Shortly after I first arrived here, leaves began to fall on deck and demons boarded the ship. That was two years ago. Last year, leaves also fell. We visited Earth during the twenty-first century, in a city called Salem. Many of us purchased costumes there, and later found ourselves turned into what those costumes depicted.

Now it is October again, and the Barge has begun to corrode. Potentially familiar figures have appeared, but not contacted us. I'm reminded of the time we spent without the Admiral's attention. [Yeah remember that time we were dead in space. That time. :|]

This month culminates in a traditional, and very old holiday on Earth. Halloween. As I understand it, the purpose of this holiday is manifold: to obtain vast amounts of sweets, to scare as many people as possible, to experience fear in a relatively safe environment, to celebrate harvest, to mourn the departed, to hide from the departed. I understand very few of these, but there is a typical theme on the Barge of following Earth's holidays.

Two years ago, a demon pierced my hand with a spear. [...On a chain. Whatever. Details. :|] Last year, we were given a certain grace period, possibly due to the port in the abandoned mental health facility.

Our last port was in a 'fairy tale' environment. [I.e., we are due for some awful fucked up shit, guys.]

[Private to Kay]

How likely do you believe it is that these entities were former workers here?

[Private to Spock]

How have you been settling in? [She's absorbed small talk. Sorry you have to sit through it. :c]

[Private to Trip]

It may be prudent to begin carrying your phase pistol with you.

[Private to Slade]

Have you noticed anything that has gone unmentioned, about these entities or their sounds?

In another month, I will have been here two years. I graduated one inmate - though I've never been certain it was my help he required - and I've lost three others in the abrupt fashion most of us are familiar with. I've seen first hand what the Admiral is capable of doing for us, and what he's willing to do.

I don't believe that the floods are something he willingly inflicts upon us. If it is after all due to his poor piloting, there is little we can do to change their frequency or effects. I've studied all I can of events that rarely follow pattern. The last time a flood turned us into animals, I was a sehlat, a creature native to my planet. Most recently, I was a Terran animal - a 'maned wolf,' I believe, and as Sveta said, it is extremely interesting that the exact same flood may yield different results. Interesting, but scientifically frustrating.

I've made all my data on floods from the past fifteen months available in the laboratory. I am...'in the market' for a new project.

[Private to Severus]

I apologize for our encounter on the deck. I was, quite obviously, not in control of myself.

[Private to Slade]

Your search for sparring partners went well, I take it. [She'll ask about flood affectedness eventually.]

[This post? Completely an accident. It goes up a little while after the flood ends, at the tail end of which tiny!Trip gave her chocolate. She had no idea what chocolate would do to her at five. The effects kind of...lasted.

Sorry, Barge, you get a preview of Trip and T'Pol's potential marital fail. It's mostly hard to see, since...T'Pol's just holding the PADD awkwardly. So there are flashes - mostly of a small cat dish with cat food ALL OVER.]

The bag was nearly full. Now most of it's on the floor. [The view goes wobbly as she takes a few steps. Khoteth the kitty is eating just about as fast as he can, lest all that FOOD, GLORIOUS FOOD, WONDERFUL FOOD disappear.

Trip's voice comes in next, exasperated:] I know most of it's on the floor, that's why I'm tryin' ta clean it up!

[Aaand cue some slightly annoying button pushing, followed by more chatter from Trip:] Hey - lemme have that.

[T'Pol:] No.

[Trip:] C'mon--

[T'Pol:] It's mine. [>|]

[Trip:] Whatever you gotta say, it can wait till--

[And about then is when the dreaded sounds of potential hairballs arise. That hurk hurk sound cats make when they realize they probably shouldn't have had that mouse. Or that last helping and a half of spilled cat food.]

[T'Pol:] What is he--

[All that's really visible is Khoteth's tail and spilled cat food at this point, but you can just imagined the oh god why faces going on here.]

[T'Pol:] Trip.

[He has never thrown up on her before and she is not cleaning that up, damn it. >| Her button pushing finally has the opposite effect she was looking for, and the feed dies.]

[T'Pol has had it. She's been here four days no, and it isn't like the kahs-wan she's supposed to take in a few years, it's a bunch of potential kidnappers, and possibly a pirate, and children who touch their food and eat meat and take things apart. The only positive in all of this, so far as she can tell, is the fact that it seems they haven't been stolen by Orions to be sold in slave markets.

But it still feels kind of like she's been stolen, and she's having trouble suppressing all the anxiety. It's coming out as indignation, maybe even frustration. She points toward a plant on a counter in her corner niche; its deep violet and iridescent blue leaves are just barely visible.]

Why is there a cutting of my father's kal-ta plant here? It is a family possession, he has never given it away. I will be taking it home with me. [Tiny. Pointed. Look.]

I would like an explanation regarding the deck as well. It seems completely open to space, and yet there is a breathable atmosphere. It defies logic. [Translation: Your ship's stupid.

And then there's a meow, and a chirp, and those with really good hearing might pick up some purring; T'Pol looks totally off balance for a moment, struggling to maintain her composure. the camera angles down, and Khoteth the kitty is rubbing against her leg. Well, more like throwing himself against her leg. He wants food, damn it.]

And this creature will not keep it's distance. I don't know what it's doing. [Sehlats are easier to figure out. They growl at you when they want something.]

I would like to return home. Now.

[And a pause while she figures out filters and looks frustrated as hell.]

[Private to Slade]

Mister Slade? What is the Admiral's itinerary for us?

[T'Pol is angry. She's hiding it pretty well, but anyone close to her can recognize the hard lines in her face. She's pretty much had it with the way things are structured, and that on top of pretty much feeling Trip dying is enough for a brisk little Vulcan rant.]

The hierarchy on this ship is extremely simple: there are wardens, and there are inmates. Wardens bestow privileges on their inmates if they are deserving, and remove them if they are not. This has worked in the past, as far as pairings are concerned, but it is no way for a ship to be run. We are regularly at the Admiral's mercy, but this was not his doing; it was something that could have been avoided. We need a command structure beyond warden, inmate, and Admiral. Had there been a captain to turn to, or a security force, steps could have been taken at the first sign of trouble.

In knowing there are people to turn to during times of crisis, we would avoid panic, and paranoia, and the need to protect those close to us while ignoring the other occupants of this ship.

I highly doubt this would have happened if we had a structured chain of command. Perhaps we should reinstate the security detail. [And click. She is not pleased, Barge.]

[Private to Slade]

Have you slept?

[Private to Kirk]

Are you recovered?

[T'Pol's hanging out near the Vault's exit, linefacing at the terrain. It's close to familiar terrain, except for the complete wreckage. But the almost desert like conditions, she's cool with that.] Has anyone found evidence that this...Vault may have housed others before us? While it doesn't seem beyond the Admiral's capabilities to create one entirely for Barge occupants, the fact that it has been numbered implies that there are several more.

We have no way of knowing if the occupants of other Vaults are hostile or not. Has anyone noticed anyone missing or otherwise unaccounted for? [Maybe some people wound up in other Vaults, you never know. :\ This shit is always weird.]

A two day journey without supplies or any apparent transportation will likely prove difficult. [Which just means she thinks they might be fucked.]


((OOC: Open for spam! I think the plan is Kon, the Borg Queen, and Trip?))

I believe we're approaching the influx of new crew members. It's somewhat odd that so many have vanished just beforehand. Does anyone have a solid room count? [Maybe the Admiral's just. Making room. Oh God something else to worry about. :|]

[Private]

( personal log. STARDATE: Unknown... )

[Private to Data]

May we speak, Commander? I would benefit from your advice.

[Private to the Borg Queen]

We should discuss the deal we made.

[T'Pol is sitting in a study in her house, which is apparently all hers. Which makes how many files and papers there are sitting around kind of sad. Still, there might be a lot of things out, but it's all very, very organized. Everything's neat, it has a proper place, and not a single sheet is out of place. Yep. This is definitely T'Pol's.

She has a few papers in her hands; the PADD is propped up on the desk, and she's reclining in the chair, and the first thing that some might notice is that her ears are not pointed. She's saving the real freak out about that for later. Right now, her attention is on those papers and she really doesn't look that happy.]

According to this, I'm a practicing lawyer at a firm called Archer & Tucker. [Eyebrow. She's shifting to another page, and the eyebrow settles because she's looking kind of sour.] And my name is Polly Tucker. [Wtf kind of name is Polly. That is what the look on her face says.]

Five children live here. [The papers she sets aside in favor of a small box; the cover is off, and it's apparently filled with photos, because she's pulling a few out, and reading the back; they've all got things like 'Vince, age 9,' or 'Merle's first dance' on the back.] Their names are Merle, Aaron, Adric, Vincent, and Lucian.

Apparently, I missed work today. [Archer asking her why she was calling him 'Captain' instead of 'Jon' when he called? Awkward.]

[Private to the Borg Queen]

Did you disembark? [She doesn't know if she hopes to get a yes or a no. It could be bad either way.]

[Private to the Borg Queen]

[Yeah she's just dreading this a little, since half the inmates seem to have turned into kids.]

Are you affected? [Because they so need to talk, but. Not if the Queen's a kid. Oh God.]

[...Damn it hope, you are hard to fight.]

Starfleet Commander T'Pol, Enterprise NX-01, serial number SA-013-8294-VR.

[A short pause, then she's trying again.] These glitches are far from traceable, and it's impossible to tell how many people might be listening, but if there are any Enterprise crew members connected to the network, I would like to speak.

[And time to settle down for a long wait for nothing.]

[Private to the Borg Queen]

What is your status?

[Warden Filter]

[A pause; she's trying to word this to avoid sounding insensitive.] Given this...experience, we should determine a system to be followed in the event the Admiral decides to abandon us again.

It seems many aboard this ship are predisposed to speeches.

[...Ahaha you didn't think T'Pol was one of them, did you.] I find it ironic that as the Admiral has given us less reason to express our anger towards him, we take it out on one another. Last year, demons boarded this ship and tried to kill us. This year, we were given a quiet port and a flood that, for the most part, did not involve horrors.

It's unfortunate, that we find it necessary to fill the gap of violence.

[Added later:] I would like to observe a feline. Would anyone be willing to lend me theirs?

[Private to the Borg Queen]

You have no part in this riot. [It's not a question, because it's pretty much an order, whether she was involved or not.]

It's been brought to my attention that you've been manipulating Judas. This will end, immediately.

[Private to Data]

If I may ask, how did you first encounter the Borg?