notjustapiece: (running)
[personal profile] notjustapiece
When he sleeps, he remembers.

Peeta doesn't remember much about his life before coming to the station but sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, remembering a blood bath and cannon fire. He doesn't know why it happens, or what he has to do with it, but he remembers running and running and trying to hide. He remembers trying to keep alive while trying to kill the others. He remembers a girl with dark hair and grey eyes, slender and deadly.

He remembers.

When he wakes up this time, it takes him a long time to get his bearings again and he ends up down in the kitchens, whipping up a new cake recipe with some supplies picked up in Dolios. It's a spice cake, something he never got much of a chance to make before...well. He doesn't really remember.

His memories come back in bits and pieces and so far, none of them are good. Maybe he can just focus on the present and the good things about being on the ship.

"Want some cake? It's coming out of the oven soon."
ithinkiwasbornforthis: (curious pinup)
[personal profile] ithinkiwasbornforthis
Night in the port city of Dolios bloomed with light and music. Every bar, cafe, and dance hall had its doors flung open on the warm night, spilling sound and people alike out onto the sidewalks and streets. Like other tourist cities, night life in Dolios went to all hours as people competed to spend their money and mingle in the warm weather. It was a perfect place to get lost until dawn.
acalltoarms: (conversational)
[personal profile] acalltoarms
The weather was perfect, warm and sunny with a clear, endless sky. You gain an appreciation for real sunlight, real wind after spending so much time within that carefully designed climate of a ship. There was work to be done, as always, but there were a few leisure hours to be had and Dolios seemed like a place designed to enjoy them.

Unlike many places, the docks weren't actually in the seediest, grimiest part of the city. A few minutes wander away from the ship's berth she'd found something that wouldn't look out of place as an Earth's sidewalk cafe. You could definitely see this place having a brunch menu. Kate managed to snag one of the tables outside and the local drink, something orange and tart and more than a little alcoholic.

With a satisfied sigh, she leaned back in her chair and looked around her. Kate liked the ship. She felt useful on the ship and being part of a team. But for a few hours, this was exactly where she wanted to be.

Come across Kate enjoying the day while the ship is docked!
xiii_legion: (perfect day)
[personal profile] xiii_legion
Dolios

Population: 57,000
Area: Total 21.1 sq mi
Time Zone: GST +4
Demonym: Dolioso

Main export: Tourism
Main attractions: Municipal Casino, Dolios Music Festival, Melantho Castle, Medon Resort
Climate: Mild and warm most of the year round; a short, rainy winter season.

princess_bruiser: (bummer.)
[personal profile] princess_bruiser
"The phone rings in the middle of the night, my FAAATHER yells whatcha gonna do with your lii-iife," Molly sings dejectedly, pushing the mop back and forth over the step below her.

"Oh daddy dear you know you're still number one but giiirls just wanna have FU-UN, ooooooh girls just wanna have--"

She hops down, moving the bucket along with her and pausing to sing into the mop handle. She's the only one in the corridor, and anyway, she doesn't even care that this is the only verse she knows; this hallway smells like pine-scented poop and she's only halfway done so far.

"THAAAAT'S ALL THEY REALLY WAAAAHHH-AAH-AHH-AHH-AHH-AAANT, IS SOME FAAAH-UUH-UUH-UUH-UUUHN! WHEN THEIR WORKIN' DAY IS DONE OH GIRLS, THEY WANNA HAVE FA-UHN, OOOOH GIRLS JUST--"

SPLOOSH. She dips the mop back in the bucket, out of breath, and starts on the next step.

"Wanna have fun. Oooh yeah, girls just wanna have fu-un. Yo ho ho. A pirate's disgusting smelly mean jerkface life for me."

The rest of the song is improvised and less than melodic.
wise_ass: (Default)
[personal profile] wise_ass
Docking in Dolios in 2 days, friends. If you haven't already given all your have-to-haves to Miss Forbes, come find me this afternoon.

It's been longer than usual since their last trip planetside, almost a month, which means Bert's afternoon and evening should be completely sewn up in orders.

So the shuttle door is open and Bert's inside, slouched in a threadbare damask easy chair with a cigarette burning steadily beside him in its tray. He's using one hand to prop up his tablet and using the other to punch numbers on an outmoded keypad. The room is filled with the smell of tobacco and the musty, slightly spicy smell of antiques and old books and something else that's harder to place, green and herby. This is what passes for the sitting area though there's only one real chair; the rest are metal crates draped in sackcloth and one aggressively saffron leather ottoman. There's a Frankenstein's monster of an apparently digital gramophone playing complacently on the bookshelf across the room, nearby a curtained door that leads to the cockpit.

Bert's frowning at the screen, fingers perched in midair as he considers some of the ingredients he's been asked to source for the sake of Mister Grauza.

"Offal," he mutters to himself, expression slightly curdled as he reluctantly adds it to the list, fingers clicking busily on the pad. "And people say there's no truth in advertising."

Just then, Bert looks up to find someone standing in the doorway.
crocodilehunter: (pic#6417468)
[personal profile] crocodilehunter
She was called The Gem - a strange name for a ship, perhaps, but a fitting one at that. Not for her beauty or value, for she had little of either, at least to a traditional eye, but for what she represented.

Freedom.

Few men could claim to be truly free, but the crew of The Gem were freer than most. Their only restriction was the whim of the market, their only master the all-mighty credit. Going where they pleased, choosing the jobs they fancied... truly theirs was a good lot.

It hadn't always been that way, of course. There had been lean times, and trouble both from without and within, and more than their share of close calls with the more judicially-minded, but these tribulations had only made them stronger and smarter. The small crew was perhaps an eclectic one but this only served to complement the unique vessel they travelled on; the one-time brothel was now a smuggler's steamer, a cargo carrier, a mercenary ship and even once a diplomatic envoy.

Their current undertaking was on the mundane side - transporting a load of temperamental but well-contained beasties from one side of the system to the other - and the crew were merry, their pockets still replete with payment from their last endeavour. Things, as they said, were good.
highfunctioning: (alone is my protection)
[personal profile] highfunctioning
The void of space is momentarily interrupted by the presence of the spacecraft Persephone: a mid-sized ship on a mission of exploration, research, and interplanetary commerce and cultural exchange. She is operated by a crew of anywhere between 15 [skeleton] and 60 [full compliment] from all walks of life. She represents a Consortium of Planets, and her home port is Earth.

In addition to the crew, there is a lively contingent of passengers aboard at any given moment. One of the goals of the Consortium is to promote interplanetary exchange, and they view safe passage as a public service. Papers to travel with Persephone are easily obtained at your home world's embassy on any Consortium affiliated planet. There is a basic background check and standard set of physical examinations, of course, but nothing troubling or invasive.

They've been en route between planetary systems for three weeks now, and life is unremarkable. Routine. There is an air of purposeful contentment.

Doctors EP

Oct. 8th, 2013 05:43 pm
suckmyyankeeballs: (surgeon)
[personal profile] suckmyyankeeballs
It was a mostly boring morning, even after Lauren had sent her message. The doctors that had volunteered to take blood stood around in the infirmary and simply waited for people to come to them and choose which practician they would rather have draw their blood. Several blood-drawing stations had been set up, with curtains ready to be pulled should anyone request privacy.

There was simply nothing to do but wait, so they chatted quietly among themselves until volunteers walked in.
nebaritralk: (Default)
[personal profile] nebaritralk
[August 12, 2013]

Chiana is looking for a distraction from her jonesing. House fails to provide one. Holmes and he share conclusions and make plans.


[Here|Rated HN for Horny Nebari?]
6seasonsandamovie: (Default)
[personal profile] 6seasonsandamovie
[August 9, 2013]

Abed interviews Andras, figures out who he is, and gets killed for his trouble.


[Here|Warning for Graphic Character Death]

August 18

Sep. 21st, 2013 04:17 pm
huge_egomd: (life's no picnic)
[personal profile] huge_egomd
House had made a bit of a mess of the observation deck, not that he would see it that way. He saw it as creating a workspace suitable to his way of working. He couldn't help it that other people might see only chaos in the papers scattered around him. As far as he was concerned, that was a clear misperception. It wasn't chaos. It was...intuitive organization, and it worked for him.

He was sprawled on his back on the floor, twirling his cane over him. Near him was a bottle of scotch, a vial of Vicodin, and a glass put into service as an ashtray, all essential to his thought process. Okay, maybe not essential but he wanted them so there they were.

He sat up and grabbed one of the pages where he'd made some notes on the nanite research Dr. Lewis had shared with him. He chewed on his lower lip as he reviewed that particular bit of information. He scrawled a question at the bottom of the page, then flopped back flat on the floor again.

He was certain he'd find the answer to not only the nanites but to the substance to which some of their new neighbors seemed addicted. He always did find the answer...eventually. In the meantime, however, he could've used a whiteboard and few minions to speed the process.
huge_egomd: (solo job)
[personal profile] huge_egomd
[August 11]

House bothers Lauren for information about the nanites.


[Here|PG/No Warnings]
wise_ass: (still it's a real good bet--)
[personal profile] wise_ass
It's late, but still a fairly respectable time to be up and about. He passes a few people on his way up to the holodeck but thankfully, when he gets to the door, he finds there's nobody else in sight. He lights up a cigarette and stands in the center of the dimly lit room, a blank page waiting impassively for his command. Bert takes a long, easy breath and sighs; the cigarette smoke is toasty, familiar, divine. The first one he's had in days.

"You wouldn't happen to know Mejis, would you?" he asks. His tone is polite-- it sounds like he's already forgiven the computer for not having the first fucking clue about where Mejis is, but before he can explain himself, the room has already started coming to life.

It flickers a few times through scenes Bert's not sure he recognizes as even from his world, but when it finally settles, he finds himself standing on one of the rolling hills overlooking the little town. The oil derricks, far over the hills to his left, are backlit by a fiercely beautiful sunset. On his right he can see a wide, treeless horizon that tells him he's not far from the Clean Sea.

It must have been a market day. The people below are packing up their stalls and loading up their carts. There's a tense moment where he's terrified he'll see something, someone he'll recognize before he realizes that the computer's brought him to a Mejis about fifty years prior to his ka-tet's infamous visit.

He heads down the hill and wanders a bit, trying to stay out of people's way, but enjoying, as he usually does, the novelty of secret immersion, not even minding when a woman gives him the obligatory small-town stink eye reserved for unfamiliar, unaccompanied young men. In fact, it makes him smile. It doesn't seem to improve her opinion of him any, but he can't help it. He walks through the market with that shit-eating grin, hands stuffed in his pockets, enjoying the alien quaintness of it all with a bizarre brand of contentment he figures can only be enjoyed by holidaymakers in other worlds.

He's in another world even now, though, isn't he? The station? The idea is an uncomfortable but not unwelcome knot at the base of his skull. He's spent nearly all of his time here doing penance, even if he hasn't realized it, but the last month has actually been penance in earnest. Bert had been drinking whiskey when zombi Alain had helpfully suggested he eat a bullet to better cope with his guilt, and mayhap it was a blessing, because the stuff just hadn't tasted the same after that. Or mayhap it was his own self-pity that didn't go down sweet anymore.

Cuthbert wasn't sure what he'd expected to feel, standing in the red dirt of Lower Market, surrounded by the smells and sights and sounds he's spent the last seven or so years trying to smother from memory. And mayhap it'd be different if he'd been dropped in at the right time and seen ole Kimba Rimer or Cordelia Delgado strutting through town. Mayhap.

But right now, the air feels clean, and somewhere a hundred wheels away, Cuthbert Allgood hasn't even been born yet. He closes his eyes and lets the idea sink in.

Behind him, the holodeck door opens, and he smiles-- that wide, idiot grin that says he's actually pleased for company-- and squints to see who it is.

"Hey there," he calls out, his voice warm and animated. "Just mind the cow pies."
suckmyyankeeballs: (lighting up)
[personal profile] suckmyyankeeballs
It was the third day in a row Jackson was spending in Storage, and he had had just about enough of it. He lit another cigarette with a vengeful scratch of the match on the side of the box, then moved on to the next row of boxes. Clothes, weapons, personal items of all sorts, but still. not. what he was looking for.

"Balls, balls, balls, balls, balls!" he cursed, very unimaginatively, as the next few boxes turned out to be just as deprived of his belongings as the thousands (or so it felt) he had tried before.
last_ofus: (Default)
[personal profile] last_ofus
They'd been here for days. Days, and it seemed like the people down here had no idea how to actually prepare themselves for what might come. It was like home - or some facsimile, when there were the few who weren't scrounging for everything they had in the Quarantine Zone, and still others who lived outside.

Joel had always been a survivor, no matter where he was. It was simple; vials in the medlab that were labeled with a neat hand; tools, also from the lab. Forceps, and pieces of something that'd been probably been a bunsen burner at some point although it seemed like it'd partially melted. Scalpels, more than he'd ever found upstairs.

And one god-fucking awful monstrous rat thing.

He shook his head as he thought about it, even as he went through the kitchen, pulling open drawers and cabinets, sliding them closed when they revealed anything except what he was looking for. He had a worn backpack hanging over one shoulder, and he slipped the 1930s churchkey he'd found into it, before he found a stereotypical junk drawer.

"Jackpot," he murmured, and it's only a matter of second before he's shifting the coffeecan full of screws and nails and god knows whatever else into a bag, so he can go through it later - that is, until he hears someone coming.

Joel moves quickly, sliding the drawer shut and setting down the can - he feels like it's obvious what he's doing, but while he's not apologetic he doesn't want to deal with somebody squalling in alarm. "Hey," he says, raising his chin in greeting. "You need somethin'?"

Pool party

Aug. 20th, 2013 01:53 pm
nebaritralk: (joy)
[personal profile] nebaritralk
Chiana had to have told about half the people on board, upstairs and downstairs people alike, that she was planning to enjoy the pool all morning long, and that they were free to join in. Chiana had even spent a couple of hours with the replicators, first, and there was a group of bottles gathered on one of the plastic tables by the pool. Because it wasn't a pool party without alcohol. If anyone had it in mind to have a quiet swim that morning, it was a shame - and, more to the point, not happening.

Today, the pool wouldn't be about fitness, it would be about fun.

Kitchen GP

Aug. 19th, 2013 01:11 am
crocodilehunter: (pic#6417469)
[personal profile] crocodilehunter
Say what you liked about the lower levels, they at least had food and drink and a refreshing lack of monstrous interlopers. Hook had detoured long enough to bathe and dress himself in something befitting a pirate captain before making a beeline for the nearest replicator and requisitioning the best booze he could find. After only a couple hours he had been rewarded by a large bottle full of amber liquid that was closer to rum than anything he had tasted in years and, being a sociable soul, he had brought it and a stack of glasses to the kitchen (where all good parties seemed to congregate at some point) to begin the process of meeting the neighbours.
seekanswers: (hmm)
[personal profile] seekanswers
It bothered Olivia that she couldn't seem to find any kind of equilibrium here. A couple of days to get used to this new normal and then suddenly a well-armed, jumpy group of refugees appears out of nowhere? She'd been hoping for a little more time before one of Caroline's "weird things" happened. The last couple of days had been strange, to say the least. More than ever, she wanted answers. It was only now that she found herself with the time and space to visit the labs.

Steve had mentioned a morgue. She hoped she'd find one of the scientists there also. Olivia wanted to get her hands on some hard data, pick someone's brain. There had to be something.

The lab was more Massive Dynamic than Harvard, which she found disappointing though hardly surprising. If none of the people in here had any answers, maybe she could at least go through some files.
daughterofthefifth: (Withstanding.)
[personal profile] daughterofthefifth
Everything about this was making Lwaxana nervous. The group was split up during this countdown: some were in Sanctuary, believing it to be the safest place. Others had protested, saying that if the station had it out for them, it would know to target the giant shuttle first. Of those, some had gone down to the Porta Ianulis to face head on whatever was coming. And the rest, a scant, restless few, were waiting in sickbay for something to happen.

Anything.


[[ Two top levels! One for Sanctuary, early in the countdown. One for Sickbay in the last hour. Give us an idea how your characters are doing, but focus on the confrontation in the Porta, if you need to ^^ ]]

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