16 February 2015 @ 12:05 pm
I have been thinking.

[Eponine avoids looking into the camera, favoring, instead, to look beyond it.]

After the events of the previous jump... For those of us who are dead where we come from. Here, are we... undead? For we have come back to life here.

If so, why are we different from the zombie dudes? I wore rags, too, once, and was nothing more than flesh and bones. [She's gained weight here, becoming healthier, from her gaunt looks before.]

Yet I breathe.
26 September 2014 @ 09:45 pm
[Here is a very squinty look as Combeferre looks out, er... tries to look out at the network, anyway.]

It having been a long several weeks, this may not be the best of times to ask some medically related questions, but I have been getting my headaches...migraines, you call them, in the future, with more frequency since my spectacles were, ah, destroyed in the corridors a while ago by what I think was meant to be a ghost of my...

[What exactly IS Marius to him, right now? Combeferre had never liked the man so much as he had been completely baffled by him, a bafflement that had lead to his giving Marius a cooler reception than he probably deserved, and he had wanted to like the man for a while, even here. That was, up until Eponine, and, while he will not say that Marius should have returned Eponine's love (particularly as that would leave him minus a girlfriend), he does believe that the younger man still ought to be worked harder to be kind to her, and he certainly was annoyed enough with ghost Marius to attack him, anyway. And then, he'd been just plain angry, and, well, it is a complicated situation, he supposes.]

Well, a ghost from my past, I think it suffices to say, and that has really nothing to do with my question. I've been having problems without my spectacles of any rate, and I have been wondering about...is there some way to create a new pair here, or to do the laser procedure I've found mentioned in some of the medical books I have been looking over, lately?

There IS still the method of waiting and seeing if a jump is kind to me, but if it cannot happen, I would be curious if there is anything else that might help me as well.
Current Mood: curious
21 July 2014 @ 12:10 am
[The video feed opens on a Combeferre who is grinning slightly idiotically. It’s a different look for in public spaces, honestly. Jehan and Courfeyrac may recognize it, but they are the only ones from home who do . Clearing his throat, he begins to speak after a bit more of setting up.]

I have rather an important bit of news to share with everyone, particularly those of you who were so good as to help me see the way out of tiptoeing around the truth.

So good to help! [That would be another voice, low in pitch and gravely.] Michel! To whom are you addressing? Tell me it was Jean and Reynaud, and no other. [By now, a rather small girl, a few years younger than Combeferre has made her presence known, frowning at the screen. Say hello to Eponine, everyone.]
announcements, cuteness and wayward chairs! )
Current Mood: cheerful
17 July 2014 @ 09:48 pm
[ Your resident 19th century cynic is overdue for an introduction. But, in his defense, it's taken him a while to figure out how the hell to use a smartphone-- there are a lot of things to get used to for him here, okay?

The first thing that appears is his dark eyebrows knitted together in a face that's obviously puzzled but intelligent looking. He's rather enjoyed the challenge of tinkering with this thing, and he shows a triumphant smile when he realizes he's done it. ]

Wonderful. A strange piece of equipment, but nonetheless remarkable.

[ Clearing his throat. ]

Hello, all of you unwilling citizens of this terrible place. You may call me Grantaire. I suppose this is an introduction of sorts since I have only arrived a few short weeks ago and this is, I'm sure, the first time many of you have seen me. I appeal to you because I'm looking for some... [ he hesitates over the word "friends," but he's not sure he qualifies for that endearment amongst some his group from home. ]

...acquaintances of mine from my previous life, who I've been told are on board but I have not met in this vast place as of yet. Given the violent and, apparently, tumultuous nature of existence we seem to be in here, I think I should find them before the next "jump" sees fit to do away with them. Odd, isn't it? How fleeting everything is. Well, at least we have use of these to find each other; it's certainly a helpful tool.

[ Tapping his screen emphatically as he speaks. The communicator makes an electronic noise as the camera turns around and back to him, making his eyes widen with surprise. He raises his hands away from it, afraid of making another error. ]

...My apologies, I'm still trying to master the use of it. I won't bother you all any more, in any case. Should you have met anyone by the name of Bahorel or Combeferre, please inform me. Or if you are one of them listening here, that would make this exceptionally easy.

[ With a smirk, the feed ends. He did figure that bit out well enough. The big red circle was certainly eye catching. ]
[A very pale Combeferre, worn out from the effects of the jump, and squinting into the camera is appearing on your screens, Tranquility, hi there. Despite being rather pale, he seems, well, well enough as anyone who was in engineering that day can attest to being, and there is a bit of a preoccupied smile on his face.]

Hello, everyone and welcome those of you who are new amongst us. I look forward to knowing you in time and hope you've had a decent time of things so far. That said, I do have a question, for, well, all of you, old and new passengers alike.

[Here is where he hesitates, shifting a bit, his face a little flushed as he considers how best to put this.]

I ah. It has been some time since I, at home, had time for seeking out romantic attentions or for seeking someone I could share them with as well.

[Given the year he's been on the ship, it's been about three years, to be precise, but, details, right?]

I think that I...that I may very well have found someone who I would much like to know better in that context, and it seems that, perhaps, the lady will not be opposed. I only wonder, I...


[He's taking off his spectacles now, polishing them a little frantically, with the edge of his shirt, then fiddling with them a little, so that the loose screw at the temple actually drops off completely.]

Damn .

[So now Combeferre's sitting there, a side of his spectacles dangling off of his face, even as he attempts to shove them back up and keeps finding them slipping down, with his cheeks certainly going scarlet now.]

I wonder how...

What are the ways that you might woo someone you would like to know better? Ladies, what might a gentleman do, specifically, to ensure that he remains respectful to you, above everything else, even while he is asking you to potentially...

[How does he girls, ship? ]

This is awkward, perhaps I had better just...end here.
Current Mood: anxious
12 May 2014 @ 04:44 pm
[ 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. ]
28 April 2014 @ 08:40 am
[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.
[The gardens are in the background. Thranduil appears on the screen looking impeccably turned out. His poise is stiff, his tone formal.]

It has been brought to Security's attention that the criminals Melkor and Mairon did capture twenty-two hostages from this ship. Of these, nine were enslaved with sorcery to do their bidding and keep the others entrapped. Their intent was to hide upon the station Arima and make their way to a planet from there.

[He lifts his chin.]

In doing so, Melkor and Mairon emptied several houses and killed and ate their inhabitants. When we arrived, there were piles of half-eaten carcasses to which some of the hostages had been bound face-to-face. The hostages themselves are in varying states of health. When we became apparent to him, Melkor set fire to the house.

[A muscle in his jaw twitches. Legolas' legs were broken.]

Melkor and Mairon are dead, and with them one of their willing servants--AM, I am to understand he was called. Their executions were quick and necessary to free those under their spell. They will not harm another soul here.

One hostage could not be saved. Meriadoc Brandybuck was murdered for his valour, and with his death he saved all his fellow prisoners. Because of the fire, Merry's body could not be retrieved. All effort was put toward saving the living from the fires. A funeral will be held for him. His honor is great even among the many great souls I am privileged to know here. The wake will be held tomorrow night, after a night and a day of mourning.

[He stops speaking for a second, though his face makes no change. At last, his gaze drops briefly and his voice becomes a soft hiss.]

Savo hîdh nen gurth.

[He cuts the transmission.]
12 April 2014 @ 04:38 pm
A query, for the ship...

I wonder, with what we do know about our predicament; and I admit, my knowledge is little when it comes to the gadgetry and computations that the running of this vessel requires; and what we do know about M. 'Smiley', as he is like to be called...

Well, how to put this?

[A pause and a breath, before tilting his head just softly and staring up at the camera.]

Smiley may not be human, is it so? This has been presented to me as an option. Not human, but digital?

And he has been upon the networks, in order to mock us. But the mocking has had a defined purpose, I have seen. Threats, that we "had better" fix problems-- both technical, and human in the case of the mutineer-- before it costs us our lives. That we "had better" keep the ship running. Yet, if it were not his will that it be fixed too, were it not in his best interest also, would he not use fear as a means of making us do his bidding?

If Smiley would guide us to to save our lives by saving the ship; perhaps it may mean that it is the improper course of action, after all? Perhaps we ensure his-- or it's-- safety by ensuring our own? And in doing so, we too may be responsible in part for leaving this vessel open to stealing more lives from their homes, more people from their families...

In other words, the question I would like to pose is this: If we knew, for fact, that the only way to stop the terrors on this ship and the kidnappings seen each month was in destroying the ship, thus protecting any future targets-- be they like us, or like those pirates, who were seen to summary execution...

Would you be willing to pay that price, to see that the right thing be done?

Dulce et decorum est pro mores mori.

Forgive me, if it is too morbid in thought. The question is surely a difficult one.
20 February 2014 @ 02:01 am
Let me start this by saying that I feel absolutely silly for having not thought of doing this a long, long time ago, but - well. That's obviously not longer the case. But I ought to get it out of the way anyhow.

[a breath.]

Katherine Stewart.

Marguerite Chadwick.

Stanley Chadwick.

Anthony Proud.

Delphine Gaudin.

Emilia Gorski-Grumley.

[With a little tension in her voice-] Julia Grumley.

[And after a pointed pause, exhaling again - this name is the hardest to say.] And Frederick Grumley.

I don't suppose anyone here has seen either of these people. Or - is any of these people? Who knows how long I've been here, but considering how long we've all been here, I... I thought it couldn't hurt to ask. If I'm here, chances are one of them might be, too. Not that it would be ideal, but I'd rather know about it.

[Read: she misses them. And she's worried about them. So there you have it.]

Thank you.
12 January 2014 @ 10:38 pm
[ after the jump teresa expected things to make more sense, like something would reveal itself, but it hasn't. if anything it poses more questions than answers. there seems to be only one place to go for that. nothing else to lose at this point. (she'd been meaning to ask earlier anyway.)

with soft black hair falling around tensed-up shoulders and pale skin glowing in contrast, she looks into the recording. her face doesn't display much emotion besides a tired concentration and slight quiver to her lip. it's been a long few days, but she does her best to hide it. ]

So, it's like going from one creepy experiment to the next. Ever thought that maybe that's what this place is? A test? A code to be deciphered? From it seems like, every month something horrible happens. Couldn't those all be variables we're supposed to respond to a certain way? Things probably won't change until we do.

[ right or wrong, teresa speaks from experience, so she sounds confident about this theory. she looks like she wants to ask a million more questions, but she stops her theorizing there. ]

Anyway, I'm Teresa. New-ish. I know we're sick of hearing about the temperature, but I'm not the only one whose room is freezing, right? I thought the heat was bad before, but no. This is actually worse. I could use a jacket or something if anyone has some extra clothes I can borrow.

[ because she would really like to go to bed and not wake up with hypothermia. ]
11 January 2014 @ 05:22 pm
[For once, Enjolras is completely bundled up in the majority of his clothing from home, and huddled in a blanket to boot. He looks somewhat resigned -- cold isn't too much of a problem, but he has grown far too used to being on the ship and in a somewhat moderate temperature, barring the last few weeks.]

I do not much mind a respite from the heat, but this seems somewhat excessive. I do not think I have been this cold since I was in Paris. Does anyone know of a place where the climate might be somewhat more, ah, temperate? I welcome any and all suggestions.
04 December 2013 @ 02:39 am
[Greetings Tranquility. Combeferre is peering at the screen, a look of intense concentration on his face, a stack of datapads nearby.]

It has come to my attention that I am in need of a few items. Notably a candle and a light source for it, lead from a pencil, a flask, and the element argon. If any of them might be retrieved, I will, of course, compensate you accordingly.

[Yeah. Because none of THAT looked suspicious or anything. There's a moment longer while Combeferre smiles politely at the screen before the feed cuts. Oh. Oh Dear.]
Current Mood: curious
01 December 2013 @ 09:34 pm
[ Grantaire makes a point of clearing his throat right into the device. ] A-hem. Is there a meaning, do you think, to the items we find in our lockers? If some can find a language in flowers, then surely our gifts must provide a wide vocabulary. I've received nothing since my first jump but from it was an exquisitely adequate bottle of brandy and a deck of my best cards. What does this say? I have gone over these clues for months, and yes, I've found my answer. For once, I will allow Scotus to peek his head and say, "Pluralitas non est ponenda sine necessitate." That is right, I must indulge myself in every mixture of alcohol I can attain—which I am well on my way to doing, if I may say—and find a group with which I may gamble, as well as goods that will make it worthwhile.

Now, solely to fulfill my given purpose, who will accompany me in this? I have cards, but I will also accept dominoes, dice, whatever foreign method you could desire. My only request is that we play honorably, or the spirit shall desert us. [ Was this entirely to ask for gambling partners?? Yes. ]
16 November 2013 @ 10:31 pm
[Good morning-- Is it morning? Evening? Day! Good day! Courfeyrac still has a hard time determining this on this ship. There must be some sense of time, after all, even if not by the sun and moon. Regardless, here’s an early 19th century dandy who has writing all over his face in sharpie.

Yes. That’s correct. Not just writing, but terrible poetry and double entendres and all of the innuendo. All over his face.

But he’s still grinning all the same, because he knows exactly why this is the case. He rubs his eyes for a moment before actually addressing everyone, his smile mischievous.]

It should seem that I awoke this morning with writing all over my face. Alas, my mysterious scribe is nowhere to be found. Perhaps someone would be so kind as to read it for me? Everything appears reverse when I look into a mirror.

What’s more, if someone finds the culprit, please do return him to me, won’t you? I imagine he is wandering the halls with a permanent marker in hand looking particularly devious.
[Ruby's in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee. She looks tired, though not overly so. Adapting to life on board isn't going all that great for her - but thank whatever deity you want to insert here for coffee, because Ruby is just going to survive on that. Hey, Grenny pestered her with early morning diner shifts often enough, and Ruby isn't ashamed to admit that she's addicted. Doesn't mean she's gonna kick the habit anytime soon. She smiles at the camera, friendly as always.]

Hey guys. Ruby here, for those I haven't met yet. Pleasure to meet you, not pleased about the weird circumstances, you know how it goes.

Two things... first of all. I gather I'm not the only one hallucinating. Or... having dreams. Memories. I'm not awake enough to puzzle that out. Is this some sort of... group hallucination, and what's so interesting about two people talking about how hot some prisoner is, anyway? Do I need to be concerned? Do I need to... I don't know, do anything about this, report it to anyone?

[She rubs a face down her hands, smiles, because all this sounds insane, but it seems to be common practice here.]

Second thing... well. I was wondering. I'll admit, I'm not the brightest bulb to ever light the room. So... we're in space. And I was just wondering, if you were. Say. Sensitive to the moon. 

[Yeah, this is harder than she'd thought. Crap. Ruby takes a long sip of her coffee, a little too hot for comfort, but the burn is quite welcome right now. She can't exactly go saying that she's a werewolf and very likely to kill anything that moves in front of her during three months a night, because she doesn't think she'll be in control of the wolf after not transforming for a whooping 28 years, plus she doesn't have the magical cloak that'll prevent the transformation - yeah, that's not gonna get her pushed out of an air lock at all. She's had enough angry mobs after her in her own time.]

Are we in any way affected by moon cycles, given that we... well. Have no... moon of our own?

[Yeah, it sounds even more stupid when she says it out loud, but does the truth of her little problem really sound any less stupid?]

22 October 2013 @ 12:51 am
[Eponine appears on the network, obviously a little panicked about something. She had been trying to reach Jehan, but unfortunately, she was not adept enough at technology to filter it to him.]

Monsieur? Monsieur, I have done a bad thing - but we are friends, are we not? You will not listen to the Inspector, will you? We will still be friends, won't we?

[Impatiently, she pushed her messy fringe out of her eyes.]

He is a horrible man, you know. He deserved it, I think. [She shrugged and sighed]

I wish he were gone; life here, even when I bled from my eyes, was pleasant before he came. I do not think it will remain so now.
16 October 2013 @ 09:35 pm
[In light of all this... mess, really, going on with everyone's minds (it did seem to be contagious), perhaps now was not the time to explore new things. Perhaps now was the time to really hold in place what one's personality ought to be, and to cling to it.

Despite that, Jehan and Courfeyrac have decided upon now to finally take the foray into modern fashion. Jehan can't say he's thrilled with the result, but the clothing items they have lifted from the Cyllene at least fit... for the most part.

Being rather dismal with technology still, he'd meant to put in a call to Combeferre, whom he thought might be amused with the antics (...and might tell them what he planned to do with those dresses, finally.)

Instead, network, have a man in his early twenties, from 1832, in front of the camera wearing a streamlined, white jacket. Which might not have been so bad, if he had not insisted on wearing it with a bright tie, which he had fashioned into a bow around his neck.

Courfeyrac had done... something to his hair, with some form of goo he'd found in one of the bathrooms on the other ship, and he had not liked it. It was sticky. He'd tried to comb it out with his hands, and the result was that it now more-or-less stood straight up, tilted to the side violently, and had frozen like that, as if in shock.]

Is this-- is it recording?

[A pause.

He had no time to be embarrassed. He had a few questions.]

This is absurd. The buttons on these costumes-- they have no button holes, the half of them. Are they meant to connect to nothing?

[In his attempt to figure out why on earth a jacket would have buttons that were only for show, he's fastened two into the same hole, in a few places; with a herculean amount of effort.]

And some of these pockets are stitched shut.

Is all clothing like this, past our day? Do men really wear pants quite so tight; and how do you go about fitting suspenders onto pants that have no buttons in the back?

[He has figured belts... to an extent. As the pants he'd taken sat much lower than he was used to, he'd used the belt to fasten them nearly to his waist, putting it through only one loop and pulling tight. Over the jacket.

The result is more or less a disaster, and he'd readily admit it leaned towards more; the clothes simply didn't make sense.]

Really, I cannot say I imagine I am wearing this... absolutely correctly. But is it made correctly? These are pieces we have found, and I've seen all manner of clothing on board this vessel.

Are such things really comfortable? I can't say they seem useful, exactly...

Are all pockets in the future stitched shut?

[Someone has to ask the Serious Questions, Tranquility.]
05 September 2013 @ 05:30 pm
[Have a beaming Combeferre, onscreen, wiping his hands on an apron. From the looks of things, he has been in the kitchen.]

Greetings, everyone!

I am pleased to update the entire ship on my progress in learning your new technological cooking methods, which have finally resulted in an edible, and delicious meal. You are all invited to a dinner party in the next few weeks, prepared entirely by myself.

I do hope many of you can make it.
Current Mood: happy