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

[doggedly]

[That answer hurts, a little. Sirius and James, the unbeatable fucking team. Sirius' shoulders hunch a little, as he stares down at the floor, and feels suddenly--weirdly--dizzy.

But after a beat of silence, he manages a quiet laugh.]

Two cleverest. Don't forget that.

[jurisimpudent]

[And Edgeworth's hand comes out. He grips at Sirius' upper arm - bold enough to try for contact once again.]

Two obscenely clever ones. That went without stating.

[doggedly]

[He doesn't shrug away this time. He stares down at Edgeworth's hand--only for a moment--and then looks at him, with a thin smile.]

And you being so clever yourself. That's quite the vote of confidence.

[jurisimpudent]

Well, I suppose that's another thing. You have me on your side, too.

[That causes him to give a little expression - a scrunched nose of dismay, just briefly there and then gone. He despises sounding egotistical; but anything to cheer Sirius up.]

[doggedly]

[But it helps. Sirius' smile firms a little, especially at that look on Edgeworth's face, and even though he looks away, it's not quite as heavy.]

And you'll read all the books we don't want to, right? It's perfect.

[jurisimpudent]

And criticize you mercilessly for not having read them yourself.

[doggedly]

You won't. Because you'll secretly like being the one that's read all the books. Or not so secretly.

[jurisimpudent]

[A hesitation, and then he says:]

I like to be of help.

[It's a non-confession, but it still feels like something weighty. It's an admission, if only in his mind, that he wishes he had a place to fit in in their group.]

[doggedly]

[It's such an idiotic thing to say. Classic Edgeworth. Sirius glances over at him, a smile tugging suddenly at the corners of his mouth.]

Yeah. I know.

[And it's good, that he does. That goes unsaid. There's a beat, and then he reaches over to clap Edgeworth on the arm, once, bracing, far more like his usual self.]

You're a prat.

[jurisimpudent]

[And at once, a smile of relief blossoms on Edgeworth's face. It looks a bit pathetic, with him looking like hell - as he does - but it's genuine and heartfelt.]

I'm beginning to think prat might be a compliment.

[doggedly]

[He sneers, a little. Still tired, but faking it better.]

Nah. Don't fool yourself, or try to make yourself feel better. Just 'cos I'm fond of you and it bleeds into my tone a little doesn't make it a compliment. Far from it.

[jurisimpudent]

[And Edgeworth greets that sneer with a widened smile.]

You remind me of my sister sometimes, Black.

[doggedly]

Whaaaaaat.

[He squints at Edgeworth, suspiciously.]

You only have one sister, haven't you. Is that a compliment?

[jurisimpudent]

[A little frown - ]

Of course it is a compliment. I'm very fond of her.

[doggedly]

That doesn't necessarily make it a compliment. But all right, yeah, fine, it's a compliment. Is it 'cos I threaten you?

[jurisimpudent]

What? No, you don't threaten me. You're quite civilized compared to her.

[Compared to her.]

No, merely because - Well. She always called people "fool," but for certain people, it became rather a term of endearment.

[doggedly]

[but does she eat sandwiches out of a bin]

Yeah? How did you know the difference, between when it was an endearment and when it wasn't?

[jurisimpudent]

Well - non-endearment was often associated with physical violence.

[doggedly]

[um...]

Physical violence.