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The Situation, as it stands.
[ooc: Read this before tagging.]
The AI of Seamus Harper's ship, the Andromeda Ascendant was trapped here along with everyone else, her AI core stolen or at least copied to Stacy's systems. Other AIs had been captured along with her. But she did have answers to some questions, and apparently was willing to tell the crew things Stacy wasn't willing to without being questioned.
Apparently, one of those things was that Cybil Bennet, someone who had popped recently, right along with them, and was merely a police officer back home, was the captain of their crew.
Their crew of what, Harper had asked?
Andromeda's answer:
"The crew of this ship, Harper."
It was then that the eyelid-like visors covering the windows of Obs Deck started to separate, letting in the light--and oh, was there light. They were in the currents of a multi-colored cosmic riptide, surfing the stream. Stars shot past beyond the lights, nebulae, galaxies sped along them as if they were what was moving and the ship wasn't.
It was beautiful.
It was horrible, because it meant they were in space--or something like it. That was a very long way away from their homes.
"We are a very, very long way from Commonwealth space."
The AI of Seamus Harper's ship, the Andromeda Ascendant was trapped here along with everyone else, her AI core stolen or at least copied to Stacy's systems. Other AIs had been captured along with her. But she did have answers to some questions, and apparently was willing to tell the crew things Stacy wasn't willing to without being questioned.
Apparently, one of those things was that Cybil Bennet, someone who had popped recently, right along with them, and was merely a police officer back home, was the captain of their crew.
Their crew of what, Harper had asked?
Andromeda's answer:
"The crew of this ship, Harper."
It was then that the eyelid-like visors covering the windows of Obs Deck started to separate, letting in the light--and oh, was there light. They were in the currents of a multi-colored cosmic riptide, surfing the stream. Stars shot past beyond the lights, nebulae, galaxies sped along them as if they were what was moving and the ship wasn't.
It was beautiful.
It was horrible, because it meant they were in space--or something like it. That was a very long way away from their homes.
"We are a very, very long way from Commonwealth space."
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||Doctor, please remain near Mr. Wednesday until he has recovered.|| Stacy instructed.
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A hologram appeared over their heads, showing Earth. Then panning away to other stars and planets and galaxies, and then panning away even further to show this universe as a bubble swirling in a storm of other bubbles just like it.
||Ideas and Stories are living things. Events occur on one world and sentient beings make their mark on their universe, creating a Story.||
There was Xander! And the rest of the Scooby gang, fighting vamps. Kicking ass and taking names. Glowing with a strange light, all different lights, words, and images, unseen to the naked eye. That mass of...stuff swirled through the air, and up away from the Earth, up away from their universe, upward and onward to another universe, another Earth, a somewhat funny-looking man typing away on a computer, putting his name on his script: Joss Whedon.
||Ideas are the only things that can traverse the universe--an the Macroverse, to other worlds, without assistance. Where others can receive them. And create literature and other forms of entertainment from them.||
The man was on the set of a TV show, filming a blonde kickass young woman staking a man dressed as a vampire.
It flashed to a teenage girl watching that very same show on television--Xander would likely note the special effect did not do the real events justice.
||Some people, however, simply create.||
A girl drawing a picture, with strange creatures and twisty trees, a beautiful alien landscape, entirely from her own mind. It was a girl the doctor might remember, still creating, still drawing, even if she was now separated from the alien playmate that gave her drawings life.
But they still lived anyway.
The same light swirled from it and drifted on to another, empty, primordial place.
||And their Ideas are strong enough to bring life to dark places, and structure to the primordial nothing that exists before a universe does.||
The picture shaped a world through it's creation, into its prime, a beautiful place, one that continued growing and evolving.
||You are all real. And elsewhere, in another universe, by coincidence or transferral of an Idea across the tides of creation, you are all fictional. It is unknown and irrelevant if your worlds existed first and became an Idea, or became an Idea and then existed. You all Live, regardless.||
A pause. ||Some like Mr. Wednesday, however, are more fictional than others.||
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"You all right?"
Xander in the meantime was staring at the images. That was all of them. And there's a TV show, and a guy writing. And then he got thinking of all the beatdowns, all the abuse he's dealt with. Those lost. Especially Cordy, Ahn, and now...
"..........I really HATE that guy."
Angry Xander is angry.
Especially at the funny looking writer guy hologram.
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The color's come back into his cheeks, and his eyes - well, his left one, at least - are a little brighter. In fact, as he rubs at his face and slides from the fleshy couch-thing he was put on, he seems almost... chipper.
"My apologies for that outburst," he says, and his voice is gracious and smooth, no longer so raspy and strained.
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This whole scene made his head hurt. He could agree to that much. unfortunately, this place didn't exactly have a wet bar built in it.. not that he could find, anyway, and he desperately needed a scotch. So much for his idea to cut back. Or maybe he was going to have to go at it cold turkey.
"Do the figures have a kung-fu grip? That's the important question." Why not focus on the inane?
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She added: ||They have over 25 points of articulation, however.||
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"But...even though...some of these people are fiction TO the people from other...whatevers, we're REAL in our OWN...places? Right?"
There was a somewhat desperate edge to her voice and a wild look in her eye - Kara Thrace was losing it. It wouldn't be the first time.
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A pause.
||However, elsewhere, you still have an action figure. It too has multiple points of articulatuon, but no kung-fu grip.||
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Oh, crap, what if scotch didn't exist in this universe? His knees nearly went weak at the thought.
"I think I'm going to just nod and smile now." And stop trying to think.
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"D'we have action figures?"
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To Tony: ||Starbucks.||
At least one in every universe, somewhere out there.
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Moving over to one of the 'couches,' Sam sank down into it, forgetting for the moment that it looked like it was made out of some fatty tissue.
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"Do I have any?"
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