed easily, and with very little impact on his current state.]

Show me.

[what are manners? look, he has other priorities right now.]
11 March 2015 @ 07:46 pm
[ At first there's no one visible on the feed at all - just a bad shakycam-esque view of a bar, the hand holding the device wavering badly. Empty or half-empty bottles are littered on the bar, and a photograph is propped up carefully against one of the empties. Eventually, the device's owner manages to figure it out, the camera view changing to show his face.

It's a wonder that the man is able to operate the comm device at all. He’s a mess; though he’s wearing the standard crew jumper, his hair is mussed and unwashed, and there are dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. More than that, though, is the fact that he's dead drunk - and he's clearly not a happy drunk. He's a big man, muscular, and the lines of his body are tense and hard, his expression just this side of angry.

This is not someone you want to meet in a dark alley, inebriated or no.

He focuses as best he can on the screen, scowling. It's difficult to operate, the tiny icons hard to pinpoint with his fingers. (He may have accidentally sent a few private and totally incomprehensible messages before managing to access the main network. Sorry about that.) ]

Gotta find her.

[ Right, the network...Booker's still not 100% sure about this thing. There's no wires hooked up to it, nothing to show how it's connected to anything at all, but hey, he's seen stranger stuff in the past week.

Might as well give it a shot. ]

Looking for a girl.

[ He smiles suddenly, all teeth and glittering eyes, and then laughs, dark and bitter. ]

Not gonna find her, though. She ain't here. She's back in the city, with him.

[ His face twists into an ugly expression, and he tightens his hand on his current bottle, lifting it to down half of it in one go. ]

But what the hell - I'm here, ain't I? Can't do much else but ask. So here's the deal. Anyone here knows where to find Elizabeth Comstock, you let me know.

I'll make it worth your while.
10 February 2014 @ 04:22 pm
Hello again.

[ Elizabeth takes her time because she's made some sort of EXITING DISCOVERY she actually understands...kinda. ]

I didn't think I would be using this thing so soon, but I couldn't help to notice that- well... it would seem the Engineering room is in a constant state of flux, as if the different realities in which it exists or might exist are constantly intersecting with each other. It's very interesting to look at, but also dangerous. Not that we can enter anyway.

[ She actually manages to sound sad about being locked out of the ever changing room, yes. ]

Plus the sightings of numbers aren't all that different of how patches of other worlds seeped through Tears in my world- but then I guess I would need to explain what was happening in my world...

[ Oh no this is getting awkward. ]

At any rate, I was wondering if anyone had any more insight into this, and if there are more people knowledgeable about time and space travel. Not the sort of a ship cruising the outer space, but actual transportation through dimensions. I have been trying to find the Lutece siblings but, well, they aren't easy to find unless they wish to be found.
07 February 2014 @ 07:28 pm
I have long considered what wold the best way to make my first attempt to communicate through this thing would be. I didn't want to emulate the other new arrivals complaining about this unfair situation, although there is nothing wrong with complaining. I've spent all this time researching whatever information about this place, as well the technological improvements from over the next century after the one I'm originally am, but in the end...

[ You can almost see her huffing. ]

Well, other than a bunch of useless pop culture information, I can't say I'm anywhere closer to figure out this ship. So I guess, I guess I'm complaining after all. For the first time in my life I had the freedom and the means to do something I wanted, and here I am, locked up in a chunk of metal traveling through space, freezing my bones because the ship is, apparently, haunted.

[ A beat. ]

I just wanted to get that out of my chest, I apologize. At any rate, my name is Elizabeth, if there is anything I can do to help, please let me know.
22 January 2014 @ 03:34 pm
[Abbie is adjusting her device so that the feed shows up clearly and so she isn't being filmed in a stilted manner. That would be annoying!]

Alright. Seems a little late to be using this, but better now than never.

[She brushes some of her hair behind her ear and takes a deep breath before continuing.]

Hi. [She gives a small shrug and a wave.] I'm Lieutenant Abigail Mills and I'm from Sleepy Hollow, New York. Call me Abbie if you want. Right now though, I'm currently with the SEC that's been established aboard here. I may not have any crazy powers or special abilities, being human and all, but I'd like to think I'm more than dependable when it comes to security matters.

Formal introductions aside, I gotta ask about the things people are seeing in the mirrors and about the people who were dreaming in their pods. I'm hearing things about beasts and warped edges and frankly, I'm more than a little concerned.

[There's a pause before she hesitantly adds:]

I've been there before, believe me. And that was before I woke up and found myself in space. There has to be a purpose and meaning behind them.
03 January 2014 @ 04:35 pm
So— let me get this straight.

[ Veronica looks sweaty because, you know, apparently the Tranquility believes it's in the tropics in space. She makes a face, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. ]

My laptop, somehow, needs to get recharged. My camera seems to be busted, because it's either that, or everyone has seven days to live, and I'm trying this thing called optimism. I'm all out of crosswords, this is not the vacation that I signed up for, and apparently there is a big giant monster only some people can see that wants to kill us. [ That, and people here either seem to spend their time drunk as hell or being big mystical beings who do mystic things. (Veronica is not worried. Veronica is not worried because Veronica has accepted that this is, like, at least 81% real, and by that juncture the rest of it is just— you roll with the punches. You adapt. You try really, really hard to distract yourself by doing literally any job that falls into your lap.)

That's her. Veronica Mars, modern college girl on the go: the sequel.

In space.

I'm already helping Edgeworth, but if anyone wants me to do an odd job, point me in that direction. You'd be doing me a favor — it's better than just sitting around, trying to deal with the fact I really should have listened more to my AP Physics teacher when he talked about string theory. And, uh—

[ She pauses, her nose wrinkling. ]

I've never— This— whole inter-dimensional science fiction thing? Is new to me. So if there's some kind of, cultural, verbal address that would be more polite when it comes to people who aren't— humanesque, I'd appreciate it if someone could fill me in.

[ God, how is this real. Still hallucinating? Maybe. It's definitely hot enough to be. ]
19 December 2013 @ 06:47 pm
[On comes the video feed, to show one (1) Booker DeWitt. His collar is a little undone and his sleeves are rolled up higher than usual due to the heat, but that's not the reason why he's addressing everyone today. The issue of the temperature and people seeing "shadows" doesn't escape him, but he figures he'll be keeping an eye on network posts for any development in those departments.

Right now, he has something else on his mind, and as always he gets straight to the point.]

Got a question for the people on this ship with -- [what's the proper phrasing to use? Even though he's the one asking it still sounds awkward leaving his lips] --unusual abilities. Does this place seem to affect them in odd ways, such as some of them not even workin' at all?

[Oh, and those watching might also notice Booker's left hand and part of his forearm, which is smattered with patches of sprouting black feathers and nails that have grown into long black talons. Yeah.

Even as he speaks, he's shaking out the aforementioned limb with an annoyed grimace, and it begins to revert back to its everyday appearance of a normal human arm.]

Or is it just me?

[Damn vigors. More trouble than they're worth.]
14 December 2013 @ 09:17 am
Good day. My name is Miles Edgeworth; I am with the Security team. As ever, I would like to request that any new arrivals with expertise in law enforcement, the military, or combat contact me to discuss potential employment.

[He would also like to request that all you dicks stop talking about The Worst Holiday Ever, thanks. And he would like to distract you from it with this:]

I should like, also, to discuss our backgrounds. I have done this in the past, I will grant, and as such I beg a bit of patience from those who have previously seen such questions. Nevertheless, I believe that discovering the commonalities amongst us will assist in the uncovering of the reason why we were brought here; more, a general census will, I think, assist in preventing people from falling through the cracks, as it were.


I have attached a text document. Kindly open this document, fill it out, and submit it to me. Note that number five is quite optional, but an answer would be appreciated and potentially quite helpful.

survey.doc )
01 December 2013 @ 09:34 pm
[ Grantaire makes a point of clearing his throat right into the device. ] A-hem. Is there a meaning, do you think, to the items we find in our lockers? If some can find a language in flowers, then surely our gifts must provide a wide vocabulary. I've received nothing since my first jump but from it was an exquisitely adequate bottle of brandy and a deck of my best cards. What does this say? I have gone over these clues for months, and yes, I've found my answer. For once, I will allow Scotus to peek his head and say, "Pluralitas non est ponenda sine necessitate." That is right, I must indulge myself in every mixture of alcohol I can attain—which I am well on my way to doing, if I may say—and find a group with which I may gamble, as well as goods that will make it worthwhile.

Now, solely to fulfill my given purpose, who will accompany me in this? I have cards, but I will also accept dominoes, dice, whatever foreign method you could desire. My only request is that we play honorably, or the spirit shall desert us. [ Was this entirely to ask for gambling partners?? Yes. ]
22 November 2013 @ 01:39 am



( ooc | all responses from smiley will be text. )

21 November 2013 @ 04:03 pm
I don't sleep very much.

I had terrible insomnia before the month that we all had it together and it was worse than usual. I have nightmares. They're the kind of nightmares that feature spinning discs covered in eyes, with small, flaming babies in the center.

But I never had dreams of experimentation on prisoners.

Castiel's gone. I don't know where he went. Every time I feel like I have a handle on things we get demons or insomnia or we share memories and I'm starting to feel like we're the prisoners and this is a giant experiment on social thought, and this isn't space at all, that every time we've docked or been boarded it's just another piece of this ridiculous experiment.

I'm so tired.
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?
12 November 2013 @ 11:08 pm
[There are several seconds of heavy breathing. Ethan tries to speak once and fails. He'd been so ready for death, and here he is, apparently whole and relatively healthy. But there was the poison. 60 minutes on the dot and he blinked and--now he's here, with no Shaun in his arms. He doesn't remember moving. He must have died.

It's the only explanation, really. He's died, just like his other self told him he would and now he's here and his soul is getting mixed up with other people's souls because there's a memory in his head that isn't his own.

He tries to speak again and succeeds this time, though his voice shakes.]

Is this--is this hell?

[He sounds caught between petrified and resigned, like he thinks he deserves it. Which he does.]

I know...I know it won't make a difference, but for what it's worth, if there'd been another way I would've taken it.