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

He's a soldier. That's classified. His name, I mean.

[HUFF.]

He's all I have, you know. None of the rest of you really stack up.

Oh, well, excuse me, for not being a trained bodyguard.

[Hands in the air in a mock-defensive position!]

It isn't your fault. He's very capable, and very tall. You aren't.

[She crosses her arms. DEFENSIVE, MUCH?]

[Ouch, right in the height deficiency. Way to

I wasn't asking to fill in anyway, I've got--I have a realistic perception of what this body can and can't do, thanks.

[It's not difficult to not be seven feet tall or whatever her handsome prince of a Spartan is. Poor Wheatley would probably feel really, really deficient if he met Jai.]

That's good. We should all set and keep realistic expectations of ourselves. Being self-aware is important.

[Examining the counter thingy now. It is sturdy enough to sit on? If so, she'll hop up and sit on the edge.]

[Wheatley just feels kind of deficient all around, no worries. Despite looking rather shoddy, the booth is surprisingly sturdy for something he built himself, and perfectly capable of supporting someone's weight.

Maybe not more than one, though.]

I'm--I'm perfectly self-aware! I do--there are some advantages, to being sort of on the small side, I'll have you know.

[Big kids don't cry, Wheatloey, even on the inside.

Okay, so that's not true, but whatever. Juliana enjoys giving people hell. It's Wheatley's turn.]

I know, I know. You can go incognito so much more easily, fly under the radar, keep your head down. [Tap tap tap, she bareloy taps her toes against the floor.]

[Wheatley is never not crying on the inside. That is his secret.

What is not a secret, however, is how easy it really is for him to go incognito or under the radar, if not in this body than in his real one.]

Well, yes, that's--that's sort of a good thing to do, here. All these humans about, you know.

[Hey. More power to him. Juliana misses being easy to cart around.]

Silly humans. They're unpredictable, harder to nudge around when you're one of them.

[He seems to cringe at that, still finding the notion incredibly uncomfortable.]

Two years, did you know that? I mean, it's been--I've been stuck in this body for two years, now.

Two years...

[She sounds amazed, but her face shows concern. On the one hand, she doesn't really want to be human. On the other, though... Maybe she'll survive two years here, live on, learn things and explore possibilities she never thought she could.]

At least you're here. Alive, I mean. Around. If I wasn't sitting here in this incredibly attractive yet infuriating body, I would be gone. I'm so sorry you're unhappy, though.

[And she sounds sincere.]

[It is far too long to be squishy and terrible, as far as Wheatley is concerned. He raises an eyebrow--how can anyone think humans are even remotely attractive? So weird.]

Yeah, well. It's been no small feat, let me tell you.

[She purses her lips. Any time is a good time to be overly literal around here.]

Being unhappy is no small feat?

No, no--

[For someone who can be overly literal himself, Wheatley seems a little miffed about being misunderstood.]

I mean--being in this body. Is no small feat. I'm sure you--sure you understand.

I do understand. It's awful. I may be beautiful and people may take more notice of me in a different way now, but it's inconvenient and somewhat intolerable to be... organic.

Oh, yes, of course, right.

[Juliana you're so WEIRD.]

Thank you, though. For taking care of the booth.

Humanity is charming, but being human just... [She shrugs, then grins.]

I didn't actually make it a kissing booth. Washington did help me with it, though.

Right. I'll be sure to let him know that...in the future, this is not for kissing.

[Take your gross exchanges of people germs elsewhere.]

No kissing took place at this information booth.

[She makes a motion: cross her heart!]

twenty-sixth jump;

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god did i really not finish a sentence please kill me

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