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

[skjalf]

The name given to her is as foreign as it is beautiful. Elizabeth peers at her curiously, and the nods.

"The circumstances could stand to be a good deal better. But I am no less glad, my lady Galadriel."

[inafadingcrown]

"It will seem of small comfort now, I know, but this will grow easier. Jumps are always hardest at the first."

[skjalf]

"Jumps?" she asked, tilting her head curiously. "Curious."

She did not remember being able to jump whilst cramped in that tube.

[inafadingcrown]

"Forgive me- it is the term used to describe a particular movement of the ship; I do not fully understand it, myself, but it necessitates our presence in these...devices." She gestures to the pods.

[skjalf]

"There is naught to forgive." She blinks, and gives her a sheepish little smile.

But the smile soon fades into a quizzical little frown, as Elizabeth turns about to glance around their surroundings. When she comes to face Galadriel again, it has grown into a look of utter dismay.

"I beg your pardon, but did you say ship? This is a ship? But those are fashioned of wood."

[inafadingcrown]

"I did. It is a ship, but one of a different sort than you are like to be familiar with." The expression that flits across her face is almost apologetic, as if she knows that this is likely to sound quite mad. "We sail among the stars now, strange as it sounds."