Apr. 11th, 2016 08:36 am
notzubats: Sora eyeroll (if ur ansem's nobody why r u white)
[personal profile] notzubats
Who: Sora Niniji
Broadcast: Text, Fleetwide!
Action: guess
When: Today





if ur in a tree & theres a bear at the bottom. a mad bear.

what do u do?

[a beat before the next part is added]

just curious.
astrobleme: (sabik)
[personal profile] astrobleme
Who: Shinji Ikari and you?!
Broadcast: Fleetwide.
Action: SS Heron.
When: 3/12.


[Shinji rewrites this about a dozen times before he finally decides to post it. It reads:]

Hello. My name is Shinji Ikari. I'm a pilot that's stationed on the Heron. I'm sorry if I'm not using the network as it's intended, but I don't know how else to distribute this message. I've been a member of the Fleet for over a month now and I've met quite a lot of people who have treated me well. It's something I wasn't expecting at all. I haven't been in the best frame of mind, but people have gone out of their way to reassure me, offer to help me, or just talk to me. That's something else I wasn't expecting. I don't know why anyone bothers to talk to someone like me.

The point of this message is to say that I'm grateful. I'd like to thank all of those people, and repay them, if at all possible. I don't know some of their names or contact information, though. I do have an easier time of thanking my crew - I'm doing that now - thank you, everyone, for putting up with me. And hello to anyone who's newly assigned. Anyway, I'm on the Heron, like I said, and I have small tokens of my appreciation to give out if people want them. I'll be in the cargo bay all day by the gym equipment. Although it's kind of pathetic, a single conversation is enough to qualify for this. (Talking to people is helping my ratings...)

Kaworu-kun and Asuka, I have things to give you too. I know it's a little early for White Day.

Unrelated question: Is it possible to delete any content that's posted to the network? I'm guessing not, but maybe I missed an option for that.

Thank you for your time.

[action, aboard the Heron.]

[Shinji can be found sitting in the cargo bay, on a stretching mat, nearest to the gym equipment. He's young-looking and more than a little sleepless, wondering if he shouldn't have made that embarrassing post. He's in the middle of nervously, repeatedly digging his fingers into a netted bag of colorful marbles that he won from the arcade on the Starlight. They're beautiful glass marbles, each crafted to resemble a foreign galaxy.

This isn't much of a gift, but he hopes it isn't a stupid one.

He looks up whenever he has a new visitor. Before he says anything, he pauses his music player and takes out at least one of his earbuds.]

interstices: (powder is the only thing left)
[personal profile] interstices
Who: Asuka Shikinami Langley
Broadcast: Video, Fleetwide
Action: SS Red Fish
When: 3/8

[Asuka is sitting on her bed, with a bright red notebook and pen in hand and a slight frown crossing her face. She's still wearing the same form-fitting red-and-purple combat plugsuit she's been in since her arrival. For once, she doesn't look so much annoyed as she does wary, though honestly, with her, it's hard to tell.]

This is Asuka Shikinami Langley. [No wave. She scribbles something on a notebook page that's probably just a line and not any kind of script.] I have a few questions for everyone. The more people that answer, the more accurate the survey, so I suggest you tell me.

[All business. Asuka would applaud herself for her own professionalism if there was any point. There's no telling how long it'll last.]

First, I want to know your nationalities. Second, I want to know what your occupation was before the Fleet. I'm trying to figure out if there's a pattern to the kidnappings or any groups that get targeted more than others.

[Which is what the notebook is for. She really doesn't trust the network not to bungle everything at Atroma's whim. There's a brief, reluctant pause, and then--]

Before you ask, I was born in Germany. I was a pilot before, too. That's all.
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.]

02 ( text )

Mar. 1st, 2016 10:27 pm
intelligently: (ᴏɴᴇ sɪxᴛʏ)
[personal profile] intelligently
Who: Lydia Martin + you
Broadcast: Fleetwide
When: March 1

What do you know about magic?
Does it exist in your world, or did you learn about it here (or in another world)?
If it exists in your world how do people get magic? Are they born with it or does something give them it? What can they do with it?
I didn't have magic at home. There were druids, but it wasn't the same.
I know that other worlds have different rules. In Asgard your abilities were nullified but the gods gave you magic. Which I still have here.
Is there a rule here for magic? Do your other abilities still exist? Has anyone been given a new power here?
It could have just been Asgard, but I'd rather make sure nothing else will happen here unexpectedly. At least about this.
birdsbirdsbirds: (♣ y'all with your earth references)
[personal profile] birdsbirdsbirds
Who: Bloodsport crew and any visitors aboard their fine vessel.
Broadcast: N/A
Action: Ship shenanigans!
When: While they're still on the Starlight.


[time to check in on the Bloodsport... what antics has this well-behaved and perfectly well-adjusted crew been up to?]
thespaceopera: (hello)
[personal profile] thespaceopera
[On today's episode of the Drift Fleet:

The cargo holds are full of mysterious crates! The crews are filling beyond capacity with new faces! Official alerts are informing the passengers that they are signed to contracts that they've never agreed to! They are docking at the dazzling FS Starlight, but are flat broke!

What are they going to do!? Stay tuned to find out!

...Meaning, this is a kickoff mingle for you all to enjoy the beginning of the latest plot setting. This is a convenient place to start threads relating to the first week of the event-- meeting new crewmembers, reacting to the mysterious cargo, arriving on the station and discovering that you're all broke, etc.

Tag around, start whatever you'd like, have fun. And, as always, feel free to make your own posts and mingles from here on in, as this will be the only mod-posted one for this event!]
birdsbirdsbirds: (♣ beaten at his own game)
[personal profile] birdsbirdsbirds
Who: Robin
Broadcast: Text
Action: None
When: At around 2:30am (central atroma time?)


[in the dead of night, a single line of text appears posted on the network:]

I thnk he lickedmy eye

[ ... no, seriously, that's it. that's the text. thank goodness we have this miraculous technology to communicate our important thoughts. notably, if anyone tries replying, it'll take him a good eight hours of game time to finally respond.]
child_of_bhaal: (a little noble)
[personal profile] child_of_bhaal
Who: Syeira and YOU!
Action: Around the ships or elsewhere for soup delivery. Then the Space Bar.
When: Some time after the 6th for soup. Any evening pretty much for the Space Bar.


So I know a lot of people are getting sick, and I know that chicken soup is something a lot of people recommend back home. So I wanted to make soup, but I couldn't get any actual chicken, so I got fish. It's been tasted and called not bad.

So um. I have soup. If you're sick.

[This sounds really lame now that she's saying it out loud. Ah hell.]

Robin, I'm bringing you some. And anyone else I know who's sick. You're getting some.

[You people are taking this fish soup.]

So I'll...be around...with soup.


[She goes to Varric's bar because he announced his first. And it is very comfortable for her tastes. She finds herself a table, and gets a pint of whatever. Then she starts drinking. For a more petite girl, she drinks very very well. And she'll be there a while. Until they ask her to go. She's really not used to bars that have closing times.]
theroadwarrior: (pic#9855944)
[personal profile] theroadwarrior
Who: Max Rockatansky & Whoever is willing to bump into him.
Broadcast: N/A.
Action: The planet Arslae.
When: January 1st — January 8th.


[Max gets off the SS Starstruck very quickly — he thrives on open space, needs the natural world around him, even if it's a frozen land that he's unfamiliar with. Snow and ice is bizarre; thanks to the landscape he was from — the radioactivity, the climate issues, all of it, he's never witnessed it at all firsthand. Doesn't even know where to really begin. Armed with a rather intimidating kitchen knife wrapped up and carefully hidden on his person, he bundles up and treks into the thick of it. Admittedly — and a rare occurrence — he finds his curiosity curves his caution just enough for the task.

It's like a dog or a cat being thrown into the middle of a snowy backyard. He tests the earth, quirks his brows when his legs sink deeper and deeper into the flurry. Almost reminds him of quicksand, only there's still the solid sensation of earth underfoot.

Careful Max, wouldn't wanna get slurped in, a young voice chimes in. He can't place it exactly, but it's not Glory. He's seen and heard so many children die in his life out there in the Wastelands, he couldn't begin to guess who it could be. He grumbles under breath and slips his fingers into the snow, forming a snowball in hand. Strangely, it feels like the natural reaction to snow. Heavy when compacted, holds shape unlike sand. The voice keeps knocking on the inside of his skull, slipping through the folds of his brain, tickling his eardrum.

Max. Max... Come find me, Max. Help me, Max—

He sees the shadow of a ghost in his peripheral and throws the snowball in its direction.

Mostly out of relaxed irritation. He's used to the sounds of the dead.

But sorry if you're actually standing there.]


[Max lingers around a bit closer than he'd usually stay, near the bonfires. He's nowhere near close enough to be brightly lit or partake in any of the good will or hospitality, but he's at least close enough in the background to leech a small amount of the warmth while he sits and starts slowly packing up a pack made of hide that he'd bought with the limited money he had. He supposes that's one small upside to being on a 'show'.

But he's also unfamiliar with using a real form of currency nowadays. So that's strange.

The biggest foe he's faced so far here, however, is his knee. He sits away from the others and suffers in silence, unbuckling part of his brace and moving it so that he can knead the aching scarred, stiff joint with his hand. He's not unused to it hurting sometimes, considering the inside of his knee is a mess of tissue and rough bone. But that's in the desert, where the sun rose — inevitably as it did — on the coldest of nights, and the aching would stop while he could bask in harsh sun like a lizard on a rock.

Here, it's a constant nagging. A little chiming bell of nerves that fight their own body. He doesn't like it. He chews the inside of his cheek, expressive only in the lines of pain forming at the edges of his eyes, near the creases of his mouth, beneath his slight beard. Maybe he'll look into medications, since this world may have them. His, not so much. It is a rarity, medical care. He's learned plenty in looking after himself.]


[One may find him hunting, but he's surprisingly with a group of natives. It's not that he wants the company — he just wants to barter, to get things in return for staying in motion. It's really quite simple: you live, you move, you keep your supplies well-maintained. In exchange for using their weapons and going on the hunt with them, he'll earn salted meats from their supply. It's interesting for him to see such simple measures taken on a planet with some surprising technology. Then again, home had some interesting machinery of its own, for how broken the system was.

Maybe you're out there with this group. They're going after mostly easy game, but they're bound to run into the less pleasant sort of monster out here. Until then, Max plays it simple, opting to stay in the back of the group and reply only when he's needed. He's a man of few words, always has been, always will be.

But... this sort of thing keeps his wandering and fractured mind on track.

He sneezes into his sleeve, tightens up the jacket and scarf he has tucked into his collar, and pushes forward.

His mind is blissfully silent.]


[Max hauls what he's given back to the ship in one of the small shuttles. He supposes this is where it's a good thing he's a pilot — it's not completely effortless, but it's like working an old atrophied limb, and he comes to find that he actually enjoys the trips back and forth more than he'd admit to anyone. Just having something to drive... wheels or not... it's good.

He brings back both raw and dried meats, most of which he tries to discreetly stock the kitchen of the Starstruck with. He's not one to share his things — anyone can tell that by how he carries everything he owns on him, in his pack — but he's also aware that the struggle for food here is not-so-woefully absent in comparison to the planet he had just been on, before joining the fleet.

It's not an easy thing to shake. Sharing. It's not in his nature anymore. But you know, going against your nature is okay, from time to time. After all, he's usually a scavenging buzzard himself. A vulture picking off the old world. For now, he'll try to play along.

He tries to leave the place as fast as he'd arrived, of course.

He hasn't picked a bunk, a place to sleep; he hasn't made a place for himself here yet.]
ragazzina: (BLUSH ✿ backstreet boys intensifies)
[personal profile] ragazzina
Who: Suzie and you!
Broadcast: Fleetwide!
Action: For the Bloodsport, if you're around!
When: The wee hours of morning on Saturday, January 2

[You know what is the absolute worst? Going to bed feeling reasonably fine and waking up in the middle of the night with a stuffed-up nose, a mild headache, and the beginnings of a raised temperature. It makes it all but impossible to sleep, despite being tired and feeling generally run-down, and in Suzie's experience, the worst part about feeling sick is when you're just lying in bed with nothing to think about but being sick, and no distraction to help take some of the melancholy edge off of the malaise.

So instead, she gets up and wanders down to some empty workspace down in the ship's docking bay, and sets up shop near the shuttles with some tools and a pair of rolled-up sleeves on her utility jumper.

For a little while, she just putters around, testing the knowledge her augment has imparted to her against the tangible workings of the shuttle in front of her, and later when she's had her fill of that she plunks down and starts playing with odds and ends of the spare parts they have lying around, cobbling for the sake of cobbling rather than with any particular goal in mind.

Eventually, though, she reaches for her communicator, and it's shortly thereafter that a broadcast ends up hitting the network.]

I don't remember what day I got here. ε-(≖.≖﹆✿)

I think it was November here, when I came? It was before we got to the planet, so I think it's been about a month. Or so? I don't know. Do you think it's important to remember the day you arrived? Maybe I should get a calendar, when I remember the day, and keep it in my bunk so I can mark off each day when it's done and keep count. Or would that be too discouraging? Maybe if it were a pretty calendar, like the lithographed ones with the little scenes of people and birds and flowers. That's the problem with space, everything's metal and machines and not enough warm sun and shade and green things growing.

I like the planet, though. I miss Venezia more but the fresh air is nice even if it's cold. Everything is salt, though, isn't that funny? I hope someday we find a planet where everything is flowers. Except maybe that would be sad, too, because then someday we'd have to leave it, and I bet I wouldn't want to.

I wonder what other kinds of planets there are. What's the best one you could possibly imagine? I like the flower one...and I'd like one with canals and gondolas too. And someplace with real food instead of the ship mush. If we could go to someplace like that...

Haha, I'm being so silly. I should be asleep but I'm just sitting here talking about nothing at all! Maybe in a little while I'll go try again. (-﹏-。✿)

[But, for those on the Bloodsport, you can still find her tinkering down there for a little while afterward, before she eventually rambles back down to her bunk in a halfhearted attempt to fall asleep again.]
discus: (pic#8428234)
[personal profile] discus
Who: Crew of the Bloodsport, anyone who'd drop by!
Broadcast: N/A
Action: Anywhere on the ship.
When: 12/13/15 specifically, but you can really pick and choose as much as you would like as far as dates go. Get your mingle on!

ps: as an aside, the bit of media that Steve received was a 'Star-Spangled Man' USO performance so if anyone wants to have seen that so hilarity can ensue, feel free.
ragazzina: (POUT ✿ fuck the what did jojo do now)
[personal profile] ragazzina
Who: Suzie, Newt, and you!
Broadcast: Fleetwide!
Action: For the Marsiva!
When: Friday, December 4!


[so here’s Newt. Newt is this bitty 5’ 7” guy who looks way scarier than he actually is because of some intense Heath-Ledger-Joker!facial scars. Unfortunately, upon awakening, Newt did so in a way that was so violent, it knocked his communicator off and to the ground. So now, after discovering that he is no longer in post-apocalyptic earth but rather IN SPACE and also his other half/drift partner/boyfriend????/who knows is not currently in the same area as him, is now trying to figure out how he can communicate perhaps with someone outside this deck-area-thing??? He doesn’t know what it is. He doesn’t particularly care. He’s just interested in finding Hermann. So after being unable to find his cell phone, he’s going to set eyes on the next person who has any sort of communication device and make a beeline for them]

[As it happens, “the next person in question” is one Suzie Quatro, who has been spending her long week on the Marsiva doing everything she can to keep from being horrendously bored, and who has at this moment decided to go about precisely that by working on a very serious and absolutely vital pursuit: getting really good at emojis.]

[any other time, Newt might’ve considered this a worthy pursuit. Emojis are, after all, an essential part of human communication (also, they annoy Hermann a lot.) Currently, though, he’s a bit too focused on previous goals to even wonder what she’s doing. So he’s going to peer over her shoulder at the device, inviting himself right into her space hi Suzie]

Hey, so is that some sort of communication device that broadcasts to a whole network of people?

[And predictably, Suzie practically jumps out of her skin, having been distracted by her very serious emoji work and consequently not expecting someone to be SUDDENLY RIGHT THERE HOLY SHIT HELLO.]


[And in her surprise, she proceeds to fumble the aforementioned communication device right onto the floor like a pro.]

[Newt can’t help but jolt as Suzie does, letting out a yelp himself and startling back half a step. It’s reflex, mostly, but once he realizes there actually isn’t a threat, he does notice the comm on the ground. At which point he stoops to grab it and starts fiddling with it. Unfortunately, that means the first couple lines of Suzie’s emojis get posted before he manages to flip the video on…]


(ʃƪ^3^) 。゚+.✧♡
┬┴┬┴┤( ͡°_├┬┴┬┴


[—except then suddenly VIDEO and hi here is Newt’s face peering into the camera]

Hello—is this thing working? Hey, if this is on, I’m looking for Hermann Gottlieb. Hermann, if you’re here—

H-Hey! Stop it, give that back! You can’t just — that’s not yours, I was using that! Give it back!

[Uh-oh. Sounds like someone offscreen is not altogether happy about having her serious business interrupted. Or her comm stolen, for that matter.]

[Newt’s scowling, not looking up from the com as he turns his back on Suzie, a probably futile effort to keep the comm in his hands that much longer]

Just hold on a minute, lady! This is important, jeez. [totally dismissive omg Newt no]

That doesn’t mean you can just take things that don’t belong to you! Smettila!

[And the video proceeds to shake all over the place as what is presumably a juvenile-grade scuffle ensues, and somewhere in there the video proceeds to switch off.]

[OOC: As evidenced by the...everything, this is a joint post between Newt and Suzie! Feel free to happen upon them kindergarten-slapfighting over Suzie's comm if you're on the Marsiva, OR respond to them via the comms! Please note that for the moment, though responses may come from either of our journals, ICly they will all be from Suzie's ID, since it's her comm being used (and bickered over!). o/]
heresyandlace: (sits like a whore)
[personal profile] heresyandlace
Who: Tekhetsio and YOU!
Broadcast: Fleet-wide!
Action: Way-station!
When: Nebulously sometime after they're all back on their ships

network etc.

[aside from antics within the calibrations, Tek hasn't been seen much. on the Marsiva, he'd mostly holed himself up in his room, hiding from the rest of the Fleet as much as he could. and upon returning to his ship, he had slept for several days. but, apparently all of his hermiting has not been enough of an escape. so, after waking up and doing a little bit of spontaneous redecorating, he boards one of the shuttles (which he normally avoids touching) and wordlessly sets off into the darkness of space.

he flies far, and he flies without explanation. he gets as absolutely as far away as he can from his own ship and from the Marsiva. and while he does so, he logs onto the network and sends out a broadcast, calmly reciting something that has been haunting him for several weeks--]

--To see an almost certain horrible death... you know how crowds all sit at the edge of their seats, praying subconsciously for a spectacular accident--and then to be whisked away from it so suddenly--brought to the edge of tragedy, and then to have their better natures win out, showing them how much nicer they always knew they were... that was the supreme thrill.

and then on some way-station

[when he finally lands, it's on some nameless way-station. out here, he can at least pretend to be somewhere else. and to complete the illusion, he is wearing a completely different face and form when he exits the shuttle.

today, as Tekhetsio spends hours wandering the way-station and pretending to be interested in the automated shops, it is done as a woman. just as unnaturally flawless as Tek's male form is, the woman perusing the way-station's wares and lounging with a book in the plastic park is built to be gorgeous-- with long dark waves of hair and curves in all of the conventionally desirable places.

and she seems friendly, at least. she offers polite smiles to anyone who happens to glance her way, and slightly more inviting expressions to anyone who seems to be appreciating the view. because this girl likes being looked at, and isn't shy about making that fact very clear.]
thebarkside: (97)
[personal profile] thebarkside
Who: Jade Harley & you!
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: N/A
When: December 1st.

do people here actually celebrate birthdays??
ive seen a lot of mention of them!
mine is technically today i guess
and davesprites is the day after tomorrow
at this point i actually have no idea how old either of us are turning :| :| :|
this is so convoluted!!! (╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻
dancingmd: (why aren't we all being interrogated?)
[personal profile] dancingmd
Who: Everyone!!!
Broadcast: No
Action: The Iskaulit
When: For the rest of the month

[Now that we've all had time to settle back into our ships, let's see what's going on over on the Iskaulit! For the new folks, there are already a few establishments and projects going on, but there's plenty of room for everyone, either to join in or to build their own thing. So mingle away!]
child_of_bhaal: (vulnerability)
[personal profile] child_of_bhaal
Who: Syeira and Open!!
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: The Red Fish, if you want. Or she can go other places. I'm flexible.
When: From the night of 11/30 through all day 12/1.

[Syeira hasn't broadcast anything since her first day. That was a long time ago. She almost doesn't remember how, so it takes her a moment of fussing around with her device before realizes it's actually working. She's in the cargo area of the Red Fish, sitting on the floor against a wall. Her knees are pulled up, and the device is resting on them so she doesn't have to hold it. She's wearing her Nymph cloak, so she looks a little shinier, and seems a bit more compelling at the moment. She's not wearing it to command attention, just feels the need to be wrapped up in something familiar.]

So I realized tonight that I've been with the Fleet for exactly seven months. I'm still so unused to this thing...

[What an awkward way to start.

She sighs, leans her head back and just...talks.

Today is a holy day in Faerun. The Feast of the Moon. It's the start of winter. On this day, people do a lot of things. One of them is recounting stories of heroic slayings.

[Yes, slayings. Not deeds. Slayings. Murders.

She fidgets with a strand of her hair.

Since I've been here, I've hardly killed anything. It's surreal.

I hate this day. I don't want to hear stories of death and murders. Don't we all have enough of those? Does anyone have a nice story? I'd really like to hear them.

birdsbirdsbirds: (♥ hello ladies)
[personal profile] birdsbirdsbirds
Who: Bloodsport Crew, ASSEMBLE.
Broadcast: Maybe??
Action: The ship (or on a station I'm not picky)
When: After all that Marsiva nonsense

[GOOD MORNING, EVERYONE. instead of waking up in the cold, super-sterilized rooms of the Marsiva, you come to back in your very own room on the Bloodsport! some of you have never met each other, and a few of you have never even stepped foot on the ship before... but it's never too late to explore and greet your neighbors!

and in case anyone was wondering, yes, there are still a dozen fishbowls scattered around the ship. the glowing fish inside them seem perfectly fine. you may all rest easy, or wonder why the hell there are so many fish on this ship in the first place.]
versusnurture: (➵ they were calling like seagulls)
[personal profile] versusnurture
Who: Abigail Hobbs & you
Broadcast: Fleetwide!
Action: Marsiva!
When: 11/21

Has anyone considered the possibility that being stuck on the Marsiva is a means of negative reinforcement? Once we achieve a certain goal, whether that's reels of usable footage shot or something more specific and harder to guess at, we'll be removed from this more psychologically dangerous environment.

Or maybe even that Atroma's goal is to skew our perceptions of what's normal and what isn't. In comparison to this, individual ships are practically homey comforts. We might even get to sleep through the whole night without tripping into someone else's mind, or vice versa.

[Is it paranoia if you're right? Anyway.]

Anyone who tripped into my mind and wants anything clarified, let me know. If my secrets are going to be publicized without my consent, I might as well make sure they're being interpreted correctly.

And one more thing: I'm trying to figure out who's been here the longest. From when the lights first came on. Help me out?

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