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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[And for once in his life, Edgeworth actually expresses himself. He drops his hand from his eyes and he bites out, miserable and happy and frightened and just overwhelmed - ]

Be quiet, you ass -

[And he reaches out to shove Marty, hard.]

Do not be facetious about this.

[And Edgeworth - Edgeworth looks at him a moment, and then sinks down to sit on his heels. Then he lowers himself down further, to sitting. He hesitates a moment, but -

It's easier to do now than it was before; after all, this was what he did when Remus left. He reaches out, and he pulls Sirius into a rough, fierce hug, holding him tightly, trying to give him some bracing comfort.]

[ It's not that he doesn't know where he's going or where he should go. There is so much he needs to sort through, so much he has to figure out. Being surrounded by all of these people in their various states of distress does him little good, and still covered in the cool gel of the stasis chamber as well as Sam's blood, it has him wandering. An aimless objective, stopping at his own locker to stand in front of it and stare at the numbers.

He reads them, knows them. He doesn't bother to open it.

Before, he could have easily remedied the situation of clothes with a thought, but he has to reserve what strength he has left. His grace is still trapped and lost, intangibly woven into him but inaccessible for the most part. He'd barely been able to heal Sam, after all. Castiel frowns, looking down at his hands and flexing his fingers once, twice. He's getting stuck in this body, and it's frustrating. It's lonely.

Someone's voice pulls him from those thoughts, however, and he turns to look, locating her rather quickly. His expression is neutral as he approaches her, thinking nothing of his appearance and what alarm it might cause. ]

That won't be helpful to you here. [ In other words: hello. ]

She works with me.

[ She's my AI.

She lives in my head, usually.

She lives in my suit.

It's a little surreal. He trails off for a beat before raising a brow at Cortana. Television? Poetry? It takes all his strength to keep from saying "You've been busy" if only because he'll remember the Dawn, and he'd rather leave that in charred and smoking remains. ]

We're partners.

I suppose that replacing the broken DVD with a new one was difficult? [ She's amused by the whole thing. Hence the teasing lilt to her tone when she speaks. ] Can't say for certain if it does happen or not. I think it would depend on the situation, you know? It would appear that you lead an interesting life back home. [ Or strange. Bela hasn't decided yet.] My name is Bela by the way. And you?

[ it's only his second jump, but peeta already has a routine: wake up, get dressed, check in with the others. he doesn't even get to the second part before he sees her.

he's wearing a towel around his waist, fresh out of the showers, and he grabs a second from the floor nearby — probably not clean, but who cares — as he approaches her, and he doesn't even need to ask where she was before she got here. the hair and her condition is enough to make an educated guess.

instead he just crouches down beside her and starts wiping the blue liquid away, gestures efficient but unhurried. given the way she's shaking, it seems more important to get her dry than to simply offer up the towel and let her do it herself, but his grip on the towel's light if she decides to take it from him. there's a slight pause while he considers his words, then: ]

We aren't in the Capitol. [ he's roughly 90% sure of that at this point. doesn't mean they're safe, but it's a start. ]

[The elf ran her fingers her her own one more time before letting her sleeve fall back over it. As much as she loathed it (and she did), there was nothing she could do about it short of maiming herself. And that wasn't an option.]

Well met, Frodo Baggins. I am Lúthien.

[She would say welcome but who really wanted to hear that after waking on a strange ship and branded?]

Come, you may join me among the flowers. They will not mind. Already many have walked among them.

Around that time it got very tiresome. But the new arrivals were hardly to blame. Arya gave a little shrug.

"You're welcome."

She slung an arm around Nymeria's back to head for the showers.

[ Chief is always listening. It's a blessing and a curse. The steady sound of bare feet against the floor, no real pattern to them: here someone is shuffling, there someone is running, another person is maybe stomping. More importantly, however, someone is... following him. And It's a little closer than he'd like (a few feet is close enough--you can bridge the gap between a few feet in seconds). He bides his time a bit before quietly letting the pace of the crowd get ahead of him, moving back just a bit before glancing at the stranger. ]

I make for inefficient cover. I hope you know that.

No-- yeah, I got that, thanks. I mean, you recognised me, so am I supposed to recognise you. Or are you just a spy?

[It's more teasing than anything--even if he's got lots of paranoia, and a healthy respect for kids being more than they seem--but whatever, still teasing.]

[ she pulls her sleeve back and holds up her arm: OPR » 017 » 084.

not only were they arguing with a kid, it also happened to be a girl. ]

[ Routine, he supposes, is meant to be comforting, but he finds nothing comfortable about this. Covered in blood, in the remnants of the statis chamber, it soaks into his clothes and makes him feel oddly cold. Castiel accepts it with as much compliance as he's able, features blank as he wanders past the lockers and toward the lifts. He might seek out Dean later, but now isn't appropriate. He knows that. He wonders if Seraphim would see him--

He's waited and listened, watched people do as they always do in the presence of confusion and loss. The mutiny hadn't held any particular interest to him, though he'd had to do what he could considering his newly acquired position in this ship's security detail. Beyond that, what else is there to do?

So, for once, he's not particularly aware of what's around him when he bumps directly into someone. Castiel doesn't apologize. He merely looks up and meets a familiar face with an expression that reads a little bit lost. ]

'My loss'.

[ part of her wants to force the issue ( it wasn't my loss, klaus didn't cause trouble stop hiding behind making everything sound cleaner than it was— than it is ) but after a long moment she sighs, raking a hand through her hair and lifting a shoulder in a helpless shrug. ]

Fine. [ she pauses, tapping a fingertip against her forearm. ] You should know that the rules here are different than at home. Klaus found that out the hard way. [ the image of godric showing klaus exactly what being weaker than someone means is a treasured memory, despite the way it all ended. it's enough to steel her spine, remind her exactly what she needs to do. ] This isn't a threat, but if anything ever happens to Elena again because of your family? I'm not going to understand that, or let it go.

[ which is exactly the kind of thing that encouraged klaus to see if a little extracurricular torture wouldn't improve the situation, but protecting elena takes precedence over self-preservation around originals. ]

[At first, Charlie doesn't even bother to look up at the voice. She's far too busy triple checking her tablet to make absolutely certain it doesn't have any scratches or dings on it. It isn't until she presses the power button - holding her breath that the upgrades she's made have, in fact, increased the battery life as much as she's hoping - that she finally glances up and over at the person speaking to her.

And immediately surges to her feet, her beloved device very nearly forgotten in her grasp.]

You're covered in blood. Did you know you were covered in blood? [She pauses.] Wait. Of course you knew you were covered in blood. Nobody just walks around, covered in blood, and doesn't know it. [Her eyes grow even wider than they already are.] Are you hurt? [Another pause and this time she seems to really consider the situation. Or, more importantly, their location. Suddenly nervous, she swallows. Hard.] Or a serial killer? Because I swear, if the answer is that last one, I totes didn't see anything and [Her voice gets small and slightly pleading.] please don't kill me? It kinda sucked the first time and I'm not all that jazzed at going through it again.

[And now she finally stops. For now.]

[Oh. Oh crap. Yeah, she totally didn't realize that he's from before that particular event in his reality yet. Great. Just great. First she horrifies him with a tattoo of his half-naked sister that he's probably only just stopped crushing on himself and now she's given him one of the biggest spoilers of his life.

Well, at least she didn't mention the whole Vader being his father thing. Technically she supposes that would've been worse.

Maybe.

But okay. She can salvage a bit of this conversation, despite her foot-in-mouth syndrome. Really, she can. She even manages a small, hopeful smile for precisely that reason.]

Um, yeah. I kinda did. [She turns the smile up a notch, just to be on the safe side.] Surprise?

(s h i t. of course he'd be discovered, he should have known better. still, it was nice while it lasted. now just play it cool, isaac...

initially he'd shrunk back a short ways, but he stood what little ground he had left, giving himself a brief dizzy spell by looking up- and shrugged.) Don't be so hard on yourself, you're doing fine.

Cas? [ his eyes widen a little as his arms go out to the angel's shoulder, it's not his blood. but it is human. that's cause enough for alarm. ]

What happened?

Elizabeth appears equally as startled. She was given a rare and broad sort of education in her father's court. The geography of the Known World had been part of it.

And nowhere on her father's maps had there ever been a place called 'Middle-Earth'.

"We are an island across the sea from the coast of France. there are two other countries upon our isle, Wales and Scotland. Ireland is yet another island, to our west. But surely.."

Surely he knows of it, right? But he does not seem to. The blank stare is both telling, and alarming. Elizabeth sucks in a breath to calm herself and keep the rising panic at bay. Just where are they, if they are both here, but have never heard of where each other hails from?

She smiles reassuringly, but she feels the muscles drawn tight in her face with the effort of maintaining it. She is terrified.

"Well, no matter. We shall find out where we are soon, God willing. And our dear ones before that."

Elizabeth can only hope.

What-- what did you. Did you say witch's tit. Why do people speak to him. Why do people speak.

Severus turns his head - grudgingly, slowly - to look over at this new intruder with a glare preloaded. "What expert advice, thank you," he says, sounding the furthest from thankful as anyone possibly can. "Do you have any more unsolicited interruptions you'd like to get overwith before I can carry on?"

Eventually, it will occur to Severus that he can barter for cigarettes since he didn't arrive with any (protip, children: unless you want to get made fun by some dork in glasses for seven books straight over how your teeth look, don't smoke), but for now he's just about used up all his patience for rubberneckers in the lockers, and it's beyond him. It might be prudent to offer to offer to light one of those for him in exchange for a coffin nail. But no, he's going to be a jerk instead.

But we have not even tried to. [ something she feels is a fair point. even back home, richard had never been given so much as a chance to make things right.

to pave the wave for the coronation of her brother. something she wonders now if he had ever intended to do. but that might have been a possibility. one which had been tossed to the wind and scattered.

she has already helped her mother curse someone's entire line. that, to her, is enough. her eyes are swollen and puffy, but glint with determination of her own. ]

Yes, they are. And you and I have already cursed the entire male line of whoever is responsible. That is revenge enough, and I shall do no more.

I would petition the Pope. And have my Uncle removed from the throne peacefully.

[ no more magic. she is putting her foot down, because her conscience won't be able to take any more death on her hands. it was justified, what they had done. but it does not make her feel good. ]

Yes. Suddenly I find myself fatigued anew. I would sleep, and hope to wake to a world which makes more sense.

[ he's still flicking through it, but he's not really absorbing anything, nor does he appear to mean it harm. ]

More like bloody required. Give it a week, mate. You'll be scrounging for real booze with the rest of it.

--And I know it was a Matrix reference. For the record, you don't look a thing like Keanu.

Severus doesn't actually have robes on, he's slumming it in more practical-for-space-kidnap trousers and a shirt. His teaching robes are folded up with the jumpsuit, though the neat pile he'd had is sort of an awkward lump under his arm now, having been dropped and kicked around during the altercation. He looks down at the dogs and neither cringes away nor reaches a hand out; his lack of more distinct reaction is courtesy of the ringing his head's still doing after Sirius knocked it around. He's fixed his busted up nose and lip already, but there's still blood on the front of his shirt - without any visible damage on his face its presence is inexplicable.

"So long as no one is expected to pretend otherwise, my sanity may yet hold." Not even a possible concussion can keep Severus from making sarcastically disparaging comments about things. He thinks there's a bit of drool on his trouser cuff, and sighs internally.

[Weeks. For a second, her mind refuses to comprehend the word. She frowns darkly at the thought of something keeping her away from everyone, from everything. One of her hands clenches into a fist at the realization that she doesn't even remember where she's been.

Forcing herself to keep breathing, focusing on keeping it as evenly as possible, it's several seconds before she works through her frustration and trusts herself to speak again. When she does, her words are clipped but it's obvious she's struggling not to take her irritation out on the man in front of her.]

Right. Got it. [She hates this ship. Hates it. Somewhere, deep inside of her, the darkness she keeps carefully tucked away snarls at the ship's impudence. She quickly clamps back down on it and exhales once, aiming for a far more neutral tone than what she's feeling. It still comes out much more businesslike than anything else though.]

So what did I miss?

[It's a strangely comforting gesture, that press of fingers into his hand. More demonstrative people might give a hug, or a grip to the shoulder; that's Sirius' way of operating, for example, and Edgeworth has taken to imitating such gestures of comfort. But Graham keeps himself apart - does not, by his nature, initiate contact - and so that single deliberate gesture, that firm contact, is - comforting.

And so Edgeworth nods in response. And he offers a small, tentative, sad little smile to the man; it's an awkward expression, one he's not used to making, but it's also genuine. And he gives another nod, another little thank you.]

It wasn't a name he knew off the top of his head. Perhaps AM had encountered the name in literature, but he certainly couldn't remember if that was the case. AM had met Bilbo several months ago, but it had been long enough where that man faded from memory, so no such connection was made. The only thing that struck in similarity was their heights. But there were others on the ship of similar stature.

"Frodo. Ah, I thought I had seen you somewhere, but I suppose not." His light smile faded back to his neutral demeanor. "But it's a pleasure then." Not really.

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twenty-eighth jump;

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lockers;

woops sorry i'm late

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ROLLS IN LATE, a!

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closed to spike;

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lockers;

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c:

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Lockers

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