[ a rare video post. irene's wearing her tweed suit, hair twisted elegantly up on the top of her head. and she's smoking a pipe while she perches at the end of the bed. not her bed, because even though the camera's tight in on her face, the scraps of paper on the wall most certainly aren't something irene adler would indulge in.

her decorating habits are much classier. ]

I've been here for eight jump cycles. Quite a bit longer than I'd ever anticipated, but what can really be done?

[ and it isn't as if irene has anything to go back to, but she's hardly about to say that. ]

Suppose I manage the next four and make it an even twelve. I wonder what one does to celebrate aboard a...spaceship.

[Blake's jumping right in today; if he's still feeling any aftereffects from Silent Hill, it's not evident in his voice.]

Sorry for the delay on the basketball club. For those who missed it the first time, or are new this jump, I was thinking about starting up an intramural basketball club, if there's enough interest. No experience necessary; I'm willing to teach anyone who wants to give it a try. I was thinking of meeting up three days from now, in the gym on floor 009, at 1200 hours if that works for everyone.

As a side note, does anyone have electric clippers?

[The text goes out as a general announcement to the ship, but especially to those he knows are friends of one Captain Steve Rogers.]

So -- a friend of mine and I figured we needed to liven up this ship with something not ....well, horrible. So we're having a movie night, showing some of Captain America's finest works. Feel free to either follow the smell of popcorn or just ask me where it is if you have any interest.


[--And as promised, Bucky is waiting in one of the rooms with a holodeck screen, projector helpfully provided and built by one Howard Stark. He switches to video, then, grinning, and sends two messages privately.]

[PRIVATE TO HOWARD STARK AND STEVE ROGERS:]

Both of you better get your asses up here.


[OOC: Now with an accompanying log!]

[ The image, at first, is kind of dark and blurred. He's been out of the loop for quite awhile, taking the time to check through some of the messages before giving up and tossing the device at the corner of his bed—it causes the picture to shake and briefly turn upside down before setting right again. By this time, he's managed to maneuver onto the floor, and it's pretty evident that he's 100% naked. Only his back and shoulders are visible as he frantically looks through something. ]

Shit. Where did I put it? [ More rustling, more cursing - fuck, fuck, fuck - and he eventually holds up a glass vial that fits into his palm. But he's not holding onto it for long, instead pulling the top from it and bringing it to his mouth and pressing it hard against his lips. Very obviously nothing in it, his other hand moves to grip some of his hair in frustration as he clutches the bottle. ] Get a grip, Beleth. This isn't the worst thing that's happened to you. What day is it? When was the last fucking jump? Dammit.

[ But maybe it is because he's squeezing so hard the glass is breaking, and it shatters a second later, shards falling and the leak of blood slow from where it's cut into him. He looks down, stares at it, and immediately scrambles for the device. Like he's known it's been on the whole time. ] I need—

[ He struggles with the words, a smear of red coating the top part of the screen where his thumb is resting. ] Fuck. I don't care if this is against the rules, or if this is gonna piss everyone off. I need more of this - [ And he draws his hand back to show a mess of blood and broken glass. ] - before I do something really stupid. Please. [ The rest of it is under his breath and mumbled: ]

I need help.

Good afternoon, Tranquility.

This is Doctor Watson from medbay with just a few, quick announcements.

First, some of you may or may not have noticed that I was absent for the greater portion of the last jump. Sorry - that's about as much as I know about it as well. Anyone who was looking for me, specifically, can contact me at this number.

Secondly, due to my absence, I don't know if anyone new has joined on to the medical team or not [ He doesn't really sound hopeful in that aspect. ] or if anyone's left, so I'd like to call for a quick headcount of our current staff, if you wouldn't mind.

I'd also like the staff to quickly jot down their availability for shifts on the roster I attach.

SHIFT ROSTER

Medbay is always looking for more staff. No experience necessary, just time and dedication to the job. If you're interested, contact me and we'll run through a brief interview with the other senior staff.

JOB SIGN-UP

Finally... I'm sure many of you have noticed we've gotten another Sherlock Holmes aboard. For those of you who don't know, there are three of them.

Two of them look completely identical and sign their texts. Those ones are Seven and Eleven. [ Go ahead and have yourself a chuckle, Americans. ]

Eleven is directly from London. He has never been on the Tranquility before this jump, so please don't try and treat him as if you know him, or expect him to act like he did when you knew him. I'm telling you this so you don't have to hear it from him - he's got a [ A soft grunt of a laugh-not-laugh. ] particular way of putting things. Some things do stay the same.

That's it.


[[ OOC: Info on John's disappearance and his jump post (for anyone interested) is here.

Also! I made a general medbay log post for anyone who wanted to write about lasting injuries from last month/just a catch-all for the area. You can find that here! ]]

[the video clicks and Kirk is sitting at a table, it isn't his room, possibly one of the board rooms, and he's clad in the regulation greens of Starfleet.]

Tranquility, this is Jim Kirk.

For anyone joining us in the most recent jump that may have missed it, please take the time to read the FAQ that's been compiled. It will answer most of your more basic questions, and we highly encourage you to inform yourselves of your situation.

[and the following links will beep to life on everyone's screens:

• FAQ
  
• EXTENDED FAQ
  
• JOB LIST
  
• SHIFT ROSTER ]

I'd like to take this moment to repeat the necessity for all of us to work together. We are, effectively, the crew on board this vessel. A month before the first wave, the former crew manning the Tranquility disappeared without a trace with the exception of Captain Ward and Commander Resnik. We still have no explanation, which I know isn't what any of you want to hear. That being said, if any of you need help choosing a division, don't hesitate to ask.

I know many of you aren't from planets that've taken their first steps into space yet, and as such you're anxious. I also know some of you come from backgrounds that say you need to go it alone. I know plenty of you have no reason to trust any of us. But turning our backs on one another is not the way we're going to survive and make it home. This ship has the potential to be dangerous, as last month's unexplained fog can attest. If we can't take care of one another, if we can't support one another through crisis, we're only going to be hurting ourselves.

Working on a ship this size requires a different kind of mindset. I can't stop any of you from exploring on your own, or from extrapolating on potentially dangerous ideas [JAYE.], but I encourage you to do your research and do it as safely as you can. Every life on board is worth something. Don't put yourself needlessly in danger and don't do anything alone.

[he's been talking for a while, and though he isn't done Jim's attention moves and a moment later (invisible to most) an encryption pops up in his feed.]

{KIRK ENCRYPTION 100% :: exclude WARD & RESNIK}

If you discover something you believe could help our understanding of the ship or that might help us get home, we encourage you to share this information. However, do it discretely. There's a post that goes up every jump that is anonymous. This trend started when one of our number made a discovery and soon after, died on the ship. His death was never proven to be homicide, but it was suspicious enough to cause concern.

This ship has plenty of secrets. As individuals, we will never not be hiding something. There are people on board who get no bigger delight than stirring the pot. Don't encourage these people. If you're bored, there's more than enough to do without resorting to petty gossip. We have enough on our hands as it is.

{END ENCRYPTION}

On a lighter note, one of our number, Cameron Reese, has expressed interest in heading a competition, namely for firearms and archery. If any of you think this is up your alley, her contact number is 010 - 078.

Before that happens, though, I think we need to detail some rules for the firing range that was recently uncovered. These rules will be posted in the firing range. Anyone caught breaking them will be subject to disciplinary action by the Security team.

( SHOOTINGRANGE.txt )

Kirk out.

( SCIENCE & MEDICAL DIVISIONS + 001 099 + ENTERPRISE | ENCRYPTION 100% )

( OCTOBER BANTUM | PRIVATE )

( NETHERLANDS | PRIVATE )

Who am I supposed to talk to about helping at the clinic? I'm a nurse, back in Boston.

[ And belatedly, as an almost amused-sounding afterthought... ]

Jenna sent me.

[Bed rest sucks.

[Now that we've got that out of the way, you know what doesn't suck? Dutch weed. Just a little bit of it. Not only does Murphy not feel like he's been royally screwed over by a bullet wound and injuries and sicknesses he'd endured from Silent Hill, but he's feeling pretty much like the universe is an okay place right about now. No nightmares of dead children and angry wives and shackles, prison, being a monster...

[Nothing's okay, everything's fine, fine fine. And we have Murphy here. Now's not the time to be tacking away over text! Instead, we're treated to a hoarse, haggard voice of a swell and phenomenally high man:]

"Y'know what's really somethin' that I've never taken into consideration before? We're in space.

"I said it, we're in space. You'd think the novelty of it wouldn't wear down after so long, but..." [He scoffs.] "Never even was one of those kids who... y'know, wanted to be an astronaut when they grew up, but...

"Hey! Here's a question: What did you wanna be when you grew up? Grow up. Sorry. Some of you are kids. But still...

"Me, I always thought it'd be kinda cool to be like Mr. White, uh... Minus the gettin' shot at part. 'Cause bein' shot really hurts, and..."

[There's a pause. Are we going to finish that thought? No?]

"Shit, I think I can feel my brain..."

[Another pause. There's a sound of something creaking.] "I'm really bored right now."

[Somebody take Murphy's communicator away before he says/does something he's going to regret... Or just talk to him, because goddamn.]

[A gruff voices comes over the network, slighty distorted and muffled by something covering the face.]

If there's any types who know your way around a ship, we could use them down below to keep tabs on things, assuming the Science or Medical crew hasn't snatched you all up yet.

Should probably introduce myself - name's Isaac Clarke. I basically live down in the ship's Engineering department, and have been half working to try and understand everything here. We're making progress. Small progress, but progress. Could always use more hands for a ship this size, though.

As for everyone who was planning to be a part of my survival teachings, those'll happen sometime in the next few days. Everyone was a little... distracted, last month. [No, he refuses to elaborate on that.] I'll be showing how to jury-rig some standard space survival equipment and go over what I've learned dealing with... well, ships like this.

I'll also cobble stuff together for anyone who particularly needs anything high-tech. I make no promises, but I've got the experience.

Clarke out. [Annnd feed cut.]

STAY CHEERY.
MRS. NESBIT✿

( OOC: Sorry about that, I woke up late... /posts three hours later

LOL and omg i swear the god i didn't copy Ianto's post this is the funniest coincidence FLOWERSQUILITY. Anyways, enjoy. )

[ The technology, all in all, isn't too hard to grasp. It's more the fact that there's no real way off the ship (no concrete information as to how the passengers arrived, no explanation as to the contents of the lockers), not to mention the circumstances under which he had arrived, that leave Connors ill at ease. The phenomenon, however, is not one that he seems to be alone in, and when the video feed turns on, he seems much more put-together (and healthier, too) than he'd been when he'd arrived, glasses in place upon the bridge of his nose and the stump of his arm barely visible at the bottom edge of the screen. ]

Apologies, first of all, if the question is redundant, [ he begins, with a slight duck of his head, ] but considering the range of worlds from which we hail, I was curious as to how many passengers are not classified as human or are possessed of "supernatural" capabilities. I'd like to do a little research, if at all possible.

[ He opens his mouth as if to continue on, but seems to think better of it. The transmission is awkwardly short, as is, but he doesn't have much else to say that's strictly relevant (that won't sound too much like covering up). ]

Thank you for your time. Dr. Curtis Connors, at your service.

[ it has been nine months.

nine months that he has served aboard the Tranquility, and with each passing jump, fewer and fewer of those that arrived with him- remain. those that he could acknowledge with a nod of his head, those who would offer up their places in the lift so that he might not be forced to endure physical contact. those with whom he shared name, rank, and specialty. history and conversation. those who had offered advice and understanding as readily as curiosity and appreciation. each and every one of them is important to him, because it illustrates how far he has come from the deeply disapproving Vulcan cadet he had once been. Spock does not know if these associations have made him more human- but their worth to him cannot be accurately quantified. ]

In light of recent discussion and events, I find it appropriate to make request.

If you possess qualification or experience in the counsel of others and desire to assist fellow passengers, I advise that you submit yourself for placement among medical personnel. Similarly, as I anticipate that medical bay would not deny participation- [ there is no pause for McCoy's loss, or the personal difficulty with which he anticipates John Watson must perform, but the thought is there. a ghost in the line of his mouth. ] if you have served Medical prior, your presence would likely be of significant value.

[ Spock's chin dips forward a fraction. it is barely movement at all, but enough to allow his face to move from the sterile, unnatural light of the ship's interior. when he speaks again, his voice quiets. he takes account of the adjustment in his body language and the slight tonal inflection of his voice, but does nothing to smooth their perceived imperfections.

empathy is a fundamental expression of sentience, so said Surak.
and Spock will not begrudge himself his humanity, however contained he may allow his experience of it to be. ]

As members of Starfleet, as cadets we are taught to understand and accept the potential that we may perish in the line of duty. I expect that those of you in similar professions are familiar with the experience. However- [ his gaze flickers before lifting, returning to the feed. ] The Tranquility is not manned by an organized service. A significant portion of our number are civilians and each of us are unwilling members of her crew.

Loss is a universal experience.

It is known to the most seasoned shipmen, and to those who have never considered the possibility. Grief is a natural progression, and given the nature of our work here, as are fear, anxiety, and apprehension. But they are responses that must be overcome if we intend to return to our homes.

There are members aboard willing and able to provide. Should you find yourself in need of their services, I urge you to attend to them.

Spock out.

No.

[ Chase's voice is heard before the pulls the video into view--she's in a hallway on the 001 level, right in front of Sherlock's door. Her eyes are barely seen due to a familiar deerstalker hat that's far too big for her. Her voice is clipped, controlled, though her breathing and actions speak otherwise. ]

I don't want to hear it. Talking like you knew him, like you were good friends. Half of you hated him, the other half barely tolerated him.

Shut. Up.

Leave the grieving to people who actually liked him. Who actually knew him.

[ A flicker of violet in her eyes before she cuts off the feed. She's not budging from the door, either. If you want in you're going to have a difficult time unless you're a Sherlock, a Watson or Neal. ]

[this is surprise.]
Oh.

[this is distress.]
I - I... uh - fuck -

[this is panic.]
I need - fuckin' son of a bitch I need, um, someone here, right noww, the pool - [there's a little gasping breath, followed by a more sincere attempt at deep breathing. eridan doesn't even try to sound Okay at all.] Someone's in...

[and finally, the verbal shoulder-slump of defeat.]
Someone's drowwned in the pool.

[this is not what he wants to be doing right now at all, in the slightest, he was just supposed to look around real fast, just a quick look before he kept wandering, there wasn't supposed to be anything wrong.] I need John Wwatson. 001, uh, just the 001. An', uh. Shit. [there's the sound of frustrated typing for a minute, then,] 002-215. That one. I need both'a you to... Talk to me.

Someone else come help me. He's definitely...

[there's a long pause here, almost a minute, and then:] He's been here for a wwhile. There's nothin' else to do.


[002-215, Neal Caffrey and 001-197, John Watson are getting a notification every minute for this post until they respond.]

((OOC: way to brutalize the /small tag, whoops. anyway all responses voice, it is completely likely that anyone who knew Sherlock will get a pretty clear idea of who Eridan's referring to with such a dramatic call-out to Neal and Watson. uuuhh other than that yep that's it Sherlock's dead guys.))

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! )