seventeenth jump;

[mathematically]

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.

Comments

[lacksgrace]

[ A curiosity that's probably going to get him hurt. It flares again when he asks that question, mind flashing to so many different memories of Lor healing and hurting himself because that's how his ability worked. There's a hard breath, shaking from the grief and anger and what little hatred he feels welling up so that it tastes bitter in his mouth. ]

I'm not that kinda angel. [ He feels numb. ] You need something?

[extrospector]

[ Yeah, he needs to get out of this place, he needs to go home. And he wants to know what Bells means by "not that kinda angel," but even he can tell now's not a good time, so he files it away for later. ]

No. But you should consider moving somewhere less public. The next person who surprises you might not be as careful.

[lacksgrace]

Like I said, there's plenty of other kitchens. [ Because the ship is huge, and it'd just been luck Greg had found him there. Right? Bells plays with the edge of the knife, pressing his thumb to the tip. The room suddenly feels a lot smaller. ]

And you didn't surprise me. I just don't wanna talk right now.

[extrospector]

[ Well, here's snippy and annoyed. Not quite angry; he just doesn't have the energy. ]

I'm not asking you to move because of me, I'm asking you to move because I thought you might want to minimize bodily harm to yourself and anyone else who walks in here. And if you actually don't want to talk, it's a lot easier to avoid people if you avoid public places. Just saying.

[ A shrug, and he turns to leave. ] Your call. Like you said, plenty of other kitchens, and you're just going to do what you want anyway.