[The feed clicks on to show Gold clearly sitting at a table somewhere, an apron on over his suit. He isn't looking at the camera - a bad habit of his, or maybe it's deliberate - and seems to be working on something, though the angle of the camera means what, exactly, is out of frame. For a moment it seems like maybe the device just clicked on accidentally, but then Gold finally starts speaking - tone perhaps a little more terse than most have heard from him in the past.]

As charming as I'm sure we're all finding these story exchanges, I'm afraid I'll have to break the topic with a reminder of our current circumstances. More specifically, leaving and returning.

[A pause. Too late to stop now, but he still really doesn't want to air this out so openly. It's messy.]

I've heard that several of you have done it, and no, I'm not going to ask how. I believe we're all fully aware it's out of our hands. [He definitely sounds annoyed there, though he doesn't linger on it.] I'm more interested in the details of the experience - how long you were gone for, whether time had passed there, whether you remembered the Tranquility and whether any other unfortunate passengers that you happen to know were absent. That sort of thing.

[Another pause, and he finally turns his attention to the camera.]

Any answers will have my appreciation. But if you don't subscribe to the free flow of information we seem to have adopted here, I'm sure some other recompense could be arranged.

[ when the feed begins, finch is sitting cross-legged on his bed, a pile of fabric in his lap that's probably the jumpsuit. he's holding one of the legs in a hand and there's a needle stuck through a seam that he's evidently been repairing. finch himself looks tired, drawn, a little too thin (he's definitely not eating often enough, though that's at least in part his fault), and his hair's pulled back with a few fruit-shaped clips, exposing vivid copper-colored eyes.

he tugs the needle through the seam, fingers rolling the tiny bit of metal between them as he glances back up. ]

I was thinking, you know, I oughta' get another tattoo. [ in the tank-top he's wearing, it's evident that he has a number of tattoos already, but-- ] I've been getting one every year since I could first sweet-talk my way into the chair. [ he ties the knot off, breaking the thread with his teeth and then shoving the jumpsuit aside. he brushes the tip of the needle over his thumb, pricking it lightly, before reaching across the device to set it down somewhere. he leans back again, then, licking the drop of blood off his skin with a shrug. ] It's a weird kinda'.. thing I do. Because I haven't killed anyone. 'Cause I'm still alive. 'Cause I'm not anyone's pet sex-monster. [ a quirk of his mouth, leaning back on his palms. ]

--Anyway, if I do--and I know there's people on this tub that can do it--it's gotta' be unique, you know? I could, uh, use some help with ideas. Just saying.

[ another shrug! then he reaches up, turns off the feed. ]

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.

[Marty has retrieved his things from the locker; themos-bong, I've missed you so much. So, so much. He has it in his lap and sets it aside, plenty done with it for a good while. It's given him clarity; time to reflect on his life, on his future, on an evil ship doomed to ruin him as much as everything else has.

Okay, so he actually just came into his room, curled up, and cried for a little bit. And then smoked more. It's his depression solution.

But he's good now. He's cross-legged on his bed, looking as though he's been pondering considerably on the state of the Marty. Only whatever redness to his eyes can be contributed to his bong, if anyone questions it--he's too busy focusing on the now, instead of the then. It'll do him no good to let it drag him down; he can keep having all this doubt and survivor's guilt, but he can't let it crush him--because it wouldn't be fair to the others, when they never got the chance to come back.

No, he can figure it all out. He can think long and hard and maybe he can help these people where he couldn't help his own.]

Have you ever wondered if this place is your world's future? I know that's really morbid thinking and all, but this has to be in somebody's future--doesn't it? Maybe something crazy happened, people had nowhere to go, so they ran off to space. It's not like it's the craziest idea out there; we had--whole movies dedicated to stuff like this. Syfy originals. Books. Hell, I think I heard a radio story from ye olden days about it.

[He waves a finger at the air, looking off distantly.]

... I just can't figure out where everything went crazy aboard the ship--maybe there's some... entity. Like a spirit, or a god. Maybe it's getting its sick thrills off making us dance around like little lab rats. Or maybe it's whatever those hypothetical entities created. Maybe--maybe we're just being watched by something that brought us here just to see what we'll do. People say there's no reason we're here, or we haven't found one. But if I had to bet my piggy-bank back home on something... it'd be that. I'd guess it's also why it won't let anyone go out too far from home plate. Or why there are people who aren't people anymore.

Whatever we do, we gotta stick together. Or else... things'll just go from worse to worser. We gotta hang in there. Fuck Smiley and the monsters and the lack of wonderful snack foods--we gotta... just stick together...

[He's rambling now, whoops. Sighing at the sir, he reaches over, grabs his bong and talks as he turns the top, condensing the whole thing down into a normal thermos mug. ILU, thermy.]



I'm gonna go try to invent new things in the kitchen. Anyone wanna go? This place needs way more comfort food, and I'm pretty competent at Macguyver-ing together something worthy of consumption. Might even be able to do it without setting the whole ship on fire, too.

[HA HA it was a joke

just a joke

and then he wanders off without shutting down the feed. Distantly, and growing fainter:]

Maybe I can manufacture some space strain of toaster strudels. 

[And true to his word, he'll be in the kitchens to see what awful abominations he can make wunderbar. He'll answer anything there, too, while he's at it and he remembers to retrieve his comm. Now... what does this place have in the way of sweet stuff? Surely lots of cans and cans and cans and oh look boxes. Feel free to actually find him there, casually drinking from said thermos.]

[ the video begins with finch perched somewhere in what looks like the bar, blond hair pulled back in a short tail. he lifts a hand in a brief wave, mouth quirking in a small, almost startlingly charming smile. (maybe not so startling if you already know what he is.) ]

Uh. Hey, Tranquility. Figured it was a good time to-- [ a pause, expression taking on a faintly sheepish note as he glances away, rubbing the back of his neck. welp. even if it's kind of necessary, it still feels strange, sometimes. ]

Well, anyway. Two things! [ he glances back at the feed, holding up his index and middle fingers, wiggling them. ] First thing's first, for those of you who're new this jump-- Hi. I'm Finch, and this is a personal ad. I'm the resident incubus, unless another one came with this crowd. Now what the hell does that mean for all of you, you ask. Well, I'm glad you're wondering, 'cause it means a couple of things.

[ he leans back a little, blowing a few strands of hair off his brow. ]

First of all, yeah, I really do fuck to eat. Which means that I'm always looking for people willing to go to bed with me once or twice a week. If you do volunteer, side effects are that I'm gonna' know exactly what you want in bed and how to give it to you, so if you're hiding shit, you may not be interested-- though who the fuck am I to judge what gets you off, right? Second-- you'll be pretty exhausted for a couple of hours afterward, but some sleep should fix that.

[ a shrug. ] So that's the first thing. The second, ah-- [ despite himself, he actually looks a little embarrassed at this. ] I was, uh, trying to go back to school before I was kidnapped, so. I dunno', if there are teachers or.. I just wanna' start studying again, you know? I also kinda' need a job. I was an assistant for a tattoo artist back home, but I pick shit up quick, so.. [ a vaguely uncomfortable glance, copper coloured eyes sliding away again. ] Let me know if you need some help with something, right? It's good for me to keep busy.

[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.]

[ finch is stretched out on his belly on the bed, face buried in his arms, naked from the waist up. the video is propped up on something, so the image of him is skewed. he's twitching a little, now and then, fingers curled white-knuckled in the coverlet. ]

Jesus fucking Christ. [ his voice is muffled, faintly shaky, not at all his normal bold self. ] That sucked. This sucks. This whole goddamn ship just-- [ he trails off, finally lifting his eyes, peering over the tops of his arms at the camera. he looks tired, sharp-edged, distracted (hungry-- but isn't he always?). ] .. So. That shit happen often? 'Cause if I'm gonna' be thrown off my routine more than once in a while, I'm gonna' need to start making a plan for emergencies. [ he rubs a hand over his face, then rolls onto his back, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. ]

.. In other news, there are creepier monsters out there than me. Fuckin' good to know. [ he reaches up, slapping the off button. the screen goes dark. ]

Uh, this is Stormtrooper ... zero, fifty, zero, omega (that works, he supposes) we have a situation here, requesting backup. We have a wookie on the loose, I repeat, we have a wookie on the loose. Warning, warning, warning, warning he's loose in sectors four, five and seven. Probably.

Possibly.

We aren't sure, but that's why I'm requesting backup because how am I supposed to scout this entire facility for him?

(there's the sound of a laser shooting something) Also, cancel that reactor leak. I think I fixed it. Uhm, you never answered how you were doing?

[ sup, tranquility. attractive blond on the network today (nothing new). dressed in a tank-top, hair pulled back in a short tail, he looks tired and a little stressed, but somehow still very.. charming?

he huffs when he realizes the feed's begun, rubbing a hand over his face. ] Okay, so I practiced this shit in the mirror, but-- [ he groans, hand dropping away, frowning a little. ] Basically, there's no amount of goddamn practice that can prepare you for outing yourself on what equates to national tv or whatever. ... Fuck. Okay. I'm not the weirdest thing on this ship, so no big deal, right?

[ he mutters something else under his breath, then sits up. ] --Look, it's like this, right? Hi. I'm Finch. I have a seriously specific diet that I'm gonna' need some help with. [ a fidget, rubbing at the nape of his neck, gaze sliding away briefly. ] .. Fuck, I can't believe I'm doing this shit, this is ridiculous. I'm-- uh. Where I'm from, I'm called an incubus. I eat sex energy, and yes, fuck, I know how sleazy it sounds, you don't have to point that shit out, I live it every goddamn day. [ obviously, he's accustomed to jackasses, and will handle other jackasses accordingly.

he pauses for a moment, softening his glare carefully. ] .. Point is, I try to eat at least four times a week to keep myself from turning into what basically amounts to a monster that doesn't give a shit whether you want it or not, and there's only.. what, three-hundred people on this tub? So it's not like I can just feed and move on, you know? [ he looks a little embarrassed, mouth thinning. ] .. I need to know if there are people who'd be willing to be dinner-- regularly.

[ a pause, realizing that sounds, well, pretty negative, before brightening a little, sitting up. ] There are benefits! Seriously, I mean, I'm an incubus. I can personally guarantee it'll be the best fuck you've ever had, and a normal night's sleep should be enough to fix you, and, like, I don't even need you to be human or anything. As long as you can feel pleasure, I can figure out how to give it to you. Also, it doesn't matter how kinky you are, either, you know?

[ another pause, blowing his bangs out of his eyes, head tilting. ] .. Anyway, yeah, that's it. It'd be great if I got some volunteers like, asap. It's been three days and I'm fucking starving. [ he lifts his hand in a little wave. ] Thanks!

[ and the feed ends. y e p. ]


[ ooc; permissions post! ]

oh, wow.
let's face it: this is all sorts of crazy.
but like the sci-fi kind of crazy, which is a cool and dangerous kind of crazy!
although if you tried telling that to your therapist or rose, they'd probably argue that lunacy is lunacy, no matter what.
which brings me to my next point...
am i crazy?
did you ever think that maybe the reason that goo is blue is because it's the color of your destroyed dreams??
the kind of goo that seeps into your ears and totally brainwashes you????????
WAIT.
what if i am figuring all this out way ahead of schedule.
i've been scratching the tattoo a whole lot, too.
i didn't mean to, i swear. i was just itchy!
the effects are wearing off, i repeat, the effects are wearing off!
HOLY SHIT.
i just heard a highly suspicious noise.
...they're right behind me, aren't they.

[ 5 seconds later: ]

TELL DAVE SPRITE I REALLY WANT TO PUNCH HIM!