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

Neverland? [He echoes the name back, and though it's slight, it's difficult to miss the sound of recognition in the wolf's voice.

Well. How to-- get around to this.]

And what's your name?

[DOES IT HAVE THE WORD HOOK IN IT]

[ wow much subtle very detective ]

Killian Jones. [ is the initial reply, but he elaborates a moment later, grin taking on an altogether mischievous edge. ] Or Captain Hook, if formal titles are what you're after.

[ the fact that the guy's from new york doesn't stop hook from assuming he'll know the name. emma had, after all. and this would absolutely be where a polite person might ask after bigby's name, but you know. "polite". ]

[Okay. "Captain Hook." Bigby kind of -- SQUINTS at this newcomer, because that verifies what he had initially suspected. But again, he can't just come out and say what's on his mind, which makes it all overly complicated.

Regardless, the other man is getting an introduction whether he asks for it or not.]

Name's... Bigby Wolf. Have you-- heard of me before?

[Is this the strangest welcome he's gotten or what.]

[ hook isn't particularly put off by the squinting (he's gotten some practice at weathering that sort of thing from emma, thanks), and if anything, he seems increasingly amused by the odd line of questioning.

there's a pause while he considers the name — or makes a show of pretending to consider it, in any case — then he offers a frown, brows raised in an expression that's about as good as a shrug. ]

Can't say that I have. [ a beat, and then as a rather tasteless joke: ] Any relation to Red?

[Less tasteless on Bigby's part, and far more confusing once again. One: you know about Red? and two: Why would he be related?]

--Riding Hood? [He finishes, just to be... clear.]

[ ah, common ground. hook looks no less smug for having hit on something familiar, and he takes to gesturing vaguely with his hand (and hook) as he offers up a helpful description. ]

That'd be the lass. Yellow eyes, yea high— [ except said description goes immediately awry, as he indicates about waist-level height. ] And I have it on good authority that there's a great deal of fur. Black, I'd assume.

[Bigby no longer seems all that intrigued by the hook itself; he's already established who this man apparently was. The real mystery (and sense of confusion) was further being revealed to him right now.

And so, he crosses his arms and frowns. Those descriptions are... conflicting.]

Last I checked, Red didn't have a whole lot of fur in general. Doesn't that usually -- apply to the wolf that was trying to... eat her?

[Awkward delivery of that last sentence? You bet.]

[ the increasingly disgruntled demeanor from bigby is enough to merit some caution from hook; he narrows his eyes, just slightly, considering the other man's posture (and likely sizing him up). it's fairly subtle, but he doesn't put a great deal of effort into hiding it. ]

That all depends on how metaphorically we're applying the term. [ that said, the details are here; they're just mixed up. ] You say you're from New York — that's not by way of Storybrooke, is it?

[ the ones who'd been hit by the curse and ended up in storybrooke had remembered their history, after a fashion. they were meant to lose it again if they ever stepped foot outside of the town, but there's no saying those memories might not come back — just, you know. slightly backwards. ]

[Bigby's neither intimidated nor trying to intimidate -- he stands stoically, with his arms crossed, unmoving as he listens.]

I wasn't speaking in any kind of metaphor, if that helps. [Which it probably doesn't. He has a feeling wires are getting crossed somewhere in the equation.]

And no, I'm not by the way of Storybrooke. Never heard of it. Just like... I'm going to say that you've probably never heard of a certain special community on Bullfinch Street?

[Yes? No? Maybe?]

It doesn't. [ help, that is, and at this point the suspicious look hook's giving him is sliding more towards concerned. not in the nice way; more in the way where he's seriously wondering whether or not bigby's a bit dull. ]

And you'd say right. [ the answer to the question is quick, dismissive, attention still on the issue of red. ] Red and the wolf— they aren't one in the same, in your stories?

[ because that's the explanation that's starting to make the most sense. emma's stories had been distorted, and it's possible that this man's as oblivious to the reality of hook's world as she is. ]

[Hey, don't give him that tone, Hook -- Bigby's not dull, he's just trying to get a sense of what the hell is going on here!!! sheesh!!

At the question, he hesitates. It's so difficult to break the hundreds year old habit of keeping quiet, staying under the radar, pretending he's not a Fable. But this is a unique situation. These are Fables that obviously don't know they're Fables, or at least some sort of very confused equivalent.

For a moment, it seems like Bigby isn't going to answer, but just rather give the man a hard stare. And then, finally:]

No. They're not. I'm the wolf.

[ given the circumstances, you'd think it might be easier to take that sort of confession at face value. hook's familiar enough with how wrong a story can be; but this, meeting someone who claims to be the star of a story that very clearly belongs to someone else?

there's a heavy pause while hook tries to determine whether or not it's some kind of joke, followed by a grin that's more patronizing than friendly. ]

Right. [ not buying it. and now questioning whether or not bigby's a valid source of information on anything, actually. ] It's been a pleasure, but I'm afraid I've got an abduction to attend to. [ his own, ostensibly, though he's mostly referring to tracking down gold. he inclines his head slightly in a show of manners, but in the wake of a proper goodbye, he goes with a slightly skeptical: ] Wolf.

[ maybe more a reference to bigby's last name than any real acknowledgment, but it's a start. ]

twenty-eighth jump;

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject