ataraxionlogs | 15th jump;

CHARACTERS: any and all
LOCATION: Gravity Couches and beyond
WARNINGS: maybe some swearing, or even some violence, and more than likely some implied (and possibly explicit) nakedness.
SUMMARY: Another month, another jump, another round of new faces.
NOTES: Keeping up with the tradition and copy pasted like always from the last one

You wake up in darkness.

There's a breathing tube jammed down your trachea, and you're suspended in a tube of clear blue fluid. Upon registering your level of consciousness, the gravity couch drains the fluid surrounding you and retracts the breathing apparatus; the doors in front of you open, and you're deposited on the floor of a stark, sterile medical bay.

You are not alone.

There are others who have come before you, others who are awakening beside you. Some may be familiar to you, perhaps even friends. Others have much less amiable plans. Some are merely alien and inexplicable, but there are always those who might mean you harm.

After you catch your breath and your vision returns, you notice a number on the inside of your forearm. Maybe it's a familiar number. Maybe it means something. Maybe it's just a number. But the number—completely unique to you—is a tattoo, and it does not come off.

If you enter the room adjacent to the medbay, you will find a small locker with your number on it, surrounded by rows upon rows of identical lockers. Inside, you will find a few of your personal items, a communications device, and a ship's uniform in your exact size. The comms device is fully powered and connects directly to the ship's network; it's your only means of communication beyond physical conversation. Upon turning the device on, a neutral, automated voice will say, "Please take the blue lift to the passenger quarters." Any other attempts at communicating with the rest of the network are met only with static.

This is your welcome party.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[He's naked. And slippery. And confused. His head hurts and all he wants to do is lie down until it all goes away. It's going to go away, right? (Right?)

Help.]

[good sir, you are an unfortunate soul.

Donna here has gotten used to this quickly enough that she's in a dressy suit skirt and top combo--she has a Thing about looking in control, because then she feels in control.

She's a woman with a mission, honestly--

But finding a poor soul like this, she has to stop. So she crouches by him (a fair distance away just so her clothing won't get muddled).]

Hey. C'mon, look at me.

O quê? Descu-- [No. Wait. He knows what he heard, now.] I'm sorry --

[The breathlessness doesn't quite let him finish the last sound, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he hangs his head. There's a miserable little ohh before he tries again, running a hand through his dirty hair, half turned to her on the floor. The way he speaks makes him sound like little more than a sick tourist, English accent mixed with something else.] Excuse me - am I in hospital?

[okay yeah she doesn't speak--whatever that was.

...]

Things are looking pretty rough for you, kid. Sorry, you're not in a hospital. Far from, to be perfectly honest.

Then - where - [Another exhale, trying to somehow keep the liquid from getting in the way of his words. He notices the lack of clothes, obviously, but doesn't think to ask about it. He's a bit scared of the answer.] What happened?

[she can't really blame him there, but she's going to offer him a hand anyway.]

Want a hand up? You're not going to like the answer, so I'll ease the pain by assuring you that there are showers and clothing waiting for you.

[Clothing? --clothing! Oh, lord, look away, he's indecent. He waves a hand, lowering the other to somehow cover himself as he makes a first attempt to get back on his feet.]

No, thanks - thanks. [A little breathless, he makes a grimace at the color of the ooze on his free hand -] Showers and clothing are good.

[oh you poor puppy.]

Don't worry, I'm not an exhibitionist. [she sounds more amused than anything, and waves a hand in a direction.]

Showers and clothing are thataway. You can come back after or find your room and thank me later.

[He makes a bleary attempt to look the way she point, nodding without much confidence in anything she just said. It's not her, it's him. (And her.)]

Okay. I can... I can do that. [Free hand on his forehead. Owie.] Wait - my room?

[...oh darling.

And she sighs, shaking her head.]

Alright. Change of plans. Go shower and get dressed, and come back. I'll explain everything then.

[Another pause. Thoughts are taking their sweet time to reach his head and mouth.]

You'll wait here?

Not so much charity as a lack of pressing things to do, so--

Yeah, kid. I'll wait. Don't dawdle in the showers, though, or I won't.

N-no dawdling. Got it. [he nods once, pauses to think - making sure he's got every question he needed answered - and carefully makes his way, still stumbling somewhat. He makes it his business to hurry up and gather himself after the help of another helpful soul. Andy has a towel around him and his hands tucked under crossed arms when he finds her again.]

Thanks for waiting.

[Now what.]

[He's quick enough; she's studying her nails when he gets back, but really had no intention of going anywhere. She's in sore need of distractions with Harvey gone, and this makes for as good as any.

She looks him over quickly, more to make sure that everything's in place than anything, and then nods and waves a hand towards the lockers.]

Alright, we're going this way to get you in something more substantial than that towel, and then I'll show you to your very own room.

I know, right, the creepy spaceship thinks of everything.

15th jump;

andy correia | open

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