kingtyrantranger: (Power Sword)
Who: The Red Ranger
Where: Laundromat
When: Late Night, Majo 6th
Warnings: ???

Read more... )

So there he was. Pulling a late night in the laundromat near the low-cost 'temporary' housing he'd yet to move out of. Anyone passing by will be treated to the sight of the Red Ranger, in full costume, folding underwear while apparently waiting for the rest of his laundry to finish up.

It beat sitting around in his boxers.
gimmicky: (Nice Gunlegs)
 [Being in an army is fun and all, but have you ever wanted something a little more out of life? A purpose? A reason to belong? No? Yeah you have, you just don't want to admit it. At least, that's what Trailcutter's thinking as he sets up this feed, a wide smile on his face (as usual). He's hanging out in the park at the moment, as it's one of the few areas that he can fit in and still feel somewhat comfortable.

Who wants to be stuck in that stuffy hangar all day, anyway?]


So.

I'm thinking of making my own team--like a...strike team or something. A league of extraordinary...whatever we are.


Anyone up for joining? I'm thinking 'Team Awesome' for the name.



Hold your applause, I thought that one up all on my own.

[Yeah, he knows it sounds stupid, but that smile and the way he says it...he couldn't be more excited if he tried.]
hastoburnthis: (Heard you talking shit)
[Wow this is the first time she's even used the communicators...like, at all. That's an achievement considering it's Garnet of all people doing this.

She looks like her normal self, at least and seems to be standing against the backdrop of one of the ship's corridors, just chilling.]


So.

Seen a lot of you out there. And some of you are not meant to fight.

At least right now.

[Woah she's saying more than one sentence.]

I'm fixing that.

Those that want to train, you know what to do.

[Aka reply to this as soon as possible.]
strawberry_science: (pos ↗ glad we had this chat)
[ The broadcast is simple enough. A Japanese woman with unnaturally red hair sits at a desk, hands crossed before her as soon as she has finished setting up the tablet to record her. ] Good evening, everyone. Or... everyone who has bothered to tune in to an unprompted discussion on the current state of affairs in... erm.

[ Sighing, Yumemi rubbed at the bridge of her nose. She looks worn and that hand was shaking slightly as she brought it back down. ] I should have written this down in advance. [ The young woman cleared her throat. ] I'll make this simple: I can't see that the level of technology available in this age, to this fleet, can at all facilitate a speedy return home to anyone here, regardless of how distant in time or space that home is. [ A shrug. ] That is just a fact. There is no one to blame for that — we just exist in the wrong era for it.

[ Then she grinned, pointing a finger upward. ] But as there are likely to be many of us who possess knowledge as yet embraced by those who call this timeline their home, we should put our heads together and see what can be done to speed things up. I am currently accepting applicants for research assistants. There is a simple two page questionnaire that must be filled out and... hmm, I suppose I should look into some waivers. [ A wave of her hand. ] Those are details we can go over at another time.

Right now, I just want to hear what you believe to be the most impressive invention of the time you hail from.
Who: Everyone who signed up for it!
Where: The Eye of Sharef space trading hub
When: 21st of Februaro

Read more... )

[So, here's the opening part of The Black Eye of Sharef event. If you haven't heard of it, I strongly suggest reading up on it. If you join, you cannot simply back out as your characters will not be on any Fleet vessels just yet, so be sure before you sign up. However, we'll not prevent anyone from backtagging or simply claiming new threads took place before they left.

I request that as many posts regarding this be kept to the marked event posts as possible. However, as long as the main community doesn't get flooded, we won't be preventing anyone from posting outside. Note that as long as they are separate from the Fleet from this great a distance, their Network posts can only reach each other. The Fleet itself is simply out of range.

For this first part, the mods will be largely hands off. Don't go crazy with the NPCs, but we're probably not going to be spending a lot of time writing NPC comments for Part One.
]
doesnotsimply: <user name=tyrmer> (One does not simply walk into Morder)
[[ooc: interested in both replies to his network query or in person replies in the park.

Since arriving, Boromir has been rather despondent.  The vastness of the Teuberg unnerves him and to get anywhere where he is told things are happening he has to take one of these metal carts that the natives call trollies.  The constant vibration makes him queasy and he does not find them at all pleasant.

While waiting for the powers that be to get back in touch with him regarding his application for military service, he's been filling his time with exercise and workouts.  He's become quite the fixture in his neighbourhood with daily runs, and today he's doing laps of the park at the renaissance centre.  Stopping by a water fountain for a drink, he ponders that though he's never been stronger or fitter (especially for a dead man, shudder), he hasn't engaged in proper combat practice or swordplay since arriving.  He takes out his communicator from a pouch and painstakingly taps out a message.

"Greetings, I am Boromir of Gondor.  Would anyone be interested in some sparring practice either with swords or unarmed?"  He beams with pride, sweat dripping off him from his run, he was at least getting the hang of the written messages on this piece of sorcerous machinery.
kingtyrantranger: (Vague scowl)
Even at night, the city lived.

Jason had waited for the artificial sun to set, feeling the chill as the weather control slowly lowered the temperature to simulate 'night'. Honestly, if he hadn't known better, Jason might have thought he was watching a real sunset, and that stars above him came from a real sky, not a... hologram, or whatever that was up there. He'd asked and the best answer they gave him was that the ceiling was covered in giant TV screens, offering a view of the space around them. Like that was the most normal thing in the world.

You put on red spandex and fight size-changing monsters created by a witch on the moon. I don't think you get to talk about 'weird'.

Now that it was night, traffic was starting to die down. At least in the area near their temporary housing. Some sweatpants and a loose shirt weren't hard to convince that fabricator thing in his room to spit out, and as soon as he had them his shoes were slapping against the pavement. Billy, maybe Trini, they could've figured this out quickly enough. Jason had no illusions about being on their level, though, and so he ran to clear his head.

It took a while, but he was going at it hard and fast and even Jason's supply of energy wore out once in a while. He slowed to a stop and wiped some of the sweat off of his forehead. Then, finally noticing the spot he was in, he took a few steps towards the edge and laid a hand on the railing. He stood on a bit of an outcropping, looking over a part of the city. Lights glimmered as far as he could see, from the brilliant colors of the Colosseum to the serpentine movements of traffic to the flickering lights. A sixty-mile ship with five hundred thousand people in it. And he was alone, with the others either still in the hospital or, hopefully, at home. At least he still had his power, he could still generate his Power Crystal, but that was a small condolence for the rest of this mess.

"Man. What did I even get dragged into?" His breathing finally slowed a bit and he placed both hands on the rail, just... absorbing it all.
Early in the morning, everyone's comm devices start jangling in pleasant tones, marking a new message. It's text, posted over the network, and at the top is an official looking seal, featuring the rotating pyramid that seems to be the Confederacy's symbol.

So, I hear you people woke up yesterday. Congratulations. I'm sorry you had to deal with that simpering incompetent, Baker. Allow me to illuminate you so that you can better appreciate your situation.

It is 0458 A.C. That's After Confederation, marking the date in which humanity, the Dorfs, and the Jool chose to band together for power, security, and knowledge. By old Earth calendars, that puts us somewhere near the end of the 27th Century, but I don't know exactly when. Ancient history is not my area of expertise and we had multiple calendar changes before settling on an interstellar standard.

I am Thaddeus T. Thrax III, deputy mayor of the Teuberg, the mighty cityship on which you stand. The city in which you now live is in a ship sixty miles across, with layers bringing our great vessel up to thirty miles in height. At the time of this writing, it houses some five hundred thousand souls. We are a great city, born and bred to colonize brave new worlds and explore unseen frontiers. The mayor, the honorable Ms. Maria Masters, will address you when we've finished this latest round of memorial services. Fleet Admiral Bulsara may also address you. Do not try to address him first.

You have been given two months to examine this city, see its needs, and decide where you fit in. Will you join the government? Perhaps you'd rather see what lower-level employment there is, such as becoming a baker or working at a market? Furthering your education is highly suggested and, unlike some more primitive cultures, we respect students and will provide you with living expenses as you work. As a note, this will be mandatory for citizens up to the age of sixteen, our legal limit for adulthood. I should also bring up that we do allow apprenticeships for our younger citizens and guests, should they decide on an employment track they desire early on.

Scholarly pursuits and regular life too boring for you? Fair enough. There is always the military, of course. We just lost thirty of those brave souls in a skirmish yesterday, I'm sure the recruiters will be happy to hear from you. We have tracks for Medical, Command, Engineering, Security/Infantry, Pilots, and Science. That said, you will still be expected to go through training. It will not be easy but after a few swift weeks, you too can go to interesting new places, meet fascinating new people, and pray to whatever God you worship that they don't speak with acid rainbows. Some of them do. I've met them.

Of course, not everyone will want such a rigid, disciplined life. You can hardly be blamed, the military isn't for everyone. But if you still want to defend this city, you may wish to join the militia. Civilian operated, funded, and supplied, the militias of old Earth traditionally answered to the county or the Count, with no connection to the military. Here, though, the military is in command. The militia will have a military liason, but you will not have to follow the same strict discipline of our men and women in uniform. You will deploy when they say and do your utmost to follow their orders in a combat situation, but the rest is up to you. God help us.

Of course, if you want off this ship, there are plenty of other jobs other than fighting. We are always on the lookout for skilled farmers, educators, diplomats, pilots, traders, and asteroid miners! Plus, we will provide training for any of these jobs. We have two agricultural vessels available, and they could use all the help they get. Or, if you fancy yourself some kind of pop star or athlete, you could try for a job in the entertainment sector. I should warn you that competition is stiff. I could not in good conscience honestly suggest any of those jobs.

The more irritating among you might be asking now, "What if we don't want to help out? We didn't ask to come here." Well, we certainly would regret it if you felt that way, as we are doing our best to help you fit in and return you safely to your homes. However, after two months we'll no longer have the resources or the patience to assist you. We will drop you off at the nearest inhabitable planet or neutral space station and leave you there.

Ultimately, I hope it won't come to that. I wish for you to be as happy and productive as any average citizen. We will do our utmost to reverse the accident that brought you here, and it is my hope that when you do, you leave our universe a richer person than you entered it.

Your servant,
Thaddeus T. Thrax III
Deputy Mayor
crux_mods: (Default)
Whatever your activities before, they're interrupted by a sudden lurching feeling, like someone's put a hook into the pit of your very being and yanked. There's a brief burst, a brilliantly twisting tunnel? And then silence. Stars fill your vision, along with bodies, machines, and not much else before everything mercifully goes black. The shock of it, more than the lack of air.

And then, there's sound. There's not much at first. Beeping. Lots of beeping. Some of it is irritatingly loud, and apparently it's the cause of a lot of excitement. When vision returns, the first thing to note would be alien writing blinking in your field of vision, displayed on a monitor or a clear bubble somewhere. Alien, but familiar enough for you to read "Awakening". Whatever that means, you're apparently not alone, as people in black and white uniforms are rushing through the large room you're in, the room filled with people hooked up to all kinds of machines. Of course, some of them don't look entirely like people.

All of a sudden, a haggered face fills your field of vision. "Great Shades of Elvis! Another one! Look, please remain calm." The poor nurse turns and starts to fiddle with some of the machines surrounding you. "There's been an accident, but you're okay. Try to stay quiet and don't disturb the other patients. Someone will be with you in a moment." They turn away to shout across the room, as if that wouldn't disturb anyone. "Hoi, Oglaf! Mark this one as alive so Security can take them for the briefing!" He gestures at some official looking people in red and black uniforms assisting other patients into wheelchairs. "Just flag one of them down, they'll take you to the briefing. We'll explain everything. Just don't panic, you're in good hands." He grins and pats your shin. "Welcome to the Fleet, eh? 'scume, someone else is starting to budge and I gotta make sure it's not some poor sot swallowed his tongue again." With that, he leaves you alone with your thoughts and the bright lights.

[Medical Arrival | Hangar Arrival | Briefing | Post-Briefing 1 | Post-Briefing 2]
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