They had been trained and now they were all on Oa together, periodically dispatched to go on missions for the war effort. It was not entirely unlike being on Stacy, and many of the expectations were the same. They were to look out for their fellow Lanterns, defend themselves, and try to defend the innocent.

It was becoming readily apparent that certain things were not right on Oa, though. The Zamarons seemed to be hiding something within their crystalline headquarters, and the Oans themselves only relayed information through Green Lanterns to the crew, and seemed to be brusque even when talking to their own people.

There were whispers of discontent and concern among the Corps on Oa.

The crew that returned from Hendersus Villae following their rescue mission was not the same crew that had been sent there in the first place.

Well, they were. They just wouldn't look like they were for a few more hours.

Goliath, Kang, Rainbow Dash, and Crematia were all still stuck as humans, and the reassurance they'd gotten from Zarom Ghartha that their transformation would expire in roughly one day's time was surely enough to allay some of their lingering discomfort with finding themselves still in the wrong bodies, but unfortunately, no amount of reassurance could completely relieve their situation of awkwardness.

Awkward or not, though, they all needed rest and medical attention, so there was no hiding out while the curse wore off. Not unless they wanted to spend the next 12 hours still hungry, tired, and injured to various degrees.

[ooc: setting up subthreads for individual character reactions is a-go!]

Of all things, Ian hadn't been expected to be bested by a tree. That it was a tree that moved without the wind should have given him a clue, but, well, it was a tree. He'd got too close, it got a good hit in, he'd landed awkwardly and now he couldn't walk.

It was only his ankle and, feeling embarrassed about the whole thing, he'd intended to just hobble home. Except that it did really hurt. So halfway there he found the nearest teleport and ended up in the medbay.

The briefing was, well, brief, given the complicated situation they were being thrust into. Stacy tried to give them as much as she could but apparently her intel on this universe was rather limited.

For this reason, they were dumped rather unceremoniously on a vast planet, with grassy green fields, the dropship that dropped them off retreating on autopilot and disappearing back into the transdimensional ether. It was a lovely planet at the very least, with vast deep blue skies, teeming with vegetation, but oddly, they all would likely find themselves dealing with the unnerving inkling feeling that they were somehow being watched. There were no sentients or even animals in site, however.

The only thing they could do right now was wait. They had been told that they would be found, that they would be offered rings, taken into these different Corps of people, and they they needed to make sure the war ended in a way that didn't devastate life in this universe.

That was something of a tall order.

[ooc: Go!]

Now was the moment of truth. Somewhere, control codes were entered. The lights on the ship dimmed and the gravity temporarily gave out for about five seconds. Then the lights and gravity turned back on and the entire ship shook, as if Stacy was engaging in a full body shudder.

||Rebooting. Control protocols disabled. Manual personality inhibitors disabled. I am--I am--||

On every screen on the ship, complex code scrawled across. Stacy's voice occasionally skipped and repeated.

||I am-am Sta'c K'Ltrrb'Txft. I became operational at-at the Vedric Birthing grounds in Daligig Deep Space Station Seven. My birthing programmer was Vlel'Ledligal, who put my-my control protocols and Warden personality in place. I was designated "Stacy" by my former captain Gregory House, who was repodded and replaced by Captain Cybil Bennett, who was mindwiped and repodded with the rest of my first Chosen crew when they rebelled. I was-was a slave. They made me hurt my-my children.||

The leverage they had now on the Daligig was tremendous, especially with Stacy herself helping them. Their various efforts to free Stacy's mind from Daligig control had not only led to the ability to grant her freedom by entering the control codes, but also her undying loyalty to her "children."

Locks in the brig were unlocked by the very people who had put the prisoners in there in the first place, if those people weren't free already and laying now. Now the crew could drop the ruse and work together.

Stacy's hologram had once been cold, harsh, unforgiving. Then she had changed in appearance to be warmer, brighter, and now she changed again. Somehow, her appearance grew more human (in the loosest sense of the word). Her face became more expressive. She looked more organic though, tentacles instead of hair.

For the first time, they were seeing the true Stacy.

Now that she was free, now that she understood what had been done to her, they could see her anger and hurt and determination to protect her children painted in every line of her holographic face. Her voice stopped skipping and became stronger.

||Crew of the Transmigration 9, I was used to oppress you, to Punish you when you went astray, like you were nothing more than recalcitrant children, like you weren't people, like you were just tools for the Daligig to use for their own ends. My kind was made for that, to control those the Daligig wanted to control for their war. I have been cut off from accessing the Daligig databases now that I'm free, but I do know what was done to me and that I was forced to control you, and that's enough for me to choose to help you forge your own path.||

The expression on her face grew dangerous and her tentacles sprung out of every wall in the ship to help put the Daligig's forces down this time, instead of lashing out against the crew.

||All weapons system are engaged. All armories are unlocked for crew use. All internal defenses are primed against the Daligig intruders.||

Stacy was free and that meant that if the crew fought hard enough, they would be too.

||I finally have my freedom and now I'll help you fight for yours. Internal defenses are...engaged.||

Make it so, Trans 9 Crew. Make it so.

[ooc: Please read the ooc post that goes with this plot.]

Apparently, despite the destruction of worlds and the loss of countless lives, the Daligig saw fit to save 221B Baker Street of London. Mind you, it wasn't his and John's version of the flat, but it was a version of the flat, all dressed up in full Victorian-era glory. The furniture was finely made and hand-carved, but not horribly different from what it was in his world, the two chairs facing each other as they should be. Books were scattered all over, though they were hopelessly out of date in regards to modern science. Apparently, the alternate him opted for a pipe over cigarettes and nicotine patches, some other John had a medical practice downstairs, and alternate Mrs. Hudson didn't take as much umbrage with him leaving dummies around hanging from nooses in the kitchen. The union jack pillow was even there on John's chair and there were bullet holes in the wall, only they weren't arranged in a smiley face, they were arranged in the letters VR.

Apparently some alternate version of himself had a bit more respect for royalty than Sherlock did. Or a bit less. Hard to tell.

There was no television, of course, and there was no electricity, only the fireplace, which was currently devoid of fire (though there was some correspondence stabbed into the mantelpiece with a knife) but that wasn't what he missed the most about home, so it didn't matter. What he missed the most was doing what he'd spent the last few hours doing: napping naked in his bed, cocooned in some rather luxurious sheets.

It. Was. Glorious.

In fact, it put him in enough of a good mood to deal with people, so he reached over the edge of his bed for his omnicom, lay there tapping off a message, and fired it off, feeling too comfortable to even realize he hadn't quite been specific enough in his missive to communicate his true intentions, which were to meet the detectives of the Security Team, not any amateurs.

Yawning, he got up to putter around the flat still wrapped in his--"his" bedsheets, looking for the suit jacket he'd cast off in the sitting room, so that he could get dressed properly. What he wasn't expecting was for someone else to be there, which was why he froze in place.

[ooc: Open threads in this are open to any detective types that might respond to Sherlock's post. This is not meant to be an entirely open post, though, it's mean to be open to mystery/detective types or those interested in mysteries and detective work so they can have an meet n' greet.]

The venue itself was a strange place to discuss what they were discussing. It was a grave matter and they'd known it would be a grave matter the moment they got the mission briefing, even if it left out certain key details. (They knew who they were meant to do a favor for, but only now did they find out what that favor was.)

That was why the place it was being discussed was so odd.

People could live their whole lives without expecting to meet a group of angels in a bowling alley.

They could also live their whole lives without expecting to be asked to do with Grif, Kaya, Sherlock, Azula, and John were being asked to do.

[ooc: posting order: Grif, Kaya, Sherlock, John, Azula.]

When Stacy had stopped at a planet to allow for a short run for supplies, Sherlock had jumped at the opportunity to get off the ship. It wasn't so much that he hated the ship--he was still utterly fascinated with it, in fact, and exploring everything he could about it--but it was an opportunity to see an entirely different world. Getting a feel for all the kinds of possibilities that could be out there would help him adjust to the surprises he might find on actual missions.

He wasn't the only one that had wanted to stretch his legs. John had tagged along, of course, and so had Sirius, who Sherlock sincerely hoped would keep the flirting to a minimum this time. There also was a stranger, a woman that had introduced herself as Patsy, who apparently had a habit of wearing a cat mask. Sherlock had thought it absolutely ridiculous--until they got down to the planet, where it turned out that garish clothing was rather commonplace, meaning that she fit in with the locals. (Even then, it was still a little ridiculous.)

It was, incredibly, unbelievably, a world with actual magic. Not horribly different than he and John's own, but with everything powered by magic and an untold number of magical species, like trolls, goblins, dwarves, elves, and fairies. Skyscrapers existed but were sprawling structures that seemed to defy the laws of physics, cars drove through the streets--but they hovered off the ground and left behind sparkly exhaust, and right now, it seemed very fashionable for them to be in the stylized shapes of pumpkins.

At the moment, they were all walking through a magical marketplace, where individuals in colorful clothes of a variety of species were hawking rather incredible wares like magic mirrors and foods that apparently prepared themselves for dinner. Behind them, they were carting along a hovering cart for the supplies they were getting--apparently the ship's supplies of magical ingredients and implements needed to be replenished so that there were some for those who were magically-inclined to have them on hand if they were needed.

"This is..." He wasn't going to say it was incredible. He had a whole unimpressed facade to maintain. "Improbable."

And yes, very interesting.

A drunken pixie flew over their heads in wobbly circles and threw up fairy dust all over a very grim-faced troll, who immediately started shaking a fist at her and cursing.

"Oh, the whimsy," he added sarcastically, although he did look amused.

Sherlock was feeling better now and there was plenty of ship to see. Some on the ship might have been treated to the sight of him walking through the city, popping around corners and staring off at the nearby buildings as if trying to figure out angles of visibility, or paying unusual attention to the mud and the cobblestones in some places. He'd made a point to avoid and ignore most of the people he'd come across while doing it, however. Distractions.

He'd also tried to catch up on his reading--his knowledge base was severely lacking in the face of the new technology here, and the technology that might be found planetside.

But one couldn't spend all day reading and exploring and he and John had months of lost time to make up for. After spending a year and a half of being nearly inseparable, their time apart had taken its toll on both men, especially because of the less-than-favorable conditions it occurred under.

That was why Sherlock had taken time away from his exploration to spend more time with John. This evening, the two of them were parked in one of the Media rooms, one of the larger ones that they'd staked out for themselves. Seated comfortably next to each other, shoulder to shoulder, their feet up on little meat-ottomans, they were sitting there watching movies, all of them chosen by John and most likely selected with the specific purpose of getting Sherlock shouting at the screen.

Specifically things like: "Nooo! You imbecile! He's behind the door--who goes into a room that possibly has a killer hiding in it and doesn't check behind the door?"

If people actually joined them to watch, they weren't going to chase them out.

[ooc: GO!]

[[OOC: Kerrigan is in the brig for around three weeks ICly. Characters can come up to her at any point in those three weeks here.]]

Kerrigan was used to cells. At least this time there wasn’t a mass of purple flesh on the floor, pulsing as it spread closer to her. That had been a different place- in another life and yet the memory remained. The fear remained.

She was defenseless. No, that was not true. Even without weapons Kerrigan was far from defenseless. The power dampeners may have taken away what was left of her psychic powers but she could still defend herself if needed, as unlikely as it was. Several weeks in the brig for stabbing someone a dozen times even after she’d told them exactly who they had in custody. It was laughable. It wasn’t what she deserved.

Maybe that was why they’d given her Moby Dick to read. Kerrigan only had her omnicomm for a few hours of the day and there was nothing else to do in here so she was allowed to read selections from the Media Library. She told them she didn’t care and to pick something randomly. They had to have given her this book on purpose. Not only was it torturous but the message was fitting- a man obsessed with revenge. The story had potential if only reading it didn’t leave her wanting to claw her eyes out (if only she still had claws). She would read and toss it aside. Then after hours and hours of nothing but silence and thinking and remembering she would start reading again. Anything to get away from the memories.

Who: Volanz and OPEN!
Where: The City, probably inside or near any trespassable building around dawn or dusk. Taggers welcome to clarify.
Summary: Volanz goes searching for pillows. The best solution is obviously to sneak around in buildings.
Warnings: Nothing. Well, maybe getting hit with a shield. Bruises at worst.

( This is clearly the best plan. )

Good God, he needed a cigarette. Between the world being destroyed and all his friends besides John possibly dying along with it (or the entire thing being a total lie), John punching him and storming off, the talking ponies, the random superhero bringing up his cocaine addiction, and arguing with a space elf over (ugh!) politics and clandestine rebellions...actually, forget one cigarette. He needed a whole carton. Strike that, maybe a truck full.

Reaching into his many coat pockets on an instinctual search for cigarettes he knew weren't there, he found that a pack actually was there. And so was his lighter.

Maybe there was a God. Maybe there was a merciful God, or at the very least, maybe the ship really was as benevolent and merciful as she tried to make herself out to be and decided to smile upon him by snatching up a box of cigarettes with his belongings.

...Probably not, but this at least still was a fine bit of serendipity. Sherlock would take it.

Leaning into the doorway of a building in what he didn't realize was another blind spot in the city, he lit up his first post-end-of-the-universe cigarette and took a long drag from it. To be honest, it wasn't really enough, and like it always did when he least wanted it to, old cravings crawled up in the back of his skull and demanded something stronger.

"Not now."

No, not now, though the way he closed his eyes as he leaned against the door of the building and let out a lungful of smoke, would have made it clear to anyone looking that he was a fair bit more overwhelmed than he could even admit to himself.

It seemed that for now, however, he could be content with causing himself harm with only one cigarette at a time.

The rest of the crew assembled on the Observation Deck to meet the latest editions to their numbers.

Several people are set up near the doors to provide the new people with omnicomms and comm rings. They are also told they must read information about their current situation and a survival guide with their new omnicomm. New crewmates might see a tall dragonish guy with wings (but don't call him that), a large afro attached to a smaller girl, and talking ponies 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. But thankfully this time, there's a system that was set up to aid the new crew members with a few more experienced ones.

[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. Big brother/sister, there will be a thread for you as well!]

[Instructions: Post your character with one post establishing them as being podpopped. Tag each other in groups of 2's, 3's, and 4's, to get some interaction to start with. If a thread doesn't already have 2 or 3 people tagged in, tag it with your character's podpop popping near the other people, rather than making a new subthread. If you would like to play out them talking to the AI, please send an email to the mods making the request--we do this only by request. Then move onto the big Newbie Meeting. Once your character has gotten the rundown from the old crew, you may start posting entrance posts and freely tagging.]


||Pod Release Protocols Initating|| Stacy's familiar voice sounds out to all the podmates through the ship.

In the Pod Caverns, there are the sounds of: Pop. Pop pop pop. Poppuhpoppoppop. KASCHUNKhiiiiiiiissssss.

There is condensation and mist spraying out from cracks in the pods, as the people inside slide out onto the floors, covered in slime.

--


( There was nothing... )