[Godric sits on an open, grassy area in the gardens, contemplating a... thing he holds in his hands. It isn't very large, perhaps the size of his hand, and looks very much like a small horse with a single horn on its head. Sadly, it isn't alive, but permineralized into a fossil.]

I received this in my locker during the previous jump--

[Before Godric can continue, he glances up at something just off-camera, a restless shadow falling over him. There's a sound like a chirrup just before a large, straight beak noses into the picture, snatching the fossil cleanly out of Godric's hands.

The communicator falls over, disturbed from its resting place by a clawed foot, allowing for a bug's-eye view of Myfanwy the pteranodon awkwardly gnawing at the remains. It only lasts a moment before she makes a sound of clear disgust, dropping the little creature with an indignant shake of her head. Shooting a look at Godric, she takes off again with a great flap of her wings.

Retrieving the communicator, Godric looks dryly amused.]

It seems that wasn't at all what she expected from a unicorn either.

[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!))

I'm sure you must all see a lot've messages like this.

[ The man who appears is one who has appeared on the network before -- soft-faced and earnest, anxiety tested in the lines next to his eyes and a direct sort of stare that manages not to miss the tiny camera embedded in the device he's holding. Still, he smiles, just a little.

His address is slow and not exactly formal, just considered. ]

My name is Charles Xavier, and I'm newly arrived. You'll have to forgive me if I ask any questions you've heard before, though I'm doing my utmost to gather what I can on my own. I believe I've got the basic picture, although any advice is of course appreciated.

What I would most like to know is how many are here that had some sort of... [ He hesitates. ] ...gift. A natural ability of some kind, beyond the usual human faculties. A conversation would be of great interest to me.

Thank you.

[Godric is sitting, slumped casually in a chair in one of the common areas when he turns on the video feed. When he speaks, his tone is soft but clear, and he remains thoughtful as he speaks unhurriedly. This isn't a speech he's had planned out, but he knows what he wants to say.]

With every jump, we receive a variety of new passengers from a variety of different worlds. To some, this ship is not so dissimilar to what they are accustomed to. To others, it is the most foreign thing they have ever known. The worlds we come from vary like grains of sand, and although the welcome guide offers a rudimentary introduction into the unknown, and an invaluable insight into what has already come to pass here, it can only do so much to ease the culture shock.

As our worlds are different, so too are there differences in the types of people we are accustomed to, and how we react to those people. Some of you have vampires in your world, or werewolves, or shapeshifters. For others of you, these are merely fictional stories. But this ship acts as a nexus, and the first thing that any of us must understand is that all things are possible here, and not all things are as you might expect them.

I am a vampire, and not the only one aboard this ship. There are a few of us, but we are as varied as our worlds. Where some of us may have no reflection or cannot be recorded, for example, [he smiles here, the humor obvious] my kind certainly can. We have different cultures and different sleeping habits, and indeed, different eating habits, which is the thing that naturally concerns most newcomers.

While all vampires feed on human blood -- the sole thing we all have in common -- it can affect us differently according to our natures. Some of us, it seems, choose to refrain entirely from its consumption and come to no harm for it. Some of us can eat food and survive on that alone, the same as any human. And for those of us for whom this is not an option, there are synthetic options provided by medical, as well as many kind and generous people aboard who have willingly donated their blood so that we will not starve.

I tell you all this to reassure anyone who has recently come aboard, and found themselves alarmed by our presence. While I cannot vouch for all of us any more than a single human can vouch for all his species, I can say that most of us mean no harm, and wish only to live as peacefully as we can here. I tell you this also so that any vampire new to this ship can understand we are not in hiding, and that aggression is not welcome. And while I cannot speak for any other supernatural species aboard, I hope you will all understand that you have friends here.

[He leaves off there, but leaves the feed open for questions.]

[The communicator comes on with a clatter and settles on its side, the screen coming clear with the sound of a distant curse. Eric is floating, for lack of a better word, far above the ground in one of the more expansive areas of the ship. The metal duct he's holding and carefully positioning into place is massive, and easily weighs a ton.

The old pieces of duct, damaged by bullet holes, lay on the floor near Godric, who is looking up at Eric as he works.]

And why exactly is this such a pressing concern? [Eric is clearly displeased with the fact that he's being put to work, even if he is going along with it]

Because we live on this ship too, Eric, and it requires repair. Repair that would take humans far more time and energy than us. Your complaints are more a burden than your labor. [So he says, but Godric is smiling and shaking his head as if he expected nothing less.]

[Eric shoots the other vampire a dubious look over the massive piece of equipment he has lofted in the air that might be accompanied with just a hint of an attitude.] I hardly see how any of this is benefiting me.

They're air ducts, and humans require air. You require human donors. [He says it dryly, because debating the logic of this is silly.] If that isn't enough for you, then do it because it pleases me.

[Eric looks like he wants to complain further, but the last comment does stop him. He turns to the task at hand, clearly still unhappy but at least doing as he's told as he fits the massive piece of duct work into place. Godric watches as the pieces click together, the puzzle-like nature of the design eliminating the need for bolts.]

It is still a mystery to me how someone managed to put bullets into twenty feet of this without once hitting the gas pipes. [He lifts another section of new material and tosses it up to Eric as if he were throwing something no weightier than a book. Eric catches it with the same casual grace as Godric's toss, though he's still not happy having to put any effort into the task at hand whatsoever.] It would have served them right. Then at least I wouldn't have to be cleaning up after their mess.

[Eric shoots another glance down at Godric, obviously displeased with the fact that the other vampire is just standing there smiling at him and brushing off his voicing his displeasure about the situation like it means nothing to him. He may be Godric's Child, but he's not a child in general, and it infuriates him sometimes when Godric pulls the Maker card like this.] Am I to be your workhorse here then?

[Godric smirks at Eric, which widens into a full-blown grin as he replies teasingly] Oh, is that the problem? The Viking King finds his task too difficult to accomplish without the help of his maker? [What comes next is hardly more than a blur by human eyes. Godric reaches over to pick up the last piece of metal, and then he's floating by Eric, the ducting dangling in one hand.] You only had to ask.

[Anyone else and Eric would be more than just frustrated like he is.] The maker is lucky that the 'Viking King' respects him and hasn't told him to piss off and do his own repairs. [Eric knows he's toeing the line of respect with that comment, so after a moment, he takes in a breath to calm himself, before turning back to the task at hand.] You owe me.

[Godric laughs wholeheartedly and swings the section up to slot it in place.] Do I? Later, then.

[ooc: godric and eric are doing repairs after the damage made by the pirate invasion. purple is godric, and green is eric!]

[Godric has been scarce during the invasion by the Scylla's crew, and for good reason. But he's been paying attention. He's in the emergency shuttle bay when he turns on the video, and evidence of the pirates is immediately apparent. There are supplies and equipment, some of it packed away, some of it scattered on the floor in disarray. But more concerning are the devices attached to the walls, the floor, and even the door -- clearly explosives of some sort. An escape plan, or a defensive perimeter. It would be more alarming, but for the fact that all the devices look still and quiet, void of frightening red lights or ominous noises.

Perhaps most eye-catching of all is the message written above the two tubes protruding from the outer hull of the Tranquility:

MAKE IT QUICK...

Godric turns the video onto himself, and addresses anyone watching.]

It seems our friend has left us a note.

[Usually, this would be locked to Security. But with Tyke out of commission, it's probably a moot point.]

[ 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! ]

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!]

[the feed opens up to Eric seated in front of the camera and Kirk leaning over his shoulder, presumably setting up the video. his hand comes down as he addresses the ship.]

Tranquility, if I could have your attention. In the interests of openness, I’ve been asked to address you on another topic people might consider off colour. As you know, on board we have more than just humans and extraterrestrials. We also have what some of us would call supernatural entities. This extends from angels to werewolves, and while I’m not at liberty to discuss the others, right now I’d like to take a moment of your time to discuss vampires.

Eric?

[and he glances to the man in question as he straightens, leaving the floor open to him.]

[Eric sits forward in the chair, a calm, if somewhat cocky smile crooked on his face. one can tell that he’s very much at ease being in front of the camera, in front of the spotlight]

Good evening, ladies. Gentlemen. Shifters, angels, werewolves, etcetera. My name is Eric Northman, and I. [he crooks his smile a little bit wider, one brow a little higher for a moment] I am a vampire. Now, some of you may be aware as to what that means, but some of you do not, so allow me to break it down for you. Vampires were humans, at one point. Although the process is different depending on where those on board came from, the idea is the same: we drink blood, it is how we survive. Without it, we starve, much as a human would without food or a succubus would without... [smirk] Well, you catch my drift.

Now. We have been surviving off of synthetic blood for this long thanks to the generosity of the medbay and their science equipment. And we can continue on surviving like this indefinitely. But humans of the Tranquility, ask yourselves this. Would you yourselves enjoy to live off of the barest of rations while the rest of those around you do not have to hold themselves to the same limitations? Would you continue to choose to live that way? [he adjusts his position in his seat, leaning towards the camera, intensifying his gaze] I would not think so. So why ask us to continue to do the same?

What we are proposing instead, myself and Kirk and Godric [he shoots a quick glance off-camera, to where Godric stands watching, both apologizing if the other did not want his name attached to the idea and standing his ground at the same time. behind him, Kirk too glances in that direction.] is instead a donor system, if you will. Like a blood bank, overstepping the bag donations. Donors will not be harmed - donations will be equal to if not less than those that one would give in any local blood drive. The condition of vampirism is not passed by bite, and the contact of the bite itself can be quite...pleasurable.

We recognize that there will be questions, and between us, will be happy to respond to any and all posed to us. There are many preconceptions of vampires, and those too we will be happy to honestly confirm or deny, to the best of our ability.

[Jim again leans over Eric’s shoulder here.]

Since this isn’t a subject of starvation, this isn’t something that requires an immediate decision. This is as much about creating awareness of the situation as anything else. We want to make people as comfortable as possible up here, which isn’t easy with all the walks of life we’ve collected. If for some reason you have an issue, contact me. My communicator is always on.

[he already knows it’ll be going off the hook, but with a nod Jim steps out of the frame to let Eric finish it off]

Godric and I can only speak for a select version of the condition of vampirism as it appears on board. There are those that do not possess the same level of self-control as we do. These negotiations will by no means justify any attacks. [In case any of you were getting any ideas, he’s not gonna take the fall for you] We seek merely a more comfortable arrangement for all. [pleasant smile]


[ooc; gold is for Jim, blue is for Eric]

[ jenna's spent so long being constantly afraid, pressed under the weight of klaus' compulsion, the ever-present threat he represents; not just to her, but to the people she cares about.

knowing he's gone is almost hard to process at first-- then it hits her like a wall of giddy relief, heartrate sped up and almost anxious with it. part of her wants to curl up in her room and not leave for a while, until the too fast, overwhelming feel passes.

the rest of her just wants to let it out, and not by hitting someone. violence is a part of her life now, but that doesn't mean she has to let that dictate something as important as marking this.

luckily, justin is a sweetheart and brian doesn't know who grows her weed and can't get any for himself.

the face she turns to the network is happy, and genuine; but it's tinted manic, not easy. ]

All right, you know what? At the risk of being blamed for jinxing us, we're pretty much due a catastrophe any day now, and I'm ready to take a break in just waiting around for it.

So. With permission from the owners-- because one of them is a sweetheart and the other one is a cold, ruthless businessman who completely expects a favor back, I know, I know-- tonight at Space Babylon I'm having a party.

I'll bring music and extra booze-- [ and she stockpiles, it's a thing. ] and if you want something else, food or anything like that, that's nice for you but bring it yourself.

...no prior acquaintance necessary, just go ahead and show on up. The more the merrier.


( ooc | now with the worst cop out of a log ever. )

I wish to speak of magic.

[Loki lifts a hand and a ball of green light appears in his palm.]

Some consider it a science, others mere...trickery...

An illusion but naught else.

[He breathes on to the orb and it cracks; veins of light jagging across its surface, then a small dragon starts to emerge, as if hatching.]

It is hard to consider magic in a place such as this, that feels so sterile and dark. But, I think, there are many among us who come from places where the arcane is not so alien.

And we long for that...

For some mystical light, to illuminate the darkness.

[He lowers his hands and the little dragon hovers in place, flapping its glowing wings.]

To give us wonder, once more.

Who here knows about magic, and its practice? And to whom is it naught but a lie.

[He frowns and waves his fingers through the dragon, causing it to dissolve.]

Miles, I already know your answer, so you need not respond.

((ooc: People who admit to knowing/using magic will go on Loki's "stalker list", just in case that is something you'd like to avoid.))

I think it's about time we separated the community side of this ship from the military side. I'm not talking about division, I'm talking about getting a group of people together who can structure everything that needs putting into place, like laws, before everyone else around here pulls themselves apart. The only power that we have here is the power of the people, and when those people feel powerless, when they feel they don't have a voice, then they take things into their own hands.

I said when I got here I had no intention of imposing politics on this place. I didn't expect to be here as long as I have, didn't expect the population to blossom, didn't expect to see angers flare the way they have. I thought we had a common enemy, and that we wouldn't dream of fighting amongst ourselves, too busy just trying to survive. But I've seen a good man try and take justice into his own hands - a man I trusted - because there isn't anyone to do it for him; because he's a King, and the buck stops with him.

We need a council. We need to get all our little ducks in a row and get organised before this goes any further, before it happens again. Edgeworth was working on laws; right now I'd settle for a draft of a code of conduct, a scaling of penalties, discussion about what to do when a claimant has a dispute about something that comes from home, and the responsibilities that we as a community have toward each party. I want monthly meetings between representatives of the civilians on board, to make sure everyone's needs are being met, and I'm not prepared to wait another month to get it done.

Here's how it works. You want in, put your name down. Two other people who feel you can speak for them back you up, and you make the invite list. You got something you want discussed, you choose a representative to speak for you. Barring a shit-storm between now and then, we'll schedule the preliminary meeting for the day before we Jump, in Holodeck 1. 10am sharp. Any questions?

And before you ask, yes, I am excluded unless I get my own support. I give less of a shit about perceived power than I care about this place turning into a medieval battleground. And no, all decisions that are made that affect everyone on board will go to a vote. The whole ship gets their say. This is just a way to get things off the drawing board once and for all.

[OOC: Once again, if Nathan steps on toes, shoot him ICly please~ <3]

[and here's the charismatic, smiling face of James T. Kirk. he has business to tend to, and it's clear in his expression]

Morning, Tranquility, this is Jim Kirk.

Some of you may have heard my name floating around. I'm here to answer questions if any of you still have them.

[but this broadcast has the air of purpose, and he gets down to it pretty quick.]

Those of you that have been around for at least a handful of jumps are going to know what this is about, but for those of you that don't, during our stay on the Tranquility it has come to light that some of our number require more than what humans would consider regular dietary needs. Unfortunately, we haven't yet been able to synthesize all of these needs. Therefore, on behalf of one of that number, I'm asking some of you to come forward to donate to keep this individual from starving to death while on board. I'd like anyone with substantial stamina willing to volunteer to contact me. The procedure will be safe, and medical officers will be present at all times.

Kirk out.

[ooc: for those of you that don't know, this is in regards to THE WRAITH FEEDING PLOT that's an ongoing kind of thing. we need at least 10 volunteers so gimme all your victims do gooders!! if you have any questions you can contact me or pyraven!]

[ it's been a rough couple months for everyone, and the mystic fall contingent no less so. still, when jenna opens the feed she looks more alert and cheerful-- not to mention: less inebriated-- than she has in a while. the locker full of things both useful and frivolously, uselessly cheerful made a few conversations come back in stark relief, and with new light.

she waves a little, shoving her hair out of her face impatiently after. ]

Hey. Okay, so. If you're new, hi, I'm Jenna. Everyone else-- yes, this is what I look like without a bottle in my hand.

[ she rolls her eyes a little, ducking her chin. ]

Bad joke, but that's part of my point. I've been here since jump one, and it really doesn't take a genius-- [ sup, tony. ] to see that the stress has been getting to me. And while my method of coping ended up being attached to a few too many embarrassing in retrospect public posts, I know I'm not the only one. Whether we've been here almost ten months or a little over a week, this is a stressful situation and I hate to be that person, but it's not getting less stressful.

The point is, nobody wants to be Steve Buscemi in the asteroid movie. Not the Morgan Freeman one, the less intellectual... disaster movie. Anyway. [ she exhales, waves a hand. ] Sorry. The actual point is high pressure situations lead to people breaking down, and we've already started down that way. We need to pull back on that, keep ourselves as healthy and happy as we can be.

[ or we'll end up like gallagher, is what she doesn't say, but for the well-informed the subtext is clear. ]

I have a list. Of suggestions, pretty much. I'm not nominating myself leader for change, I'm really not, but if they help... [ she trails off, then taps a few keys. ] It's not very long, just a few basics.

( ( IC TEXT ATTACHMENT | CUT TO SAVE FLISTS ) )

And I had one more idea, but this one is a little more personal. Godric and now that guy with all the meat got me thinking-- yes, okay, we're all in space and no one can remember signing the kidnapping permission slip. But we're from a million different worlds and times, and-- maybe some kind of organized story swap? Like a culture exchange. [ she's more animated now, moving her hands as she talks. ] Like, okay, for example. I'm someone's bannerwoman, but until Alayne explained the reference to me I didn't get why the word 'banner' came into it at all. And forget knowing what Jersey Shore is, there are plenty of us who have never even seen a tv.

Even just vocabulary is so different in places, seeing us all mix together would be a cultural anthropologist's dream. [ oh right, not just babbling. clearing her throat, jenna shrugs. ] Anyway. I don't have a framework, but before I try that is anyone interested? I thought a place where talking about home is the whole point might be helpful for some people, too.

...I never know how to end these things. Over and out? I guess.

[ river is sitting on the floor of her room, staring at the screen, and frankly it's easy to tell that there's something not quite right about her. she looks unfocused, and there's something haunted about her. unhealthy and not all that sane.

more notably, though, if you're not inspecting her face while she sits there silent, you might notice that she must have gotten her hands on a knife at some point, because half of her jumpsuit is missing. she has mangled the tranquility crew uniform - the legs of the suit are cut off at the knee, and the sleeves are gone entirely. she's decided to forgo shoes, too. it seems like she's trying to say something, but can't quite manage. her eyes drop to the floor. ]

You're living on a graveyard. [ she's not quiet, but she sounds distracted. ] Gathering wool. Everyone's a cotton farmer. They thought we wouldn't notice if they took our eyes, but the ears are a requirement for watching. Seeking. She can't hide, everything's exposed, tore you open to see how it ticks and they didn't sew it back up, your stomach acids will leak on the floor and give you away. They will. They'll come for you in the dark, it's why they put out the stars. It's all going to - to fall. Tiān fān dì fù.

[ she frowns, twitches very suddenly, like she's snapping out of a trance. she looks up at the screen. ]

... This isn't my space. [ and like a frightened child: ] S-Simon?

[ Data appears on screen. As before, to those who have never seen him (for the most part those who don't frequent the science department or sickbay), Data is almost indiscernible from being human at first glance, but the second impression is further from it. There are slight mannerisms he can't get quite right, his head is rigid, his attention fixed, his hair too perfect, and though there are imperfections to his skin, it's noticeably tinted gold, like his eyes. ]

With the decline of our medical staff, it is imperative that efforts be made to create a baseline model of all individual life forms on board. Such precautions may help to stymy another outbreak of stasis sickness, or counteract an otherwise similar ailment in the future.

Doctor McCoy employed me to build him secure quarters in which to safely contain not only this information, but medical histories and samples from the Tranquility's passengers. This construction is now complete, meaning that willing patients may now place their complete trust in doctor/patient confidentiality.

[ There is a brief delay. Spot, his ginger cat, jumps up onto the counter, but is quickly shooed down out of the way, and Data resumes his speech. ]

I would like to suggest that any of those on board with rare or unique physiology report to either Xenobiology in the Science Department, or Medbay itself in regard to collecting samples, cataloging DNA and performing scans of your skeletal and biological structures. All information gathered shall make treating you easier in case of illness or injury, and may indeed save your life.

Data out.

------

( Filtered to medbay staff )

Given all the rah rah rah for morality that I've seen lately, I figure the topic should be broached.

To me, it doesn't makes a difference and that's what's taken me so long to get to it. If kids want to drink, they're going to find a way to get to what they want. Not to mention, I hardly hold the monopoly on alcohol. [ he's getting to his point in a very roundabout way, yes. ] I'd also like to say that there isn't a day that goes by that I don't see at least one person drinking on camera, drunk texting or boasting about their inebriated state in some manner or another. More often than not, they're what I'd consider underage. And I'm not inclined to give much of a shit about where the product is going because I'm not profiting from it specifically in monetary value.

We don't have a set legal system. Each of us are from countries or worlds where the age cap varies or is completely irrelevant.

That being said, my point is: should there be an age restriction on those I knowingly permit into [ hm, no he's not going to say my ] an establishment where drinking and partying could lead to one thing and then another? I've seen an awful lot of preaching about save the children. God forbid we overlook their sweet, virgin eyes. If we're going to be stuck together for an indefinite amount of time, this might as well be addressed to [ huh, okay, what word does he want to use with you assholes? ] keep the peace. Or something like it. So, let's have it.

Don't care, couldn't be made to care or alternatively, open it to discussion. [ he's bored enough to let strangers and friends bicker at him and among each other. ] And if you were hired by myself or my [ other half ] business partner, report.

[ the camera angle lowers like he's done or ready to shut it off, instead he's scratching behind his ear and shifting his jaw to begrudgingly announce: ] Oh, and by the way, for those of you that knew him.. I think it's safe to finally assume that Justin Taylor has gone home. [ or wherever the fuck people who aren't dead but simply gone go, he doesn't say but his condescending and bitter fucking uncomfortable smirk implies. ]

[Jim addresses the network with prim efficiency this jump. his voice, curiously, is devoid of most of the warmth and infectious rabel-rousing it normally has. instead, it's clipped and professional; the voice of a captain stating facts and orders. anyone who has been around a while will know that something is off, and as he goes on, it becomes clear why.]

Tranquility this is Jim Kirk. To anyone joining us, welcome, and to anyone returning, welcome back.

I know you all have questions. Myself and those who have been on board for a while will be happy to answer any that you have, but before doing so I'll clear some of the more obvious ones up.

You're on the space ship Tranquility, a colonization vessel in a parallel universe to your own. The year is 938 A.E., and presently, we have no way of returning anyone to their home continuum. We ask, instead, that you lend a hand in the running of the ship. This isn't mandatory, but we are all that's left of a crew. Even if you have no previous experience on a starship, we'll be able to find a place for you.

Attached to this broadcast is what we have of a map of the ship. It's a rough outline, as we've found corridors spontaneously change, commonly with each jump. I ask everyone to be cautious when moving about the ship, and to avoid engaging the entity commonly known as "Smiley" on board.

[here, the pauses briefly, the crux of his attitude coming to light.]

Presently, I'd like anyone with information on missing persons to come forward. Dean Winchester and Doctor Leonard McCoy have both disappeared from our number, and I have the feeling they aren't the only ones.

Kirk out.


( PRIVATE to OCTOBER BANTUM | ENCRYPT 80% )

SMILEY.jpg
MAP.jpg
JOBS AND RANKING.txt
ALPHA/BETA SHIFT.txt

[ Things escalated quickly, as any meeting between similar kinds of their nature would. He supposed... but he wasn't supposing much at the moment because he's busy being in the corner of some room. His counterpart put him on his ass very fast and very thoroughly, let's just say. This was not like him. Not like him at all, but panic, and panic, and a side helping of - temporary - hopelessness. He did not care who heard. It would be forgotten, he hoped, in the wave of people and in a few days he would have himself picked up and all would be well again.

He'd have a plan. Until then...

When it sounds like a voice message is about to be spoke, there's some silence first. The device is on the floor. He knew he'd lost and he knew what was going to happen now. He, himself, just had too much pride.

Damn it. He had plans, too. Get yourself together, get yourself together, just. Get yourself together. It was the bifrost all over again. He didn't know what to do.

There is a slow inhale to be heard and then a quiet, numbed: ]

I'm sorry.


[ No, screw you. Two can play at this game -- close to heart as it is.

ooc: confused? good times ]