Given all that has happened lately, we need more help down in Shuttle Bay.
We currently have 5 shuttles properly running and we need more if we ever have to leave here.
So if you're interested in helping there let one of us know, we'll answer any questions you may have.

We're also looking for a few others who are willing to learn to fly – idiots need not apply.

- Capt. K. Thrace (battlestar galactica)

[ Wait, something’s wrong. When you open the message to start your reply, it seems to glitch, and then Casey’s face appears on the screen. ]

Hah, got it. Now listen up, if you’re hearing this it’s because you’re about to throw in and offer your no doubt endless talents to a good cause down here in the shuttle bay. I thought it only fair to warn you that we don’t take nerds who can’t keep their mouths shut down here. [ No breaking Obi-Wan, okay? ] We want hard workers and only hard workers, because if the shit hits the fan you lot are going to be grateful that there’s a fleet of shuttles kept ship shape to save your sorry asses.

And if you want to learn to fly, you’d better have a good sense of direction and survival instinct, because with Captain Fry as your teacher you’re going to need it.

Casey out. [ The video feed crackles and is dead. ]


[ ooc: this is a basic call to arms from your lovely flight crew, and any questions your character may have will be answered from any one of them. Please sign up and join the team…they play poker, drink, bitch and get things done. ]

[ 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.

[ when she sees Moran with his rifle, strutting down the hallway like he's all that and a bag of sliced bread with potato chips, Wichita knows that he is up to Absolutely No Good. she can just tell. so naturally, she follows, maybe hoping to discover some blackmail material, or something she could make fun of him for later on when he least expects it. you know, the usual. but after a while ( where the hell are they going? ) she gets bored, and turns on her communicator. she switches the video feed to show ( kind of ) what she's looking at, which is Moran making his way through the hallways, her stalking casually following him a few yards behind.

when she talks, it's in a dramatic stage whisper. ]

Oi viewers! You've just tuned in for another cracking good episode of Wild Safari Adventures With Sebastian Moran. This week, we follow the wild Maroonie into uncharted territories! [ nah let's not try for an accent here. she laughs, as quietly as she can, then starts again. ] No, but seriously. I know this is creepy as shit, but this guy's been creepy as shit too, so it evens out.

[ Moran has his rifle balanced rather jauntily on his shoulder, but his ears are tuned into Wichita's entire commentary and his mood is slowly souring. Thanks, Wichita. He sounds nothing like that. He gives an exasperated sigh and eyes her over his shoulder. Gurl, you in trouble now. ]

I've heard sneakier footsteps from an elephant. An especially large one. With a limp. Have nothing better to do with your time, then?

( --hup! Discovered. )



[ooc: the cut is ooc, just to save your flist. UM. Moran is ORANGE, Wichita is BLUE. replies will come from both once Hannah wakes up again and Moran is done, um, running. have made plans for someone to come pick her up, but she'll be talking ( kinda! ) to anybody that answers. i'll include random notes in the tags as we go. idek.

BUT YEAH. YAY GUN RANGE! underneath all this ridiculousness, the ship's actual gun range has been discovered! Wichita will give directions once she's got medical attention. :D ]

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. )

[ There are a few things everyone might notice about this video post. One is that there's no way Jaye could have gotten from the medbay to the kitchen on the 001 passenger floor this quickly. Two is that her hair looks both dirtier and longer than usual, and instead of either happily mussed or neatly groomed, it's just a complete mess. Three is that, judging by the way Jaye sort of seems to be wobbling back and forth on the floor and has burst capillaries in her face, she was just rather sick and might be so again. Likewise, anyone who looked around before or after the jump may have noticed that Jaye wasn't there -- didn't go down, didn't go into the gravity couches, and that Faith Lehane was looking after her animals. ]

So. [ Her voice is hoarse, quiet, and the rasp is completely new and sounds painful –- in fact, she has to pause, clearing her throat for a moment. It doesn't go away completely, but she's a bit louder, at least. ] I-- [ and she winces ] sat out during the jump as an insect. Don’t do that. It was a month. Everything was red, copper and salt, until it ended.

[ It hurts to talk, and Jaye takes a moment to rub at her throat. ] Want a shower, food.

[ She pauses, glancing away from the camera for a moment. Her eyes aren’t exactly wet, and maybe it's from her earlier vomiting, but either way... ] Missed you guys. [ And she cuts the feed. ]

((ooc: MCU!Tony will be getting her from the kitchen and carrying her down to medical. Her replies will probably come from after she's there and probably be in text form. If your character wants to go visit her there (or fuss at her or whatever), I'd be up for it, but be warned that she's having a bit of a hard time talking at the moment and will set Faith on you if she feels shitty.

Also someone might want to clean up the 001 kitchen. ))

[ Interesting thing about Sebastian Moran: he absolutely loves a good jungle. It doesn't matter what type, so long as it's interesting and He considers the Tranquility a jungle within itself, really, if jungles were composed of oddly mismatched architecture. The entire ship has offered him plenty of room to explore, though, and he's finally discovered the oxygen gardens.

He knows full well that there's not anything of the nasty, sharp-toothed, razor-clawed nature lurking in the gardens, but it's nice to be back in a familiar environment, so he's incredibly cheerful, whistling some semblance of a tune when the recording begins, his eyes scanning his surroundings beyond the view of the device. Suddenly, he stops his whistling and cracks a grin. ]

Damn. That'll be stuck up there all day now. [ He taps his temple. ] How far does all this go on, then? It doesn't seem nearly deep enough for my tastes.

[ Oh, another interesting thing about Sebastian Moran, by the way: he really loves to hear himself talk. Which means that for the next few minutes, the lot of you have to him narrate his own mini documentary. And his voice is not nearly as calming as Morgan Freeman's. ]

Maybe we'll catch a tiger, eh? [ He chuckles. ]

Damn near impossible to catch one of 'em by the toe and live to tell the tale, in case you ever wondered. They've got razor sharp claws that retract, five inches long on most of 'em. You'd probably be better off putting your head between their jaws and saving 'em the trouble of shredding you to bits.

[He continues on in this manner for five more minutes or so, rattling off strangely gorey facts about tigers and other beasties and jungles in the world's cockiest tone until--

The scheduled "rain" for the lower levels of the garden begins to fall heavily, instantly soaking him and mostly shutting him up beyond hushed swears as he fumbles to turn the device off. Thanks, Tranquility. ]

{OOC| I would like to apologize. Also, tags will come from tigers because I changed his username yes good.}

( because everyone's my friend in New York City and everything looks beautiful when you're young and pretty the streets are paved with diamonds and there's just so much to see but the best thing about New York City is you and me | pre-post narrative )

[ V I D E O ]

Turn that shit off, Caffrey.

[ there's a clunk, a clink of glass against glass and the feed shakes a moment before settling on keller, who looks less than pleased, frowning at neal over the rim of his glass.]

No, no, you kept complaining. 'Culture, Neal'. [ his imitation of keller's accent is still spot on while drunk, thank you kindly.

...not that he's drunk. no, he's... mildly inebriated.

(he’s drunk. as shit, to be specific. to the point of mussed hair.) ] 'Nobody's got any goddamn culture on this boat,' you said.

So we’re gonna give them culture, your face isn't that special. Hide and seek is over.

[ it’s probably a sin to snort into wine this good, but keller does it anyway, which neal seems to take as a challenge. ]

It was the schooner Hesperus that sailed the wintery sea; and the skipper--

Longfellow? That's what you're opening with? [ to be fair, keller would have said this about anything neal picked. ] Loosen up, Caffrey. Go with something more like--

There was a young man from Peru
Who fell asleep in his canoe
While dreaming of Venus
He whipped out his penis
And woke up with a handful of goo.

[ smug, thy name is keller. who reaches over the comm to get at the bottle of wine, clearly assuming victory is his. ]

...You're disgusting, you know that? [ neal wrinkles his nose and takes a drink right from his newly grabbed back bottle of much too good for this treatment wine, his sober self is wincing somewhere inside. ] This is why rich women like me better and you know too many strippers. I'm only saying, one of us landed a princess and the other one only got to help him run away from her nice babysitters with guns.

[ seriously you two what the hell. there are probably kids watching what would edgeworth say.

...oh. oh. actually-- what would edgeworth say?

neal grins, a little mischievously, and slings a conspiratorial arm around keller's shoulders then takes a long, fortifying swallow of wine. ]

Here, I’ll show you how to do it. Observe.

[ he clears his throat, because at heart neal is two things: an actor, true born, and a total douchebag, equally true born. ]

I believe in you my soul, the other I am must not abase itself to you, and you must not be abased to the other. [ it doesn't sound like a recitation; more a conversation, slightly sing-song and clearly long-memorized. ] Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat, not words-- not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best.

[ he pauses, swallowing a little and taking a breath. ] Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice. I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning-- how you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turned over upon me and parted the shirt from my bosom-bone; and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart, and reached till you felt my beard, and reached till you held my feet.

[ AND WITH A SEATED BOW FROM THE DISNEY PRINCE LOOKING JERK, CAFFREY AND KELLER IN THE MORNING EVENING MOTHERFUCKING OUT. ]



( ooc | blue is neal; grey keller. replies can come from either of them, etc. )

[ Okay, this is an odd sight: What is that hideous piece of furniture? It's awfully out of place.

Well, a little flare to it will ease the sight for sore eyes. Yes, that is a tiger couch on fire in the kitchen and you are watching the poor thing be put to rest. Someone should run and put that out, but just enjoy the view for now. Tranquility: First the turkey, now this. Go figure.

... Is someone whistling Disco Inferno in the background? Burn baby, burn. ]

WHY IS THERE A MONSTER TURKEY VULTURE TRYING TO ATTACK ME FOR GOING INTO MY OWN ROOM HOLY SHIT NO SOMEBODY PLEASE COME CLAIM THEIR HIDEOUS PET BEFORE I SHOOT IT

THANKS




[ ooc: she's in talk-to-text mode. or... text to talk.. whatever. she's yelling at her communicator and it's translating it to text, right. ]

[ Normally, she would address the ship with both her name and face. A bow of her head, her most polite smile — means by which to garner favor and convince those she would entreat for help. (See how how guilelessly I ask, says her look. Truly, I am a soul worth helping. But gone are those days, for there are those aboard the ship who would readily look upon Alayne's face and say: behold, Sansa Stark or Lady Lannister or I knew Petyr Baelish; of bastards, he had none. Though she needs the assistance others, Alayne knows she must be careful now in what she offers too readily. Even if the other Westerosi still struggle with their devices, she must not rely solely upon their ignorances to keep her shielded and her secrets hidden.

So: some caution, at least at the very surface. A request made through text; an offer with a name but no face. A bastard from the Vale in search of cloth, that is all. ]

Good people of the Tranquility.
I am in search of a passenger, intrepid and strong-legged, to assist me in my endeavors.
Already once I have offered my services to the ship,
those of sewing, mending and embroidery,
and I hope to continue to do so, though I am hindered by a certain lack.
Although thread has come readily to me with the jumps,
fabric proves a much rarer commodity.
My aim is to enlist aid in the collection and dyeing of cloth.
The ship is vast and many of its quarters stand empty,
and I would look to gather some portion of those unused linens,
to give that fabric greater purpose.

But the vastness of the Tranquility is no place for a young woman to venture alone.
Especially when her arms alone promise to return such a meager bounty.

I offer recompense by way of trade or exchange of service.
The ship has been generous with me by way of worldly possession,
though I fear most of what I own is rather delicate and will only appeal to certain tastes.

Thank you.

[ The message is posted and remains as is for an hour, maybe two. Then later an amendment comes, one that Alayne debates over including. ]

I am also in search of the person
who thought it fit to slip a note beneath my door last night.
You are not in trouble by any means, whomever you are.
I look only to thank you for your endeavors.

[And now, a public service announcement from your resident lord and master of gross exaggeration, poster child of pointless overreaction, supreme champion of the ninety-mile-an-hour whinge--]

There's a cow in the oxygen garden.

[He doesn't even bother to hide the undercurrent of disgust in the audio feed, an edge to his voice that makes it clear he's most likely had a recent run-in with the aforementioned cow and/or a cow by-product.]

There's a cow in the oxygen garden why is there a cow in the oxygen garden on what strange, bizarro planet did any of you think this was a good idea?

Agh, it's--nevermind, I'm absolutely positive that at least some of you come from strange, bizarro planets where this sort of thing is acceptable. I mean, the cats and the dogs and--I heard there's a horse, too--are bad enough, now we've got livestock.

And don't even--don't even get me started on the bloody birds. Filthy. Eugh.

I know we're probably still hung up on certain unnamed parties forgetting how to swim, and yes, fair enough, it's tragic, but I think we could all use a, ah. Friendly reminder. This is, in fact, a spaceship. Not a zoo. How is that--What's the point, anyway? It's all--it's all great that the ship packed up your giant killer wolf and dumped it in your locker just for you, but maybe the rest of us are not entirely comfortable with the idea of cows and horses and giant killer wolves out! Anyone think of that?

You can't walk five feet around here without running into someone's pet. We have got to start talking about what to do with all these animals. Honestly.

For anyone who might care one way or another, Crowley's gone. Your bra straps are safe, or whatever.

[ From the tone of her voice, it sounds like she expects most people to be pleased about this and that she's not exactly pleased about it herself. ]

I'm not going to be giving advice in his place, so sorry to anyone who might have been lo- fuck!

[ There's a loud noise, the sound of Jaye hitting the ground with a rather unceremonious "THUD". ]

What the fuck did I just--

[ And then the feed cuts. ]

((ooc: Don't worry, she just tripped over the hellhound Crowley left behind. She'll still be replying!))

It appears we have a predicament.

[ The voice is familiar--if you've heard Robert Capa's voice, you'll no doubt recognize it. Same words, same slight lilt to it--different vocabulary, of course, but the rest remains the same. ]

Given the...circumstances... I'm going to offer my help, should you need it.

[ He flicks the video screen on--and sure enough, Capa with neater hair, a cleaner face, and a pair of glasses, and a level stare. ]

My name is Jonathan Crane, I'm was a psychologist at Arkham Asylum in Gotham City, should any of you have heard of it. Doubtful. If anyone is having problems, by all means, feel free to contact me. If someone you know seems to be under mental duress--though I realize we all are--please let me know. I'm here to help as many people as I can.



OOC: I don't want Crane's identity to be quite so obvious, so if you want to recognize Gotham and Arkham and all of that, or bring up Batman, please do! But no fourth walling Crane himself, if you don't mind. :3

So apparently we've had some folks put into squishy meat suits, and we've had some more-- advanced android models come through who apparently are reasonably humanoid enough that they didn't need any ship-based modifications, and those who were probably modified who may not know it yet! And that means those mechanical and electrically based people on the ship need someone to see to their needs!

That also means you need someone with the right skills to keep you in tip top shape. I'm volunteering; robotics [rahbahtics is not how you say that, Megamind] is probably my favorite field, and I've years of experience, both practical and academic! Also, coming to me for your needs makes a lot more sense then those guys down in medical. Because, let's face it, you don't need a surgeon, you need the hands of an engineer.

[Ping! Here's his location of the 'evil lair, or at least the floor it's on, and some other information.]

So, if you're needing help adjusting, need repairs made, need back ups -- I'm the gentleman to help you.

Though, ah, if you have any security software, or other countermeasures-- please let me know before I hook you up for diagnostics... We've already lost one console and putting it back up to rights is a pain in my skinny blue--

--well, you get the idea.

[ He'll casually be tapping the device; to check if this is on. The camera is moving, you can tell he's in one of the Lounges in the Holodecks. ]

Is it on? - Fuck, I'm usually really excellent at turning things on. I am not spending another 20 minutes rambling only to find it didn't record agai- oh, okay, there red dot. Good. Spot on. Bloody thing works.

[ Hello Tranquility, after a few more movements, he faces it towards himself. there's a rather chatty brown haired pretty boy grinning at the camera. ]

Hello there, Citizens of Starship Enterprise Registry 'We are fucked'. As much as I appreciate a good kidnapping - gelatinized kool aid too; didn't see that one comin' - I really was in the middle of something prett-tay important. Since there's a bunch of us joining you already rather large and zany bunch - I was wondering if the supernatural - actually - preternatural, let's be politically correct here, hold any meaning to any of you? Like what's the mystic to mortal ratio on this ship?

Any ghost busters references will be met with extreme sarcasm; or declarations of 'who ya gonna call?'

⎬⎬ OOC PERMISSIONS POST FOR SUPERNATURALS + POP CULTURE/4TH WALLIN