Le Prefecture De Police was an impressive building, but that wasn't the reason it had been chosen by the members of the civilian council; it had been chosen because none of the Councilmen (and women) had any ties to it, making it neutral ground. There was also the potential for everyone to have an office with a desk in the same general vicinity if they so chose, making communication easier.

One of the larger rooms had been cleared of most of the furniture, except for chairs and a few tables. It had been left up to each individual where they wanted to sit, and how, since they were all currently equals.

The Council had a lot to discuss. They had yet to choose a chairperson, and three major issues had popped up in a relatively short amount of time: Mei-Xing's clone, Schmuz and Iniss the yeerks, and whether there should be mandatory physicals and/or psychiatric evaluations for the crew.

They were also going to have a few guests presenting information, but at the moment, people were still arriving.

Hisk is throwing a party in the Drunken Dragon.

She just hasn't told Kang about it.

It's a general purpose party for the election, for winners and losers (and voters!) alike. EVERYONE is invited!There's beer and real food for all, what more could you ask for?

(OOC: If your character wants to help waiting on people/cooking/what have you, go for it. :D And this is a mingle post so feel free to thread about!)

Chaucer had a perhaps excusable fondness for taverns. He'd certainly spent enough time in them to either loathe the places or love them, and Geoffrey rarely found it within himself to loathe anything that was willing to provide him with food and company.

And a tavern, unlike so many things on this strange journey, echoed vaguely of home. He'd even found some dice somewhere.

Rattling them idly in one hand, an itch he wasn't quite allowed to scratch, the writer and herald sat neatly cross-legged on a table, chin in hand, elbow on knee, kilt neatly smoothed around him to avoid unwanted eyefuls. His dice-filled hand moved, clacking and jangling, as he finished up a story to whatever audience would listen.

It was a story of chivalry, of passion, of dedication, a slice of stupidity, and an overpowering need for a full stomach and well-delivered fonging. It was the story of Wat.

Delivered in fond mockery, it ended thus; "Not every wise man can expect to be a good man, and few good men can expect to be wise. The ones, however, who can grasp at life with both hands, breath deeply of it, and declare that it could use more salt are something to be marveled upon. Perhaps not revered or praised, but certainly watched very carefully."

Javert seemed to be organizing things in a section of the Sensoriums. He had been speaking with Chaucer for some time about organizing a work session on period weaponry (Speaking being the most general term for the rather strange state of communications between the two men, who still weren't precisely friends, but were more or less civil, which was about as close to friendly as Javert was capable of being), and was now putting that idea into motion. There were polearms, pistols, longbows, and other forms of less-than-modern weaponry. The tall policeman was sectioning off practice areas, seemingly for each form of combat.

He straightened and surveyed the work done, looking rather smug and almost pleased with himself. There was also a gleam in his eye that he tended to acquire whenever he was about to make someone else's life very, very difficult.

Stacy had been telling the truth about one thing, at least. The others had given him an explanation -- but all that explanation had done was to spin off hundreds of more questions in Ben's mind. He hadn't detected any hostility from the sentients around the ship, or even from the shit itself when it had brushed his mind after podpop. But if he'd learned anything from his cousin, it was that his Jedi senses weren't anything close to infallible.

So Ben sturck out into the city as soon as he had a chance, taking in alien architecture until he came to a promising, busy spot, and mingled, asking the first of his many questions.

"Has anyone met one of the Ohm?"

The rest of the crew assembled on the Observation Deck to meet the latest editions to their numbers. After the revelation that their worlds are gone, many of them are even more eager to see people they knew from home.

Several people are set up near the doors to provide the new people with omnicoms and comm rings. New crew-mates might see a green-skinned alien and snake girl among their number. There are also several authoritative-looking figures ready to introduce themselves.

There's a lot to tell the new people. It's going to be a lot to take in.

[ooc: Only new characters and Command Staff can start new threads for introductions, to limit the number of threads. Everyone else, just tag in and have your guys greet the newbies.]

Geoffrey had been hiding. Naturally a private man and not particularly close to any of the other crew members, it was more than instinctual to pull away, retreat into his mourning. He'd spent days avoiding people, hiding away in the depths of the lockers as he came to terms with his situation.

His wife was dead.

His son was dead.

His other child would never be born.

Perhaps his friends and his prince, perhaps even Sir Adhemar, were locked away in the pods, but Chaucer held no illusions about his actual family. The writer could barely comprehend why he was here; they would be nothing more than chattel in Stacy's eyes.

He spent a day on weeping, allowing his grief to flow through and away from him on his tears, and then another on writing. The words did not come easily this time, they weren't a constant river pulling him along, but they were there. They helped him heal.

A person, especially Geoff, can only spend so long away from other people, however, and after a time he found himself scrounging around, first finding a new, black cloth for his kilt, a sign of mourning that he made sure was quite firmly fastened this time, and then leaving the lockers to search elsewhere in the ship until he found what he wanted.

Then, gun firmly in hand, he went searching for the Chief. There would be time for prayer later, if God did still listen.

In some ways fainting had been a blessing to Chaucer. Medically, it was nothing but a nightmare, but he hadn't had to deal with the doctors or healers, or whoever had patched him up in the end. Whoever it was had done a brilliant job; Geoff had been terrified that he'd lose his arm at the very least, probably die. Instead he'd woken up to a splint and some heavy sort of wrapping. He couldn't move his arm, but it wasn't missing. A few minutes of checking it over had passed before he'd even noticed the odd pulling in his side and noticed the bandages there.

The relative lack of pain was a marvel in itself.

He needed to find out who had helped him, thank them, eventually. When he got out of the medbay. For now he was propped up slightly in his bed, struggling with the stylus for his comm. Left-handed writing was ridiculously difficult, made even more awkward by the unfamiliarity of the surface, but it was something to do. A way to write Philippa, one he could transcribe into legibility later.

[Instructions: Here.]

Despite a few tricks up their sleeves, the Conspirators hardly stood a chance. It's all or nothing as they make a few last ditch attempts to kill the Yeerk, and as the fight grinds to a screeching halt.

Will they kill the Yeerk?

Will someone other than the Yeerk get killed in the crossfire?

Samus crossed her arms looking over the set up she had created. Well, more remembered. Creativity was not the hunter's strength, so her course reflected her latest mission. However, the Sensoriums had done an excellent job recreating it. Samus was impressed at the details when she had run it the first time. Perfect for her team.

It was a complex maze of a space station. Platforms and hidden passageways spread throughout it. It's also crawling with bipedal aliens. If the subject made it to the end of the course, there was a surprise wait for them.

Samus got on her comm and contacted the rest of her team.

Team Golf, report to the Sensoriums immediately.

((ooc: Don't worry if you can't tag :P Samus will hunt down just find your character later))

True to his word, Allen has diagnostic exams ready for the taking. A stack of personal screens from the media lab sits next to his work table in the Engineering department, all programmed with tests. Long ones, since they're diagnostic, not cumulative.

One of them is, in fact, programmed with Superboy's name on it. Because Allen is a smartass like that.

"You know Stace, it would be nice if I could have a sign for the door. 'Open Call for Students-slash-Teachers,' something like that," he says, as he roots through the engineering department, looking for just such a thing to make a sign with.

Where has Dean been, do you ask?

Well, for one, he's been relaxing. That mission thing? Ridiculous. Dean's pretty sure he's not going to be emotionally traumatized, because hell, obviously he's been through worse, but man, that was one hell of a trip. So he's in the mindset of believing that yes, he deserves some downtime. That's why he's in the Sensoriums, his favorite usual hang out on the giant meatship. The room's turned into Bobby's junkyard again, only this time he's got his Impala. He's working on fixing the problems he'd told Stacy to program into the car, and really, this is probably the most relaxing thing he's done in a while.

Of course, he wouldn't mind having some company. He's thinking about seeing if Stacy can conjure him up a Bobby, just to have someone to banter with, but he hasn't really decided yet. So at the moment, he's under the hood of the Impala, messing with something with a wrench while Led Zeppelin's You Shook Me plays from a boombox nearby. He may or may not be singing along as he works.

Life is good.

Cybil, Dr. McNinja, Dark Smoke Puncher, Plays-in-Traffic, One-Leaf-Ear, Geoff, and Dean all set off in one direction through the tall, skinny, blueish trees. Even the way the leaves rustles might have sounded a little different to some.

Occasionally, they came across strange trails in the underbrush, like a very small fire had scooted purposefully across the ground.

The door opens to a lush green place. They've landed in a forest glade of some kind. Deciduous in nature, but the leaves are somewhat odd in shape and very, very thick and tall. The grass is a green that's almost a blue.

The sky is blue like a normal sky, but brighter, more vibrant than on Earth. Two moons hang there, so close that they're visible even in the daytime.

The air is fresh and clean-smelling, like after a rain--in fact, the moisture in the air means it may have rained here recently. There's even a cool, light breeze.

Curiously, when they come down the ramp, they'll see that the pod--its umbilical cord spiraling up miles upon miles to meet the ship, floating visibly in the atmosphere--is floating about six inches off the ground.

The Meeting is interrupted.

There is a resounding mental alarum that sounds through the ship. Nearly "deafening." Lights flash from places for extra emphasis, making it impossible to ignore.

||Attention, Attention. All personnel please report to the Observation Deck. Attention, Attention. All personnel please report to the Observation Deck. Attention, Attention, all personnel...||

They can hear it through the meeting bubble and Jaime drops it.

It's entirely likely that she won't stop repeating the announcement until, well, everyone reports to Obs Deck. The mouth in the huge statue opens, revealing a screen. On it, the dossier for the mission flickers into display, understandable to every person there. Smaller copies of the dossier appear in holographic form in front of everyone.

The planet's stats, right next to a rotating picture of it, marled blue and green, are as follows:

( Mission Dossier )

Geoffrey was wandering, naked. Again. After losing everything to that new game of 'poker,' he'd been in the media library (again) trying to catch up with at least Javert when it came to all this strange, futuristic stuff. The result of those hours spent, unfortunately, was confusion, a pounding headache, and stars before his eyes.

He'd sort of wandered down toward the medical area, because the pain was truly ridiculous, but he didn't really think they'd have anything overly helpful. Books, real books, with proper spelling and a non-glowing surface to read from, those were the things he truly needed.

"Damn my eyes," he muttered - not entirely without humor - as he paused to rub at them. "Damn them to a hell worse than this, just as soon as I'm done using them."

Kaylee is in the Sensorium, doing her favourite thing in the world: working on Serenity's engine. The whole place has turned into the interior of her ship (without any of the "crew" - that would be too weird), and she's tucked away in the engine room, fixing things that need fixing.

It's not the same, because she doesn't sound quite right, but Kaylee doesn't mind too much. It's enough to keep her from dying of homesickness.

If anyone would care to wander in, just follow the banging sounds up the stairs and through the mess back to the engine room. She won't mind company.

In the past few days, Dean has: been manhandled by a bunch of animated vines, been called an incestuous homosexual, nearly gotten into a fight with Blondie, nearly gotten into a fight with a giant blue horse, watched his brother try to fix his brain, gotten beaten up by a girl, and had to listen to the same Blondie and a giant wolf argue. It has not been a good week.

So Dean is wandering the ship, drinking straight from a bottle of booze, trying to unwind. By the time he reaches the sensoriums, he's feeling a bit better, so he sits down in the middle of one of them, ignoring the open door, and lets Stacy take over.

What unfolds around him is, in fact, Bobby's house. The car junkyard is off to the side of where he's sitting, and Bobby's messy house is behind him, and he's sitting on the lawn, feeling the sun shine down on him. It's nice.

So to anyone wandering by? You'll see Dean, on the grass of the lawn, soaking up the sun and occasionally sipping from his bottle.

||All crew-mates. Please report to the Obs Deck to meet your new crew-mates.||

It's time for all the newbies to get a chance to have a formal meeting with the crew. Given the confusion of their arrival, that's probably a good thing.

Word gets out among the crew mates, spreading in a game of whisper down the meat-alley, that an informal crew meeting is what's happening, free from Stacy's prying ears, and sure enough, as soon as everyone's in the room, they're gestured to move in close, and a wall of blue energy goes up around them all.

((ooc note))

There's a lot of people that mill around after the crew returns. Jaime Reyes, also known as the Blue Beetle, stays suited up for now, just in case, especially after getting fried with a Dracon beam twice.

He's trying to get through to the MedBay, where Paco is, because he doesn't want him to have to go through his de-Yeerking alone, whatever the Yeerk said or tried to do to him.

But the blue-suited, alien symbiote-powered teenager is willing to talk to or help any new person that needs it.

"Everybody okay? I know you new guys got all confused and shaken up by this, too."