learnedtosmile: (019)
John Blake ([personal profile] learnedtosmile) wrote in [community profile] ataraxionlogs2012-11-07 09:01 pm
Entry tags:

12th 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.

circumitus: If you can't drink cheep beer and whiskey with me, I don't want you. (fuck it)


[personal profile] circumitus 2012-11-08 07:31 am (UTC)(link)

>>ticky box

...Really, Wheatley?


If Rey didn't know any better, she'd find something and stick it through your eye. As it stood, however, she had nothing that would be considered appropriate for such a task, and there would always be the matter of discretion to bear in mind. So she did no such thing, even while it did linger in the realm of possibility.

Something was definitely wrong with her.

For now, she tucked it away, replacing it with a look.

"Not wasting time this jump."
Edited 2012-11-08 07:32 (UTC)
testgasm: (what the actual fuck)


[personal profile] testgasm 2012-11-08 07:44 am (UTC)(link)
do you like me


>>heck y

Wheatley, though he tended to recognize people being unamused (especially where his shenanigans are concerned), was a little slower on the uptake when it came to figuring out the why. For all he knew, Rey looked at everyone like that.

It took him another moment to even register that they'd met before, under several different circumstances. He kind of hoped she wasn't still angry about being shot in the leg that one time.

So he'd approach the situation with caution, until he knew why she seemed to be so displeased.

"Me or you? Wasting time, I mean. Not sure which of us you're...referring to. In this scenario."
circumitus: (hook me up with the drugs dog)

[personal profile] circumitus 2012-11-08 07:56 am (UTC)(link)
At the moment, Rey was suffering a very chronic syndrome of an itchy trigger finger. When there was no trigger, her eyes usually became set on some other form of device.

For the time being, she had no such alternatives within her sights. And for now, she was too nauseated to be in her right mind (or her not-right mind) to behave in such a way that would be deemed irrational.

Furthermore, she did, in fact, always seem to sport that look on her face. It was practically plastered on there.

"I am regarding your sign. Clever."

Was she being serious, or simply facetious? Sometimes, even Rey didn't know for certain.
testgasm: (machiavelli is my homeboy)

[personal profile] testgasm 2012-11-09 01:29 am (UTC)(link)
Wheatley's ability to pick up on facetiousness usually went right out the window thoroughly masked in praise for how smart he was being (or in most cases, wasn't actually being). This was definitely one of those instances where the word "clever" in relation to him drowned out any other hidden suggestions.

"You think so? I thought so. Figure it's nice for all the new arrivals to see a friendly face. Have a place to go to ask all their burning questions about space and being in space. Filling a necessary void, I am, if you ask me."

Yes. He was completely serious.
circumitus: You owe me waffles (sunrise bitch.)

[personal profile] circumitus 2012-11-09 08:29 am (UTC)(link)

He was one of those kinds of people.

The kind that seem to appreciate the sound of their own voice, that was. For a brief second, his syllables jumped, melted together into gibberish, then became words again. So she only really caught half of what he just said.

...if you ask me.

"I see." No, she really didn't.

Her jaw locked, and she started to keep on walking -- without even saying goodbye, too. Rude.
testgasm: (i changed my mind about the libido thing)

[personal profile] testgasm 2012-11-09 07:20 pm (UTC)(link)
Somewhere along the line, Wheatley realized he'd lost a listener and cut himself off, taking a few steps to follow Rey but ultimately deciding his self-appointed stint as Official Greeter was more important.

"Uh, no questions, then, I take it," he called after her, as if continuing to talk would make her come back. "That's--that's fine! You just...go on, then. Do...whatever it is you were planning on doing."
circumitus: Because you're marine grade... You rascal. (you need 400 proof or marine proof)

[personal profile] circumitus 2012-11-09 11:23 pm (UTC)(link)
Rey didn't say anything. She very rarely had anything to say at all.

But then, still walking backwards, she simply turned around towards Wheatley, pulled up the sleeve of her jumpsuit, and flashed the numbers on her arm: SEC » 001 » 056.

It was her way of saying No, no questions. Twelve jumps, and she was certain that she got the gist of things by now.

For everyone's sake, it was best that she exit stage left, anyway.
Edited 2012-11-09 23:25 (UTC)
testgasm: (nooooooo)

[personal profile] testgasm 2012-11-11 05:10 am (UTC)(link)
rey das rude