ataraxionlogs | twenty-eighth jump;

Entry tags:

twenty-eighth 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: It could just be the standard sensation of air on wet skin, but if you bother to check, you might notice the steam rising from your body, barely there and gone within a minute. By the time you get to the showers, it will be clear that it's not just taking you time to adjust. The room is cold — colder than usual, but no worse than the last jump. While it's nothing dangerous, it's certainly motivation to hurry through the usual routine and get dressed quickly.

It's getting closer.

YOUR EYES ARE OPEN.

KEEP LOOKING.

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.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[ she gives him a brief snide look of acknowledgment at the thief remark - because, well, seriously? digging that up? she's put a lot of effort into aggressively not thinking about the enchanted forest and instead focusing on the present, because it's the only way for her to have the wherewithal to go through that pain and loss that greeted her back in the real world. but more than that, she's fairly certain that hook trying to abscond with her magic bean makes them even.

and when he turns the question on her is when she realizes, begrudgingly, that their goal should be the same. what they're doing here is an accident, the real question - ]

The real question is what we aren't doing in Neverland. I should be finding my son, and instead I've been here for six months. What the hell happened? [ it's easy now that hook's here to blame it on him and his ship being defective instead of acknowledging that maybe, just maybe, they're exactly as powerless to get back on track as she's felt all this time. he'd offered his help, and she sure as hell intends to hold him to that when it's her best chance. ]

If they'd met when Harry first arrived on the Tranquility, he would've been pleased to think that he reminded those around him of his parents. Now, he's older, he's actually met, spoken to, and argued with them, he's glad to grow into his own man. He still cares for his family and the idea of family deeply, but remaining mired in the petty arguments of the past are less than useless.

"Thank you." Harry knows what Legilimency feels like, and Snape's particular sort quite well, so he chalks the acceptance up to the other man's innate Snapeishness. "I should probably get a move on and check in with a few others. Like I said, you can call me at 016-007, anytime, for anything."

Great. Fine. Fantastic. There's a sort of relief at Harry saying he should go, because as useful as this sudden infodump is, Severus doesn't want to spend any more time with him. The chances of him ever contacting him are slim, but surely Potter knows that already and is just being thorough. (Why.) Severus does not offer his own number in return - assumes it's the one on his arm and locker, probably related to that thing set in with his belongings - but if Harry really wants to know, he can look.

Severus just nods. Very well, off with you. No thank-yous, no further inquiries or even confirmation of his name. This is enough.

[Heather's just moseying along here. Once she's clean and dressed the cold isn't too much of a pain (not now she's expanded her wardrobe to include sleeves, at least) and last time around she was in such a rush to get out of there she missed the return of somebody she knew and cared about.

~~Wouldn't it be funny if that happened again?~~

The stroll doesn't last. The moment she hears Takeshi yell she breaks into a dead sprint, yells his name - she's coming, kiddo - and skids to a halt at his side, ready to...

...stand there...

looking perplexed. It's not so much that she doesn't notice the thing, just that she doesn't get the relevance.]

Uh. Takeshi? What're we killing?

Edited (I was trying to see the thing and i realised i missed a bracket :|) 2014-02-09 18:20 (UTC)

Initially taken aback by the less than stellar return she gets for her troubles in trying to start a conversation - again, Bennet, what were you expecting? - Claire finds herself surprised not at finding herself suddenly dry but at his willingness to do it at all. Almost a reflex, Claire glances around to see if anyone else has noticed what's just happened, used to people being decidedly less nonchalant about broadcasting things like this than she is. Normal people don't leap off of Ferris wheels in the middle of an existential crisis for the whole world to see, though, so there's that.

"I wasn't asking you to - " she stumbles and cuts herself off, not awkward but unsure, still a little stilted in trying to determine the appropriate course of action. He still hasn't said anything, so Claire firmly amends her fumble with a simple, "Thanks," that doesn't betray any of her initial hesitation and reaffirms its sincerity with a brief nod. Her clothes feel tight and rough, like they've been left out to dry flat, her skin still chilly but at least no longer accompanied with damp, and she runs her fingers over the fabric of the clothes under her arm as if they might somehow get her out of this situation. Magically or something.

Unlike any other normal human being who might get the message and slide along, Claire tries again, her own private curiosities driving her more than anything. "You, uh, handling this okay?" she asks, which she realizes is a pretty stupid question but there it is.

[Oh gosh, Marty is no good around animals. He blames parents who never liked or wanted pets in the house, but whatever. Dogs are cute. He can dig it.]

Heeeey - uh. Good dog. Nice doggy. No biting, right?

[He pats the shiba's head and smiles a little.]

You gonna acknowledge me or not? I'm sorry I freaked you out??

Don't be a bitter girlfriend at me.

[ it's the same as always; he crawls out of the pod, takes a moment or two to not throw up all over the place thanks to the tube jammed down his throat during the jump, gets up and finds a shower, and then gets dressed before venturing about to make sure everyone he cares about -- sam, jo, cas, charlie -- are all still there and okay.

he doesn't get far with that part of his routine, not when he finds sam out of his pod and bleeding furiously all over the slick floor, blood gushing out in a way dean only remembers ever happening once before--

it stops him short for a moment, dread filling up icy cold and fast, freezing him to the spot for a mere half second. he's had nightmares of sam disappearing again, only to be found dead after a jump. of sam running off into the halls never to come back and dean left wondering where how why like the firs time. he's played out a lot of scenarios despite trying not to, most ending with blood and death-- but this. this is a memory from home he never thought for some reason would follow him here-- follow sam here. all this time though, he should have know it might come up. ]

Sam--

[ dean's there a second later, hands on his brother to steady him, to-- something. but blood is pouring out in quantities that can't be normal, and he's not-- he doesn't know what to do.

one hand comes to the side of sam's face, to get focus, to get some kind of recognition that he's not too late yet, the other sliding over the wound in a pathetic attempt to stop it from bleeding. ]

Shit, shit-- I got you, okay, just-- hold on. Stay with me. [ he'll fix this, somehow, he'll fix it--

his voice cracks a fraction as he whips his head, looking for something, someone who can do something, who can fix his brother from bleeding all over the floor. it's also in that second he calls out just as he's done a hundred times back home, screams his thoughts in one general angel's direction in the only way he knows that might help.

cas-- ]

Cas, I need you to-- get here right now.

There's no statute of secrecy, Harry had said, and so Severus doesn't bother hiding and feels fine treating this girl like a passing guinea pig. Her comparatively bland reaction tells him he's right in thinking it's not actually that big of a deal, here, which is its own barrel of strangeness - but at least it saves him having to cover up anything. And besides, living in the open was one of the things he wanted out of the war, right? Ha.

His eyes flick back to her again, having already drifted to his own business. He remains silent for a time, weighing his options, considering just slamming the locker door and leaving. Does he really look like someone who needs comforting or, hell, like someone who's going to comfort her? His doubt could sink the Titanic. No, this is surely random.

"Is there a proper way to handle it?" Dry, rhetorical, crisply accented.

I'm fine.

[ her cheeks turn faintly pink. not only does she have a witness, it's an elf. embarrassment has her brusquely shoving the bowl under the faucet to rinse. ]

[And his head snaps up at that. His brows draw together, and he focuses on him - focuses, more precisely, on where Pess is begging shamelessly for attention from him. His gaze lifts, and -

Well. It's not exactly a good reaction. He'll feel guilty later over the fact that he did not jump up with joy, celebrating this miraculous return; instead, he just says, reservedly, even warily, still not trusting that this is the case - ]

You...survived.

[emily has gotten into the habit of lingering just a bit longer after the jumps, whether it's talking to new people or even people she is already acquainted with so when she there's suddenly a hand on her shoulder, she is completely unphased even if her normal reaction would be shake his hand off or break his hand for even touching her. she just smiles with a friendly tone to match with her expression] I'd say that's something we have in common if you're from there too.

Meeting his eyes doesn't do much of anything by way of conversation, so Claire raises her eyebrows at him and prepares to admit defeat and poke her nose into something else that's just as likely to get it bitten off. She wonders if she can't get back to the pods and is interrupted only by the sound of his voice coming to her through the filter of activity around them. Somehow it fits him and seems strange all at once, catching her off-guard. Her expression shifts only slightly, doing its best to maintain the mask its been wearing.

She shrugs, glancing around and into faces without ever directly settling on one or the other. It's a blur of strangers and sounds, none of it anything that she can settle on for too long without defaulting to her typical brand of inquiry. She's the sort of person to jump first and ask questions on the way down, but as far as she can tell, there's nowhere to jump here. Into the lifts, maybe, once she's exhausted what she can around here.

"Screaming and crying, I guess. Generally having some kind of nervous breakdown," she eventually replies, though she's very obviously doing neither of those things. "You're pretty calm."

[Sam tries to steady himself and grab his brother by the shoulder, but every turn and twist is making his back throb angrily. He blinks hard at Dean, skin cold from the stasis fluid and the pretty apparent issue with blood loss. He can actually talk this time, though, not just distantly fade off like before -- maybe the pods had something to do with that, this time. He wrinkles his brow and drips blood out of the corner of his mouth.]

Should've punched him in the face harder. Sorry.

[Okay, so maybe words aren't the best for the delusional dying kid, but whatever. At least he got to apologize this time. Wait -- what about Cas, now? What, like Cassie? That chick Dean had the hots for? No, no, he remembers. Trenchcoat guy. Angel. Squints a lot. Sam flops against Dean tiredly and tries to figure out two different universes of memory.]

Jus' my luck, right?

[He gets a glimpse of the ground, and -- wow that's a lot of blood.]

[ arya startles and nymeria snarls. she looks behind her to catch the end result. the corners of her mouth turn down in sudden worry. arya will find it funny later, but at the moment all she can think is she's going to get in trouble. ]

Stay! [ she turns on the shower again for good measure. with nymeria ( hopefully ) occupied, arya hurries to han. ]

I'm sorry, I'm sorry—! Are you all right? What happened?

( the acknowledging sound she makes is-- unsurprised, really. if he'd made a stoic face and declared he had no friends, she probably would've made the same noise. or a comment. )

All sorts of things.

( some of them less flattering than others. ilde accumulates nicknames at an astonishing rate; 'little ilde' something affectionate, 'princess' something rather more snide. in spite of her aimlessness and her conversational air, though, she marks it when he slows, cautiously, at corners - stills and quiets accordingly, continues when he does. she is a lot of things, this one, but she's not as silly as she sometimes pretends. )

[By now it is clear that those who were trapped on the bridge have made it to their pods in time. Thranduil expects they, as much as he, would like to pretend nothing happened for now. So he doesn't seek out Nathan. He knows he's alive. He sees him just as he sees everyone else.

He is mute when he dresses himself and braids his hair and sits down for a moment on a bench. In the end, it had undoubtedly been the ship letting them go. Teaching them a lesson, like any other captor.]

( the exhale she releases is too quick and explosive to be called a sigh, more like - coming back to herself all of a sudden. she flattens her hands, deliberately, stretching her fingertips out as far as they'll go, and then pushes back and sits up straighter, looking up at him. )

Why?

( --well. )

[Well hey, look at that, someone who's not about to punch him!

He can dig it.]

Definitely not dead. Unless this is a super elaborate thing that flashes before my eyes a few seconds before I'm dead? Because that'd be super freaking rude of the ship, and all.

[Okay. Okay, Marty. Approach carefully. Don't spook her.

Don't get murdered for seeming to be dead? Good plan.

He's kind of worried, what with the bloody fists and raises his hands like he's trying to prove he's not a threat. It's a stupid motion really, all things considered.]

Dana?

( despite the tart banter with her brother - who only so narrowly escaped his fate of getting shoved bodily into his pod by his sister - Nuala was more than ready for the jump, arriving in time to disrobe and slide in and close her eyes. she strides away from the pod with loose limbs and a weary mien, thinking of those who did not... )

...Charles?

( ...make it? oh, but they did! look at him, human and breathing and delightful! look at that! they were so bold, and look, not doomed! VALOR, MOTHERFUCKERS.

it is possible that he isn't expecting to have an elf princess' sticky, blue-tinged and underdressed arms thrown around him quite so forcefully. )

[Well he's already been punched in the nose once, so please don't hit him.

;-; Please, Ianto, his head can't handle the abuse.]

I'd... Um, is there anything I can say to avoid the first one?

[See, Topher, he appreciates the lack of violence.

He just sort of shrugs, standing there and mirroring Topher.]

How could I forget my evil twin? Didn't we agree on the bad one needing a mustache to twirl?

[Defying expectations, Ianto smiles.]

Then I suppose I'll refrain. I understand why you did it, even if it was reckless and stupid. And I bet you have plenty of people telling you that as well, so that's the last I'll say of it.

[He smiles a little, anxiously shifting on his feet.

That's not exactly a shocking reaction, but it's not one he was hoping for.

Like usual.]

Guess so, yeah. I'm looking too damn good to be a zombie, don't you think?

And the voices. And that.. thing they had me locked up in.

[ she won't shiver in fear now that her mother is here, either. it is as though a switch has gone off, and elizabeth is able to appear as composed as she would like the world to believe she is.

and as soon as the last of the suds are rinsed off of her, a dull flush creeps over her as she hugs herself in case any random passersby might see. ]

No. They have apparently been confiscated. Where did you find yours?

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 11 of 113

twenty-eighth jump;

no subject

no subject

no subject

dang this kid is a handful

no subject

////

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

lockers!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Lockers

no subject

no subject

no subject

pods

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject