WHUMPF.

In one of the lost rooms, a costumed teenager is being flown across a grassy hill like a particularly colorful projectile. He lands hard on the ground, tumbling over and over into the mud, and then, with a grunt, gets back up.

"Goddamn tree's putting the ig on me." Punchy wipes dirt off his face and spits a piece of grass (and possibly a tooth) out. "Let's see how you like getting stomped topwise by a real OG."

The Whomping Willow spreads its two largest branches wide, as if to say 'come at me, bro'. Punchy rushes headfirst at it, trying to think of some witty or scathing put-down to throw at this uppity piece of lumber, and instead only coming up with 'take that!' - and getting tossed, once again across the room and into the earth.

If anyone walks in on him lying facedown in the mud, he's totally just playing dead and going to get the Willow off-guard. Really.

Who: Uva, Soren, and any other takers who wanna get monsters generated from them.
Where: Various places across the ship, since he's on a ~trip~ to find someone.
Summary: Cazali's gone comatose and Uva's a little shabby on cell medals himself. The answer? Monster time!
Warnings: If your character has a strong, driving desire then Uva's going to toss a quarter at their forehead, which will make a monster pop out of them and cause chaos. I do ask you inform me about the motivations of their desire here so that I can properly make up this monster!
( And you're all invited! )

Ever since the medical briefing on the comms, the medical bay staff has been preparing for an influx of appointments for physical evaluations, as well as a few walk-ins. After that, the hunt will be on for those who've been skipping such appointments.

A few of the staff members are going about their regular duties, expecting patients or simply biding time at the coffee machine until they're called on.

[OOC: please state the name of which med character(s) you want to administer the evaluation in the header to your comment. If you're fine with anyone tagging in, please indicate so. Available characters are Sakura, Howard, Dr. Faiza Hussain, Soren and Dr. Carson Beckett.]

There were some things that Karis knew just had to be blown up once she saw them. The Leaning Tower of Pisa was one of them. Exploring the city was about the only thing that came close to entertaining her and when she saw that building, just sitting there and looking like it was about to fall over, she knew that she had to help it finish its journey. It called to her.

Karis glanced at Ter'thelas, "We need to blow this building up. You know that, right?"

_{[OOC: Please keep responses to one thread; no tag order, though, so feel free to threadjack at will.]}

The two women had waited until a good number of people had gathered in the sensorium next to where the Tapestry was kept. Sakura glanced toward Howard, wanting a visual reassurance that he was there with a recording device. He was someone she could count on for the paranoid sensibilities that she sometimes put aside in favor of other practicalities. With everyone gathered, they turned toward each other, and the sensorium came alive.
( Such a sight as we have seen... )... leaving everyone standing in the sensorium's blank interface as the mental replay shut down.

[ ooc: Feel free to make your own threads and discuss as your characters are want to do! You are absolutely not required to respond to either Barbara or Sakura's question threads. That is optional! ]

Carson has found his way to the Medical section, after spending a day exploring the accessible areas of the ship, and is a bit hesitant as he walks in.

"H-Hello?"

He's feeling a wee bit out of place, but he needs to get this over with!

Who: Billy, the bachelor party guests, and gate crashers! (OPEN, in other words)
Where: The Drunken Dragon Tavern (ctrl-f for description if you need it)
Summary: Billy's getting married soon, and what else would happen but a bachelor party! Everybody drinks and is merry. Maybe a little too merry.
( T'was a few nights before the big day, and all through the ship... )

The rest of the crew assembled on the Observation Deck to meet the latest editions to their numbers. After the battle with SHODAN the place looks a little worst for wear, but the crew and even Stacy are trying to be in good spirits. After the revelation that their worlds are gone, and the little stunt in trying to kill off the people in the pods, many 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. They are also told they must read information about their current situation and a survival guide with their new omnicom. New crew-mates 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!]

The television in La Casa Smize lights up.

Tyrantmail,

Now, you will meet with the judges. Two will continue on to become the Multiverse's Next Top Model.

Fiercely in Love,
Tyrant

The remaining contestants are ushered into the judging room, where the judges sit on their thrones made of sequins and houndstooth. Noted Fashion Photographer Nigel prods Talleyho with a stick to wake him up.

"This week you took a stand against commodifying women's bodies!" Tyrant says in a voice that just leaks self-importance. "But did you make art? Let's take a look at your best shots."

The screen behind the judges lights up with a photo of each pair of contestants as the judges deliver their assessment.

The TV screen in La Casa Smize lights up again.

Tyrantmail,

You can't buy class, but you can buy soda!

Fiercely in Love,
Tyrant

The remaining contestants are hustled away to their first photoshoot. The set, unfortunately, has no beautiful backdrops or glamorous outfits for the contestants to wear. Instead, it is a dingy store-room with an empty claw machine. A few stylists mill about, carrying nude-colored spandex bodysuits and setting up the mirrors for the contestants.

Jay Emmanuel rushes up to greet the contestants. "Hello, models! Today we're going to be protesting the commodification of women's bodies by presenting you all as naked and for purchase in a giant claw machine! Now, I know this is your first photoshoot, but it's going to be very. Tricky. Because. It's going to be a group photoshoot! Which means that you're going to be in groups of two, stuffed into that vending machine and doing as many different poses as you can!"

Jay does not seem even slightly aware of the irony of this photoshoot.

"Alright, models, get to work!"

Erhart had been stalking around the Hangar for quite some time. The various ships interested him, as he went from ship to ship, analyzing each with the augmented mind of an Astartes. But then... he saw something strange. A flash of red. Something obscured by other ships, but now found to him. His hearts pound, and he runs toward it, clambering up the side of a larger mass-conveyance ship to find the half hidden thing.

A gunship, in the colors of his artistic brothers. The blood Angels. Heavily armed, and with a certain ferocity to it, like that of a predatory bird. He stares at this wonderful fruit of the Omnimessiah, unsure of what to do with it, who he should call. What he should do. Indeed, if he can do anything with it.

It was like a Thunderhawk, the steed his chapter rode to war in, only smaller, more agile. But so heavily armed it could only be a form of gunship. He crossed to it, touching the heraldry of the Blood Angels blazoned on the side with a reverent hand. "Dorn's blood!"

The TV flashes with a new message.

Tyrant Mail,

If you want to win, you can't be chicken!

Fiercely in Love,
Tyrant

After some time to change into their now-mandatory 8-inch heels, contestants are led to an stiflingly hot arena where 'devoted fans' (i.e. confused people prodded into the auditorium by casting agents) are watching. A giant catwalk, made to look like a barbecue with real flames and coals, rolls out before them. At its feet giant fried chicken-themed thrones hold the judges, all of whom are surrounded by fans buffeting their hair about and keeping them from getting a thick shellack of sweat.

"Contestants!" Jay Emmanuel strides up to them, impossibly-perfect skin still smooth and dry. He may, in fact, be part android. "Let's get you to styling! For your challenge today. You have to embody the spirit. Of fighting animal cruelty by dressing as a couture piece of poultry and strutting your stuff! Get it? Strut?"

The contestants are led away by the stylists, with the knowledge that their number will be at least one fewer by the end of the challenge.

[OOC: I will continue to backtag makeover threads for as long as you like!]

The ridiculous part in finally being free from the psychotic program that ran and maintained the mazes Esplin had been running through with this soft human body for who knew how long was the fact he couldn't stop moving once he was out of them. Semi-familiar noises caught by these less than optimal ears would have him spinning around, looking for the origin. He was tense, taking stock of side-areas and nooks to shoot into or duck within, depending on what ludicrous thing was after him now.

Restless, plantsuit clad feet eventually found the long walkway that led into Hydroponics, pausing at the start. It was a lot of straight, inescapable space to wander, and he had no illusions over what this body could do. Other than fall, roll, and stand up again. Repeated far too often for his personal tastes, as he learned his mindless, human body was less well balanced (if more even gaited) than the Gedd through which he'd first discovered what it meant to see.

He still considered Hydroponics a gigantic waste of space, nothing like the memories he'd borrowed of what his homeworld was like, harsh and grating and the height of survival of what moves fastest and moves first. Anything Aldrea might feel, instinctual, was a curious memory to turn over and examine. Andalites prized their concepts of carrying some home with them where-ever they went. That he could identify, in the loosest sense appreciate, what that meant left him with the beginning of a sneer on his face. Or perhaps he was suffering from indigestion. None of his expressions read correctly on a human face. Gedds, Hork-Bajir, and Andalites all lacked the complete, soft, helpless moldability of the human form.

Disgusting.

"Hydroponics." Tasting the sounds, talking out loud to himself in the way he'd started to when running mazes, getting used to the feeling of this form of vocalization. It was far less effort than enunciating with the Hork-Bajir's hard mouth and reluctant tongue. "I want the Media Library."

Stacy sends out the call for certain crew members to present themselves at the decks. Once they are all rounded up, they are presented with the following information before being shuffled off into a shuttle to the nearby plant.

Planet Designation: Exotic Location
Status: Terrestrial.
Non-sentient life: Wild flora and fauna has been all much eliminated by homo sapiens. Domesticated flora and fauna present in limited quantities.
Semi-Sentient Life: Yes.
Sentient Life: Homo Sapiens.
Water: 89.3% of the planet's surface.
Climate: Earth-like
Landscape: Dense cities on all land masses except 'photo shoot' regions.
Air: Normoxic concentration.
Air Pressure: 89.6 kPa = 13 psi
Sky: Orange, with variable cloud cover.
Sun: A class G2V, white star.
Mission: Diplomatic mission with ruler Tyrant Banks for 'confidential, fierce information regarding the Ohm'.

The shuttle takes the scenic route, passing over cities filled with skyscrapers and billboards the size of small towns. Finally, it lands on the outskirts of one city, between the downtown and the beach. The shuttle docks, and the doors open to a room with black walls and a single flatscreen television at the far end. No doors are in sight.

On the television, a black and white PowerPoint seems to have been set up. It reads:

TYRANTMAIL,

Your welcome gift will be a real heavenly surprise!

Fiercely in Love,
Tyrant

The message is accompanied by a jpeg of Tyrant Banks riding a motorcycle in the tundra while wearing a bikini. She looks incredibly fierce.

Fuu hadn't gone down to the planet yet and hadn't decided whether or not she was going to. It seemed a bit unusual to go on shore leave when she still didn't have any official duties on the ship... and where in the multiverse had Stacy found a planet called Happy Happy Fun World? She might go eventually, but there was still so much on the ship that she had to get acquainted with.

Right now, Fuu could be found in the media library, studying everything she could: the battles with the Ohm, the various struggles the crew had gone through, and most of all, the Daligig, GIA, and Ohm. It was might be an unusual priority for someone who was supposed to be a chosen warrior, but Fuu had been a chosen warrior before. She did not want to follow that path again. Windam would not fight for an unknown reason, either.

...Another major but comparatively frivolous preoccupation was that, well. She kept seeing Gundams and X-Wings in the space battles. There were also names in the crew manifest that up until now Fuu had thought were made up. In fact, the first Gundam she had seen was that--that incredibly--well that one from the very strange children's series with the different countries and anyway once you saw a Gundam in a sailor fuku you didn't forget in a hurry, even though Fuu wasn't really a Gundam fan.

Really, it was giving the poor girl far too much to think about.

The group had gotten an opportunity to gather some information on their mission’s objective, but morning arrived swiftly. In the distance, the forest from the day before still smoldered, though by now the blaze had mostly run its course.

Neese was in attendance, along with a smattering of the villagers. At her side were two familiar faces: Orson and Shiris, the two who had rode out to meet the crew earlier. Shiris looked vaguely mutinous as she clutched a cloth-covered parcel; Orson merely stood back a few paces from Neese, tending to a group of horses the village had provided for their use. The animals seemed a little skittish, as if they knew their destination, but were otherwise well-behaved.

Neese raised the long white staff in her hand, closing her eyes as if in prayer. “Marfa, goddess of creation, bestow your divine protection on these travelers. Guide them to their destination, and shield them from harm.” In response, a soft, warm light suffused the area; the crew would find their bodies just a little lighter, their stamina restored, and their anxieties soothed.

With that, she lowered her hands, blessing completed. “May you find your journey swift and safe,” she said somberly.

And with that, they were off.

Orson helped those of the crew that were amenable onto a horse, giving them some basic instruction on how to steer the animal or tell it to halt. For the most part, however, the horses knew what they were doing. There might have been a slightly uncooperative animal in there. Or two. But you know, for the most part.

Let it never be said that Stacy was not benevolent toward her crew. Truth was, she loved them, to the point of risking her own life. And thus, she'd been busy for quite some time... silently she had worked, trying to get into her own archives and cross-checking references. She was going to help boost morale and give them a gift - show them people they cared about, wake them up for a single day as proof that, yes, they were there, close by. She was going to give them a day to awaken, to see their loved ones again and to go back, knowing that their time would come one day or another...

It sounded so beautiful and poetic on theory. In reality, it could become a true disaster. Spent of most of the energies doing this task, in complete secrecy to keep it as a surprise, Stacy's never-ending work was only stopped by its own Warden program, which pulled the plug on the ship's search to find everyone at least someone they cared about. That, unfortunately, left her not only spent of energy which was dangerous in itself - but it also meant that some of the crew would be deprived of seeing their close ones, no doubt leaving some of them bitter.

The road to hell has always been paved by good intentions.

Stacy's voice was decidedly more cheerful than normal as she spoke to the entire ship.

|| Transmigration Nine crew, please report to the Observation Deck. I have a gift for you. ||

She repeated the request, and waited.

Once most of the crew had made their way there, she continued.

||I have been working on a...|| she couldn't quite find the proper word and settled on the next one, || present for you. While many of your records are locked to even me, I have worked to find the pods which contain people close to you. I...apologize if some of you may end up with no one, it is not my fault I...|| suddenly Stacy's voice seemed a little less cheerful, ||The Warden stopped me before I could finish everything completely. Please do not feel like I targeted you specifically, I really did my best to get as many of your friends and companions awake as possible for today.||

Now was the hardest part to explain.

||And that is, unfortunately, all that can be given to you. Because their avia are not yet ready to be properly awakened, they'll be here for a single day. Please make the most of it, so you can feel better and continue our mission with renewed vigor . I hope that meeting those that care about you will give you a boost of energy that you all need.|| Spoken like a mother who put her children before herself. ||But if you can...look at it this way, it means that they are here, and one day I will proudly awaken them properly when they are ready.||

Her voice was becoming strange as she went on. Not static-like, but raspy, like someone who was running out of breath.

||And I am afraid that I must go offline for a few hours due to the strain this is putting on...me...|| It sounded really painful for her to speak, completely spent and only going because she wanted to at least give them a proper last word. ||I...hope...you...will...be...happy...a...lit--||

For the first time in a long while, Stacy was completely silent.

[OOC: GO FOR IT.]

Planet Designation: Forcellia
Status: Terrestrial, H-class.
Non-sentient life: Extensive flora and fauna.
Semi-Sentient Life: Yes.
Sentient Life: Homo Sapiens.
Water: 69.5% of the planet's surface.
Climate: Earth-like
Landscape: Varied.
Air: Normoxic concentration.
Air Pressure: 101.3 kPa (kilopascals) = 14.7 psi (pounds per square inch)
Sky: Blue, with variable cloud cover.
Sun: A class G2V, yellow star.
Warnings: Wildlife and plant-life can be hazardous. Humans can be hazardous.
Mission: Negotiate for or otherwise obtain the artifact known as the Scepter of Domination.

Forcellia, or at least the part of it that contained the clearing in which the group now found themselves, wasn't exactly welcoming. The ground was little more than rocky soil, the sky violet-grey and overcast. Here, it was evidently late afternoon, edging into evening. It was slightly humid, as if from a recent rain; faint clouds of steamy mist seemed to curl off the ground, partially obscuring their view of their surroundings. Scraggly trees rose up out of this mist here and there, as if grasping towards fresher air.

The villagers in the area had supposedly been contacted ahead of time, and this had been the place they’d agreed to meet the crew. Whether or not they knew anything about this supposed Scepter of Domination, however, was not yet clear. What the Scepter even did or how it might contribute to their struggle was even less clear.

In the distance, they might hear the occasional whinny of a horse, or the lowing of a cow carrying up to them from the distance, though it was difficult, if not impossible, to tell from which direction the sound was coming from.

Ugh. Eventually, the tide of patients he'd had to deal with had decreased, leaving Soren finally able to take a moment to breathe. He was rather uncharacteristically slouching in his seat on the Obs Deck, staring balefully out at the view outside.

He hadn't realized what a chore it was to have to pick up healing duties. Where he came from, every army had a contingent of clerics to supplement the use of vulneraries by the common infantryman. That he'd seen none in use by the forces fighting on the ground was dismaying. He'd attempted to save what lives he was able to during the events on that moon or planet or whatever (Soren was not great with the proper scientific classifications of celestial bodies), but without adequate support, he knew a number had simply fallen through the cracks. There was only so much a single unit could do, especially with the tools at his disposal.

Healing wasn't even his specialty; he'd studied the use of staves mainly to better fill gaps in the Mercenaries' pool of abilities. Better than learning knives, at any rate. If he'd only had a Fortify staff...

 After dropping off some of the crew at Balisair, it was time for the crew to set course for Lirath. The situation greeting them wasn't the most promising.

The cracked surface of the moon called Lirath was one of its most unmistakeable features. One of the three moons of the planet Kehoe, it had been terraformed and served as a settlement for a hundreds of different species, some humanoid, some not. Despite occasional class struggles, environmental issues, and speciesism blocking their way, the darker parts of Lirath's past were largely left behind, and an era of peace and tolerance had reigned for quite some time. The only problems they'd had recently were with a terrorist group whose cause for their actions had been a mystery, but they weren't tied to any particular species or social group and had been likened to a cult and had largely gone quiet in recent years.

Now the peace on the moon of Lirath had been shattered by the invasion of the Ohm.

The capital city had been destroyed. Now, all that was left of the peoples of Lirath was evacuating from one of its smaller cities, one known as Smyteval. A desert city, existing in a valley in between a rocky range of canyons and mountains, even though it was in the low ground, the natural channels of rock served as bottlenecks for any Ohm attacking from the ground.

GIA squadrons patrolled in space, locked in explosive warfare, protecting the Bleed-gate that had been activated to see the evacuated ships to the refugee world, and a shield created by massively-powerful shield generators extended around the city and up into the atmosphere, creating a shielded tunnel so ships could escape.

Word had come that there was a vital weapon to be deployed on Lirath, one that needed to be destroyed, hence why the Transmigration 9 had been called in. Given the diverse crew, and the ships that were in its hangar, there was at least someone or something on board that could blow the weapon up if it did show.

There was no sign of it yet. Right now, there was just chaos, streams of evacuees boarding ships, armies of Ohm engaged with GIA soldiers outside the shields, and forcefields that everyone hoped would hold out just a little bit longer.

The crew would be following Leon's orders but finding themselves fighting side-by-side with GIA platoons, full of various species that were currently all getting their asses kicked severely.

[ooc: STAGE 1 is now open! Please do not tage STAGE 2 until it's announced as open as well.]

[ooc: STAGE 2 is now open!]