[ when arya stark faces the camera, it is with all the solemnity of her last video post.

this is not about the fluctuating temperatures, however. ]

I need blankets, [ she begins without preamble, ] and pillows. I would prefer them with color, but any spares you have will be enough.

[ she prefers the ones people receive than the standard issue, but arya has no problems stripping unoccupied rooms if she must. blanket forts are serious business and it is very hot and humid in the gardens. the struggle is real. ]

I also need—hey!

[ the tension breaks with the sudden and utterly unexpected appearance of one (1) shirtless and sweaty gendry. who unceremoniously shoves face and shoulders into the frame. ]

Who are you talking to?

Get out! [ arya shoves her hand at his face to push him out of the shot. the image shakes as she fumbles with the comm and with gendry. ] Don't be rude!

[ the joys of teenagers and almost-teenagers in space. ]

[That he's tired goes without saying: everyone's tired these days, or at least it seems that way between network posts and the worn-down faces passed in hallways. So Garrus skips discussing it when he snaps on the feed, managing to set his communicator down for a decent view of himself settled near the ship's pools. The lighting's too dim for it but really, try asking if he cares.] 

Considering the fact that I've spent my life going from point A to point B between star systems, I think it's fairly safe to assume that just about every culture out there has their customs. And no, I'm not about to ask you to give me an in-depth lecture on what yours are or where they came from, so don't feel obligated to-- or at least try not to be offended when I fall asleep just before you get to 'the good part'. It's been a long week.

But I do need help. 

See, for turians, being barefaced like this isn't exactly a plus. Usually we wear tattoos representing the place where we were born, but at this point I'll take just about anything you've got that'll leave a mark on human skin as a substitute. Preferably in bulk.

[Seth has gotten about two hours of sleep in as many days, and he's getting super bored of laying face-down in bed trying to pass out. Also maybe slightly delirious from sleep deprivation but those are just details.

So instead he has settled for dragging everyone who looks at the Network down with him. He's sitting up when he starts the video, his hair is sticking out in all sorts of crazy directions and the fact that he's shooting from the shoulders up makes it obvious that he's bare-chested. Look, it's not his fault Werewolves are naturally allergic to shirts, okay?]

Does this spaceship ever land on planets? If it lands on a planet and there's nobody there, do we get to name it? I'd like to know where to formally submit my suggestions, because I'm thinking Sethtopia.

[For someone who is dead tired, he sure is disgustingly chipper. In fact, he practically bounces in place when he remembers to ask:]

Hey, are there any aliens here?

[ so, tara's going to skip over how insane all this is, and how she's almost sure everyone and everything around her is a product of being drugged or knocked unconscious via blunt force trauma one time too many. it's-- not useful for one, and depressing for another.

trying to push down how utterly impossible this all is means the expression she turns to the network is her best approximation of the professional, slightly detached pleasantness needed at work. it's not perfect, but it is the best she can gather together over shredded nerves. ]

Does anyone have any acetaminophen-based painkillers? I know we have a medbay, but on the off-chance there's something more familiar I thought I'd ask.

[ and 'are these space drugs safe for fetuses' isn't a question she's necessarily going to leave up to hope and a prayer; it's also not one she'd like to ask out loud. and then, without warning: ]

...again? [ her smile breaks there, frustration and panic looming as she reaches up with slightly unsteady hands to brush at the thin line of blood trailing down and pooling on her upper lip. ] Fuck. [ that's muttered under her breath as she hunts for a towel. her frustration tempers a little as she composes herself, but space is clearly not her favorite thus far. ] And if someone could tell me that's going to stop soon, I'd appreciate it.

[It doesn't take Shepard long to take to the network. Closed ship communication isn't exactly a new concept to her and while there's a whole lot of questions that spring to her mind, she's eager to get one thing sorted out first.]

To whoever thought it was a good idea to break into my locker and take all my things: it wasn't.

[The woman on the video feed, wearing an ill-fitting borrowed sweater, may have a cheerful edge to her voice but it's clearly a front - belied by her furrowed brow and how her mouth falls into a sharp, severe line between words. As soon as Shepard had realized that everyone else seemed to have things left to them in their lockers while hers had been suspiciously empty of pretty much anything beyond her comm device, she'd jumped to the only logical conclusion: someone had stolen her shit.]

I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume it was an accident. If you have my armor or tags or anything with the name Shepard on it-- [She doesn't even know what else could've been there, but there had to have been something.] --just put it back where you found it by 1300 hours and we'll call it even.

[See? Perfectly reasonable of her. None of this makes any sense to her, but let no one say that Commander Shepard of the Normandy can't roll with the punches and put on a nice face despite it all.]

If I find you with it after that, I'll throw you out the nearest airlock.

[Or not. After a moment she continues, only slightly awkwardly. Man can't survive on threats and false accusations alone after all.] As a side note: if anyone has a spare change of clothes they'd be willing to part with, let me know.

Oh, Tranquility. Looks as though the honeymoon's over. We all had a good run-around with our hands in the air wondering what the hell was going on... a week in, no real answers as to what happened, things are getting all Quiet on the Western Front and suddenly - bam. Potential prophecy of impending doom. The long silence about to be broken. Secrets beginning to creep in from the shadows...

It’s all very exciting and a little bit scary, or possibly the other way ‘round depending on who you are, but here’s a bit of advice. Resist the urge to start the whole hands-in-the-air thing again. It’s fun the first time, and necessary in a way, but after a certain point it just becomes counter-productive. We can’t start panicking or killing ourselves over the suspense. Find a book to read. Get to know your neighbors. Play cards or charades or chess. And whatever you do...

[He leans in a touch closer - he seems serious about what he's about to say, but there's a look in his eyes. A knowledge, you might say, if you had to put a word to it.]

...Whatever you do, don’t go trying to hunt those secrets down before their time. Don't think about those parts of the ship the lifts won't take you to. If you find anything that looks like a Big Important Button, do not under any circumstances think about pressing it.

If you see a locked door -- just walk the other way.

[He holds that look for a moment, then glances down as though he’s about to cut the feed - but then glances up again, his mood doing a one-eighty from focused and intense to relaxed and casual.]

--one more thing. It occurs to me that all of us have had something about us changed. On the one end of the spectrum we have the people who only received the number on their arm; on the other end, some of you got the full-body transplant. And in the middle there's people like that nice girl from earlier, with the running, and me... and my sonic screwdriver.

[He holds it up for everyone to see.]

Now I’m not saying this is the same thing as having a biological function altered, although the sonic is a bit organic; all the same, could be something else entirely. I almost hope it is... Some sort of security measure; disable technology foreign to the ship to minimize damage in case of invasion or attack. Which I’d understand, only I’d like to know about it if that’s what’s going on. I’m looking at you -- [And here he smiles at last, and it's almost - flirtatious?] -- Commander Resnik.

[ What up, Tranquility. There's a man on your video feed looking pretty damn tired, despite appearing (and acting) otherwise cheerful. Ohhhhh boy, it's been awhile since he's done his Temple TV stuff, but this is. Basically the same. Right? Okay. Just do it. ]

Hi. Connor Temple here. So, starting off, aside from the whole spaceship thing, I wanted to see how everyone's doing. Being lonely's pretty horrible, and if anyone's a bit under the weather, I know how you feel. Might do a film night, actually. There's gotta be some quality material in the media libraries—I haven't checked or anything, but some popcorn and a top 10 list shouldn't be too hard to find. So. Might be nice.

Moving on—I'm pretty good with technology, so if any of you need anything of yours fixed, I'd be happy to help. Otherwise, I'll be in the engineering department, on... well, some level for now, not sure which. So just give me a call if you need me, number zero-zero-one, zero-two-six, and I'll come running.

Okay, now everyone can ignore this next part. It won't apply to you. Unless your name is Abby Maitland. Then it will definitely apply.

[ Connor pauses for a moment, then speaks. His voice slides up a tiny bit in pitch when he does, hopeful and searching; he's looked for Abby, of course, scoured the medbay and passenger rooms within an inch of their lives—but he knows Abby's a smart woman, and she'd have made herself known if she was actually here. One more thing left for him to do, then. And that's ask the entire network. ]

So—if your name is Abby—you there?

[ There's wait of maybe thirty seconds. His eyes dart to the side, as if listening. No answer.

Not like he expected one. 8( ]

Worth a shot. Back to your regularly scheduled network program.

[ W e l p. Weak salute. That wasn't too bad, but he looks pretty crestfallen. Ughhhh, feelings. TIME TO BURY THEM IN WORK. Which brings him to... ]

( > to: $ward / $resnik | TEMPLE encryption | 100%  )

[Greetings, Tranquility passengers. It's your resident 51st century flirt, Captain Jack Harkness, and just from the video, with the broad white smile and the twinkle in his very blue eyes, it's obvious that he's laying on the charm. He's looking for answers, and he knows that he can pretty much flirt them out of anyone if he tries hard enough, so that's exactly what he's going to do]

So. We're stuck on a ship. How many of you out there have gone exploring so far? What have you found? I think we're pretty much all aware of the stasis tubes and the passenger's quarters, but what else is there out there on the ship? It's not like there's a map or a guide or anything. And for those of you who're interested... Anyone wanna go exploring? It could be fun. You know, you and me. We'll have ourselves an adventure.

Speaking of passengers quarters, by the way, I don't know about the rest of you, but as much as I love the setup, I'd give an arm and a leg for a private bathroom. [He makes a face as if whoever designed the ship is listening] I'm just saying...

Alright, well, I thought -- given that everyone else is doing their, their own little polls, I thought I would put up another one. Very easy, nothing strenuous, I promise, just -- where you come from. Your home, I would say, but not everyone must've been living in their home when they were taken, and -- well.

Planets would be more useful, maybe, now that I think of it. Since the point is, given that we have -- nonhumans, and all sorts of people... and, well, I was thinking we could at the very least see the range of planets that it has to have visited or... been able to mysteriously take people from, before we were brought here. A gauge of its abilities. Obscure as they are.

I can't say I'm from anywhere especial myself -- just Earth. I never thought that that would be only an option.

[a text ETA;] Alright, it's been brought up that this falls a little short, so here are some extra questions. Granted, this isn't mandatory, but if you're aware of any of the answers, having a list may help us in the long run.

Time (and calendar)
Planet
Star system
Relevant cluster

[the feed clicks on and we have a redheaded young woman looking at the video feed. she's got the standard crew uniform on for now, since she still hasn't gotten a hold of her armor. she's apparently in a hallway for now but if you look in the back there's a blond haired man standing not far off and scrolling through his own device- but lets get back to the lady.

she looks pretty serious for now, but she tries to smile for the camera.]

Ignoring the other mysteries on this vessel, this is a call for all members of the Freelancer Program. If anyone under that designation is present, report immediately with your status. I'll rebroadcast this request in 24 hours just in case.

[she glances over her shoulder at north for a moment and turns back to the screen, her frown deepening.] And if anyone else aboard has seen a woman in her thirties, blonde hair, responds to South, it would be appreciated if you would leave a message here.

[pause.] And has anyone found any of their personal effects anywhere but in the lockers provided to us? I'm missing a few things.

[ It takes some time and positioning, but he finally gets the com-device to where he wants it before double-checking that he's posting to the network at large.

The video starts and others will be able to see a small, blonde man settled in a chair, brows furrowed with a hint of mild concern. ]

Right, yes, hello.

I've been hearing a lot of talk on the network regarding those who have recently been altered to human bodies.

[ His lips pinch a little - to be honest, John is still having a hard time believing this is all real. ]

This is a real issue, especially concerning robotic, um, persons. I understand that those of you who have been affected are pushing for getting your original bodies back, but until that's possible, if that's possible, you need to be able to take care of the one you're currently inhabiting.

My name is John Watson - I'm a medical doctor with twenty years of experience. I'm offering my help to anyone who needs help getting accustomed to their new bodies. Again, I think this is especially important to those who formally had no need to eat or sleep, and may or may not be aware of the particulars of human hygiene or diet.

[ Some humans are this way, too, to be fair. Looking at you, Sherlock. ]

Since this is a personal issue, I'm open to making an individual appointment to see you. You can come see me at my flat or I can come to whatever venue you're comfortable with. Just please contact me and we can figure something out together.

Anyone else who needs medical assistance or advice may also contact me; I'll do what I can to help.

[ He cuts the feed and leans back in his chair to wait and see if good sense overcomes pride. ]

-- On the off chance that anyone on board the Normandy is receiving this signal? This is Garrus Vakarian.

[ The voice that flickers on in a burst of static sounds like it has some kind of effect added to it -- like there are two tones, speaking at once, a lower-pitched hum barely audible underneath a more normal sounding voice. To anyone in the know, that's a Turian voice. To anyone else, that probably just sounds weird as fuck. ]

Be advised that the channel is insecure. Requesting coordinates, as well as immediate pickup. We just got done saving the galaxy, and I could honestly do with a bit of a vacation.

But failing that. [ With a small sigh, because that shit is a long shot, focusing back on everyone else on the network. ] Has anyone taken a look around the ship, yet? It's -- not anything I recognize so far, but I'm no expert.

This is a request that if any other members of the Normandy crew have shown up here, they let me know. I'd like to know how many of us there are to work with.

[Not that she's the leading type, but it -- seems like it's going to be necessary, at least until Shepard shows up. She just has to have faith that Shepard will show up.]

[She clears her throat. She should probably say something to the rest of the people here, too.]

If any of you missed it, some of the remaining members of this ship's crew are answering questions here.

[Not that it's very informative. Still.]

[ There's small click as the feed begins transmitting. Nothing shows up except staticky black, but there are muffled noises in the background that faintly resolve themselves into hurried words—two voices, one male, one female, pitched low. ]

—id this—

—ell is goin—

[ . . . ]

—et’s just … over with.

[ There’s a noise that might either be a sigh or a quick burst of static. ] Fine.( Q & A UNDER THE CUT. )