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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[ He raises a brow just slightly, a twitch of motion. ]

Hiding from someone?

Tara!

[ though she runs up, arya stops a little distance away. she sounds a little out of breath. her eyes fall on tara's hand, but she says nothing. ]

I was looking for you.

AM is treating this affair too casually, it seems. He knows Melkor is a threat, but he figures it best to act casual and detached to not attract his ire, and to keep his plans inside his head. He has wrongly assumed that Melkor is smarter than he appears, at least so far, because he is significantly different from most of the other people he has encountered. And Melkor strikes him as far too similar to himself, invading personal space, wiping soap off his brow. All are things AM would do to those under his grasp, but when the positions are reversed, it's humiliating. He doesn't want people to touch him without permission. Why should they look down upon him when he is so clearly superior?

He visibly flinches at the touch, though he says nothing, knowing that vocalizing his distaste would simply earn more of it (that is, if Melkor is indeed anything like himself). "Why do you ask me? I'm sure your dear servant has filled you in on all the goings-on of this Ship's past."

Of course it's obvious why Melkor would ask him. And if the "dear servant" told Melkor about AM's memories, then it would be plainly obvious why.

But he still plays it cool, testing the limits and knowledge of the man before him. It's obvious that there is a distinct tension between them that has been there since the moment they met.

As the water washes away the shampoo from his hair, it flows long down his back; and he rapidly turns his head, whipping his long hair and splashing the water onto the other.

"Indeed, a vital concern." Smelling of pickles. Yes. What? You're weird, Claire. Severus considers the logic behind that (the sitting still thing, not the pickles thing) and he understands it. He's doing something similar with reading the entire two-year backlog linked through the network's information directory, but less physically so. Soon enough he'll be out poking everything hands-on, matching idea to reality.

That is, if he doesn't wake up back in his quarters at the school. Though he feels intuitively that's just wishful thinking.

Maybe it's his time to offer pointless advice, so: "Don't fall out an airlock."

[Gold will never be taken to lingering in the medbay after the jumps, but recent circumstances have added some imperative to at least taking a quick walk around. Events immediately preceding the jump had made it all the more clear how dangerous and surprising things on the ship could turn, only strengthening his resolve to keep Belle safe until he found a way to have them returned home.

He's only looped back to the gravcouches after failing to find Belle around the lockers, holding it firmly in mind that the pods were released in waves, and of course she could still be in the showers. No need for concern.

Which is all quite neatly derailed when he comes across Emma sitting in a pool of stasis fluid, drenched and dishevelled but, most importantly, unexpectedly alive.]

I see your quest didn't end as terribly as it could have done, then.

[Most of the immediate surprise already schooled away from his expression, coming to stop in front of her, resting both hands on the top of his cane.]

(yes.) Not really? (or so he hoped. he breathed out a short sigh, looking away from chief. he watched nearby groups of strangers as they lingered or brushed past instead- maybe he was lying, maybe he was trying to deflect further questions, maybe he was getting a crick in his neck. hard to tell with him.)

I guess I don't like crowds.

If I could I'd bring you the truth, the whole of it.

[ and perhaps it is dangerous, even if they are only the two of them here, for Lucrezia to comb her fingers through his hair and say this; she is a woman who would be married and she knows the dangers of people talking - she knows well Cesare would bring her the tongues of those who would speak against her too but that is unthinkable, isn't it? It must be and she banishes it from her mind because this isn't Rome and here the game is much more subtle and Lucrezia cannot command the world to bow to her will. ]

[ were she asked, elizabeth would admit that it is a mixture of both; this woman does appear noble indeed to her eyes, but she has also been raised to be courteous.

she is surprised at the chiding she receives, but offers the woman a smile, instead. any woman who can fashion weapons and fight is one she will admire and envy in equal measure. ]

We are well-met, then, Tauriel. My name is Elizabeth.

[ there are some birds singing in the distance. she closes her eyes for a minute, and then shifts slightly to sit a bit nearer to the elf. ]

It confounds me how long many of you have been here. There must be some hope of escape, or of locating an exit.

[ she braces her hands on either side of her, brushing her fingers along the blades of grass. ]

I have so many questions and I do not which to be a bother. But this.. experience, of awakening like that. Does that only occur upon our initial arrival, or..

[ elizabeth can't finish the sentence, because tight, closed-in spaces are terrible. ]

[He doesn't fight it off. Which speaks to where he is, really, because usually--any other day--Sirius might fight this off, or else twist away, make some joke--and he feels that urge, a little, like a crawling feeling under his skin, something that takes him back to being a first year, all prickly and angry and unused to this.

But he still doesn't shrug away. Nor does he shift into it, or lean his weight against Edgeworth--but he doesn't lean away, either, just sits, stiffly, uselessly, his hands at his sides, staring furiously over Edgeworth's shoulder.]

It's going to be all right.

[He's rotten at comfort, awkward and clumsy; he hugs too long, doesn't know what to say or do with his hands, doesn't read cues well. And, God, he's always so afraid in moments like this, that he'll overstep some boundary or do something wrong and wreck his friendship. So there's a measure of fear in it, doing that and saying that, but -

He's got to. The worst thing to do would be to back away like a coward. So even though his hug is awkward, and his words are meaningless, he has to try.]

I'm sorry. It's awful. But it will be all right.

[It doesn't matter what she thought of the mutiny; what matters is that Nathan Petrelli and his team needed an extraction, and she'd been as powerless as anyone else to get that done. That's bound to play on her mind, even though she knows by now that the outcome wasn't fatal. Security's orders to clear the area, two hours before the jump, didn't absolve her sense of personal responsibility, because orders never do.

At the lockers, she changes into her gym clothes, which means she's not much less cold than she was in a towel. It isn't enough coverage for the temperature, but she's expecting to make good time to someplace warmer.

Ward, outfitted in tac gear and combat-ready, is an unexpected sight enroute to the lift. His posture is closed and unrevealing, but she's assuming alertness, looking for those subtle physical indicators. She thinks better of using his name. She falls into step beside him and relies on his awareness of his surroundings to do the rest.]

Can't say I'm glad to see you.

[For all that she believes he'll increase their chances of resolving this situation—taking control of the ship, or otherwise getting everyone back where they belong—she doesn't want this for him. She wouldn't underestimate him as an asset, but neither of them were trained for this. Judging from what she's seen and heard since the last jump, her arrival, she wouldn't wish this ship on anyone.

It's largely because of Ward that she hasn't been concerned about the rest of the team. She knew he'd take care of them, no matter how long she was gone. Knowing that both of them are here now, there's a part of her that just got a lot more concerned about the vacancies left on the Bus.

She doesn't ask if he's okay, if the disorientation is subsiding, but she gives him that kind of look: support, should he need it, rounded out by her awareness that he probably won't. She doesn't expect him to lean on anyone more than he has to, herself included. That's not how either of them operate. In completely foreign situations, most field agents would withdraw from help, or even try to offer it, before searching it out.]

[Huh. Well, this is a lot. Luke's not even looking at her anymore. His emotions are still hard to read and he might even appear upset or verging on angry if someone didn't know just how the fall of the Empire might affect him.

Heck, he still wants to be angry at Charlie but he just can't maintain that anger. She just gave him the best news he's heard in these past three months. Actually, probably in his whole life.

The Empire will fall.

Finally he looks at her again, the smile that's slowly forming on his face looking maybe a bit crazed. This is really good news and okay, forgive him if he just experienced nearly every emotion imaginable within the past three minutes and forgot how to look genuinely happy and not going-to-do-something-scary-or-unexpected-any-second-now happy.

He closes his eyes and actually lets out a relieved laugh.]

That's really good to know. Really good.

[ chris catches all of those shifts in her expression, but all near death experiences considered, he can't say they're surprising. but he gets her attempt at humor, follows through with his own dryly relayed commentary on the situation. ]

Good, I was hoping to get that gun back. [ a beat, before he adds. ] I'm Chris. I work with Jax in Gunnery.

I'm not my brother. [ which is fortunate. if she had said anything resembling a threat (a whisper of consequences) to niklaus or kol, perhaps even rebekah, they would rise to the occasion. as for elijah, well, he can respect her protection of elena, but that's the extent of it: a passing regard. ]

Understood. [ if there's a hint of amusement in his voice, it's because he's the arrogant one, after all. 'the rules are different here,' please. ] And if you ever are so unfortunate as to meet my family again, I ask that you avoid an encounter like this. If you were to address them as you have me, they would take your words as no less than a challenge and seek to harm both you and Elena, if not everyone you hold dear. That is a fact, not a threat. [ now, he's offering advice, not a deal. ] Come to me, first, and I will ascertain that they are no threat to you.

[ dear, he has forgotten something. ] Oh, but on the subject of threats: [ a beat. then, icily. ] anyone who harms my family will die by my hand.

Good day, Jenna. [ with a slight inclination of his head, almost a bow, he flashes away. ]

[ a s s h o l e ]

[ He laughs again at that image. It feels nice to be able to laugh and not feel like all the yes on you are accusing you of being off your rocker. It's freeing.

God, but he's glad to be alive. ]

Even though I told you to get to the Jump. I'm guessing that message didn't get through, huh? [ And he touched his index finger to his nose. It can be their secret that he's letting her off. ] Next time, though, huh, you get there with plenty of time to spare. Comms can do without me, it'd crash and burn without bright minds like you.

I fear I cannot help in that. We have all been taken from several stops and yet this ship does not seem to carry us to either of them.

[ she's beginning to think she doesn't want to know where the ship is taking them at all; if indeed it's taking them anywhere. She nods at his question and, because she is accustomed, curtsies. ]

Morgana, of Camelot.

[After collecting his own possessions from his locker, Luke heads for the lift while toweling off his hair. Along the way he can't help but overhear the name 'Solo' and he recognizes the young woman standing by her locker but can't remember her name.

He only met her briefly a few months ago and it was an awkward meeting to say the least. Wasn't she the one who claimed to be Han's daughter? Of course after all the crazy things Luke's heard since then, that's probably the least crazy and he feels badly about how he responded back then.

Alright, alright. It's time to fix this. If she really is Han's future daughter then she's Luke's family too. Although he still has no idea just how true or literal that is.]

Hey, uh, good to see you're still around.

[Even though the last time they spoke he basically called her a liar. Luke makes such good impressions.]

[ her heart feels like it might leap into her throat and out of her mouth, panic dissipating only to return. she's gathered what she can from eavesdropping (as well as one can under duress) — a spaceship, reunions and talk of mutiny — but it's the promise of seclusion in the gardens that she hones in on for now.

she needs to change, to run, and the longer she lingers, the more stressed she becomes. losing control due to trepidation isn't an option — not here, not now, not in front of humans, and she pads barefoot as quickly as she can through the halls, shoes in hand.

but arriving there without a distraction doesn't seem to be in the cards when elijah approaches, seemingly far more composed than she could ever feel in this situation. she makes an attempt to swallow her stress and weariness, pressing her back against the nearest wall to ground herself as she shifts her head to watch him.

the attempt at small, polite smile isn't a very good one, but she tried. ]

You have the wrong woman, sorry. I'm just as newly misplaced as you are.

[ she pauses, eyeing him for just a brief moment before her tone turns to vague, wry amusement. ]

I can try to help, but don't hold it against me if I disappoint you.

[He gives something of a smile at that--sad and quiet and not at all happy. Because she would. She's beautiful and clever and dangerous, in her way--he knows, even if he doesn't often think of it, because they're always smiling when they're together, and she is never anything but sweet to him. A little sad, sometimes, but he can always coax a smile out of her--a better smile than the one he gives her now.]

I know.

[It means something to even have the offer, even if she can't. And he wouldn't ask it of her if she could. The price would be too steep, he's certain of that, at least--but instead of saying that, he reaches for her hand. And it's stupid, but the next word comes out too thick, and he can't correct it once it's been said--]

Thanks.

[There's a moment when Nill thinks to struggle. She knows that the person reaching for her isn't Heine, and he's the only one she wants.

But then she snaps back to reality. Someone is trying to help her, and she can't push them away. That isn't how things work on this ship. So she focuses her gaze on the woman and nods, legs shaking as she finally straightens. Her heart is still pounding, she still needs to find Heine. But she can't ignore someone's offer of help.

One of her hands rests on the nearby pod as the other grips Heather's arm. She tries, briefly, to even out her breathing. At least she doesn't have to explain that she's mute; that fact has gone around the ship pretty quickly. It's a mixed blessing. She releases the pod for a moment to give a thumbs up--she's fine, really. Just terrified down to her soul for the one person she counts on and who counts on her.]

[ does it snarl simply because he approaches or because of what he is? he has to wonder, though it doesn't particularly matter. he almost laughs when she shoves nymeria into the water. it's the action of a child, and he hardly interacts with children these days.

with a smile, he hands the brush over, returning his hands to his pockets. ]

Not a problem at all. My sincerest apologies if I've upset your — [ not dog, no. ] — wolf.

[He squints, and leans forward a little--and then his face kind of collapses into a well-doesn't-this-just-fucking-figure look, and he leans back.]

Yeah. I knew it. I fucking knew it. [if only he'd staked money on her being a kid! and a girl. jeez. what is dignity.] You argue pretty well, for a kid. Or maybe because you're a kid.

...Not that we were any great competition at the time. [self-deprecating and honest.]

Think nothing of it; we were all in your place once. [And it's overwhelming for everyone. Even Galadriel had lost her composure, somewhat. It's the nature of the beast.]

I hate this.

[He grates it out, roughly, and he has to shut his eyes for that moment, at least, though he still doesn't grip back at Edgeworth or move his hands or anything.]

I fucking hate this place, I want--

[He can't finish that sentence, doesn't know how, and his shoulders raise sharply even though he's in Edgeworth's grip--not to shrug away, just defencive.]

Neverland? [He echoes the name back, and though it's slight, it's difficult to miss the sound of recognition in the wolf's voice.

Well. How to-- get around to this.]

And what's your name?

[DOES IT HAVE THE WORD HOOK IN IT]

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twenty-eighth jump;

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( PODS )

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( post-lockers )

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wow what an embarrassing typo. chris didn't mean to slam into your wife, jax my b

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[lockers]

slides in here belatedly shhh also halls!

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of course!

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