Does anyone not know how to get to the shuttle bay?

This applies especially if you don't know what a shuttle is. Or if you've never been in space before.

If you don't know how to get there, I will personally come to your room and walk you there. I promise. I cannot emphasize enough how important this is.

It's hard to wrap your thoughts around, I know. Where I come from, the Void is only a theological concept. If you're really, really rotten, you go there when you die. And no one ever mentioned that there isn't air in the Void. I mean, if you're already dead and forsaken by the Maker, why would you need to breathe?

[But he's gone off on a tangent. Right, where was he? SPACE TRAINING]

But that's just it. If you were already dead, you couldn't die again. And people on this ship can die. It has happened. I don't want it to happen to any of you.

Outside this ship, there is no air to breathe. There is no land to stand upon, nor water to drink. There is nothing, save huge fires that somehow burn without air and are called suns. And huge rocks, but you can't stand on those, trust me. They're too far away. If one of them were close enough for you to touch, we'd all be dead already anyhow, because it would have smashed the ship.

[Fascinating, isn't it?]

Then there are the dangers you can't see, or hear, or smell. Do you know what space radiation is? If you don't, you'd better come to space training. You don't want to find out the hard way.

[[OOC note: I'm sorry, guys! Anders is just really fixated on space training and space radiation. Feel free to ignore his spam. Or to poke at him.]]

[ 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.

[ Why hello there, Tranquility. Starting off on the video feed, as the picture forms, is the redheaded, pyrotechnically-inclined Wildling, otherwise known as Ygritte. She's standing before Jon Snow's bed, upon which several medieval-looking weapons are strewn over the soft comforter.

Normally she'd be smiling, having been kept in a very good mood since the end of last month, but not so now—not after what she's recently seen, and heard that others have seen, in the depths of the ship. Her features are stern, lips pressed together firmly as she nods into the camera. Today, she is all business. ]


Space training's all well and good, don't take me th' wrong way.

But 'fter what we've seen—and I think many of you've seen things that y' normally wouldn't, in the last coupl'a weeks here, not just myself—I think it's time we had some other kind 'f training.

[ She holds this up, to show to the camera. ] This is a dagger. Carved m'self, entirely from ox bone. Meant for close-handed combat, not t' be used as anything but a last resort, if your enemy sneaks up on you. Pref'rably, y'want something with serrated edges such as this, t'do the bulk of the cutting—the edges will make sure that y'get tearing through the skin and sinew. Even if it's not steel and can't cut through bone, you can still give your enemy a fatal strike 'f you aim for his entrails. Kills 'em nice and slow.

[ She sets it down, and picks up another weapon lying nearby. ] This is an axe. Not just any ol' kind 'f axe, neither—this is a battle-axe. [ She grabs the haft, the handle of it, and swings it in the air to demonstrate. ] Arm-length, 'though they can be longer, but arm-length is good for throwin' too if need be. Some o' my clansmen wield one in each hand, for fightin'. Steel bit makes the blade lighter, easier t' swing—but we don't got much steel north o' the Wall, so many times we use wrought iron, which's heavier—but if y'swing good and true, it'll land a heavy blow. Can crack 'n undefended skull, easy.

An' lastly, the weapon you should be starting with, for longer-range—the shortbow. Mine's made o' weirwood, the trees most found o'er the Wall, and in the godswood o' Winterfell, I hear. [ A slight smirk, just a quirking upwards of her lips, before she schools her face seriously once more. ]

[ She notches a grey goosefeather-fletched arrow in it, drawing back the string to demonstrate. ] Only three feet long, rawhide string. Smaller size is common for us spearwives, since we tend t' be a bit shorter than the menfolk; but it's also easier t' maneuver around with, during a hunt, when y'need t' be light on your feet.

[ There's a quick thwap sound, as she looses the arrow and it sings through the air, landing hard in the wall on the far side of the room. ] Shoots fast an' hard, for a small bow.

[ Setting it down again on the bed, she addresses the video feed once more. ] If anyone'd like t' do some one-on-one training with any o' these, I'd be happy t' show you how it's done. [ She cracks a smile. ] Shit, bring your own weapon and we can practice in that ...indoor trainin' field, whatever 's called.

But I think it's important we learn t' defend ourselves, now...all 'f us. That goes for th' younger Starks, 's well. Any babe who's no longer on his mother's teat should be learnin' this.



[ ...because what is decorum, Ygritte. :/ ]

[ well, hello, Tranquillites. Some of you may remember her first attempt at using this device and broadcasting -- this second time, Brienne at least seems to know where to point the small box and how to hold it so. However, proper use as it is she looks a tad uncomfortable at addressing the ship in such a way once again.

And knowingly, this time. ]

Now that things have settled down a bit.

[ for a minute it appears she may continue on this vein. Instead, he frowns, takes a breath and continues on a different note ... ]

It would seem that after remaining for three jumps, I may as well find myself something to do if I am to continue to be here. [ not doing anything, has not done her well, especially since the recent events ]

I wish to be of some use. To acquire some manner of work. If you please, I would ask what there is that needs to be done on board?

[ she falls quiet, gives a small nod and the feed is cut. ]

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.

[ 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. ))

[ it's obvious this is going to be a serious post just from the look on robb's face. this is the king in the north, drawn up ice cold and stone-faced on the screen and there's nothing of the boy in his face. the direwolf at his side is a hulking mass of fur, teeth bared and eyes gleaming and no, this is not meant to be a light-hearted post. ]

Upon this ship there is a woman called Cersei Lannister, who arrived most recently. In Westeros, she dealt my house a great and terrible injury, and the matter must be settled, for it cannot be ignored. If she hears this, then I call her to treat with me, and submit herself for judgement for her crimes.

[ and grey wind snarls, ears set back and hackles raised, just as robb cuts the feed. ]

[The video turns on first -- a closeup of a handsome young man’s face. A blue eye flashes in the screen for a moment, then the camera is turned over in his hands, buttons are pressed -- and it switches to voice. There is silence for a moment, save for the fumbling of Renly’s hands and some quiet breaths, and then -- a soft ‘Aah.’ The strange device is blinking at him, apparently he is meant to communicate. Sadly, his voice does not sound quite as authoritative as he wishes it to, mostly due to confusion.]

This is King Renly Baratheon, lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Speak, whoever listens, and tell me how I may return home. I have pressing business to attend to and a war to win.

[He falls silent once again, frowning, and pokes at the comm, some of the arrogance in his tone fading to honest curiosity and confusion.] If there is anyone listening, that is. This device is quite strange.

[ Hello, world. It's Jaime Lannister's face, bearded and short of hair, finally here for you to enjoy in a way that isn't just antagonizing people on the network. Though, with that said, Jaime does look a little smug at the moment, pleased with something that can't be readily divined just by staring at the screen.

At the same time, for any in audience who know him well enough to read such things or are just good at doing so anyhow, there's some tension around his jaw. Worry or just suppressed impatience? ]

Not to sound needlessly alarming, but I could use the assistance of someone trained in both the healing arts and the ways of living metal. One of our regrettably recently departed saw fit to leave me a gift on his way out, which I would like to have in working order sooner rather than later.

I would be in your debt. And my family is well-known for always seeing to it that our debts are paid.

[ ooc; thanks to dirk strider, jaime's got a robotic hand that needs attaching. please help the poor medieval knight. ]

In quella parte del libro de la mia memoria,
dinanzi a la quale poco si potrebbe leggere, si
trova una rubrica la quale dice: Incipit vita
nova.

[ After this odd introduction in Italian, a video shall start. A young woman will be seen, hovering above the device. She is a sweet looking girl, no more than fifteen. There is a brilliant smile on her lips, golden locks that are caught back in a hairnet of pearls. She is all silks and jewelry; a golden cross on her neck. From her gasp of wonder, she is delighted by the thing. ]

Oh! It sheds light! Like a firefly you can carry in your pocket!

[ There is an air of youth to her, giddiness and joy that have somehow morphed themselves into a girl. she seems unsure of whether she has an audience or not but she will lift her head and then incline it gracefully all the same. The next words shall be spoken with passion, as if they are a personal confession. ]

In that book which is
My memory
Before which is little that can be read
There is a rubric, saying: Incipit Vita Nova -

[ A smile. ]

Here begins a new life.

[ She shall bow her head again. ]

Tranquility! What a wonderful name for a ship that sails through the stars. And as it brought sweet company upon me when I arrived, I can only humbly introduce myself to its people in return. I am named Lucrezia Borgia turned Lucrezia Sforza; I come from Rome, to those who are familiar with it.

It is an honor to be in your presence.

[ Judging by the background, Carolyn's in the shuttle bay today. It's fitting, because that's where she's been for most of the past month, but she hasn't spoken up in a while. Today she is, however, having cleaned up a bit from working on the shuttles with a slight smile on her face as she addresses the camera. ]

Tranquility, this is Carolyn Fry. Some of you may recall that Ellen Ripley and I have been talking about training people on the ship so that they're better equipped to deal with living in space. We're happy to announce that we'll be starting up our first session at [ insert time here ].

We'll be meeting in the shuttle bay. For those of you who don't know how to get here, Ripley will be waiting by the lift in the passenger quarters to show you the way. For everyone else, I'll be waiting here for when you arrive. A recording of the session will be available afterwards but we really encourage everyone to come in person -- we're going to be running some drills and getting a bit hands-on with some things. In addition, even if you already know a thing or two about life in space, this could be a good refresher -- or you could bring up something we miss, you never know.

If anyone has any questions before we begin, I'm happy to answer them. Thank you and I hope to see you all there.

((ooc: An open log can be found here!))

[ Normally, she would address the ship with both her name and face. A bow of her head, her most polite smile — means by which to garner favor and convince those she would entreat for help. (See how how guilelessly I ask, says her look. Truly, I am a soul worth helping. But gone are those days, for there are those aboard the ship who would readily look upon Alayne's face and say: behold, Sansa Stark or Lady Lannister or I knew Petyr Baelish; of bastards, he had none. Though she needs the assistance others, Alayne knows she must be careful now in what she offers too readily. Even if the other Westerosi still struggle with their devices, she must not rely solely upon their ignorances to keep her shielded and her secrets hidden.

So: some caution, at least at the very surface. A request made through text; an offer with a name but no face. A bastard from the Vale in search of cloth, that is all. ]

Good people of the Tranquility.
I am in search of a passenger, intrepid and strong-legged, to assist me in my endeavors.
Already once I have offered my services to the ship,
those of sewing, mending and embroidery,
and I hope to continue to do so, though I am hindered by a certain lack.
Although thread has come readily to me with the jumps,
fabric proves a much rarer commodity.
My aim is to enlist aid in the collection and dyeing of cloth.
The ship is vast and many of its quarters stand empty,
and I would look to gather some portion of those unused linens,
to give that fabric greater purpose.

But the vastness of the Tranquility is no place for a young woman to venture alone.
Especially when her arms alone promise to return such a meager bounty.

I offer recompense by way of trade or exchange of service.
The ship has been generous with me by way of worldly possession,
though I fear most of what I own is rather delicate and will only appeal to certain tastes.

Thank you.

[ The message is posted and remains as is for an hour, maybe two. Then later an amendment comes, one that Alayne debates over including. ]

I am also in search of the person
who thought it fit to slip a note beneath my door last night.
You are not in trouble by any means, whomever you are.
I look only to thank you for your endeavors.

Good day. My name, as many of you know, is Miles Edgeworth. I have been present on this ship for approximately two and one half months at this point; at home, I was a prosecutor.

I've a pair of proposals for your consideration. Each will be posted first via the text function, then read aloud for those who avoid the use of text.

( The 'buddy system'. )
( Mediation service; still in its beginning stages, looking for volunteers/input )



[OOC: If people sign up for the buddy system, I'll be matching them up next weekend sometime! An opportunity for forcing your character into new CR. :>]

Hello?

[ The device is on now, not directed at anything in particular - the user's obvious inexperience is shown by the fact that you only have the glimpse of blonde hair and the rest is angled at a wall, but the voice takes no notice and keeps on speaking to it. She has had the object for a week now, simply sitting in her pocket - near forgotten with the still present shock of simply being here. Until earlier, when she had found it again by chance and remembered it's existence.

Where did this come from? ]

I thought that I heard voices speaking from this some time ago.

[ there's a whirl of color and she has adjusted to, by luck angle the camera to focus on her, if only for a moment before she has her fingers obscuring the view. In case it is not entirely obvious, the user has little or no knowledge whatsoever of the purpose and function and when she removes them from the lens, it is now pointed downwards towards the floor.

Yes, it's another one of them. ]