[ ah, the Network. weirdly, Wichita missed it. probably because she hates when things are too quiet, and the sound of static really just reminds her of the movie The Poltergeist ( which, she doesn't care who you are, that movie was freaking horrifying ) so. yeah. she missed this bit of normalcy that she'd gotten used to since she arrived here on the ship. and oh yeah, its been a year. a year. that's way longer than- well, it's too long. but anyway, she's in a good mood, oh yes, for the first time in say.. oh.. a month, ish, she's in a genuinely good mood. why? oh, no reason. also, just ignore that curly-haired guy sitting on the bed behind her. dumdedum. ]

I'm not sure how I feel about these messages of mine becoming a regular thing, but considering the last month? Whatever. Basically - the bar's up in full swing, as always, except Brian's back in action so prepare yourselves for the same verbal assault you've all come to know and love when enjoying a drink there. [ why does she sound so fond of that concept ] Since we've got some new faces, I figure I might ask - anybody got an iPod they wouldn't mind loaning to the bar sometimes? Not for nothing, but I feel bad borrowing Jenna's every day, and I can't handle listening to the same ten 90s dance jams CDs that we got in there. So. iPod! Lend them out for the common good, please. But only if you've got good taste in music.

[ and with that, she clicks her tongue, gives a mock salute, and ends the open feed]

--

[ TEAM JAILBAIT ENCRYPTION: 90% ]
Alright, after this last jump pod fiasco, I'm done with waiting around. If you can read this, it means you're into the idea of meeting up to talk about the stuff that goes on here, and teaming up if the situation calls for it. It means you're done waiting around for the "guys in charge" to let us know what's up when they think we can handle it. I know Hayley's been seeking people out - good. I've given the encryption to a few people myself, just 'cause I know you all weren't around when we got hit with the smurf plague. That's what kinda started all this. And it doesn't matter if you weren't here for it, we still want to, uh. Team up and stay safe.

This ship is full of people that will stab you in the back if it means getting out ahead, and that means we need to know we can trust each other to watch out for each other. [ was that redundant? it was redundant. whatever. she's not a public speaker, get off her ass. also yeah, she realizes that anybody that ran into her while she was wearing her mask will realize she pretty much just described her old self to a T, but she won't bring up the irony of it. ] I think the best way to figure out where we all stand and what we're willing to do, is to meet up. Talk it out. Let's put it all out there so we know who we've got, what we can do, and how we can use it to our advantage.

If that... sounds like something you're into, I'm calling a meeting, officially. Three hours from now, in the Rec Room on the 20th floor. For the new people, there's lits that'll bring you straight up, no problem. And you've probably heard by now that wandering the halls alone is unsafe, so grab someone to head up there with you, but for the most part, the passenger halls are fine. ..Just watch out if you see a turkey wandering around, she's an asshole. ... Right.

Oh, and keep this to yourselves, yeah? If we're gonna be pooling information, I want it to stay between us. Kinda defeats the purpose if we've got people breathing down our necks, yeah?

See you soon.


[ ooc: want your "kid" in on this? see this ooc post, please! ]

[ when Wichita's video cuts on, it's clearly recording from somewhere on the bar, what with the wall of bottles behind her and the lights and the music going on in the background. her mask is off ( but nearby ), because she can't wear her fox face while also wearing her bartending sombrero because of the ears and- well, you understand. but she's got both hands on the bar, not because she needs to hold herself up, but because she wants to be leaning like this. damnit. ]

I'm bored, and this bar is pathetically empty, so here's what we're gonna do.

We're all gonna stop going out into the doomy unknown, and stop getting our asses kicked, and stop worrying about the next big Stupid Thing to ruin our lives- [ lol spoiler: her mask is already ruining her life, what with her paranoia skyrocketing and the recent seeing zombies thing. hence the whole practically living at the bar development. ] - and you're all going to come here, come hang out, have a few drinks, and freaking relax for a while. Alright? That's the plan. That's our next thing.

And it starts right now.

Get your asses down here and order a drink. Dance a little. Meet somebody new, make some stupid decisions that result in good times instead of space horror blahblah. Maybe have some fun, for once. Just an idea!

Unless you're like, under sixteen. Then your order is automatically a space Cola. Which tastes nothing like Coke or Pepsi. Sorry.


[ ooc: open for network posting or action spam. I was going to put up a separate log, but this is easier and less spammy. <3 ]

[ the feed opens on a shot of neal's thigh, swaddled in what looks like an armada of sheets, his sherlock's left-behind coat crumpled behind him, buffering the cold of the wall. then it slowly, jerkily moves up until everyone can get a lovely partial view up his nose.

for a normally well-groomed man, he looks fairly different from the usual-- dude's tore up from the floor up. he's also stripped down to a white undershirt despite what are pretty obvious signs of hypothermia, his hair matted and sweaty and with a month's worth of beard covering his face. he's staring at the wall beyond the communicator with rapt fascination, eyes wide and glazed.

after a long moment, he shrugs one shoulder in a jerky, awkward looking move and looks down, engaging in the world again with a shift that takes a moment. ]

Our smiling friend's not feeling chatty anymore, I don't think. Your loss-- we really bonded out there. Great conversationalist for a guy with no voice, that one.

[ his gaze drifts back to the wall, like he's forgotten he's talking to anyone else. ]

I still think there's merit to discussing the economic allegories potentially implied by the Wizard of Oz-- and don't start in on intent versus interpretation, death of the author is a valid concept even if you won't admit it. No more of the drawings, I'm tired of rabbits. Not even the Warholian ones.

[ he chuckles, hums a few bars and then murmurs to himself, smile tilting blank and frightened for a moment. ] Seventy-three men sailed up from the San Francisco Bay.

[ and now back to the communicator, with the first sign of any lucidity he's displayed yet: ]

I think I could use some help.



( ooc | SO NEAL IS BACK from outer space. in-game it's early o'clock the morning of the thirty first. his walkabout went horrible and smiley took him on a little tour of the ship; he's suffering from moderate heading to severe hypothermia and dehydration with a nice dose of needs a damn sandwhich for good measure, so no straight answers on what's happened just yet.

irene adler v bbc is taking him to medbay where it's open season for action; otherwise anything network goes. )

[ 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 ]

[ The video is currently displaying the bar/club's ceiling that Brian and Wichita have been running and there's some glass like clinking going on as Justin rummages around underneath the bar, checking on stock. ]

If anything is missing from the bar, my CDs or my art supplies, I'm doing a shipwide cavity search. And putting Brian in charge. You should know he's not gentle unless you ask real nice or suck him off first.

Also, should anyone feel the taste for guava juice, I happen to be the proud owner of a bottle. [ See a jug of guava juice being shaken in front of the camera. It was in his locker, it is obviously his to do whatever he pleases with. With that, Justin pops up in front of the screen, arms folding on the bar as he gives a kind of lopsided smile and runs a hand through his hair. He's missed out on about three months and there's a lot of people around now he doesn't recognize. ]

Consider this an invite to come partake in what spirits we have lying around in this place. Just please don't pass out in the booths, because I can and will drag you out on your ass and leave you in the most awkward spot on the ship I can find, clothes optional.

So. What'd I miss?

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. )

[ everything in neal's life right now depends on coming off as better-- healing, masking pain maybe, but better. as such: time to get back on the network socialization horse.

he's in his devore, this time, and a fedora to boot; armor, but whatever. hot armor. ]

You know what I've noticed? Space is actually pretty boring in between it trying to kill us all.

In that vein, here's something I haven't done in a while. Pick a or b and try your best.

( ic attachment )

That's a, here's b.

You're on a road-- let's say to the nearest drycleaners. If you don't understand why we need one of those, you're going somewhere else that's very important and exciting, all right? You come to a point in the road where the path is blocked by three guardians; their names are Knight, Knave and Chaos. Knight always tells the truth, and Knave can always be trusted to lie. Chaos just blows whichever way the wind is strongest, that day.

To get past them, you only have to do one thing: by asking three yes or no questions (one to each guardian, double dipping not allowed) figure out which one is Knight, which one is Knave, and which one is Chaos.

There is, as always, one catch: the guardians understand English but will answer you back in their local language, so 'da' means yes and 'ja' means no. Or maybe it's the other way around-- probably should have read the guidebook closer.

So. How do you do it?

And hey, why not one more for the math geeks living among us. Finish the sequence:

4, 6, 12, 18, 30, 42, 60, 72, 102, 108, ?, ?, ?.

( locked to matthew keller )

Given all the rah rah rah for morality that I've seen lately, I figure the topic should be broached.

To me, it doesn't makes a difference and that's what's taken me so long to get to it. If kids want to drink, they're going to find a way to get to what they want. Not to mention, I hardly hold the monopoly on alcohol. [ he's getting to his point in a very roundabout way, yes. ] I'd also like to say that there isn't a day that goes by that I don't see at least one person drinking on camera, drunk texting or boasting about their inebriated state in some manner or another. More often than not, they're what I'd consider underage. And I'm not inclined to give much of a shit about where the product is going because I'm not profiting from it specifically in monetary value.

We don't have a set legal system. Each of us are from countries or worlds where the age cap varies or is completely irrelevant.

That being said, my point is: should there be an age restriction on those I knowingly permit into [ hm, no he's not going to say my ] an establishment where drinking and partying could lead to one thing and then another? I've seen an awful lot of preaching about save the children. God forbid we overlook their sweet, virgin eyes. If we're going to be stuck together for an indefinite amount of time, this might as well be addressed to [ huh, okay, what word does he want to use with you assholes? ] keep the peace. Or something like it. So, let's have it.

Don't care, couldn't be made to care or alternatively, open it to discussion. [ he's bored enough to let strangers and friends bicker at him and among each other. ] And if you were hired by myself or my [ other half ] business partner, report.

[ the camera angle lowers like he's done or ready to shut it off, instead he's scratching behind his ear and shifting his jaw to begrudgingly announce: ] Oh, and by the way, for those of you that knew him.. I think it's safe to finally assume that Justin Taylor has gone home. [ or wherever the fuck people who aren't dead but simply gone go, he doesn't say but his condescending and bitter fucking uncomfortable smirk implies. ]

When I signed up for Starfleet, I figured I'd be seeing a lot more stars.

[ there's a pause and then a quiet sound that veers just along the edge of embarassment before ]

You know, I used to say I'd see the entire Argo Navis. It's this giant constellation--or it was a constellation, before it got broken up into six different parts. Six parts of the ship Argo from Greek myth, I bet it was something to see, if you could swing it. You can't even see all of it unless you head out to a certain latitude point, so I guess when I was little I thought getting closer to the stars themselves would be a good way to skip that step.

[ another pause. there's the tap of fingers along a countertop. sulu's shrugging, but it's a voice transmission, so. ]

Just strange to think it's not out there, even if this ship did have windows. Hard to gauge how far we've gone without...well, windows and stars.

[Count on another ren faire escapee to trigger an accidental video (or...perhaps not so accidental, although he's certainly ignoring the device at first) as he wrecks electrical mayhem in the holodeck. It's an impressive lightning storm, if you go in for that kind of thing, the figure in the center of it blindingly illuminated as electricity arcs and scorches in wide blazing bursts, the triggered sprinkler system doing nothing to quell it.

Eventually, it dies down, and the man in the middle of it with a rather ragged beard takes a swig from a bottle.]

You know, [he says, conversationally; this isn't an accident, then] I think we ought to vote on a name change for this Maker accursed ship. My darling friend Isabela hinted to me once--pirate captain, lovely woman, would rob you blind in a flash--I believe hinted to me that renaming a ship and properly anointing it with--ah, 'dancing' and alcohol could shift a curse. What with all the murder and mayhem and general poor attitudes I believe we're overdue!

I say we call her the good ship Meredith. But that's only after an old friend. Absolutely mad and murderous. I think it's fitting--oh, oh, or The Death Trap! Something spooky and doom inducing, at least. Who's with me?

[He fixes the camera with his most dazzling (soaked, drunk) smile.]

Okay, I don't wanna sound like a total insensitive jerk, or a whiny brat or anything? I mean, I get that people have died and gone missing and stuff and it's super concerning and all- [ one palm lifts to rub at the back of her neck, only to fall a beat later, when her hands flutter demonstratively as she speaks. ] and I totally get that most of you guys are busy like- running the ship and saving people and doing cool-futuristic-space stuff?

But would it be too much to ask to maybe get a calendar running around here?

[ she squints briefly, one finger lifted as a preemptive shush. ] -In before but Hayley that's just totally depressing because we've already got space tats with our dates on them. So, time's already racked up. No blaming a calendar for sulking.

Okay hang on, what was I sayi- Oh right. Yeah, a calendar.

I mean I've been here, what- [ her cheeks puff out when her gaze drops, checking the digits on the inside of her arm before she continues, shrugging carelessly. ] six runs now? Seriously, every day is like, the same stuff over and over again ad nauseum. Why not bust up the routine a little? We can have space Christmas. And trick or treating. And whatever other non-human totally random holidays you guys have.

No but really. It's getting boring.

And I know this is kinda lame, but I'm pretty much desperate, and then there's that whole proverb, desperate measures etcetera etcetera. I mean, if all else fails we can waste some time. And if it goes over well then, hey, you have at least three socially acceptable calendar excuses to get wasted and make terrible life decisions. Right?

[ The technology, all in all, isn't too hard to grasp. It's more the fact that there's no real way off the ship (no concrete information as to how the passengers arrived, no explanation as to the contents of the lockers), not to mention the circumstances under which he had arrived, that leave Connors ill at ease. The phenomenon, however, is not one that he seems to be alone in, and when the video feed turns on, he seems much more put-together (and healthier, too) than he'd been when he'd arrived, glasses in place upon the bridge of his nose and the stump of his arm barely visible at the bottom edge of the screen. ]

Apologies, first of all, if the question is redundant, [ he begins, with a slight duck of his head, ] but considering the range of worlds from which we hail, I was curious as to how many passengers are not classified as human or are possessed of "supernatural" capabilities. I'd like to do a little research, if at all possible.

[ He opens his mouth as if to continue on, but seems to think better of it. The transmission is awkwardly short, as is, but he doesn't have much else to say that's strictly relevant (that won't sound too much like covering up). ]

Thank you for your time. Dr. Curtis Connors, at your service.

[Hey, Tranquility. It's that bratty redhead that's been bothering people off and on since two jumps ago. And what is he up to this time? Well, he just looks confused, really.]

I don't get it. How do- I mean, I know how, but. Where I came from we didn't- I only knew like seven people.

[He screws up his face a little, because he just doesn't get it]

How do you guys talk so much?

[ he can't believe he's going to ask this. ]

For those of who are familiar with Justin Taylor, what's your going rate for punching him square in the nose for me? [ tongue in cheek, he's seething. and that isn't his actual question. ] He's about this tall, blonde hair down to here, [ you bet your tight virgin ass he's gesturing ] blue eyes. Nineteen years old. Cusses like a sailor and he doesn't usually kiss his mother with that mouth. If anyone sees him down there on that space station, would you keep an eye on him?

I'm aware I'm not in the position to be asking. So, you can collect with Brian Kinney when you get back. Whatever the fuck that means to you.

[ he taps the ash off of the end of one of the few cigarettes he has left and draws it to his lips to inhale. ]

And to the rest of you: what's your favorite drinking game and why the hell aren't you here playing it? I'm open to hearing about ones from other worlds, if you have them. If I'm socially drinking, I tend to go for beer. Bourbon, if I'm home. With the variety of [ he glances over and looks at the bottles, most of which he's never heard of (with a few he has) ] what we have here, just choking it down has been a game in itself.

But I'm not a fan of routine. So, let's hear it. Quarters, Never Have I Ever, Darts? Beer Pong?

[ yes, Tranquility, this really is ALL he talks about. ]

Or something else, with a twist?

[ Hello, Tranquility! It's been a while since Chase has shared what little of the future she can get with you guys, isn't it? The four-or-maybe-eleven-year-old is currently holed up in a hallway, and if you look very, very carefully her eyes flicker a lavender colour before she speaks. ]

Sheep. Cattle.

Herd us--herd our flock.

[ She squints, narrowing her eyes, looking confused--as if she doesn't realize what, exactly, she's doing. ]

Red. He's there--Mr. Smiley is--and there are more bodies.

[ And, lips pursed, she cuts the feed while she attempts to sort out what, exactly it all means. ]

[ back in Zombieland, when things got incredibly boring or incredibly scary, Wichita and Little Rock played the same few games to keep themselves occupied or distracted, and right now she's ( not only fiercely missing her sister, but ) in the mood for some distraction from the scary. and getting a little fuzzy on cheap cooking wine isn't cutting it today. so she flicks on her network device, clears her throat, and starts to ramble. ]

I've got three games I'm gonna throw out there, and somebody better play or I'll completely lose faith in this ship being able to get over all the bullshit that goes on around here. [ says the girl that's holding onto a notebook of drawings that she has no right to keep, but well who the hell asked you ]

Okay.

Game one!
Would you rather: only speak in questions, or only be able to yell everything you say?

Game two!
Two Truths and One Lie:
1) I've never blacked out from alcohol or whatever the hell else.
2) I can name almost any film just by a single quote.
3) I don't believe in love.

Game three!

--Here's the big one, people.

Truth or Dare.

[ she's nodding really big here, eyes wide, because oh yeah she knows how offering to play Truth or Dare with some of these people is like offering to completely ruin your own life, willingly, but well. ]

And nobody give me any of that "those are kid games" crap. You can either play or not play, but I gotta say, if you don't play, you're a goober. And I'll call you that. I will call you a goober. [ her mock-serious expression breaks a little so she can give the camera an honest(ish) smile, letting them know it's ridiculous, but godfreakingdamnit she needs ridiculous right now. she needs it. and she's pretty sure some of you sticks-in-the-mud need it to. ] Game on, Tranquility.

[ 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?

As pointed out in a recent transmission, there are some individuals here who resemble one another. There are others whose worlds are similar to others', while others still have worlds that differ radically.

The following is a survey designed to attempt to determine whose worlds are most similar to whose. As a full disclaimer, I am not a trained sociologist/demographist, nor do I claim to be. My credentials extend no further than merely dabbling in disciplines related to those and having studied the science of writing the census briefly when I was younger. Nevertheless, I believe this may be a useful diagnostic tool.

I would encourage everyone who sees this to take a look at others' responses. If you see something familiar, please discuss with the other individual what that similarity is; from there, please try to determine just how similar/different your worlds are.

This is completely optional.

( The survey can be found after this break in the text. )