twenty second jump;

[ataraxites]

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: Something's different. Characters will wake with the vague feeling that they're being watched, but they will have no memories of anything strange occurring. The sensation will most likely fade throughout the day. It's nothing to worry about; just another side effect of the post-jump disorientation, right?



You feel like you're being watched.




DON'T WORRY.

GO BACK TO SLEEP.

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

Lockers | Oxygen Gardens | OTA

[longestnose]

Lockers

Fili couldn't deny that he was happy to wake up and still be on the ship, in well lit areas, surrounded by people. His time in the silence of the hallways had been nothing short of harrowing--if not for the dangers, but for the isolation. He had always been around his brother, if not others--to be truly alone was something he did not wish to experience again.

Having washed the blue goo from his body, he walked towards his locker, towel around his waist, blond hair (not yet braided) dripping about his shoulders.

It was with the practice of someone who had become used to the process that Fili opened his locker; it is because of this that it took a moment for him to realize that something had tumbled out of the metal container, hitting his bare feet.

Fili looked down, pale eyes widening in horror as he first caught sight of a beautiful silver crown, created in the dwarven way--the crown of Erebor.

The crown that would have been his, had he lived.

The horror, though.

Well.

When a dwarven head (and just the head, the poor Thror) is still wearing the crown, a young dwarf has a right to feel sick. It was a great-grandfather he had never known, but who's fate he knew quite well. One made more real by the severed head at his feet.

"Mahal--"

Fili has to turn away, hands moving to his knees, as he struggles not to vomit.

--

Oxygen Gardens

The head is in a burlap sack, sitting next to Fili, who is leaning against a tree in the gardens.

In his hands is the crown, which he turns over in his hands, watching the light catch the skillfully crafted metal, all the small details, the strong lines.

This was to be his. And by all rights, as the eldest brother, and heir to Erebor, it was his, now.

Perhaps it was a warning.

That aye, he was king.

But each king before him had fallen in tragic, horrible ways.

It was quite possible for Fili to die once more.

Lockers because ilu

[bemerry]

Merry has been on the look out for the others, now that he knows they are here, and worth looking for. The vague memory of being watched is forgotten other than the slight twinge in his arm, but that could just as easily be the elusive Sauron he has yet to meet, or any other manner of evil that may lurk aboard this ship, still so very new to him.

He sees gold hair, and braids, and thinks of Bilbo's many mentions of Kili's brother. He is almost certain the closer he gets, but as he grows closer he stops short, noticing the rather wide berth the others seem to grant him, before his eyes are drawn to the floor at their feet.

It is grotesque: orc-work if he is not mistaken from what Pippin had told him had been done at Minas Tirith, severed heads lobbed over the high walls to rain down upon their comrades below.

Meriadoc's voice is quiet but strong, the one he used to lead the hobbits at Bywater, and after when the peaceful folk had to bury and honor their dead. He thinks of Theoden dying, of Eomer's grief, and Eowyn's near-passing, and swallows as he places a hand on Fili's shoulders.

"Come now, there will be time to grieve."

But that time is not now surrounded by strangers and others. Now they must gather what they have and hold it. He looks around for something to carry the... head in, or perhaps to wrap it up in. Merry's own supplies are severely inadequate, and he believes perhaps it would be better for someone uninvolved to take care of it for right now.

"I confess I had hoped we might meet under better circumstances, Master Fili, but I am glad to see you, all the same."

It seems a trite comfort, and Merry does not know whether to expect a violent reaction or a bereaved one, so he braces for both, and hopes it is enough for this moment.

Alex | Grav Couches

[redhotsummers]

Grav Couches

[Well that certainly doesn't make him feel good.

Perhaps it was the after effects of putting out the fire, of the sneaking suspicion that there was more to the story of the genetics lab (which he had yet to get a straight answer to...or any idea who might have set it, truly)...but Alex felt unsettled.

Even Bozo seemed slightly unsettled, the cat immediately jumping into Alex's arms after he got off the couch. Anya kept close by his feet, as well...but as he looked around, the mutant couldn't see anything strange. There weren't any weird notes, or markings around.]

Wow Alex. Don't be so paranoid.

[Muttering to himself, he shook the feeling off as best he good, heading towards the showers.]

[mindtricks]

[ as a rookie, anderson had still questioned her instincts, had frozen out in the field once instead of shooting — but if peach trees has taught her one thing, it's that she is more capable than she might rationally or consciously believe, that she can do a lot if she sets her mind to it — and that she should trust her instincts. (okay, so that is more than one thing. perhaps peach trees taught her a lot.)

she feels like she's being watched, unsettled by it and by the feedback of it that she receives from the people around her who feel no less unsettled. alex' voice and face are familiar, at least, and she finds herself turning to him, trying to block out the feedback loop of something'swrongsomethingwrong. ]

Maybe it's warranted. [ she's still an optimist at heart, but that doesn't mean she can't be careful, does it? ]

Lockers | OTA

[yardbird]

Everything seemed normal at first, if one didn't know any better.

Sad to think that waking up in a tube of blue goo on a spaceship can be considered normal anymore, but it's the kind of thing that Murphy Pendleton got used to once a month or so. Or however the hell somebody can tell the passing of time in this place. It's almost easy to write off the feeling of a thousand eyes on him, because hey, that's the kind of thing you got used to in prison, in Silent Hill, on the Tranquility. He can shrug it off like it's his own damned paranoia again and nothing more. But still, it became a mantra to him -- things are normal. Things are normal. He picked himself up as he always did, carried himself to the showers as he always did, and then got dressed just as he always did. Nothing special or gruesome or whatever. All the same. That's Murphy's normal now, something which he was stupid enough to almost take complacency in these days whenever he can say he's opened his eyes.

The new addition to his locker is just the break in Murphy's normalcy that he doesn't need. In fact, there happens to be plenty of new additions in there, unbound and fluttering free from the locker shelves just as he has slipped a clean shirt on.

"What th--" Taking a step back, more of the pictures (hundreds of them) come spilling onto the floor. He had this kind of thing happen before, but not here.

No, no. None of them are Charlie.

There are several photos of dead faces, pale skin, and shriveled limbs. They're all emaciated and young, some look the same age as his son... but others are older. Like a twisted camp of sick children buried into a massive grave in front of a dark mine entrance. Despite the unknown faces, it all rings familiar to him. And there's more where that came from, in the hundreds of images that are still scattered in the locker contents.

For several moments, Murphy finds himself unable to move or say anything. Is he shell-shocked? All that comes out is a quiet sound of terrible disbelief.

Everything had been so normal, too.

Why does this keep happening to me...?

Then, his senses pop back. Next thing Murphy knows, he drops to his knee and starts to collect the fallen photos in a disorderly stack, telling himself that he can't just leave them on the floor like he was so inclined to seconds ago. For God's sake, there are other people here! Kids. He doesn't... He can't just leave these here, not for everyone to see. That's fucked... This is fucked.

Re: Lockers | OTA

[savethebullshit]

Things feel okay.

But if Silent Hill taught Anne one thing it was that paranoia isn't always paranoia. Sometimes, paranoia is really justified worry. Which is why she, in a moment of extreme horror movie cliches, actually thought she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up as she toweled off after her shower, happy to be free of the blue goo.

Something is... weird.

As usual, she throws her still-damp body into the clothes she left in her locker before the jump and goes to find Murphy, which is always her first priority. As always, her shoulders relax with some relief when she catches sight of him ahead of her, by the lockers. But some of that relief dissipates when she catches sight of what he's gathering up.

"Murphy, hi. Do you wanna--"

Her words are cut off and she stops short just a few steps from him, eyes fixed on those horrible images that he's so desperately trying to put into a stack. There's a moment when she can't even move.

"Jesus christ. What the hell..." then the stupor is broken and she comes over to kneel beside him, grabbing some of the photos and shoving them into the stack too, eyes still rather wide. Her hands are shaking somewhat. "What is all this. Who..."

And there's a rush of anger at whoever runs this place. Whoever is responsible on the Tranquility for the mysterious placement of objects in the lockers. That rage, however, can be put on the backburner as she goes to put a hand on Murphy's shoulder, rubbing a slow circle over it.

Bail Organa | Lockers | OTA

[bailedontheempire]

[It's almost becoming routine. Finish the jump. Get to the showers to get cleaned up and presentable again. Get dressed.

He wasn't really expecting anything unusual in his locker. But there's a small object that hadn't been in there previously. He presses a button a small hologram appears.

Bail smiles fondly as he flips through a series of images of a very cute little girl (at least if you ask him). Though there's a note of sadness, too. He misses her.]

[ridesthesun]

[It's the light from the holo that draws Nomi over to the senator's side, silently slipping into place next to him, watching the images.]

Your daughter, Bail?

hal yorke | closed to castmates!

[passe]

[ hal's done this once before, going home; but that was just the primer. this is the aftermath, and it's not an entirely good one. this is you lost, or at the very least you were in the process of losing, and the worst part is that it's not entirely unwelcome.

he's usually fairly together when he wakes up, all things considered. this time he doesn't even begin to get it together until he's already fallen out of the pod, disoriented and confused, memories slowly trickling in. the devil, the dreams - alex and tom. the three of them, working together, living happily ever after.

the feeling of what it was like to be human again.

the fact that it's all a lie does nothing to negate the vague sense of loss now that it's gone again, and the pang of that withdrawal is enough to dull the thrum of bodies and blood building around him as his senses begin to settle. he looks completely lost for a good half a minute before he finally pushes himself to his feet, and even then there's a confused hesitation that stops him from falling into the usual routine. being dragged from one reality to the next has a way of making one doubt one's senses, after all, and there's a moment to simply gain his bearings and be sure this one's real. ]

[loyalpup]

[Tom's nervous when he wakes up. It's a kind of nervous he hasn't felt since he was back home living with his Dad and always worried if someone would find them. He puts it down to this this thing with Hal. Thing. Like that should make it easier to do.

He's quick to dress, happy to note the new clothes, and quick to leave the Medbay, not even carrying about making sure people, friends, were okay. He'd seen Hal. Despite their split the vampire was always in the peripheral for Tom. He was ready.

No. He was, well, he wasn't ready, not really. Hal was his friend, his first real friend but that had been back home and this was not home. Was it right for them to do this? Hal seemed happy enough. Mean, but happy.

His Dad would be so ashamed.

Right. This had to be done for the safety of everyone on the ship.

And Hal.

Tom clenched his fist as he thought about how much he missed Hal.]

Medbay | OTA

[circumitus]

For weeks she had drifted through the ship. She lost track of how long she had been out there in the halls, waiting in order to find something -- or for something to eventually find her.

That was before the jump. But she's here now, in a way that almost feels like a sleepy dream. Strange, she doesn't even remember when she got back to get into a gravity couch. She just knows that she is awake, blinking, and alive to carry on like nothing life-threatening had ever happened... simply because it's all that matters.

Rey is now dressed and cleaned and standing in front of the hallway leading out of the medbay. Perhaps she is blocking someone's way, but that courtesy doesn't register on her concerns. Instead, she is far more intent on the remains in front of her.

It's blood; if it's one thing Rey can never mistake anything for, it's that. And there's enough for this to belong to a whole person here.

"Who are you?" Rey wonders idly to herself. The question, although rhetorical, is enough for her to be heard.

[seered]

There are several things that Rose finds odd about the scene in front of her, the first of which is, of course, the human remains. She knows what happens to someone who doesn't make it back to the gravity couches in time for the jump, but she's never seen it in action, which makes the splatter of gore across the hallway interesting in of itself.

What really takes the cake, however, is the woman standing there, watching it as if she expects it to do something. Rose is just within earshot when Rey voices her question.

"Unfortunate," she says, all at once an answer and a commentary on the situation in general. "Should have been more punctual."

RORY WILLIAMS ( open )

[expect]

( he coughs and stumbles out of the pod rubbing his throat, disoriented and confused. it doesn't really hurt, but it scratches, and it's something to concentrate on being that rory has no bloody idea what just happened. where is he? what the hell just… what is he covered in? but his confusion suddenly comes to a screeching halt as he notices two things: one, not alone, and two: where are my clothes.

rory's come a long way from being the shy, awkward kid afraid of changing for gym class, but not that far. disorientation, confusion, a growing twinge of anger—as well as more practical thoughts like okay, probably the future and definitely medical stuff in here—all abruptly vanish. like a man dying of thirst in a desert who suddenly spots an oasis, rory makes for the towels at record speed, wrapping one around himself and taking another to try and scrub some of the… gunk… from his skin. what the hell is going on here? he allows himself to wonder again, glancing warily at the people around him. maybe it's no different from swimming, technically, but being surrounded by strangers in only his pants is not rory's idea of a fun time, especially without having any idea of what was going on.

he knows what he should do—ask questions, find answers, find the doctor (and amy, more importantly), so once he's feeling a little less foggy, and the embarrassment has started to fade, he follows the general trickle of people out the door. showers are tempting but so are clothes. he stops and watches people opening lockers, unsure what to do next. )

[memorari]

[ clara's a helper. she helps, everyone and anyone, even (and perhaps most especially) when they don't ask for it, or want it, for that matter. it's her thing. naturally, she keeps an eye out for the confused or panicky at the jump.

when she spots rory, she decides he's the former. excellent. unsure is always easier to handle than upset. she clears her throat in hopes of not startling him. ]

[ if he looks back at her, he'll see her eyebrow raise and small smile. ] Need a bit of direction?

Obi-Wan Kenobi | All grown up | OTA

[enforced]

[It has been a long time for Obi-Wan.

He feels the oddness of someone watching - no, something? Someone? He can't tell - and he comes out of the pod trying to shake that feeling. He does not remember right away. Was that how it was before? Ten years ago, when he was here with Quinlan and Anakin-

Anakin-

He can feel his padawan, the training bond confirms that he's there, somewhere, and so Obi-Wan doesn't worry for the moment. Instead he showers, and cleans off the fluid, then dresses. His robes are a touch tight, made for a gymnast padawan, but they still fit him, and are better than the jumpsuit, and goes looking for his errant padawan learner.]

hi /awestruck

[bemerry]

[ Merry is somewhat distracted, after his meeting earlier, with the second of his two figures of legend. It seems strange to call them that, now: Kili with his smiles and protectiveness of Merry's cousin, and Fili with his newfound grief. These thoughts weigh heavy on him, as well as what to arrange that what Fili has found might be dealt with, that he is not taking such care as to where he is going as he should be.

Cue one distracted hobbit accidentally running into one intent Jedi.

He almost bounces back off the man, and is quick in his apology. ]

I am so very sorry, sir. I wasn't watching where I was going; there had been much on my mind and I-

[ Merry's voice trails off a bit. There is something curious about his man, like an inner power.. The sort he feel around Aragorn or Lord Elrond or, even, perhaps Tom Bombadil. Something old and quiet and strong. His brow furrows, but he regains himself in a moment. ] I am sorry.

hermione granger | lockers | ota

[unapparent]

[ Despite the situation, Hermione looks alright. Her hair's a bit bushy and her jumper's only just been straightened, but she appears relatively composed, breathing evenly and moving slowly. She has her wand, after all, and most of her emergency supplies. If that's enough to defeat Voldemort, that ought to be, well, enough, right?

At her locker, Hermione holds a small, purple handbag. Oddly enough, she fits a book larger than the bag inside. Then, another book. And another and another and another and another and another and another and another. A few pairs of clothes go right in as well. Finally, she drops one last book in — but not before it snaps at her. Anyone nearby might hear a soft thud.

She cringes. ]

Oh, I hope I didn't bruise the spine.

[faderbroderson]

[It's coincidence that Godric happens to look Hermione's way when she drops the first book inside the little bag, but his eyebrows go up accordingly. He watches as book after book disappears into the impossibly small bag, intrigued and delighted when the last one snaps at her like an aggravated pet. He approaches as she voices her concern.]

It seemed heartier than to bruise so easily.

bells | ota | possible tw for spiders

[lacksgrace]

grav couches;

[ Things are...okay. He doesn't want to say they're perfect or wonderful or even fine because they haven't been. He's riding a wave that brings him high, and then, so impossibly low that he just can't keep up with anything most of the time anymore. And when he wakes up, drags himself out of the tube and stands there, things...aren't. They aren't okay.

Bells turns sharply, looking over his shoulder and trying to suppress the shiver running down his spine. Weird way to feel after-- How many jumps is it now? He glances down at his arm, runs his fingers along the tattoo and sighs. Whatever. It's not like any of it matters anyway. But there's still something bothering him, eating at the back of his mind. He can't shake it, and he wanders through all the other grav couches, aiming for a specific one.

It's —

He takes another breath, shuddering and letting the numbness of space and this stupid fucking ship pass through him as he slowly sits down beside it. He doesn't care that he's naked, still covered in slime. He doesn't care about anything because, really, everything's a lie and nothing's real. It's just a dream, a consolation that, hey, he's crazy and no one can fix this. The tube is empty.

Bells presses his face into the crook of his elbow and doesn't move. ]

lockers;

[ It takes a while for him to get through the showers and actually manage to feel relatively normal. There's a strange weight settling over him, so it's more automatic motion than conscious reckoning. He stands in front of his locker for a moment, fingers picking at the material of the towel and tugging at it. Trying to unravel the cloth or do something that doesn't mean he has to think about any of this.

He hates space. He hates everything so damn much.

Bells grits his teeth and slams the metal with the side of his hand before fumbling with it in an effort to open it. His clothes are inside, nothing else. Or so it seems. He crouches in front of it, halfway to tugging his shirt on when something dark and equally bright catches his attention. He freezes up, stares at it. ]

What the fuck.

HEINE SMASH

[chaineddog]

[He had the fucking chills. And Heine never had the chills. It was grating on his nerves, putting every single one of his hairs on end. It was only a matter of time until he snapped at some poor sap that accidentally brushed up against him and that was the last thing he wanted to deal with even if Cerberus wanted to pick a fight.

Heine's attempt to leave the locker room puts him in the path of Bells and despite himself he stops.]

Talking to yourself now?

haymitch abernathy | lockers | ota

[killarevolution]

[Haymitch doesn't take well to that sensation- the feeling that someone's eyes are on him. The minute he staggers out of the grav couch, he feels uneasy through the nausea and disorientation, but that's normal- he just needs a drink.

Except his locker doesn't have his flask in it. He must have been in a hurry when he rushed down here and forgot to toss it in. He slams the locker shut, gets dressed, and starts to head for the lift...

The sensation persists. He's had cameras he can't see on him before. He knows what that feeling is and all it does is make him furious... Which is why if you hang near a section of lockers in a back corner, you'll hear the sound of incessant banging as Haymitch stands on a bench and tries to beat a hole in the ceiling with what... might be a chair leg, making angry noises when it doesn't really work. He's disoriented, too sober for life, and livid. Leave him alone.]

[rubblegoddess]

[Leave him alone, you say? Tough stuff.

The endlessly curious Juliana has to investigate. This sounds dangerous and/or exciting, and it won't do for her to miss out on it. Not now that she's calmed the hell down and gotten all nice and prettied up.

She heads over quite quietly, so if he's inattentive she might as well be sneaking up on him.]

I don't think it works that way.

caroline forbes || showers or lockers || open to all!

[coy]

[ you'd think by now the whole shock of being kidnapped would... well, not be a shock to caroline forbes. but waking up naked in some tube, covered in goo isn't exactly the same as the other kidnapping she's been through. for one, she doesn't recognize this place at all, and well, she's not tied up or being tortured in any form or fashion (although caroline might argue the jumpsuit she'll find in her locker is a form of torture).

everything that's happening feels like it's straight out of some bad scifi movie except for the fact that it's actually happening. and seriously? alien abductions? that's so nineties. but after she throws up the first time, she's pretty sure she's not dreaming. and this is so beyond anything a vampire or a vampire hunter or a vengeful werewolf would do, it's totally too high budget, even for klaus.

maybe. but klaus is dead.

so is tyler. that realization hurts way more than the headache she swears she's getting. this is just the worst thing to wake up to, especially when you don't even remember falling asleep. eventually she'll get some of her bearings, but for now, she's trying to figure out just where the hell she is and why she's covered in gunk. naked and slimy is not a good look on her. nor is this random tattoo on her arm because waking up with a random nonsense tattoo you don't remember getting is so vegas trashy.

feel free to find her at any point, in the showers, wandering around wrapped in a towel, at her locker, towards the elevator. caroline will be a bit testy until she gets answers. and oh, she'll get answers alright. ]

[lockwood]

[Last jump, he lost Caroline, the month before that he lost Mason -- and he heard from Jenna that Elena's gone too. So Tyler's not in the best of moods right now -- and he honestly hasn't been for a while. Not since the last time he got sent back home. Not since he lost his mother and his pack and got thrown back into space hell. And then he lost everything here too. Even friends he made on the ship like Isaac disappeared. Sure, new versions popped up sometimes but it's not the same. Lately, it's hard to make the effort to care.

He showers off quickly and makes his way to the lockers to get dressed and then make his rounds. It's there that he usually makes his check for people. People who need to still be on the ship, people he doesn't want back on the ship (he's always on the lookout for Klaus, that's what he never tells anyone), people he secretly hopes to show up again (Mason, Caroline), all those possibilities.

Of the outfits he chose out of his locker he went with his football jersey and pants, an outfit Caroline would definitely recognize. Speaking of recognize -- he spots the familiar head of blonde hair and hoping against hope he makes his way towards her until he's close enough to recognize her scent. Sorry Caroline, he's not even going to greet you before pulling you into a tight hug.]

You came back.

[Give him a moment to realize this isn't the same Caroline.]

lockers | open to all

[willpunchfaces]

[Francis is sore, and stiff, and tired. he's nursing some cuts and bruises from his stint in the lab before it exploded, but it's more the weight of this stupid ship that's keeping him down

he closes his locker with a muffled thud. he hasn't even bothered checking the tubes to see if everyone's made it through

he doesn't think he can bear it if they haven't]

[testgasm]

Oi--

[THE VOICE COMES FROM ABOVE YOU, FRANCIS.

Somehow, Wheatley has managed to hoist himself to the point where he is peeking over the top of the lockers and down into the row where Francis is currently moping about.]

Francis.

Sam Winchester (ota) ; LOCKERS / LIFTS / HALLS

[avengeful]

[Sam didn't handle the last jump so well, and he sure as hell doesn't handle this one so well either; baby steps, because at least he's not vomiting goo everywhere, but his head hurts and he feels like he needs to be throwing swings from all the pent-up... well, he's not even sure what it is, but he's immediately on edge the moment he collapses out of the pods. Sam's just -- not in a good mood. Actually, he's kind of in the middle of mourning, since figuring out his father was dead. Just -- dead. And if he went home, his father would be alive for probably just a few days more, and that'd be it. He'd be gone.

So when he trudges tiredly over to his locker, he's already pretty much not having the most stellar day. It only gets worse when he notices a few things: a -- animal foot? He doesn't even look twice at it, looks like a keychain. But there's also their old EMF machine, which is nice. An Ouija board, which... is stupid. Nobody uses those seriously. Come on.

But then he finds a phone. It's a nice one, and judging by the date stamp when he opens it, it's from a few years into the future. 1 NEW VOICEMAIL.

Curiosity is a funny thing, but it's not like he expects anything too out there.

Instead he ends up frozen, staring blankly at his locker with the phone against his ear, listening to a dark, angry voice that he recognizes immediately. Dean? He doesn't understand, can't, but his stomach drops.

"Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam -- a vampire.

You're not you anymore. And there's no going back."

He doesn't understand. Just stands there even after it beeps, brow furrowed, fingers clenching a little tighter around the small device. He must've missed a fucking memo or something, because that? That was his brother, ready to kill him over a phone message, calling him a monster. He leans against the locker with his forehead, eyes burning with fear and sadness and frustration; it doesn't mean anything. It's probably just a sick joke. But it's not what he wants to hear, after the incident with Meg and Jo, or learning dad's gone for good, and after this jump that leaves him feeling strangely vulnerable...

Can't be anything. Ship's pulling weird shit, is all.

That's all.

By the time he finally leaves for the lift to get back to his room, he hardly looks like he's in much of any good mood, lost in such rampant thought that he very well may bump into people (yes, even maybe you, hello) as he goes with the flow. God, he's never felt this spacey before. But if there's anyone who can make a mountain out of a mole hill, it's Sam. And really, it is a mountain. Better to just lock himself away for the day, he's thinking. He's not so sure he can face Dean right now -- or Jo or Castiel or anyone at all, really.]

[uncurse]

[ for the most part, the locker area and the wake-up in general are far too hectic for emma to focus on any one person, but when she sees someone picking up a phone, it pings her interest. it's a stupid thought - inter-world cell phone calls aren't exactly a high hope, and she's probably somewhere in the in-between from storybrooke and neverland - but the thought occurs to her nonetheless.

and, while her attention is on him, it becomes apparent he might just be having as bad of a day as she is. but it's not really her place to intervene, so it takes her some time before she approaches, and he gets as far as shutting his locker before she comes from behind him. ]

Has anyone gotten good news out of these?

Elrond | grav couches/lockers | ota!

[summerlord]

[grav couches]

[Something worried at the back of his mind, something that told him to be wary, be on guard. And so Elrond was, carrying a tension in his shoulders that spoke to the premonition as he made his way toward a secluded alcove. He never arrived. If he was asked, he would never be able to say what exactly happened from one moment to the other. He clearly remembered Imladris -- the gentle, powerful sound of falling water was ever in his mind -- and yet... Yet this was most definitely not any place in Imladris. He was deposited on the floor, a hand drifting toward his throat in the wake of a most unpleasant sensation. (What had been down his throat?)

For a moment, the sheer amount of wrong overwhelmed his mind: the absence of the sound of water, the still air where a breeze should be gently blowing, the cold metal beneath his knees, the steady, low hum of something he couldn't identify. Then, in a moment of inanity, one single thought pushed it all away: What am I covered in?

He raised a hand and peered at the viscous liquid. Aside from the rather unusual shade of blue, it bore a striking similarity to a warg's saliva; that thought sent his already troubled stomach roiling a little more. Ah, nausea. It had been some time since he'd felt such discomfort. It was natural for him to begin to catalogue aches and pains: a touch of nausea, slight dizziness, an aching in his temples. His heart was ill at ease and he certainly felt unsettled, but nothing seemed immediately dangerous. (He rather hoped that was actually the case; naked and unarmed was not the way he'd like to find an enemy.)

Elrond stood with a grace that belied the unease in his mind and the weariness in his body (though those who knew him fairly well might see a slowness and a hesitance that was rarely there.) His gaze was sharp as he tried -- and mostly failed -- to orient himself and to answer questions he did not know how to voice just yet.]

[lockers]

[Vilya's absence had rocked him to his core, for the very simple reason that Elrond always knew where the ring was and not just anyone could part him from it, so seeing it sitting quietly in a locker had been both relieving and alarming.

Nearly as alarming as seeing his armor -- including his sword -- waiting patiently for use. What was this place that he apparently could not be parted from his weaponry? (Weaponry he rarely used anymore, at that.) The armor, though, might be better than the simple, alien jumpsuit he'd put on after he'd showered -- he didn't like it much at all.

The ring was slipped onto his right hand with a surreptitious movement even as he rifled through the clothing in the locker. It only took him a moment to find a pair of leather gloves and, wound around them, a simple leather cord. That was quickly used to pull dripping hair out of his eyes and then he to set to gathering up all that was waiting for him.]

couches.

[wolfchild]

Are you going to be sick?

[ the voice that pipes up comes from a child seated beside a pod with a direwolf still trapped inside. the girl (for a girl she is though at first glance it may be difficult to tell) has her arms laced around her legs, her knees pulled in toward her chest.

arya wants to leave, she wants to get some clothes on and find a familiar face, but she cannot yet. not until she gets nymeria out first, and to do that she has to first wait for the people around to leave. the wolf mislikes the jumps; with the queer feeling in the air, having her wake to find a stranger near is only inviting trouble.

canting her head, arya observes him. another elf. they're not so hard to identify. though this one is the first dark-haired one she has seen. arya had thought all elves were light-haired. ]

Mordecai | Showers | OTA

[idkmybffbloodwing]

[It's a strange sensation, one he hasn't felt regularly since arriving, that makes Mordecai hurry to his locker (well, hurry as best he can given the disorientation that comes with leaving the pod) and get his ECHO at the very least before heading to deal with his animals. He's been getting complacent lately, he can tell - this place is too safe, and with Jack gone he's felt little reason to wear much of his gear, keeping just the shield and the digistruct device on his belt just in case they are needed, and usually not bothering with any of that at all straight out of the gravity couches so he can get to the birds sooner. But he wants to be more cautious, this time, and so he ties a towel around his waist and then grabs his belt with the necessary essentials and clips it over his hips before returning to rescue Mijo and the chickens from their gooey prisons.

He has chicken-washing down to a science, now. Of course, it helps that there's only two left. He'll have to talk to Jaye, ask if maybe she can hold a couple fertilized eggs for him again. With Mijo still too out of it to hunt, he lets his bird sit on the showerhead and look on while Mordecai takes one chicken by its legs, tucks the other under the other arm, and then holds the first bird upside down under the spray of water while he scrubs the goop off. The chickens don't like it much, and he's sure it draws some stares, but what matters is that eventually, he, his bloodwing, and the two chickens will be clean. And then he can make whatever last-minute preparations he needs to before heading into the depths of the ship once more - an idea which sounded great at the time, but right now, doesn't feel quite so appealing.]

idek what this tag is

[tumbleweeds]

[ There are only two chickens for Jaye as well, but there's a horse and a hellhound and now a cat, too. It's the cat that's giving her the most trouble, which means one rather cocky (pun intended) rooster slips past and heads toward Mordecai and his chickens, Howly padding along afterward to collect the damn thing.

Not, of course, before it lets out a loud, obnoxious crow. Cock-a-doodle-damn. ]

Juliana | OTA

[rubblegoddess]

grav couches

[This time doesn't feel the same. Something's off, something's wrong, and when Juliana slips from the grav couch this time it is with great haste, almost urgency. She feels, finally, the concept of exposure, of being bared before all and of some sort of secret shame. She shouldn't be doing what she's doing, whatever it is, sitting here soaked and mostly nude and completely ashamed to be here because someone is staring at her. Something is watching. And if you look too closely, she might assume that it's you.

Her eyes go slightly wider, then she immediately frowns, no longer covering herself or fidgeting. Instead, she settles for a haughty look, cold and lofty. You dare see her for a mere human? You're in for a surprise. She isn't one. She's so much more.]

showers

[Finally, though, she makes her way to the showers, eager to let the water wash over her, enjoying it for perhaps the first time. The sensation of the cool water cascading down wakes her, stirs her back to some semblance of life, seems to chase away the latent fear and unease that this jump has brought.

A bit merry, now, she delightedly shoves her way toward the towels and picks up two, wrapping one quickly around herself and one around her head to dry her hair.]

[briefly]

Juliana! [Look who's also wrapped in a towel, ready with a bright smile, running her fingers through her wet hair.] How are you doing?

sherlock holmes | ota!

[virtuoso]

[ compartmentalization is a skill that's gotten sherlock through a number of things in his life; seems waking up on a spaceship might be the newest addition to the list. it doesn't always work. sometimes it fails spectacularly, actually - hence rehab - but so far so good. the tattoo is easy to figure out (if boring), and it's not until he gets to his locker that there's a snag.

having his clothes delivered to him is unexpected, rings more of routine than abduction. the things he finds underneath his clothes at the bottom of the locker are stranger. he's gotten as far as socks and trousers when he picks up his shirt and notices the odd collection beneath it - a needle, a bottle, and a bee.

he ignores the first two for now, though the apparent bad sense of humor's duly noted. it's the bee he picks up, delicately, and he eyes it critically for a few long, silent seconds.

he's still standing there, half-naked and holding a dead bee, when he turns his attention to whoever happens to be passing by. his tone's casual, but there's a focus there that makes it clear he expects a response. ]

The Epic of Gilgamesh.

[ ... not that there's really a logical response to that. fresh out of the pods and slightly insane, maybe. ]

[invisibilitea]

[See, even she's not sure how the jump works for her, so she doesn't think too hard about the fact that she's wandering around the lockers, waiting for Mitchell to shower, when she spots him.

He is holding a bee.

And he is naked.]

The what of what?

[Maybe the jump hurt him in the head. Or he's drunk.]

I'm sorry, are you all right?

lockers // ota ( creepy puppet picture is creepy )

[cons]

[ ugh. ugh, ugh, ugh. even after her shower Wichita's still not feeling awesome ( not that waking up after a jump is ever awesome, but you know ), but she isn't about to make it public knowledge that she's feeling this edgy. it's like home, in a way, a feeling she hadn't experienced in a long time, but. kinda like that. when you're trying to convince yourself you're not going to turn the corner and get your face bitten off by a zombie. sorta.

either way.

she's got a towel wrapped around her and another towel being rubbed through her hair, and it's all very casual, normal, usual.

until, of course, she opens her locker. ]

Fuck-!

[ and finds this bitch dressed like this crammed in there on top of her stuff. ]

What in fuck!

[ SLAM ]

NO.

[testgasm]

[Wheatley is in the general vicinity when Wichita starts yelling, and that's more than enough to get his attention. He doesn't quite know what she's yelling about, yet, but the fact of the matter is that she's yelling about something, and his instinctual response to nearby panic is to start panicking himself.

All in all, a very helpful contribution to the situation.]

What!? No what? Are you--everything okay, over there?

Marty Mikalski and Zombie Arm (ota) / Lockers / Lifts

[foolproofed]

HOLY FUCK--SHIT!!

[This is Marty Mikalski, flying backwards from his locker when a zombified arm flies out from his locker and slaps him right in the face. Cue him struggling to yank if off him, and leaving a string of R-rated cursing in his wake. Might see him tussling with Zombie Arm, but ultimately he does get it off him. And even weirder, it's sort of pretty chill. It smells just horrible and it's kind of gross and supernatural, but it's just... crawling after him now.

And Marty is standing there, intensely observing it as it follows. He walks backwards, smoking a joint from his fresh stash, squinting hard at the wiggly little fella.

How far can you go? Do you even get tired? This is truly an interesting fuckin' development.

If you manage to get stuck in the elevator with him, the Zombie Arm is just sitting next to him on the floor, somehow aware enough to know it has to wait for the lift to stop and the doors to open. The elevator smells of weed. Marty seems really fucking mellow about his new friend by now. Or Frenemie. He's not sure what to call it, what with it having tried to kill him before.

Granted it used to be a full zombie, but now it's just kinda Fido.

Totally locking it in a cage or something.]

[coffeeking]

[Ianto is walking down Marty's row of lockers. Ianto very slowly comes to a complete halt. This is not, strictly speaking, the weirdest thing he's ever seen. Nor is he, strictly speaking, reacting in the way a sane, well-adjusted person unused to crazy shit should react, because Ianto is not, in fact, completely well-adjusted or at all unaccustomed to crazy shit.]

What the bloody buggering fuck, Marty.

[He says, conversationally, from a wise distance.]

emma swan • OTA • couches/showers/lockers

[uncurse]

grav couches & showers;

[ emma chokes. as she comes to, and the breathing tube is no longer necessary because her autonomic functions kick back in, she chokes on the obstruction and scrambles to pull it out, kicking at the doors of the grav couch until the fluid has drained, the tube is out of her throat, and they're open.

she stumbles out, reaching up to wipe her face and glance back at the machine, unsettled in every way by where she is, how she got there, and what she found there.

the ship. she'd been on hook's ship, and now … she looks up and around the room, stomach sinking as the chill of the atmosphere sets in. she looks down and realizes not only is she still wet from the stasis chamber, but she's also very naked. her arms fold over her chest, more for warmth than modesty, but she stops as her right arm goes to cover the other. there's something on it.

looking down, she discovers the number, and she reaches with her other hand to try and smear it away with no avail. judging by the other confused and half-naked individuals around her, though, she's not alone. she takes the opportunity to make her way to the showers, eager to get the goo she's covered in rinsed off, but casting sideways glances at the others with both suspicion and uncertainty all the while. ]

What the hell.

[ she had the tingling feeling in the back of her neck like someone was watching her, but in a room full of people pouring out of pods, it was hard to guess there was ever a time when someone wouldn't be looking. she turns on the spray, flinching at the initial chill, then easing under the water.

mostly, though, she was just wondering what nightmare she'd stepped into. neverland had never, ever been advertised like this. cold and metal and - pods? seriously? she smeared the liquid through her hands, unconsciously scanning the crowd for any member of her party. hell, at this point, she'd even take a face-to-face with regina if it could give her some clue what the hell was going on. ]

lockers;

[ she makes her way into the locker room later, quickly donning the clothes she finds there (her jeans and jacket are waiting for her, her clothes, clothes she hadn't even brought onto the jolly roger with her, but at least they're familiar) and taking the time to pocket the rest. her badge goes in the inside pocket of her jacket, her gun goes in the back of her pants for lack of holster, but her hand hesitates when it finds something else in the locker, buried beneath her peacoat.

a dreamcatcher.

she sucks in a deep breath, withdrawing her hand like an asp has bitten it, and steps back from the locker. her eyes rivet on the familiar contents, and then she reflexively slams the door shut rather than pull anything else out. some kind of sick joke, surely, but who of her companions would ever play it, even if they were here with her? she glances around, suspicious and defensive, and then skims the crowd for someone who looks anything but confused. ]

lockers;

[andblockbuster]

[Your ninja skills are no match for Topher's CUNNING EYES!! He just happened to be walking by at the right time and hey- a newbie. A newbie with... hippie paraphernalia.]

Somehow you don't strike me as the Native American kitsch type.

allison argent | ota

[arrowheads]

[ to compare her current predicament to a horror movie with a sci-fi twist would be — well, it would be accurate, but it would still feel like an understatement. allison doesn't hesitate to stumble up onto her feet mere moments after her knees collide with the metal floor, but a few bruises seem like a walk in the park when her legs are quite obviously strained and shaking with every movement and her throat burns. plus, there's the fact that her mind is still reeling and processing the fact she's been kidnapped and, when combined with the sensation of eyes on her back, it's both overwhelming and unnerving.

it shouldn't be a surprise, then, that her hand lingers on a ring dagger that'd been tucked into her underwear and conveniently untouched by the effects of the jump, save from the blue goo dripping from its handle. and okay, so maybe she thinks she looks a little like a creepy murderer, twirling a weapon around one of her fingers so openly, but her heart is a frantic beast pounding against her chest. she moves forward, regardless, a little too hasty in her actions, trying to nudge by crowds of individuals and knocking into belongings on her war path toward the showers. if she steps on someone's foot or nearly knocks them over, she can't be blamed entirely for it, considering just a glance at her expression can confirm her focus is very, very obviously somewhere else. ]

[mathematically]

[ it's been seven long months since lydia has seen allison, there's a thing people do when they lose people on the ship, comfort themselves with the knowledge that their friends are at home and safe from the evil tranquility.

two problems wrong with this from lydia's perspective, one, beacon hills, maybe not all that safe given the intense concentration of supernatural creatures there, who cares if allison's a hunter, she could still die. and two, lydia is a selfish person who after seeing scott come back had maybe decided that after everything she deserved to have allison come back. she earned it and goddammit why did she have to go through things that are bothering her ( okay maybe it's guilt over killing peter and lying to everyone, but details ) alone while scott was right there for stiles and stiles was right there for scott and derek had two thirds of his pack back? it was bullshit.

the feeling that she has right now, the feeling that she's being watched is unnerving and nearly makes her want to check if peter's there again ( he can't be, but then maybe he's a ghost and— ) well her attention is a little not there either. conveniently, however, this leads her right into allison's pathway and lydia is about ready to snap at whoever just ran into her before: ]

Allison? [ and if she sounds maybe like she's praying that this is not some really elaborate hallucination, well, that's her business. ]

Padmé Amidala | Lockers | ota

[diplomacy]

[It's unsettling.

And not for the reasons one would ordinarily think. It isn't the first time she's been held captive, or that her life has been in danger. Even the sensation of being watched isn't new- and in a room full of people, it's not exactly a striking anomaly.

No, the problem lies in the gaps. She has always known the face of her immediate enemy, has always had at least an inkling of the hidden hand pulling the strings. More than no name, there's no motivation she can find, no clues to follow. The only thing she's certain of, is that she can't afford to sit where she's been unceremoniously dumped on the ground, and wait for the answer to find her.

There's already a plan forming, patchwork and halting at best, mimicking her motions as she stands and heads towards the showers. The disorientation is vivid, makes thinking of more than placing one foot in front of the other, difficult. When in doubt- She uses the tried and true method of blending in, and follows the convergence of people towards the showers, and then the lockers, snagging a towel on her way.

Navigating the lockers is easy, which is only a small blessing. The corresponding numbers stained into the inside of her arm bring forth a conversation she hasn't thought of in years, and that lingers while she dresses. ('All slaves have a transmitter placed inside their bodies somewhere, any attempt to escape- and they blow you up! Boom!)

Is that what this is? It's certainly a possibility she needs to be prepared for. She needs to gather information from the other people here, before she can move forward, before she attempts to locate the bridge. Perhaps, if they're brave, they'll be able to hand her the location more directly. With this in mind, she calls out to the first person she sees moving past her, out of the corner of her eye.

She remains half devoted to the contents of her locker, keeping the majority of her face from view. The helmet within, would have served keeping her identity secret far better- But would have been strange, compared to the others, so she forgoes it. Still, the guard uniform isn't her standard fare, and should help. Padmé's voice remains even, something of a wonder, with the jumbled mess her head has become]

Excuse me, do you have a moment?

[ridesthesun]

[A third jump, and a third trip to stars only know where, aboard a ship that could best be described as unnerving. Nomi didn't think she'd ever truly become used to waking up from those gravity couches. The brief flash of bliss as the Force flowed back into her was always offset by the wave of nausea that accompanied the return to the Tranquility. This time, at least, was better than last she mused, You didn't throw up...even if you want to.

Joining the press of people headed for the showers, the Grandmaster cleaned quickly and made her way to her locker, rifling through it to check for anything missing. On went the usual sea-green robes and belt, a distinctive looking lightsaber hilt clipped to a ring at her side, and finally the datacron in it's little pouch. Can't forget that, now can you?

She huffed a quiet laugh as she came across something new: Andur's old jacket. That'd been something she'd thought wouldn't ever turn up, but hey, sometimes you get lucky. Sure, it was a little worn, but that was out of love. She hugged it once before slipping it on over her regular clothes, giving it a tug as she registered the stranger's question. She smiled pleasantly, and nodded in assent. A newcomer, it seemed.]

I do. How can I help you, young lady?

((ooc: excuse the tl;dr, I'm not doing a top level this time and it seemed I should))

Eponine Thenardier | Grav Couch/lockers | OTA

[gardienne]

Grav Couch
[It takes Eponine a minute to get her bearings, to understand what has happened. That wherever she is now, she is not in Paris any more. But still, she can feel eyes on her, someone watching. Is it the Patron Minette, somehow? Is she hallucinating? Eponine automatically straightens, automatically clenches her fists and lifts her chin to show them that she is not scared of whatever they have done to her.

It's only when she looks round that she realises that there are other people - that they're naked and she looks down quickly and realises that she is too. She moves her hands quickly then, before sitting down in her Grav Couch, pulling up her knees and leaning forward to hide herself. Is she in jail? Is she - this wasn't like the tests before. But - and she rubs the number she finds printed on her forearm. Is it a brand? Is it a prison brand? Has she been fully committed for life now?]

Lockers
[Having eventually stumbled to the lockers, and found the number that matched the one on the arm, Eponine stared in bewilderment at the clothes. She'd never seen a jumpsuit before, never seen such underwear before - that, quite frankly, she had no idea how to wear. And there, bundled in the back, stinking up her locker - the whole room, Eponine thought - were her rags. That horrid scrap of a chemise, the skirt that had once been a cloak. Eponine dragged the rags on quickly, hardly daring to believe that the jumpsuit was for her, breathing easier as she reluctantly secured the skirt to her narrow waist with a bit of string she found. But, beyond that, she had no idea what to do, where to go. So she sat down and waited, clutching the soft black jumpsuit, and those lovely boots, just in case, by some small miracle, that all of this was real and these treasures were meant for her.]

Lockers!

[but_civilization]

[Immediately after waking, Combeferre knew that this jump had been one of the bad ones that people sometimes referred to. His head was spinning and throbbing, it had taken forever for the tube to come out, and he had actually had to stare at his number and match it to the others along the wall for far, far longer than he had liked before managing to get it right. At least this time, there had been some decent clothing, and he was in the middle of trying, and failing, to knot the cravat he had been sent along when he spotted the grisette there.

He knew her. Well, not entirely but he had SEEN her. She was from home, and, though he was NOT going to bring it up, the last he'd seen of her was in Marius's arms. His beloved, who he had mentioned who they had then seen killed at the barricades... The only thing possible, despite the fact that Combeferre could barely stand himself right now and wanted nothing more than to cower into one of the corners until this passed, could not do more than squint, or hook his spectacles over his shirt collar, was to go to her, offer some help. ]

Mademoiselle? I believe I have seen you at home...in Paris. I was a doctor there. If I might help you now...

[Which would, admittedly, be more convincing if he wasn't white as a sheet himself. AH well, Combeferre. You tried?]

tony stark | ota

[starked]

pods
[ you spend enough time on the tranquility and you realize that your sense of things and their weirdness levels tends to just get a little out of whack. technically speaking, tony has never been the type to think things that should be weird are weird, but it's quirk of his personality that he rather likes. however, there are limits to the degree of thing tony can actually handle and think is totally normal.

the weird feeling of being watched when he knows that he's slept and is in the bright lights of medbay is one of those things. not that you'd see it on his face beyond a little twitch of his left eye. not that he has his mechanical eye in yet, but the muscles of the eyelid and the surrounding area still happen to be there. in times like this though, one must always say the thing that diffuses the weird feeling. ]

Missing the musical backing to make this perfect. [ a beat. ] Not an invitation to start blaring that song, by the way.


lockers
[ tony's shower routine is— startlingly routine by now with him checking on pepper first to make sure she's still there and inviting her to join if she wants. nothing particularly interesting happens, though, tony has to admit the feeling that he's being watched, that he's under surveillance hasn't gone away. that's not that good, not that typically anything on this ship is, but feeling like you're being watched on this ship is infinitely worse than normal bad things. he makes a note to check on it later while he's heading off to his locker toweling off his hair and making sure there's no water still in his eyesocket.

which reminds him, he should get in his eye rather quickly just in case he's just somehow not seeing something. tony opens up the locker without much trouble and grabs his eye and gets it in without too much trouble and is about to grab his clothes when something pokes him.

that something happens to be half a severed shin bone, clean, inside a male size ten tan brogue, the left shoe. tony does not actually pay attention to the size of the shoe nor the fact that it's the left shoe when he's pulling out the item in question. while tony may not claim that he is completely sane in the slightest, there is really only one response a sane person gives to pulling that out of their locker while nearly naked except for towels and holding it up for closer inspection.

forgive him for being so loud. lack of volume control's a thing with him. ]

What the fuck?!

[majestyofthethrone]

[She's making her way to say her hellos - to give him grief, maybe, or just a shy Seraphim style hug (which manifests in the way of her taking his hand and squeezing it, carefully, for a second). Generally she waits until he's dressed - nakedness is not her thing, ever, but he catches her attention early when he jumps back, and that's when she sees the shin bone poking out of his locker.

At first she doesn't know what it is, either. The angle isn't good for her to see it, and when he takes it in his hand, and pulls it out, she just stares.

And then he swears and she jumps, visibly, her shoes squeaking on the floor. She comes a little closer, but only a little, and taps on her slate so he knows she's there.]

Is that real?