MarinaNova Asylum

Day 397. That's only three shopping days left until Day 400. Not that we have any plans necessarily. I might be washing my hair that day. [These are the jokes, folks.] Until then enjoy the new faces.

I leave you with the communication stylings of your people. Well, some of your people.



(OOC: Kiosk requests will be handled by Veridical unless otherwise requested. Warden request post | Mail submissions)

[Library]
Something had to be done. Martha knew she would probably never wear a bikini again. And she doubted she'd ever end up blue-banded with someone here. Especially now. But the scars were still there. She'd spent more time than she would like to admit staring at them in the mirror that morning. Her fingers danced over the dots while she lay in bed. Yes, something definitely had to be done. Which is why she was in the library searching for books on scars and tattoos.

[Bean Crushers]
Martha sat at a table in the corner with two thick books in front of her. She was carefully going over the pages of one, occasionally holding up a digital camera and taking a picture of whatever was on the page. Her coffee sat forgotten. Anyone curious to take a glance would notice the pages were primarily pictures of tattoos.

[Martha stared at her communicator and took a deep breath. It was time. It was beyond time. She sighed again, hooked the device over her ear, and called Ianto.]

Ianto. I... I owe you an apology.

[ The plan was to go several days ago but things happen (or rather, they don't) and he kept pushing it off and now here we are in the land of procrastinators. Today seems like as good a day as any though to do a little covert operations, what with the wind and the kites functioning as a perfectly good distraction.

He waits until he's sure Kitty's out of the office and then walks into the Defence Force headquarters as if he belongs there. He did, for a long time, and he's a good enough agent to know that the key to infiltration is acting as if you have every right to be there — and maybe he still does, in a way. No contracts, nothing but verbal agreements and he practically founded the Investigative branch whose folders he's eagerly flipping through. Should anyone approach him, he'll brush it off — or try to. At least he doesn't need to bring anything with him when he leaves.

Later in the day he can be found at Bean Crushers, making his way through a large coffee and a stack of notebooks, scribbling frenetically through the latter while letting the former cool mostly forgotten. There's something cooking, no doubt about it. ]

Martha had hid in her apartment for a few days. She'd apologized to everyone she had hurt. And now, it was time to brave the world again. That wasn't her original plan. Martha's original plan was to stay in her flat forever, but she was apparently out of practice stockpiling. Besides, there were things to do. So she took a shower, styled her hair, and put on makeup. That would help right.

First on her list of things to do - destroy a camera. That was easy enough though. All it involved was buying a hammer and finding a good cement surface to beat the thing until it was just tiny tiny pieces. When she was done, she swept all the bits up and put it in a bin. Oddly enough, Martha felt lighter after that. Light enough to go about the rest of her daily errands.

Said errands took her to the library for a book or two, the convenience store for more food (she had to restock her stock pile after all), and some of the various shops for sundry items. She tried to avoid people when she could, but it wasn't always possible. Anyone could easily run into her anywhere.

[Martha didn't want to make this call. Hell, she didn't want to deal with this at all. Best to ignore what happened and stay locked in her room forever, right? But Jack had forgiven her and forced his company on her yesterday. Regardless of what she wanted, it was beyond time to apologize to the others.]

Gentlemen -

[Her voice cracked as she said it. No, she couldn't start crying now. Martha took a deep, shaky breath, cleared her throat, and tried again.]

Gentlemen. I... I know your first impulse might be to hang up on me. I understand, and I don't blame you if you do. I would too if I were in your shoes. But if you can stay until the very end, I would appreciate it.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry for attacking you. I'm sorry for humiliating you. I'm sorry for sending you mind games in the mail. I've been told that the AI was messing with our brains. That what I was three days ago isn't me so I can't be held responsible for what she did. But that doesn't change the fact that I still remember doing it. That I feel the guilt of what I've done. And that it happened to you. Nothing can erase what I did and I am so sorry that it happened at all. Yes, I was a vampire, but plenty of vampires can control their urges, and it was completely out of line to take those pictures and send them to you.

...

I want to promise that it will never happen again. With all my heart I want to promise that, but I don't know what the AIs will do next time they feel like experimenting. I can promise that as a human, I wouldn't hurt you. Any of you.

I can understand too if you would prefer to never see me again. While I have come to consider you important in my life, I understand that I fucked that up. I understand that you might not be able to forgive me. But please know that I regret every single thing I did that day. And if I had access to a Time Machine, I would break the cardinal rule and cross my timeline to make sure it didn't happen.

[She takes another deep breath. Wonders if any of them will take the time to listen to it.]

Thank you for your time.

[He's a bit hesitant as to how to approach this, but there's no way he's not contacting her. He's a lot more worried about how she's taking this than the fact that he's died another death.]

Martha. Are you all right?

[Martha had stayed in bed the day following her vampire exploits. She had hoped it was all a dream. That none of it had actually happened. But when she woke up the following day, guilt still pressing down on her, she knew she had to do something. And so she turned to the only person who could possibly understand. She called Spike. Her voice was quiet and thick.]

How do you handle it? How do you deal with everything you've done once your soul is back?

[Around the Dome]

[The worst thing about this prison—besides, obviously, being stuck in a universe without all of his friends and family—is all of the free time. Felix likes working. Loves it, in fact, and the lack of time that he devotes to having fun has made him the butt of any number of jokes on the Sphaira, not that he cares. He's excellent at what he does, and his recent promotion to captain makes all of the crap he gets from his peers worthwhile. Who needs friends when you can have inferiors?

Except he hasn't entirely bought into that and, without work to do and jerks to feel superior to, MarinaNova is getting kind of lonely. He's met a few people, sure, but what he needs to do is get out there and try to have fun. Fun people attract company, and he'd like company.

And so Felix, armed with a camera, spends a good part of the day taking a leisurely stroll through the dome's streets and parks. Wandering around and pausing to snap the occasional photo might not be the kind of madcap adventure that his peers at home might find amusing, but it's different enough from work to make him think that it falls within the realm of fun. As long as he's enjoying himself, it feels like it must count.

And he is enjoying himself. Photography was one of his many hobbies before he devoted himself to science and the Colonial Fleet. He doesn't know if he's any good at it, but there's something satisfying about looking for exciting angles and plays of light and trying to frame things just so. Although Felix focuses on architecture (another interest that fell by the wayside), he does try to get the odd inmate into his shots.]

I'm sorry, but could you hold still for a moment?


[Lyrical]

[Evening—or what passes as evening in an underwater dome where days are delineated by dimming and brightening artificial light—sets and Felix has tasked himself with finding a new kind of fun. This workless wasteland has presented him with an unparalleled opportunity to explore all of the hobbies that he stopped having time for at home. Hobbies like singing.

And that is why he is at Lyrical. Felix has skipped the drinking part of the karaoke bar (he'd like to keep his wits about him while he's enjoying himself) and is going through the selection of songs to find something he knows. Singing in front of strangers is fun, right? Right?

He might need encouragement.]

[Closed to Spike]

[Two things register immediately with Ianto as soon as he wakes up. The first being that he's in an unfamiliar bed in an equally unfamiliar room with no idea how he got there. A moment ago he was in Cardiff, enjoying the sort of rainy night that turns the city into a maze, obscures figures, makes them easy to follow, easy to frighten, to scare down a dark alley where no one can see what's going on. Not that it's the kind of weather anyone would want to be out in, which is a good thing if, like last night, the girl he followed tried to scream for help. He likes hunting on raining nights for that reason and because it feels right, atmospheric, dramatic. It makes things feel more appropriate. And it's not as though he ever really needs to worry about being caught; working for Torchwood makes it absurdly easy to cover his tracks and he's far better at it than Suzie ever was. It's a stressful job, the kind that needs some sort of relief and if that relief happens to include strangling strange women in dark rainy alleys the very least it can do is provide him the resources to cover up the evidence. All he knows is that one moment he was debating whether to call Adam and ask for help cleaning this up because he gets it and doesn't really ask questions or just disposing of it himself and the next he's blinking his eyes open in this strange bed, wondering if he's been retconned.

The second thing he notices immediately is that there's someone else here and it's not Jack. He knows ever inch of Jack's body and whoever is curled around him isn't him. He's got a view of black nail polish on fingernails and an arm draped around him and neither of those give him enough information so he rolls over only to freeze in shock. God knows what he's done to his hair, but he knows that face and frankly John Hart is the last person he ever expected to wake up in bed with. He immediately amends his theory to some sort of retcon fueled sexual kidnapping which frankly sounds exactly like the sort of stupid scheme he'd pull. Did he catch him last night, with the girl? Did that fuel whatever the hell this is? He tries to ignore the little thrill of panic that runs through him at the thought, instead focusing on the disgust and annoyance he usually associates with John Hart as he sits up, pulling away from him and trying to get bearings.]

What's going on?

[Open]

[It doesn't matter what sort of explanation he gets, as soon as he can he'll be out of there, exploring his new surroundings, desperately wanting to get home. He can't just leave Torchwood behind knowing how often they end up being the last line of defense between the world and whatever the alien threat of the week is. Being trapped here makes him nervous, anxious and no matter how hard he tries to stifle it he can feel his stress building as the day goes by. He wishes it was raining.]

It was well into the afternoon when Martha woke up. Other than being completely ravenous, it was a day like any other. She brushed her teeth, both the regular teeth and the fangs. Hey, even vampires had good hygiene. Some did at least.

Then things started to go wrong. Her fridge was stocked with food. Human food. Food that wouldn't do her any good. Which meant she was going to have to get dressed, but good god, when did her clothing become so... boring? Martha found the tightest jeans and the most revealing shirt she could. Anything to show off her form. She needed to drink, and she needed to drink NOW. Perhaps she could attract semi-willing meals.

A few short moments later and she was out in the dome. To the normal passerby, she probably didn't look any different than normal. Those who did know her would note the distinct lack of scarring on her back, right arm, and neck. She walked in the general direction of the blood shack, though she would much rather drink from the source like any respectable vampire would.

((OOC: Martha is a Buffy the Vampire Slayer vamp. Thus she looks completely human until she shifts into vamp face. She is hungry, but she will not bite anyone unless I have OOC permission from you to bite her. Please go to Martha plotting comment and let me know there if it's okay. If you don't want your character getting bit, then we can say they met up after she fed.))

[It had been more than a few days since they had returned home from the other prison. More than a few days since her... incident with Felix. She had taken a few days to evaluate what exactly she felt. Obviously she was attracted to him. And obviously with inhibitions lowered, she was willing to jump in bed with him at the drop of a hat. But what would that do to the careful friendship they had already developed? And did she want to change that friendship? After worrying about it longer than necessary, she finally decided to just call him up.]

Hello Felix. I... hope things have been going well since we transferred back to the dome.

[She actually winces slightly at how awful that sounded. Not a good morning after person. At all.]

The first sense that came to the Doctor was the sound of the ocean, roaring as waves ebbed and flowed at a leisurely pace. Dark brown eyes blinked, trying to process how he got here, but the only thing that came to mind was how much he hated oceans this very moment. Oceans that contained beaches that brought back too recent memories he didn't want to dwell on any time soon.

"Yeah? And how was that sentence gonna end?"

"Does it need saying?"

Blinking once more he's out of his reverie, glancing downwards to his -- orange jumpsuit? It wasn't one of his that resided in the TARDIS for limited oxygen adventures or being out in space. "What?" He's startled, thinking perhaps he truly has lost track of time and apparently changed clothes? But these weren't his trainers either.

All his senses are registering that this certainly wasn't the TARDIS, nor his clothes, nor anywhere he recognized immediately off hand. Gradually he turns, seeing little huts and BBQ stands, and in the near distance a large building complex and a stable of sorts. Hastily he makes his way towards these buildings in hopes people could explain where he might be, during which he's being informed by his communicator a quick run-down of his current situation and location.

His affinity for shops took the edge off his irritation and confusion as he approached the convenience store. Popping his head in, he's relieved to see other people before he steps in. "Has anyone seen a big blue police box anywhere?"

[ He wakes alone, uncharacteristically early, and for the longest time he just lies there and listens to the silence. Not from the outside, mind you. Oh no. This is a peace and calm he hasn't felt since that one fateful night at the library, the scent of Jack's blood flooding his senses, a flash of light and then and then and then.

And now. Now there's nothing, no burning guilt, no searing unrelenting weight of his actions. There's nothing but hunger and silence and for a moment he doesn't know what to do about it, lays there on the too-soft bed and stares at the too-clean ceiling and waits for it to come rushing back, but no. Nothing. Getting up, getting dressed, Spike decides to make the most of this. He's quick to realize that the clunky ring on his finger works much like the gem of Amara, keeping the sun from scorching him and he really can't believe his luck. This, too? You're much too kind.

He finds some suitable clothes, a loose fitting button up instead of the usual black tee. With the demon thrumming in his chest with excitement, Spike heads out to paint this resort red. ]

((ooc: Heeeeeey have fun with soulless, Iniative-chipped Spike for the duration of the event! ))

(OOC: PLEASURE PRISON EVENT)

Private video to Kitty

So, apparently this bot strike isn't just a one day thing. Do you think the Defence Force should be doing anything more?

[Like warn people about people like Damon Salvatore, for instance?]


Action - open

Jack's doing a tour of the shops, checking out what's still in stock and what they're starting to look short of. Feel free to come across him delving through a chest freezer, along with any of his usual haunts - swimming, patrolling (Sectors 0-2) or the Library, though you're unlikely to find him with a takeaway coffee in his hand this time!

[ While Kitty is moving on with her life through puppies and paint, Reid is continuing with his through the same routines as always. It's a strange, quiet day what with the robots not being around for once and it's that silence that makes him leave the apartment and hit the streets. He needs to pick up some things for the apartment anyway, now that Nathan's moved in, needs to pick up some books at the library and a couple of extra notebooks and printer paper. Stuff. Life goes on, and today it goes on with lighter steps.

He can be found en route to the library or Bull's Eye, or studying the kiosk in Sector 0. There has to be something going on, right? ]

| HEATWAVE EVENT INFO |

Upon waking up from the dreams, Martha's first thought was she clearly needed therapy. She elected to stay in her flat that day.

The next day she discovered she was out of tea. Perhaps it was time to get back out into the world dome. They were only dreams after all. It's not like anyone else experienced the same things, right?

Her day was much like any other. She started at the Coffee Bean for a quick pick-me-up, then spent some time in Trois park meditating. She did need to get some shopping done as well, both for food and clothes, so she could be found in the various sectors getting things.

Late in the evening, when she was sure Ianto would be gone, she even ventured over to the library to grab a novel or two.

1: Face of the Enemy

[You're in a tent. The worn canvas does little to keep out the biting cold, and the dim light provided by a number of candles does even less to chase away the darkness creeping in from outside. A threadbare rug covers the dirt floor—a futile attempt to make a hovel feel like a home. Gaeta and a young woman are silently pulling on frayed clothes. The rumpled blanket on a nearby cot hints at what took place before your arrival.]

[The young woman finishes buttoning up her blouse and turns to Gaeta, a sad smile on her face.] I'll try to get more of them out. Do you have another list?

Yes, I... [Gaeta shuffles through a stack of papers on a low desk to find a list of names. Last name first, alphabetized. He offers it to her with considerable hesitation.] This is it.

[She takes it, touching his fingers with hers and lingering a bit too long.] You can trust me, Felix. We'll get as many of your people out of detention as we can... together. [She leans in to kiss him. Everything about her is sweet and gentle.] Trust me.

I do. [He squeezes her hand and escorts her to the door.] I'll see you soon?

Soon. [She drops his hand and turns to exit the tent. Her smile twists into something darker as she walks into the cold night.]

[Gaeta runs a nervous hand through his hair and smooths out the wrinkles in a shirt that will never be unwrinkled. He notices you for the first time.] Frak! [Clearly, you were not expected.] What are you doing in here? It's after curfew.


2: Collaborators

[The halls of the Galactica are rusted and dented and covered with the kind of dirt that accumulates with age and never scrubs off—a far cry from the sleek spaceships on television and in movies. The lights are low. The battlestar's low hum is interrupted only by the occasional footsteps on metal flooring...]

[...and, now, an angry male voice. It comes from the launch bay to your left.] Turn around! On your knees!

[You follow the noises into the bay. Gaeta kneeling on the floor, hands ziptied behind his back, looking up at the six people circled around him with equal parts shock and resignation.]

Felix Gaeta, you've been tried and found guilty of crimes against humanity by a circle of your peers, as duly authorized by the President of the Colonies. [The woman sounds impatient. These words don't mean anything; everyone knows how this ends.] If you have any words to offer in your own defense, now is the time.

[One of the men in the circle—the only one who looks like he would rather be anywhere else, doing anything else—glances over at you. He's desperate. For what, you don't know. An ally? Someone to help him put an end to this?]

[What do you do?]