While the rest of the ship was having nightmares, becoming increasingly restless as each day passed, Aeneas found that his dreams were becoming…clearer. And as they cleared, they became surprisingly pleasant. True, they had odd endings, or bizarre connotations, but they weren’t bad. Merely…interesting.

That morning, in his makeshift hovel in the City, Aeneas woke up with a splitting headache and a bright image plastered to his retinas. It took him several quiet moments of furious pacing before he could fully make sense of it, but when he did he couldn’t be happier for what it brought him. It was a landscape—a full, lucid memory, the first one Aeneas remembered in years! He was inspired, he was motivated, he was overjoyed by this prospect! He had to tell someone, or do something to preserve it…

The alien briskly wandered through the ship, for the first time frustrated that he couldn’t find his way to the Sensoriums. When he finally made his way to the top floor, onlookers might’ve noticed that his lavender irises were glinting with furious energy, and his pace was hurried, perhaps desperate; a peculiar grin split his brow when he walked through the open door to an empty Sensorium room.

He paused, taking a deep breath through ruffled feathers, and slowly closed his eyes.

It was an arctic beach at dusk. Behind him was a snow-covered forest, filled with jagged rocks and fluffy blue evergreen-like plants that rose like spires into the overcast indigo sky, coated in a thin layer of ice and powdery drizzle; before him was a pebble shore and a clear, turquoise ocean that spanned into infinity. Slow waves gently lapped the rocks as flurries built themselves tiny rafts near the beach. Dim stars poked through the slate clouds, parted down the middle by a swirling, ringed orb—a distant gas giant.

Aeneas’s excitement was palpable. He barely paused before taking a running leap into the icy, mineral water, gliding aimlessly through the translucent soup with powerful thrusts of his fuisti and webbed hands, moving as if he lived underwater his entire life. To chance upon the creature while he paddled through the shallows would be like sighting a long, blue-furred sea serpent, albeit one with legs and external gills.

Eventually he emerged, membranous auricles poking above the surface like a pair of fleshy antennae, and noticed that he wasn’t alone in his recreated memory…

As per the Chief's message, it was training time. Everyone who signed up for training (or was signed up by someone else) was ordered to an open square in the City.

Yes, the City, instead of the sensoriums. That meant that any weapons used would be real. And every bit of damage that they dealt would be real. As would the injuries. Though there didn't seem to be any weapons around, and there were no targets set up.

Interesting, that.

Anyway, in the square was the Chief of Security, who was busy marking off names of people who arrived early or on time. Anyone who figured that they could skip out, though, there is now an unhappy seven foot fully armed and armored Spartan hunting you down.

((ooc: READ THIS BEFORE TAGGING. EDIT: But the first subthread "Early/on time arrivals" is now open for tagging. Training has now begun!))

Following all of these nightmares, Russel was reluctant to fall asleep. Not that he was particularly well-rested in general at all. He didn't feel afraid, so much as... disturbed. And unnerved. He hadn't even fathomed that something could affect his unconsciousness at such a profound level. Not that he had any actual knowledge of psychology, but he does know that the contents of his mind are strictly his.

And he was currently working those contents in high gear. He had a sample of the plant suit under the microscope, and was currently analyzing it. He moved from the eyepiece to his notebook constantly, occasionally writing while looking in it at the same time.

While it may not be the healthiest choice available, he pushed himself into something he viewed as productive. And that was getting a few questions answered.