06 April 2014 @ 12:40 am
[ This isn't going to be sweet but it will be short, courtesy of your resident Prince Not-So Charming. ]

There are now three flets, which pass as treehouses, in the gardens. These are homes and if anyone is seen nearing them to gain access, they will be shot on sight. I assure you, an arrow is far more difficult to extract than a bullet. [ #EXPERIENCE, urgh. ] Additionally, you will find the Elven quotient aboard the ship is now officially in charge of garden-based security.

That means we need not apologise if your actions force us to maim you.

[ Can you hear someone sharpening a knife? Humming? Sounds a lot like Legolas in the background, right? Someone pissed off the Space Elves. ]


Thranduil is indisposed and has appointed myself in his stead. If you have any concerns which fail to be entirely moronic in nature, you may bring them to me.
 
 
17 March 2014 @ 06:11 pm
( the second time that nuala addresses the ship as a whole, she is slightly more prepared - and she has a purpose to it beyond the greetings that, she will continue to hold, were in and of themselves a perfectly respectable goal.

cross-legged in the gardens, her sewing basket at her side, her hands neatly folded-- )


I have a request of those who man the smithy, and a boon to offer in return for seeing it done.

Thank you.
 
 
13 March 2014 @ 04:14 pm
[The video comes on at a weird angle and distorted by water droplets, but the view is clearly of the gardens during a rain cycle. A tall man (probably--his golden hair is very long) in exceptionally Medieval clothing has his back turned to the camera, occupied with tying the corner of a tarpaulin to a sturdy tree branch. It seems to serve as a canopy over the makeshift bed he has spread out over the grass. One corner of the bed is clearly wet, and the perceptive will discern that this is, in fact, the second time he has tied this corner of the tarpaulin to its branch. The camera becomes too obscured by water to see more than a blur for a moment, until a pink tongue clears it off and the audience is treated to a close-up of a deer's nose. Ethuil considers the camera, then ambles over to where his caretaker is nearly finished with his work. Impatient, he nudges the person against his leg. The man starts and the knot slips from his hands. The corner of the tarp comes free and water pours down upon the bed.

The man turns at last, nudging the deer away with a gentle, chronically shaking hand. Those who have never seen an elf usually know one when they see one nonetheless. He does not look entirely human, especially in the way he moves, like a tendril of smoke in the air as though his feet only just touch the ground. He does not seem to mind the rain on himself, but he pats the deer with an impatient look toward his soaking bed.]

[OOC: action or network replies are both fine]
 
 
11 March 2014 @ 04:40 pm
[ 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! )
 
 
08 March 2014 @ 05:07 pm
Another Jump has come and gone.

[ hey, Tranquility. Lucrezia Borgia's hair falls freely down her back today and her cheeks are rosy and her lips are smiling. though if you know Lucrezia Borgia, and many do by now, you would perhaps recognize something in her smile, a twinkle in her eye which is impish. ]

I have counted more than twelve jumps, near fifteen and my days on this ship had been many yet today I come to you with a plea, Tranquility.

[ notice the faux!serious expression on her face. ]

There is a man upon this ship who had promised me a most wonderful promise many months ago and failed to see it through. I do not know if it is a regular affair in this person's world to break a promise made to a lady but I have come before you seeking justice from him so he would see it done. Duel him, pester him, chase him down at my name, if you wish it. Only bring him before me or tell him to present himself to me and be given punishment for said offense.

His name is Sirius Black. He is taller than me with dark hair and mischievous eyes and a talent in magic and he had given me his word that he will hold a Christmas upon this vessel. I do not know the months but surely not celebrating it at all is worse than trying to. My Holy Father would say the attempt is as important as the result. I trusted Sirius Black with such and here I am, months afterwards and nearly married -

[ allow her to look very pleased for a moment ]

And not a Christmas in sight. That said, I call upon my friends to deliver him to me so we may settle this matter once and for all.
 
 
 
18 February 2014 @ 07:03 pm
[When Thranduil appears, his own quarters in the background, he looks pristine. All signs of hardship have been washed away. Lúthien has even regrown his hair, which lies in a shining braid over one shoulder. He has put extra effort into his presentation this time. No dark circles under his eyes, no glassy, haunted look. His hands are tucked away carefully out of view on his lap. If he can't make it for real, he is excellent at faking a full recovery. There is no filter on his message. He wants to be seen.]

My name is Thranduil. [He pauses for a beat as if that's significant. Which it is, to someone.] I am King of the Woodland Realm in Northern Mirkwood. If you have only arrived in this last jump, I extend to you my personal greetings and condolences. If among these stars you find a better life than that which you left behind, I am happy you are here. Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn.

Now to the heart of it. Some months ago, many of us experienced one another's feelings and memories. It is to those who had such a link with me that I wish to speak. I will ask nothing of your own memories, only of mine that you saw, though I have naught to offer but gratitude in return. I would prefer to speak of them on this network with no filters, but if you prefer, we may arrange to meet in person.

Finally, for there are many who have come and gone and come again since I announced it first, I am skilled in birdlore and beastlore. Should you have need of such aid, I would be glad to be of service.

For your time and patience, I thank you all. Be of good health.

[He lifts one hand from his lap to shut off the device. In the second it is onscreen, it can be seen to tremble slightly before the image goes black.]
 
 
15 February 2014 @ 09:23 pm
Is this thing on?

[At first, the questioning voice is all there is of the speaker; the video, shaky, shows the wall of passenger quarters. There's a rustling sound, and it shakes a little more, and then several slim fingers slip on screen, then take over the screen, and then the video is spinning around to catch sight of a young woman's face. Her features are scrunched, nose and brow wrinkled in confusion, lips pouted, and then the hand not holding the comm brushes a long lock of blonde hair back behind her ear. The pad of a finger swipes first one way, then another, and then fills the screen again, and then, finally-]

Oooo! Got it!

[The finger disappears, and this time, the blonde is grinning, as if proud of herself. And- well, okay, so she's a little out of touch with the latest of gadgets, but this is a little out there, like Willow level out there, so- maybe she is a little proud of herself. So sue her. Except don't, because she doesn't have that much money, and she's not even sure if money is a thing around here, and- yeah.]

Alright, so. I get the whole- 'I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto' thing, really. Other worlds, dimensions, universes, whatever- been there, done that, the t-shirt was too tacky to take home. I even get the space-ship thing, and I'm not gonna argue with it. God knows I've heard enough sci-fi babble from Andrew for the past far too long that I can deal. What I don't get is why I woke up in that- pod- thing- without my clothes. Which- conveniently- were in the locker left for me. Is there a reason I was taken out of them? Or is this some kind of weird perverted space initiation thing? If so- not impressed. Not too impressed by the tattoo thing either, even if it is useful. We're not gonna talk about the last tattoo I ended up with against my will, but it didn't turn out too well.

[She pauses, then seems to realise something, judging by the somewhat sheepish expression that passes over her features, and her head ducks just a bit.] And I've just been rambling away and haven't even introduced myself yet. Hi, I'm Buffy. Any and all information that you can offer? Totally welcome.
 
 
14 February 2014 @ 04:07 pm
[This is Jon Snow, cold and furious. Behind him is Ghost, looking not at all friendly.]

I demand satisfaction from you, Gendry, and I will have it.

Settle your affairs and come see me, or I will find you. And you will not like if it I have to go looking.
 
 
09 February 2014 @ 04:40 pm
[ instead of speaking right away (partially because while the buttons are clearly labelled, she'd had some trouble figuring out this device), elizabeth strikes a soft tune on her viola. while she can't afford to express her emotions, music has always been a good outlet for them.

she plays on for a little, and then sets aside her instrument with a soft thud so that she might speak. ]


So, this is supposedly a.. ship? It feels more akin to a prison than any ship I have ever seen.

[ those are made of wood. and you can disembark them! what a concept. ]

I should like to know more information about it, if anyone might be so kind as to indulge me.

[ there is one subject in particular which is of concern to her: ]

So far as I know, it is the year of Our Lord 1483. But I have heard this might not be so. Are such occurrences commonplace?
 
 
07 February 2014 @ 04:01 pm
[ The image on the screen is fragmented, static snapping across the screen. It distorts his words, distorts the image, but Nathan is recording his piece as though there’s nothing wrong with the recording. He looks tired, drained, recording this message from the Captain’s chair on the bridge. The bridge behind him is dark, there’s the odd sign of movement.

Others have recorded their messages, and there still may be some activity on the network, but Nathan won't be back online to see it. The last thing he wants is to spent his last hours watching for those few moments the static breaks, and a frightened message manages to come through. But a parting message is his prerogative, so several hours before the jump he records this--and then he sends it several times and just hopes that it gets through.
]

I ho-- this ----- message reaches --- in time. It --s important to me th-- --- --mmendable service of the men a-- ------ that joined me is --membered. It may not seem -- ------ we achieved much --ring with this mutiny, but wh-- we have achie--- -s more valuable still than many things ---- w- ha-- learned in the last --- -----. I hope our eff---- ---- not be waste-. Do not ---- fight---.

We m--- --- -hoice when we came here. Our choice. We took the b-i-ge. I- was - success. Tyke, Ryuzaki, --is is my final ----- upda--. I want to -------- --ank each and ----- --- of you who gave ---- ti-- --- ----- -- save us. Your efforts gave us -ope. But now it's ti-- to stop. --- to the Jump. Don’t add ---- lives to [ Disconnect. ]


[OOC: This concludes the Mutiny plot, though there may still be posts from others. Thank you so much for everyone’s involvement in making this thing fly! ]
 
 
Report to Tyke at the doors to the bridge and give her any aid she requires.
 
 
[ There's a cheerful face looking up at you, despite all the weird and terrible things that have been going on lately. ]

Afternoon! I am Meriadoc Brandybuck, and as a bit of an effort to combat some of the awfulness around us with more cheerful things, I figured I might take the time to get some of the more legal aspects of certain events out of the way. If anyone can direct me to a lawyer of some sort, I'd appreciate the help in drawing up some documents.

[ Things like, say, a will & testament, a marriage license, and something not-unlike adoption papers if still different. Best be prepared. ]

I understand that very few people have any concept of Hobbit Legal Code, but I can certainly help on those aspects, so long as someone knows the basics of civil contracts.

[ There is a pause, as he looks down and fiddles with something in his lap before returning the camera ]

Also! If anyone has talents in baking or other things I would be most interested in recruiting your help for a way to lift spirits.

[ There isn't much use raging over things that can't be changed, and bright hearts and good feelings do amazing things in the face of despair. Merry knows something of that. ]
 
 
08 January 2014 @ 09:26 pm
( nothing about what's happened since nuala made her choice makes a great deal of sense to her. she lives, inexplicably, but there is a wound in her where once her brother was; a hollowness she can't account for, in point of fact the very opposite of what she might have imagined her afterlife to consist of. dressed in strange clothes and adrift in a place even stranger than the BPRD's headquarters, handling truly peculiar technology--

--it is all very small, in the wake of that most important detail. it is, however, a sort of smallness that permits her anything else to think on while she gathers herself enough to, perhaps, investigate its cause. her first contribution to the comms network is therefore simultaneously accidental and very much with purpose: a period of audio recording where nothing much seems to be happening, video of Nuala's hands as she turns the device over several times, of her face as she examines it. audio, again-- an exasperated sigh, a little jostle, and then a startled vocalization followed by a bit of scrambling, and then, finally--

Nuala, having at some point prior to this transmission found her way to the room she's been allocated, looks composed of nothing but determination to be composed. )


Hello.

( ...and patience. she has that, too, in great stores. this is a device for communication. someone is going to communicate with her. eventually, this will begin to make sense again. )
 
 
02 January 2014 @ 01:08 pm
I am looking for a dog, or else a pup. Unwanted or unclaimed, though it should go without saying.

Some have expressed concern for their animals in this heat. Provide them with water and they ought not to grow dangerously hot. If they do, wet a cloth with lukewarm water and rub their skin.
 
 
01 January 2014 @ 09:21 pm

Humans! [ Good, now that he has your attention. ] There is a sickness aboard this vessel, a Dark Beast that harbours rot and the ruin of any that approach it. I, myself, suffered injuries that have now healed. It is a skilled foe that walks in shadow, a warrior of the forsaken. It does not bleed when wounded or hesitate to give harm and it will kill you, should you be fool enough to challenge it. Unless, of course, it decides to keep you alive for sport — those mortals who deliberately put themselves at risk do so at their own peril. If you believe you are strong, I am here to tell you that you are not. Keep your corpses to a minimum. 

Specifically: it carries a great chain that burns like embers, knows your mind and moves at incredible speed. Thranduil is aware of this demon, as are all those of Elvenkind aboard. 

[ Nuada, who brings the network this message from the corridors where he is patrolling, peers into the camera with wolflike gold eyes. You may have seen them around recently, instead belonging to one massive six-foot hound. ]

To those who are not human, I say this; stay with your brothers and sisters, send word over a secure line if any of you are attacked. All manner of Aes Sidhe, from my world or not, are my concern.

[ What else? His manner eases ever so slightly, as it is wont to do between comrades. ]

Loki — we must speak concerning the forging of your weapon. It is time to take up arms worthy of your skill, my friend.
 
 
30 December 2013 @ 09:45 pm
[Cesare is a man who's better in motion than in writing and he knows this, having perched his camera on his desk so that he can match his viewer's gaze, a glass of wine in his hand and his lips curled into the smallest of smiles out of courtesy.]

Tranquility. For those of you who do not know, my name is Cesare Borgia. I come from Rome and, back in Italy, when it is hot, we offer ourselves distraction. Fortunately, I have seven.

[He reaches down and lifts a bottle of wine to the desk in front of him. The Cyllene had been a death trap but at least it had some form of silver lining to it, primarily the opportunity to loot and stockpile good quality alcohol.]

I am in possession of six more bottles and intend to share them in the gardens in two days time. Ladies, lords, I would have you drink with me. Drinking is always better with comrades and I would hate to do so in solitude.

For propriety's sake, there will also be music, dancing and cards to occupy the mind should boozing not satisfy and the evening is open to anyone who wishes to visit. Those whom I already know, you are invited. Those I do not, you are even more encouraged to attend.

Locked to Sirius;

Signor Black, I hope that you will pay us a visit. I am sure that everyone, including myself, would be very pleased to see you there.

[A trap? Almost certainly, but Cesare has asked nicely.]
 
 
27 December 2013 @ 10:53 pm
[Today Q is all business. With his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a selection of carefully drawn schematics, tools and scraps of metal on the table, he has clearly been working on something. That, combined with the fact that he looks a little more pleased with himself than normal, his smile edging towards smug, suggests that whatever he's been making, he's finished.]

Armour: after discovering of the fate of a certain Schue, I have a feeling that there may be a bit of a call for it.

[He taps against his chest and it makes an almost wooden sound as he knocks on the breastplate under his cardigan. Not beyond a bit of casual showmanship, he begins to unbutton his knitwear as he speaks, showing the makeshift bulletproof vest underneath. The materials are scavenged but it doesn’t look bad; Q is a professional, after all. Apparently he has graduated from the terrible mechanical toys he built to trade a year or so ago. Now Q is showing his game.]

With barbed side release buckles, easyglide zip and six layers of reinforced lightweight titanium, this vest is easy to put on, difficult to remove by force and guaranteed a significant sight better than wandering around defenseless and susceptible to impromptu attacks. [Just like what had happened with Schue.] Those with a propensity for dangerous situations might be interested in one.


Quite the sales pitch. If you ever consider a career change, you could host one of those shopping channels. [The voice is off screen but should be recognisable to some people.] Maybe even go door to door and sell people vacuum cleaners.

[A laugh can be heard before Bela comes into view, placing a cup of tea down on the table before she walks over to him. She seems happy and relaxed, after having a good month so far. Long time coming really if you asked her.]

Perhaps a demonstration is in order?


[Q’s smirk vanishes for a second and he lets out a resigned sigh, standing up.] Lock and load, Bela. Do your worst. [The tone of his voice is exaggerated, an instinctive reaction to hide his nerves as he casts the woman in front of him a glance along the lines of if-you-shoot-me-in-the-arm-so-help-me-god.]

[She knows that he’s nervous, no matter how much he tried to hide it. His glance is noted before Bela moves off screen again to retrieve her gun, returning a few moments later.]

You’ll need to back up a bit first, sweetie. [Bela takes the safety off the gun after giving him instructions, examining the weapon briefly. Everything seemed to be in order. All she had to do now was wait on the test subject to prepare himself. Have fun with that, Q.]


[Q lets out a shaky sigh, trying to relax his body before nodding.] Ok. Go. [And within mere moments, he is on the floor. A bulletproof vest can protect him but he is still far from accustomed to being shot at. He staggers up and peers down at his chest, surveying the damage.]

It worked! [Despite the success, she is concerned. Bela places her gun down on the nearest surface before coming over to Q again.] You all right? [If one listened hard enough, they would notice a certain fondness in her tone.] That was quite the fall.

[Q runs his fingers over the dent in his breastplate. It will bruise but that’s what he had expected. He smirks and, after a second, sneaks a quick kiss on her cheek.] I’m fine. ….Thank you for shooting me.

[Remembering quite where he is, he peers back to his audience.]

If anyone would like one of their own, I am open to offers.
 
 
27 December 2013 @ 01:12 am
[ for once, arya is well-groomed if drained by heat and stress. she donned her best new tunic and her hair has actually seen a brush. it has been pulled back into a delicate and seemingly simple braided updo by skilled elven fingers. her now long hair drives her mad otherwise in the suffocating heat that is engineering. grey eyes look steadily into the camera. just off-screen she clutches nymeria's scruff like a lifeline. it's the only outward sign of her nervousness. this speech was written out, repeated enough for her to memorize it, and she is still afraid she will somehow screw it up.

like robb, she thinks. she will be as eloquent as robb. taking a breath, she begins.
]

My name is Arya Stark. I am speaking for Tony Stark, head of engineering, who is in stasis.

We all know the temperatures are high. There is nothing to be found in the Engineering or Agriculture department as the cause. Two days ago the temperatures stopped going up. We have not stopped working on finding the cause, and we will keep trying to bring it down.

Until then, you ought take-take precautions against the heat: drink a lot of water, try to avoid exerting yourself. The pools are always open. You can swim. If you don't know how to swim, you can learn. And don't get lost.

As I am the only one officially left of Engineering, I take responsibility for everything here. If there is anything you wish to say, you can say it to me. My—team is doing the best they can and they are not to be blamed. Neither is anyone else in any of the other departments. If you have any questions, I will do my best to answer them. We will tell you of any changes.

Thank you.

[ and she smoothly switches off the video. don't mind her as she collapses in a pile in a lukewarm corner somewhere and doesn't get back up for a while. ]
 
 
14 December 2013 @ 06:13 pm
[Thranduil is sitting stiffly against a tree almost like it's his own throne. Most people who've seen him have seen him grumpy. He is not grumpy now. He is pissed.]

In all things I have tried to show patience. [His voice is dripping with ice.] I have lent my aid and resources to this ship, I have offered my hospitality and friendship and asked nothing in return, and what has happened? I have been robbed.

[His lip curls in a slight snarl.]

One of you took from me a precious necklace, a gift to me from a friend I am unlikely to see again. It is silver with pearls and diamonds and was wrapped in a cloth and hidden from sight. If you return it to me, I will be merciful and no charges will be pressed. If you do not, I have many eyes aboard this ship. It will be found.

[The feed cuts off.]