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]

[He looks around, quickly, almost savagely--like that's even a question right now, when everything is so clearly not all right. But it's only Ned, and Digby--and there's a twinge of something very like envy, in Sirius; a dog would feel this sadness but so much less complexly, without everything in him at war.

He looks up at Ned again.]

What d'you do with him, when we do these-- jumps.

[onetouch]

Digby? He goes in with Chuck. Her... pod. [ the two things he couldn't touch but most wanted to in one sardine pack. ]

[doggedly]

[He nods, grimly, basically just a jerk of his head, and drops down to one knee, holds a hand out to Digby.]

Always wondered what people did with their pets. [And then, abruptly, almost as if this is part of the same thought--] My best mate's gone.

[onetouch]

[ digby is happy to accept any and all affection, pushing his face into sirius' hand unshyly. ned is a bit more hesitant where he hovers above them, wringing his hands at the admission. ]

I'm s-so sorry.

[doggedly]

[He shrugs, dispassionately, as he scratches gently at Digby's ear without looking round at Ned.]

You didn't do it, did you? So you've not got anything to be sorry about. [There's a beat of silence, then, before he adds, in a low voice--] Do they have wakes, and things, where you're from? Where everyone hangs around and drinks and they cover the mirrors with black.

[onetouch]

[ he nods, automatically, expression pensive. ]

Yes. Of course they do. And everyone eats stale cookies and pretends it isn't awkward to be in a room with everyone a person has ever had cause to meet -- or left an impression on. Which, really, is a better outcome than the reason such a tradition was originally employed.

[ then slowly, he puts things back into perspective and context. ]

Would you like to hold a wake, for. For James?

[doggedly]

He's not dead.

[He says that sharply, though he doesn't look around at Ned. He does switch to scratching Digby's other ear, so that's got to count for something, or at least imply a lack of total misery. Miserable people don't pet dogs. Or maybe they pet more dogs.]

He goes home. That's what everyone says. He's not dead. [Yet, and that thought makes his mouth twist a little.] But it feels like we should do something, for the people that leave. Instead of just-- forgetting, unless they come back again. Shouldn't want them to come back again, not to this bloody place.

[onetouch]

I'm --sorry, Sirius. [ he lifts a hand. ] I know he isn't. I only meant... A memorandum?

You're right, about the coming back. While it's undeniably nice to have familiar company. It's just as horrible.