It didn't matter if she was tired or not. The answer to that question was a resounding yes, daily, anyway, so it scarcely mattered. Arha sat in the Sensorium, on grass that was dark, dark green, while she stared at a pile of stones. Honestly, she was supposed to be asleep and it was past her Master-suggested-get-six-hours-of-sleep bedtime, but she couldn't sleep. She was a little restless, a little excited, a little pleased, and more than a little wound up.

Not even meditation was helping--Obi-wan's or her own.

Arha tilted her chin and thought of music. Dancing music, the slow, graceful kind that would help her center herself. It drifted through the air and she tipped her face into the warm sunlight that streamed through the trees of the clearing she sat in, and began to move, letting the Force fill her, letting the easy peace of it move her. It was a compromise between the nothingness that was her usual meditative zone and the feeling she was filled with when she meditated with Obi-Wan.

Peace. Calmness. Motion.

This was not fighting, it was, she thought, like letting go of everything you were and sinking into something bigger than yourself. There were no worries in this space, just the bend and curve of her body, the give and take of her breath, and the sweep of the music that let her becom lost. This was a moment. This, this, and this.

While it's always great to meet new people, there is someone very, very specific that Jamie has an interest in finding. Having failed to find this particular person through exploration (and winding up nearly getting shot in the process), he's retreated to the obs deck to try a different approach.

After some tentative prodding of one of the fleshy meat-chairs, he has gingerly settled into it and is using his Omnicom for the first time. He's not the fastest of typists by any stretch of the imagination, and there's a great deal of backspacing and grumbling going on as he composes the message. However, he wants the practice, so typing it is instead of using the voice recognition software. With any luck, his plan will work. It's not like it's really /that/ complex of a plan: type in a message and figure out how to send it. Trust in the fact the person he's trying to reach is nosy by nature and hope for the best.

He's also talking to himself, very quietly. "C'mon, Doctor. I know ye like poking around these type of things." A little extra prompting can't hurt, even if the only ones who can hear it at the moment are Jamie and the chair.

Coffee. Coffee, coffee, coffee.

Lois couldn’t remember the last time she had REAL coffee and it was driving her up the walls. A few hours before arriving here? Was that it? She’d been so busy freaking out and running around the city and looking for her missing cousin that coffee had taken a backseat that day, and she wished she had.

Everything in this place would be a lot better if she had caffiene in her system, and that’s why she was sitting in the Sensoriums, in a nice little Metropolis coffee shop, with a copy of the Daily Planet on the table in front of her, enjoying fake-coffee at her leisure. When life gave you fake coffee, the only thing to do was take it and privately grumble about nothing in particular.

She uncapped a conveniently provided permanent marker, and blackened out the header (“CITY TO EXPAND BUS ROUTES PAST SHUSTER AVENUE”) and marked in her own words in big block letters.

STAR REPORTER LOIS LANE KIDNAPED BY ALIEN SPACESHIP.

(Okay, so it was a bit cramped.)

Lois sat back in her seat, taking another sip of coffee, and contemplated opening lines. Probably something to do with “taking it in stride, once again punching life in the face”, but that seemed a bit unprofessional.

So she wrote:

Witnesses battle over a football, finds a death pen, scottish boys and medeival m Medivel nights and Smallville’s meteor freak cousin and lives to tell the tale

She chewed on the end of the marker for a sec, and then slammed it down in frustration.

“Who am I kidding? They won’t run this. I’m going to be shoved in Belle Reve the second I open my mouth.”

Duncan moved slowly through his kata in the sensorium-turned-dojo. His brown skin glistened just slightly with a bit of sweat, his mind barely aware at the moment of his surroundings. He was rather annoyed by the podsuit-he was finding it was't possible to peel off the top of the thing while keeping the bottom half on. It was all or nothing, apparently. He was mostly silent except for the regular intonations that came with the exercise.
 
The exercise was spritual as well as physical, although it was hard to clear his mind and focus these days. Every podpop had him looking for incoming immortals-he could not fight because Stacy would slap him for it, but he hated the idea of having to coexist with an old enemy. Stacy could apparently grab people from various points in time, so who knew who might be still podded?  Anyway, if he *could* fight and win, what would happen when he absorbed a quickening he really already had? He had no idea.

He did wish fervantly for Tessa to show up during a podpop. Even if it were only temporary,  and he knew he would lose her again once he got out of here,  he was buoyed by the possibility of having her back. He was halfway tempted to sneak into the pod chambers and peek around to see if she was there, although he had no idea what the ship would do if he did.

It really was fairly boring around here, he decided, in between moments of chaos like the trial. He'd had his opinions but had missed the actual fight when it had happened.

Finished with his kata, he picked up his sword and moved into a series of exercises with it.

.

There's a small sign on one of the Sensorium doors, which is propped open, and leads to a breezy city in fall, with a bike rack full of unlocked bikes right by the door. The sign reads "Free bikes - come for a ride!"

It's Will's way of trying to make friends without having to risk face-front rejection.

The red-headed girl is riding her own bike around the nearby park, enjoying the cool autumn breeze and the red and orange leaves floating down around her as she does. There are a few people in the city, but most of them are fairly indistinct - hats pulled down low, the same faces, anything Will can do to make it clear they're programs and not people without making them look creepy.

After spending some time in detention, Sam found himself being handcuffed once again and taken from his cell. He kept his head high and his shoulders back. Not out of pride for what he had done but more out a need to silently express that, while he felt horrible that people had gotten injured during the fighting, his spirit was not broken. He was then taken out of the detention hall and led down a long corridor to an interrogation room. Whether it was the same room where Leon had questioned him after his first 'arrest', Sam didn't know. But, it did look remarkably similar. Then again, one interrogation room wasn't much different than another.

He was aided into a chair, his wrists still cuffed behind his back, then left alone for a few moments before the interrogator entered and the questioning began.