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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A brother, too. He was with me. [ A pause from him, and then he shakes his head abruptly. ] Neal Caffrey warned me that it might happen, but I didn't believe him. She lost her memories, during the jump. All the progress I'd been making with her. There was a rift between us, and we'd been mending it, but she doesn't remember it now.

[ And so it's only an element of a loss. She's still there, but she's also gone. Taken. He looks back up at Tauriel.]

I wished to take the Bridge for a great many reasons, but getting her home was one of them. My brother, too. He's got a future he has to fight for, and he can't do it here.

[ almost breezily, with a reassuring smile. ]

As I said, you'll find me more sprightly than expected.

That's why I have to see.

[ because dutyyyyyy ]

A pleasure, I'm sure. [ the familiar name is amusing enough on its own, without her curious behavior. elena michaels. if it had been elena michaelson, he'd have laughed out loud for once. instead, he follows suit with an amused smile. ]

Or perhaps not. [ because he doesn't know her yet, right? ]

[ he feigns pensivity, including his uncertain tone. ] To the lifts, I believe.

Edited (SUBJECT LINES!! the struggle is real) 2014-02-17 01:10 (UTC)

"You've been kidnapped, all of us have. Stolen out of time."

And he hopes that it makes sense, because it's a lambasting explanation and yet it should--it should bare some resemblance to possibility. She knew about Hiro and Peter, about how powers could manipulate time, and if she could just pause long enough to accept that as a possibility, then being on a spaceship, and possibly having her father returned to her from the dead, might reach her as some sort of possibility. As something that wasn't so far beyond ludicrous that she would rebel away from it on instinct and with Petrelli stubbornness refuse to let any other explanations in.

She was his flesh and blood, after all, he knew where that side came from.

"Claire," he murmurs it softly, and his expression now had twisted to one of sorrow rather than fear, with a grim sort of hope painted there--all that he could manage.

"The whole answer is going to be a lot to take in at once, but I promise you that I'm real, even if this place might not be."

[ her lips quirk up faintly, a softer expression than her previous amused grin. ]

You'll just have to wait and find out.

[ after all, mutts that existed out of the pack had never been too fond of her, viewing her as a threat due to her connections — or a possession due to her status. human interaction had always been easy, in its own way, if not strained by social conventions — but elijah hardly seems perturbed by her behavior if his reactions are anything to go by, and so she falls easily into amicability. if it had been otherwise, she wouldn't be inviting him to gauge whether her company is to be appreciated.

she's already well aware of where to go from the snippets of conversations she'd locked onto, but she plays along well, nodding in acknowledgement as she saunters toward the lifts. ]

I'd say the pleasure's all mine, but — [ she doesn't know him, not yet, and she shrugs a shoulder to indicate as much. ] Is knowing you a pleasure?

[ it's as joking and conversational as it is curious, studying his expression from the corner of her eye; one can easily judge another by how they regard themselves. ]

[ He listens to her, quiet, and lets the words sink in for a moment as though he's appreciating the apology for what it is. When he answers her, he squeezes her hands slightly. ]

You have nothing to apologize for. All of us respond to that sort of...madness in different ways, and some of us have the advantage of having been put through all of it before. You mustn't make the mistake of thinking it's over, just because we made it through to the Jump.

If I gave you the number of a friend of mine, would you speak to her?

You are parted from your own husband as well? I am so sorry.

[Elizabeth does feel a little less alone knowing she's not the only woman in such a position.]

There is nothing to forgive, it is a pleasure to meet you Galadriel. [Elizabeth gives her a warm, kind smile as she nods her head in greeting in return.] I am Elizabeth.

[Call her a detective, of sorts. If she touches him, she might know more, but she'll be slightly distant for now.]

That's terrible. I'm very sorry to hear that; hopefully you haven't left anything too important.

[He's near enough to see her now, but naturally there's people about and he's not exactly tall. She can probably see him, hopefully.]

I haven't a clue, but what do you mean you can't sense anything?

When I tried to figure out where we were, what the nature of the object I just emerged from was, there was nothing. A complete blank.

[She immediately feels comforted when she sees him, and makes for him with a bit of haste.]

I know it's not over, but I...

[She pauses, thinking. She worried people, hurt people, troubled them, and she doesn't want to do it again. How does she fight when she can't keep those she loves safe? Nevermind that bit. A sigh.]

Of course. About what?

[A very highly skilled detective. Leaving behind things that are important... Scout groans loudly and lets his head flop onto his folded arms with a grunt. Depending on how much she can pick up (and I have no idea, being totally canon blind 8|), she might be able to pick up that he's distraught, or even the reason behind it.]

Yeah, I hope not.

I don't wanna talk about it. [Liar.

He can hear someone pass by them and turns his head to look at them--nope, nobody he cares about.]

( the fact Ilde would generally question his intellect right alongside his social skills is what makes this generous. )

That or you've been living under some form of rock for a very long time, but in that case I'd feel much less confident in you putting yourself in charge of anything.

( reasonings. )

That's the strangest thing in this entire situation?

[please prioritize your incredulous. thank you.]

[ There’s a glassy vacancy to Erik’s stare. Focused, but not on any of his fellow passengers filtering in from the showers.

Slowly, then, he turns to zero in upon Charles next to him. Blood from his nose has gummed into his beard, cool black against the pallor of his skin. And his regard.

There isn’t much for him to feel. Anger and fear have collapsed into an amorphous malaise that targets nothing and encompasses everything, choking ash charged from within. Tongues of lightning throw strange shadows through festering obscurity.

No one is dead. Charles, specifically, is alive.

He keeps going back to that, checking it dim and dumb against the last seven days. ]

I would have stopped you, [ he says, delivery plain despite the catch in his throat. Cold blood shivers at his chin in a drip that won't drip; he blinks unevenly. ]

Obviously.

[ He is concussed. That could be part of the problem. ]

It's a euphemism for would you like to climb a tree, Veronica.

[SQUINT.]

So what happens if I decide to move?

[ She's joking. A little. ]

In all honesty she would actually probably be way more interested in meeting and talking to a space vampire if he hadn't led with the fact that Peter was here. Knowing that there's a certain level of stability, something grounding in this outright impossibility, gives her cause to strive toward it. Not to mention her means of arrival have left her wanting to speak with him more than ever. Knowing that Peter has been here, though, when apparently she has also been here even though she doesn't remember it and is pretty sure she would remember something like this -

If her head could hurt, it would be throbbing by now.

Worrying Peter and everyone else is something that she's used to, however. The rate at which she throws herself into the fray and her ability to repair her own skin and bones notwithstanding, everyone has always wasted too much time worrying about her. "Do you know where I can find him?" she asks, looking up into this strange person's face and wishing that she could summon some amount of consideration that wasn't solely based on feeling guilty that she has no working memory of him. Claire knows what that's like, being faced with a gap in someone else's memory that you can't explain or do anything about.

It's falling apart, for one. Various departments barely have the tools needed to keep it up and running. We have physical libraries for data because there's so much of it, yet no way to synthesize it. Our AI is Rampant, yet there's no protocol to see that he's repaired.

[she doesn't say disposed of, she doesn't say kill; smiley is a person too. he might have trapped them here, but he can't control himself. she likes to think the best of her fellow AIs.] Really, do I need to go on? [because she can.]

The worst part is? Repairs are illogical because the ship changes at any given moment.

A rather subjective question, is it not? [Said half over her shoulder, before she fully turns to look at him.]

[Annnnnd just a shrug.]

"Uh." Spike blinked a few times, lost in his own thoughts, before coming back around to the fact he'd been asked a question. "Usually medbay. Or the room. You should know this, we live on 21st floor, room 17." Which is the same number printed on Spike's arm.

"If he's not either place he might be walking Iz."

[Galadriel turns, looking down at the woman beside her with sympathy. It's always hardest at first- not that it's exactly pleasant to be here for her later, but nothing can quite compare to that initial shock.]

I fear you will find nigh as many answers as you will find passengers aboard this ship; we have no indication of the date in this world and we come from a great variety of others.

[ Claire nods, slow and deliberately, a parody of acceptance considering the circumstances. Carefully, she draws her tattooed arm back inside the warmth of the towel. ]

I might... call you? After I get settled.

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twenty-eighth jump;

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i'd say the subject lines are winning the struggle i'm js

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sorry for being so slow work sucks

sorry for slowness! work was cray this weekend

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Lockers

forgiven

no problem honey take your time!

Lockers

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