MarinaNova Asylum

[Turning on an unfamiliar device and speaking to an audience of unknowns was not number one on Liv's new arrival to do list. It did, however, manage to make the top ten, because even after having her crimes played for her and her situation explained, she needed to talk to someone—anyone—about what she heard. And maybe she's not alone here? Ravi? Major? Peyton? It's probably too much to hope this is where they disappeared to, right? Not that she wants them to be in prison, but as long as she's having some kind of psychotic break or wild dream she might as well see some familiar faces?]

Hi. [Good lead in, but now what?] I'm Liv. Olivia. Well, Liv. It doesn't matter. The point is that I'm here wherever here is.

I'm just a harmless [Trying too hard?] assistant medical examiner, so I don't really know why I'm here. [She was extremely not amused to see cannibalism and necrophilia on her list of crimes. He was a zombie, not a corpse. There are some pretty big differences. Zombies can lie about being dead. And that's what she's going to be doing for as long as she can. Which might not be very long at all if she doesn't find a way to get brains.]

So, is there a morgue? [Of course she just want to know for work-related reasons. Sure...] Just asking. I don't really know anything but what they said in that welcome message, so fill a girl in?

[She'll just be exploring for now.]

[He's a surgeon. He's seen the insides of hundreds of people, taken out masses and sewn together tiny chest cavities. He's seen people die, children die. Hell, he's even seen severed body parts and handled them. But that was always with the intention of reattaching them. They weren't sprinkled around like freakin' pixie dust across the landscape of this place and while he hasn't see much more than a bloody message scrawled across a wall or two, to know some psycho locked up in here with him has been tossing them around like a flower girl's petals is... not pleasant. It's a little sickening, frankly.

He stayed at the clinic most of the day but he clocked out when it started getting hard to concentrate. No steady stream of emergency patients to distract him he was more or less rearranging syringes for three hours in an attempt to keep his hands busy. So he headed to the winery instead to sit down for a few drinks and peace out for the night.]

[Voice]
A very quick question, if you have a moment to answer: where is the best place to drink and socialize in Marina?

I'm disappointed in myself for being here for twenty-two days without asking for a definitive answer to this.


[Action]
[With Korra gone, an empty Starfleet apartment, and no well-established friends to speak of, Chekov has no idea what to do with himself. There aren't math-heavy projects or engineering conundrums to provide a distraction. There isn't even a star-filled night sky to look at and map and imagine traveling. There's nothing but ocean and a growing dysphoria that is equal parts restlessness, boredom, and loneliness.

A decent bar with decent alcohol and decent company would improve Chekov's mood immensely, even with the wardens' highly prohibitive rules concerning alcohol. Since he has not found such a thing yet, he goes about his day with an uncharacteristic sullenness.

He spends several unhappy hours patrolling sectors three, four, and five. He drops by the sports complex at the warden's suggestion and, when none of the offered programs catch his interest, elects to sit on the sidelines and scribble out impossible ideas in a notepad. (Maybe he will be given rehabilitation points for being in the general vicinity of today's activities?) Chekov is careful not to look too busy, however; he doesn't want to do anything to discourage other inmates from striking up a conversation.]

(( ooc: EVENT INFO! Enjoy!

[ elena is neither bright-eyed nor bushy-tailed this morning. on the contrary, she’s shaken, unspeakably confused, and even a bit angry. her brown eyes convey that much, though she’s taken some time to look around and calm down -- but only comparatively. ] Look, I’ve heard the message, and the charges against me or whatever. [ she looks off the side, incredulous -- and frankly in shock. ] So, this is an underwater- [ wow she can’t even get ‘prison’ out. saying it makes it real or her crazy, right? ]

You know, let’s just start with: Hey, I’m Elena, and is this some horrible dream?


action.
[ elena doesn't know where else to go. she woke up on the ground in the middle of a park, knowing she wasn't anywhere she should be even before her crimes were being listed off from some foreign device in her ear. she'd flinched and pulled it off, looking at the communicator in her hands, her heart starting to speed in her chest. she took a look around: at the benches, the trees, the shops, and the impossibly high dome ceiling.

now she's up, walking around the so far empty block in a daze. is this damon? she thinks -- or stefan? where is he? she'd can't yet grasp the reality of the situation, struggling to reconcile it with what she knows: vampires.

she stops at the storefront, and the smell of coffee, drawn like a beacon to some activity -- and where people would go, right? she walks inside, her eyes widening at the bots behind the counter. ]

ooc: catch elena oh-so-politely trying to talk to the bots at bean crushers or run into her on the street!

[You won't hear them coming. You won't see their snare. The mistletoe bots are out and they're hunting you, two by two. You can run and you can hide, but eventually you will be caught, and then there's nothing left to do but kiss your way out!

Chapstick stations will be available.]

(OOC: Mistletoe Bots Info)

Well, given the state of things today, I doubt that it comes as much of a surprise to anyone, but Forensics class will not be meeting as scheduled. I'm sure we could all use the day to finish wringing ourselves out, so we'll meet again on 298, heading into lab work.

[ With that taken care of ... ]

Personally, as much as I'd like to go home, I can't say I entirely appreciate the wardens bringing a demented version of Miami's weather to us here. Interesting that the systems here have this potential, though - and that so many of the systems are so drastically lacking in failsafes. Certainly does a lot to instill one with confidence.

I just hope we all made it through this one as safely as possible.

[ open ]

Dexter is out today, looking for a few basic items he needs for his class - some basic chemicals, such as your standard household hydrogen peroxide, the things he needs to mix his fake blood, that sort of thing.

As he's out, he's also observing those around him. It's never particularly overt, but he's always attentive to his surroundings and people near him. He takes note of their behavior and mannerisms as he does and, when they look at him, he provides his own well-rehearsed pleasant smile in response.

It's still holding together - for the time being, the game he and 'Rudy' are engaged in is providing enough to satisfy some of his predatory inclinations, the hunt, the investigation. Of course, there's no payoff to be had here, and that leaves him still a bit on edge.


( closed )

[ The audio is a little fuzzy, Clay realizes, but that doesn't matter. He's not looking for quality, here, and he's not showing his face. The people who need to hear this message will know who he is soon enough. ]

So, Marina. It's a balmy sort of day. Cool, pleasant, nice. You know, besides being stuck a thousand leagues under the ocean. Makes everything distinctly less pleasant.

[ A long, long pause, before Clay laughs, manic and strung out. ]

What's your stance on revenge, Marina?

[ It is a beautiful day, not too hot nor too cold . There is just that one little detail that perhaps gives it a sour note. Some of you have woken up with new and improved bodies all together, others might have the addition of a tail or perhaps paws for hands or feet.

You might be spending the day raiding the dog food aisle, contemplating if it is okay to lick yourself or just simply how in the heck your are suppose to even open a door with paws. Either way this will be a interesting day, ]

(OOC. This is the Mingle for the Animal Trouble Event, have lots of fun and here is the Info for those that need it. Here )

[ A punishment doesn't always have to be a terrible thing and Aidan is actually pretty excited about this potluck — not counting a small break for baseball, he's spent most of the day setting up and with a little help from his friends, the beach is looking pretty great. There are tables set up for the food, legs buried deep in the sand for stability and plenty of blankets and beach towels to hang out on. Candles are shoved down into the sand, ready to be lit as the sun sets and he's already got a good fire going in the fire pit, ready for barbeque.

With the waves lapping at the sand, the breeze in the palm trees and the slowly sinking sun, it really couldn't be a more perfect time for a casual party at the beach. Come one, come all, mingle away! ]

[Open | Video]
Hey, I am...going to do a thing tomorrow. [Yes, off to a good start.] If you need self defense training be at the athletic center tomorrow at noon. [There's probably more that should go with that.] Don't eat a big lunch first. Wear whatever you normally wear. That's what you have to be prepared to fight in. It'll last...however long it needs to last.

[Private to Martha | Voice]
[He still has the letter in his hand as he makes the call.] Why didn't you tell me? [Except she did. Days later and about the same time he heard it with everyone else on the force from Jack. He hasn't exactly been making himself available to her either. Not after the dreams. But even before that.]

(OOC: The lesson itself is going to be handwaved for Day 276. This post is backdated to late afternoon.)

[ welcome to forensics: ]

[ He had selected one of the large lecture halls for this class: the distinct separation between the seating and the teaching space was ideal for what he had in mind. Anyone attending will immediately understand why.

Dexter's not standing there in that space where you'd expect to find him - instead, he's at the front of the seating, standing in the second row and leaning against the backs of the first row of seats. He's facing the rest of the seats, giving a 'friendly' nod to each individual as they enter. It's a bit harder to keep this up right now, just after the dream event, but the best form of dealing with it seems to be to dismiss things at dreams and keep up appearances. Everything is normal. Especially him.

Behind him, where you'd typically expect the teacher to be standing, is instead a staged crime scene. He waits for when it seems like everyone has settled in, and then he speaks with one of his carefully crafted cordial smiles. ]

Good afternoon. My name is Dexter Morgan and, where I'm from, I work in forensics for Miami Metro Police's homicide department. Specifically, my specialization is in blood spatter analysis. During the course of this class, I'll be covering the basics of forensic science and investigation processes and how identification, gathering, and scientific analysis of evidence is used to reconstruct the narrative of a crime scene. I thought I would get you all started with a basic assessment of your investigative instincts and a quick introduction to how observation and reasoning are applied in this process.

[ And he glances over his shoulder, gesturing at the 'scene.' ]

This is an extremely simple example of the type of scenes I deal with on a daily basis. I'm going to ask you all to go ahead and take a look at it, see what sticks out to you immediately, and - when you're satisfied with your initial investigation - let me know what you think happened here. It would probably be best if you came up and took a closer look for yourself.

[ And he goes quiet, picking up a box of rubber gloves that he had on the arm of the chair next to him. He moves to the end of the row, where there's room to walk down to the scene, and stands there with them. He smirks lightly as he lifts the box of them. ]

Do be careful not to contaminate my scene.


[ the scene: ]

There's a desk at the front of the room, which is slightly askew, a small amount of fake blood on the front corner of the side that's pushed further back. It's rather convincing stuff - Dexter's personal formula.

His rather convincing dummy victim lies lengthwise along the front of the desk, on their back. There's a sharp puncture wound on the dummy's temple, which has created what would be considered a small pooling around where the the head has landed, alongside the desk just past that corner. It's an extremely simple scene, yet something is most certainly off about it.

If your character would be inclined to look a bit more closely and have the skill or instinct to do so, there are a few additional details they might note.

Clues:

• The puncture wound on the dummy's head is set within a subtle round indentation, slightly larger, which has bruised around the edge. The blood and the puncture wound itself is partially obscuring this, so it will require close examination.
  
  
• There is a spatter of blood on the far wall, toward the bottom of the wall. Just above this is some very light streaking of blood. Neither of these are really noticeable unless you give the entire area a good look-over.
  
  
• You may also note, the dummy is on top of one of its arms, and its legs slightly bent at the knee. That's certainly an odd way to fall.
  
  
• If your character has the knowledge or intuition... that pool of blood by the head really is far too small.

[ i. the shipping container ]

[ The space is small, enclosed, and dark, but what might be the most prominent characteristic of all is the smell. It's overpowering, heavy with that telltale hint of copper that leaves it unmistakable to those familiar with it. Should you be one of those familiar, your suspicions would find themselves confirmed when you move. The resistance pulling at your steps is thanks to the viscous fluid thickly coating the floor - blood, congealing after being left undisturbed for days on the metallic surface.

There is no other trace remaining of the crime, not the killer nor the victim. It's simply an enclosed metal room coated in blood. Though nobody else is immediately visible, you may sense that you aren't entirely on your own. Someone is watching you, but whoever it may be is not apparent - not yet decided for your particular case. It could be a traumatized child, or it could be a predator waiting to strike. ]

[ ii. the sunshine state ]

[ This setting is certainly quite different. It's one of Miami's sunny beaches, teeming with tourists and locals alike, children playing in the water or on the beachfront playground as their families watch from their lounge chairs.

Dexter is here, and perhaps you find yourself near him, standing at the edge of the beach where sand meets grass, removed from the crowds and watching, more observer than participant himself. ]

The fact that Dexter went to the Wardens for something surprises him, a bit.  Brian's been avoiding them for the obvious reasons; they know everything, and he doesn't particularly want to talk about it.  The more he can fly under their radar, the better.  (Plus, there's the matter of names; he wouldn't much care, he has no attachment to being Rudy Cooper, except that Dexter is here and doesn't remember.  The last thing he needs is an announcement spoiling his games, curtailed as they are.)  He's been assuming his little brother would be avoiding them, too, if only because of that uncomfortable knowledge.  

Surprises have the potential to undermine his plans, which means now he's dying to know what Dexter asked for, what he's received, how this will change things.  It leaves him oddly anxious, which means he's brooding about their apartment more actively than usual, poking and prodding at things to kill time until Dexter gets back.  And trying to act casual about it.  

For once, he's not doing a great job.

( This portion exclusively in Dexter's head )

[ video ]

[ When he activates the feed, Dexter has managed a small, tight-lipped smile. Pleasant. Friendly. He's good at this. He can do it. ]

There seem to be an awful lot of broadcasts asking what people recommend we do with ourselves here. I have to admit, it's something I've been wondering about, myself. I've never been much for picking up hobbies, but you know what they say about idle hands.

[ And mine have been idle for far too long. I can feel it getting impatient. Restless. ]

So, that brings me to my question. What's a blood spatter analyst do with himself at the bottom of the sea? Doesn't exactly seem as if there's much demand for my professional expertise.

Today is Day 269 and you should all be back in your standard, boring organic—in most cases—bodies. We do hope you were able to learn something from the experience. Never let it be said we can't be creative when it comes to therapy and rehabilitation.

The museum is featuring a display on taxidermy for your enjoyment and further educational needs.

Charlotte Charles your request has been delivered to the sector 4 gardens. On a related note, those with bee allergies should take care in that area.

(OOC: Kiosk requests will be handled by Veridical unless otherwise requested! Mail submissions go here).

[You know the phrase about waking up on the wrong side of the bed? Well, today you wake up exactly where you planned to, just not how you planned to. Taller, blonder, now with dangerous and unpredictable powers? So maybe the phrase about not feeling comfortable in your own skin applies more today. After all, it's not exactly your skin is it?]

(OOC: Use this mingle to run into people anywhere in the dome. Body swap info.)

[Piper double checked the feed just to be sure yesterday's problems were done. Satisfied, she started her announcement.]

Hello, everyone.

Just wanted to let you all know that I'm having a new arrivals welcome night at the steakhouse. Stop by and hang out.

Thanks!

=====

[Piper was busy as she hurried about in the kitchen and in the dining room as she got the place running full force for the event.]

=====

{OOC: Feel free to make your own action threads and mingle!}

Today, there are no fruits or flowers or artful arrangements of oddly-shaped bottles to render in ink or paint or chalks. Today, there is a box. It’s not a very exciting box, in and of itself; just a small, locked metal box, the sort people use as cash boxes. Nothing fancy. The only reason it’s remarkable is that it’s sitting on a pedestal in the center of the room, well-lit and mysterious, in lieu of something more interesting to draw.

Sitting near it is a flyer (and more are piled on a desk by the door) with today’s assignment.

DRAW WHAT IS IN THE BOX. You may: look at the box; pick it up; turn it over; shake it and listen; smell the box (though I don’t know why you’d want to); use your imagination You may not: open the box; "accidentally" open the box; drop the box on the floor in the hopes that it will "accidentally" break; lick the box (because other people need to touch it too.) X-Ray Vision, astral projection, extrasensory perception, etc, are CHEATING!


Rudy Cooper is already perched by a wall, doodling in a large spiral-bound sketchbook, since obviously he can’t imagine what’s in the box when he put it there. When people get started he’ll wander around to check in on their progress, and make sure no one’s obviously violating the rules of the exercise.

Should you choose to shake the box, you’ll find it rattles a bit as though there’s one reasonably large object in it, longer than it is wide, not very heavy and poorly balanced, as though it’s an irregular shape. Sometimes it hits the wall of the box with a soft thud, more often a lighter clatter.

Should you smell it, it will smell like a metal box.

Seriously. What were you expecting?

|[ooc; feel free to mingle about!]|