It was both difficult and easy to sleep. Easy, because no matter how much she tried to fight it, Miku's eyes would slide closed any time of the day despite getting plenty of sleep. But, difficult because her sleep wasn't restful at all. Miku thrashed and whimpered, moaned and sighed. Upon waking, she held her breath as the Snake and Holly wound down her torso and her back. Her time was growing shorter with each centimeter the tattoo claimed.

Mafuyu was waiting for her, she wanted to go to him, and see him. Just... one more time. Who wouldn't want that? Who wouldn't want to see loved ones they'd never meet again? The Manor of Sleep drew her further and further in, beckoning with her brother's shade. For now, she avoided that room that was waiting for her. If she had just a little more time, if she could figure out some way...

But not tonight. In the wee hours of the morning, stumbling blindly down the hallways of the ship, the tattoos drove her onward with sheer, unimaginable pain. They burned in her skin, until they were bone-deep, the constant tap-tap-tap of an ancient needle on her skin. Miku covered her mouth to keep her sobs choked and muffled, and hid herself away in a hall. She just... she just needed to wait out the wave without going to sleep. She was sure, so sure that she could do that.

Just a little longer. What would Tess-san think if she just let it overwhelm her? What would Rei?

Everyone's had a chance to recover somewhat, to stop reeling or at least try. Now that people are at least somewhat closer to being on balance again, it's time to say goodbye.

There is a message throughout the ship, one tinged with sadness:

||Attention, crew. Those who wish to attend the funeral services for the crew-mates that died during the conflict should report to Obs Deck immediately. Services will begin in approximately a thirty Earth standard minutes.||

The floor of the Obs Deck shifts to allow lifts to come up through it. Tubes connect from the space there to the hatches that suddenly appear between the windows, giving something of an impression that the closed caskets are missiles about to be shot through a missile tube. The funeral pods themselves have clear round domes in them--some of the people that died more peacefully are visible, looking as if they're sleeping. Most, however, were killed in a way that would make them appear less than presentable, so in their funeral pods only the vaguest outlines of humanoid forms can be made out. Some have entirely closed pods or were vaporized and thus, only have a funeral pod there to represent them.

The ship lurches lightly as it comes to a stop to a random universe, but where it's stopped at is beautiful to behold. They are in the middle of a nebula, surrounded by red and blue plasma. Several new stars burn brightly, here, and they are stopped near one, just short of being sucked in by its gravitational pull. It's a red dwarf, small and faint and new, but its light is welcoming. Here, where the very fires of creation burn, and stars are born is the last place the dead will be sent.

[ooc: Instruction thingies]

Maybe you've seen something out of the corner of your eye, or found a bit of your work or personal items shifted around. Maybe you've directly sensed one, gliding around a corner or even out in the open before it vanished through a wall—a figure in a grey cloak, if visible at all, any identifying details hidden. Or two figures, or three together...

Whatever it is, it turns out you're one of the people who's seen a ghost, over the past little while. But how did it happen?

[Please see OOC post here!]

Gauron's taken it upon himself to update the inventory lists for Weapons and Possessions, and make sure everything's in proper order - it's a task that should keep him well away from everyone else for a while, because sometimes, he just has a bad habit of grinding salt into the wounds. Usually, his ruthless pragamtism is an asset, but when it comes to mourning, there's only so much of it he can put up with before he starts being a jerkass about the fact that feeling sorry for yourself accomplishes nothing, and is likely only to lose you whatever you've got left. He's well aware that just being completely right won't earn him any friends, under the present circumstances - and, for the first time in his life, circumstances make it important that he actually try to get along with people.

So he's shut himself up with Stacy, the equipment lists he made for the zombie attack, and the inventory he's brought back from the Vatican, for now. He's pulled up several of Stacy's older inventory lists to compare against the one they've just finished compiling, along with any official or unofficial sign-out lists she might have that go beyond just the weapons she's returned to newly podpopped crewmembers. He doesn't yet have an accurate way of recording whether the ammo from the zombie fight that he didn't bring up with him was expended or is in the possession of crew members, but he supposes he'll figure something out. In the short term, though, a worrisome trend is beginning to emerge as he compares and updates the list: there are a lot of pieces that seem to have just vanished. Of course, the pirates come immediately to mind as the probable culprits, but he's checking through any video logs Stacy has of the area and trying to compile a timeline of the thefts, just in case. After all, it's not like they know everyone who's onboard; there's still that red-haired maniac who turned up briefly during the Yeerk charlie-foxtrot running around unaccounted for.