The Sensorium had picked up on her indecisiveness.  Instead of just an X-wing, sitting in a hangar and waiting for her, there was a variety of ships.  The complicated B-wing, a sleek Hapan fighter, the safe and powerful Y-wing.  Mara rapped her fingers against her helmet while she looked them all over.  There really weren't very many ships she couldn't handle.  The dreams had her edgy, on guard.  At the oddest times, she would think that she could hear the Emperor laughing. 

Expression firming, she marched across the metal plates to the A-wing tucked off to the side.  She needed to get her mind off of things, and that meant a challenge.  The A-wing interceptor was the fastest thing around at sub-lightspeed, but very touchy.  The slightest mistake and the ship would spin out.  It was said that a pilot had to be extremely brave or insane to fly one, and being both probably helped.  It was perfect for the mood she was in.

Even in an artificial setting, Mara walked around her ship to inspect it before starting the power up sequence.  The rest of the ships sat in a row, waiting.


[ooc:  Anyone in the mood to go flying?]

Tony needed some time, from time to time (haha) and today, in order to take his mind off of the impending doom of the Nightmare King and the rather vivid nightmares he'd been having, he decided to do some simple work in the Sensoriums. He'd conjured up a garage and the old beater he'd occasionally driven around in - the paint was chipped and coming away in places, the car ran like shit, it had way too many miles on it and the muffler was probably broken, but it had been his for the very brief time he'd ridden around in it.

So, he was up to his arms in the guts of the simulated car. His t-shirt and jeans were covered with (simulated) grease and oil stains and his hands were dirty, but the work helped him think. It gave him something to do. It was a good distraction. He didn't glance up from the engine as he heard someone come in.

"Hey, man. Feel free to come on in."

Sawyer had been avoiding the city ever since Bella had told him that the Vatican had been all but destroyed during the fighting with the zombies. No one had died, which Sawyer--rather immodestly--accredited to himself and all the work he put in getting the basilica ready for just that kind of occasion. But with the basilica trashed, Sawyer had lost the spot on the ship that he had adopted as his own little castle--even if other, more religious crew members had tried to mosey in on his turf. So, in an effort to familiarize himself with some of the newly opened areas of the ship, Sawyer had been walking around and poking his head into the command deck, engineering, neuropathy, and, eventually, the flight deck.

He spent at least an hour wandering around the deck, looking at all the different fighters, bombers, mechs, frigates, and shuttles before his eyes landed on something that most definitely didn't seem to belong. In one untouched corner of the flight deck stood an object covered up with a protective tarp. It wasn't large, especially in comparison to all the other machines around it. It, in fact, looked rather reminiscent in size to a normal vehicle from Earth.

With furrowed brow, Sawyer wandered over to the "mysterious" vehicle and cautiously took hold of the tarp and gave it a sharp tug only to reveal....

( ZOINKS!!! )

An hour or so later, anyone stopping by the hangar deck would find Sawyer, driving in circles in an empty corner of the hangar at five miles at hour. The windows were rolled up, and a cloud of smoke filled the vehicle as the meatship's resident a$$hole puffed away on something that was not a cigarette.

[OOC: Please keep to one thread. Thank you!!!]

With the recent holiday related mission, it made Dean wonder how the calendar worked on the ship. If it was anything like an Earth year or not. Still, after doing some rough figuring recently, he felt it was now close to his birthday. If the Ohm hadn't destroyed it all, he would have been turning 31 this year. At least going by his original birthday, he'd only be two years old if going by his rebirth since getting yanked out of hell. Who the hell's counting anyway? Birthday's just a typical another day for a hunt usually anyway.

Still he found himself in the Sensoriums, enjoying blasting ghosts full of rock salt, before doing a salt and burn on the remains. At least it felt familiar, and he could keep his instincts sharp.

Happy freaking birthday, Dean Winchester.

The nightmares, increasing in frequency and distressing content, were finally beginning to get to Kazami more than usual. He'd started coping by fiddling with his bike in the vehicle bay, but there were only so many times you could dismantle and reassemble an engine before it got old.

He'd asked about it in the omnicom channels, and they'd said it would be okay. So, for now, parts of the City had a noise echoing off the buildings that it had probably never heard before. The loud, high-pitched thrum of a motorcycle bounces off as Kazami rides his bike through the City. It was simple and relaxing, and it helped familiarize him more quickly than a map did. The replica of the Vatican, some giant temple, a pink bus... All of the landmarks were noted and filed away as he continued to ride.

It was all going so smoothly, until he spent a second too long eying that ridiculous looking bus. A pothole in the road was his undoing. His bike hit and, before he had a chance to regain control, spun onto the side, dragging him along underneath it for several yards. With a slight groan, Kazami crawled out from under it, shaking his head. "How long has it been since I last crashed...?" At least he'd been wearing his helmet, he reflects. Still. He pats himself off, wincing a bit at the new, sharp messages of pain his body was sending. Hopefully no one was watching.

Luis was a rare sight out of the contagion lab (the big nerd), but today it was actually possible to find him sitting on the obs deck for an extended period of time, looking quite shaken up.

Turned out Stacy didn't appreciate people trying to take tissue samples from her walls, even if it was for the good of science.

But why hadn't anybody told Luis that she enforced those violation things with tentacles that came out of the wall and hit you? Talk about post-traumatic stress. He tried to tell himself that it was silly to let something like that panic him so badly, but he couldn't help those particularly vivid memories he had about tentacles that made him understandably uneasy around them. As if the nightmares weren't enough, Jesus.

So one violation richer and with no sample to show for it, he figured it would be a good idea to step away from work for a while to clear his head. And possibly (gasp) socialize.

Title: Argoelion Tywyll
Location: Stacy; Sensoriums
Character/s: Renne
Rating: [ PG ]






He heard voices he hadn't heard in a while.

The sea crashed around him in a deluge; the spars above his head cracked ominously. He didn't need to know anything but the sound to tell him where he was. He was at sea again but on a ghost-ship.
She was a ship well-built yet under immense stress. The hull groaned and the canvas sails snapped like a whip from the gods. The port was long behind by now, many leagues behind and while any port offered shelter, he didn't know if he wanted to go back to that one.
Renne scrambled unsteadily up the ratlines, moving toward the loosening t'gallant. Gods, it sounded like it should snap itself into two.

Not expendable

...good to me.

The wind howled in all directions as he made it higher into the swaying, pitching heights. The Pride and Fury never left port. The Tanar'ri Alus had met with one mild storm along her sea lanes. He didn't let his mind wander to pinpoint where he'd met such a storm before.
Rain pelted from above and the windward side while rope, wood and canvas became his world. Numbing cold slowed him down and Renne fancied he could hear a voice bellowing in the wind.
Pull away! Reef the staysail!

Reef the staysail. He could do that. He knew how to do that.

He could have done it if the rain hadn't turned to fire.


The storm didn't calm down but the ship he'd clung for dear life onto crumbled under him. Her mainmast cracked, wood splitting in a deafening roar. The sails shredded away as if the sky itself was being torn in twain.
Rain wasn't rain anymore and the sea was a churning cauldron of fire. The words came unbidden to his mind.
Ahi

He fell and flew and rose. The fire forced him and held him in a dance that told him he didn't dare stop. Drums pounded around him, within him and it wasn't a surprise entirely...but it was alarming that the creature felt himself partially Transcend right in this fiery/watery/silvery hell.
Mata'i

Time slowed, stopped, raced by. It wasn't linear; he already knew that. Renne knew the ship beneath was gone. He wasn't entirely solid at this point; part of himself dissolved into the non-solidity that is Transcendence. Drums pounded in his ears and voices sang while barking familiar orders. Voices he dared not listen to thundered in his ear, whispered in the distant nothing.
He danced a mute performance in an ocean of flame.
Miti

The problem was, he was neither awake, nor asleep.

The problem was, Time itself wasn't supposed to be tangible.

The problem was, creatures like him weren't supposed to exist.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Argoelion Tywyll [ Welsh ] - Dark Omens
Re-translated by someone who knows their stuff and wherein this Mun dives into Welsh lessons! :)
Ahi [ Tahitian ] - Fire
Mata'i [ Tahitian ] - Wind
Miti [ Tahitian ] - Water