SET SAIL: FIRST IMPRESSIONS

[returnjourney]

SET SAIL: FIRST IMPRESSIONS

January 1, 2022 – January 7, 2022
Welcome to the new year and the Return Journey's opening event! We're starting with something light to get everyone acclimated and so no one feels they've missed too much if they app after the holiday season. We'd like to make it easy for any new players to jump in right away.

If you have any questions about the event, please ask here.

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The Helpdesk

1. What? My name is who? My name is—

Salutations! Now that everyone's respective warden and inmate orientations are out of the way, you've been given a helpful, mandatory name tag. It instantly appears on your shirt and can't be taken off, though where it appears on your shirt is a bit more unpredictable; it's an imperfect science, so it's just as likely to pop up on the back of your shirt as the front. If you try to remove your clothes, the tag appears on your skin; they're waterproof, so a quick shower won't get rid of it, either. What can we say — it's mandatory.

While the tags all follow the standard "HELLO my name is" format and have your name or most common alias, they also include some other information. For wardens, it features a space that declares "I LIKE" and one or two of your most choices hobbies. For inmates, it features these hobbies and "I have killed [x] people" (this may be a specific number or something akin to "a lot of" or "no"). Fun icebreaker, right?

2. Twenty Questions

Speaking of icebreakers, a brief announcement summons everyone to the observatory. Again, yes, it's mandatory; wardens must retrieve absent inmates before any more information is revealed. Better hop to it!

Upon arrival, passengers will discover that the Peregrine's resident bot force has reconfigured the observatory with small, portable cubicles, each with a transparent wall that retains a lovely view of the observatory's massive window. Each inmate is assigned their own cubicle and, upon entering, cannot leave without a warden's say so; the door only unlocks with a warden's CommLink.

Wardens are tasked with interviewing at least one inmate, to get a feel for their prospective charges. They can have as much time as they need to formulate what questions they want to ask, but that might leave some inmates waiting. Maybe that's on purpose, though. In any case, the exercise is over once an inmate is asked five questions and a warden receives five answers.

Archimedes will collect name tags after the interviews for incineration. The robotic owl is, notably, the only one who can remove them.

3. Polite Picnic

The greenhouse doesn't always have enough fresh produce to go around (and often what is collected is frozen and preserved), but given the circumstances — a new mission and new passengers — everyone can reap the rewards this month...if they share. A bot stationed in the mess hall mechanically tells anyone who crosses into range (whether they mean to visit the produce table or not) that they aren't to take more than three fruits and/or vegetables. If you choose not to abide by the rules...well, that depends if you're caught and by who.

The produce available are as follows:

Adalfane: Tastes like cocaine, but very nutritious, especially when eaten raw.
Tuadath: Smells awful, but very hearty when cooked, tasting a little like steak.
Tsanyi: Pure, sugary sweetness. Can be made into a refreshing drink, eaten raw, or sprinkled over a desert.

There are notably fewer tsanyi than adalfane or tuadath. But if everyone's nice and cooperates, each person can get exactly one.

Comments

ARCHIMEDES | THE HELPDESK

[returnjourney]

[While Archimedes can usually be found on his stand in the Resource Library, today he has set up in the Observatory for the arrival of the first passengers. He is a sizable robotic owl with white titanium panels, gold inlays, and small blue lights. Today he is alert and animated, awaiting questions.

Actually, he might not even wait. He says to anyone who gets within three feet of him:]

Welcome aboard the Peregrine! I am Archimedes, the Peregrine's Helpdesk. I am tasked with arranging materials and resources for passengers. What can I help you with today?

[counterstep]

Hey. Hi. ( man, how do you greet a robot owl correctly? ) Anywhere I can cook something around here? Or just. If not that, where I can maybe build a fire to cook with?

[kaijuice]

[ Three feet away,

Silco jumps in a totally normal and not at all startled manner. Probably it was just how he meant to walk by this particular stretch. Hopping is very stylish these days.

He eyes the owl for a long moment before sidling closer. Reaches out a hand,

Poke. ]

[smugreport]

[ This ship may be missing a lot of the creature comforts Rhys had been indulging in (even those that he wasn't strictly supposed to be doing) but it does have something very different and interesting, ie: this owl robot. ]

Helloooo beautiful.

[ He'll let out a whistle as he approaches fully, reaching out to try and lift one of Archimedes wings. ]

What's a fine piece of tech like you doing on a ship like this?

[omniavincit]

[ William's head tips back when he enters the room: how could it not? He drinks in the view—his reverence tinged with apprehension—but inevitably lowers his gaze to the cluster of fucking cubicles.

With a sidelong look at the owl: ] Was this your idea?

Alex Mercer | Inmate | OTA

[lessandmorethanhuman]

1 & 2--Nametags and Twenty Questions

Well, Alex was not impressed--at least if they were trying to give incentives and make him feel comfortable about this whole thing. The room really didn't feel like a comfy-room. It wasn't quite as bad as a hospital examination room might be (or an autopsy table in a lab). But it wasn't much better--no where to hide.

Which was probably by design.

Then there was the name-tag. At least his ended up in the proper place--and he'd already tried removing his jacket to get rid of it. No luck. He didn't object so much to the "Alex Mercer" bit. His Hobby listed was benign enough as "Reading". It was the "I killed a lot of people." He objected to--was that really necessary?

So for now, he'd picked a spot on one of the back seats where he could see entries and exits. Observing people, watching how they all interacted so far. Waiting for the inevitable when someone would approach him.

3--Polite Picnic
The greenhouse at least was mildly interesting. Even if Alex was more interested in the science behind the hyperbaric chambers and the substrate they were using instead of soil. But he could recognize a potential bargaining chip when he saw one too. Besides, given he couldn't access any of his abilities, he might need to have actual food himself. So one of each plant for now, and he would consider trading or using the Tsanyi as a resource for trade. At least without his abilities, he also could tolerate the smell of the Tuadeth for now.

3

[nineteenfortyfive]

The greenhouse is a wonder to Claire. She didn't expect to be met with so many things she's never seen before--on a ship, in space? Go figure--but it's a pleasant surprise.

"Going for a variety?" Claire asks, trying to strike up conversation. Might as well.

Ezio Auditore | Warden

[hiddenblade]

1. Nametags

Here's one new warden, a fish out of water in a fitted and worn-in leather trousers and a billowy-sleeved white shirt against the machined white walls and under powered lights. As he walks the halls, he occasionally reaches out and trails his fingertips against the wall –– the novelty hasn't worn off, not by far. He could walk the halls for hours, marveling at the perfection of the construction. (He does not have hours, there's shit to do.)

His name tag identifies him as Ezio Auditore da Firenze, which pleases him more than just his name alone would, and his hobbies are exploration and beautiful women. Appropriately revealing, he thinks.

One thing notable to his about this ship, however, is its size and resources compared to the number of people he has seen. As such, he's going to walk right up and introduce himself to whoever he sees.

2. Interviews

When Archimedes directs wardens to round up any errant inmates, Ezio wastes no time heading out: whatever has him on the move is much more appealing than conversation, and it gives him an excuse to explore a little more. He hunts the ship with confidence, combing over rooms with hawk-like precision, expression focused.

Once that's resolved, he settles into the task at hand as easily as he slides into a booth with a waiting inmate. Questions aren't difficult to come up with. He's full of them, always has been.

"Good of you to join us," Ezio says, a touch flippant, as though any inmate is here by choice.

1

[nineteenfortyfive]

She doesn't mean to make a face when she catches sight of this man's hobbies, but she does indeed make a face. Something between a grimace and a roll of the eyes. It's painfully obvious.

Look, some wardens, like this Claire Fraser, have very dull hobbies such as plants and medicine, as so neatly written out on her name tag.

Oh, wait. Was he introducing himself to her? Rude. She tries to recover with a smile.

"Oh. Hello there."

Interviews

[lessandmorethanhuman]

Alex had eventually migrated to a booth, and actually was reclined against it. Head against one end, legs bent and feet at the other. As if this wasn't forced on him...

"Yes, because I like to start all my days with a game of 20 questions. Helps wake up the mind, don't you think?" Not bothering to hide his sarcasm either. At least he's not radiating hostility--just intense skepticism and a touch of boredom.

2 (drug ref)

[saklas]

The inmate has somehow, despite being here for like less than two hours, already been hit hard enough in the nose to bleed. There's a tissue stuffed up there to keep it from going everywhere.

He blinks blearily at Ezio. He looks kind of shell-shocked. There's no way this guy that just came in is actually dressed like a pirate in real life, so, okay, let's just not bring it up.

Fuck. Fuck. He can't tell where he is. It's either a hospital or a police station. The guy's demeanor says police, to him.

"Did you run out of evidence to snort, or something? Go away. I'm not talking without my attorney present."

1

[omniavincit]

“Fuck off.”

Is the snapped assessment of the name tag—ever the reader, William's focused on the words before the other man's face even registers. He's wondering how many leering innuendos about the exploration of beautiful women this guy has made when it clicks. He takes a step back, his body tensing, his expression teetering on the edge of collapse.

(Gone is the black, the hat and the meticulously maintained cowboy getup: in its place, a perhaps disappointingly modern suit. Blue, tailored, no tie. His own name tag, for the moment, nowhere to be seen.

He looks older, though one would be hard-pressed to articulate how.)

Finally, he manages: “Is Takeshi here?”

silco | OTA

[kaijuice]

Hello, my name is SILCO. I like HEARING MYSELF TALK. I have killed MANY people.


OBSERVATORY

The tag presses neat against the back of his shirt-collar: Rich red cloth, at once familiar and remarkably ill-fitting. Some imperceptible difference of the copy, in fabric that ought to tear with blood.

Change. It's all in how you wear it.

Disoriented is too simple a word for the lilt of the ground before him, the expanse of sky beyond. Pushing against it renders him stiff, an animatronic man unrolling his sleeves over and again,

(Eye to tag after tag leaves only so many possibilities for his own.)


a) YOU DO THE HOKEY POKEY

He mills by the window, but the keen-eyed may note the glass of less interest than its reflection, Silco pressed at any angle to catch not a glimpse of sky, but his own neck.

Finally, a hand darts back. Almost got it — no, shit —


b) POCKET SAND

It's an odd stumble that catches him, trips one knee down into the pit. Fingers spider out to catch himself — only to sink deeper, plunge his whole palm into sand.

As he rises, cartilage crackles. A hand dusts the earth from dark trousers. Another hooks into his pocket, and comes back clean.


c) TONIGHT ON JEOPARDY

He's given little in the way of resistance thus far: A disgruntled cooperation, the bristling silence of someone either extremely calm, or extremely about to start screaming.

The lock clicks into place, and a snarl leaps to the edge of one thin lip. Twists into a sneer upon observation.

"Jumpy, are we?"


d) WILDCARD

[ up for whatever! hmu on plurk or PM for a bespoke starter ]

C

[shiftedshape]

Loki raises an eyebrow. "Not terribly, no. You'll find there are many things that wardens aren't actually in control of. Such as that door locking."

Well, that was the case the last time, at least. He's actually hoping things will be more predictable here, or at least less concerning with regard to whether the ship itself might fall apart at any moment.

Anyway.

He settles into his seat, eyes dropping to the name tag on his new inmate friend's shirt, and he can't help but snort out a laugh.

"It seems we have something in common. Things, I should say."

Perhaps more, if Silco happens to agree with the rather vague I LIKE MAGIC. printed on Loki's tag.

a. You put your right hand out...

[lessandmorethanhuman]

"Wow, they put yours in an inconvenient place." No shit Alex is stating the obvious. Hands in the pocket of his leather jacket, hood up, he looks amused. "Want me to read what it says?" He's not bothering to cover his own that's actually in the proper place--amazingly. (He just can't get rid of it, like he wants to.)

Hello, my name is Alex Mercer. I like reading and science. I've killed a lot of people.

A

[nineteenfortyfive]

"Are you... okay?"

Claire can't help but hesitantly approach the man that looks like he might have fleas. Expected, on a ship that might be on the water. In space? She has no idea.

Her name tag is in plain sight. Claire Fraser. Hobbies include plants and medicine.

[shiftedshape]

1. Hei, mitt navn er Loki.

Loki has been distracted since he came aboard-- waking up with a neck just short of broken and then being immediately whisked away to yet another prison ship has given him a lot to think about --but at the moment he's distracted for. Another reason. He'd been exploring the ship, getting his bearings, when he happened to glance down and spot something written just along the hem of his shirt.

So now he's bent over, lifting the bottom of his shirt up so he can read it upside-down, muttering to himself just outside the mess hall.

"'I like magic.' Well, that's reductive..."

2. Bigger than a breadbox.

Talking! Now there's something Loki excels in. He'll have to come up with questions, of course, but surely that won't be a problem. Frankly, he's already got plenty, it's just that most are about the ship and the Navarch and that robot owl, what in the Nine?

But he can settle for the inmates. He does need to know what he might be getting into. Unlike the barge, he has zero context for any of them at all, and no one to pester for their impressions either.

So he breezes into the first cubicle, dropping gracefully into his seat and flashing a smile at whoever has been waiting.

"Hello! Let's make this as painless as possible, shall we?" He forges on quickly, keeping that rhetorical from counting as one of the questions (hopefully). "Where are you from?"

3. Is this candy?

He hadn't exactly been intending to take anything. He was just going to visit, suffer some heartache over the now multiple people such a space reminded him of, and leave, but now he's stepped aside, examining the fruit he'd selected before, well, might as well...

Loki's eaten his entire tsanyi in a matter of seconds, humming with hedonistic pleasure. Without a thought, he immediately returns to the table to help himself to another...only to stop with his hand hovering over the pile as he counts them.

"Damn." This is the exact sort of thing he'd suspect was a test, when he was an inmate. Now he just recognizes it would be rude to take another, let alone all of them like he actually wants, and that he's not exempt from the consequences of rudeness.

When he sees someone else coming, he draws his hand back, takes a full step back even, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Hello. Was just. Taking a look."

My, he just looks incredibly suspicious, doesn't he?

3

[hiddenblade]

Ezio had taken one fruit previously, which he still has in-hand, half-eaten. The adalfane is bitter, just on the cusp of being intolerably so, and at first there was an odd novelty of that: who ever heard of a fruit that tasted like this? By half-way through, however, he's feeling like he should have picked a different one. Back to the greenhouse he goes.

When he comes in just in time to see Loki reel back, the fruit is the last thing on his mind.

"You," he replies, brows furrowed.

Rhys Strongfork | Inmate | OTA

[smugreport]

1. Nametags

[Rhys isn't entirely unfamiliar with this kind of situation- not only the fact that boring icebreaker activities were a staple part of his former corporate life, but also the whole ~reform or whatever~ cruise ship concept (is this one a cruise ship? He hadn't gotten a chance to really look around yet.) He's one of the transfers, which means he's already done the whole "Is this some kind of sick joke?" song and dance.

He wants to find out what kind of amenities this place has to offer, and can be found "casually" walking around the halls of the place, very "subtly" peering into rooms that are already open or openable. He'll be so into snooping that anyone who comes upon him will get a startled yelp, followed by him scrambling to cover a hand over his nametag and then oh-so casually resting the other on wall to do an oh-so-casual lean.]

Heeeey, hi. Just uh, doing the rounds, getting a lay of the land if you know what I mean.


2. Twenty Questions

[ Oh, Rhys does not want to be here. Don't they know he's claustrophobic? You can't just lock an innocent guy in a human sized observation tank! This is inhumane, it's a violation of his rights! He wants to speak with everyone's managers.

He can be found pacing back and forth in the space, knocking on the transparent all purposefully whenever someone walks past and making exaggerated pantomimes towards the cubicles door. ]

1

[shiftedshape]

[Unfortunately for Rhys, Loki doesn't need the name tag to recognize him. Unfortunately for Loki, he's already run into a Rhys who wasn't the Rhys who he'd met before, so this wouldn't exactly break any new ground.

Still.]

Rhys? Did you get brought over from the barge?

james buchanan barnes | warden

[counterstep]

01 ⬡ Привет, меня зовут —

( he's hanging out in the observatory already because it's still rather wild to him he's really in space. finally. not that he ever expected he really would end up in space, but after all the things he read in his child, all the nights looking up at the stars and imagining he could be somewhere out there, now he really is.

bucky spends a good chunk of time staring out at the stars with his hands in his jacket pockets, but he's hardly unapproachable, offering anyone nearby a nod or a small, polite smile. on his jacket is a nametag that reads James Barnes, detailing that he likes pancakes, is great with knives, and enjoys watching movies. )

02 ⬡ ice ice breaka breaka.

( when others start to file in from the announcement, bucky chooses the booth in the middle because it has the clearest view of the stars still. he ushers the nearest inmate in, regardless of complaint. since this is his first go at things, he's definitely aiming to meet with every single inmate, but it's entirely possible that one or two might slip away when he's busy with another.

once inside, he gestures to the inmate and asks the following: )

What's the best way to kill someone?

03 ⬡ clean up on aisle six.

( he takes one of each and tries to figure out the best way to eat them. unfortunately, he's been told he can't start fires and there's no way to cook them, so he's rather frustrated with the fact he's been provided fresh produce he can only consume raw. without a proper cutting knife either — god, he misses his combat knives more than ever, right now — he can't dissect the produce well either, so unfortunately, he's made quite a mess off to the side of the produce table trying to figure out how the hell to best work with what he's been provided.

hope you're okay with the sight and smell. bucky seems to be studying them quite defiantly at the table with no intention of leaving. )

∞ ⬡ wildcard.

1

[nineteenfortyfive]

[Claire was about to be glad there's someone else with mundane interests like her plants and medicine, but once her eyes get past the pancakes on his tag she has to give pause.]

Do you take great care as to which knives you use for your pancakes?

[It's a joke. She knows he probably likes knives for purposes that do not involve eating.]

J.A. Volkhov | Inmate | OTA

[saklas]

1. Everyone seems to be taking this in stride! Except this guy. The scream is absolutely bloodcurdling.

It sounds like he's been stabbed over there. It's a hurt-your-throat scream. It's a fox-in-a-metal-snare scream. There are no actual stabbings going on, at least not in this particular instance; there's just an guy alone over there without any sharp objects having an actual legitimate mental breakdown. His hands clutch at his head and face. One knee hits the ground hard, then the other.

The name tag is pinned to the shoulder of his jacket. It says:

HELLO, my name is
Volk

I LIKE
complaining on internet
Green Day

I HAVE KILLED
no
PEOPLE

He deep hiccuping breath and screams again. The amount of noise coming out of a person that small is really remarkable.

--

2A. I hope you like waiting to start, because he is NOT going into those cubicles. He's off at a dead sprint in the opposite direction.

Running in kitten heels on metal grate isn't a great idea, though. He is not, shall we say, a very frequently athletic person. He wipes out on a corner, bonks off of a wall and lands directly on his face, claws his way upright, keeps running without the shoes. He's only gotten like maybe ten yards and he's already panting.

"Fuck - fuck off, fuck you. No way are we in FUCKING space, I want a lawyer."

---

2B. So, like, someone got him eventually. He's locked into the cubicle with tissues stuffed into one nostril to stem a mild nosebleed. His expression is vacant, his eyes soft and dull. He's got his arms out of the sleeves of his jacket so he can wrap it around himself like a blanket. He doesn't look up when the lock clicks. He's done this before. A lot.

"It's July twenty-seventh. It's a Saturday. The president is Germaine Stemrock. We're in Burbank. It's fine. I'm done running away. It's fine."

[smugreport]

[ Rhys had heard his fair share of awful sounds while down on Pandora. Skags in heat, for instance, or the sound spiderants make when they die, along with plenty of other awful shit that will haunt his dreams forever. Screaming? That's pretty commonplace, but its usually not more or less right in his ear (he's usually run far enough away by that point.)

He is giving this experience a one-star review right now, and a large part of him is saying to not get involved in whatever the hell is going on here, but he's made himself comfortable where he currently is and would rather this guy just stop. ]

Hey... hey buddy.

[ He's approaching carefully, one hand tepidly outstretched. ]

What's uh- what's the problem over he-

[ More screaming. Interrupted by screaming! This sucks! Rhys retracts his hand, clapping both over his ears. ]

Okay I can't help you if you keep doing that.

Agrias Oaks | Warden | will match tag format!

[cleansingstrike]

[My Name Is-]
Hello, my name is Agrias Oaks. I like my Queen and Country.

A touch obvious for her taste, and she wasn't much much of a fan of how casually Lady Ovelia had been mentioned. Still, there seemed to be no away around it. The entire point of this exercise was to introduce oneself to the others. Simple enough. At least, it would've been if Agrias had any real confidence in holding a casual conversation. Her dedication as a knight had left her with some... shortcomings, one could say.

"Ah..." She clears her throat shortly after approaching someone. "Well met. Do these strange times find you well?"


[Twenty Questions]
Okay, this she could do. All she needed to do was to ask a series of questions to get to know the inmates. Complete that, and they would be on their way. The problem was, however, once she and the inmate were together, Agrias simply... blanked on what she could even ask. There were so many choices, she was having difficulty settling on where to begin.

"Forgive me, 'tis my first time conducting an interrogation."

That... wasn't really helping her case, calling it that.

name.

[counterstep]

( bucky offers a quick smile as he approaches, amusement finding its way into his express with the clearing of her throat. )

Honestly? Yeah. ( and he means that for once, which would surprise anyone he knows, but it doesn't make much of a difference here. he offers his hand for a shake. ) James.

What country are you from, Miss Oaks?

jinx | inmate.

[blowup]

a. HELLO FRIENDS.

Jinx is huddled off in a corner somewhere, but it's a well-lit corner and her hair is bright blue-- she's easy to find, hard to miss. She isn't crying. She looks, honestly, listless. Expression slack, blank, she looks like someone's forgotten doll.

Bad colors float between her ears. She's bad. She wouldn't be here if she's bad. Familiar voices keep her up to date. Bad, awful, evil. She messed everything up, and not even dying could fix it.

Suddenly, she's moving, trying to peel a name tag off her shirt. "Stupid. Bad. I'm not-"

My name is Jinx. I like exothermic reactions. I have killed plenty of people.

b. WE HAVE SOME QUESTIONS.

(1.)She isn't panicking or expressionless anymore. If anything, she looks cheerful. Sitting in her little holding cell-- cubicle. Sure-- she rocks her feet back and forth, enjoying the jarring metal clunk of steel-toed boots on whatever material the floor is made of.

She hopes she breaks it.

"These questions better be interestin'!"

She's said this several times.

(2.)If someone doesn't come in quickly, she'll get up, and begin kicking the door. It doesn't budge, but, again- it makes an awful noise.

c. HOW FRUITY.

Jinx has managed to climb up onto a high perch in the greenhouse. Her legs swing over, kicking at her braids. She's loudly eating a Tsanyi, and three more sit in her lap, ready to be hoarded.

If you catch her eyes, she'll hold your gaze, daring you to say something.

d. WILDCARD.

[i'm up for bbbasicaly anything! hmu @ wehwalt!]

[smugreport]

[ By the time Rhys makes it to the greenhouse, what's left of the produce is slim pickings. He eyes the scraps left of the adalfane and tsanyi, reading their appetizing descriptions with a frown before picking up a piece of tuadath and giving it a sniff. The smell is revolting, and he makes a grossed out "BLEH!" face before dropping it back in the pile.

Well, this sucks.

That's when he looks up and spots some pipi-longstocking ass looking girl with a whole PILE of the good ones in her lap. ]

Hey! Why does she get to take more than three?

[ Asked to whoever will here him (hopefully someone who commandeer her stash and give some to HIM.) ]

William | Warden

[omniavincit]

Hello, my name is WILLIAM. I like INTERACTIVE FICTION and BALLET RECITALS.

1. name and shame

The man looks—not entirely out of place, but as though he ought to be outfitted with a clipboard, performing some kind of inspection. Instead, a pair of Navarch-issued handcuffs weigh down one pocket of his suit jacket (he does not wear a tie). He lingers in and around the loading bay, betraying no impatience but quick to turn at any sound. Eventually he'll tear himself away and head to the observatory, stopping to scope out the solitary confinement cells along the way.

His name tag is stuck to the thinning blond hair at the back of his head. Almost as if someone expected him to be wearing a hat.

a. Try to pull it off. Do it.

b. Once he's wise to the general shape of what's going on—once he's glimpsed a few name tags in passing—William's demeanor shifts from wary consideration something more on edge. He beckons the first person who doesn't look overtly suspicious over. Turns around. “What's the number?” he asks, quiet. Intent.

There is none, of course. He's a warden.

But you don't have to tell him that.

2. share(?) and care(?)

He nearly turns and leaves the mess hall: he despised this kind of thing on the other ship. Cookies and other sweet inducements, extravagant virtual parties. Anything to forget half the population was dead and the other half could fuck off whenever they liked.

But stay he does—now missing a patch of hair at the back of his head.

a. He selects a fruit from the dwindling supply, hefts it absently as he trails a cleaning bot around the mess hall. Sets the fruit directly in front of it to see how it reacts. More experimentation of this sort ensues.

b. Even—especially—if you have the look of a warden, he catches your eye and squints as though trying to dredge up a name. Instead it's a number he ventures: “One? No, six.” Or: “A lot, wasn't it?”

3. wildcard!

[ I'm planning to hit up individual inmates for interrogation threads, but if you're raring to go feel free to throw a starter here! Or whatever else your heart desires. ]

2b

[nineteenfortyfive]

Eye, caught. Claire hangs there a moment, then figures he's stuck.

"Claire," she offers. "Hello."

She'd shake his hand if she wasn't holding a fruit or vegetable in each of her own. She has no idea which is which. So, instead, she shrugs.

"Fascinating, aren't they?"

aki hayakawa | warden

[spanning]

1 | RESOURCE LIBRARY;

[There's a young man in the resource library, hunched over a terminal and softly cursing as he navigates the unfamiliar tech one-handed. His name tag is a bright splash of white-and-blue across the back of his suit jacket, just below the collar. It's crooked. It also declares, in neat handwriting:

HELLO my name is AKI HAYAKAWA
I like REVENGE and PLAYING CATCH

Catch him a bit later and you might find him trying to rearrange his messy hair. He gives up after a moment of fussing with it—having only one arm makes it difficult to do more—and yanks his hair out of its ponytail. The hair tie ends up tossed onto the table. And when he realizes he has an audience, well...]

What? [His voice, just like his stare, is flat.]

2 | OBSERVATORY;

[His communicator lies on the table in front of him, open to one of several books he rented from a terminal. It's all in Japanese, but someone fluent might realize it's an Earth history text, detailing global events in the 1980s.]

Hey. [It's abrupt. So abrupt, one could be forgiven for thinking he isn't talking to them, if not for the just as sudden—but unmistakably direct—eye contact.] What do you know about devils?

[He doesn't care if this is outside a cubicle (hello, fellow wardens) or inside one (get ready for your interview, inmates).]

3 | MESS HALL;

[There's a guy wandering up behind you in the mess hall, expression preoccupied. It might be possible to catch him saying something too soft to be comprehensible, but there's no way to miss his next words:]

Shut up. You still have to honor the terms of our contract.

[His voice isn't loud; it doesn't carry. It is, however, extremely annoyed.]

2

[saklas]

The inmate in the cubicle has been giving him a cold shoulder this entire time - he has his chair tipped back on two legs and the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up to shadow his eyes like he's just going to lean back here and take a nap and wait Aki out.

Then the question gets asked and the chair's front end hits the floor with a loud thump.

Fuck. How much do the wardens here know? It can't be much. It can't be, unless the Hand of Sacrifice has been trying to summon his contracted entity. And why would they? Nobody wants to touch him, there's a reason Volk was confident he'd get an exclusive deal.

He snorts, tries to play it off. "As much as anybody. You're better off asking one of my historians."

[sanctus_dei]

One.
HELLO. My name is THEODORE CRAWFORD. I have killed 987 people.

[That's one hell of a claim on the badge of the skinny, pale, exhausted-looking teenager that just showed up at the Inmates quarters. Theo doesn't usually suffer from bouts of self-consciousness, but he stops at the door when the occupying Inmates turn to see the new arrival. Considering his consequences before arrival, still feeling like death warmed over, and being without his powers has left him feeling more vulnerable than he's felt in quite a long time.

He's not sure what to even say.]

Which bunk's mine?


Two.
[Theo did try to peel that name badge off, but gave up. He sits waiting for his Warden interview, and of course, doesn't look too thrilled about it. He also has an absolutely pounding headache, so when his interviewer does arrive, he doesn't have the energy for his usual biting remarks.]

You got any cigarettes? Tell me they exist in space or whatever.

[kaijuice]

Two and four are occupied,

[ More than that are — he just doesn't give a shit. None of them lock.

Stood hunched over the end of one long table, tapping at a communicator screen, it's a moment before Silco looks up. His eyes find Theo's, unblinking; chin tipped, ]

Silco.

[ By way of introduction. His own tag has already faded. ]