MarinaNova Asylum

...I can't say that I feel especially at rest, in this place. It seems to do its best to make you feel at ease, but with its flaunts of instability, it really feels like something worse could happen just as easily. The climate control could fail, or worse, the oxygen supply, and then we'd all die in darkness, deep where no one would know that we were ever gone in the first place.

[GUESS WHO IS A BIG RAY OF SUNSHINE AS USUAL]

The thought should scare me a little more... but I guess I don't really see the point in being afraid, anymore.

[here's someone who looks to be anywhere from 15 to 17—he's in the humble beginnings of a handsome man, but he's still quite boyish looking. boyish especially in his pouty scowling that's so animated it's almost cartoonish, and deeply teenaged.]

This is ridiculous!

[he's indignant, certainly—but he seems to reel that back a little, brows furrowed as he lets out an irate sigh.]

I guess I can't say I don't belong in a place like this...

[aaand there he goes, animated again, desperate gesticulations of frustration and all.]

But give me a chance to redeem my crimes before throwing me into some place like this, instead of just "replacing me"! How can something like that even be true!? Other dimensions—!?

Anyway, whether or not that's true... just what kind of person is responsible for the embarrassing technology of this "prison"? Who computed these "wardens"? Barbarians in the furthest reaches of space, far away from any sort of just eye... That's who! Criminals! Moreso than I, you're a bunch of barbarians, kidnapping people!

[ooc; have 1 (one) Albert de'Mondego of Gankutsuou! he's a naive, somewhat sexually confused French teenager from rustic-future opera-punk Space (circa year 5000). cravats and spaceships, yo. he's pre epilogue, post canon, so he's freshly out of a bunch of really traumatic shit, but this is blessedly distracting!]

Crimes? Well... I suppose I did leave a bottle of hot sauce halfway empty instead of emptying it completely on my ice cream that one time.

I didn't think the authorities would feel so strongly about hot sauce too!

[hey, marina. she doesn't look like she belongs here at all. and she also doesn't look like she's too worried about her sentence; if anything, she's just surprised. besides, doesn't she look awfully familiar? like this familiar? she should.]

I do hope we manage to get along. If we are all to be here for the rest of our lives, it's better to be surrounded by friends.

Ah, I apologise. My name is Mitsuba Okita.

[a small bow of the head at that.]

I suppose it makes me a bad sister to wonder this about my younger brother, but is Sou-chan here? He likes to nap and--oh, sorry! His name is Sougo.

It's nice to meet you all despite the circumstances.

[he takes a sort of steadying breath before he starts. He's not too practiced at timing with the communicator]

I wouldn't usually ask something like this from so many people that I don't even know, but... How do you deal with heartbreak?

I spent a long time getting to know someone, and I love her, I know I do. But because of the time discrepancies she doesn't remember the same things I do. Even worse, I was thinking about it... And what if the girl I got to know was her double sent here after she was pulled into the prison?

What is someone supposed to so with information like that?

I've begun a detox treatment at the hospital with the permission of the wardens here. With the detox, the withdrawal shouldn't hurt so much and make me so sick. Once I get over the withdrawal, I'm over the addiction... That's what they said.

...I'm grateful, but...I'm also so nervous. I don't know why. I did escape from a hospital when I was first created—but it feels like that isn't it. Like it's more than that. Deeper, somewhere I can't see inside myself. Maybe I just don't trust that I can get better. Or that they can make me better.

I don't like the machines—I don't like it when they administer the treatment...

[he idly holds his neck, dark blue eyes becoming distant; he looks to be pensive, as if in a memory, but the recollection isn't there despite how he tries.]

[he seems to come back from that a little bit, more attentive to his broadcast.] But... I'm already starting to feel better, so maybe I should just bear through it.

[After Jane had listened to a few other conversations over the communication headset, she decides to fumble with it enough to get a message of her own to go through.]

Hello? Is this thing on? [She has it turned to the audio setting. She had to readjust it on her ear after playing with it.]

I have a proposition to make. If I may speak with a warden here? There seems to be a mistake and I must speak to someone right away. There are lives at stake if I do not return to my place of origin right away! I must not waste a moment of time here.

Do people ever file a missing person report, or does no one give a shit?

Just wonderin'.

( To tear down those walls )

[Even now, the artificial day long ended, Homura stalks through the dome, seeming utterly out of place as a solitary, otherwise inconspicuous young teenage girl at the hour. Every now and then she'll duck into an unoccupied building or shop, weighing her options as she studies comparable pieces of metal that might have the necessary strength for her project. But she only looks long and hard when it seems like no one else is watching her, bot or inmate alike.]

[someone sure is in the hospital, maybe for the day. his head is wrapped up tight in gauze, but he otherwise looks okay. his index and middle finger on his right hand are also splinted, for now.]

...For anyone who had to see what happened yesterday: I'm okay—no one needed to see that broadcast. Sorry to those of you who had to see it, and...thanks to those of you who did whatever you did to bring me to the hospital... I'm sorry to have troubled you.

[the video feed cuts—
( private to Cain; impossible to hack )

[ 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. ]

[Yesterday, Kitty set up team captains who set up teams to explore the various sectors of their new prison home. It's a time for research and possibly dealing with threats. Maybe even encountering confused new arrivals. Not to mention team togetherness since sometimes it was hard to get to know your fellow defense force members. Not to mention not all these people were once members.]

(OOC: I say Day 175, but if you want to use this for Day 174 or even 176 I won't tell the temporal police. There are headers for each team. Use them or not as you see fit! ANYONE is welcome to try to encounter DF members to ask questions, pick fights, or try to arrange slumber parties. Whatever you're into.

OR! If you have a fight going down in one of those sectors and you want to link your post in there for that team's attention, please feel free!)

[There's a very small white fuzzy animal wearing a tiny orange jumpsuit on your communicators now.]

[His location is obscured by very carefully-chosen lighting and placement.] Ah-ha, it looks like a lot of things have changed!

Based on the nature of today's commotion, it seems like some of you have been here for a while. Meaning that I've been gone! Will anyone tell me what I've missed since Sentience's reinstatement?

[QB shifts his weight so that he can scratch behind his ears with a hindpaw.] And please don't waste your time with banal questions. I am not a cat or a rabbit.

[a feed flickers on to reveal what’s probably a familiar face--like Cain’s, but with hair that appears to be cared for, and for those of you who are observant enough to be detailed oriented, he has blue eyes as opposed to green.

he’s glowering, looking so unamused that he’s scathing, head tilted downwards as his eyes are rolled up towards the camera.]

Hello.

My name is Rion Steiner. Apparently, some of you have heard of me from Cain—the one who looks just like me. I’m... [he seems to start over.] Everything he's said... isn't true. I'm not like him.

[Rion is apparently struggling. visibly. his palm is on his forehead, now--he looks pensive, eyes aimlessly staring somewhere at the floor. he appears stressed. it's been one thing after the other. he isn't supposed to be here. not with them. not anywhere.]

...Birdman and Cain... don't trust them. Birdman especially—don't be fooled by him. I've seen their correspondences, and he isn't what he appears.

[he seems to recover a little, but damn if he doesn't still look pissed.]

I'm not slandering their names in turn for what Cain has said about me—I don't care about what you think of them—but for your own good, just stay away from them.

As for your opinion of me... whether you think I'm a murderer or exactly as terrible as Cain says, I don't care.

Just know that I am not like them...

[ As if things hadn't completely unraveled and gone to hell enough over the course of the past five minutes, now Dirk is... standing in the middle of a bowling alley? The welcome message plays and he listens, getting increasingly frustrated. By the time he reaches the end and his list of ~crimes committed~ is read he half wants to crush the damn communicator in his hand. His irritation with the situation would be over nine thousand, if there was actually a scale with which to measure units of being annoyed.

All he's got are his sunglasses -- without his home's wireless network there's no internet for the built-in software to connect to, and it seems the autoresponder's program is just... gone? What the hell?

It's not long before Dirk figures out how the communicator works. ]

Okay, no. I don't have time for this.

Wardens, if I don't get back home to fix things within the next five fucking minutes that's gonna make you accomplice to at least one and probably three deaths. Let's not do this.