[ click! as the video starts recording, revealing: a rather skinny, disheveled fellow sitting in what looks like one of the rec rooms around the ship's hallways. soysauce sits back from where he's leaned forward to start the recording, looking rather haggard and sleep-deprived, his hair mussed up and his tie hanging loose around his neck. he's swaying a bit in his seat as he runs a hand back through his hair -- the empty liquor bottle visible at the edge of the video suggests he miiight just be trashed out of his skull at the moment.

still, at least he sounds half-way coherent as he starts talking. ]

Eh -- hello. Good afternoon. Evening? Either way, I do hope this isn't too much of an interruption. [ a small, polite bow of the head. ] To those I have yet had the pleasure of meeting, please call me Soysauce. Traveling musician and gunman, at your service.

[ a slight, uneasy sway on his seat as he gives the camera a goofy smile. nodding once to himself before continuing. ]

Nothing too important, but ah. Just two -- three! [ holding out two fingers. ] Three things I'd like to say.

First -- I seem to have lost track of, ah. A small model of the hoverbike I used at home. About this big -- [ holding his hands up to shape something roughly the size of a loaf of bread ] -- based off a robust model, fully functional, a little thing made of metal. If anyone happens to see it zipping by, I'd be very grateful to hear some suggestion of where it might have ended up.

Second. [ pause. ] What passes for whiskey here is rather lacking, no?

[ sigh. and then one those deep breaths that suggests he's trying to sober up somewhat. brows slightly furrowed as he speaks a bit more slowly. ]

And third. As ridiculous as this may sound, I'd like to ask if anyone is willing to spend some time as a sparring partner -- or instructor. Close-quarters combat has never been my forte, but given the vast differences between methods of combat here and where I'm from, I've given to thinking this problem may need to be addressed. Not to mention, what I do know, I feel I may have been growing rather rusty with as of late.

I'd be more than willing to compensate for any time with, well. Anything I can offer.

[ pause. he's spending a lot of visible effort trying to make sure he hasn't forgotten anything before giving the camera another sloppy, drunk smile. ]

Ah, thank you for your attention.



[ ooc ; also open to action, if anyone wants to actually bump into his drunken ass lurking in the rec room! the scale miniature of his hoverbike is going to ultimately end up in rickon's hands, but please feel free to have seen it zoom by in the hallways or bump into anyone's ankles! ]

[ Abby's kept clear of the network despite having been on Tranquility for a month - partly because being social on a death ship wasn't her first priority, partly because most of her questions could be easily answered by Connor.

But if there's anything that can make her come out of her shell, it's animals. Animals and dinosaurs, which apparently exist here (at least the one does). The feed opens on her face, but the gardens are easily visible behind her. ]

This is Abby Maitland with the theoretical zoology department. [ She sounds only mildly aggrieved, mostly friendly. ]

Is there an official system for tracking the animals loose in the gardens? The ecosystem has managed fine thus far, but we might want to be more careful about interfering with it unchecked. I'm not even sure what some of these animals are eating. [ Hello, Myfanwy. ]

Enclosures might not be a bad idea either. I hate to lock anything up, but it would be in everyone's best interest if we can easily find them during emergencies - theirs included.

Why don't they say anything?? I can see them!!

[The voice that picks up is excited, eager, as though they've figured out part of a puzzle and are attempting to solve the rest.]

When I put on my mask, I can see my papa, and Reika and the others from home...! I can see them. Why don't they say anything? Are they frozen? If they're in trouble, I gotta help... How can I help them?

[Takeshi's voice is muffled. Mainly because he's got his mask on. He'd tried it on days ago, if only by curiosity, and now... Well, he's finding himself more and more attached to it. Even if it's sad to look at, it's like it reminds him of something. It feels so important to wear it. The voice is more distant for a moment, as he turns away from the comm and aims his words at something in his room that just isn't there.]

... Papa, why don't you say anything?

Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me for running off...?

[his voice is a little watery, heartbroken at the thought of his dad being upset with him. he was happy before, but now...

For some reason, he's scared. He feels it, deep in his bones, in his heart. A familiar pang.]

I swear I didn't leave on purpose; please don't go away, okay? I'll save you.

[Work is going to keep Jesse out of trouble. That's why he's doing this, making a PSA when he would like nothing better than to bury his face in some powder. He looks miserable, but at least he's sober.]

The masks. I dunno if you guys, like, watch a lotta TV where you're from. But where I come from, movies'll teach you not to just mess around with mysterious creepy shit that shows up outta nowhere.

I already mentioned this to a couple people, but I'll get rid of your mask for you. I know they keep coming back, but I'll do it every day. My room's eight twenty-four. You can just drop it off there or at the science labs or give it to me if you see me around and I'll take care of the rest.

Uh, that's it. I guess.

[ First, the ever-present hum of the ship ceases completely. Lights shut off. There is nothing but pure (dead) silence; you could hear a pin drop. Then, after a long moment, the lights flicker dimly back — red, this time — and the hum stutters up again, but with the added unmistakably deafening sound of a siren going off. Passengers who are sleeping are going to get a very rude awakening.

Resnik's voice not only pops up as a post on the network, but is being pumped through the ship over the bridge's ship-wide PA system. She sounds calm, but there's an authoritative, sour note to her tone that says she's not entirely pleased with the situation. The klaxon stops abruptly. ]

USC Tranquility has entered emergency standby mode. The reactor has ceased generating power, and we are running solely on backup generators. Certain areas will be inaccessible to those without clearance. The gardens will continue to filter air and water, but ship temperatures will drop, and lights will remain dim until the reactor has been repaired. Artificial gravity is holding stable at 85%. Pressure is 100%. Passengers should gather in groups — make every effort to stay healthy and warm.

The source of the issue is unknown at this time. We have enough power to last us a year in space, but I'm sure it won't come to that. Excessive changes in atmosphere or the physical condition of the ship will be reported over the public address system. We'll keep you updated as soon as more information becomes available.

[ And, in text pings to every communicator: ]

! ALL ENGINEERING STAFF REPORT TO THE ENGINEERING DEPARTMENT.
! ALL AGRICULTURE STAFF REPORT TO THE O2 GARDENS.
! ALL SEC AND MED STAFF ARE TO ENSURE PASSENGER SAFETY AT ALL TIMES.
! DO NOT ENGAGE IN EXCESSIVE OR STRENUOUS PHYSICAL ACTIVITY.
! CONSERVE OXYGEN. RATION FOOD. BE AWARE OF YOUR SURROUNDINGS. REMAIN CALM.

There are no mermaids.

[ oh hi tranquility. how's it going. had a lot on your plate these past few weeks? the fog and all that? yeah that must've been awful. ANYWAY, MOVING ON TO REAL PROBLEMS. who even lets this kid talk, he sounds like. twelve.

twelve and incredibly put out by this, thankyouverymuch. ]

There are no mermaids though there is a great deal of water to swim in. And without mermaids, there has been a dreadful lack of murder. I should like this ship much better if there were a proper drowning. [ wow that was not pc at all. peter's tone however, is somewhere between cheerful and petulant without ever quite being just one. somewhere in the background is the faintest sound of leaves being trampled as he stalks about- before he suddenly comes to a halt. ]

Also there are not so many pirates, and without pirates there is not enough stabbing and bleeding. And however could there be adventures without gutting?

Red-Face, can you hear me? [ is he-? y e p. he's totally trying to talk to smiley. ] It is terribly dull without them. If you should keep playing like this, I am sure I shall forget how to have fun!

[ The feed clicks on. +1 Rosella, looking blankly at the screen. It's actually a pretty lengthy beat, though it's more thoughtful than that thousand yard stare might suggest. Considering who this is, though... Not always easy to tell. The camera is centered to a perfect frame of her shoulder-up and while the lights are dim, there's probably only a very small handful of people who, you know. Start out their feeds that quasi-ominously.

The silence is quickly replaced by a sharp frown. It's a little jarring, to see such an aggressive expression on a previously empty face. ]

As operational parameters are different here, I have a personal query for operatives and competent civilians, new or old. Do you consider the previous mission history of either myself or others relevant in our new enviroment?

[ When it begins, the camera is pointed in the direction of water. Beneath it, you see the newest member of the oxygen gardens swimming around slowly — Cibo's coelacanth. It's old from the looks of it; With scales hanging from it and its color is faded. And it barely fits into the frame at the distance that Cibo seems to be holding the comm device. Basically, it's a huge fish.

Soon enough, the camera turns to show Cibo, who seems pleasantly exhausted. She's normally slept at least once since the jump by this point. But she hasn't and it shows through to her tired voice. ]

If anyone knows how to care for any sort of fish, please respond. I would like to know if there are any special requirements for a creature this size. I am in the oxygen gardens, if you wish to come.

[ She looks off-screen to the water. ]

Also, if you know the name of its species? I've named it Dhomochevsky for now. He was another... friend I had...

[ The sight of the coelacanth seems to have drawn her attention away from the feed. After realizing it's been on for a long minute, she quietly shuts it off. ]

[ Oh, no, it's another one of them creatures that has no idea how to operate with technology! So, she slapped the communicator device until it bleeped and she is currently staring at it.

Behind her stretch out the Oxygen Gardens (second level or one of those, since she's in the middle of the jungle), near a body of water. The girl is wet, as if she has jumped in the water, and seems unsure, worried, like she is having second thoughts about this whole broadcasting thing - she doesn't think it's a good idea exposing herself to a network (not that she knows what a network is, but while the concept and word are foreign to her, the idea of exposing herself to the public isn't), but she doesn't seem to have any other ideas of how to get out of here.

There's a long beat until she realizes she is being recorded. ]

I need to go back to the sea. [ She has a strange accent, not quite terrestrial but it could be something like an Australian accent mixed with some Polish or something weird like that. A bit... native American, maybe. Broken and slow, like she has to think about each word before speaking. It's strange and difficult to pinpoint where this accent is from, but she isn't talking much anyway. ] Take me back to the sea. I must not stay.

[He speaks with an English accent, corrupted by his native language and years of contact with all kinds of pronunciations from around the world - be it his or someone else's. Still, his fluency makes all those little alterations perfectly forgivable.]

I'll begin this message by letting you all know that waking up in these facilities made a week of decontamination feel like a well-deserved vacation. [For those unfamiliar with those procedures (the vast majority, he assumes):] They aren't. They're quite unpleasant, in fact. But also necessary.

Which begs the question: is all of this necessary as well? And I don't mean the healthy dose of tube - whatever that was, exactly - just the fact that we're somehow here. [Hm.] Highly doubt it. I'd at least have some memory of asking to be whisked away to a haunted space cruise.

[Pause. He doesn't sound like he's being serious, but that's up to you to decide. And he really enjoys the sound of his own voice, so whether this Space Ship Party MC's around to see it is actually rather irrelevant.]

Honestly, I'm just wondering when someone's going to show up and tell me this was an extraordinarily detailed prank. [... Well.] Hoping would be the right word, actually.

[And there you have it. But wait!]

So - who wants to tell me what we're going to do about that dragon?

Unlike my predecessor I have the benefit of knowing better than to demand to know if any of this is some kind of terribly unfunny joke. That being said, the sorry state of these so-called uniforms is the worst kind of hilarious. I don't suppose anyone on board has the good luck to have a spare set of clothes (of a decent standard, if you don't mind) and the good grace to share?

100% PRIVATE TO CHAPEL HILL ( + OXFORD FOR ENTERTAINMENT VALUE )
Mr. Sinclair, you do realise we put the LHC where it is for a damn good reason, don't you? Namely because nobody in the Order would split a bollock if Switzerland was blown to hell, least of all the Swiss themselves. So what in God's name ever convinced you and that Temple fellow that it was a good idea to build your own? No matter how redeemingly phallic it must be for you to have control over something that size and shape that doesn't mean you can play with it whenever you feel like it, you know.

And maybe when dear Aberdeen's skills as a hacker matched her arrogance then perhaps getting your sticky little fingers all over those nanites would have been a good idea. Perhaps.


( ooc: rather than clog up the ooc comm with another intro from me I thought I'd pop a quick note here! This is an alternate universe version of the previous Cambridge that was on board before, except this one has 100% more penis but roughly the same amount of terrible attitude. Enjoy, or not. )

[The post begins with a direwolf, peering with sharp curiosity into the device. It is a short video; it lasts only for about a minute, just long enough to take in the sheer size of the direwolf--large enough to fill the frame until he shifts to sniff at the device, and then you can see that he's very large indeed, and not only because of the perspective. But he's friendly-looking, for a wolf, ears pricked, eyes bright--and then the video ends.]

--

This is a direwolf, called Summer. There are six direwolves aboard this ship, and they are all of House Stark. They are not a threat to anyone save to those that might mean threat to the Starks. They are not pets and they are not tame, but they are not wild either. They will not bite you without reason. If they cause some mischief, you need only inform any of my House, and we will make right whatever they have wronged.

People are often afraid of direwolves. You need not fear any of our six. You may be wary but do not attack or provoke them and they will do you no harm. They are rarely apart from us so there should be no reason to do so. But I thought it should be said, as there are new people aboard this ship.

I am Bran of House Stark, and by my word, Summer will not harm you. If you would like to meet Summer, you may.

[SO THERE. And Bran might end there, all that having been said, but... a few seconds later, and he adds:]

I have some questions, too. I am looking for someone that might perform a wedding. And I am looking for people that might know of [--and this is more delicate to say--] transformations.

Thank you.

[Nothing here, but your average trendy looking Asian teenager going through one of the kitchens. He has important questions though! Two of them even.]

Hey like how do you guys feel about gods around here?

[There's a pause as he opens some more cabinets and slams them shut after a quick look.]

And like where's the alcohol? I wanna celebrate you know!