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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Frodo turned at the new voice, only to find...a dwarf!

He looked at him carefully, curiously. His first question was how he would know that Sam wasn't here with him, but that's quickly crushed by another.

"Do you remember being here at all?"

Frodo looked left, right. Not one thing triggered a memory for him. It was a white room with odd looking chambers, different folk roaming around, some like it was nothing new for them. Frodo looked up to the dwarf, and shook his head. "I have never been here before." A pause. "Why do you ask?"

Not precisely.

[He looks down. He shouldn't feel this uncomfortable, truly. He ought to be shaking her hand vigorously in greeting, or smiling at her, or doing something like a normal person would do - but finding out that everyone was still alive, and about Sirius' loss, and now about this, he just finds himself - overwhelmed. Utterly, completely overwhelmed by everything.

With difficulty, he forces out the truth.]

You disappeared from the ship altogether. For several months.

[Her company makes Lúthien feeler warm. Safe. It's how she'd always felt with her parents, in Doriath. This jump started with her feeling the furthest thing from safe so this, now, it's a comfort. One she needs. Without a word, she moves to sit beside Galadriel.]

She's not tame.

Well, then.

He made a strange scrunched-up face, something like a wary cringe, before stealing one more glance at the *dire*wolf. What the hell was a direwolf? A piss-it-off-and-consequences-will-be-dire wolf, maybe?

Isaac didn't want to find out.

He cleared his throat, shifting the conversation to something a little more manageable. "What are you doing here alone?" As if he even knew what here was.

Ianto.

[At first she jumps at the sound of her name and then settles when she sees the man who first greeted her when she arrived here. Clara tries to greet him with a pleasant smile and a friendly wave though both take quite a lot of effort on her part.]

Doing alright?

[It's only after spending far too much time in the shower does Clara finally pad over to Nathan. She moves quietly, tentatively, like she's afraid everything might fall apart if she's too hasty. And so she catches him just as he's exiting the locker room. Like him, she's still wrapped in towels. Thankfully, the provided ones engulf her tiny frame.]

Hullo, Boss.

You know, I'm not even angry that you went into this stupid plan. I'm angry that you went into this stupid plan without obviously thinking it through, and that you endangered other people to do it. Are you pleased? Have you proved your point?

[She slaps him, heavily, like a tiger cuffing a cub. That's exactly what this is. A tiger cuffing an especially stupid cub.]

You're an idiot, Nathan. I see it, and soon everyone else will, too.

[And she turns around and walks away.]

[ His wonderings take him to the Oxygen Gardens. Compared to the other places on the ship he's seen, this is the most natural by far. Frodo takes a step in, and this place isn't just natural. It's soothing. And beautiful. It reminds him of the Shire, without its rolling hills. And it reminds him of the forests and woods he and Samwise had traveled through.

Oh, Sam...Frodo feels a ping of guilt. How could he have just left him there?

It's not until he notices a figure sitting among the flowers the thought of leaving Samwise starts to fade. It looked like a peaceful place for rest! Frodo found himself approaching, giving the stranger a weary smile. ]

The flowers here are very lovely.

Edited (html is stupid) 2014-02-09 03:57 (UTC)

The odd little thing tells him to find the blue lift.

It's hard for him to find it, though. There's so many big folk moving around, and he's not at all familiar with the place. Frodo can feel himself retracting into himself, like a turtle to his shell. The crowd is starting to dwindle, and he would much rather leave soon, rather than wander around with no one to guide him.

There was a stranger nearby who seemed to be searching for something of his own. Frodo started to approach him, trying to ignore how unpleasant he seemed at a first glance. Never judge a book by its cover.

"Excuse me. I am trying to find my way to the blue lifts. Could you help me?"

... Oh.

[ Wichita likes to think she's pretty sure of herself, she's not lacking in the self-confidence department, at least. but it's still pretty foreign for her to think of people missing her in any way, or any situation. even this. she knows how difficult it is when people here leave for home, that sinky-gut feeling you get when you realize someone left during a jump. she's well acquainted with it. but her brain isn't really wrapping around the fact that people would feel that about her if she left. why would they? back home she spent so much time making sure people wouldn't notice if she was coming or going, so maybe she was kind of expecting the same here.

but obviously not.

which would explain all the weird hellos. ]

I didn't go home, either. Or maybe I did and time just forgot to start up again. I guess.

[ there's really not logic-ing her way through this, that's obvious, and it's pretty futile to even try. but it beats wanting to apologize, at least. ]

But I'm back now, aren't I? So quit- [ she's just gesturing at his face now yep sorry Edgeworth ] - looking at me like that, you're freaking me out.

[Jon is quite used to this by now. It's been almost two years, by his count, so he simply showers and goes, and does not look at anyone else. Nudity does not bother him so easily, not even when it's women, as long as he keeps his eyes on their faces.

He is almost clean when he hears move, and he turns just as Ghost, enormous and still covered in goo, pads into the shower. He is full grown now, and large as a horse, and he shakes covering both him and the woman in the blue fluid once more.]

Ghost.

[But the direwolf is focused on the woman, legs stiff and he moves between her and Jon.]

[That's not a coincidence really; Galadriel has taken a great deal of inspiration from Melian- in how she rules and protects her kingdom, in how she acts, in how she presents herself. Perhaps Lúthien can see it.

Slowly, she reaches out to take Lúthien's hand, holding it in her own and trying to stop its shaking.]

Arya rolled her eyes. "I'm not alone." See: piss-it-off-and-consequences-will-be-dire wolf.

A little pause and her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What's your number?"

|| lockers ||

Her shirt sticks to her back as she moves from the showers to her locker. She knows what's in there and maybe she's walking a bit slower on her way there. That jar of blood. It has to be blood and maybe someone made a mistake. Maybe someone just think she's a vampire instead of a werewolf. The ship is confused. Which isn't the craziest thing to say given what's been going on lately. Who even keeps blood in a jar other than sick trophy keeping serial killers? Blood needs to be put in those bags. It can't even be good for platelets... or white cell counts or who knows.

She stands in front of the closed locker door, a towel rubbing at her hair as she stares at the locker door. She wonders who is around. If she looks suspicious. If she can just leave it in there. The only thing is that there are graham crackers in there and she thinks Goldfish crackers too. She really wants those.

Inhaling a deep breath she just tries to pretend like this is a normal thing.

|| on the way out ||

Her jacket covers the jar tucked into the crook of her arm. She's hoping the fact that she's eating Goldfish crackers will serve as enough of a distraction, but she's certain that if she can smell the blood so can a few other choice residents of the ship.

She's trying hard not to bump into anyone. Not to jostle this jar of blood that is resting close to her. She doesn't need it spilling. Doesn't need the jar slipping from her hold and shattering glass and blood across the floor. Hayley uses her reflexes to maneuver around people. She uses her hearing to sense when someone is nearby her. She just needs to get to her room. To put the jar on something stable and then figure out who to ask about it. She has a list in mind already, but approaching the subject of 'So I got a jar of blood.' seems a bit too off-the-wall. Even for her.

|| lockers the second time||

She's back to get her graham crackers. Both hands had been full and her need to move slowly and not bump into anyone meant she had to make a choice. The graham crackers had fallen victim to her leaving them behind, but she wasn't about to just leave them for the full thirty days. Heading back always raised questions, but she knew she could say she was looking for people still in the pods -- because who would leave food behind?

Edited 2014-02-09 04:25 (UTC)

She's just leaving when something catches her attention - one of the wolves, she thinks, that must be it, at the corner of her vision and she turns just as he steps next to him. It's pure luck, and maybe a bit of self-preservation that she doesn't smack into him, turning on one heel, her violin case dropping from her shoulder and to the ground.

She looks at him for a moment, surprised, and shakes her head, reaching for the little chalkboard slate hanging at her wrist and reaching into a pocket for a piece of chalk. Sorry, she writes out and shows it to him before she goes for her violin case, shrugging it over a shoulder.

[He has a towel.

No, really. That's what he's got, a towel. He's already dressed and showered, his pod opened earlier than hers, and he was heading back when he saw her pod open and well. It's just polite. To hand her a towel, and look away.]

Uh.

Hi.

[And by that time, Galadriel has picked the brush up, so she hands it back to Arya.]

It's quite alright; no lasting harm was done. [A little red mark on her leg, nothing more.] I am glad to learn I was not your intended target. [That's a joke.]

The- oh. Uh.

[That's weird, the just casually chatting thing like nothing's weird at all. He tilts his head and narrows his eyes, confused, flicks a look over to her locker and then back to her and frowns. Well shit. This is kind of... awkward. But he's not one to pussyfoot around facts, and the fact is that she was gone, so he nods to her wrist before reaching up and tapping his own numbers.

Check yo numba, girl.]

Oh. Okay. [ One theory down, he guesses. That happens when someone is more or less blindly feeling out a plot, and Abed doesn't see much else to do but take the information she's willing to offer in stride to work off of. So he's about two years late to the game, give or take.

Maybe it's a little more 4400 than he'd first considered, regardless of the lack of alien interference. If this were a series or a movie, he'd be in prime position to request exposition that's so token by now that everyone else doesn't bother discussing it. Straight man for established habits and antics next to Lauren Cohan. (if Abed recognizing her isn't cool, just say the word and I can edit that baby out.)

Jeff's a lot better for a straight man in terms of personality, though. Not that that makes him magically appear, therefore considering it is moot. Abed nods along in understanding, and opens his mouth to... well, there's a spiel in there about how space travel has always been a time-taking sort of thing in most fiction, space odysseys and five-year missions to take into account and all. The Inspector and Reggie didn't go through time and space so they could pop back home after twenty minutes. Humanity's really not up to par on their faster-than-light travel or warp drive construction: it's basically easier to think about it like traveling by ocean. Bela asking about the grappling hook circumvents this spiel. So instead, Abed hefts the grappling hook in question and offers a brief smile. ]

Yeah, I got it from my friend for Christmas. [ Right up there in his favorites with the Indiana Jones bullwhip. He can see how a grappling hook might be more practical to bring into space. ] It's only really been used one time, but I figure if I'm taking the passenger lift into the unknown, it's better to be prepared to do some grappling. No hopeless Poseidon Adventures for me, thanks.

There are showers down that way.

[She gestures in the general direction]

Otherwise this stuff is pretty stubborn.

[Though she has no sign of it.]

Severus is not as on edge as he'd like to be - which is an odd preference, but he's an odd man - instead, he remains a little dazed by this whole affair; as such he's equally half-distracted when he's nearly bumped into. He stops short and takes a step back and while he doesn't apologize (it's never his first instinct), he does think to pick up her case-- but doesn't end up doing it. His attention is caught by what she's doing with a chalkboard.

"It's fine," he says after a moment. He accompanies it with the British Sign Language motion for It's okay, since from that reaction he's unsure if she can hear him or not. His BSL isn't perfect, having had very few students so far who've needed it - and it's unfortunately practically unintelligible to persons who know American Sign Language.

[ nate wasn't terribly aware of what his current posture indicated, but he wasn't aware of a lot of things at that point in time. some whispers here and there were distracting and made nate pale over. he wanted to scream in agony and frustration, but he simply didn't have the energy to.

when he heard the unfamiliar voice, it was jarring. no mocking cadence of eckhardt, no stern meter of gabe, no helpless cry of lexine. nate wasn't sure if it was a good sign or a bad sign, but it didn't matter. the rest of the world filtered in around him and he realized that someone was standing there. crouching there. staring at him. nate's mouth was drawn into a thin, terse line, and his eyes scattered around, as if he was trying to see past the large man in front of him.

he hadn't any idea what to do. what if this wasn't a real person? then again, what if it was? he stared up at him, his green eyes finally focusing in the present, in the now, rather than lost in some haze of confusion. ]

...I don't. [ his voice was cracked and uncomfortable. the tube hadn't done him any favors. ] I don't know. Maybe? I haven't really tried.

She sees the sign language, but the truth is that even if she knew American Sign Language, she wouldn't know what he said. She knows some signs - mostly the kind of thing that they teach in elementary school to show kids how people who are deaf communicate - but she never bothered to learn it. Why would she when she can hear perfectly well?

She shakes her head, and erases her board with her sleeve. I can hear. I just can't speak. She takes a moment, and nods, before she decides to try and actually meet whoever-this-is. My name is Seraphim. An odd name, by any account.

She smiles a little, it's just a bit nervous.

[ if galadriel had been, the brush would not have hit her leg. but arya keeps that observation to herself. she takes the brush with a little nod. ]

I'm really sorry, my lady. I didn't mean to.

[ please don't tell cat :c ]

[Lúthien knows, at least, that it isn't Morgoth approaching her now. His mind is so much harsher and he would have reached out to hers by now. Besides, he's already come for her once today, this can't be him. She turns quietly from where she's sitting, hands still shaking but she places them in her lap to calm herself.]

Thank you. I bade them grow during the last jump.

[He's not anyone she recognizes. That's not difficult though when she had spent much of her time hiding since she'd arrived. After a moment she rises and gives him a faint smile.]

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twenty-eighth jump;

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bless u for putting up with this mess.

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3.

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gardens!

u___u

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hello

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hayley || open

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