ataraxionlogs | twenty-sixth jump;

CHARACTERS: Any and all.
LOCATION: Gravity Couches and beyond.
WARNINGS: Maybe some swearing, or even some violence, and more than likely some implied (and possibly explicit) nakedness.
SUMMARY: Another month, another jump, another round of new faces.
NOTES: Your average, run-of-the-mill jump—except some characters don't seem to be waking up from stasis like they should.

Don't worry.

THEY NEEDED THE REST.

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ by the time they find their lockers, the nausea has subsided somewhat. robert is able to look around without immediately incurring a surge of dizziness—which is a passing comfort, as his headache has otherwise worsened. at the very least, they'd been afforded an opportunity to clean and dry themselves. robert hadn't been a particular fan of the pseudo-public setting, but one's sense of propriety rather deteriorates when one is having a difficult time standing upright.

thankfully, all of their customary clothing seems to have been provided them—not that the jumpsuit would have been... objectionable, given the alternative, but robert won't pretend he's not relieved that they're able to slip into clothes which are at the very least familiar. he's managed to get to his shirtsleeves and braces before rosalind asks him to do up her corset; she's already turned around to allow him to pick at the rabbit-eared laces, expertly pinning her hair up into her usual style. while she inserts the last pin, he tightens the lacing to her preference, and leaves the loops to hang over the back of her drawers.

which, of course, is when booker dewitt appears.

let it be never be said that the man doesn't have a certain sense of timing. ]

[Booker himself wasted little time in getting clean and dressed -- wishing to hasten the post-jump experience in any way possible -- and his stride could be described as quick and purposeful as he moved his way past a particular row of lockers. There's only a small lingering sense of nausea left and his head isn't pounding nearly as much as the last jump; and though most would call this an improvement of sorts, Booker's mouth is set in a straight line and his brow furrowed in irritation. Both of his hands are busy fiddling with the red cravat around his neck, attempting to tie it as quick and properly as possible. (Two concepts which do not go together well on this day, and he finds himself having to untie it and start all over, cursing a little under his breath.)

He's distracted enough with this that he almost passes the Luteces without noticing them at all. Almost. In his peripheral, he catches a pair of familiar profiles, familiar hues of clothing, familiar hues of hair. It stops him right in his tracks as if he's hit an invisible wall, and he turns to look directly at the two physicists, untied and lopsided cravat be damned.

His following expressions go through an interesting sort of evolution -- from surprised (after a month on the ship he hadn't expected them to appear so suddenly, and what are they doing, getting dressed? That's a... departure from the usual piano playing, or dancing, or juggling, or--) to exasperated (haven't they noticed him? They're usually the ones to find him, not the other way around) and all the way back to irritated. (Where the hell were they? Don't they know how long he's been stuck on this goddamn, creepy ship? He could have used some help before now, you know.)

Booker attempts to grab their attention with an exclamation, and only he could manage to make it sound accusatory to boot.]

Hey!

[ frankly, neither of the luteces were expecting to see booker dewitt again quite so soon (from a linear perspective), and they certainly hadn't planned on doing it in a manner that was quite so... undignified. they have quite enough on their plate at the moment dealing with the inconvenient little things like gravity and nausea, thank you; let's not add insult to injury.

but still, here he is, and here they are, and it won't do any good at all to pretend the circumstances aren't highly unusual. rosalind slides a final pin into her hair then turns her head to confirm that it is booker accosting them from across the room—it is, and he looks mildly put out, but none the worse for wear. so about the usual, then. ]

Ah. [ although neither she nor her brother are particularly given to facial expressions, there's a line to rosalind's mouth that suggests resignation, more than anything. ] Well, that does explain some things.

[ hi, booker. nice to see you again, too.

they'd thought you'd managed to succeed this time around, but—well. space wasn't quite what they'd had in mind as a next step. ]

[It may be a slightly awkward situation, with the both of them in the middle of getting dressed, but Booker ranks propriety rather low on the totem pole of Important Things at the moment. If Robert and Rosalind are "put out", as it were, then Booker is a few shades more irritated than that. (Likely this shouldn't surprise anyone at this point.)

His frown deepens at Rosalind's comment, because no, that doesn't explain anything at all. He moves forward and closer to them, with the air of a man who wants some answers.]

And what exactly is it supposed to explain? I've been here a month with no hide nor hair of either of you. [Because, sure, they're still quantum beings with the ability to pass through time and universes, right?]

[ robert reigns in a sigh, picking up his green necktie from where it's resting atop his folded waistcoat and jacket. he threads it around his neck as he talks, knotting it perfunctorily and smoothing down the ends, while, beside him, rosalind slips on her corset cover. though booker might want answers, they're hardly in a position give any—well, perhaps not concrete ones. this is a boat they all share, as unfortunate as that analogy is. ]

Time is entirely subjective. What seemed a month to you passed in a mere instant for us.

[ which begs the question— ]

What do you remember?

[The remark about time and its subjectivity somehow only manages to make Booker's brow furrow even more. It's true that at this point he should expect such comments from the Lutece twins, but that doesn't mean they're being any less difficult.

He sets his jaw, though, somehow managing to resist the urge to make a snide remark back. With his memories fully intact -- no longer muddled and fictionalized like when he first stepped into that other universe -- he's more than aware of the part Robert played in his loss of Anna. That him and his "sister" both played. And though the main fault of that entire situation was Booker's own, he still has a bit of sharpness in his tone when he speaks; associations are hard things to overcome, after all.]

What do I remember? Where the hell do I start? [But before the Luteces can make some remark about starting and beginnings and how it's all relative, etc etc:] Recently? I remember smashing Comstock's head in, I remember a city underwater, and I remember lighthouses and doors and gettin' my damned memories back.

[There was also the drowning part, too. He pauses only very briefly.]

--And drowning in the river, to put an end to all Comstocks for good.

twenty-sixth jump;

booker & the luteces | lockers | closed

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no subject

wasn't sure whose turn it was! if it's not mine yet then just let me know and i'll delete

this is totally fine! we'll alternate luteces to your booker, if that sounds good?

sounds good to me!