( looking and feeling terribly (though admittedly not a fraction as terribly as many others, elizabeth opts to communicate by voice. she sounds faint, tired and a little short of breath. )

One year, a maidservant of mine told me of a sweating sickness in the city. I bade her return home that day. She never returned. Never thought I to witness such horrors as the plague firsthand. My sister, Mary was taken by such an illness. This time, I hope it will be different and that Fortune's wheel will spin in our favour.

If there be a cure to this malady, I pray that it is to be found soon. Perhaps this mysterious blue substance is the key. Though if not, a poet by the name of John Lydgate captured a strange and dark sort of solidarity in his verse titled "The Dance of Death":

"In this mirror every person may find
the he needs to join this dance.
Who goes in front - and who goes behind
all depends on God’s arrangement,
which is why each man lowly accepts his fate.
Death spares neither poor nor royal blood.
Each man should therefore remember
that God has forged all of one matter."

No matter the outcome, we are all of us to share the same fate. Whether it be happy as I pray, or no.

( a long pause, as she smothered a sneeze in the background. ) Pardon me.

If anyone would like, I can play my music, or provide company for any who desire it. It is the least I might do as so many of you have been kind to me since my arrival.


( and as an addendum, a failed renfaire encryption lock to ilde: )

Dearest friend, I hope you are passing well. I would ask a boon, despite this being a trying time. If I may, I am in need of a place to rest my head. Can I stay with you for some time?

[When the feed opens, Taylor isn't in the SEC offices. She's in one of the holodecks, recognisable from the walls behind her.]

My name's Tyke, I'm head of Security here. Petrelli's already told you all how thin on the ground the departments are getting, so I won't repeat - you've got any combat or policing experience, you want in the Security department, contact me or Edgeworth for recruitment.

Thing is we're thin on the ground all the way. Thirty-three floors housing approximately two-hundred bodies. We're scattered. It makes us vulnerable. Blind spots for this place to use when it wants to fuck with us.

[Like randomly luring people out into the dark. That had been too easy, even with so many of the contacting other people.]

We're moving to consolidate population before the next jump. Bottom ten floors, more than enough room for everyone. Find an empty room, lock it to your nanites, it's yours. You need a hand moving your shit, my team'll help. This is gonna take the strain off Agriculture's supply runs, our security patrols, and let everyone look out for each other. It'll keep us stronger. Safer.

[She sounds determined, steady about it. This is what they need to do. Should have done months ago, when Jenna had first suggested it. Regrets on that aren't going to help, though, and she looks away, tips her head slightly.]

Meantime, figured some of us might wanna let out some frustrations. [There's a very faint smile in the corner of her mouth, and it fades quickly.] Fight club, Holodeck 3. Same rules as always: no weapons, hand-to-hand only, no abilities unless agreed upon by both fighters. Someone taps out or goes unconscious, fight is over. Spectators welcome.

[[ooc: accompanying mingle/fight log over here! ]]

[[ETA: and a spreadsheet for claiming a new room! You can't unclaim your original room and please be reasonable with how many you take!]]

Got a couple of requests.

[ his cut is stripped off and draped across his lap, one desert eagle resting atop it. jax is in his faded white "reaper crew" t-shirt and shoulder holsters. he's sitting tipped back in the chair. his boots are resting on the edge, not that it's within frame. ]

Anyone with some technical know-how wanna swing by the gunnery? See, we been doing what we can on these fucking turrets and consoles, but there's some shit that's beyond us. A bunch of them are too fried to work, and that's a problem, assuming the shit that goes bump in the night comes at us from the outside. Back home, we get a second opinion before ripping out the guts and starting over, so anyone thinks they can shed some light on the situation, I'll owe you one.

[ it's not as detailed a description as it could be, but as far as jax is concerned there's only so many ways to say "fucked beyond comprehension" before getting redundant. he tugs at the strap of one holster, pausing like he's letting that sink in. ]

I also gotta ask, anyone up here capable of tattooing? It's not like I've seen any place capable of it since we made our last stop. Am I reaching here?

[ probably, but a man's gotta ask. ]

Hey, Hyperion. I gotta talk to you too. You got a minute any time soon?

So it's come to my attention that i'm one of the last ones left on the medical team on board. And now, the one who's been here the longest. [ Peter sounds a touch strained - for a variety of reasons - maybe a little on the tired side. But he's altogether more than willing to be doing this and he sounds enough like it to get by. ]

My name is Peter Petrelli and I woke up from a month long coma to find out that the entire department is under my control. I know I've missed a lot, but that doesn't change the fact that i'm happy to take on the mantle. What that doesn't mean is that I'm planning on trying run the whole thing by myself or considering ruling with an iron fist for my own benefit. But I might as well take the position that's been handed to me by way of default and make the most of it.

For those of you who don't know - who're new around here and haven't heard about it yet, we've got jobs that're set up by departments. That's the simplified version. If you want to hear more about all of them, I might not be the perfect person to ask considering I don't know everything about all of them. But if you're looking for a job doing something, ask around. There's more than enough opportunities for everyone.

But that's not what i'm trying to get at. [ A pause, only noteworthy because of the sigh that follows. ]

After missing a jump and the entire month that followed, i'm pretty sure i'm behind on who all's now in medical and who might want to be. Half of all I want is to meet everyone who's joined that I haven't met already, make sure i've got an actual grip on things. The other half is to try and find anyone who's interested in joining. We'll take anyone who thinks they can offer any kind of help - we're lacking in staff right now, or we were last I knew, and finding some more help would be appreciated.

Or if you just want to stop by the med bay to talk about it in person, feel free to. I'm here now if anyone's interested - I won't be going anywhere anytime soon.

[ She seems uncertain, at the use of the device which records her, peering a little too close, before pulling back. Trying her best to be at ease, even if she clearly is not completely. ]

Forgive me, fellow passengers of the tranquility, which I am told is a ship, though it is not one I should ever seek to employ --

[ but that is a rant for later, and she dismisses it quickly. ] -- I have been remiss in introducing myself, quite rightly I was not sure how to do so. But this seems the way of it, so I understand it. Though I am alone neither in name nor face. [ her amusement is brittle at best for it. ] I am Elizabeth Tudor, granddaughter to Elizabeth of York, and great-granddaughter to Elizabeth Woodville.

[ and she puffs out of breath in dry laughter. ] And by more time than is flattering to count such, Queen of England in turn. [ there's a pause and the propriety of it all seems to drop, introduction done. ]

Now that is out of the way, the matter that is far more important, what must be done to procure a decent drink on this twice cursed place? Or indeed how to pass the time at all, if my skills may be put to use, though I scarcely know where to apply them here. [ and that, truly seems to amuse her, quite darkly in fact. ] In any case, you shall find me a generous friend.

You're not alone. People you care about are calling for your help, and you want to go help them. I'm going to ask you to be a little more patient before you run off into the dark. We know they're lost, we know there's something pursuing them, we know they need help. But we also know that the most recent post on the network, the one talking about warnings from the captain - a captain we don't have - wasn't made by one of us. That means this problem is bigger than you think; it's bigger than all of us, and it's important we get a clear image of what we're facing before we leave. Shepard's team has gone missing, and other comms have started going off the radar too--we'll start where they disappeared, and if we do this together, we might even succeed. The last thing we need is more of you lost out there because you chose to do this on your own.

Right now I need your help in a different, but just as important way. If you've received a message from someone, we need to hear them. That way we can establish a thorough list of who's missing, and try and piece together what they were all trying to say.

Tyke, as Head of Security, is going to coordinate the rescue. I imagine she'll speak to you shortly herself. Rest assured we'll need bodies on the ground for this one, and I know there's going to be no telling some of you to stay put, so forgive me if I - at least - save myself the effort of trying. The corridors are dangerous: bring weapons, ammunition, your communicator, but don't worry too much about rations--you won't need them.

[ He seems about to sign off, but he has to address that post, the grinding static and the screams underneath it, all of it so familiar to him by now. ]

...

"They're getting closer." I don't know about you, but that doesn't sound like a coincidence. Whatever we find out there, whatever is after our people, try not to kill it unless you have to. Don't get killed, but bear in mind the risk that we may be deceived into murdering people who would be our allies. I can't shake the feeling that we're being set up. Alright. Hang in there, everyone.

[ this month, elizabeth is all smiles—and it's neither forced not an act of pretense. she truly is quite altered from last month's angst now that her mother has awakened. her red hair is plaited with ribbons for the first time in months, and she is wearing one of the new gowns she has sewn with nuala. to a new arrival, it will appear as though she is seated outdoors, though she is merely relaxing by one of the streams which criss-cross the oxygen gardens.

her face is flushed with her joy, and it reaches her eyes to brighten them while she regards the camera with a barely-contained grin upon her face. ]

Greetings, fair Tranquility. How does everyone fare this month? I have a query to put to you all:

Once, I believe there was a tradition of large communal feasts being held here, be it weekly or monthly. And the good lady who held them has departed since, causing an end to it.

I would think she would find that a great shame, indeed. Thus I propose that we should hold them again, either weekly or monthly depending upon the preference of the majority of you, and that we take this opportunity to eat together and know one-another better. What say you?

[ she will even provide the music, if necessary! honestly, these dreams of home have rendered her a bit homesick for such entertainment and interaction with others. and here, she does not technically require to keep her true nature hidden from those she socializes with.

elizabeth hesitates, as though she believes herself to be finished, and then adds hastily: ]

Lady Éowyn, might we speak in private at your earliest convenience?

[Where does she even begin? Her head is spinning. One moment she was in the middle of Merlin knows where with Harry, crying over the loss of Ron and then...

She was in liquid with a tube shoved down her throat. Hermione rubs her neck and touches the number printed on her arm. Her tears have stopped - for the time being - but that's only because panic has set in.]

I - [Her throat is raw and she hides a cough against her hand.] My name is... [She probably shouldn't give that out.] Penelope Clearwater.

[That is an alias she once used at any rate.]

I haven't a clue where I am or why I was brought here.

[Nothing is familiar. Nothing feels like the Magical World or the Muggle World.]

Answers would be appreciated - if anyone has any to share - but if not, is there a library onboard? A place where information or...data...is kept? I don't mind doing some research for myself.

[It will distract her from losing both of her best friends in one day. As tears find their way into her eyes again, she wipes at them awkwardly.]

[ elizabeth sits in the grass, with white roses in her hair and her skirts pooled about her. she looks thoughtful and placid to most, and only those who know her passably well may note an undercurrent of sadness in her features. it is there, but not readily apparent unless one has seen and interacted with her often.

her mother's absence and the hell that awaits her family in the future have not been forgotten. they hang like a great weight about her neck, and in the way her shoulders bow a little despite being straight and stiff otherwise. she keeps her eyes averted from the camera for now, as she speaks up quietly: ]

It all began upon a lovely day in spring
A maiden fair stumbled upon a King
Beneath the boughs of a mighty oak
Whilst two boys clutch'd at her cloak

And lo he came upon them there
Stricken at once by the maiden so fair
He gaze'd at her and she at him
Love-struck and helpless to its whim

[ she releases a long breath of air, and finally looks up at her comm device. her face still appears peaceful, as though the words and the act of writing them have had a calming effect. and perhaps they have. she effects a small smile, though, for good measure. ]

I think it a good beginning. What say you, Tranquility? Putting such a tale to words has been a daunting task, indeed.

I shall continue, and add more to it. But I must ask, are there such tales whence you hail from?

[ and if poetry is not your jam, elizabeth has another query. she holds up a plastic container (a stick of deodorant) and a glass bottle (perfume) and various other sundry items she has found. all sweet-smelling, all utterly confusing to a girl from the late middle ages. ]

And I must beg another query of you, if you please: what are these? What purpose have they?

[ anyone who knows her will see that this is only an attempt on her part to distract herself. sitting idle and stewing over the heaps of negativity life loves to send her fmaily's way has never been her thing. ]

Hello, my dear friends and employees, or otherwise unpaid labor, of varying qualifications and levels of skill. [The woman in the video looks like a man, actually.

Specifically, a younger specimen, fair-skinned, possibly English in ancestry for those of us for whom the idea of England has not gone entirely out of style or yet to come in. He has squidgy eyes, floppy brown hair, a smirk that gets him laid, sometimes, usually only if he's using it to format a particularly nerdy pick-up line. Charles probably looks approximately as inebriated as the last time you saw him, if you saw him since Arima, but that certainly is his comm device.] This is Charles Xavier, whom you should recognize as the leadership of the recent Xenobiology undertaking in the etcetera etcetera.

[He waves, vaguely. Etcetera. From the perspective of the video, it appears that the left half of his shirt buttons has been closed up two holes too high, leaving the front obviously misaligned.]

I regret to report that I'm entirely pants at drinking, and I am in consequence quite shagged. Not in the fun way, [he reassures.] No, I reassure you in that department I remain devoutly deprived. However, I would like to encourage you all to take the day off work, as I will be nursing a hangover in the thing. [He gestures off-screen, vaguely also.] And we must lead by example. Tuhraah.

[Click.]


(OOC: Done with permission.)

[ jax is kicked back in the gunnery, the pieces of a desert eagle spread on a t-shirt across the console in front of him, the comm propped at an angle. he's cleaning the as he speaks, his movements practiced and methodical, darting quick looks at the comm. ]

Y'know, back in Charming, we had a barber. This guy named Floyd, gave me my first haircut, and every one after that. Irreplaceable, that fucking guy.

[ homesick? maybe. jax pauses, gives all his attention to the gun for a minute, like he's forgotten he has an audience. ]

Anyway, what I'm getting at is I need a damn haircut. And I can't stroll down Main Street and get into Floyd's chair, so are any of y'all capable of giving me a hand here?

[Someone's in much better spirits now that he's back on the ship. Breathing a sigh of relief, Courfeyrac runs his thumb over the ring on his finger in a newly developed anxious habit... He hasn't been seen over this since he broadcasted the writing on his face some time ago.]

Not that I mind being let off the ship every now and again, as that provides a great little vacation from this place... But must it always be so...

[He looks like he's having trouble finding the right words... and instead of continuing that train of thought? He simply lets it linger... and after a long pause, he continues:]

Regardless! Let me instead pose this question: Would anyone be willing to teach me how to cook a bit better than I currently can? Variety is the spice of life, after all, and there's only so much I am capable of doing so far. I am willing to trade this knowledge for lessons in fencing, if anyone's so inclined to do so.

[ Have one (1) amused Katherine. ]

Well, that was fun. Anyone got a look at our surprise guests, or this is yet another frustrating mystery the ship is keeping from us?

[ She ain't even mad though; this little trip has replenished her stash of booze, not to mention she got a crapton of clothes. ]

We should do this more often.

[ This is Bonnie's first post from her pod in Communications. After learning she found her mother, received help, and then lost her, she hasn't felt social. But, her job means she should be social. She's supposed to be talking to people. She's supposed to be friendly. She remembers when she was friendly. She remembers when her only problem was Caroline being disappointed in her cheerleading spirit. She also remembers when her grandmother was eccentric and not a witch.

She remembers when she wasn't a witch. When numbers didn't reoccur in her life, when she couldn't find birthday candles in a drawer she'd never opened.

She remembers when she wasn't living on a floating space station. Spaceship? She's still not well-versed in the difference.

But, alas, she faces her pod, sitting in her swiveling chair.

She had a question, something about how people deal with learning information from their future, but she doesn't ask for help. Nor does she need it. She knows how to cope. That's her life. Coping.

She's done talking about herself. Or, she's done feeling sorry about it.

Which is why she disappears. The screen switches off again. In truth, she's up from her chair and heading out of the communications area. It's an elevator away from stealing something from the bar, something that will go down with a good burn. But, she'd like to not be the girl who's always at the bar on the network. That isn't her. So, she swipes the bottle and a shot glass and heads back.

Again, she sticks her device inside the slot at her communications pod so about ten minutes later, she pops back up again. ]

Hey, TQ. [ Something she learned from Aidan. She pours a shot for herself. ] I'd like to play, how screwed up is your life. The rules are simple. Whoever's life is more screwed up - [ She looks at the screen. ] Drinks.

[ Not exactly a professional thing to do, but she's kind of done right now. Her best friends are both vampires. Two vampires she hates more than anything are on board. And one vampire her best friend loves killed her mother whom she still hasn't met. So, no, he will kill her mother. So, here she is. ]

I do have to warn you. I'll win every time. [ Unless Elena answers. She doesn't even bother locking this from Klaus or anyone. Anybody who wants to chime in, chastise, judge her even? They are more than welcome.

She is not okay.

She lifts her shot glass. ] Any takers?

[ Charles is all dressed up, for all that a three-piece suit sans tie is standard wardrobe -- nevertheless, he's visibly put together, with a kind of contained, low-key excitement that puts a hint of energy in delivery.

The backdrop is hard to make out. Vaguely shadowed. Industrial lines. A light source of an indefinite nature. ]

Hello, Tranquility. I wanted to draw your attention to a project currently in the making. Some of you may know that we once had a genetics and xenobiology department. While this has since closed its final chapter, it's now begun anew.

I'm looking for individuals with experience in both practical science as well as, or alternatively, study classed in the realms of magic. Our aim is to create a research division that focuses on the exploration of the physical and metaphysical environment within this new realm, and our place in it. We've all been thrown together in a space we don't understand, affected by it uniquely, with no record or formalised effort made into understanding the interactions of so many disparate worlds and rules, and the laws of nature that now govern us all.

To talk very briefly about myself -- if you don't already know, my name is Professor Charles Xavier. In my home world, I studied genetics, and the development of extraordinary talents gifted to a new minority. Where I left off and came here, I was in the process of forming an institution that would allow fellow mutants to explore their powers with an aim to provide an educated perspective, both on the mechanics of their unique talent as well as the scientific commonalities between themselves and those like them. I come, now, bearing these experiences, but I know that it isn't enough.

None of us, on our own, are enough -- no matter how educated or informed we may be.

However, I think I can provide a useful perspective, with the help of other useful perspectives. It's my belief that aside from the original crew [ and the corner of his mouth ticks up ] we're all eligible for being classed under xenobiology. I will see to it that this division will, eventually, offer physical or psychic therapy to anyone who may require it, be they witch, mutant, or something else. Additionally, there are several of us who find our natures have changed since arriving on the Tranquility, and if you would like to know why, perhaps we can discover that answer together.

Joining me is Professor Severus Snape, who I'll defer to in all matters of an explicitly magical nature. If you'd like to be a part of this division, then please reply with what you would like to contribute, as well as what you'd like to get out of it yourself. Or any questions you might have, of course, if you're not sure of either. We will also need a filing clerk, eventually, and anyone with a good grasp on hardware, you know, those things I'm at a personal deficit with.

We're also the only division that doesn't currently provide critical functionality to the ship, so you can count on casual Fridays and drinks after five.

[ His hands tap flat against the edge of the desk, pushing himself away from it slightly. Pleased with himself. That was some xavier.txt teal deer. I apologise. ]

But no, thank you for listening, I'll stop rambling on now.