Protect The Tree [OTA]

[abrightboy]

After his talk with the Nurse, Malcolm goes to the smoldering remains of the tree house, his expression crumpling slightly when he sees it. The sheer level of destruction, of rage, of damage to a living thing... it's a place of healing, not of war. Not a prison.

The Nurse said to protect what's left of the tree and to continue to try to talk the patients down. He'll do what he can.

Audio

[delusionincarnate]

[Those who have been on the Clipper for a while wouldn't be blamed if they forget that Michael exists. He rarely posts anything and generally tends to stick with his own projects. But this - this is too much to ignore. He speaks in a lazy drawl, amusement clear behind his words.]

What. A. Mess you have all made. I suppose it can't be helped. There isn't anything to be done for those who cannot escape. Their. Nature.

Ah.

It was bound to happen. Happiness, I've found is. Elusive. It stains, it cuts, it feels wrong, somehow. As if the entire world is -

- Against you.

To be faced with the prospect of happiness here. Well.

We can't be too - disappointed.

[Spam]

[Contrary to what others might think, Michael loves getting close to the top. The stars are delightful, a wonderful way for him to get absolutely lost. A little bordering on another's territory, perhaps, but they're so random that he can't help but sit.

Otherwise, he doesn't mind bothering random people. Appearing out of nowhere. Out of the corner of their eye. Seeming a little - taller than normal. Maybe his face a little too wide. Twisting flowers into spirals with fingers that are too sharp. And his laugh that induces just the absolute worst migraines.

And when his powers fail, when he is simply human and nothing else, he retreats to his room. It's the only time he feels ill.]

005. audio/spam

[wildguardian]

Audio

Friends, comrades, shipmates! While I appreciate the frustration of our situation -- believe me, I get it -- I think we have reached a point in time where we need to work together for the good of our overall situation.

Point the first! Assistants, I think it's past time you stopped acting like we're all troublesome kids and started dealing with our legitimate complaints. The Sick Ward's in no shape to lock people up and drug 'em into submission, but I think we're gonna have some nasty scalds, if what I almost had happen washing my hands this morning is any guide. Why don't you come down here and start working on making sure our actual injured can get meaningful treatments? I'll even help you rip up some sheets for bandages.

Point the second! Love the skylight, amazing view. Let's not blow any more holes in our own darn ship without knowing what we're doing it for. Talk to me if you've got grievances. I'm willing to put together a list of demands. Raylan, where the fork are you, my friend?

See you soon. Second bed from the left, sick ward.

Spam

Zhao Yunlan has almost entirely stopped spending time in his room. His arm's in bad shape, he's keeping it patched up with a combination of gauze and the same ripped-up sheet bandaging he's offering to others, and he does not like the idea of being alone and injured around Bonesaw. Not after the way she'd looked at Taylor. He's got company down in the Sick Ward most of the time, and it's considerably nicer with those padded rooms largely shredded.

He'll occasionally venture up to the common room or wander around to find friends and fellow mutinous Patients, but can mostly be found playing endless games of cards with Wu Xie or obsessively checking his communicator.

network audio [OTA]; backdated a day or two

[citizendetective]

Taylor! Four, three, two, one, zero - I assume!

[This coded message from a just-demoted Patient is actually completely innocuous, as far as the ship as a whole goes, but feel free to assume it's a countdown to a bomb or something.]