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

[nonsomno]

[Right. That sounds about her caliber. She nods again, sharply.]

And how do you join?

[jurisimpudent]

Well - you speak with me.

[nonsomno]

[She raises her eyebrows. Well?]

[jurisimpudent]

...And you describe your experience and qualifications.

[nonsomno]

I've been a spy for eight years. And I'm better with a knife and whip than anyone on this ship.

[jurisimpudent]

Whip?

[The query isn't incredulous; if anything, it's a touch sentimental, just a hint of sorrow lingering about his mouth as he asks. A moment later, he's moved ahead - ]

You can demonstrate this, I assume.

[nonsomno]

[She wants to ask about that touch of emotion, but resists the urge. Instead:]

Yes. Anytime you'd like. Simply pick a target.

[jurisimpudent]

[He thinks a moment, then reaches into his pocket for - well. He'd like to say a handkerchief, but unfortunately, the ship had not given him anything nearly so dignified; instead, what he pulled out was a kleenex. He holds this up with an inquiring lift of his eyebrow: Could you hit this?]

[nonsomno]

[She glances over at him, shrugs, and steps back some ten feet. Carefully she uncoils her whip. It's an odd one, made of hair (troll) rather than leather, with the tip an odd blunt object. Still, she grips the handle tightly and readies herself.]

Throw it.

[jurisimpudent]

[He nods once, tosses it up in the air, and steps back; it falls slowly - ]

[nonsomno]

[She studies the way it falls for just a moment, taking stock of the odd way it moves--

--and then her hand snaps; moving inhumanly fast, her whip lashes out, the blunt tip tearing through the tissue neatly. With another sharp movement she pulls it back to her and catches it in the palm of her hand. There's a small, tight smile on her face, something intense and joyous all at once.

Now that it's still, the tip of the whip is easier to identify: a spindle, now adorned with the remains of a tissue.]

I assume you won't want it back.

[jurisimpudent]

[He looks at it, then looks up at Talia, eyebrows lifted. In spite of himself, he's...impressed.]

Indeed, no, ma'am. You may hold onto it.

[He crosses his arms, trying to be measured about this.]

Your skills are undeniable indeed. But tell me more, if you will, about your time as a spy.

[nonsomno]

[A beat. She glances around. It doesn't matter, not really, but-- the less people hear about this, the better.]

Not here.

[jurisimpudent]

[He furrows his brow very slightly, but then nods.]

There are a few rooms off that way. Will that be acceptable?

[nonsomno]

So long as they're private.

[jurisimpudent]

[He nods. The room won't lock, but the door closes, at least.

He starts off in the direction of one of those rooms.]

[nonsomno]

[She follows without a word. After all, even if he's far more deadly than he looks, she's got her knives.

The room is far less wooden than she's used to-- inhospitable, in her mind, though Talia doesn't say as such.]

What specifically do you wish to know?

[jurisimpudent]

[He takes a seat, crossing his arms, and nods for her to do the same.]

First, how you got into that line of work. It's an unusual one. Particularly for a princess.

[nonsomno]

[She shakes her head even as she sits.]

Not important. I am, and have been since I was seventeen.

Remus Lupin: Pretty Princess

[jurisimpudent]

Would you be willing to indulge my curiosity nevertheless?

In the name of the moon, he'll bite the hell out of you! (oh my god remus stop)

[nonsomno]

No.

[She gestures impatiently.]

Next question.

GOD FUCKING DAMMIT LUPIN HE WANTS THIS NEW SUBSTITUTE SISTER STOP POKING YOUR HEAD IN

[jurisimpudent]

[He raises an eyebrow but says, drolly:]

As you will. For whom did you work?

oh my god yes I didn't even realize he'd associate her with Franziska

[nonsomno]

Queen Beatrice of Lorindar.

[Her head tilts back; there's clear respect in her voice]

Sassy, crabby, haughty teenage princess with a whip? How could he not?

[jurisimpudent]

[He tilts his head very slightly to the side.] Someone of a neighboring country, I presume?

[nonsomno]

North of us.