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

[majestyofthethrone]

And her eyes are pretty wide. Severus sounds familiar, but she can't place it - it's not a common name either, is it. She give a little nod, futzes a bit, and manages not to fidget.

You're new, right? There aren't that many people aboard, and she keeps any eye on the network. She takes a moment. There's a post, on the network. It explains everything. Ianto puts it up once a month.

[darkart]

'Post' and 'network' are words whose meanings he understands, but in their current context, it reads like a secret code he's only half-cracked. Fortunately he's fairly sure he can assume correctly - the device in his locker that he's unfamiliar with is likely involved. A vague, singular instruction and static are unhelpful, but perhaps it'll work better later.

(He's not going to ask for help.)

"Well, thank you." Severus has his doubts that so many people in here would look like they're on a funeral march if 'everything' has an explanation, but it's a tip he appreciates nonetheless. Even if he does sound wry about it, having not solicited anything. Friendly people mystify him.

[majestyofthethrone]

You're welcome, she responds, and looks down, and then back up at him, a quizzical expression on her face. But it's gone in a moment.

Seraphim is not typically gregarious. She is shy enough that it's difficult for her to meet new people, but being on the ship has in a way made her become more open, quicker to try and start a conversation, even if for her it's difficult. One thing she does know is that the learning curve can be steep.

So she offers. If you need any help, with the device, you can contact me. My number is 006 >> 054. I'm usually in the sixth floor music room.

[darkart]

Severus catches her look, but doesn't comment. He's not going to invite questioning. Instead he continues to read; more numbers being offered. Like Potter's, he'll remember it - he can't not, really, his memory is too good - but he has no plans of contacting her (or anyone) anytime soon. How ridiculous.

"There's a music room." Of course there's a music room, why wouldn't a floating interdimensional prison have a music room. Briefly, he feels strung between wanting to laugh and wanting to murder someone. But his expression remains neutral. Thankfully.

[majestyofthethrone]

She nods. There's only one, it's the one that has her piano in it, and she's pretty sure it only exists because of her piano. It's the only thing that's kept her sane, lately.

Well, as sane as she usually is. Which isn't terribly.

There are a few instruments on board. But the piano is there.

[darkart]

Being abducted somewhere with leisure amenities... okay. He supposes he'll get used to it eventually, though the fact that he has to is vexing. Stunned as he is by the development of being in space, Severus is putting the business of reacting to everything in full on hold until he's in private.

"Fascinating." He doesn't sound fascinated. "Thank you for your time, anyway."

[majestyofthethrone]

She gives him a nod, agreeable, shoulders her violin case, and ambles off on her way.