Entries tagged with ros

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ｖｉｄｅｏ » { ００４ }

Given all the rah rah rah for morality that I've seen lately, I figure the topic should be broached.

To me, it doesn't makes a difference and that's what's taken me so long to get to it. If kids want to drink, they're going to find a way to get to what they want. Not to mention, I hardly hold the monopoly on alcohol. [ he's getting to his point in a very roundabout way, yes. ] I'd also like to say that there isn't a day that goes by that I don't see at least one person drinking on camera, drunk texting or boasting about their inebriated state in some manner or another. More often than not, they're what I'd consider underage. And I'm not inclined to give much of a shit about where the product is going because I'm not profiting from it specifically in monetary value.

We don't have a set legal system. Each of us are from countries or worlds where the age cap varies or is completely irrelevant.

That being said, my point is: should there be an age restriction on those I knowingly permit into [ hm, no he's not going to say my ] an establishment where drinking and partying could lead to one thing and then another? I've seen an awful lot of preaching about save the children. God forbid we overlook their sweet, virgin eyes. If we're going to be stuck together for an indefinite amount of time, this might as well be addressed to [ huh, okay, what word does he want to use with you assholes? ] keep the peace. Or something like it. So, let's have it.

Don't care, couldn't be made to care or alternatively, open it to discussion. [ he's bored enough to let strangers and friends bicker at him and among each other. ] And if you were hired by myself or my [ other half ] business partner, report.

[ the camera angle lowers like he's done or ready to shut it off, instead he's scratching behind his ear and shifting his jaw to begrudgingly announce: ] Oh, and by the way, for those of you that knew him.. I think it's safe to finally assume that Justin Taylor has gone home. [ or wherever the fuck people who aren't dead but simply gone go, he doesn't say but his condescending and bitter fucking uncomfortable smirk implies. ]

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ANONYMOUS TEXT ♙ OO4

Dear interested parties, Are you suspicious? Do you feel lied to? Paranoid? Do you have questions? Do you demand answers? Worry not. For a price, you may be the lucky receiver of a vial of purest Honesty. This singular liquid guarantees the intended recipient tell nothing but the very naked truth. With this glorious solution in hand, you may rest easy knowing that all of your questions will soon be answered - for better or for worse. One fl oz per vial. One drop is equal to one hour of Honesty. Mixable with other drinks. Use wisely. This transaction will be treated as an auction; the bidding will end in five days' time. Paper payment won't be accepted. Favours won't be accepted. I'll decide the highest bidder. Your purchase and payment will both be delivered to a place of my choosing. Bidding begins now.

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001 | video

This place is nuts, you know that, and I fought Nazis, I know nuts. This breaks all kinds of rules. Hasn't anyone heard of relativity? This doesn't just go off the brain of some pulp writer, these things have to have foundations and-

[Pause, and a breath]

All right, I get it. Shut up, Stark, right? Some of the fellas back home would be having a day at the zoo with this, going into space, saving dames, all that. Me, I'm a simple sort of guy. Tell me there's a place with blueprints for this boat, and I'll be happy. Anyone? How about the variables for the jump? I've been here five minutes and I already want to know this stuff, I don't believe that anyone who's been here more than that hasn't tried to figure it out yet.

[But he'll forgive you if you haven't. Not everyone can be Howard Stark.]

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[ audio ] of guilt and memory wiping

In light of recent events upon the outpost it's clear that there are a number of us who are suffering the after-effects of torture. You all have my utmost sympathies - I have witnessed such things before and I will offer the same services here that I gave to my dear friend when he was put under a similar duress.

[ A duress that Durham himself instigated, yes, but that's another matter entirely. Or so Durham tells himself. ]

Whilst those who have been subjected to a torture most terrible are undoubtedly brave, it would not be thought of an act of cowardice to wish to rid oneself of the memory of such a trauma. Torture does not end just because one has been released from the cell; there are the lingering effects of anxious melancholies, exhausted spirits, weakened nerves... to say nothing of restless sleep.

You need not bear these memories as a millstone and for those that wish it I will gladly relieve you of such a burdensome weight. You may find me in my cabin - the eighth room upon the eighth passenger deck. Ask for Thomas Sutton - [ A thoughtful pause, then he adds: ] - or perhaps it would do better if you were to ask for Durham. Either way, I shall endeavour to do my utmost to help those that are prepared to ask for it.

[ Another pause, longer this time, and then Durham picks up again. This time his voice is harder, cooler; this is a matter of business, rather than a favour. ]

And while I am here I may as well announce this too - Oxford. Your Durham has disembarked. In light of this I propose a parlé. I would request that we meet un-armed but as both of us possess weapons that are not so easily cast aside, might I simply ask that it be under a white flag of truce? I do not know how many of your fellows remain on board but I suppose they may attend as well.

( OOC : Durham is essentially offering a bit of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Hit me up HERE if you have any questions! )

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001 // AUDIO

I hear you lot rather enjoyed yourselves down there. You're practically celebrities among the rest of us: outpost travelers, survivors, whatever you'd like to call it, I'll not limit your labeled imagination on however you'd like to spin it. I'd be rather interested in hearing about what it is those who stayed in their cozy cabins missed, however - make use of that teahouse or other freshly stocked supplies we've the habit of squandering for sake of entertainment or distraction from personal misery on this boat. Supposing the rest of it isn't all freezedried, in any case.

Considering we've no windows, if anyone managed to take pictures or put together some creative art for your journey, I'm sure the rest of us are aching for some sort of blatant confirmation of where we might happen to be. Or do none of you know how to exactly place the progress of this fine vessel? I'll be frank, the whole sending untrained passengers into space bit is a little out of my league.

Actually, I've yet to be told upfront how those pods operate. Or where people go when they happen to disappear - unless someone keeps feeding them to the manticores. Or, honestly, any sort of satisfactory answer to most of the questions I still have even after a few months of this place.

I can't be the only one unwilling to settle with an empty hand, can I?

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003; Voice

[HELLO, EVERYONE. Nice and trauma-filled from that horrible vacation?

Haymitch isn't here to make it better.]

Judging by all the unhappy faces, I take it didn't go well down there. Maybe next time you'll take a lesson from those of us who were smart enough to stay behind. Might not be the best place, but at least we know the ship wants to kill us all. [Snicker.

Annnd there's a pause, because while he knows Peeta's gone, because he hasn't checked in, and that stings after losing Katniss, (and with Finnick and Annie in bad shape) shock of shocks, he has other people he cares about.]

Anyone happen to notice a little girl tagging along down there? Goes by Mattie Ross. She'd be the one with braids, preaching justice to the locals and making a damned fool of herself. Hard to miss her.

[Filtered away from Annie and Finnick; 50% Encrypted]

[AND NOW HAYMITCH GETS TO BE AWKWARD.]

Don't know which one of you yanked Annie Cresta out of all that, but it's appreciated. Finnick's in no state to thank you, himself, so I'll save him the trouble.

[Filtered to Jack Sparrow and Russia; 50% Encrypted]

All right, talk. I know at least one of you went down there and both of you can't be in as bad a shape as the rest of them. How bad was it?

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01 | video

[ Daenerys has kept quiet minus speaking with a few others. She's been gathering her bearings, trying to learn what she can but it hasn't been much - not when things are so different.

Which is partially why she's posting now. There haven't been many that have found this all too strange (minus the confusion that she's heard) ]

I am awed [ worried. curious. confused ] by our presence here.

[ Daenerys's words are soft, and calm. She's looking to the communicator, having been taught its uses, her long white hair let loose about her ]

The magic that brought us here is great, and to be feared.

[ She also fears that the Usurper may be here and hiding, that she has had that kept from her. There is much that Daenerys does not know or understand of this place and the people in it, familiarities with the 'ship' for one, and the mentioned secrets ]

I have travelled by ship before, my brother told, and also by horse. I find it strange to travel but it be without my silver, and with no water to be had. This ship- it is grand. I- [ Fear. No. She may fear such things, past experience giving her cause to but she cannot admit to it ] I give caution to believing the magic - it is more deceptive than you see.

[ Daenerys gives a small nod before waiting, moments later remembering to (and how to) turn the video off ]

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001 ♙ video ♙ how the other half lives

[ In response to this post.

When the picture comes on what you find is a beautiful woman with heart-shaped face and a head of curly red hair, half-done up like she's someone important (she isn't). When she talks, there's a lazy drawling quality to her voice, as well as an air of condescension and carelessness. It's hard to tell just how much she really means the things she says, whether she's actually frustrated or not. But the fact that Ros — who's never posted on the Network before — has finally bothered to speak up must be an indication of something. (Right?)

She sits with an elbow propped up onto a table, her chin settled into the seat of its palm. Despite the nature of her message, she smiles frivolously. As if she hadn't a care in the world. ]

S'not my business — all those secrets of yours you lot are hiding in plain sight. Leave cleverness to the clever ones, I say. [ Her smile widens as if to add I'm not clever at all, I'm just a whore, but that's window dressing really. Distraction and deflection. If she wasn't clever, Ros wouldn't have all her teeth, wouldn't work for Littlefinger. She'd be bottom of the barrel and Ros has managed just fine, thank you. ] But if you're going on and on 'bout how we're all meant to save our skins and the means to do it, here's a friendly bit'f advice:

Not all of us can read, dears.

Now you learned lot might come from places full'f words and numbers. Where babes come tumbling out their mothers smart as maesters 'prentices, too busy with reading to even stop for a suckle. But some of us don't. Some of us had t'work for a living. The dirty kind'f work that gets your hands messy. [ That turn of phrase seems to amuse her. She thinks of farmhands in the fields, of smiths at their forges. (Yes, terribly messy.) She thinks about how she's fucked them all — and lords too. (Yes, Ros can be clever sometimes.) ] The sweaty kind'f work.

And we dirty, sweaty, dumb lot — we want to live, same as you.

So if all your whispering's a bit of nothing — then carry on, good as you like. But if it's a bit of something, well— [ She tips her head and, for the first time in the feed, looks expectant rather than bored. ] —give us a listen, mm?

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003 :: VIDEO

[For anyone familiar with Josias from his few months on the Tranquility already, you might notice some small differences in his appearance. His glasses are missing, again, and his hair is slightly mussed, left to fall over his forehead where previously it had been neatly combed to the sides. Altogether he looks far more casual, comfortable in his skin, leaning back from the device lazily as he starts speaking.]

Apologies for any inconvenience in putting out another request on this network, but I honestly wouldn't know where to start in a private capacity. Two things, and I'll try to be brief.

First off, I've been having some compatibility issues with the technology here that I'd like to resolve. Someone familiar with neuro-implants would be preferable, but I know that's likely asking too much, and I believe I know enough to cover that side of things anyway. I definitely don't know anywhere near enough about this tech to make any tries on my own. It'll be hardware and software, before anyone asks. I'll save the rest of the details for anyone whose interest is piqued enough by that.

Secondly, I'm assuming we have some chemists amongst our number? I'm hoping there's some way to create some sort of lightening agent - peroxide, I think that's the most common - from what we have here. [A pause, considering.] Unless someone has some already. I'd be happy either way.

In exchange I'm afraid I have little material goods to trade - unless a couple of suit jackets would be of use to anyone. [He looks off camera at the jackets in question, reaching over to smooth the arm of one out from where it had fallen folded over.] Two ties, as well, though I'd like to keep those. [He looks back to the camera, saying the next with the certainty and seriousness of someone who's said it before:] I'm offering my services instead. Negotiable to individuals and their preferences, of course.

[An easy smile.]

That's all. Thank you.

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video ✘first strike

[A mess of black hair encompasses the screen, slightly tangled and dishevelled still, until the device is pulled back. Blue eyes peer out from beneath that hair, solemn and angry without the slightest trace of warmth. Clearly, he's still not happy and from what he has seen of this place, he is utterly confused. Just how big is it... and what is it? Like nothing he has ever seen.

There's something muttered under his breath, sounding more or less like 'lord of light' if those watching happen to be listening closely. There is a gruffness in his voice as he is not used to having tubes shoved down his throat - let alone any of the other things that he had awoken too.

To those of Westeros, his face may very well bear a striking resemblance to those who knew the late king or even the Lord Renly.

To Gendry, he's just some bastard son born to an alehouse worker.]

I don't know what type of a ship this is... I never paid for any passage. And I'm not going too.

[A challenge there, as if daring someone to say something, suspicion etched across his features. He still doesn't quite believe what he has seen. It is too far out of his realm of knowing to make any sense at all. All these strange and foreign objects...]

I don't know why I'm here or why I was sent to some passenger's quarters. I'm just a lowborn 'prentice smith and I never did nothing to anyone.

[Unless someone knew about the Brotherhood... But then why would he be alive. His brows furrowed, a pained expression as he thinks some more.]

So just return me to the Crossroad Inn. ... or point me in the direction. I'll walk the rest of the way myself. Just want to be left in piece in my smithy.

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[ video - let's pretend this is shortly post-jump ]

[Jesse appears neither excited nor distressed. He actually looks mostly tired, which maybe is to be expected from a new arrival. He's slumped over on his new bed with his chin resting in his hand, mumbling around his fingers:]

Yo. I'm Jesse. Albuquerque, New Mexico, U.S.A. 2009. Whatever. Holler if you know me.

[Is he bored or something? He acts as if this is routine.]

First thing: if there's any monsters and aliens and shit I gotta be looking out for, gimme a heads-up.

Second: anybody wanna grab some food? Is there food or is it all freeze-dried bullshit? I had freeze-dried ice cream once and it was totally lame, so like, please tell me they got burgers up in here. Funyuns? Something?

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TEXT ♙ OO3

[ And here's what Hatter's been up to, on-and-off, during the last two months. Turns out the one and only Camellia Senensis had already been growing in the garden; things had gone from there, and he'd managed to get a good amount of home-dried and fermented teas, fruits, and spices sealed up in jars, to be distributed to the, er... general public. A taste of home. Kind of.

Now, for the required advertisement: ]

TRANQUILITY TEA HOUSE ( tranquilitea, if you like ) directions. officially open from lunch & supper hours ( 11:00 AM - 1:00 PM, 5:00 - 8:00 PM ) by the ship's clock unofficially open all the time.( OFFERING: )

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( 02 ) video ✵ looking like a tramp like a video vamp demolition woman can i be your man

[ faith looks exceedingly pleased with herself when she grins down at her communicator and keys it on. she also looks bruised up, but that's part of the fun. for once, the ever-present lighter is tucked away.

she holds up three fingers. ]

I got three basic needs.

[ down goes everything but the index finger. ]

Get some quality ass kicking time in, done. And Muscles said I wasn't gonna get to kill anything.

[ now she adds her middle finger, turned around so it's not quite a peace sign for your benefit wesley. (this is her playful face.) ]

Second thing? Food. I'm not talking whatever we got going down from the gardens, I run hot. Anybody wants to make a chick a burger, I'll make it worth your while.

[ ring finger, now, too. ]

Three's more of an audience participation deal. Plus, you know. Screwing. [ d e l i c a t e. ] I'd take a place to party first too, but whatever. Might as well cut out the middle man if nobody's got a finger in that pie yet.

[ ...yeah, that's about it. with a grin that's a little bit more predatory than friendly, faith out. ]

captains log | 011 | voice

[he knows he can't stop anyone from going, which is fifty percent of the reason he makes this a public broadcast instead of filtered. his transmissions starts with a file transfer. it comes with a photo pulled of the subnetwork, and detailing how to get to the start of the maze, located next to the Oxygen Garden. he'd rather people be informed than go wandering about, after all.]

{file transfer::// START.jpg}

Alright people, whatever we've caught is lethal. We need people in fit condition [or as close to it] to be assisting in the search. Anyone heading into the maze, do not go alone, do not go unarmed, and be careful.

Enterprise, we leave at 16:00 hours.

[ooc; feel free to use this post as IC coordination for heading into the maze/forming groups if you want! also this is pinging anyone Jim might not have talked to about going into the maze with him, ie: Asato, Godric, Todd, Jane Sheppard, Jack, etc.]

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003 » text

[ Though having spent quite a while laid up in the Med Bay in the aftermath of the fear gas, Littlefinger is well aware that there are other goings ons that seem to bode much worse for the passengers upon the ship.

Still, as a larger plan has yet to come into focus and as his own concerns are, for the moment, concentrated elsewhere, he gleans what he can from what information is publicly broadcasted and doesn't bother asking after those circumstances any further.

Instead: ]

To the Tranquility at large:

This may be my own ignorance coming into play, but would anyone know of a physical library upon the ship? My understanding is that there is much made accessible through the use of our communications devices, but I would vastly prefer the feel and weight of paper in my hand.

Secondly, I am in need of a few favors in regards to clothes available upon the ship, so if anyone could offer their help in that respect, I would be extremely grateful.

Lastly, I would inquire as to the presence (or absence) of a clear economy. This is but a trivial matter, but I have come to understand that the large majority of trade upon the vessel is done upon a basis of bartering and favours. In the event that I am mistaken, I served in a position managing the ins and outs of money in my former home and I would offer my meager talents wherever they might serve best.

Ever at your service,
Lord Petyr Baelish

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ANONYMOUS TEXT ♙ OO2

Dear interested parties, Do you feel low? Trapped? Are you discontent, world-weary, indifferent? Can you take no more? Or are you simply curious? Worry not. For a price, you may be the lucky receiver of a vial of exquisite Euphoria. This singular liquid guarantees an immediate feeling of transcendent happiness, incredible elation, soaring ecstasy, and sublime joy. Be content at long last in the hands of this thrilling drink - feel your troubles slip away as this very human emotion transports you to an experience like no other. One fl oz per vial. One drop is equal to one hour of pure, undiluted Euphoria. Don't take more than one drop at a time, or your brains might make for the wallpaper. Mixable with other drinks. Use wisely. This transaction will be treated as an auction; the bidding will end in five days' time. Paper payment won't be accepted. Favors won't be accepted. I'll decide the highest bidder. Your purchase will be delivered to a place of your choosing, and your payment to a place of mine. Bidding begins now.

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video + encrypted text

[ Although she's not as bad as she's been the past few days, Wichita still looks pretty beat up and worn out. The fear gas kept her running most of the time, which meant crashing into things and falling down with the disorientation that came with it. She may or may not be hoping for some pathos points here, but it's an effortless attempt for it. She really does feel like shit. ]

I'm not even going to get into the what the hell was that factor of the past few days, but instead there's just one thing I've been wanting to ask, and haven't had a very good reason to until now:

-- If I say "zombie apocalypse", you say..?

Not trying to just stir the pot here, still just... trying to figure out why we're all here. What's their play. Whoever "they" is, I dunno. How many of us are from cookie-cutter happy worlds, and how many were dealing with ridiculous shit before they woke up in the tubes? Spill it.

... Oh, and um. [ sniff. ] If we've talked before? Let's do that again. Like, right now. [ check in with her you bastards. ]

[ ENCRYPTED 100% to NEAL CAFFREY ]
lxmwmaz, lxmwmaz. uayfo vm gnn, esawk. b'g d qnllxl fsa tjmcvx aho, kcjlg?
[ someone's using the program JARVIS hooked her up with~ the key is 'student' herderder. and here's that. ]

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002 :: VIDEO

[Josias looks quite different to his first appearance. Paler, without his glasses, and there's blood smeared on his cheek. His speech is less stuttering and hesitant, but slower, as if sleepy.]

I appear to be in need of medical assistance. [He rubs a hand over his face, a little more blood left smeared on his forehead.] If someone could help me to the medbay, I'd appreciate it. My room is zero zero six, zero zero three. I've opened the door.

[[ooc: bones will be carting him to the medbay, but he'll be responding to others!]]

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[ 6 ] [ video ] less derring-do than quiet care

[ The really interesting thing about this video broadcast is the fact that it's not actually coming from inside the Tranquility. Hotspur's in the pilot seat of the first shuttle - the one he affectionately named Faith all those months ago back when they all first arrived. His face is lit by the soft glow of the avionic displays in front of him and he sits back from the controls, slack-handed and staring with thick pre-occupation out of the shuttle windows instead.

His comms device - propped up on the co-pilots seat beside him - offers a profile view of Hotspur's features... and beyond him, a bit of the outer hull of the Tranquility suspended against the backdrop of deep space.

Red-eyed, ashen-faced... Hotspur's clearly hasn't been sleeping very well. Being the robust, brick-outhouse sort of fellow that isn't prone to negativity it usually takes a hell of a lot to make him feel less than 100% of his usual awesomeness but here we are. His expression is pained and with one hand he absently fidgets with the loose-hanging metal dogtags that fall around his neck. He doesn't speak up immediately but when he does it's a distant murmur. ]

...Full of them. Even the bad ones.

[ It's an off-hand comment more to himself than the video feed running live beside him. But then, as if only just remembering that it was recording, he seems to pull himself together and turn his head to address the comms device directly. ]

Look, I know not everyone out here's got much time for talk about the Gods and religion and all that but for those folk that do...

[ He pauses and exhales a brief sigh; this little crisis of faith is turning out to be pretty damn painful and he briefly struggles to hunt down the right words to express what he wants to ask. ]

Well. I'm kind of strugglin' to see how this whole... adventure fits in with whatever it is the Gods have got in store for me. For us all. I mean, it's not that I don't have faith that They know what's best, I... I just --

[ He pauses again and his gaze travels wildly around the cockpit until it fixates on the massive hull of the Tranquility beyond the shuttle's screen. ]

I'm not really sure if demons and possessions and all that is just a really really effective test of faith or that maybe we're all just a little bit too far away for the Gods to help us.

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001 :: VIDEO

[The video clicks on to reveal a rather nervous looking young man, standing awkwardly and holding the camera at arm's length from himself. He coughs, straightens his glasses, adjusts his posture, and yet the suit he's wearing - very well-cut, truly - still manages to look completely ill-fitting on him, and once his attention is elsewhere, his shoulders begin to take on a slump again.]

I apologise greatly for interrupting the session, but I'm afraid I didn't accept any invitation to this game. That is-- what I mean is-- assuming I was sent one. [He looks suddenly quite alarmed at the prospect that he wasn't invited, speaking the next far too quickly.] If I stumbled in then I can only apologise further and hope to remove myself before I cause any more inconvenience.

[A beat, flustered, realising he'd had a slight panic there, trying to compose himself again.]

Only, well. [An attempt at a small smile. It looks uncomfortable on his face.] I apologise but I can't seem to find the exit codes. I'd be very thankful-- grateful, I mean, if someone could point me in the right direction.

[There's a very long pause, wherein he continues looking at the camera, as if he expects something to happen. Eventually he seems to suddenly realise it's not turning off, and gives another rather nervous cough.]

Yes, that's-- that's all. Thank you.

[And he presses the off button this time.]