ataraxionlogs | ELEVENTH WAVE

Entry tags:

ELEVENTH WAVE

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.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[ There isn't anything particularly strange about this jump. Cibo slips from her gravcouch calm as ever and heads to the showers and her locker to clean herself up and dress. If you approach her, she'll be quietly staring into her empty locker. The memories of the Otherworlds she experienced still fresh in her mind. Even the few days before the jump weren't enough for her to recover and she generally avoided all contact as a result.

What brings her from her trance is the buzzing of her communications device. A message from her small friend, Frodo. The confusion and curiosity of what his message is telling her is what pulls her away from the lockers and to the nearest lift leading to the oxygen gardens. And then there is the thing. A human-sized fish passively swimming around in one of the larger streams in the gardens.

It reminds her of the City ~~and of Killy.~~ Then she realizes that she's seen it before. She remembers the large tank it inhabited when she woke from the surgery of her shoulder — just before meeting the Safeguard units, Dhomochevsky and Iko. The stream seems so small in comparison of the tank that she can't help but to wonder if it feels cramped.

She'll remain in the gardens to speak with Frodo, who first found the giant fish, and anyone else who approaches. But she'll seem distant. Lost in memories of the City. After a time of keeping her legs in the water with the coelacanth, Cibo finally decides to leave in search of a place more comfortable for the old creature. She finds the pools shortly after and is immediately content. Taking out the device, she sends a text to Scout — it's been a while, anyway. ]

Can you meet me at the pool? I need your help moving something.

[ When Scout arrives, though, the room is entirely vacant. The pool ripples from some disturbance beneath the surface. That disturbance would be Cibo falling slowly into the deep end. Losing air without much of a struggle at all; Thoroughly convinced that this is simply one of her night terrors playing out again.

She would wake up screaming once she blacked out. Right? ]

[ ooc: You can meet Cibo at the showers/lockers or oxygen gardens! The pool scene is reserved to Scout.
Alternatively, if you want to meet the fish before or after Cibo arrives, have fun♥ ]

Near the Pods

[Alex is feeling more like himself this jump. It's like everything in his world sort of righted itself. There were reasons for that, of course, but he isn't really inclined to think about them just yet.

Rolling off the bed, he takes a deep breath, shaking the gunk out of his hair as best he can. As usual he makes a quick scan of the room, but tries to avoid catching anyone's eyes in particular. The scars on his body are always a sore point, and he doesn't like showing them off. Because they lead to question and memories.

So check for people he might know, or people he cares about, then it's off to showers and lockers.]

Lockers

[Alex immediately opens the door to his locker, half expecting Anya and Bozo to have attempt to maul each other--a dog and a cat in a small space like that could.

But they bound out happily enough, moving to explore the space as they always do, as Alex starts to get dressed, checking to make sure he has nothing new.

He sits down, now more willing to look other people in the eyes, looking for new people who look like they might need help, and others he cares about, to check on them as well.]

Today had been a very bad day in the neighborhood.

...Wherever the fuck the neighborhood had gone.

It had been almost a decade since Alexander had a severely bad, substance-induced trip, and he'd had plenty of them in his lifetime to know what a bad trip was. He had seen cows and fire engines fall from the sky, entertained himself for hours staring at a lava lamp, and yes, even enjoyed partaking in acts of violence more than he would ever care to admit over casual dinner conversation.

Anyway, sex, drugs, and violence wasn't really much the point here. What really struck Alexander strange, however, was that none of the trips he had experienced drew out for as long as this one did. Even then this wasn't much of a bad trip but a horrible, horrible wakeup call.

First of all, he awoke on the floor, screaming his lungs out. A splitting migraine assaulted any hope he had for peace. From falling onto the floor in the basement of his house to finding himself in a noisy room, and Christ on a Cross it was fucking COLD.

Though he discovered this was probably because he was also mostly naked.

Now why was he mostly naked?

Before all of this had started and the bad dream began, life had just started to go so well for Alexander Wolfgang. Ten years of peace. A quiet house, a nice freelance job... a death sentence that would promise him a world of pain. It was what any Ophelian could have ever asked for, really!

The guttural screaming stopped. This time, he started with the wet cough. This was a man who was not only deathly out of shape, but already in terrible condition as it was. His lungs suffocated him, like breathing in thick smog that filled his lungs. With that, he steered back into the present, and into panic mode.

"WHAT THE FUUUCK."

All things considered, if this were a dream, it would be nice to wake up right about now.

Seconds later, he found that that just wasn't happening.

The pathetic, waste of a man struggled to haul himself back onto his shaking legs. At some point, his hands and knees scraped against something. More injury to insult, or insult to injury, or... Fuck it. Just one shit-on after another, this day was.

He doubted that wherever the way out of this room led, it wouldn't take him back towards any place remotely like Kansas, let alone to Larkspur, Louisiana... Still, a man certainly could wish upon a fucking star if he so wanted.

Not that he was allowed to get very far. No more than a few steps were taken before Alexander fell face-forward onto the ground again, his the metal in his forehead clanking against the ground and humming to the rest of his brain. Eeeeeeeeee, it went, in a nice, mind-numbing cacophony of discomfort.

Blood trickled out of his left ear. His nose had also started to bleed. It splattered and drained across the tiled floor. That wasn't any good, either, was it?

He would almost feel damned sorry for someone finding him in such an undignified position, if a.) Alexander Wolfgang gave two shits about his dignity. Also there was b.) in which he was unconscious, anyway. So, that said, he wasn't about to care anytime soon no matter how the wheel turned.

[Blake has every intention of going through this jump as quickly as he can – gathering his things and going back to his room. This month, he's in no shape to play tour guide to newcomers – he'll leave that to others. After what happened before the jump – his nightmare vision of Gotham, the run-ins he had with the nightmares of others, he's close to that edge of control. It's better now than it was a few days ago, right after the fog cleared, but he's still closer to it than he has been since he was a teenager.

Which means he needs to stay away from people for a couple more days.

That, coupled with the fact that his face is thoroughly bruised up after making contact with Brendan's knee, complete with a messed-up nose and two black eyes – well, Blake is going to clear out his locker and run.

Until, that is, he spots the items placed there, folded neatly. The little GCPD stitched on the neck, the insignia, and suddenly he feels like he can't breathe. Still wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, hair damp from the shower, Blake sits down on a bench near his locker, elbows on his knees, staring at it, his brow furrowed.]

He had hoped that there would be a slim chance that he would feel better after the jump. That maybe the nanites or whatever finally worked their magic and miraculously took away whatever had plagued him these days.

Boy had Murphy been wrong.

His body still showcased the marks from his trip to the other side (or "otherworld", as Alex had called it. Honestly, even when Murphy had his own firsthand Silent Hill experience, he had no idea what to call it. Hell? Seemed equally appropriate). The stab wounds in which he had been impaled through his ribs and heart still showed as deep, fresh scars, which he doubt would be going away anytime soon. If ever.

If nothing else, everything he did, thinking it would make him better, actually just magnified tenfold. Toughing it out after crawling out of the gravity couch just didn't seem like an option anymore. Assuming that he would recover after a shower, he then realized just how nauseated he really was.

Murphy slapped his hand over his mouth after cleaning off.

He was sick, feverish, shaking. The overwhelming cold swept over him even after he dried off, got dressed, and started to leave.

"Oh shit..."

As expected, he didn't make it too far out the door before his stomach churned again. It was a reoccurring symptom ever since he got back. He didn't want to deal with the medbay, or the checkups, or being around hospital equipment in general after what happened. His recent memory was often revisited by how messed up he had been in that hellish hospital. Unable to focus or move on his own. How he was almost wheeled away by something behind him that was so dead and reeked...

The smell invaded his mind again; it felt too real to just be in his head. Rather than heading out the door as Murphy had initially planned, he grabbed his stomach again, and fled to one of the bathroom stalls lined up. The door behind him slammed shut, but didn't latch, as he didn't have the time to secure any privacy before he started dry heaving his guts into the toilet bowl.

Classy.

Rey had no interest in wasting her time here. Let's face the facts, she had no business being among the general populace at the moment (as if she ever did). The feeling was so mutual that it only increased her desire to hurry up and get out of there.

So she did, picking herself up out of the locker room and leaving the area at a faster pace, albeit with a slight limp. The injuries she'd sustained recently wouldn't let up, and she wasn't in any way eager to stick around the medbay to let them take care of it. At least by now, she was in a state in which she could walk without stumbling.

Good enough for her. It was also a good thing that she had such a high pain threshold, or this would be far more unbearable than what it was worth.

She would just take it upon herself to hobble down the hallways, maybe head towards the oxygen gardens or someplace where she didn't have to see anyone's face. She didn't want to think about anyone at the moment.

Actually, she tried not to think about much of anything. It wasn't in her nature to think. Only do what she was told, nothing more.

[pods]
[While she isn't a stranger to strange things, Jadzia is still reeling from that wake up. In truth, she isn't a morning person to begin with (is it morning, a part of her mind asks) but would rather stay up late, running some diagnostic or another, and sleep in - that is were she allowed.

Needless to say, it is not a pleasant way to wake up, and her mind is jumbled anyway as she rises. Although she prefers it cooler, she still shivers, noting the undergarments she appears to be in, and that she has no recollection of getting into. Sleeping in the almost buff isn't exactly the way to go when you might need to be awake and out of your quarters in a hurry.

Her hair is plastered against her, a bit of a mess, really, and she pushes it back over her shoulders, and takes stock. Despite some bumps which may bruise, everything appears to be fine. Spots are all there, running down each side of her body, and the symbiont is not giving her any discomfort. Flicking some of the lingering blue fluid off, she surveys the room as if that will tell her whether or not this is real, mumbling under her breath.]

If this is Quark... I'm going to kill that Ferengi.

[locker area]
[Dressed now, damp hair pulled back over one shoulder, and the familiar Starfleet uniform on, Jadzia takes stock of the items in the locker before her. It doesn't exactly give her any answers, but the familiarity of it is a welcomed sign.

She seems to take stock, and her mind is going over her memories- Jadzia's and all the other hosts. While there is a vast array of knowledge at her disposal, she has no frame for this. Any of this. The ship is unfamiliar and the design not known. Either they had not known what her items were, or they simply did not fear them.

Aside from the uniform she had found and her own uniform, she had found her hair clip, which had come in handy, but also her tridorder, phaser and combadge. The latter though was not working, as she has tried pressing it several times already, seeking to address Benjamin or Deep Space 9.

Thus, holding those items, Jadzia arches a brow. Although she is not overly pleased, her voice does hold a certain tone to it, a tone that those who were familiar with Jadzia would recognize.]

Well. I have done more with less.

[pods]
[Her fires give her visions. Not always, but often. Visions of things to come: things that may be simple enough to know, like those who come after her life, and things that require some thought. Yet, never has she seen a place like this.

She is deposited on the floor, coughing, feeling her slip clinging to her otherwise naked frame, knowing that her ruby is gone. She swallows, coughs again, before that heart shaped face arises. Strands of red hair cling to her face, and red eyes survey, before she arises.

The Other.

It is where her mind goes as red eyes glance side to side. A hesitency within, and yet seemingly otherwise calm for one so out of her element. Years of training had made it so. Do not let them see the price.]

A place of darkness.

[That sonorous voice with its exotic accent.]

[locker area]
[Clean now, or as clean as she may be, she is once more the red priestess. That red ruby on its choker is back upon her neck, and her gown of crimson silk shifts like flames as she turns. Her box is there, there in the steel place where the number had led her to. She is unsure of what to make of that. A challenge? Her pockets have been checked, and those powders that she had had are still there, still waiting should she need to use them.

Yet she is no closer to answers.]

I shall have to pray for the Lord of Light to send me guidance.

[A flame. One of the first things she has learned is to never let the fire go out. Here though it a world of different lights. False lights. And whatever it may be, it is no good.]

[ funny how the jump's starting to become something that's so routine, so mundane. the gravity couch opens, dumping soysauce unceremoniously onto the floor, and he thinks almost fondly back to the first time he woke up in this place and almost panicked at a loss for what to do. quite used to the routine now, soysauce only gives a few hoarse coughs as he stumbles back to his feet -- brushing big handfuls of the blue gel off of his skin and squeezing it out of his hair as he steps towards the showers. what to do: shower, get dressed, look around to make sure nothing horrible's happened, leave, rest.

soysauce's movements are a little more sluggish than usual, though, when he makes his way to his lockers. the past week or so has been awfully draining, all those excursions through strange lands and those foggy hallways, and he's not really paying too much attention as he rubs a towel through his hair, pulling open his locker --

almost falling over when a few bundles of clothes come spilling out into his arms.

but once he's blinked the surprise away and taken a closer look at what he's been mysteriously gifted this jump, he can't help giving a pleased little smile to himself. they're clothes from home. stiffer stuff than what he already has, too. along with a small gift.

people who already know soysauce might not recognize him immediately this time, because he's not in his signature formal-clothes-and-waistcoat ensemble, instead pulling on a set of sandy, pragmatic, desert clothes. pulling on a pair of yellow-tinted goggles to make sure they're the same as what he's used to. and if anyone stops to stare at him, soysauce just gives them a small (if slightly tired) smile back and chirps, ]

Good afternoon!

[nope. second time around isn't any easier than the first, and Francis stumbles around, disoriented, toward his locker and the showers because seriously? seriously this goop is disgusting and he just wants his bow back. he never feels right without the bow

getting washed up is priority, though, even if he still feels sick after getting the goop off. soon as he feels better, he'll go find the others, but for now, he'll just hang out at the lockers for a few minutes to try and get his bearings]

[He hit that cab. He hit that cab hard and the last thing Wilee remembered was Vanessa in his face calling his name as he sprawled out on the pavement for naptime in the city. He's sure of that. He knows that's exactly what he remembered seeing last, not this tube full of blue goop, a tube jammed down his throat, before being unceremoniously tipped out of it onto the floor below. He's butt ass naked and shit, Wilee's definitely sure he was wearing clothes before this.

He loses his lunch right where he lays, the few bites of burrito and apple from earlier sprayed on the cold floor and his stomach continues to lurch even though it's killing him to move. He's bleeding from his arm, his ribs feel like they're on fire, and other various spots on his body hurt.

Jesus fuck, what is going on here?]

Edited 2012-10-08 04:14 (UTC)

A. GRAVITY COUCHES
[she had gone to bed under the stars, and she wakes up with a tube shoved down her throat and her skin feeling cold and numb. this is a nightmare, she will wake up, she will be back outside, back where she free.

but as the tube retracts and the familiar blue goo recedes she knows it's real and she knows she's back and how could she have forgotten.

in an angry panic she unceremoniously falls from the couch, vomiting blue-tinged bile onto the sterile floor. no.

no no no no.

she grits her teeth in anger and rolls to the side, lying naked on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. she shuts her eyes, rubbing the heels of her hands against them. she was tired, she had her field, why was she back in hell.]

B. THE LOCKERS
[after the initial despair she's back in her routine. her number is different, her locker number is different, and as she slams her new locker open she notices familiar contents.

and some new ones.

the most jarring being a crow in a cage propped up on a stack of buckets. it caws at her and she jerks back.

...she wasn't exacting that.]

C. SHOWERS BUT THIS IS ONLY FOR WHEATLEY OH NO.
[she slips off into the showers when she expects everyone else to not be showering. she's tired, she's angry as hell, and she just wants to be alone.

the contents of her locker have been dropped off in her new room, and it's just her and the water running down her tired, scarred back. she rests her forehead against the tile and just glares down at her toes.]

Edited (wow grammar) 2012-10-08 04:16 (UTC)

[ zer0 opens his eyes and there's fluid in his face. and it takes him 0.00833 minutes to realize that this is wrong. he is unclothed. he is lacking his sneaking suit and his helmet. he is exposed. and an assassin is never without his gear, never exposed. ergo, this is wrong. this is a situation that must be corrected immediately. immediately. it takes him another 0.00833 minutes to cast out a holographic double. quicker than the blink of an eye. perfect.

a bystander would only see a strange figure emerge from that gravity couch, fully dressed in sneaking suit and clad in helmet. defensively drawing a strange, glowing blue sword. making as if to attack some unseen foe.

but completely unseen, zer0 makes a beeline through the throng of people. bumping into some strangers and not caring, feet squeaking across the tile floor when he dashes through the shower. slamming himself into the lockers -- quickly noting the tattoo imprinted on his arm (how unpleasant) and the matching locker number just a few feet away. his time's running short and it's a little rushed, a little sloppy when he grabs up his suit and helmet, throws them on as quickly as possible. there's the unpleasant squelch of blue gel between his skin and the suit's texture -- reminiscent of slag, sticking grossly between the folds of the suit -- and zer0's helmet is projecting an unseeen D: as he squeezes it onto his head.

and not a moment too soon.

there's a small flicker of light as his holograph vanishes and, at the same moment, he poofs back into visibility, fully dressed. helmet still broadcasting that rather displeased emoticon. and it's slow, deliberate, somewhat resentful, the way zer0 squeezes his gloved hand against his chest and feels the residues of gel there drip unpleasantly down against his body. (he'll have to wash it all off in private. When he isn't surrounded by potential threats.) but for now --

zer0 retrieves his sword from the locker. ties his digistruct backpack at his belt. makes sure his good guns (not the ones he was planning on selling off, ugh) are all still there. then turns to whoever's closest and speaks, gripping at the hilt of his digistruct sword, ]

Tell me where we are.
To say I'm displeased right now
would not be enough.

[ Well, what could you say about jumps? They were... jumpy. With... lots of jumps. And jumpy stuff. But no, never mind that. What was far more important was discerning exactly how these pod... things worked, and after two months or so aboard the Tranquility, the Doctor decided it was high time to get to the bottom of things.

Which, he really should have done a lot sooner, but you know how distractions can be. There was just so much to understand about this ship that he really should have set off doing things much sooner. Rushing quickly into the lockers to grab his sonic screwdriver (only a quick hose down; no worries about getting dressed for the time being, after all he still had his pants and this was far more important), he pushes by everyone and everything.

And then he pushes right back the other way back to his... capsule thingey. Time to get to work.

But first...

Remembering what the helpful scientist (Betty... lovely name) had told him about the contents being non-toxic, now was as good of a time as any to confirm her and her friend's theory. Sticking one of his fingers into the substance...

...He licks it.

Now was this a bad idea? Well, they were right about the chemical makeup, but that didn't quite seem to matter, because someone just may be contemplating whether it's better to throw up into the capsule or try to make it back to the showers. ]

Edited 2012-10-08 04:19 (UTC)

[Kaylee finds a towel, first thing. It's still disorienting, but at least she knows where she is this time. Finding Simon and River is her first priority, once she's got that towel, but then she spots a fella who stands out - because he's bleeding.

And being sick on the floor, but he's not the only one of those. The bleeding, though, that's a little different, worrying, so Kaylee approaches him.]

Hey there. You need some help? You should have a medic take a look at you.

[ Data might look like his usual self, returned that way after his experience in the fog world, but much had changed. Stiff necked, focused, gathering his few items from the locker, he lifts Spot back out from where he'd placed her moments before, gathering the wet cat to his chest and stroking her fur, letting her push her ginger head against his cheek, but finding no comfort in it--not even the comfort of routine.

What had changed? He wore his gray Starfleet uniform now, the gold undershirt visible underneath. But there was an odd caution in him, in the extreme care he took not to disturb anyone intentionally. Experiencing those few days as a Borg, chasing people through the fog with only one thing on his mind, had worn on him. That was the only way to describe it.

Humans were not to be harmed, unless it was unavoidable in the course of his duty. Data had been driven almost to the point of killing a man once - a collector - but it wasn't the same as the driving need of the Borg, insisting on assimilation without resistance. It was a lot to process, to make sense of it in a way that even remotely forgave him for it.

If only he could speak to his Captain, or perhaps to Guinan, they might be able to explain the sensation to him, tell him what he was supposed to do to justify it to himself. ]

I told you that it would become easier with repetition.

[ Speaking to his cat. ]

Edited 2012-10-08 04:29 (UTC)

[Things that even in a haze of post-jump disorientation and leftover hell dimension trauma you cannot ignore: CAWING.

Topher pauses in trying to get the last of the blue goo out of his hair and slowly turns his head in Chell's general direction.

Is it...

Could it be...

Blink. Blink.] Mute girl? [YOU KNOW HER NAME, TOPHER. JESUS. He, at least has the decency to correct himself, lest Chell be unreasonably terrifying in his general direction. It may well happen anyway.] Chell, right? See? I do actually know it. [Hold on. He's... dealing with how weird this is. He's heard of people coming back, but never actually... witnessed it. It's even weirder given his little trip to pseudo-Aperture.] Wow. You're back. This is kinda weird, actually. I was just thinking about you.

[.....]

...Not as creepy as it sounds when you hear the why.

[ Abby’s walked through diamonds and ended up in strange places – an earth full of dinosaurs, of engineered predators, of fire and bunkers. But this almost tops it. Her first instinct is to panic at the helpless feeling of suspension and the choking sensation, reaching up to yank at the tube, but then the pod processes that she’s awake and next thing she knows she’s falling, collapses on hands and knees in a flood of blue.

Now that she’s free, the second instinct is to run; being in an unknown environment with unknown threats, it feels like running for her life in the Cretaceous all over again. She whips her head up, pushes sticky hair back – tangled again, just like it was then – and wide blue eyes take in her surroundings. It doesn’t take her long to realize that she was wrong; this isn’t like anywhere she’s been before.

And she’s not surrounded by threats, but other people, some of them as tense and confused as she is. Slowly, carefully, she stands as her eyes scan the room, trying to make sense of something. She’s unfazed by the nudity, because it’s hardly like she’s an isolated case, and nobody’s paying attention to anybody else’s skin right now.

There’s only one thing that comes to mind from the architecture, the machines – and it’s space. Not the real kind, but the kind from those ridiculous movies Connor always makes her watch, but that’s- ] That’s not possible. [ It’s a low, throaty whisper, more disbelief than shock. ]

By his eleventh jump, Eridan has gotten nearly as used to the gravity couches as he'd been used to sopor. The moment of amnesia is gone by the time he staggers out of the couch (sometimes, it takes as long as the walk from the couch to the nearest bench, but that's a rare occurance), and he doesn't even gag on the tube as it slides out of his throat any more.

He's still sluggish as he grabs a towel and wraps it around his waist, heading towards the lockers, but it's more due to exhaustion than anything else. He knows himself well enough to know that he's not getting enough sleep - without sopor, he usually only ranges three or four restless hours a day, making the jumps the longest period of uninterrupted rest he can get. He figures it must be enough, because he hasn't had any real breakdowns yet.

Well, other than the ones relating back to Strela. But that was a while ago. He's over it now.

To prove it to himself, he doubletimes his shower, scrubbing out his hair (starting to lose the color a little, he needs to redye it, but who knows when purple dye will show up again) before marching purposefully to his locker, prying it open and pulling on his clothes with the determination of someone who is on a mission. He wraps his tattered scarf around his neck and shrugs on his cape and decides that yes, this bitch is back in business. Enough moping. He's got to be seven sweeps by now, right? He's too old for this shit.

Time to talk to people and make some emotional and mental progress.

[LB gives a little jump as she hears the unfamiliar voice speak to her, as she was finishing up on getting her plug suit on her body. Awkwardly giving a smile as she turned to the stranger, LB gives him a once over. Given her fascination with emoticons, her attention is so focused on his mask that she almost doesn't register that he seemed equipped for attack.

Her expression drops to one of caution, but for the time being, LB managed to keep herself as calm as possible. Although there was something familiar about the way he was speaking, she doesn't immediately recognize the method he was using.]

Haha? You must be new; I would remember someone like you.

[She smiles again, while she finishes zipping up her collar.] People call this the Tranquility -- eheheh -- it's a spaceship. Not many are pleased to be here.

Alex leaves the gravity couches looking like he'd been mowed over by a truck. Maybe it's because of how stressed out he and his body have been this past week, but—yeah, he needs a second sitting against his locker before he can get anything other than his jeans on right now (hell, those had been a challenge all on their own). The raw, red slash and pocked little wounds from his time back in the otherworld weren't bleeding, healed up by the jump so that he didn't need to bandage anything anymore. He can at least consider that a vast improvement, and hey, hopefully... the next jump won't feel so shitty. Hopefully.

He had his doubts.

He looks for Heather, of course. But she's not around, even when he ventures to her locker. Had she already flew the coop the moment they'd gotten out? In the rush of people—so many people—he had no way of knowing.

Goddammit.

He waits there for a while to make sure, before finally leaving. He'd have to check on a lot of people. They were all still reeling from everything, so... Time for wandering.

Edited 2012-10-08 04:31 (UTC)

[the bird's rattling in its cage, as though begging to be let out, and she's reaching to open the cage to let it free when she hears her name.

well, a nickname. which earns Topher a glare. even as he says her actual name, that's what he gets. a glare.

as he continues to talk she shakes her head, running fingers through her gooey hair as she bends to sift through the contents of her locker. she places the bird in the cage on the floor first, then goes to examine what on earth these buckets are for.]

Edited (I FUCK UP WORDS SOMETIMES) 2012-10-08 04:32 (UTC)

LOCKERS:

[ as usual it is a struggle. frodo baggins is told by his friends to store his strength, to keep it sparingly and to not exert himself. and yet when it comes to the jump with it's harsh tumbling he lands on sore limbs, staggering to catch his breath.

he is not yet recovered from the events days before, where nightmares became reality and he had thought he could find no greater terrors than the ones he'd seen with both sleeping and waking eyes. when he rises to his feet it's shakily. each time he heads to his locker, each time he reaches inside and fingers the gold ring on it's chain and parts some of his curls from his neck.

what's noticable that was not as prominent from the beginning months of the little hobbit's arrival is the beginnings of welts that loop around his necklace as a second chain. it's purpling in some places, like chafed flesh from rope. even the place where the ring would rest against his collar has left an indention much like it's own shape.

if it pains the little fellow he does not react to it. he moves for his cloak, sting and phial, pipe and breeches. he begins to button up his top first; slipping cloth over bruised and chafed skin. when he is dressed and armed he closes his locker, eyes his surroundings and begins to move.

perhaps you caught him before he was fully dressed, or just freshly arrived? ]

GRAVITY COUCHES

[ as he is particularly tired this jump, frodo on his way to the oxygen gardens will be taking a short breather in one of the couches, sitting as politely as possible while still being certain to find the right spot to rest his head, lid his eyes for a moment and breathe. ]

OXYGEN GARDENS

[ frodo is exhausted. it is not the same bone-deep weariness of a heavy burden (for how well does frodo baggins know of burdens that will not leave you), but nights of sleep from nightmares that this strange ship had made real. the circles under his eyes are obvious as he sits beneath the canopy of plants, of greenery and life however contained. he sits in a chair that could fit another within it, legs crossed and head leaning against the chair. for now he will catch his breath, close his eyes for a moment and think of the shire.

think of it how it ought to be and hope that perhaps next jump, he will be gone, mordor reached and perhaps that is all he can do now. simply reach the end of his quest. it is more than he imagines he can do, he begins to feel.

there is hope left, the voices of many tell him, friends no longer with him, his own heart beating in his breast. there is hope left..]

Edited 2012-10-08 06:51 (UTC)

[ Chase falls out of the tube, and she even manages to land rather gracefully. But she has plans, today--or so she thinks. She knows there are many new people aboard, knows that some have friends. Some do not. Some will most likely not have anyone else aboard their ship.

But today Chase feels.. good. Useful. So she showers and dresses not in her regular clothes, but the Tranquility uniform. She's currently at the benches, trying to dry her hair with a towel. It's hard if you have small hands and a slight amount of impatience. Hair should never be an issue, Chase thinks. There are other things to contend with, like Mr. Smiley. Not a few knots in shoulder-length locks. ]

[He needs a lot more than just help, but Wilee turns his head to the voice, slowly because his neck is sore too, and squints up at her... and her twin?]

Where the fuck am I?

[Yes, that's the most important thing to worry about right now, not the fact he's naked, lying in a puddle of his own sick, and still bleeding. Priorities.]

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ELEVENTH WAVE

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OTA prose/action is fine!

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OTA!

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Jadzia Dax | Star Trek:DS9 | ota

Melisandre | ASOIAF | OTA

Soysauce | Original | Couches through to lockers | OTA

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Wilee - Premium Rush | OTA -- prose or action is a-ok!

YOU CAN PROSE IT UP IF YOU WANT

Zer0 | Borderlands 2 | Lockers | OTA

The Eleventh Doctor | OTA

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Data / Open

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abby maitland | closed to connor temple

eridan ampora - OPEN come and hassle him while he's still got attitude in him

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Alex Shepherd | ota

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frodo baggins | open to anyone!!! c:

OTA! Action or prose, whatevs, homies.

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