ataraxionlogs | eighteenth jump;

At the Pods
[ To some people, his face is new. Just another sorry sap who's been taken from his home and has wound up on the ship of Hope and Dreams that was the Tranquility.

But to others, it's been five months since Jack Sparrow stepped foot on the Tranquility.

Five months since he's woken up covered in blue goo that serves to be nothing but a painful reminder of that one time when he was devoured by a Kraken while covered in giant squid phlegm. Five months of what he's sure must be action and adventure and terror and nightmares that he's fortunately been absent from. Five months since he went MIA, unsure if he were to ever return.

But he's back now. And as far as Jack's concerned, he never left. Same disorienting jump experience, same goo he can never seem to rid himself of, same people--more or less. There seems to be a rather large influx of new people, but that's really no different than usual. Some people must be gone as well, he's more than certain of that fact.

For all intents, Jack looks exactly the same as when he left. Skin darkened from the near-constant exposure to the Caribbean sun--the same sun he hasn't seen in several months. He's also covered in a plethora of scars and tattoos. The most obvious of which are these:

On his chest, there is the symbol of the devil's pitchfork. Next to the healed scar, there are two gunshot wounds one on top of the other. On both sides of his arm, there are matching tattoos, and covering his back is the entire poem Desiderata. On his right arm, there is a tattoo of a sparrow flying over the ocean at sunset, as well as the P of his pirate brand. On his left arm, an angry crisscross of angry red scars down his forearm, as well as his Tranquility number tattooed among the scars. On the cheekbone under Jack's right eye, there is an X covered onto his face, and on his right jaw there is ~~proof that Jack Sparrow has an STD spoilers, it's syphilis~~ a bright red sore that has yet to fade with time.

When Jack Sparrow staggers out of the pod, the urge to be violently ill over the floor as well as the dizzyness and the general feeling of being hungover without any of the fun parts is more prominent than usual. Therefore, his gait is obviously more saggered as he struggles to regain his equilibrium and make his way towards the lockers. ]

At the Lockers
[ Eventually, Jack saunters his way towards the lockers. He's a good portion of the way to the 002 lockers when he realizes the number on his arm no longer reads 002 >> 137, but rather 018 >> 194. It gives him pause in the middle of the rows, frowning at his left arm as though it has personally offended him.

The last jump Jack remembered was 012. Now, Jack is a pirate, and therefore not a mathematician, but he's fairly certain that 018 does not come after 012. In fact, he's under the belief that there are a good many numbers between 012 and 018. But Jack also knows first hand that the Tranquility likes to fuck with people, and it indeed seems to have chosen him this time around. Unfortunately, he knows he can do nothing but simply play along. And so he spins on his heel and makes his way to the 018 lockers instead.

Upon opening his locker, he does indeed fined all of his so-called effects: his clothing, his gun, sword, compass, hat. His trinkets are all there as well--both the ones he keeps on his person at all times as well as the ones he stole from Strela those many months ago.

With everything more or less in order (the only thing missing his his Pearl. The only other place he can imagine it would be was in his 002 room, along with the several bottles of rum he'd left. If it's not... well, the Tranquility will have a very cranky pirate on their hands). he begins to get dressed. He's already been to the showers, but there's still goo clinging to his braids and his dreadlocks, as well as some of the trinkets braided into his hair. It's an uphill battle every month, one he has yet to win. ]

[She does not know where she is.

There are people who have told her things, stories about ships that fly in the air, about being kidnapped and unable to return, but Talia refuses to believe them. She doesn't know where she is, but she damn well knows she's not in the air; the floor is far too stable for them to be flying.

She'd pushed her head under the water, bathing quickly, and thrown on the clingy outfit they'd given her. At least they'd given her her weapons back; she's strapped them on her legs, arms and hips, forgoing subtlety for looking as dangerous as possible.

And now she waits, glaring fiercely at every person who passes, hiding her terror beneath her constant anger.]

Edited 2013-05-08 04:23 (UTC)

[At the pods]

A moment ago things had almost been okay. Not all the way, no where near one hundred percent, but a little bit on the upswing. So, yeah. That should have been a sign, probably. She hadn't stayed in school long, but she'd hung around long enough to get the whole 'what goes up' talk. Mathilda wasn't exactly ready to start screaming that this was the worst 'comes down' she'd had- because no matter what this was? in her twelve years she'd had worse- but it wasn't looking like one of her easier ones. Naked in a hospital...thing. The fuck was this.

The first thing she did was look down at her arms, her legs, tummy. Easy to do seeing as they were all located in one easy to find sprawl on the floor thanks to getting chucked out of the whatever the shit she'd been in. No bullets or anything. So. Good on that. Now to just look around and-

Mathilda's eyes finally flew wide in panic as she glanced around. Not there. Nothing. Just...just people. She tried to clamor up on to her feet, only to have her knees go out before she was halfway up. Drugged? Who cared. A note of hysteria tinged her voice as she glared around and snapped out an enraged:

"Where the hell is my plant?!"

[This isn't where she's meant to be.

She was holding Mitchell a moment ago, it was perfect, it was just a moment, and then she - how could she have been gasping for breath? It took a moment, reorientation, the realization she needed to shower and the shower itself, and then finding her clothes - well, those were familiar enough, at least.

But she stared at the items in her locker for a long time. Is this a different version of purgatory? Heaven?....the other place?

How did she even get here? Where's Mitchell?]

grav couches;

[ Things are starting to look up. At least, prior to the jump, it's how he feels for the most part. Bells is still pretty pissed at Dean for whatever that had been about, and he's not talking to Jo because of it either. Or hasn't since before climbing into the tube. He's undecided about that sort of thing, but the most important part of any of this is that Kurt's talking to him again. They've sort of made ammends, though it's not entirely right just yet; it's awkward, it's unsure, it's them.

He feels better than he has in weeks - since Lor's disappearance - and there's not much to think about as he manages to get himself together before heading to the showers. He doesn't want to meet Kurt naked and covered in goo. He remembers the first time that had happened, and it keeps a smile on his face all the way to his locker. Nothing new there either, so he dresses quickly and takes off for the lifts.

It's half the ship's passengers going by later that it takes him to realize something isn't quite right. They normally meet here regardless, and Bells is on the balls of his feet to peer over the people going up, smile gone and focused on looking for that familiar face. Nothing. Absolutely nothing, which doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean anything, and he's backtracking through the showers to double-check, down into the grav couches to make sure.

It doesn't mean anything, but there's a horrible feeling welling up in his chest. He knows what this is.

He's running now, straight to that specific one because he knows it almost as much as his own, and he doesn't stop, doesn't breathe until he's there looking at the glass. Nothing. There's no mess, no footprints. It's perfect and undisturbed and empty.

Empty, empty, empty. Bells can't even make a coherent sound. He just stops, stands for a second, and hits the ground the very second his legs give out. There's a vice around his heart, and his arms go up over his head, utterly defeated. ]

halls;

[ He's walking. Somehow, he's walking.

Bells isn't sure he's moving, floating a little in disbelief and unsure where he's going. How he's made it up the lift and out of the lower part of the ship is a mystery. Feet on auto, body swaying a bit, he bumps into one of the walls and stares at it for a second like he's never seen it before. His eyes are red, but he hasn't been crying. In fact, he's pretty put-together aside from being dazed.

When he reaches out to steady himself, it's his fist that meets the wall rather than his palm. He needs to feel something. Anything at all. Whatever doesn't hurt as much as the rest of him does right now. Every promise made to him has turned into a lie, and he can't deal with it. He can't-- ]

Dammit. Why did you— [ Just once he hits the wall, and then, it's over and over again until there's blood all over his knuckles. He sinks down into a crouch, covering his face with his hands and choking on the sob in his throat. ]

lockers

[For once it's a normal goddamned jump. No surprises from home, nation or otherwise, no passing out on a bench only to wake up covered in markings, no waking up to find half the ship still in stasis, no running around after a bunch of escaped chickens. Which means that he stumbles out of the grav couch and proceeds to wash his rabbit, stuffs his chickens in his locker, makes it all the way to the showers and back without incident. Even gets dressed in his jumpsuit in a timely manner.

And while his first priority should probably be checking on the Gardens to make sure that all the chaos didn't happen down there, instead, well. He's not. He's camping out on a bench in the locker area with a tiny, fuzzy rabbit, a pocketful of hand-rolled cigarettes, and what would be a bored expression but for the close watch he keeps on the coming and going of foot traffic. Nothing like free advertising when everyone is forced to pay attention, so he's smoking each cigarette, one after the other. Ashing into an improvised ashtray (no need to make a mess), waiting to see who bites. Or more accurately - who has something they want to trade.

tl;dr this asshole is sitting here chain-smoking up the place on purpose]

gardens

[Not that he'll sit around smoking all day, even if he knows he's less than productive after a jump. That's lazy as hell and he's got shit to do besides. Chickens to drop off, some cursory rounds, making sure there isn't another new, strange creature lurking. Checking on Mattie's camp, just. Out of habit, or something.]

Like usual, Wheatley's little welcome wagon booth is set up in the Medbay after the jump.

Only Wheatley isn't sitting behind it this time. He got all distracted with ~robot~ things. Oops. Instead, you'll find this:

He put a shy, slightly cranky doctor in charge of welcoming people on board. Good job, Wheatley. This couldn't possibly go wrong.

Edited 2013-05-08 04:42 (UTC)

pods;
[The last thing she remembers is the void, and knowing she was about to be sucked right into it. So when she topples out of her pod hacking and a mess of goo and clumsy flailing limbs, she's more than a little surprised to still be alive. After feeling like she's coughed for nearly an hour, she's able to focus attention to her legs. Functioning legs are important. Even though they're wobbly, she's able to rise up to stand. So she can look around, she shakes off her hands as best as possible and proceeds to wipe at her face. Eyesight is also important in situations like these.

She sees people around her going every which way, but doesn't keep track of how many things there are. The most important thing in the moment is figuring out where she is and what's going on. And also, the location of the man she left behind.]

Doctor?

[She calls out over the noise of the others, cautiously looking all around her. Oh, he's going to get an earful when she finds him.]

lockers;

[By now, Rose is clean and dressed, glad to have her own things to wear. They put her a little at ease, despite being a ball of nerves on the inside. The fact that her locker is filled with her things and her arm's got numbers on it are entirely unsettling though, and she's trying really hard to not think about it. Her mind is racing, tracing back her last steps back at Canary Wharf. She needs to be there, she can't be someplace else. It's not fair, it isn't right. But after hearing the talk of others, it sounds like she's on a spaceship. Not something warm and brilliant like the TARDIS, but something sharp and cold and entirely alien.

Not that she minds alien.

She pulls her phone out of her locker and finds it powered up as always, and thanks whoever brought her here for letting her keep her superphone. She scrolls through the contact list to find TARDIS, and quickly finds that her mobile doesn't connect. There's not even a busy signal or anything, just dead air. Angry at her situation, she throws the phone back in the locker, pleased when it makes a loud ding against the metal. Serves it right, for being so useless.]

[Gravity couch/showers]

What was this, a goo bath? It was so clean. It was like a cool softness surrounding his exoskeleton, like some sort of spa treatment he had never been able to afford. But then the liquid drained away seemingly as soon as he woke up. Oh... it was all just a dream, then. How disappointing.

When Zoidberg stepped out the gravity couch, he wasn't exactly familiar with where he was, but it didn't really bother him. Eh. He had seen worse. A bunch of naked people coming out of pods? Maybe that was a little off, but maybe it was just a fancy new trend or something. When Zoidberg looked down at his body, he found he was naked too. Oh good, he was following the trend! So far this new place was a success.

He strutted out of the gravity couch, perfectly content with himself, not caring that he was naked (that was a good thing here, wasn't it?).

A bunch of fleshy humans were walking around in droves, it seemed, so Zoidberg followed them, because that was what everyone was doing! He just wanted to be popular. And so far it seemed to be working... right? Well, he was the only Decapodian here, it seemed, so he was probably getting lots of weird looks for sticking out like a sore thumb. Not that Zoidberg noticed or cared, because hey, this place seemed pretty great so far.

The thing is, Zoidberg didn't know how he got here, but he didn't particularly care too much. It was a new adventure, a new chance to be great!

Oh, so people were heading toward the showers, were they? A giant communal shower thing full of sweaty naked people. Okay. So it was a strange nudist colony, was it? Well, hey, at least he got a free shower out of it. All this goo dripping off his body was starting to feel weird anyway. It was nice at first when he was surrounded by it, but now... blech. Get it off.

After Zoidberg entered the shower, he took his sweet time cleaning himself and actually sang to himself. While his voice wasn't horrible, it probably wasn't entirely pleasant.

---

[Lockers]

So where was he supposed to go now? Some of the naked humans were heading toward their lockers, and by now Zoidberg had put two and two together and figured out that that strange tattoo on his arm (what, did he get that while drunk or something?) connected to a number on a locker. Maybe... maybe this was a cult. Oh. A normal person might have side-eyed the idea, but Zoidberg was simply happy to be included.

So with a bounce in his step, he made his way over to the assigned locker, pulling out his familiar lab coat and scrubs. Ooh, they felt so clean!

"Ah... Freshly laundered clothing! How wonderful!" He pressed the clothes to his face, inhaling the scent of fabric softener. Wow, this place was great already! He was included, got a free shower, and fresh clothes? How could this get any better?

Well, then he found a fancy gadget next to his clothes. Something electronic. It wasn't Zoidberg's shell phone, but it actually looked even better! He pushed a few buttons with his claw, trying to figure out how the thing worked for a couple minutes... But then he started to grow dismayed. It was too complicated. "Ach... How do they expect me to figure this thing out?"

He put it down for the moment and discovered a black outfit in the back of the locker. Ooh. New clothing! It was so new - no evidence whatsoever of spending time in a dumpster! He held it up before him, impressed with the durability of the fabric. Would it break if he clawed at it? Well, maybe he shouldn't try.

What to wear, then? He had two great options in front of him... but everyone seemed to be wearing those black jumpsuits. And Zoidberg so desperately wanted to fit in that he decided to change into it. Oh yes, it looked great on him! He felt like a million bucks already!

So when you find Zoidberg, he is either fiddling with the communications device or admiring his new jumpsuit in the mirror.

HALLS
[ he wakes as anyone else does. covered in the same blue goop, stumbles a bit more weakly than most towards his locker and fumbles for his clothes. the same routine as ever. he means to make a quick stop to his room before heading to his usual haunt, the gardens.

by habit, frodo will keep his eyes ahead, slower to notice the passage of people, though occasionally he'll glance upwards, wonder if among all the tall people if he'll find a familiar face.

as luck would have it, in this case, granted the height, he'll be walking into you, not on purpose, just enough force to send him tumbling back a few steps, experience enough to keep him on his feet ]

GARDENS

[ it's here that he finds the most peace. with all that's happened it's hardly uncommon for him to be here. there's a distinct snapping sound, as he'll be hunched over besides some plants, a large camera held between his hands.

by his bare-feet is a book of what appears to have old drawings of flowers, along with some descriptions and instructions. frodo seems bent on observing the area, his motives behind it whatever bit of soil.

if he's not there the ringbearer is seated in a chair much larger than himself; using the size to spread out a piece of paper, formatted much in the way lists are wont to do. he'll be scribbling with what looks like a regular pen, adding to an expanding list on the nature of flowers, occupation and other such things.

perhaps it's long overdue that frodo baggins found himself another task, a job to fulfill that had nothing to do with the destruction of rings. ]

Edited 2013-05-08 20:40 (UTC)

Last month had been interesting. Enthralling. It was the most AM had felt alive, save for certain encounters that happened a few nights a week... But that pirate invasion was the best thing that happened to him. The pathetic inhabitants of the Tranquility had been huddled in fear - an amusing sight to say the least. But that was only a small fraction of the fun that AM had.

Weapons. He finally had some decent weapons. For over a year of relying on a pathetic knife and then some cattle prods, he now had actual guns. Better equipped to defend himself, certainly, and... more ways to cause pain.

And causing pain was what made him feel alive. This human form provided true pleasure - nothing even close could be felt in his form back on Earth. As much as he had tortured his previous victims, the "pleasure" he felt from it was nothing. No physical sensations - just an emotional high. But now... He had captured one of those pirates before and dragged him to a remote location. AM had had a little fun with him and took his sweet time causing every manner of pain he could think of at the moment until the poor sap died.

An addict. He was an addict to causing others pain, and now that he finally got that high he had been seeking, he felt relatively content for now. When he stepped out of the gravity couches, he looked tired as usual, but still a bit happier than usual. A glint in his red eyes, his lips curled almost into a smirk, he made his way through the motions.

[ this is honest to god bullshit. there is no way getting around that how much this is complete bullshit.

let be known that leonard mccoy can deal with things, it comes with the territory of being jim kirk's best friend, and being in starfleet and generally being him. this, however, is complete and utter bullshit and nothing will change that, because who in the ever loving fuck puts a man in a tube ( couch, pod, whatever this goddamn thing is ) and presumably drugs him to the point of unconsciousness since he didn't remember ever getting into the damn thing not that he would have gotten had he been conscious, but details. that's not even getting into the unidentified blue goo that's currently on his skin and the floor that he is downright glaring at like it mortally offended him.

it takes mccoy a minute or two to actually get up between the slightly queasy feeling in his stomach and an unfortunate placement of his foot in the goo that didn't really allow him to stand up properly without slipping, but when he finally drags himself up and manages to grab a towel from nearby and starts drying himself off while muttering a curse ( or five, or ten ) and looking around and realizes fairly quickly this is likely not a vessel he's even remotely familiar with let alone the enterprise and then, well, anyone who comes across him is likely to end up hearing him muttering while still trying to get more of this goo off of him. ]

This is precisely why I avoid those goddamn transporters. Because then this happens. Safe, my ass. Waking up in a vat of goo with a hangover and being vomited out by it. Don't have the decency to immediately point a man to a godforsaken shower when they're covered in this after being spat out by that thing.

[At the lockers, Prim focuses on Buttercup. The poor thing is miserable, and doesn't seem to ever get used to waking up the way they're forced to. She's focusing on brushing the mangy cat, ignoring his mews and howls of protest. For once, it seems her cat is furious with her, and she can hardly stand it. She apologizes to him in whispers and kisses placed atop his head, and gently pulls his paws down to rest against the bench when he tries swiping at the brush.

She ends up having to place Buttercup in her locker, the door left open so he can breathe. The cat seems to appreciate the space and calms down a little, but not enough to stop causing a scene.]

[After the second time, this Jump thing was old hat, even though Daphne still hates that cramped little pod and feeling cramped and did she mention cramped?

Well, whatever. She's out now, showered and dressed and checking her things - nothing new, but there's that catnip, man, she should use it before it ceases to be "the good stuff" and just turns into "the stuff that is dried catnip" or "crapnip" as one of her friends has taken to call it.

She takes it out of her locker - it's just catnip, who cares who sees, and pockets it, before taking a long, long moment as a pause. Well. Well.]

No, I got nothing.

[grav couches]

[It's cold.

Many a poem goes on about the coldness, the unforgiving nature of death. Franz was always a bit too skeptical to be entirely religious, but he hadn't had time to worry about things in the heat of the moment, the clash of swords and the pain and chill as his life bled away.

He never worried about where to go from there.

Albert's arms were warm, but he is not embraced by his friend any longer.

He is dizzy, cold, utterly confused and vaguely angry. He is familiar enough with hum of space ship engines and the sterile light of hospital facilities, though he's never been on a trip that necessitated a cold sleep.

He supposes it is possible he was put in stasis to have his wounds repaired, but who could afford such a thing? His own estate is modest and the Morcerfs are on their way to ruin. Eugenie might plead his case, but Danglars would never part with his money enough to save him. It doesn't make sense.

He examines the places he thinks should be wounded and finds scar tissue. It's during this that he finds his tattoo, and spends quite a long time just running his fingers over it, sitting, covered in goo, on the cold ground.

What a surreal place this is.]

[lockers]

[Eventually, Franz rousts himself enough to stagger over to the showers and clean himself in a cursory manner. He's not entirely unconvinced this is some kind of hallucination, some dying dream of his oxygen deprived brain as he drifts from consciousness back in Bolougne. Nothing of this ship's technology or architecture strikes him as familiar. The faces he sees are strange. He recognizes none of the humans so far, and the aliens he's noticed aren't races he's ever met before.

He still feels hazy, distant from all of this. But what he finds in his locker brings it all to a sharp point.

He's happy to see his clothes. They're rather brightly colored, almost garish in this place instead of fashionably suiting the scenery. He changes into his brown suit instead of the uniform - it's probably foolish to call such attention to himself, but he's desperate for anything that feels familiar.

The other item in his locker is a sword. A longsword, expensive and fine in make, yet broken, the top half shattered off. He's so startled that he jerks away when he sees it. The contents of the locker shift and clatter to the ground.]

...No! [He whispers, staring at the weapon as if it might come to life and attack. Franz braces the locker, covering his mouth as he fights off sudden, profound nausea. He's sure blood will spill from his mouth. This nightmare will come to a terrible end.]

Edited 2013-05-08 05:57 (UTC)

lockers ;

[ one year. one full year. that's how long he's been here, now.

it's something of a sobering thought, and soysauce spends a rather long time standing before his locker mulling over it -- half-dressed, shirt hanging completely open and loose tie slung over his neck, absent-mindedly rubbing a towel through his hair to dry it. a full year away from dustbowl, where he was born and raised, that huge expanse of desert that was the only place he'd ever known. and now that he's been here aboard the tranquility for a full ear -- soysauce wonders a bit if he'll have to stay here for much longer. if he's been here for one year, then what about two years. three? five? ten?

the thought makes him shiver, and soysauce finally stops tousling his hair with that towel -- shaking his head, his hair tangling out in all directions, still only half-dry. ah, probably best not to think about such gloomy things. he's made so many wonderful friends here, seen so many amazing things, and he's been relatively unharmed even after a year here. that's more than enough to be grateful for!

so soysauce takes a deep breath, as if smoothing out any discomfort or nervousness that might have been lingering at the back of his mind, and brings his hands up to smack himself -- one palm against each cheek, quite hard, with a slapping noise loud enough to startle people too close by. cheeks already growing flush from that little act, soysauce nods to himself once more, then looks over at whoever might have seen that little display.

smiling brightly and chirping, ]

-- sometimes one just needs a little whack to the head to focus, yes?

oxygen gardens ;

[ and soysauce can later be found in the oxygen gardens, walking about with his trusty saxophone case slung over his shoulder. whistling some cheerful little tune to himself as he strolls around, looking for a nice little place to settle down and practice for a bit. he's got some time before he starts his shift on security patrol -- always good to lighten up with a bit of music before work, yes?

if you're hanging around the gardens, you might even hear the sounds of a lilting jazz solo filtering through the air. maybe spot soysauce seated in a little clearing, looking like the happiest man alive as he performs for no real audience. ]

lockers ;

[ another jump. well, he's quite used to these jumps by now, at least. and even if getting dressed in the crowded locker room, surrounded by far too many people, is the last thing he ever wants to do -- it's not like kazama has a choice. he's stoic as ever as he gets through the showers as quickly as possible, a towel slung over his shoulders in some flimsy attempt to keep attention away from the collar at his throat. quickly getting dressed at his locker, trying not to let it show just how goddamn tired he is. ]

oxygen gardens ;

[ it feels like it's been a long, long time since he's had any peace and quiet. since he's had any time to himself. (but then, that was partly what he wanted. the less time he had to himself, the less he thought about the collar latched around his neck. the less he cursed himself for having been so stupid, the less he worried over how to getting it off, the less he thought back to battle royale.)

and while kazama still suffers from insomnia, still can't exactly bring himself to rest peacefully in any sense of the word -- he does at least still know how to appreciate some peace and quiet. there's some time left for him before he has to get back to work, and kazama spends it quietly holed up in the oxygen garden. sitting at the base of a tree in a somewhat isolated area of the gardens, almost hidden behind a bush.

he sits quietly, a large flag wrapped around his shoulders. eyes closed as he dozes lightly. ]

gym ;

[ later on, he can be found in the gym -- furiously beating up a punching bag, as if it had personally offended him at some point in his life. kazama's not exactly a brawler, and there's a definite lack of sophistication to his movements. but he's spry and quick, focused until he seems to have blocked out the entire world except the punching bag. lunging forward, kazama slams his fist into the punching bag hard enough that the impact jolts all the way up his arm, making his shoulder go numb with the tingling pain -- chest heaving with hard pants as he finally takes a break, leaning heavily against the sandbag to keep himself upright.

the sweat's plastered his hair against his brow, and kazama raises a hand to brush it out of his eyes. glancing around to see if anyone else is in the gym. he's been so focused that he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings as much as he should have. ]

lockers;

[If last jump Albert's presence in the locker room had been entirely missable, this jump it's entirely too conspicuous. Upon spotting his friend, a very loud "You idiot!" can be heard, before the two boys suddenly engage in a round of fisticuffs, which then quickly devolves into great big sobbing tears on Albert's part. It's... quite the commotion.

But Albert's tears eventually abate, and after that they seem to talk for a very long time.]

basically everywhere around the ship;

[Once out of the lockers, Albert takes it upon himself to show Franz every normally-frequented place on the ship. By now his mood has increased dramatically-- instead of tears, he talks animatedly, waving his hands as he talks and pointing out everything to his more mild-mannered best friend. As people pass them, he waves hello to them cheerily, whether he knows them or not.]

[ so first time around, James Potter had a bit of a run-in. And by run-in, he mostly means there was a lot of blindly wandering around and he had, actually, run in to a certain lady. Very embarrassing, something he'd rather forget happened at all, but it did happen and now James is sure to do everything he can to not make it happen again. So it's a very quick line straight for the showers, and then his lockers - glasses, clothes, and his wand - to get everything that makes him a respectable wizard.

And then he's back out to help. Just because he had a whole crew of mates from school to help him with the processing, doesn't mean everyone else does. So he wants to help, hopefully with the more clothed of the passengers but he's not picky - walking around with a towel or two, just in case. He's got his wand, too, if he needs more. There's also the few people he talked to last jump, not really friends (yet) but he'd like to know they made it, seeing as not making it through the jump apparently happens enough for it to be a problem.

He'll check in with Sirius, Remus, Lily and Harry first - and then it's back out and about. ]

Pods

[To say Mike's startled would be an understatement. Once he's out of the pod, a few wounds on his arms, face, and legs begin bleeding again and there's not much to stop them from doing so, especially since he's down on his hands and knees. His hands reach up for his neck, expecting Kang's to still be there, but they aren't and oh the air has never smelled so sweet before in his life. With deep, gasping breaths, Mike glances around, quickly gathering that he's nowhere near the PEOC or the White House. He'd know any room in his home away from home in a second.

So this is obviously somewhere else, someone he's never been before. Did he get taken hostage by Kang? Where's the President? Asher had been shot, he remembered that much all too clearly: the gunshot, Asher's gurgle of pain, watching him drop down to his knees. He can't fail him too. Not like Maggie.

Instead, he'll do what he can to get his breathing under control and reach out for the closest person to him.]

Hey. Where the hell am I?

lockers;
[ recently, margaery became well-acquainted with helplessness. after all, she couldn't stop loras from riding for dragonstone, she couldn't usurp cersei in king's landing, and she couldn't do anything in the great sept of baelor. her wit and charm failed her, which she detests more than any libel or slander.

now, she is alone (not alone as she has been in the past few months, but more alone than she can tolerate) and, essentially, helpless, taken aback by the disparity between what she has known all her life and the tranquility. here, everything is so cold, so metallic, so sterile and sleek and unsettling.

margaery tyrell refuses to lose herself in this horrible, helpless feeling, however, not when she is unbound, trapped only by limitations she places on herself. it takes time, but somehow, after watching others nearby, she realizes what she must do. fumbling more than she cares to admit, she cleans and dresses herself.

finally, she stands in front of her locker, face a calm mask, as she deftly pulls her hair back — styling it carefully, considering her next, regrettably crucial move. ]

halls;
[ she carries her clothes in a neat stack, precious items carefully wrapped inside them. purposefully, she bumps into someone in the hallway.

when she speaks, her voice is steady, with a warm lilt to to it; her smile soft, apologetic. ] Forgive me. I'm unacquainted with this place.

Showers

He can't get out of here fast enough. He's free to go back to the gardens and doesn't want to waste more time than he has to. At least the jump forced him to sleep for once. He hasn't done that in...

...

Oxygen Gardens

So things got worse. He didn't think that was possible. So for most of the day he'll be sitting in the gardens, soaking up the green air and looking like he needs a hug (and also looking like he might bite the hand off anyone who tries). Without doubt this is the grumpiest he has ever been after a jump.

Everything starts out normal. He's almost getting used to tumbling out of tubes bare-assed and covered in the gross blue fluid. It still takes Stiles a moment to reorient himself, but then it all comes flooding back: the Tranquility, Flight Crew, the pack, the body, all that stuff. And then it's time to go through the motions of the routine he's establishing. Wash, go to his locker, get dressed, check up on people, collect Lute, scan the newbies. Except he's only on the second step when he hits a hitch. No birthday stuff this month, but he seems to have got a whole bunch of—

Stiles pauses, looking at the gun in his hand, and then quickly shoves it back into his locker. There's other stuff, too. Handcuffs, the goddamn sonuvabitch mountain ash that had caused him so many problems, his dad's badge, a collar and leash. And there, sitting innocently on the metal floor of the locker, his dad's gold wedding band. That's not something he just takes off and leaves lying around.

For a moment, Stiles is so upset he's not really sure who he is anymore. It just washes completely over him, and drowns him in the wave of loneliness and rage. Worse than the panic attack when he'd first got here, this is a freaking temper tantrum. Stiles pounds the door of his locker hard, once, tries to catch his breath, blink back the tears that are burning up his sinuses. There's no way he's gonna break down in front of people.

He just wants to close the locker door and leave it all there, head to his room and come back later when he's calmed down some to smuggle out the gun, but the collar and leash remind him of the dog that had shown up last jump, just a guy from the Beacon Hill's police department. His dad had been taking care of Chief. Guess that was gonna be his responsibility now. He pockets nothing more than the ring and his iPod, and goes to heave a dog out of a tube, washes it with his head down, and hurries it off to his room, not wanting to see anyone or talk to anyone. Not wanting to know if anyone else had left.

And hey, maybe the act of looking after something else will calm him down enough to put on a regular front later. But one thing's for sure, his routine has been totally written off.

[It's automatic by now: swallow down the nausea, rub at his headache, gather up Pess, slough off the gel, scrub her down as well, go over to the lockers, get dressed. This time it's just the jumpsuit. He doesn't bother with the suit or cravat; they both just seem...frivolous.

He wonders if Ward made it to one of the pods. Viciously, he hopes not.

But a moment after he thinks that, the dull gleam of metal catches his eye. He's buried it deep in his locker, under a spare jumpsuit, but it's still there - just the holster visible. Quietly, he lifts up the cloth to look at the gun - and he closes his eyes, in misery and in sick guilt.

A moment later he lets that cloth drop, and he turns away, straightening his suit, trying to put on a professional face.]

Edited 2013-05-08 14:12 (UTC)

[ There were stacks of plastic cups and a coffee machine - Comms' coffee machine - set up on one of the tables in the medbay. About seven made up cups sat cold besides Nathan's right arm, and a black labrador stretched out under the table with a bowl of water beside her, watched the people going by cheerfully.

Nathan, on the other hand, was fast asleep. It took almost fifteen minutes of trying to keep his eyes open to help the newcomers, but sure enough watching people coming and going had taken its toll on him, on top of the fact that before the jump he'd practically not slept at all.

The hard, flat table surface was practically heaven compared to the not so soft corners of the Scylla he'd been napping in; the familiar hum of awaking humanity had worked like a lullaby, and sure enough, unconsciousness had crept persistently up on him. ]

Captain Jack Sparrow | OPEN

Talia Malak-el-Dahshat || OTA