eighteenth 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

Franz d'Epinay | OTA, action or prose

[discretion]

[grav couches]

[It's cold.

Many a poem goes on about the coldness, the unforgiving nature of death. Franz was always a bit too skeptical to be entirely religious, but he hadn't had time to worry about things in the heat of the moment, the clash of swords and the pain and chill as his life bled away.

He never worried about where to go from there.

Albert's arms were warm, but he is not embraced by his friend any longer.

He is dizzy, cold, utterly confused and vaguely angry. He is familiar enough with hum of space ship engines and the sterile light of hospital facilities, though he's never been on a trip that necessitated a cold sleep.

He supposes it is possible he was put in stasis to have his wounds repaired, but who could afford such a thing? His own estate is modest and the Morcerfs are on their way to ruin. Eugenie might plead his case, but Danglars would never part with his money enough to save him. It doesn't make sense.

He examines the places he thinks should be wounded and finds scar tissue. It's during this that he finds his tattoo, and spends quite a long time just running his fingers over it, sitting, covered in goo, on the cold ground.

What a surreal place this is.]

[lockers]

[Eventually, Franz rousts himself enough to stagger over to the showers and clean himself in a cursory manner. He's not entirely unconvinced this is some kind of hallucination, some dying dream of his oxygen deprived brain as he drifts from consciousness back in Bolougne. Nothing of this ship's technology or architecture strikes him as familiar. The faces he sees are strange. He recognizes none of the humans so far, and the aliens he's noticed aren't races he's ever met before.

He still feels hazy, distant from all of this. But what he finds in his locker brings it all to a sharp point.

He's happy to see his clothes. They're rather brightly colored, almost garish in this place instead of fashionably suiting the scenery. He changes into his brown suit instead of the uniform - it's probably foolish to call such attention to himself, but he's desperate for anything that feels familiar.

The other item in his locker is a sword. A longsword, expensive and fine in make, yet broken, the top half shattered off. He's so startled that he jerks away when he sees it. The contents of the locker shift and clatter to the ground.]

...No! [He whispers, staring at the weapon as if it might come to life and attack. Franz braces the locker, covering his mouth as he fights off sudden, profound nausea. He's sure blood will spill from his mouth. This nightmare will come to a terrible end.]

[assumedposition]

[Some time after their tearful reunion, Albert leads Franz around on a merry tour of the ship, pointing out relevant locations, introducing him to people, mentioning trivia, and so on and so forth. Stopping to say hello to multiple people along the way, the tour probably takes upwards of an hour. Finally, the tour ends at the kitchen closest to Albert's room.]

Anddd last but not least: the kitchen! Ta-daaa. Or at least, one of them, anyway. There's a lot of them. You hungry by any chance?

[discretion]

[Franz is more than happy to let Albert play tour guide. He's always fond of things like that, where he can show off that he knows more than Franz. It's a relief that Albert is here to show him around, he can't imagine dealing with all of this on his own. It's a sobering thought.

And Albert did it all by himself. He's strong of hearts Franz doubts he is. He's probably seen this whole mess as some kind of adventure.]

Are you seriously offering to cook for me? I'm scared.

[Franz isn't actually that hungry, but it's probably not a bad idea to take some nutrition in. Apparently diet is still something to be concerned with while deceased.]

[assumedposition]

[Albert starts laying out ingredients on the table for some kind of simple vegetable pasta dish. Meat on the ship isn't that great or plentiful, after all.]

Hey! I'll have you know, I've survived here for two months now feeding myself. My cooking is perfectly acceptable.

[Though that's about the best that can be said for it.]

[discretion]

Okay, then. But it had better be 'perfectly' acceptable. I won't accept it if it's 'pretty much' acceptable or 'almost' acceptable!

[Franz finds a place to settle himself, glad to be off his feet for awhile. He looks around the kitchen, wondering if he could ever think of this place as being like home. He's traveled a lot, but always with the image of Paris in his mind to return to. That seems impossible now.]

[assumedposition]

What-- geez, I'll show you!

[The pasta's on the stove, and while that's doing, he starts chopping the veggies. Nobody's taught him yet that different foods take different lengths of time to cook though, so once he's done, it all kind of goes in at once :').]

So... what did you think of it? The ship. Pretty impressive, huh?

[discretion]

[Franz watches Albert cook with no small amount of amusement and fondness: and like a true beloved supper guests he offers absolutely no help.] The only way this ship impressed me is with how strange it is. [Franz is deeply suspicious of this place. It's unsettling. He'd love to happily accept this extra time with Albert, but he wants, very much, to understand what is going on. It's nagging at him that those answers might be beyond him.] I still don't understand what use the two of us could be on a ship like this. Are they expecting us to set up a colony? Propagate the human race? I think they probably could have found better specimens.

[assumedposition]

Propa-- Franz! Obviously not! There are kids here! [The shade of red he turns is deeply comical.]

The most popular theory is that it's a malfunction of the warp drive. Though it's just a theory, of course... [he stirs the pasta]

They won't let us near the damn thing.

[discretion]

A warp drive malfunction? I'm not buying it.

Out of the millions of people, over millions of years - and that's discounting things like other universes, and so on - we meet each other again? There must be more to it than that.

[Franz isn't exactly a physicist or engineer, but he doesn't have to be. It's simple analytic thought.

He peers over at the pan to check Albert's progress.]

That actually smells edible.

[assumedposition]

I suppose... when you put it like that, it does sound rather unlikely, doesn't it.

[What's this? Albert's listening to Franz for a change? The world must be ending. He gives the food another dejected stir.]

Hmph. I told you so, didn't I? [From there, the rest of it cooks pretty quickly, and it's out on plates in a few minutes.]

[discretion]

I don't trust this place.

[And some part of Franz wants to, that's what's terrible. He wants to be here, having Albert fix him 'perfectly acceptable' food while they chat about their plans for a new life on a strange ship. He wants a chance to relax and be complacent. To return to the sort of moments they had before the Count destroyed their lives.]

But I can't see any motivation for this... we'll have to keep looking.

[Very cautiously, Franz winds up the noodles on his fork and spears a bit of vegetable, taking a bite.]

[assumedposition]

Well I bet if there's anyone who can get to the bottom of it, it's you.

[He's waiting for Franz to eat first before eating himself-- not out of any sense of politeness, but rather because he's waiting for a reaction. This is the first time since he made disastrously bad spaghetti for Jehan nearly two months ago that he's cooked anything for another person.]

i have just the icon for this

[discretion]

[Franz makes a good show of eating the food. And honestly, it's not as bad as he was expecting. It's not great, the vegetables aren't cooked through evenly and it could do a lot more for flavoring, but it's not actively killing him, so, better than expected.]

Wow... that really is perfectly acceptable!

Will the shocks of today ever cease?

lockers ; hope this is alright!

[shoyu]

[ all dressed. tie done neatly, tie clip in place, not a single out-of-place wrinkle down the front of his waistcoat. and now that he's ready, soysauce starts making his way out of the locker room, saxophone case slung over his shoulder, whistling a cheerful little tune as he walks.

but when he's just passing by a row of lockers, he hears the noise of someone making a noise of distress (dismay? alarm?) -- followed immediately by franz jerking back and right into him. it's sudden enough that soysauce goes stumbling back a pace with a startled little 'oof!'

he manages to find his balance after a moment and looks over towards franz, about to playfully admonish him. that is, until he spots the distraught expression on the young man's face. ]

Ah -- are you alright, sir?

[ he can't exactly just walk by someone looking so distressed, can he? soysauce speaks softly, trying not to startled franz as he peers into the other's face. goodness, young man looks like he's seen a ghost. ]

[discretion]

[Franz is silent for a few moments, still quite certain if he moves at all, he'll vomit. Slowly he removes his hand from his mouth. No blood. Only then does he appear to notice the well-dressed stranger.]

...Do you know what's going on here? [He asks in a hoarse whisper.]

[shoyu]

[ ah, a newcomer. but even so -- most people don't look quite so ill. soysauce gives a small tilt of the head, his expression tinged with concern as he answers. ]

Eh. Well. This may sound absurd, I'm afraid, but you're aboard a spacecraft. A vessel traveling in outer space.

[ pause. ]

I hope you'll excuse my saying, but -- you look quite unwell, sir. There's a medical bay here, with doctors. If you're in need of any medicine, or need to rest ... ?

[discretion]

No, I understand that. I've been on a ship before.

[His clothes may speak of a bygone era, yet the truth is the technology is not the cause of his bewilderment.]

But why me? Why this ship? The tattoo and the locker...

Just what the hell is going on, is someone playing with me?

[shoyu]

Ah -- no. It's not quite like that.

[ a small, nervous pause before he continues, trying to explain things clearly to the best of his abilities. ]

I'm afraid the exact details of why everyone's been brought aboard the vessel aren't quite clear to anyone. But general consensus seems to be that people have been brought here to replace the ship's old crew. There doesn't seem to be any reason or rhyme to why people are selected, so it's difficult to say if it's anyone 'toying with you,' sir.

[discretion]

[Franz scowls.] Me? Replace the crew of a ship? Then why...

[He motions to the broken sword that fell out of his locker. Only the bottom half of it remains. Strangely enough, it seems to be a very strong sword aside from the break.]

Why is this here?

[shoyu]

[ ... a sword.

a broken sword? that question's a little puzzling, and soysauce gives a wide-eyed blink. ]

Ah -- I believe most people are given some of their belongings from home in those lockers, when they arrive here. As for why you might have been given certain specific items, I'm afraid I can't say.

[discretion]

Yes, the others were my clothes and so on. But this! This is... it's useless, and it is not something I would have asked to take with me anywhere!

[But Franz isn't telling all about the sword, clearly, because he is livid about this.]

I cannot be expected to believe nothing strange is going on!

[shoyu]

[ he takes a small step back at that, gaze flickering nervously from franz to the broken sword and back. a small, anxious clear of the throat before he responds, choosing his words carefully to keep from agitating franz and more. ]

Ah -- I'm sorry, I must admit I don't know the full details of the situation. But it seems the lockers periodically give their owners items with -- with sentimental value? [ those last two words come out more quietly because he's not sure what exactly that broken sword means to franz. ] Usefulness isn't always of the highest priority, when it comes to items that are given to people.

[discretion]

Sentimental? [Franz parrots, his eyes filled with something near panic.] It's not sentimental. It's not even mine. I d--

[He cuts off, finally able to regain some semblance of control over his emotions.]

I'm sorry. I've been shouting at you for something that clearly isn't your fault.

[shoyu]

[ oh dear. 'sentimental' was the wrong word, then. another nervous little half-step back, and soysauce bites his lip in worry when he realizes franz is panicked, rather than angry. ]

I -- well. It's understandable that you're upset, sir. These circumstances certainly aren't easy to come to grasps with, even without the presence of unexpected objects. So, ah --

[ he rubs a hand against his jaw, thinking for a moment before suggesting timidly, ]

-- perhaps you could leave that item in someone else's care? I take it that it's something you don't really wish to keep?

[discretion]

No. It's mine now, I guess.

[Part of his story, whether he likes it or not.]

Even if it's more or less useless as a weapon, it could still be dangerous in the wrong hands. I'd better look after it.

[Franz keeps swallowing, hoping his heart rate will calm to a normal level. And how weird is it that he has to worry about his heart?]

It still feels like a sick joke. This sword, of all things... [He shakes his head, and shuts the thing back up in his locker. Finally, he turns his full attention to the stranger.]

You seem to have at least some idea what's going on here. Please explain it to me.