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

[humanistic]

Readily available.

[The unintentional joke makes him laugh--it isn't funny, but he laughs, and feels vaguely sick for it--a product both of his hunger and the little touch of guilt. What he's really addicted to is in such ready supply that it's making his skin crawl. And he needs it, a need so harsh that if he looks up at Ric, he'll go for him, he knows it.

Instead, Mitchell takes a longer drag on his cigarette, still trying to steady himself.]

You can tell me what you've got t' take its place, but one vice isn't as good as another, mate. They don't always compare. Nothing's ever going to compare to the real deal, yeah?

[surrogates]

[ There's a pause where Ric just takes in the fact that Mitchell laughs because it's not funny, and Ric knows it's not, but there had to be a reason Mitchell laughed. Truth be told, he's not entirely sure he wants to know why, but experience tells him he might have to. Or at the very least something will happen that makes it so he accidentally finds out. ]

Yeah, the real deal always is better and when you try to replace it your body tends to laugh right in the face of your attempt. It's alcohol, for the record. We're— [ his lips twist a little before he laughs. ] The percentage of us who are some form of buzzed is larger than you'd think. Stay here long enough and you fall into it even if you're staunchly against it.

[humanistic]

You're telling me I've fallen onto the deep space version of a cruise ship?

[That one's actually a joke, and he dares a glance over at Ric as he says it, with a little smirk of his own. But the danger of alcohol is this: when you're drunk, you make bad decisions, and for Mitchell, bad decisions are generally... really bad. Other people's bad decisions, when they involve him, can be equally bad. Alcohol has often been a key player--but he's not going to think of that; he takes another quick drag on his cigarette and very pointedly does not think of that.]

I'm not staunchly against anything much, and alcohol doesn't make what short list there is. No temperance league for me, thanks. What's your supply, d'you have a brewery set up, or does the ship zap refills into your pints every time you go dry?

[surrogates]

Depends on your definition of cruise ship.

[ That's an inside joke that has Ric huffing out a bit of a laugh, it's one that Mitchell can't understand yet with how new he is, but Ric figures if he sticks around for at least a jump he'll learn why that joke might be a little funnier than he thinks it is. He's no stranger to the bad decisions though, the ones that leave people regretting their life choices ( to this day Ric is a little astonished he hasn't died on the Tranquility yet, but that's neither here nor there today ) though at least his vampires don't typically make life choices that are too horrible if the get drunk. ]

Temperance league would probably get murdered by the heavy heavy drinkers before it even had a chance to start so it's for the best. Supply, you aren't getting anything from anyone's home from anyone unless you manage to make friends with them and they're nice. [ A beat. ] Most people aren't that nice when it comes to their alcohol. Meaning, you get the space variations of it and as an added thrill things that don't actually seem to exist on earth. Or if they do they typically are only in the sort of drinks you see socialites drinking.

[humanistic]

[It's not being left out of the joke that gets to him, it's getting the feeling that it's the sort of joke that you'll get, later, and you won't be happy about it. Mitchell has sat through those jokes before. He doesn't like them. So he smiles, indulgently (if a little tightly), and puts his cigarette to his lips again.]

Oh, I'm not picky, mate. I don't need top shelf-- [Not anymore, anyways.] --not unless we're friends enough that you're offering. And if they're willing to murder temperance leagues, I'd say people around here bein' not that nice is a bit of an understatement, yeah? But I get it. Touchy on their liquor. Bit of cabin fever. Any chance schnapps is considered a socialite drink?

[surrogates]

[ Ric doesn't mean it maliciously, it just— maybe it's the the ship wearing down on him, making the allure of explaining the ship to someone who hasn't been here almost nonexistent. They'll believe soon enough, won't they? Something will show them it soon. ]

I'd have to actually get my top shelf here. Had a nice stash at home, ship isn't exactly willing to give it to me it seems. [ And no, he is not happy about it. ] I may have exaggerated a little. But yeah, touchy about the liquor with us in various states of really horrendous cabin fever.

And it depends on the flavor you're drinking.

[humanistic]

[The phrasing of that catches his attention. The ship isn't willing? Mitchell darts a glance back toward the locker room. There's things he left behind in that locker, things he didn't want reminders of--how the hell they ended up here with him in the first place was a mystery, but--]

Sorry-- has the ship given you things before? Besides the standard, uh, the jumpsuit. There were things in my locker-- [Obviously, he's wearing some of the things and smoking another example of the things--] --but no schnapps. How much of an alcoholic d'you have t' be for a delivery like that?

[It's a joke, but there's an insistence behind it. This is important. Not because of alcohol, because of what else could end up coming along.]

[surrogates]

[ The ship isn't willing. It's a phrase that Ric has managed to have almost drilled into him. You can fight and hate this ship like nothing else, but no matter what you do the amount of control you have on this ship is surprisingly small. You can't choose when you get things or what those things even are and— well isn't that the kicker of everything. ]

Yeah, no alcohol, but I've gotten blue jeans, some shirts, other things over a jump. [ Other things, like a crossbow, but he won't mention it because— well that's a little awkward, isn't it? ] Depends how much does it take for you to fall down drunk?

[ He can tell the insistence is there but the specific reason that it's there— is beyond Ric at least for now. Maybe if he's lucky, it'll take a long time for him to find out. ]

[humanistic]

[The mixed blessing of that isn't lost on Mitchell. Things you didn't ask for, which could be good or could be bad, like a grab-bag game at a party. But at least then all you have to worry about is are you getting the gift card or the glow in the dark condoms; this is more are you getting your favourite shirt or your favourite shirt covered in blood--or worse, some other bit of incriminating evidence. Even if he's alone here, he might not always be. He'll have to be careful with his locker, even as he's being careful with every other fucking thing, and bitterly, he takes another drag of his cigarette.]

Weirdest fucking Christmas I ever heard of. Once a month, and you aren't even allowed t' make a list.

Now, as to the question of drinking-- [And he manages a little grin that, despite himself (maybe a bit manic, but he's allowed).] Let's say I can hold my own. Years of practice, if that gets me liquor any sooner.

[And years and years and years.]

[surrogates]

[ Lockers can be dealt with, Ric can admit this with relative ease. Stefan has his own blood issues, if everyone else can get the blood away from him before he gets to it, then it's fine. What's worse is people, getting people that'll cause problems.

And isn't that the sad part, he has so many people who can come and ruin so many things for them. ]

Even if you made a list and got it, I'll be honest, I'm not even sure I'd trust whatever I got.

[ The manic edge to the grin earns a bit of an eyebrow raise before he shrugs. ]

You might get it within a jump or two. I'd say you going to share at all— but you probably need it more.