ataraxionlogs | 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

Wow! The people here were so friendly! Zoidberg wasn't used to all this attention at all. Was he dreaming? Probably. Well it was a good dream and he preferred to stay in it.

Now, Zoidberg didn't know this man at all. Had never seen him before in his life. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to cozy up to him and make use of the fact that this man was being so indescribably pleasant.

"The Doctor! What an honor!" he replied enthusiastically, shaking that little human hand with great vigor (maybe a little too roughly). "I'm a doctor too! ...A Decapodian doctor!" As if that made much of a difference. (Well this man really liked Decapodians so obviously it did.)

"Are you!" the Doctor says, a little jerkily given he's having trouble stopping his whole body from being shaken by Zoidberg's enthusiasm. "Well, that's certainly something." Given he wasn't aware that Decapodians had a strong incursion into the medical industry. "I'm afraid I'm not a doctor, however. Not a medical doctor, not in the way you're thinking. It's just my title. My name, if you will."

Not a medical doctor? Well, Zoidberg wasn't one either. Secretly. But he wasn't about to admit that here, not when things were going so well. He stopped shaking the Doctor's hand soon enough, though, once he realized that he had no idea who this guy was.

"What, so your name is Doctor? But you're not a Doctor?" He withdrew a claw and scratched his head slightly, attempting to process this strange information. Well, people in this place certainly had some strange names....

"Yes, that's it," the Doctor agreed, seeming not to notice that Zoidberg found this odd. He's fairly used to people side-eying him for it, and it mostly just goes past him now. He is a little disappointed that the handshake's over, though, it was really just getting interesting. "That's my name. But what's yours?"

Well okay, the guy's name was Doctor. Still not the weirdest name, Zoidberg supposed. It was like calling Farnsworth "Professor," right? (Except he was a professor.) But he shrugged then. There were weirder things out there.

"I'm Dr. Zoidberg!" he introduced himself with a bit more enthusiasm. "An actual doctor... of course..."

"Of course," nods the Doctor. "I'm sure the Decapodians greatly appreciate your medical expertise, Doctor Zoidberg."

Ha. Ha ha. Well, he means it unironically, which is the important bit.

"Yes... Of course..." He responded, shifting his eyes slightly. Medical expertise. Of course. Something that he very much had. "I am a well-respected doctor among my fellow Decapodians."

Oh Zoidberg, how long could you keep up this farce? Nobody here knew him so people seemed to be believing it, but how long would it last?

Probably until the point where he tries to do medicine.

"Are you going to practice here?" the Doctor asks, genuinely interested. "I noticed some people react quite poorly to the stasis fluid, or perhaps the hyperspace jump itself — it isn't exactly a pleasant experience."

Zoidberg's eyes lit up at that suggestion. Oh, there was a medical facility on board that could use another doctor?

"Oh, what joy! It just so happens I'm an expert on humans!" He clacked his claws in delight. "I would love to practice here!"

The Doctor has no idea of the grave error he's just made. "And I'm sure all the humans will appreciate it," he says jovially, even though there should probably be some sort of ominous crescendo to accompany that phrase. "I'm afraid given I only just arrived, so I can't tell you who to talk to. But big clunker like this ship, there's sure to be a sickbay."

Unfortunately, nobody would know the grave error until Zoidberg actually began practicing medicine. As far as Zoidberg knew, he was the greatest expert on humans that the world had known, so this would be the worst mistake anyone had made. "Hooray! I'll find the ship's sickbay then maybe?"

"Yes! Good luck," asserted the Doctor, giving him a brief clap on the shoulder. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go and round up my wife."

eighteenth jump;

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