[ it's been more than a month since she landed herself on this ship, and she's gotten nowhere. she's beginning to understand how her arrival had been greeted with such pessimism and futility, and she can't help but imagine that the insomnia's a result of the near-death experience trying to make it back aboard the tranquility off of the cyllene being combined with an acute depression of realizing she's powerless to get her son back. she's been feeling pretty powerless across the board, lately.

her room's dark, because she's been tossing and turning in vain to try and get to sleep without success, so she doesn't bother turning on the video function. audio will have to do the trick. there's a sense of abject defeat in her voice, because she finally gets it - talking to sark aboard the cyllene, and then scrambling to get off of it. no one is going to rescue the tranquility and get them home, and any attempt at progress seems to be met with a glass ceiling.

they're stuck, and they're on their own. she's on her own. she hadn't realized how heavily she'd learned to rely on her family until she'd been denied their company. ]

If I want to help out with security on board the ship, how's that work? [ it's been a month, it's high time she accepted that she needs something to keep her busy and direct her energy towards or this funk isn't going anywhere. some savior. ] Is there like a training program or do I just track down some security office and sign my name on the dotted line?

[ there's the sound of shifting as she sits up in bed, because something else occurred to her. she'd never really seen a report published to the ship-wide network. just a video that didn't shed much light - her cynicism wants her to assume that's because there wasn't much to be found, but it's worth asking. ]

And while I'm at it; I saw some bad news about the new areas of the Tranquility, but I was on the Cyllene while people were exploring. Any more news to go with it? Are those areas still accessible, or did they close off when we undocked? [ or whatever the word for that is. ]

[ private to will graham ; no encryption ]

And, Graham - I found some clothes. Little on the dressy side, but they should fit. Where do you want me to bring them?

[ she's just tired enough to use the wrong name - the one that's more familiar, that makes her feel a little more secure, at least subconsciously. ]

[The young woman's face that appears on screen doesn't look nearly as exhausted as it probably should. Her voice, however, is as weary as she's pretty sure everyone is feeling.]

So I'm curious. Does anyone out there know the side effects of not getting any sleep? [She pauses to consider something.] Or maybe how long they'll take to start showing up? [Another pause.] I just think that might be some useful information for people in general to have and, well, like I said. I'm curious.

[For the record, Claire hasn't been sleeping pretty much at all. However her ability is working overtime to keep circles from appearing under her eyes as well as countering the other, less pleasant, side effects that come with not getting enough rest. There's still the random, occasional bleeding that she can't explain but that's neither here nor there, right?]

[First thing to note: Sam's got a killer hangover.

Second thing to note: he's still in the library, nursing his hangover with coffee and scanning through the network out of sheer desperation for something to find. Anything to pass the time, really. It's hours into his work that he finds something that might be familiar. Give him a few hours, a little irritation, and nothing remotely helpful in the remaining library aaaand -- ] 

Alright, so get this. 

There's a quote put up on a secondary sub-network, and I think it's from our friend with the red face.

[He scooches in his seat, looking over the words.]

"Such is the appearance of black birds." Now -- I can't put my exact finger on the chapters, but I remember in one of my Mythology courses, there uh -- it was a passage. From an old Greek text I read through during one of our big finals in my last year of undergrad. [A sound of frustration, some moosey grumbling about an Essay From Hell. Then he snaps his fingers, brow furrowed.] Pausanias. He, he wrote a big long piece detailing his firsthand point of view of Greece, way back when; I remember using it as a cited work for a few written works in classic greek literature.

[huff scoff first world college boy problems.]

Or -- it could not mean anything at all. Maybe if doesn't even have to do with the actual passage. Or maybe Mr. Smiles just likes to post from super ancient literature for kicks with no rhyme or reason. 

I don't know. Anybody got extended knowledge in old Greek literature? I don't exactly have the actual texts around to figure anything out, anyway. Don't know if any of you do, or if it even means anything at all. I can't find anything else besides this, but maybe someone who's better at surfing through the different places around here can do a better job than me dishing out more stuff hiding out.

But then there's more. Something about Scylla turning back?

[He'll just copy/paste the full message from the page.]

SUCH IS THE APPEARANCE OF THE BLACKBIRDS.
SCYLLA TURNED BACK; SHE DARED NOT TRUST HERSELF FAR OUT AT SEA.

And speaking of... this. Who's had firsthand experience with this Red Smiley, anyway? How'd those go? I know it hasn't been all that fun, but any kind of first-hand experience about the guy, I'd love to hear. If it's not too much trouble for you.

[Man, his head is killing him.

......................................................]

Or maybe something a little easier: anybody have any remedies for space hangovers?


((ooc: the first part totally just an ic shout out to the tumblr pages, but see if you can figure it out! characters can ICly figure it out too, if they can figure out all that technical mumbo jumbo and actually find the correct sub-networks and stuff. EDIT: there's more stuff, oops.))

[ joe's not so much ill at ease on camera as he is just happier off, and the lack of desire to throw his metaphorical hat in to this particular ring bleeds through into his slumped posture. he's got his actual hat off and set to the side, because this calls for company manners which means your nicest flannel and no hat, as you do. ]

Name's Joe Davis, based outta Pernambuco. [ a beat. ] That's just about on the far edge of the farms on Pasiphae, right. [ since as it's been made abundantly clear, he's the only one who knows that sort of thing off-hand. ]

Nobody's wanted to tell me too much, but I get the sense something about this whole thing makes me look dangerous. And I understand that, and whatever questions you gotta ask I'm ready to answer them. [ in part because there's only one of him and a lot of everybody else and it's the smart call, but that can go unsaid. ] I guess I just wanted to say this is all new and confusing to me, too, and seeing as I'd rather not end up pistol whipped, if it's all the same to everybody-- [ yeah, dean, he saw that-- ] I figured maybe I'd make the first move, since it's seeming like maybe I've landed in a tight spot without meaning to here.

[ he looks down, rubbing at the back of his neck with a thumb, a little uncomfortable. ]

I'm not much for speeches, but it seemed like the thing to do-- think that's about it, anyway.

[ and with that, he's out. ]

[Smart phones this advanced are not something Mohinder is use to. Luckily, he's a child of the information and technology age and figuring out the more or less intuitive operating system of the device in his hand is not at all difficult. Thumbing along the touch screen, and bypassing the entertainment sections (films and books on a mobile? How remarkable!), Mohinder comes across what looks to be an electronic bulletin or message board. At least, that's the closest approximation he can make for the network. Perhaps it's similar to the listserv his University uses? Either way he has every intention to check into it later, after he leaves this post:]

My name is Mohinder Suresh. I seem to be unable to contact anyone I know using this device, as it it does not seem to be connected to a cellular network. This might sound ridiculous, but could someone tell me where I am?

[Mohinder is not known for making sound life decisions, but he'd rather think he is lost and this really is some sort of odd American hospital than going mad. He hits the send button and glances around again the hallway he's paused in.  Nothing looks like a hospital around here at all. 'Going mad,' unfortunately, seems to be what's happening after all.]

[The feed clicks on and there's a beat or two of Heather just sitting cross-legged on her bed before she starts to speak. The pause isn't nearly as dramatic as some others this jump, though; more like she's decided she needs to say something without quite deciding what it is she wants to say. Sure, by now there must be more people on board who never knew Hotspur than people who did, but he should be more than a cautionary tale about what happens if you don't get into a grav couch in time. He died trying to help everyone out of this mess, and that should be remembered.

When she does speak it's calm enough, although in a way that people who know her well will probably realize takes a little effort.]

Are we going to talk about what we heard before the jump? I know there's a lot to take in right now, but... something takes that much effort to say and it gets said anyway? We ought to be listening.

[ There is white and red and black, bone and blood and rotting flesh, when the camera first blinks on. Some fiddling, dirty fingers tapping at the lens then pulling it back reveals that the rot is not a human passenger but bovine; the cow that has been on board since Strela, effectively smashed by the jump by all appearance, but rotted already -- rotted for months, by the look of it. (For a year, its owner will tell you, and forensic analysis will back up her story.)

More fiddling, those filthy fingers and long strands of dirty golden-blonde hair (falling, from the looks of things, coming out in chunks and joining the cow on the floor of the ship) covering the lens until Jaye can look into the screen properly. Once again, she looks like a mess. It's worse, this time. Worse physically and mentally, and it's easy to tell by how she interacts with the camera, slides her thumb up over the lens and bobs her head like a bird. It's almost like she can't quite remember what she's supposed to do. ]

I heard voices, [ she starts, voice a hoarse, scratchy mess. Unlike last time she doesn't try to save it, pushes on as if she's talking to herself and her dead cow and not anyone who's listening. ] Are you back? It's been so long. I didn't mean to leave -- I couldn't get there. I was so close and just like him, just couldn't get there. The halls just kept going and then the ship screamed and I had to change before I did, too.

[ She shifts onto her haunches, rocking back and forth, not looking at the camera -- looking around instead, taking in how things look with eyes that aren't the compound eyes of an insect. One hand moves up to move some hair behind an ear and the hair simply falls down in strands, leaving a patch of bare scalp behind on her head. ] It was red again. Red and angry, so angry, the whole time. I didn't mean to do it this time, I didn't -- but I figured it out. They're the same, aren't they? Exactly the same. Trickster and hero and villain all at once. "Fear not, I will help you."

[ There's a laugh, then a sob, then both at once. ]

Don't be mad. A year isn't forty. Just-Like-Creator took the flesh and threw it over the land, and there grew the tribes of men.

[ One hand reaches for the skull of the cow, for the rot covering it, and draws. :) ]

((ooc: Explanation over here!))

[ The feed opens to Rapunzel's room. However, it's not your ordinary Tranquility room! instead, the walls are filled with paintings. all done in warm colors, greens and yellows and reds, all inspired by Rapunzel's original room. there are star charts painted on the ceiling and the walls are covered in flowers, images of Rapunzel herself and even Pascal.

Currently, the girl herself is doing some finishing touches to one of the largest paintings in the room. it's just near the ceiling but a good thing Rapunzel has hair long enough to hang on.

It's Pascal that turned on the feed and he hops on the device. that seems to catch her attention and she jumps down, landing easily and lifting it up ]

Hi, Tranquility.

I was sorta wondering. This ship, while filled with...surprisingly nice people doesn't look too much like a home. Maybe it's just me but I sort of feel....cold here, I guess? hah, I don't mean physically but just --

anyway I was wondering if anyone would like me to paint something. For their rooms! While I do have many ways to keep myself busy, I like painting and I think it'll be nice to help more people feel at home and I can paint nearly anything you'd like.

Um, I also have been trying to learn more about this space thing in the media library and it's really been great. But what I'd really like to learn is stuff about um. the outside world! You know, and since most of you have probably been to the outside world, I wonder if you could tell me about it.

Oh! and um. I would also like to learn how to send a message to only one person on the magic box! If anyone could help with that, that too would be great and until then, um!

Jenna? Sommers? I sorta have a thing. for you. um. that is it! thank you!

Recently it seems that some of us have had our origins and experiences on our mind. If there is anything I have learned from my time here, it is that we do not often suffer a dull day, and that we are all abundant with stories. Stories of ourselves, of the lives we've lived at home, and the lives that we've lived here. We've all arrived here from different circumstances, with a vast array of varying experiences between that, and I think that sometimes we do not allow ourselves time to appreciate that. We have an opportunity to learn so much from each other. [ Oxford pauses, calmly, taking a level breath as he goes on. ] Of course, I don't mean to say this is somehow a priority over the general task of surviving, but I feel that while we keep ourselves and our histories as fresh as we can in our minds, perhaps it could serve us some purpose to keep record of it.

[ Even though he has decided to stick to an audio post, Oxford can't help making habitual, sweeping hand gestures as he speaks. ]

I would like to propose beginning a ship-wide archive, to include whatever information that fellow passengers are willing to share of their lives and worlds, as well as a timeline of events since the first jump. First hand accounts of matters we have tackled, [ with a vague amount of strain, said very soberly ] and a memorial to those we lost. As I've said, this is by no means any kind of priority, just... well, to be quite honest, I like the idea of having a project. Though I would not necessarily say no if anyone was willing to join me in maintaining this proposed archive, I know that we all have our own personal worries and jobs to attend to, thus I am quite glad to take up mantle on my own.

All I really aim to do is to put experiences into words. I'm quite certain that many of you have some extraordinary stories to tell, whether they are from your home or from here, and all I would want is for these things to be shared amongst us. You never know what we might find out each other. [ A vague, mirthless smile is audible in his words. ] I only hope they're relatively good things, of course.

The information volunteered to this archive would be exactly that - voluntary. I won't be hounding everyone on the ship for interviews, because that would be incredibly time consuming and as annoying as conducting door to door sales. Anyone who would like to contribute is advised to come to me - in person or across the network, whichever suits you best. If it happens that I hear of someone's actions through another person's contribution, then I may follow that up.

[ He laughs, mildly. ]

Of course, I might have wasted all this time talking and wasting your time only to have no response. Always a possibility. [ For a moment, he sounds a bit warmer and less business-like. ] Good day to you all.

[ the camera turns on to show gwen holding a sword that is sheathed, the handle basic yet beautifully crafted, well made.] The events as of late have made it clear that we may need to defend ourselves from those we do not know. Enemies outside of our ship and... well, erm, perhaps the monsters that lay within. [ space rats.]

[ she pulls the blade from it's sheath to show her work, smiling softly as she lays it down and addresses the camera once more.]

I would like to offer my services to those who are in need of a sword. My father was a blacksmith and taught me his trade- [ cue a sadder sort of smile.] I can also make smaller blades. I only ask that you use them to defend yourselves and not on one another. We must work together to protect our temporary home. I share a forge with Fili and Kili, who are also master craftsmen.

[ awkward pause.]

Thank you. For your time.

[When Desmond's voice comes over the line, he sounds.... Crazy, so it's basically a Tuesday, except maybe you ought to listen to him this time, because this sounds extremely important.]

All right, look- [Muffled, as if said to someone behind him.] Get off, I'm fine! [Back to the comm] I don't know if anyone's even considered trying to pilot the Scylla, because believe me, it sounds like a lovely idea. But don't. There's a-a dead man's switch embedded in the flight controls. If anyone touches it- [He pauses to chuckle under his breath- it sounds crazy, but also painfully exasperated] - boom.

[He hesitates for a moment, as if already anticipating the protests.]

Don't believe me- send someone from flight crew to check it out. I know what I saw- [He hisses- goddammit, he needs to keep that shit under wraps better] I just know. 

[[OOC: POSTED WITH MOD PERMISSION. Basically, as of this log, Desmond will have had one of his flashes (which are now back thanks to his adventures in the ship- thanks for that, TQ). I need a couple volunteers to tag in and be witnesses to the discovery of the dead man's switch and Desmond's subsequent freak out, but yeah, as of this post, anyone who was on the Scylla probably would have heard Desmond being Final Destination about not touching the switch.]]

[ when the feed comes on, the first thing you'll notice is a head of curly blonde hair, extremely messy, and a hand running through it. Annabeth's currently looking down at something, unable to look at the feed just yet. Probably in fear of not being able to keep her voice stable when she finally starts speaking. ]

If anyone has seen Percy Jackson, Luke Castellan or Wichita since the jump...can you just. Get them to contact me? Or come find me? Or tell me where you saw them? I'll have my device on me at all times, but for some reason I can't connect to Percy’s and Luke’s and I think it’s connecting to Wichita’s but she’s not answering and I don't know if it's just the ship or...

[ she trails off momentarily, needing that half a second to take a breath and drop her hand, lift her head to the feed. She looks exhausted, like she hasn't sleep in days (not since the jump) and a little on edge. Her eyes, normally a much lighter grey, have taken to something like a dark cloud. Like the chaos that comes with a thunder storm. Her jaw is set, determined, but there's something a little off about her. A little dark. ]

I also need to know if there is any way to know, for sure, when someone goes home, and isn't just lost on the ship. Not theories, but facts, if there is a way to check that kind of thing.

[ She swallows, hard, but continues – eyes never leaving the camera. ]

Also, I wanted to know what happens when you die. Here. On board. I'm not interested in ideas on the afterlife and all that [ she made the mistake already of asking people about their beliefs once before, not again ] but more so if you die, does your body remain here? And if you have more to do, back home, does that mean you never go back? Does your story just end, and your time both there and here is over?

I just…yeah.

[ there's a pause and then she nods, having said all she planned on saying, and she ends the feed. ]

[ the feed opens on two pairs of feet; one large, one smaller. then jenna's voice comes through. ]

Tell you what. I'm going to leave you here, with this broadcasting-- [ the shot jerks a little, exposing an empty and spotless kitchen. ] and that way you can have something to talk to while I try and figure out where we are right now. I'll be back in a flash, you've seen how fast I can move now, and you know I'll hear you. Okay?

[ not waiting for an answer, jenna presses her comm into desmond’s hand and brings it up a little, so his chest is in frame, squeezing his shoulder with her other hand. ] I'll be right back, I promise.

Right. [Desmond sounds... Well shellshocked and crazy pretty much covers it. You can hear him swallow in that sort of pained, half-panting way, like he's out of breath and can't quite manage to calm himself down.] Assuming anyone's still out there, yeah? [He might be talking to Jenna, but she’s already gone. The comm shifts violently, flashing to Desmond’s face for only a half second (long enough to see he has both eyes and doesn't seem to be missing anything vital) and then to the ceiling and then back to the floor.] I don't understand what more it wants from me. Three bloody years of my life, pushing a damned button wasn't enough. I've been to the heart. I saw the light again. It was supposed to put me back. It was supposed to- [The camera swings by so fast you can easily tell that Desmond was gearing up to smash it against the nearest wall before-]

--whoa whoa, hey. Hey, it's okay. It's okay, I'm right here. Des? Desmond? [ she crouches down, taking the comm back into her own hands and setting it on the counter, where it films the tops of their heads for the moment. ] We're fine, look. We're even back in the main part of the ship, so that trek back is cancelled. I'm--

[ she pauses, hand reaching up into the picture again as she reaches for the comm, setting in on her upraised knees so it's more or less centered on the two of them, looking a whole lot worse for the wear. ]

If someone could prove big brother is always watching and figure out what floor we're on for me, that would be great. Who needs civil liberties, anyway? --don't get any extra ideas, Nathan. [ there's a tinge of forced, unnatural cheer to her tone, and her gaze darts over to desmond every few moments as if she needs to make sure he's there and fine. ] And maybe whoever pulls rescue duty, bring him something with a lot of sugar in it? That would be great.

[Desmond rubs his face, weary.] Someone tell Tyke I found what I was lookin' for, yeah? It's all true.

[ she inhales, about to add something else; then she shakes her head, lips pressed together in a tired line and jabs the off button. ]



( ooc | they're on floor thirty eight, where they were dumped after being rescued by ward from some Seriously Bad Metaplot Shit. colors for ease: jenna and desmond. )

Things have been stressful these past few-

[He's lying if he doesn't finish that sentence with the word months, each and every day since his first day. But that wouldn't make anyone feel better, and it's not like there haven't been happy moments too. Those moments just require a little more patience, a little more effort. Which reminds him:]

I've been thinking that it would be nice if we could have a football game, some friendly competition. And a little exercise might do us all a world of good. [He's not calling anyone fat, he swears.] Naturally, it would require a location. And a ball. And most importantly, players. It's been a few years, but I think I could still manage to help anyone who doesn't know how to play but still wants to take part. All that really matters is to have fun.

[Noah feels like he's forgetting something important. Oh yeah.]

For the benefit of my American friends on board, I'm referring to soccer and not your football. To each his own, but I'm not sure I understand the appeal of being at the bottom of a pile of large men.

[He grimaces. Welp, there's a sentence he'll never be able to get back again.]

So! Let me hear your thoughts, Tranquility.

[ There is a naked, brightly glowing blue man standing a short distance away from where his comm device is holding steady in the air. He’s hardly bothered by the fact that he’s naked... nor does he look as if he’s bothered by, well, much of anything. ]

It has become clear to me that, while I am entirely capable of moving my own matter both through time and space, I have been moved into a plane that has hindered this ability. I have found that i’m unable to manipulate my own particles to the extent that I have become accustomed to. It seems that this is not true in all instances, however. [ His tone indicates a shrug might go here, but he doesn’t move an inch. ] I was not able to foresee this event, likely a cause of whatever is altering my intrinsic field.

[ Jon almost sighs, almost looks dejected, but mostly looks nothing too terribly different. ]

While I am aware that this is possible, I have yet to understand exactly how it’s occurring. Once I have, however, I intend to stop it. I have begun research in the science department for this reason only. [ Still as blase as ever. ]

I am curious, however, as to how this plane affects the atoms of others. It can only serve to further advance my own research if I understand how other particles have proven to react in such a place. [ He tips his head slightly, curiously, and then proceeds to wait for his answers. ]

[she's small, and she's weak, and she couldn't have done anything to help the dead people even if she knew them. she can't join a security patrol or go scouting or make a helpful PSA to the network; pretty much all Hana can do is stay out of the way, hide in her room, stick her communicator under her mattress, and use the other bed to barricade the door. and she does exactly that for a good six hours! but after that, when sleep fails her and her thoughts are her only real company, after she's fished out her comm again and looked at all the things people are saying, she knows she also can't just sit by and do nothing.

when people are consumed by grief, they often forget to consume anything else -- she remembers what happened with Michiko in San Paraiso -- and even though she doesn't really know any of these people like she knew Michiko, that's not right. she can't help them or comfort them, but she can at least do one thing for the rest of the people on the Tranquility, while it really hurts. she can cook her feelings, and she can feed and nourish the everliving shit out of them.

and all of that unnecessary smalltext buildup explains how, around a day later, she ends up making a PSA anyway! Hana figures that if she does voice or video, there will always be that one person who chooses to focus on her age; instead of doing the sane thing and taking 30 seconds to make this post she hunt-and-pecks her way through a torturous 10-minute text message, then spends an additional five minutes scrutinizing it for spelling and grammar errors in the erroneous belief that this will make her appear more mature.]

Attention please! I want to say something.

Everyone keeps saying "it's dangerous, it's dangerous" and talking about what to do but you can't just do that alone.If you forget to eat something you won't be strong for all the things you keep talking about. So even if it's so dangerous you still need to eat, because if you do not take care of yourself that's also dangerous! Since you are busy [and grieving, and scared, and angry] and probably do not have time to think about all of it I cooked for you. There is lot and it is in the kitchen on floor 14. Anyone can come and eat. Even if you're not busy you should come, that is ok too. Because this is important and nobody else should get hurt.

If you are doing to much to come someone else can bring you the food. Or I can do it. If you can't eat it I can make another thing for you. I will take recipe's too. Thank you very much.

[It's a rare video post from Edgeworth. He looks tired, but he seems less depressed than he did a few hours ago; he's focusing on his anger to carry him through.]

Security has a certain amount of the ship secured. These areas are the ones we patrol, the ones you're all accustomed to: the passenger quarters, the oxygen gardens, the medical bay, et cetera. The areas in which you reside. If you stay within those boundaries, we try to keep you safe to the fullest of our abilities; though our manpower is limited, we will do what we can.

If you stray, then we can do nothing. As I said, our manpower is limited, and beyond where we have secured, it is essentially enemy territory. So all of you, no matter how impressed you are with your survival skills and abilities, needs to treat it like enemy territory. It isn't a place to have a walk. It isn't a place to go out and search for monsters so that you can get your fun cracking a few heads. It isn't a research lab. It is a place fraught with danger, and if you go out there, you run the risk of death.

So if you go out, then you will treat it like it is enemy territory. You will not go out alone. You will not go out unarmed. You will not go out without notifying security. If you fail to do any of these things, then you should damn well compose your suicide note to your friends on-board, because you're very likely going to die. And while security isn't ever going to leave anyone to die, you can't treat this ship like an amusement park and expect to live to see the next jump.

[And he glares at the camera a moment longer - and then he glances off to the side, his lips relaxing very slightly.]

Condolences. To those who knew them.

[ The video opens up in the Oxygen Gardens, up on one of the levels that's more or less a jungle. A cow and a horse (Hatter's, formerly) are grazing in a pen, ignoring the person holding the camera. A butterfly flies past, landing on one of the fence posts before fluttering away into the thicker brush. The camera is moved over to a chicken coop where a rooster, two hens, and now five chicks are living. The chicks look like they were just hatched, little bits of eggshell still inside the coop. After focusing on them for a bit, the little peeps of chicks and clucking of hens added to the typical sounds of the gardens, Jaye turns the camera onto herself. Anyone particularly prone to noticing details might notice Alayne's dragonfly necklace and a necklace made of vervain peeking out from the collar of her shirt. ]

So. Most of these are mine and if you even think about touching them in a way I don't like, we're going to have problems. In fact, if there's an animal in the Oxygen Gardens, don't try to do anything with it other than maybe pet it if it doesn't look like it'll bite your face off. Someone'll get pissed and it'll be your fault.

[ Best to get that out of the way, right? ]

Anyway, I usually put the eggs in the different kitchens -- you all may have noticed that and you're welcome. A few people requested to hatch some for various reasons -- for pets, to raise for food, whatever. So Angela, Mordecai, your chicks are ready. If anyone else wants one, let me know. You'll be responsible for them, though I'll help out as I can.

[ Pause. ]

I guess that's it. Uh. What's up, Tranquility?