[As Harry turns on his device, video is barely visible for a moment. He's poised over it with two screwdrivers, obviously trying to work it from a distance. Behind him are a few leaves and plants from the oxygen garden, as it's one of the areas he feels that he can be in without short-circuiting something important. The feed dissolves into static, his voice still present underneath the steady buzz.]

Dammit. This really isn't the time.

[The static grows louder for a moment then much softer, but Harry's voice is distant.]

I'm having... technology problems. The not-so-usual kind that comes with, well, being a wizard.

[More static bursts across his feed and he has to move further back.]

Look, can someone meet me in the garden to talk about the pods and the jump? I don't think this thing is gonna--- [oh yep there the feed goes.]





(ooc: Shoving this up while I can at work. Will be very slow. Open action to the oxygen garden! <3)

[good morning Tranquility!]

Anyone planning on joining us for our little jaunt to Strela should arrive at the shuttles at least fifteen minutes early. [it won't mean death if you don't, but it will mean you'll miss the ride.] Pilots, earlier than that, but try to keep the bloodshed over who gets to drive to a minimum. [you can hear the grin in his voice.]

I know a lot of us, including myself, will be happy to get off the ship for a while, but remember that we're still in foreign space. We'll be guests on this station so we should try to be minding our manners.

[still, and this is the point of this broadcast:] Stay in contact with one another and try not to wander off on your own. [a beat.] And if you do bring your weapons, try not to flash them around. Most places don't take to that kindly, regardless of what part of space you're in.


Kirk out.

[ Hello, Tranquility! It's been a while since Chase has shared what little of the future she can get with you guys, isn't it? The four-or-maybe-eleven-year-old is currently holed up in a hallway, and if you look very, very carefully her eyes flicker a lavender colour before she speaks. ]

Sheep. Cattle.

Herd us--herd our flock.

[ She squints, narrowing her eyes, looking confused--as if she doesn't realize what, exactly, she's doing. ]

Red. He's there--Mr. Smiley is--and there are more bodies.

[ And, lips pursed, she cuts the feed while she attempts to sort out what, exactly it all means. ]

[Thus far, Anders has met one mage who calls himself a wizard, and that's all. He's also talked to a girl who does magic and refuses to name it magic, insisting it's all science and DNA and things. And he's given a demonstration of healing magic to a skeptical but open-minded warrior who's promised to teach him about space.

He's fairly certain Carver is probably going to tell everyone he's an abomination, or something, sooner or later, if not by design than by blurting it out.

He decides he'd better get some sort of handle on the ship's general opinion of magic and mages. Edgeworth used the communicator to pose a general question to everybody, Anders has seen, so he thinks that should be something he can do as well, rather than try messaging everyone individually. Recalling Ros' complaints, he doesn't use text, but for once he'll keep his face to himself. Voice it is.]

Good morning. [And, sotto voce, to himself but audible enough for the communicator to catch?] Is this morning? I think that's what that means --

[He clears his throat unobtrusively.]

Just out of curiosity -- do you believe in magic?

[ She's not a public speaker on her best days, and this wasn't one of those. Her talk with Fry has kept her thinking, enough that when she wakes up out of the nightmares covered in sweat, she pushes the ache in her chest away with thoughts of something to do, something to work toward.

Fry had relegated her to doing this anyway. Schedules in space were different than on a world generating its own night-day cycles and perpetuating natural circadian rhythms. She's freshly showered, hair starting to dry in a tight, curling mess. The camera comes on as she's right up close to the eye. Stepping back, she gives a little perspective. It's a vid-phone. A conference call to anyone out there listening. ]

For those I haven't met, I'm Ellen Ripley. Carolyn Fry and I are offering to help people acclimatize and familiarize with operating full-time here in space. What we've got working here isn't an exact match for what we're used to, but it's close enough to help show the ropes to people who don't know and who want to get an idea. Call it a crash course in space-readiness training, without the option to fail out and stay down on Terra Firma.

That said, what are some of the questions you have on your mind relating to surviving in space? Or about the technology we've seen here so far. Knowing what questions you'd like answered helps us all out in the long run.

[ She reaches out, pausing. ]

Anyone with experience willing to work with us on this, get in touch. We can use you.

[ Vid over. Time to see what bites back. ]

[ Carolyn hasn't been here for long but she's been here long enough to notice things, and one of the things she's noticed is that most of these people have no real idea of how dangerous space can be. Some of them, sure -- Riddick, of course. Ellen, Kara, Clarke, Kirk and his crew -- but there are others who've never been in space before, even people who come from a place where it isn't possible yet. Fry doesn't want these people to die because of a stupid mistake, and she doesn't want a stupid mistake to be what kills all of them out here, either. ]

There are a lot of people here who haven't been in space before. I'm going to give you all some advice -- and honestly, if you know someone who's been in space, who knows spaceships, listen to them about this sort of thing. I know weird shit happens on this ship, but that smiley face isn't the only hazard out here.

I'm going to give you all a list of some of the dangers in space -- verbally, as there have been complaints [ you're welcome, Ros ] but I can give you a text version, too. If you have questions, feel free to ask, though I'm not a doctor or a physicist or an engineer and you might be better off asking one of them about some of these. And before anyone says it, I'm not trying to cause mass panic here -- but these are things you need to know, things everyone needs to keep in mind so nothing stupid and lethal happens.

( space: where everything will try to kill you )

It's been eight months without the ship imploding on itself. Let's keep these in mind and not do something stupid to change that. I don't care if you're a psychotic mass murderer who thinks it'd be fun; you do one of these and you're probably going to end up dead, too.

[After finding herself still here now almost a week hence, Anna decides it is time to stop lingering about in hope she'll pop back out.

Thankfully clean now, she is silent for a moment as if she is deciding what to say...but in truth the more astute will note it is the exact opposite. She is just impossibly tired.]

My name is Anna.

[Simple enough for now.]

I see no need to hide it, so I will speak freely. I am an Angel of the Lord and I am tasked with continuing to serve a-- penance. As such I have had experience in both military and law enforcement, but I find myself wanting different employment.

[Another long pause. Again it is not for lack of words however as she rallies herself, putting away exhaustion and sitting straighter.]

Hire me and I'll protect you. Keep you alive. Murderers and those of any other unsavory backgrounds need not apply. And to make it clear, this is temporary. If I decide at any time you were dishonest or are heading down such a path I will nullify our agreement.

[Heaven's guardian for hire. That wasn't exactly something they taught in Sunday school.]

Penances don't get served acting as a hired gun. So do not consider me such. But what I do do, I am very effective at. If you are interested, do contact me and we will discuss any particulars.

[The feed cuts promptly.]

 [Well, Tranquility. I bet you're ALL OF THE THRILLED to have Topher in your lives again... now 100% less soaked in blood and vomit and sweat and all means of terrible things from his adventure in the science labs and as cheerful as... anyone can be post-jump. Given the background of the video you can assume, he's in medbay and that his comm is propped up on something. Why is he not holding it?

...Well, it might have something to do with the fact that he's trying to flip a certain fedora onto his head with concentrated hand gestures- he was not being factitious when he said that was what he wanted it for, Dave. AND NOW THE WORLD KNOWS.] This is way easier in theory-

[Oh right, he's recording. Yes, well. Moving on.] 

Okay, while we're getting all the usual existential "where am I, what is my purpose" post-jump network blues out and the "you are here, ask us how" responses and a few "oh, by the way, the creepy ship is still creepy" things thrown in just in case anyone felt all safe for a half second, I've got to bring out my contribution. 

My name's Topher Brink and I'm the med bay's neurologist. And you're probably wondering, "Topher, how often do you actually need a neurologist.?" Surprisingly, more often than you think. Space crazy can happen to anyone, so consider this your PSA about that. If you feel weirdly homicidal, please tell someone before you flip your biscuits and kill everyone. If you always feel homicidal and this isn't a new development or anything... Thanks for not already flipping your biscuits and killing us all. And keep not doing that for the foreseeable future.

But the real reason I'm putting this out there is neural implants. How many of you actually have them- if you don't wanna say it out loud and you don't have it on the med bay's records for a reason, please filter to me and it'll be strictly patient-doctor confidentiality. I ask, because I'm pretty sure if anything in your coconut gets hacked, screwed with, or otherwise messed with, McCoy, the Watsons, and the rest of the staff are gonna go, W-T-F and it's gonna be a big mess. If I know ahead of time and can run diagnostics, check to make sure everything's the way it's supposed to be working, then we can cut out any sort of horrible side effects being in space could have on them, 'cause frankly, I've never been a space neurologist, but I know implants, while amazingly durable, can break down or stop functioning. ...Don't panic about that though. It's not likely, but it could happen.

That's... pretty much it. Unless you've got questions or concerns regarding brain science and you, 'cause I'm the guy for that. And completely at your service. [He holds up the hat.] And, apparently, I've got too much time on my hands right now.

[MED BAY FILTER// ENCRYPTED 100%]

Speaking of brains... Aberdeen's still in a coma, so... How 'bout we all get together and put our thinking caps on and brainstorm a little on fixing that.

[[OOC: LITERALLY HEADING OUT THE DOOR FOR WORK. But I will hit tags when I return. Blah, blah, blah. I wanted to get it up.]]

[Why are things floating.

Libby sits (this time on a table in the kitchens--chairs exist, girl, why are you like this) and she is surrounded by slowly drifting utensils.

She's already figured out how to lie about it. She never told anyone she wasn't telekinetic. (Because who does that?). So she'll just say they made her like this, and Jesse's secret will be protected while Libby gets to show off--because this is wicked sharp, and even makes her confident enough to roll up her sleeves, baring scars and soft white feathers.

She grins at the camera, which she turned on with her mind.]

'Sup, bitches.

[She's not opening this up to the network for any reason. Can't a girl just be bored?]

( [video | 100% encryption | locked to mouse, jesse, nikolai, NOT LOKI >:P] )

[Hello, ship. Have a Scotsman. A Scotsman who is no longer covered in goo, has had plenty of time getting more familiar than he'd like with the ship's towels, and is feeling marginally better for having had a shower and getting dressed.

Anyone with an ounce of common sense would be wary of using an unknown communications device to contact an unknown group of people who may or may not be responsible for the waking-up-in-goo fiasco, but Scotty's never exactly been known for his common sense.]

I don't suppose anyone'd be interested in tellin' me what's goin' on. [Do you see this angry pout? Do you?] An' if you're no' interested in tellin' me what's goin' on, would you mind directin' me t'the nearest source of a good stiff drink? [Because demanding alcohol from your captors is sure to work, Scotty.]

[When Eridan speaks, he sounds... well, if we're being honest, he sounds angry. Who he's angry at isn't readily apparent (hint: its himself), but the anger is at least making him sound more authoritative than normal.]

Wwhat the fuck did I tell you people about gettin' to the gravv couches on time?

[okay no hold on, deep breath.]

Look, maybe you guys don't think this is as serious an issue as I do, but there havve officially been twwo people killed durin' a jump an' that's twwo people too many. Do wwe still have a communications creww? Wwho's on that, an' wwho is gonna vvolunteer to make incredibly fuckin' frequent public announcements as to wwhen a jump is about to happen? It's obvvious wwe need someone to do that, since wwe apparently keep screwwin' up wwithout them!

Be at the jump bay twwo hours early. An' you knoww wwhat? Go wwith your friends or your partners or wwhoevver you fuckin' havve aboard this ship. Implement a fuckin' buddy system here. Let's get accounted for before the fuckin' jump so this shit doesn't keep happenin'!

[...Okay, so the anger is kind of backsliding rapidly, and he doesn't mean for it to happen, but look. Two people have died during jumps - one of which made a very audible death post - and now there's apparently screaming inside the jump static, and... yeah. Eridan doesn't like any of that at all.]

An' wwhile I'm at it, on a more personal note, any'a my friends wwho wwanna check in an' tell me they're doin' just fine wwould be kind'a fuckin' appreciated right noww.

[ The video is switched on, yeah, but there's complete darkness right now on the screen. Silence too, except- the scrape of something like wood against steel floors.

Then a click. Smokers, you should know this sound. A lighter. Then there's the crackle of burning paper. An exhale.

When the voice finally comes, it's dry, more than a little taunting, and very, very Russian. ]

Looked through this. [ A tap on the side of the comm. ] Think I've got list now.

Idiots. [ Tap. ] Show-offs. [ Tap. ] Strange fuckers from past. [ Tap. ] People making PSAs. [ Tap. ] Corpses. [ Tap. ]

Thought space would be more interesting. Looks like people never change. Still can bleed. [ Completely, utterly casual. ]

[ Another soft click. He tips the comm over. There's just a glance of his right hand, with the Russian north inked to the back. Then he switches hand, smoke trailing over his fingers- but it doesn't obscure the symbol of St. Petersburg on his fourth finger or the three dots below the thumb. Or the other two symbols on his forefinger and pinkie. He lets the camera linger slowly on the tattoos before he reaches out with the St. Petersburg finger and tips the camera further up.

If there's anyone who looks less like Aragorn when he has the same face, it's this man. ]

Anyone else on this ship? [ Beat, and he smiles. With teeth. ] Not me. [ Oh yes, he knows he's showing off. ]

[Jesse appears neither excited nor distressed. He actually looks mostly tired, which maybe is to be expected from a new arrival. He's slumped over on his new bed with his chin resting in his hand, mumbling around his fingers:]

Yo. I'm Jesse. Albuquerque, New Mexico, U.S.A. 2009. Whatever. Holler if you know me.

[Is he bored or something? He acts as if this is routine.]

First thing: if there's any monsters and aliens and shit I gotta be looking out for, gimme a heads-up.

Second: anybody wanna grab some food? Is there food or is it all freeze-dried bullshit? I had freeze-dried ice cream once and it was totally lame, so like, please tell me they got burgers up in here. Funyuns? Something?