Before you go flinging shit all over me, I know there's worse to worry about right now, but if any of you knows how to sew and has the cloth to spare I'll find some way to pay you back.

These blue rugs make shitty ponchos and unlike some of you lucky bastards I never got more than one set of space pajamas. I'll take spares, too, if that's all there is to go around.

[AJ's voice is utterly defeated right now, but then she's been wearing one of those bolts of blue alien fabric that had been collected from a month or two ago, the badly folded likes of which have been covering the shredded back-side of her crew-issue jumpsuit for the last two days. She's been feeling about as comfortable as a cat in a festive sweater.]

So this is probably a really stupid question
but
What do dogs eat?
I mean
I know what they eat normally
it's just
Considering
our predicament
& limited resources.

Mammalia aren't exactly my area of expertise.

PS- I got a light to turn on. [ aka phase one of the grid: complete. ]

[After a lot of thought she's decided against video, because she still doesn't like talking and wants to get her point across without messing it up]

My name is Chell. I'm one of the few people left that worked in Agriculture on the ship.

Looking for people to help in the new gardens. You don't need to know anything about farming or growing food, just have to be willing to listen to instructions and help out.

If you do have experience, that would be great.

If you have any questions leave them here or come looking for the woman in the orange jumpsuit.

Thank you

[The video is very short: the camera focuses on one of the pieces of strange fabric that fell during the jump, then changes position so the cloth can be seen from a different angle, causing a shift of light that makes the writing show up. She speaks over the image, but isn't on camera herself.]

I found this, and I know I wasn't the only one: there was more of it out there.

If this design is writing, can anybody read it? I've never seen it before.

Anyone out there have a lighter or something? Flint? I could use anything that creates a reliable spark. Matches, even. My scavenging efforts are apparently subpar when it comes to finding things I could actually use. On the other hand I've found a superfluous amount of spoons and broken screws so if anyone needs those I'm your man. [Look, not everyone can be a hoarding genius, okay?]

I've seen a couple of nice-so-great looking animals a little too close to camp for comfort. Open sores, mangy, probably not a good sign. I know some of you hunt. I would definitely steer clear of those. If you kill one, it might be more prudent to burn the corpse than butcher it.

That I can do. Without setting the whole damn jungle on fire.

So since no one else is going to talk about it...

Let's do a vote. Show of hands. How many of you think we're all alone here? A whole planet of pretty woods, jut for us. And how many of you think that we can't be alone. Maybe there's some city out there. Too bad you can't leave the camp.

And how many of you think that we're, like, totally surrounded. I hear that's a thing. Because there's spears, and they're stealing from us. Blah, blah. Tell me something real. If there's someone out there? I'd like to get to them first. I'd like to think everyone would agree with me, but I'm sure I'd be wrong.

Actually, you know what I'd love? I'd love for them to come by and try to get at my stuff. Consider this an invitation.

[If anyone saw Harry's mirror message not so long ago, they might be confused when a smirking copycat appears in the sliver of mirror. Despite looking alarmingly like Harry's younger brother, this is a very different person.

Well. Sort of. But James doesn't have all of that information just yet.

He offers a cheeky wave to those paying attention.]

Hullo, you lot. Seems like we've got loads of nasty business going on lately. Dunno what's up with it all, but I've got a proposal.

[He pauses dramatically. Leans close to the mirror like he has a secret.]

Potluck.

[He leans back again, beaming.]

I'm thinking tomorrow night. See what you can make in the way of edibles and let's all compare and share. Assuming nothing mad happens between now and then. Who's in?

Tests conducted on blood samples taken from the prisoner quarters have identified DNA previously isolated in samples taken from gurneys in the labs.

[ No hello, no good evening, Tranquility. Erik delivers the news with flat affect, leaned lazily off center in his seat. He’s wearing a white lab coat, one eye masked blind behind a patch and the other set dead on the comms device. Speaking of blood, the fingerprints smudged into his lapel are a familiar shade of reddish brown, for those who’ve been on board long enough to ruin a shirt or two.

He doesn’t look happy to be here. These days he rarely looks happy to be anywhere. ]

[ And Charles is here too, his own comms device sat in front of him and transmitting nothing, fingertips occasionally tapping the screen in favour of shuffling around paper notes.

He also isn't happy to be here, but he combed his hair and everything. His lab coat is clean. ]

The gurneys, along with reinforced cages, appeared on level two of the science department several months ago. Relics, perhaps, of the genetics lab that came before. As for the samples themselves, they contained evidence of human and animal hybridisation.

The blood stains also possessed inactive nanites, which meant I wasn't able to identify them definitively using the nanite technology that's been made available. However, I took some micrographs, and compared them with micrographs taken previously, and they were visually identical to active nanites with programming functions like [ and you can hear the disdainful air quotes as he reads it off his device ] "manticore advancement" and "manticore adaptation".

The manticores were prisoners. They were moulded by Van Rijn’s scientists.

[ Erik is more concise. He seems to be having some trouble separating his teeth. ]

Naturally Eszter has been mum on the subject of interplanetary conquest.

More vocal on the topic of saving the human race as she knows it. [ Somehow, Charles' input doesn't really undermine what Erik just said. He elaborates; ] I believe that what went on in the science department was kept a secret -- the majority of the original crew had no idea what was happening. They believed the Tranquility was their salvation and hope. I was able to get-- this impression from Charlotte Danaiu. What she knows is rather limited, but what she has access to knowing is. Greater.

[ This isn't Charles' favourite part, because it feels beyond his usual abstraction. He manages not to glance at Erik. ]

The presence I've talked about taking root in the ship, that has access to our minds, that has abilities we've begun to tap into-- upon talking to Charlotte, and reading her mind, I received the impression that it came here on account of the manticore experiments. I don't know how, or what it wanted, and I also know that no one on the ship intended it to happen, but-- it's what I think Resnik meant, when she talked about retribution for their sins. Something about what they were doing brought it about.

[ And he finishes there, not so eloquently, but unsure how to talk about it much further. ]

We’ve decided to call it Moira.

[ Also eloquent. Erik picks up again before Charles can interrupt with more than just a 'seriously?' side along glance: ]

We’ve consolidated what we know about it and the humans we’ve encountered from this universe into a table anyone can update. I’m attaching a link to the file to this transmission.

The aim is transparency and education. We should all be on the same page.

[ He leans forward to disengage the device, filling the frame. ]

Thank you.

[ OOC: Erik is maroon, dark green is Charles. FILE LINK - this is an IC document, feel free to contribute with IC knowledge and experiences. Characters need not feel obligated to identify themselves when making entries. ]

[Max knew this whole stupid mind powers thing was a generally awful idea. Elizabeth and even a little bit of Rey's work on the comms (even if he still would rather glare at her, in private) had done a relatively bang-up job making Max think maybe there was a shadow of possibility this powers business would actually do any good for them. Besides — if he could calm his mind down enough to actually control it, he would stop giving away memories and hallucinations and feelings all willy nilly. So yes, he tried focusing, tried materializing things, tried to keep it all in check. Nothing too personal — just channeled it. Other than a few rather personal thoughts hovering through the cracks from other people he'd never know the names of, he has had pretty good luck.

'Til of course, a particularly rough series of nightmares had caused him to muck things up. He'd woken up in the corner of his room with something heavy and rough against his jaw and cheekbones and lips. Somewhere in his fervent dreaming, he'd gone and materialized that fucking muzzle; the same one he had supposedly locked up in his locker, kept away so that it couldn't actually get used against him again. And now it's on his fucking face. 

So he does the totally wise thing, which is struggling pathetically to remove it with his hands before he rushes into the nearest kitchen and starts pulling out drawers and ripping open cabinets. The motions are rough and not too careful, and his network device crashes onto the ground and displays him pretty much wrecking one of your kitchen areas. This drawer? He's pouring it out on the counter and digging around. It's all spoons, who needs spoons. There's a knife and he tries to shove it under the padlock behind his head and scrape it open, but it's just grinding down the grooves on the blade.

As he pushes over appliances and spills someone's coffee, this is an approximate translation one can hear while he spits the dummy:]

Fucking [INCOHERENT CURSING] shi—fuchgk [INCOHERENT GROWLING] my face, for fuck's sake, bloodghy— [???????] FUCK!

[WHERE THE FUCK ARE ALL YOUR SHARP THIN STABBY OBJECTS, I THOUGHT THIS WAS AN AWESOME HIGH-TECH KITCHEN

EGG-BEATERS ARE NOT GOING TO FUCKING CUT IT.

He tugs pretty pathetically on the long chain hanging there, slips his fingers under the thick metal bands before he tries to shove a butterknife into the keyslot.

....

THWUMP.

This the sound of his forehead softly thunking against the cabinet door in frustration.

... Well, maybe there's a decent nail file somewhere in engineering or something...

Fuck your powers y'all can eat your powers and get indigestion and cark it, for all he cares.]


((OOC: Action permissible for Nami and Elizabeth, have fun girls.))

[Serah's face comes in way too close for comfort, if only for a second, before she sets the camera down on a table, propped up, to offer a waist-up shot of her. Offering a smile, she waves.]

I hope everyone can see me. I haven't used the video option much, but we had similar technology on Cocoon. [Her hands intertwine in front of her.]

My name is Serah Farron, and I got here on the jump before the last one. A few of you had talked to me, but I figured I should introduce myself.

Back home, on Cocoon--well, Gran Pulse, I guess, but that's not important--I was a teacher. I don't think we have much of a school set up here, and I know most of us have jobs, but I wouldn't mind teaching anyone up to high school subjects if they wanted it, and I could teach survival tactics as well, but I'm not sure if they'd be useful in space.. I was a jack-of-all-trades teacher since I was the only one in my village, and I don't have any official certification, but I think I can handle it.

[Her smile grows brighter. She's not sure if anyone will take the offer, but she's always willing. It would bring some sense of normalcy, here.]

Also, I'd like to get a job in support or security, if there's any need. Thank you for listening!

[And with a wave and then darkness mixed with the sound of jostling, the feed turns off]

Tranquility, huh? Is anyone going to rename it anytime soon...? Because no offense, but it's like calling a big guy Tiny. 

[How's it hanging, guys!  Sure has been a weird week so far, right? Hughes wants to get some stuff figured out. Mostly, he wants to know more about the people he's being forced to be with now — it is essential that you get good footing with those who are handy and capable and decent here. And of course, it gives perspectives that a welcome entry, informative as it is, just can't provide in full.]

Lt. Colonel Maes Hughes, reporting in. I guess that doesn't particularly matter here, though I have to admit, this is way beyond my usual freak storms when it comes to crazy things happening outside of everyone's control. And some of you have been putting up with this for a while, huh? You have my condolences, and a metaphorical certificate from yours truly for keeping your sanity. 

... Assuming you have, anyway.

So!! The best thing to do while I'm deciding where I belong here — who's up for drinks? I guess I should precursor that with me really wanting to know particular information left outside of the welcome entries; the who's who, your own personal accounts of your stay. I'd like to act as a personal recorder of your own individual troubles within the Tranquility, how you're doing with your own individual departments. I'm still personally figuring out where I'd prefer; security sounds well and good, but I'm not a fan of putting myself into the danger zones — yeah, yeah, even in a place where it's pretty much a given. So communications is looking pretty nice, even if I'm still trying to figure out how the technology here works.

... My world's a little lacking in some respects, I'm noticing. 

[He grins.]



And hey! If you'd rather just grab a beer instead and just appreciating someone as annoyed as you about the place, I'm good for that, too. Besides, I've got plenty I can tell you about myself. And about fifty-million pictures I'm guaranteed you're dying to see! It's one of the few things I'd say this ship got right!

[.......................... fifty-million is a mild exaggeration]

... No guarantees I'll carry you home if you get dead drunk, though.

Last time I helped someone home, I ended up getting my shoes puked on; I only have one good pair here!

[ Home vs. the Tranquility is an obvious choice for most people. For the ones from somewhere particularly awful, the ship's the better option; and for some, there isn't much of an option at all.

Fitz had spent several months thinking he was part of the latter group. He'd thought home meant certain death, so he should appreciate cheating it while he had the chance. Since that had been proven wrong, home had resumed being the obvious choice, despite all its complications — but now Jemma's here, and things are somehow better than they'd been back at the Playground. Add to that a friendly research team offering help to the passengers of the TQ, and the end result is dwelling on questions he probably shouldn't be.

And a broad question for the network, minus much context. ]

Whenever the ship's docked somewhere, it's been too dangerous to stay. But if it wasn't, or if you could get off the ship without going home, would you? If it were possible to go somewhere safe. Different, and not home, but safe.

[England clears his throat. This is his first video broadcast across the network, and he wants to avoid an embarrassing situation like his mistaking the text function for a telegram the first time.]

Right. Yes. This feels oddly informal but if that's what's done--

--I'll be brief and to the point: I've got two questions.

First, could anyone from Earth who's lived through the twentieth century tell me of its history? Ah, the version of Earth where the British Empire exists. I would like to know how the world changes in the next hundred years. It doesn't matter when or where you're from, I'm just very interested.

My second question is addressed to the users of magic on board the Tranquility. Sorcerers, witches, wizards, healers, mages; whatever you are, how does magic work in your world? What sort of spells do you use? Runes? Talismans? Perhaps a proxy via a familiar or even technology? I've been practicing magic for as long as I've been alive--that's over fifteen hundred years--but one can never learn too much.

--Ah, I'm rambling. Excuse me... [He straightens his shoulders, tilting his nose up to be as dignified as possible.]

At any rate, I've one more announcement: I'm willing to trade tealeaves for sewing supplies, or anything else. Especially alcohol.

[Arthur pauses, not sure how to end the feed, but he just decides on something simple.]

Thank you.




[*edit/ooc: I'm aware of what he's asking. Bring on the temporal spoilers.]