22 July 2015 @ 03:42 pm
Well, it's official. "Someday" and "An emergency" are here. We need the zippy little battle craft and we need them now. This is basically all hands on deck for anyone I've flight trained.

[With one notable exception]

And if I haven't flight trained you, these still need a crew to work the weapons, so keep listening.

We have two kinds of shuttle. Harpy have some missile capabilities but are mostly for getting up close and personal with everyone who now wants to kill us. Need at least three people to keep them working. Wyvern are for sneaking around and dropping a nasty surprise from a distance. We need at least four people working those.

So speak up if you want on crew. And if I've flight trained you but you aren't sure about actually being the main pilot on one of these, tell me now. We could still use people working the guns who can step in if anything happens.

Gavvers, Newtie, I have a different job for you two.

((OOC: I've created a Google Doc for keeping track of who's flying with who. Let me know if you want me to just arbitrarily stick your character in any crew that needs them))
02 July 2015 @ 10:03 pm
[Max knew this whole stupid mind powers thing was a generally awful idea. Elizabeth and even a little bit of Rey's work on the comms (even if he still would rather glare at her, in private) had done a relatively bang-up job making Max think maybe there was a shadow of possibility this powers business would actually do any good for them. Besides — if he could calm his mind down enough to actually control it, he would stop giving away memories and hallucinations and feelings all willy nilly. So yes, he tried focusing, tried materializing things, tried to keep it all in check. Nothing too personal — just channeled it. Other than a few rather personal thoughts hovering through the cracks from other people he'd never know the names of, he has had pretty good luck.

'Til of course, a particularly rough series of nightmares had caused him to muck things up. He'd woken up in the corner of his room with something heavy and rough against his jaw and cheekbones and lips. Somewhere in his fervent dreaming, he'd gone
and materialized that fucking muzzle; the same one he had supposedly locked up in his locker, kept away so that it couldn't actually get used against him again. And now it's on his fucking face. 

So he does the totally wise thing, which is struggling pathetically to remove it with his hands before he rushes into the nearest kitchen and starts pulling out drawers and ripping open cabinets. The motions are rough and not too careful, and his network device crashes onto the ground and displays him pretty much wrecking one of your kitchen areas. This drawer? He's pouring it out on the counter and digging around. It's all spoons, who needs spoons. There's a knife and he tries to shove it under the padlock behind his head and scrape it open, but it's just grinding down the grooves on the blade.

As he pushes over appliances and spills someone's coffee, this is an approximate translation one can hear while he spits the dummy:]

Fucking [INCOHERENT CURSING] shi—fuchgk [INCOHERENT GROWLING] my face, for fuck's sake, bloodghy— [???????] FUCK!



He tugs pretty pathetically on the long chain hanging there, slips his fingers under the thick metal bands before he tries to shove a butterknife into the keyslot.



This the sound of his forehead softly thunking against the cabinet door in frustration.

... Well, maybe there's a decent nail file somewhere in engineering or something...

Fuck your powers y'all can eat your powers and get indigestion and cark it, for all he cares.]

((OOC: Action permissible for Nami and Elizabeth, have fun girls.))
31 May 2015 @ 10:00 pm
[ A(n ongoing) series of garbled texts are sent in the days following the bisection of the ship. Many of the texts are to random recipients, sometimes in mass-text form (where available). Some of the messages will even repeat themselves from one day to the next, if anyone cares to compare notes. Anyone who receives the message and responds is apt to get a reply from Blake, who has remained restless since all of this began. ]

June 01 - 02
Neighbor | Harbinger | Threshold | Sanctuary

June 03

[Some time on June 03, these messages will become more erratic and unpredictable as the isolation sickness gets worse. John will be wandering until he succumbs to the coma and stops answering completely.

Due to the strain on the communications network, it's not impossible to receive the messages in the stern of the ship, but they'll be a considerable amount of interference.

OOC Notes )
18 May 2015 @ 08:25 pm
[The video feed turns to reveal Emily looking a bit worse for wear from the illness or whatever it is that is going around lately causing the headaches and the bleeding. She has never really addressed the network before, mostly because it felt superfluous and that was typically Nolan's thing anyway but this was different and probably an important thing to discuss if anything]

Hey. So I am not really sure where to start with this— I know there's been the headaches and the bleeding that has been already mentioned and still going on but lately I've been slowly been getting bits and pieces of dreams or maybe something more like someone else's memories that happened before in this place.

Anyway with everything that's happening right now, I figure it can't be a coincidence— so I was wondering if anyone else has experienced something similar?

[ooc; Referring to the stasis coma dreams! Feel free to use this as a general discussion/info post and threadjack if you want too]
16 May 2015 @ 01:52 pm
[ Charles Xavier has managed to time this video for a moment when he isn't bleeding from the face, but his face is quite white, like maybe he has been not so long ago. When he speaks, his tone is level and informative-- but in most other ways, a certain amount of anxiety radiates off of him.

One of his eyes has blood blotting over white at the corner from burst blood vessel. ]

I wanted to share something I found when I was asked to examine Felix Laurens. Some of you know I have psychic abilities and-- well, now all of you do. [ Ha. Ahh. Anyway. ] I sought to find out what-- prevented him from speaking directly, or caused him to behave in strange ways, and a little about how he came to be here at all. Last we knew, he was dead.

What I found was a second presence, buried deep in his mind. His consciousness was separated from it by a sort of psychic, membranous barrier, which I don’t know the nature of. In my haste, I broke through the barrier so I could understand what it was, and-- initially, it was just. Sounds. Memories. Thousands of them, and I wasn't able to make any sense of it. But there was something else, too, something intelligent and aware that seemed to see me, like a single searching eye, and tried to-- do something. Pull me in, is what it felt like, to all that noise. Felix helped break off the connection before that could happen, and I experienced symptoms not unlike the ones we're experiencing now.

[ Charles hesitates. Taps his fingers against the desk. Continues, to the point. ]

It's in everyone. Everyone's mind.

This barrier is, anyway. It reads to me as being "thinner" [ you can hear the quotation marks in his tone ] for those who have been here longer, and "thinner" for those that attended Shepard's recon mission a while back. I haven't looked beneath it since I observed it in Laurens, but only because I fear that I'd find the same thing.

It's also-- I believe-- causing the rolling side effects we're all experiencing now, or has something to do with them. I've observed that there is a resistance happening, a ripping, like the barrier is trying to detach from our minds, and then when we seek physical contact and the symptoms abate, the barrier strengthens. Perhaps it isn't a barrier at all, but a--

[ He stops. He hadn't want to ramble and speculate. ]

Study is ongoing, anyway, about what it means for us, what it does to us. I'll put up my own findings in the archival timeline, and keep it up to date. If-- if anyone like me is looking to confirm this phenomenon, I can't stress enough that it's important you go carefully. It will overpower you, given the chance.

[ Grim public service announcement executed, he tries to consider how to sign off. ]

For those that are newer, my name is Professor Xavier, with Xenogen. Sorry about all that.

[ Aaand cut. ]
[ By the time Blake gets to writing everything up, it's early in the morning on the 7th, some time around 0700. He doesn't particularly enjoy addressing the network, especially not like this, but the information is definitely something that needs to be shared. ]

At approximately 0415 this morning, and according to witness reports, the individual identified as Antti Basher escaped medical quarantine and proceeded toward the main shuttle bay. At this time, it is believe that Basher made contact with Marcus Rothschild and Odessa Knutson. Basher later stated that their involvement was voluntary, but not premeditated.

The above mentioned individuals arrived at the main shuttle bay at 0421 and proceeded to power up a flight-capable shuttle at 432 by bypassing its main security protocols. Due to the small number of Flight Crew Members in attendance, the unsanctioned presence elicited immediate intervention.

Antti Basher was successfully apprehended in the Control Office by Flight Trainee John Blake, but not before accessing the airlock controls. At 0437 the shutter bay doors were opened without the appropriate warning protocols and authorization. This facilitated the escape of Odessa Knutson who currently remains at large. During this time, several members of the Flight Crew, Marcus Rothschild, and at least one unidentified individual were subjected to unsafe conditions caused by decompression.

At 0445 atmosphere reached and maintained satisfactory levels. The Flight Crew Members then discovered the body of the deceased Marcus Rothschild, the apparent cause of death cited as asphyxiation.

The circumstances surrounding Rothschild's death are currently under investigation.

For a information on obtaining a full report of this incident, please contact John Blake or Hoban Washburne.

[ If it sounds like a police report, well, there's a reason for that. ]
09 May 2015 @ 10:42 am
I could use some help.

[Sam is sitting on the floor, and he looks distressed as the feed starts. A little lost, perhaps, and it's clear that whatever is going to come out of his mouth isn't good news.

The fact that there's smears of blood on his clothes don't help matters. Though the vast majority of whatever gruesome scene he's found is left out of the frame, likely on purpose, there's a body laying nearby, bloodied, shredded clothes draped haphazardly across what is barely recognizable as anything previously alive. It's as if he pulled her there to check if she was still alive and then things just started to...fall apart.

He's no stranger to death, but this is particularly brutal, made worse by the fact that he considered her a friend.

A chalkboard lays nearby, and though something is written on it, from this angle it's nearly impossible to read.]

It's Seraphim.

[The words choke in his throat a bit. He didn't know her well, but they'd talked, and he knew people who were close to her.]

I'm not sure exactly how long she's been like this but...I think this happened before we woke up. During the jump.

[Though not in any advanced states of decay, the blood is still long dry. He swallows, his throat rough as he reaches for the chalkboard, lifting it up so that it fills the scream.]

She left us a message.

[It reads, "It's out there and it wants us alone, we can't be alone."]
30 April 2015 @ 08:38 pm
ok, a few questions.

1) Do you dream when you're stuck in those tubes the whole month?
2) Is everyone okay from that whole monsters coming out of the corridors thing?
3) Who gave me that plant thing? Because it's really cool. Thank you.

Doggy playtime is therapeutic! Stop by the Oxygen Gardens for some time with Hudson!

[And, true to his word, he'll be in the Oxygen Gardens with Hudson, his German Shepherd, playing with him. Action is fine, as is network stuff!]
29 April 2015 @ 09:05 pm
[John turns on voice because he looks too much like a wreck to turn it on video. He's fine. His voice doesn't even sound too bad.]

I'm alive. Dealing with shit. Not the point of this.

I'm struggling with nightmares and insomnia. If someone would be willing to help me with that, I can pay you back somehow.

I also need some clothes patched up, if anyone's good at sewing.

[He's about to leave it like that, just quick and business-like, but he sighs, continuing.] You know, my mom was a good person. So was my dad. He was a cop, and he always fought for justice and the right thing, and he's the reason I'm a cop myself. Sometimes whoever or whatever's in charge gives us horrible things in our lockers. But sometimes... sometimes, it leaves nice things.

[He flips on video for a second, and all that's visible are his fingers holding up a photo. The photo has a woman and a man with a small boy, all smiling. Yes, that's John's family. And yes, John looked like a dork as a child. His hands move a little, but just to turn it back to voice.] Tell me about your families, if you'd like.
13 March 2015 @ 11:26 pm
[the feed opens on a shot of a half empty bottle of tranquility brand ~space whiskey. along with another empty bottle lying on its side beside it. to anyone familiar with the bars on the ship, it may be possible to recognize the fact that the feed is coming from the wrong side of the bar. that inside of being sat beside it, he's instead stood on the inside of the counter. (easier access to the alcohol. and considering there's no bartender, it made more sense to him. it did take an entire liquor store last time).]


[…okay, whoops. there's a pause; time spent squinting down at the device. he's making a call to the network, so maybe it'd be a good idea if he laid off the "dead" languages. when he speaks again, there's a weight to his words that comes largely from having to focus so hard on what he's saying. on making sure that he's actually using the words he wants to use.]

There are games I have seen humans play before. Ones that involve drinking copious amounts of alcohol for amusement.

[there's another pause then. one that's only interrupted with the sound of a drink being poured in to a glass. far more than a single shot. it's gone moments later; swallowed easily, and with very little impact on his current state.]

Show me.

[what are manners? look, he has other priorities right now.]
01 February 2015 @ 01:08 pm
[ See comments for action headers! Flying lessons, shuttle repair sessions and chapel interactions available! ]

My name is Leoben Conoy. I'm with Flight. For you guys who volunteered to learn to use the shuttles, I'll be giving one on one sessions. They're in your own time if you're not already a full time trainee, minimum two hour sessions. They need to be booked in advance, but we can schedule ahead of time; we're all very busy.

I'm also available to train some of you in the basics of repair. We'll use the shuttles, because they need the work, and also many of the systems are simplified versions of the bigger thing. If you ever wanted to find out how to help out when things are broken, this is your chance. Maybe I can show you how to get in and outta the spacesuits, too.

If anyone is interested-- [ And here he scratches the side of his head awkwardly. ] I'll be teaching yoga in the oxygen gardens at oh seven hundred every morning. It's a hobby of mine, from my time on Caprica.

[ Leoben's voice has been soft but authoritative throughout, firm, but now he smiles and cocks his head slightly to one side. He seems to sparkle on this topic: ]

Finally I uh--I wanted to know... I read that there are some of you on the ship who worship various gods, and I want to hear all about it.
01 February 2015 @ 04:37 pm
[ so that was...some shit, huh?

in light of just how grim everything had gotten, it seems the perfect time to roll out a little something to lighten the mood, and river has been rehearsing for at least half an hour prior to actually addressing the network.

(it needs to be perfect, okay? delivery is everything in comedy)

I have a joke. ..More than one, but one for now. We're all very tired.

[ she clears her throat a little - bless she's actually kinda nervous - before continuing, a little rustling following as she even sits up straighter. ]

How many existentialists does it take to screw in a light bulb? [ pause for effect ] Two - one to change the light bulb, and one to observe how it symbolizes an incandescent beacon of subjectivity in netherworld of cosmic nothingness!

[ ok you can all laugh now ]
18 January 2015 @ 09:29 am
Hello, fellow residents on the Tranquility. For those of you who don't know me, my name is Leia Organa.

[She's not even bothering to waste any time here.]

I don't have anything majorly important to say, but if anyone here knew Han Solo before he left or is inclined towards engineering projects, I have a lot of his abandoned and half-finished projects in my room. I will be putting them into boxes and leaving them in Media Room on the first floor of the residences. If you're interested in them, they are free to take.

I'm not sure what half of the things are, but I'm more than happy to give them to someone who can actually use them.

[And so they aren't taking up valuable space in her room for...anything else.]

Also, Lúthien, if you want to start those lessons we discussed a few months ago, I'm ready to do so.
30 November 2014 @ 10:50 pm
[Gold has a bad habit of not looking at the camera when he's speaking to his device - but this time it seems less like he's working on something more important, and more as though he's examining something, a slightly pensive air to his expression.]

As irritating as it is to admit it, this coming jump will be my twenty-fifth. [He looks up, then, setting whatever item it is aside and giving the camera his full attention.] Patience is a virtue, as they say, but I've lost count of the faces that have come and gone. I won't pretend for any sentiment to the fact - what concerns me is the loss of information that each might have held, whether about this ship or some clue on why they were brought here at all.

[He still believes there's a pattern. There's always a pattern.]

My world was one within several, each with borders that could be... hopped, if you had the means. [And the will.] What was always interesting was the ideas that would seep through the cracks. The lives that would become stories and songs.

[With hugely edited pieces, facts missing, other exaggerated. But he knows his history, and he knows how it's remembered.]

My name is Rumplestiltskin. I'm curious to know how many of you have heard it.