twenty-eighth jump;

[ataraxites]

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.

Comments

ota;;

[cons]

[ waking up in a giant container of goo shouldn't be something a girl gets used to, but Wichita feels herself exhaling slowly without even thinking about it, the breathing tube slipping out of her throat without making her gag, and her knees bent a little bit so it's easy to catch herself when the thing dumps her on the floor. she's done this before. twenty-something times now. it's routine. she's used to it.

so she's a little shocked when she gets dumped out on the floor and she actually stumbles, her stomach pitching with the movement, making her-

oh god-

right, just. don't go over there behind her tube, because it's covered in barf. how charming. she's actually kind of embarrassed, because it's been a long time since she's gotten sick like that after a jump, but eh. maybe they were all stuck asleep for an extra month again. yipee. though one thing that hasn't changed is that she's not exactly scrambling to find a towel or anything, she gave up on being ashamed of her post-jump nudity a long time ago so she's slow and lazy about it, grabbing a small towel on the way to the showers and wiping off her face so she can at least open her eyes without the threat of goo getting in her eyes.

she showers.

she dries herself off.

same old, same old.

it's not until she's padding over to her locker that there's yet another setback. it won't open. at all. it just won't budge. 002 » 022, right. that's her. she waves her hand over the lock ( and tries really hard not to smile at the fact that yes, she's doing her 'these are not the droids you are looking for' hand gesture, like she always does, because it's not funny, it's not. stop smiling, Kansas, you giant idiot ) a few times, but nothing. ugh. what the hell. so she checks out her wrist-

and promptly curses ]

Oh, what the fuck. Since when do they reassi-

[ wait. she's still nauseous from the jump ( which is weird, still ) but she's not stupid. she knows what that means. 028 » 002. what was the last jump she remembered? christ. it's not clicking. actually, now that she's taking time to think about it ( think at all ), she's realizing her memory of anything before the last week before the jump is a little fuzzy. not lost, just. distant. like it all happened years ago. so, she's been asleep for a long time. not home, she definitely didn't go home, because there's no new memories of it. but she definitely hadn't been here either, if her number is different. she knows that from seeing it happen to people here before.

so where the hell did she go? ]



[ ooc; or feel free to hit her up by the pods/showers/lift. whatever. timeywimey's okay if more than one person wants to find her at her locker, but. yeah. BUH. just excited to be back!! :D ]

[legionare]

[ the jumps are unpleasant at best, and after each one of them max tells himself not to get his hopes up, and after each one of them he still keeps a careful eye on who comes out of the pods — he would be a bad cursor, wouldn't he, if he didn't pay attention to his surroundings. and yet — tavi doesn't show up again and that is precisely why max tries not to get his hopes up.

his best friend remains gone, here one months and no longer than that.

still, it means he sees the familiar shape of her walking towards the showers and — nudity be damned, he's never minded it much except for the scars on his back that he'd much rather hide, he catches up to her. ]

Wichita—!

ota

[parallels]

The Pods

[She has to get the people in the bridge out. She has to open the doors. She has to help Nathan.

Clara jerks awake in the pod as adrenaline that coursed through her veins up until the very last seconds of the final jump still pumps in her now. She stumbles out of the pod in a disorientated attempt to run.

Unfortunately, the disorientation cuts that short as she ends up stumbling towards the wall to keep upright. Breathing heavily, she lets the energy fade from her body and watches the crowd to see who comes out of those pods.]

The Lockers.

[This jump, Clara is no longer determinedly poking around every corner of the room to find her missing Time Lord friend. She's starting to think that he will definitely not be showing up here any time soon.

Instead she's slumped on a bench feeling far more exhausted than she thinks should be allowed after being stuck in a pod. The events of the mutiny are weighing heavily on her. Before, the rumors of dangers on the ship had been just stories to her. Now she was more aware than ever of how trapped on this ship she was. And how at mercy she was to whomever was in control of it.]

Lockers

[coffeeking]

Clara.

[He calls her name softly, a guilty twist in his gut. He'd spoken to her briefly when she first arrived, and he hadn't done so since. There's something about the Doctor and his companions that puts him on edge, and he's been avoiding having to address her presence here. He's been hoping the ship would return her to the Doctor, but that may never happen. So here he is, shuffling his feet and trying his best to get over himself.]

[wolfchild]

showers •

[ getting arya to bathe after the jump has never been a problem. she hates the slimy feeling of the blue residue. if that were not enough, seeing it dried on those who refused to bathe all jump did not make it any more appealing.

nymeria does not dislike the showers either. but if there is one thing nymeria ( and arya too ) has never been a fan of is the brush. like the one in arya's hand with which she was attempting to groom her wolf. nymeria had been shedding like mad and plenty remained trapped by the thick fur. this wasn't counting everything else nymeria seemed to collect in her usual comings and goings.

at the moment, arya fights nymeria for the brush after the wolf seized it. a brief struggle later, the brush is thrown to the side. both the girl's and wolf's heads turn to watch its flight trajectory. arya scowls at nymeria. ]

Stupid!

[ in contrast to arya's obvious frustration, nymeria looks all too pleased with herself. ]

kitchens •

[ dressed, her brown hair curling against her back as it dries, arya raids the kitchens for the things she needs to make waffles. nymeria lies on the floor near her, ears pricked up and yellows eyes following arya's actions. arya tries to get at a bowl on the cabinet above, but even on tiptoes she is too short. she hauls herself up on the counter to remove the bowl. as she's drawing back, her knee slides off the edge. the bowl hits the counter with a loud clatter. grimacing, arya looks behind her to check if anyone saw. ]

showers.

[bullshead]

[ gendry recovers quicker this jump than he last. he showers quickly and gets dressed before making rounds (something he decided to do this time instead of fleeing straight to the forge), looking for friends - familiar faces, more likely.

he hears arya's shrill voice before he sees the girl and wolf, distracted mostly by the brush skidding across the floor towards him. gendry swoops down to pick it up without taking a break in his steps. ]

Here.

[ he's quick to join arya's side and holds out the brush. ]

frodo baggins | open to all!

[wheeloffire]

gravity couch - lockers

The only thing Frodo can feel when he comes to is the pain tearing down his throat.

As the doors open, he slowly starts to stagger his way, before collapsing to his knees on the cold floor. There's noises all around him. Frodo has troubles even opening his eyes; everything is so bright, and it makes it all the harder for him to focus. He's cold, and....and......

When his eyes adjust and his world stops spinning, Frodo looks up, only to find himself in...a very odd spot. The world was grey, big folk were moving all around him. Some seemed just as disoriented as he did, some others not. Frodo moves a hand up to his chest as the fear starts to bubble inside of him, to grasp at the Ring that hangs from his neck-

only to have his hand grasp at open air.

His eyes widen as he gropes again, only to find the same results. A terrible, hard panic starts to settle over Frodo then, drowning him. Frodo struggles up to his feet, making himself look left, right. There were so many people here! Cold they have taken it? Why would they, what good would it do them? It was his responsibility, none others. And how dare they meddle in his business and take-

Where was he, anyway?

Questions started to pile on him, weighing down on his chest. Frodo quickly scrambles to a set of boxes, lined up in a perfect order. They have strange markings on them; numbers and arrows and arrows and numbers. His head is spinning, his heart pounding out of control. All he wants was his Ring, his Ring...

Frodo looks down to check himself again, when he sees the odd numbers etched onto his skin. » 028 » 033.

They look a lot like the numbers on the boxes...

He starts to search then, scanning by the numbers as quickly as he could. No, not that one, no, no...

And then he stumbles by it. Frodo opens his little box, and...thank goodness. There lies the Ring. It was just waiting there, looking as innocent as the other belongings. It's waiting for him...

The little hobbit quickly, carefully puts on the chain, the Ring weighing down heavily around his neck. His skin aches from where the chain has rubbed, but he can hardly pay attention to that now. Frodo's filled with relief, and for a moment, that's all he can feel.

But then his attention returns to another serious question: where was he? This certainly wasn't Minas Morgul. There was no darkness, nothing weighing heavily on his mind, and no ghosts making his limbs move. No Sam, no Smeagol.......no Sam. No Sam?

Frodo looks around carefully, the other contents of his locker ignored. "Sam...? Samwise.....?"

[woodlander]

His scrambling, that anxious scrambling, draws her attention. He is small of stature, and she recognises the shape of him. A Hobbit, if she's not mistaken, like the other one that she had spoken to here. Although she has seen few of his kind in her life, she knows him as a product of Middle Earth.

He searches for something in his box, puts it around his neck. A ring of some kind. For the moment she thinks little of that, having no reason to think it is more than it seems. Still, for a strange moment her eyes are drawn to it. She knows not why.

Shaking that strange impulse away, she raises her eyes to his face instead, and reads the distress there.

"I know of no one by that name, Master Hobbit," she says, stepping closer and inclining her head a little. "Some from Middle Earth are here, myself among them. You are not alone, but as to that name, I am sorry, for I have not heard it. May I ask yours instead?"

ota;

[chuffle]

pods;

[When the pods open, immediately, her eyes are a bright amber color, shifting as her hair stands on end. It's been rough and she's not sure why; she doesn't know why she's been sliding in and out of forms lately, why she's more on edge, why her rage doesn't quite settle the way it used to.

She manages to get a towel but there's something clearly wrong, to anyone who approaches her - she's shaking, just enough for it to be noticeable, she's breathing a little heavily, there's a hint of terror - or anger - in the way she looks around even as she wipes the gunk off her.]

lockers;

[The shift happened after she finished showering, at least, and she doesn't think anyone saw it. But now she's in feline form, padding down the rows of lockers. She should try to avoid people. She's huge, new people will panic, she's a fucking tiger, but she doesn't. She's making it for the Oxygen Gardens.]

lockers;

[ex_question191]

[ stiles just kind of falls into step beside her. like. he's pretty sure that's daphne (or if it's not he's about to lose a limb, and by his heartbeat he's totally aware of that) and it's probably better if people think she's got a companion of some sort — someone with a mouth who can say, hey, don't shoot this tiger, moron. ]

[ he still smells like wet dog and jump fluid and tired. so much like tired. he was thinking maybe while he was down in medbay anyway he should drop in and chat to a doctor like scott suggested, but instead he keeps pace with daphne, diverted once again. ]

Elizabeth Woodville - OTA

[twicequeen]

The Pods

Suddenly, she can hear herself gasping aloud. She's drowning in cold blue liquid, grasping for life. There is something in her throat and she claws at the object she's choking on, wrenching it from her throat and letting it fall to the ground with a clatter.

Breathing. Her chest heaving, her lungs once more filling with air she stumbles from the pod, stumbling and collapsing to the ground. It's too bright, disorienting. At first she can only open her eyes partly, trying to see her surroundings, take in everything. It takes her another few moments to realize she's naked and there is something on her arm, numbers, which do not come off when she presses her fingers against them. A permanent ink of sorts.

There is an explanation for all of this, she will find out what's going on, she's determined as she gets to her feet, shaking with cold.]

The Lockers

[Elizabeth is more certain once she's dressed, glad to have some clothes on. It's cold, a chill that gets to her bones. She pulls on one of her plain gowns, drawing her hair back.

She takes a moment to glance around at the others around her, no familiar faces. There are still no clear answers, but she won't give into the doubt that gnaws at her as she ties her pendent around her neck, quickly tucking it out of sight.]

Pods

[longestnose]

My lady, you might be needing this.

[Fili is walking by, already dressed. He had wanted to try and find a friend, but instead saw the blond woman naked and shivering. Luckily enough he had an extra towel in his hands, so he held it out to her, keeping his eyes on her face (which is a bit of looking up, but he is well used to it).]

Just try to breathe. The first jump is always the worst.

captain hook | ota (replies might be slow until monday!)

[capsize]

pods.

[ hook doesn't know the first thing about new york, but it doesn't exactly take a genius to guess this isn't it. the initial sensation is a bit like drowning, vision swamped in blue; then he's being unceremoniously ejected from the pod, and he only just manages to get a good grip on the side with his good hand and avoid slipping on the slick fluid. there's a reluctant pause to regain his bearings. or to make an attempt at it, anyway. a few seconds of observation tells him absolutely nothing of use, other than the fact that he's naked and he hasn't got his hook, which — not ideal, but he's far too irritated to dwell on the details.

the absence of his hook doesn't stop the phantom sensation of the metal sunk deep into the dark one's shoulder. the poison would kill him. hook's as sure of that as he is of anything, but there's still a sense of being cheated of his victory, the chance to watch a coward confront his death. and in the end, it doesn't matter that hook has no idea where he is. his mind's still there, back in new york, on the quest that's occupied his thoughts for the past three hundred years. wherever this is, the way forward is simple: find his hook, find the person responsible for the untimely interruption, get back to rumplestiltskin's cooling corpse.

at this second, however, he simply runs his hand through his hair before shaking blue fluid off his fingers onto the floor, looking altogether unbothered by the fact that he's just fallen naked out of a pod. any apparent nonchalance is quickly betrayed by his voice — it's hard to miss the irritated edge, matched by a smile that's far too sharp to be friendly. ]

This seems like quite a lot of effort just to get me out of my coat.

[ there's a handful of people capable of being this much of a magical thorn in his side — whether they're listening or not, the derision's meant for them. which sounds cool in theory, even if it mostly just means he's standing around naked talking to himself. ]

lockers - interrupt wherever!

[ if there's one thing a lifetime (or several) in the enchanted forest provides, it's adaptability. it's easy enough to humor the routine of the ship as soon as he's been brought up to speed, and soon enough hook's standing clothed before his locker. he doesn't retrieve the familiar silver hook until after he's put on his coat, and even then he's in no rush; takes a moment to study it, check it for traces of poison, blood.

it's clean. probably for the best, as far as the poison's concerned. regarding the blood, it's utterly disappointing. his expression's more disgruntled than angry while the realization settles, then he raises his left wrist and smoothly fastens the hook in its place. the pistol's abandoned as he secures the sword to his hip, and though there's a brief hesitation over milah's portrait, he ends up closing the door without removing it from safe keeping.

the moment he turns away from the lockers, he reaches out with his good hand to catch the nearest passerby by the arm. the gesture isn't necessarily forceful, but it's probably surprising enough to stop them up short. ]

If I were to say New York, you'd say... ?

LOCKERS hi

[boogiewoogiebugleboy]

[It says a lot about Blue and who he is that when he's grabbed by a man with a hook for a hand, he doesn't seem to be even slightly bothered by it. But then, he's seen weirder. He is, after all, a teenager with a trumpet hanging from one hip and a sword from the other.

(The fact that it's the most powerful sword in the Homelands is probably worth thought, but really, Blue tries not to think about it.)

He turns on his heel when the man grabs him, looking up, because naturally, he's taller than Blue. Everyone is.]

Papaya King or Gray's Papaya?

[Actually he would say Fabletown but, well. Mundies.]

ota.

[needsheadphones]

[ The time spent in stasis was apparently enough to calm Rebecca's racing pulse, but as soon as she's conscious again, her brain is whirling. She hits the ground with a little less grace than usual (which already isn't too graceful, a good fall to prevent injury and nothing more), goo dripping out of her hair. She's still wearing her jumpsuit, her MP3 player and headphones sitting next to her pod as she had practically torn them off and simply tossed them down. There hadn't been time to stop at her locker, not if she wanted to live.

And god, but none of them on the bridge had wanted to die. But they'd made it, the doors had opened (with help from something, and the red text flashes through her mind, but she pushes it away because right now it is far less important). ]

I'm not dead, [ she whispers, then starts to grin down at the floor before rolling over onto her back. It's cold, but that just helps prove it- ]

We're not dead!

[ And, exhilarated, Rebecca starts laughing. ]

[woodlander]

[ Tauriel hadn't really known any of them by sight, except for Nathan Petrelli. This woman's exclamation is what draws her, making her turn with wide green eyes. Tauriel moves quickly to her side, crouching down beside her. ]

You are one of those who was trapped in the Bridge?

How did you finally escape? Have you memory of that?

ota.

[darkart]

( lockers & elsewhere )

His newness would be more evident if he permitted himself to stagger and stare; he doesn't. There are enough people around that Severus doesn't need to wander purposely – he follows suit, keeping to himself with a frigid air that has nothing to do with the temperature of the medical bay. He listens and he watches – only out of his peripheral vision, unwilling to draw attention to himself by catching anyone's eye - but he doesn't call out and he doesn't linger except in front of 'his' locker, where the number matches the one stitched seamlessly into the skin of his forearm. He's almost too damp for comfort when he pulls his clothes on - his clothes, he bypasses whatever the hell that jumpsuit is – and leaves his shirt unbuttoned while he places both hands in the locker itself, looking over the few items left there.

Severus doesn't need a wand to perform magic and never has, but it's still comforting to see it there, to feel the current of it. For a moment he is almost grounded. He flips open his journal and in abrupt contrast experiences slight unease to see his own handwriting: for some reason the notion of his captors carefully rifling through his bedroom at the castle to pick up only one arbitrarily decided memento is even more disturbing than the already disturbing thought of having been kidnapped and placed naked into a tube of Merlin-knows-what. Frowning to himself, he thinks a drying spell and is at least grudgingly satisfied that it works. Less damp, he buttons his shirt up, glaring at the back of his locker. And thinking.

( closed to sirius )

Something is off about the way he visualizes magic in his head. It is miniscule, and Severus would be hard-pressed to explain it (harder still to admit it), but the metaphysical sensation is one he might liken to holding something and being worried you'll rip a fingernail clean off if your grip isn't right. He can perform magic, he's already confirmed that, but he wonders at doing anything very complicated and how the nuances might be impacted. He mulls it over, taking a hundred mental notes to investigate later, at the same time already scrolling through an index of “welcome” data on the strange device left for him. Severus knows what phones are, of course, but even if wizardkind were not cut off from the rest of the world, it was only 1984 the last time he was in a familiar plane of reality. This bit of pressed plastic is bizarre.

He's waiting near the lifts, not entirely in a hurry to step inside one but not particularly dragging his feet, either. He's distracted in a way he shouldn't be, in a way that only sudden and obsessive research can make him. It's the singular tell that he might actually be stressed out by this whole kidnapped-to-space thing.

[thebreakingwave]

Just as with the last jump, Harry tries to charm a towel to retain warmth, but it still doesn't work. He tries another quick spell and seems satisfied that at least the damage - if that's what it is - remains contained to temperature regulation. As he mulls over this development and dries his hair, he notices another young man standing at a locker nearby.

It's not. That couldn't be.

Then again, even if it is, at least it's not Peter again. Harry almost wants to laugh at the relief of it, but sobers quickly when he realizes that Riddle might one day appear on a jump. The war that should be over and is over, hasn't yet happened for most of the wizards he's met here.

Just in case, he should warn The Man Who Could Be Snape. It's a stupid, rash decision that will likely be seen as an intrusion or an insult, but Harry consoles himself that Snape's distain is probably a universal constant and he might as well make the universe happy.

"Er, I'm sorry. You look a bit like a man I know." He's put his wand away and moves to show that he's not armed and means no harm. "May I ask your name?"

Johanna Mason | OTA

[axemeagain]

a. Waking up (warning for references to torture)

[There's the sensation of liquid surrounding her, she can't scream, here comes the shock--

The blue liquid is drained and she's dumped on the floor. Her fingers slip on the floor as she tries to stand, tries to get herself ready for an attack... she sits on the floor with a growl, shaking everywhere. It's all she can do to make herself stay there because she feels sick and not right and cornered.]

b. lockers

[When she finally is able to get up off the floor and towel off the blue stuff, she goes over to the lockers, giving the showers an angry glance. All else is forgotten when she opens the locker with her number and takes out the axes- two good, Capitol-made axes- and holds them in her hands. Her fingers tighten around the base and she gives them a feral grin.

She checks out the device for a few minutes, but it only says one thing. To hell with that. She wasn't going to take shit, especially not a lift. Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!

She looks at the outfit, but she's wants to be intimidating. She doesn't want to be a piece in this game. She sits cross-legged in front of her locker, device, outfit, and one axe sitting next to her while she picks at the her other axe, trying to shine it up.]

[ooc: It's worth noting that Johanna has a shaved head and smells really bad. ota!]

Waking up

[acapriciousthing]

[Nothing about the woman is anything she hasn't seen before. Which is why she knows she needs someone. And most people here didn't have quite her breadth of experience.

She kneels down next to her and speaks softly.]

Whatever it was, it's far away now.

( open )

[trouvaille]

the pods •

Ilde has no frame of reference for what's happening to her; she's on the floor before her response has had time to get further than panicked bewilderment. The liquid sliding down her skin and gathered, clumping, in the thin fabric of her underwear (at least she's wearing underwear-- that's a stupid thing to think, she doesn't think it's even hers, that isn't comforting)-- it feels disgusting, and it's so completely outside of anything that she can readily contextualize that for what feels like a very long time she doesn't move, just pushes herself up onto her hands and stares down at them as if she isn't sure that they belong to her.

the showers •

This isn't real.

This isn't real, this can't be real. This is insane. This is completely-- this can't be real. It feels real, though, blue goo clumping as it dries into her hair, and it's with some reluctance that she slinks towards the showers to deal with it. Has she ever taken a shower in a dream before? Maybe. Fuck.

( pods )

[specialism]

[ ward isn't feeling charitable towards anyone here right now — except, except it doesn't look like these people are the ones who put him in this position. whatever organisation is behind this ( centipede? they certainly have the means and technology ), they're capable of a lot and he isn't planning on underestimating them.

the apparent lack of interest in him, in his whereabouts — that's a mistake on their part.

still, when he sees a woman (girl? ) still on her hands, he takes a step closer before stopping. still at a distance that would allow for plenty of time to react, should she spring at him, should she attack. he has to account for the possibility that she's hostile, but he also considers that she might be in a similar position as he is, in which case — in which case he has to help. ]

Are you hurt?

ota.

[sleuthtastic]

[ She's trying not to freak out.

(She's a little freaked out.)

Things are a lot easier when they're in front of her, parsed out like they should be. It's not that puzzles or life endangerments are some great, unfathomable thing, but it's that— it's that the jumps, the realism of everything, it's scary. It's frightening. (It doesn't help that she sees Beav— Cassidy, at the corners of her eyes sometimes, in that way people on board have been, the flickering in the mirrors when you look at them the right way.)

So Veronica's a little freaked out. (She misses her dad so much it hurts, sometimes. Wallace. Duncan. Logan, even. Anyone, with a familiar face and a familiar voice—)

Okay, Mars. Game face.

Let's make sure nobody really died, okay?

Towel drying her hair (ugh, blue), she's a little out of it as she makes her way to the elevators, doesn't seem to notice that she should be doing a lot of swerving and a lot less thinking. (Funerals. Is that a thing, that you do in space? Do you make a plaque?

What does Joe know about this, if anything? What does anyone know?) ]

[boogiewoogiebugleboy]

Veronica!

[He sees her towel drying her hair, and god, it's good to see people are okay after the whole -

It's good that she's all right. It's the first time they've met in person, and it's nice that for once there's a girl who's shorter than he is, even if it's only by a little. On one hip, a trumpet.

On the other, a sword.]

Hey, are you all right?

[There is a little patch of blue gunk where he missed washing it out just behind his right ear.]

mcpo john-117 ➝ ota

[nuked]

➝ pods

[ The moment he wakes he spreads his arms, shoves them roughly against the sides of the pod, feels the way the tube thrust down his throat already begins to move and he is disengaged, spat out against the ground. He gets a firm footing at first, it's easy--not so easy when he realizes he is devoid of his suit and the air is cold against his skin and one coordinated step makes for him going down onto his knees and wrists awkwardly. In the face of a Covenant brute, one might say that John is violently graceful, all fluid motions and calculated arcs of his knife. Never has he felt so clumsy, a small stream of blue running down the side of his face.

Cortana.

He feels the empty echoes of her, the unresponsiveness in the back of his head and it makes him breathe in once slowly and correct his mistake, pulling himself up onto his feet quickly. Faster, soldier, faster.

He's unprepared, stripped of his armor, stripped of his weapons (they hadn't even left him a knife). This isn't cryo, of that he's certain. Cryo is dry and cold--there's frost on your visor, your entire body is numb, dizziness, vertigo. Here, everything is just... irritatingly wet. Sticky. Still cold, but not in the way you can shake off. He spits the substance in his mouth out onto the floor, quick and easy, and finds his footing again. Slowly, he tells himself. Easy. He has take it one step at a time, but it hits him like a brick. This isn't the Infinity. This isn't any ship he's known (unless they're switching things up on him, sweeping out the old, making room for the new.)

After the plates came off, it's back in the box for the toy soldier for however long the world takes until it's fallen apart. He knows the song and dance all too well. Finds himself growing bored of it, maybe even learning to have the capacity to dislike it strongly (but never hate it--it's just a necessary part of the job.)

The current mission's objective is as follows, he tells himself. Find the MJOLNIR. Find a weapon. Get some intel. That is the mission. That is the mission and you can't be distracted. Goals. Objectives. No distractions. Mission first.

But no Cortana.

(You've worked alone before, this shouldn't be hard.)

He moves forward on careful feet with long strides, passing carefully through the sea of people, a brief touch there with his shoulder (everyone is wet, swarming lockers, it's disgusting). Stares will be ignored--he's used to them well-enough already. As he moves, he flicks a brief glance down as his hand, at the augmentation scars running lines up his knuckles and arms, down his back, his legs.

At least they've got something right:

028 » 117

One one seven.

That's you, John. That's you. ]

➝ lockers

[ Upon investigation of the lockers, John immediately finds himself filled with a sensation of relief and violation. They touched it. Whoever they are. The armor is stacked carefully on it's side in the locket, slotted perfectly so that it will fit with his shotgun and rifle.

He squints at the helmet that looks back at him.

He doesn't remember his visor being so dinted up. So he reaches and grabs hold of it, the weight of it good and proper in his hands. Putting it on now would be ridiculous--hell, the rest of the armor would be a pain in and of itself to put on, heavy as it is (but he'd manage it later, as soon as he could). For now, the crew's uniform will have to do. In all honesty, he's surprised that it even fits.

Piece by piece, he begins to examine his suit, arm plates first, chest plate, and so on.

The thing is massive as it leans against the locker, accumulating into the vague shape of a disassembled man. ]

( ooc: feel free to hit him up post-cryo, at the lockers, in the crowd, or in the showers! c: open to everything and anything, really! )

[overthought]

[cortana wakes up with a gasping start, as if she was just plunged in icy water and her lungs fill with air. it isn't that she isn't used to this by now, it's that she thought she wouldn't live to see this moment. the fear that once again she'd be leaving the world behind without experiencing anything - without feeling something other than fear and need.

mutiny did not look well on her; it was more like a foolish, adolescent thing that was spurned by emotion rather than logic. at some point, she didn't want to think, didn't want to experience the feeling of thinking over and over again.

she's never cried before either. every situation she's been in, she's always had the master chief to look to, that his confidence was infectious and coupled with her own pride and hubris, they were an unstoppable team. she used to think that seven years was enough, that seven years was all that she wanted with him but now that she actually could feel being apart from him? it was unbearable.

cortana didn't know why, but for some odd reason all she wanted was to hear his voice. to hear that familiar "it's going to be alright" or "it's not over, not yet" - anything. she might be a sword, a shield but he was her rock, her everything. she lets herself have this emotion, the sobs of fear and relief just seeping through her as she has a third chance at life before she gets up. shaking, even as she gets out of the pod and she looks around before heading to the showers.

(mission objective: showers, gather intel, find out what happened and how we're alive)

these are things she can do.

the sight before her? something she can't. 6'10, brunette with a sort of primal attraction around him, scars across his left eye, down his jaw and - and his eyes. emotion takes her over as she bolts towards him, remembering that all she wanted was for him to break down that bridge door and rescue all of them - just like he always did.

she didn't know why she was glad to see him; he shouldn't be here, he lived and she died so that he could continue to protect and this place is awful. it's not the case, her arms around his neck and her face is buried in his shoulders as she just holds him and never lets him go, her feet far off the ground.]

pods & lockers || ota

[doggedly]

[[pods]]

[He wakes up, and it's like a prickling at the back of his neck: something is wrong. And it isn't that they left people on the bridge, late. That had bothered him, but not half as much as perhaps it should have, because there was always something, on the fringe of his mind, and it's like double that right now.

He's more brisk about this, usually. He has it down to a bloody science: go to the showers, wash off, get to his locker. But this time round Sirius hunches over himself, still on the floor a moment. He pushes his fingers through his hair, ignoring the way that they stick, a little, in the blue shit, but Sirius hunches over himself with a harsh breath, and stays there, a moment.]

[[lockers]]

[At the lockers, he waits. Not by his, but by James'. He waits, and he watches everyone go past--people he recognises and people he doesn't, not that he's marking any of them in particular. None of them are James. It's James that he's looking for.

It would be false to say that the longer he waits, the more sick he feels--because his initial prickle of apprehension has only spread all through him, making every moment worse, until it's come to this.

Because James is gone. He's gone, he has to be, and Sirius feels something deep in him, some yawning chasm of a feeling, worse than anything he's yet felt. Remus being gone, that was bad. This is dizzying, unfathomable, and he stares down at the floor, his fists tight at his side, before he whirls around to punch, once, at the door to James' locker--quick, fierce, and then he braces his hand flat against it and leans, his breath ragged, his shoulders hunched.]

lockers!

[mansuetus]

[ she watches him out of the corner of her eye when she asks one of the girls to help her dress, to pull up the silk blue gown and tie the lacing. it's not like him to be still, not to go about and seek some mischief but she thinks he must be waiting for someone to step out of the showers and doesn't think twice of it.

it's only a while after she left that she stops, frowns and thinks about the what if. there is always the little thought at the back of her head, the need to check and see faces and affirm that she had not lost them. cesare, robb, gwen, sirius himself. she stands and thinks and then, without so much as a word, she turns and returns to the place she had left earlier today.

she arrives in time to hear the clash of fist and metal and she doesn't jump nor looks startled. she moves - a display of angry violence is something she had seen and knows well, being a borgia. there would be a day when she herself will grow to do the same but it is not today

today she is still more lucrezia than a borgia. she moves over and gently (her fingers are warm) takes the hand that delivered the blow and presses her lips, slow and intentional, to the knuckles.

her brother would say lucrezia is so blinded by the beauty of the sun that she steps too close to it at times but she would shake her head and smile and say she has learned from Icarus' misfortunes.

he will not hit her. ]

marty mikalski | ota

[foolproofed]

[Marty gets spit out by his pod and faceplants the floor.

But the pain isn't exactly unwelcomed there, and it takes him a few minutes to realize what had happened not long before, and how he's pretty much not dead. Maybe it's residual crazy, but he laughs like a completely insane person, and anyone around him will probably worry he will stab them with something sharp or maybe jump on their backs or something radically socially incorrect. He's pretty much ready for someone to carve into him about how stupid it was going into that brig, but he doesn't care at the moment, because he's fucking alive.

Fucking survived.

He's on his feet and off to find Dana, make sure someone dragged her back to her pod, because if they didn't, he'll flip the hell out is what. Of course, by the time he gets to anyone else he might want to let know he's alive and well, he's sporting a red, bloody nose from the girl's petite fist to his face. Hopefully nobody else is planning on hitting him today, all things considered, but it's not like he's about to fuck off without people knowing they all made it out.

You know what this means, Tranquility —

Looks like Marty's Space Potato Chips aren't going to be shelved.

Not this jump.]

[ryuuzaki]

[Before the jump, L had been unwilling to assume that the group trapped on the Bridge wouldn't make it out.

The probability was high, he knew, but it wasn't a certainty--there was the example of Hotspur against the events at Strela (all before his time), and although it appeared to be one thing, and he preferred to be realistic, there was always the small hope that the situation could turn around.

A door had to open; that was all, nothing but a door. If they had been going to suffer and die, why hadn't it happened through the week? Why keep them alive until the jump so that they could die in that specific manner? A quick death when a slow one would have been possible? None of what he knew could be assembled into the kind of cohesive theory that he would have needed to fully believe that no escape might happen.

Now it's the usual post-jump discomfort, exacerbated by the consistent chill in the room, but he still looks around to see if any of the erstwhile mutineers have made it after all. He doesn't see Nathan right away, or Juliana... who else had been there?

Marty catches his eye. L steps into his path, peering into his face from about half a yard away. There's a beat before he says anything.]

You're not dead.

[He stares for another beat, then his face breaks into a rare, wide smile: elation and relief. If Mikalski made it, and the tragic element of his appearance doesn't go any further than a bloody nose--no appearance of sadness or guilt--then everyone else most likely made it, too.]

It's good to see you.

wanderer; pods; ota

[ensouls]

[ the beginning would feel like the end. she had been warned.

but there hadn't been supposed to be another beginning, there hadn't supposed to be anything at all -- she had meant to die, hadn't she? someone had promised.

she fell out of her pod and landed harshly on the floor, too caught up in the memories to be able to catch her fall -- there had been strangers (but they weren't strangers at all, were they?), she was afraid and confused... one held something over her face... and then there was nothing. pet -- but she wasn't pet, was she? no, she was someone else -- was having trouble finding her muscles, figuring out how to move. first came her eyes, and she blinked those open slowly, looking around her. there were so many people, and she was in a place she'd never seen before in her life. even when she found the muscles to move her limbs, she couldn't, paralyzed with fear.

that was different, wasn't it? she'd never been so afraid she couldn't move before. usually fear prodded her into action, made her run. in her other body -- her other body!

wanderer sat up abruptly -- that was who she was, not petals open to the moon -- looking at her hands in confusion. they were small, pale things, with a little bit of a silvery sheen to them. on her left arm was a number, one that hadn't been in her memories of pet's life at all, and no amount of rubbing would get it off. this wasn't her body, the one she'd been in for the past year. no matter how loudly wanda screamed in her own head, she couldn't find melanie, and that was almost scarier than waking up in a place like this was. why had she woken up at all? doc had promised he would let her die, she didn't want to be a parasite!

slowly, limbs shaking beneath her, wanderer got to her feet, watching the people around her for a cue. they were all moving in the same direction, for the most part, though some were standing around talking to each other. with a deep breath, she walked over to the nearest person, tapping them lightly on the arm. ]

Excuse me, I'm sorry to bother you, but... Do you know where we are?

[ it didn't even occur to her that this person might not be trustworthy. her own memories were still dim, the memories that come easiest to her pet's, and pet had never met anyone who wanted to hurt her in her life. the only thing that crossed her mind was how high her voice was now, so different from her old voice. and had humans gotten taller, or was she shorter? ]

(ooc: feel free to run into her anywhere else, too! she'll be making all sorts of confused faces at her new body in the showers and at the lockers she'll be confused by the things she's gotten from home.)

[fingernailed]

[He pauses at the touch, not startled, but definitely surprised that someone is coming to him. He's a tall guy, a bit built and maybe a little imposing, especially when he turns to look at her. But once he looks her over and notes the confusion, Clint's expression softens and he raises an eyebrow.]

Just woke up? We're on a spaceship. The Tranquility. And you're probably in for a hell of a story.

PODS | OPEN

[dislimb]

"Wake up. Wake up. C'mon, Nate, rise and shine."

To say Nate was rattled was ridiculous. There was no word strong enough to describe the level of unrest in that mind of his, especially after all that had transpired on the Ishimura. A dull ache in his arm became far more pronounced as a shooting pain as consciousness came to him. His eyes snapped open and sudden confusion caused a panic in his chest. The tubes were far too familiar; just like the ones on the Ishimura, the ones Nicole had put he and the others in. The urge to struggle and scream was far more prevalent than Nate wanted to admit, but he had no chance to. The tube was gone, the liquid with it, and he found himself squirming out of the strange container like a lowly belly crawling slug.

He coughed violently. The tube was out, but he never liked the feeling left behind after a stint in a recovery chamber. That was the least of his concerns, however. He was cold, vulnerable and impossibly tired. Sore, paranoid... there were too many things going on in his head. He went to brush the excess liquid out of his face, but then came to remember that his hand was no longer there. Nate's stomach twisted into a painful knot. His wound appeared to be properly wrapped, at the very least, but the fact remained that he hadn't a clue what transpired. Did he black out? Probably. Where was Gabe and Lexine?

Nate hadn't even noticed the numbers permanently engraved on his left arm, but he had noticed the familiar glow of his RIG reflecting off the various metallic surfaces around him. Red. That wasn't good. Someone clearly took care of his arm, but not much else. As a matter of fact, he felt weak. His knees didn't want to support him, so Nate ended up crouched near the pods, left hand pressed firmly into his face.

[ ooc; JUST A NOTE: nate is missing his right arm from his elbow down. think malik from assassin's creed! also, a rig unit is installed in his back, which will draw much attention due to the fact that it's, yknow, a glowing thing sticking out of his back. ]

[nuked]

[ He's known for taking care of his own, but none of these men and women are "his own." They're not his marines--UNSC issue and bright-eyed and willing to follow him through hell and (sparingly) back. But there is something to be said about a man huddled on the floor that brings John briefly back to marines hunched over, bleeding through their shoulders, their arms, their legs, their guts.

Over the shoulder and double time. Back home if they're able to be saved.

So he moves forward slowly, a behemoth of a man at 6'10" but with movements like that of liquid, easy and adjusted. He's naked and covered in damnable goop, but he can't seem to really care all that much. He slips into a slight crouch.

Observing him briefly, he speaks. ]

Can you stand?

derek hale | closed thread for dana + ota.

[altercate]

( PODS | CLOSED TO DANA )

[ he's not sorry.

he isn't, and that's not going to change. whatever happened to the people trapped on the bridge, he isn't sorry he pulled dana out of it. that thought comes to him slowly, derek sliding out of the pod. it's never easy. it will never be easy, adjusting to the way everything feels raw, oversensitive. but he can hear dana, and he coughs, swallows hard, forces out a breath in relief. she's alive. she can be furious with him if she wants, but at least she's alive to be furious.

the concept of giving in like that is beyond derek. selfishly, he refuses to accept that decision from her. he straightens up, body turning towards her. he isn't sure what he's going to say, but he's already bracing himself against her reaction. he's not stupid. he knows it's going to be negative. ]

( LOCKERS | OPEN TO ALL )

[ when derek gets to his lockers, there's a fading red mark standing out against his skin. he looks simultaneously pissed off and guilty as he yanks his clothes out of the locker. he's dripping all over the floor, having dried himself off too quickly, not thoroughly enough. he's rushing. derek never lingers too long at the jump, but he doesn't usual rush, go through the motions quickly to get out of the med bay.

for once, there's nothing strange and ominous in his locker. derek allows himself to exhale, relax a fraction. he doesn't care much about the things the ship gives him, but he's tired of finding items in the bottom of his locker, reminders of home he never asked for. he hesitates for a moment, looking suspiciously into his locker like he's expecting something to jump out at him. if it did, derek wouldn't really be surprised. he still remembered the fox in river's locker, all those months ago. ]

About time this happened.

[ flatly, more to himself than anything else. he slams his locker closed and yanks his henley over his head, ignoring the way it sticks to the damp patches of skin he'd missed with the towel. ]

lockers!

[axemeagain]

[Johanna notices all of it, when he approaches his locker- the red mark, how pissed off and guilty he looks. She looks back up at him when he speaks and watches him slam the locker closed. She lets out a bark of laughter.]

Got an anger problem, handsome?

[She can't really talk. The young woman addressing him is not yet dressed, lingering at her locker. She has a shaved head and is small and frighteningly skinny.]

OTA

[bearwitness]

✚ Lockers

[Last month felt like a blur to Abbie. True, she met some new people and was able to reunite with someone old (literally and metaphorically; Crane is probably the only one with that honor to her). The attempted mutiny that she saw announced on the network made her feel uneasy; not because of the people behind it, but rather she felt as if even if she wanted to give a hand, she wasn't sure if it would mean much.

Those thoughts are carried with her as she and the others hurried to prepare for the next jump. And when she wakes up, gasping for breath, and a little steadier on her feet, Abbie is glad that third time really is the charm. She showers quickly enough and makes her way to her locker, self-assured in the fact that Crane could probably take care of himself, unwanted nudity aside. Right now, she's more interested in whether she'll receive something useful in her locker or not.

With her towel wrapped around herself, she starts by knocking on the door with her number trying to see if it'll be an empty echo like last time. And to her surprise, it isn't, but there wasn't a rattling of extra items either. The lieutenant mutters to herself as she opens it up.]

That is not a pair of boots I hear in there.

[What IS in there is entirely different and completely unwelcome. Anyone lingering around can hear a sharp shout from Abbie and see her stagger back. For behold, a decapitated and hollowed head of a man drops down and rolls out from inside her locker and stops. It is ghastly and fairly disgusting sight. The eyes are missing and the only reason there's no blood is because the wound around the neck was cauterized. But by what? Who's to say?

Abbie clearly seems to have an idea because as the shock sinks in, the horrible realization hits her too and she's shaking her head as if trying not believe her eyes.

Oh, HELL no!! Just... No. NO.

[She's got some of her wits about her and she keeps an eye on the decapitated head while grabbing her uniform. There's only one person she feels she can turn to right now.]

CRANE!! We got a problem here!!

[look]

[ will can't help it. he's just fascinated by the things that show up in the lockers. so as much as he tries to avoid meeting the eyes of all the naked humanity milling about, tries not to learn too much about the grotesqueries of human nature in the specimens around him, impinge on their lives in a simple glance — when someone shouts, he comes to investigate. ]

[ he's seen a lot come out of lockers that way. severed bones and wild animals and strange devices that seem to have no purpose. he's still trying to put together their pattern, and he's learned that if he doesn't follow the shrieks as soon as the object is found in someone's locker? he may never have another chance to hear about it. the worst part of doing this without any help from the fbi is nobody's obliged to tell him anything, so will doesn't know how many pieces he might be missing of this strange and macabre puzzle. ]

Head's a new one.

[ he tells — well, ostensibly her, but he's mostly murmuring to himself, eying it from a few lockers down, a few steps back. he doesn't look at the owner of the locker longer than he has to. (female, african american, assertive but probably not an only child, intelligent, temper problems, secret substance abuse or candidate for same, law enforcement but still something of a rogue spirit, chip on her shoulder like maybe she never got the promotion she wanted— and he has to stop himself there. this is why he tries not to let people catch his eye.) ]

elena gilbert;; closed pods, closed showers, and anywhere else ota!

[ex_heightens219]

( P O D S | CLOSED TO DAMON )

[ elena stumbles out of her pod, and manages to keep her feet underneath her this time. part of that is because she's just getting more used to the jump, but the other part...

the other part is three pods down, stepping out of his own. damon was elena's last thought when she got into her pod, minutes before the jump, and he's her first when she steps out of it. she's alive, and she sent damon that depressing message, and she knows he's going to give her hell for ever going onto that bridge in the first place, but she doesn't particulalrly care, not right now. she's alive and her boyfriend is three pods down from her, and he doesn't know that she made it, and that's enough to keep her on her feet even when she wants to curl into a ball and cry for a little while. nevermind that he's not really her boyfriend here, she still loves him just as much as she did when she got here, and he loves her, and she's not wasting another second waiting for him to make up his mind about what that means.

she's next to damon in less than a second, ignoring the way whooshing over to him makes her head spin. when he looks at her she's beaming, the smile equal parts sheepish and overjoyed. ]

Unless you have any strident objections, I'm going to kiss you now. Speak now or forever hold your peace.

( S H O W E R S | CLOSED TO JENNA AND RIC )

[ after her reunion with damon, ric and jenna are the first on elena's 'hey, look, i'm alive! please don't kill me!' list. she almost whooshes down to their pods, but decides that probably they're in the showers by now instead, so she walks as calmly as possible (or maybe she runs, you can't prove anything) to the showers, keeping her eyes peeled for her parents.

the second she sees one of them, all thought of staying under the vampire radar leaves her mind, and she's next to them in a blur. luckily she had the presence of mind to grab a towel first, or this could be really awkward. ]

I'm alive! Hugs before murder threats, please.

( ??? | OTA! )

[ want to see elena after she meets up with jenna and ric in the showers? in the lockers? feel free to make it happen! ]

UH LOCKERS?

[coy]

[ caroline honestly didn't know if she was going to see elena alive again. and instead of finding tyler right off the bat and going with him, she finds him, says hello and then is quick to find elena's pod. of course, by the time she gets there it's empty.

is that a good or bad thing? how can you tell if they made it or not? caroline doesn't actually know.

she makes her way to elena's locker (after dressing herself), waiting impatiently (more like hopefully) for her best friend to show and just be alive. she has to be alive, right?

please be alive.]

nill | open

[culver]

[The blue slime used to feel as if it burned. Now, it's nothing more than a mild annoyance. That doesn't mean she doesn't feel absolutely awful when she wakes up after the jump; it just means that she doesn't mind sitting outside her pod for a few moments once she's dumped to the cold metal floor.

Her back is almost flush against the pod, only some room left for her wings to remain uncrushed. They're stuck to her back anyway, she isn't very worried about them right now. The chill wakes her up just as much as it makes her want to crawl into the perceived warmth of the goo and go back to sleep.

The dizziness is worse this time around than it has been in a while, and so her few moments turn into a few minutes. Her embarrassment about her own body and the bodies around her has chipped away over the past year or so, and leaves her with few qualms about sitting on the floor in just her underclothes. They all have skin and bones that stick out a little, after all. Her only addition is the feathers. There's a small pile of towels just a few feet away, but she can't bring herself to move towards them right now.

Just when she thinks she might actually fall asleep there on the cold steel, Nill remembers those locked in the bridge. Her eyes snap open. She had known people in there; maybe not well, but she considered those on the ship a strange sort of family, even if she'd never spoken to some of them. Those people hadn't been able to get out. They had said goodbye as well they could. They are dead.

They are dead.

She jerks to her feet as best she can, leaning heavily on the pod to catch her breath. She knows Heine wasn't there, but she needs to see him. She needs to find him and prove to herself that he isn't dead too. The slime makes her slip away from the pod and she lands hard on her knees, tears springing to her eyes. A towel is what she needs, and she starts back to her feet so she can get one to wipe her face so she can look around for Heine. Please don't be dead, please.]

I hope a super late tag-in is okay!

[sweetmotherofgod]

[They didn't make it out.

It's the only thing she can thing of, the first thought into her head as she wakes, pushing every other thought away, like water beading off an oiled surface. People - their friends, their crewmates - stormed the bridge. They got stuck. And thejump rolled around before they could get out.

Marty.

Her grief at the loss of her friend almost closes her throat, for a moment. She'd had the chance to say goodbye, which was more than she'd had for anyone else she's lost, but it doesn't mean she feels the loss of him any less. But she won't serve his memory by standing around crying.

She wipes away the worst of the goo with her bare hands before she picks up a towel she left near her pod, wraps it around herself. Straightens her shoulders, lifts her head - and that's when she sees Nill.

This she can do. She's no good at being alone with her thoughts, no good at trying to deal with grief. But picking up the pieces, trying to put them back together - that she can do.

She hurries to Nill's side and offers her arm to help the girl rise.]

Hey, hey. You okay? Shit, you don't talk, do you? Uh, thumbs down for hurt, thumbs up for not hurt.

GRANT WARD ( so very open )

[specialism]

PODS

[ this isn't the bus — ward has no recollection of leaving the bus and he has no recollection of anything that might lead to a scenario in which he's suspended in a tube of blue fluid, breathing through a tube in his nose, which means that his memory must be failing him or the bus was ambushed. neither one of those are acceptable options — but the thought process is delayed when the fluid drains and he ends up on the floor, barely catching himself in a crouch in time before his face hits the ground.

this is not the bus. this isn't anywhere familiar; nothing he recognises. he's naked, but that is secondary to unarmed in this moment, eyes narrowing as he pushes himself to his feet.

there are others stumbling from pods just like the one he'd been in. there's a tattoo on his arm — none of this makes sense and if someone had time to tattoo him, that means he was out for too long.

where is his team? ]

LOCKERS

[ in the end, he'd followed others into the showers and then towards a room full of lockers. he keeps his head down, but that doesn't mean he isn't watching his surroundings carefully.

at least the locker contains tac gear and weapons and some of the tension in his shoulders bleeds away as he checks over the two guns, the ammo, loading them — that he doesn't strip them entirely is the only concession to time and place.

only once he's assured himself that they're functional does he set them aside for long enough to actually get dressed. in tac gear, rather than the unfamiliar uniform. ]

hahaha i meant pods.

[sleuthtastic]

[ Granted, in her time aboard the TQ, she hasn't seen that much nudity. Sure, there's that brief freak-out everytime you open your eyes to blue goo, and the showers are a lot like high school gym, which means there's nudity if you look for it. But it's not a big deal — it's definitely not like this, which is rounding the corner only to see a guy very, very confidently walking his way around, and it's not like Veronica hasn't seen her fair share of cheating wives and husbands mid flagrante, but— ]

—oh my god!

[ Quick, Veronica, put your hands over your eyes to protect your mythical (ha) virginity (double ha). ]

Do you— clothes?

[ A beat. Her fingers open, just a little, and only from the waist up because, you know, space crazies. ]

Are you Ryan Gosling's body double?

[ That's a good question, right. ]

yuri petrov | pods, lockers | ota!

[moonstruck]

pods.

[After being ejected from the pod, and taking a moment to stop reeling from the utter shock of disorientation, of the feeling of being cold and practically naked and sick to his stomach, Yuri manages to lift himself off of the floor. His hair is sticking to the sides of his face, but it does very little to hide his prominent scar -- something the man would not take kindly to, if not for the fact that he does not even register this yet. He lifts his head up and his eyes flicker about to survey the situation, somehow holding back the feeling of frustration and panic threatening to burst, lips pressed into a very thin scowl.

Where, when, how, why. All of these substantial notions are currently far beyond his comprehension, and needless to say it doesn't sit well with him. Was he hallucinating? Was he truly so misfortunate for them to now become so... complex? If he were to sit here for a few seconds, for a few minutes, would everything around him dissolve away -- like day nightmares eventually do -- and he'd find himself in a state of normalcy again?

He doesn't know; but he's willing, with an air of cool acceptance and faint anxiety, to find out. And so he remains seated, goo still dripping from his body, waiting to see. Strangers move in all directions, catching in his peripheral, and he watches with the detachment of a wary outsider -- but he doesn't move. He doesn't speak.]

lockers.

[So it was real, then. How unfortunate.

Yuri seems unapproachable (he certainly feels that way), but at least now he's dressed. Standing in front of his open locker, he had found a jumpsuit that was hardly suitable, and his own clothing that he was much more inclined to wear. And thus he stands in his suit now, tie and all, currently tying back his hair with a black ribbon. His scar remains visible and he is now aware of this fact, but keeping to himself helped to deflect any comments concerning it. He frowns, his hands not feeling as limber as they should -- clumsy with the uncertainty of everything that surrounds him, the consequence of his mind in a million places at once.

His brow knits together as he momentarily gives up, rakes his hair back again with one hand into a ponytail, and attempts to tie it again. Despite being quiet during the majority of his arrival, he cannot help but say, through clenched teeth:]

Inconvenient.

[Yes. Inconvenient. Everything. Absolutely everything.]

pods

[inebriety]

[For far too long he'd kept his distance from everyone as best he could while feigning a warm personality, but now Tony starts to think that it might be worth taking the first step himself. It's why he doubles back to the pods after getting washing up and getting dressed.

The man on the ground has the look of the recently arrived.]

Do you need any help getting up?

[That's what people do to be nice right?]

❝ Ｃｏｒｔａｎａ ❞ ⤥ showers & lockers

[overthought]

❝ ＳＨＯＷＥＲＳ ❞

[she didn't think that she'd be so excited to be in a shower again. the water, despite its unsatisfactory temperate was good on her skin. it's like she's discovering everything all over again. soap smells amazing (it's mediocre at best), the water is soothing (tensing at best) and people, there are people around her (all in the same mood as before).

it was funny, really, how one person could just change someone's outlook. she might be humming a tuneless tune, but that's what people do in the shower right?feel free to catch her walking out wet and naked to the lockers or tell her to shut up.]

❝ ＬＯＣＫＥＲＳ ❞

[she shouldn't be feeling this odd mixture of happiness and worry. the fact that the master chief is here should be concerning her, should be worrying her and that as her best friend, he shouldn't have to suffer through all of this.

yet, she can't help that she's smiling. the person most important to her is here, and she feels complete. it gives her purpose, falling back on her directives (alpha: finish the mission, beta: protect the master chief; somewhere along the lines they both became the alpha prerogative).

cortana might not be as quick as she used to - evident by the fact that she's standing there as if zoned out with the top half of her jumpsuit on as she stares into nowhere - but she's processing what to do. get the chief's armor back on, set him up with a station on board, possibly gunnery or maybe security, or maybe both so that he'll have to pull double duty. she's hungry, remember organics eat.

and by no means does he find out that she almost died. it might be easier if she moved, but sometimes she just needs a gentle reminder that she needs to finish putting on her clothes. she's still not used to the whole "clothes" thing, despite the fact that she spent a lot of her time naked. now just the blue hue of her skin and her odd skin markings aren't going to cut it.

get chief some clothes, that's another one.]

[specialism]

[ the showers mean proximity and vulnerability — ward knows to fight on wet tiles well enough, his blaance is good, but there are too many bodies around to keep track of each one of them and —

is she humming?

it's so incongruous with the litany of strategy and tactical decisions running through his mind, so cheerful and seemingly pleased with the world, that for a moment ward stills and stares.

( and then notices the blue markings — another oddity, but one he finds admittedly less confusing than the cheerfulness. ) ]

Elizabeth of York | The White Queen | OTA!

[skjalf]

ｐｏｄｓ
Before she even opens her eyes, Elizabeth is conscious of two things: one, there is something hard shoved down her throat, obstructing her airway. Second, and worst of all: she is in a very tight space. Her scream echoes off the walls of her pod. Her arms and legs strike at them, as she twists about to try and break herself free. Her throat is raw and she coughs, choking on the tube in her throat.

The pod releases her abruptly, and she tumbles hard onto the ground. Her throat is raw, as she splays on her hands and knees to try and recover her breath. She does not even notice that she is naked. What is that compared to almost being choked to death, and compressed in the tightest space she has ever seen? The lights are so bright, surely ungodly and unnatural, and she has to squint in order to see even a sliver of anything.

"Cecily?" she croaks, and reaches blindly for the wall, in order to pull herself up. "Where are you?"


ｓｈｏｗｅｒｓ
This room is yet another marvel for her. And Elizabeth isn't quite down with public bathing. Just because the Romans used to do it in Britannia doesn't mean she wants to try it. But this gel-y stuff is all in her hair, which she is terribly vain about keeping clean. So she meanders inside, and might look funny, as she gives the faucet a perplexed look before tugging it to the right.

The water is cold! She yelps, and tugs the lever sharply in the other direction, only to almost scald herself.

What is this thing, anyway? Not really sure but equally not in the know as to who to ask, she tries the lever again.. and lucks out, finding a temperature that is suitable for her needs. The soap is much more straightforward and she can wash now no problem. Even if she has never heard of conditioner, and someone might want to point that out to her.

[twicequeen]

It's taken awhile but Elizabeth has finally adjusted to the bright lights though it still makes her head ache. Everything still seems like a blur, confusing but she's making the best of it with finding her locker and pulling on a gown. Edward's dagger is kept close as well, just in case.

Since she's not sure where she is, the next step is to look for a familiar face. If Edward or one of her children are here, she will find them. It's when she ventures in the shower area when she hears a yelp along with the sound of running water, pausing.

She makes her way closer but the dagger which is clutched so firmly in her hand is dropped when she looks around the stall divide.]

Elizabeth!

[She's older than when Elizabeth last saw her but she would know her daughter anywhere, even in such a strange place.]