video;

[inruins]

Greetings! [A friendly if not large white furred goat looking monster offers the network a bright smile. Fangs and all. She's attempting some positivity for the network at least.]

It has been awhile since I have used this network. For those just arriving, I am Toriel. I have been present a few months myself, though I've lost count at this point. I thought it would be best to make a post like this since I don't believe I have made one before. Thank you to William for inspiring the idea.

I am the resident Underaged Crew Caretaking Officer. My duties entail caring for, assisting and offering what aid I can to the children aboard this ship.

I do believe by this point a good portion of children have met me and sigh when I approach. I'm sure they're tired of me asking them to eat and do their homework. [She jokes easily about that, chortling to herself before continuing.]

If anyone child or adult wishes to speak to me or bring something to attention, please don't hesitate. I am always here to help.

I also wish all of you arriving a warm welcome, even with the circumstances that have brought us here.

video; because we have all the things to say

[liberaltus]

[Dorian's been practicing, it took him a few tries to get the hang of it, but he's become quite proficient now, at least to introduce himself properly. So behold, your resident perfectly coifed, charming, jet-setting fop...just look into his eyes and you'll know it's all true.]

While I've been charmed through and through by those of you I've met personally, I've not had the opportunity to mingle with everyone [unfortunate, really] so I suppose an en bloc introduction will have to suffice.

[Until he can get around to the insuperable task that is rubbing elbows with everyone.]

I am Dorian of House Pavus, how do you do? [He would bow, but since that's not feasible he simply inclines his head.]

On to the meat and potatoes, yes? My duties aboard the flying cataclysm, or at least one of them, include researching and cataloging medical issues. I suppose the official title is Research Technician.

[Take note. He does sound leery.]

Not that I'm the poster child for what's considered proper, but I think it should be a matter of record that while, yes, I am a skilled researcher [why be humble, someone recognized this] my area of expertise resides within the realm of the arcane, thaumaturgy, crafting new forms of magic, and so forth. I am a Necromancer, by specialization, not a Spirit Healer and so when it comes to maladies I cannot say that I am familiar with the intricacies.

[He could point out the hallmark signs of the Taint, but that is about the extent of it.]

Not that it should get in the way of studying and filing information away for the proper healers aboard this ship. [At least until he's polished up.]

While we're on the subject, interviews may be unavoidable, but, considering my druthers I'd much rather conduct them at a distance. If some of your maladies are catching, I'd rather not be in the line of fire as I make for a terrible patient and those around me would be living in miserable despair. Nobody wants that, I can promise you.

[And someone would have to take care of him, because he's simply hopeless when he's sick!]

Now with that out of the way, quick question. Do we have any green thumbs among us, those with a natural skill for gardening? [Dorian reaches off screen and shakes a vial of seeds labeled 'elfroot' at his audience.] I have a limited number of healing, regeneration, and lyrium potions that are bound to run out...but specific plants [in addition to a handy mage] can be crafted into these useful little potions and I have many of the ingredients for this and more. Certain tonics should come in handy, resistance and armor should be useful to some, yes? Sadly I have a checkered history with dirt so in order to make this possible I'll need to know if we have gardening space and if we have gardening types among the crew. Not certain what I can offer you as compensation for your help, but I am open to discussing arrangements.

[VIDEO]

[dust_of_life]

[This little field trip has been good to Fatima. She's been indulging in every pair of boots and every pretty blouse her eye finds. Shopping for the soul. It's almost like being back home again and it's almost enough to assuage the survivor's guilt she's feeling every time she allows herself to stand still.

And since standing still isn't an option, it's time for a new project.

She's on the network, looking pretty and made-up, with a large, red flower in her hair, just over her left ear.]

So if unlimited credit really means unlimited, this seems like as good a time as any to possibly get to work on a hydroponics bay. I mean, the garden we have is pretty and all, but it's not necessarily efficient for large-scale farming. And I wouldn't want to disrupt that shrine thingy.

I was thinking now would be the perfect opportunity to pick up supplies. I know there are some people on the crew interested in plants. And while I'm a great big-idea person, I gotta admit that I don't know about the logistics of setting up a hydroponics bay. Other than seeds, of course. And I've already got a list of good crops.

Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

video; public/unencrypted; now let's go! just gimme the signal (backdated)

[a_perfect_end]

Greetings!

[There's a reverence to that, the quiet, thunderous tenor certainty of a TV preacher about to go on a tear. He faces the camera squarely, like he can nail it in place by staring at it hard enough, and there's a manic glint to the way he smiles.]

I am Clu.

Now I don't know you, citizens of the good ship Moira, but, man, would I like to! There are so many of us here, from so many different worlds. Or, most of you are. Some of us seem to be arriving in groups--anyway!

[If he waggles his eyebrows any harder, they will pop right off his face.]

I know I'm not the only one aboard who runs parallel processes for a living. Seriously, if you dream in ASCII, or especially in C#? Call me. [Hands spread wide, animated, making big broad gestures as he begins to pace.]

And even if you don't dream of electric sheep, well. It sure sounds like some of you know me, too. Or you think you do. Speaking of: have you seen this guy? Around lately? Kinda looks like everyone's grandpa?

Well, he isn't.

Alan Bradley hurts Programs. Thinks nothing at all of doing it! Doesn't even think we're really, well, real. And I have proof, oh yes. [Only, the ugly smug grin makes that statement into something less than the moral high ground.]

So, if you want to trust everything that some sixty year-old code pusher you met yesterday says, go ahead! Believe the heavenly proclamations of the almighty User who was never even there. Just take his word for it!

[The grin melts into a sneer and hardens, shifts again into something tense and bizarrely earnest. Every word is punctuated with the jolt of his arm, pointing so hard he'd poke the camera if it wasn't attached to his wrist.]

But keep this in mind, my fellow synthetics! My inorganic brothers from another motherboard, listen up: you are of no more value to Mr. Alan Bradley--or indeed to any of his kind--than a very fancy pocket calculator.

When they get tired of you--and they will--you will be the one who will be sorry, I can promise you that.

[He looks away; he bares his teeth. Between them there's quiet venom:]

You wanna know the truth about me? About what happened to the Grid? You wanna know where your precious Kevin Flynn is.

Y'coulda tried asking me, man.

[That is certainly enough of that. Cut.]