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

[dogbane]

[What kind of officers abandon crew for a month? William's eyebrows shoot up his face, finding camouflage somewhere behind his forelocks. He doesn't entertain exactly how much longer Emma may have been here on the ship, just yet. From the medbay, the operation had looked like it had been running fairly smooth; a crew of invisible two would suggest otherwise.

As far as he's concerned, she is native.] Right then, [he says.] Well-- [she doesn't look like an especially fangy or hostile native. Maybe that's just the shellshock. He hesitates to guess what was doing on the bridge, then, but now seems as good as time as any to find out. Crossing his arms, he props a shoulder on the locker.] keeping in mind that I've got little love for any sort of regime that crews through abduction, and I'm definitely not spying for Big Bruv up there, but nothing I'm saying seems reportable or grounds for court martial, [just covering all his bases, you know,] can I ask--

--what you was doing in the bridge?

[uncurse]

[ her brow furrows a bit, only briefly, as she notes the sheer number of qualifiers going on there. he's being cautious - she doesn't blame him, necessarily, it's smart. it's just astoundingly unlike the way emma responds to any situation that doesn't involve emotions. it absolutely confirms that he's new, but her newness had more greatly resembled, well, yelling. ]

Trying to find us a way off this damned ship. [ there's warning in her tone as she answers, because this is the beginning of a bumpy ride. ] We work the ship to keep ourselves alive, but we don't have control over it or its trajectory. We're stuck. So, while no one's around to court martial you, there's also no one who's going to help.

[dogbane]

[As the full reality sets in, or at least a substantial part of it, William's face changes. He looks at Emma, assessing.

It is not difficult to take her seriously-- she has a forthright and pragmatic and, frankly, deeply unhappy way about her that's more common to drill sargeants than the politicians. While everything is unknown quantities out here, it's easier to believe somebody who's in the trenches with you, who recently died near her, than the illusion of clean automation granted by the numbers printed on the inside of his forearm and premade jumpsuit he found in his locker.

Not that he was very good at the whole rank and file thing anyway, even when he tried.] Ain't true, [he says, after a long moment.] There's you, and you look a little rough this fine morning, granted, but not exactly defeated. I think defeat's got a lower speaking tempo, shitty posture, less rage. [A ghost of a smile touches his face, but it slides off quick.] If there's another plan, would you let me know?

[uncurse]

[ at first, she gets ready with a disparaging look. 'ain't true.' not the first time she's heard it when she drops the act of holding onto hope. but as she opens her mouth and furrows her brow, ready to cut him off, he catches her off guard with the kind of faith that she's felt so sorely lacking on the tranquility. the kind of faith that her parents had, that henry had. there's you.

she blinks, and the defensiveness drains out of her for an instant, dropping her guard. the only person who's actually demonstrated any kind of faith in her before that's henry, and it's been a crippling loss. even from a complete stranger, it's enough to stagger and disorient her.

it's clear in how her lips remain parted as she hesitates, and in the softness of her expression as she blinks to process it. he asked her a question, she really ought to muster up a response. her eyebrows jump up briefly as she gets the words out in an even voice. ] Yeah. [ she straightens her slumped shoulders and squares them again. ] Yeah, I can do that. [ her tone and her eyes are still a little distant, jarred by the effect of that vote of confidence. her thumbs hook into the front pockets of her jeans, leaving her looking smaller and more childlike in the face of it. ]

I'm, uh. I'm Emma. If you need any help getting used to things around here.

[dogbane]

Don't go crying if I bother you with all sorts of stupid questions now. Pleasure. [The Chinese man cracks her a small smile, nothing too bright to be out of place for the occasion, but sincere. He does not qualify his assessment of her actions any further. She tried to take the bridge of the ship that took them. While "try" might be the word she's dwelling in lately, it is what it is.

He offers a hand to shake. Hello. See you soon. But while I have you--] William, [he says.] Blackstone trainee, military in the world I come from. I'm a healer, though I know you've got machines for that. What was you in yours?

[uncurse]

Might have machines, but people never hurt. [ she holds out her hand to shake and offers him a smile in return. ] I was a sheriff before I got here; now I work security for the ship. You should think about checking out the medical bay.

[dogbane]

[The man's face takes a wry twist. He drops his head a fraction of an inch, acknowledgment, releases her hand.] I will. Thanks.

I'll buy you a drink with my earnings, if I find anything good. [He cracks her a grin, essays back a step.]

[uncurse]

Pass. [ she grimaces a little, holding up a hand. ] On the drink, at least. And ... not just because the alcohol here is lower than bottom shelf. [ she shakes her head. ] But, I'll look forward to hearing from you either way.