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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[Just gently (and reluctantly) lowering the kiddo to the floor, so he can greet the chickens if he wants. The motion comes with a shrug towards Netherlands over the pipsqueak's head - maybe they put chickens away together, since Takeshi seems so interested, and then hit somebody's room?]

Provided cover of interference, likely on purpose.

[ Charles watches his dog insert his sleek canine head under receptive hand, a half smile faint at the corner of the telepath's mouth as he sits back. ]

Someone externally's staging a rescue effort. We're all very excited.

[ That would be sarcasm. Dry as English gin. ]

They'd experienced technical difficulties due to the cloud, seemed to be believe it was a deliberate evasive manoeuvre. So it did that, made our animals sick, and looked very pretty out the window. I assume we've gotten away from it by now.

Different.

[ Despite the chill in Simon's regard, Rick is slowly relaxing.

Or.

Not really. Getting better control over his own tension, maybe, a roll of his shoulder setting robe cloth back into better place, making sure balance is in equal distribution on either foot, downgrading Kieren's threat level and reassessing Simon's in another look up and down.

He elaborates; ]

To this. [ He gestures by way of a hand at his side opening to them, little else. As if not to reignite the situation with sudden movements. ] Where I'm from-- some call 'em the dead. My group called 'em walkers. They don't talk. They don't think.

You look like 'em when they first turn.

[The wince, the don't, she'd be flinching back if he didn't catch her hand. It draws her attention up from the wound to his face, concern evident in her eyes, open and raw where so many other reactions might be closed off, hidden away under a harder expression.]

A month. [Maybe a little dumbly, answering automatically before her own half-panicked words bubble over.] I can't hear you, Derek. I can't hear you and you're not--

[Healing. She doesn't want to say it, tempt it, make it real even when the bulletwound was already there, already real.]

Dick smiles a bit back, a corner of his mouth twitching up. His body is nearly naked, just a pair of black boxers and the shades. And there are scars on his skin, ones that he seems to just not notice at all, as he moves.

But he also knows about heat-regulating suits, and even about bathing in the uniform. He's not a fan, it always feels like his skin grows a layer of grime between itself and the uniform - but he knows about them.

"Food usually makes things better. But, you're right, if your parents are here, might as well find them first. You know which pods they're in? We can check first that they've been used, before you start wondering and wandering and so on."

He could have started to explain to Takeshi that his parents might not have come here with him...

... but he's been on Tranquility long enough to recognize that somebody who's been here before wouldn't be talking about those back home. And he really would prefer it that the younger boy doesn't get to find out one or both of those people have left when he's all alone.

Don't tell me to hush is next, but Johanna bites down, hard, on her lip, quite literally biting back the remark--not out of some obedience, but more because why bother. Her arms, her chest, her shoulders--everything feels like it's been screwed down too tightly, like if she relaxes her grip, she'll just unspool. Eponine is right: they don't know each other's lives, not really, even if Eponine has told her some of her sad story.

But also, what the hell does she care. This isn't a sadness competition. It would be nice to say that none of it matters here, but it's like it matters more than ever, everything from the worlds they've left behind echoing and distorting on this ship. The same old shit, again.

Dolls. Johanna snorts. "I can do curls," she says, flatly, "curls are easy. What's so great about looking like some doll?"

[She laughs, once, short. Infinite patience drives Johanna crazy, but she also needs it from people. That doesn't stop her from being nasty to them, but, you know. She still needs it.]

No. Urgent would be if my head was on fire and the only way to put it out was to cut off all my hair. This? Is just a haircut.

[She saws at another clump, until it falls to the floor with a soft phud.]

Don't read into it.

I had heard that to, although not how that knowledge came to be.

[Not that she was planning on sitting outside at all. She might not like the means that were taken, but Padmé also wasn’t going to do something foolish. At least not yet.]

But by left behind, you mean died, or something else?

If Johanna was a better Mentor, or better with feelings, or better with kids--maybe she'd offer some genuine advice: don't be scared, but always be wary. It's always the littlest things that end up taking you down.

Instead, she rolls her eyes at his simplistic assessment, and shoves herself to her feet. Her glance flicks quickly over to the bear, in case he reacts; her grip tightens on the knife. The loose flecks of hair tickle against her bare skin, but she doesn't brush them off yet.

"Some people are stupid." The way she says it sort of suggests that pretty much all people are stupid. "I'm mad for so many reasons. Right now? It's because I fucking hate it here." She punctuates that by jerking open the door of her locker--only because she's already tracked out the arch of it. It opens to the left. That means she can still keep an eye on them. If it had impeded her view at all, she wouldn't have done it. A little more conversational, she adds: "And I hated my hair. Are you going to put a knife in your head?"

When it needs doing.

[Adorable, what?]

Well, it's a new thing, so probably it's a bit of a fad anyway. Although when Mitchell suggests that-

"Oh, no, I hope I didn't hurt it," she says holding it up again. Now she's handling it again, but very carefully, like maybe it is alive.

I think it makes this place slightly better - minus the space.

( She felt the same about having Caroline here. She'd definitely have been more lost without her friend and not just because of what she'd gone through just before getting here )

But he's not the only thing you have from home?

( Not with those sad stares at her locker. Attempting to brace the topic to cheer up )

I hope you never have to go through it.

( Whilst she was trying to focus on the now, and being back with Caroline, she still felt pretty disorientated by the whole thing. There was something that had happened that she couldn't quite remember, like a dream but she couldn't put her finger on it to figure out what it was. Maybe being in them for that long was a really bad thing )

Why don't we get some- food- ( You know the stuff ) -and you can tell me everything that happened. And I want everything.

| PODS |

[He wakes up coughing hard enough that his eyes water, and it's a credit to just how disoriented Levi is that his first thoughts aren't centered on the rivulets of blue slime steaming down his entire body, plastering his filthy hair to his face, prickling uncomfortably at his skin and sticking his limbs together when he tries to right himself against the-- whatever the fuck this thing is he's leaning on.

In fact, his thoughts aren't centered at all:

Smoke. Chapel. Trumps. Objective. Hange. Kenny. Masquerade. Trial. Hange--

His head hurts. He feels like shit, like something's happening that he should be aware of but, to his steadily intensifying distress, isn't.

He needs to move. Groaning, he paws a little dazedly at his face, succeeding only marginally in clearing the goo from his eyes. A bit of swearing and some rapid blinking seems to be more productive- as his vision settles it becomes clear that the "smoke", at least, is more a figment of his filthiness than anything else. It's a start, even if the room that gets sharper by the second is colder and more sterile than any of the places he's seen so far. Also, he's naked, fresh bruises and recently stitched cuts exposed to the gunk and the room at large.

And that's all very distressing, to be sure, but as he stumbles around- jelly-legged and slippery and marked, he notes almost absently as he catches sight of the numbers on his arm- Levi realizes that the silence is probably the most disturbing feature of all. Not in the room- there are other people staggered about, unfamiliar people, people he doesn't think he knows- but in his mind. The usual psychic tumult he's expecting to mark the start of a new Jaunt has been replaced with a quiet that sets him even more on edge, manifests as pressure between his ears and behind his teeth. His attempts to contact anyone mentally are met with nothing but empty air and a growing sense of unease- something isn't right.

Between the Jaunts, the Jump, and the ~~canon review stress~~ hazy memories he isn't sure he can trust... Levi's looking a little rough, mentally and physically. He could use a hand, probably, at least until he stabilizes somewhat.]

| Lockers |

[Eventually, through assistance or luck, Levi will find his way to his designated locker... And that rather cryptic directive scrawled across the lot of them. He'll have showered and dressed along the way, and come out of that at least a little more focused though the circumstances of his arrival (and the conflicting memories kicking around in his head) are leaving him foggy at the best; still, he'll at least be sharp enough to scowl at the message, annoyed at the ominousness.

Okay, maybe he's feeling a little better.]

...Sounds like there's something on those other floors someone doesn't want us to find.

[Ever suspicious... GUESS WHERE HE'S GOING ONCE HE COLLECTS HIS GEAR AND SETTLES IN?? Good life choices with Levi, off to a great start... Unless someone wants to convince him otherwise.]

Living isn't okay.

( Whilst Maria might... never talk about her feelings she's not above trying to make Fortescue do hers, especially since Maria's never been sad on these levels. It's not just stuck in space sadness, because she's never seen the woman like this before. It's more, and she doesn't like it )

Come on. Let's go drink to the people we lost.

( A drink for each. It's what she's done any time she's lost one of her people. Fortescue can have the tradition too )

[So adorable.]

Can I come next time?

Lovely. That sounds like an excellent plan.

[At least four drinks, then, but she can make excuses like the best of them for more if she doesn't see a particularly large absence on her way to the closest bar. Her sister, Stark, Mattli... Chance, even if she'd turned on them in the end and Fortescue had been forced to snap her neck...

She almost puts the notebook away, but in the end she simply closes her locker door and tries not to think about what's in her hand.]

"Would you curl my hair?" She bounces slightly on the balls of her feet. "I would love that! Oh, Michel will fall in love with me all over again! I will be beautiful, and we will go out together, on a proper date! Then we will truly be dating!" She's way too excited at the prospect. She would have adored being a tribute, if only for the designers.

Eponine takes a moment to think about dolls, even working on the hair in front of her. "They are beautiful. Perfect. Beautiful dresses and rosy lips."

You want to watch me cut Bucky's hair?

You're an odd duck, Johanna.

( There's a pause, a thought at what that means, and what had happened the last time. The last time coincidentally it had also happened to her, although now this time it meant that Fitz would know what was going to happen - what was happening after the fall of SHIELD. Oh curious wasn't strong enough )

What happened?

( More to him than a general overview, at least here and now. What was the last thing that happened? )

It's - [what is it? For now it's a mystery, because Takeshi cuts him off and then everything is chickens. Ned's watching all the excitement with an unmistakably proud look on his face - blinks over at Heather's shrug. What does that shrug mean.]

Uh. [Whatever, chickens.] Eggs.

[He's not even trying to be funny. That's where they came from :|]

'A lot'.

[Not very helpful at all. But then, what did Dorian expect?]

So people come and go, and we have no control over it? And no one knows why, but everyone thinks it's an accident?

[Sigh.]

This many be the most ridiculous thing that's happened to me recently, and that's saying quite a bit.

"It looks all right." Mitchell squints at the heart in question, already reassuring even when he doesn't have any actual idea of what he's talking about. How would they know if it wasn't all right? How would they know if it was?

"Come on, let's get back to the room," he suggests, for-- lack of a better suggestion. "D'you want to wrap it up, so you're not seen carrying a glowing organ around the ship, or are you secure in that image of yourself."

He chuckles even when she laughs at him, because in retrospect, it is kind of funny. He'd mostly grown it out when he stopped running when he stopped caring, but coming to the Tranquility, for as terrible as it is, gave him a new thing to focus on. In the Glade everything felt hopeless--in the Scorch and beyond, maybe he'd have the chance to find something to make him feel alive again.

So, evenly, he agrees, "Like a proper shanky girl, I guess." Which is what the other gladers told him, frequently, but whatever. He takes off another too long strand in the back, sawing at it carefully to try and even out the wild strands. Newt had yet to really ask Johanna much about her own world--he'd garnered that it was a klunkhole like his own--but with an admission like that, he's admittedly curious about it. "Almost done back here. Why'd they put a wig on you? Can't imagine you like a proper shanky girl."

And he leans forward enough to peer at said network device, confirm it's there. Then he flops back with a sigh and rakes a hand through still-damp hair. He's seen Marty smoke enough at the jump - and otherwise - that he isn't sure whether this particular session is a reaction to that or just Marty, being Marty.

"Mm, long time," he agrees, and tries to think of how long it's been - doesn't know, so. "Arima?" along with a brow raise.

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thirty-ninth jump;

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Levi | OTA!

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[pods]

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