[For quite some time, Walter has been shuffling about, sitting in corners and observing things on his own time. Perhaps you've seen him in passing, but he surely hasn't spoken a word since he woke up on the ship. He's still not certain if he's alive, dead, or somewhere in-between.

Though he did consider his communicator before, he simply didn't know what to say to it until now. And even so, he doesn't think he has enough to say to warrant a video like so many others posted on the feed. He just wants to try and speak for now. Baby steps! So if you're tuning in to his post, you'll hear a few moments of hesitated breathing, with the timid voice of a 30-something man with all the social grace and experience of someone only half his age following.]

It's lonely here. Lonely and cold.

Feels like home.

[there's a sharp exhale, as if he's silently laughing at himself.]

I'm not the only one who thinks that, am I?

As some of you may have noticed, a very significant portion of this crew isn't ready to stand up and fight if something happens, whether it be on or off the ship, as our recent shore leave proved.

If you don't want to learn how to fight, that's fine. However, if anyone is willing to learn, I'll offer what free time I have to teach basic hand-to-hand. I'm a trained Marine, and while I come from what some of you might consider the future, the basics on using an opponent's strength to disarm them have remained the same over the generations.

I'd like to focus on teaching people how to disarm an armed opponent and escape without injury, but if anyone wants to learn anything more advanced, feel free to contact me either here, or privately.

I'm not interested in arguing the pros and cons of civilians getting involved in a fight, so save your breath if you're going to raise complaints. I'm trying to make sure people who want to defend themselves have the tools they need to do it. All things considered, we could use a little more of that right now. ["And a little less irresponsible behavior" goes unsaid, but implied. Shepard is all for cutting loose and having fun, but not when people have been disappearing and dying all willy-nilly. Right now is a time for srs business.]

It's been a difficult month. [ Even though Deanna wasn't fully assimilated she's still been recovering from it ] A lot of people have been lost recently, and our experience at Strela Outpost was worrying. [ And too similar for comfort ]

My name's Deanna Troi. I'm familiar with space travel, and served as ships counsellor on my previous assignment. I have space set aside, and time. If you need any help my 'office' is always open. [ And Deanna attaches where she can be found: her room number and the medbay ]

[ Captain Kirk & Commander Spock ]
Do you have a moment?

[ It's been a week since Jim Gordon's arrival on the Tranquility. (A week since he woke up covered in goo, a week since a girl who looked like she escaped the renaissance faire told him he'd wound up — one way or another — in space with no obvious way back home.)

A week, all things considered, is a pretty good amount of time. Enough to get relatively acquainted with the ship, to get a grip on the sorts of communiqués that are sent to and fro on the network. All in all, the ship isn't his idea of a vacation, but he's not the kind of man who's ever been given to sitting around on his laurels, or complaining about what he's been given. And so: ]

1. re: SEC force: I would like to offer my own services, if at all possible.

[ The message stays unsent for a long moment. He doesn't have much else to say, at least not for the moment. At length, he resumes typing, before actually publishing the text. ]

2. Also, is there anyone else in the manifesto with my surname?

Thank you for your time,
J. Gordon

[ And in this corner, representing for the various Westerosi - because between pyromania and keysmashes, someone has to - is someone who's discovered that the keyboard function isn't meant to be pounded relentlessly. Nah, they're letters. Letters like in words. ]

[ Wow, guys, imagine that. Let's practice type some words. ]

blacktyde

grimtonguE

ForeMast

Harlaw

Pyk

[ But she must have hit the wrong key because the textual screen is suddenly replaced with a live feed of a young woman who is dubiously hunched over her communication device and practicing the cordi-board keys. It's not that hard, see? And video isn't that bad a thing, either, though it's accidental and the surprise is evident on her face. But this works; she'd had a question burning in the back of her mind since she woke up and started toying with this...thing. ]

A ship, is it? [ Whoops! Asha, your blatant and tasteless skepticism is showing through. That's not very ladylike. Cover that shit like it were your ankles! ]

And just who captains it?

[ Or...don't. That's okay, too. ]

I need to talk to a few people. [ She pauses for a moment and then adds, ] Actually, groups of people might be more accurate considering I don't know who's in charge.

First, I'd like to talk to someone on the security team about a couple things. It's not an emergency so if you're busy, it can wait, just try to keep me in mind and contact me later. Second, I need someone in medical - preferably someone with a background in chemistry or pharmaceutics - to help me out with something.

Third, and this might be overstepping my boundaries here, I'd like to know what sort of information we've got on the body that was found after the last jump. Details on what happened, what sort of shape it was in, if anyone's managed to ID it. That sort of thing. I'm tired of sitting on my hands and not doing anything here, so someone needs to put me to work.

My name's Olivia Dunham and my number, in case you need it, is zero-zero-seven, zero-thirteen.

[There's video of a kid coming across screen, looking bored and more than a little ticked off at what's going on, where he'd ended up. He looks... well, to be honest. He probably looks about twelve or something. But rest assured, people of the Tranquility. He's a grand total of sixteen years old.

He's just a hobbit.]

So I've been told we're in space. And this is some stupid ship that we're all stuck on for a really dumb length of time.

Anyway, I guess if there's something to actually do here, let me know.

[There's a long pause as he scratches at the back of his head with gloved hand, scratching at the end of his nose, wrinkling it up and sneezing once, still looking just as bored as ever]

... Okay, fine. I'm James, and if anyone needs any help, just let me know. I have a weapon and a history with smashing robots and fighting Asgardians.

[His expression calms just a little after that, at the mention of Asgard, and with a sigh he holds out his left hand, showing off a ripped into piece of tech, a hole in the metal and wires ripped apart.]

And if anyone thinks they can fix this, I guess I would owe you one.

[ The video is switched on, yeah, but there's complete darkness right now on the screen. Silence too, except- the scrape of something like wood against steel floors.

Then a click. Smokers, you should know this sound. A lighter. Then there's the crackle of burning paper. An exhale.

When the voice finally comes, it's dry, more than a little taunting, and very, very Russian. ]

Looked through this. [ A tap on the side of the comm. ] Think I've got list now.

Idiots. [ Tap. ] Show-offs. [ Tap. ] Strange fuckers from past. [ Tap. ] People making PSAs. [ Tap. ] Corpses. [ Tap. ]

Thought space would be more interesting. Looks like people never change. Still can bleed. [ Completely, utterly casual. ]

[ Another soft click. He tips the comm over. There's just a glance of his right hand, with the Russian north inked to the back. Then he switches hand, smoke trailing over his fingers- but it doesn't obscure the symbol of St. Petersburg on his fourth finger or the three dots below the thumb. Or the other two symbols on his forefinger and pinkie. He lets the camera linger slowly on the tattoos before he reaches out with the St. Petersburg finger and tips the camera further up.

If there's anyone who looks less like Aragorn when he has the same face, it's this man. ]

Anyone else on this ship? [ Beat, and he smiles. With teeth. ] Not me. [ Oh yes, he knows he's showing off. ]

[Though she's calmed down considerably, since awakening to find herself on a spaceship (of all places), this Beauty still regards the camera in a very nervous manner. Though she manages to mostly draw her attention to the screen, she still occasionally darts a look to the left or the right, as she's expecting something to attack her at any moment.]

Haha... hahaha...

[Get used to this laughter, because you're going to hear a lot of it from here on.]

So this -- [A small pause, while she exhales.] -- this is really space?!

[She spits out the last word in wonderment, still not knowing how to grasp this concept. Her brows crease and her eyes widen in disbelief as she goes silent again, really not knowing how to follow up a question like that. Sarina just simply stares at the camera like that, for at least a few good seconds, as if the question would just answer itself.

Eventually, she breathes out through her nose, while her lips tightened at the urgent matter that's been plaguing her mind, since she awoke.]

A-anyway, I don't know how the fuck that's even possible -- eeheeheehee -- but from my understanding, none of us know. But - ah - I was wondering... has anyone seen my suit?

[She lifts one hand up, waving it excitedly as she began to describe it.] It's maybe a foot or two taller than I am -- haha -- and then probably a circumference of two or three feet wider than me. It's kind of a green-like color and it's got a lot of straps to it. Ahahaha -- but the most recognizable feature should be the tentacles - they're probably a foot round, metallic, and there's four of them.

[Looking troubled, she glances away from the screen, dropping her hand down as she continues.] I... I don't know how I'm still alive without it -- eheh -- but I need it. So please... let me know if any of you have seen it.

A friendly reminder that lest we wind up like the body the gentleman found earlier, it would be wise to keep an eye on each other.

We wouldn't want anything terrible to happen, would we? I certainly wouldn't.

[ for the record, the slow string of what has to be cursing, judging by the tone, is in klingon. sulu's trails off, and there's a chink of metal on metal, a low sound of disgust and then... ]

I...found a body.

[ his voice is so very carefully composed. because starfleet officers are supposed to professional as fuck, and sulu's saving the freak out for later. ]

Can anyone identify 006.072?

Okay, so now that we've pretty well determined this whole feeling like crap thing is kind of a club a lot of us are gonna need the t-shirts for-

[ Robin doesn't look so hot. But then who does right now? There's tiny beads of sweat balling up where he's just recently wiped them away from his hairline, there's this darkening blue that's ebbing in patches at his mouth. He looks pale, which isn't so shocking when you consider what else his body's going through right now. Normally he wouldn't even post to the network like this, but all things considered, well. ]

[ He plants a hand onto the mattress underneath him, edging himself a bit more upright. His face twinges like he might wince, but he holds it in. ]

This isn't gonna make a lot of sense to a whole lot of you, so sorry about that, but for the people it does, [ and he leans in a little meaningfully, pressing his sunglasses firmly up his nose, ] we have gotta get a better way to communicate. Look, I can make a filter, but I have to know what numbers I'm dealing with here. It's a big ship. And I've got twenty bucks on me missing a person or two who might be here and I just haven't tripped over yet.

So. Assemble, or whatever.

[Public: Audio]

[And there's an Agent K, or "Karl Thompson", posting publicly for the first time. He prefers keeping things low key and has spent much of his time thus far lurking. But he has a few questions.]

What are the current standing regulations regarding punishable behavior aboard this ship and what areas are considered restricted? [Not that he wouldn't want into them, but he also doesn't want to open a door to an airlock or set off a massive internal defense system without research.]

If whoever is in charge of ship defenses has room for a little help, I'm willing to lend a hand.

[Introductions? He's bad at those. He's just bad at getting to know people personally, in any case. He figures this will have to do for now. Especially since he's noticing people are getting sick, and he wants to keep the chit chat to a minimum in case of an emergency.]

[ since arriving on the ship, roger's noticed a couple of things: constant surveillance, distinctly uncomfortable architecture… oh, and nikolaj coster-waldau dying in an unfortunate door accident.

sounds just like home!

good morning evening indeterminate-time-of-day, tranquility. have a video transmission of a british dude with a very calm voice and a very intense stare. ]

It's always seemed rather interesting to me, the way ships are given names that, while well-intentioned, end up... ironic—in my experience, at least. The Phaeton was a rather ill-advised name for a ship that could literally go down in flames, and the good ship Tranquility seems to be—well. Quite the opposite, of late.

Digression aside, my name is Dr. Roger Fallon, and I'd like to extend an offer of assistance to whomever may currently be on the medical staff here. I'm a trained psychiatrist, and—quite frankly, if the past few days are generally considered normal for this ship, I may be of some use to you... if only as another pair of hands. [ that... should have sounded kind of dickish, and possibly might, but it's meant as a comment on the recent shenaniganry rather than a slam on the way the people in charge handled it.

(it helps that roger is a master of the self-deprecating half-smile, even if it never quite reaches his eyes.) ]

[Tate sounds excited, somewhere between shocked and amazed and horrified]

Holy shit. Guys- guys I know there's some serious shit going down right now, but did anyone else see the fucking alien in the grav chamber?

I saw that thing take some people out! Was that on the ship before? Does anyone know?


[ooc: anyone who doesn't know, he's talking about this.]

[Zatanna appears on-screen looking like she had just gotten out of the shower.  Her face is virtually unreadable as she tilts her head to one side, towel drying the ends of her long, black hair.  She's dressed in her usual beige capris and purple tank top, though the latter is spotted with water from the wet strands.  Addressing the camera directly, she sounds oddly calm for someone who's just experienced the things she has.]

One question.  

Well, okay, maybe more than that...but for right now, let's just focus on the one.

[She pauses to casually flick her hair back, continuing the drying.  Her voice is flat and unamused.]

Was the slime really necessary?  

I must admit, I've never actually been on a space-ship, before. Never really considered that a space-going vessel of this impressive size existed. Not exactly something you could park without people knowing about it, is it? I'd hate to see upkeep costs, they must be absolute killers.

[He takes a moment to relax in his chair, readjusting the video feed before sitting back and cracking his neck a few times.]

Looks like I'll be staying for a while, in any case. I see I've got a lot of people to meet. You can call me Lawrence. Let's just leave it at that for now, shall we? I'm from a little blue planet called Earth, which I'm sure a lot of you know of. I was a...specialist, of sorts. I solve problems of varying kinds.

Being that I AM a working professional, you can understand how inopportune it is that our mysterious benefactors saw fit not to give me my equipment. Damned shame, that. And here I could have been a big help to ship security. Guess I'll have to find alternative means of employment. A man's got to fill the hours somehow, right?

[A beat.]

By the way, does anyone here know a bunch of young, self-styled vigilantes, by any chance? Early teen years, silly outfits, unrealistic ideals? I'm an old friend, and I wouldn't mind getting back in touch.