fridgetothefire: (headtilt)
[Public video]

You may have noticed the ship disintegrating. Yes, I've heard the complaints. I've spoken to all of the wardens on this ship, and we've agreed to implement a new policy.

Until I decide it is no longer necessary, all the upper-deck, warden-access areas - the pub, the firing range, the CES, and the CTS - are now restricted to inmates who complete fourteen hours of maintenance work a week, to my satisfaction or that of a supervising warden I've deputized. If you want to play with guns or holograms or take scenic picnics or drink free booze, you're going to have to work for it.

That's an if. If you don't care, if you are outraged at the very suggestion, if it's beneath your dignity, whatever. Don't help. I'm not interested in wasting my time hanging over you trying to induce productivity. You forfeit those privileges. You'll live.

If you're already working a critical job - kitchens or infirmary - then the requirement is only four hours. If you join and dawdle, or try to steal tools or sabotage the work, you'll go to zero and you won't be allowed back when your time is up. Yes, I realize zero isn't intimidating to most of you. It's not about punishment. It's just about getting you out of my hair.

None of this is about punishment. Most of the wardens are pitching in too. It's about making sure the only place we have to live right now doesn't fall apart around us.

So if you want to keep your pub time or anything else, let me know here or at the maintenance office, level 7, and let me know if you have any construction experience or not. I'll have the first training and work schedules roughed out by tomorrow.

[Private to Arthas]

I know you need the CES to hunt. I also know you want to catch those bastards before we all turn into them. I've got some ideas you can help with besides mortar and paint.

[So please don't shank anyone for their item.]

[Spam for Riddick]

[After fielding as many of the responses as she can manage for a night, she finds his room and knocks.]

[Spam for Ben]

[A little before making the announcement, she goes down to see him. She owes that much. To whom precisely, she isn't sure. She brings her own chair.]

[OOC: I am gonna let 99% of the actual maintenance work go handwaved. Please just assume she is terrifyingly efficient and finds work for everyone and keeps the schedules running smooth. If you want to set up a spam with your character working in a team with someone random for CR purposes, please assume they are competently supervised and knock yourselves out. Fingers crossed no more Anya spamming for the rest of the month after this, she is too busy working and managing the shifts and stuff.]
fridgetothefire: (mild and cold)

[Anya is broadcasting from the maintenance office. Not the desk, but the workshop-like part, where she has been putting together medium-to-large boxes of construction materials.]

Okay. Everyone's had some time to lick their wounds, sleep off the worst part of their tolls or heal from their wounds, and generally flop around after that crazy mess. But here's the deal: those weird rotten spots on the walls left over from the mirror barge? That's where the Joker got first his hooks into the barge structure as a whole.

I've been working on cleaning them up, but it's been slow going. So this is an open call for volunteers. Inmates, wardens, anybody that has an interest in that bullshit or worse not happening again, I want to get all of them totally cleared before the next weird whatever hits.

[She gestures to Stephen, the Zane look-a-like puttering behind her, checking the kits.]

This is Stephen Hart, for those of you who haven't met him yet. He's going to be one of the regular maintenance wardens. If you don't know how to fix a wall, he or I or Mal will be available to teach you. If you do, so much the better.

Jean, Kara, if you guys aren't busy, I'd love you to pitch in. The places where I completely removed the rotted areas and rebuilt from scratch are still whole, but anywhere else the decay has come back again. I'd love you guys on demolition - I can give you a list of trouble spots, think you can disintegrate all the damaged material?

We might have a few holes left unpatched for the next couple of days, but I'd rather that than the alternative. Everyone who's willing to help, let me know so I can put the work groups together.

[Private to Mason]

...look, I'm not going to twist your arm or anything. No pressure. But sometimes helping to fix things helps.

[Private to Tig and Andrew, both of whom have probably patched at least one weak spot in handwavetime before]

You guys too. No excuses, you're practically experts.

[Private to Dean, backdated to a day before the announcement.]

Get on deck, loser, we're going shooting.

[Private to the Admiral]

I'd like a key to the lab and my own space there, please.

[OOC: Feel free to spam work teams if you want! Please assume at least one warden is watching every team and inmates cannot make off with tools or building materials with impunity, but feel free to choose your own teams ICly or OOCly for CR purposes other than that. Also feel free to thread with Stephen, who will also be around/replying.]
fridgetothefire: (Default)

[Anya spends a lot of her time in the CES, just - playing, experimenting, pushing herself and her temporary powers. She builds architecture out of ice on a perfectly blue lake, small but sound, in deliberate, latticed layers and glinting icicle spires. At other times she hunches over a baleful-eyed zombie hedgehog in a warm alpine forest, coaxing it to trundle about as she commands until it falls apart. When her work crumbles she lies back, corpse-still for a few minutes, considering what she did, what she could do better. Then she tries again.]


[Anya is not the type to skip work just because she's undead. She picks up the maintenance key from Felix and goes about her normal duties with absolute equanimity. She has bloodless grey skin, glowing blue eyes without any discernible irises or pupils, and she emanates bitter cold, which helps somewhat to mitigate the scent of death. She changes a few dead lightbulbs scattered through the common rooms and hallways, takes care of some of the grout in the women's inmate showers, and works on building a telegraph transmitter for Mal.]


[She's got a basket over on arm, hunting down several books with targeted intensity. Several of them are histories of plagues - The Great Influenza, And The Band Played On, Legacy Hath Wrought - while others are purely scientific, ranging from the primary study on the artificial construction of the Polio virus to a trashy dog-eared how-to manual circa 2210 for home-cooked supersplicers.

She can't actually use plague magic on the barge. But she can think about it.]

[Private to Lua, Voice, shortly after this]

You asked me before if I could be around people. If I was dangerous.

I think I am now.


fridgetothefire: (Default)
Anya Lehnsherr | Earth 97400

November 2015

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