[ She seems uncertain, at the use of the device which records her, peering a little too close, before pulling back. Trying her best to be at ease, even if she clearly is not completely. ]

Forgive me, fellow passengers of the tranquility, which I am told is a ship, though it is not one I should ever seek to employ --

[ but that is a rant for later, and she dismisses it quickly. ] -- I have been remiss in introducing myself, quite rightly I was not sure how to do so. But this seems the way of it, so I understand it. Though I am alone neither in name nor face. [ her amusement is brittle at best for it. ] I am Elizabeth Tudor, granddaughter to Elizabeth of York, and great-granddaughter to Elizabeth Woodville.

[ and she puffs out of breath in dry laughter. ] And by more time than is flattering to count such, Queen of England in turn. [ there's a pause and the propriety of it all seems to drop, introduction done. ]

Now that is out of the way, the matter that is far more important, what must be done to procure a decent drink on this twice cursed place? Or indeed how to pass the time at all, if my skills may be put to use, though I scarcely know where to apply them here. [ and that, truly seems to amuse her, quite darkly in fact. ] In any case, you shall find me a generous friend.

[Right after Marissa's message:]

Please-

[Her voice is soft, almost desperate, and for once she looks like a vulnerable teenage girl.]

Please don't listen to her.

[She just wanted some peace on the ship and now this.]

(ooc: even if you've only talked to her once, if it was friendly, you count.)

[Marissa turns on the video the day after the jump. She clears her throat, turning the device so it frames her face just so. The first thing that's obvious is that she has a gnarly black-eye, courtesy of Hanna. The background is just a wall with no distinctive marks. It also may be strange that she's wearing dark gloves. Another strange thing is, she might look a lot like your resident psychic elf and queen of England...

She smiles, and to some it might be a reassuring smile, but to some others, it might be a little off. Her accent is Southern, and her voice is authoritative.] Hello. My name's Marissa Wiegler. I wanted to explain the debacle that was yesterday.

There is a girl on this ship. Her name is Hanna. She is a very disturbed girl. Her father has brainwashed her into thinking I would do her harm, turning her into a deadly weapon for his own selfish benefit. She is highly dangerous and manipulative. I don't recommend talking to her or interacting with her at all.

She has already assaulted me once. It won't happen again. I will be in hiding until I can be sure that I will be safe. Do not be fooled. She was genetically altered to be the perfect soldier.

Trust me. And stay safe.

[And she turns off the feed. For the curious, this is the ongoing thread of the 'debacle'.]

You're not alone. People you care about are calling for your help, and you want to go help them. I'm going to ask you to be a little more patient before you run off into the dark. We know they're lost, we know there's something pursuing them, we know they need help. But we also know that the most recent post on the network, the one talking about warnings from the captain - a captain we don't have - wasn't made by one of us. That means this problem is bigger than you think; it's bigger than all of us, and it's important we get a clear image of what we're facing before we leave. Shepard's team has gone missing, and other comms have started going off the radar too--we'll start where they disappeared, and if we do this together, we might even succeed. The last thing we need is more of you lost out there because you chose to do this on your own.

Right now I need your help in a different, but just as important way. If you've received a message from someone, we need to hear them. That way we can establish a thorough list of who's missing, and try and piece together what they were all trying to say.

Tyke, as Head of Security, is going to coordinate the rescue. I imagine she'll speak to you shortly herself. Rest assured we'll need bodies on the ground for this one, and I know there's going to be no telling some of you to stay put, so forgive me if I - at least - save myself the effort of trying. The corridors are dangerous: bring weapons, ammunition, your communicator, but don't worry too much about rations--you won't need them.

[ He seems about to sign off, but he has to address that post, the grinding static and the screams underneath it, all of it so familiar to him by now. ]

...

"They're getting closer." I don't know about you, but that doesn't sound like a coincidence. Whatever we find out there, whatever is after our people, try not to kill it unless you have to. Don't get killed, but bear in mind the risk that we may be deceived into murdering people who would be our allies. I can't shake the feeling that we're being set up. Alright. Hang in there, everyone.

[ Though Éowyn has gotten used to the device over the past few months, she still takes a moment to adjust the camera once it is connected, shifting away and tilting his head politely once she has done so. ]

A good day to all. Months have been since I have arrived here, yet this is the first time I address the ship as a whole. So I introduce myself: my name is Éowyn, I hope to find you all well.

[ Now onto the point of her video. ]

I have recently joined the Security team. As such I wish to practice further, so that my skills will not fall into disuse. For this purpose, I seek any and all people who would be interested in sparring with swords. [ A moment before she adds. ] Equally, if anyone who should like to be taught, I will gladly spare what little knowledge I do have.

That said, I also ask if anyone here should be so willing about teaching me about... firearms, I believe that is the term. I have never before heard of them, so I would ask for your patience as I learn.

Thank you all ever so much for your time. [ She smiles briefly, then adds as a last note. ] Oh, La-- I mean, Buffy, I should like to speak to you when you have the time.

[ And with that, she ends the feed. ]

[ this month, elizabeth is all smiles—and it's neither forced not an act of pretense. she truly is quite altered from last month's angst now that her mother has awakened. her red hair is plaited with ribbons for the first time in months, and she is wearing one of the new gowns she has sewn with nuala. to a new arrival, it will appear as though she is seated outdoors, though she is merely relaxing by one of the streams which criss-cross the oxygen gardens.

her face is flushed with her joy, and it reaches her eyes to brighten them while she regards the camera with a barely-contained grin upon her face. ]

Greetings, fair Tranquility. How does everyone fare this month? I have a query to put to you all:

Once, I believe there was a tradition of large communal feasts being held here, be it weekly or monthly. And the good lady who held them has departed since, causing an end to it.

I would think she would find that a great shame, indeed. Thus I propose that we should hold them again, either weekly or monthly depending upon the preference of the majority of you, and that we take this opportunity to eat together and know one-another better. What say you?

[ she will even provide the music, if necessary! honestly, these dreams of home have rendered her a bit homesick for such entertainment and interaction with others. and here, she does not technically require to keep her true nature hidden from those she socializes with.

elizabeth hesitates, as though she believes herself to be finished, and then adds hastily: ]

Lady Éowyn, might we speak in private at your earliest convenience?

[ ZOOM IN. INT: THE SHIP. There’s something not so dark about the video feed, actually, but it does feature only the back of a chair. Slowly, s l o w l y, it turns around--

And it’s Veronica, with one hand petting an imaginary cat and one twirling an incredibly imaginary moustache. ]

I’ve been expecting you, Tranquility.

[ Too much? Veronica grins, the screen shaking a little as she reaches to pick up the communicator. There’s a whine from somewhere in the background -- definitely doggylike, definitely her dog, since there’s a brown-fur head that bats gently into her other hand that no longer is preoccupied with villanious imaginary pencil moustaches. ]

But seriously folks. Hi, I’m Veronica. I might make this announcement again, but for now, there are a lot of floors and not a lot of security folks. Trust me-- I’ve done the math, crunched the numbers, and sooner or later we’re all going to be putting pig heads on spikes.

[ Out of the corner of the screen, Backup, her dog, apparently seems to be content to chew mildly on her fingers. Veronica…. looks a little disgusted, but love is love, and her nose wrinkles then un-wrinkles in distaste. ]

If you want to make yourself useful, consider this, me, Veronica, poaching you, the citizens of the Tranquility, to change departments and sign up for Security.

[ Sing-song: ]

We have Tyke!

[ One hand -- the hand not currently getting chewed on lovingly -- makes a tiny little paw and claws. ]

Very grr, arrgh.

You’ll love it, I promise.

[ elizabeth sits in the grass, with white roses in her hair and her skirts pooled about her. she looks thoughtful and placid to most, and only those who know her passably well may note an undercurrent of sadness in her features. it is there, but not readily apparent unless one has seen and interacted with her often.

her mother's absence and the hell that awaits her family in the future have not been forgotten. they hang like a great weight about her neck, and in the way her shoulders bow a little despite being straight and stiff otherwise. she keeps her eyes averted from the camera for now, as she speaks up quietly: ]

It all began upon a lovely day in spring
A maiden fair stumbled upon a King
Beneath the boughs of a mighty oak
Whilst two boys clutch'd at her cloak

And lo he came upon them there
Stricken at once by the maiden so fair
He gaze'd at her and she at him
Love-struck and helpless to its whim

[ she releases a long breath of air, and finally looks up at her comm device. her face still appears peaceful, as though the words and the act of writing them have had a calming effect. and perhaps they have. she effects a small smile, though, for good measure. ]

I think it a good beginning. What say you, Tranquility? Putting such a tale to words has been a daunting task, indeed.

I shall continue, and add more to it. But I must ask, are there such tales whence you hail from?

[ and if poetry is not your jam, elizabeth has another query. she holds up a plastic container (a stick of deodorant) and a glass bottle (perfume) and various other sundry items she has found. all sweet-smelling, all utterly confusing to a girl from the late middle ages. ]

And I must beg another query of you, if you please: what are these? What purpose have they?

[ anyone who knows her will see that this is only an attempt on her part to distract herself. sitting idle and stewing over the heaps of negativity life loves to send her fmaily's way has never been her thing. ]

So I guess this is becoming a thing, but I think I'm gonna host a brunch potluck thingamajig. [She trails off, taps her lower lip with an index finger.] Probably in one of the rec rooms in a couple days. Set up for a few hours and let everyone who wants to wander in have a chance to eat and mingle.

[Alexis Castle: TQ's Morale Officer. Or something.

She hesitates, mouth quirking in a frown before speaking again. There's a little less confidence, less self-assurance now.] I hope everyone's doing okay.

[Coming back from Arima, Lúthien has barely left the gardens. It safe and comfortable there. Still, she knows she isn't the only one that's been left disturbed by what Morgoth and Mairon had done, whether they had been given nightmares in the shuttle or their treatment on Arima.

When her communicator begins recording, she remains silent at first. As though she's second-guessing herself or thinking about how to begin. And then she straightens and speaks.]

I know that many of us are still upset [an understatement, she knows] about what has happened. To us and to others at the hands of Morgoth and Mairon. And I know that sleep may be difficult to come by for a time or even avoided.

[She can't help the latter of the two but the first?] I have a gift, one that I can use to put to sleep those who cannot sleep themselves. I would offer this service to any who wish it.

[ For so long, Frodo's told himself to stay strong. He was in a place far away from home, away from a purpose and away from his dearest friend. He had friends here; many of them were from Middle-earth as well. But there were enemies out there as well, ones who haunted his very dreams when he slept. They were here, and they were real, and that's why he had to put on a tough face.

But the sudden news has stripped him naked, so to speak. When Frodo shows his face, he looks sickly. His face is pale and his eyes are red. He doesn't try to smile; there's too much weighing on him to make him even attempt one. His eyes are glazed with tears, that show a lot more about how much he hurts than he'd ever dare to let on.

Frodo can't hide it now. His limit's been met. ]

How do you go on, when you've met an end? [ His voice is raspy, and weak. ] When you've met your limit, what do you do?

[ His one hand is clutching to the Ring that hangs from his neck. It's heavier than ever, and the chains holding the necklace in place is cutting into his skin. It was like it knew that he was upset, and was feeding from it... ] Oh, Merry. My poor cousin...

[ A pause. ] How can I go on?

[The gardens are in the background. Thranduil appears on the screen looking impeccably turned out. His poise is stiff, his tone formal.]

It has been brought to Security's attention that the criminals Melkor and Mairon did capture twenty-two hostages from this ship. Of these, nine were enslaved with sorcery to do their bidding and keep the others entrapped. Their intent was to hide upon the station Arima and make their way to a planet from there.

[He lifts his chin.]

In doing so, Melkor and Mairon emptied several houses and killed and ate their inhabitants. When we arrived, there were piles of half-eaten carcasses to which some of the hostages had been bound face-to-face. The hostages themselves are in varying states of health. When we became apparent to him, Melkor set fire to the house.

[A muscle in his jaw twitches. Legolas' legs were broken.]

Melkor and Mairon are dead, and with them one of their willing servants--AM, I am to understand he was called. Their executions were quick and necessary to free those under their spell. They will not harm another soul here.

One hostage could not be saved. Meriadoc Brandybuck was murdered for his valour, and with his death he saved all his fellow prisoners. Because of the fire, Merry's body could not be retrieved. All effort was put toward saving the living from the fires. A funeral will be held for him. His honor is great even among the many great souls I am privileged to know here. The wake will be held tomorrow night, after a night and a day of mourning.

[He stops speaking for a second, though his face makes no change. At last, his gaze drops briefly and his voice becomes a soft hiss.]



Savo hîdh nen gurth.

[He cuts the transmission.]

[ the feed starts to complete blackness — it resolves itself into a clearer picture of a leather uniform once aramis steps back, though he also just so happens to be upside down. at least aramis has learned enough in his days aboard the tranquility so far that he notices and fixes it a moment later, leaving it lopsided, but the right way around.

he steps back a little further, coming to stand next to porthos. they are both armed, swords strapped to their sides, and not in the ship's jumpsuits but rather in their leather uniforms.

aramis holds a pistol, considering it. his voice is thoughtful. ]

They do say I am quite good with these.

[ porthos, for his part, is still staring suspiciously at the sleek looking square on his end. but he lets up long enough to add - ]

Finest in all of France, I’d wager. The better to serve their Majesties, King Louis XIII and Queen Anne.

[ it’s a spiel they’ve been through before. aramis’ eyes narrow. ] Speaking of their Majesties — if they are here as well, rest assured that we will find them and not look kindly on anyone who has committed treason and harmed them.

[ there’s a gruff hemm of his throat, before porthos adds; ] And if you’ve done likewise with two men who go by Athos and D’Artagnon, it may not be treason, but we’ll be looking just as unkindly.

[ aramis smiles at that, cheerful almost despite the dangerous edge to it. ] To those who are likewise captives, we swear to aid you where we can.

[ and he tips his head. ]



( blue is aramis, black is porthos! musketeers in space, aw yeah!! )

A query, for the ship...

I wonder, with what we do know about our predicament; and I admit, my knowledge is little when it comes to the gadgetry and computations that the running of this vessel requires; and what we do know about M. 'Smiley', as he is like to be called...

Well, how to put this?

[A pause and a breath, before tilting his head just softly and staring up at the camera.]

Smiley may not be human, is it so? This has been presented to me as an option. Not human, but digital?

And he has been upon the networks, in order to mock us. But the mocking has had a defined purpose, I have seen. Threats, that we "had better" fix problems-- both technical, and human in the case of the mutineer-- before it costs us our lives. That we "had better" keep the ship running. Yet, if it were not his will that it be fixed too, were it not in his best interest also, would he not use fear as a means of making us do his bidding?

If Smiley would guide us to to save our lives by saving the ship; perhaps it may mean that it is the improper course of action, after all? Perhaps we ensure his-- or it's-- safety by ensuring our own? And in doing so, we too may be responsible in part for leaving this vessel open to stealing more lives from their homes, more people from their families...

In other words, the question I would like to pose is this: If we knew, for fact, that the only way to stop the terrors on this ship and the kidnappings seen each month was in destroying the ship, thus protecting any future targets-- be they like us, or like those pirates, who were seen to summary execution...

Would you be willing to pay that price, to see that the right thing be done?

Dulce et decorum est pro mores mori.


Forgive me, if it is too morbid in thought. The question is surely a difficult one.

[ elizabeth is seated, and can be seen plucking curiously at the strings of an instrument she has never seen before. it appears similar to the lute, but much larger. this is the first time she has ever seen a guitar. looking over, she notices that her comm is finally broadcasting. yay!

she effects her usual smile, appearing nothing other than cheerful. the strength of the mark she wears is improving here. ]

There is a saying that goes somewhat like this: Ubi bene, ibi patria. In other words, where one feels at ease, there is their country. I have wondered, if that is so for the rest of you. Or if perhaps some of you feel more at ease here than whence you hail from.

[ she is getting to a point, promise. ]

Happiness can be such an abstract concept. Yet I find it possible to find here more so than at Court.

But there is another saying: Aliis si licet, tibi non licet. Simply because others are permitted something does not mean that you are.

Thus if you are not permitted to be happy, what are the permissible steps to take in order to acquire what little joy which may be found?