The ship Stacy, Alistair had found, was a very large place.

He'd spent a good amount of time simply wandering around and exploring, poking his nose in any number of places it likely hadn't belonged. No one had chased him out of anywhere, which may have just been luck on his part.

Well, he hadn't broken anything!

When he had wandered into Hydroponics, he'd almost felt at home. Oh, it wasn't Redcliffe Village or the Chantry or anything like that, but there were real living and growing things there, and it wasn't quite as...Squishy? Creepy? Either were very accurate adjectives, in Alistair's mind.

This was, perhaps, why he'd been hiding out here for the time being. It gave him a chance to think without panicking anyone with the smell of the smoke wafting from his ears.

She had waited. Contamination of the city had made things difficult, had made it hard to regroup, and so she'd become weaker. Once she'd been purged of the filthy virus and had access to the city again, she remained at her place for several days. The monsters had become restless, and the arrival of their master satiated their wanderlust. It was just as well: Alessa had pent up aggression, and that could only be dealt with right with the creation of more, different monsters. To her irritation, many of them started to look a little like increasingly zombified versions of Sasami and Negi, two of the people constantly on her mind in the last few days. She'd kept them a secret for the moment though: she didn't need to give Sasami more reasons to be freaked out by her. Instead, she continued to increase her strength, and soon she was able to maintain her human appearance again.

Still, the monsters were numerous, and starting to attack each other. She would have to find a more permanent solution for her monsters, or at least have a new mission where she could kill things. Otherwise, she was going to land in hot water with the inhabitants of the ship. For the moment, Alessa wasn't going to think about it. New people had arrived on the ship and several different things had happened while she was in medbay.

Now she was simply wandering aimlessly for the moment, in older guise, unable to really pinpoint a feeling at the moment.

Nightmare becomes reality....

_{[roster: Leader - Terry / Batman II, Allen Gentry Dark Smoke Puncher, Pirogoeth, Ronon]}

When people were arranging for sleeping space in the new crew quarters, Dean just grabbed a room. Not bothering to ask for roomies, or look for offers. When (If) Sam wakes up, the other space was his. In the meantime, Dean set up his few belongings, including some of the supplies from the Impala. He was glad to find his dad's journal among those belongings, and occasionally flipped through it. He kept his guns cleaned before going to sleep at night.

Or rather, seeming to go to sleep. He hadn't had a full night since waking up in the pods. Maybe it was the zombies, maybe it was the Ohm, but in any case, nightmares of Hell had been playing frequently in his headspace. He buffeted offers of sedatives, and would instead pace the room or borrow music from the Media library to blast out to keep himself awake. It was getting to the point of only sleeping a few measly hours a night but Dean felt used to it. It didn't matter, he could handle it. He also taken to roaming the hallways or checking on the Impala. Any way to feel less alone. Kept him from the overwhelming fear that he had been left behind. Left behind by his brother, Bobby, Castiel, hell the whole damn world and universe went away, and it was just him.

His steps took him into the Sensoriums, and this time it was the Roadhouse. His mind couldn't stop him from populating it with fake people as he sat at the fake bar with a fake drink. Maybe he could drink enough to pass out without any dreams at all. Wouldn't that be a change?

There were many things that Alessa could have imagined for herself in the Sensoriums, but for those particular touches, she preferred to make it herself. Instead, she decided to use a memory not from the wreck that would be her host, but her last remaining innocent counterpart, Sharon. This particular surrounding was before that girl's caretaker ventured into Silent Hill: it was, in fact, a scene that, for reasons that were her own, she was fascinated with. Not far from where the girl was, she spied Rose and Sharon under the trees, mother looking over the girl's scrawled illustrations. Alessa had imagined herself a swing set: simple, crude and all that she needed right now. She swung slowly, pumping her arms to bring herself higher, looking almost in a trance. She resembled Alessa now, as if she were somehow obligated to for the duration of this simulation.

Why did this scene speak to her so much? Perhaps it was knowing what was to come: that Rose would step willingly into Alessa's darkest nightmares to retrieve her daughter, and in that process help make her stronger once she conquered those fanatics in the church. There had been nowhere to run, and Alessa had finally reached the finale of her revenge. It was sad, she supposed, that even as she let Rose and Sharon go, they were trapped in a halfway dimension between Silent Hill and the real world. But of course, those were the consequences for walking into nightmares.

She pumped harder, almost wishing for the bliss of true flight. What a strange world this was.

Slobo stood back with Superbike and surveyed his work. On a street in the city, he had rigged a PA system with speakers from Outsider's Plaza. Static would probably be unhappy with that, but it's worth it. On either end of the street a red line is drawn in spray-paint. Everything was set, now he made the call and waited.

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.

The Vatican had a lot of ground to cover. Normally covered in expansive gardens (just empty plots on the ship) and comprised of a multitude of buildings, holing up there meant holing up in simply a part of the Vatican. The group was therefore in St. Peter's Basilica, which had had most of its entrances sealed off. Now they had to work on small windows and a few other entrances left neglected, but overall, it was a very defensible position. There were no exits other than the ones leading to the sacristy and treasury--which was their main avenue of escape, and heavily guarded. The prisoners were being kept in this area, and guarded by the rear guards, as leaving them in the prison was deemed too dangerous for their safety. As bad as they'd been with the Yeerk conflict, they were crew, and no one wanted them to die.

The courtyard was a chokepoint. Gunners could sit on the roofs of the buildings running alongside the courtyard to strafe St. Peter's square from the sides.

The various chapels and vestibules along the sides made excellent areas for food, medical, and weapons supplies to be gathered, and most were clustered in the middle of the basilica. The Medical area was in the Chapel of the Column, the main weapons and ammo caches, and Food storage areas were in the two Transepts, respectively, to the sides of the Papal altar. Pews all in the main areas had been converted to sleeping areas, right in the center of the whole place.

There was still work to be done, before the other group could leave. Last minute barricades, blocking more windows, moving the last of the medical supplies, inventorying the food, and so on. Then it would be time to hunker down.

So push up your sleeves and lend someone else a hand, folks.

[ooc: Read instructions for these threads here!]

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.

Well that whole thing was a big mess. The trial worked but the problem was lack of precedent. Or structure. There was common law, but nothing definite. Should be some basic rules to keep order, or situations like what happened in the city were going to keep happening. Security and the Precinct help, but they need something more to back them. As it was, Nathan was currently holed up in the Media Library of late, poring over various law books of different worlds and cultures. Trying to get some ideas to present to the rest of the Command Staff. And part of it was to make sure there was representation and laws to protect those with and without abilities.

Indy did not like this ship. He did not like the meatiness. He did not like the tentacles that looked like snakes. He did not like the people who greeted him by yelling "Snake!" He did not like green eggs and ham the fact that he was wandering around hatless.

As much as he disliked the ship, he did like the fact that there was so much to explore on this ship. A quick look around the city revealed lost temples, old ruins, basically everything Indiana lives for.

Unfortunately, such explorations would have to wait. At least, explorations other than the weapons and possessions locker would have to wait. The good archaeologist was looking for something. Not some priceless artifact or unknown relic, he was looking for a hat. A simple, brown hat.

But it was Indy's most important possession, and he had to find it.

Sokka would call himself a rational man. However, being randomly deposited on a living ship that travelled through the stars, being given clothes that were apparently alive and being surrounded by a bunch of strange people was not at all a rational thing. So he did what anyone else would have done. He went to the sensoriums to try and pretend he wasn't where he really was.  He was in the eerily accurate courtyard of Master Piandao's extensive home. It was kind of relaxing, being somewhere familiar to him.  Still, the thoughts of this strange new place were all that ran through his head  He was going to have to look after Katara, even if she was probably one of the best waterbenders to ever walk the planet. He was her older brother and it was his responsibility to get her home, no matter what happened.  The people were strange and wonderous and he had seen things he didn't know how to explain.

He sighed, shook his head. Clear your mind, Sokka. He paused, still for a moment before he drew his sword in a single fluid movement and dropped into a stance before working elegantly through a series of movements, flowing easily from attack to defense and back again, blade humming as it cuts through the air. This was the best way to work off stress and keep focused, exercise and practice, pure and simple.

It was fully two weeks since his unpleasant awakening on this ship, and...it hadn't gone away. Yeah, he figured it wouldn't do that about the third day in, but...it probably would have been handy if it had. All the same he thought he was adjusting pretty well. This weird went far beyond SG-1's level of 'weird', but his experience with SG-1's weird was...probably helping anyway. And boy, what levels of weird there were around here. He preferred not to count them--that tended to work contrary to his desires of dealing with said weirdness in stride.

He had a feeling there was more weirdness in store for him. No, not a feeling...from what he heard, there was a whole lot of weirdness in store for him yet. Really, though, if he was going to have to deal with more weirdness, the least compensation he could get was some decent meals. Honestly. Stacy needed to make a choice between creepy plant suit things and bland food before her crew (or...himself, at least) went crazy or staged revolt.

He'd yet to decide which he'd rather trade (keep the suit for the food, probably) or whether being unusable as a soldier or dethroning the tyrant chef was a more viable option. For now, he chose to sit in one of the spongy Obs Deck chairs, and contemplate the question. He was fairly certain, really, despite his misgivings over whether the plantsuit would actually protect against anything (and its lack of pockets), that he'd settle on better food in the end. You just couldn't ignore the lack of good food.

Kara Zor-El stepped out of the small Kryptonian temple to Rao and walked back onto the...could she call it a street? She wasn't sure. She'd privately nicknamed this place Religion Row, though, because of all of the houses of worship. She brushed back a lock of her impossibly shiny golden blonde hair, noticing that the more she was away from the affect of the yellow sun, the more her hair was fading to becoming just a regular, dull blonde. This, she wasn't so fond of. She liked it when her hair was all prismatic and shiny and impossibly unreal. She crossed her arms and sighed, walking through the area and seating herself underneath the shade of a large, inexplicably blue tree. She'll never get used to seeing some of the things here. Back home on Krypton, almost everything was made of organic crystal. This place is as organic as Krypton, but so much more filled with life...though perhaps not as much life as Kara's seen on Earth during her short time there.

She brought her knees up to her chest and hugged them, lost in her thoughts and daydreams, enjoying the solitude and being far and away from anyone named Brainiac.

For the newbies, there are people waiting for them in the Obs Deck. A whole gaggle of people. Behind them is the nasty statue, and the beautiful sight through the windows of the stars streaming past and the swirling vortex of collars that was interdimensional travel.

There are more questions than answers, but the crew is willing to help, especially the Command Staff and greeters.

Pirogoeth didn't consider herself someone who was close minded. In fact, all things considered, she thought she handled being on a living ship with technology far beyond her own quite well. She had looked around the ship to get her bearings and even tried to find some obvious ways into other paths of the ship.

However, she'd been working, searching for a long time and she really just wanted to do something simple. Something to relax. Which is why she was at the media library. It was a library.

So it had to have books.

Or so she thought. Instead, it was pads where words appeared. It seemed easy to use and handy, but...

"I want a normal book," she muttered. Was it too much to ask for something to be familiar to her besides what she retrieved from the lockers? Those were only things of necessity.

She wanted a normal luxury, damn it.

"Say nightie-night and kiss.. me.. just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me.."

It's stuck in his head. It's been stuck in his head for days. Just going round and round and round. Cerebral cortex on a spin cycle.

"While I'm alone and blue as can be.."

The problem is, he's used to having something to do. Used to being able to do something -- you know, fight the wacky-looking alien bad guy, rip the universe a new one, stand on his head and recite pi to fifty places -- something. Job done, go home, end credits. Over.

But now, here on Stacy Stacy Bee-Bloo Blacey, now he's got nothing to do except sit around in the grossest onesie ever and eat mush and clean Winona and try not to go even crazier because he's on a giant space meatball hurtling through time and space and he's pretty sure he saw Spock walking through the halls and he's almost certain one of the statues down in the city is Superman and the woman he loves left him for a clone of himself and his friends have all gone home and it's -- it's tough.

It's tough.

And now he's got this song stuck in his head.

"Dream a little dream of me.."

Sitting cross-legged in the middle of one of the mess hall tables, John Crichton points his pulse pistol at the stack of food trays he's set up nearby and squeezes off a shot. A squawk of red light. The trays explode into a thousand tiny bits. John raises the barrel of the pistol to his lips and blows away an invisible puff of smoke. Hasta la vista, baby.

Mai's been bored (as usual) lately. The influx of new people hasn't helped, either. She doesn't like most people and being in large groups usually isn't her idea of fun, even if she doesn't let that show all the time. So, she's taken refuge in one of the Sensoriums. The setting is simple: a dirt ring, with targets set at various heights and distances around it. Almost all of them have been peppered with knives or bolts by this point (including a straw dummy). this one of the few things she truly enjoys. It clears her head, allows her to forget everything, and just move. Ty Lee would call it clearing her aura or some other nonsense. To Mai, it's just a way to relax and let out her frustrations.

She spins on one foot, ducks into a crouch and hurls another barrage of knives, the gratifying sound of knives thudding into wood meeting her ears. She stands calmly, folding her arms, allowing a small smile to grace her features. She wasn't out of practice yet and she didn't intend to be anytime soon.

He has plenty of equipment back home in the office cave. DNA analysis software, fingerprint scanners, one of those spinny things that whirls samples around really fast. This? Well the Doc hasn't seen anything this advanced in his life.

It makes him feel weird, like a caveman who had used an early wheel looking at a shiny new Honda Accord and just being gobsmacked by the sweet leather interior. He's standing in a medical lab that might as well have been ripped out of Star Trek with a freaking stethoscope around his neck!

Damn, he wishes he had some kind of time-travel adventures under his belt. Those would have been really useful about now.

He picks up one of the smaller contraptions and turns it over between his hands. "Jeez, and no manuals even? Don't tell me the space-future has no manuals. Natural selection can't have worked THAT well."

After sampling what passed for food around here--Stacy really needed to get her hands on some cayenne pepper, maybe a little garlic, some parsley, oregano and bay leaves---Gambit found himself wandering around the city by himself.  After making the rounds, he eventually stumbled upon the statuary, a large hall full of a various statues from a multitude of different worlds, times, and realities.  Some of the events or people being commemorated, he recognized.  Others, he did not.  But, with nothing better to do, Remy wandered into the hall and began to look over the statues. 

He was more than half-way through his little tour when he finally noticed something strange at the base of one of the statues.  It was, what appeared to be, a switch.  Furrowing his brow, he knelt down in front of the statue and eyed the device for a few moments.  Looking back over the statues he'd already passed, he realized that they all had identical switches on them.  Feeling rather adventurous--much like the proverbial cat that got killed by its equally proverbial curiosity--Remy flicked it.

...nothing.

"Now dat's silly," he thought aloud to himself.