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

[sleuthtastic]

[ Which is completely true, of course, because she really can't blame it on him that she looks like someone else, or the random generator of the universe decided to repeat that particular set of genetics. Veronica does look mildly apologetic, resting the back of her hand on her forehead for a brief moment. ]

And yet, here we are.

[ An exhale, and she makes a little face instead. ]

I promise, I'm not— a walking static electricity rod. I am, apparently, quite testy. [ Beat. ] Sorry.

[askedtobe]

No- It's fine. Don't worry about it. [ peter waves a hand, trying to brush aside the moment in an attempt to stop feeling like an upset asshole. it's not her fault, not his fault, not anyone's fault save for the ship. ]

And don't worry, I believe you. I just- last time I saw Elle wasn't exactly on good terms.

[ he shrugs. ] But that doesn't have anything to do with you. I get why it pisses you off though, got regonized for someone else last week. Didn't exactly make my day any better.

[sleuthtastic]

[ Well that makes the count twofor people who are feeling like assholes today. ]

Bitter ex?

[ Haha. That was a joke. Maybe. She shifts her weight, mentally reminds herself that it really isn't his fault, that she's just— frustrated and, okay, maybe still a little scared about everything. It's been months but it all still feels so— you know. Space. ]

Sorry, I really didn't mean to be— [ Ergh. ] It was one of the first things Nathan asked me when I got here, so. Whoa, flashbacks.

[askedtobe]

[ ... peter snorts, eyebrows raised at the very idea before he gives his head a small shake. ]

No, uh- lot more complicated than that, actually. She was more like... [ how does he even start to try explaining this one. after another second he cringes, shrugging helplessly. ] She kidnapped me for one thing. But it's kind of a long tory.

And really, it's fine. Don't worry about it.

[ he sighs, glancing around to see if he can spot nathan anywhere before looking back. ] Figured you must've met Nathan already. Don't know if he introduced me without my permission, but i'm Peter. And you're not Elle and you don't have anything to apologize for.

[sleuthtastic]

[ It comes out instinctively, born from a little fear (kidnapping is a familiar case, in the end) and apology: ]

Kidnapping? With these hands?

[ She jazz-fingers at him, her mouth curved into an apologetic kind of mue. ]

Peter. [ A beat, then with a lift of her brows: ] Do you also pick a peck of pickled peppers? Please say you do. I'm in space, the odds are high with this one.

[askedtobe]

[ he almost laughs at that, though he tries fairly hard not to. simply because it's on the ridiculous end of the spectrum and laughing at funny things isn't allowed when you've been traumatized in space.

but at the end of the day, it's easier than actually managing not to. ]

It's not the only thing I do, but you caught me. [ he shrugs, seeming apologetic himself. ] For the most part i've found that space only ever increases your odds.