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

[overthought]

And how do you know that humans won't evolve to look like me in 2557? [it's a fun little game to play with him. maybe he'll buy it, maybe he won't. either way, he'll have to earn the information that she's a former AI.

but washing her back doesn't hurt his chances, anyway.]

[specialism]

2557?

[ are you kidding him right now. he can handle aliens and he can handle dimension hopping, maybe — but time-travel? ]

[overthought]

That's the strangest thing in this entire situation?

[please prioritize your incredulous. thank you.]

[specialism]

Yes.

[ he's more familiar with space than he is with time travel, his incredulous is perfectly prioritised. ]

[overthought]

I guess I can't argue with priorities.

[Good keep rubbing that feels good. until she turns around and washes her back off. so, ward has just happened to see cortana naked.]

[specialism]

[ he's not looking. except to continue being confused by the blue. because, blue.

were they still having a conversation? because he doesn't really have anything to add. ]

[overthought]

I'm naturally this color, you know. You don't have to worry about it being contagious, I don't think you could pull it off. [wow, seriously way to be rude to the poor lady. not that she really cares, but it's a little disconcerting.]

[specialism]

[ how is it rude that he finds it strange that she's blue. she's blue and humans in his time aren't usually blue.

but he gets it together and just looks away entirely. ] Any particular reason?

[overthought]

Bone structure. [she says, offhandedly as if nothing at all strange is happening here.]

I don't think you have it.

[specialism]

[ have you seen his cheekbones? boy's got great bone structure.

but maybe not for being blue. ] Apparently not.

[overthought]

[please, he doesn't have the butt to carry all that sass.]

Good. And next time, don't ask a person why they're blue, got it? Consider it classified information.

[specialism]

[ what does his butt have to do with his sass :| ]

Classified by whom?

[overthought]

United Nations Space Command.

[i have a theme, dammit tona.]

[specialism]

[ he's never heard of the united nations space command, but that lends at least some credibility to the year she's named.

or it's a well thought-out but ridiculous cover story. ]

Ah.

[overthought]

Intelligent. [so much chit-chat, and not enough doing what she wants him to do.]

As fun as this was, I actually have to go somewhere. If you need anything, though. You can always find me.

[specialism]

[ ward isn't as smart as fitzsimmons, but he isn't stupid. still: there is no need to point that out. his field of expertise is the more physical. having his intelligence underestimated isn't a problem.

after a brief moment's hesitation: ] Likewise.