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 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!]

It takes some nerve to stop in the middle of a battle and think, "I'm hungry. I wonder which side is controlling the mess hall at the moment?" and decide that it's worth the risk to go find out. That's exactly what happened here and - fortunately - at the time Clef went to check, the Mess Hall was in fact a neutral zone. Which is to say that no one had thought it strategically important because the food was that bad.

Well, now it was being occupied by the crew. That is, by Clef. Who was sitting at one of the few still-upright tables and eating some grey mush like it was just a normal day. Occasionally some fighters on either side would run through and occasionally pause to go what the fuck? at him, but since nobody had pointed a gun at him yet he so far considered Mission: Get Some Lunch a success. Contrary to all appearances, however, he was quite ready in the event that circumstances should change.

[ooc: Put up a post so there could be multiple threads. Feel free to have a fighty thread in here! I think that would be awesome.

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.]

Who: Crematia and YOU
Where: Everywhere in the City level, take your pick
Summary: Crematia goes on a stroll. Naked.
Warnings: She is quite possibly the most awful person to grace your presence. Expect her to fling mockery from her behalf, threats, temper tantrums, to even possibly bodily and emotional harm. Watch out.

( Wish you never ever met her at all )

Church knowing full well that he was moderately more useful than some people he knew (like a certain yellow armored good-for-nothing) he was trying and failing to hit his intended target on the outskirts of Blue Base, far far away from any outsiders he hoped. He was getting better with grenades but with any sort of firearms? His aim was atrocious.

"God damn it! Who keeps fucking with the sights of my rifle?" This was continually the case with Church as usual.

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.]

While Diana was never one for overly exercising, usually doing just enough to keep herself in her wonderful curved shape, she did see that the whole ‘clears your mind’ thing was somewhat accurate. 

And her mind felt very crowded. Plus, she couldn’t argue the disadvantages of being in top physical condition when the ship went to heck for the millionth time.

So, she deck out the sensorium into her own gym. A bit of running, then maybe some swimming with Jinx if she texted her to come over.   

True, by the end of this day she’d most likely be over worked, sore and far too tired, but that almost meant she’d want nothing more than to drift into a dreamless sleep without any weight of past event or futures worries. 

Provisions had recently discovered the wonders of sky dancing and so spent him time diving and twirling in the air high above Diana’s head, apart from when she was shooting, then he would peck at the ground near her feet to avoid the possibility of stray bullets.

Sherlock Holmes would have preferred to keep his head down as much as possible as far as the Daligig were concerned. To investigate them properly, he needed freedom of movement and given the current atmosphere, with people apparently getting repodded all the time, it seemed that to keep his freedom, he really needed to avoid their attention.

However, one really couldn't run an investigation without actually investigating.

It had started with the smallest clue, a strange substance that had been oozed at about knee level on the side of a building in the City. Most wouldn't have noticed it or just assumed it was mud if they had seen it and very few people would have actually seen it, as it was far, far away from the usual places the crew inhabited.

Chemical analysis, courtesy of the Contagion and Containment lab and the scanners on the omnicoms (which took the fun out of things just a bit, as far as Sherlock was concerned) had registered it as a viscous colloid containing glycoproteins and water. There were also various antiseptic enzymes, immunoglobulin, and inorganic salts.

In a word: mucus. Alien mucus. Mucus that had epithelial cells that matched one of his samples taken from the crew areas, left behind when a touring entourage of Daligig, Kessek, and Ghyll passed through a hallway. He hadn't been able to see which species left the substance, but the Daligig and Kessek didn't seem prone to oozing anything. The Ghyll, on the other hand, looked a bit...moist, as if they had a protective coating of something over their skin.

Ghyll mucus then, at knee level, which was arm level for them. It fit. It was on a city street that wasn't often used or inhabited, though, which begged a very important question: what were Ghyll doing wandering around the City, which for the most part seemed to be lacking any vital technology or structures for them to be working on?

That led to him discretely monitoring their movements until he stumbled on exactly what he suspected was there: a secret entrance that possibly went to the restricted areas of the ship, perhaps one of many. It was hidden right behind the very mundane front door of a building, which as far as he could tell was actually just built around a large nubby juncture of Stacy, where the stone and asphalt of the city met Stacy's flesh. So far, he had determined that it didn't seem to be guarded and also that it wasn't entirely solid flesh on the other side of the door. There was some sort of membrane there, semi-transparent and resistant to use of force, that was blocking off a long tunnel, one lit up with tiny phosphorescent lights like the Pod Caverns.

Finding it was an accomplishment, certainly, but getting through it like the Ghyll did was another matter entirely and that was why he was risking exposure a great deal by prodding around the entrance, trying to find a way to let the membrane open up and let him in.

How did that saying go? He tended to delete trite sayings. Oh yes.

"Needs must when the devil drives," he muttered to himself.

Given what Kerrigan had shown him, given what the Daligig had done to her, it was fairly safe to say that devils were driving.

Little did he know that within the tunnels, the Ghyll had been making some interesting modifications to Stacy's nerves, which were giving out signals that were quite detectable to those that were keeping an eye out for anything interesting...

Who: Elle (Courier Six) and YOU
Where: Anywhere you want, though these are specific locations that'll be popping up: Hydroponics, the Garibah Tree, the Public Bathroom in the City, and a wall near the Level 5 Sleeping Halls teleporter. And, for the sake of narration, the Lucky 38. The Drunken Dragon Tavern will be added later!
When: Any time ranging from shortly after the podpops to the past week or so.
Summary: Elle has been occupying herself by exploring the ship, especially the City. I'm going to set this post up in a bit of a weird way, with the OP being a general exploring post, and then threads for specific locations, just to make things clean and easily organized. Feel free to tag into any of the threads unless it's marked as [CLOSED], and you can start your own thread with Elle set in another location of your choosing if you'd like! These settings are just starting points, in a way.
Warnings: None?

( like a straying baby lamb, with no mammy and no pappy )

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.

Faffing about on his omnicom had Sherlock mildly entertained for a bit, but it didn't last long. Five minutes into the movies John had brought, the consulting detective had slumped back on his Medbay bed insisting that movies were boring (because everything was boring at the moment) and demanding to be knocked unconscious until he was allowed to leave. When John pointed out that injuring him further was slightly counterproductive in regards to him getting out of Medbay, he went into a world-class sulk.

It wasn't so much that he was bored as the fact he was bored and there was an entire spaceship to go poking and prodding around in. The boredom was multiplied and magnified by the fact that there were things to do, advancements in forensic science (and biology and chemistry...) he could read about and so on.

There could be zombies somewhere! Actual living, breathing zombies! Never mind the part where zombies weren't alive and didn't breathe.

At first, the crime rate--or lack thereof--had had him worried this whole venture would be hopelessly tiresome, but apparently, there was more going on than met the eye. (Zombies!)

After his "your movies are boring" based tantrum, John had been in and out of the Medbay, taking advantage of Sherlock's little fit of petulant disinterest in anything but leaving to go prod around the ship himself.

Nothing to do. The whole ship was out there waiting for Sherlock. And where was that tea he asked for from that random stranger? He'd conveniently kept the biscuits given to him by that other random stranger.

"Zombie strippers. Honestly."

At this point, he was fairly certain John selected one-third of the movies they watched because of the explosions in them, one-third because they involved some sort of historical warfare, and the last one-third because of how much he thought Sherlock was going to yell at the screen. Of course, toss in the ones John watched because the actresses in them were attractive and it messed up all the proportions.

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 Temple of Small Gods was a sizable gathering place -- but more importantly, it was in one of the dead spots on the ship, into which Stacy was apparently unable to spy. It was there that Tarrant waited to address the new crew members.

[This is a briefing meeting for new crew to find out what's goin' on on the ship. Anyone can make subthreads if they want; Tarrant and Ildraniath will be explaining some Rebelliony things. Otherwise feel free to mingle, ask questions, etc etc.]

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... )