sanctuaryrpg | Entries tagged with will graham

It was 0317 when the cargo ship formerly called the Arethusa but now designated QXJldGh1c2E= hailed Sanctuary station. Sanctuary's docking AI transmitted a request for information a fraction of a second later. QXJldGh1c2E= replied with its specs and clamp strength almost instantaneously, but it dithered a full second, an eternity in AI time, on how to number its crew complement. At the end of that interminable second it sent:

Crew in distress. Status uncertain.

Sanctuary's docking AI's response was also delayed almost a half a second as it transmitted the information to the higher-level AIs. At the end of several exchanges it was determined that the docking AI should send:

Hold for confirmation.

QXJldGh1c2E= paced its decks--or at least did the AI equivalent, flitting from one terminal to the next, into first one crew com badge and then another, and back. If it were an emotional being, which it primarily was not, it would call itself worried. In its non-emotional state, it simply expended every fraction of a second seeking data from its chassis and its crew.

After a discussion between the on-duty station personnel, it was decided that QXJldGh1c2E= should dock in one of the older sections of the station, where it would be greeted by the station police in Hazmat gear in case "uncertain" was code for hostile. The docking AI sent the berth assignment to QXJldGh1c2E= which quickly consulted the station schematics. It immediately returned a staccato burst of 0s and 1s expressing a request for confirmation.

Once confirmed, QXJldGh1c2E= maneuvered itself into the berth, with no help from its crew, but kept its docking bay sealed until station personnel arrived. At that point, control of the ship seemed to pass to Sanctuary AIs and station personnel, but QXJldGh1c2E= remained engaged and ready to intervene in their commands if they conflicted with its core priorities.

When requested to, QXJldGh1c2E= politely opened its docking bay and adjusted its interior conditions to Station-set optimums for multiple species. It followed the station personnel in their Hazmat gear through its hundreds of security cameras, recording their lifesigns and facial expressions as they registered the havoc within. To the last genderfluid member of the crew, they were strewn about the ship. Some had appendages turned at unnatural angles. Others were splattered with life fluids, their own or their nearest neighbor's. A few had been ripped apart, most showed exterior trauma, but a very small number didn't appear to have been touched at all. The only thing the bodies had in common was that not a single one survived attempts to revive them.

[OOC: Locked to the people tagged in the subject line. If you missed the plot call and would like your character to investigate during this post, contact Allie. I will be making several TL dividers, to mark the passage of time. Please see them for where to tag in. Ship specs are here.]

malachai

Nick remembered when he first showed up at the strip club on the island. He'd made it very clear that he could work in the jazz club, but going anywhere near the upstairs portion of the place was not going to happen. Being around them, the whole atmosphere, had just reminded him too much of the mother he'd lost - the mother who'd been murdered the night he'd died the first time.

Now, he thought, here he stood, once more in need of a job and finding one at a strip club. Maybe he was finally moving on from losing her...no, there was no maybe about it. He had moved past the shattering grief. He'd known it when he first walked in and felt nothing more than a bittersweet nostalgia. There was no sense whatsoever of the sadness, or the rage, that had once haunted him.

Then again, it could very well have been that none of the strippers had been humanoid.

So now here he sat in front of one of Sanctuary's strip joints, seated in the bouncer chair designed to keep him on hand if anyone got rowdy out front but still be able to get into the club quickly if rowdy decided to visit the stage or attempt to get into the dressing rooms.

He listened to the barker out on the main thoroughfare, passing out flyers and trying to drum up business, and thanked the gods that he knew how to fight so he was saved having to take that job. Who was he kidding, he'd have worked the trash haulers before he took that one.

To pass the time, he kept an eye out for other humans, or human-like aliens, trying to place the faces. And, if he was honest, stared pretty intently at the aliens, too. He just hoped if he stumbled across a Klingon or Cardassian he could keep his geek in check and not get himself beat up for being an idiot about meeting them.

Find Nick either sitting just inside the strip club (visible if your character is just walking by) or on his break and standing out on the main walk in front of the club on a bench, people and alien watching.

rememory

To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To reach the unreachable staaaaaaaaaar....

From the kitchen that she'd designated as the focal point for de and reconstruction, Sabine barked, "Mimi!" and then choked out a laugh that was half a sob. Man of La Mancha had always been one of Byron's favorite musicals.

"What? You can't build without music and you don't have a boombox!"

"No one has a boombox anymore. Don't make me regret manifesting you." She shook a finger at the showgirl ghost who was lounging on the back of the couch like it was a baby grand.

Unrepentant, Mimi went on singing,

To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star.

"I love that line, don't you?" Mimi teased not just Sabine but Scott, even though he was out of earshot.

"Zip it, or it's Tsura's turn," Sabine snapped, cringing at the reference to their chaste, but far less than pure love.

"What was that?" Scott emerged from the next-door apartment through the hole he'd put between them to make testing the walls for support beams easier. There were two more like it in the filthy foursquare they'd chosen to turn into a community area -- for the time being.

"Nothing. Mimi was just asking your favorite musical so she could sing for you. Isn't that right, Mimi?" Mind-to-ghost she sent #Don't even contradict me.# Forbidding it with power was the simplest of her abilities, but Sabine didn't abridge her free will.

Mimi just laughed and laughed, sticking to Impossible Dream until the next person joined them Then she started in on songs from Annie:

It's a hard knock life for us!
It's a hard knock life for us!

Sighing, Sabine shot Scott and the newcomer an apologetic look then shrugged helplessly. "It's not like she's wrong."

[ooc: Gathering post! Sabine and Scott are clearing out a group of four apartments to start with to make a communal kitchen, dining, sitting area on level D. Mimi is audible and vaguely visible as a holographic figure of a showgirl with an indistinct face. She won't interact unless you ping me and ask for her. Will, Molly, Marie, Jack, Sebastian, Nick, Porthos, Maggie, all got a message inviting them for potluck and construction. Anyone else can have heard from them or have seen the 'excuse our dust' sign and stop by. Feel free; all are welcome. Tag Sabine with a note in the subject line; all other tags are top levels.]

Current Mood: busy
Current Location: D-Level
Current Music: showtunes

irishcoffee

Maggie had managed nearly a full two hours in the dreariness of her living quarters before she abandoned them to start exploring her new home. It was something she'd always suggested to the drops ins at home and felt it would be hypocritical of her to not follow her own advice.

While she walked, she thought about taking a few weeks as a sort of vacation. She'd never taken one at home, never taken so much as a day off at the cafe, or as the town's caretaker. Now, there was nothing pressing on her - no business to run, no drop ins popping into being in front of her, confused and disoriented. It would be nice to focus on just herself for a while.

That had lasted almost a full day before she was climbing the walls.

Remembering the cafe she and Finn had passed on their way to their living space, Maggie had headed out two days after she'd arrived and sought out the proprietor. She was fairly certain he wasn't human, but he spoke English, so that was at least a starting point. When she began outlining that the place was filthy, needed both order and someone competent to run it, his eyes had widened and a smile showed some truly spectacularly bad teeth. Apparently, he'd realized that with someone running the cafe, he could spend more time drinking and watching screen. He'd hired her on the spot.

It hadn't taken long to get the place cleaned, and she was working on keeping it that way. A few of the regulars had grumbled off, upset at the change, but newer customers had taken their place and it all balanced.

Now she was running the bar, keeping an eye on the servers, and introducing Sanctuary to the joys of a properly made coffee that in now way resembled roofer's tar.

And damn if she wasn't happy with all of it.

"Can I help you?" she asked without looking up when she sensed someone take the seat in front of her.

Info on Mog's Cafe can be found on the wiki. Come in for coffee or a drink, or just to say hi. Open to all. Tag Maggie or top level for anyone else to tag.

sanctuaryrpgmods

There were no flashing lights, no alarms. The doors to the quarantine chambers simply opened, the whoosh of seals breaking was the only fanfare.

Quarantine was on a quiet level of the station, a gently pulsing light set into the wall leading the chamber's temporary residents out into the station proper. Outside, station officials wandered by but paid no particular attention to the newcomers; new arrivals were nothing new to them, just a fact of life on Sanctuary. New people arrived in the chambers, station staff logged them, and the computers arranged everything else. So they went about their business, eyes glued to the screens they held.

Of course the newcomers weren't aware of any of this. Anyone who called out to the station staff was greeted with a wan smile and directed toward one of the many terminal screens lining the walls of the large open space between the central tower and the rest of the station.

The terminal screens asked for a fingerprint before offering any additional information. Their names flashed up with a map to their new home in the living quarters and some basic information on the currency contained in the chip in their hand and what it might buy them. A brief explanation of the silver communication unit followed, and then the news of the past twenty-four hours played. War on planets in a neighbouring system, the weather on a vacation world, sports scores for a game that seems a cross between lacrosse, hockey, and quidditch. Nothing of use, of course, nothing that could get them off the planet.

The quiet entrance to the living quarters was on one side of the atrium, and the sounds of a bustling marketplace that could not be contained came from a much wider opening on the other. People of all shapes, colours, and species walked through the space along with station officials and technicians using their tablet like screens, dark uniformed security officers chatting as they strolled their patrols.

The station carried on obliviously while the newcomers watched, each with only their credit chip, a place to live, and a basic outfit. Clearly that was all the welcome they were to expect; what happened next would be up to them.

[[Gathering post and opening of Sanctuary RPG. Put in your characters coming out their quarantine]]