TEST DRIVE 002

[returnjourney]

RETURN JOURNEY: TEST DRIVE 002

Welcome to the Return Journey's test drive meme! We appreciate your interest. Our TDM features a small sample of events your character might encounter in game, which you're free to embellish or improvise with your own ideas as desired. Don't worry if you haven't read everything yet; while we recommend skimming our FAQ for relevant questions, critical information should be contained or linked within the prompts themselves!

TDM threads can be used as samples for applications. Players can mutually keep threads as game canon after being accepted into the game, though threads featuring non-canon squalls or events may need to be adjusted.

We suggest putting your character's name, canon, and potential role (warden or inmate) as the subject. If you're not sure which role you want to choose, feel free to try your hand at both!

If you have any questions about the TDM, please ask here.

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The Peregrine

1. Welcome Aboard!

Welcome aboard the SFS Peregrine, a ship in the Admiralty's Transformative and Penal Reparation Fleet. It is presently circling the outer perimeter of the Oos Ring Galaxy.

Wardens have been approached personally by the Navarch with a job offer: Come aboard the SFS Peregrine to assist in the redemption of an inmate, and receive a miracle known as a windfall as payment. Even if you don't ask as many questions as you should, every warden will be treated to a short Warden Orientation video explaining their expected duties and conduct.

Inmates have died and been placed aboard the SFS Peregrine as candidates for reformation. You may have come willingly, offered a choice between death or redemption, or you may have been collected against your will. Inmates are also treated to an Inmate Orientation; you'll find you have less privileges than a warden, but more motivation for...latitude. Violence? Chaos? Bribery? Blackmail? Well, no one said the path to redemption was without a few bumps along the way.

Given staff shortages, some wardens may be asked for a favor. Rather than leaving directly for the Peregrine, you've been asked to pick up an inmate from the limbo between death and redemption. During this mission, wardens will have clearance to enter a snapshot of sorts, where the inmate died (so devoid of other living beings). You either have to talk them into willingly coming along...or bring their unconscious, fresh-from-death not-corpse with you in the Avro provided. Better hope they don't wake up on the way!

Inmates, in this case, you'll be presented with the choice of death or redemption from a warden rather than the Navarch. Or possibly not provided with a choice at all, if death has rendered you unconscious. Good luck when you awaken to find yourself in a small ship, with someone you've never met. Try not to cause any trouble.

2. Pairings

Pairings are a critical aspect of the dynamic between warden and inmate. While interactions between wardens and inmates are not restricted to those in pairings, this relationship is a bit more...inescapable. Inmates test the limits of a warden, whether they take a more typical or unusual approach to matters; likewise, wardens learn what makes an inmate tick (and hopefully cooperate). Chances are, your values will clash.

A pairing of any sort is as varied as the individuals involved in them. And today, courtesy of the Navarch's monthly announcement, you and your sorry partner have been paired. Temporary or permanent, with a warden for an inmate or an inmate for a warden, it's your first day together — out of at least a month, so good luck setting some ground rules and figuring out each other's breaking points.

3. Life on the Peregrine

Hey, inmates! Ever gone to summer camp? Had a sibling? If so, you might see where this is going. If not, welcome to your first experience with shared sleeping arrangements!

The dorms are lined with bunks, though maybe they're better described as pods: futuresque capsules stacked two high, with sleek white paneling and cool blue LED lightning. Each bunk can be closed off with a sliding door privacy and boasts a bladeless fan for temperature control. Bedding is adequate. If such modest conditions do not appeal to you: consider not committing crimes against other people.

And just like with siblings or summer camp, you don't get a say in who your bunkmate is. Maybe you'll luck out and get a light sleeper who doesn't toss and turn in the night. Maybe you won't, and you'll end up with someone who will kill you if you snore. Whoever you get is who you're stuck with until further notice!

Wardens get much more hospitable quarters, but they may want to keep an eye out on the inmate dorms. Just in case an inmate does try to kill their bunkmate.

4. Squalls

Occasionally, the ship passes through squalls, the equivalent of cosmic turbulence that can mess with little things like, say...the fabric of reality. These are shipwide effects, though who they hit is variable. Sometimes you might fall victim; other times you might be the one standing by, exasperated, as you deal with those affected.

(In other words, it's up to player discretion. And feel free to make up your own squalls!)

---

This time around, the squall comes with an interesting side effect: whenever you lie or someone lies to you, you experience an immediate rush of anger — whether you consciously know someone is lying or not. Think of it as a temporary lie detector, but instead of being hooked up to a machine, you might punch someone in the face.

5. The Peregrine

The Peregrine's layout and protocols have been designed with its intended passengers in mind, who are primarily Earth humanoids and inclined towards certain social and cultural practices. If you're wondering why you are on a ship of Earth humanoids despite not being one yourself, please understand that all ships in the Admiralty have a population capacity. At times it may be necessary to assign other species to a ship of this type, based on availability.

As a warden, you have full run of the ship map. Inmates...less so, but that's nothing a little creativity can't fix, right? Just remember, if a warden catches an inmate somewhere that inmate shouldn't be, it falls on the warden to handle the matter. And if the warden turns a blind eye...well, let's hope neither of you get caught. While it won't result in anything as extreme as a demotion, wardens can expect to get a stern dressing down; inmates, meanwhile, will be reprimanded by the warden who found them.

6. Networking

Now that you've powered on your CommLink for the first time and sat through the short tutorial and appropriate orientation, you're ready to explore the wonders of messaging. Video, audio, or text, the world is your oyster and you surely have opinions on it.

There is no anonymous option and IDs must be some variation of your name. (IC, characters will have to try their luck and see what the communicator will or won't accept when they register; OOC, it's up to players to decide what name to use if the character has multiple names or aliases.)

Wardens have access to a group network filter, something that inmates lack, and can track inmates throughout the ship with their CommLink. Inmates, best avoid getting your device confiscated or monitored.

7. Wildcard

If it's in our game pages, you can use it as a prompt! The sky's the limit.

Comments

QUESTIONS

[returnjourney]

Theon Greyjoy | A Song of Ice and Fire | Inmate

[reek]

1. Welcome Aboard

[ Theon thinks he must be dreaming. He’d been passed out for a good deal of the journey, coming to just in time to catch the end of the tail strange iron bird’s speech. If there was an agreement to be made, he missed it. Someone else made it for him. He thinks he catches something about doing better? Theon did the best he could. He hadn’t wanted things to turn out how they did. How could he have possibly done better?

He can recall what happened last in vivid detail: the sickening crunch of a mailed hand to his face, the heat of the flames, sheer destruction and chaos all around him, Smiler with his mane ablaze, then nothing—only black.

So, is he dead?

No, he decides, drowning out the iron bird's squawking even further. Whatever its saying isn't nearly as important as what's going on in his head. Someone surely would have rescued me. Luwin, Asha, someone. I’m dreaming. It’s a lie he has to tell himself to keep from slamming his head against the wall. He knows he was all alone by the end. His sister wasn’t coming back and his father wasn’t sending reinforcements.

He rubs his cheek, still feeling the pain of a broken cheekbone. He’s not bloodied, he isn’t even burned, but he is bruised and covered in sooth and ash. If the person across from him, be it inmate or warden, should open their mouth to speak, he’ll be quick to cut them off: ]

Does it look as though I wish to speak to you?

2. Life on the Peregrine

[ The confines of the Peregrine leave Theon feeling a bit claustrophobic. To a young man who spent his childhood around ships, this is not a ship. It’s almost offensive to call it such. There’s no spray of the ocean, no salt air, no screeching seabirds, and no way out.

Theon is also used to more luxurious accommodations. He’s been a prisoner half his life (the irony of it all is something he has to laugh about), and yet he never found reason to complain about his bedchamber in Winterfell. Although perhaps not as large as those of the Stark children, it had been warm and well furnished. This looks like little more than a hole in the wall, cold, impersonal and sterile. Not even a fur in sight! He cringes when he sets eyes on it. ]

I would rather sleep on deck.

[ Should have thought about that before you killed people, bud. ]

3. Network

un: greyjoy

The rest of you agreed to this?

I didn’t agree to this.

This isn’t even a ship.

[ Just…in case you hadn’t noticed. ]

4. Wildcard

[ Pretty chill with just about anything. You can find me at muttonchops if you want to hash anything out. ]

3 ( text | jvolkhov ) HANNAH! <3

[aposeme]

THANK YOU

why in the hell would they launch prisoners into outer space. nobody's been able to tell me why that makes sense when its 100 x harder and 1000 x stupider than just putting us in a BUILDING ON THE GROUND

who is paying for it. who paid to build a space station. the fucking owl?? how does this place make money

1

[nineteenfortyfive]

[Maybe one day she'll find an inmate that is grateful. Today is not this day.

Claire's mouth hangs open for a moment before she shuts it, lips pressed into a thin line. She could bite back, or take the high road. After a breath, an attempt is made:]

You look like hell, actually.

1

[kaijuice]

It looks, [ Crouched a pace away, gaze steady; assessing. ] As though you've spoken too much already.

[ He reaches to smear a finger — ungentle — across Theon's shattered cheek. ]

3; id: viktor

[grindset]

What would you call it?

Greyjay Gallowsbait ➷ Tabletop OC

[gallowsbait]

➷ Welcome Aboard.

Whatever it was that killed Greyjay (...again), left him out cold until he wakes up on the ship. He comes to slowly, pointedly not moving until he has a sense of who else might be nearby. Wherever it is, it smells wrong, or rather it doesn't smell much of anything at all - sterile, no horse, no sweat, nothing but nothing. Unnatural.

Might as well bite the bullet and sit up, calling out in a clear, sweet voice: "So skipper, where are we headed?"

➷ Pairings.

Greyjay isn't sneering, not precisely, but he coolly assess whoever and whatever poor sod has been assigned to him. "Rules then. Whatchu want?"

➷ Wildcard.

Greyjay is going to do as much exploring and poking his nose in as he can. He wants to see everything, poke most things, and probably lick too much for anyone's personal comfort. He's loud, rude, and comfortable with brawling and violence.

He is also probably going to be really damned hungry and happy to eat whatever looks good. Did he swipe your sandwich? (No, because now that it's in his mouth, it's not yours, is it? Suck it.)

And, of course, if you want to set up something else, I am here and happy to chatter. PM this journal or hmu on plurk/Discord (bootknife or Bootknife#7474).

wildcard; this is k2 lmk if anything needs changing, i'm easy

[kaijuice]

"What a charming surprise," Thunk. Silco shoves the bunk's sliding door into place, stare fixed withering on Greyjay. "To receive a visitor before my return."

The bunk? His bunk, Silco's bunk. There's nothing important here - none of the fucking things lock. There's still reason enough to nip this in the bud.

(His bad eye twinges, brief, in the direction of the pillow. Why does it look like someone was licking it -)

takhys!!!!! <3 all the friends , ,

[aposeme]

wildcard

Sandwich in one hand, book in the other. Pajama pants, hoodie, one sock. Set sandwich down to turn page with minimum effort expended. Go back to pick up sandwich.

Sandwich gone.

Volk moves his neck for the first time in like two hours, to whip around and spot Greyjay.

"Bitch!"

He sits up with sheer force of being Mortally Offended.

"Do you, like, just take things? Do we not live in a fucking SOCIETY?"

a takh! shaped like a friend! also pairings

[dealwiththe]

He can sneer all he wants, really. Lucifer mastered the sneer long before this kid was born, so he remains impassive.

"I think this process is more about what you want," he remarks, turning his attention briefly from his new inmate to the expanse outside the observation deck viewports.

pairings 😘

[reeltoreel]

The warden in question looks—not to put too fine a point on it—like a fucking narc. He wears a suit and tie and an earnest, engaged expression. He's requested that Greyjay meet him in the resource library because the atmosphere will be quiet and professional.

(Don't mind the robot owl. He's not even looking in this direction.)

“Thank you for asking,” Holden says sincerely. He removes his CommLink from his pocket, handling it carefully—two hands. As though it's both precious and unfamiliar. He sets it on the table within reach. “First of all, I'll be recording our conversations, as I've found it helpful in the past. I'd like to interview you twice a week at minimum, without anyone else present. We'll meet outside then, of course”—he doesn't sound terribly interested in or enthused by the prospect—“but those sessions will be intensive and it's best there not be any interruptions.”

He looks up, wide eyes, unlined face, government-issue haircut. “How does that sound to you?”

viktor / arcane / warden

[grindset]

1. brand new

[Here is a warden. This one's as fresh as it gets. He is pale, gaunt, distinctly asymmetrical in posture and, thus far, seems a little uncomfortable to be anywhere.

This warden, he's been more or less mesmerized by the CommLink since it was given to him, eyes alight and face awash in blue (of course it's blue, it should be blue, it's miraculous). The shape, the negligible weight, the smooth hinges—this screen—it's the most elegantly fabricated device he's ever held. What are these materials? How did they make a motor so tiny? There's a storm on the horizon for that owl: a storm of technical questions that are almost certainly irrelevant to what he's actually meant to be doing here.

Finding it difficult to effectively navigate the UI one-handed, he has now stopped, crutch under his arm and kit bag on his shoulder, and is standing directly in a doorway. Maybe that's how one encounters him—who left this weird scarecrow here, it's blocking traffic—

or maybe it's when he's messing around with the camera (there's a camera in here??) at eye level, pivoting on the spot, and a face suddenly fills the screen.]

Oh... sorry, I didn't, eh... excuse me.


2. little machines

[This warden, he's moving down some lonely corridor in slow pursuit of a three-unit convoy of the Peregrine's autonomous cleaning devices. His attention is fixed, his footfalls quiet, the foot of his crutch less so.]

Where are you off to, I wonder.

[Obviously they don't answer.

After a suitable period of non-interference, he overtakes the last in line with a couple of longer strides and carefully stops it with his foot; listens, hunched and squinting, while the motor strains; releases it to catch up with the rest. In a moment he's after it again, this time to raise the little caboose with his toe, leaning to glimpse the whirring undercarriage—]


3. short-term besties

[This warden (called Viktor, surely he's been introduced by now), he's slipped away to explore by himself. Again. It's fine, as far as he's concerned, since any sensible onboarding will have a grace period; besides, there's a lot still to see. Aimless mingling can happen later. (Never would be fine too.)

The inmate dormitory resembles stacked shipping containers fashioned into homes—or some sheltered dreamer's sanitized idea of that. Doesn't seem so bad, really. It does feel tacky to play tourist while there's someone here, but oh well. They'll all have to get used to each other at some point. Still, to be courteous:]

Feel free to ignore me—just looking.

[—And looking again, and then down at his CommLink, mouth turned down and eyebrows raised.]

Hm, [is soft, high in his throat: how about that.] It would seem I've just been assigned to you.


4. wildcard

[Something else? Something else.

Hello, world! Will match format, can be found on plurk @ abyssal if you have any thingies to thingy, etc, you know the drill.]

2 - ciliatic isnt a word but humour me. also just lmk if u need more of a hook friend

[kaijuice]

Its companions scuttle on, through the narrow hall and around a corner; ignorant to the straggler's absence.

The robot beeps soft — less protest than a register of its altered position, no longer ideal to scurry and sweep. Tiny brushes scoop ciliatic into its mouth, as though to scrub Viktor's very breath of dust.

Even the air shines here.

Crunch. Abrupt, metallic. Another impact (hard), and the exhale of something sharper; human. The alcove about the corner is dim, distant from the constant fluorescence of more-trafficked halls.

But somewhere in it, there's a glint: Light on aluminum, a blaze of refracted orange.

3

[aposeme]

Volk is on the edge of his bunk, a pen in his teeth. Also gaunt, also pale, six inches shorter. Round spectacles, black fingernails, leather jacket.

His bag is already packed.

"You? Great. Saves time."

He doesn't need to drag this around.

"You have a cabin next to yours, for your inmate. I'm moving in. Have fun uh..."

He tosses a disdainful glance around the coffin apartments. What's interesting? Nothing. They're garbage. This whole ship is garbage.

"looking."

1 what in the cuteness

[nineteenfortyfive]

[Claire is not a fan of camera or video, but she does register that universal motion of someone messing about with a similar device. So didn't mean to walk into the shot, and steps back with an awkward, surprised laugh.]

No, sorry. Did I ruin your... photo? Video?

[Hello, new face.]

Counselor Aiden Price | Red vs Blue | Inmate

[myagents]

3. Life on the Peregrine
[Price feels a certain uneasiness knowing that he has to share a sleeping space - he was in prison just before arriving to this new one, he knows how dangerous people can be. The good news is that it is scientifically proven that sleeping in the same room as someone else will strengthen your bond with them, so it's all about starting on the right foot.

He inspects the pod with his hand: the inside feels cozy enough, and the sliding door works properly for now. Oh, someone just walked in.]

Greetings.

[rank1]

[Travis walks in wearing low-rise, ratty jeans and a towel slung around his neck. He has spent the past hour meticulously drying his hair in the style of his preference. His eyes are obscured by his bright pink aviator sunglasses. His resting bitch face is... well, what it is.]

Hey.

[He isn't one for handshakes, so he just heads right to his storage trunk, which he begins rifling through for a shirt.]

New guy?

[dickforhire]

Fuck off.

[ Dismissive, reflexive. A growl without bark or bite. Joe doesn't turn to look, nose flaring — then wrinkling sharp. He stoops to unhook the latch of his trunk. It sticks. ]

What're you waiting for?

[ Another rattle at the latch, the frustrated toss of his head, back and again. Doesn't lock, but now it's gonna stick? ]

lucifer morningstar | lucifer | warden

[dealwiththe]

[ ooc note: his canon point is post-series, so he’s essentially a walking spoiler for season 6. ]

1. Getting his bearings.

[ Lucifer can be found casually strolling the ship - he’s learning the layout, figuring out where everything is, and generally getting his bearings. He spends some time in the observation deck, taking in the view, lost in thought.

Eventually, he finds his way to Warden Command. Hey, a minibar! He gets himself a drink, still poking around. ]

I don’t suppose we could get a piano here? It might lessen the 2001: A Space Odyssey vibe.

2. Pairings.

[ He’ll meet you where you are - observation deck? Mess hall? Whatever. It doesn’t matter to him. All he’ll do is look you over, eyebrows raised. ]

Well, let’s start with: why do you think you’re here?

3. Network.

I suppose introductions are in order. I’m Lucifer Morningstar, and I’m your newest warden. I know, try to contain your surprise. But I’m perfectly willing to answer your questions! Consider me an open book.

4. Wildcard.

[ Got another idea? Hit me! ]

3. !!!!!! HI HI HI (its fire)

[aposeme]

Why, so I can do your fucking job for you?

[Lucifer's inmate had to be tracked down, in bed. He didn't answer his communicator. He's been in bed for three days. He speaks from a lump of blankets crammed as far back into the bunk as he can get. There's like, part of an elbow and some hair visible, and a pair of glasses stuffed into a shelf.

He's got a file, though. This guy sold his soul for fame. Look how well that's going for him.]

The Prince of Locusts | OC | inmate (CW: heavily implied violence, gore, bones)

[acrownandawhitehorse]

5

Just the clothes on your back.

Between the helmet and the steel armor, there isn't an inch of whatever is underneath showing. It steps out of the avro (it has to duck to get under the doorframe) and, once the combined weight of the armor and its passenger is out of it, the shocks on the landing gear lift the entire vehicle half an inch. It's got shoulders like a grizzly bear. It must be looking around, because the helmet turns - but it doesn't say a word.

Whatever warden brought it in doesn't follow. It's not tracking red into the loading bay, it's tracking something worse; clear, cloudy, pinkish. There's a fistful of torn hair tangled in its gauntlet, and it takes a moment to pick all of that off. How annoying.

The loading bay doors open, as they do, for exactly sixty seconds. There's an inmate on the other side.

"Wait," says Volk. "You look familiar. Are -?"

Heartbeat.

The armored figure isn't running; its legs are so long that that it's already across the room at a grinding, armor-scraping stride. One hand is broad enough to close around Volk's neck.

Volk drops his communicator with a hard crack as he's dragged through the doors. They re-close.

---

video | jvolkhov
REC 🔴

...

The ceiling of the hall outside of the loading bay. There's about four minutes of absolutely nothing.

...

BOOM. The loading bay doors jar like they've been hit by a car on the other side. They don't budge. These are sturdy metal.

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

Well, whoever is trying is going to keep doing it anyway.

BOOM.

BOOM.

It goes on for almost an hour, steady, tireless.

----

The loading bay doors open, as they do, for exactly sixty seconds. The figure in armor has two makeshift weapons now - a jagged length of ivory in each hand, as long as a human leg from hip to knee. They've been scraped, resourcefully, carefully, but no such care has been taken with the splatters that go up both of the figure's arms.

More of them. But not many.

The moving metal silhouette - a man? A machine? Just empty, enchanted armor? - begins its walk towards the nearest heartbeat.

hello darkness(b4me) my old friend

[unsheathedfromreality]

He doesn't have a heartbeat.

He's also not moving, still as only the dead can be still where he's tucked up against a wall, because he recognizes that silhouette and that scent (blood new and old, rot, living sweat, much worse), and he--

Doesn't know what to do. She's his Prince. (And not--without a Court-gift, without a devotion that could be felt, what proof did he have he's still bound to her?) She's his Prince, and she is a living engine of destruction that will tear this ship step to stern even without her gifts. Aid in that, and he dies with it, if the Navarch's to be believed. They both die, since she's as dead as he is.

Reason enough to go to her and help; that way lies freedom.

That way lies freedom, carved through the bodies of innocents like whoever gave up his bones (he thinks he knows who) for her weapons. And he is sick to fucking death of the carving, sick to the hollows of his own bones, and was even before he died.

Reason enough to stand in her way, and die; someone will have to.

"My Prince," he calls, before she's too many booming steps into the hall. He steps away from his wall and salutes as a soldier of Clarent would, as he's always saluted her, miming belonging in another's context.

Admiral Lankhet | OC | Inmate

[maritimelaw]

1. Arrival
[Thus far, the ship seems to have received mostly human- or at least humanoid- prisoners and staff, as it was designed for.]

[But there's an exception to every rule, which is presumably why the newest arrival waking up in the docking bay resembles nothing so much as a sea slug the size of a car.]

[Fully twenty-five feet long from tip to tail, it's unclear if she's even going to fit through some of the smaller doorways... and then the doors open, and she moves.]

[She doesn't walk so much as flow, surging forward on a rapidly slithering cascade of tentacles. The movement looks awkward and alien in ways that make it clear she wasn't precisely meant to be on land, but it gets the job done alarmingly well- nothing that big should be able to move that fast. It's just unfair to the rest of the food chain.]

[She simply squeezes through into the corridor, bonelessly, like an octopus oozing itself into a tiny crevice in the rocks. The very tip of her tail pulls itself through behind her just in time to avoid getting shut in the doors as they close.]


3. Life on the Peregrine
[There's a sound coming from one of the inmate rooms.]

[It seems almost like a conversation, one-sided, in a language that the ship isn't translating. Something about the words is liquid and musical, catching in the throat and running a tingle down the spine. It doesn't sound like any normal language at all, but there's a strange weight to it that makes it impossible to ignore.]

[So, whoever opened this door, congratulations: you are now face to face with a massive primordial sea creature.]

[She's tucked her fin-wings carefully underneath her body and wound her tail around herself, forming a neat and tidy slugloaf. This is probably the only reason you have enough room to walk in here in the first place.]

[Faced with a sudden interruption, Lankhet says a last few words in that strange, chiming language and then switches to what a native of Nephele would recognize as flawless if lightly accented Mercsat, which the ship does at least have the courtesy to translate.]

Hmm- my argument seems to be going ignored. Should I take comfort that someone else is at least listening to it?

[At least she has a nice voice...?]

[Good luck with figuring out a roommate situation with somebody who might well take up the entire room.]

1

[acrownandawhitehorse]

[The slug nearly bowls the figure in armor over - it grunts in surprise then pries off its helmet and shakes out a mane of tangled hair. Unlike most of the dead, sweat is an issue for Locusts - her razor-fingered gauntlet gets raked backwards as a comb to push back the strands plastered to her forehead. Having unpierceable skin has a lot of perks.]

Admiral. As ever, your timing is fantastic.

[More forces, always good. A rescue, always good.]

Where am I?

Faith Lehane | Buffy the Vampire Slayer | Inmate

[neverbest]

1. Arrival

[ Of all the places a person would expect to wake up after being in a coma, space aint one of them.

Last thing Faith remembers is a stab in the gut and now here she is, listening to some weird portable TV telling her that she'd finally been caught and sequestered for her crimes. If this had anything to do with the council, they were really holding out on everyone.

If this is still some kinda dream, it's contending for her top ten. If not... ]

What a load of bull.


2. Bunk Buddies

[ She still hasn't fully accepted that she's awake and this is reality, shit is way too weird. That doesn't mean she's gonna just lie back and take whatever the hell this all is though. If this is fake, then she's gonna have a little fun, and if it's real...then she's gonna have a little fun.

A quick quirk of the lips to whoever's by her: ]

I call top bunk.

2

[dickforhire]

[ It's no skin off his back. So obviously, he's gonna be a prick — ]

Don't think they got a salon up there.

[ Christ, she's what? Seventeen? ]

Timothy Lawrence | Borderlands | Inmate

[doppleman]

I. (DIS)ORIENTATION

[ You know what you did his perky, handsome ass. Timothy knows what Jack did, and he's ninety percent sure that's what this is all really about, because that's all anything is ever about. Still, let's make one thing perfectly clear: he's not really complaining about this? 'Specially since he's got reason to believe with comparable certainty that it hasn't even been two hours since he ate like, a hundred bullets courtesy of Pretty Boy's goons.

Probably shoulda guessed he'd go out that way. Mostly he did, but... well, somehow, you know, there was still the eensiest little sliver of dumb childlike hope left clinging to the walls of his beaten-down psyche that had been holding out for a miracle. The ending where he doesn't die trapped in a lawless space prison. The one where he walks out of the Handsome Jackpot with debts wiped clean and all his limbs intact, then hops on the first freighter that'll take him as far from the system as possible. Or maybe just back to Elpis, in case Moxxi's bar is still there—and since it's probably the only place left where the citizenry won't put lead through this face on sight. 'Course, Mad Moxxi'd probably put lead through his face on sight for them, but hey. There are way worse ways to go. He knows that now.

But nope. Space prison it is. And it turns out it's all that and one extra crapsack of chips he couldn't have predicted: that there is a place where people go after death to get judged for their moral bankruptcy, and it is so, so fitting for Jack's to have fallen squarely on the shoulders of someone else. Story of his friggin' life, Jack leaving a wake of destruction and misery everywhere he went. Timothy forced to drop to his knees and suck up the consequences.

Because, you know. That's what this is. That's what it's always been. When Timothy closes his eyes, he visualizes the mantra he's spent seven years scrawling on the walls of every safe hideout he's managed to keep for longer than a week:

YOU ARE NOT JACK.
YOU ARE MORE THAN YOUR FACE.
IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT.

As the message over his CommLink wraps up its monologue about repairs and draws to a close, there's an empty moment where he just gazes ruefully down at his right hand. It is a sophisticated work of robotics, fully articulated and the warm cognac-brown color of a leather glove. And on the back, blazing in brazen gold: the bold letter H that designates him Hyperion property.

He feels eyes on him. When's the last time he exchanged words with another person, anyway? Two months ago? Three? He's not counting that couple of hours with Trent that one time because they didn't really end up exchanging words, if you catch his drift, if you're pickin' up what ol' Timothy's layin' down, hahahahaha oh god he's been so fucking alone for so long.

Quick, what is conversation again and how do you be cool and normal about it? ]

So! Let's hear some deets, cupcake. What're you in for?

[ Nailed it. ]

II. PEREGRINE LYFE

[ Okay, but so... here's the thing about New Space Prison. It's a staggering improvement after Old Space Prison. It's a heckuva lot quieter, for one thing. Food seems to be in steady supply. Nobody trying to tear him limb from limb. Aaaand that's actually kind of the problem.

Cuz, see, rationally speaking, if the Navarch or whatever is all about making people serve time for their crimes, there's no way he's here and Jack's not, Jack's the single worst person Tim can think of, ergo, there's a non-zero chance that he's been brought to this ship as a result of some kind of cosmic bureaucratic mix-up or something. Which means Jack's crimes would effectively be his on paper, even if they're totally not

( IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT. )

which would mean it's actually not in his best interest to go around implying otherwise. Because then they might be like ohhh snap we got the wrong one, my bad! and send him right back where he came from, and he... he just...

( YOU WILL NOT DIE HERE. )

He can't go back there. Like, please, he just. He can't anymore. ]

Hey, so is it a little bit screwed up that I kind of love it in here? Because I actually kinda love it in here! I think!

[ Timothy's voice issues from inside the boring little sleeping pod he's been assigned to, out of which his denim-covered legs dangle in a careless splay over the opening of the bunk below. Sorry, everybody else, but especially that person. ]

Little bit cramped, but I meannn... my last bed was a buncha broken Digby Vermouth albums and old pizza boxes, [ anxious laugh! ] soooo...! [ goofy voice! ] Long as nobody here's a fan of murdering people in their sleep, it oughta be fine.

[ Beat. ]

Uh, is anybody here a fan of that? Sleep-murder? No? Sorry, definitely should've asked earlier.

III. WILDCARD

( come at me bro!! discord @ tevinter#3439 or plurk @ piasora. )

BUSTS IN LIKE THE KOOLAID MAN

[smugreport]

[ Rhys had done a really good job up until this moment to Not Think About it. To thoroughly reject and deflects any attempts to Go There. What happened with Jack was done and buried, a shitty part of his life that he'd only dwell on in the abstract from here on out, like a bad dream that you got a couple decent ideas out of.

That all comes apart the instant Rhys sees that face.

There's no word for this feeling. Ice in his veins, stomach in free fall, floor suddenly unsteady beneath his feet. He doesn't know how long he's been standing there gawking but it's been long enough for Jack to notice him and that...that's bad. ]

No...No no no. No!

[ He doesn't even realize he's talking at first, just backing up, eyes trained on Jack like he's a wild animal that'll lunge for him if he makes break for it. ]

David | Animorphs | Inmate

[oftgoawry]

[A rat, mostly white with some brown splotching, lashes its little bald tail as orientation ends.]

Hey - hey! It's not fair! I should get a different body!

[Thought-speech isn't directional; David's voice doesn't seem to be coming from the rat, or anywhere else really, but it does 'sound' like a teen boy's voice. The rat pulls back a bit from any larger creature looming over it, but manages not to scurry off.]

Where's that infirmary?

cw unreality

[aposeme]

[Okay. Great. Voices. We love to be hearing voices. Love to be on some Son of Sam, Joan of Arc type shit.

Volk is going to, with a complete poker face, check to see if anyone else in the room is reacting to that without looking up from his e-book. Tinted glasses help a lot with this.

Yes. Okay. There's a warden looking around the room, openly confused. Amateur.

Step two, as usual, be the only competent person.]

So we're concerned about the disembodied voice, but to be frank I want to know why it sounds like it's in the eighth grade.

Where are you and - trick question - do you know what TikTok is?

Whose rat is that?

love quinn | you | inmate

[wolfyou]

1. Arrival

This is so fucked up.

[Love is unassuming. Just a young woman, looking like she might vomit, hastily wiping at the tears on her cheeks. She maybe hyperventilated a bit, a while ago, and shook so hard she might have felt like she was going to explode. She's coming down, now. Where there's a high, there's a crash, right?]

What the fuck.

[There's shock, too.]

2. Pairings

Okay. Warden, inmate. Got it. Am I supposed to list my crimes? Go ahead. Tell me how I'm a bad person for being murdered by my psychotic husband. I'm listening.

[She motions to herself.]

Look, I don't know everyone's stories, here. I'm sure some of them are--inmate material. Not me. All I've ever done is keep my family safe.

3. Networking

un: love

I didn't sign up for this capsule hotel bullshit.

1

[aposeme]

[There's someone in a grungy band hoodie and bright red smoky-eye reading something on a smartphone. He doesn't look up.]

This is a normal reaction. Don't let them tell you it isn't. I screamed. Got made fun of like, immediately. Right away. No hesitation. I'm saying this to shame them, not to be bitchy.

[Scroll scroll.]

No, never mind. I would also like to be bitchy. I'll do both.