Thin Ridulian microfilm crackled under her fingers. The light from the shifting, slurry haze of celestial bodies through the great window shone through the letters on the page. It was the thinnest paper that could still be hand turned and preserved the sensuality of reading.

Something drew her to Leto 2's words. Parts had been played, the conciliatory figure had appeared, and the vote was soon to be called. Her setting of the whole debate in motion now crippled Sheeana's ability to persuade during the vote itself. I am Other now more than I ever have been before. She observed.

And this was a potent wisdom for this situation. Leto 2 had built a sprawling edifice of an empire, held it together with religious fanaticism, organizational genius and prescience, all to teach humans a lesson about trusting leaders. He gave them the kind of peace and safety they'd expected from a leader, all they could stand of it and more and more...

Her mind relaxed into the words as her body relaxed into the fleshy, bloblike 'chair'.

( The Stolen Journals revealed a complex figure, a man who comitted monstrous acts that his people would not be exterminated, who hated tyrants so much that he became the worst that ever existed, who was an idealist lover of humanity in the guise of a misanthropic monster... )

Dean stumbled around, his head still buzzing away with all the liquor he drank down.



He wiped a hand in front of his face, blinking, and gave a drunken laugh that almost made him sound more insane than drunk. At least the alcohol sluicing through his body killed some of the thoughts. The memories of Cold Oak, Hell, and thoughts about destiny and burdens. He didn't have to focus now. Hunt was done, could sleep. Oh wait, no he can't. Never slept all that much to begin with, what else is new?

He hummed Enter Sandman in a daze as he fell over to one of the organic couches in the Obs Deck. Nothing like magic fingers, but what the hell?

"Damn, I think I need another drink, haha..." he commented drunkenly to himself.

Victor hasn't been sleeping well. Nightmares have plagued him and woken him up night after night. That meant of course that no one else in his little pack have slept well either. It's only through a great deal of patience on Topher's part that Victor is still Victor instead of one of his other more dangerous imprints. He's on edge and unconciously making an attempt to keep things 'status quo' so that he doesn't glitch out.

Right now, Victor is on the observation deck paying a great deal of attention to the wall. He tilts his head this way and that, brow furrowing then smoothing. He's obviously very seriously considering something. After a moment he puts his hand on the wall and speaks in a clear, polite (if a bit monotone) voice.

"I would like pancakes, please."

The only real thing Victor had a problem with on the ship was the food.

[ooc: Feel free to intercept him, tell him he can't have pancakes, whatever.]

Ben had finally managed to wake from that horrible waking dream of his and he was trying to shrug off the effects with a light work out. Light meaning that he had immediately shifted into an alien and stomped down to the Sensoriums but found it occupied by late-night users.

Returning to the city, he started swinging through the urban jungle, bounding from rooftop to rooftop as he swung on silken threads of webbing. He was so preoccupied, he didn't notice people that were indeed noticing his blue four-armed alien form swinging high overhead before he landed, crouched on a nearby familiar sign sticking out of the ground.

"Mr. Smoothie huh? And no Mr. Smoothie in sight." sighed Spidermonkey as he prepared to sling another web.

Life seemed to enjoy doing this to Tony Stark. Get him settled, if not content then at least accustomed, and then turn everything on its head.
It hadn't taken long to find the Iron Man armour- but once he had it in his hands, it was hard to remember why he'd gone looking for it.

No, this time Tony was quite content to sit on the sidelines and let someone else try their hand at guiding the course of events, futurist or not. Let someone else see if they could do better. The ship was obviously entirely capable of running herself, with those pulled out of podsleep there for little more than lawn-trimming duty. What the hell was the point of having a crew if they weren't going to be allowed to do anything useful?
And so here he was, back at square one. With a hell of a lot more to give than things that exploded and maimed, frustrated that all he would ever be remembered for, even here, were his mistakes- but this time he just didn't have the will to try again.

He'd been planning to set up some kind of workshop somewhere, take the suit apart, give it a servicing and pick up as close to where he'd left off as possible. Instead he found himself hefting the suitcase containing the compacted armour through the city, not really sure where he was going or why, his feet leading him aimlessly through what felt like a collection of buildings for a giant museum exhibit rather than any real city that had been built for inhabitation.
They were like relics, all of them. Preserved, living specimens.
Exhibit n, Anthony Edward 'Tony' Stark, the Iron Man.

High above him, the holographically projected sky shimmered, clouds passing overhead in an elaborate pretense, for a purpose he didn't understand. Focusing, he attempted futilely to perceive the ceiling beyond, trying not to think too hard about the last words Steve had hurled at his back.

Was it worth it?

And for the first time, the answer was completely obvious.
Here, in the Bleed, where the Super-Human Registration Act, the Avengers, SHIELD, Norman Osborn, Stamford and everything else that had contributed to the inevitable lost all meaning?

No.
It had all been for no lasting reason at all.

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."

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.]

( For I have made her prison be Her every step away from me And this child I would destroy If you tried to set her free )



<small>((ooc: Letowrm is being played by Hedge on this leto account with mod permission dunefagging within.))

Some cheer was definitely needed on this ship. Whatever chance meeting had brought Kaylee and Claudia together in mechanical mischief had also set their minds to turning over what they could possibly do to get some smiles back on the faces of those onboard.

A costume party.

Claudia had come up with the idea, really. She knew a bit more about it than Kaylee did, but she explained it all in such a way that Kaylee really couldn’t resist wanting to throw one. It’d be a good chance for everyone to let loose and have a good time in the midst of the nightmare madness. Who could resist that?

The sensorium had been melded to an image from Kaylee’s mind, though. A grand ballroom, with marble floors and painted ceiling. A large buffet table stood against one of the walls, covered mostly in fruit, but in some other hors d’oeuvres as well.

[[ OoC: Party style!! Costumes aren't a requirement, but they are fun. If you've got questions about anything, ask Cheryle or Holly. :D ]]

Things hadn't changed back yet. He didn't consider himself an expert on all things Tarmon Gai'dan, no matter what the memories of the men in his head seemed to think about it, but he would have been willing to lay coin down on the fact that the ripples it caused didn't last this long. This couldn't have been an Aes Sedai trick--not directly, at least. He wouldn't put it past them to try something else--he might have woken up here without his medallion at first, but he clearly remembered the feel of it on his skin when he was approaching the purple wagon.

But if this wasn't a direct trick, and it wasn't some sort of portent of Tarmon Gai'dan, Mat didn't know what it was. For once, his memories gave him no information at all about what this could be.

They certainly didn't give him any bloody idea why it had to be him, Matrim bloody Cauthon, who woke up in another alternate world in another life. Was this another flaming gift of being ta'veren?

Burn me, but nothing good's ever come of being this bloody ta'veren. Someone could've asked me if I wanted any of it before deciding they ought to start...weaving the flaming threads of the world around me. They might've found someone more interested in the 'adventure' of it.

Of course, no one had made one mention of ta'veren or the pattern or...very much of anything familiar since he'd found himself here. There'd been the Aiel woman who spoke like a Seanchan, and he could have sworn he'd watched Aes Sedai glide by down distant corridors, but nothing was quite right. It was like a living fever dream.

Perhaps this was a sign of Tarmon Gai'dan after all? Yet, even when his thoughts had turned to Rand or even to Perrin, there had been no swirl of colors in his mind.

None of it made any sense!

Mat scowled in frustration, and slumped against a wall, watching the milling crowd of almost-familiar faces. Where under the Light was he?

Something...odd is happening on the ship. Plant-like protrusions are occasionally sprouting in places throughout the ship.

They look like mistletoe, but this is purely coincidental. It's not like it's the holidays on the ship, right? It might be for some people, back home (if they still had a home), but others were grabbed from different times. No, it's just coincidence that these little devices look vaguely like mistletoe, and coincidence what they're being used for.

For you see, when this "mistletoe" is overhead, a crew member will be trapped in an invisible forcefield, and won't be able to escape until someone has kissed them or otherwise showed them some equivalent of affection. (Cheek kisses and sloppy puppy kisses from the canine crew members count). The "mistletoe" spring itself is shielded itself and can't be destroyed, the only way out is a kiss.

Why is this all happening? GLaDoS is performing whacky behavioral experiments, that's why. Each time, it happens, she intones messages like the following.

"Please express affection for your fellow crewmate to free them."

"This is of the utmost importance, and part of ongoing Crew Coherency and Cooperation Studies."

"Please do not attempt to leave the vicinity until you have participated."

"Participation is required. Why wouldn't you want to participate?"

"The Transmigration9 AI Complex thanks you for your participation in important research. Unless you don't want to participate, but not participating would make me disappointed. I suppose you just want to disappoint me."

And of course, sometimes she even outright lies.

"There will be cake."

Psychedelic sand filled an olympic swimming pool under an awning in the city. Little clouds of it kicked up behind Sheeana's heels as she danced. There was no rythm and meter to what she did. It was a natural thing she'd known since she was a child. Hands and arms flew in abstract patterns only she could see.

The big worm, the one Arha had brought stood entranced, swaying like a charmed snake. He was not her target though. It was the sandtrout in the sand. They came bubbling out of it like their earth counterparts after rain. And slowly they aggregated. Something like a sandworm emerged. It lacked the internal fires and the teeth, but it had the same form. Only eight feet long, it was an infant but a motile one. That it would dissolve back into sandtrout in an hour didn't matter. It contained the important part: Leto's consciousness.

She danced to command it and to hold it together. She breathed harder, taking deep breaths to maintain homeostasis, and the new worm sat up. Had she not been Fremen, sweat would have run down the side of her face.

"Come out of your endless dream, God-Emperor. Come out." She spoke to it between breaths and it responded.

She was so absorbed, it took her a few moments to notice when her visitors had arrived.

Kate, Nathan and Xander were already familiar with the sadistic AI, and her idea of funtimes in cake-less mazes but it was a new experience for Dean.

As it was, Dean was cursing loudly as they all emerged in the city, and stomping or flying away depending on who it was.

Dean for his part? "Where the f#$%&* cake already?!"

Kate sighed, and shook her head before looking to do some target practice in the Sensoriums, and catch up with her friends.

Xander was making his way to the Vatican to check over the supports and structures. He was still checking to see how much can be salvageable. And what can be repaired.

Nathan flew off to stop by Medbay to see his brother before heading to the Media Library. He was also going to check his commlink for messages.

(ooc: back from hiatus, and distractions sorely needed. Just note which you want in your tag, thanks!)

The rest of the crew assembled on the Observation Deck to meet the latest editions to their number. After the recent revelation, many of them were even more eager to see people they knew from home.

Brainiac 5 and Sensor were set up near the doors to provide the new people with omnicoms and comm rings.

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

Many things have been on the minds of the crew lately, and many things have happened.

There is, however, one happening which might go completely unnoticed by all but the most astute members of the crew.

Lately, all across the ship, in different rooms at different times, there is a strange feeling of unnaturalness. It happens slowly, so slowly one could hardly notice the change until it was entirely there.

The air, normally temperate and vaguely humid, begins to become chilled and dry.

The faint sounds of voices can be heard, whispering as if conspiring together, just far off enough to be unintelligible.

The shapes of objects in the area seem to subtly change, forming almost impossible angles if one watches long enough.

The last, and perhaps most noticeable to some, is the feeling of being observed. Not in the same way Stacy watches over the crew, but rather as if something is looking directly into you, straight into your soul.

Eventually, these feelings will fade, moving on to some other part of the ship.

However, they do seem to last long enough for one to attempt to investigate, should someone manage to work up the will to remain in the area long enough.

Since Dean had learned of the Sensoriums, he had stopped into one for some time. Calling up the familiar surroundings by Singer's Salvage yard. It was a cool autumn day, and the fading light had it being late afternoon. The radio was blasting Metallica's "Through the Never."

~All that is, was and will be
Universe much too big to see
Time and space never ending
Disturbing thoughts, questions pending
Limitations of human understanding

Too quick to criticize
Obligation to survive
We hunger to be alive

(Twisting, turning, through the never)

All that is, ever
Ever was, will be, ever
Twisting, turning, through the never

In the dark, see past our eyes
Pursuit of truth no matter where it lies
Gazing up to the breeze of the heavens
On a quest, meaning, reason~

Another thing he had called up was the Impala, even though he knew it wasn't really her, could never be his baby. He just didn't want to accept all this was only memories and space dust. The Impala, Cas, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, hell even Chuck, so many people he and Sam knew and saved over the years. All gone. He leaned against her with his holo-beer, holding on to the fact that Sam had to be asleep. If what that Stacy chick said was true about threads of Destiny, he and his brother were far too prominent not to be spared. Even if he wasn't sure if he deserved to be.

"Had some great times, didn't we baby? You nearly outlived me." He sighed, and then sank down on the ground, his legs sprawled out in front of him. He sank his head down against his chest, hoping Lars' deafening voice would drown out any sounds of crying.

Jaime Reyes voice sounds over the comm-rings--all of them--and it sounds very urgent.

« Everyone on the ship, listen up! This is Jaime Reyes, your local 'Blowing this pop stand' coordinator and escape facilitation engineer. I need everyone on the ship to come to the City, in front of the Precinct, immediately. Grab people who don't have their comm rings with them--and tell them to grab their comm rings, people who are sleeping, whoever you find, and try to make sure everyone on the ship knows to come. This is very important. This is "getting the heck out of here" important. »

When they arrive, they arrive to find the Command Staff waiting, and a tiny, tiny young man standing on stone ledge from a fountain, waiting for them.

Here goes nothing.

It had happened again.

Luke sat in the observation deck, hands folded and chin resting on them as he thought.  It was an off hour, or perhaps people were just elsewhere; either way, there weren't many people about.  For once, Luke was glad of the solitude, of the lack of distractions.  He had spent far too much time here, or in the Sensorium program of the Jedi Temple, especially of late and especially since...

The Jedi closed his eyes.  A moment of weakness, and now it was only going to get more awkward.  He had seen Mara shining out at him from the fog of the Force, her green eyes brilliant in the dim light, and he had been torn between shrinking away because if he touched her she would know he'd kissed Arha--but at the same time rejoicing, reaching out to her, because she was his beloved and always would be.  And yet, try as he might, he couldn't get Arha's taste out of his mind, or the way her fingertips had so gently caressed his hair and face, not demanding or asking any more than he would give.

And he would never forget the expression on her face when he pushed her away.

Running fingers through his hair, Luke sighed.  The questioned he had asked himself in the Sensorium, while the fireflies swirled above their heads, still chased themselves through his brain, and he was no closer to answers on any of them.

Luke carefully locked down on his emotions.  While he could be mindful of them, it wouldn't do to broadcast to the rest of the Jedi that he was disturbed.

After having his shoulder and Achilles tendon cared for in the medbay, Sam--under armed guard--had been brought back to the precinct and placed back into detention. Laying back on his cot, with his hand tucked under his head, he was lost in thought. Questions flooded his mind. Second guesses. Things he should have done differently at different moments. Wondering why he didn't see the decoy for what it was, a ploy to flush him and the rest of the conspirators out into the open. He'd missed it. He'd missed it all.

Now, not only was the Yeerk still alive--meaning that Sam and others had failed--but people had gotten hurt. He hadn't been able to see any faces, not until they'd taken him up to the medbay to treat him. But, when he got their he saw three people, two he recognized. Chaucer, the innocent author from way back in Earth's history. Stature, the girl who had stood between him and the person Schmuz was infesting when he reappeared. The last woman he didn't recognize. But, given the way Leon was hovering over her, she was clearly important to him.

At least three people were seriously wounded, not counting Jo who Sam had shot mid-range with a round of rock-salt, and not only did Sam have nothing--no dead Yeerk--to show for it, but they were all his fault.

Another day, another podpop. The crew and command crew has gathered on Obs Deck to greet the newbs, but right now the atmosphere is tense. People are taking turns on rotations to alternately hunt for Sam--who'd been kept in prison during the trial to present his assassinating the Yeerk-- and guard said parasite so it can have a fair trial. The Jury is in recess, for the moment, but will be deciding the Yeerk's fate very soon. A bunch of new people thrown into the mix is tremendous complication.

Meanwhile, the newbies are waking up to a strange, new world, one unlike anything they may have ever seen before. In the Obs Deck, the light of stars--and parallel universes--streaks past in a sleek, transcendent sheet of multi-colored lights in the large, eye-like windows. (They're inside the eyes, looking out, it seems). The statue in the center of the room, going up the domed ceiling is intimidating--and seems to be looking at them.

The tension is palpable, though a few individuals are trying to cut through it with friendliness for the benefit of the scared and bewildered new people now waking up from their gooey slumber.