[Gold has a bad habit of not looking at the camera when he's speaking to his device - but this time it seems less like he's working on something more important, and more as though he's examining something, a slightly pensive air to his expression.]

As irritating as it is to admit it, this coming jump will be my twenty-fifth. [He looks up, then, setting whatever item it is aside and giving the camera his full attention.] Patience is a virtue, as they say, but I've lost count of the faces that have come and gone. I won't pretend for any sentiment to the fact - what concerns me is the loss of information that each might have held, whether about this ship or some clue on why they were brought here at all.

[He still believes there's a pattern. There's always a pattern.]

My world was one within several, each with borders that could be... hopped, if you had the means. [And the will.] What was always interesting was the ideas that would seep through the cracks. The lives that would become stories and songs.

[With hugely edited pieces, facts missing, other exaggerated. But he knows his history, and he knows how it's remembered.]

My name is Rumplestiltskin. I'm curious to know how many of you have heard it.

Hi. Hi. William from Medical again.

[After the blurry bulge of his nose backs out of too-close soft-focus, William looks worse than last time, if not nearly as bad as some. His eyes are very glazed, very bright blinking at approximately thirty percent the speed that they were in his video with Peter, which is a thing that happens to humans when they're very tired. (He is, finally.) In contrast, he's talking proportionately louder than he was before. Exhaustion doesn't preclude excitement.] Unfortunately, we've yet to come up with any kind of a fucking cure. However, we now have some understanding of the etiology of this shit been plaguing us the past few weeks.

Nanites seem to be causing both the shipwide malfunctions and the disease. Not the ones swimming 'round in our tattoos; a foreign vector I'll refer to as-- [the unrehearsed nature of this becomes immediately obvious. Sadly Peter Petrelli is elsewhere occupied with being in charge.] --nanorobullshit. Fortunately, we've got exactly one little bugger among the passengers has reported knowledge and abilities related to nanotechnology, and he's this bloke right here. Aye aye.

[Shake and swivel camera to what would appear to be a pale-looking teenager bearing a pleased, toothy grin.]

Hey, so I'm Rex and I can talk to machines. [He gives a little salute with one fist and lets that info sink in. Yeah, it's awesome.] I checked out my ship-nanites as soon as I arrived-- there was only one type at that time. Now, the sicker people are, the higher their concentrations of this second nanite. The mutations seem to be the ship-nanites' attempt to heal and protect us. [Got it? Good.]

If anyone else on board knows about nanites, I can fill you in on what I know.

[Another tremble and blur, and the comm device turns back to William.] We are still in need of a solution, but we hope that this information can guide your, [he blinks hard. Vocabulary fails him.] shit.

Peter Petrelli has stated that the Medical Bay is open to investigation, though as usual access to sensitive equipment is locked to personnel. Charles Xavier is heading up the Xenobio side of things, including other laboratories and experimental treatments. Kate Bishop is heading up investigation into the physical source of this bullshit, and Mr. Luke Skywalker is presently our tech consult. Heather Mason will probably feed you. Refer to the network for details. Also anybody been vomiting in their sleep needs to be positioned on their side. Laters.

[Attached are: bastard-fucking-bullshit-new-nanites-micrograph.4345 and original-nanites-micrograph.4344]

( OOC Information )

And we're back. To those of you who are new, welcome to the Tranquility. For the rest of you, you know why I'm speaking to you now. It's been another month, and those of us who ventured into the hallways last month--whether we made the choice ourselves or had it made for us, here we are. This is our home now, we chose it.

On the topic of Shepard's last message, I know many of you are divided. Let me better frame it for all of you, in the hope it helps you to understand why my stance on it is so hard line. Shepard was punished for trying to pick apart the ship's secrets, held until there was no hope of her getting out. She and her team sent out messages deliberately intended to snare us into the trap - in places they didn't even know what they were saying - to get us to go in there. We resisted. We fought our way back when it threw everything it could at us to get us to stay. Now they apparently want us to go back in. Well it's not gonna happen, and I strongly advise you not to try, even if it's true that I can't personally stop you. Why am I so convinced? Because of something Shepard said.

[ A clip from the message plays, Shepard's voice: ] Formally suggest volunteer only operation. Something is different. Something’s in my head.

Ultimately it's your decision, but don't say I didn't warn you. And believe me, I know what you saw. I saw it too. I saw what I want most in the world, but here I am, and this is where I'm staying.

Javik and Shepard, as usual with those who go missing as well as those lost during the jumps, have been added to the mourning wall in the garden chapel. These were good people, their actions were the actions of heroes, not fools; but most of all, they were friends. I've got a mean streak in me, so here's the deal: you got a bad word to say about them, keep it the hell to yourself. That's my last word on the matter.

[ Nathan is pure Tranquility by now. Gone is the suit jacket and tie, last seen long months ago. He wears clothes bartered for at their last stop, a three quarter length brown leather coat and functional, hard wearing clothes underneath, space age fabrics in dark forest green and darker brown. He's still the same man, but he's adapted. And he's only half done with his talk, his expression still serious. ]

Alright; Tranquility business.

There's gonna have to be a few changes if we're gonna keep living here. Don't mistake me--the ship's gonna step up whatever it's got in store for us, and we can't keep losing unity the way we are. This is jump thirty three, that means thirty three floors; more floors than we have security. Those of you who are new will discover that fresh food from the gardens is only being distributed on floors marked 1 and 6; alternative food is still available in the kitchens on other floors. So agriculture is terrible, the security situation is equally troubling, and then medical most of all; the latter is presently, by way of seniority and...well, other things, in the hands of my brother Peter--you'll find him an apt leader, but he's no surgeon, so good luck if you get appendicitis.

What I'm getting at is a crucial need for people to join departments. Now we've been working on a volunteer basis this far and it's worked fine, but if we don't get people growing food and cleaning up medbay after the jump, fixing shuttles, protecting the halls and maintaining our communications network, survival here is gonna get more and more unpleasant. You like your conversations getting to the right people, don't you? Well so do I. How about them apples? And getting off the ship, despite being a damn deathtrap near every time we do it, that's real great when the oxygen isn't whistling out of the shuttle you're in right? Yeah, I think so too.

If more people don't sign up, we may have to start rationing luxuries...at worst people might start dying, and there'll be no escape route if the ship is gonna blow. I don't want any of that to happen and neither should you.

[ At last it seems like he's close to wrapping up. ]

Last month's losses shouldn't change how we continue to approach survival here, and believe me when I tell you that your first battle is to survive. To do that, we all need to pull ourselves together and keep doing what we usually do, irregardless of our personal feelings. Fight club, space training, weekly dinners, and above all work--routine is how you stay sane; take it from someone who's been here for a while And remember if you decide to get wasted on space alcohol nightly that when your liver fails nobody around here can do a damn thing about it.

But most of all we can get through this if you're all there for each other; we're stronger together. We'll survive together.

Petrelli out.

[ The feed starts with static, thin and crackling. There's the trace of a voice coming through, short interrupted clips that eventually resolve into a steady and markedly sarcastic tone. ]

—ing in with the soporific discovery of yet another corridor that is very unexpectedly abandoned. And also not where it's meant to be on your bloody maps, by the way. You'd have better luck navigating Neverland.

I'd rather be navigating Neverland. [ Emma's scowled dismissal is easily distinguished in the background. ] I thought you said you knew how to do this? [ So much for trusting the pirate to know how to navigate. ]

Is this a pirate thing? [ Kate is going to make equally helpful contributions to this conversation, her tone dry. ] Inability to navigate except on water? Or did you get lost on your own ship, too?

Oh, I know how to navigate a ship—

Are you still broadcasting this? [ Reaching her hand out, Emma demands the device from him. ] Gimme that. [ A short wrestling match later, she wrestles it out of his hand. You can tell because she's louder. ] If you don't have anything to report, don't report it. [ With that flat scolding, she terminates the feed. ]

( ooc; Purple = Kate, red = Emma, black = Hook. This is open to all other fireteams and everyone back at the home base, threadjacking highly encouraged! )

[ The camera is met with an angry-looking Kate, one angle of her jaw flexing as teeth clench. Her forearms are folded on the tabletop in front of her and she leans her weight onto them. The way she launches right in gives the impression she's been holding back this bad mood for a while before giving in. ]

Okay, so first of all, whoever stole my bow at the jump: bring it back. It's a cheap piece of crap anyway and it's not like we have arrows laying around but it's the only one I have here and there aren't any more in the armory and it's not exactly an inconspicuous weapon so what are you even going to do with it without me finding you?? Seriously, just bring it back before you damage it somehow and I promise I won't hit you with it no matter how tempted I am.

And speaking of people around here being total assholes [ Because whatever, she's started now and trying to make her no-hitting promise sincere just has the frustration shunting off into another topic, ], is someone turning people into animals seriously allowed now? That's just a thing we're cool with, going to let that slide on by, no brig time involved? [ She's not generally a very animated speaker but her hands twist off the table into the air into a 'seriously?' gesture. ] FYI never annoy this Gold guy because I guess he can just turn you into a cat if he feels like it and nobody will ever do anything. If I disappear after posting this be on the look-out for new pets wandering around or something. On second thought maybe that'd be a nice change from this place's bullshit for a while. Gold, if you're watching, just make it a dog or a bird or something, alright? Cool.

[ It's hard to make a dramatic exit on a touch-screen device but she pushes the STOP button as abruptly as she can anyway. Hawkeye out. Nope, wait, spoke too soon. It starts up again after a second just long enough for her to shout: ]

And bring me back my god damn bow!

[ Okay, now it's done. ]

[When Emma had suggested making friends might help get her back to Henry, Regina had scoffed. But magic hasn't helped her, and she's running out of ideas.

Which is why she's currently sitting primly in the kitchen and with exactly as friendly a smile as she can muster up. It's more or less effective.]

I made some lasagna. There's a lot of it. I'd be willing to share, if anyone's hungry.

[People like food. Give them food and they'll like you, right?

Maybe she should have baked cookies or a pie instead.]

Yo. It is I, the kid who talked about the mystery of toilets and sentient plants. What's up?

So, uh, turns out I'm pretty shit at cooking, so I was wondering if anyone around here would mind helping me out? You can be my substitute mom, or whatever.

Don't have much to trade you, unless you know about Privileged Blood. Can teach you about some spells, too. Mostly basic stuff, but useful stuff, guaranteed. You can use my blood an' everything.

Anyway, you cook for me, I do Crafts for you. Sounds pretty fair to me.

Many thanks.

[ the feed switches on to show a spectacular view of the garden grounds. as in the actual floor of the gardens, mostly dirt and foliage, before it's flipped around to focus on hook's face. his expression is solemn, offering up a respectable display of sincere concern for those he's addressing. ]

This message is intended as a favour— an act of good faith, if you will. I regret to inform my fellow passengers that we've a wolf in our midst. [ the mask of civility slips slightly, giving way to a sharp grin; his voice matches, edged with hostility and amusement. ] Or should I say a crocodile.

There's a man on this ship who calls himself Rumplestiltskin. While I admit he's not much to look at, it's nothing more than the practised ruse of a monster. He's known to my world as The Dark One. Whatever kind words he's spun, any generosities he's offered— I assure you, they've been at your expense.

[ no killing allowed, but nobody said anything about gossip. anyway, after a pause to let that dramatic reveal that absolutely won't remind anyone of stupid picture books settle: ]

I've also heard word of a smithy on board. If anyone could direct me to it or to its owner, I'd be in your debt. [ there's a glint of light off the metal as he raises his hook, idly considering its condition. ] I've something in need of sharpening.

[ that last sentence would absolutely be a private taunt to gold if he knew how to encrypt anything, but he doesn't. blame emma. ]

( ooc: 4th walling on all related fairy tales/stories is welcome! )

[Behold, all and sundry shipmates, a young woman, most likely unfamiliar to you all. She has dark hair, she's wearing expensive-looking sunglasses, she has a cigarette between her manicured fingers, and she's not smiling. As a matter of fact, she looks more bored than anything, which wouldn't be inaccurate. It's Penelope, and she's annoyed. Get accustomed to this.]

Okay, so. Quick question.

Are you seriously telling me that this spaceship is not only haunted as fuck, because it is obviously haunted as fuck, you guys, what the fuck is up with that, but nobody has tried to set up any wards or barriers or anti-evil magic protection of any kind? I mean come on, this should be like kindergarten baby shit. Surely somebody's tried something, but since there's no like, history books of this hideous floating evil space basement we all appear to be trapped in, I have to ask.

Nobody's tried magic? Seriously?

[There's a brief pause as she attends to her cigarette, and then it goes back to balancing between the fingers of her hand. She tends to gesture with it, vaguely, as she speaks, presumably for emphasis since her voice is a practiced monotone of affected disinterest. It's all extraordinarily irritating, and it's very much intended to be so.]

Apropos of nothing, since there's so many honest-to-god wolves on board, are there any werewolves around? I need a donation.

That's all. Back to your regularly scheduled cowering-in-fear-awaiting-all-our-inevitable-hideous-deaths, or whatever it is you do for fun around here.

[...That bit about the werewolves goes totally unexplained, because Penelope promptly ends the feed.]

[ after the jump teresa expected things to make more sense, like something would reveal itself, but it hasn't. if anything it poses more questions than answers. there seems to be only one place to go for that. nothing else to lose at this point. (she'd been meaning to ask earlier anyway.)

with soft black hair falling around tensed-up shoulders and pale skin glowing in contrast, she looks into the recording. her face doesn't display much emotion besides a tired concentration and slight quiver to her lip. it's been a long few days, but she does her best to hide it. ]

So, it's like going from one creepy experiment to the next. Ever thought that maybe that's what this place is? A test? A code to be deciphered? From it seems like, every month something horrible happens. Couldn't those all be variables we're supposed to respond to a certain way? Things probably won't change until we do.

[ right or wrong, teresa speaks from experience, so she sounds confident about this theory. she looks like she wants to ask a million more questions, but she stops her theorizing there. ]

Anyway, I'm Teresa. New-ish. I know we're sick of hearing about the temperature, but I'm not the only one whose room is freezing, right? I thought the heat was bad before, but no. This is actually worse. I could use a jacket or something if anyone has some extra clothes I can borrow.

[ because she would really like to go to bed and not wake up with hypothermia. ]

[ it's late, or maybe early, either way the lights in the room are dimmed to nearly black. stiles, lit by the device, scrubs a hand over his face, then runs it through his hair, which has grown out all over the place. he's sweaty with the heat of his room, and there are bags under his eyes. this insomnia thing is seriously getting old. how is it possible to get so much sleep and still be this tired? (probably by not having a month's worth of nightmares about being chased.) ]

Hey, uh. It's- last jump was gonna be my twelfth. Jump. Except for how I didn't wake up. Buuuut that was counting number nineteen and twenty as one, so if you count it as two then technically it was this jump.

I think.

[ he looks like he's about to try and do the math again, but then snaps out of it, focuses back on the whole, talking to the camera thing. ]

Eleven, twelve, thirteen, whatever, that's a long time to be stuck here. I'm beginning to feel like it's not so — when I first showed up everything was so cool, you know? I mean, space. Light sabers. Robots. Super powers. There are - there are freaking elves.

[ he makes a kind of i can't even gesture that is probably ridiculous if you already know just how much supernatural his life back home contained. and then he once again veers himself back on topic. ]

That wasn't actually... the point of this post was to talk about all these masks I've suddenly got now? Except not really, because they're Meg's, and she was cataloging them, and now she can't, so I guess the point is to say that— she's not around anymore. And Cassie... Cassie went home too. And Remus. Guess this ship's not big on the magic users, ahaha.

[ he gives a rough, upset chuckle, and visibly pulls himself together. talking about losing people would be easier if he wasn't hot and tired. ]

Anyway. You all probably already knew all of that, since uh, as we established, I'm a whole month out of the loop.

[ he shrugs. ]

Soooo, you know. Loop me.

[Ruby's in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee. She looks tired, though not overly so. Adapting to life on board isn't going all that great for her - but thank whatever deity you want to insert here for coffee, because Ruby is just going to survive on that. Hey, Grenny pestered her with early morning diner shifts often enough, and Ruby isn't ashamed to admit that she's addicted. Doesn't mean she's gonna kick the habit anytime soon. She smiles at the camera, friendly as always.]

Hey guys. Ruby here, for those I haven't met yet. Pleasure to meet you, not pleased about the weird circumstances, you know how it goes.

Two things... first of all. I gather I'm not the only one hallucinating. Or... having dreams. Memories. I'm not awake enough to puzzle that out. Is this some sort of... group hallucination, and what's so interesting about two people talking about how hot some prisoner is, anyway? Do I need to be concerned? Do I need to... I don't know, do anything about this, report it to anyone?

[She rubs a face down her hands, smiles, because all this sounds insane, but it seems to be common practice here.]

Second thing... well. I was wondering. I'll admit, I'm not the brightest bulb to ever light the room. So... we're in space. And I was just wondering, if you were. Say. Sensitive to the moon. 

[Yeah, this is harder than she'd thought. Crap. Ruby takes a long sip of her coffee, a little too hot for comfort, but the burn is quite welcome right now. She can't exactly go saying that she's a werewolf and very likely to kill anything that moves in front of her during three months a night, because she doesn't think she'll be in control of the wolf after not transforming for a whooping 28 years, plus she doesn't have the magical cloak that'll prevent the transformation - yeah, that's not gonna get her pushed out of an air lock at all. She's had enough angry mobs after her in her own time.]

Are we in any way affected by moon cycles, given that we... well. Have no... moon of our own?

[Yeah, it sounds even more stupid when she says it out loud, but does the truth of her little problem really sound any less stupid?]

Oh my goodness. I have no idea how any of you do it, but I am at the end of my rope!

[Dramatic? Maybe. But it's completely warranted, considering all the things she's been subjected to this month. Poor Effie. Her life is so hard.:c]

It's not enough that we've been taken here against our will, but we have to tiptoe around monsters and whatever else is hiding in the depths of this ship living in our midst. And all right, I've resigned myself to accepting it just like everyone else has to, but must they rob us of our sleep, too?

[She sniffs, completely appalled at the indignities they're forced to go through.] Do you know how difficult it is to keep to a beauty regimen in a place like this? It's hard enough without the proper supplies, but sleep is needed to retain one's good looks, and I've been severely lacking in it lately.

Anyway-- [She waves a hand, looking significantly calmer than she was just a moment ago.] --I just wanted to get that off my chest. We're all entitled to our complaints once in a while. After all, venting is necessary to keep an optimistic outlook on life.

[Effie makes a move to turn off her communicator but withdraws her hand at the last second. Sorry guys, you have to endure her for a few more minutes.]

Oh, one last thing. A week or so ago, the elevator unkindly brought me to a floor I certainly didn't want to go to, and I found this. [Attached is a file called wheel.jpeg.] I thought it might belong to someone, since it looks too strange to simply be a random object lying around. If it's yours, please take it off my hands. It's taking up space in my room. Thank you!

[Q looks completely wrecked. The lack of sleep that the Tranquility has so kindly blessed him with has left him looking almost on death's door, bags under his eyes and his clothes and hair dishevelled. Apparently, however, insomnia prompts either genius or madness and around him are a plethora of papers and diagrams, repeatedly scribbled out and redrawn with blue and red pen. Q rubs his bloodshot eyes and smiles slightly up at his audience.]

Hello, there. So these past few months have been rather hectic and it got me thinking. [That and more cups of tea than he would care to count.]

So the universe is endless, yes? A giant mass of endless stars. As our telescopes get stronger and stronger and we look out into the void of space, we keep finding more to look at. We cannot find its horizon.

[He rocks on the balls of his feet and begins to rifle through his papers.]

Yet a recent theory suggested that while it's endless, it isn't some vast, infinite mass. Instead, it loops back on itself. Time and space is...a doughnut.

[He holds up a complex diagram filled with numbers and various intersecting circles up to the camera.]

If we look far enough into the distance, we can see ourselves and it is my belief that the people, the things which we are witnessing on The Tranquility are either ourselves or the ship's past or future catching up on us. The jumps, in my opinion, are literal, as we dot from place to place, picking up fragments of time.

[He lets out a sigh and scratches his head.]

Fuck me if I know who Smiley is though.

[ it's been more than a month since she landed herself on this ship, and she's gotten nowhere. she's beginning to understand how her arrival had been greeted with such pessimism and futility, and she can't help but imagine that the insomnia's a result of the near-death experience trying to make it back aboard the tranquility off of the cyllene being combined with an acute depression of realizing she's powerless to get her son back. she's been feeling pretty powerless across the board, lately.

her room's dark, because she's been tossing and turning in vain to try and get to sleep without success, so she doesn't bother turning on the video function. audio will have to do the trick. there's a sense of abject defeat in her voice, because she finally gets it - talking to sark aboard the cyllene, and then scrambling to get off of it. no one is going to rescue the tranquility and get them home, and any attempt at progress seems to be met with a glass ceiling.

they're stuck, and they're on their own. she's on her own. she hadn't realized how heavily she'd learned to rely on her family until she'd been denied their company. ]

If I want to help out with security on board the ship, how's that work? [ it's been a month, it's high time she accepted that she needs something to keep her busy and direct her energy towards or this funk isn't going anywhere. some savior. ] Is there like a training program or do I just track down some security office and sign my name on the dotted line?

[ there's the sound of shifting as she sits up in bed, because something else occurred to her. she'd never really seen a report published to the ship-wide network. just a video that didn't shed much light - her cynicism wants her to assume that's because there wasn't much to be found, but it's worth asking. ]

And while I'm at it; I saw some bad news about the new areas of the Tranquility, but I was on the Cyllene while people were exploring. Any more news to go with it? Are those areas still accessible, or did they close off when we undocked? [ or whatever the word for that is. ]

[ private to will graham ; no encryption ]

And, Graham - I found some clothes. Little on the dressy side, but they should fit. Where do you want me to bring them?

[ she's just tired enough to use the wrong name - the one that's more familiar, that makes her feel a little more secure, at least subconsciously. ]

[Hello, Tranquility. Have a Combeferre who is obviously fascinated by something or other, by the look of intense concentration on his face as he peers out at the camera. And he’s even managing to focus on his face and not his eyebrows, so there is some progress there at least. And when he begins speaking, well, it’s obvious that SOMETHING has happened.]

Well. Tranquility. It appears that there is more on board here than we would have first imagined. The media libraries in particular, when one really attempts to delve into the ship itself, can be more useful than we’ve seen so far. I’ve come across [He snooped across, let’s be honest.]

A device which projects to my communicator and has allowed me to download

this

[Combeferre is looking into the screen expectantly again, leaning forward a little as he does this.]

I...think this has something to do with the structure of the ship perhaps? A building plan? A schematic perhaps, for engineering? There should be some way for me to send everyone a copy if someone could be of assistance in terms of the programing needed to do that? I am not quite sure WHAT I’ve found here but I would welcome any help in figuring this out.

[text later:

Edit:

With the help of the Communications department, the information should be available to all passengers who would like to have a look.

[Two faces appear on screen. Well, one pale face wearing a rather lot of black eyeliner and one skull. It’s like a face. Really. They are both smiling, though the one with a skull may have less of a choice in that regards thanks to his permanent grin. The perky goth one speaks up first]

Okay, we’ve been getting a lot of questions so we figured we’d clear it up. We’re Death.

YES BOTH OF US.

And no, he can’t not talk like that.

IT COMES WITH HAVING NO VOCAL CHORDS.

[The voice in question sounds like the slamming of crypt doors, or tombstones falling over. And more importantly it bypases the whole “being heard” bit, to just appear in your head.]

Some people find it easier to call us Didi and Bill. That works for us.

[Her voice, on the other hand, sounds perfectly human]

AND BEFORE ANYONE ASKS. WE ARE NOT FROM THE SAME WORLD. I AM THE DEATH OF THE DISCWORLD.

I’m from... well, it doesn’t have a name. The one where Earth has a remarkable number of superheroes. That also means that neither of us is actually on duty here.

IF THERE IS A DEATH OF THIS WORLD. WE HAVE YET TO SEE THEM.

And... if you have any questions [Because everyone always does] we’ll do our best to answer them.

((Tag Order: You--> Didi--> Bill... though they may start finishing each other's sentences))