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.

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[Bela would agree on the gross part. She had been through a lot of jumps but the blue goo was still disgusting and a bitch to get out of her hair.

But anyway. Shower first, then lockers.

She emerges from the showers with a towel wrapped around her, drying her hair with another and makes her way to the lockers so that she can get changed before heading up to her room for a nap; after she checks in with a few people first.

Things don't go so smoothly when she almost collides into someone on her way there. Bela takes a step back, immediately apologising.]

Oh, I'm sorry about that!

[He smiles, bitterly, staring at Pess instead of looking at Edgeworth.]

Yeah. I saw.

[Another moment of silence, and then he gives in, a little, and leans down to give Pess his hand to sniff at, if only so she'll stop pawing at his legs.]

Good for them.

( her expression is blank, momentarily-- then, right. introductions. the times she does and does not remember that those are a thing people do are largely unpredictable, but the latter more regularly than the former, and only partially because it's very rare that she ever meets somebody who doesn't already know what her name is, whose daughter she is, a general idea of her family's net worth. )

It's Ilde- I'm Ilde.

( Ihl-dey. her grandfather always pronounces it the german way, Ill-dah, and she thinks there's something possessive about it; this is my granddaughter. i give her this name. she thinks, she probably can't call him from here. wherever here is. if here is real.

it can't be real. it just can't. )

He wasn't used to it, not yet - it was his first 'jump' since he'd arrived on this ship, and it felt just as jarring and awkward as the first one. Still, he was now familiar with his way around the medbay, and climbing out of the pod and making his way to the shower, washing off, pulling on his clothing - it was something he'd done once, so it was easier to do it again.

Still a little nauseous, but a lot less disoriented, he was pulling his polo shirt over his head, straightening the communicator he stubbornly wore around his neck, when someone knocked hard into his shoulder, threw him almost off-balance. He was about to brush it off at the muttered sorry, dismissing it as probably someone new that he had zero desire to help coddle through their first few hours of arriving on the Tranquility, when he shot a glance after the guy and all the tech he carried and the blue glow at his back caught his eye.

Well. That was interesting.

Closing his locker, he turned and trailed after the guy as he wedged himself into the elevator and checked what appeared to be some kind of gun. Mace jogged to catch the lift, jammed his hand through the door to make sure it wouldn't shut on him, and slid himself inside, shooting a glance over at the guy.

"You new?"

Aw, you take all the fun out of it, sweet cheeks.

[She grins again and spins the axe in her hand, just to show off a little.]

Johanna Mason.

[ Her grip is held as she asks that question, Charles biting his tongue against quick reassurance. The steely certainty of her blamelessness is conceded to, and gladly -- she can sense that much, an iota of tension leaving the more pensive lines of his expression.

He'll have to take it with him. His heart is still racing, tasting copper. ]

Yes, yes, I'll be all right. If I can make it to the showers, I'll feel at least halfway human.

[ His smile is small, crooked. ]

His hand already aches, vaguely, from when he'd punched the bloody locker. The pain spikes again when he hits Snape--but it's good, it clears his mind for a moment, and he doesn't even care when Snape shoves him off. He staggers sideways, thrown off, and then he uses that momentum to go for Snape again, grabbing for him--into the lift, though he's hardly aware of his surroundings.

The push, then--less physical, all magic, no matter how clumsy or off-kilter it is--it makes Sirius stumble back again, but the lift doors have closed behind him now, it's both of them, in the lift. A contained space, like it's some ring to fight in, and Sirius grins, hard, breathless, and grabs tighter at his wand, holding it steady.

"Are we dueling now?"

[ His hands on her forearms are last to leave -- lingering as he looks down at himself, and he just.

Laughs, once, giddy, vaguely apologetic, hands falling away again to touch at his sopping shirt, try to place it a little better where it hangs off his frame like wet laundry. ]

Oh, god, [ is sighed out, looking back up at her. ] I can't believe any of that happened. And you know, the most scared I felt was after we'd been released.

[ But, like a weirdo, he seems kind of thrilled by that -- but his chemicals are all off their mark, endorphins and serotonin and dopamine, so maybe he can be forgiven. ]

[And Edgeworth's brows draw together. He feels nauseous; with difficulty, he swallows that down. Finally, unsteadily:]

How?

[Pess licks his hand enthusiastically, wholeheartedly, joyously. Edgeworth, painfully aware of that bitter note in Sirius' voice, shifts awkwardly. He ought to make small talk, ought to -

It just comes out of his mouth.]

Potter is gone, isn't he?

[Marty goes quiet, somber, for a moment. He's still trying to recuperate from the bout of craziness he just about gave into — the surrender in the middle of a warping, fucked up room. And then...]

The doors opened. In the last few minutes.

We ran.

That voice catches Galadriel's attention immediately; somehow, even with all the bustling of the locker room, his voice carries well enough for her to hear it. She's at her own locker, then, and she takes a few moments to finish her routine- runs her brush through her hair a few more times, places her swordbelt about her hips, and pins her hair back to keep it out of her face.

Then, she goes to greet him.

"Master Baggins."

Vaguely. You've never actually told me about it, just blustered indignantly whenever someone mentioned it publicly. I tend to pick up on things people mention publicly.

[Yes, he is an actual stalker. Not sorry.]

Mad, ( but fondly, because it's the sort of madness that she can readily identify with - the highs and lows of running full tilt at the world. she doesn't get to do it very often, but she feels its pull, remembers how it's been to indulge that, to have a reason to, to be so sure of her own rightness. she is always so sure of her own rightness. ) Utterly mad.

I am so very glad you're well. You are well?

[He stares down. Quietly, his voice barely above a whisper:]

Did...everyone make it?

I -

[That at least gives him enough pause that he looks, for a moment, embarrassed rather than miserable.]

Right. Well, it's...I'm - I can move things with my mind. Large things. And it's a power that grows stronger the more I use it. But I hadn't worked on it enough that I was able to move this door. So it is my fault, because I lacked diligence.

Isaac was just finishing his gun-check when he noticed another person boarding- his attention immediately snapped over at the stranger, watching him warily.

No one had rushed him or recognised him yet, much to his own surprise, but his nerves refused to ease; he looked tense, defensive, though he did keep his plasma cutter aimed at the floor to make himself appear less threatening. He didn't want to legitimately threaten anyone if he didn't have to.

He was on like a three year accident-free streak here, damn it.

"Yeah," he answered with a short breath of laughter. Was it really that obvious? "I'm having a lot of new experiences today." This guy, though... he seemed to be taking all of this in stride. "I'm guessing you're not?"

[ It's mostly the smaller... miracles that he's grateful for. That, when it comes time for the jump (again), he can still easily maneuver through these people and manage to clothe himself far faster then those that populate the ship. That the only discomfort is the pressure of a tube slick down his throat, and that, by any means, is far less than what he's expected since arriving here. Whether or not he feels chained to this skin now, body thrumming with the knowledge of things beyond him in his current state of discontent, it doesn't mean he should stop and wait and pretend concern for those who look lost and alone. For those who look to him for help.

The very second he hears Dean, however, is another matter entirely.

Castiel recognizes the distress, palpable in the half-formed prayer that still pulls at his grace, and for a moment, he's relieved to feel it there, wherever the majority of it has been pushed down to stay. Yet, it's quickly overtaken by that incredibly loud urgency, and though he can't quite manage the way he would before, just suddenly being there, it's still fast enough not to warrant any question about that slight hesitation. He's back near the stasis chambers when next he looks, Dean supporting Sam who's bleeding so profusely it's rather miraculous he's still alive. He does not balk. He does not turn to leave them.

This Sam has much to learn and much to live for, live through. He's unsure about his ability to heal, everything odd and displaced, but he's not going to let him die because he had been weak or because he couldn't fight what locked the important pieces of him away. That determination is written in the thinning of his mouth as he rapidly closes the space that separates them. ]

What happened?

[ He directs it at anyone who will answer, disregarding proximity to search out the wound and hover his hand just there. There's no need to wait, to have Dean explain, order, beg, cry out whatever demand he feels necessary when he sees the problem, and it's that faint flicker of eerie light that erupts between hand and skin, so that he feels the extent of the damage and finds none of it fixed as easily or as fast as any time before.

Castiel frowns and presses down, making contact and forcing it this time so that it reaches to repair tissue and organ. There's no apology if the pressure happens to hurt. It's slow work, and he can feel what it's doing to him, what it doesn't want to let happen. He clenches his teeth and does it anyhow. ]

[ His smile splits wider at her remark, but he manages to wrangle himself just a little. The crashing low after the high is a precipice he can see coming, but for now, he can remorselessly leech off Nuala's gladness, off her affirmation that what they all did was brave rather than doomed.

It's nice to be around. It may work out rare. ]

I'm-- yes. I feel well. I'm positive it'll all catch up to me at any moment, I don't think I'm very much looking forward to half an hour from now.

[ Already leveling out. Breathing. ]

It was bad, in there. For everyone.

Edited (opposite day) 2014-02-09 00:20 (UTC)

( her shift to concern doesn't precisely abandon that gladness, that affirmation - bravery is not defined by 'something you are utterly unaffected by afterwards'. that is stupidity, which she has little time for, and he is many things-- but no more stupid than any other quite intelligent man.

so, a little, yes, but it can't be helped and isn't immediately relevant. )

Is there anything I may do? For you, or others?

[It always takes a rather long time for Galadriel to get all of the blue goo out of her hair, so it's really no surprise that she lingers in the shower longer than most, bringing the gold and silver strands back to their usual shine. What is a surprise is the brush that comes flying in her direction.

Ordinarily, she has rather fast reactions and is extremely observant. Ordinarily. But she is far from at her best right after a jump. Combine that with her focus on her and-

Smack! -the brush hits her leg with characteristic sound of wood hitting flesh, followed swiftly by a little hiss of pain.]

I'm not talking to you.

[Alex frowns, slamming his locker shut, not looking over at Charles. It's clear he's angry. Because anger and frustration is a lot easier to be than scared. Because that was what he had been.

Scared of losing Charles again, and not being able to do anything. He gets so damn tired of it, of everything. So yeah, anger works better.]

[ sam might be talking, something that should soothe dean, but with his brother bleeding out right in front of him not a lot can do to silence the worry, the panic. they've both gotten pretty fucked up before, killed even-- but there is no returning to life here, there is most likely no heaven, hell or purgatory. whatever waits after death is one big mystery and dean isn't about to send sam to it.

as sam falls against him, dean does his best to cradle his brother, barely finding the right words for what sam's going on about.

it is the time, isn't it, when one of azazel's special children had decided to take sam down with him. the time when sam had died -- something no brother would ever forget -- and which had lead to dean doing whatever it took to bring sam back. he's never once regretted his decision, but he can't go through this again. not here.

dean doesn't have time to answer, not when cas is suddenly right there. he's looking at the angel then, mouth falling open but words taking a moment to process-- ]

I don't-- he crawled out of the pod like this. [ no, out with it, dean, out with the info. ] I think he went back home, got stabbed-- Cas, he's gonna die. [ they can't let that happen. and even as the angel moves closer, lays his hands on sam, dean still keeps talking. ]

You have to save him, heal him-- just do something, please.

[ never mind that cas' power isn't at max here, like they'd discussed before, that he can barely teleport from one end of the hallway to the other, that maybe it means he can't save sam. never fucking mind any of that, he has to save his brother. has to.

even as cas' hands being to do what they do best, dean keeps a tight grip on sam, hands digging down. ]

Sam? You still with me? Sammy?

My lady, you might be needing this.

[Fili is walking by, already dressed. He had wanted to try and find a friend, but instead saw the blond woman naked and shivering. Luckily enough he had an extra towel in his hands, so he held it out to her, keeping his eyes on her face (which is a bit of looking up, but he is well used to it).]

Just try to breathe. The first jump is always the worst.

[Eric has showered and gotten himself clean, but is otherwise very much unclothed and not really in a hurry to change anything about that by the time he gets to his locker. He takes his time in gathering his clothes together and sliding his black jeans on, slipping the black tank over his head and reaching for his leather jacket to try and keep as warm as he can, when he notices her. The bow and the way she dresses are a definite tip, but the ears and the way she smells... That and the fact that he recognizes her from hanging around the gardens is enough to confirm his theory.

Slipping the jacket on he sidles up to her, blue eyes burning in his pale face (he will need to feed soon, to stay warm and to look more alive), as he says:] You are one of Thranduil's people. [It is not exactly a question.]

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Page 13 of 113

twenty-eighth jump;

Showers

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lifts; come to me engineerbro

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opens arms and runs.

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showers

Lockers

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Pods

very recently after the jump, at the lockers