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ataraxionlogs2015-02-07 10:13 pm
ataraxites) wrote in ataraxionlogs2015-02-07 10:13 pm
Entry tags:
- !jump,
- ai enma,
- allison argent,
- bellamy blake,
- bethmora fortescue,
- carl grimes,
- charles xavier,
- charlotte,
- chell,
- clarke griffin,
- cole,
- cora hale,
- cullen rutherford,
- darcy lewis,
- dean winchester,
- ellen ripley,
- ellie,
- england (arthur kirkland),
- evangeline de brassard,
- firo prochainezo,
- galadriel,
- harry potter,
- jennifer keller,
- john blake | au,
- l "ryuuzaki" lawliet,
- malia tate,
- minho,
- natasha romanoff,
- nill,
- nowi,
- nuala,
- odessa knutson,
- raven reyes,
- rebecca "newt" jorden,
- rick grimes,
- rikku | au,
- sam winchester,
- selina kyle,
- skye,
- sophie groeneveldt,
- taylor "tyke" kee
fortieth 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: Nothing unusual greets you as you wake from the grav couch this month. Disorientation and discomfort, but those are familiar in the process. As you shower and dress, you find yourself waiting for something to change, but nothing happens - it leaves a curious feeling of lack, as if someone important has turned their attention away from you. But it would be silly to feel bad about an easy jump, wouldn't it?
New arrivals will find messages spraypainted across their lockers telling them not to follow their tattoo numbers, and instead to find a room on Floors 001-010.
----------------
ＹＯＵ͘ ̨ＷＡＫＥ̢ ̧ＵＰ ́ＩＮ ＤＡ̛ＲＫＮ̢Ｅ̕ＳＳ̶
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.
ＹＯ́Ｕ̴ ̧Ａ̨ＲＥ ＮＯＴ҉ ̷ＡＬＯ̨ＮＥ҉
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.
ＴＨ̀ＩＳ͜ ̶Ｉ͠Ｓ͡ ͘Ｙ̵Ｏ͝ＵＲ ̕Ｗ͝Ｅ̛Ｌ̨Ｃ͡Ｏ͝Ｍ͏Ｅ Ｐ̛ＡＲ̴ＴＹ͜
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: Nothing unusual greets you as you wake from the grav couch this month. Disorientation and discomfort, but those are familiar in the process. As you shower and dress, you find yourself waiting for something to change, but nothing happens - it leaves a curious feeling of lack, as if someone important has turned their attention away from you. But it would be silly to feel bad about an easy jump, wouldn't it?
New arrivals will find messages spraypainted across their lockers telling them not to follow their tattoo numbers, and instead to find a room on Floors 001-010.
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.
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.
Lockers!
Nothing too bizarre is happening this jump, though, so the sound of the knife dropping sticks out. Firo follows it to the little girl and, after spending a moment wondering what on earth is so fascinating about that jumpsuit, walks over.
He carefully picks up the knife by the flat of the blade and holds it out to her hilt-first.]
Hey. Is this yours?
[His own jumpsuit is tucked under his other arm, still dripping a bit from the showers and the pod slime. Though it's way out of date compared to everything else on the ship, he prefers to wear his suit from home.]
no subject
[ She responds quickly — a little too quickly, and a little too sharply — with a vigorous shake of the head, because that knife? That knife has been used for some very bad purposes; very bad purposes while in her hands. And Charlotte is trying her hardest to distance herself from the reality that had been Earth now that she's dead and in space.
Again.
So even when the stranger picks up her knife and offers it back to her, rough hewn, yellow and black striped handle first, Charlotte just clutches her (amazing, awesome, shiny, new) jumpsuit against her chest like a lifeline, and flicks big, watery doe eyes between his hand and his face. ]
I don't, I don't know how it got in the locker.
no subject
He lowers the knife and tries to smile his best, nonthreatening smile. He leans down a bit so he's closer to her level, too.]
Oh, uh... Hey, it's all right.
[Crap. Of all the bizarre things Firo's had to deal with in life, a crying little girl is somehow one of the things that seems more difficult than the rest.]
Weird stuff like that happens all the time here. Can't hurt to hold on to it, just in case you need it.
[...That sounded a lot more comforting in his head.]
no subject
I don't want to hold onto it. [ So far as she's concerned, if she ever needs it again, she's going to deserve what's coming her way. Again. ] You take it.
no subject
["But I already have one" probably isn't the safest response here. He doesn't want to make her more freaked out and he can't tell if she has an aversion to weapons in general or just this one.]
I can take it if that's what you really want, but... um, look, I'm bein' serious when I say it's not a good idea, okay?
[Admittedly, a knife alone doesn't make taking down a manticore easy, but it may help you injure it enough to get away.]
I mean, we could try and find something else for you...