buywithme | Entries tagged with loves hearing himself talk

[Video clicks on, and look! It's filming a devastatingly handsome young man, as he whispers something in a girls ear. She slides her arm around his waist, leans forward, and they kiss, deeply. The camera wobbles, and it's clear that whoever's filming them probably isn't... supposed to be filming them.]

I did that. I gave him that. My god he was so tragic before I kindly intervened, just some poor unfortunate soul who could barely say his own name without stuttering. Now look at him.

[There's a fond sigh from behind the communicator.]

He has everything he wanted, and I think in this case I was especially generous in the deal I offered. What I asked for was completely useless to him...

[And now the camera swivels back around to Prefect. He's a senior, seventeen and looking quite a bit older by now, and although his legs are currently in... leg form, rather than fin form, there are still scales creeping up his neck, identifying him as not quite human. Currently he's sitting on the grass, quite near to the greenery of the forest.]

We all have problems, don't we. Him, perhaps more than most, but there's something for everyone. Worried about your grades? Have a problem with a teacher? Have a problem with a student? I myself happen to love solving problems. [He rolls over, sprawling onto his back in a rolling, squamous gesture that might have a hint of the tide about it.] I like using my talents to help people. The miserable, lonely, and depressed. Never feel ashamed, dear friends. Never doubt that I am here for you.

[Then he smiles, wide and bright and possibly not entirely genuine.] Do you want to see what he gave me? In exchange for confidence and good looks? [He pushes his shirt up, in one quick motion, and points the camera at his chest.] Ta-Da! See, he was never going to use them for anything and I was getting tired of being the only one who didn't have a set of my own... so...

[The camera focuses, and Prefect's free hand is now pointing at one of his nipples. Yes. Really.]

Even though they're purely decorative, you mammals all seem to think very highly of them, and they were pretty much the only thing he actually had going for him before I intervened, so...

[Shrug. Seems like a pretty generous deal to him.]

[ooc: Prefect is the son of a sea witch (thing Ursula from The Little Mermaid) and he's got a reputation for specializing in transformation magic, love spells, fairy tale bullshit, and a love for bartering, deal making, and contracts. Right now he's lounging around on the grass near the edge of the grounds, feel free to spam if you'd prefer <3]

[Video clicks on, and you get a nicely framed shot of a young man, with a nice, neat suit, and ridiculously well coiffed hair. Hello Wardens and Inmates! Brothers and Sisters! Comrades ~~and Consumers!]~~

Comrades... Without wanting to sound accusatory, there have been a lot of discussions lately, about problems between wardens and inmates, and questions about what wardens can and can not do, and... honestly, some of these hypothetical questions should not be things that any of us are in doubt about.

If you are a warden, then killing an inmate, any inmate, should be your absolute last resort.

If you are an inmate, then at the very least you should not feel as if your life is in danger from a warden.

[Prefect's EXTREMELY SERIOUS FACE is extremely serious right now. He is kind of talking to you here, Buffy.]

Sadly, there will be exceptions to these. There will be situations where the decision will have to be made as to whether killing a dangerous inmate is the only way to prevent a great deal of harm, and unfortunately there have been, and will be, situations where wardens abuse their powers and neglect their responsibilities.

I don't think the problems we have right now are of that great a magnitude, however, I do think that the warden community has a collective responsibility of care for the inmate community, which it is very easy to neglect. Especially if you've got a tendency to devote all of your attention to your own inmate, and no one elses. [This is not a dig at anyone, he is 100% talking about himself here.] What this means is that no matter how good a job we are doing as individuals, there will still be inmates who are suffering unnecessarily, who see what we are trying to do here as being undermined by a small minority, and through these things, who lose the opportunity of a second chance that they've been brought here for.

[He clears his throat, clearly getting to the point at last:]

So, that brings me to the purpose of this post.

If there are any inmates currently on board who have serious concerns or complaints about the conduct of specific wardens, then I want to ask you to bring them forward. You can make them public, or I'd be just as happy to hear them privately.

The reason why I want to hear them is because while we don't have any specific authority over one another, and while I couldn't go out by myself and punish anyone for whatever they've done, or threatened to do to you? I would really want to take steps to protect you from that person. Whether it's by confronting the person who has threatened you, or by making sure that you have somewhere secure to stay, or... anything else that's within my capabilities, really.

[He reaches off Camera, and lifts up a small safety deposit box, with a slot on the top. Those who have been here for a million billion years may find it somewhat familiar...]

Now... What I'm talking about here are pretty specific and urgent circumstances, Comrades, but I'm aware that there will be other problems, and that they may continue to arise in the future. Because of this, I will be officially re-instituting the Complaints and Suggestions box. If anyone has a problem, and they either aren't comfortable coming to me in person, or if they can't find me immediately? Then from now on you'll be able to find this outside my cabin. That's outside room five, on level four.

And... to those who've only recently arrived? Welcome to the Barge, I'm sorry things have been a little hectic lately. My name is Prefect.

[And with that said, he gives a small, polite smile, and clicks off the communicator.]

[ooc: YES, PREFECT HAS PUT THE SUGGESTION BOX BACK UP. FEEL FREE TO TROLL THE EVER LOVING HELL OUT OF IT.]

[Video clicks on, and say hello to your friendly neighborhood hostaged Commodore. Prefect is slumped, shirtless against the stone wall of his cell, his expression is tired and irritable. He's a little scuffed, and there are bruises climbing up his chest, but as he begins to broadcast, you can see him force himself to straighten up, so that he can deliver his daily bitching session with an air of authority and professionalism.]

This is Commodore Prefect of His Majesty's Royal Naval Forces, calling all officers who are yet to join the cowardice hoard here in their treachery to the crown.

Myself and First Lieutenant Pendragon are now entering the hundred and twelfth day of our imprisonment here. Spirits are high, and neither one of us have swerved in our loyalty to his majesty, or our certainty that God, and right shall deliver us from this ugly circumstance.

[His expression slips slightly, and there's a hint of a glare coming through as he continues:]

It is in that spirit that I wish to add to the list of charges which I have recorded thus-far, to be pressed against the inhabitants of this vipers nest, when they are brought before the hand of the English courts and to the satisfaction of the just.

Two days ago, as Lieutenant Pendragon and I commandeered a vessel for the departure from this island, we were waylaid by two men known to be in the employ of Captain Reaver, known locally by the names "Black-Eye Dan" and "Fists McCall". Both men struck at us, and while alone we easily outmatched them, it did not take long for them to enlist the aid of the local mob, and we were swarmed by collaborators before we were able to depart.

[He's looking progressively embittered at this point, like even saying all of this is leaving a bad taste in his mouth.]

I have added the names of those guilty of colluding with our captors to the list [The list which he has been compiling since his arrival, which has the name of almost everyone in the port on it by now, which he updates every few days just so you know that you're on it.] In addition to the names of several local criminals who we have witnessed operating from the confines of our imprisonment.

The only men here more worthy of the noose than these scurrilous curs, are those deserters who come here, shed of their colours and entrenching themselves as deeply in the crimes this place as any other man! They are the shame of His Majesties Navy, and I name them too! I've much hope that you and I, oh last and loyal men, shall carry them to court martial, and to pay in blood for their cowardice, and their treachery!

[He ends in a pissy little snarl, before clicking off the video. Once the broadcast is finished, the text function scrolls down the communicators face, with a long, long list of the people Prefect is eventually planning on hanging. Feel free to assume that your character's name is on there.

It may go without saying that he makes these broadcasts frequently, and that they're only superficially intended for loyal Naval Officers. They're more like a giant, petty, ongoing fuck you to the pirates and inhabitants of Barcaza.

The cell (housing both Prefect and Arthur) is literally built into the corner of a building, and open to the street and passers by, so feel free to spam!]

[Prefect clicks on his video, and he's clearly relaxing. He's sitting in a small, neat cafe, with an expensive looking coffee in front of him. His hands are clean, but the cuffs of his sleeves are ringed with blood.]

Friends, three days ago, I thought that your claiming ignorance was just a coordinated attempt to get out of having to pay your debts, and while I believe taking that course of action to be irresponsible and futile, It's a very understandable motivation. [He taps the side of his coffee cup and frowns.] There's a difference, however, between trying to save your own life, and trying to attack the foundations of a company which does good. A company to which, need I remind you, we all owe our lives!

Let me ask you all something: Do you think organs grow on trees? Do you think that they fall out of the sky? Do you think that GeneCo is able to produce them magically and with no personal financial expenditure? Do you think that the surgeons who do the work can afford to live without payment?

Now I am sorry that you've all found yourselves in this position. I'm sorry, that we all get sick, and I'm sorry that there is no magical solution where organs appear out of thin air, and cost nothing. That isn't the world we live in though. Other people still need treatment, and when you refuse to pay your debts, and try to get away without returning what is GeneCo's property? Those are the people who suffer, because GeneCo can't afford to give them the organs they need at the prices they can manage to pay. Without us? They die. They all die.

[He takes a long drink of his coffee, emptying the cup before raising to his feet.]

GeneCo saved us. Rotti Largo, the man who cured the world, looked down upon our failing bodies and recreated them in his own image! You might be angry and you might be upset, but this company reached into the jaws of death and lifted us up, from damnation to something beyond and better than humanity! GeneCo did this for each and every one of us, and the world we live in now is built upon the back of their labour! When each and every one of you signed your contracts you embraced your role as a part of this world! You accepted the salvation which GeneCo offered, and you entered into a covenant to repay them for it. Friends, if you are unable or unwilling to do that then it is you who has broken your oath, not them.

[There's a dreamy, romantic quality in his eyes now, and the pseudo religious tone which has crept into his tone is familiar to anyone who's known him for long. It's the way he used to talk about the Factory.]

You have to understand that without GeneCo, society as we know it ceases to exist. Humanity ceases to exist. There are no other options, there is no other way, this is the path drawn out by destiny, evolution, and existence, mapped out and led by the great guiding hand of the Largo family! Deviation from it leads only to the true end of history. So friends, brothers, do not be afraid. Yes we are coming for you, and yes you will die, but the heart that beats within you now will live on, and prolong the life of another. Your body will strengthen the foundations of Sanitarium Island, and your legacy will be the continuation of GeneCo and the continuation of the human race!

[His eyes are sparkling with a spiritual fervor, and he smiles as he steps to the door of the Cafe.]

You should be grateful, Friends. You should rejoice, for the service that you do to your fellow customers! [He pushes the door open, still talking as he steps through. The paneled hallways of the Barge come into view behind him.] For though we are but tiny cogs within the great machine, Comrades, know that every death, every sacrifice, and every payment made is made for the eternal glory and power of The Factory! Beyond all ashes and dust and stretching out to the furthest reaches of infinity! Comrades! Consumers--

[And that's when he catches himself. Prefect falters, looking momentarily confused, before glancing down to his blood drenched sleeves.

His hands shake, as he ends the feed abruptly.]

[Video clicks on, annnnd yes, Prefect is still sitting at Barron's bedside in the infirmary. There's a small pile of Prefect-y posessions now flanking the bed, and an additional blanket folded over the end of Barron's bed. Because apparently he's just living here now.

There is a string of little hearts which have been cut out from some pink paper and which are now dangling across the top of Barron's bedboard, at least two blatantly home made valentines day cards sitting on his bedside table, and a very small, potted rosebush next to these. Prefect is staring at the Camera with an attentiveness which is clearly seasonal.]

Comrades! Con-- ah, Brothers and Sisters! I'm sure that you are all aware that it is again the time of year in which it is seasonally appropriate to shower one another with expressions of affection across all degrees of sincerity an insincerity! To reach out, and shamelessly distribute tokens representative of a degree of emotional fealty which it is impossible for you to guarantee will actually last, and to do so without hesitation! To linger not upon the possibility of outgrowing one another or making yourself look unsophisticated, but rather to charge forward blindly into overblown expressions of affection!

[He punches the air as he finishes this short tirade, and his eyes shine with a cheerful sincerity. IDK if you know this, but Prefect fucking loves Valentines day, guys.]

Now normally, Comrades, I would try and encourage you to purchase items either from me or from one another, to express the depths of your emotions towards your beloved, however: [He lifts his hands, because this is serious business and this year he will not try to sell you things!] I am a warden now, and It is my responsibility to attempt to not be evil, and control my consumerist instincts, so instead, I am going to suggest and demonstrate a number of things which you can do to express the depths of your love, which will cost you nothing but time and effort and resources.

( Cut because god damn these Valentines day posts get longer every year. )

[Private to Nathan Petrelli]

Do you like valenti--

Has anyone brought you a rosebu--

I made you a ca--

Do you like pink champa--

...

By the way, Comrade, has anyone shown you around the warden areas yet?

[Video clicks on. Prefect's sitting beside his comatose inmate in the infirmary, and looking... well... looking tired. He pressed one hand across his eyes, rubbing them, before glancing towards the camera again.]

When Eddie Russet left, he said he was going to try and change things in his world. To go... start a revolution, or join one. To try and change his world, even if he died in the process. Sonmi was the same. I don't know if anyone here got a chance to know her, really, but she was my inmate, before Barron. She was a worker. Born and bred and destined to be a worker, and she fought them. Like my workers fought me.

[He smiles, his gaze dropping from the Camera to stare out into space a little.]

I couldn't help her. I still don't fully understand why she was an inmate here, when she was a much better person than I was. She deserved... I don't know, he deserved to win. And when I think about that, I think, my workers? The people who killed me? They deserve to win too. They deserve a life outside the Factory. [He brings a hand up to scratch at his eyes, frowning now.] But-- but they won't get one, because the Factory is vast. It's vast, and it's powerful and it's omniscient, and it doesn't really need them. And it won't die in it's sleep. So they all lose, and none of them get that other life that they deserve, only I do. It's only me. [He drops his hand down again, staring into space, his expression desolate.]

Sonmi, and then Eddie, and now O'Brien. I guess Beatty too, eventually. I don't know if... if it's about atonement or suicide. Sometimes I think... eventually, I'll go back too. I'll have too, because if I don't actually try to change it, if I don't actually go out there and do something to fix what I did to all those people, then nothing that I've done here actually has any meaning. Nothing that I believe about justice, or freedom, really means anything.

[He finally glances back towards the Camera again.] I hate it though. I hate that they choose that. They just-- what kind of god complex do you have to have to think that your death, that your going back and fighting the good fight and dying will be the thing that changes anything? I'm sorry, Comrades, but Newsflash: This is not actually the end of history! The Factory is not infinite, eventually your totalitarian regime will fall with or without your intervention, and you have been lied too!

[His voice has sped up towards the end of this little speech, and his tone has hardened and he's openly agitated. As he finishes, however, Barron shifts slightly in his coma. It's really just a twitching muscle, but none the less, Prefect's attention is abruptly redirected to fawning over his unconscious form.]

[Click to a video of Prefect. He's sitting on a chair, holding a small stack of books, on the top of it, there's a dog eared copy of The Three Musketeers.]

This was the first book I read here on the barge, Comrades. Sam gave it to me... years ago now. [He pauses, leafing through the pages idly.] I haven't read many others. We didn't really have books like this where I'm from. I mean, Sometimes you saw people on tv reading them, and sometimes you could buy like... the book part of it, so that you could look like the people on tv, but the contents were always just advertisements.

[He turns The three Musketeers over in his hands, studying the synopsis.]

I don't really go to the library here much. I used to go there and get drunk in the historical agriculture section, when I needed a change of scenery, but I don't really get any books out. I mean, I liked this one? And I like parts of the Marquis's books although I do inevitably end up skipping most of them, but books... don't really have any kind of special significance to me. Burning them is just like... burning a cardigan that you were never really planning on wearing anyway.

[He tosses the book down onto the concrete floor of his cabin. The second book in the stack is a copy of Farenheit 451]

I understand that this isn't the case for most people here. I know that for Beatty, burning books is his job. He did it every single day, to wipe out something that he saw as harmful, it was his duty to protect the people of his society. I know that for most of you, burning books - and what Beatty did in his real life - is an act of oppression, and a threat against the authors of those books. It represents the destruction of free thought, and of totalitarian governments. So I can understand why seeing someone doing it makes you angry.

[He tosses down the copy of Farenheit 451, and it lands on the floor beside The Three Musketeers with an ominous little thunk. The final book in the pile is one that people could only recognize if they've been in Prefect's room. It's a thick, heat bound pile of papers, and looks more like an instruction manual than anything else.]

Beatty can't do any of those things here though. And he knows that he can't. He can't stop the books from being replaced, he can't stop you from buying more books in ports, he can't stop you from writing, or thinking, or reading. He hasn't done anything to oppress any of you. On the Barge, while living without freedom? Burning books isn't an act of oppression. It's an act of political protest. I don't care if you hate it, or if you hate what it's trying to say, or if you think that he should have been stopped, or that he should be punished for this...

[Prefect throws the last book down. The cover reads Acceptable Procedural Standards and Functions. Then beneath that, written in bold; Class: A+ Designation: Prefect. What remains in his hand, formerly hidden beneath the pile of books, is a lighter.]

...Non-violent protest is a right.

[It seems for a moment, like there's more he wants to say, but he stops himself. Instead, he grabs a bottle of gin, and douses the books with it, before reaching down with the lighter, and clicking it on, so that all three books are consumed into tongues of flame.]

FUN OOC NOTES: Prefect has shoved all his cardboard boxes to the far end of the room, and his cabin is made of concrete, so the fire shouldn't spread, annnnnd yes, all of these books are his <3

[Video clicks on, annnnnd PREFECT TIME! The Camera is set up on Prefect's desk, and he's sitting in front of it. He looks slightly agitated, as if he's just trying to think of something, but he can't get it to come to his mind. Finally, he speaks, but his voice is slow, careful. As if he's not quite sure if he wants to be saying this.]

We used to say that-- that god was dead, and that history was dead, and that we'd built the Factory on their bodies. So that was always how I used to think of God, as this... abandoned idea, that didn't matter anymore. Or as a historical figure. It was like saying the Queen of England was dead, or that Elvis was dead. They were these insignificant institutions that had no meaning to me. Honestly, I think we only even said that he was dead because it was catchy.

[Pause. Prefect is obviously thinking haaaard about this.]

I used to just ignore Howie when he talked about God. I think... in my head, he was like this person, who desperately wanted to talk about something that no one else anywhere cared about, and that nobody else wanted to hear about. People would get into arguments with him, and say things just to upset or offend him. Eventually people began targeting him and attacking him because he wouldn't stop talking about this completely pointless thing, but he kept on talking about it.

[He gives a helpless little shrug.] It took me a long time to make the connection between the entire way Howie lived his life, and that thing he wouldn't stop talking about. He was such a good warden, Comrades. In times when there really weren't any good wardens, he was always such a good warden. He was here for years, and in that time, no matter what happened to him, he is... literally, the only person on this entire ship that I can think of, who never acted out of pure selfishness. He was always driven by the belief that he had to do what was right. For his inmate... his friends, his enemies... for all of us. [He shakes his head, looking up slightly.] And that, Comrades, is absolutely unique here, and this thing that he believed in? That I only ever saw as this weird, unpleasant tendency? This thing that got him into trouble and made his life hard and that irritated me? That was the same thing that he got his strength from, and that made him believe that it was important to be that kind of person.

[Prefect frowns now, his forehead knitting slightly, as he looks down at his hands.] The thing he got from it... I don't know, I don't know if it made him happy. His life never seemed happy to me. It didn't make him stronger, or more convincing, or smarter than anyone else, but he never gave it up. It was like his faith made him... unstoppable. Indestructible. And it made him a better man than any of us.

[As Prefect speaks, his voice gets a little distant, forlorn even.] Sometimes, I think he must have felt about God, the way I used to feel about the Factory. Only for me... the Factory tore people down, it made them into components, or functions. For Howie, being God's creations elevated people. It made them more than what they were. [He has his arms wrapped around his stomach, and he's looking off Camera a little. His expression is almost sad. Finally, his eyes flick back towards the communicator.]

So, Comrades... I was wondering...

[Prefect visibly steels himself:]

...does anyone know what you have to do to become a Christian?

[Added after speaking to O'Brien, Private to Barron]

Comrade, do I owe you a drink?

[Click, and hey! It’s some video footage! Prefect is sitting in front of the camera, looking almost dementedly gleeful, and... what’s that piled high around him? But the cheap, tacky, Factory branded trappings of valentines day. Or at least, some of it is, some of it, on the other hand, is just stuff that Prefect has painted pink and is apparently hoping will blend in.

Pink hammer, pink ladle, pink ball, pink empty gin bottle, whatever, it’s all the colour of love.]

Comrades! Consumers!

Do not be disheartened by news of your recent demise and arrival upon an interdenominational prison ship which will strip away any semblance of your personality and confidence in the name of moral rehabilitation! And do not be curtailed from your pursuit of happiness by the recent murders, suicides and death threats being issued by your fellow inmates and/or wardens! Most importantly, do not be dismayed or distressed by those amongst you who would claim that Valentines day is a meaningless slew of commercial consumerist trash, because Comrades! [His face falls, suddenly completely deadpan and serious] That is the best thing about it.

[THEN SUDDENLY THE MANIC, RICTUS, FACTORY STYLE GRIN IS BACK]

Comrades, this Valentines day don’t sulk about your lack of popularity or mental and physical wellbeing! Don’t celebrate with a cynical lack of gift and card delivery, leaving those you admire with no physical token in recognician of their fantastic beauty! Don’t bemoan the commercialism of it all when you’re living in a society reduced to the crudest of bartering! But stand tall with me, in the glorious pink light of this most sacred of holidays, and buy with me!

Comrades, in this remarkable, one day only sale, I am offering a selection of immaculately produced, Factory standard greeting cards and romantic items, for the low low price of... [PAUSE. Apparently he hadn’t thought this far ahead in his sales pitch. Eventually, he raises his eyebrows and grins a little wider] ...almost anything! What’s that? You don’t think your significant other would appreciate any of these remarkable gifts? Well, don’t underestimate the versatility of our stores! The Facto-- Uh, the former Factory outlet point insists on the highest possible standards of service! Make our Valentines Day a happy one, by making your Valentines Day a happy one.

[And with that, he picks up the bright pink hammer, and turns it, so that the camera gets a nice clear shot of the nicely calligraphed “I Love You”, which Prefect has clearly written along the side of it. There is a long, long, pause. Then he realizes that maybe he shouldn’t be giving hammers to inmates, and quickly adds:]

Some items may be subject to restricted sales, no income from sales will actually go to the Factory, and no item or items actually guarantee a happy valentines day or positive reception from the recipient and a negative reception will not be accepted as grounds for a refund.

Manchester 1974

This was Sam's home, it was interesting to go there for a little while, but it was also dirty, disorgnized, and everyone who Sam knows appears to have a propensity towards shouting, grabbing, swearing, or all of the above. I was called many things, I am unsure what most of them meant.

Not drinking was literally impossible. Sam shouted a lot.

THE BEAR FOLLOWED US.

Vague, Blissful Post-Mortem Location

This is where Harvey is now. The details of what the place itself was like are hazy, ~~but seeing him again~~ the details of being with Harvey, on the other hand, are perfectly clear. He's happier there than I've ever seen him. We talked a lot, and he is doing extremely well. Sends his best wishes to the Barge at large.

Sanitarium Island

~~Pavi!~~ This is Pavi's home. He was extremely pleased to see me, and not drinking proved impossible here as well. There was an open offer of 'genterns' but I chose not to take advantage of this. Sanitarium Island appears to have more dead bodies than living people inhabiting it. Pavi works a lot more than you would expect, and has managed to remain not evil. Also, very big guest quarters ~~I felt a little uncomfortable takin~~ I spent most of my time in his rooms, since he obviously had more space than he needed anyway, but sometimes I obviously was not supposed to be in his rooms. At these times I excused myself.

[PAUSE.]

And that's where I've been. I'm back now.

Hello Comrades.

[Private to O'Brien, after his conversation with Iago]

Comrade, the Admiral is no longer coming between me and the copious supply of gin in my room, would you like to come have a drink with me?

[Whatever the answer, Prefect's starting without you now.]

Comrades, Consumers!

Frustrated by your workload as a warden? Annoyed by your inmates stubborn refusal to accept and embrace your moral directives? Sick of the ports, floods, and death tolling? Comrades, do not be disheartened! For Wardens in your position there are a wealth of options all available for a very reasonable price!

[He spreads his hands wide open, and gives one of those totally fake dazzling smiles that he's so good at.]

Our first, and most popular package deal is most appropriate for those of you still driven by the self interest of acquiring the promised reward of the Admiral! It comes with easy application, can be suited to even the most hectic of lifestyles, and many wardens have already adopted it into their program of inmate rehabilitation! It's simple:

Continue to act as though you're better than we are, while you simply stop caring! Stop responding! Ignore every problem as someone else's problem. Fellow warden having a breakdown? Ignore them! Inmate who you're not assigned to asks for help? Ignore them! Violent inmate publicly declares his intent to attack someone while roaming the halls looking for that person?

Ignore them all!

All this package costs is the well being and trust of the inmate population, and the mutual respect and consideration for each other that you're supposed to be teaching us, and Comrades, frankly I'm doing you a favor by taking those obstacles to a happier, calmer life off your hands!

But that's not all, for those of you so diametrically opposed to a life of responsibility that even this deal doesn't sound sufficient, The Factory does of course have an alternative! The price for this is slightly steeper, as it will impact upon your overall net earnings from your time on the Barge, but Brothers, Sisters, when it gets to the point where inmates are protecting each other and looking out for the wellfare of wardens not because they are reformed, but because you are not doing your jobs? Well, it's not as if you're likely to earn that deal on your own anyway! So we at the Factory would like to present an ongoing open offer to all wardens, application effective immediately:

[And the grin just drops away entirely, you get that CREEPY, COLD, DEAD EYED STARE HE USED TO TURN ON SAM WHEN HE WANTED TO BE LEFT ALONE]

Leave.

~~Is this--~~

...

Comrades? ~~Are we--~~

[There's a long pause.]

~~I have-- cons--~~

Comrades!

Consumers!

Allow me to extend my fondest and most sincere greetings to you from the end of history! I’m quite sure you know my name: Prefect. Are we not the most highly favored of all our kinds to be here? In this, our new chance? Our new and open doorway? The compilation of not only millennia of history and experience, but worlds upon worlds of variety and flavor, all compressed into one microcosmic existence? Lain out for us on a platter? Let us not mourn our misfortune or dream of escape, but rather, let us combine and create and expand in our scope and diversity! Once more unto the breach my friends once more! Let us immanentize the eschation!

Brothers, sisters, comrades, buy with me.

[Ooc: Okay, so Prefect is back, and where he was that week lasted a lot longer than it did here. As such, he's worried that the people he knew will have all either graduated or just vanished off. Instead of being sensible and asking, he's re-written his original greeting post in case he's just surrounded by strangers.]

Comrades! Consumers! Haven't we had a flood of unfamiliar faces lately? Well allow me to personally greet each and every one of you to the Barge. My name is Prefect, and I am the sole operator of the Factories single outlet here.

Comrades, I know this may be difficult for you, I know that you've awoken in a strange new place, far from home, I know you feel pressured and dominated and confused, but brothers, sisters, do not let your hearts be troubled. This place will tear at your minds and your hearts, destroy your body and each time allow you to rise from the ashes of that flesh like a scalding phoenix from the flames, it is a place forever in flux, forever changing. It is impermanent. The only way now to anchor ourselves is to build our own physical empires, Comrades, you are no longer your body or your mind or your primitive notions of soul, you are only what you surround yourself with! That is what abides, that is what remains.

So Comrades, Consumers, Brothers and Sisters, do not dwell in the realm of ever fleeting consciousness, but rather buy with me, the building blocks of who or what you are so that when your mind is torn away from you your foundations are still firm! Bicycles, balaclavas, ballet shoes, blue-ray players, boxer shorts, bottles, berets, baskets, basketballs, just a small number of the things we currently have in stock, and Comrades if we are unable to find what you require in our existing stores then rest assured, our staff will do literally whatever is possible to acquire what you need elsewhere, and all of this for the lowest prices possible.

Comrades, in the hours of your discontent, in the moments when this place at the end of time and space and history tries to drag you apart, ask yourself this:

Will I be lost? Will I be the one who falls first with no solid hold to grip onto? Will my mind be the first not to return?

Comrades, do not let it be so. Buy with me today, and we shall chain ourselves to this reality with the endless glory of commerce and products, in this ever fluctuating reality, we shall build our own, buy with me now, and make it so.

[Private to Jayne]

Comrade? I've been asked to contact you on behalf of someone who wishes to remain anonymous.

Comrades! Consumers! The Factory would like to absolutely and categorically apologize for the complete failure of its staff to function in any reasonable capacity during the events of the week before last. Rest assured there were severe external influences disrupting the capabilities of its current outlet and staff body and the appropriate reprimands and restorative programs are currently being undertaken.

We would like to take this moment to reassure all our customers that this was an isolated incident and the recent decline in behavioral standards which the Factory requires of it's work force will definitely not be continuing. Despite the mitigating circumstances of this particular collapse of professionalism, we are ensuring that our staff attend a rigorous program of retraining and customer service specialization, to ensure the highest possible service for you! Our valiant and valued brothers and sisters, still living the immaculate dream of the blossoming consumer!

Comrades, let us never lose sight of the great glories of possession and obedience, above and beyond the frailty of our rotting bodies and fleeting allegiances, our broken hearts and our unfulfilled dreams, our dead parents and our meaningless names. Comrades, history is dead and the barge is its tomb. Nothing here has meaning, nothing here survives the ever strengthening vortex of it's function. Comrades, the phrase: "You can't take it with you when you go." no longer applies, because there is nowhere else to go! Forget your outdated notions of family and faith and freedom because all your abstract concept riches are back where you came from and you can never leave this place. Here, it doesn't matter how beautiful your wife is or how intelligent your beloved children are, or how fulfilling you find your job, because none of them exist anymore. Here? The winner is the man with the most stuff. Here, the only things left in the universe that will last, are possessions, and obedience.

Newcomers, welcome to the Barge.

This is an official Factory announcement, there are no golden shores.

Prefect
A+920164626P

[ooc: Annnnd we're back in action! Huzzah! Prefect has been doing some serious thinking and re-educating himself over the last week, this is his eventual response to the last flood!]

I don't think I'm supposed to be here, there isn't a register or anything...

I think this is a new world, and it obviously needs exploring. That can be my job then.

Okay, I'm going to start exploring now.

Going now.

Okay.

[ooc: Prefect lost Sam at some point, and decided after long and painstaking thought processes, that he would have to go downstairs to look for his beloved warden/find food for the happy day upon which they would be reunited. He got downstairs, promptly noticed the super powered fighting, decided he didn't really love Sam all that much after all, ran back up to the "safe" floor, and promptly lost a few decades.]

Sam?

The Vampires are out now, what happened to no one being left on their own. I mean, I've barricaded my door, so I don't think I'm in any trouble, but It would be nice to have some consistency in your random decisions on how the barge should be run.

After ten minutes or so this is added:

Sam, the Admiral gave me a pile of gunpowder, and I'm giving wardens a ten percent discount, because as a collective you're more desperate and unprofessional and you'll probably need it more.

After another ten minutes:

Are you ignoring me? You do realize this is your job Comrade? Just because you're paranoid and don't appreciate the financial benefits that this could open up to me isn't an excuse for you to shirk your duty as a laborer in the service of this organization!

At long last:

...

Are you dead?

...

Master, if Sam is dead could you bring him back to life please? If you don't then this is an entire page of unnecessarily expended effort on my part.

Comrades! Consumers! The Factory would just like to remind you that over the passing months its staff have shown absolute dedication to fulfilling your various needs, zero breaches of our client confidentiality policy, and complete professionalism in dealing with all cases! No matter how disturbing or dangerous you may be, no matter how obscure or impractical your order, and we have always strived to maintain the lowest possible prices for our products!

Now that alternatives are beginning to become available we urge you to remember this standard of service and ask yourself: "Will our competitors do this for you?" Without a lifetime of training to subdue all preference, self preservation, or emotional bias, no other sales unit will be capable or even willing to supply whatever we are able to whomever wants it for whatever purpose, and still maintain absolute privacy even on pain of great personal loss and/or sacrifice.

Remember - Just because she's trying to sell you things, doesn't mean she's me!

~~WHY DON'T I HAVE THE RECORDS FOR OUR LAST PRODUCT INSPECTION?~~

Comrades, I'm beginning to think that this flood is a representation of those whose examples we should not take.

I don't--

It doesn't make any sense. We must strive not to let ourselves be lost or distracted by this interference with what we are destined and born to be! Because... these aren't us, and we should just forget about them.

Comrades! Consumers!

Are you feeling the sting of loss in your life? The desperate cravings of inadequacy? Has your warden cut you off from something you long for and miss, or your inmate made it impossible to enjoy one of your former pleasures? Brothers, sisters, such times sting all of us at some point, but let these losses not deter us from our purer functions! Let them not drive us into states of brooding disapproval or let us search for an unmatchable fulfillment in our own souls! No, for doing this will only drag us deeper into the mindless quagmire of our own stinging loss! Comrades, instead let us ask ourselves why? What would really cure this pain? Not sitting alone in our rooms, nor distracting ourselves with the idle pleasures of company, NO Comrades! Do not be fooled by the blithe bragging of snake oil salesmen promising you gain through loss! Don't listen to the clamoring priests and evangelicals of loneliness and self indulgence! Comrades, the ache of loss is a physical manifestation of your own, wounded being, and can only be solved by the glorious deliverance of commerce!

Of products, Comrades!

It is in this spirit of hope that the Factory is forced to announce a brief intermission of access to our current stock. Know that we too feel the absence of that which we are cut off from, and that we will be there in sympathy and availability in your own times of hardship! Please direct any and all orders to our on site staff, who will endeavor to provide the very best of service even through this difficult period.

Comrades, believe always in strength through commerce! Through the bonds of the corporate family we are made whole, If you can not buy with me today, buy with me tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, once more unto the breach, and onto every breach!

~~Amen.~~

Comrades! Consumers! Is not this day a glorious day? Are not our hearts and closets filled with the promises or new life? Of different life? Do we not each and every day live out the deep seated longing to be someone, nay, ANYONE but our own oh so fragile selves? Well Comrades the time is now, or is the time not always? Tomorrow, when you don your costume, and for just one night become what you imagine yourself as, consider this: you ARE your jacket.

You ARE your hat.

You are your perfume, your jewelry, your non conformist tee-shirt, you are your ironic shell suit! Which brand of trainers define you as a person? Which product is YOUR product? And is it better than your comrades products? If not, UPGRADE! I'm having a special offer on...

...Well, actually the Factory store is closed at the moment due to stock issues and the absence of a door, but think about it anyway.

...I guess theoretically I could sell you these cat ears the Admiral left here, they come with a detachable tail?