ataraxionlogs | eighteenth jump;

Entry tags:

eighteenth jump;

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Mike honestly doesn't mind the apologies nearly as much as the forced nudity. And that hand around his wrist. He's about to open his mouth to say that he doesn't need a doctor, but then she seems to realize just how naked they both are and jesus he has zero idea of what to say. He'll just keep his gaze firmly averted from her.

It'd be fair to say that he's never been in this situation before.]

Ma'am, we ought to find you some clothes.

[Because injures are less important than protecting her innocence.]

Uh. Yeah. Clothes, I can get clothes there'll be clothes in your locker too oh god I'msorryforallthetouching I don't usually hug strange naked men I just. Thought you were someone else.

[Just. One hand over her face. And one arm folded over her chest, as an afterthought. Is it too late to convince the ship to send her home, or maybe into deep space? He's not Tillman, which means she really shouldn't give a crap what he thinks of her, but the fact that he looks and behaves like him makes her mortified. For. Doing something she only did because she thought he was Tillman.

She doesn't know what galaxy they're in, but she's pretty sure there isn't one in which that makes sense.]

[He realizes belatedly that he should probably do some covering of his own and reaches down to cover the important bits, even if it means the blood that's running along his arm starts to cover his hand. He'd probably be cooler about the situation if he weren't old enough to possibly be her dad. Not that he had kids. He and Leah just missed their chance.]

I. Uh. No apologies necessary, ma'am. [He's glad she's not crying anymore but she's still pretty naked.] Stay there, let met get.

[He spies some lockers and tries to not dart over to them. As he looks at the numbers, he glances down at the arm that's not bleeding. Oh. Maybe he's.

Bingo. One smelly and bloody dress shirt coming your way, Heather.] Here.

[Welp.

She'll just be taking that shirt slowly, watching it like it's a holy relic or maybe like it's going to bite her hand clean off. She blinks rapidly - not crying there's stasis fluid in my eye shut up - and looks from the shirt to him.]

Tha- [nope, that came out a bit tearful. Big gulp of air and she tries again.] Thanks.

[Right, okay, probably she should express her thanks by covering herself up, so she puts the smelly, bloody, and now slightly pod-gooey shirt on. When Tillman did the whole "clothe the naked girl" routine she'd made a joke at him. She doesn't really have the heart to do that right now, but she does take a deep breath, scrub at her eyes with the back of her hand and straighten up. Eyes forward (straight forward, even), shoulders back.]

Can I get a do-over? Hi, I'm Heather. Sorry 'bout your abduction, can I get you a towel?

[Seriously dude they're right there and the nudity thing starts to get weird when not everyone is playing.]

[Mike tries to not look at her at all, but her expression crushes him a little inside. And then she's rubbing her eyes and it doesn't take an expert to figure out she's either really happy or really sad or something Mike never wanted to see again on a kid's face. It was hard enough seeing Conner the moment after losing his mother. Jesus, more reasons he never had kids.

Once she's properly covered up again, he finally centers his gaze on her, still aware that he's quite naked.] Agent Mike Banning, ma'am.

[He'd rather get cleaned up before he goes putting anything of his on, especially since drying goop would get really old really fast.] Towel would be fucking great.

[Towels don't take very long, since she and a few of the others who've been through a few jumps have taken to scattering them around in strategic spots. She brings him two, 'cause wiping off and covering oneself is great, but it's not as good as being actually clean. She perks up a little in the meantime too; sucks to be Mike, but if Tillman's not here then maybe he really is back with his wife and daughter. Maybe even Simon, that little shithead. That's something to be thankful for. So when she returns, she gives him the towels and a mostly-sincere grin.]

Nice to meet you, Agent Mike Banning. I'd shake your hand, but...

[It's been on your junk, and all.]

Uh, let's see. Showers are thataway, and I'm sorry to say they are both communal and co-ed. You found your locker, so you're ahead of the curve there. Most people take the room number that matches their nanites [illustrative pointing to her own number which is - oops, covered by his shirt] 'cause the doors recognize you automatically, but some people just go wherever. There's usually more to that but you don't seem like the kind of guy who needs to be told not to eat the pod goo.

[He accepts both towels and quickly gets one situated around his waist before beginning to wipe himself down. The goop isn't exactly easy to get off, though, and he grimaces at the towel a couple times during the process.

He also doesn't mind not shaking her hand, considering yeah it's been on his junk and one of them is covered in blood right now. Listening, he glances in the direction of the shower when she gestures and nods again when she finishes.]

Think I can figure out not to eat anything I'm not supposed to. [He cracks a slight grin at her, now that they're both at some level of modesty.]

And that's half the battle.

[Okay, everyone's stuff is covered, she's not crying, this shirt is gross but she can deal. And that's... actually quite bleedy, there, buddy.]

Are you sure you're good? I mean, I'm sure you know your shit, but that's a little more blood than generally comes out of anyone who's totally fine. Medbay's usually pretty okay about people just grabbing what they need if it's small stuff.

[She thinks. At least, nobody's yelled at her for doing it before.]

[Now that he's at least somewhat cleaned off, he presses the other towel to his forearm. He's dealt with worse, but there's no need to tell her that. Being on the wrong side of a knife had been the least of his worries at the time.

Nodding,] Yeah. I'll be fine, ma'am, but I'll run by the medbay.

[He's a little more worried about the bruising that might turn up around his throat in a day or so.]

Heather.

[Not that being called ma'am by someone a foot taller and 20-odd years older than her isn't hilarious, but it's a level of formality that's probably unnecessary when you've seen each other's business and will probably continue to each month until one of you dies or leaves.

As long as he doesn't start calling her kiddo, she oughta be just fine. Except there's really no way to do this next bit that isn't also an echo, and a little of that sadness creeps back into her expression as she points to he forearm again.]

I'll let you get on that, then. But - can I get your number? So I know where to bring the shirt.

[At least she knows this one's not going to turn out to be living right across the hall.]

[Mike opens his mouth to respond to the Heather bit but decides against his argument and swallows it. He nods and glances down at the area where she'd pointed on her own arm. Someone gave him a fucking tattoo, too? Great. Now he really can't ever go back into the Rangers.]

018-005.

[Not that he knows what that means yet. He'll figure it out eventually, but keeps in mind that she mentioned he'll be able to get into the room labeled with that number.]

Okay. I'm double-oh-two oh-three-one. Let me know if you end up using a different room, okay? Or if you need help with anything. I've been here a while, so...

[Ugh maybe try to sound a little less needy? Get the fuck out of there, Mason, before you make even more of a fool of yourself. Dorky wave incoming.]

I'll see you 'round, Banning.

[Mike makes a mental note of the number and nods. He doesn't think he'll be using a different room anytime soon, but he can live with informing someone if he does. What he doesn't get is the sudden goodbye. Sure, he's not yearning for conversation, but he's left feeling a little confused.]

Yeah, see ya, Heather.

[It's probably because he's naked, he figures. That's a good enough reason for him and it doesn't take much (read: any) thought.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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