[ the feed starts to complete blackness — it resolves itself into a clearer picture of a leather uniform once aramis steps back, though he also just so happens to be upside down. at least aramis has learned enough in his days aboard the tranquility so far that he notices and fixes it a moment later, leaving it lopsided, but the right way around.

he steps back a little further, coming to stand next to porthos. they are both armed, swords strapped to their sides, and not in the ship's jumpsuits but rather in their leather uniforms.

aramis holds a pistol, considering it. his voice is thoughtful. ]

They do say I am quite good with these.

[ porthos, for his part, is still staring suspiciously at the sleek looking square on his end. but he lets up long enough to add - ]

Finest in all of France, I’d wager. The better to serve their Majesties, King Louis XIII and Queen Anne.

[ it’s a spiel they’ve been through before. aramis’ eyes narrow. ] Speaking of their Majesties — if they are here as well, rest assured that we will find them and not look kindly on anyone who has committed treason and harmed them.

[ there’s a gruff hemm of his throat, before porthos adds; ] And if you’ve done likewise with two men who go by Athos and D’Artagnon, it may not be treason, but we’ll be looking just as unkindly.

[ aramis smiles at that, cheerful almost despite the dangerous edge to it. ] To those who are likewise captives, we swear to aid you where we can.

[ and he tips his head. ]



( blue is aramis, black is porthos! musketeers in space, aw yeah!! )

[ hello, tranquility. it’s lucrezia and robb on your screen. robb’s holding her hand, thumbing lightly over her knuckles, grey wind sat at his side. his hair is still damp, curling wildly, but he looks content, gaze lingering on lucrezia for a long moment before he addresses the device. ]

If I could take a moment of your time, the lady Lucrezia and I have a matter to set before you. One I shall allow her to announce, as there’s a poetry in her words that I sorely lack.

[ and let’s not pretend this isn’t lucrezia’s show through and through, even if robb wasn’t his father’s son, too much a northman to do this announcement justice. ]

Sweet Tranquility which is dear to both of our hearts solely for its people -

[ and, you know what, wait a moment guys. it’s her show, which means she can turn and at least muss down robb’s hair since this isn’t legit. ]

We wish to invite you all, friends and families and those who wish to partake in our happiness to our wedding which will be held in the gardens. We would be honored to have you all as our guests.

[ she looks over at robb, all smiles. go on, you’re the king. he squeezes her hand in return, a small gesture. ]

We can offer you wine, and dancing, and my bride would delight in sharing both with all those who come in friendship and good will. [ which is a very thinly veiled, do not ruin this day or there will be hell to pay. ] We should hope to see you all in attendance.

[ ooc | now with an accompanying mingle log!! for all your wedding minglin' needs. ]

[ 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! )

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.

[This public service announcement comes to you from the security offices, and is delivered in a bored monotone. It's more a recitation than anything, really--Sirius is clearly reading off of a piece of paper. This fact is very clear, because he's holding up the paper, and you can mostly see it.]

Good day. My name is Mi-- Sirius Black. I'm a member of the security team. Unfortunately. All new arrivals, please do not hesitate to contact Miles Edgeworth, and not me, if you have either questions regarding security or if you are feeling distinctly masochistic and want to volunteer. He's always looking for new recruits and it would be really lovely if he had someone else to read things off of paper for him. And if you don't like reading things off of paper, and you're a military, law enforcement, or combat type, you can contact him as well. Just contact him. Give the man something to do.

Similarly, if you run into any trouble or find yourself in distress of any sort, which you most likely will, at some point, 'cos that's the way of things around here, kindly inform him, and not me, and he will swoop in to your rescue. Or organise someone to swoop in to your rescue, he's a terrific organiser. But he might just do it himself--I know it doesn't seem as if he will, but trust me, he will.

[Paper finished, he glances up. He's tired; it shows in his face, but he grins anyways.]

And now, because this wouldn't be the Miles Edgeworth Radio Hour without a survey--please answer this survey here and send a copy along to him as well so he doesn't miss out on the fun of reading your answers twice over. That's Miles Egdeworth, SEC » 007 » 114. He would just love to hear from you all.

[And he knocks off a salute, even though it's very lazy and he's slumped in his chair.]

Cheers.

( survey.urmom.doc )

[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.]

[The video crackles into life, showing a dark section of what appears to be engineering. There's a young woman, haggard with exhaustion in her features, sweat and engine oil streaking on her face, leaning into the camera intently, naked hope in her expression.]

Tomas? Tommy?

[Silence, for a long moment. She's waiting for an answer, and the hope slowly fades out of her eyes the longer she doesn't receive one. Eventually, resigned, she shifts, the camera blurring before it settles again, showing her sitting, leant back against a railing on one of engineering's walkways.]

I made it to engineering, Tomas. I don't remember how, but... [She trails off, confused, and then simply seems to forget about that train of thought.] I know I should have visited you here more often, maybe I'd have more idea of what to do. Breaking everything I come across should do it, shouldn't it? It feels so wrong, smashing up everything you worked on.

But I think I'm close. It doesn't sound-- [She breaks off, a smile breaking through, fond, sad.] That sound you used to talk about, that happy sound? It doesn't sound happy anymore. I just need to find the drive.

[She looks upward, mouth pressing thin, as if she's attempting to hold back tears. After a moment, she seems to find her resolve again, nodding to herself.]

I just need to end this.

[The camera shifts and blurs again, and then clicks off.]

[[MOD NOTES: Feel free to tag! Charlotte believed this to be a single closed transmission, but she will respond. Any characters with the know-how to trace this feed will find it originating in engineering, from a comms device apparently not registered to any crew numbers. Engineering is still too hot for player characters to enter! This post directly feeds into February's modplot, and more explanation will come in the upcoming plot post. In the meantime, if you have any questions regarding this post, feel free to contact us directly.]]

[It starts with a close-up of his face. But he remembers such things from once before; namely, how he doesn't need to be so close to be heard. So he leans back, jaw clenching before he speaks.]

My name is Ichabod Crane. I have been - remiss in introducing myself, and for that I am truly sorry.

[More sorry that he's still here at month #2. He sits with a thin makeshift bandage wrapped around the knuckles of his hand and a broken mirror behind him. His patience with the ship wore thin for a moment. But then he's still concerned by thoughts of the Apocalypse and the fact that his wife still sits in Purgatory.

But for the moment, he's collected.]

I have a query, queries, if you will, for my fellow passengers. Do you believe that we are brought aboard this ship in some indiscriminate fashion? Or are we chosen, our fates intertwined for some greater...perhaps sinister purpose? Was anyone on a mission of utmost urgency only to have it suddenly interrupted?

[And, while not the most important, there is one other thing that he'd like to know:]

And does anyone find themselves missing Starbuck's coffee? Given the size of this vessel, there should be no less than five on board.

[Ichabod shifts his gaze, almost abashed about it.

But damn, those baked goods.]

[ peeta's got the device propped up on something when he switches it on, and it stays steady when he steps away to take a seat on the edge of his bed. he's wearing the standard issue tranquility jumpsuit, sleeves rolled up against the heat in his room, and he leans forward onto his elbows as he begins to speak. his tone matches his posture; despite the arguably tense topic, he seems relaxed. ]

I know people are worried about what happened on the bridge. I agree that we should find out what went on inside, but others already have that covered — and I'm more interested in why none of the mutineers are dead. [ slightly harsh wording. nobody had expected them to get out of there, so there's no point in talking around it. ] I've only been here for a month, and people have a lot of warnings about the ship being dangerous, about how it's out to get us. Which makes me wonder why all of us aren't dead, either. Some of you have been here for months already, right?

[ it's a rhetorical question. he's heard months, over a year. he still pauses before continuing, if only because he's making a slight switch in gears. ] Where I come from, the people in charge have a system. They created it to make people frightened and to keep them from having hope. They could probably just kill everyone if they wanted to, but they still need us — they need us to work, keep their Capitol running.

I think the ship's the same. I don't think it wants to kill us. I think it needs us for something, and that the events I've heard about — the stations it brings you to, the trials it engineers, they're trying to push us to do something. But this is where the comparisons to the Capitol stop. If all it wanted was inaction, it would've killed everyone on the bridge, but it didn't. I think it wants something else, and it needs us to do it.

[ another pause, and this time he offers a slight smile when he continues. maybe a bit out of place, but it becomes clear enough that he's taking amusement at his own expense. ] But I'm new here, so I couldn't tell you what. Normally I'd say it wants us to fight, but I've been told that doesn't accomplish much. I guess that's why I'm asking you — if there's anything that seemed like a hint, or a command, or a reward.

Everyone's caught up on solving the mysteries behind these things. I know this is probably just because I'm bad at riddles, but I'm more interested in the results. How they make us behave and what we're being taught to expect. I have no idea if we want to listen, but I think it'd be a good idea to try to figure out what it's asking us to do.

[ caroline's more than a little bit alarmed and she just got a goodbye message from elena, sort of. so cue a desperate friend pleading to the network after watching all the messages from people trapped in the bridge.]

Can't anyone do something? They're dying in there. The jump is soon and if they're trapped... [ they're going to die. like actually die.] Please there has to be something we can do.

Report to Tyke at the doors to the bridge and give her any aid she requires.

[ When the feed comes on, everything is in its place. The Comms device is set squarely on to a view of a desk, a large American flag hangs on its pole in the space behind Nathan, decked out in his best suit. A painting hangs on the wall behind him. This may be the last time he addresses the ship, in which case he’s going to do it right. ]

Good afternoon, Tranquility.

For those of you that don’t know me, my name is Nathan Petrelli. I arrived here on the sixth jump, and I’ve been working in Communications ever since. I was here when we all still reported to Resnik to keep the ship running, and I was here when Ward executed the prisoners we took from the Scylla. I’ve been here through most of the worst things that the Tranquility has thrown at us, and never once - not once, in almost two years - have I thought to stop cooperating with the whims of this damn ship.

That ends today.

At 0900 tomorrow morning I intend to take the Tranquility’s bridge. I make this post here, now, because this isn’t just about me, this concerns all of us. So, perhaps against my better judgement, it seems only right that those of the rest of you that are as restless as I am should have the opportunity to join me in this endeavor.

Some of you will call me crazy. You’ll think that makes you sane. You’ll call this mutinous. But let me ask you--how willing are you to carry on the way we have been so far? The distortions we see in the mirrors; the people that are watching; no longer just out of sight; our secrets, no longer secret; the weight of paranoia that is weighing all of us down, month after month. How long do you want this to go on without making a stand, without feeling like you’ve actually done something about it?

I don’t know that this is going to be safe. I don’t know if any of us are going to come back, and maybe some of the less morally indulgent types around here are gonna see it as good reason to lock us all away. I’d like to remind those people that in the absence of an actual captain, this isn’t really a mutiny. We can argue about it lawyer style if you like. Might as well, it might be the last argument we ever have. But please don’t feel as though you’ll alter my resolve.

We have to change what we’re doing. We have to make a stand. And you can shut your mouth right now, Neal Caffrey. I haven’t forgotten what you said; this is about weighing the risk.

[ At last Nathan takes a deliberate pause, steepled his hands in front of him. ]

If you’re going to volunteer, then please consider the risks. You may die. You may go mad. The rest of this crazy crew might decide to throw you into space. This isn’t a decision that you should be making quickly, but I’m sorry, this is all the time we’ve got. If you have even the slightest of doubts, you should stay behind.

Some of you--I know you’re gonna volunteer, and I reserve the right to veto your offers. You know who you are, and you have responsibilities. I’m not tearing apart the infrastructure of this ship if I can help it. Others...well, I need you where you are. Plan B.

Hopefully the next time I speak to you, it’ll be from Tranquility’s bridge. Be safe, and good luck to all of us. Petrelli out.


[ OOC: This is the corresponding network post to the volunteer sign up here on the OOC comm. If you don’t know what’s going on yet, then take a read through. ]

[ 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. ]

[Godric sits on an open, grassy area in the gardens, contemplating a... thing he holds in his hands. It isn't very large, perhaps the size of his hand, and looks very much like a small horse with a single horn on its head. Sadly, it isn't alive, but permineralized into a fossil.]

I received this in my locker during the previous jump--

[Before Godric can continue, he glances up at something just off-camera, a restless shadow falling over him. There's a sound like a chirrup just before a large, straight beak noses into the picture, snatching the fossil cleanly out of Godric's hands.

The communicator falls over, disturbed from its resting place by a clawed foot, allowing for a bug's-eye view of Myfanwy the pteranodon awkwardly gnawing at the remains. It only lasts a moment before she makes a sound of clear disgust, dropping the little creature with an indignant shake of her head. Shooting a look at Godric, she takes off again with a great flap of her wings.

Retrieving the communicator, Godric looks dryly amused.]

It seems that wasn't at all what she expected from a unicorn either.

[ like so many of robb's network addresses, he appears with grey wind at his side. he's in the gardens, sweat sticking his curls to his skin as grey wind huffs beside him, for once not pacing impatiently as robb speaks. ]

It seems the ship has seen fit to save the strange temperatures for those who slumbered through them last month. I suppose there are few left who remember the ship growing cold once? Perhaps it feels the heat suits us better.

[ robb's tone suggests that is most certainly doesn't suit him, but is that really a surprise? starks have ever been more suited to the cold. ]

If you would all permit me, I would ask to speak with any who slumbered, this month or prior, for last month was not the first that has seen people remaining trapped within their pods. I dreamed, and I would know if they were shared, or if any recognize that which I saw. Time has passed, and yet I've still not made sense of all that happened within those dreams.

[ grey wind makes a soft noise, almost a whine. robb doesn't reach a hand to soothe him, as if it's important neither of them seem unsettled. ]

Lastly, I would speak with Erik Lensherr, who I hear has returned once more, and Cesare Borgia, if he will indulge me with an audience. And my family, those of my House and those who carry my banner, I've news to share with you.

[ robb takes a breath, and grey wind gets to his feet, shakes out his coat, and paces off camera. robb chuckles, and cuts the feed on a murmur too quiet to be heard. ]

[Ori is having a bit of difficulty working his 'smartphone'. There's a bewildered dwarvish face on the screen, face screwed up in confusion as he tries to fix it. A jumble of confused letters appear on the screen and his frown deepens. Finally, the screen clears to just Ori's face, young, pale, his braids messy and his beard unkempt.]

I-I think I'm lost. [His voice is pitched high with nervousness, his stutter more prevalent.] S-something is f-following me, I keep seeing...shapes and f-faces and things in the m-mirror.

[Ori's voice cracks, dropping to a whisper. His eyes are glittering with moisture.] I-I just want t-to go home. I d-don't want to die, I don't want anyone to die!

[The screen suddenly shifts and it becomes apparent that the young dwarf has thrown it across the hall. There's muffled sounds of crying for several minutes before it finally shuts off.]