[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!]

[The feed comes on to show Taylor looking pretty annoyed, a sharp frown pinching her brows even as something a little more weary lingers in her eyes. Her tone, when she starts speaking, still comes out strong, more authoritative than might be remembered from her before. Her first real announcement as Head of Security, she's keeping her shoulders set and her gaze level.]

I was thinking that this was basic fucking common sense, but seeing as some of you seem to need someone to actually say this shit, I'm gonna lay it out for you.

You don't kill each other, you don't assault each other, you don't steal each other's belongings and you don't damage each other's belongings.

[A pause, making sure those sit clearly before she carries on.]

There is a security team here, we're active and we will take action to enforce these basic rules and rights if we see or are informed of them being broken. Each infraction will be dealt with individually, so don't ask me for a blanket 'what will you do if'. SEC's here to keep everyone safe, not to control your lives. Most of you know the kind of shit we've had to deal with here - if you don't, you should've read about it. It's bigger and it's nastier than this kind of sniping, so calm the fuck down and stop fucking with each other already.

[A moment, keeping the same hard expression before she seems to relax slightly, looking away at something off camera and then back again.]

Personal request: if there's anyone that can do tattooing or just art shit, drop me a message. [A slight motion of her shoulders, almost a shrug.] Been doing them myself, but I want these somewhere I can't get at. Can show you how to do it bare-bones, if you don't know.

Good day. My name is Miles Edgeworth; I am a security prosecutor in Tranquility.

[This is...relatively similar to how he typically starts out his transmissions…except not quite. Indeed, there are a few differences from the norm. First, his manner is slightly unfocused. Second, it's video, and third, he has a friendly-looking shiba inu plopped firmly down on his lap.]

This is Pess. Pess is my dog. I know you don't like me, but Pess is...

[A slight confused pause, then he continues.]

Pess is completely, completely off-limits. If anyone thinks about harming her, I will - "return the blow with a strength twenty times your own!" [That has the air of quoting something, and his self-satisfied nod seems to confirm this.] You may also have time with Pess, if you are a decent sort.

Erm.

Oh, yes. Did the buddy system work well? I'll take notes...I need paper. [He casts about for a piece of paper; Pess wriggles around in his lap and jumps up to bite his chin and Edgeworth accidentally turns off the feed with his elbow.]

[She's happy with the company she keeps, but the ship is too restricting.]

At least in Siren's Port, I could get another tattoo if I felt like it. And in Sweden I could find an H&M on every corner for new clothes.

I really hate this fucking uniform.

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. ]

[Jesse's set up the communicator so it gives a static view of the scene. They're in Jane's room - the one she hasn't been living in - and it's been cleared to make room for one big art project of some kind. There are cardboard storage boxes everywhere, all cut up into various shapes and painted to resemble adorable child-sized robots. Jane and Lisbeth are in the background there, still working on a few pieces.]

Oh my god, you guys, you would not believe... We've got all this amazing robot armor, but it turns out we made it all too little. So what we were thinking is, if you're small enough to fit into this stuff, let us know right now? And just tell us your tattoo number, yo, and we can drop off some kickass robot armor at your room. How's that sound?

And hey - Grown-ups, don't try to steal any from the kids. It's too awesome for you, so. You know. Chill, okay?

[This is, of course, Jesse's solution to this problem.]

Good day. My name, as many of you know, is Miles Edgeworth. I have been present on this ship for approximately two and one half months at this point; at home, I was a prosecutor.

I've a pair of proposals for your consideration. Each will be posted first via the text function, then read aloud for those who avoid the use of text.

( The 'buddy system'. )
( Mediation service; still in its beginning stages, looking for volunteers/input )



[OOC: If people sign up for the buddy system, I'll be matching them up next weekend sometime! An opportunity for forcing your character into new CR. :>]

You know what I miss? I miss getting drunk.

The simple pleasures of life. Perhaps the taste of peanut brittle! Or the view you get when a gal in a particularly short skirt bends over to flash whatever's underneath. Flowers in spring or some stupid shit like that, whatever people get their jollies off on. Scratch the peanut brittle thing, actually. In retrospect, peanut brittle is fucking disgusting.

[ Bartleby's sitting at one of the kitchen counters it seems, an elbow propped on the surface, his head tilted against a fist. He looks thoughtful, and yet sounds aggravated. Sardonic. ]

You know what I don't miss? Assholes who get lost for weeks inside a never-ending corn maze with less corn and more maze without even bothering to leave their phone on. Can you believe the damn cretinism that has to go into something so careless as that? Is it retardation, I ask of you? No, for that is too simple an answer. I don't miss Wisconsin. Nobody misses Wisconsin.

Also the Spice Girls. I really don't miss the Spice Girls. I'm probably pushing my luck with saying that one aloud.

[ jenna could have sworn she was done with being the nearly thirty year old who still gets high in public. but rey had a really big bag. a really. big. bag.

smoking with a vampire is worse for weed hogging than bong hits with michael phelps, news at eleven. at least she's a bit more coherent than her comrades.

the posts starts without ceremony, various limbs belonging to ariadne and rey in the background. ]

All right, we-- [ she flings out an arm, gathering two separate 'oofs' ] have all been here since day one. Day one. And a guy gave Rey a huge bag of weed, and we're not leaving this room until it's all smoked, because this place is the worst second chance invented without the cast of Jersey Shore involved. Seriously--

Wait, what's Jersey Shore? [ that from ariadne. jenna stops, frowning. ]

It's-- Rey, help me out here.

[ rey shakes her head slowly, eyes lidded. ] Can't, I have the same question.

[ jenna wrinkles her nose. ] Okay, it's-- orange people, from New Jersey, who are apparently Italian but really not, and one of them likes pickles and another one peed in a corner of a bar. [ kanye shrug. ] It's classy, appointment TV.

[ after a moment and three equally 'but why' faces, jenna moves on as their self-appointed spokesman. ] Anyway, what happened to boring space? It was like 'oh, I can't find enough hair ties' not 'holy crap, monsters and doom and people leaving'. I liked space better five months ago.

Rey. Rey, Ari. Quick poll-- play along, viewers at home-- did you like space better five months ago.

[ give her a second, what was her point again? ] Right, and people should come help us. And bring food.

Mostly the food, but helping's cool too. Rey's sharing, but only if you come join us in the People's Republic of Berkeley.

[ which would be the common deck on floor one, for the record. ]

Disallowed are: yelling, fighting, non-consensual pantsing, DARE propaganda, and Fig Newtons. Anything else, come on in.


( ooc | SO REY HAS DECREED ALL WEED IS TO BE SMOKED IN THE PARTY ROOM feel free to say your character dropped by, action it out, whatever. all threads viewable to the stoners three by proximity, label it locked otherwise and maybe one of them rolled over or something.

also blue is ari, and green is rey. )

[ as always with a banner post, the opener cues up a half uncomfortable, awkward smile. sincere, but still twitchy. bruce: never going to like public speaking, thanks. ]

I spent some spare time lately messing with my communicator, and I thought I'd share the benefits.

[ more: he's been reminding himself to do this since speaking to ros, but 'the pretty red haired woman with the hungry smile who can't read inspired this' seems a little too much. better to be a bored scientist tinkering with things. ]

I thought it might be useful to have a-- reading function on these things, so to speak. It's not the most elegant job, but I can show my work if anyone else wants to keep going on something a little more structured.

...Anyway. The program I threw together reads text posts aloud. [ in something that sounds a lot like betty's voice, because bruce is a dork. ] I know language barriers aren't much of an issue here, and I can't promise an attached dictionary, but it's something.

[ he hesitates. ]

We're all very focused on the immediate, and we should be. But it might not hurt to add a few more-- non-essential projects to the pile, just to make life a little more comfortable. [ not that he doesn't want to be home-- well, all right, some of him doesn't-- but of all people, bruce understands the need to make something good happen, see tangible and rewarding results for your efforts in between everything else. ]

...Right.

[ the half smile bruce turns towards his communicator is particularly pained, now. there really should be a lost and found okay, so he doesn't have to do something like this to keep from feeling wasteful and more than a little cowardly. ]

Last jump, I received a few things I don't need. If anyone wants them, I'll leave them all in a box outside 006 » 029. First come, first serve.

( text attachment )

[ and now his eyebrows draw together. ]

Don't say it, Tony. [ that probably guarantees trolling. reverse psychology for fun and profit, and banner out. ]

( banner locked to axvengers + betty + pepper )

[ 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. ]