ataraxionlogs | twenty-eighth jump;

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He doesn't block it or even try - he can tell when something truly disfiguring is coming at him in half a heartbeat and this isn't it, so he'd rather deal with the pain than have to waste more time squashing a rebounding spell. He feels the jinx in his arm straight to his bones but it doesn't make him flinch. There's nothing supernatural about his lack of reaction, he just doesn't care.

Sirius lunges at him and Severus moves away, but not quick enough to escape. Fortunately (or something), the lift doors choose then to open back up, apparently having decided that if these two idiots aren't going to press a button already then they can leave. There's nothing behind him now so Severus falls back, hard, banging his elbow and wrenching a knee and that hurts more than the jinx - not that he'd ever say so. He shoves back at Sirius in his own way from the floor, that blast of a spell again, forcing the other man off of him.

"Someone should teach you how to use one of those properly," he snaps, glaring up at him, mouth twisting into a mocking smile. "Not enough heat behind it."

That invisible shove hits him hard, again, pushes him off--and it only makes Sirius angrier. If Snape is going to be here, if he's going to be pushing Sirius off of him with magic, then Sirius is going to learn to counter that--because like hell is he going to let Snape get one over him, any time--

And like hell he's going to take pointers from him, either. That's almost worse.

"Oh, fuck you," he snarls, "you evil little bastard, fuck you," and he raises his wand again, his anger blazing hot in his chest--so heated that the stunning spell he fires off feels hot even to him, on this end--and another one, straight after, stupefy, and if that's not enough he's going to try, at least, for a full-body bind, something that will get him down so he can stomp on his smarmy face--and if he blocks, then Sirius is going to throw his wand away and punch him again, see if that works.

Severus blocks them because, frankly, he's good at it, and because Sirius is so angry right now that everything he does is as obvious to him as an oncoming freight train. "Try again," he tells him, still sitting on the floor, one knee up, wand pointed at the other. At this rate they're going to have an audience. "You don't have to ask me if you want to get better at dark curses, I'm sure cousin Bella would love to offer you some pointers. Might help you fit in--"

In your cell in Azkaban probably never gets out.

And that's it, then. His anger spills over entirely, overwhelming him, white-hot and unrelenting. He doesn't drop his wand--a wizard never drops his wand--but he shoves it blindly into his pocket as he goes for Snape with a sound that's very nearly a growl--

It's been easy to avoid thinking of his family, it's been easy to distance himself, because no one knows them. No one hears the surname Black and makes those automatic connections that Sirius was once so used to--and hearing Snape say Bellatrix's name careens him back to that place, to being a kid who hates his family, hates them and anything to do with them, deliberate in never being like them or thinking of them--and here's Snape, throwing them back in his face again. And James is gone, and that's enough for Sirius to want to end this now, brutally, in a way that will shut Snape up.

And so he shoves his wand into his pocket and he goes for Snape, practically tackling him, shoving him back against the floor with one fist gripping at his shirtfront, the other pulling back to punch him in the face again--and then again, heedless of the ache in his hand--

Very rarely in life does Severus Snape ever embrace the thought of I shouldn't have done that - he doesn't now, but oddly, he considers the fact that he doesn't. His nose breaks, he thinks he feels a tooth come loose, and he's not used to dealing with pain like this. But he doesn't regret saying anything. He'd say it again and he'd say worse, perfectly happily. There's a vicious satisfaction in getting under Sirius's skin to this extent, consequences be damned. Perhaps this could have been avoided if he'd just kept his mouth shut, but no - it's Sirius's fault, because Sirius should stop behaving like a violent animal, and reel in his emotional instability. It's pathetic. (That it might be equally pathetic to resort to He started it! isn't something he'll be acknowledging.)

Severus grabs back at Sirius, attempting for a moment to get him off of him before changing tactics, one hand wrapping around Sirius's wrist at his shirt. A burning sensation emanates from his hands and this time he doesn't shove the Gryffindor away, holding tightly instead as if to force the painful curse from person to person physically. He's just about done with this and he doesn't want to end up pulled apart and restrained by some other party, especially not with Black a part of a security team. That's enough.

It's Snape's fault, and always will be. It's easy to foist blame onto him, nasty and vile and cruel, in his way, even if he's sulky and clever about his cruelty. Even if maybe they were cruel first, he deserved it, and he went on to prove just how badly he deserved it as the years went on. And clearly he only grows worse, because they're here now, aren't they, with his hand aching and Snape's face now a mess of blood. They wouldn't be here if he didn't deserve this.

The hot shock of pain at his wrist jerks him out of his blind rage, and Sirius hisses, twists, tries to tug away--it means he's got to let up from hitting Snape, but it's better than having his hand burnt off. He scrambles back, wrist burning, hand aching. His breath comes ragged as he stares at Snape across the slight distance--if looks could kill never applied so well to a single stare--before he shoves away from him entirely.

"Keep away from me." It comes out a snarl; he doesn't try and couch it or correct it. His anger is still in him, just below the surface. It won't fade anytime soon, not now. "Just fucking keep away, Snape."

He makes Sirius fight to wrench his wrist away and his hand feels numb with pain after from the force of it. Once they're apart he stands, slow, paying no heed to the blood on his face - nose broken, lip split, bruises blooming - and glaring at Sirius. He smiles coldly and through the near-gore of Sirius's handiwork it looks monstrous. Fitting: if Severus is a monster, then Sirius helped create him. They're part of each other's origins whether they like it or not, and maybe they'd hate each other less if they were less alike. Violent, angry, clever, with childhoods robbed from them by families who hated them. True to form, Severus would hate Sirius even more if he knew.

He raises a hand to his face and a crack noise sounds, a wordless episkey spell setting his head back in order. (As much as it'll go. The end result is only as good as the original state.) Intent stirs around him, almost tangible in the air. If Sirius comes at him again he'll be met with no more patience.

"You don't have to worry."

Severus could snap and bicker back, instigate more - but really. Neither of them wants the company of the other. It's not as if he'll go seeking him out, and it's not like Severus wants this idiot following him around any more than Sirius wants his Slytherin counterpart lurking in his shadows. The only peace between them at any age can be a cease-fire.

twenty-eighth jump;

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the fight scene that never ends i'm sorry YOU'RE JUST THE WORST snape

lmao i love it 8D

oh well in that case GOOD because i love it too 8)

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