[ Why hello there, Tranquility. Starting off on the video feed, as the picture forms, is the redheaded, pyrotechnically-inclined Wildling, otherwise known as Ygritte. She's standing before Jon Snow's bed, upon which several medieval-looking weapons are strewn over the soft comforter.

Normally she'd be smiling, having been kept in a very good mood since the end of last month, but not so now—not after what she's recently seen, and heard that others have seen, in the depths of the ship. Her features are stern, lips pressed together firmly as she nods into the camera. Today, she is all business. ]


Space training's all well and good, don't take me th' wrong way.

But 'fter what we've seen—and I think many of you've seen things that y' normally wouldn't, in the last coupl'a weeks here, not just myself—I think it's time we had some other kind 'f training.

[ She holds this up, to show to the camera. ] This is a dagger. Carved m'self, entirely from ox bone. Meant for close-handed combat, not t' be used as anything but a last resort, if your enemy sneaks up on you. Pref'rably, y'want something with serrated edges such as this, t'do the bulk of the cutting—the edges will make sure that y'get tearing through the skin and sinew. Even if it's not steel and can't cut through bone, you can still give your enemy a fatal strike 'f you aim for his entrails. Kills 'em nice and slow.

[ She sets it down, and picks up another weapon lying nearby. ] This is an axe. Not just any ol' kind 'f axe, neither—this is a battle-axe. [ She grabs the haft, the handle of it, and swings it in the air to demonstrate. ] Arm-length, 'though they can be longer, but arm-length is good for throwin' too if need be. Some o' my clansmen wield one in each hand, for fightin'. Steel bit makes the blade lighter, easier t' swing—but we don't got much steel north o' the Wall, so many times we use wrought iron, which's heavier—but if y'swing good and true, it'll land a heavy blow. Can crack 'n undefended skull, easy.

An' lastly, the weapon you should be starting with, for longer-range—the shortbow. Mine's made o' weirwood, the trees most found o'er the Wall, and in the godswood o' Winterfell, I hear. [ A slight smirk, just a quirking upwards of her lips, before she schools her face seriously once more. ]

[ She notches a grey goosefeather-fletched arrow in it, drawing back the string to demonstrate. ] Only three feet long, rawhide string. Smaller size is common for us spearwives, since we tend t' be a bit shorter than the menfolk; but it's also easier t' maneuver around with, during a hunt, when y'need t' be light on your feet.

[ There's a quick thwap sound, as she looses the arrow and it sings through the air, landing hard in the wall on the far side of the room. ] Shoots fast an' hard, for a small bow.

[ Setting it down again on the bed, she addresses the video feed once more. ] If anyone'd like t' do some one-on-one training with any o' these, I'd be happy t' show you how it's done. [ She cracks a smile. ] Shit, bring your own weapon and we can practice in that ...indoor trainin' field, whatever 's called.

But I think it's important we learn t' defend ourselves, now...all 'f us. That goes for th' younger Starks, 's well. Any babe who's no longer on his mother's teat should be learnin' this.



[ ...because what is decorum, Ygritte. :/ ]

[ well, hello, Tranquillites. Some of you may remember her first attempt at using this device and broadcasting -- this second time, Brienne at least seems to know where to point the small box and how to hold it so. However, proper use as it is she looks a tad uncomfortable at addressing the ship in such a way once again.

And knowingly, this time. ]

Now that things have settled down a bit.

[ for a minute it appears she may continue on this vein. Instead, he frowns, takes a breath and continues on a different note ... ]

It would seem that after remaining for three jumps, I may as well find myself something to do if I am to continue to be here. [ not doing anything, has not done her well, especially since the recent events ]

I wish to be of some use. To acquire some manner of work. If you please, I would ask what there is that needs to be done on board?

[ she falls quiet, gives a small nod and the feed is cut. ]

[ Well, if it isn't one Stannis Baratheon who looks rather... unimpressed. Of course, this is hardly much of a change, but at least it would appear that in the last two months, he has managed to master some manner of control over the communications device. He looks directly at the feed, blue eyes filled with judgement. ]

I have delayed some matters for far too long.

[ yet, perhaps he had done so because he loathed this device so much. ]

Firstly, I would join the "security" division aboard this vessel. If this is to endure for much longer [ and his faith in Melisandre may not be as great here as it was in Westeros ] I would wish to do as much as is possible.

[ while he has attended Nathan Petrelli's meeting, he cannot help but feel that it is his duty to do as much as he can (perhaps in hopes of returning more swiftly to Westeros). ]

Secondly, I would visit these oxygen gardens in more depth. [ Accompanied by a specific individual, namely Jon Snow might be oddly somehow implied ] Should others have information on such from their own visits, I would hear it.

[ And this is where it gets difficult. Though he has developed some manner of proficiency, one important skill still seems to evade him. Still, this was not something that he wanted Ser Davos to see, and he did not particularly understand filters.

And so that left him only one (regrettable) option...

T E X T ]

FINALLY, I WOULD KNOW HOW ONE IS TO CONVINCE ANOTHER THAT NO HARM SHOULD COME TO HIS PERSON FROM A THIRD INDIVIDUAL. [ that was not convoluted at all ]HE COMES FROM FAR BEFORE THIS INDIVIDUAL AND I AND BELIEVES HER RESPONSIBLE FOR ALL MANNER OF ILL DEEDS. WHILE HE LISTENS TO REASON ON EVERY OTHER OCCASION, ON THIS MATTER HE WILL NOT BEND.

[ much like... someone else on nearly every occasion. ]

THAT WILL BE ALL.

[ The Others take this "text" function. ]

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.

[hmm. after much fiddling and a crash course on how to video, davos finally gets the screen working, although he'd had to prop it on a table because holding it with his hands is a little bit of a difficulty. off-screen, he clears his throat for a bit, and then he appears, a rather-rough looking (old) man whose face speaks of a general distrust of technology who has no other choice than to reacquaint himself with something unfamiliar, again.]

I've listened to conversations around, and it is in my knowledge that for some of the occupants of this ... ship [he actually feels uncomfortable having to say that], this isn't the first, or second time, that such an event has happened - where a man or a woman has been thrown out of their present circumstances and into this place as either a reprieve, or a curse.

If there can be an assurance made that time stops when a man is thrown into this place, far away from whatever land or world he hails from, I would be willing to listen to them. [a pause.] I'll have to ask to make your replies not in text. I don't expect anyone to comply to that request, but if you could be so kind, please do not.

That being said, there are others who are from the same land, and perhaps time, as I was. [a pause.] I am not one to ponder on the specific manipulations of time and space, I've no knowledge there. But if the name of Westeros means something personal to you, I humbly request a meeting. Not on behalf of any King, as all of us are poor on that respect - and perhaps so much the better, but that is yet to be seen. Only of myself.

[a much longer pause. he ain't a smuggler for nothing.] Information is never freely given unless one asks for reward, and even beggars in that respect don't rely on the kindness of others. I have none to offer in return, unless specific concerns regarding the state of Westeros as I left it are raised - that, I can answer, in exchange for answers as well. The value of both, of course, can be determined later.

That is all. Thank you for understanding.

[end feed.]

ooc; will be slow

[ There's a sort of incredibly groan of desperate boredom before the Swedish guy starts talking in his atrocious accented voice: ] How the fuck do you guys keep yourselves entertained in this shit hole? [ Clearly, this guy wasn't affected by the weird silent hill (tm) mist and he probably doesn't check the communicator as often as he should. ] You know, besides trying to play detective and shit, 'cus that is not for me. That's shit for boring people.

[ He groans again after a long sigh. ] Never thought I would say this, but I'm even getting bored of wanking. My hand has blisters from it and there ain't even any magazines here. You girls should post naked pictures more. [ He thinks he's an awesome comedian because he just laughed loudly at that. ] Maybe I should do some, huh, gardening or however you say it 'cus I am trying to save up my weed. I am dreading the day I use it all up. [ A pause to think as he lights up a cigarette. ] Maybe we could plant some cannabis plant in the Gardens, hey? Something to do, but I bet some of you shitheads would steal it. Or be all "you can't do that" 'cus you are all pussies.

[ Another beat as he sucks on his cigarette and shifts on his seat, playing with the lighter (you can hear the metal click-click-click of it). ]

Yo. How do you guys like, keep track of time here, yeah? Are there calendars?

I will not take part in the argument between my brother Robb, who is called the King in the North, and Queen Cersei Lannister, who is the mother of Joffrey Baratheon, the King on the Iron Throne.

That satisfies my vow, as King Stannis reminded me.

[A pause. Jon is still kind of bad at this talking in public thing, so give the kid a break. Not a huge one, just a little break. Ghost is sitting beside him, yawning.]

Months ago, the ranger Strider and I went into the depths of the ship, hoping to find some trace of those who are lost or missing. Ghost went alongside us, but we found nothing, which I am sure is not surprising to any. We returned before the jump, but then Strider was gone, so he could not speak of this trip himself. I have been, since that time, occupied with matters of family aboard, and have not had the time to discuss this.

Has anyone else ranged into the ship?

[And a pause]

Also, the howling that has been coming from the Gardens - I spotted a direwolf there, but it fled from Ghost. I would keep caution, going there. They are dangerous things that can easily kill a man and think little of the act.

[ it's obvious this is going to be a serious post just from the look on robb's face. this is the king in the north, drawn up ice cold and stone-faced on the screen and there's nothing of the boy in his face. the direwolf at his side is a hulking mass of fur, teeth bared and eyes gleaming and no, this is not meant to be a light-hearted post. ]

Upon this ship there is a woman called Cersei Lannister, who arrived most recently. In Westeros, she dealt my house a great and terrible injury, and the matter must be settled, for it cannot be ignored. If she hears this, then I call her to treat with me, and submit herself for judgement for her crimes.

[ and grey wind snarls, ears set back and hackles raised, just as robb cuts the feed. ]

[ When the video turns on, the feed is shaking slightly—Ygritte is walking through one of the ship's many corridors, backlit by the sterile luminescent lights overhead. She covers her mouth and coughs slightly before speaking into the camera. ]


...Anyone know of wise women, on board the ship? Where I come from, we call 'em woods witches, but I don't know that's what they're called everywhere.

[ A slight pause. ] I'm looking for moon tea, 'f anyone knows where t' find some.

[The video turns on first -- a closeup of a handsome young man’s face. A blue eye flashes in the screen for a moment, then the camera is turned over in his hands, buttons are pressed -- and it switches to voice. There is silence for a moment, save for the fumbling of Renly’s hands and some quiet breaths, and then -- a soft ‘Aah.’ The strange device is blinking at him, apparently he is meant to communicate. Sadly, his voice does not sound quite as authoritative as he wishes it to, mostly due to confusion.]

This is King Renly Baratheon, lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Speak, whoever listens, and tell me how I may return home. I have pressing business to attend to and a war to win.

[He falls silent once again, frowning, and pokes at the comm, some of the arrogance in his tone fading to honest curiosity and confusion.] If there is anyone listening, that is. This device is quite strange.

In quella parte del libro de la mia memoria,
dinanzi a la quale poco si potrebbe leggere, si
trova una rubrica la quale dice: Incipit vita
nova.

[ After this odd introduction in Italian, a video shall start. A young woman will be seen, hovering above the device. She is a sweet looking girl, no more than fifteen. There is a brilliant smile on her lips, golden locks that are caught back in a hairnet of pearls. She is all silks and jewelry; a golden cross on her neck. From her gasp of wonder, she is delighted by the thing. ]

Oh! It sheds light! Like a firefly you can carry in your pocket!

[ There is an air of youth to her, giddiness and joy that have somehow morphed themselves into a girl. she seems unsure of whether she has an audience or not but she will lift her head and then incline it gracefully all the same. The next words shall be spoken with passion, as if they are a personal confession. ]

In that book which is
My memory
Before which is little that can be read
There is a rubric, saying: Incipit Vita Nova -

[ A smile. ]

Here begins a new life.

[ She shall bow her head again. ]

Tranquility! What a wonderful name for a ship that sails through the stars. And as it brought sweet company upon me when I arrived, I can only humbly introduce myself to its people in return. I am named Lucrezia Borgia turned Lucrezia Sforza; I come from Rome, to those who are familiar with it.

It is an honor to be in your presence.

[ ah, robb returns to video posts. there's a marked difference in the set of his face. he looks older, more solmen if such a thing were possible, more like his father, than he did in those very first few times he'd addressed the ship. grey wind is at his elbows, eyes gleaming as his great jaws part in a disinterested yawn. the display of teeth though, that sure is something to see. robb sinks a hand into the fur at the scruff of grey wind's neck, and the action is almost a boy reaching for something familiar, something to anchor himself to. ]

I wish to request a favor of this ship.

[ kings don't make requests, they give orders. that is what robb learned from his namesake but in his time spent aboard this ship he's also learned that a displaced king gets himself more by requesting rather than trying to command. ( like the beggar king, and if his stomach turns at that he ignores it. ) ]

My youngest brother Rickon has come aboard this vessel. I don't seek to curb his curiosity, but only to ask that discretion is used when answering his questions and granting him knowledge.

[ there's a pause. grey wind huffs a breath, impatient, and robb's hand twists in the fur. ]

And perhaps not encourage his fondness for knives.

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. ]

[And now, a public service announcement from your resident lord and master of gross exaggeration, poster child of pointless overreaction, supreme champion of the ninety-mile-an-hour whinge--]

There's a cow in the oxygen garden.

[He doesn't even bother to hide the undercurrent of disgust in the audio feed, an edge to his voice that makes it clear he's most likely had a recent run-in with the aforementioned cow and/or a cow by-product.]

There's a cow in the oxygen garden why is there a cow in the oxygen garden on what strange, bizarro planet did any of you think this was a good idea?

Agh, it's--nevermind, I'm absolutely positive that at least some of you come from strange, bizarro planets where this sort of thing is acceptable. I mean, the cats and the dogs and--I heard there's a horse, too--are bad enough, now we've got livestock.

And don't even--don't even get me started on the bloody birds. Filthy. Eugh.

I know we're probably still hung up on certain unnamed parties forgetting how to swim, and yes, fair enough, it's tragic, but I think we could all use a, ah. Friendly reminder. This is, in fact, a spaceship. Not a zoo. How is that--What's the point, anyway? It's all--it's all great that the ship packed up your giant killer wolf and dumped it in your locker just for you, but maybe the rest of us are not entirely comfortable with the idea of cows and horses and giant killer wolves out! Anyone think of that?

You can't walk five feet around here without running into someone's pet. We have got to start talking about what to do with all these animals. Honestly.

[ Ygritte activates the video feed. When the camera focuses she's seated cross-legged on Jon Snow's bed, looking into it intently, features stern—and with her other hand tapping the flat blade of a carved bone dagger against her sheepskin-covered thigh.

Her voice is steady and light, but with just a hint of iron underneath it. ]


...I'll speak now t' the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, 'f he's willing.






[ ...No encryption of any sort, b/c wildling. Takes place after a particular conversation with Alayne Stone.

...Jon Snow, you got some 'splainin to do, boy. ]

Hello?

[ The device is on now, not directed at anything in particular - the user's obvious inexperience is shown by the fact that you only have the glimpse of blonde hair and the rest is angled at a wall, but the voice takes no notice and keeps on speaking to it. She has had the object for a week now, simply sitting in her pocket - near forgotten with the still present shock of simply being here. Until earlier, when she had found it again by chance and remembered it's existence.

Where did this come from? ]

I thought that I heard voices speaking from this some time ago.

[ there's a whirl of color and she has adjusted to, by luck angle the camera to focus on her, if only for a moment before she has her fingers obscuring the view. In case it is not entirely obvious, the user has little or no knowledge whatsoever of the purpose and function and when she removes them from the lens, it is now pointed downwards towards the floor.

Yes, it's another one of them. ] 

It seems there are many from my world to be welcomed aboard after this past jump. If those of Westeros inclined to make their presence known, I would speak with all of you.

[ there's a pause. a direwolf's low whine can be heard, and robb exhales slowly. ]

And I'm sure it is already known, but the lady who called herself Aberdeen is no longer aboard.

[ and feed is cut. ]

[ The video feed flashes on with a start, upside-down, to reveal a young redheaded woman—barely past her teens and dressed in animal skin and fur-lined clothing, no less—examining the network device closely and pushing random buttons and turning it this way and that, pink tongue catching between white and slightly crooked teeth in earnest concentration. Eventually she huffs in exasperation. ]

...Shit. Jon Snow told me he'd teach me how t' work this thing, but it's...augh!

[ She tosses it down on the floor irritably, and it just so happens to land right-side-up, and continues to record as she moves to the center of the room, where she's piled some pieces of wood and paper scraps. She sits cross-legged on the floor before the small pile and begins to rub two small pieces of wood together furiously, one piece shaped like a bow and another like a small plank, her shoulders hunched and red head bowed in concentration.

Finally, there is a tiny puff of smoke—and she yelps victoriously. She tips the small wooden plank and blows air onto it, fanning it. The small puff of smoke blossoms into a tiny flame...which gets bigger as she adds it to the makeshift pile of kindling on the floor, glowing brighter and hotter with each second.

And then suddenly it's getting larger, and smoke begins to fill the small room. Ventilation? Might be a problem. She puts her hands on the hips of her sheepskin breeches and cocks her head, coughing just a bit. ]

...Well, at least it's a cookfire, alright. That's something.


[[ooc: yes, Ygritte has started a small - for now - fire, in her room. Come stop her before she burns it down? ]]