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

[allbloodyhail]

He nods, wrapping his own towel around his waist before making his way inside. "You don't have to be embarrassed, alright. We all get used to seeing each other's bits with these bloody jumps." A beat as he turns on the spray. "See here, blue means cold, red means hot. You've only got about ten minutes of hot stuff, tops, on this bloody deathtrap so use your time wisely."

Then a grin. "Oh, and I'm Spike." The King of awkward meetings, that's this guy.

[skjalf]

Is he serious? Elizabeth casts him a look of utter incredulity while squinting her eyes firmly shut.

"Whyever not? I was not meant to see a naked man until I was wed."

It isn't like that's going to happen anytime soon if she has a say in the matter. And maybe she doesn't. But in the meantime, she has tried to avert her eyes as much as possible. And right now she is trying her hardest not to look, both out of respect for him, and just because.

But out of the corner of her eye, she can see him grinning, and chances a glance squarely at his face to return it with a small one of her own.

"Elizabeth. A.. pleasure to meet you." Her cheeks are still red with embarrassment, but she nods to his explanation, having heard every word.

"What are these? I have never seen the like before."

Awkward this might be, her curiosity is getting the best of her.

[allbloodyhail]

It feels good to help someone for a change, and Spike nods, understanding the sentiment well enough. Even if he doesn't share it, at all. He was still around for Victorian times and he gets it. Sometimes that's all it takes.

"It's called a shower, you'll get to appreciate them before long."