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Feb. 7th, 2025 03:57 pm( Trackity Track )
7th Jam / I Got Stripes
Jun. 26th, 2015 02:01 pmThere's been all this talk about fixing this place, making it safer, working together. What I don't fuckin' understand is why it's a prison in the first place, if the idea is to make people better. That's not what prison is for. Prison is to punish people. It's supposed to make them feel like shit. It's not how you fix anybody. It's how you break people, make 'em less than they are.
And I know -- we should stop whining. We should suck it up. We should be grateful we're not dead or burning in hell like maybe some of us deserve. Who cares that we gotta ask for permission to get into the pub, or that we gotta use the communal showers? At least we got a pub, and it's pretty amazing to have one in a prison. So we should look on the bright side. At least it's not a normal prison with cells and jumpsuits and guards that spit on you and food that tastes like it came out of a donkey's ass. So it's not a big deal, right? It's all small shit, especially when you got ghost towers and hell monsters swarming the place, and the murders that happen every Monday and Tuesday. But sometimes those little things, they can really get to you.
It's not the wardens' fault. Most of you are doing the best you can, and you try to treat us like we're people, not just prisoners. But this place doesn't treat us like we're people. Not like the same class of people, anyway. At least in a regular prison, you know you're there to be punished, and nobody tries to tell you it's for your own good. Here we got some invisible line we gotta cross, and then suddenly we're okay, we're not bad people anymore, and we deserve a shower in our cabin.
It's bullshit. There's no good reason for it. It's built this way to remind us we're less than the wardens, that we're not fucking good enough. When the Admiral was on leave, a bunch of us inmates had the same powers as the wardens, and you know what, it worked just fine. The Barge didn't burn, and the world didn't end. A few people even graduated. So why the hell should we be happy to have the Admiral back returning things to how they were before?
I don't know how to fix this place. I guess nobody does, because it's fucked up and broken in too many ways to count. But maybe not making the inmates feel like we're less people than the wardens would be a good place to start.
And I know -- we should stop whining. We should suck it up. We should be grateful we're not dead or burning in hell like maybe some of us deserve. Who cares that we gotta ask for permission to get into the pub, or that we gotta use the communal showers? At least we got a pub, and it's pretty amazing to have one in a prison. So we should look on the bright side. At least it's not a normal prison with cells and jumpsuits and guards that spit on you and food that tastes like it came out of a donkey's ass. So it's not a big deal, right? It's all small shit, especially when you got ghost towers and hell monsters swarming the place, and the murders that happen every Monday and Tuesday. But sometimes those little things, they can really get to you.
It's not the wardens' fault. Most of you are doing the best you can, and you try to treat us like we're people, not just prisoners. But this place doesn't treat us like we're people. Not like the same class of people, anyway. At least in a regular prison, you know you're there to be punished, and nobody tries to tell you it's for your own good. Here we got some invisible line we gotta cross, and then suddenly we're okay, we're not bad people anymore, and we deserve a shower in our cabin.
It's bullshit. There's no good reason for it. It's built this way to remind us we're less than the wardens, that we're not fucking good enough. When the Admiral was on leave, a bunch of us inmates had the same powers as the wardens, and you know what, it worked just fine. The Barge didn't burn, and the world didn't end. A few people even graduated. So why the hell should we be happy to have the Admiral back returning things to how they were before?
I don't know how to fix this place. I guess nobody does, because it's fucked up and broken in too many ways to count. But maybe not making the inmates feel like we're less people than the wardens would be a good place to start.
6th Jam / We'll Always Have Paris
May. 29th, 2015 12:06 am( Spam for Letty )
[Public, backdated to yesterday, a few hours after the end of the port]
Letty got hurt in Paris. She's back now. She's resting in her cabin.
[Lloyd's voice has a listless, dull-edged sound to it, like he's not all the way there.]
It was Roderick that did it. He killed her.
[He cuts off the connection a second later, and he isn't planning on replying. He's got something more important that he needs to do.]
( Spam for Roderick )
[Public, backdated to yesterday, a few hours after the end of the port]
Letty got hurt in Paris. She's back now. She's resting in her cabin.
[Lloyd's voice has a listless, dull-edged sound to it, like he's not all the way there.]
It was Roderick that did it. He killed her.
[He cuts off the connection a second later, and he isn't planning on replying. He's got something more important that he needs to do.]
( Spam for Roderick )
5th Jam / You've Got The Touch
May. 2nd, 2015 03:58 pm[Lloyd isn't really an ambitious guy, or a big idea guy. He doesn't know what to do with power, and although he had something like power in Vegas, or at least authority, he also had Randall Flagg above him telling him what to do. And he sure as hell never had the power to get stuff to materialize out of thin air. The guy he used to be would have gone wild with it without giving it a second thought. The guy he is now is a lot more careful and worried about the consequences, but neither is he a bastion of self-control. His booze is restocked, he's got a whole stash of magazines now that the library probably wouldn't provide, and the level 2 common room has an air hokey table, a foosball table, and a couple of pinball machines of various tastefulness.
Getting a shower in his cabin is also an important priority, and once he gets to enjoy it properly, feeling generous, he wishes for it to go around. Then he lies down on the couch for something like ten hours straight, not feeling like getting up or doing anything at all. But it passes, and he's feeling pretty chill when he addresses the network.]
If you got your shower back, don't freak out, it don't mean you've graduated. I just thought it ain't real fair, that we gotta use the crappy showers all the time. Pretty sure personal showers aren't a security risk -- it's kind of the opposite, when you think about it. Means people are a whole lot less likely to get shanked in the shower now. And if you really gotta flash somebody, you can put on a trench coat and do it in the corridor.
[And he could stop there, but being in a good mood puts him in a rambling mood, so he keeps going.]
Anyone notice some bad side effects from all this interior decorating? So far the worst I got is that feeling you have when you been smokin' too much dope, and you just want to lie down and not give a fuck about anything. But no bleeding bathtubs, no crocodiles swimming around in the pool, nothin' as bad as that. And I figure, if a few of us band together to wish for something, maybe we won't even get that much blowback.
So I don't know. I know we shouldn't trust it, and I'm not sayin' we should go nuts with it, but that don't mean we shouldn't have a little fun while it lasts. I think we all deserve a little fuckin' break, after all this ghosts and parasites and demon bullshit.
Tiffany already did a real fine job making the pool into an honest to god water park. Be real fuckin' irresponsible of us if we didn't make good use of it. So I say we throw a pool party, put the ones they got in Hollywood to shame. Anybody wants to help me get this thing rolling?
[Private to Tiffany]
I guess I should ask for your permission first. You put in all the work.
[Private to Venus]
[He knows about the unpairing. He doesn't know how he knows, but he does. And he thinks maybe doing some party planning could help cheer Venus up.]
Hey, Venus. You're in the entertainment industry. Think you could help me out with this?
Getting a shower in his cabin is also an important priority, and once he gets to enjoy it properly, feeling generous, he wishes for it to go around. Then he lies down on the couch for something like ten hours straight, not feeling like getting up or doing anything at all. But it passes, and he's feeling pretty chill when he addresses the network.]
If you got your shower back, don't freak out, it don't mean you've graduated. I just thought it ain't real fair, that we gotta use the crappy showers all the time. Pretty sure personal showers aren't a security risk -- it's kind of the opposite, when you think about it. Means people are a whole lot less likely to get shanked in the shower now. And if you really gotta flash somebody, you can put on a trench coat and do it in the corridor.
[And he could stop there, but being in a good mood puts him in a rambling mood, so he keeps going.]
Anyone notice some bad side effects from all this interior decorating? So far the worst I got is that feeling you have when you been smokin' too much dope, and you just want to lie down and not give a fuck about anything. But no bleeding bathtubs, no crocodiles swimming around in the pool, nothin' as bad as that. And I figure, if a few of us band together to wish for something, maybe we won't even get that much blowback.
So I don't know. I know we shouldn't trust it, and I'm not sayin' we should go nuts with it, but that don't mean we shouldn't have a little fun while it lasts. I think we all deserve a little fuckin' break, after all this ghosts and parasites and demon bullshit.
Tiffany already did a real fine job making the pool into an honest to god water park. Be real fuckin' irresponsible of us if we didn't make good use of it. So I say we throw a pool party, put the ones they got in Hollywood to shame. Anybody wants to help me get this thing rolling?
[Private to Tiffany]
I guess I should ask for your permission first. You put in all the work.
[Private to Venus]
[He knows about the unpairing. He doesn't know how he knows, but he does. And he thinks maybe doing some party planning could help cheer Venus up.]
Hey, Venus. You're in the entertainment industry. Think you could help me out with this?
4th Jam / Succubusted
Apr. 15th, 2015 05:25 pm[Open Spam - Sunday through Wednesday]
[It's a bad week to start with a hangover. Lloyd wakes up to a cabin that looks like a small hurricane blew through it, a monster of a headache, and the instinctive realization that if shit hasn't hit the fan yet, it surely is about to.
When the monsters start showing up, he sobers up real fast. He tries to make himself useful as best as he can, although mostly he's being useful running errands and providing backup, because he somewhat doubts his ability to survive a one-on-one with any the nightmare creatures the Barge is swarmed with. He's armed, has a couple of weapons he kept from the haunted castle, but the unfortunate truth is that wielding a morningstar doesn't automatically make him a medieval badass, just an asshole waving a spiked club around. He's not a trained fighter, doesn't have a particular talent or lust for violence, and more often than not he's hiding from giant rock people or climbing onto washing machines to get away from tentacled dogs, not performing acts of great heroism. There are several times when he's injured badly, thinks he's losing consciousness, but is back to normal a second later, just feeling vaguely sick and thinking he must have hallucinated it.
A few days into the invasion, the adrenaline that has kept him going so far seems to be in short supply. He feels like he's running on a battery that's rapidly depleting, too worn out to even be really scared anymore. A few times when he slumps down to rest, he thinks he can hear the echo of a voice screaming Moootherrr, and his eyes snap open in panic, expecting to see the bars of his old cell. He's pretty sure that's all in his head -- when everything around you is crazy, you might as well start losing your fucking mind.]
( Spam for Letty; cw: vague sexual content, death by succubus )
[It's a bad week to start with a hangover. Lloyd wakes up to a cabin that looks like a small hurricane blew through it, a monster of a headache, and the instinctive realization that if shit hasn't hit the fan yet, it surely is about to.
When the monsters start showing up, he sobers up real fast. He tries to make himself useful as best as he can, although mostly he's being useful running errands and providing backup, because he somewhat doubts his ability to survive a one-on-one with any the nightmare creatures the Barge is swarmed with. He's armed, has a couple of weapons he kept from the haunted castle, but the unfortunate truth is that wielding a morningstar doesn't automatically make him a medieval badass, just an asshole waving a spiked club around. He's not a trained fighter, doesn't have a particular talent or lust for violence, and more often than not he's hiding from giant rock people or climbing onto washing machines to get away from tentacled dogs, not performing acts of great heroism. There are several times when he's injured badly, thinks he's losing consciousness, but is back to normal a second later, just feeling vaguely sick and thinking he must have hallucinated it.
A few days into the invasion, the adrenaline that has kept him going so far seems to be in short supply. He feels like he's running on a battery that's rapidly depleting, too worn out to even be really scared anymore. A few times when he slumps down to rest, he thinks he can hear the echo of a voice screaming Moootherrr, and his eyes snap open in panic, expecting to see the bars of his old cell. He's pretty sure that's all in his head -- when everything around you is crazy, you might as well start losing your fucking mind.]
( Spam for Letty; cw: vague sexual content, death by succubus )
3rd Jam / Tails and Feathers
Mar. 27th, 2015 03:16 pm( Spam for Venus, backdated to the body weirdness flood )
[Private to Duke]
Hey man, you run the pub, right? Was wondering if you could use an extra pair of hands behind the bar.
[Private to Duke]
Hey man, you run the pub, right? Was wondering if you could use an extra pair of hands behind the bar.
2nd Jam / Jaeger Hangover
Feb. 18th, 2015 08:16 pm[Private to Letty (backdated to right after the breach)]
[He has the ghost of a killer headache, which is a dimmer version of the real thing but still pretty fucking annoying. Maybe it's a good thing his head hurts, though, because it stops him from thinking too much, about what the hell just happened, about giant monsters and robots, about the guy he was and wasn't. Thinking hurts.
There's a shiny little toy version of the Ten Second Devil on his bedside table -- that's real funny, the Devil -- and he picks it up, moves its little arms up and down. It's a neat toy. It was an even neater Jaeger. It's strange that a word like Jaeger is even fitting into his brain, and not in relation to the drink -- what the hell is that, German? Behind the headache, he can still feel some of that amazing rush, and the relief of knowing that they've made it, and a little leftover guilt, for nearly getting them both killed over that fucking rabbit. It felt so goddamn real. Still does, but it's fading.
By the time he picks up the phone and calls Letty, his head is only marginally clearer.]
Hey -- [He's stuck at what to say. He's still expecting her to be in his head, even though it wasn't even him, not really, piloting the Devil alongside her.] How's your shoulder?
[Private to Venus, a little while later]
Hey, Venus. We made it out okay, me and Letty. Thought you might like to know.
How about you, you doing all right?
[He has the ghost of a killer headache, which is a dimmer version of the real thing but still pretty fucking annoying. Maybe it's a good thing his head hurts, though, because it stops him from thinking too much, about what the hell just happened, about giant monsters and robots, about the guy he was and wasn't. Thinking hurts.
There's a shiny little toy version of the Ten Second Devil on his bedside table -- that's real funny, the Devil -- and he picks it up, moves its little arms up and down. It's a neat toy. It was an even neater Jaeger. It's strange that a word like Jaeger is even fitting into his brain, and not in relation to the drink -- what the hell is that, German? Behind the headache, he can still feel some of that amazing rush, and the relief of knowing that they've made it, and a little leftover guilt, for nearly getting them both killed over that fucking rabbit. It felt so goddamn real. Still does, but it's fading.
By the time he picks up the phone and calls Letty, his head is only marginally clearer.]
Hey -- [He's stuck at what to say. He's still expecting her to be in his head, even though it wasn't even him, not really, piloting the Devil alongside her.] How's your shoulder?
[Private to Venus, a little while later]
Hey, Venus. We made it out okay, me and Letty. Thought you might like to know.
How about you, you doing all right?
First Jam / Fourth Wall
Feb. 6th, 2015 12:36 am[ At first, Lloyd has no fucking idea what's going on, but that's nothing new. After asking around, he sort of gets the picture. ]
This, uh, this phone malfunction, does it let you get calls from dead people? Real dead, I mean. Not this weird dead alive thing we got going.
[ Honestly, he looks slightly nervous at the prospect. There's plenty of dead people he'd much rather avoid running into, even over the phone. But for the few he would like to see again, it might be worth it. It's not like he's spoiled for choice here -- the only person, or "person" he knows who might still be alive is also the last one he wants to hear from. ]
This, uh, this phone malfunction, does it let you get calls from dead people? Real dead, I mean. Not this weird dead alive thing we got going.
[ Honestly, he looks slightly nervous at the prospect. There's plenty of dead people he'd much rather avoid running into, even over the phone. But for the few he would like to see again, it might be worth it. It's not like he's spoiled for choice here -- the only person, or "person" he knows who might still be alive is also the last one he wants to hear from. ]