16 January 2014 @ 07:10 pm
[Eric really isn't the type for posting to the networks himself, but he has a need. A very specific one. With all of this temperature fluctuation, he needs to keep his body temperature more stable, since for some ungodly reason the changes in temperature actually bother him this semester. And that means regular feedings. Normally his smaller collection of donors is more than sufficient each month. This month, however, is far, far from normal.

When Eric turns on the camera he sits very still, legs crossed, hands folded in his lap. He's trying hard not to look as miserable as he feels, with all of this hot and cold that he's not supposed to be able to feel. And he's putting up a rather impressive front, at that. Behind him, Godric stands, just as still and straight himself, although a soft smile graces his own features.]

Ladies. Gentlemen. [The corner of his mouth quirks slightly, a show for the camera.] And the rest of you, whatever you are.

We're looking for volunteers. Donors, if you must be specific about it. Some of you might remember a similar request a while ago. Unfortunately, Captain Kirk is no longer here to speak on our behalf. That does not mean that we are asking you to blindly offer yourselves up. There are those on the ship that can vouch for our character in his stead.
[He won't name names specifically on such a public forum, but they know who they are, and they should know that they're called to account, here with these words.]

I'll give you the Sparknotes version. Godric and I are Vampire. We drink blood, it is how we survive. Without it, we starve. [His eyes are fiercely blue.] Or freeze, as the case may be. As it stands, we need more than usual to make ends meet this month, thanks to the ship fucking around with its temperature changes, and deciding we need to share in the same effects. And that is where you come in.

[It is Godric's turn to speak up now, sensing that his progeny's temper is getting the better of him for the moment.] We have regular volunteers who donate to us, and their contributions are usually more than enough. But this is an usual situation, and we do not wish to overburden them. We're asking for temporary volunteers to supplement what we already receive. And any form of donation will do; if you have your blood drawn in the medical bay, they can set it aside for us at your request.

[Eric shifts in his seat, leaning against one of the arms of the chair.] Donors may remain anonymous, should you decide to take us up on this request. [He brings a hand up to rest his chin his hand. He sounds slightly bored with the spiel, and rehearsed as well, as though this sort of announcement and public speaking in general really isn't new to him at all.] Questions?

((ooc: Blue is Eric and green is Godric! There will be a log for this up shortly as well so keep an eye out for that!))
[ faith has exactly one concern in all this bullshit: empathy is not so much her gig. ]

So, seems like everybody's all about sharing and caring. And that's cool, whatever gets you off. Play Missed Connections on the Love Boat from hell all night long— have a blast, I don't give a shit.

But just in case anybody else gets any bright ideas about 'maybe we should talk about it'— [ gdi topher— ] maybe nothing, get me? You think you picked my brain, sucks to be you but don't blame me, I didn't sign up for this crap and I don't wanna know about it. I got zero desire to talk about whatever anybody thinks they saw, end of story.

[ because not-terribly-blissful ignorance is better than pity!!! or something. she's emotionally healthy. ]

And just so everybody clear, I'm talking the kind of leave me out of it I'll throw some muscle behind backing up. Keep it zipped and to yourself or I'll break it off, it's nothing I wanna look at.

[ and with the snick of a lighter and a mumbled curse then a long inhale, she's out. ]
13 September 2013 @ 05:47 pm
Usually the ship goes quiet at some point, but since the Jump everyone's been bustling and out and about-

[And for the first time since she died she's been so tired]

-so I thought, maybe, I don't know, is there some soft music we can pipe through the speakers, you know, jazz or something, I don't know, something so everyone relaxes and for a while, honestly-

[She may be just talking, now. Really. What is this tired.]

Or, oh! I know! Does anyone have a copy of a John Grisham novel? That used to put me right to sleep...
08 August 2013 @ 06:25 pm
everyone who had lessons with me lined up
they're off
ask gunnery if you can't deal with it

[locked to gunnery]

taking time off
you don't like it, fire me

[locked to l. martin]

go to my room and take annabelle and the rat
while you're at it, tell derek it's off

[nope, you're not getting any explanations there. whoops.]

ooc; replies will come briefly (until he's got confirmations from the locked stuff). but don't expect any real conversations out of him. whoops.
[Spike puts his booted feet up on the table in the lounge, puffing idly on a cigarette. He kinda didn't care about the recirculated air thing given that he didn't actually need to breathe. Instead he's just going to get right to it, leaning over the feed.]

Can't believe what the kitchen here calls 'hot wings.' More like spicy mystery meat, if you ask me. Which you didn't, but I'm telling you anyway. Because there's not one bloody thing else to do up here. Can only walk round in circles so many times before you start getting dizzy. Not that I've done that...

[Instead he's been riding the elevators up and down for the better part of four hours.]

Say, anyone know how to play cribbage? I'd settle for a rollicking game of Operation, at this rate.

[He's away from the screen just a moment, coming back up without his cigarette.]

I know. Charades. Yeah? [He stands up and sets the device far enough away to catch his expression. First word. A person. He flaps his arms like wings then rearranges his brow to hang over his eyes. See what he's doing here... No, probably not. He puts his hands together like prayer and draws a halo over his head with smoke from his cigarette (that he quickly puts down again, off screen).

There's a pause, and then Spike rolls his eyes. He got bored of his own boredom-curing movement.]
You know the guy. He's not really on security, is he?

[The video ends with a slightly melodic laugh and a hoo sound. As in, hoo boy, that's a knee-slapper.

You're welcome, Ataraxion.]
29 June 2013 @ 05:39 pm
[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.]


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.))

[ usually faith wouldn't bother with text, but she's not trusting herself to deal with this latest fantastic life choice over anything else.

( or deal with it totally sober, but that was taken care of hours ago. ) ]

so everybody's got a hardon right now for life stories and destiny or whatever. like any of it matters, because fate either has a jacked up sense of humor or it went out for cigarettes freaking years ago.

in case you lived someplace nice before now welcome to being like the rest of us, the world's shitty all around and then you kick off and that's about as good as you can get out of the deal.

so screw it. sitting around worrying about that shit gets you killed. fuck fate, fuck destiny. you got two options: do something or don't, and sitting around whining like a pussy isn't getting whatever you got on the books done.

[ that part is directed at herself. so is the whole post honestly, because why not dump her purse out all over the network.

also on that jarring, unfinished end note she's out, mic drops and so on. ]
10 May 2013 @ 09:23 pm
[That's a really nice view of a kitchen ceiling popping up on your comms. Forgive the 90's kid for his lack of experience in smart phones - or maybe don't, because it might just be he's too lazy to hold the thing up while he's talking. Or it might be where he's busy rifling through every food cupboard he can find, his talking punctuated here and there by the sound of food packets being investigated, shaken around, crinkled.]

Not that I want to disrupt all the great work you people've been doing here, but those two assholes you think are in charge - you checked they're human? Might wanna label it some post-traumatic shit, but recent experience has given me a healthy distrust of taking anyone as they appear. And it'd explain this situation better than any of the vague mysterious bullshit you've been going with so far.

[There's a pause, then the sound of a box of something or other getting torn open, and yeah, when he talks again he's obviously doing it around a mouthful of food. It's been a rough couple of days, and he's hungry. It's also good for covering up any glimmers of actual concern in his voice as he carries on.]

I'm missing some people. Yeah, you heard it all before. But you see a short bug-eyed freak called Casey running around, do me a solid and point him my way.

[[ooc: backdated to early on the day after the jump!]]
06 May 2013 @ 11:05 am
Oh, my god.

[ stiles' voice has the kind of self-contained excitement in it that someone might get upon being given a quad bike for their fourteenth birthday. or, you know, a pony. there's that same kind of delighted anticipation of fun times ahead. ]

You guys will not believe what I found.

[ his voice is pitchy and he's in close up in the dim light, eyes wide and too-dark in his pale face, before he turns to film... well. ]

An actual freaking body!

[ which is all the warning given for the squeamish before it's on camera. the body is very clearly human, even if all its distinguishing features have been removed. its pieces join unnaturally together, arm sewn to shoulder to torso to leg, and the whole thing hangs suspended from several strings, like a puppet. ]

[ stiles fumbles the camera back to himself. he swallows. it's cool, but also, you know, he's kind of creeped himself out already just wondering if the killer might still be around. but that's not exactly a thought he's about to put voice to. ]

I'm about fifteen minutes heading left from the Shuttle Bay, I think, if someone wants to come cut it down.

(( as per dex and bri's excellent adventure. eta action for investigators. ))
[ This is backdated to what may or may not be, depending on your character's sleep patterns, ass-o'clock of the early morning! If it is and this broadcast wakes them up, well. Whoops. ]

The body's gone.

[ It's a man's voice, quiet but more shocked than afraid. The medbabes this is filtered to will probably recognize it! Security, maybe not so much. SURELY THIS AUDIO FORMAT IS THE PRODUCT OF HOW DEEPLY DISTURBED THIS GUY IS. SURELY HE CANNOT TRUST HIS OWN ABILITY TO BE ON CAMERA, HAVING WITNESSED SOMETHING SO UNSETTLING. ]

That's not really specific, it it? Given the circumstances. [ Inhale, exhale. The hysterical edge that was just creeping into his voice gets tamped down again. ] Sorry. The pirate that snuck in here and died a week ago -- Medical, you know who I mean -- he's gone. I just got here to start shift and there was blood outside the morgue, on the floor... I thought someone might be in there, they might need help. Turns out the problem's the exact opposite.

Everything else is still in place. The tag's here -- left it right on the tray. And that's it. I don't know if -- if somebody with clearance took it or what, but the blood looks pretty fresh, and there's... I think some of these might be footprints.

So -- figured one of you might want to hear about it before whoever comes in next, looking for aspirin. I can switch to video if anyone wants, but I'm not touching anything. [ He gives one of those ambiguous short exhales that could be either a sigh or a snort. ] You know, maybe this is just me, but I'm pretty sure this was old the last time it happened.
26 April 2013 @ 05:39 am
[ When these sort of announcements go up, John is usually one of the people replying to them, waiting for orders or confirming them. He hasn't stepped into a leadership role on the ship, hasn't even been too social, and he's been just fine with that. But Tyke's injured, in Medical, and she had sent him a message: "Take SEC".

And so he does.

It's not his first time giving orders, though it's been some time, and he doesn't like to think about those last times. Still, John's the picture of a good Marine when the camera flicks on, the chain of his dog tags visible around his collar. ]

Tranquility, this is Staff Sergeant John Grimm. [ "Reaper" lies unsaid, his handle lurking on his tongue and in the tattoo hidden under his sleeve. ] We've done a thorough sweep and the pirates are all either dead or captured. You're clear to return to work and to your rooms. Anyone injured should report to Medical, if they haven't done so already.

Anything the pirates taken hasn't been put back yet. If you want to do inventory on what's missing [ or where, he thinks; they were just practically ripping the walls apart in some places, after all ] then we can work on getting things back to where they belong.

[ Beat. ]

You may all be wondering why I'm telling you this instead of Tyke. She's [ his gaze flickers for a moment, taking a breath; he's worried ] currently out of commission and had me take Security until she recovers. I don't know any more than that at this time.

[ And he's fairly certain Tyke wouldn't want him to go around dropping details about how he's doing anyway. Now's the part where John looks a bit awkward, like he's not sure how to finish up. ]

If you have questions, ask them.


If you're not injured, I want to add the brig and surrounding area to your patrols. When Tyke comes back, she can make her own judgment call.
[ for once, no one has to deal with faith and jaye's ridiculous mess of a room. instead the feed opens on faith's old room, which is dusty at worst. ]

Okay, so. Here's the thing-- no disrespect to fight club and all, I'm a fan. Sparring's cool for the little stuff, but it doesn't hit that real itch.

[ which would be killing, for all of you who don't speak crazy slayer. ]

So, here's what we got. Nerd wing overrun with those rat things, and looks like they're planning to just chill there for now. I'm thinking... fish with bitchin' teeth, barrel. Math's not all that hard.

Tyke already covered the general deal-- you wanna head out on your own good luck with that and mazel tov I guess, try not to bleed all over. Gets shit slippery, makes it a bitch for the rest of us. [ she shrugs one shoulder, rueful. it's true okay, geez. ] What I'm looking for is a hunting party. Fast and lean-- I got enough gear for me and maybe like three other people. Anybody who can bring their own shit to the table's welcome, but I get final call.

You wanna showboat and play hero, I got no use for you. And if you feel like you gotta prove your dick's the biggest skip the fight and just go ahead and whip it out right now, see what happens. Lonely in space, might get a couple takers for that. [ she grins, all teeth. ] All right, what else. You can't keep up, I don't need you. You can't take orders, I don't need you. You can't work nice with the other kids, I really don't need you. And no offense to the 101 crowd, but I'm not looking to babysit. You can't take care of yourself, don't need you either. Nothing personal.

I don't give a shit about attitude as long as you listen the fuck up, you stay low, and you don't get dead because that'd suck pretty hard for you. Plus then we gotta bring you back and if I bring back bodybags, boss lady's gonna get pissed and cut off my access to the party room and then I'm gonna get pissed. So no stupid moves, no dying, everybody's happy.

And if you wanna know why I'm in charge, other than 'cos I said so? [ she pans the camera over to the entirety of her weapons collection, a few clearly less high quality and more homemade blades joining the throng. ] Because they're my toys, and if you wanna play with them you have to ask nice.

[ she's such a delicate flower. ]

If you're down, we'll talk experience.

( ooc | depending on ic interest in actually going out, we can talk logs and/or handwaving etc. )
09 March 2013 @ 12:10 am
[Crowley has been on the ship for hours.

The whole business was rather unpleasant, as is being branded like some kind of animal, but all in all, the demon is rather unruffled. Transport into another universe was something of another day's work, though it was an alarming coincidence that it occurred so closely to his greatest victory. Was this his punishment for his involvement with defeating the Leviathan?

Unlikely, the demon decides, and so he goes about his business.

First, it is a matter of discovering his locker, of removing his things, and of disappearing. He has little interest in socializing immediately and, as a result, Crowley vanishes into the shadows to dwell and think -- and, most importantly, learn. Within the hour, Crowley has all he needs to know at his fingertips, and with a flick of his fingers, his comm turns on to broadcast his soft accented English to the Tranquility.]

I'm afraid I require a bit of explanation as to why, exactly, someone thought it would be humorous to shove a Hellhound into a test tube.

[There's an artful pause.]

And also the location of the nearest groomer. This filth is absolutely disgusting.

[There's another three second pause before his own transmission ends.

Let's see who decides to come forward with information about why he, the demon King, is here.]
[ faith is smoking slowly when she turns on the feed, clearly lingering over the last of her stash in a way she really should have implemented sooner.

she has a veritable arsenal out and unloaded, covering a lot of the bits of her room that can be seen-- weapons cleaning is a totally sane hobby, why is everyone nervous when they try and sit down in here-- and she has a gun clearly unloaded and half taken apart in her hands, gleaming already but apparently not good enough.

her mask is chilling out in the back of her closet, but that's nobody's business but her own. ]

So, here's my thing. And I'm not talking for SEC here, so don't give me shit duty again, all right boss? Just thinking out loud is all.

[ she loves you, tyke. ]

So, what. We got-- hell and darkness out there? Yeah, and? I've done hell and darkness, it's pretty freaking routine for me.

Why are we letting jackasses like Caffrey and Stark head out alone and come back all fucked up and useless?

[ wait for it. ]

No offense, or anything.

Look-- back home, this is where we start talking about mounting up and heading out to take a little tour ourselves, is all I'm saying.

[ pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease oh please won't someone give her permission to troll the creepy space doom, oh oh oh pick her! ]
10 November 2012 @ 12:11 am

If, hypothetically, a person on this ship wanted to acquire a drug that would probably be deemed "illegal" in said person's home world on this ship, where would one go to find something like that in this ship? (Drug is not deadly or harmful in any way. Drug mostly induces sedation. Drug only wanted for recreational use.)

Completely hypothetical.


[ mike no ]
[ the lockdown and patrols with nothing but jackshit at the end of it all would key faith up anyway; but she doesn't see what the goddamn problem is with putting on a freaking mask-- because she's really bad at her job sometimes-- and so the face she turns to the network may currently be mask free, but that's half the story. ]

Well, that was bullshit. SEC hauled ass around in the balls out really freaking cold for days, and I didn't get a single fight out of it.

[ but she's rly super glad everyone's okay, honest. ]

Anybody wanna fix that?

...just if you're any good at a little rough stuff and won't bitch, no offense to the civilians or anything but I don't feel like holding hands and kissing boo-boos.

[ this is the destiny chosen savior of the world, people. why. how. why. what was destiny smoking? ]

Let me know, I guess.

( ooc | tyke gets herself a brawl today but other than that, no set plans. )
27 October 2012 @ 12:06 pm
If anyone missed it, the ship is now in emergency lockdown.

[Kirk is addressing the video next to him, the device seems to be propped up so that there is a clear view of Tyke next to him as he taps away at a console in one of the corridors. it's one of those big holographic ones, and it's reflecting red light back into his face. he doesn’t look up.]

We're running on backup power, and before anyone asks, we haven't figured out the problem. Primary power is being directed into Engineering and the Oxygen Gardens. Engineering, I need one of you to contact me-- I don't have clearance so I can't get down there on my own.

[it's here that he looks up]

The lockdown has also, for some reason, extended to everyone's cabins--

[but the console beeps and Kirk's attention goes back to whatever he was working on. Tyke has been concentrating on her comms device, but she looks over as Kirk cuts off, frowning slightly. clearly not interested in wasting time waiting for him to finish and get back to addressing the camera.]

Gonna want everyone getting down to the gardens. Power's still good down there and sticking together's safer. If you haven't been locked out of your room yet, grab everything you can before you leave - blankets, sheets, pillows. Agriculture, if you're not there already, we're gonna need you for access. And SEC, I want you down there running tight guard on the area, loose patrols to pick up stragglers. [an agitated, stilted shift of her shoulders.] I'm not taking any chances on this being more fucked up than a power cut.

It's going to get cold up here, people. Resnik is estimating 40 degrees Fahrenheit. Bundle up, we might be camping for a while.

[and he reaches up to click off the transmission.]

[ooc: gold is for Kirk, blue is for Tyke.

UPDATE: go to this log for open garden camping stuff!]
[ 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. :/ ]