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

Of course!

[cargojet]

[ He's just shucked himself into an orange jumpsuit thanks to Bail's kindness, and is preparing to go when he hears her voice, small but familiar. Some of the bridge had suffered worse than others, but Juliana had seemed to have it the hardest of all. There had become a sort of routine to the insanity, a futile predictability to it, after a while. When you watched enough people react to things that weren't there, you began to focus more on those few things that were real. The people had been one of those things; unwaveringly real, all of them, and all of their suffering, too--none of that was projected or hallucinated.

They'd made it through alive, but it wasn't the end. ]

You can bother me any time. Hey.

[ He reached out to try and place his hands on hers, attempting to be comforting. ]

Would it help if you sat down?

[rubblegoddess]

[She's looking haphazard and a bit disheveled, but she'll be fine. Won't they all? And she's trying to smile a little, because it's better if she looks calm and superior and above all this worry and residual fear.

It's hard to find the right words, harder still to not just blurt something out. So she speaks slowly, words carefully chosen and cadence measured as she lets him take her hands.]

No, I'm quite alright, thank you for your concern. I actually wanted to apologize to you for my actions. My reactions, I suppose that's a better way to state it.

[cargojet]

[ He listens to her, quiet, and lets the words sink in for a moment as though he's appreciating the apology for what it is. When he answers her, he squeezes her hands slightly. ]

You have nothing to apologize for. All of us respond to that sort of...madness in different ways, and some of us have the advantage of having been put through all of it before. You mustn't make the mistake of thinking it's over, just because we made it through to the Jump.

If I gave you the number of a friend of mine, would you speak to her?

[rubblegoddess]

I know it's not over, but I...

[She pauses, thinking. She worried people, hurt people, troubled them, and she doesn't want to do it again. How does she fight when she can't keep those she loves safe? Nevermind that bit. A sigh.]

Of course. About what?

[cargojet]

Being...what we are. It isn't the same. I have a lot of experience with the human limits of my mind. I know how far I have to be pushed to start coming apart at the seams, because this ship has sent me to that place several times already.

[ He expresses his concern in the grimness of his expression, looking back up at her. ]

I want you to speak to Jenna Sommers, in medical. She's Sci double oh one oh sixteen. She's the closest thing this ship has to a therapist, which means she's a good person to talk to about these sorts of things. She can help you.

[rubblegoddess]

No. It's very sweet of you, but no. You have no idea what it's like to be me. To have survived what I did. To make myself whole on a daily basis, to think until it frightens and stops me for some time.

[No. No, she won't. She rubs her hands quickly on her thighs and crosses her arms, forcing a haughty smile.]

It was an isolated incident. I'm fully in control of my faculties.

[In a fragile sense. It's partially true--she has magnificent control over the whole thing most of the time. But when she slips, she stays in her room and doesn't eat and doesn't sleep and isn't useful in the slightest. But no one knows about that.]

[cargojet]

[ He inclines his head slightly. He'd released her arm when she moved her hands, instead sliding his own into his jacket pockets casually. ]

I'm sure you know what's best for you. If you do change your mind, her door is always open.

[ And then he tries a warmer, reassuring smile. He's done his brief bit of pushing, and while he might try and impress the point, he's opened the door, he can't make her walk through it, and trying to make her would reflect badly on him. ]

Just like mine is. What will you do now? Personally, I think I'm going to sleep for about a week.

[rubblegoddess]

Now?

[An uneasy smile morphs into something more sincere. She has a plan or two she needs to execute. They definitely involve staying in denial about her rampancy and clinging for dear life to certain people.]

Damage control.

[She sighs, glancing around.]

Thank you for your time.

[cargojet]

Any time at all, you know where to find me.

[ And with that Nathan turns back toward his retreat, and the elevators--he's not likely to make it there without being stopped, but it's worth a try. ]