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[Disoriented is a word for what Philip feels upon waking on the Barge. There's a dull throb of pain in his chest and his head, things he know he should be dead from, and his shirt is still slick with blood. He also recognizes the room he wakes up in with everything where it should be, but he knows it should burned out. The view outside the windows, however, aren't looking out into the streets of Woodbury, but an infinite void. He isn't sure if this is what death is supposed to be like, but he has a feeling it's not because it feels very much alive.]

[He's willing to stay as long as it takes to change and clean the blood off his face, but no longer than that. He doesn't feel particularly keen on lingering in a room with this many reminders right now. Already he's trying hard to not think of what just happened, the large amount of nothing he just left behind once more. He looks for any of his weapons before leaving to find them gone. So perhaps not everything is in its place. But no matter. He can improvise if the situation calls for it.]

[Stepping outside into the hall, he still doesn't know what to make of any of this. but if there's one thing he knows, it's that he needs to get his bearings and so he sets off to learn the layout of wherever the hell he's ended up.]

text.

[Later, after he's had the chance to explore and numerous explanations and perspectives on what this place is, he only has one question:]

How many of you are here?

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Define 'us'.

[ Crisply: ] Thousands.

[Connor is on his way somewhere else, because he is always on his way somewhere else. He usually doesn't stop every person he sees to have a chat, even if he's never seen them before. But it's very difficult to ignore people with eyepatches, because that usually means one of two things: disease or a very interesting life.

The former is worrisome on a crowded ship like this, and the latter, well. Connor likes to talk about interesting lives.

He watches this man for a moment, then takes a proverbial stab in the dark.]

Are you lost?

People.

[He does mean that in a very strict and narrow sense of the term, but does not really think that needs clarification unless asked.]

I somehow doubt that very much.

About a hundred, give or take on any given day.

[If there is one thing to be gleaned from Philip's body language, it's that he's tense. He doesn't trust this place. He doesn't trust the people here. He doesn't trust anything that's happening. He's ready for something, although what exactly is always up for debate. But nothing of what he's seen so far exactly assures him that anything can be trusted easily and a healthy (although sometimes extremely unhealthy) amount of paranoia has managed to get him this far, so.]

I suppose that's the word for it.

People come and go often?

Not every day, but maybe once a week or so. You new?

[That's all he really needs to know to figure out what's going on. Mistrust is common here, and Connor has a fair amount of it himself from time to time, but the tension discloses the rest. Lost and distrusting -- so he must be an Inmate.]

Just arrived, then. [He makes a broad, sweeping gesture toward the void beyond the railing.] It is very difficult to explain, but I will do my best. You have questions.

Numbers have been fluctuating. I'm not sure who's what anymore.

Yes. [He almost leaves it at that because it should be fairly apparent.] I just arrived today.

[Connor's assessments on all fronts are extremely accurate.]

A few, [Philip confirms. There is a brief pause as he looks out over the void, taking a moment to consider where to begin. He probably won't accept Connor's word, at least not a face value or alone, but it is a place to start. He turns his attention back on Connor.] What is this place?

In my experience, it's been fairly easy to tell.

[In other words, explain.]

[Connor doesn't exactly expect to be completely believed, but he'll try anyway. It's in his nature to help.]

She is only called the Barge. [Which reminds him that she probably should get a proper name at some point. Something to bring up later, maybe.] She moves through space, though I admit I do not quite understand how. Some of us are here to atone for things we have done, and others are here to help guide them.

Just shy of eighty; we've lost a few people recently.

Who's asking?

Atone.

[Philip says the word with a small scoff. It might be hard for Connor to discern whether it is because Philip doesn't think it's necessary or if he's just in disbelief. It's a little bit of both. At least he's realistic enough to not think he's here to help anyone. He's watched that go up in flames more than once at this point.]

And let me guess, you're one of the ones "guiding," right?

[He doesn't make airquotes because he is a grown-ass man and not a sassy teenager, but they're pretty palpable.]

[He could answer the question directly or he could be evasive. He could also just outright ignore the question (and answer) altogether. He considers each a moment.]

Lost a few people to what?

[Ignoring wins.]

Wherever they came from, I guess. They just up and left - or were sent away.

[Philip is choosing to take that as meaning the disappearances are largely unexplained.]

These disappearances happen often?

Billions, then. Who is 'they'? Because, speaking on behalf of the living organisms that inhabit the Barge, including single-celled organisms and symbionts, you could count for the rest of your lifetime and probably not get to an appreciable fraction.

[In his exploration, Philip may see a tall man dressed rather peculiarly who is also wandering around. Even though Loki has been here for about a month, he's still looking around as if he thinks he can find something different to what he's already discovered - something like an exit. He eyes the stranger when he sees him, sizing him up. A new face.]

What exactly do you mean? Inmates? Wardens? All together?

[Scorpius is fully in the process of moving parts of his lab into Horatio Hornblower's room. The halfbreed alien is delicately carrying some small set of vials when he pauses, and gives a mean little smile at Philip]

And the Barge has decided to grace us with fresh blood today.

Good evening.

[Let the record show that Roderick is not drunk. He's been reading, his neck bent and head down, tucked in a corner of the chapel with a short story. He feels a little disoriented and very victorious: it's been a long time since he got lost like that. It almost makes him feel human again.]

[Almost.]

[He bumps into Philip outside the chapel on the way back to his room. If he'd seen him a few minutes ago, covered in blood and gore, he'd have taken to him much more quickly. As it is, he just cocks his head, curious.]

You look fucking bewildered.

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