ataraxionlogs | thirty-fifth jump;

Entry tags:

thirty-fifth 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: You wake feeling cold and alone. There is a strange sense of emptiness, and the jump holds no surprises for you. There is nothing buffering the jump sickness and disorientation for you this month, and those still suffering the lingering effects of August's plot may find it more difficult than usual to get through the post-jump routine.

New arrivals will find messages spraypainted across their lockers telling them not to follow their tattoo numbers, and instead to find a room on Floors 001-010.

----------------

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.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[ That goes over about as well as could be expected. His brow knits together, more confused than ever, but now he's looking at her more critically — uncertain, trying to work out whether or not she's lying. Or possibly just crazy.

The thing is, he's got a slightly bizarre benchmark for what constitutes crazy, these days, and she doesn't seem to be lying. Her wry tone doesn't go unnoticed, either.

There's a long pause before he works out a reply. When he does, he sounds disbelieving, and he's making an obvious (and only half successful) attempt to dodge heavy sarcasm and be respectably polite. ] A spaceship. That's...

[ Exactly what it looks like, actually. Kieren looks past her for a moment, distracted by how thoroughly spaceship-like the immediate environment looks. ] That isn't possible.

[ Sorry about your welcome wagon life, Cora. ]

[ There's a confused pause, because he's pretty sure a skeleton just introduced itself as death. As soon as it sinks in that he hasn't imagined any of it, confusion gives way to a bemused smile, and the reply's suitably sarcastic. ]

You're death. That's funny, actually, because I've got a few questions for death. [ Sarcasm aimed at life in general, of course. Nothing personal. He manages to reroute it long enough to respond to the question. ] Yeah, it is. First time in space.

[ Wake up in space, talk to death, why not. ]

A disease in space?

[ Confused, mostly, with a sharp edge of incredulity. Space hasn't ever really been his thing, but for some reason it struck him as something very sterile. Quiet. Waking up in a room full of strangers with the vestiges of a disease doesn't fit. But it's a simple exclamation, entirely rhetorical. The man's already covered the important part — a cure, it's over — so prying further isn't called for, not just yet.

And then there's the question. It apparently strikes him as just as confusing and unnatural as everything else, the space and the disease, and his brow furrows while he considers it. This isn't something that's ever needed explaining. It's always the first thing in people's minds, laced between their words if not thrown in his face outright.

There's nothing to fall back on. No pamphlet, however biased. In combination with the fact that this entire mess feels too surreal to be real, he ends up caving to the knee-jerk, blunt response, leading into it with a short, amused scoff. ]

Because I'm a zombie.

[ He has a way of saying it that makes it sound like a joke, disbelieving even in the face of his own dead pulse. Amy would absolutely slap him for it. ]

That's very pretty. [ Which might sound silly from anyone else. Awkwardness aside, it sounds like a genuine compliment coming from him. ] I'm Kieren. Kieren Walker.

[ He goes as if to offer a hand in greeting, then thinks better of it, awkwardly stalling out midway and drawing his hand back to his side. The cold hands make the living nervous. The people here are navigating around the elephant in the room very politely, so far, but habit's hard to kick. ]

And you've... you've been here long? On the ship? A few jumps, that's a few months, right?

[ Wet suction against Emma’s palm is the only indication that he’s getting some oxygen in.

That and the fact that he’s still fighting to stay conscious.

Erik is a load of dead weight on her shoulders when he’s up on his feet enough to slump into her rather than submit to dragging, left arm looped blindly around her shoulders, fumbling, clocking her in the side of the head with his elbow on the way. He grips onto her with force enough to leave bruises at her neck, a great, hairless, man-eating sloth with his eyes set dead on the showers ahead.

But the closer they get, the heavier he is, and the less well his legs work.

He’s slower, and less focused, and harder to move up to the point he cuts out entirely and sinks for the floor.

Conveniently, it’s lubricated. ]

[ there's a moment of hesitation, before he gets up. the dogs know him well enough, but that doesn't make up for derek's utter lack of capability in dealing with animals. in the end, he thinks it's more the desire to be close to tyke and clear of the pods that have any positive effect. by the time he's managed all of them, even the smallest, they're clustered around her, waiting when derek shows up with a towel. ]

I should have gotten one of them to fetch.

[ there's a dog joke somewhere in there, but derek's too distracted to make it. ]

Can you stand?

[ because he thinks it has to grate on her, but he can't help it, is so aware that she's injured and he can't soothe it away. ]

[ the mutation of her skin is localised and harmless- a lot of people look far worse, but she doesn't point it out. ]

All right.

[ there is a lot of room for error in "probably" and she exhausted herself before the jump, walking the corridors to find people who might not make it on their own. add to that the nausea that plagues her after every jump, sometimes more debilitating than at other times — she can probably manage, but she's not sure. ]

It's this way.

[ she checks her weapon and her locker one last time before she starts moving, mostly a slow shuffle. ]

[ this wasn't raven's first jump, but it was the first she'd gone through voluntarily. the first she could wake up from without a sense of panic and confusion - without following the crowd in a poor attempt to figure out what the hell's going on.

which means that this time around, she's surrounded by people, not potential assailants. and this time she's 100% aware of what's waiting when she opens her locker - she tucks the metal crane swiftly into her pocket and glances off toward the showers to gauge whether or not jasper's at least on his way. no such luck. she lets out a slow, impatient sigh through her nose and closes her locker, taking a step back to sink down on the changing bench.

but she doesn't quite make it that far. because all at once there's a guy leaning up against a set of lockers nearby. lockers that aren't his - she vaguely remembers their owners from last time around. her brow knits, and she gives him the once-over. then: ] Hey. [ it's casual enough, and she's tacking on: ] You're not looking so hot. [ a mix of concern for this guy who may or may not hurl and the kind of offhanded distance you give somebody you don't know. for the sake of their pride if nothing else.

she wasn't hit so hard by the foreign nanite infestation, not by way of mutation anyway. he might catch a definite translucency to the skin where her hands and neck come out of her jacket, but that's about it. ]

[ good thing he said something, because raven's attention was off over her shoulder for a second and her foot was about to drop right where the contacts are sliding. at the very first panicked objection, though, her gaze jerks to kieran, follows his eyes to the object underfoot, and her hands fly out to catch herself on the lockers and bench on either side of her as she lurches forward to avoid them. ]

Shit - [ but it's fine, she's got her balance back and the box is still intact. a glance to kieran, then she ducks down to snag the contacts case and offer it out to him. ] Close one.

[ raven pauses, her eyes lifting to take in in the crown on luthien's head before dropping back to the one she's being offered. then she's grinning a grudging grin. ] Y'know what? Sure, why the hell not. [ and she accepts it, looping it up on top of her head - a little crooked, but hey. the pale white flowers compliment her pale, translucent skin. nothing like a little bit of near-death color coordination. ] Think I could snag one for my roommate?

[He shifts the guitar so it's resting on his hip before sliding an arm around her shoulders.] I know it's uncomfortable, but look. [He opens his mouth so she can see the couple of teeth missing.] I'm having weird teeth problems, too. We can start a club.

[ she lets out an extremely grudging sigh through her nose, looking at him for a long second like 'this is all your fault, i hope you know', then: ] Starting a club? Implies that it's staying this way. [ yep, she has at least ten sharp and very lupine teeth in her mouth - the front six teeth on top and two on each side on the bottom, with the middle few on the bottom just a little too sharp to be normal without crossing over into animal-fang territory. it gives her voice what she considers to be the absolute stupidest lisp, not to mention all the times she's accidentally sliced open her tongue. ] Which it's really really not.

[Forced emotions are not remotely new to Alison. Nonchalance is right outside her personal field of experience, so the smile she gives him is bright and fixed. If her hair was in its usual ponytail instead of wet and twisted up in a towel, it'd be swinging over her shoulder.]

Oh, just one jump. Which is a jump longer than I'd like, but that's probably true of everyone here.

[She times eye contact against his - glance, tactical glance away to the case or their surroundings. Space is still new and terrifying; navigating social minefields is a comparative cakewalk.]

I didn't get as sick as everyone else. I suppose I should be grateful for that, at least. [Though her tone says she'll be no such thing.] Will you be staying in medbay for treatment once you get your things squared away?

[Thank you, Simon, for giving her the tiny semblance of privacy. But, being one of the few women in her platoon during the war has done away with shame while being naked.

She waits to respond to the doctor until her weapon is armed and resting comfortably against her leg.]

Least they could do. Better than anything the Alliance cooked up, to be honest.

[She looks around the lockers, eyes sharp as she studies those still hanging about.]

Gotta admit. Not too crazy about the tattoo though.

Edited (Redundant words are redundant. ) 2014-09-12 12:26 (UTC)

[She stares at Wash calmly as he clings to her like a lifeline. The only sign that she's really affected by his words is the lifted eyebrow.]

So, just you and Simon...What about these other folk? And, sweetheart, maybe you want me to be dressed for the time being.

Edited 2014-09-12 13:12 (UTC)

YES. MANY PEOPLE DO. THOUGH TO BE CLEAR I AM ONLY THE DEATH FOR THE DISCWORLD AND YOU ARE NOT ONE OF MINE. HOWEVER I AM MORE THEN WILLING TO ANSWER WHAT I AM ABLE.

[Literal skeleton is always literal.]

I WILL LET THOSE WHO KNOW MORE ABOUT TECHNOLOGY EXPLAIN WHAT WE KNOW ABOUT THE SHIP TO YOU THEN.

[It's more than a little pleasing when people start accepting the crowns. Lúthien, as a rule, hates to see flowers wasted. Even if she had grown them specifically for this purpose.]

Of course. Pick any you like.

[The crowns aren't just blue and white. In fact, Niphredil isn't used in most of them but there are many types and plenty of colors.]

[The comment--tired, in a long-suffering way--makes him look around again.]

What?

[--Because it's not that he'd expected her not to notice the weight of his gaze. Even humans typically have a sense of when they're being watched with any real intensity, the same way a rabbit might suddenly fall still under a predator's watch. And she's not human--not exactly; he gets that, the prickle of the extra sensory isn't something easy to ignore.

So, really, the only thing surprising here is that she calls him out.]

Do I mind what?

[ There are several alarm bells going off in Vega's head but the loudest is the very real possibility that if he doesn't push away from these lockers and either do something or lie down, he's just gonna end up staying here all... day? Night? What the hell time is it anyway? It's not the first time since he thunked into the waking world that he's been thrown off-balance, and with what Red's saying right now, he figures it probably won't be the last.

The second loudest alarm bell is telling him no good comes out of not remembering what he thinks he should be remembering. It's familiar here but he can't quite put his finger on why. James Vega likes a cerveza but he can't remember the last time he drank so much whole portions of his memory went missing. ]

This is loco... [ More to himself than to his medical crew friend here who is being patient as hell, Vega thinks. ]

Sorry. [ He holds his huge hands up by way of apology and tries to will away how green he's feeling right now. ] Hard to know what to say when you go to sleep in one city and wake up somewhere in space. We even in the Sol system?

You should see me when I am. [ It's honestly the first thing that pops into Vega's head. He's got information now - what passes for information around here, anyway, as far as he can tell - that he can work with. Maybe. Either way he's starting to feel like he can move from his chosen spot looking badass against the lockers and finally straightens up. When he does it's almost like the lockers behind him groan a sigh of relief. There's sturdy and then there's sturdy enough to take all of James Vega's weight.

His eyes, strangely sore and still trying to strike a decent balance with the lighting, fix on to his new do-gooder. Not that he's against hot chicks approaching him for any reason, even if it's to kick his ass. But this whole being asked how he's doing - directly or not - is a little soft for him. ]

Just proppin' up the lockers. [ He pauses but it's only for a moment as his brain starts to click into a higher gear. ]

You look like you know shit. [ In other words she doesn't look lost so he's going to go ahead and assume that she's not in the same position that he is. ]

He almost doesn't answer. The friendly ones are worse than the people who don't pretend. But after everything else—the jumble of voices and faces even stranger than his, the fog of his own memories, the lack of windows and distant hum of machinery—the question's grounding. Her accent, maybe. Maybe he isn't so far from Roarton as he thought. He's lost time and come to in unfamiliar places before.

But not this place, no.

So Simon only stares at her for a second or two too long before he nods once, sharply, finishing the last button on his shirt and sliding his tie under the fold of the collar with both hands.

"What's the date?"

( she nods eventually after a prolonged silence. )

I would be honoured.

( of her own situation, she has said enough. with the drink making a haze of her mind, she is for the moment able to block most of her thoughts pertaining to it.

the pain remains. as it always does. she will endure. )

[No screaming horror or recoiling or hissing, or shouting, or threats of violence and brutality. Mitchell actually echoes that little huff of a laugh. Not of disbelief, just-- of quiet acceptance. Of course. Yeah.]

Right.

[Zombie. It explains-- well, it's not a total explanation. A zombie, only there's the fact that he's a zombie who's doing a perfectly good job of talking and communicating and not rotting. Even Sasha was rotten, even if she was really good at talking. But this place takes all kinds, doesn't it. Vampires that can drink animal blood and werewolves that can turn whenever they like. Why not slightly awkward teenage zombies, too?

The level of impossibility is slightly lessened by that Type Four incident, back on Barry Island. Mitchell, with all his years, had never met a proper zombie--because they hadn't existed, not until he and Annie had inadvertently created them. Zombie fatherhood is not something he wants to think very much on, or take credit for. And the sooner he gets out of here, the better, so. Fine. Whatever, yes, zombies. He looks away, down the locker bank, buying himself a second of thought, before he looks back and points toward the case he'd helped to recover.]

Contact lenses? For the eyes, yeah?

Edited (oh my god the typos) 2014-09-12 22:03 (UTC)

[That gets a wider, amused smile.]

I stopped thinking anything being in anyone's locker was unlikely after someone found a random fox in theirs. [And all the other oddities he's seen, heard about.] The way things can be, you're lucky to have any knickers at all.

[And no foxes, or other unpleasant items that one didn't really want in a contained space with their knickers.]

So I can see. You look lovely, and your department is frightfully short-handed. It was difficult not to notice.

( sam shakes her head. ) No, not yet. I was helping those I could.

I'm what's called a spirit healer in my realm. One of my companions taught me well.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 14 of 41

thirty-fifth jump;

no subject

no subject

maybe your face

no subject

no subject

good because i'm not moving.

no subject

ITT: the meeting of two space mexicans of varying degrees

lockers.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

mwah

no subject

what about it

no subject

no subject