ximilia | Entries tagged with knives out: marta cabrera

Hello! A little light-hearted fun, shall we?

Please nominate your favourite eligible bachelor/ette aboard the Ximilia, and vote for who you believe deserves the title of Ximilia's Most Eligible Bachelor/ette!

The deadline is MARCH 3RD at 9:00 AM local time! Get your votes in quickly, everyone!

The winner can be featured on a commemorative trading card for the month of March. :) If he or she agrees, in any case. If they refuse, the title will go to the runner-up!

Thank you!

（ added a bit later... ）

And if anyone wishes to opt out of participation, please say so!

NOMINEES SO FAR:

ANDY (who sounds like a very interesting individual!)
~~NEWT (who doesn't love a good tattoo?)~~ STRONGLY DISQUALIFIED FOR BEING A CANNIBAL!
RITA (an actress! this is where I'd put my vote if I wasn't staying perfectly impartial!)
A GHOST?! (how terrifying!)
FINN (something about hearts...?)
YELENA (who doesn't love dogs? They're so cute and loyal!)
SABRIEL (a classy magic user has entered the ring!)
TAKESHI (I think he grows peaches? By all the voting, it seems he's kindly enough to share!)
ZHAO (a dragon chef!)
YENNEFER (I am given to understand she is on fire... perhaps someone should check on her...?)
WEI WUXIAN (I hear his hair is amazing!)
SHAUN XU (I think we were promised shirtless pictures...)
ALEKSANDER (are we sure about this one?)
STEVE (It seems like Wei Wuxian has some competition for 'best hair on the station'!)
DR. MCCOY (A medical man, and has anyone heard that accent? Charming!)
YUJIN (x2! and he tapdances! Wow, there are so many doctors here!!)
A FINE CLOAK? (is this... legal? Do people wish to date drapery?)
RYUNOSUKE (A lawyer! Do we need those here? But not a picky eater at least!)
DIMITRI (He rescues cats from trees! What's not to love?)
MAL (I hear you can get lost in his eyes! Sounds dreamy!)

[ooc; not to be taken too seriously, Unohana runs several newspaper columns in her own world and gets up to Shenanigans with the Shinigami Women's Association. She's a tiny bit of a troll but hides it behind the Soft Matron Energy.

... also it's a good way to gather information c:]

heroooic

[As the battle rages on outside the South Naelor fortress, two network messages will reach all fellow Orbers through their headsets. They come through only several minutes apart.]

___________

video; un: felix

[The POV recording is transmitted through to the network without context save Felix's associated username; dumping viewers immediately into the sight of a beaming Jun Shortaxe. He's standing in a stone-walled room, clapping with arrogant glee as he steps closer into the room.]

--you're wrong about the deal. The king's deal was done the moment the heirloom was taken away from the palace... it told me that itself. [He is facing Felix as he speaks, only turning to address a second unseen person as an afterthought.] Hi, Finn. Made it here like a real hero, I'm proud of you.

[Finn's shattered reply is heard instead of seen, Felix's POV fixed solely on Jun with unerring focus. He is capturing everything; every subtle twitch of his body language, every laughing shrug of his shoulders. It's only when Finn's confusion turns to anger that he comes into frame, stepping between Felix and Jun with sword outstretched in one hand and glowing orb in the other. With a quick toss, the orb is sailing through the air towards Felix. When he snatches it out of the air, viewers are granted a brief but detailed look at the orb itself. Veteran Orbers will recognize the power emanating from it immediately. This was their target.]

Your little act was always a bit too much, just so you know. [Felix drawls, offering his own amused assessment of Jun's betrayal just before pocketing the orb out of frame.] See ya.

[Those watching closely will notice the shadow Felix cast suddenly disappear, indicating that an invisibility spell was Felix's final gambit to leave successfully with the orb. Unfortunately, the ploy is shortlived. Just as Felix's point of view shifts towards the nearest window, Jun's deeply disinterested voice issues a simple command: Do it. Immediately, what could only be described as intense pain pollutes the mental recording with distortion. The crackle of electricity and Finn's scream can be dimly heard through the limited visibility and roaring static.

When the video feed resumes again, Felix is clearly on the ground. Waves of pained distortion still radiate through him, picture flickering as he begins to lose consciousness. From his new position on the floor, only Finn and Jun's legs can be seen. The latter slowly moves towards him as the former seems to freeze, dropping his sword in horror.]

He has about an hour. Being hit by that spell is not a joke... I should know. It was worth it, though. [The voice is unmistakably Jun's, hammered home as he kneels down into frame and reaches out towards Felix and retrieves the orb, which now glows even more brightly in the presence of its partner. He stands, back now to Felix, facing Finn fully. The picture is practically strobing now, capturing only a few frames of every second as it gives into blackness]

I'm sorry, I really did want to help Degar. [The regret in his voice even sounds genuine.] But the heirloom isn't something I can give him. He'd understand. All I'm doing is fulfilling the promise we made as kids--

[If there was any words or violence exchanged between the two of them, it's lost to the sudden grip of Felix's unconsciousness. The feed cuts completely.]

(( ooc: for full context of what Felix's recording captures, please read the npc thread HERE ))

___________

[To those on the battlefield, it will only be roughly eight minutes after Felix's video appears that an earthshaking noise and blinding light erupt from the South Naelor fortress. Rubble rains down from the keep's tower, shattered by the a set of imposing red wings. A red dragon with a single teal scale centered on his chest perches on the half destroyed tower, its origin as inexplicable as it was sudden.

The dragon lingers for a moment, staring at something in the wreckage, before taking wing towards the battlefield.]

[A few stunned moments later, another video appears on the network:]

___________

video; un: raddude5000

[The view is unclear, rubble obscured by dust and smoke and a distant din of battle. Finn’s voice however, is recognizable, and as the video shifts to where he is kneeling, so is the sight of Felix, who was lying motionless, plainly injured and bleeding. The placement and number of his wounds aren't clear, only their severity is obvious. The external distortion caused by Jun's spell is almost as nightmarish as the mental distortion Orbers experienced secondhand.]

We need help in the fortress-- Felix is hurt, bad and I... don’t know what to do. He needs a healer or a doctor, now. Like, ‘ten minutes ago’ now.

[Finn couldn't know how accurate Jun’s 'hour' claim was, or how much leeway there was in either direction. Felix had scarcely moved since going down, and if he was conscious it was only barely. His death felt all too real a possibility. Panic clouds Finn's voice in the face of it, speaking quickly.

He turns the camera back to himself, in part to spare Felix the voyeuristic exposure of capturing what could very well be his final moments on camera. Finn, dusty but uninjured, looks exhausted. The darker blood of the dremnin on the front of his armor and the brighter, fresher blood on his hand from touching Felix were visible as he pushes away a loose lock of hair. Sabriel’s careful braid saved him from complete dishevelment, but only just. He doesn’t quite look in the direction of the video, shoulders held up tensely as he speaks.]

Jun has the orb. He... I mean I think the orb is part of him now. It did something to him, turned him into a... [Finn pauses, searching for a word to describe the beast. There were no creatures like it from his world, where dragons were something else entirely.] I dunno, a dinosaur or something, and he’s heading your way now. You need to--

[His voice stops short, cut off in his throat by some kind of impossible emotion. A desperate part of him still wanted to implore some kind of leniency from them, some kind of mercy or understanding... but he holds it back. What mattered right now was everyone’s safety. If there was anything left to save of Jun Shortaxe, he couldn’t prioritize it right now. Not over everyone else.]

You need to stop him.

homeostatic

( let's just rip the bandaid off, with one (1) straightforward Starfleet doc currently lounging on a (possibly familiar) garden veranda in the sim room. he gives his earpiece a tap. )

I hear tell I missed a scary town, a sentient imaginary friend, and a volcano.

( does he wince a little at that last thing? maybe, yeah... )

Everybody still got all their fingers and toes?

groupiedrifter

[Newt's felt like shit lately, for reasons we shan't go into.

So instead of addressing his own feelings, he's going to ignore them, bottle them up, and torment both new and old crew alike!]

Eyes over here! Hyup! Welcome, noobies, to the SS Ximilia! Grandest little station in the whole wide endless universe. I'm Newt Geiszler, PhD times six, resident xenobiologist, inventor, and super awesome guitarist of the best band around, Murderface. Pleasure to meet you! Don't touch any of my stuff in the lab, or it'll probably end in me shoving you under the emergency shower.

... That was a joke; I'm not allowed to have things that would put any of you into a chemical shower.

Anyway, just as a head's up, for both the new and old crewmembers? Don't change your regret unless you're seriously ready to give up something in exchange. And I mean it, guys — it can be real nasty. If you wanna talk about it, I've finally figured out my loss from changing my regret, so.

... Less serious topic: time for your resident welcome wagon. A.K.A. my handy write-up of our crew for the new bloods. Read through very, very carefully. this is all critical information!

[ATTACHED TXT.:// MEET THE CREW]

( LOTS OF TEXT )

chrysology

[The date, 3rd of October, has him feeling rather pensive again. Just as he thought he would figure dealing with Father, getting Al his body back, he is yanked back here again. It's.....frustrating, to put it lightly. As much as he wants to scream at Viv to send him back. He knows he must have been pulled back here to help. That they need him. That Ed maybe hasn't done enough. Gathered enough orbs to earn that reward yet of getting Al back. Yet.

He sits in the sunlight room, pocket watch open at his lap if anyone approaches but he does turn on the feed.]

You think this will work? Gathering the orbs? To fix things? Is it worth it? I just feel like I've been trying to fix things for so long, not just here, but back home too. I feel like I was so close, and I got pulled back here again. And I can't help wondering. With some of the missions. The goals they give us. If at some point I might get something, some line I won't want to cross. For as much as I do want to fix things.

[He sighs, shaking his head as he isn't sure what more to say in his musings. In his worries. He figures even that much might be too much. That he might end up regretting even that. So he ends it there.]

safin

Hi.

( it's more than obvious within one second of the running video, the focal subject is not entirely used to this specific kind of technology — or maybe any technology, but you'll have to introduce her to microwave in order to confirm. she offers a small smile. )

Curiosity speaking — is there a running list of everyone's magical and physical capabilities anywhere in the place? Or are we all flying blind when it comes to asking for help?

( she gives a dramatic wave, as if to say yes, yes, that was a little mean of me. )

I'm Genya. I'm new. If you have need to alter your identity when we're on mission, feel free to come to me. I'll be more than happy to arrange a new face for you, or heal up any small wounds you might procure in a more dangerous situation.

If anyone else feels like sharing I am, as I'm sure others are, all ears.

shadysided

Back home, I was kind of a monster. It felt like everyone looked down on me or abandoned me, so I just didn't bother trying to be anything else. I didn't trust anyone, and I couldn't stand being in a group of more than one person — that one person being me, myself, and I... Working with others, it isn't really my thing.

So you can imagine how this whole experience has been.

[Freshly healed up and eating the remaining stolen donuts from town hall some days ago, Ziggy seems contemplative as she addresses the crew; she's got a familiar mask in her hands that she's studying, the one given to her by Emry of the Fables. It's not gonna be a long, chatty entry, nothing wordy. No grand speeches or winding conversations or anything; it's really not her style anyway.]

Since we're about to go on another mission, what's that one thing you'd like to work on, moving forward?

One thing about yourself that you can't stand.

Something you feel is a big flaw that holds you back, or some trait you hate having, or — whatever.

savingthrows

[ Eleven's tongue is peeking out from between her lips, an expression of utmost concentration on her face. She seems to be sitting cross legged on one of the tables in the common room next to a glass jar about a third full of brightly colored, folded paper slips. She's writing on a new note right now, hastily tucking a strand of unkempt hair behind her ear - it's grown out during her three months in stasis, drawing more attention to the fact that she's wearing a blue hair tie around her wrist instead of using it for its intended purpose. ]

Adults... [ That sounds like an insult, somehow. ] ... are really sad, all the time. Or angry. Or unhappy. So... I thought.

[ She shows the folded note. In exceptionally poor, unskilled handwriting for a girl in her mid teens, the note reads: YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL TOO. Beautiful is misspelled badly. Then the folded note goes in the jar. ]

You all need nice things. [ With a look that holds all the heavy judgment of a 14 year old. Feel called out, crew. ] If you take one. You leave one. But you have to be nice. Especially if nice is difficult for you. Like a swear jar, but it's not stupid. It's nice.

[ ooc: open to anyone and anything. feel free to threadjack all over the place, too. ]

firstroar

I need assistance from anyone near the infirmary with the strength to move a person without much struggle.
Doctor McCoy is asleep hunched over at his desk and will not respond to my calls both external and psionic; he feels very much the same as those who succumbed to long sleep.
If that's so...he'll need a better place than this, or he'll wake very uncomfortably.

kovach

[ he's not really in the habit to go public on here, and he's much less likely to show his face usually, but considering his intent in this, he figures it helps to show a visual. the face he wears now, a few days into their return from giva, is probably more familiar to the people here than the one he was wearing around taeum, back to its usual display of bruises and cuts, having already returned to this body by the time he'd gotten into his fight with v'rizz, wasting little time in getting damage done to it again.

his old smoking habit is back to, fingers snatching the cigarette from between his lips so he can start speaking. ]

So, some of you might've seen me with a different face this past mission. I pretty much explained it to those few what the whole deal about it is, but — since it's not really a normal thing for people, I figured I can save everybody's time from having to provide the entire backstory every time.

[ because there's only so many times he could give a combined history-science lesson. ]

Where I come from, advancements in technology have allowed the extraction of human consciousness from the physical body. It can be stored and moved like data, and mostly we keep it in these discs called stacks, implanted in the back of the neck. [ his hand reaches back, tapping at his nape. ] It stores everything that makes a person who they are — personality, thoughts, instincts, memories. Which means a person can be moved around — downloaded and uploaded — from body to body. The physical is just ... sacks of flesh we call sleeves. You can even shoot down a body, destroy the heart and all the other organs, but as long as the stack is untouched, a person can survive. Just put the data from the stack into a different sleeve and life goes on.

[ it's a lot more complicated than that, if you involve the politics and economics and morality issues, but he figures the basics is enough for now. a sigh leaves him, bringing the cigarette back in and breathing in the smoke. ]

The sleeve I'm wearing now wasn't originally mine. How I got it and why is a whole other story that's not important — [ not for a public speech, anyway. ] The sleeve some of you saw me in while at Taeum ... is the one I was born with. But just like everything else in that place, it was mostly just bullshit tricks, so you're all stuck with this face again.

Oh! [ A completely different, yet additional familiar face pops up over Kovacs’ shoulder in his usual attire, dark coat and vest and bowtie. He waves. ] Hello! Sorry to interrupt, couldn’t quite help but overhear you talking a little bit about that ol’ ‘same person, different bodies’ bit. You see, I know a little something about that. Bit different, of course, but the concept’s really quite similar —

[ Yes, he’s just going to join Kovacs now. Sup. ]

Right. What you’ve said might be a little bit confusing if you haven’t got any experience with same-person-different-bodies, and — and what? Where are your drawings? The presentation?

[ There’s a shuffling as the Doctor turns to glance in Kovacs’ direction, and then his left, his right, and up towards the ceiling for good measure. ]

Discs and sleeves and stacks and all that, basically: bodily-wodily stuff. You, and the good-looking one are one and the same. Same person, different bodies. [ There’s a brief pause, and then: ] You know what, I think we’ll need a Powerpoint.

[ having a horrid flashback of the presentation the doctors attempted with trying to explain their own mutual existence, kovacs is quick to try shooing the other man away with a cigarette-holding hand. ]

We're not doing the shitty diagram strategy. [ a pause. ] Wait — what do you mean good-looking one?

( the blue text above is a guest appearance by the eleventh doctor. feel free to address either one of them! )

pursuit

[ Deuce recognizes they've all been through a time. He knows it well, because while he may be young and inexperienced, he's certainly had exposure to people in extreme emotional distress.

Luckily here, people don't seem to blot.

His message begins in pensive silence, before at last he spurs himself to speak. ]

I think I need some advice. [ He begins, only to halt, choosing his words. ] I'm not powerful. I'm...I'm a kid. I'm not a lot of things you guys are. Hell, I'm pretty slow on the uptake, too.

[ It might sound like self-pity, up to this point - except that what carries in his tone, stronger than anything, is frustration. ]

But I wanna be useful. I wanna help. What are things somebody like me can work on? I'll work as hard as it takes, but I don't know where to start... I just know I don't want people around me having to pick up my slack.

[ And he feels keenly that that's exactly what people had to do during their last mission. If nothing else, he's never shied away from a need to better himself, and his resolve reflects in his voice as well. ]

catchatting

[ Zari's hair is up in a messy bun and she's wearing considerably less makeup than her usual. ]

Um so that was like... a lot. Who's up for a recovery spa date?

[ She looks away and her lips start to twist before she catches herself. It had been more than a lot for her--more than blood and violence or a dirty, bug-filled ghost town. She's still trying to wrap her head around everything she's had to contend with within herself and she's only so good at hiding it. ]

Or, I mean, if anyone just wants to talk. I can be a good listener. My therapist always said I have a lot to give the world. I really wish he was here and not just for me, you know?

Anyway, I can do face masks, mani-pedis or we can just talk.

[ A small shrug. ]

I could use the company, too.

bossily

[At first, all that can be seen is an up-close view of a bowtie. It’s being adjusted by slender little fingers, and there’s a mischievous laugh, followed quickly by the Doctor distinctly admonishing, Not in front of company!]

What company? It’s just Alina.

[But she clearly knows exactly what company he’s talking about, and smirks as she pulls back and away. They have important things to discuss, after all.]

Right. So the Doctor and I, we recently met with Entr’i. And we know there’s been plenty of discussion on the upcoming war, but there’s more we felt needed to be addressed. Starting with that amulet.

[ There’s a pause and the video feed seems to shift, though the general colour of the imagery remains a sort of reddish hue reflecting Sedorum’s ever-crimson sky. ]

Hello! Yes! The amulet. [ Bowtie now in perfect order, the Doctor clears his throat and properly flaps Clara away. ] Now there’s cause to believe this amulet is a whole other sort of thing and not the thing we want, but the power Entr’i believes it has … well, it all fits together perfectly.

[ He means, of course, the reason they’re here in the first place: the orbs, the mission. ]

Of course Entr’i herself — she’s rather the determined type. Very much ‘get-things-done’ and never-you-mind all the obstacles that might stand in her way. She really believes she can use the power of this counterpart amulet to — ah, what did she say? ‘Bring the two realms together.’ Yes, I think she means to quite physically bring down the barriers that divide the realms and create a whole new sort of city for all souls, bringing them together.

Quite the ambition, eh? [ He looks thoughtful. ] Now! Now — what does this mean for the upcoming war bit? Right — well, I don’t plan on doing any warring, not me, not my area of expertise, but. We’ll need to — Clara? Clara, tell everyone what we’ll need to do.

[There’s a moment’s pause, just long enough for Clara to appreciate the fact he’s deferring to her for the important part.]

What we’ll need -

[Another pause, as her mind works quickly to not only remember the conversation they’re referencing, but to create something resembling a plan.]

What we’ll need is people who are able to stay behind with us. In a few days, we’re gonna be the only hope the people here have. It’s up to us to band together to help guide them to safety. And to keep them as secure as possible. Anyone in Taeum or Sedorum that’s able and willing to help, your orders come from -

Oh! [ The Doctor suddenly exclaims, recalling something else in between listening and thinking, and remembering very important conversations. ] Yes, Clara’s right of course. We’ll need to make sure that anyone in Taeum and Sedorum has means of protection in case things go sour, whether that’s a safe place to hide or someone to protect them. I’ll admit there really is only so much one can do with a sonic screwdriver when it comes to souls, but — ah, never mind that.

There was one other thing. Something about notes. What did Entr’i call them? Magic notes?

[ Alina, perched on the edge of the camera's view, snapping back to sudden attention. Her eyes jump from where they've centered onto the wall, looking indignant at Clara's elbow jabbing her in the ribs, before she seems to remember herself.

Right. Sheepishly, she clears her throat. ]

Sorry. Anyway, Entr'i thought she would have to use the amulet to bring Sedorum's army to Giva, but the magic notes the Doctor mentioned will help her transport them. Which means the amulet is free to merge Sedorum and Taeum together.

[ For a moment, she trails off, mouth opening and closing before she finds the words. ]

We can’t stop the war from breaking out in Giva, but Entr’i thinks we can use it to distract and trick Him and the Highest One. She wants to stall long enough for a chosen group of us to go in, get the other amulet from the Highest One, and get out. With all of our limbs intact, hopefully. Another group will need to go in and free the prisoners Taeum has locked up while we have the chance.

If you can fight, you should volunteer for one of the infiltration groups or head to Giva as soon as you can before things can get worse. Remember we’re fighting to stall them. If you’re just looking to destroy something, go beat up a straw puppet.

Entr’i and the rest of us — we’re not looking for more bloodshed. If you can’t trust her on that, I hope you can at least trust me.

That goes for Clara and the Doctor’s group, too. We just want everyone to be kept as safe as they can be. [ A beat ticks by as she glances at Clara. ] If she starts bossing you around, you should listen to her. Clara knows best. There’s no one I would trust more to protect these people with everything they have than her and the Doctor.

[ At this, the Doctor nods. Far be it from him to argue about that last bit, besides which, Alina is perfectly right.

He claps his hands together. ]

Right. That should do it, then —

[Clara holds up a hand, stopping both the Doctor and Alina from adding on anything more.]

You’re right. I do know best. And since I know best, let me remind all of you that war is coming. Whether we want it to or not. All we can do now is try to prepare and make the best out of the situation. Arguing isn’t gonna change that. So please, do whatever you can now to make yourself ready. We’ll be waiting till we’re called for action. I advise you to do the same.

[There’s a moment where she gives her best stern teacher look, followed by a curt nod of her head. The Doctor looks in her direction and then meets Alina’s glance, proud and absolutely not about to argue with what Clara’s said, before his expression changes and he opens his mouth to start a new story. You see, there was this noodle-vendor in the shopping district, and —

And then the video feed cuts off without anything further to be added.]

[ooc: Red is Clara, Blue is the 11th Doctor, Purple is Alina. These three are coming together to lead the charge for part 2!]

peasant

[ it comes late in the night while she's slumped in a chair at a strategist's table, though time is meaningless in the hellish pits of an afterlife. sedorum's frenzied chaos is neverending, a constant clash of noise that isn't unlike alina's mind, as she stares at the tactical notes laid out in front of her without truly seeing them.

she should have control over what she transmits through the earpiece, now. but it's a malformed thought that shakes loose from some miserable and lonely part of her, broadcasted before she can help it — ]

do you feel like you deserve to be here

[ in some afterlife meant to punish them, or perhaps here. existing, chasing their chances to undo a regret. even alina herself doesn't quite know which one she means. ]

calmness

[there's a few beats of silence before he speaks on the network, a steadying breath can be heard before lan xichen speaks. he looks down as he speaks, brows furrowed and his normal gentle smile is nowhere to be seen. if someone were to say he looks haunted, they’re not far off.] I -- What has happened is my responsibility. The sudden collapse of what we were experiencing here.

I spoke with Ford Branson to try to learn more about the town and pressed too far. He spoke about his family mostly and how much he loved this town. Speaking to him, I do not think he made a deal with the Orb... [a pause, a deep breath and when he speaks, his voice is a little more hollow and frayed.]. Not knowingly.

But I think what happened here is tied to his love for his family.

While we were talking, he clutched a locket which contained photos of his family and called it his most prized treasure. That the locket kept them safe, even when he spent all his time in the mines.

Perhaps the locket is the Orb itself or it is otherwise with him. And– and I don’t know if it was merely nervousness or self-soothing, but as he grew more distressed he spoke to himself. Almost a conversation where the other side kept telling him nothing happened and that it would be alright… Until the end when he called for it to stop and ran.

Then everything froze.

What triggered him was asking about pulsefire. He told me that pulsefire is used to clean out towns by bandits, who are looking for treasure. It leaves nothing living behind. [he visibly shudders here, pausing as if pulled into a memory before shaking his head to clear it. when he speaks again, his voice is steadier, barely, but lacks its normal air of calm.] Bandits use to clear trouble, leave treasures. But Ford’s treasures were living…

ruinously

[ sorry, everyone - Dean is...very drunk. Very, very drunk. There's a lot of reasons for this, but most notably, it's a Monday and that's what matters, right? It's not like it's his birthday and no one gives a shit again, for the thirtieth? thirty-first? time...

does he even age, here? Is it even really January? Cause it was May for him when he got here, and then suddenly they've skipped months and it was Christmas and now it's January or some shit, he doesn't know. ]

Guys, is it just me or does anyone else just like...not give a shit anymore? Like this is crazy, right? Weeks and weeks of bullshit, mission after mission, same story different folks, more investigating these damn people who just parrot the same friggin' story over and over, like we're eating snakes, man, that's just--

[ a breath, steadying; ]

That's just not right. And all for what? Cause we might get to undo a regret? Cause we fucked up so monumentally in our own worlds that we gotta sign some weird sleep paralysis contract that's probably gonna backfire in our faces - cause lemme tell you from firsthand experience, deals always have a price - and feed friggin' alien orbs our goddamn souls? Or whatever the hell it is you magic people have I dunno, I'm useless there.

Man, fuck this. I'm out. I don't care anymore.

groupiedrifter

Hey howdy hey, this is a load of bullshit!

[A triumphant return to the network! One that does not involve being in a hospital bed! He's instead sitting at an old piano in the saloon and is mindlessly running his fingers along the keys, just before he starts playing something he's perfected as 'old timey rapscallion music'.]

Important note 1.A: it is — in fact — my birthday. [He starts playing 'happy birthday', of course.] I refuse to tell you my age now, it's officially one year too old. I'm gonna be one of those sugar daddies that never reveals his age, even when he's old and gray and has enough wrinkles to transform Cybertronian-style into a Shar-Pei — "你好!" to one of my favorite dog breeds.

Important note 1.B: Please don't make me a cake out of snake. I don't want a snake cake. I will throw up on you if you try to feed me a snake cake. I'm about to cry just thinking about the amount of tiny bones I would be pulling out of that abomination. I won't allow it. [A pause.] It's an interesting concept, though. [Another pause.] No, no, I won't allow it.

Important note 2!

[He touches the lip of the piano lid.]

Lemme teach some of you how to play piano! We're stuck here regardless, so if you guys wanna learn something new with your downtime, I'm more than happy to teach it. My dad taught it to me, but I'm not sure I'd ever have kids, so you guys have to be the kids I pass it on to. Honorary Geiszler child! Who wouldn't want such a prestigious surname?

[As the feed ends, Newt's voice quietly whines:]

... I miss real food...

winscenario

[ Surprise, everything's still shit, guys. He's not here with any good news, but he is here to talk about something serious, so that means no fun little username, and no smile on his face either. There's too much going on, and too much weighing on his mind, for him to even muster the energy for that. ]

My name is James Kirk, to those of you who don't know me. Most of you have heard Dr. McCoy's broadcast about our current situation regarding the food supplies here, but if you haven't, I recommend that you do.

On that topic, I think it's of vital importance that we keep a close eye on what actual supplies we do have. To that effect, I've started keeping inventory of the rations we currently have, and I would greatly appreciate any assistance in maintaining this work of organizing and controlling the stock, as well as distributing it in as careful and rational a way possible.

Seen as none of us feel the effects of the malnutrition we're all facing, it's also of vital importance that we all have regular check ups, and I recommend that you all visit Dr. McCoy as frequently as you can. This is the only way we can all keep control of who's doing better and who's doing worse, and who might need rations more immediately.

[ There is a pause, and he goes on, shoulders squaring tightly. ]

I would also urge everyone here to not try and play hero or go for the whole self-sacrificial attitude. You're not being noble, and you're not helping anyone. The only thing you'll be doing is further worrying those closest to you, and speaking more pragmatically, the fewer of us are incapacitated, or dead, from starvation, the more of us are working on retrieving the orb and getting back to the station. The longer it takes us to do that, the much worse are our collective odds of survival.

With that in mind, I recommend you all keep an eye on the people you have closest to you. If you're looking after them, then they will be alright, even if they might not be the type to look after themselves.

[ Does he mean anyone in particular? Maybe, maybe not. But he's not here to argue. Again. ]

Anyone who's willing to lend a hand with this, please let me know. If you have any ideas on how we can improve our odds, feel free to share. You're also welcome to come by mine and Dr. McCoy's place. I'll be around.

[ Whether contacted through the network or getting visits to their house, Jim will be available for the rest of the day, having plunged head first into this task. ]

cheapbastard

so, who's gonna be the absolute gem of a person who teaches me their spacey wacey hangover cure? long as it stops short of probes, i'd be up to trying it.

( when in rome, right? he's not regretting taking advantage of the booze but maybe he should have paced himself. maybe he should have just had one drink a night.

but nah. that wouldn't be as fun. )

can't really be blamed for it, can i? first mission in space and i'm still alive. it demands a little drinky drinky. god, i could go for a fuckin' egg sandwich.

maybe some pancakes. who wants pancakes? is there shit for pancakes? maybe i'll cook something. be the provider i was born to be.

naloxone

[ turns out? space doesn't give a single fuck about your circadian rhythm. or maybe insomnia is just that attached to her that even the absence of a sun dictating her internal clock doesn't faze it, like an old friend you wish would just forget you already.

one night (?) late into the early hours (???) marta finds herself drifting out of the room she's come to assume will be hers for the indefinite future, passing through stark white walls with all the sterility of a hospital, but none of its familiar chaos.

she's still getting used to the earpiece. still getting used to hearing other people's voices in her head. she doesn't mean to add another in the void, but one of her own thoughts blares out too vividly as she stares out into an actual void: ]

—but where are the stars?

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