Much of what we call art caters to an inner desire for comfort. Yet the most memorable artists created works which disturbed the psyche of the viewer. That is why the most important elements in any society are the artistic and the criminal, because they alone by questioning the society's values can force it to change.
-archives of the Missionaria Protectiva, unknown author*

Something had welled up in Sheeana in the past few weeks. It was an accumulation brought about by too much time spent around people whose secrets etched lines on sleepless faces. The mood had grown tense and the ship was starting to feel closed in. She knew she would have to express what she felt on this sooner or later. It was either art or snarky commentary that was sure to earn her enemies.

Thus she was down in the city with lasgun and crysknife, carving wood. It was far cruder than the shaper gloves she was used to, and she had not the time to create the traditional Fremen wind sculpture but she would have to make do. The beam sliced the heavy Elaccan fogwood with an impunity not known to any earlier carving instruments. The crysknife took care of any spurs. The sandworm's tooth knife was a finer carver than any before her had been blessed with. The cloying smell of burnt fogwood filled the chamber.



Gradually a figure took place. Born under eye and hand, emerging fully from her roiling brain like Athena, was a humanoid figure. Atop a deep bed of blue sand, he struggled on his stomach in an arch-backed pose. He was half sunk into this psuedo-ocean.

And emerging from the sand all around him were arms, frozen perpetually in the act of reaching for him. They emerged from the sand, their fingers open, questing.

It was an ambiguous sculpture. Was the man drowning or swimming? Was he sinking or emerging? Were the arms reaching for him to pull him under or to support him? To rescue him? The answer would depend on the viewer, and they would surely project their own psychic situation onto it.

It was a distressing piece, not comforting, but she hoped one that would provoke something within the watcher, stir parts of themselves they had not known to activate.

A quick wash of paint (grey for the man, vivid red for the arms), and it was done. She let out a sigh, contented as she felt herself relax from the trance of creation. Time gradually began to reenter its normal phase and she lost her tunnel vision. That was when she realized she wasn't alone.




*[OOC: quote is actually by Samuel R Delany]

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."

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!)

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.

In a day of many surprises, Goliath has found another. The ship that has stolen him from his home - or rescued him from its destruction - did not take him alone.

It took his castle, too.

There is no breeze in the city to fly on, so Goliath stands in the middle of the street he has walked, staring at what is either a very convincing replica of Wyvern Castle, or the real thing. It comes complete with clawmarks and laser burns from the battles he and his clan have fought there over the ages.

The reminder of his clan draws his heart into sorrow again, but morning is coming, and he will not have time before the sun rises to think more on their fate. He puts his emotions behind him and climbs the castle wall in the light before dawn, coming to rest atop the highest turret.

Almost unbidden, the memory rises again, as he retakes the place where he had it. His last clear memory of Earth - his last clear memory of anything before waking in the Statuary. The sun on the verge of rising. Elisa at his side.

You know how I feel about you, right?

How we both feel. Yes.

Good.

Without his heart in it, he takes his position for sleep - wings spread, talons on display, snarling furiously to discourage invaders.

The sun rises . . . and nothing happens.

Goliath lifts a wing to shield himself from the brightness of the artificial sun. When it becomes clear that he is NOT going to fall into a stone sleep, he jumps from the main turret, spiralling downward to the street again, where there is more shade.

He growls as he stands, looking himself over - still flesh and blood, and nothing close to happy about it.

Katara had her time to laugh and her time to cry after finding out about her world. She'd had fun with her Outsider friends, she'd broke down in front of a person she would rather have not done that with and she was still adjusting to recent events. Throughout all that had happened, there was still the silver lining: Toph was here, and now there was only one more person she was waiting for and all of her team, would be back together again. She knew that joining the Outsiders had been a step in the right direction: she felt like she was missing something, like a part of her was just going through motions. Her friends fulfilled that, and she was glad, but there was a little part of her that wasn't filled.

So Katara found herself back in the Sensorium's, specifically the Northern Water Tribe Spirit Oasis, one of her favorite places. It was the second time she'd been here, and she was glad to be there: it was the only place in the Northern Water Tribe not covered in ice, and it was known to be a gateway to the Spirit world. The lush, quiet place never failed put her in a quiet state, and she sat there now, cross-legged and breathing slowly.

She could deal with this: she had to. But it wouldn't happen if she wasn't grounded and quiet, willing to center herself and contemplate her role in this place that would now be her home.

While Khel didn't exactly have anywhere he needed to be, he did like knowing where he was going. That wasn't really possible in his current situation, so he continued to wander the city for a bit before finally sitting down in front of a large temple. "The irony is not lost on me," he muttered to himself, waiting. He had been told that "Sheeana" would meet him in the 'city', but finding the city had been hard enough. Now he had to hope that Sheeana could find him. Still, he had waited for decades with nothing before. He could wait five minutes.

Of course, five minutes was not how long it took, and soon the skeleton was sure he had been there for hours. He paid it no heed, however, and continued to spend his time waiting, watching the fake sky, and wondering how it was all done. It was a remarkable magic, to be certain; he had not seen a blue sky in quite some time, and the sight of it made even the undead warrior feel nostalgic.

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.

[ooc: Newbie Helpers List | Instructions: Post your character with one post establishing them as being podpopped. 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... )