fridgetothefire: (nightwaif)
[Public video]

[Anya doesn't look markedly better than she has in the last two months. She still has her crown of bony protrusions (a few of them now snapped by the recent invaders), messy hair, fading bruises and scrapes, and wan, exhausted features. But her gaze is clear and direct, her expression tight-lipped.]

...normal maintenance services will resume shortly. If there's anything you've been waiting to have fixed, please report it for triage.


[Private to Jean]

I don't know if they're still there after the latest debacle, but Arthas had zombies packed into his cabin like sardines when last I checked. Cleanup, aisle seven, etc.


[Private to Stephen]

Thank you.


[Spam for Morgana]

[She skulks, trembles, hides in a nearby empty cabin, like a mouse at a mousehole, until Morgana comes to her own door. She darts out, left hand closing on Morgana's wrist, nails digging in. Her other hand is full of partly-scrunched pages, torn from wherever they come from, a scribbled bestiary and neat pentacle diagrams and a few leaves that are slightly scorched, that look like ordinary paper but smell like burnt hair at the edges.]

Every key has teeth.


[Spam for Ben]

[She comes to find him, after his shift. It's not the first time she's done it in the last few weeks, but it's the first time without a distinct air of aimless hopelessness or frenetic desperation. She still feels weak, drained, and her hands shake a little when she holds out her arms for him, but her gaze is free and clear.]

Ben.
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: (disgruntled)
[Spam for Ben]

[They were together in the arena, and they end up together on the barge too, in between their cabins, sprawled a few steps apart on staircase by the fourth floor. As the depthless darkness recedes from her vision and her counterpart's sharp, bright, selfish mind gingerly extracts itself from her own, she glimpses him, and thinks for a dazed moment, with relief and quiet love, and when you wake up, I will still be here. Except - except - he is looking at her, and his expression is all wrong.]


[Public Video (actual immediate response reserved for Peter)]

[She switches to video, with an awkward view of her chin and collarbone as she holds it close to her mouth and speaks as clearly as she can, teeth gritted.]

Help. Stairs, fourth deck, high powered. Fast, please. Ben's mirrored.

[Then she just holds it, turns the view to face Ben and Riddick's fight.]

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fridgetothefire: (Default)
Anya Lehnsherr | Earth 97400

November 2015

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