[ Judging by the background, Carolyn's in the shuttle bay today. It's fitting, because that's where she's been for most of the past month, but she hasn't spoken up in a while. Today she is, however, having cleaned up a bit from working on the shuttles with a slight smile on her face as she addresses the camera. ]

Tranquility, this is Carolyn Fry. Some of you may recall that Ellen Ripley and I have been talking about training people on the ship so that they're better equipped to deal with living in space. We're happy to announce that we'll be starting up our first session at [ insert time here ].

We'll be meeting in the shuttle bay. For those of you who don't know how to get here, Ripley will be waiting by the lift in the passenger quarters to show you the way. For everyone else, I'll be waiting here for when you arrive. A recording of the session will be available afterwards but we really encourage everyone to come in person -- we're going to be running some drills and getting a bit hands-on with some things. In addition, even if you already know a thing or two about life in space, this could be a good refresher -- or you could bring up something we miss, you never know.

If anyone has any questions before we begin, I'm happy to answer them. Thank you and I hope to see you all there.

((ooc: An open log can be found here!))

Okay, I don't wanna sound like a total insensitive jerk, or a whiny brat or anything? I mean, I get that people have died and gone missing and stuff and it's super concerning and all- [ one palm lifts to rub at the back of her neck, only to fall a beat later, when her hands flutter demonstratively as she speaks. ] and I totally get that most of you guys are busy like- running the ship and saving people and doing cool-futuristic-space stuff?

But would it be too much to ask to maybe get a calendar running around here?

[ she squints briefly, one finger lifted as a preemptive shush. ] -In before but Hayley that's just totally depressing because we've already got space tats with our dates on them. So, time's already racked up. No blaming a calendar for sulking.

Okay hang on, what was I sayi- Oh right. Yeah, a calendar.

I mean I've been here, what- [ her cheeks puff out when her gaze drops, checking the digits on the inside of her arm before she continues, shrugging carelessly. ] six runs now? Seriously, every day is like, the same stuff over and over again ad nauseum. Why not bust up the routine a little? We can have space Christmas. And trick or treating. And whatever other non-human totally random holidays you guys have.

No but really. It's getting boring.

And I know this is kinda lame, but I'm pretty much desperate, and then there's that whole proverb, desperate measures etcetera etcetera. I mean, if all else fails we can waste some time. And if it goes over well then, hey, you have at least three socially acceptable calendar excuses to get wasted and make terrible life decisions. Right?

[ The technology, all in all, isn't too hard to grasp. It's more the fact that there's no real way off the ship (no concrete information as to how the passengers arrived, no explanation as to the contents of the lockers), not to mention the circumstances under which he had arrived, that leave Connors ill at ease. The phenomenon, however, is not one that he seems to be alone in, and when the video feed turns on, he seems much more put-together (and healthier, too) than he'd been when he'd arrived, glasses in place upon the bridge of his nose and the stump of his arm barely visible at the bottom edge of the screen. ]

Apologies, first of all, if the question is redundant, [ he begins, with a slight duck of his head, ] but considering the range of worlds from which we hail, I was curious as to how many passengers are not classified as human or are possessed of "supernatural" capabilities. I'd like to do a little research, if at all possible.

[ He opens his mouth as if to continue on, but seems to think better of it. The transmission is awkwardly short, as is, but he doesn't have much else to say that's strictly relevant (that won't sound too much like covering up). ]

Thank you for your time. Dr. Curtis Connors, at your service.

[ Normally, she would address the ship with both her name and face. A bow of her head, her most polite smile — means by which to garner favor and convince those she would entreat for help. (See how how guilelessly I ask, says her look. Truly, I am a soul worth helping. But gone are those days, for there are those aboard the ship who would readily look upon Alayne's face and say: behold, Sansa Stark or Lady Lannister or I knew Petyr Baelish; of bastards, he had none. Though she needs the assistance others, Alayne knows she must be careful now in what she offers too readily. Even if the other Westerosi still struggle with their devices, she must not rely solely upon their ignorances to keep her shielded and her secrets hidden.

So: some caution, at least at the very surface. A request made through text; an offer with a name but no face. A bastard from the Vale in search of cloth, that is all. ]

Good people of the Tranquility.
I am in search of a passenger, intrepid and strong-legged, to assist me in my endeavors.
Already once I have offered my services to the ship,
those of sewing, mending and embroidery,
and I hope to continue to do so, though I am hindered by a certain lack.
Although thread has come readily to me with the jumps,
fabric proves a much rarer commodity.
My aim is to enlist aid in the collection and dyeing of cloth.
The ship is vast and many of its quarters stand empty,
and I would look to gather some portion of those unused linens,
to give that fabric greater purpose.

But the vastness of the Tranquility is no place for a young woman to venture alone.
Especially when her arms alone promise to return such a meager bounty.

I offer recompense by way of trade or exchange of service.
The ship has been generous with me by way of worldly possession,
though I fear most of what I own is rather delicate and will only appeal to certain tastes.

Thank you.

[ The message is posted and remains as is for an hour, maybe two. Then later an amendment comes, one that Alayne debates over including. ]

I am also in search of the person
who thought it fit to slip a note beneath my door last night.
You are not in trouble by any means, whomever you are.
I look only to thank you for your endeavors.

Good day. My name, as many of you know, is Miles Edgeworth. I have been present on this ship for approximately two and one half months at this point; at home, I was a prosecutor.

I've a pair of proposals for your consideration. Each will be posted first via the text function, then read aloud for those who avoid the use of text.

( The 'buddy system'. )
( Mediation service; still in its beginning stages, looking for volunteers/input )



[OOC: If people sign up for the buddy system, I'll be matching them up next weekend sometime! An opportunity for forcing your character into new CR. :>]

[ Betty's standing in the science department, frowning slightly at the room before turning her attention onto the camera, expression smoothing out. ]

It appears as though the strange maze that led to the science department, the one with the odd rooms and the black holes, has disappeared. There is a lift near the medbay and a door near the Oxygen Garden, however, so that the department is still accessible. I can't say for sure that the hallway is gone completely from the ship, but it certainly isn't where it once was.

[ locked to heine & nill ]

I looked over the samples. Nothing is wrong, which means it likely is just molting. I can either bring everything to you or you can come and get it -- whichever you'd prefer.

[Ianto is wearing a suit. After months on this ship, he finally has one at a cost he'd rather not have seen paid.]

Happy birthday to me. Assuming this calender's compatible with Earth's and functioning properly and all that. I'm sorry to say I don't have any cake, but I managed to scrounge up some music and something that passes as nachos. If anyone wants to bring anything up to the holodeck in passenger level one, we can share it around and call it a party.

[Happy birthday, indeed. Thanks, Sherlock.]

(ooc: and here's a log.)

As some of you may have noticed, a very significant portion of this crew isn't ready to stand up and fight if something happens, whether it be on or off the ship, as our recent shore leave proved.

If you don't want to learn how to fight, that's fine. However, if anyone is willing to learn, I'll offer what free time I have to teach basic hand-to-hand. I'm a trained Marine, and while I come from what some of you might consider the future, the basics on using an opponent's strength to disarm them have remained the same over the generations.

I'd like to focus on teaching people how to disarm an armed opponent and escape without injury, but if anyone wants to learn anything more advanced, feel free to contact me either here, or privately.

I'm not interested in arguing the pros and cons of civilians getting involved in a fight, so save your breath if you're going to raise complaints. I'm trying to make sure people who want to defend themselves have the tools they need to do it. All things considered, we could use a little more of that right now. ["And a little less irresponsible behavior" goes unsaid, but implied. Shepard is all for cutting loose and having fun, but not when people have been disappearing and dying all willy-nilly. Right now is a time for srs business.]

[ it has been nine months.

nine months that he has served aboard the Tranquility, and with each passing jump, fewer and fewer of those that arrived with him- remain. those that he could acknowledge with a nod of his head, those who would offer up their places in the lift so that he might not be forced to endure physical contact. those with whom he shared name, rank, and specialty. history and conversation. those who had offered advice and understanding as readily as curiosity and appreciation. each and every one of them is important to him, because it illustrates how far he has come from the deeply disapproving Vulcan cadet he had once been. Spock does not know if these associations have made him more human- but their worth to him cannot be accurately quantified. ]

In light of recent discussion and events, I find it appropriate to make request.

If you possess qualification or experience in the counsel of others and desire to assist fellow passengers, I advise that you submit yourself for placement among medical personnel. Similarly, as I anticipate that medical bay would not deny participation- [ there is no pause for McCoy's loss, or the personal difficulty with which he anticipates John Watson must perform, but the thought is there. a ghost in the line of his mouth. ] if you have served Medical prior, your presence would likely be of significant value.

[ Spock's chin dips forward a fraction. it is barely movement at all, but enough to allow his face to move from the sterile, unnatural light of the ship's interior. when he speaks again, his voice quiets. he takes account of the adjustment in his body language and the slight tonal inflection of his voice, but does nothing to smooth their perceived imperfections.

empathy is a fundamental expression of sentience, so said Surak.
and Spock will not begrudge himself his humanity, however contained he may allow his experience of it to be. ]

As members of Starfleet, as cadets we are taught to understand and accept the potential that we may perish in the line of duty. I expect that those of you in similar professions are familiar with the experience. However- [ his gaze flickers before lifting, returning to the feed. ] The Tranquility is not manned by an organized service. A significant portion of our number are civilians and each of us are unwilling members of her crew.

Loss is a universal experience.

It is known to the most seasoned shipmen, and to those who have never considered the possibility. Grief is a natural progression, and given the nature of our work here, as are fear, anxiety, and apprehension. But they are responses that must be overcome if we intend to return to our homes.

There are members aboard willing and able to provide. Should you find yourself in need of their services, I urge you to attend to them.

Spock out.

No.

[ Chase's voice is heard before the pulls the video into view--she's in a hallway on the 001 level, right in front of Sherlock's door. Her eyes are barely seen due to a familiar deerstalker hat that's far too big for her. Her voice is clipped, controlled, though her breathing and actions speak otherwise. ]

I don't want to hear it. Talking like you knew him, like you were good friends. Half of you hated him, the other half barely tolerated him.

Shut. Up.

Leave the grieving to people who actually liked him. Who actually knew him.

[ A flicker of violet in her eyes before she cuts off the feed. She's not budging from the door, either. If you want in you're going to have a difficult time unless you're a Sherlock, a Watson or Neal. ]

[Jack's no stranger to death. In fact, of all the people on board, he's perhaps one of the ones most familiar with it, having experienced it more times than he can count. The fact that it comes so easily, on board this ship, it unnerves him. Back home, with Torchwood, he was used to losing his friends right and left, but that was because of their job. That was their choice, because of what they did. But here... Here where he knows there are kids and innocents and no one asked for this, no one asked to be here. It really pisses him off. First Hotspur, now Sherlock, and god knows how many others that he wasn't paying attention to in between them. He was killed on board once, and stuffed in a closet. He wonders how many of the others that have disappeared have died, and none of them ever found out. And the thought bothers him. A lot.

When he appears on the camera, his expression is hard, tight. That big matinee idol smile is gone, and his blue eyes are cold steel.]

How many does this make? How many of us have died on this ship? [A curious phrasing, some may note] How many people have we lost that we know of? How many have disappeared and we have no idea what happened to them?

[And then, after a pause:] Has anyone left and come back again remembering their previous time on the ship?

[There are a million questions running around in his head, and he wants answers]



[Private to Tyke - SEC » 001 » 011]

Sorry to just contact you out of the blue like this, I don't think we've spoken before. My name is Captain Jack Harkness. Jim said that you were the one to talk to about security? I think I'm looking for something of a change of scenery...

[ Today the Khaleesi looks troubled. Not worried, but troubled. There are many that have arrived, and many that have left. This strange 'magic' that does this has great power, and it leaves her confused, and afraid.

It isn't her worries that cause her to speak though, rather the arrivals instead. She has no question, nor a need for asking, but more a simple wish of conversation (and a wish to know whom is like her) ]

There are many that have arrived, many from my own world as well as others, but they may as well all be foreign. Though they are from my world I know not one. [ The surname of Stark or Lannister not included ] I would not wish for any to arrive, to be here. [ Even if it would be nice, to see Ser Jorah or one of her handmaidens (she would say Drogo too, but he is gone) ]

Would you wish for another? For a friend? [ Or even a foe, just someone familiar ] Or would you wish to remain alone?

It's been a difficult month. [ Even though Deanna wasn't fully assimilated she's still been recovering from it ] A lot of people have been lost recently, and our experience at Strela Outpost was worrying. [ And too similar for comfort ]

My name's Deanna Troi. I'm familiar with space travel, and served as ships counsellor on my previous assignment. I have space set aside, and time. If you need any help my 'office' is always open. [ And Deanna attaches where she can be found: her room number and the medbay ]

[ Captain Kirk & Commander Spock ]
Do you have a moment?

[this is surprise.]
Oh.

[this is distress.]
I - I... uh - fuck -

[this is panic.]
I need - fuckin' son of a bitch I need, um, someone here, right noww, the pool - [there's a little gasping breath, followed by a more sincere attempt at deep breathing. eridan doesn't even try to sound Okay at all.] Someone's in...

[and finally, the verbal shoulder-slump of defeat.]
Someone's drowwned in the pool.

[this is not what he wants to be doing right now at all, in the slightest, he was just supposed to look around real fast, just a quick look before he kept wandering, there wasn't supposed to be anything wrong.] I need John Wwatson. 001, uh, just the 001. An', uh. Shit. [there's the sound of frustrated typing for a minute, then,] 002-215. That one. I need both'a you to... Talk to me.

Someone else come help me. He's definitely...

[there's a long pause here, almost a minute, and then:] He's been here for a wwhile. There's nothin' else to do.


[002-215, Neal Caffrey and 001-197, John Watson are getting a notification every minute for this post until they respond.]

((OOC: way to brutalize the /small tag, whoops. anyway all responses voice, it is completely likely that anyone who knew Sherlock will get a pretty clear idea of who Eridan's referring to with such a dramatic call-out to Neal and Watson. uuuhh other than that yep that's it Sherlock's dead guys.))

[Moran turns on his communication device but is distracted a moment later by some task or comment.]

Not wot you're used to, sir, but best I could do under the circumstances. I can try somethin' else, if that's too much not to your liking.

[His attention turns back to the communicator. In the background, eating utensils can be heard against a plate. He's not the one eating.]

I'm lookin' to make a foursome for whist. May have two--

If you'd care to, sir.

--Do have two. Happy to take a total of five or six, have off-hands.

One of you lot -- you know who you are -- I damn well expect t' see. Better beleive I'm keen to put you to the task at cards. Pup, if you care to, I'd like to have you join us. Easy to learn the game.

So, anyone care for a rubber or two?


(LOG IS HERE.)

[ there's the rustling of fabric, and a breath before irene speaks. she's tapping something against her palm as she does, a steady counterrhythm to her words.]

So it seems we've managed to get through a jump without any unfortunate mishaps. What a lovely change of pace.

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! )