ataraxionlogs | thirty-third 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: You wake feeling cold and alone. There is a strange sense of emptiness, and the jump holds no surprises for you. There is nothing buffering the jump sickness and disorientation for you this month, and the effects may be difficult to cope with, especially for those who went into Engineering several months ago.

It may be best to try to take what comfort you can from a hot shower and any friends you find around you, though, and don't pick up your comms too quickly - there's a message waiting on the network, a harsh warning about the real dangers around you, and no one would blame you for remaining in blissful ignorance a little longer...

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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

[ Somehow it isn't surprising, ending up at the bar by herself that evening. That's what fully-functional adults do, isn't it? A little soul searching in a glass of, well, space's...least terrible. Definitely not the finest. What matters is that is that the act of drinking combined with the drink itself will stop Clara from obsessively twisting the leather band her wrist, from scrolling through the bad news on the network, from eying every number with an eleven in it hopefully.

It's no cocktails on the moon, but it ought to help, and after pouring herself out over everyone she missed, somewhere without many familiar faces puts her at ease (well, it makes her slightly less uneasy, at least). Admittedly, she recognizes Jo, dimly recalling the time she helped Dean track her on the comms. In the end, she's just a recurring face, a "local" she knows more by association.

But Clara knows enough to ask for her assistance on this somewhat pitiful endeavor. ]

What do you recommend for guilty girls who've come and gone and could really use a pick me up? [ her lips come together as she cants her head, weighing her options. ] Or a put me out. [ cringe. ]

[ No, she's not going to get sloshed. She's far too sensible for that, but buzzed... buzzed could be nice. ]

[ the last month or so has been anything but easy. dealing with bells, dean, sam, everyone and all those unanswered months? half of jo was terrified it'd happen again, that she'd get back in that pod and just wouldn't wake back up. or when she did, it'd be another few months, another forever.

but man, if there's anything to motivate a harvelle back into a bar, it's those kinds of thoughts. because at least there she has something to do, something to help out with. something to use to clear her head - which is why she's here, isn't it? so she doesn't have to think about the shit this place puts her through on a daily basis?

seeing clara, though, is a strange sort of sensation. recognizing her from afar but having only had a conversation or two with her. she smiles easily enough when she comes to sit down - though tranquility smiles never really reach her eyes anymore. not much does. ]

You too? [ she doesn't mean to add in that sort of bitter tone to the question, but jo diffuses it with a laugh, grabbing a glass and a bottle and pouring clara a drink. ] I've been drinking this for two weeks now. Worked well enough for me.

[ it's in the eyes, always has been. something in jo's sad eyes reminds her of the doctor (and maybe it's just the sadness itself). when she says you too, clara finds herself sad as well, as a sort of melancholy camaraderie forms in an instant. she can't help but feel selfishly relieved that she found another in the same predicament so quickly. no, for once, clara isn't special or impossible all by herself.

but she's still sad. ]

Me too. [ a sullen echo that slips out without her proper consent. then, brighter (slightly forced, but an admirable effort all the same, as thanks for that laugh). ] You're a star.

[ and she almost decides to chug it. no, she's not that desperate. ] So, you've just got back recently then?

[ there's a camaraderie in sadness, jo thinks. it's the same reasons hunters collected in her bar back home, the same reason this bar existed at all. no one wants to be alone in their sadness, but sharing it? sharing it kept you alive, kept you going. jo could always put on a front for other people, but it didn't take long for anyone to look past that.

if they wanted to.

she snorts a bit at clara's attempt at happy, at brighter, one eyebrow lifting as she sets the bottle back down under the counter. ] Just doing my job.

[ that's when she reaches down the bar, slides her own glass over to where she's standing in front of clara, taking a long sip of it before shuddering at the burn. ] Last jump. [ she says through it, swallowing thickly before she's back. ] Been gone longer, though. Five months? Maybe more?

All work, no pay. [ a job with no real obligation or benefits, in the end. ]

[ clara takes a small sip of her own, watching and swirling the drink in the glass more than, y'know, actually drinking it. it helps her think, maybe. she gives a thoughtful hum at jo's answer, nodding all the while. ]

Eight for me, I think, and back just now. [ matter-of-factly. ] It's miserable already.

[ she lifts her glass with a raised eyebrow. ] Not sure how much pay you expect to get 'round here, but I'll settle for this.

[ part of her wants to throw the rest of it back. to just get past that initial gag reflex of the space junk they have to use for alcohol. it works, gets the head buzzing, but with none of the taste.

one downside to actually working a bar your whole life. you know the difference between good and bad. ]

I'd say welcome back, but- [ a shrug. no one really should come back, in the end. they don't deserve it. she snorts a little at the miserable comment, though, lifting her glass. ] That's why any of us are here, right?

[ she pauses, humming thoughtfully before settling into another sigh. ]

I've had worse, I suppose. [ being scattered across time and space or dying, for instance. ] But most people here have.

[ it's a miserable lot, this crew. ]

Which is fucked up on its own, even if it's true.

[ misery loves company. ]

But then again, the ship likes to remind us all of how much worse it could be.

[ archly. ] I have to wonder if it's the ship or the captain, though.

[ well that has her attention. ]

Last I checked the captain was kind of useless. [ a beat, and then: ] Guessing you think not?

[ a pointed look. ] It's certainly possible that we're here because of a malfunction, but a ship always needs a crew, doesn't it? [ so someone set about finding a new one. ] And he wouldn't be hiding, if he wasn't partly responsible, at least.

But if we're supposed to be used for some kind of "crew", [ sorry for her tone here, clara. she's not sure she's buying it. ] wouldn't we need to be able to help run the ship? Or know anything about it?

Maybe they're desperate. [ she shrugs. ] Just an idea.

thirty-third jump;

closed to jo;

sparkles at

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧

[ sparkling intensifies ]

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thanks for this notif dw

I THOUGHT YOU HATED ME

WELL THAT TOO no never ilu

oh okay good c:

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