ataraxionlogs | thirty-ninth jump;

Entry tags:

thirty-ninth 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: A feeling of deep dread greets you as you stumble out of the gravcouch, strong enough to hold you still for a long moment, searching your surroundings for the source of your wariness. Nothing becomes apparent, only your fellow passengers waking up. Eventually you gather the resolve to pick yourself up and start moving, the feeling fading slowly as you progress through 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.

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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.

ＹＯ́Ｕ̴ ̧Ａ̨ＲＥＮＯＴ҉ ̷ＡＬＯ̨ＮＥ҉

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.

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[His brow furrows a little at that, and Cullen opens his mouth as if to speak- of course he knows the meaning of the word, but he's getting the impression that it isn't quite what she's implying.]

I know the word.

[This... doesn't seem like it's headed anywhere good.]

[Gogo is leaning against the wall next to the lift, waiting for it to come. Her hands are folded behind her head and her eyes are closed, and she looks almost like she's sleeping, but one eye pops open to peer at the woman who had just spoken.]

Well, it's my second. [She flopped her arms down at her sides.] But, uh, somebody told me it's the...39th...? I think. Something like that. [She still wasn't sure she believed that.]

Gogo was sitting in front of her locker tugging on her shoes when she saw the kid starting to wander by. She didn't remember seeing him last month, which didn't account for much but she thought she would've noticed somebody that young.

Especially looking so lost. So the asian girl lifts a hand, waving to get his attention.

"Hey kid, you alright?"

Edited (Icon.) 2015-01-09 18:36 (UTC)

"I don't think it's from home." But he says it mildly, fully prepared to have her just ignore it and move on. In that moment, Mitchell misses George--not with the keen sharp feeling that he's been missing him, but something a little more manageable. If George were here, he'd have caught that line. He'd have had something to say about it, something clever, or less-than-clever but still amusing in its way, however inadvertent.

No one wants to know what George would have to say about getting a dog, but Mitchell feels momentarily compelled to keep the side up, in George's memory. It helps that he's not the biggest fan of dogs himself.

"Oh--" God, this again; he raises one hand, placating. "You people, and your dogs-- Look. It's not that I've got anything against dog, all right? I like dogs. But I like actual dogs. The ones you pointed out were always so-- so little. Anything that would sleep on a pillow is automatically out of the question."

To be totally fair, Annie could usually only point out dogs from inside the house, smacking them on the arm mid-conversation and gesturing suddenly out of the nearest window. And the neighborhood taste in dogs ran a bit small and fluffy, so her sampling was a little unfair, but Mitchell doesn't undercut his own argument with these facts. If George were here, he'd undercut George with these facts, but he's not about to self-sabotage.

[For all the people here who looked otherworldly in their presentation and clothing, Cullen is almost surprised to see that someone he doesn't recognize is dressed in something that actually looks like it could have come from his world. He tilts his head toward her as she speaks, relieved at the familiarity, even if he finds himself a little unnerved by how tall she is.

She also has a blade. That's- strangely comforting.]

I would not want to be stranded in a place like this without it. [Is the practical answer, while he's still taking everything in.] The others don't seem as well protected, but I'd just as soon not let my guard down.

Ignoring it and moving on is exactly what she does. She's fixated, now, even as she puts the heart in the crook of her arm so she doesn't drop it again while she's gesticulating. "I like big dogs, too! I don't know why I keep having to say that, it isn't as if I'm desperate for a chihuahua, although I would not say no to a Yorkie-but that's not the point! You would rather no dog at all!"

She points them out because they're cute and friendly and rather like Annie. "I could even agree to a cat, but George thinks it'll eat him in his sleep or something-"

It can't be that similar. I don't feel seasick at all, and thank Andraste for that.

[He's not great with boats, and if this were a real ship... well, he'd be in a sad state. But this? It just feels like... a room. A building, if an exceedingly strange one.]

And what is it that we're all doing up here? There must be some reason for such an... unbelievable thing.

[Not that Dorian will necessarily believe any answer he gets, but he'll listen, at the very least.]

[She sighs, sharply, as she turns back to her locker and jerks it open so she can gather her clothes in her arms.]

God. You think people had never seen a girl cut her hair before. [Tartly, as she grabs up her other axe:] Yeah. I cut my hair. I got tired of it.

[And she turns a look back at Steve, cool, not necessarily calm.]

Do you want a haircut?

"Oh my god," Johanna says, to nothing and to no one, "what's it look like I'm doing. I'm cutting my hair. Is everybody dumb?"

She turns a look back on Eponine--more of a glare than anything else, jaw set, hair shorn all uneven just under her chin. There's a moment where Eponine has to languish under that glare, and then, abruptly, sharply, Johanna turns the knife around and offers it to her, hilt first.

"Think you can do a better job?"

Same shit, new jump. When did Hawke get used to this? The answer to that question isn't one she actually wants to contemplate. What she wants to do now is immediately make her way to the lounge and drink until her edges feel dull and she cares about everything a little bit (a lot) less. But after she's pulled on the finery emblemized with the crest of her house, shut her locker, and begun walking past the other banks and toward the lift, she spots a familiar figure.

She'd recognize that hair anywhere.

"Knight-Captain!" Hawke's boots sound heavy on the floor as she jogs ahead to approach the (now former) Templar. "I'd say that I'm glad to see you, but that seems cruel." Though that does nothing to erase the small smile her mouth has curved to form.

The day is full of surprises, it seems.

Cullen bristles slightly at the rank in a gut reaction to it, but turns anyway, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of the Champion. The discomfort with his title is all but forgotten as she smiles at him, and the sight of her renders him completely speechless for a few moments.

Someone from home- but not just someone, it's Hawke. They had kept a light association for years in Kirkwall, he'd watched her strike down his commander and save as many of the mages as she could after Meredith had given the kill order. The last time he'd seen her- well, it's not a memory he's fond of revisiting.

But there she is. Here, of all places. Is this why Varric had told them he couldn't find her? Had she been here the whole time?

"...Champion," he finally murmurs, nodding his head toward her. His voice feels dry, the shock of seeing her overcoming near everything else.

"How about glad, at least, to know someone in this madness?"

"Christ, you'd think the neighbor's cat was a man-eating lion, the way he goes on about it. Remember when it bit him? And he said, he was just going in to pat it on the head, I don't know why he even tried--"

Although, to be fair--Mitchell looks down at his hand, with faint criticism.

"Animals... don't really like us very much." Cats or dogs. "Maybe we really are better off with a heart, even if it's creepy."

[The glare slides right off, though he does note it with some amusement. Dorian doesn't know Cullen well, they'd only had a few chances to speak before this happened, but Dorian thinks that there are worse people he could be stuck with. If nothing else, Cullen is entertainingly grouchy, and it's clear that he has a good head on his shoulders.

Skill with a sword is nothing to be scoffed at, either. Every mage needs some bulky warriors to stand behind.]

There's no magic, so far as I can tell. We aren't in the Fade - that much is obvious. And I can sense no other form of magic that could have brought us here. I assure you, if this weren't real, I would know. It's as real as that awful hat the spirit boy was wearing, and as unfortunate.

[He says it with utter confidence, even though he can't help but feel a sliver of uncertainty. Everything here is strange - could it be that there's magic he can't sense? Dorian would rather not entertain that thought. If he doesn't have his skill with magic, he doesn't have much at all.]

I'll need to do more research, though. There could be magic here that we've never experienced before.

Something tells Rey that there should be some sort of normal response to being stared at, but she's not one who's easily intimidated or creeped out. Most of the time she's the one doling out the creepy, so she casts her eyes towards the familiar voice to see that same waned, pale-eyed face she had seen over the network.

Rey senses that there must be a reason why he appears the way he does, and recalls that same subject that spawned their first conversation. Like everything else she's ever experienced, her memory of it is perfect.

Bringing the dogtags closer to her, she nods. "Yes," she simply says. "We have."

"That'll do," Hawke agrees. The last time she saw Cullen Rutherford is certainly not one of the happiest times of her life, but her life is short on happy times as it is. "Did you arrive alone?" The urge to crane her neck and look around is only just quelled, with Hawke settling on a sweep of her gaze around his locker bank to catch any snatch of a familiar face.

He shakes his head at the question, closing his locker with a little sigh. He's still reeling a little, but... this is far better than what he'd thought initially. Cullen has seen Hawke do the impossible before- even if they don't see eye-to-eye on everything, the fact that she's here has some comfort.

"No. There's someone else from Thedas- you wouldn't know him, I don't think he's ever set foot in Kirkwall." How does he even begin to describe Dorian? Well... Hawke will meet him soon enough. Cullen will just leave it at that.

"I met him after I... it's a bit of a long story." A pause. He doesn't really know how much of this he wants to tell her, especially not here. He glances around, rubbing a hand awkwardly at the back of his neck. "I'll introduce you when I can track him down again."

[ That easy acceptance catches him off guard, but he appreciates it all the same. ]

Um. Yeah. I mean, barring any other strange... strange. [ He gets stuck on the word, but he doesn't get anxious about it. Still too out of it, for one, and the post-jump haze is numbing enough to give him some patience. ] Transmissions.

[ TQ emergencies, the usual. ]

[ Fitz turns to face him of his own accord at the contact, casting a wary look to the hand on his shoulder before meeting Sirius's eyes. ]

Um.

[ Which is about figuring out the right words, yes, but it's also just good old-fashioned stalling. He lifts a hand as if he's planning on gesturing with it, but that stalls out, too, and for a second he's just quiet — but intent, focused. ]

The thing. From before, HYDRA and... I went back.

[ Fitz knows what he needs to say. He's got the explanation on the tip of his tongue, hypoxia and damage. He just doesn't want to give it, so he ends up pausing, half wishing Sirius could read his mind and make it a non-issue. ]

[There's the briefest instant when Ivan's look is blank, as if Mitchell were a stranger. A fraction of a second, only, and then Ivan's smile, a bit strained but normal otherwise, snaps into place.]

I must look like such shit, for you to ask that in that tone.

[Whistling in the dark, a little. His tone is characteristic Ivan, but lower than it might otherwise be. Still... when has Ivan ever made anything easy?]

[It isn't that her movements seem wrong to him, as such. He is shoddy at performing humanity himself, especially when he isn't paying the attention that he might. But in his disorientation, something niggles at Ivan. Counter-intuitively, she seems more familiar than she should, given that he feels like they've met, but can't place the memory right away.

He doesn't stare, especially not before she's dressed, but she turns to go and happens to catch his look as eye contact he hadn't entirely intended.]

Sorry. Touch of deja vu.

[The way he says it, it's light, like a joke. Haha. See, nothing odd here.]

I've never seen anyone do it like that.

[Like she had gum in her hair. But he doesn't look upset, he just has a relatively calm look on his face.]

My hair's fine this week.

[This Jump, William was being very sneaky and to fairly decent effect. Upon awakening in his pod, he was quick to shrink himself down and then shift-- into a hollow, mechanically inefficient semblence of a Roomba, that he thought in his nauseated and disoriented state would be inconspicuous. He puttered along through slick puddles of blue and between naked legs and was nearly trod on, made it all the way to the showers, before abruptly discovering that the physics of Being A Roomba still had ample accommodation for the queasy discomfort of Jump sickness.

He wound up squatting naked under a drench of hot water, head between his knees, retching. It was awesome. Lucky no one said anything.

By the time he gets to the lockers, he's in better shape but not by much. The jumpsuit is, as ever, nightmarishly difficult to manage when he's feel unwell, and afterward he feels a little light-headed. Gets as far from his locker as he can before sitting down hard, trying to look unrecognizable by putting a towel over his head, and finds himself speculating that this tiny Asian boy perambulating around must be some kind of Id artefact projected into hallucination. A VISUAL MANIFESTATION OF HIS DEEP, SOUL-WRENCHING REGRETS.

Well. Visuo-auditory. He could swear there's some little baby babbling going on beyond the noise of his own headache. He gawks stupidly. Maybe a long-overdue symptom of alcohol withdrawal, he surmises, reaching over to give Takeshi a solid poke.]

[Cullen's tanking skills notwithstanding, they are definitely well on their way to making a decent enough party. That's something at least.

Regardless, Dorian's answer doesn't exactly inspire confidence. Not in the Fade and Not in Skyhold doesn't exactly leave them with many options. They've been transported, that much is certain, and Cullen is somewhat less concerned about the where and more worried about the how. Magic? Maybe a magic that doesn't linger? There could be magic here that we've never experienced before.]

I don't like the sound of that.

[Cullen sighs, finishing up gathering what things he wants to bring with him- including the small metal box that was hiding suspiciously in the folds of his coat- and closing the locker, folding his arms in front of him. No, they have to go forward assuming that this is real- what could they do otherwise? What can they do now, anyway?

He feels trapped. He hates that.]

But it doesn't look like we have any alternatives. We have to figure out an immediate plan, where to go from right now. [Cullen nods toward the dried paint splashed across the lockers.] Starting with whether or not we want to trust this.

She looks at the heart again. It's not creepy, it's kind of cute, actually. Adorable, really. "We ought to name it," she decides, then. "I think it's a girl."

Sometimes Annie gets this way, and Mitchell, really, it's best if you don't argue with it. Besides, it distracts from the sorry fact that animals don't like vampires.

[He nods. Fitz isn't the only one interested in those.]

I'll see you in a few days. Get cleaned up.

[That's all he gets, really, but maybe it's for the better.]

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Page 13 of 65

thirty-ninth jump;

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Hope you don't mind one more?

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[pods]

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fancy meeting you here - also, lockers

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If you prefer anyting tweaked about this, lmk!

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Lockers, +parents?? POTENTIALLY?

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