[ Though Éowyn has gotten used to the device over the past few months, she still takes a moment to adjust the camera once it is connected, shifting away and tilting his head politely once she has done so. ]

A good day to all. Months have been since I have arrived here, yet this is the first time I address the ship as a whole. So I introduce myself: my name is Éowyn, I hope to find you all well.

[ Now onto the point of her video. ]

I have recently joined the Security team. As such I wish to practice further, so that my skills will not fall into disuse. For this purpose, I seek any and all people who would be interested in sparring with swords. [ A moment before she adds. ] Equally, if anyone who should like to be taught, I will gladly spare what little knowledge I do have.

That said, I also ask if anyone here should be so willing about teaching me about... firearms, I believe that is the term. I have never before heard of them, so I would ask for your patience as I learn.

Thank you all ever so much for your time. [ She smiles briefly, then adds as a last note. ] Oh, La-- I mean, Buffy, I should like to speak to you when you have the time.

[ And with that, she ends the feed. ]

[ it's obvious this is going to be a serious post just from the look on robb's face. this is the king in the north, drawn up ice cold and stone-faced on the screen and there's nothing of the boy in his face. the direwolf at his side is a hulking mass of fur, teeth bared and eyes gleaming and no, this is not meant to be a light-hearted post. ]

Upon this ship there is a woman called Cersei Lannister, who arrived most recently. In Westeros, she dealt my house a great and terrible injury, and the matter must be settled, for it cannot be ignored. If she hears this, then I call her to treat with me, and submit herself for judgement for her crimes.

[ and grey wind snarls, ears set back and hackles raised, just as robb cuts the feed. ]

[ Hello, world. It's Jaime Lannister's face, bearded and short of hair, finally here for you to enjoy in a way that isn't just antagonizing people on the network. Though, with that said, Jaime does look a little smug at the moment, pleased with something that can't be readily divined just by staring at the screen.

At the same time, for any in audience who know him well enough to read such things or are just good at doing so anyhow, there's some tension around his jaw. Worry or just suppressed impatience? ]

Not to sound needlessly alarming, but I could use the assistance of someone trained in both the healing arts and the ways of living metal. One of our regrettably recently departed saw fit to leave me a gift on his way out, which I would like to have in working order sooner rather than later.

I would be in your debt. And my family is well-known for always seeing to it that our debts are paid.

[ ooc; thanks to dirk strider, jaime's got a robotic hand that needs attaching. please help the poor medieval knight. ]

For all the talk of help and friendship that trust is easily broken.

[ That young, sweet white haired girl that you've seen before? Today her sweetness is gone, her manner harder - angrier and her words commanding. Like a Queen, except right now that isn't her business ]

I would ask- [ No. A Queen does not ask, not when she has been wronged ] You will tell me where you have taken them.

[ Her children - her dragons. Daenerys doesn't know that they're not here, that they're still as eggs (she was updating in the jump, but her dragons haven't been updated with her) ]

If they have been harmed- [ She doesn't have a threat to follow up to that. No one with her, and she can do little herself ] your actions will be answerable. I am the Khaleesi, and I shall take my rights with blood.

[She's been keeping a low profile, but with Sarah, that isn't surprising. That is how one survives, how one lives, to see another day. Even here, she knew she was not safe- knew that John was not safe, and it was harder to set things up when you were truly cut off from everything. But, she's done it before, and is doing it again.

Her fate. It was her fate. And John had his.

Yet, she smiles, as even if she doesn't like or welcome technology, she knows enough to blend in when need be, and she is now. There might be a cautiousness in those green eyes, although more than anything, she looks tired. Her voice, when she finally speaks, holds a certain softness to it, as she is seeking information.]

I've been told that these tattoos serve a purpose- that one is a jump number. The ninth being the most recent. I assume there are still people here from earlier jumps- perhaps from the beginning? Is there any written information set out in one place about what has happened since this ship has been taking people- a report, maybe? A newspaper with key events? Or is it all from experience?

[And a pause, contemplating. Yet everything helps. Every little bit, even if things like newspapers might not know the real truth.]

I'm Sarah, and I would be interested in knowing any important events that have transpired since that time, if anyone could fill me in. I, myself, arrived with the most recent jump, so I have little knowledge beyond that.

[Count on another ren faire escapee to trigger an accidental video (or...perhaps not so accidental, although he's certainly ignoring the device at first) as he wrecks electrical mayhem in the holodeck. It's an impressive lightning storm, if you go in for that kind of thing, the figure in the center of it blindingly illuminated as electricity arcs and scorches in wide blazing bursts, the triggered sprinkler system doing nothing to quell it.

Eventually, it dies down, and the man in the middle of it with a rather ragged beard takes a swig from a bottle.]

You know, [he says, conversationally; this isn't an accident, then] I think we ought to vote on a name change for this Maker accursed ship. My darling friend Isabela hinted to me once--pirate captain, lovely woman, would rob you blind in a flash--I believe hinted to me that renaming a ship and properly anointing it with--ah, 'dancing' and alcohol could shift a curse. What with all the murder and mayhem and general poor attitudes I believe we're overdue!

I say we call her the good ship Meredith. But that's only after an old friend. Absolutely mad and murderous. I think it's fitting--oh, oh, or The Death Trap! Something spooky and doom inducing, at least. Who's with me?

[He fixes the camera with his most dazzling (soaked, drunk) smile.]

[ Normally, she would address the ship with both her name and face. A bow of her head, her most polite smile — means by which to garner favor and convince those she would entreat for help. (See how how guilelessly I ask, says her look. Truly, I am a soul worth helping. But gone are those days, for there are those aboard the ship who would readily look upon Alayne's face and say: behold, Sansa Stark or Lady Lannister or I knew Petyr Baelish; of bastards, he had none. Though she needs the assistance others, Alayne knows she must be careful now in what she offers too readily. Even if the other Westerosi still struggle with their devices, she must not rely solely upon their ignorances to keep her shielded and her secrets hidden.

So: some caution, at least at the very surface. A request made through text; an offer with a name but no face. A bastard from the Vale in search of cloth, that is all. ]

Good people of the Tranquility.
I am in search of a passenger, intrepid and strong-legged, to assist me in my endeavors.
Already once I have offered my services to the ship,
those of sewing, mending and embroidery,
and I hope to continue to do so, though I am hindered by a certain lack.
Although thread has come readily to me with the jumps,
fabric proves a much rarer commodity.
My aim is to enlist aid in the collection and dyeing of cloth.
The ship is vast and many of its quarters stand empty,
and I would look to gather some portion of those unused linens,
to give that fabric greater purpose.

But the vastness of the Tranquility is no place for a young woman to venture alone.
Especially when her arms alone promise to return such a meager bounty.

I offer recompense by way of trade or exchange of service.
The ship has been generous with me by way of worldly possession,
though I fear most of what I own is rather delicate and will only appeal to certain tastes.

Thank you.

[ The message is posted and remains as is for an hour, maybe two. Then later an amendment comes, one that Alayne debates over including. ]

I am also in search of the person
who thought it fit to slip a note beneath my door last night.
You are not in trouble by any means, whomever you are.
I look only to thank you for your endeavors.

[Hey, Tranquility. It's that bratty redhead that's been bothering people off and on since two jumps ago. And what is he up to this time? Well, he just looks confused, really.]

I don't get it. How do- I mean, I know how, but. Where I came from we didn't- I only knew like seven people.

[He screws up his face a little, because he just doesn't get it]

How do you guys talk so much?

[ Ygritte activates the video feed. When the camera focuses she's seated cross-legged on Jon Snow's bed, looking into it intently, features stern—and with her other hand tapping the flat blade of a carved bone dagger against her sheepskin-covered thigh.

Her voice is steady and light, but with just a hint of iron underneath it. ]


...I'll speak now t' the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, 'f he's willing.






[ ...No encryption of any sort, b/c wildling. Takes place after a particular conversation with Alayne Stone.

...Jon Snow, you got some 'splainin to do, boy. ]

Hello?

[ The device is on now, not directed at anything in particular - the user's obvious inexperience is shown by the fact that you only have the glimpse of blonde hair and the rest is angled at a wall, but the voice takes no notice and keeps on speaking to it. She has had the object for a week now, simply sitting in her pocket - near forgotten with the still present shock of simply being here. Until earlier, when she had found it again by chance and remembered it's existence.

Where did this come from? ]

I thought that I heard voices speaking from this some time ago.

[ there's a whirl of color and she has adjusted to, by luck angle the camera to focus on her, if only for a moment before she has her fingers obscuring the view. In case it is not entirely obvious, the user has little or no knowledge whatsoever of the purpose and function and when she removes them from the lens, it is now pointed downwards towards the floor.

Yes, it's another one of them. ] 

So, look, I get everybody's all jazzed about that list or whatever, and people wanna do the mourning thing. All good, have at it.

What I'm wondering though, is what we got working to find out who helped the dead dude get that way. Still pretty new around here so I don't know what you got rigged up already, but where I'm from something like this happens we mount up before there's a dead guy number two.

[ so that was... kind of a job application. if you tilt your head and squint. and to seal the deal. ]

Wouldn't mind helping out.

It seems there are many from my world to be welcomed aboard after this past jump. If those of Westeros inclined to make their presence known, I would speak with all of you.

[ there's a pause. a direwolf's low whine can be heard, and robb exhales slowly. ]

And I'm sure it is already known, but the lady who called herself Aberdeen is no longer aboard.

[ and feed is cut. ]

[He's been lurking on the networks since his arrival, reading everything he can get his hands on, but no sign of that shows in his expression. (Better to show trust and goodwill towards his fellow passengers by showing his voice and face. He's wearing the uniform, in order to foster a sense of common ground among those who haven't got other clothes.) Leoben smiles, calm and candid.]

Hi. I'm new here, and it seems to be the custom to introduce yourself. I'm Leoben.

I was wondering - does anyone have any religious texts they'd be willing to share? Or any works on prophecy, divination, or philosophy? Seems like my universe has some things in common with most of yours, but a lot that's different. I'd be glad to know more about other people's faiths, and to introduce them to mine.

I've got a complete copy of the Sacred Scrolls of the Twelve Colonies, and I can provide a digitized copy to anyone who's interested. [He says this as though it's normal, as though it's not blasphemous to set the Sacred Scrolls in print instead of keeping them handwritten, besides being abhorrent for scripture to be in the hands of a Cylon.] Our faiths are similar, but the Colonials look to many gods, while we look to one. It's a little complicated.

I'm very happy to have this opportunity to learn more about such a diverse group of people - human and non-humans of all kinds, their cultures and beliefs - and to spread God's word, in accordance with His holy will, among you all. [He seems to actually mean this, and to be downright thrilled to find himself captive on a creepy half-abandoned spaceship adrift in the stars.]

And Kara? I'd love to see you, whenever you've got the time.

[ Since his arrival, King Stannis Baratheon has been familiarizing him with the halls of the Tranquility and the queer technology that makes up the vessel (though it all still strikes him as nothing short of madness). All the technology that is, save for one queer device. He is a distrustful man by nature, and as he examines it, he finds that he rather dislikes the look of the thing.

Perhaps he will dislike it even more when he inadvertently activates the "text" function on this queer device, broadcasting across the ship communication system. ]

qwertyuiop

[ Why would letters be organized in such a non-sensical manner? It seemed to him that it would not make communication any easier. Yet again, he presses the letters. ]

. . .

Q W E R T
Y U I

OP

[ It takes some time for him to notice that such is apparently being broadcast, though a small alert indicates such to him (for he could see nothing else that would cause such).

The Others take this infernal device. The Others take this infernal ship

He moves his jaw back and forth for a moment, before activating the video function, though he immediately turns it off. Who knew who (or what) might be watching.

So finally (after much teeth-grinding), he opts for the "voice" function, keeping it short and simple. ]

Speak.

[ Further answers would come in time. He would make sure of such. ]

A girl wandered the ship, and not the outpost. She knows there were cruel things there. Evil things. [Because more than anything else, a girl listens and watches.]

A girl would ask a question of everyone, to distract from those things. She hopes all may answer, for there are a great many foreign things to her here.

What city, country, planet [yes, she remembers these strange but important words] do the people of Tranquility call home? Where do they come from, if they have no home? What are their names?

A girl regrets that she cannot answer well. A girl is of the Faceless Men, and so she has no name, no face. Her only home is in Braavos, Essos, on a planet that has no name, like the girl.

[Maybe it's a warning, in the end, now that she knows the kingslayer is to gain a hand: she knows that the only people who will really understand what the Faceless Men are, are few on the ship; but there are others, she thinks, who will interpret the words she does not say.]

A girl will listen to true and false answers alike, if she must. She only asks for answers.

In light of recent events upon the outpost it's clear that there are a number of us who are suffering the after-effects of torture. You all have my utmost sympathies - I have witnessed such things before and I will offer the same services here that I gave to my dear friend when he was put under a similar duress.

[ A duress that Durham himself instigated, yes, but that's another matter entirely. Or so Durham tells himself. ]

Whilst those who have been subjected to a torture most terrible are undoubtedly brave, it would not be thought of an act of cowardice to wish to rid oneself of the memory of such a trauma. Torture does not end just because one has been released from the cell; there are the lingering effects of anxious melancholies, exhausted spirits, weakened nerves... to say nothing of restless sleep.

You need not bear these memories as a millstone and for those that wish it I will gladly relieve you of such a burdensome weight. You may find me in my cabin - the eighth room upon the eighth passenger deck. Ask for Thomas Sutton - [ A thoughtful pause, then he adds: ] - or perhaps it would do better if you were to ask for Durham. Either way, I shall endeavour to do my utmost to help those that are prepared to ask for it.

[ Another pause, longer this time, and then Durham picks up again. This time his voice is harder, cooler; this is a matter of business, rather than a favour. ]

And while I am here I may as well announce this too - Oxford. Your Durham has disembarked. In light of this I propose a parlé. I would request that we meet un-armed but as both of us possess weapons that are not so easily cast aside, might I simply ask that it be under a white flag of truce? I do not know how many of your fellows remain on board but I suppose they may attend as well.

( OOC : Durham is essentially offering a bit of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Hit me up HERE if you have any questions! )

I hear you lot rather enjoyed yourselves down there. You're practically celebrities among the rest of us: outpost travelers, survivors, whatever you'd like to call it, I'll not limit your labeled imagination on however you'd like to spin it. I'd be rather interested in hearing about what it is those who stayed in their cozy cabins missed, however - make use of that teahouse or other freshly stocked supplies we've the habit of squandering for sake of entertainment or distraction from personal misery on this boat. Supposing the rest of it isn't all freezedried, in any case.

Considering we've no windows, if anyone managed to take pictures or put together some creative art for your journey, I'm sure the rest of us are aching for some sort of blatant confirmation of where we might happen to be. Or do none of you know how to exactly place the progress of this fine vessel? I'll be frank, the whole sending untrained passengers into space bit is a little out of my league.

Actually, I've yet to be told upfront how those pods operate. Or where people go when they happen to disappear - unless someone keeps feeding them to the manticores. Or, honestly, any sort of satisfactory answer to most of the questions I still have even after a few months of this place.

I can't be the only one unwilling to settle with an empty hand, can I?

[there comes a point in every young boy's life where frustrations grow too strong and all you want to do is hit things. or fuck. this is what happens when you cut yourself off from all possible outlets and are left stewing in your own juices for too long. enjoy, ataraxion.]

the next jump is this week, and we've just got to trust that those pods are safe now? yeah, we have that cure, but who the fuck knows if it's still going to work if shit happens again. don't know about you guys, but i think i'll pass on the sickness this time round

then we've got :) running around trying to cause shit. and then it turns around and helps?

t(-_-t)

[there's a few minutes wait before the entry is updated again.]

this whole thing is bullshit