[ The video was just going to flicker for a few moments before finally settling on a proper image. The image cleared to show a corner of a room. By the look of it, it was properly one of the upper levels that did'nt get many visitors. It looks like someone had made there own version of a nest, one of the mattresses from the bunkers pressed into the corner. There was even some rubbish littered around the place. The owner had clearly made there own private home. The video where it rested as Peter flopped himself down in front of it. His hair longer and possibly more wild since the last time he'd appeared on the video. His shirt was crinkled but more or less clean enough considering how long the last jump was.

Peter stared at the screen for a few moments before speaking.]

...I'm going to need a favor.

[ There was a little sigh at that as Peter reached up and slipped his hand behind his ear.]

And I hate asking for favors.

does anybody have knitting needles i can use or know where i can get some?





... anyone actually know how to knit, for that matter?

[really stiles? the first thing you actually choose to post to the network and it's this. you're impossible. you're also not helping jason's nickname for you right now.]

[ The comms device is on for a few moments, the picture bouncing around one of the rooms like a merry go round, before it finally it settles on a messy long-haired young man. His eyes squinting at the device for a few moments. Not in confusion, more in annoyance. The camera shifts again as he lowers the camera enough to rest on surface before he’s leaning forward.]

First of all. Fuck this place. And fuck whatever bought us here.

Because while wondering around in space sounds like a fun idea. It’s less appealing in practice.

[ His voice is slow and careful, there’s almost held back humour at the whole situation. Because of course this would fucking happen to him. There’s a lull in conversation there, as if he expects someone to answer him. With no answer he continues.]

Fine. Does anyone have a beer at least? Because this shit isn't exactly the easiest to swallow.

Out of curiosity, if someone were to have a certain...affliction. Does anyone have any idea what this fun little ship would do to it?

[ 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! )

So we're all up in each other's heads, which blows, obviously. I feel like I'm ten people right now, and I have no idea who half those ten people are. I was gonna ask around, try and figure it out, but I have a better idea.

[ for a certain definition of "better". ]

Presenting, The Tranquility's Freaky Memory Swap Directory.

Here's how it works: you drop the details of stuff that doesn't belong in your brain. You know, names, places, events, incriminating secrets. Then comb through what other people leave and work out who got all your dirty laundry so you can bribe or threaten them into silence. Got it? Great.

<font face=courier><strong>My name is:</strong>  <strong>Seeking:</strong> M/F/? <strong>Do these names mean anything to you?</strong>  <strong>I know about your:</strong> </font>

(( i won't be back to this post for a few hours for any tags meant specifically for stiles, but i turned comment emailing off so tag each other!!! you are welcome to ignore the form.))

All right, here's the thing.

[ "Here" is punctuated by one Jayne Cobb leaning forward and poking at the camera lens. ]

Lots of you are terrible shots. Since Wes is gone [ grumpy bastard; Jayne liked him anyway and will pour one out -- or drink it -- for him later ] that means no one's probably goin' around pointin' out that the gunnery crew'll teach ya how to be better shots or else make sure you stop touchin' weaponry 'cause we don't want to get shot in the ass.

Anyway. You want to learn to shoot an' take care of your gun, you let us know. That's me an' Ric an' Natasha an' Wichita. I got a few people who've asked me already, so I figured I'd extend the invitation out. Some of us can probably help ya with other weaponry, if ya ask nice. If one of them don't want to teach it... I don't know. Hit 'em until they say yes or until they knock y'out, whichever comes first.

[ And this is why no one should let Jayne anywhere near his communicator. ]