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Entry tags:
- !location: obs deck,
- arha masaari,
- arrowette,
- bart allen,
- batou,
- blitzwing,
- brainiac 5,
- brenda,
- buffy summers,
- captain picard,
- chris redfield,
- claire redfield,
- daniel jackson,
- danny phantom,
- gavroche,
- jamie mccrimmon,
- jean-paul valley,
- jill valentine,
- jo lupo,
- khel no'gran,
- kon-el,
- leon s. kennedy,
- luke skywalker,
- mara jade,
- obi-wan kenobi,
- olivia dunham,
- pikachu,
- red snout,
- sensor,
- sharp tongue,
- slobo,
- son of satan,
- static,
- the major,
- wags-tail-a-lot,
- wyn callahan,
- zelda and sheik
Newbie Meet N' Greet
Meet n' Greet, smell my feet, gimme something good to eat! Unfortunately, the newbie meet and greet takes place the same time the command staff is congregating, so they might be a little late to the party.
But the crew is there to welcome the newcomers and explain their situation. At the end of the milling and spilling about, the command staff is going to start a general meeting to apprise everyone of their situation and discuss their next course of action:
Getting off the damn ship.
But the crew is there to welcome the newcomers and explain their situation. At the end of the milling and spilling about, the command staff is going to start a general meeting to apprise everyone of their situation and discuss their next course of action:
Getting off the damn ship.
First one in?
He wondered for a moment if any of them heard the stream of cussing that had erupted from his "clothing".
He sat and waited to see if the people he thought were around would show up.
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"Slobo?"
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Re: First one in?
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She looked around the group of people, all dressed in identical suits to the one that she had been stuffed into. There was someone she knew around, it was tickling at the edge of her senses, but fine control still failed her. If she was going to find someone, it would have to be the old fashioned way. Mara moved through the crowd with practiced ease, keeping an eye out for anyone familiar and trusting her senses to warn her if she was in danger from these strangers.
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"Hello, there," he said to the woman, tense, suspicious, every inch a warrior of the Force, "My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, I imagine you have a few questions."
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Her blue-within-blue eyes picked out the flash of red hair and the prickle of the Force pinpointed her. Arha gave the woman warning with a gentle, quiet, mental hello.
"Welcome," she murmured.
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Not that she'd admit that to anyone. Ever.
She folded her arms and grumbled to herself, "How many are we going to get?"
She spoke up, louder this time, "I like your hair!"
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The faces blurred into anonymity. Mentat sorting did not help he. Their conversations were all the same: paranoia, anger, confusion, bewilderment, demands to go home, do-you-know-who-I-ams.
One caught her though. A shock of violently red hair. A Jed-eye, obvious from her carriage and the way the air seemed to hum with a low buzz around them.
She approached from a respectful distance (crysknife swung at her hip, ready for a violent reaction). Small and mouse-quiet, her grin was mischevious.
"You are a Jed-eye." Not a question.
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Major? Ishikawa? Anyone there? Again, the cybercomm read no signal. Heaving a sigh, Batou slumped down in a chair and kept his gaze down. This was real, no simulation was this detailed.
So what now?
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For a moment, the Major didn't bother to move away from the wall. No. It must be a glitch, something she'd imagined, a false memory made from wishful thinking and—
< Ishikawa? Anyone there? >
The cybercomm signal was clear and very real. From the other side of the room, leaning against the wall, Motoko could see nothing of Batou, nor hear him among the din, but automatically she shot back, < Batou, Report! >
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There's a distubingly large crow—easily the size of a human child—perched on one of the statues, with a snug black metal harness wrapped in straps around it. But that couldn't be related, could it?
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He, truthfully, wanted to get out of this place and go hunting, but something told him to stay put. So, he hid out of the line of people's sight.
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A velociraptor circles past as she stalks the edge of the room, hand claws tucked up against her chest and moving with easy strides. Her yellow and black hide is painted with red and white slashes all down her body and hanging against one side is a large, dark brown triceratops leather bag with feathers, teeth, and claws hanging from it by way of decoration.
She stares at the newcomers to the crew, watching them with a predatory, evaluating air. Then she notices the one with the strange head covering.
He gets a much longer unnerving velociraptor stare as she tries to decide what it is.
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Even into the mouth of hell.
Just..no. No.
She had, though, found some things that belonged to her that...well, it didn't make up for the plantsuit, but it comforted her somewhat. The cross given to Buffy by Angel her first night out in Sunnydale. The leather jacket he'd given her a few months later. The claddagh ring that she'd looped through the same necklace that the cross was on. The red scythe that was every Slayer's birthright. Mr. Pointy - the stake that Kendra had given to her the day she had been killed.
Every item had some significance for the Slayer, some memory, some tie to her past. Something to give her the strength to look to her future.
Wherever that was.
Whatever that was.
Suddenly, Buffy's life was much less normal than it had been even in Sunnydale.
Peachy. Fuzzy. Keen.
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and looked around for a familiar face. Any familiar face.
Even, ugh, Kennedy.
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"I'm Brenda. Welcome to Stacy. Don't worry, everyone else is horrified and confused too. You get used to it."
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As he walked into the main room, he folded his hands behind his head and began to look around; a few other people, but no one that he knew. At least, knew well enough to run up to and get help from, anyway. Best to give it a minute and see if anyone else shows up.
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"Hey! Watch where I'm goin'!" Yes, he MEANT to say it that way.
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Which is why he's currently standing - well, lurking - in the darkest-possible corner of the obs deck - it isn't just to conceal himself, it's also because the glare here is almost painfully bright.
At least he's a little more at ease now, clothed, some of his belongings returned - the cowl half-covers his face, the Eye marked on his tabard reassuring. The few bandages he had found were wrapped around his wrists, his blade, throwing needles, and lyre safely tucked away in the Shadow along with Zelda's earrings and crown (conveniently, they had been bundled nearby his own things).
So now, they're standing around to scope the environment. Also, to lurk.
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"VATCH VHERE YOU'RE GOINK YOU PIECE OF SLA-"
Icy mentally facepalms and elbows Hothead to the side with an audible sigh.
"Brothers," he mutters irritably, before viewing Sheik with a certain amount of fascination. "I take it jou are new on zhis meatship."
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She continued to watch people, cataloging oddities for the eventual report she would have to write. If she looked at it like that, as an FBI agent, it kept her calm enough to stay quiet and still. She didn't see anyone she even remotely recognized. She decided she would take anyone she knew. Even someone like David Robert Jones. Even considering that he was dead.
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The guy questioning her has a slight New York accent and guns of his own. Colts. Revolvers. Old-fashioned. The plantsuit does nothing to hide them.
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On the other hand the familiar weight of her side arm on her hip offered comfort. As did the sight of the tall red head who'd gotten ahead of her.
"Redfield! Hey!" She squeezed past people and fought her way up to Chris' side. "You are not skipping out on me now, partner."
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The suit, however, didn't leave much to the imagination and it made her feel uncomfortable. So, stepping into the Obs Deck as she was herded, she kept one hand on her gun, looking warily around.
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She knew how overwhelming the whole experiance could be, so she decides to walk around and perhaps find a new person to help out.
She finds one.
"You be not be harmed in this room," Ghani states, watching the woman eyeing the room warily. "It is not permitted."
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Yuri weaved her way through the milling crowd, looking for whoever looked most confused. She's carrying a piece of pulpy paper with BASIC IN
FERFORMATION written on it, holding it hesitantly in front of her chest.Who needs help from a kid (not a rhetorical question)?
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Welcome newcomers! The green guy and the pink naga have gifts for you!
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Her first instinct, as ever, was to get all chop-and-slash happy.
Her second thought was to ask if she was, like, an ascended mayor or something.
Instead, she just warily approached the naga, keeping the scythe and stake in full view.
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Still, the odd woman was strung up like a bow and arrow. She may snap at any minute. She wanted her suit. Her suit, not this... regulation shit. She only had four arms. She needed eight. An octopus without eight arms simply wasn't an octopus. It helped to have her gun, but her suit..!
"Hehehe..."
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ffff please forgive my fail typos.
Of course ♥
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And maybe try to bust him out of there.But then her eyes land on...
Buffy freezes as her eyes go wide. Her heart starts to race and her breath catches in her throat.
It can't be.
It...can't be.
Right?
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Though it was more Alan Fangor at the moment. After all, people who needed help adjusting to weird weren't going to adjust all that well talking to a blue centaur.
So he came in as a human, looking for anyone who might need some help.