Time to report back to her captain. Mulan and Shang have seen enough of each other since arriving, but with so much reconnaissance to do on Mulan's part and so much research to do on Shang's part, they've been busy warriors indeed. As many new friends as she's made, Mulan is glad for the chance to see her captain-slash-fiancee again.

She knocks smartly on the door to the podroom in the Media Library where he has been doing his studying. "Permission to enter, Captain!"

Lafiel staggered out and away from the sensorium pod, clutching her bruised jaw. Blood pooled between her teeth, coppery and salty in her mouth and she swallowed it.

There was a special kind of humiliation that came with being physically bested and though Lafiel knew she was in the right, it still stung.

Master Chief or Captain Kirk would have known what do immediately, but she had only exacerbated the situation. She knew this to be her own fault. The punch had been a predictable consequence of her actions.

She couldn't even curse for fear of spitting more blood.

Somebody's busy in Weapons & Possessions.

Jack's Super Secret Evil Project that he's been slowly working on, with much interruption, for a while now has finally come to fruition. At least, so he hopes. It all depends on what happens right now.

He activates the small, box-shaped device he's holding. It starts clicking softly. Jack grins.

Something's here.

He steps sloooowly further into the room and starts ranging along the stacks. As he approaches the end of one row, the clicking starts picking up.

He laughs.

"Jack," he tells himself, already gloating, "you really are a genius."

Sitting on a bench under the shade of a large tree within a garden of the Vatican City, Ghanima Atreides was slowly reading the large book that sat on her lap. She had found an old Roman Catholic Latin Bible in one of the rooms of the 'Casina' of Pius IV that she, along with Alia and Duncan - or Hayt - had claimed as their own.

She had needed time to herself, time away from worrying about her aunt, and how her aunt was taking the news of how Hayt had no recollection of his marriage to Alia. It was sad, though she was sure that time would only lead the two on the path they both belonged on - such was the way of life.

She had chosen a small garden as her refuge, and had found she enjoyed the silence that surrounded it. It seemed as though the Vatican City was not a place that many ventured to, and for that Ghani was indeed pleased.

While many from her world had forgotten the old Earth languages, Ghani had always enjoyed speaking, and using them as a way to communicate with her twin brother, Leto. It had been their secrect way of communicating when they didn't wish others to know what was being said. It was one of the gifts that having so many Other Memories had given them. And it was a gift that provided useful now as she read over the Latin words.

"*... melior est enim sapientia cunctis pretiosissimis et omne desiderabile ei non potest conparari. Ego sapientia habito in consilio et eruditis intersum cogitationibus." Ghani read aloud and couldn't help but agree with the small two verses.


*Proverbs 8:11 and 8:12
11 "For wisdom is better than jewels ; And all desirable things cannot compare with her."
12 "I, wisdom, dwell with prudence, And I find knowledge and discretion."

They had been distracted by the podpop, but Sheik still had kept his appointment - payment to the blacksmith, Daja, for fixing his beloved lyre. It wasn't too much of a hardship, either - a few songs and some tea, which would explain the burner, teapot, flask of water, two teacups, and little pouch of just enough tea for two set beneath the tree Sheik was now lounging beneath.

Honestly, he had been pleased to find the little park - and quite close to Daja's forge, too. Now, he set everything out on a flat rock in the shade and settled back to wait, newly repaired lyre in his lap.

There was one bad thing about the constant nightmares that struck - ruining people's sleeping patterns. For awhile, it didn't seem to bother Shadow all that much, but now, it seems that it's finally catching up to him. The last few "nights" on board the ship have been draining, and it's been showing. Especially concerning his runs. A misstep here, a split second action between slamming into someone and missing them.

It all came down to nearly missing a jump in the city that caused Shadow a whole lot of alarm.

"...this is getting ridiculous..." Shadow muttered, panting a bit after recovering from the jump. If he hadn't caught the edge and pulled himself... The hedgehog shook his head and moved over to a "shady" spot on the rooftop.

"I doubt anyone will notice... just a little bit of rest..." Shadow muttered as he sat down and promptly passed out.

Sadly, this is the meatship. Someone IS going to notice...

There’s a minute trail of blood leading away from the frigid halls of Engineering and Neuropathy, spattered here and there, mostly blending in with the meaty surroundings, but still quite evident. Seasoned observes might notice that the droplets are paced fairly far apart, indicating that the donor was running (or jogging, at any rate).

Judging from the mess in the corridors nearby, this one’s speedy getaway was justified.

Follow the trail, if you must. It’ll lead almost directly—there’s a temporary deviation towards the Hangars—to Yoshimi Ito’s personal quarters.

The disheveled man inside, cursing furiously at his cellphone and searching haphazardly for something to plug his bloody nose, is definitely not Yoshimi.

[[Note: Takes place right after this thread.]]

Mal was sitting at the table in the dining room on Serenity with his gun resting in front of him. He'd just finished cleaning it out and reloading it, and was now taking a minute to just relax. It was ironic that the only thing that made him forget about the worries caused by living on Stacy was a good round of drinks and pleasurable company. He and Wolfwood had hit it off, but also the drinking game he did with Jo was definitely enjoyable.

But now it was business as usual, looking after Serenity and what there was of his crew. Even though they weren't all there, not all of them, he still felt he had the responsibility to watch over them and make sure they didn't get themselves in too much trouble. Inara could handle herself for the most part, so he rarely interfered with her, but Kaylee was the one he was most concerned about.

He had a soft spot for her anyway, so seeing her get hurt or in trouble was the last thing he wanted.

Mal shook his head then, thinking he was getting too lost in his own mind. He picked up the gun and pointed it at a random spot in front of him, and pretended he was firing it. There wasn't much cause to shoot things on Stacy, and she probably wouldn't have liked it if he did. Maybe a couple of hours in the Sensoriums would take care of that, he thought as he sat there with the gun still in his hand.

The crew dreams.

As they have been for the past while, their dreams are being tampered with, but tonight it's different. Roxie, one of the crew members has done rituals to try to give the crew good dreams. However, the power of the Nightmare King can't easily be overcome, as a result, rather than pleasant or nightmarish, people's dreams are instead taking a turn for the surreal tonight.

Get ready to go down the rabbit hole, Meatship.

The jovial extra terrestrial sporadically giggled at the sight of the imaginary synthetic meat by-product. Exuberance!

Curiouser and curiouser.

The JLA Watchtower. Hall of Justice.

Or it would be, if it hadn't been destroyed along with the rest of their world. No, this is an uncanny facsimile courtesy of the sensoriums. The room itself is little more than an encircling window that looks out into space, Earth looming below, and an Arthurian table with twelve chairs, seven of which bearing the insignia of its reserved champion.

One of them is already here and sits like he owns this place-- well back in his chair, chin out and arms folded high across his chest.

Tu ne cede malis, sed contra audentior ito.

Superman had wanted it engraved on the table, years earlier when they operated out of a cave in Happy Harbor. Batman had scoffed, but then, he generally did anyway. Only now that his old friend isn't here to give him the 'see? I have good ideas too' face does he genuinely consider it. He had been fighting this war like it was Gotham, like it was his turf, and now he sees the error. He's looking for demons in the wrong place.

So here he sits, enjoying a reprieve from glorified tech support work and waits for his pantheon.

[ooc: Meet and greet type deal-- start your own sub-thread and/or comment to others. 'Sup to you.]

[[This is a continuation of this thread, open to magic bus people and probably anyone who happens to be walking by.]]

Kala watched Mister Barlow's hat bob a bit as he carried her.  The bus wasn't that far away now, not really.  She could almost feel it pulling at her.  In it was a warm, safe bed, a bathroom that was very nice and had pipes, but she was worried.  Not for herself, but for Mister Barlow, because it was made up of magic and it would be so bright.  She'd been stupid.  Stupid for not controlling herself.  Stupid for letting herself slip up, for not forcing herself to spar.  It hadn't been real fighting anyway.  The ship probably would have stopped them.  And they hadn't been fighting dead on, it was just a stupid surge.  One she'd managed to stop.

Now, here she was, limp as anything and being carried by Mister Barlow all the way home when he was still hurting because she'd gone and--  And tried to just about fry him.  It wasn't exactly successful, but at least she managed to heal him a little.  Kala blinked and a few tears slipped down her cheeks.  It wasn't his fault.  Not even a little.  But.

She'd...helped. 

That was worth something.