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.

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[She's glad they're able to just fall back into the same old routine, no matter what the circumstances are between them. It makes jumping from tears to smiles and laughter that much easier.]

Permission to investigate, Sir Doctor.

[Making sure her locker is shut, she gives him a playful salute with her free hand. In the hand that's holding his, her fingers turn to intertwine with his; and while it's not exactly the same as it is with the Doctor waiting for her back home, it's still familiar and comforting. Just as familiar and comforting as the routine of smiling and laughing through anything, even the TARDIS being missing and them waking up on a strange spaceship.]

C'mon, we'll find her in no time. Me and you? Expert TARDIS trackers by now! But...you've got your screwdriver still, don't you?

[She's pretty sure that between the two of them and the sonic screwdriver, they'll be able to handle anything on this spaceship.]

...Aaah.

[ it's a wide-mouthed noise, and it has nothing to do with the hand-holding — he's just as tactile in this body as ever, hand-holding's nothing. ]

No. No screwdriver.

[ river has one, but he can't keep it from her if he wants her to live. she needs to have it on her person, or else there'll be a very unfortunate paradox, and the two of them have managed more than enough of those. but he's not going to talk about river to rose (the fact that river met rose is a background note of panic that he's not yet given himself time to listen to.) ]

Not much, really. Doesn't matter. It's just stuff, I don't need stuff. I'll make another one, maybe. Or not. Or something better!

[Okay, new screwdriver. No TARDIS. And he might be making another. Or not. Oh, this is gonna go so well.]

... yeah. 'Course it'd be something like that.

[She flatly retorts, but gives their arms a swing. She's going to remain optimistic not only for herself, but for him. He's lost more than she has in falling into this place, she can't imagine how hard it must be to not know where the TARDIS is and not have his sonic to help him find it.]

There's gotta be some spare parts lying 'round here somewhere. We'll find 'em, you'll make something.

[And then she'll be able to go back to her own time with her Doctor that's waiting for her. Only to end up painfully separated and in agonizing despair. But she doesn't know that part yet, at least. So there's still a lot of eagerness to try and figure everything right on out.]

Question, though. What's better than your screwdriver, exactly?

Well...

[ the doctor pulls a face as he considers this. (possibly thinking of the master's disdain for sonic all together.) ]

Not much, really. Nothing, in fact. Nothing yet. But I'm sure I'll be able to whip up something.

[ now he sounds like a chef on the telly. the doctor gives a short breath of irritation — at the situation, not at rose — before letting go of his concern that the technology on the ship might be too backwards for him to make anything useful at all from it. he can do science with string and chewing gum, there's no use worrying about how. quite often he doesn't know how until it happens. ]

Yeah, whip up some explosions, more like.

[She smirks up at him, giving a playful roll of her eyes. She knows how his whipping up things usually ends, with one or the both of them on fire or rolling on the ground laughing. But he's a genius, she knows that, she doesn't doubt that he can make up something to help them. She gives his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Her eyes fall upon some of the people that pass by, and she watches them with genuine curiosity.]

What're we gonna do if we're just stuck, though? Some of the people here seem like they've been here a while, don't they? They look like they just accept all this, like there's no other choice for 'em. They've given up.

[Of course, that's a broad assessment based on the few people she's met here so far, and she doubts it applies to everyone. But the fact that so many people just tell her to get cozy and deal with everything is a bit concerning.]

Doctor, what if you've got to...get a job?

[Yeah, she can shove in some teasing in the middle of being actually serious about this, okay. It's her job to do that.]

Edited 2013-05-16 08:50 (UTC)

[ thing is, the doctor isn't very good at giving up. or at listening to other people, for that matter. he's more aware than most that there's something going on here, and he's quite certain that once he gets to the bottom of it, things will all work out. so he doesn't concern himself overly with rose's pronouncement, as he heads them towards the medbay lifts, just treats it a bit like a joke. ]

A job!

[ he laughs, a touch nervously, remembering the last time they'd talked about this. humans and their obsession with settling down. but then, he'd had a job, not long ago, if only briefly, and he thought he'd been quite good at it. ]

I'm sure on a space ship that won't be too much trouble. I've worked for NASA, after all. Or, well, with NASA. All right, mostly I broke into a rocket, but I do have a lot of experience with spacecrafts! The point is, it's not as though I'm going to have to work in a shop.

[ ah. ]

Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course.

[She knows that he doesn't mean it, that there's no insult or malice behind his words. But it still hits her hard, and it hurts. It wipes the smile right off her face, and she's left staring up at him much like she had back when he regenerated and she was left to take on the Sycorax all on her own.]

Oh, good. I'm so glad you're still you. Would've been worried if that had changed, and I'd never get to say being rude again.

[She informs him, no edge to her words as there should have been. It's been a long day, and she's being extra sensitive. It leaves her sounding tired, and offended. There's nothing wrong with being a shopgirl, but it's not who she is anymore. There's no reason for her to be upset over something so small, and with a sigh she looks all around the lift instead of directly at him.]

How long's it been, anyway? Since you got this face, I mean.

[ yeesh. he's not going to apologize, but he does at least look apologetic. but he knows rose tyler had never really got just how much he abhorred the mundanity of her species, of chronological life. martha had seen him human, and pulled him away from that world. amy had invited him to be a part of her family but no more and no less than he was. even craig had... but rose was different. she wanted him to live in her bubble, and he's not sure what he would have done if a way hadn't come along for him to grant that wish for her without having to put the brakes on the tardis once and for all. ]

Too long.

[ he sighs, looks a little sheepish. there's no point being dishonest with her, not on this front. ]

Two hundred... no, three hundred years, maybe?

[ he doesn't keep track. ]

[That answer makes her freeze up, and look horrified. Her grip on his hand becomes a clamp, as she tries to anchor herself down to something to keep her emotions from flying right out of her and out into the open between them.]

Three hundred years? Blimey, I must be -

[Dead. Long since dead and gone. Buried someplace. Does he come and see her every so often, wherever she's nothing but dirt and dust? She wants to say these things and ask, but it just doesn't feel right. He must be so far removed from her now, that it's not her place to. The words catch in her throat and form a lump. She swallows them, leaving her jaw clamped and unable to move for a few moments. She can't bring herself to look down and away from him, can't stop studying his face.

There is something she can ask about, though. Something that he may not be able to tell her, but something she now desperately wants to know.]

Whatever made you have to regenerate, did it hurt?

[Her voice cracks, and she fears the answers she might get but just keeps asking questions anyway. This is all very awkward and wrong, having this conversation in the middle of a lift, but she's capable of having emotions any old place. Luckily they're all alone.]

Were you all alone, or -

You had somebody there to hold your hand, didn't you?

[ did it hurt. the doctor, this doctor, this version, prefers not to think too much about the past. not learning from his mistakes is surely one of his greatest flaws. so he doesn't put too much introspection into it, doesn't linger in the memory of the glass box, wilf's knocking on the door, the tardis falling to pieces around him as his body— ]

Nah.

[ he smiles across at her, a little wet around the eyes again but otherwise that typical, devil-may-care, fond little smile. and he lies. ]

It was fine. I even had time to go visit a few old friends. Saw you, actually. New Years Day. 2005. You and your mum wished me a Happy New Year.

[Despite her best intentions, a tear streams down her face, and she reaches up to wipe it away. She's smiling, without actually wanting to, because a smile means that his regenerating at all is okay. But it's not, something had to of happened to him to make it happen, and it's her job to try and keep these things from happening at all.]

But, I didn't even know you back then. Why then, why not any other day after we met? I mean, I get not crossing timelines, I do. And I don't wanna be selfish or anything. But...

[Why wasn't I with you?

That's the question she won't ask, because she knows he won't be able to answer. She's being selfish right now, and she knows it. So instead, her eyes close and she tries really hard to think back to that particular day. Even if technically the Doctor was just fine and hadn't regenerated yet in her timeline, surely she'd have to remember a New Year's that wasn't all that long ago. She had a few too many drinks and the whole day was a bit fuzzy, but in the back of her mind she remembers snow. Her hat, the awful one her mum gave her for Christmas. Mickey being a bit too handsy in public and getting a good slap. Someone told her she was gonna have a good year. She couldn't put a face to the words, and maybe they hadn't really been spoken at all, but it's worth the risk of believing they were his.

Her eyes fly open, and now she's grinning, just as bright as ever.]

You were right, y'know. I've had the best year, thanks to you.

[ the doctor's expression starts pensive, because he couldn't, he couldn't have dipped into his own timeline, the bad wolf already muddled everything up, made it volatile. canary wharf was a fixed point, and so was their meeting, and so was his death. it was too much of a risk. there's a shadow of his tenth self in his eyes when he looks at her, lonely and guilty and wishing he could have broken the rules to be with her, but knowing that if he did, he'd have gone too far. ]

[ but then she remembers, and it vanishes as he breaks into his own smile. ]

Yeah. 'Course you did.

[ he reaches up and brushes away the wetness under her eyes, because he can't actually stand it, and maybe he wants to say something else, but the lift doors open. ]

Eighteenth floor. That's us. Come on.

[In some way, she's grateful he doesn't comment on all the other stuff. The look in his eyes says enough, it's something that's familiar and comforting in its familiarity, despite being that look that the Doctor gives her whenever he's about to tell her that he's so sorry.

As his hand moves up toward her face, she reaches up to gently take hold of his wrist. Her eyes close, she takes in a shaky breath. She wants to hold him there, just like that, but the doors open and the moment is over. She drops her hold on him and smiles despite all the emotions charging right on through her.]

I thought we were just sightseeing, or trying to find the TARDIS, maybe?

[But he seems to have an actual destination in mind, which is nice, so she trails along after him out of the lift and out into the unknown. It's become the new normal for her, to barge out of that blue box and into things she doesn't know or understand, and to figure out ways to have it all make sense when things are all said and done.]

[ he finds her hand again, but not for running this time. when he lifts it, he taps the marks that have been tattooed into her forearm, the eighteen. pulls at the sleeve of his shirt to show her his own tattoo, the first three numbers the same: 018. ]

Button eighteen, eighteenth floor. There's something meant for us here, I'm certain of it.

[ and now that the explanation's given, the hand-holding does turn into its regular purpose: pulling rose along as he heads down the corridors with a long stride, unafraid of whatever they might find. ]

[Oh yes, those numbers. She had hoped hers would be gone by now, or that she'd forget it was there. She doesn't like the idea of being marked by something without knowing it. It just wasn't right. She occasionally glances down at her arm while trailing along after him, in the moments her eyes weren't busy scanning over and taking in everything else.]

Living quarters, maybe? A girl I spoke with, she said we were given places to sleep. This has gotta be it, if the numbers on our arms mean anything.

[And they better mean something, or else she's going to have to find someone to go off on.]

Dunno if I like the idea of all this just being set up for us, though. We've got no control in any of it, no idea what's hiding behind any of these walls. They must be joking if they think all of us are just gonna go along with that.

[She glances up and over at the Doctor with an expectant look. He's free to reassure her that no power in the universe will hold them there and that he'll have her back where she belongs in no time at all, and under no circumstances will there be things lurking in the walls that might harm either of them.]

[ living quarters. great. he had living quarters, aboard his tardis. getting a room on a space-liner might be fun as a one-off lark, but when it's obviously supposed to be permanent enough that they want to tattoo it onto his arm? ]

If it's a joke, it's not a very funny one.

[ he looks back at rose, and oh, yes, she's right though. surely the people here hadn't settled for kidnapping. ]

I'm sure there's already something well underway. After all, someone put us on this ship, there's got to be a way off. A little help and we'll soon—

[ he comes to the eleventh door and slaps his arm out to be scanned so that it opens. the little two-bed room inside is so stark and cramped and dull that his sentence comes to a shocked stop. nope. ]

[She stands at his side, looking at the room with great shock and distaste.]

It's so -

[She pauses, frowning and shaking her head. She gives his hand a squeeze to let him know she's here for him, because she can't imagine he's taking this very well.]

Empty. [She finally decides on a word, and despite the fact there's furniture, it just feels so cold and miserable and awful.]

Two beds, though. [She's trying really hard to be optimistic here. Or maybe just optimistic for herself, because if there's one thing that would make this easier, it's not having to sleep in a cold and empty room alone.

She lets go of his hand and moves past him into the room, heading over to one of the beds. She plops down on the edge and bounces, a smile gracing her face once again. Some things you don't ever stop having fun with. Like jumping around on things you're not supposed to.]

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eighteenth jump;

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