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: (goth)
On the Rage:

[It hasn't been so bad, her brief stint on the Rage, the third ship in quick succession that she's grabbed a berth on, this time as a scullery maid instead of a stowaway. Better the open sea and sky than her father's treasure-packed harbor stronghold, bristling with ruffians and strung up with old skeletons. A few people have even been kind to her. But it's still a pirate ship, still part and parcel of his world, and a life she wants nothing to do with. While most of the crew are busy with repairs, scouting the island, or trying to decide what to do about their apparent company on the other side of the Island, Anya prepares to seize her chance and slip away. She packs light, pilfering just enough from the kitchen to get her across the island, a sturdy carving knife, her spare shift and a single book wrapped carefully in oilskin. She walks calmly, unobtrusively, fighting not to blink in the sunlight after the hold, as though she's on some entirely innocuous errand.]

Throughout the island:

[She tries to strike a balance between staying a bit inland from the shore - where she suspects she'll run into more people - and going straight through the unknown and no doubt treacherous terrain through the heart of the island. She is only occasionally successful. She tries to avoid bothering the wildlife as much as she can, but she will not turn back, even when her heart hammers in her chest at every startled caw and rustle in the sweltering underbrush.]

Approaching the Redeemer:

[By now she's a bit of a mess, muddy and scraped, hair tangled, her already-patched clothes a bit worse for the wear. She hasn't got any white cloth, but she holds up her hands when spotted, smiles hopeful and harmless, then, abruptly, starts to cry. She's so close.]

I was, I was captured by pirates, and. Please, I beg your aid.


fridgetothefire: (Default)
Anya Lehnsherr | Earth 97400

November 2015

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