[The image on screen screams witch. And old woman with grey hair in a stern bun. Dressed in black. Including her hat. Her pointy hat. She also doesn't look terribly pleased, though anyone who has been on the ship long enough is probably used to that.]

Seems we get more 'n' more magic usin' folk every jump. Likely start trippin' over each other if we ain't careful.

Never really held much with covens and the like. But they got their uses fer keepin' track of what everyone else is doin'.

[By which she of course means she can keep track of everyone else's business.]

Worth gettin' together with tea and the like. Make sure there ain't cross spells goin' that'll tear a hole in everythin'.

[Behold, all and sundry shipmates, a young woman, most likely unfamiliar to you all. She has dark hair, she's wearing expensive-looking sunglasses, she has a cigarette between her manicured fingers, and she's not smiling. As a matter of fact, she looks more bored than anything, which wouldn't be inaccurate. It's Penelope, and she's annoyed. Get accustomed to this.]

Okay, so. Quick question.

Are you seriously telling me that this spaceship is not only haunted as fuck, because it is obviously haunted as fuck, you guys, what the fuck is up with that, but nobody has tried to set up any wards or barriers or anti-evil magic protection of any kind? I mean come on, this should be like kindergarten baby shit. Surely somebody's tried something, but since there's no like, history books of this hideous floating evil space basement we all appear to be trapped in, I have to ask.

Nobody's tried magic? Seriously?

[There's a brief pause as she attends to her cigarette, and then it goes back to balancing between the fingers of her hand. She tends to gesture with it, vaguely, as she speaks, presumably for emphasis since her voice is a practiced monotone of affected disinterest. It's all extraordinarily irritating, and it's very much intended to be so.]

Apropos of nothing, since there's so many honest-to-god wolves on board, are there any werewolves around? I need a donation.

That's all. Back to your regularly scheduled cowering-in-fear-awaiting-all-our-inevitable-hideous-deaths, or whatever it is you do for fun around here.

[...That bit about the werewolves goes totally unexplained, because Penelope promptly ends the feed.]

[ The device is already properly situated when the transmission starts, a young woman in a purple t-shirt framed from biceps up. Her hair is pulled back in a dark ponytail, and there's a bow propped against the wall just behind her. She lifts a hand and gives a brief wave, seeming at ease with this technology if little else. ]

Hi, [ she begins, with a smile that's just on the friendly side of polite, ] My name is Kate, I just got here in the last jump or whatever it's called. I'm looking for a couple of people, and hoping somebody might be able to help me out. I don't want to waste anyone's time, I'm sure I'm not the only one looking for someone, but I put together a quick list that's attached to this message and if you have a minute to take a look, I'd really appreciate it. They're all-- [ here her smile briefly warms and widens, ] --sort of distinctive? So you'll probably know if you've met them. Let me know if any of them sound familiar, I'll owe you one.

[ It's not a casual toss-in, that last line. She looks quite seriously at the camera as she says it. She will owe you one, potential future friend-spotter, and she will deliver on that debt. After a moment to let the important message sink in, she starts to reach to turn off the camera, saying, ] Thanks for your time.

[ Just before she hits stop, though, she pulls back, adding, somewhat less seriously, ] Oh, also. I heard there's a bar around here somewhere? Any chance there's also a diner?

Attached is a text file containing brief physical descriptions of her teammates along with first names.

( nothing about what's happened since nuala made her choice makes a great deal of sense to her. she lives, inexplicably, but there is a wound in her where once her brother was; a hollowness she can't account for, in point of fact the very opposite of what she might have imagined her afterlife to consist of. dressed in strange clothes and adrift in a place even stranger than the BPRD's headquarters, handling truly peculiar technology--

--it is all very small, in the wake of that most important detail. it is, however, a sort of smallness that permits her anything else to think on while she gathers herself enough to, perhaps, investigate its cause. her first contribution to the comms network is therefore simultaneously accidental and very much with purpose: a period of audio recording where nothing much seems to be happening, video of Nuala's hands as she turns the device over several times, of her face as she examines it. audio, again-- an exasperated sigh, a little jostle, and then a startled vocalization followed by a bit of scrambling, and then, finally--

Nuala, having at some point prior to this transmission found her way to the room she's been allocated, looks composed of nothing but determination to be composed. )

Hello.

( ...and patience. she has that, too, in great stores. this is a device for communication. someone is going to communicate with her. eventually, this will begin to make sense again. )

[ katniss is new, or at least, this version of katniss is new, but she's heard people saying that soon the alarms will sound for the "jump". she remembers the last "jump", the one that dumped her here, and she doesn't really want to relive it. ]

Why do we have to get back into those pods?

[ katniss is wary about questioning the way things are here, when she's still not sure this isn't just some kind of arena. but she also doesn't really know how to do one-on-one transmissions, or private lock something, and she's a little slower at texting than she'd really like, so a question she might normally just ask haymitch is addressed to the network as a whole. ]

Some people are still in them from the last time. What happens if even less people wake up?

[ overall, she's against it. ]

Humans! [ Good, now that he has your attention. ] There is a sickness aboard this vessel, a Dark Beast that harbours rot and the ruin of any that approach it. I, myself, suffered injuries that have now healed. It is a skilled foe that walks in shadow, a warrior of the forsaken. It does not bleed when wounded or hesitate to give harm and it will kill you, should you be fool enough to challenge it. Unless, of course, it decides to keep you alive for sport — those mortals who deliberately put themselves at risk do so at their own peril. If you believe you are strong, I am here to tell you that you are not. Keep your corpses to a minimum. 

Specifically: it carries a great chain that burns like embers, knows your mind and moves at incredible speed. Thranduil is aware of this demon, as are all those of Elvenkind aboard. 

[ Nuada, who brings the network this message from the corridors where he is patrolling, peers into the camera with wolflike gold eyes. You may have seen them around recently, instead belonging to one massive six-foot hound. ]

To those who are not human, I say this; stay with your brothers and sisters, send word over a secure line if any of you are attacked. All manner of Aes Sidhe, from my world or not, are my concern.

[ What else? His manner eases ever so slightly, as it is wont to do between comrades. ]

Loki — we must speak concerning the forging of your weapon. It is time to take up arms worthy of your skill, my friend.

This place is cursed.

[An irate looking Thor is looking into the device feed, holding his weapon tightly in one hand.]

There are... things--devils--stalking this ship. I haven't caught them yet, but I will.

[There's a flicker of doubt in his expression. He wouldn't ask so openly, but Tony didn't wake up, and now he's alone.]

Has no one else seen them...? [Maybe it really is just him. He can't tell. Thor grows surly again.]

At the very least, there shall be a few less monsters in the halls.

[ Erik does not introduce himself, but appears hard-faced and grim on the readout. He does not smile; his eyes (an affable blue) are set dead on the camera at an apathetic remove. The lines around them are matter-of-fact. They look like they’ve been there for years. ]

For those of you with a ‘gift,’ who rely upon -- or even value -- the courtesy and discretion of their peers in keeping such matters beneath the radar,

[ there is a distinct clink and slosh when he reaches out of frame to tip an invisible bottle over an invisible glass ]

I advise you to think twice before placing your faith in my erstwhile colleague.

He is passionate, but not always in possession of the best judgment.

[ A wind upward at the corner of his mouth fails to reach his eyes. ]

This message has been brought to you by ‘Magneto,’ and half a bottle of chardonnay.

[ The video cuts out before his voice does. ]

Enjoy your stay.

[The video comes to life in a flourish of black feathers.

There's the caw of a raven, and when the device is adjusted better so that its audience can see the broadcaster, Loki can be seen standing with his arm extended. The aforementioned raven sits on his forearm, head cocked to the side and seeming to look into the feed with something akin to curiosity.

Another ruffle of feathers, and a second raven sits seated on Loki's left shoulder. The sight would be almost comical if not for the fact that there is something oddly imposing about the birds -- large in size, to be certain, but something about their demeanor exhibits a certain cleverness of thought that most ravens would not possess.

Loki smiles. Anyone who has met him before may notice that his hair is a bit longer, but other than that he appears the same. The backdrop is those of the oxygen gardens.]

I've returned to the ship, and yet I've not been gone that long at all, have I? Strange how time is twisted into something incomprehensible in an instance such as this -- but I hardly have a right to complain. Asgard was a reprieve, even in confinement. Svartalfheim was... [He trails off, choosing the right words.] Well. Lacking in a certain glory, but the dark elves were never ones for gilded appearances. I suppose it's a fitting enough battlefield for a glorious death.

I'd like to call it that, at least. Sacrificial. [A twist of his lips, irony escaping his mouth.] Mother would have been proud. Perhaps Odin, as well.

But I digress. [Both ravens then caw loudly, as if on cue.] It seems that despite everything, I've been granted a couple of friends from home. Meet Huginn and Muninn, the King's ravens. Huginn is the one with the annoyed look in his gaze, and Muninn is the one without it. Say hello, the both of you.

[And then (as if also on cue), both birds simply fly off to make their perch in a nearby tree. Loki only laughs, as if this was to be expected.]

Ah. Well. There is always room for improvement, as they say.

[private to mcu!Thor; not really encrypted at all because lol Asgardians encrypting things]

I take it you're still here. In which case I think we may have things we wish to discuss.

[The video begins with a view of Galadriel and Thranduil standing side-by-side in the gardens. Galadriel gives a small, formal nod before addressing the camera]

Well met. What we would say is pertinent to all who reside aboard the Tranquility and, while we are known to some of you, we are certainly not known to all. It seems, therefore, that introductions are in order.

I am Galadriel, Lady of Lothlórien and this [A gesture to the man standing next to her] is Thranduil, Elvenking of Mirkwood.

For a month, the both of us were kept in an extended sleep and visited by a strange dream- one which we both believe to hold truths about the past of this ship and implications about its present.

[Thranduil's eyeline drops slightly below camera-level.]

In the dream, two men stood alone in a long hall. A door was behind them, with a sign that read 'Biolab.' One of the men stood with hands in pockets and his weapon on the floor although the other warned him he would be sent to the brig if anyone noticed him so. They both said it was very cold, to the point of discomfort. They blew on their hands.

They called one another Ruiz and Nichols. Ruiz was the one with his gun on the floor, I remember, but Nichols was his superior. Nichols began to set his weapon down when a terrible sound, one I haven't the words to describe for I have heard it not outside this dream, came from the door. It did not seem natural to me--a machine of a sort we do not have in Middle-earth is my guess. Following it was--

[Thranduil's eyes are completely hollow and glassy, face expressionless.]

--a scream. A scream that made both men flinch, although I believe they must have heard such things often enough by now. A loud, wet scream. The two men began to smoke little cigarettes--foul things--and were silent for a time, when there was another scream. An animal scream it was, not like the one before it, and it was born of great pain.

Nichols reminded--reassured Ruiz that they had only two hours left of this, and told him they were to remain silent and pretend they saw and heard nothing. They did not like the situation, but it seemed to me that they would be in danger if they spoke of it with anyone. They picked up their guns. There was one last, terrible scream that was cut short, then an equally terrible silence.

[Bright eyes flicker to the side for a moment, then he turns to Galadriel and inclines his head to her.]

[And she takes up where he left off, keeping the same solemn expression on her face.] It is clear enough that atrocities were committed in this lab, though of what nature you know as much as we. [She has her guesses, of course, but she will let you all draw your own conclusions.] Regardless, we urge caution to any who should come across this lab. We know not what may lurk within it still.

[Thranduil continues.] Your warning may be that you have reached a very cold part of the ship--for why would it be so cold, if not purposefully, when they most likely had full control over the ship in those days? Still, use caution if you are lost, and expect it around any corner with or without warning. There is no need to repeat what happened when the genetics lab was discovered.

[He reaches out to cut the comm, but a look from Galadriel makes him stop in his tracks and tuck both hands behind his back very formally.]


Until next we meet. [And, then, with another little nod, Galadriel reaches out and cuts the video.]

[Jack's no stranger to death. In fact, of all the people on board, he's perhaps one of the ones most familiar with it, having experienced it more times than he can count. The fact that it comes so easily, on board this ship, it unnerves him. Back home, with Torchwood, he was used to losing his friends right and left, but that was because of their job. That was their choice, because of what they did. But here... Here where he knows there are kids and innocents and no one asked for this, no one asked to be here. It really pisses him off. First Hotspur, now Sherlock, and god knows how many others that he wasn't paying attention to in between them. He was killed on board once, and stuffed in a closet. He wonders how many of the others that have disappeared have died, and none of them ever found out. And the thought bothers him. A lot.

When he appears on the camera, his expression is hard, tight. That big matinee idol smile is gone, and his blue eyes are cold steel.]

How many does this make? How many of us have died on this ship? [A curious phrasing, some may note] How many people have we lost that we know of? How many have disappeared and we have no idea what happened to them?

[And then, after a pause:] Has anyone left and come back again remembering their previous time on the ship?

[There are a million questions running around in his head, and he wants answers]



[Private to Tyke - SEC » 001 » 011]

Sorry to just contact you out of the blue like this, I don't think we've spoken before. My name is Captain Jack Harkness. Jim said that you were the one to talk to about security? I think I'm looking for something of a change of scenery...

Title: The Long Reacharound of Justice
Pairings: Miles Edgeworth/Justice, Carver Hawke/Anders (background)
Rating: They don't fuck like right out in the open (NO KIDS ALLOWED)
Summary: Miles Edgeworth can't resist the call of Justice...
Author: Mockingbird

( the halls were filled with the sound of sexual tension )

[locked to jesse, syg, and mouse | not anon | text]

LMAO buds look at this edgey has a boyfriend

[This all is why Libby should never be bored and drunk at the same time.]

[ Daenerys has kept quiet minus speaking with a few others. She's been gathering her bearings, trying to learn what she can but it hasn't been much - not when things are so different.

Which is partially why she's posting now. There haven't been many that have found this all too strange (minus the confusion that she's heard) ]

I am awed [ worried. curious. confused ] by our presence here.

[ Daenerys's words are soft, and calm. She's looking to the communicator, having been taught its uses, her long white hair let loose about her ]

The magic that brought us here is great, and to be feared.

[ She also fears that the Usurper may be here and hiding, that she has had that kept from her. There is much that Daenerys does not know or understand of this place and the people in it, familiarities with the 'ship' for one, and the mentioned secrets ]

I have travelled by ship before, my brother told, and also by horse. I find it strange to travel but it be without my silver, and with no water to be had. This ship- it is grand. I- [ Fear. No. She may fear such things, past experience giving her cause to but she cannot admit to it ] I give caution to believing the magic - it is more deceptive than you see.

[ Daenerys gives a small nod before waiting, moments later remembering to (and how to) turn the video off ]

[The kid looks a bit different this time around. A bit more comfortable in his surroundings. Looking and sounding less like a brat and more... well, like the hero he is sometimes.]

So what is there to do on this ship? I've heard a few things about jobs, including... protecting people? Supposedly there's some really weird stuff that happens on board every now and then, and not everyone can protect themselves.

[He sets the communicator down, and steps back. And for those a bit more in the know, they might recognize the straps on his shoulders, the round edge of a disc strapped to his back. He's not unshouldering that, though, instead reaching up his left, gauntlet covered hand, hitting a button on the side.

With a slightly Star Wars-esque sound, a bright, energy projected disc is bursting out from his wrist, forming a large, see-through circle with red and blue bands, a large, white star taking up most of the middle. He raises his arm to further show it off]

I get that apparently you guys don't like kids fighting. But I have my own weapon, and I can prove myself pretty easily to whoever wants some help.

[His eyes narrow a bit, then, and he's pointing at the camera as his lips twist in a scowl]

And by the way? I want to talk to Tony Stark right. Now.

A few items of business.

First: We need to start tracking ourselves more precisely. Two people in two months have perished because because they caught outside of the gravity couches at the time of a jump. What I propose is a simple check-in list for the jumps and someone to take roll. If anyone hasn't shown up one hour prior to the jump, then a search party can be organized. Is there any preexisting framework for such a system?

Second - [And here Edgeworth looks perhaps just a bit self-conscious - ] I'm looking for someone adept at construction. Please speak up if you have such skills and are willing to barter for labor.

[He recovers but frowns, just a bit hesitant before the next item.]

Third, a general question; bear with me if it sounds odd or intrusive, and responding to this is, as ever, completely optional. [He looks down; it's clear he's now reading off a page that he's prepared.] Respond in the affirmative or negative: "I would describe my life as 'peaceful' - id est, a life in which I have not witnessed or been subjected to violence."

[He looks up again.]

Your responses are appreciated.