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

[elvenking]

"I do not know what should be done yet. I am weary, and I know neither his name nor his number. It is possible the decision should not be made by me at all, if Kirk can persuade Tyke at least."

He doesn't expect anyone to persuade Edgeworth.

[tofindthesun]

It's strange to have his father here, yet not have him be the one with the final say in making decisions. Strange to have to answer to someone else so much.

"We will see, then." He hopes it is an issue that can be resolved peacefully. And he wonders what it would be like if his memories of the sea were taken away. But, mostly, he wants hopes there's a way to return those lost memories.

"..How much has been taken from you?"

[elvenking]

Any amount is too much. It's enough that his mind and memory have been invaded, isn't it? But Legolas is only looking for reassurance that his father is still the father he knows. Best be as straight as he can, leaving out the bit where he can't remember the day Legolas was born.

"Memories of Menegroth. Things from well before your birth."

[tofindthesun]

"Your home. Your past." But nothing.. 'recent'. Whether because none of those were taken, or because Thranduil won't tell him they were.

Legolas wraps his arms around his father's neck with a muffled sound. He doesn't know if a few memories changes much, if it is only the ones Thranduil has mentioned, but memories from those times, of those places, cannot be remade. And he knows his father loved (loves) Menegroth.

[elvenking]

His home. His past. Even Legolas, born long after Doriath, knew that their beloved Greenwood was only a substitute. Thranduil's first and truest home lies not across the sea, but far beneath it. No ship can carry him there.

He rests his cheek against his son's hair and breathes, trying to shove the grief and fear somewhere where it can't come out and show itself.

"Perhaps...you will tell me the stories I have told you about those beloved halls?"

His arms tighten suddenly, reflexively, around Legolas as if it's finally hitting him exactly what he has lost. He can't think about that. No. It goes into a basket in his mind and is put away for now.

[tofindthesun]

They aren't his memories that have been lost, and Legolas perhaps does not, perhaps, know the magnitude of their meaning to Thranduil. But if it is like the equivalant of forgetting Mirkwood, or memories of his childhood, of the few years he could recall of the Watchful Peace, then it is terrible indeed.

"I will." He swallows in an attempt to keep his voice level, and gives a short, breathy laugh to keep from trembling. "Of course I will. You need only ask."

It wouldn't be the same as having the actual memories,.. but it's better than nothing.

[elvenking]

"I am asking, Legolas. Perhaps it will help me remember. Perhaps it is not lost for ever."

He holds Legolas tighter to still that trembling. He hates this. He hates that his own suffering makes his child suffer.

[tofindthesun]

It does, after a moment. He has few qualms with letting what he feels show, but right now it doesn't seem to be doing either of them any good. Just a little more heartache than they need.

"Perhaps." Only a small amount of hope. "When would you like it told? After this has been dealt with?"

[elvenking]

Now, he would have said, but he can't trust memory. For all he knows, he might forget even what Legolas tells him about Menegroth. So he nods, running fingertips through his son's hair.

"When it is dealt with."

[tofindthesun]

"I could tell some of it now. To ease your thoughts."

He doesn't want to risk it being forgotten, not again, even if his father is taking precautions against the dream eater. But it's distressing and he can see that, as much as Thranduil doesn't want him to.

[elvenking]

Or to ease Legolas. To make his son feel like he's doing something about the situation. There's no question if Thranduil will give him that.

"I would like that."

[tofindthesun]

It eases his thoughts to know simply that his father will be better. Not that he will regain those memories, only that.. knowing Thranduil is. Alright. For lack of a better term. Good and hale.

Legolas remembers being a child when he was told about Doriath, about Menegroth. Stone pillars tall as trees, carved to imitate them, the beeches of Oromë. Nightingales singing, fountains of silver, and carved figures of beasts on the walls. Bed-time stories, his father would say, to help him sleep. These were the halls in which lived Thingol, King of Doriath.

These are the stories he recounts to Thranduil now, with little additions. He had said 'some'. But he'll tell as much of it as Thranduil will let him, until he has him stop.

..Or until Netherlands makes him get back to work.