[Cecil is in his room, shuddering, arms wrapped tightly around his body. Is it fear? Is it the cold?

His closet door is open, and there's a bedsheet draped over it -- covering the mirror.

Cecil's fingers press into his sides, pulling at the fabric of his shirt, nearly tearing it. He stares straight ahead, his bright eyes wide; unseeing.]

My mother always said that it would be a mirror.

[ lucrezia borgia sits on the swing in the garden, pale blue silks and hair held up against the heat. despite it all, she's all but running on sunshine, not walking on it. ]

a verse!

[ listen carefully, tranquility, it's been a while, after all ]

Set me where the sun burns flowers and grass,
or where he's conquered by the ice and snow:

[ a meaningful look, here. ]

set me beneath his temperate chariot,
where it rises or where it descends:

set me far from fame, or let me be known:
I'll be what I have been, live as I've lived,
continuing my fifteen years of sighs.

[ a hum ]

a bargain, tranquility. I have sighed all that I can for weeks, it would seem. smiles would do better, dancing would be sublime, if you care to join me.

[ As a general thing, McCoy isn't exactly the biggest fan of making broadcasts like this, they're uncomfortable at best and painfully aggravating for him at worst. However, the fact of the matter is that sometimes they're unavoidable and this time, is one of those unavoidable times. What he does to maintain his comfort level, small as it is, is make sure the setting of his device is on audio. That way no one can see his face and yet he can still get across his point. ]

Hallucinations can be brought on by stress. That woman, Matine, she was seeing someone she knew with talons and seeing her mother. Mother wasn't here, and a man didn't have talons before that break. I know a few of you've already thought of it, assuming you've got a brain, but with what you all were saying she saw, the likelihood she wasn't hallucinating is slim. [ There's a pause, like McCoy isn't sure how to word his next thoughts. ] Anything we've been seeing from the past, all of those things are pointing to stressful, in some way, situations. All of us have— most of us who were here last month don't need me to mention what went on that might have stressed our brains.

Leaving the body in a constant state of stress especially one like the type anyone endures on this damn ship is enough to trigger hallucinations. And at the risk of probably making half of you hear something you don't want to, what happened to Matine could happen to any of us.

Ship seems to like to repeat things and I don't know about you, but I'm not a fan of having hallucinations like that. Especially when they end in me shooting someone.

[ what's that? totally pretend that the whole memory thing never happened, up to and including the discussion of the new information about the manticores? well, if you insist. will is incredibly wary of getting roped into working this puzzle out, when all he wants is for people to get out of his head. ]

Does anyone else on this ship keep dogs? Other pets? I've run into a few strays around. Thought maybe I could borrow some space in the gardens to run something between a shelter and a playgroup. Might need a hand, if you're good with animals.

I'm still collecting samples of foreign matter found in the lockers for tissue analysis. Might need a hand with that, too. You'd be surprised how much meat turns up every month.

Contact.

[ will sounds like he's giving a lecture when he comes on the screen. he's looking directly into the camera — it's easier to make eye contact with a device. ]

That's the key to all this. If you're receiving foreign sensation, you need to track down the person it originated with and make skin-to-skin contact. It'll stop the side-effects, and eventually — hopefully — break the connection. Doesn't have to be more personal than a handshake.

[ a pause, and he glances down, off-camera, visibly discomfited by the fact that the hand not holding his device is in the grip of another. ]

An... extended handshake. Whatever timer this thing is working on, we think letting go resets it.

[ the screen’s upended as sherlock hijacks the device, settling on his face (at an admittedly slightly awkward angle) a moment later. ]

But in the meantime— I’m sure you’ve all noticed that the physical links are current, unlike the memories, and arguably offer us a great deal more control. Passive sensations are the exception, but if I were to hypothetically hit my hand — as our resident neurologist has demonstrated — then Mr. Graham would feel it. [ and by hypothetically he means he's tested it, several times. ]

In the case of mutual sensations, like, say, holding one’s hand, this creates a unique feedback loop; the sensation of their hand in yours, and yours in theirs, et cetera. [ speaking of hand-holding, holding will’s hand is getting in the way of his usual gesturing; the screen's unsteady as a result. ] While I'm reluctant to test the theory with present company — no offense — I imagine this could apply to other neutral or positive sensations. If one were to engage in sexual intimacy with their link partner, for instance, then the moment of—

[ in another blur of abrupt motion, will takes his device back — and also his hand. no offense. ]

Better reset the clock to zero, Mr. Holmes.

[It’s been a long few days for the Tarrs. It’s not the first time they’ve been awoken from stasis of some kind, but the apparent lack of proper bathing facilities made it a far ruder awakening than last time. Luckily, they discovered the inadequate-but-not-actively-insulting bathrooms on the residential floors before anybody tried to make them use the showers.

And now they appear on the network, calm and composed. They would look more or less like a human couple, if their unnaturally pale complexions didn’t give them away as something else. The man in the video speaks, projecting his voice as if addressing a crowd.]

My name is Datak Tarr, and this is Stahma. I am informed that none of you are responsible for kidnapping myself and my wife from our home. Be aware that if I find I have been lied to, none of you will be making it to -

[Before Datak can continue, a smaller, but firm hand appears on his shoulder, pressing down reassuringly. He glances at its owner and falls silent, letting her speak for now.]

We are certain this is not the case, of course. This rather-- unpleasant situation seems to be a misunderstanding, at worst. We are willing to talk about this civilly in a manner that befits all parties, if you allow us. In fact, sitting down to discuss this sounds like a wonderful opportunity to know our new neighbours. After all, it seems we may be in each other’s company for a while.

[At this point, Datak gives her a smile that should indicate gratefulness, but looks more like a signal to stop talking. When she does, he turns back to the camera and continues his speech.]

As you may have noticed, we are not human. While we are quite familiar with your kind, I understand that few of you are familiar with Castithans. I would like to speak to any of you who are, as well as any other people who originate somewhere other than on Earth.

Finally, I find myself in need of someone with engineering skills. It seems as if there are no baths of a civilised size on board this ship, and I would like to see this remedied as soon as possible. I'm sure we can come to some sort of deal for payment.

[He smiles a little, well aware that the request will seem strange to the apes on board and wanting to seem disarming about it. It's a mask for his disgust at being unable to bathe properly since arriving. Bath attendants may be too much to ask for, but being forced to bathe in single-person bathtubs is humiliating.]

[Q looks completely wrecked. The lack of sleep that the Tranquility has so kindly blessed him with has left him looking almost on death's door, bags under his eyes and his clothes and hair dishevelled. Apparently, however, insomnia prompts either genius or madness and around him are a plethora of papers and diagrams, repeatedly scribbled out and redrawn with blue and red pen. Q rubs his bloodshot eyes and smiles slightly up at his audience.]

Hello, there. So these past few months have been rather hectic and it got me thinking. [That and more cups of tea than he would care to count.]

So the universe is endless, yes? A giant mass of endless stars. As our telescopes get stronger and stronger and we look out into the void of space, we keep finding more to look at. We cannot find its horizon.

[He rocks on the balls of his feet and begins to rifle through his papers.]

Yet a recent theory suggested that while it's endless, it isn't some vast, infinite mass. Instead, it loops back on itself. Time and space is...a doughnut.

[He holds up a complex diagram filled with numbers and various intersecting circles up to the camera.]

If we look far enough into the distance, we can see ourselves and it is my belief that the people, the things which we are witnessing on The Tranquility are either ourselves or the ship's past or future catching up on us. The jumps, in my opinion, are literal, as we dot from place to place, picking up fragments of time.

[He lets out a sigh and scratches his head.]

Fuck me if I know who Smiley is though.

[ it's been more than a month since she landed herself on this ship, and she's gotten nowhere. she's beginning to understand how her arrival had been greeted with such pessimism and futility, and she can't help but imagine that the insomnia's a result of the near-death experience trying to make it back aboard the tranquility off of the cyllene being combined with an acute depression of realizing she's powerless to get her son back. she's been feeling pretty powerless across the board, lately.

her room's dark, because she's been tossing and turning in vain to try and get to sleep without success, so she doesn't bother turning on the video function. audio will have to do the trick. there's a sense of abject defeat in her voice, because she finally gets it - talking to sark aboard the cyllene, and then scrambling to get off of it. no one is going to rescue the tranquility and get them home, and any attempt at progress seems to be met with a glass ceiling.

they're stuck, and they're on their own. she's on her own. she hadn't realized how heavily she'd learned to rely on her family until she'd been denied their company. ]

If I want to help out with security on board the ship, how's that work? [ it's been a month, it's high time she accepted that she needs something to keep her busy and direct her energy towards or this funk isn't going anywhere. some savior. ] Is there like a training program or do I just track down some security office and sign my name on the dotted line?

[ there's the sound of shifting as she sits up in bed, because something else occurred to her. she'd never really seen a report published to the ship-wide network. just a video that didn't shed much light - her cynicism wants her to assume that's because there wasn't much to be found, but it's worth asking. ]

And while I'm at it; I saw some bad news about the new areas of the Tranquility, but I was on the Cyllene while people were exploring. Any more news to go with it? Are those areas still accessible, or did they close off when we undocked? [ or whatever the word for that is. ]

[ private to will graham ; no encryption ]

And, Graham - I found some clothes. Little on the dressy side, but they should fit. Where do you want me to bring them?

[ she's just tired enough to use the wrong name - the one that's more familiar, that makes her feel a little more secure, at least subconsciously. ]

[The young woman's face that appears on screen doesn't look nearly as exhausted as it probably should. Her voice, however, is as weary as she's pretty sure everyone is feeling.]

So I'm curious. Does anyone out there know the side effects of not getting any sleep? [She pauses to consider something.] Or maybe how long they'll take to start showing up? [Another pause.] I just think that might be some useful information for people in general to have and, well, like I said. I'm curious.

[For the record, Claire hasn't been sleeping pretty much at all. However her ability is working overtime to keep circles from appearing under her eyes as well as countering the other, less pleasant, side effects that come with not getting enough rest. There's still the random, occasional bleeding that she can't explain but that's neither here nor there, right?]

Usually the ship goes quiet at some point, but since the Jump everyone's been bustling and out and about-

[And for the first time since she died she's been so tired]

-so I thought, maybe, I don't know, is there some soft music we can pipe through the speakers, you know, jazz or something, I don't know, something so everyone relaxes and for a while, honestly-

[She may be just talking, now. Really. What is this tired.]

Or, oh! I know! Does anyone have a copy of a John Grisham novel? That used to put me right to sleep...

[It doesn't take Shepard long to take to the network. Closed ship communication isn't exactly a new concept to her and while there's a whole lot of questions that spring to her mind, she's eager to get one thing sorted out first.]

To whoever thought it was a good idea to break into my locker and take all my things: it wasn't.

[The woman on the video feed, wearing an ill-fitting borrowed sweater, may have a cheerful edge to her voice but it's clearly a front - belied by her furrowed brow and how her mouth falls into a sharp, severe line between words. As soon as Shepard had realized that everyone else seemed to have things left to them in their lockers while hers had been suspiciously empty of pretty much anything beyond her comm device, she'd jumped to the only logical conclusion: someone had stolen her shit.]

I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume it was an accident. If you have my armor or tags or anything with the name Shepard on it-- [She doesn't even know what else could've been there, but there had to have been something.] --just put it back where you found it by 1300 hours and we'll call it even.

[See? Perfectly reasonable of her. None of this makes any sense to her, but let no one say that Commander Shepard of the Normandy can't roll with the punches and put on a nice face despite it all.]

If I find you with it after that, I'll throw you out the nearest airlock.

[Or not. After a moment she continues, only slightly awkwardly. Man can't survive on threats and false accusations alone after all.] As a side note: if anyone has a spare change of clothes they'd be willing to part with, let me know.

[ The feed opens to a woman and a dragon. Morgana is dressed in white silks, that combined with her black hair and red lips give away the impression of a Snow White beauty; fittingly so for the dragon at her side is snow white as well, its head rests in her lap as she passes her fingers along its scales. Some of you might remember her, even if she were a tiny bit different. ]

I do not suppose they could think of a cruder more degrading manner to bring us all here?

[ an arch of an eyebrow before she abandons the sarcasm.]

Fellow passengers of the Tranquility, I hope this finds you well and by now - thoroughly washed.

[ what. The space goo was the most disgusting thing she had ever experienced and she had seen Arthur eat since she was eleven. ]

I would ask you one question, if you would indulge me. What is the meaning of the numbers our…gracious hosts have carved onto our arms? I know what the symbol does but I am more curious as to why these specific numbers were chosen.

As for our wonderful hosts, whoever they might be - if they are listening I shall say only this, I have grown among very stubborn men; one is a king, the other a crown prince and I can say for certain they would be unhappy indeed if and when they would learn of this. But you will find that perhaps it is I who would pose more of a trouble than them both combined.

[ she inclines her head, ever the lady before meeting the dragon's gaze ]

Between us both - one of them I wouldn't mind seeing here.

[ the number's a 022, but there's no questions about where they are or when they get to go home. will doesn't even really want to be making this post, but people are talking about animal bones, human remains, blood. and that's kind of his gig. ]

I'm not a trained forensic analyst, but if we've got the equipment to do so, I'd be willing to try and take a look at the organic tissue people found in their lockers. I got meat. Anyone else?