15 December 2015 @ 05:34 pm
Who the hell wants electricity?
All in favor say Please. And preferably bring me something to eat.
And a saw. And copper. And some of that acid water. And some goddamn
09 December 2015 @ 07:50 pm
( the video is short and sweet, a panning shot to fully take in Garrett Hawke, frozen in the act of bringing some firewood back to camp. apparently, Enfys has had time to move from distress to boredom, because she's at some point gone and dug up the handbag she originally arrived with and made good use of resources. it's not like she was rationing the makeup in it for anything important. probably no better opportunity to use it will come her way, so whatever, he looks great now. filled in his brows, gave him a nice red lip, lined his eyes the way her mother told her made her look like a tramp. his nails have been painted a deep shade of purple.

and there is a dick on his cheekbone. )

i need to see an elf about a big dog man.
07 December 2015 @ 02:18 pm
I've made some sticks.

[ The video begins as if in mid conversation, because hey, we're all friends, here. Hawke's voice is audible as the speaker, but the feed is pointed downwards, where a cluster of -- indeed -- sticks are gathered on the ground. Or rather, roughly crafted staves. A sense of scale gives the impression that they're at least five to six foot in length, trimmed and mostly polished smooth, ends blunted. The video doesn't move from this view throughout. ]

They're for hitting one another with, although allegedly, some skill goes into it. Not fancy, when compared to your amazing thunder blast wands [ he knows they're called 'guns', probably ] but at least they don't run out of anything. If you'd like to learn how to hit things with sticks really well, I'll be practicing west of camp. We can have a go at each other. It'll be fun.

[ Definitely for Hawke, anyway. ]
05 December 2015 @ 01:18 am
[Well, the username seems only natural.


put up some traps up north. bout half a mile.

[IT'S LITERALLY BEEN A MONTH SINCE HE'S BEEN SEEN and this is what he returns with. Hi, guys, you wouldn't even know he was back if not for the fact that he's just using the network to warn preemptively about something. He's in desperate need of a haircut and his beard is getting intense because he really hasn't touched it since he shaved, uhh... the first month of landing? He's a fast-growing beard machine, guys. Not that you can see it, because Mr. Anti-social is all texts today.

He attaches the coordinates for the general areas of where they are, just FYI. He wasn't going to because he thinks it doesn't matter, but then he realizes y'all are gonna bitch about not being precise. And god help him, he doesn't want to deal with complaining people who want to go south.]

it's for the food supply in camp.

don't walk into them.

i don't want to eat you.

[... But feel free to have not seen the message and walk into them anyway. They're the good old-fashioned types: pitfalls that are horrible to climb out of, and those annoying rope-to-tha-ankle tree traps that drag you a story into the air. He'll come across you eventually to complain and huff and puff and get you loose.

Good times.]
04 December 2015 @ 12:04 am
[Out of nowhere, your worst fears confirmed: in bold red -- ]


... Nah! I'm just messing with you! Bahaha. [Like it's not obvious; his name is right up there, but he's a doof. Though to be honest, also he's genuinely curious if Smiley would actually appear at his own mention, should his ego be that inflated. Because nobody even knows if the ship is completely non-functioning in that regard, huh? How much still effects them, from the bowels of that place? Hughes is starting to think crashing really did a number on anything in there that could have communicated with them once upon a time, though.] It's Hughes here. How many of you have even been around long enough to recognize that? Can't help but wonder how long it'll take before we have just a few select people who've even been in the ship when it flew... After all, how many of you are even from the first jump? Or even the first ten? There'd been so many by the time I had woken up here.

On that thought, I figured maybe we could share some information here in this entry. Now that we have a means of doing it, anyway. Me, personally? I'd only been on the Tranquility for a few months. But I know it has quite a history. You're all testimony to that. Wouldn't want the story of your time there to die, right?

... Unless you'd rather do that, since we don't have the booze to drink it away.

Eh. Anyway. We could always move around texts to a larger file, try to reconstruct a new jump informational document. Shouldn't take as much as voice or video-based entries. And of course, as a note, anything less pertinent but still interesting to hear would be good, too. Tell us newer folk things that really stuck with you, if you're feeling brave about it. Or we can just all complain about missing the food we had in the kitchens. I'll admit, you really miss it when it's gone. Hell, it's a good way to pass the time, learning about things before our crashing and burning. The first more than the latter.

... And yes, if anyone is interested in emoticons, please send me your best and brightest ones. If you don't know what they are, you're missing out on new age material. I'm here to help. And possibly make things worse here by flooding the comm with a newly adopted family of emoticon soldiers.

ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ Everyone stay safe and don't fall into acidic rivers! Thanks!

[Hughes is the hippest most happenin' dad.]
24 November 2015 @ 12:56 pm
[The feed opens on a view of the jungle, dark as night falls over the trees. A fire burns in a pit to the right side of shot, the orange glow flickering across the trunks, the crackle and spit of burning logs. Boots come into frame, Riddick dropping to his haunches in front of the camera, only his hands and their recognisable guards visible. He's holding something. A medium-sized creature, limp in death.]

Got a sickness in the animals. [He holds the animal closer to the camera, showing the state of it. Bony ridges breaking through fur, misshapen limbs, blood crusted around its eyes. Sickly. Unnatural.] You see any, kill them. Burn the bodies.

[He rises to stand, boots turning, and the corpse is thrown onto the fire.]
14 November 2015 @ 02:25 pm
[If anyone saw Harry's mirror message not so long ago, they might be confused when a smirking copycat appears in the sliver of mirror. Despite looking alarmingly like Harry's younger brother, this is a very different person.

Well. Sort of. But James doesn't have all of that information just yet.

He offers a cheeky wave to those paying attention.

Hullo, you lot. Seems like we've got loads of nasty business going on lately. Dunno what's up with it all, but I've got a proposal.

[He pauses dramatically. Leans close to the mirror like he has a secret.]


[He leans back again, beaming.]

I'm thinking tomorrow night. See what you can make in the way of edibles and let's all compare and share. Assuming nothing mad happens between now and then. Who's in?
[This comes from username "etliberte"]

I want to tell you all about my friends. I'm typing this so it'll stay around. Especially for the people who were on the ship. My friends stayed behind to make sure we actually got away. They died so the rest of us would have a chance.

Jean Prouvaire
Ambrose Bahorel
Guillaume Feuilly

Jehan was a poet. And a student. Most of the people at the barricades were students, but they didn't want to learn nearly as much about as many topics as him. He hated the way things were for women and children in Paris. He loved the very idea of love. He had dreams.

Ambrose studied law, but endeavoured to never become a lawyer. He won't have to worry about that now. He loved bold fashion. He loved to be bold about everything. He was never one to hesitate.

Guillaume wasn't a student at all, he worked making fans. He was a man of the people and wanted them all to see that there could be a better world. He carved Vivent les peuples into the wall of the cafe where we used to meet.

Maybe you didn't know them. But I did. And they died for all of us.
25 October 2015 @ 09:58 pm
[The mirror begins showing a view of Tyke, somewhere in the jungle, a frown of consideration pinching her brow as she looks down at the surface. After a moment, sure that it's "on", she turns to the side, image wobbling violently as the mirror is passed - possibly a little forcefully. There's a very blurred view of more jungle, a brief glimpse of Charles Xavier, and then the image finally settles on Oxford.

Who, for the record, is wearing a somewhat amused but unimpressed smile. Making the new(ish) boy do all the talking, hm? It’s hard work, being the prettiest face for camera. Since, yes, that’s what they based the decision on for who was doing the talking.]

Good day — [What, fellow stranded jungle dwellers? Oxford tries not to wear his most corporate, people-pleasing smile. This isn’t a generic business speech, this matters, and as a result, his expression is faintly grim.] I’m Oxford, most of you will know Tyke and Charles. Some of you will also know we recently went on something of an adventure, and that’s what I’m here to talk about.

The long and short of it is that we appear to be stuck within a particular territory. A sizeable territory, admittedly, but still something of a limitation in the grand scheme of things, I’m sure you agree. [There is a possibility someone here is either giving him a look or a pinch that says get on with it. Oxford laughs mildly, gesturing with a vague hand in a vague direction.] Once you hit a certain distance out there, you start getting nosebleeds, headaches, and my strong recommendation is not to keep going. Please.

[And people using themselves as living test subjects, which he keeps to himself but adds a light note of strain to his voice.]

While we don’t know exactly what it is, we have our suspicions that it’s something to do with the… consciousness that Charles discovered before, that we’re still connected to it. Tethered, if you will. We realise it doesn’t seem like much information, but if you have any further questions, we’ll try to answer them to the best of our advantage. Take care out there, everyone. Don’t push your luck with the perimeter, if you happen to reach it. [He pulls a sudden grin, seemingly out of nowhere.] And now I’m done talking in my daft teacher-voice, you’ll be glad to know.

( ooc: replies are likely to come from oxford, tyke and charles! post is backdated to a couple of days after the stampede. )
10 October 2015 @ 11:59 pm
[ The image that appears on the mirror screen is not a person at all, but the ground. Specifically a patch of dirt, scraped smooth by the Tranquility's slide. There is a tin can half-embedded in the soil, and what looks like it might be a blanket in a lump beside it. ]

So, things are falling from the sky. Apparently? I assume I'm not the only one who noticed.

[ A hand, tanned and scabbed, enters the frame to gesture at the stuff, flicking a finger against the can. The noise it make sounds like someone flicking a tin can. (Dull in more ways than one. Also like it might hurt a little.) ]

Did anyone happen to see anything that might explain this? Did anybody find anything extra weird or interesting? I knew this planet thing was seeming too normal to be true.
[The reflection held by the mirror shard warps to reveal vast darkness with a series of strange geometric patterns, glowing, running through it.

The next moment, a yellow glare emerges in the bottom-right corner of the shard-- a lit flare. It takes a moment for the details to resolve after that. It turns out, that those unfamiliar, luminous patterns are running along the walls of a stone chamber, as well as over the contours of the altar standing in the center. Other brief, vague details stand out as the shard turns. Shelves, cut into the walls; something bundled in the shelves. A wooden box, with a glint of gold within.

And then, abruptly, William Tsang pops into view. He’s slightly translucent, and the orange flare light seems to have trouble illuminating his. He looks flustered. And unusually tall, or maybe the holder of the mirror is just unusually low.]
Takeshi, [he says.

Then the mirror flips. And you’re looking right into Takeshi’s little orange face. He mostly just seems content with himself, maybe even a touch good-spirited despite the murky and kind of macabre setting around them.]

It’s okay, Mr. William! I’m real short so the arrows went swoof! Over my head!


But they prob’ly coulda’ bounced off me anyways. I think... [He turns his attention to the people looking back at him through the mirror, awed and proud and all sorts of excited.] Look! Look, we found stuff! On accident.

[William is no longer in view, but he doesn’t sound like he’s smiling at all.] We’re about eight miles East of the bloody ship, a few miles away from the left edge of the edge of the Tranquility’s drag line. I’ll start a fire to mark the spot-- soon. [Presumably, this information is for prospective reinforcements, but William switches back to talking at the boy in a moment.] And I’m coming to get you, so don’t-- touch anything, especially not the corpses. Takeshi are you paying att-- Takeshi, oi! Don’t touch shit, right? All right?

[Parenting 101 ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(Now if only he’d remember Takeshi’s adoptive mother was a protagonist in a horror game.)

But Takeshi just nods at the information — and nods more firmly at the warning.]

I’ll be good! No touching!

[But in case William tries to poof off to play catch-up in a physical body... Takeshi's face softens a bit in the light of the flare.]

M’gonna pray for them, though! Pray with me, Mr. William!

[Takeshi slaps his hands together, the mirror between them, and mumbles sincerely under his breath. Something along the lines of, ’sorry we broke in, rest in peace! and don’t haunt me and my friends! sorry!’]

I really feel like this is not the best bloody ti-- [but William is already piping down, either because he is trying to be appropriate during prayer or because he’s trying to allow Takeshi his distraction while he surreptitiously tries to do exactly the catch-up that the little boy is stalling him from doing. The mirror goes dark again, at least for a few moments.

Once you’ve seen the post, feel free to drop in over at the log. You can also see a super detailed description of the dark spooky room by the mods over here!]
05 October 2015 @ 11:59 pm
[In your hand, if you've been ""lucky"" enough to have been given one, is a dull shard of a mirror. Some friendly bloke probably handed it to you, possibly with an an explanation, possibly not. And now here's why: at some point mid jungle afternoon, you will find that mirror is glowing.

And speaking.]

Hello from your mirror!

[Waving from the narrow surface is an image of Sirius and James, a crisp rendition clearer than any video. Their voices may sound a wee bit tinny, but only just.]

Your mirror, which has helpfully--magically--been connected to all of the other little bits of mirror that we've found--which is replacing the old network, fondly as we all remember it--and by the way, you’re welcome. Thank any witch or wizard you see in passing for this minor miracle, 'cos we’ve worked tirelessly, without rest, to make all this possible.

[A moment of silence to commemorate the kindness of wizards, interrupted by James:]

We accept most forms of gifts. Food's recommended. But I'm not opposed to loads of praise.

Muggles can use it, as well. Just shout at it 'til it works. Some of us were concerned you lot are all five, so rounded edges are a thing. No stabbing anyone with your mirror if they send a message to the bloke you fancy.

No real private messaging, mind. Whatever you send out, make sure you’re wanting the whole world to hear it. I won’t be held responsible for any secrets leaked or confessions made. Nor will James. Will you, James.

Right. Though there's a secret password. Just a heads up. Private messages. Ask me about it later. Especially if you've got something really interesting you don't want anyone to hear.

[The look that Sirius shoots him will go more or less unnoticed and, if noticed, will be otherwise misinterpreted--but James will understand it, and probably Remus, a little bit. He nearly speaks the language, enough to get the broad strokes such as: James Potter, you magnificent creature.]

Yeah, that--and my final note is, I'm still working out emojis, but don't worry. They'll be back.

Cheers, Jungle!

[Twin mock salutes, and they're out! The mirror flickers, and goes to smooth glass again.

red is SIRIUS, blue is JAMES. any questions, please lay them on us at our ooc post!]
Who cares if you die?

( feel free to interpret that however you please, denizens of the EXTREMELY POORLY NAMED tranquility! all possible interpretations are acceptable in harry's current state of complete emotional breakdown. he probably doesn't care if any of you die, for instance, and may bitterly resent you for having an actual answer to this question.

who cared when norman died? who really cared. people mourned the man who'd contributed so much, but that man was an idea. an image carefully cultivated. harry knew enough to know better, but even he wouldn't pretend to have known his father, and who's going to care when harry dies? just like norman did.

harry's legacy is just disappointment and isolation. his best friend is his only friend and he's pretty sure they're totally not friends any more, also. everything sucks and he broke a bottle when he got back to his room and he can't be bothered to clean it up, he's just going to sit here and hate all of you, publicly and violently, and

you know, by text, because he looks even shitter than usual. )
05 October 2014 @ 02:14 pm
So, uh... what's the done thing 'round here for smashing boredom in the face? 'cause I'm achin' for some shore leave but right now a hole in the head sounds more likely, no?

[ A pause - crackly because he's shifting his comms device against his Alliance shirt in contemplation... ]

Anybody up for a joint workout? I could use an extra pair of eyes to spot me.
27 September 2014 @ 06:54 pm
[ jax is sat back against his headboard in just a t-shirt and a flannel, samcro symbol visible on the white cotton. he's lacking his customary cigarette, looks serious as he taps a thumb against the side of his comm. ]

I been meaning to bring this shit up, but that killer flu was going around. Kind of put a damper on group discussions, if you catch my drift.

[ killer flu. yeah, that's what to call last month's shitshow, right? ]

Anyway, anyone around here know a Lina? Homebody, uses text, asks some pretty pointed fucking questions? I'm betting I don't know half of the people kicking around this place, but shit. [ there's a pause, jax's gaze cutting to the side, jaw working as he tries to chose his words. ] She and I had a weird conversation a couple months back, figured it was about time I tried to follow up on that.

[ another pause, then a shrug, jax looking back at the lens. ]

I'm just saying, someone asks you to be their eyes and ears, it means something's up.

[ darkly, before he shakes his head. ]

And if anyone on this rig has cigarettes, lemme know your asking price.

17 September 2014 @ 01:37 am
I have managed to multiply my supply of Essence of Dittany, though I only have three bottles worth. It's useful in healing wounds and I think the clinic could benefit from it - if they do not already have a supply. If you have need of it, contact me and remember that a little goes a long way. A few drops should heal even the nastiest of gashes.

I will continue to search for the leaves and blooms in the garden, but I cannot make any promises. However, even if I can't find more living growth, I might be able to search for substitutes if I examine the Dittany on a molecular level. It isn't something I have done before, but I am curious.

On a lighter note, are pets abundant on the ship? I had a cat - who was half-Kneazle - before I arrived and I miss him. I have a preference for felines, though a small dog or a rabbit wouldn't upset me.
This place gives a whole new level of meaning to SITUATION NORMAL, ALL FUCKED UP.

[ if this were not a text post but rather audio or video, there would be a pause here as he chooses his words, but given that it is text, there is no lag. ] Looks like Petrelli's gone. [ the lack of specification as to which of the two petrelli brothers is deliberate, seeing how they're both gone, but he really means nathan. ]

Check in. Especially you, Thomas.
04 September 2014 @ 01:27 am
[John's been trying to stay off the network. He sounds and looks worse than he is. He thinks. He looks pretty bad, though. He's sweaty, tired-looking, and pale with dark, dark circles under his eyes. Now and then, you might see a space between teeth where another tooth should be, or missing nails on his hands.]

I know I've been quiet. Sorry about that.

[He winces as he settles back down on the bed. His voice sounds tired and hoarse.]

I've just been wiped, but I guess I'm not getting any better. I've gotten the gist of what's going on from your posts. I don't have anything helpful to add, except if you need help, call me.

[He sighs, thinking for a few moments.] What would you do if you were on a path of self-destruction, but it was the only way to redeem yourself? Would you continue in the hopes of being redeemed? Or is your well-being more important? Being vague here on purpose.

[That's not alarming or anything. Good job, John.]

If I know you, a quick 'hello, I'm alive' text or something would be helpful.

And I'm just a cop, but if you need some muscle or an extra pair of hands to help with finding out what's going on, I'll be there.
03 September 2014 @ 09:26 pm
Obviously terrible parts aside, there are some things from this that I wouldn't mind sticking around.

[ Carolyn's voice sounds a bit weird, rather like someone who's just gotten braces put on -- or someone who's found themselves with a mouth full of sharper, stronger teeth. ]
29 August 2014 @ 03:30 pm
[The video blips on--but as it's meant to be voice, it's not a steady video, or even a good one. The lighting is poor, flickering a little, and at first, the recording is mainly of a hand and a portion of wall. This is one of the lifts, with no life to it. The first sound captured by the recording is a cry of pain, from somewhere off-screen--loud, and low, and agonised--before it cuts off into sharp, panted breaths instead. The video blurs, as Sirius moves--he's the one holding the device, and he hunches over it to record, so most of the image is now his face--]

One of the blue lifts, in the passenger quarters-- it's out. It's stuck, it's not moving. Again. What a shit month we're having. Welcome to space.

[He looks pretty shitty himself, face all pale and hollow, hair damp with sweat. When he turns to look off-video, there's a streak of blood along his cheek, dripping down from his ear. He's looking at someone; he's not alone, the pained breathing, the cry--those belong to someone else. (Sally, actually, midway through a werewolf transformation, not appearing in this film.)]

This lift's meant to be going up to, uh. To one of the higher levels, one of the ones way beyond us. Avoid the passenger lifts for now if you can, I don't know--this one might start up again, and if it does, that's--we'll be all right. And if you do call a lift going up, don't-- jam the door before you let it open, if you can. Wait. You'll know which one this is, you'll be able to hear it, just don't board it. This one's not safe. And no one try and fetch this one just yet. Leave it where it is, just leave it.

[Another sound of pain, from off-screen--louder, more insistent--Sirius bites at his lip, hard, and whether this is to himself, or the Tranquility at large, or Sally, it's not obvious, but he offers--] It's all right.

[Another start of a scream, but by then he's thumbing off the recording, and that's all.]

[[ooc note tho: MOST responses to this will be ic-ly delayed! this is a werewolf transformation in a tiny box scenario. feel free to recognise the voice shouting in pain as Sally's I think that is okay (I will note if that changes).]]