She's mad. She hasn't stopped being mad for the last few days.

She was mad when the zombies hit, mad when she found out what happened to Paco, madder and madder and madder for B5 and Jaime and Querl and no matter who she's talked to or what she's done she's frothing and nauseous with how USELESS she feels to change any of it.

She's barely slept, can't stop thinking, can't stop herself from lurching her way through little crying jags every time a bad thought or memory seeps in. Her oldest scars ache like they're new again... Her new bed in the crew quarters is so comfortable but she ends up back in her podsleeper some nights just for the close warm security of feeling shut away in a bubble for a while. She still can't quite drop off to sleep but it's better than feeling so exposed.

Brenda's had about enough of not sleeping though, she just wants to REST, and working herself down to exhaustion seems like a way to get there. So she's been camped out in one of the sensoriums, plowing her way through beating up opponent after spectral opponent, working already aching muscles into a mass of cramps and pain. Another hour or so of this, a hot bath, and with any luck she would be too tired to stand much less resist a comfortable bed.


[ooc: Will you mentioned wanting Leon to thread with Brenda some time? Feel free to hit this one. Sair, the Luthor thread I asked you about yesterday exploded in a whole other direction so maybe DSP can hit this one? He and Brenda should talk. ANYONE ELSE PLZ FEEL FREE TOO! ♥]

Something's been moved down to the hangar.

Something big and foreboding, with glowing red eyes cutting through the dimness of its bay.

And it's watching you.

Incidentally, has anyone seen Vega today? Spoiler: He's curled up on top of one of this thing's feet.

It was starting to get late, but that made no difference in the bridge. There always seemed to be someone around, someone working on something. Maybe they were just there to check the views, but there always seemed to be someone.

Which meant Static was never working in real peace.

Lights played around the room as tiny zaps leapt from broken sensors, often accompanied by a swear word or two from the stalwart repair man. He was pushing hour 20 of working in here, and his patience with the job was starting to wear thin, even with his magnifying glass and other tools to help him.

Zap.

"Damnit."

Zap.

"Damnit."

Zap.

"Oh, God Damnit! Who the hell designed these tiny-ass connections? I want to meet them, drag them out into the middle of the road, and shoot them. Stupid sensors and your half-wiring, half-flesh systems..."

Zap.

He sighed, and continued to work. It was going to be yet another long night...

Everyone's had a chance to recover somewhat, to stop reeling or at least try. Now that people are at least somewhat closer to being on balance again, it's time to say goodbye.

There is a message throughout the ship, one tinged with sadness:

||Attention, crew. Those who wish to attend the funeral services for the crew-mates that died during the conflict should report to Obs Deck immediately. Services will begin in approximately a thirty Earth standard minutes.||

The floor of the Obs Deck shifts to allow lifts to come up through it. Tubes connect from the space there to the hatches that suddenly appear between the windows, giving something of an impression that the closed caskets are missiles about to be shot through a missile tube. The funeral pods themselves have clear round domes in them--some of the people that died more peacefully are visible, looking as if they're sleeping. Most, however, were killed in a way that would make them appear less than presentable, so in their funeral pods only the vaguest outlines of humanoid forms can be made out. Some have entirely closed pods or were vaporized and thus, only have a funeral pod there to represent them.

The ship lurches lightly as it comes to a stop to a random universe, but where it's stopped at is beautiful to behold. They are in the middle of a nebula, surrounded by red and blue plasma. Several new stars burn brightly, here, and they are stopped near one, just short of being sucked in by its gravitational pull. It's a red dwarf, small and faint and new, but its light is welcoming. Here, where the very fires of creation burn, and stars are born is the last place the dead will be sent.

[ooc: Instruction thingies]

After the services the Doc had just needed a little peace and quiet. He'd never been one for funerals, felt awkward at the best of times and miserably guilty at the worst. Today had been the latter more than the former...

He settled into one of the little viewing rooms in the media library and lay himself out across the squishy couch, just looking up to the ceiling lost in thought as he listened to some music. For the moment he'd put in a request for an old favourite.

Anyone who stumbled on him would get treated to him softly singing along under his breath. He knows this one like the back of his hand.

Jamie has been trying not to think too hard about the events of the past week, with some success. He can only go so long without trying to assuage his need for information, though. He's still not sure he can trust anything Stacy says, or even if she'll tell him anything useful, but he might as well try to get some answers out of her.

He finds a secluded area to gather his thoughts and then addresses the ship, somewhat guardedly.

"...Stacy. I've, um. Got some questions, if you can answer 'em."

...cake? Where was that cake? Wait... that wasn't right. There was no cake. It was a dream. Yeah, a dream. That works. Indiana slipped out of his sleeping pod; he noted that the rest of these were strangely empty. How long was he asleep? He got the feeling that he'd missed something big.

However, Indy didn't care too much about the matters of the ship. He shrugged off any odd suspicions and headed to his might-as-well-be-home on the ship, the media library. He settled in with a datapad containing some ancient texts good thing he practiced his Latin subjunctives

Lafiel floated in the great chambers, weightless and warm as a great womb. Organic docking clamps (T-shaped with surfaces like teeth) held great shadowy shapes, sleek and metal. They were curved, beautiful and deadly.

The first clamp held a ponyu class, the only fighter in the Abh fleet. Its split tail and rounded body gave it the appearance of some great metal sailfish. As Lafiel pushed off the wall to float close to it, she remembered being pursued by the corrupt Baron Febdash in one of these crafts. He, a fellow Abh had been her first kill. At the time she had not understood why it upset Jinnto.

Now, after having suffered wounds and faced down things like humans that called with human throats in the thick and humid night, she thought she did, at least a little.

She climbed inside to inspect it.

When she was done, she moved onto the next ship. It was much more squat than the ponyu, flattened, round body with a smaller cockpit that poked out like the head of a turtle. An assault transport class, designed to ferry troops to ground worlds in the rare event the Abh needed to become involved in lander affairs. Inside, however, she would find an uglier shape: bulbous and spherical, it filled the hold. It was a hoksath or antimatter mine, a weapon capable of turning a continent into a skin melting inferno.

And it was fueled.

Unsettled, she double and triple checked the security on it, before floating away.

[OOC: If weapons of mass destruction are against the rules i'll happily change this post.]