ataraxionlogs | twenty-eighth jump;

Entry tags:

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.

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[ the initial denial earns a look that's equal parts incredulous and amused, and it very nearly crowds out the confusion, if only for a second. it's not until she corrects herself that he goes back to focusing on the issue at hand.

the fact that she's as confused as he is for a moment helps him feel less on the back foot, however, and as he watches her work it out — what, exactly, he's still not quite sure of — his expression becomes more curious than bemused. her question more or less confirms his assumption, but the fact that she has to ask at all raises an entirely new problem. ] Manhattan. [ a slight pause to consider his words, then: ] What's happened to your son?

[ if there's a faint hint of genuine interest there, it isn't faked; regardless of how he feels about emma and her crew at the moment, the fact that she mentioned henry and neverland in the same breath is enough to merit basic sympathy. still, hook's only asking in an effort to work out what he's missed. ]

Edited (cries similar cap different icon why) 2014-02-11 06:03 (UTC)

[ for a moment she just eyes him warily, because she's not sure how to take what comes across as concern. she wants to believe it's genuine, but considering he'd just stabbed rumpelstiltskin, poisoning the kid's grandfather, it seems unlikely he'd be showing real concern for him now. so she settles for her usual healthy skepticism and deflects. ]

I'm supposed to believe you wake up on a spaceship and suddenly you care about someone other than yourself? [ she shakes her head, the doubt clear. ] I don't think so. [ and the message is all too clear as her walls can practically be seen raising back around her. she'll figure something out herself (because, a tiny voice in the back of her mind chides her, she's been doing such a great job so far). ]

[ and there's the emma he knows. it should possibly feel like backsliding; if he knew more than he does, maybe it would. as is, it's familiar, easy — this is how it works, good guys and villains, simple lines in the sand.

if there's any impulse to take offense at her low opinion of him (and there is, of course, in extremely hypocritical fashion), it's sidelined by her mention of the ship. hook steps forward to close the gap between them, but the action's more about roping her into continuing the conversation than anything overtly aggressive. there's an element of privacy in it, as well; if they're going to air their dirty laundry, no reason to make it completely easy to eavesdrop on. ]

I'm afraid you'll have to say that again, love. I could've sworn you just said we're on a spaceship.

[ not even entirely sure what that means. magic beans and wonderland, sure. space travel, out of the question. ]

Good to know your listening comprehension's about as good as your marksmanship. [ because someone has to remember that he hurt belle ... even if it's only via sarcastic comment on an unrelated topic. mostly, it's a means of grounding her in what now feels so long ago. manhattan had been the turning point. everything that came after happened so fast, but at the same time, felt like such a shift that everything before that moment when she'd crashed into neal felt like a different life. a much less painful one, if she'd being honest with herself.

but against her better judgment, she will at least provide him with rudimentary information. mostly because if he doesn't know what's happening he's likely to be even more unpredictable. ] A spaceship. We're flying through space, headed who knows where. [ she gestures around. ] Even my world doesn't have science like this. We're somewhere else.

[ the dig earns a quick smile, bitter and mocking, but it doesn't stick. he's too busy focusing on her explanation — brief as it is — to bother trading more barbs, and there's no pretending it doesn't take a bit of effort for him to follow.

he's been to many worlds, yes; that's not the part of this equation that's hard to track. it's just that thus far they've followed a fairly consistent theme, solid ground and magic included. space and science beyond what even swan knows is something of a leap. even so, he seems to settle with it after only a brief pause, and once that's done— ] Perhaps I should be flattered that you've gone to such lengths to keep me from my quest. [ because this is obviously about him, right. a beat later, as if he's only just remembered: ] But I'd say you're a bit late.

[ because quest done, crocodile dead. in theory, at least; despite his immediate confidence in that fact, the longer he goes without seeing a body, the less sure he becomes. if any death merits confirmation, it's the dark one's. ]

[ wow she is not even validating his egocentric assumption that she'd dragged him to a different world after knocking him out with that umbrella stand. he is going to have a disappointing wake-up in a storage closet one day, and she'll just leave it at that. but that sentiment reflects in her tone and in the impatient roll of her eyes that is more or less reserved for hook. he's just never been worth slowing down to worry about, and she'll insist that even when she does find herself taking the beat to think about him. ]

Don't break your arm patting yourself on the back. [ the smile she gives him is in kind with the one he'd offered her. she's ready to throw doubt on his supposed accomplishment, but she's not going to waste her time feeding into this 'kill rumpelstiltskin' obsession, so she's ready to leave it at that, taking a few steps to move around him in the direction of the elevator. ]

[ if the doubt weren't already there, he might not have read into her comment — but it is, and so there's just a moment's hesitation before he reaches out to stop her with his good hand, aiming to catch her by one arm before she can take her leave. ]

Where is he? [ there's an intensity to the question that's impossible to miss, but it isn't really aimed at her. the eye roll was enough to alert him to the fact that no, this isn't all about him. more importantly, it means maybe swan isn't the one responsible for bringing them here — and there's no guarantee no one else came here with them, rumplestiltskin included. ]

[ his hand grabs her arm and she turns around at the tug, shrugging her shoulder to tug it away even as she does him the courtesy of turning back to him to give him an answer - though it's almost certainly not the one he's looking for. maybe, though, it's the one he needs. ]

You know, I get it. The revenge thing. He took somebody you loved away, that's not the kind of thing you forgive.

[ she sure as hell wouldn't have been able to. if henry hadn't come back the day that the curse broke, if emma had lost him that day because of regina's hatred for her, she wouldn't have stopped until the witch was dead. there's no question there. she understands where hook's coming from, she always has, but it's not a question of whether she gets his motives anymore. it's not a question of if she can cut him some slack and turn the other cheek.

because this isn't just rumpelstiltskin, chessmaster extraordinaire anymore. this is henry's grandfather. and emma can't stomach the thought of the kid facing that lost. she hadn't been able to protect him from losing his father, she can sure as hell keep a pirate from murdering his grandfather. ]

But, I am not your ally, and I'm sure as hell not going to help you murder Henry's grandfather. You wanna know where he is? Figure it out yourself. [ her voice is sharp and direct, but there's a breathy softness in it as she pushes further. ] I will do you one favor, and that is to tell you to ask yourself if what you're getting out of this is worth what you're giving up.

[ she's trying to shove herself back into her skin from weeks before she'd boarded the tranquility. to think about manhattan or more tellingly, about the state she'd found him in at the town line, and in the hospital room. but she can't do it. all she can hear in her head is maybe i just needed reminding that i could.

so, he gets one shot. one shot to remember that there are better things to put your time toward than revenge, one shot to see an out. she hasn't forgotten the part her played in the trigger being activated, and regina's kidnapping. but she also hasn't forgotten how low she'd sunk before henry had given her a chance to get better. ]

[ hook's grip gives way the moment she turns; even if it hadn't, he would've backed off sufficiently at the directness of her reply. it's aggressive, yes, probably too much so to qualify as sympathy, but it's still acknowledgement.

if that's surprising, it doesn't hold a candle to the information she lets slip a moment later. he hears henry's grandfather and it's a miracle he keeps up with the rest, though there's little sign of the distraction — just the furrowing of his brows and a brief glance downwards as he makes the connection. it doesn't last long, and his gaze is back on hers when she hits that final note of advice.

any other time, it would earn a bitter, dismissive grin. he knows what the trade is, knows what he's already given up. and while there hadn't been a great deal of satisfaction in his revenge, there hadn't been any regret in that moment, either — that moment which was seemingly for naught, judging by her answer. but this isn't any other time. the reference to rumplestiltskin as family is a catch, draws up memories of the very things that weren't worth giving up.

the response isn't as delayed as it could be, all things considered. there's still a heavy beat of silence while hook comes to terms with her words, and when he finally speaks, there's no hint of mockery or deflection, bitter edge replaced by something more resolved and weary. ] Baelfire is Henry's father.

[ the statement's rhetorical, not really seeking confirmation. it's also stating the obvious, especially from emma's side of things, and any worth is probably in what he's not saying — no more inquiry after gold, no more jokes. ]

[ whether he means it to or not, the statement turns into a dagger when it hits her, digging right between her ribs. the word was floods her mind and it's all she can focus on for a moment, so she ducks her head a briefly collects herself. no one knows that. only her and belle. that's not a fair response, let alone something she wants to dig into right now. she's got her own issues with it to worry about.

because it's worse than just henry losing his father, or emma's own conflict and guilt over how opposed she'd been to any chance that he might be alive - to the realization that she didn't want that he was gone. it's the name. baelfire. it's swallowing the pill that she'd never really known him in the first place. he'd always been neal, everything that had shaped into the person that he was, that had motivated him to do what he did in portland, she'd never had any idea. and it made her feel even more the fool to think about it.

so while the emotion creeps unbidden into her voice, leaving it thick and rough around the edges and strained, she doesn't say what she's thinking. she deflects, single word response, something equally curt to satisfy his statement of the obvious. ] Yeah. [ it comes with a curt nod. in the grand scheme of things, what she should really be saying is that it's none of his business. but she doesn't. ]

Edited (jk i left out emotions) 2014-02-20 03:26 (UTC)

[ it's impossible to miss the emotion in her face and that minimal response. making sense of it, however, isn't quite so easy. the delay this time isn't because his mind's elsewhere — on memories of bae, on what getting this far has cost. this time the distraction's all her.

despite all his claims of being unsentimental, this is the sort of thing that trips him up entirely. it doesn't matter if the details are completely different, if he has no idea the effect his words have had; bae's something of an open wound for them both, and it's common enough ground for him to give her this, at least. he'd be happy to leave it there, just walk away, but— ] And we're going to Neverland.

[ not so much stating the obvious as cuing her into the fact that he's catching on, even if the mechanics are still all out of place. there's a measured, almost critical note of realization in the comment. knowing about the common link, it's easier to wrap his mind around why he'd ever risk going back to neverland for emma's son. that doesn't mean it's a realization he's thrilled with. it's like the solution to a riddle without the pieces in between, enough to throw a wrench in the works without cleanly shifting gears.

when he continues, he doesn't touch on any of it. doesn't pry into her business further, doesn't elaborate on the fact that she's just thoroughly confused his plans. ]

Then I've failed. [ so much for the distraction. that said, there's nothing vindictive in the statement. it's far from light, but if anything it's searching — putting together the fact that timelines are flexible, the same as worlds, and trying to resolve where he stands. ]

Edited (why am i so bad at icons lately) 2014-02-20 06:48 (UTC)

That's one perspective.

[ where before she'd been reactive, driven by pure stubbornness, she's reflective now. realizing that he's piecing together what's going on, she doesn't believe she's gotten through to him. instead, she wonders if she's let on too much and given him some kind of ammunition he can use. she doesn't expect hook to have given up so easily, even in her own timeline - and she certainly doesn't trust the glimmer of hope burning in her gut that he might have done a heel-turn over one familial connection.

as much as emma wants to believe the read she's gotten off of him, it's her own judgment of people that she doesn't trust. neal's betrayal had fractured her ability to trust her own judgments, and left her guarded and paranoid even when her gut recommended otherwise. she'd made her share of wrong calls in storybrooke (sidney glass among them), and she hadn't been without bad decisions on the tranquility either: julian sark and will graham, for instance.

so she leans on her healthy sense of skepticism like a crutch, keeps her guard up, watches him like he's every bit unpredictable at this point. it occurs to her that maybe she'd be better off leaving him to his thoughts, but at this point, she's too socially awkward to extricate herself from the situation when hook looks so damn blindsided by this. she had, after all, gotten him right in the midst of culture shock. damn empathy. ]

[ heel-turn is the right description, but that's part of the problem: he's completely capable of such a quick turn, and he's just as capable of reversing it. the fight with bae was enough proof of that, and maybe some awareness of that is what keeps him from reading too deeply into her guarded response.

it's the right response, in any case. hook's blindsided, caught up in a healthy dose of hindsight, and that's enough to make him abruptly civil — but here and now, stolen away from his admittedly hollow victory and faced with a new place and new information, unpredictable's probably an understatement. that much is made clear by the underlying hardness in his voice, and in the end that civility seems more like a mask, tiding him over while he untangles the rest.

focusing on the current situation isn't exactly preferable, but at least it's simpler. he manages to make the gesture reasonably nonchalant when he raises his hook, drawing back his sleeve slightly to get a glimpse of the numbered tattoo. ] Assigned quarters, I assume?

[ in this case, at least, the edge is more aimed at the implication that he'll be settling in. he has no intention of being here for six months. ]

Yeah. [ emma nods as she affirms it, reaching to pull up the sleeve of her jacket and shirt to show off the tattoo she'd been imprinted with on arrival. sec » 022 » 157. ] First number's the floor. Second's the room. You should have one, too. [ she hastily pulls her sleeve down, with the idea that it'll be before he can process and recall hers. knowing people have her number to reach her on the network is one thing, putting it in the context of inviting people to know where she sleeps is just discomfiting. ]

[ he catches the quick work with her sleeve, and it doesn't take much to put two and two together — particularly since hook had, in fact, been noting the number for that very purpose. they aren't allies. she said as much herself, and he agrees, but as of now she's the closest thing on this ship.

hook has the utmost respect for the seriousness of the situation, given that most of it's at his expense. still, this odd, quiet tension — it's nearly unbearable. so rather than maintain it, he slips into old fall-backs, offering up a sly grin. ] Come now, Swan; you're dealing with a gentleman. If ever I visit your quarters, it'll be because you want me there. [ spoiler alert: this statement is super wrong. ]

[ she arches her eyebrows, nodding critically in a way that makes it clear she doubts that day is coming any time soon. at least she's smart enough to keep her expectations low with him ok. neal did her a solid and ensured her expectations of men of all kinds are like subzero. she fully expects he'll come charging in unwelcome, but she doesn't need to tell him as much, because it'd only seem like a resigned invitation. ] Good. [ she'll just keep it curt approval of his plan to not come in uninvited ok, that seems safer. ] Then, we're through here.

Edited 2014-02-23 05:30 (UTC)

[ good to know he meets expectations, at least. hook can't help a quick glance to his closed locker — indecision over leaving milah's portrait, given what he's learned since running into swan — but aside from that brief hesitation, he's entirely nonchalant when he looks back to her. ] I suppose we are. [ a beat, then: ] Unless you've got time for the private tour—

[ trying to goad her into leaving first so he can get back into his locker without looking like a total dork? possibly. ]

[ she isn't even taking him seriously at this point, because how could she possibly? rather than be offended or defensive, emma simply rolls her eyes at the insinuation, holding up a hand with the intention of putting that dog down right now. hard-pressed for patience and no longer interested in whatever she's been getting out of putting up with him this long (why has she put up with him this long? sark's commentary nags at her, and she pushes the question out of her mind entirely), she drops the hand and gives him one final, exasperated look. ]

Try not to get yourself killed. [ she shakes her head as she turns away to excuse herself and head towards the elevator, with every intention of taking a jog around the halls before she actually loops back to her room to settle down. she's too keyed up - waking up while coming off the panic of the bridge, then encountering this ... unanticipated wrench that hook's made himself. yeah. she won't be cooling her heels any time soon. ]

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twenty-eighth jump;

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SORRY i fell off of everything climbs back while still crying

nbd i am fry's dog for you ok

cries about fry's dog too

/collects your tears

laughs a little bit at poor emma tho

her life is actually horrible

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