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

[ex_inventive578]

[ 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.

[refusing]

[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.]

[ex_inventive578]

[ 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. ]

[refusing]

[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.]

[ex_inventive578]

[ 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. ]

[refusing]

[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.]