Po

03. [Spam for the gym]

Tue, 03 Apr 2012 04:46:17 GMT

[Po has been more than a bit frustrated that none of his own brothers visited the barge. He would have liked a simple note, even if that would have meant having to fight with his communicator again to make it read the note out to him. Spending all of this time among strangers in a constantly changing atmosphere has begun to make him feel very lonely indeed. He knows he shouldn't feel lonely, for there are those who have been aboard the vessel far long than he has; that just makes him feel worse.

And now there's the fact that he finally has an inmate of his own. Flemming. It is a relief, on the one hand, to have already met the man that he is to work with. But now... now he has been given Flemming's file. Now he knows what happened to the man, and why he has done what he has done. It seems unfair that he should know so very much about a man that he has only just met.

But he can't talk to anyone about it. He can't talk to anyone right now, not willingly, for it makes his head hurt. The area behind his eyes aches as if it has been dashed against a wall, and his head swims. He needs a break. He needs some peace.

Which is what has driven him down the hall, toward the gym. He hasn't set foot in there since arriving; he's been too frightened to test his limits and find himself handicapped. But he knows now that fighting, moving, being on his feet clears his mind, makes him live in the moment. Gives him the stability he so craves. So here he is, stepping foot into the great chamber, unsure and nervous, but unable to leave.]

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02. [Spam]

Wed, 07 Mar 2012 00:36:58 GMT

[Po is standing in front of the elevator on the third deck, hands in his pockets. He seems to be staring intently at it. His posture is very relaxed, but there's obviously something about the elevator occupying his mind. Every so often he jabs one button or the other with a finger and waits for the doors to open, but he doesn't get on. That, for anyone who wants to know, is because he's ridden the elevator up and down for the past hour. He's still fascinated by it. If you speak to him, though, he will be happy enough to make conversation with you.]

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01.

Thu, 16 Feb 2012 15:06:55 GMT

[A new voice comes from the communicators. It is low and just a bit gravelly, with a gently lilting accent. For a moment it is muffled, as if someone has his hand over the microphone, but then it clears up.]

Ah, hello? Is it true that if I speak into this device, people can hear me from afar?

[There is a short, disbelieving laugh.]

It's marvelous. Whoever invented it should sell it to my people. They would become hideously wealthy in days.

[Action spam for anyone on level 4.]

[The man walking down the corridor has the strangest eyes. One is pale and silvery; the other is not so much brown as golden. Each color alone could be considered beautiful, if unusual; but both set in his face they end up making him look jarringly uneven, rather than beautiful. He's also got small gold hoop earrings in each ear and a hoard of rings on his fingers. His simple travelling clothes look old, but they are clean and look as if they may once have been expensive. He's got a long stride, but he is walking unhurriedly. In his hand is the communicator, which his thumb keeps grazing over. If you approach him, he will smile and greet you.]

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