ataraxionlogs | twenty-eighth jump;

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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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I didn't eat before the jump. I should get something now.

[ a little pause. ]

I ought see to Engineering.

You don't even know, Elizabeth.

[ She'll be horrified once she learns of slang then, probably. ]

Then again, you're free to do what you think is best.

[ Katherine smiles back, eyes going again to the gown. ]

I say that sort of things sometimes, but I do like your company, Elizabeth. Forgive me if I sounded like I didn't.

I wouldn't put in the effort to pretend anything for you.

[It's sharp, matching his tone automatically, because Cora can never face harshness without giving some back. But the words are telling enough, even if she wouldn't argue it more directly than that.]

Did you break it?

[She didn't think he'd punched hard enough for that, but humans could be unexpectedly fragile sometimes.]

I have a feeling it will not take me long to find out.

[ and how casually cuss-words are slung about. yep. those are base, and vulgar. ]

Then I shall bide my time and see.

[ elizabeth's smile does not waver. ]

It is all right. You are kinder than my sister. I am glad that you do, Katherine. I happen to enjoy your company, as well.

[The harsh noise he makes this time is more a laugh than anything, but no less bitter.]

It's his murderer, yeah, with help from the secret-keeper, who I insisted on. And if time does stand still, if everything they say is true--and we don't know that--then it's true that we forget everything, when we go back.

Good old Nathan... [ he has no idea why she's looking at him like that, but lucky for her he also has no desire to discuss the bridge or his boyfriend's brother's actions there. ] Glad to see you made it out, luv.

[ and then there was this guy. this huge, looming... guy. yeah, no, spike got nothin'. ]

Partners, alright. Well, at least you're here together. [ or something. ]

[Blood.

The smell is a little muted, but only a little, like it's shut behind a very thin door. And that's not enough, to block it, or to mask it. Mitchell can smell it, sharp and coppery, room temperature--but his hunger makes it obvious, and more urgent than obvious. Even a little blood would smell like a feast right now.

He's on his way out, moving quickly--the usual routine, leave and hide himself somewhere, take an hour or two to get over the sharp hunger pangs each jump leaves him with--only the smell of blood stops him, dead, rearranges his posture from its usual slump to something sharper, something hungrier, as he looks around, trying to determine the source of that smell, trying to resist that instinct to look, to find it and feed--

There's a girl, there. There, and when he sees her, he zeroes in on her. In the same moment, he gets a prickle of something else. Blood, and werewolf. Fucking hell. Almost automatically, he moves forward, falling into step behind her as she heads for the lifts. A werewolf, is it werewolf blood that he's smelling, or is it something else?]

[The tension in Ianto's shoulders lessens when Tauriel lowers her bow.]

As much as anyone can own a wild, prehistoric flying lizard. But she's accustomed to people, and as you can see, she has ways of making her displeasure known without hurting anyone. I usually bring her some chocolate in my jacket pocket, but I ran out, so now she's taken the whole bloody jacket in recompense.

[Myfanwy, stolen jacket hung from the sharp arch of her wing, begins grooming herself.]

[If anyone is talking nonsense here it is not Blue!!!]

Blue.

Yours, boy?

[Said with that inflection of really???]

[She moves slowly, like he's a dog baring his teeth at her - her free hand going to his shoulders, carefully, and finally to his face. She strokes his face carefully, thumb over his cheekbone, and she grips his hand, tight, too.

Maybe this would be easier for him if he were a dog. But she doesn't think about it, she doesn't suggest it. She just keeps holding his hand as if he's a lifeline, or maybe as if she's his.]

[ her obvious anxiety unsettles him. his humanity has always felt a certain sympathy for those in distress, particularity women (it's the antiquated origins of his moral code at work, if he's honest with himself), so when his brow furrows with concern, it's genuine.

jokingly, mostly in an effort to put her at ease. ]

I wouldn't dare.

[ he offers his hand to shake, ever so polite. ]

I'm Elijah Mikaelson. Perhaps we can help each other — at the very least, I appreciate the company. [ said almost as a question, an unspoken but only if you do, too implicit. he has no desire to further unbalance her. ]

Very funny.

[ he's not amused at all as he rolls his eyes at her. it's fairly hypocritical of him to pissed off at her for leaving and coming back, that's for sure. damon didn't exactly have a long, sprawling list of people he voluntarily interacted with on the ship. of the hand full of them, one had his guts splattered across the ship and the other was MIA the second he returned.

so, she'll have to forgive him for being happy to see her. ]

I guess we both suck at escaping this place.

[ oh, she's witty. he appreciates that, too. ]

Are you implying that I would have trouble keeping up? [ he knows she isn't, but he likes a joke, given the proper opportunity. ] I'm more sprightly than you might think. [ especially given his age lbr. ]

Yeah.

[absolutely 0 regrets everyone should learn good slang.]

It's when something's broken, or ruined. [a beat. fairly:] And obviously not something you say in front of your mother. But maybe kids who raise wolves have mothers that are totally cool with 'tits' being thrown around in front of them, I wouldn't know.

[He's thinking it, even if she doesn't articulate it. And he'll suggest it, maybe, in a moment--or else just do it, shift and lose himself in simpler emotions. It would be far easier to deal with all of it if he did.

In a minute, maybe. Right now he grips tightly at her hand, staring past her, through her, a muscle working in his cheek.]

He's good. He's-- better than your music could get at. He's good, so much better than me, and he's gone back just to-- to fucking die. Because he's so good. It would be shit, to lose him, if I knew he was going back to something good, but I know what happens to him, to all of us, and there's nothing I can fucking do about it. Instead I'm here.

[He barks a laugh, once.]

And Snape. This bloody ship, it takes James and it gives me Snape instead. This-- total bastard, I can't fucking stand him, and it brings him instead. Who says this place doesn't have a sense of humour.

[Snape. Snape. It sounds familiar but she can't place it. A conversation with Remus, maybe? About someone named Snape.

(She cannot link them, Snape and someone named Severus who she met at the jump.)

So she reaches for hand with hers, squeezes, presses her forehead to his. There are words she could say except she can't, all she has to offer him is the neverending silence. Silence and a half-finished song for a boy she doesn't know.

But then she lets go.]

This place is horrible. But I'll give you whatever you need.

Edited 2014-02-13 18:20 (UTC)

When she exhales, it's with frustration over this. She doesn't really owe Tyler an explanation and she's not even sure why she was given this. If it's for a reason, she doesn't want Tyler to know - or question it - or take it away from her.

Rather than give him anything, she narrows her eyes at him, "Yeah, thanks for noticing that I have to keep track of two things that happen every twenty nine days." She's hoping that giving him the excuse of "female things" will ease him off of her until she figures out just what she has in this jar.

Edited (wrong word...) 2014-02-13 18:21 (UTC)

[ WELL THAT NARROWS IT DOWN but not much. Why is daggering so common with him, again? Is he really so easily fooled?

At least he's satisfied with that answer, for now. Stefan isn't openly hostile, which makes him an exception to the general mystic falls crowd. ]

If that's all I lack, then I'd consider myself well-off. [ HA HA. It is actually genuinely amusing every time someone (be they his brother or a salvatore or anyone, really) thinks they're rid of him at any given point. ] I trust your welcome has been warmer than my own. [ he's not bitter, just fishing. ]

[ It takes too long for Erik to come around to focus. He’s still nursing a concussion from the blow that blacked his eye just prior to the jump, unsteady in a sway at his shoulders when he stands up straight. Nathan is flying.

That explains -- a lot.

Thicker blood runs at a stop and start from the base of his nose while he struggles to force his lungs open all the way. They’re tangled like parachutes, catching only so much air despite the way he’s gasping. A scrape at his knee has set to bleeding as well -- the water around him is mottled off-color by the runoff.

One look at Petrelli’s form keeps him from raising his fists in mirror. He scoffs instead.

The effect is somewhat lessened by the bruising, the blood gumming his beard, the trouble he’s having balancing.

So it goes. ]

Provided, [ he says, with only so much space for words between breaths, ] that the next time you have a death wish, [ his grimace peels into a grin: ] you leave it to me.

Edited 2014-02-13 18:40 (UTC)

[ There’s an inebriate sluggishness to Erik’s tracking of blurred motion -- by the time he’s realized he’s contending with another mutant, the younger man is already back up in his face. Shouting about his sister.

Is this what fame is like?

He’s still set back against his locker where Pietro put him, rumpled, bloody-nosed and short of breath. Not so short that he can’t use it to chuckle, once he’s had a moment to regain his woozy bearings. This is probably exactly what he looked like a few jumps back.

I don’t know what you’re talking about, is the obvious answer. ]

Airlock, [ is what he says instead, all elegant enunciation and clean, sensible stops at the consonants. ] I put her out the airlock.

If we go back under the current circumstances. Which we might not. If we figure something out -

[Did he break the locker, is what he first thinks, ha ha very funny, and he snorts, insulted--but then realises that she probably means his hand, and he stares down at it, tentatively curling the fingers.]

No. Just-- [The pain of it is setting in now; he scowls.] Fucked it up. It's fine. It doesn't matter. Least of my bloody worries.

[He grips at her hand still harder, even though he knows it's got to hurt--or else it's going to start hurting--and he shuts his eyes and he grits his teeth and presses his forehead against hers, hard, right up until she pulls away. Even then, he doesn't look up straight away, not even when he hears her writing--

And when he does, he smiles, small, miserable.]

I know.

[Maybe ten minutes before, he would have snarled at her, dismissed that. Maybe later he still will. His emotions feel fucking mercurial right now, unpredictable, shifting from place to place. But he grabs for her hand again, letting that steady him. Trying to make it steady him, or let it.]

Thanks.

We won't!

[He shoves back as he snarls that out. He shoves away from Edgeworth and gets to his feet, quickly--too quickly, his hand aching--dizzy from all of this, from shifting so quickly from emotion to emotion--but he has to stand, he's too caged-in while sitting--]

We won't, we keep saying that, but-- there's nothing to figure out, there's-- fucking hell, just stop. I don't want to talk about this anymore. I don't want to think about any of it, I just want--

[Well, for James to be back. But that's impossible. He sucks in a breath, staring fixedly at the floor, and he doesn't finish that sentence.]

[His grip is a little too tight, it does hurt a bit, but she doesn't say anything, doesn't let it show on her face. Instead she presses her mouth to his forehead and moves so his head is on her shoulder, so she's hugging him, so he doesn't have to look at her or think about anything but the feeling of being held, if that's what he wants.]

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twenty-eighth jump;

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devours all of them

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on the way out - & sorry this is late!!! :c also tell me if werewolf sensing is not ok & i will edit

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ilu!!

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ilu anyway!!

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devours you!

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