Today, like other days, Sherry woke up in pure terror.

Daddy's here. Her father's voice still rang in her ears, garbled and venomous. With a small, shaking hand, she pulled the collar of her sleeping shirt away and kicked off her covers into a pile at the foot of her bed. The dim light in the room told Sherry what she already could feel. Raised scratches on her shoulder, a reddish-pink mass of them, bled slightly.

She frowned, a wiser part of her telling the rest of her terrified self that blood probably wasn't good.

"Stupid dream," Sherry grumbled to herself as she slid off the bed. A cursory glance at her mother's side of the room told her that Claire was gone (just when had Sherry fallen asleep, anyway?) and their room empty. She sniffled, hicced and rubbed at her eyes with her sleeve. She smoothed a hand over her pajama shirt and shuffled towards the door. Smaller, quieter steps took her down to her least favorite place on the ship. Medbay was quiet, and a quick run inside told her that no one she particularly liked or trusted was in there. So she left, and took a quick turn back up the hallway to the first lab. For a moment, she considered knocking, and instead just slowly stepped inside.

"...Hello?" She whispered, "Dr. Sera?" A sudden thought horrified her - what if she were still dreaming? And now a zombie was going to come out of nowhere and vomit at her?!

( ...who, without hesitation, crams a few points up Slytherin's bum with an effortless play. )


[OOC: This is mostly going to be Rogue Squadron scrimmaging but other characters are welcome to watch]

Everybody needed a little comfort now and again. Stacy was a nice enough ship, and there was plenty of repairs and preparations to keep a person busy, but she wasn't exactly home. Kaylee was alright with where she was--she'd come to terms with the whole idea of destroyed worlds, missing crew and family, all that good stuff--but sometimes there was just no use in fighting the need to go home.

A good point of the Sensoriums was that she could do just that. It wasn't real, and it wouldn't be for a long while, but it was the comfort she needed, especially if her estimate of the days was accurate.

Chinese New Year.

A little ranch, complete with cozy farm house and mechanic's shop, all draped in red and gold in celebration. Chinese lanterns were hung up in trees and off of rooftops. Kaylee herself had curled up on the swing that hung down from the porch's roof, with her eyes closed as she hummed old songs.

It was good to be home.

Is today Tuesday? Is it Wednesday? Thursday?

Sierra seemed to have lost track. Here was no order here. There was no yoga time, painting time, swimming time. She didn’t have any treatments. She didn’t have her sleeping pod. She didn’t have anything normal except for a handful of people. The lack of normality wasn’t allowing her to adjust very well. Her nightmares plagued her every night which meant that she wasn’t sleeping much at all, a condition that was bad for a glitchy doll.

At the moment she wandered aimlessly around in search of painting supplies and a canvas. Surely she could find one. If not, the thought had crossed her mind, an evil, wicked thought, to paint the walls in her own blood. She had thought about it, imagined it, dreamed about it and thus far had kept herself from following through.

She needed something normal.

And maybe that was what she was in search of even more than paints. Sierra was in search of normal.



[ooc: feel free to run into a wiped Sierra.]

All he had wanted was some peace and quiet. First, he had found a way to rig the TVs in the hotel to link to the ship's library. Second, he had convinced Stacy to just let that be, and explained how odd "pulsing walls" were to most of them. Finally, he had found a couch on the far wall in the lobby that had the best view of the big screen TV the lobby had, and marked it. Above it on the wall was a plaque that read as such: RESERVED FOR FORMER YJERS/TITANS WHO WERE DECLARED DEAD IN THE LINE OF DUTY.

However, these were not exactly detractors in everyone else's mind. Every time he tried to relax and just read his back issues of "Crazed Merc" magazines, someone came in, sat down in the nearest chair, and asked him about... whatever was on their mind. He couldn't stop it, he knew it from the first. When the crazy japanese kid who he had previously lead to the sensoriums had shown up asking him about whether he should go to a dance, he had given advice. Then the priest showed up, asking about what the Outsiders were about. Now, Slobo was just waiting for the next person to come asking him, of all people, for information or advice. So he was more waiting than relaxing...

There were many flaws involved in having your life uprooted and moved onto an multidimensional-migration-ship-thingie. Chief among them was dependency issues. Addictions. At least, this was chief among them in those with an addiction to nicotine. Sure, the ship cured the physical addiction before it released you, but there were other things involved. There were mental and social components that the ship just couldn't fix.

Luckily, there was one man on the ship who had something to help; when he was popped, Nicholas d. Wolfwood had come across a small device that produced 'syntho-smokes', a clean-burning, odorless solution to all their smoking needs. No smell, no cancer, fake smoke, technically worthless, but you still smoked it like a cigarette and got your nic-fix taken care of. And luckily, this man was Will's roommate.

Of course, he'd gotten the tech guys to duplicate the pack, so he had one as well, but they still bummed from each other all the time. It was just what you did; smoker bonding. There was even a small sign, stolen from a hotel in the city, affixed to their door denoting it as a smoking room.

They just called it The Smoker's Lounge; their room where every smoker on the ship sooner or later found themselves to get their fix.

Sadly, Will hadn't explained any of this to Kala before bringing her to the room (as per their rooming arrangement). He also hadn't told Wolfwood she was going to be staying with them. All things considered, he'd been forgetting to do a lot of important things lately.

But, no time like the present. He looked back to Kala, her hand still in his, as he opened the door to the room and a wall of synthetic smoke poured out.

"Welcome to the Lounge."

Sheik has never met the man that plagues so many of Zelda's dreams. Never has he been unfortunate enough to face the self-described King of Evil - but Zelda's memories of him have slipped the taint into his own dreams.

( Cut for length and blood. )

((OOC: Right, so! Initially closed to Link, will probably later be opened up for general med bay-ness. Can has medic?))