mucked: (☂ you sit and try sometimes)
[personal profile] mucked
Who: Peggy Carter and YOU
Broadcast: Audio + Text
Action: Aboard the Starstruck.
When: Evening

[ it's been a long day. long week. long bloody month. and tonight, in the rebuilt space of a bedroom now properly shared, peggy carter is reading a book. not just any book, really. but that's a story for another time. for now, she's prepared to proceed publicly as though nothing is amiss.

in the handful of hours before bed, she takes to the network with a brief puzzle. ]


[ and attached to the text is an audio messsage. ]

I know it's been a little while since the last one -- and some of you lot who most enjoyed them have gone and left. So we'll ease back into it with something simple. Simple, but no less fundamental. Solving it is all well and good but, as always, there are bragging rights up for grabs for anyone who names the source. Fair warning -- English is the native tongue.

And while I've got your attention, I suppose I ought to do my due diligence [ however reluctantly ] and ask whether anyone else has purchased the upgrade which merges two rooms together. It may be worthwhile to swap notes on how those changes came into effect.

[ and that's that. although she'll be awake for a little while yet -- answering messages and putting on a brave face. truth is, things have gone pear-shaped and she's only just realizing how much recovery yet required. those aboard or visiting the starstruck can find her at her desk, hatch left open, in her and steve's newly merged room. ]

( ooc: and because not everyone has the out-of-character time or inclination for codebreaking, here is the quotation peggy's posted using a caesar shift. )
edwinjarvis: (pic#11398603)
[personal profile] edwinjarvis
Who: Jarvis and you
Broadcast: N/A
Action: The Melting Pot bistro (Iskaulit), SS Tourist,
When: July 9th and onward; potentially a catch-all for the month! Find him in The Melting Pot (on the Iskaulit), etc. anytime during this, or let me know if you have a wildcard or something closed you want done. Warning for a particularly depressing butler this month, since the calibrations were paaarticularly rough on him.

Jarvis has been incredibly scarce during the last few weeks of the calibrations. You'd damn near have to actually go check on him to make sure he's still around — but he's around. He's learned things, terrible things about the future... and what has happened in the past, and he found it more socially acceptable to shed his upset tears in the quiet of his own room, alone and aptly quieted by his own hands. He tries to find the logic in it all; Bucky was not himself, not really, right? It stands to reason it's not his fault, and yet — it doesn't change who did the deed, who had hurt the people he cared about deeply.

He's not sure what to do. What to say... Especially to Miss Carter.

And when the calibrations end, he goes right back to work at The Melting Pot. Regardless of the turmoil stirring his mind and stomach, he can't just... fade off. Life must surely go on, even with terrible revelations and more terrible nightmares (and lord, he can't stop having those dreams, dreams of absolutely helplessness and uselessness; or even more, when he dreams he's trapped in the snow, killing children with his bare hands, wrapping his hands around Natasha's throat for some blasted coat—). He straightens his tie and moves on to work with that slight smile and his carefully maintained appearances. He goes to the gym on the Iskaulit and trains. He works on the garden. He makes sure Mr. Hunter gets his lessons. He makes sure, despite his great anxiety, to bring Miss Carter treats. The staff at the bistro need to have someone there to help with complete focus!

His job is to be helpful and keep others afloat. Not himself.

Read more... )
mucked: (☂ from all signs of mad mankind)
[personal profile] mucked
Who: Peggy + you
Broadcast: N/A
Action: Starstruck, Iskaulit
When: All day.

[ as compelling an attraction as the asteroids can be, peggy wakes up on what could have been april 21st and promptly decides that a captain's work is never done. despite a short holiday on one of the less glitzy asteroids, she storms her way back onto the starstruck around midday. she'd have preferred to be back earlier, of course, but a certain stubborn steve rogers had delayed her more than usual this morning.

because, you see, today is peggy carter's birthday. and up until recently, she'd thought this particular piece of sensitive intel might have remained under wraps. certainly, she's never announced it to the fleet (not had it announced for her) but over the last year there'd been an influx of individuals who might otherwise be privy to that sacred knowledge.

and so surviving the day becomes a little trickier. her first precaution is to not even address the network -- indeed, she hasn't got her device with her at all. so if some friend or ally does try and contact peggy, they may be forced to seek her out in person instead. after all, it's rare that she should persist with so much radio silence. visitors and crew on the starstruck will find her in her quarters trying very hard to dodge the likes of both steve rogers and edwin jarvis. and trying to busy herself with 'paperwork', though closer inspections might prove she's doing little more than working on a few hobby ciphers. and let's not forget the copious trips to the kitchen for tea, of course.

for visitors and crew: it seems steve's left the odd 'hint' and trinket around the ship. flowers here, candles there, and there's at least one cake chilling in the kitchen. perhaps more. when asked about it, the captain feigns innocence.

later, when that diversion fails, she heads to the iskaulit. first to the firing range, where she squeezes off just enough shots to counterbalance the creeping sensation of domesticity. and that done, she stops by the space bar for a drink of whatever-the-devil most resembles whiskey. ]
mucked: (☂ just get inside -- it's almost over)
[personal profile] mucked
Who: Peggy Carter, some rumours, and you!
Broadcast: text, then video.
Action: y, aboard the starstruck.
When: today!

[ a message materializes on the network around midday: ]

Peggy Carter's got a veritable guy-pile of suitors: Edwin Jarvis, Max Rockatansky, Jason Wilkes, Jack Thompson, Howard Stark, Stefan Salvatore, Steve Rogers, Sam Winchester, James Barnes, Clint Barton, Daniel Sousa, and counting! How many more can you name?

[ and not long after (in a state of utter pique and dismay), that same network registers a rather heartfelt reaction -- but this time with accompanying wide-eyed video. ] Jack -- Jack Thompson? Un-bloody-likely. The only thing he's ever got his eyes on is the next greasy rung on the ladder. [ peggy scoffs, disgusted. ] As pranks go, this one's been truly shambolic. The first of April was days ago.

[ in a few hours, she'll enjoy her meltdown all over again when she finds a box of sponsor gifts in the cargo bay filled with stickers, each with a different so-called suitor's name scribbled into the blank space. all of them are filled in except for an ominous pile with an attached note: in case there's so many you start to forget their names. blanks included for any others that we might have missed. ]
mucked: (☂ we saw you lying in the road)
[personal profile] mucked
Who: Agent Carter + YOU
Broadcast: Fleetwide.
Action: Aboard the Starstruck or the Iskaulit.
When: Today!

[ not too long ago, peggy pitched the fleet a diversionary puzzle. with all this talk of encryption and subterfuge, she's reminded how the puzzles were meant to be part of a series (of sorts) and so she gets out her notepad and pencils. after a few scrapped ideas (too long or too advanced or too dull), she settles on a code that's only a half-step up from her last one. ]

Last time we talked ciphers, we did a simple substitution. [ peggy addresses the network directly, and with little else in the way of a greeting. ] This time 'round, I've got something only a teensy bit tougher. Frankly, it can be just as handily brute forced as the other one -- but I'm more interested to know if anyone can figure out the math behind this one. Brute force only brings you so far in this hobby and I'm already working on something for next month that will require a lighter touch.

Extra credit, as ever, to those who can identify the source. Or express the cipher in modular arithmetic. And apologies for those in the Fleet who cannot speak English. Despite our augments, code seems to defy translation.

[ she'll field questions and answers for a little while from aboard the starstruck, but then it's off to the iskaulit where she passes an hour in the library -- in search of new source material, perhaps. for those players whose characters should be able to decode it but who don't want to try decoding it themselves, here is the quotation. ]
uprightness: (pic#10255301)
[personal profile] uprightness
Who: steve rogers, peggy carter and one tiny natasha romanoff.
Broadcast: nope
Action: on the starstruck
When: backdated to nat's glorious augment malfunction.

95% awkward and 5% chances of death )
mucked: (☂ any place is better)
[personal profile] mucked
Who: Peggy Carter & YOU
Broadcast: Y, fleetwide.
Action: Aboard the Starstruck, if you like.
When: Today.

[ a video feed flickers to life, and fights for a moment to adequately focus on its subject. peggy carter sits in the kitchen aboard the starstruck, cup of tea and her elbow and half a biscuit in her hand. dabbing at crumbs, she sets her food aside and offers the network a bright smile. ]

That message -- the ominous one, in the bizarre language? It put me in mind of the sort of cryptograms and puzzles you might see in the Sunday paper. [ her expression is cheery enough, although she's not being wholly honest about her interest in such games. she won't be the one to say the words bletchley and park.] I loved them. Them, and crosswords. I thought maybe some of you might like them, too. [ ... ] We could do a few together. I'm not saying we all join a club, exactly, but back home they were always better solved in good company.

Let's start you off with one that's easy enough. But there's no shame in needing a hint, if needed. For what it's worth, the text I'm attaching is, in its deciphered form, English -- not yet certain how the augments' translation will handle it. We'll see.

[ -- and then an afterthought: ]

...By chance, has anyone been brewing their own beer?
mucked: (☂ away from the streets and signs)
[personal profile] mucked
Who: Peggy Carter & Steve Rogers
Broadcast: Definitely not.
Action: Closed, aboard one of the occasional waypoint stations as the fleet drifts.
When: Mid-afternoon
a little late for a first date. )
mucked: ( easystreet ) (Default)
[personal profile] mucked
Who: Peggy Carter & YOU
Broadcast: Video, fleetwide.
Action: Sure, on the Starstruck or on the Iskaulit.
When: Right now!!

[ peggy's message is brief, to the point, and probative: ]

Myself and -- [ she never asked natasha if she was on board for having her name fluttered about, willy-nilly, around the fleet's network ] -- Myself and an associate are knocking together a modest firing range on the Iskaulit. A slow-coming venture, but it could have proved a dangerous one and I wanted to be thorough. Given the relative scarcity of both pieces and munitions, it'll work on a strictly bring your own gun basis.

And for the time being, I'd rather not see anyone shooting there without considerable experience of their own. We'll get 'round to beginners, but not yet. Consider it due diligence. On the same note, we'll be choosy about which kinds of rounds can be fired here. The ship is a robust thing, but we'd best not tempt fate.

[ the range itself is not quite in operation, but you're certainly welcome to visit her there. it's in a cramped little quarter of the iskaulit, far away from what anyone could reasonably assume might encompass an inaccessible engine room. peggy spends the rest of the day on the iskaulit doing her level best to soundproof the room itself. eventually, she'll need to consider a locking mechanism of some sort.

later, tired but satisfied with the sweat on her brow, she returns to the starstruck. ]
mucked: (☂ mermaids!)
[personal profile] mucked
Who: Peggy Carter + YOU
Broadcast: text, fleetwide
Action: aboard the starstruck
When: the days following winter's glitch

Damage report, please. Who did the Winter Soldier hurt? Casualties?

[ her thumb hovers. she nearly adds I am so sorry but thinks better of it, in the end. peggy carter is confined to her bed in the captain's quarters aboard the starstruck, propped up on a small mountain of pillows with most of her torso bandaged and wrapped. a pair of broken ribs, at least. she hasn't properly listened to her own damage report, yet. but the consistent throb in the side of her skull suggests winter's initial blow landed harder than she'd first anticipated. one eye is still puffed up, bruised, and swollen to the point where it doesn't see a thing. one half of her face is streak of black and blue now that the blood's been cleared away.

she doesn't use the network's voice or video function. her texts are slow, business-like, and methodical. and she'll text for as long as she can before someone with a busier body than her own shows up to confiscate her device. but she hasn't been able to adequately parse the information that flew quickly and efficiently in the hours following her own fight and black-out and lonely struggle to an empty shuttle.

even now, it's about all she can manage to toggle the privacy settings and message her first mate individually: ]
Ahsoka. Please see me in my room. ASAP.

[ a torch must be passed, for the time being. and peggy has a lot of healing to do. visitors are welcome, whether they are aware of her bashed-in state or not. ]
thebestseller: (u mad?)
[personal profile] thebestseller
Who: Richard Castle and YOU
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: N/A unless Windrose crew wants it
When: June 7th

[When the feed clicks on, Castle has his feet propped up and is reading aloud from a book, although the cover is obscured from view. Also, his Scottish accent is atrocious. Bear with him. He's discovered the cheap vending machine romance novels.]

"Lass, from 500 years intae the future ye may be, but theh be things ye kannae ken." Lord McKraken then doubled over in pain, holding his stomach.

"But I love you!" Elizabeth cried out, rushing over to her Lord's side, holding his sweating form in her arms as he grimaced in agony, running her hands along his feverish pectorals. "I've promised to never leave your side no matter what comes between us."

"Ah beg ye, lass, get thee away before it be too late- AUUUUUUGH!" Elizabeth was forced to back away as McKraken's skin became slimier and slimier. "Ah'm... Ah'm..."

"What is it?"

"Ah be a were-cuttlefish!"

[Castle then has to place the book face-down on the table and lean his head back, laughing.]

Sorry, I just had to share that with someone.
unbearablynaive: (alight)
[personal profile] unbearablynaive
Who: The Vision and you!
Broadcast: Fleetwide video
Action: Windrose
When: Today!

[The video clicks on to an unusual-looking man with maroon skin and a yellow gem set into his forehead. Though he's been a familiar sight around the Windrose, the Vision doesn't tend to post much so he wouldn't be surprised if there are many unfamiliar with him.

This is a special occasion, however. There's even what looks like a cake in the background.]

There was a slight time differential between my last memories of home and the calendar here. Namely, I seem to have missed the month of June entirely. Given that lack, today is the three hundred sixty-fifth day since I was created.

Accordingly, there is cake and ice cream on the Windrose for any who should care to visit.

[He pauses and furrows his brow slightly.]

I cannot vouch for the taste of either, but I assure you they received the highest ratings from the shops they were purchased at.
uprightness: (pic#10222737)
[personal profile] uprightness
I knew I should have looked up 'reality shows' a few months back.

[ The man who appears on the screen is currently looking at what seems to be a little notepad before adding the word 'space' next to the words 'reality tv'. Really, he could have done this space setting if it included an inter-galactic war or helping planets in peril.

But in all honesty, Steve Rogers: entertainer has never been his career choice and it's not his forte, either. At least now the whole thing doesn't include singing and girls in scandalously short skirts. ]

My name is Steve Rogers, currently aboard the SS Pathstone. I've done a little bit of reading while aboard the Marsiva. I understand there are those who are trying to help the people on the moon we're visiting, if there is anything you need, I'd do whatever I can do to help.

[ you might catch a glimmer of red and blue and silver just behind him. A wink as the light hits metal ]

The same goes for going home. I imagine people have already looked into ways for us to leave this place. No one should be taken anywhere against their will. I'd like to hear about the information you have managed to collect and I'll do everything I can to make sure everyone will be able to go home safely.

[ you all get a little smile. he's so awkward at these things, can you tell by now. ]

I heard I've missed quite a party.
theroadwarrior: (pic#9855942)
[personal profile] theroadwarrior
Who: Max and you!
Broadcast: Fleetwide!
Action: SS Starstruck — cargo bay, medical bay, shuttles, kitchen; Iskaulit — bar, community garden.
When: Monday and Tuesday (because he's gettin' shit handled Wednesday... hopefully.)

((Also just FYI this talks a bit about dental issues so if you're grossed out by teeth this ain't your post.))

[Max seems to be in a bad way this week.

Not a 'distant' kind of way, not avoidance because of skittishness, or his own inner demons wrestling with him. It's not one of those rather dreary episodes.

No, Max is — just even more easy to annoy and even more temperamental than usual. It all begins Monday: he sits in the cargo bay with The Dog, AKA Rock, who is still on casual bed-rest with his thin furry leg in a cast. The dog huffs and Max matches the sound himself, massaging his temples like something is burrowing into the bone there. Headache, perhaps? His crew will probably notice it first. Any attempt to talk to him will leave people, even those he's more patient around, with a cold shoulder of sorts or a shorter fuse on conversation than usual. He doesn't talk much (even compared to usual), sort of has a hard time concentrating, replies sharply and then is gone just as fast with a miserable scowl on his face.

Be so careful approaching him, guys.

He's probably gonna aggravate you as much as you're gonna aggravate him.

In the kitchen, he seems to have switched over to the room temperature liquid foods — nothing solid, and he spoons it with a completely unhappy look on his face. Sloshes it around, grumbles at it, and finishes the bowl when his stomach gurgles to urge him on. Whatever it is that is clearly bothering him (it's getting more and more transparent), he can barely focus sometimes. He paces instead. And then he leaves the ship, ignoring the gumball thing entirely. The thought of chewing on those makes him want to bash his head into a wall; meanwhile, his jaw throbs painfully, like a heartbeat. Thump-thump-thump.

His fingers move to prod the back of his mouth as he digs at the culprit of his bad attitude, but it ends with him cursing aloud in the cargo bay, an echo of a sailor's mouth. Not PG-13, kiddies. Max apparently knows some super special no-no words. Excavating the root of his issue leaves nothing for results.

Max goes to the bars on the Iskaulit, because that's where people go when they're not happy and need a drink for it, and—]

.... Nothing cold.

[Yes, bartender, give him his lukewarm booze. Thank you. This guy can hold guzzoline in his mouth; he can handle bland, iceless liquor.

He meanwhile scrubs at his cheek as he sips and finally makes an exception to his drinking limit; not enough to get him drunk, of course, but enough to numb his gums a little. If not that, then he'll just have to medicate himself later. At any rate, maybe he's a familiar figure hunkered over his glass. Or maybe you want to to know why there's someone who hisses and flinches like something bit him. every time he massages his jaw. Either way, forced company will do him some good.

He also visits the Iskaulit garden here, and... then he looks around to see if anyone's going to catch him. Looks all clear. He moves to swipe whatever vegetable is easiest to squish down in a bowl to eat. It's good for you. Vitamins, and all that. Nobody will miss these, right? It's like old times, when he used to pilfer from the gardens aboard another ship from another world, which feels like a blink ago.

The SS Starstruck finally has a medical bay (thanks, Lauralae), so he moves to find some decent painkillers in there, too. Which is good, because... The longer he's gone on to ignore this... the worse it's getting. It's not much of a plot twist by now, is it? Nah. It's a broken molar, a tooth fractured and now officially infected thanks to certain giant behemoth smegs in his world throwing him around and trying to beat his head in.

Thanks, Rictus.

He lays in the shuttle with the chair tipped back, arm over his eyes.

... Maybe he should find some decent pliers and go for it.


Yes. It's starting to look promising.]


i need surgical pliers. 

[how is it that max's entries end up him needing medical supplies what's up with that, huh]
mucked: (☂ the only girl)
[personal profile] mucked
Who: a newly canon-updated peggy carter and YOU.
Broadcast: fleetwide video
Action: ss starstruck for crewmate and any visitors.
When: beginning today, but feel free to forward date something if you like.

[ stern-faced, peggy appears upon the network. ] Does 'zero matter' mean anything to anyone? Pointed, I know, and a bit a long shot...but -- if there's anywhere I might find some resource or knowledge about such matters, then the fleet is my best hope. Otherworldly mysteries are not well within my wheelhouse.

[ there are other questions she could ask -- but no, zero matter might be the safest inquiry out of a great many others. and even then, it's barely safe at all. but it must be asked, for now she feels most preoccupied with the work conducted back home. the fleet is almost a secondary thought -- a distant, archaic priority. ]

Alternatively -- [ she sighs. until now, she hasn't been agent cater within the fleet, much preferring to be the more social and civilian version of herself. ] -- I wouldn't mind hearing a bit more about worlds. Different worlds, universes, what have you. I know none have been successful in creating a rift between this place and any other but -- surely, such rifts must exist elsewhere.


[ long story short: peggy carter took a nasty spill inside one of the sr shuttles, and is now back on her feet after being out cold for nearly a day. on the surface, it seems like nothing's the matter. not seriously so, at least. but as she goes about her ship duties, there's a glassy-eyed quality to her gaze. it takes her a little too long to remember someone's name -- as though she's reaching back by weeks or maybe months to recall details she'd been living every day.

find her in the kitchen, where she's preparing one of her two or three or sometimes four daily cups of tea. or find her in the cargo bay where she's trying to use the recreational equipment. she quickly gives up on the punching bag because although she no longer has stitches holding her guts together, there persists a tight ache in the flesh. she settles for the treadmill.

wherever else she might be encountered, her crankiness is persistent. ordinarily patient with her crew, peggy's kindness has been thinning out all week. she appears tightly wound and disengaged. ]
theroadwarrior: (pic#9654883)
[personal profile] theroadwarrior
Who: Max Rockatansky (and a dog)
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: SS Starstruck
When: NOW!!!!


Did your ears love that loud sound? Max dropped his phone. He does that in most cases because he doesn't care very much about keeping his things safe; today, it's because he's apparently busy. As he walks a few feet from the supply pack and network device he'd dropped haphazardly, blood drips after him and leaves a small dotted trail before he plops down; it looks like he must have just landed the shuttle, the engine cooling and hissing softly. He grunts as something struggles in his arms pathetically. A tail of black and gray fur flops around, and there's a distinct dog whine.]

Shhhh. Shh.

[Max sinks down into sitting on the floor of the SS Starstruck's cargo bay, a medium-sized tin box in hand. It's hard to see what he's doing, but he's got one hand scavenging through it — first comes out a cleanly packaged syringe, and then the dog yelps slightly and snaps at him when he apparently uses it; its teeth scrapes the skin of his arm as he moves out of the way of its mouth, and then he hushes the dog again. It's by no means a small animal — not a gigantic beast but certainly an armful, and it's an effort. Max's voice is surprisingly kind, though, and he pets a hand over the dog's crown.]

Should kick in. Shh. No use in complaining. [Some time ticks by. He hums, pets the dog again. He sounds pleased, which is not common at all from him, really.]  See, you're floating. Won't feel a thing.

[The feed doesn't catch the stern look on his face, but it does catch him threading a needle. The hands doing it are slick with blood, an old blanket hanging off his thigh from where he must have been using it as a makeshift bandage for the mutt. As he works, he stops for a moment and reaches out, grabbing the feed and pulling it towards him. It leaves a few red smudges on the screen, and he glances down at it.

... Mmmrm. Well, it's rolling for him, so he has less work to do there.]

I need — medicine. For dogs. Ahmm... Hm. Antibiotics.

[The dog huffs loudly, and Max turns to start wiping away more blood from the left hind leg, where there appears to be a heavy cut on the meatier thigh. He considers the injury with a careful touch, and then sighs, starts to splint the wound temporarily. He's by far better at treating wounds than a normal person should be, but he's not exactly the most professional of medics; see: his own damaged leg, which he should have seen a doctor for twenty years ago. Whoops, right.]

... It's broken.

[He'll wrap it. Keep it cleaned up,. He rubs sweat off his temple. And leaves a small red mark there, too. What, you expect him to be clean? He's already made the cargo bay look like a death zone. Hell, the shuttle he usually sleeps in... well, you know. Blood in there, too. Sorry crew. He considers the feed again for a moment, thoughtfully staring at the ceiling. He almost explains why he's bothering, why he's reaching out for help. He hit this dog. Was piloting a small craft on the station and the dog was in the way, was hiding between the wheels. It's only luck that it was his leg and not his skull.

And Max is very bothered by this. Very, very bothered. He tried to leave it. He doesn't have time or energy, and the last dog he had back home was shot down in his stead. He doesn't want the trouble.

And yet here he is, stained with dog blood and splinting an old mutt's leg. He thins his lips, decides not to explain.]

I need better equipment, to mend it. We don't have a doctor.

[While the dog's a bit hard to see around Max's annoyingly in-the-way butt, he's quite an interesting-looking dog; he's not any clear sort of species at all, just some sort of strange concoction; hard to say where it came from. Probably ditched by a ship who couldn't handle a dog on board, one could surmise. Judging by how underweight he is and how weathered he seems even not counting the broken leg (thanks Max), he has been on his own for a while.


Anyone boarding or on board the SS Starstruck, feel free to find some of your linens or extra pillows missing. That's because Max has, since the feed, dragged them all to the cargo bay and made the dog a makeshift bed to lay in while he's in a morphine-induced and droopy-eyelidded rest. Should dogs have space morphine??? Who the fuck knows, Max did it anyway. Old mutt is loooovin' it.]
collegedropout: (pic#6635024)
[personal profile] collegedropout
[Happy V-Day, everyone! Sam has been unfortunately busy this weekend. You know, working at the bars, getting convinced by certain stoner semi-angels to partake in a quick bar-hop. Or three. Or five. Also, what the fuck was in that Space Race drink? Because he felt just fine after the first hour, but then he went down like a sack of potatoes.

The black screen leaves a lot to the imagination, so far. Sam gives a tired, hungover groan and slaps around for the built-in alarm he'd set in the communications device, which is probably murderous on your guys' ears at first. When he grabs for it and peers to look at the time listed, the broadcast gives a good look at him in all of his glory -- who knew someone could have so many hickeys at once?]


[He stares up at the ceiling, blinking wearily. This isn't... the ship...

But surely nothing crazy happened, he thinks. Just drank a little too much. He's usually super chaste and all, and it's not like he'd...

And then three blue arms reach out from the right side of the bed, curling over his chest.]

Awake already, gangly human...?

[And another copper-skinned arm reaches to pet his hair from his left. A few interesting memories resurface from the night before.]

Surprisingly durable to make up for your poor tolerance to alcohol, mmhmm.

[Sam's eyes widen rather comedically as he shoots up from the bed, dropping the video feed flat on its face again. The sounds of him shuffling back sounds close to the microphone, and there are quite a few giggling ladies, and it really makes you wonder how many are actually fitting in that bed. Judging from the way Sam is tripping over his words, he's probably floundering. Let your imaginations be your guide.]

Jesus -- what the -- I, um, sorry. I -- Wow, right. I should, should really be -- ohmygod, uh. You guys were all great, seriously, but I... Have a shift in three hours... I should...!!

[More giggling at the sound of rustling pants.]

Wow, Sam, you've gone so red; I didn't know humans could change colors! What a fascinating species.

[One of the human girls in the crowd laughs aloud.] Nah, he just goes from animal to nervous school boy in one morning flat.

Thank you for your time, ladies--

Don't you want to stay for breakfast? I know how to make pancakes!

That's really nice but--[He's just about now realizing that the feed is going, and he's too distracted to notice that he's about to trip right over someone's body on the floor.]--OOF!!

[The video THUDS, pointing at a wall. This is the most PG feed detailing a NC-17 night ever. A familiar voice -- the source of Sam's tripping -- smacks his lips while a background cacophony of the gals and guys littered around the room gossip and giggle and exchange ship names. Sam is dumbstruck.]

How many people are there?!

Ah. Morning, Sam.


Slow your roll, buddy, there's plenty of time for round two and three--

Ugh... Not this again...

--or four or five...

M'gonna be sick...... What was in that Space Racer...

[This is the worst.

Happy Valentine's Day.]

housepartyprotocol: (Uh huh nope)
[personal profile] housepartyprotocol
Who: Tony Stark & OPEN
Broadcast: None
Action: SS Starstruck
When: Now

[Remember your ship mechanic? The one who showed up, complained a little, talked a big game, and them retreated to the engine room for two weeks? Well he's back. Back and full of science.]

Whoever's been leaving food by the door, just know that you deserve a raise.


Feb. 10th, 2016 10:27 pm
shishkebub: (let's all just shut up)
[personal profile] shishkebub
Who: Logan
Broadcast: Fleet wide
Action: The Marsiva
When: Now!


[He's a Canadian Bub and he just woke up on the Marsiva. With all the shit that he'd been dealing with lately trying to track down Romulus and deal with his demented son, he might have handled this whole being in space thing a whole lot worse. Instead the feed opens with Logan standing in front of the viewing bay with his hands in his pockets and a less than pleased expression written in his features.]

Damn. Space again.

[It wasn't like he went into space all the time, but he didn't especially enjoy it. He could be seen tapping the glass gently with the business end of one metal claw protruding from his wrist. Well, he sure as hell hoped there was someone around who was a better pilot in zero atmosphere than he was. Besides, at least he couldn't see Galactus out there.

Later when the feed cuts off, Logan will try getting past the visitor's area of the Marsiva by trying to cut a path through one of the walls with his claws. Unfortunately besides making some very unpleasant sounds, he doesn't seem to succeed in cutting his way through. Too bad.]
redactions: ([ tfa ] so many silent sorrows)
[personal profile] redactions
Who: Jim Barnes
Broadcast: Fleetwide.
Action: nope.
When: Feb 2.

Two questions:

1. Has anyone managed to fix the "modifications" made to our ships a few months ago?

2. Has anyone else found their personal items being sold on this station?

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