MarinaNova Asylum

At░▓ntion Cri░░▒▒░s. We are cur▒░░tly ▒▒░▓rienc▒░g some mi▒░r technological glitc▒░░. The situa░▒▒ will be under control sh▓░▒▒░. Complain amongst your░▓lves.

(OOC: For the remainder of the day expect some services to be offline or intermittent. At times robots will become inert—but shielded from attack leading to interruptions in some of the dining establishments. Water will turn on and off randomly. There will also be a light snowfall later in the evening (Around Friday in OOC time). However, temperatures will remain warm, so it will quickly turn to rain as it drops. There will be no response from the kiosk for a few hours though you may continue tagging on the daypost where we'll assume this was before the silence unless you indicate otherwise in your tag. Communications, shielding, monitors, and environmental systems other than the snow incident will be unaffected. The glitches will be relatively brief and minor.

Please feel free to respond to Veridical on this post. Veridical will not respond, but you are very encouraged to have threadjacking good times amongst each other!)

[ he's looking a bit worse for the wear.

it's been four days, and he's been stockpiling spice -- ingesting only the smallest amount he can get away with in order to build up a cache in his apartment, but that is starting to take its toll on him. at the moment, he is stretched out on his back in bed with the lights off and the blinds closed, though some daylight still filters in. in this lighting, his eyes look even more like holes than usual, shadowed and nearly-black. ]

How dull this place is!

[ it's not that he misses giedi prime, particularly -- not having to deal with the baron or his nephews has actually done quite a lot for his temperament -- but the fact that he no longer has limitless doses of spice at his disposal is getting to him. not having anything to kill, as well -- but that fight the other day... he can't help but smirk at the memory. a trained eye might notice fading bruises on his neck and face from that particular spectacle. languidly, sleepily, he turns onto his side. ]

Between the thinking machines and you all, my fellow inmates, I'm afraid I find myself rather unimpressed. [ he sits up, stretches. ] I'd expected more violence from a prison. This is really more of a third-rate pleasure resort, though with tragically limited amenities -- and equally tragic company. [ he shrugs as he stands and leaves the bedroom, crossing through the rest of his darkened apartment and opening the door. ]

Are any of you familiar with administering poison? There are so very many ways to go about it. I, myself, prefer subtlety: fast-acting and long-lasting, yet symptomless -- but that isn't to say that I don't appreciate a dash of poison on a blade now and then to boil the blood... Ah, but I digress.

[ he steps out into the hall, chuckling as he closes the door securely. he's on his way to the hospital, and perhaps to roam about the sectors looking for materials that he might be able to fashion a weapon with, or perhaps a few chemicals to keep around the apartment for delicious deadly cocktail mixing. be my guest and run into him anywhere -- in sector 2, 5, or even right here outside his door, if any neighbors happen to stroll by. ]

[ there's a small, somewhat fond smile on atton's face when it finally materializes on the screen -- but, if you look carefully, there's a drink in his hand. behind him: a dimly lit room, a somewhat jazzy tune floating through the air. yeah. he could get used to this. ]

Better than most of the cantina dives I've been too-- could use some decent booze, like say-- some juma? But, hey! I won't complain.

[ taking a moment to take a gulp out of the glass-- smirking slightly at the taste because wow that is some bitter whiskey. he likes it though. pretty decent drink. ]

Anyway, I figured this would be a pretty decent way to meet the people I've been talkin' to over the commlink. How do you guys feel about knockin' back a few together?

Anyone else is welcome to join in too-- more the merrier, right?

[ one, last final flash of a grin-- an almost sarcastic dip of his head and a tip of his glass before the transmission clicks off. ]

[A video feed flickers on and for a moment, all you can see is the pavement. Not too long after that, though, there's some jostling, like someone's turning it over in their hands, and--a face! A stern and not so happy face.]

I'm starting to think I'm not the "settling" kind of guy. [Waking up almost seventy years later had been a bummer and now he was stuck in some underwater prison. When will the world give Steve Rogers a break?]

Anybody else wanna take a guess at what's inside those doors? [He turns the video to that heavily guarded building in Sector 0. The warden facility.] A lot of restricted areas in this sector.

[But he makes no move to head toward the building. He's actually some distance away, seated on a bench in that awful orange jumpsuit and not attracting any robot attention.]

[ the eyes are such a dark, inky blue that they appear almost black, whiteless and with barely discernible pupils. they widen for the briefest of moments, then narrow, crinkling; his eyebrows lower sharply. the image blurs as the communicator is tilted this way and that, taking in more of the blond hair, the flash of an orange jumpsuit, the gaunt, pale face. ]

What sort of brazen foolery is this?

[ there is a rapid, muffled thump-thump-thumping in the background of his speech, a heavy boot tapping impatiently, irritably, on the floor as he puts the communicator on and scans the wardens' greeting. ]

A prison? [ he begins to laugh as he adjusts the communicator on his head. ] How rich! How terribly, impossibly rich. Oh, my. I am hurt — [ he says as he continues to grin ] — that anyone would ever think to incarcerate me. And how sweet: a life sentence!

Now, it must not have occurred to your dear Wardens that my presence is an absolute necessity elsewhere, and as such I should like to congratulate them on their impressive lack of foresight — and, perhaps, question them as to how they managed to abduct the Mentat of a Great House... [ he trails off, clearly irate now. his lips begin to twist into a pronounced scowl as he realizes that he is without any weapons — and without his spice. his voice grows harsher, colder. ] In any case, this facility's transgressions against House Harkonnen are unforgivable. There will, of course, be repercussions...

But for the moment, I require clothing of a less garish variety.

[ he's a man on the move now; he starts off meandering about in what some may recognize as sector two, in search of alternative threads and, hopefully, his belongings ( sucks to suck for piter, i guess, because there is no way that he is getting his instruments of torture/inappropriately large doses of spice returned to him ). he is decidedly unimpressed with your confiscation policies, marina.

after a few steps, the feed ends — but, fellow inmates, feel free to bump into him! you may not actually want to physically collide with him unless you want a confrontation, though. ]

[Gravity. There was gravity. This was fantastic beyond any sort doubt. There was no way that this wasn't a fantastic thing. So much time spent floating around aimlessly, having nothing to do but count the particles flying past and listen to the endless rambling of that space obsessed sphere. Finally he was somewhere. He didn't know where he was, but at least he was somewhere.]

Hello?

[his voice gets more excited]

Is anyone there? Fantastic place you got here, whoever I'm talking to... I just uh, ah, er, Just wanted to tell you that I'm here, on the floor. Completely unattached and disoriented from any sort of locomotion. Yup, just sittin' 'ere. On the floor. Waiting... Waiting.

...

Could... could someone come over here and pick me up?

I haven't the slightest idea where I am, but there's, huh. Hm. A floor. That should be a good enough starting point.

[ from one prison to another. if rachel were here, she'd suggest they sing about it. ridiculous, but during her time in glee club, quinn's found that often, singing about it does actually help. if only because it gives her something else to focus on other than what was eating at her. like being tossed into some alien, otherworldly prison, only to be moved to another one and treated like some common criminal.

thus, she can be found singing as she sifts through the pile of belongings on a quest for her iphone. ]

♪ I hear the train a comin', it's rollin' round the bend.
And I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when.
I'm stuck in Folsom Prison, and time keeps draggin' on.
But that train keeps a rollin' on down to San Antone... ♪