[Allison had shown him a few tricks with cellphones back home, so Tom had a basic idea on how this communicator might work, but he's far from proficient.

He leans in close and his voice is raised while he speaks slowly]

Hello. I am Tom McNair. I am new an--

[The communicator falls from his hands and for a moment there's a dizzying sight of legs and then feet as it lands on the floor]

Oi! Sorry! Sorry!

[He picks it back up and looks a bit worried that maybe he hurt the thing, or those watching. This time he's speaking more like normal Tom, but he's still slightly nervous]

I wanted to talk to people. I don't have a lot to say but I figured if we all have to be together then we should try and be friends. So, if you wanna talk and be friends we can do that. Or if you don't wanna talk, but still be friends we can do that too.

Okay. Bye.

oh, wow.
let's face it: this is all sorts of crazy.
but like the sci-fi kind of crazy, which is a cool and dangerous kind of crazy!
although if you tried telling that to your therapist or rose, they'd probably argue that lunacy is lunacy, no matter what.
which brings me to my next point...
am i crazy?
did you ever think that maybe the reason that goo is blue is because it's the color of your destroyed dreams??
the kind of goo that seeps into your ears and totally brainwashes you????????
WAIT.
what if i am figuring all this out way ahead of schedule.
i've been scratching the tattoo a whole lot, too.
i didn't mean to, i swear. i was just itchy!
the effects are wearing off, i repeat, the effects are wearing off!
HOLY SHIT.
i just heard a highly suspicious noise.
...they're right behind me, aren't they.

[ 5 seconds later: ]

TELL DAVE SPRITE I REALLY WANT TO PUNCH HIM!

[Someone is standing outside of one of the holodecks, just kinda looking for a while because, okay, some secret nerdy side of her is all about just jumping in there and trying it out, but the part of her brain that is still stuck on the fact that this is too fictional for real life is keeping her outside.]

Hey, so. Who wants to show me how these virtual reality rooms work? Or whatever they're called. I'd just take a swim, but I haven't been given a bathing suit, so. Looks like I'm at the mercy of whatever this room is capable of to relieve my boredom.

[She grins; clearly in a good mood but no she is not sharing why.]

Really though! Somebody get over here and walk me through this, I don't wanna cause some kinda meltdown by misusing the thing.


[Encrypted Message to: BELA TALBOT and JACK SPARROW.]
Well! If nothing else, this whole mutiny thing really... shined a light on just how impossible it is to get a reaction or even get some attention from the captain. Which means I'm clean out of ideas how we can try and talk them into sending us home.

[No, she isn't checking on you both. That's crazytalk. That is absolutely crazy talk.]

[Encrypted Message to: JOHN EGBERT.]
[However yes, she is checking in on you, dude.]

Hey kid, it's been a while. How've you been?

[Oh wow it's an audio post let's just OH GOD who is shouting into their communicator why would you do that.]

GREETINGS, TRANQUILITY. MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE.

[Does he have your attention? Good. The post switches from audio to video and HEY LOOK it's that ginger robot guy aren't you excited.]

Haha, kidding. I'm kidding.

Except, no, not really. I'm not. Do actually want your attention--I have some important things to say, so. Revise that. Just kidding about the shouting; I'm not going to shout any more. Listening on your part, however, is still highly recommended. Seriously, you're going to want in on this, because it regards something this ship decidedly lacks. I mean, it's all well and good if you want to run around playing unofficially official self-appointed who-died-and-made-you-king fake-y pretend captain and friends, but where does that get us in the end?

I am, of course, referring to the delicate art of cultural relations. Seems we've already had a bit of a mishap, there, with the bloke who tried to eat people. All of that could have been avoided with a little communication! Some--some understanding. We've got a lot of different…species…and customs…and…ideals…floating about…we're going to have disagreements. People are going to get eaten, apparently.

But! We can make it slightly less likely for people to get eaten, or murdered, or offended. What we need is someone…or someones, depending, who can successfully navigate these, ...cultural discrepancies. As a representative of the, uh. Fabricated personalities aboard this ship, I understand that we might be confusing to humans and trolls and…vampires. That's okay! Can't expect organics to really grasp what makes us tick, so there are bound to be misunderstandings and--and misconceptions. That's okay too!

Not going to speak for the other non-humans, but I am an AI, and there are quite a few of us, and I have been here the longest--well, HAL and I have been here the longest--so what I can offer is my guidance as an--an ambassador, if you will. Ambassador of Organic-Artificial Relations, working tirelessly to reduce the aforementioned misunderstandings and misconceptions. No need to thank me.

Let's see, uh. Qualifications! Been here the longest, as I've stated, with HAL, of course--HAL, you can be my co-ambassador, if you like. Knowledgeable, obviously. Worked extensively with humans back home. Basically an expert. Did not murder any of them, unlike certain computers who shall not be named. Very diplomatic, me.

Wow, actually? This is such a good idea, I think every group should have a representative. Most of the crew is human, by my estimation, so those of us who aren't need to make sure we've got proper say in how things are run. It'd solve a lot of problems, if you ask me. Clear up a few things along the way. Maybe the troll ambassador can explain to me why I can't have a bucket. Been wondering about that, if I'm honest. I need one.

Second order of business. If any of you esteemed listeners have experience with or--or interest in robotics, let me know. I've got a bit of a personal project that is, ah. Not exactly progressing as quickly as I'd like it to. So inquire within, as it were! If you're interested. Giant blue heads need not apply and can, in fact, bugger right off.

----------
( complete and total fail!lock to 003 » 143 (Chell)--10% )

a/s/t

refresher course for anyone whos forgotten the drill
a = age duh
s = species
t = time
when youre from the year day hour minute the whole shebang
in fact you can forget the other things that last one is the only one i actually give the remotest shit about
my single shit is a star millions of light years away and if you squint through the hubble or something you might catch its distant twinkle
but thats it
dont actually answer the rest of it i really dont care if youre a middle aged phosphorescent insurance salesman from mars just give me the digits
and if you got the lowdown on the timeline in this hellhole cough it up now

ps
whichever one of you assholes put baby got back on my thing
put it back
thats my jam

pps
need a suit
its for work

also a ps
john pick your shit up off the floor or im throwing it outside this isnt a goddamn zoo


[also text permissions can be found here!]

[This video feed is dark. There's light filtering in from somewhere, and it's just enough to highlight the silhouette of a person, apparently crammed into some kind of confined space. Closet? Air vent? Who knows. This is probably meant to be an audio post, and there is evidence that an attempt was made to filter it away from at least two parties. Neither of these efforts were successful.]

Here's a problem for all of you. Real brain-buster, this one, if you catch my drift.

[Hi Wheatley.]

Let's say, hypothetically, I have a friend who, um…sort of…found himself in a situation where things got a little complicated. Circumstances out of his control, you know how it goes. Did some things…maybe said some things…that…were not the best things to say or do. Point is, this friend of mine made a couple of ladies rather upset.

Thing is, he didn't think he'd see either of them ever again! Turns out he was wrong. Saw them again…much sooner than he anticipated. And is now a bit…unsure of what to do, right? Because…they all parted on, uh. Less-than-stellar terms.

Still purely speculative, here, by the way. In case you forgot.

So we'll confirm that one of the ladies actually deserves an apology, which he did, in fact, grant. Right off. First thing he did, apologize to her. And he--and he thought it would make him feel better about the whole thing, but it didn't. Which…doesn't make any sense at all, because that's not what's supposed to happen. You're supposed to say you're sorry, and she's supposed to say "apology accepted, and also I'm sorry for a couple of things that may have upset you in turn", and then you say "that's all right, let's go back to being mates". And you do.

But that's not--that's not what happened, and honestly, I think he feels worse because she is…still angry. Hypothetically angry. Or--or hypothetically disappointed, at the very least. Which is…the complete opposite of what he wants. It's--it's all terribly confusing and he is not entirely sure how to go about correcting this and would…very much like to not be on the receiving end of her unstoppable wrath. We'll suppose he's already experienced it once and it was not. Pleasant.

And we'll say, hypothetically, that the other lady--if you can even call Her a lady--does not deserve an apology, because She is bloody insane, and also a homicidal maniac.

Actually, that's only partially hypothetical. It is, in fact, loosely based on the true story of a crazed lunatic fresh out of the gravity couches, absolutely hellbent on spilling my blood. I am capable of bleeding, now--that's a thing I've confirmed about this body, and I'm not terribly keen on having it happen again. Since arriving, She has already tried to murder me once, and might possibly attempt to murder others once I am dead. She might not even wait until I'm dead! Just…just throwing that out there. Food for thought.

[Potentially dangerous to put her face on some weird, public network. Text is too impersonal. Audio, it is.]

So far, here's what I know...

We're on a ship. In space? A bunch of new people showed up a few days ago and this is not the first time it's happened. This place is RIDICULOUSLY huge and probably way easy to get lost in. No one's 'left' yet. There is a major flaw in the whole people-to-ship size ratio that's got me mighty curious and also hella suspicious with a side of concern.

Some kid named Dave likes swords and apparently I should call him sweetcheeks.

Alien dog-faces don't like when you bash their squeaky toys and also apparently know things about me. Do not want.

There are people here that know more than I do. You dudes wanna start talking? Because I'll be listening. Anyone willing to fill in the gaps for me will be compensated like woah. I'd mainly like to hear the 'why'.

[Deep breaths, Lou, deep breaths. He's still practicing this exercise about a split second before the recording begins, shifting his focus to it immediately, superficially ready to laugh and quip at this silly challenge someone has proposed (forced) him to take part in.

It's nothing but pure nerves, he assures you.]

This is... definitely the most fucked up thing I've ever seen.

[There's an exhale, not quite a laugh. See? Nothing but nerves.]

I guess I'm supposed to say hi now.

Hi. I'm the new guy.

... I think I lost someone's cat.

(ooc: disorientation = Lou doesn't remember the cat is actually his. And madam Cambridge is going to find it! Feel free to run into a man carrying around a small dead cactus and a pack of cigarettes, if you want to go for an action thread.)

[ The communications device is placed haphazardly. Perhaps on a shelf, but regardless the orientation makes it so that video is tilted in a less than pleasing manner. Sherlock and John are both in frame; entirely unaware that the video has them both captured. Sherlock is all jitters and small animations of tension. From the rhythmic taps of fingers to the trouser end of the jumpsuit to the quick paces back and forth in the gaps between John and Sherlock’s bed. ]

I was hoping for more concrete advice. [ A hint of seething; irritation; perhaps desperation. ] I was under the presumption that you had added space into your repertoire, John Three Continents Watson. [ More pacing; his expression turns legitimately confused ] Help me.

[ John sighs - he’s never living down that particular disclosure of information, is he? He rubs at his brow with his thumb, though his eyes follow Sherlock for some of the walk. The communicator in his own hands seems to have been forgotten for the moment. ]

What are you on about? Advice? What are you trying to do now?

I’m not helping you sweet-talk any more women into stealing you things.


( cut due to length. )

[[ OOC: HI GUYS FEEL FREE TO SPAM THIS POST WITH INAPPROPRIATE TERRIBLE DATING ADVICE FOR THE CONSULTING DETECTIVE. THIS GRATUITOUS DISPLAY OF BROMANCE HAS BEEN BROUGHT TO YOU BY JULYA AND EFFY: BROMANTIC PRODUCTIONS. BLUE IS SHERLOCK, BROWN IS JOHN :D ]]

[ Helen had given herself a little time to 'settle in', or at least become a little more familiar with her location before broadcasting anything - that and the more time that past the less disorientated she felt. Hello travellers, have one rather calm looking woman addressing you ]

I've heard as much as is known about where we are, and although I wish that there was more what I do now know is far more helpful than nothing at all.

My name is Helen Magnus. I arrived in the last 'jump' and would like to offer my help in any way possible. I've heard of a shortage in the infirmary but if there is anything else that I could also do please, do ask.

[ The more she can do the more she can learn in her opinion. And she gives a small smile before cutting off the feed ]

Thank you.

( Jules has taken time to compose herself. Of course she has; for one, appearing in a anxious mess wasn't flattering for anyone. It didn't fly with her modus operandi of forever optimism, where people could be forgiven for thinking that every day she awoke in a waterfall of daisies, nudged into consciousness by a unicorns that carried her on roads made of rainbows.

Secondly, she is London. The capital, the overseer, and while she might still be counted as a beginner by some Order members (“not even three years yet, a bit green”), Julia Grumley was not a person to be trifled with – despite all appearances and assumption. Not anymore, and especially not when she had been on her way to a lovely, romantic weekend in Amiens and has been fucked right off into a bloody spaceship.

No. She takes her time. Make up, a silk scarf that does wonders to make this jumpsuit look better (lies) and a few minutes to compose herself. She's even got a smile, which might be considered a miracle, unless you've known her for more than five minutes.

So, here she is, clearing her throat, and eyeing the device with some curiosity. )

Um, terribly sorry to be a bother, but I seem to have wound up somewhere rather different than my intended getaway. I think I've got the hang of the basics, just about, but if there's any chance anyone's going to jump out with a big old “haha, we got you!” then sooner rather than later would be very much appreciated. Not that it isn't a lovely ship! I'm sure it's just... marvellous. Splendid, even! Fantastic.

( . . . Oh, God. Why? ) I'm Julia Grumley. Jules, actually. Only one syllable, much easier for everyone.

( Her voice is light, smile playful – you'd not think there was a thing wrong. Another beat, and Jules tilts her head a little, observing the device with sharp curiosity. )

I don't suppose there's anyone else from the UK here?
( It's not pointed, unless you know what she's talking about. ) I'm from London, myself.

( more lies )

[a brief flash of orange as the video turns on before the camera focuses on what looks to be sleeves on a jumpsuit tied around someone's waist. a moment's pause and there is a slight shuffle sound as the camera is brought up to reveal a face.

said face is of a woman of an indiscernible age. young-looking but...who the fuck knows with the way video game timelines work. her brows are stitched together as she examines the device. she looks perplexed, fatigued, and simply displeased with her current state of affairs, and her lips pull down into a pout before the picture blips off.

obviously someone is having trouble with her communication device!

a few seconds later it blips back on, and she still looks a bit disgruntled, but less so. there's a moments concentration and the device is brought closer to her face for a second, and then lowered at what would be reading level for the strange woman.

the tank she's wearing reads APERTURE LABORATORIES and once again, the feed cuts out.

seconds later, there's a bit of text.]

hello?

[her face appears once again, and she seems to be thinking carefully. obviously she is a woman of very little words.]

i won't test.

[ There is a very flat note of boredom in Oxford's voice, and the video is focused on his profile as he idly stares at the wall of his room, slouched in his seat. ]

Seasons of mists and mellow fruitfulness, close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; conspiring with him how to load and bless with fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run... [ He trails off, looking momentarily rueful. ] It's no mystery as to why Keats and his many wonderful contemporaries chose to roam the countryside and marvel at the ever changing landscape. [ HUFFS. ] They weren't trapped on a spaceship where every corridor makes you wonder if you're merely wandering about in circles. There are only so many trips one can make to the oxygen garden before you start recognising individual leaves, for God's sake.

[ He finally sits up, with a quick, smooth movement, the subdued quality of his voice becoming suddenly more efficient and business-like as he looks squarely at the camera feed. ]

In the interests of quelling a certain sense of raging boredom that occasionally grips me - and others, I'm sure - I would like to propose a poker night. I imagine there must be a fair number of us who fancy themselves good with cards. [ He raises his brow curiously. ] Do I have any takers?

i am not the only one who signed up for the gun crew, right?
the turrets here are pretty different from the guns i used back home, but i think they will be easy enough to figure out!!
so um... does anyone know what exactly we are supposed to be using them to shoot at???
i hope its not other people...... D: