[ There is white and red and black, bone and blood and rotting flesh, when the camera first blinks on. Some fiddling, dirty fingers tapping at the lens then pulling it back reveals that the rot is not a human passenger but bovine; the cow that has been on board since Strela, effectively smashed by the jump by all appearance, but rotted already -- rotted for months, by the look of it. (For a year, its owner will tell you, and forensic analysis will back up her story.)

More fiddling, those filthy fingers and long strands of dirty golden-blonde hair (falling, from the looks of things, coming out in chunks and joining the cow on the floor of the ship) covering the lens until Jaye can look into the screen properly. Once again, she looks like a mess. It's worse, this time. Worse physically and mentally, and it's easy to tell by how she interacts with the camera, slides her thumb up over the lens and bobs her head like a bird. It's almost like she can't quite remember what she's supposed to do. ]

I heard voices, [ she starts, voice a hoarse, scratchy mess. Unlike last time she doesn't try to save it, pushes on as if she's talking to herself and her dead cow and not anyone who's listening. ] Are you back? It's been so long. I didn't mean to leave -- I couldn't get there. I was so close and just like him, just couldn't get there. The halls just kept going and then the ship screamed and I had to change before I did, too.

[ She shifts onto her haunches, rocking back and forth, not looking at the camera -- looking around instead, taking in how things look with eyes that aren't the compound eyes of an insect. One hand moves up to move some hair behind an ear and the hair simply falls down in strands, leaving a patch of bare scalp behind on her head. ] It was red again. Red and angry, so angry, the whole time. I didn't mean to do it this time, I didn't -- but I figured it out. They're the same, aren't they? Exactly the same. Trickster and hero and villain all at once. "Fear not, I will help you."

[ There's a laugh, then a sob, then both at once. ]

Don't be mad. A year isn't forty. Just-Like-Creator took the flesh and threw it over the land, and there grew the tribes of men.

[ One hand reaches for the skull of the cow, for the rot covering it, and draws. :) ]

((ooc: Explanation over here!))

[Today, LB is fully decked out in her Octopus suit to address the network. It might be odd, since she wasn't presently in danger, but she still had a good reason for it. Also, keep in mind that her voice is an oddly distorted mixtures of her normal voice and a deeper, gruffer voice.]

Good evening, Tranquility. Or is it day? Heeheehee? Who knows, in space.

Well now, despite getting mixed up in the hallways, the latest adventure was a little fun, don't you think~?

[She gives an exaggerated, playful shrug. Yes, she's being dead serious here.]

But that's not why I'm making my message -- hahaha -- judging from the reactions of others I've run into, I'm assuming about half of you are loading up your guns in preparation to slay me. So as a common courtesy, let me get one thing straight: I am not one of the monsters running around here! So quit shooting at me!

[After three times of being shot at or almost being shot at, LB was getting really sick of having her life threatened for no good reason. Dammit, Zer0, Mordecai, and Lilith, what was wrong with you guys?!

She then points to the camera with a metal tipped finger, continuing.]

So if you still feel like shooting me, I'm going to shoot right back? Or maybe I'll put a tentacle through your stomach -- heheheh -- depends on my mood. So don't fuck with me, got it?

[Right, right. This was all starting to deviate from informative to more threatening than she intended to. Raising her hand to one of her straps, she rubs at it as she reels back.]

Uh, anyway, nice talking to you all.



[OOC: She'll be out of her suit and speaking with her regular voice by the time people start replying. She just wanted to play show and tell, okay.]

[she's small, and she's weak, and she couldn't have done anything to help the dead people even if she knew them. she can't join a security patrol or go scouting or make a helpful PSA to the network; pretty much all Hana can do is stay out of the way, hide in her room, stick her communicator under her mattress, and use the other bed to barricade the door. and she does exactly that for a good six hours! but after that, when sleep fails her and her thoughts are her only real company, after she's fished out her comm again and looked at all the things people are saying, she knows she also can't just sit by and do nothing.

when people are consumed by grief, they often forget to consume anything else -- she remembers what happened with Michiko in San Paraiso -- and even though she doesn't really know any of these people like she knew Michiko, that's not right. she can't help them or comfort them, but she can at least do one thing for the rest of the people on the Tranquility, while it really hurts. she can cook her feelings, and she can feed and nourish the everliving shit out of them.

and all of that unnecessary smalltext buildup explains how, around a day later, she ends up making a PSA anyway! Hana figures that if she does voice or video, there will always be that one person who chooses to focus on her age; instead of doing the sane thing and taking 30 seconds to make this post she hunt-and-pecks her way through a torturous 10-minute text message, then spends an additional five minutes scrutinizing it for spelling and grammar errors in the erroneous belief that this will make her appear more mature.]

Attention please! I want to say something.

Everyone keeps saying "it's dangerous, it's dangerous" and talking about what to do but you can't just do that alone.If you forget to eat something you won't be strong for all the things you keep talking about. So even if it's so dangerous you still need to eat, because if you do not take care of yourself that's also dangerous! Since you are busy [and grieving, and scared, and angry] and probably do not have time to think about all of it I cooked for you. There is lot and it is in the kitchen on floor 14. Anyone can come and eat. Even if you're not busy you should come, that is ok too. Because this is important and nobody else should get hurt.

If you are doing to much to come someone else can bring you the food. Or I can do it. If you can't eat it I can make another thing for you. I will take recipe's too. Thank you very much.

[ If he could have posted a video message then he would but, between standing over Bass's unconscious body, the still-drawn lightsaber and the mask he has yet to remove, Quin settles for voice. His tone is terse and grim, punctuated by a slight breathlessness and the familiar bassline hum of an ignited lightsaber in the background. ]

I need the security militia. Corridor one-one-three-eight. [ SHUT UP POP CULTURE NERDS it's a totally normal number. ] Weapons aren't needed...

[ A pause for reflection, then: ]

But a medic is.

[ yet another pause before he gruffly adds: ]

Obi-Wan. You too.

[ OPEN TO ACTION: Quinlan will be found pretty much sitting on top of a very unconscious Bass (also minus one arm). Only one thread for hauling Bass's body away to the brig, please - all other arrivals after that will find Quinlan alone after Bass has been taken away! ]

[ despite the warnings to not wear the masks, ariadne couldn't resist temptation and now here she was, sitting alone in a random hallway of the ship - wearing her mask (she’s been doing it for some time now - wearing it here and there - always in private) and poking the network via anonymous text.

this should be fun. ]

How do some of you manage to go on day to day, pretending as if nothing is wrong - that you aren't lying to others or that you didn't do horrible things back home?

How do you live with your guilt?

[ yep, a vague text from a girl that is obviously going through a bit of an identity crisis at the moment and just wants to understand what she is doing wrong. someone help her. ]


[ ooc: so yeah, obviously ariadne is wearing her mask in some random hallway (lets say not far from the oxygen gardens) so feel free to action this post up and spot her wearing her nifty mask or just keep poking her via text. she also sort of fails at anon (though she doesn't think so) so folks that have talked to her long enough should be able to pick up that it is her talking here. ]

<sub>[ Korea is a smart enough cookie to catch onto the device and how it operates just fine. I mean, he was labeled one of the smartest countries in the world.

There's your audio post and your video post and your texting and etc. He just is confused as to why it isn't in Korean, or why nothing else was written in Korean. I mean, this was a Korean ship. It had to be! Only something this extraordinary could be invented in Korea. Anyhow, he's in his dorm and in his body suit, though he found the design rather lacking in taste. He doesn't seem to scared or freaked out about these circumstances as he usual would be. He waves to the camera, putting on a rather dazzling smile that one could easily mistake for Byung Hun Lee, but in any case.

He seems rather charming at first, but wait until he opens his mouth. ]</sub>
Anneyonghaseyo! Ahh, I understand not all passengers on this craft are capable of communicating in Korean so I will speak English the best way I can.
I do not know how I got here or where I am going but I trust the Korean craft. Perhaps it is taking us to Hyundai planet!!
I am finally in space just like America! I will be the first to eat kimchi on the moon!

Ah, neh, yes. There is one matter though..
I am questioning whether or not you have seen my brothers! I will send you an XXX rated image of accuracy! They go by Honda Kiku and Yao Wang.
Also, HK, but he isn't really that important! If sissy were here, that would be wonderful thing indeed!
Here is the detailed sketch I drew in under 5 minutes! I hope it is good enough!

_{[ Then, he texts the rest of the information. ]}

( text under cut )

[ Did someone call for fanservice? The young blond man on the screen is quite well-built and very shirtless, though he seems rather unimpressed with the world at present. Though he's been through the showering process, there's still the remnants of blue in his fringe. ]

This is unacceptable.

[ It's gritted out, but he seems to realize he's not going to be doing himself any favours by having a tantrum over the network, so he visibly reigns himself in. A shake of his head, and he holds up a waterfall of chain link. ]

I need someone who knows how to buckle up armour. Report to my chambers immediately.

[ Except of course, he's not at home, where every man and their dog knows where the prince sleeps. In fact, Arthur isn't even sure he knows where he sleeps. He scowls, squints down at his arm as though the ink on it's betrayed him, and reads out the numbers: 012, 007. Ah. He's new. ]

If you happen to run into a man-shaped idiot calling himself Merlin along the way, send him instead.

[ And then he stares at the camera a moment longer. And turns away. And proceeds to return to getting dressed, having neglected to realize the importance of turning the video off. Eventually he moves out of frame entirely, and after a long shot of the blank wall of his room, the feed times out. ]

[ click! as the video starts recording, revealing: a rather skinny, disheveled fellow sitting in what looks like one of the rec rooms around the ship's hallways. soysauce sits back from where he's leaned forward to start the recording, looking rather haggard and sleep-deprived, his hair mussed up and his tie hanging loose around his neck. he's swaying a bit in his seat as he runs a hand back through his hair -- the empty liquor bottle visible at the edge of the video suggests he miiight just be trashed out of his skull at the moment.

still, at least he sounds half-way coherent as he starts talking. ]

Eh -- hello. Good afternoon. Evening? Either way, I do hope this isn't too much of an interruption. [ a small, polite bow of the head. ] To those I have yet had the pleasure of meeting, please call me Soysauce. Traveling musician and gunman, at your service.

[ a slight, uneasy sway on his seat as he gives the camera a goofy smile. nodding once to himself before continuing. ]

Nothing too important, but ah. Just two -- three! [ holding out two fingers. ] Three things I'd like to say.

First -- I seem to have lost track of, ah. A small model of the hoverbike I used at home. About this big -- [ holding his hands up to shape something roughly the size of a loaf of bread ] -- based off a robust model, fully functional, a little thing made of metal. If anyone happens to see it zipping by, I'd be very grateful to hear some suggestion of where it might have ended up.

Second. [ pause. ] What passes for whiskey here is rather lacking, no?

[ sigh. and then one those deep breaths that suggests he's trying to sober up somewhat. brows slightly furrowed as he speaks a bit more slowly. ]

And third. As ridiculous as this may sound, I'd like to ask if anyone is willing to spend some time as a sparring partner -- or instructor. Close-quarters combat has never been my forte, but given the vast differences between methods of combat here and where I'm from, I've given to thinking this problem may need to be addressed. Not to mention, what I do know, I feel I may have been growing rather rusty with as of late.

I'd be more than willing to compensate for any time with, well. Anything I can offer.

[ pause. he's spending a lot of visible effort trying to make sure he hasn't forgotten anything before giving the camera another sloppy, drunk smile. ]

Ah, thank you for your attention.



[ ooc ; also open to action, if anyone wants to actually bump into his drunken ass lurking in the rec room! the scale miniature of his hoverbike is going to ultimately end up in rickon's hands, but please feel free to have seen it zoom by in the hallways or bump into anyone's ankles! ]

If a rabbit could talk, what do you think he might sound like? It's a boy rabbit. A nice one, but not too nice. Tolerant but fair.

[ The feed starts. ]

Hey, this is September. Please don't dissect me, thanks.

[ The feed ends.

It starts again several hours later. The boy appears shaken up, actually shaking his head at the screen as he readjusts his posture. His partner's next echoing words: "No one is out to get you, you moron." Apparently he remembered that small lecture over this short range of time, so here he is again. He rubs at his neck that appears pink from pinching. Making E N T I R E L Y sure this still isn't a dream, it seems. Or something worse.

So, he tries to fix his small stumble there. ]

Right, I was kidding before. Hah. Okay, I'm September and don't attack me. Thank you. [ That works, right? ]


( P.S. Permissions post for dream eating, thanks! )

[ There are a few things everyone might notice about this video post. One is that there's no way Jaye could have gotten from the medbay to the kitchen on the 001 passenger floor this quickly. Two is that her hair looks both dirtier and longer than usual, and instead of either happily mussed or neatly groomed, it's just a complete mess. Three is that, judging by the way Jaye sort of seems to be wobbling back and forth on the floor and has burst capillaries in her face, she was just rather sick and might be so again. Likewise, anyone who looked around before or after the jump may have noticed that Jaye wasn't there -- didn't go down, didn't go into the gravity couches, and that Faith Lehane was looking after her animals. ]

So. [ Her voice is hoarse, quiet, and the rasp is completely new and sounds painful –- in fact, she has to pause, clearing her throat for a moment. It doesn't go away completely, but she's a bit louder, at least. ] I-- [ and she winces ] sat out during the jump as an insect. Don’t do that. It was a month. Everything was red, copper and salt, until it ended.

[ It hurts to talk, and Jaye takes a moment to rub at her throat. ] Want a shower, food.

[ She pauses, glancing away from the camera for a moment. Her eyes aren’t exactly wet, and maybe it's from her earlier vomiting, but either way... ] Missed you guys. [ And she cuts the feed. ]

((ooc: MCU!Tony will be getting her from the kitchen and carrying her down to medical. Her replies will probably come from after she's there and probably be in text form. If your character wants to go visit her there (or fuss at her or whatever), I'd be up for it, but be warned that she's having a bit of a hard time talking at the moment and will set Faith on you if she feels shitty.

Also someone might want to clean up the 001 kitchen. ))

[Loki is sitting on his bed, slouched over the camera. He's alert, but he looks like he hasn't slept much in the last few days. It's a calculated move on his part to allow the Tranquility to see him like this. He's trying to gain sympathy.]

The last week has not been at all kind. I think we have barely recovered and already we face a jump in the next few...

[He makes a gesture, unsure what measurement of time to use]

...Soon.

If there is aught I can do to help anyone, or if anyone would just like someone to talk to, please do not hesitate to call upon me. I will do what I can. It is important to support one another in these times.

[ The video clicks on and there's Chase--smiling, if gently. She looks like nothing at all has happened to her, asides from maybe going on a pleasant stroll through the oxygen gardens. ]

Those that have come out of the fog, congratulations. I trust you're all back safe, if emotionally harmed. Please seek assistance from the designated persons aboard this ship if this is your case.

Furthermore--be it the mist or rust, please be aware that it's the least of our problems. The endgame, as it were, is still to try to figure out why we're here. God may have willed it, but there's always need for a further explanation. Please keep this in mind while investigating the ship, if you so wish to do so.

And, lastly, if anyone has some chalk, I'd like it. [ A beat. ] I want to learn how to play hopscotch.

[ 4:58am. The video begins. All there is to see is black. And what there is to hear is only a mess of extreme sobbing for eight whole seconds. The low buzz of her electrical prod provides ambiance for whatever short moment Cibo gasps for air. The whole event practically sounds like torture It must have shocked the device and activated the transmission in the first place — which it apparently does again on the ninth second, ending the feed.

There is nothing posted publicly afterward, save for a short texts a few minutes later. ]

[Text → AM]
Again. Worse.

[Text → Scout]
May I come over soon?

[Text → Murphy]
If awake, please meet me.


[ ooc: Depending on when your character replies will determine how upset Cibo will be. She'll head to the showers to calm herself down for a while. Once she returns, she'll be more comfortable to voice or video.
(Would most likely switch from her perma-text replies if asked.)
((Note: Edited in a time. Hope that doesn't mess anyone up!))
(((Here's what Cibo's dream was~))) ]

[ The video opens to a man’s face, largely nondescript. He looks into the camera for an instant before glancing away, beyond the device to something seemingly on the other side of the room. It’s an inattentiveness that only lasts for a moment; he’s quick to look back. ]

Uh, this is...

[ There’s a brief hesitation, as if he’s not quite certain what should follow that aborted beginning. He licks his lips, then clears his throat and continues. ]

My name’s Sam Bell. And I’m—Well, I’m new to the ship but I’m not new to space, so…

[ He trails off with a sigh, shrugging. ]

If somebody could tell me who to talk to for a job or, or something to do, I’d appreciate it.

[ The feed turns on. He sees people on the other side, and he's pretty sure other people could see him, like a small, two-way mirror! That’s certainly progress. (He doesn't trust the device but it's progress.) There's a bit of an emphasis on the "small" part, though, so he puts the mirror closer to his eyes, just short of pressing it against his face. He needs to talk to somebody and get to the bottom of this. ]

Hello there! Can you hear me?

[ The other people in the feed seem to be listening. He takes that as a good sign and continues talking. ]

I’m Alistair, the… uh, King of Ferelden. I would like to inquire about this place, if that's all right. Mainly, where am I? What am I doing here? I’m not… in grave danger, am I? Because I really ought to be getting back to Denerim, I sort of have a country to run, thanks.

Oh, but if none of you could answer that, then can I at least ask for an audience with your… king? Viscount? Leader? Whatever you call them? I’m sure we can work something out. Resolve it diplomatically. I walk away, they get something, good feelings and negotiations all around.

We knew it. [It's a rough, angry rasp, and one might hear the sound of something sharp being dragged against the walls.] We knew it was trap! He just couldn't settle for being wrong, could he? Couldn’t handle the fact that he needed us…

[One might note that the voice is... peculiarly double-edged, half human, and half, sibilant hiss.] Your little prisons have never stopped us before, Spider, and they won’t stop us now! How many innocents must fall at your hands this time?!

[They pause to gulp down a few, ragged breaths, pausing to grasp at their face. They feel disorientated, maybe a little sick. The Other, however, steadies them again, and they bare twisted fangs at the screen.] We’ll rip you limb from limb.