thirty-ninth 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: 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.


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

ＹＯＵ͘ ̨ＷＡＫＥ̢ ̧ＵＰ ́ＩＮ ＤＡ̛ＲＫＮ̢Ｅ̕ＳＳ̶

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 ̧Ａ̨ＲＥ ＮＯＴ҉ ̷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.

ＴＨ̀ＩＳ͜ ̶Ｉ͠Ｓ͡ ͘Ｙ̵Ｏ͝ＵＲ ̕Ｗ͝Ｅ̛Ｌ̨Ｃ͡Ｏ͝Ｍ͏Ｅ Ｐ̛ＡＲ̴ＴＹ͜

Comments

captain hook | closed + open!

[capsize]

CLOSED TO EMMA.

[ The curse breaks, and then—

And then he's back on the damn ship. It almost feels like an inside joke, at this point, and it's met with a certain amount of bitter humor as Killian regains his bearings and makes his way through the routine. His movements are rushed, and it isn't until he opens his locker that he gives any pause.

He wasn't expecting the new clothes, for whatever reason; he's still quick to put them on, modern trousers and waistcoat and jacket, if very obvious variations on a theme. Once he's dressed, he slams the locker shut and books it for Emma's locker.

Well, more of a light jog. Still pretty obvious. He'd been lucky to find her here the last time he'd left, and he hasn't bothered to find out what jump they're even at — for all he knows, she won't be waiting this time. ]

OPEN.

[ Emma's fine. Everything else is fine, too, in the sense that they've dealt with the curse and apparently survived a suspect jump. The smile he offers her as he sees her off at the lift isn't false, but it doesn't last long — the second the doors close, his expression goes flat.

Killian turns away from the lifts as he digs his comm out of his pocket, raising it to his ear as he dials Gold's ID. The answering lack of connection causes him to draw his hand back and stare at the screen for a moment, then he tries again as he starts doubling back to Gold's locker.

Nothing there, either, and eventually he finds himself outside Gold's pod, conspicuously clean and silent.

Rumplestiltskin's gone. He should be glad. Part of him is, but another part of him's aware of a distinct, unnatural chill coursing through him. The comm's slipped back into his jacket pocket before he rubs a hand idly over his chest, right where his heart's meant to be — and where it's definitely not. ]

Well, this is getting bloody complicated.

[uncurse]

[ Her locker's filled with trinkets she never thought she'd see here. A series of mementos that she was better off not thinking about. Reaching out, her fingertips hesitate on the curve of a plastic toy ring, ready to pick it up when she hears the thud of boots hurrying towards her.

Whipping her head around, she catches sight of Hook well before he's on her. A tremor in her breath from reflecting on the last thing she has of Ingrid, she drops the ring and beelines for him. Emma reaches for him like he's the shore and she's drowning. When she crashes into him, her arms wind around his shoulders, and she leans into an immediate, yearning kiss.

Considering how they'd parted, it feels warranted. She had no way of knowing when she'd see him again. No way of knowing what had happened to him, why he hadn't been out on the main street with her parents and Regina. No way of knowing why a temporary goodbye had felt like such a permanent stain on her lips.

But none of it mattered, not now. Knowing he was here—alive, safe. The rest could be worked out. Her fingers pull at him, finding purchase at the back of his neck, curling against the end of his hair. ]

jax @ lockers

[kutte]

[ this isn’t right. he’s forgetting something, he dreamt, jax knows that, but it’s--

it keeps slipping away from him. that and everything else briefly, jax blinking around in confusion before he pushes himself up to his feet. and nearly falls over, but he catches himself on the edge of his tube. jax curses under his breath, leans over to spit out a wad of blue gunk, like a true goddamn gentleman. he keeps trying to chase the threads of a dream, pull it all back to himself before it fades, but he can’t. all jax has is the idea that he’s losing something important, but he can’t call back anything concrete.

he opts for showering instead. a shower and a cigarette from his locker, but he has more than he’s bargained for there as well. he sits on the edge of the bench and leans forward to rifle through the new items sitting at the bottom of his locker. a hoodie and a t-shirt are chewed to shreds, but everything else is in one piece. cigarette dangling from his lower lip, he pulls out the clothes to reveal what’s left. there’s a bottle of whiskey, but that only gets a cursory glance as jax’s attention fixes on the last two items. ]

Well, I’ll be damned.

[ there’s his father’s manuscript, charred pages bound in a plastic binder, abel’s blue knitted cap resting on top of it. jax sighs around his cigarette, reaches to take out the baby hat first and rub the material through his fingers as he regards the book. ]

I must be something right. I think.

[ unwelcome presents and a forgotten dream. welcome back to the tranquility, jax teller. ]

[materminal]

I don't think it's your size.

[ The guy talking to himself is what gets her attention, first, but a stray glimpse of the small hat is what keeps it. Ripley hadn't exactly rushed out of the medbay on her first jump, but the way she hangs back is more deliberate this time, focused on getting a feel for the other passengers — who's been here longest, who's new.

Who's useful.

The last comment bears questioning, on that front, but Ripley doesn't approach it directly. Instead she makes bad jokes about hats, idly rubbing a damp towel over her scalp before drawing it down over her shoulders, ends held in both hands. She's already dressed in the TQ jumpsuit, apparently unarmed. ]

Takeshi | OTA | lockers + showers + pod rooms

[throwsdown]

Take two. When Takeshi gets himself dumped back out into the Tranquility, it's all autopilot — he goes to a locker that matches his tattoo, collects his suit and puts it on as religiously as before beneath his clothes... and then realizes everything's off. Like a light switch, mostly: one moment routine, the next a blind panic in realizing faces aren't the same and numbers are all off. He wasn't where he was supposed to be! This isn't right at all! And where was Hoi Hoi? A cold fear prickled the back of his neck at thought of his panda being left out of the pod. That would mean... No, no, it couldn't be!! He told Hoi Hoi he'd protect him! Maybe the suit protected him... maybe...

He had to go find Heather and Mr. Ned. He had to see if they knew where Hoi Hoi went. Maybe they knew why everything's so wrong, so off here... Why is his numbers different? Was the ship being weird again? The ship was always weird! But — it'd be okay, because things always worked out in the end, and that's what mattered.... They'd know. They'd definitely know!

He wanders back toward the shower rooms and pod rooms, not quite realizing they would likely be out a bit before him anyway... And, well, if anyone looks dazed or confused along his path, he could always make sure they're okay! And maybe hold their hair if they throw up! It hurts enough to throw up anyways! Or slip and fall. Sometimes people act real crazy when they wake up — they really should stay calmed down. How's he gonna find his family if people are always needing help??

"Heder? Mr. Ned? Where are you...?" W-well. Maybe he should just wait at their lockers. Maybe they're busy somewhere and they forgot to come check up on him anyway. He's a big kid now! He's six! He can handle himself, and they probably know that now, so. He'll just wait here.

And fret about his panda.

LOCKERS psa any tag-ins should be assumed to be BEFORE this

[sweetmotherofgod]

[This jump? Sucks. There's this feeling, this awful, sick, pit-of-your-stomach feeling like oiled eels, making her sure something's wrong.

Her first thought is Hoi Hoi. It's stupid, she knows, but she couldn't forgive herself if something happened to him. He's there, though, waiting all blue-gooed and patient outside his pod like he's learned to do. Netherlands being gone after the conversations they've had would be just like this place, but no, his pod is open, with sufficient goop beneath it to tell her he's come out of it okay. There are other people to check on, of course, but by the time the lingering nausea from her jaunt in Engineering subsides, the feeling of something being off has calmed enough for her to make her way to the showers, clean off herself and the panda before she starts doing the frantic checks.

He gets away from her as they near the lockers - moving in a rapid, four-legged lope faster than she's seen him go outside his suit, and for a moment the panic returns - until she sees what (who) he's running for, and then she runs too, damn near tripping over her own feet in her haste.]

Ta-Takeshi-!

leo fitz | open, interrupt wherever!

[technologist]

[ This makes the third time he falls out of the pod and panics. This time there's a stillness to it, eyes wide and breath uneven as he climbs to his feet and leans back against the door after it closes. His hands are shaking, and he watches them for a few long seconds as he tries to calm his breathing. The shaking doesn't calm along with it, so he just stops looking at it, crossing his arms tightly against his chest as he watches the other passengers milling about.

He skips the showers. His hair's short enough now that it's easy to towel most of the stasis fluid off, and he's passably dry and clean by the time he gets dressed. Fitz spends a full two minutes trying to button up his dress shirt, hands still trembling, and it's only halfway done up when he calls it done and drags a cardigan on over top of it.

If he spots anyone he knows, he's quick to avert his gaze and try to avoid them. But even if the plan had been to get to the lifts without having to make conversation, a stray glance towards the medbay proper stops him mid-stride.

He's familiar enough with the tech from lending the occasional hand, but outside of the nanite scare, he's never had cause to take a closer look. One last glance back towards the lifts, then he heads over to inspect the equipment. Anyone who lingers in the room after the last waves of passengers have filtered through is likely to see him, or hear the odd tumble of boxes or gear as he digs through drawers and storage. ]

[foundafamily]

[Nosy as always, Firo watches the dodgy looking guy for a while, debating whether he should ask what's wrong or not. The guy will probably be fine, Firo decides, and he's about to turn away when the other man heads to the other section of the medbay.

He usually wouldn't bother with the rest of the medbay, but when the sounds of rummaging follow he figures he should check it out just in case.

Quietly, he pokes his head into the medbay.]

Not that this is my department or anything, but are you supposed to be doin' that?

thomas @ pods, closed to newt.

[wiped]

[ memory is a funny thing. or it is when it comes to the gladers, and to thomas. he spills out of his pod, flailing and coughing, gasping for breath as he lands hard on the floor. there may have been more graceful exits from the pod, but that’s not where thomas’ focus is right now. he pushes up on his hands, head whipping around, mouth opening as if to say--

say what? he doesn’t know what. thomas looks lost, eyes wide as he scrambles up to his knees. ]

Wait, wait, I...I had it, I just had it…

[ it’s quiet, more to himself than to anyone else. he looks at his hands, a little lost. he’s forgetting something. it’s like before, when he’d had all these gaps and holes, things he wanted to know, but worse because he knows this already, he just can’t remember it. he’s forgetting, even as he strains against it.

of course, he doesn’t get much more time to consider it, since newt barrels into him a second later. ]

my tommy!!!

[gimp]

[ -- you're damn right he does.

newt had fallen out of the gravcouch with the usual pain to his legs but it had been completely forgotten in the face of one thing. for the past month he'd been checking up on the stasis pods, but there was no way to break into them or to try and get the person within them to wake up. one day thomas was there, and the next he was in the pod and newt was freaking out a little, okay? he knew he was, logically, completely fine. but, tommy is tommy, and frankly, in the month he'd been in the glade and the time they'd spent together here on the tranquility, newt's way too attached to the shank.

so when he gets out of his own pod the first thing he does is head for thomas's, and the joy that goes through him beats out any logic of A) getting dressed first and B) approaching not like a crazy person. he drops to his knees down next to thomas-- ] Tommy! [ and throws an arm around him, kind of half trying to help him and half trying to sit him up at the same time. ] You alright?!

kieren walker | open!

[traumata]

[ Kieren's gotten used to having a foggy memory. It's sort of part of the deal, these days, but even this is pushing it; he's struggling to remember the name of the ship by the time he gets to his locker.

He's just dragging an oversized sweater over his head when it comes back to him, and he smiles to himself (slightly dorky, whatever) for the accomplishment before kneeling down to check on the last few items tucked into the back of the locker. The Blue Oblivion's still there, wrapped up in a spare crew-issue shirt. He makes sure the bottle's safe and intact before hiding it away again, then pushes back to his feet and swings the door shut.

He keeps his cover-up and contact in his room, these days. There's no real point in keeping it here when everyone's going to see him right out of the jump, anyway, but he still hasn't quite shaken the habit of ducking his head slightly and avoiding eye contact as he makes his way towards the lifts.

Between that and the post-jump haze, he isn't paying enough attention as he rounds the end of the locker row. If you aren't quick on your feet, then you're about to run into a zombie (literally). ]

[betterangels]

[ Yeah this is about as unpleasant as Rick dimly remembers, although nothing's quite as confronting as stepping into the stasis pod of sound mind and body and letting it take you in, not even the coming out. One cycle down, and god knows how many more to go.

But there are worse things.

His eyes are hunting for faces as he moves from point to point, anyone familiar, 'cause that much has happened before. He's between showers and lockers, hair dark and beard shaven down since last cycle to a grey-dark grain, a leanness to him, muscles long and ropey and bound steely to his bones. Injuries make various scars and indentations over his torso, and he is not a big man, just a rough one. And he hasn't decided if it'd be good or bad, to snare his gaze on something he recognises. He remembers how Daryl was here, and that woman that looked like Maggie Greene, and the pang of realisation that with the way this place works, he could one day run into Lori.

And what he does recognise is nothing like that. A sharp turn around a corner presents him with a stranger's face, its eyes milky bland with tiny points of black at their centre, necrotic undertones veining under grey-pale skin. Far more intact than the walkers that Rick has come to know, but that doesn't matter. He's seen them freshly resurrected too.

Fear, tasting of copper in his mouth, sets him into mindless motion. There's a recoil, at first, before anger blacks out the rest -- at himself, for becoming so complacent, and of course, at the disease that's dragged this young man to his feet and set him wandering.

(There are signs he should be paying attention to, but can't.)

And he doesn't have a gun or a knife or anything like that, but Rick isn't waiting. He's killed these things with less. A hand suddenly bundles up in the sweater it's wearing, his other up to drive the walker's skull bodily against the wall of lockers to his left with a slam. It may only be wishful thinking that the bone is soft enough to crack, but there is a strength to his violence, adrenalised and desperate. ]

derek @ pods (closed) + medical (open)

[altercate]

( pods, closed to tyke. )

[ this has happened before. this has happened more than once, and all derek has is that faint memory to make it clear that something’s wrong this time. he tips out of the pod, gasping, nearly trips over tyke and her dogs in the process.

it almost doesn’t register, that anyone else is there. except someone says his name, and derek looks up, has a moment of confusion. who-- ]

What?

[ is all he comes up with, murmured blankly as he staggers back a step to lean against the pod. his side is aching, throbbing, but that only registers distantly as his attention is pulled in a million directions. he’s forgetting things. he dreamt--something, but it’s vanishing and for a terrible moment he doesn’t recognize her at all, before familiarity starts to seep in. ]

Sorry, I--Tyke?

[ he sounds less certain than he should, but already things are clearing as he shakes his head slowly, like he’s trying to get water out of his ears. ]

( med bay, ota. )

[ derek still feel off-balance, nauseous. what he isn’t sure of is whether that’s lingering because of this particular jump, or that’s just what it is to experience the jump without his powers, as near to human as he’s ever been. this is the longest he’s spent in the medical bay ever, lingering as cora cleaned the bullet wound on his side, taped clean gauze over it. he’s still a little in awe of her, hadn't realized how exactly how much he’d been missing her until this exact moment.

but he’s under somewhat strict orders not to move while she gets whatever else derek may or may not need. ( his grasp of first aid is sorely lacking, even if derek doesn't think so ) so he’s sitting on the edge of a bed, prodding lightly at the edge of the gauze, trying to ignore the pounding in his head, the nagging sensation he’s forgetting something. this is your big chance to sneak up on him, folks. ]

[righteously]

[In Dean's defense, he wouldn't exactly call it sneaking. He up until this point he hasn't had much of a need to visit medical, and it's with something of an interested hitch to his eyebrows that he wanders in. Yeah, no, it looks pretty much every bit as awesome and horrible as he figured a medical unit on a friggin' space ship would. What it means is that while he would never, ever want to sign himself up for a futuristic colonoscopy in a joint like this, he's got some pretty high hopes that they've got some horse-sized painkillers for his post-jump hangover.

Or, you know, his post-hangover-jump-hangover. Whatever term you wanna use for getting close enough to a bottle of whiskey to calm your nerves and prep for willingly climbing into a space womb.

He's stopped in his tracks, though, by a familiar face cropping up out of nowhere. He's been here a while now, long enough, he'd thought, to re-encounter every familiar face that he'd been used to seeing back at the mansion. Apparently it isn't the case, because there's a stubble-clad twenty-something kicking it on a bed that Dean distinctly remembers from Thanksgiving dinner and a few other run-ins. Most importantly, though, he remembers Cas leaning over to kindly less-than-whisper in his ear, "is there any particular reason you've invited so many werewolves?" and Dean had given himself shit for a month afterward for not having figured that out on his own.

This little fact, he figures, is reason enough to slow down and maybe have a conversation with the guy. Partly to see if there's some weird chance he remembers Wonderland, partly because Dean's a nostalgic son of a bitch and it's hard to pass by someone you knew, and partly because he never did learn whether or not werewolves still have to change every month when there's no goddamn moon.

So he ambles a little closer, head cocked, and clears his throat.]

Hey- uh, Derek, right?

[It's just awkward enough not to classify as casual, because smalltalk is always weird, but especially the guy you're talking to is shirtless and on a gourney.]

Marty Mikalski | that corner of the lockers that smells like weed

[foolproofed]

Marty envisions the jumps as an old hick sitting on his porch, spitting tobacco into a can. That is, the people on board are the tobacco and the ship is the old hick. Pi-too! Right into the thick of it again, in the dark and naked and praying to god nobody's about to swing their willies in his face again. He already had to endure that once before from a nude country chasing chickens. He doesn't need the added trauma. But this is what he's learned, wandering around the medical bay: he's been gone a hell of a time, nothing in his brain feels much different, and he's still dead as a door nail back home.

He remembers it in pieces: the burning, horrible feeling between his shoulder blades (he touches his hand to the spot; it's still just scar tissue, thank jesus, fuck); then, there was the rumble in his ears, the intensity in which the world fell to shit around him and Dana — fuck. Dana. He's got to go make sure she's okay; if it's been a long time... shit, how did he not think of that immediately? She's gonna be pissed. She's gonna kick his ass. Maybe punch him right in the nose. Lord knows everyone does that to him as it is; sure, he's got a pretty intense nose, but does everyone really have to punch it?
And dammit — why isn't she answering her network calls?

... Ah. Because they're falling through.

Fuck.

"Looks like it's just you this time, Marty," he whispers, and if his throat is tight and his eyes burn, it's not like anyone's around to see it in his little dark neck of the hallways. He scrubs his face, letting his head catch up with the ship, and starts figuring out which way he's supposed to be going on his internal compass.

And then he just

sighs

and says

fuck it

— and low and behold, in his own personal corner of the locker rooms, hidden from plain sight, he lights up a joint as if it's just one cigarette out of a full pack and gets to puffing while he scrolls through the network to try and see any familiar faces. He's not high enough for this shit... but damn is he more than willing to live up to his stereotype right now if it means getting him baked and floating. Besides, it's like pouring one out for Dana, except it just makes him wanna cry and he can't let her legacy be him crying because she'd be hella pissed at him. Goddammit. How much did he miss? How long was he out? This blows.

[jondrette]

It's been a long time since Eponine has seen Marty, but she remembers the smell he had about him. The smell, and his wonderful floating chips. Those had been glorious, and were too soon gone, and he needed to hear the good news about her boyfriend! So, a slightly-healthier-than-before looking Eponine, the moment she's dressed in one of her usual dresses, light and flowy, far better than the strange uniforms often found here, approaches quietly.

But the quiet only lasts until she taps him on the shoulder.

"M'sieur Marty! You have returned! And you brought floating chips, did you not? Oh!~ And the CDs! Are those back as well?"

finn collins | closed to the 100 cast, warning for violence

[spacewalker]

[The smell of blood and mud is what he remembers before he awakes, suddenly and in a panicked state. The tube retracts from his throat, and he manages a couple pounds against the glass before the blue gunk is drained and he's dumped on the floor. Finn trembles in fear as he stands shakily. This isn't right. He has to find Clarke. He couldn't be back here. The huge feeling of dread isn't helping his mental health in this moment. It feels like he can still smell it, the blood, and he screams] No, no, no!!

[Finn pounds against the glass, from the outside this time. A person bumps into him while going by, and he registers them as a threat. He's immediately running after them, and when the person turns, he leaps upon them, slamming them to the ground. His arm draws back, his hand turns into a fist, and he slams it into the person's face.] Where's Clarke?!

[he bellows. Another strike, and he can hear a crunch, see the blood flowing from their nose as they cough and try not to choke. He holds up his fist again.] Where is Clarke?!!

[Gone is the boy of peace, of jokes and magic tricks. He's been replaced with a wild, violent boy in this moment, a terrified, desperate boy who will do anything to protect Clarke, to protect the person that made him feel safe.]

[regulatingpressure]

[ there's something distantly familiar about the tube in her throat, the oppressive viscous gel encasing her arms and legs and face. familiar, but she doesn't quite put it together quickly enough to be anything but disoriented when she's dumped ungracefully out onto the floor. the cold floor - she's in her underwear, and that of all things is what makes it click.

the tranquility. she's back on the ship. the ship where she was head of engineering, but that was weeks ago.

'no, no, no!!' her stomach lurches and her eyes jolt open, burning immediately in a way that doesn't entirely stem from the subtle drip of residual goo. finn. fuck, finn, that's him. what happened back home, with camp jaha and the grounders and clarke - was that all just some fucked-up dream? raven rolls onto her side sucks in her first breath since she heard him shout, but the useless weight of her right leg reminds her in sharp clarity that all of it was completely real, and the breath comes out as a barely-inaudible keen. she was screaming back at camp, last thing she remembers. she wants to scream now, but - 'where's clarke?!' - finn's screaming enough for both of them.

then comes the crunch, and it may very well have masked the sound of something in raven snapping just now. because all at once she's on her knees, then her feet - foot, but that doesn't seem to slow her down. finn's got somebody pinned not ten feet away and with a raw and furious shout, she bends her good knee and flings herself in his direction. that's all the warning he gets before she's plowing into him hard from the side, rolling the both of them until they hit the far pods but she's made sure to end up on top.

and her fists are flying, punching him once and then twice in the face, her own face contorted with the sort of desperate fury last seen when she took live wires to lincoln's chest. ]

You stupid asshole! [ it's not quite screeching but damn close, then one more punch. ] She's not worth this!

Rey | Lockers

[circumitus]

She moves without thought, her bare feet dragging her from one room to the next.

Of course, there's no display of modesty in the showers. Not from Rey. She is far too accustomed to the openness of this place to really have any conscious awareness to hide the scars on her skin, or the little stubs on her one hand where only the thumb and forefinger remain, tangled through her hair as she rinses the goop from the strands under scalding hot water.

Covering her nakedness with only a towel, she makes her way to the first row of lockers. Compared to the original jump, it's become so barren here. Quiet and away from the ruckus of newcomers pouring in.

Head swirling, her feet stop in front of her own locker. Those old numbers in front of her, reacting and opening to the nanites in her arm.

She hesitates, gaping at what few possessions she can say she owns. With her stubbed hand still holding the towel around her body, she reaches in and finds her fingers clasping around a chain that she had neglected for some time.

The dogtags bearing the name R. Schuyler chink together, sliding out of the metal shelf. She lifts the chain, holding it in front of her. The tags swing side to side on their own accord, and she stands there, as those hypnotized by the little trinket.

[servator]

"Hey--"

Shepard had begun to call out at the sight of a familiar face, but hesitated as Rey stood stock-still, dangling dog tags in front of her face. Suddenly, the commander is aware of her own tags, now in place around her neck after she'd retrieved them from her own locker.

She isn't flustered (Shep isn't ever flustered, really), but she does look a little apologetic at breaking what may have been a memorial-intended. With that in mind, she cleared her throat hastily, hand slipping from the air where she'd raised it.

"... Sorry about that. I'll just--"

newt | lockers, pods. ota!

[gimp]

pods.
[ if there's one thing newt really hates about this bloody ship, it's the drop from the gravcouch to the floor. his bad leg's bad enough without taking a fall once a month, and he grunts when he hits the floor, naked and cold and in a lot of pain. it takes a long time for him to get up, sitting with his hand resting on his right ankle for a minute to try and compose himself.

once he's done that, muttering a swear to himself and trying to massage the ache out, newt gets back up and limps over to the showers. once he's cleaned himself off more or less and paused at his locker for long enough to have gotten dressed, he returns to the pods with a small stack of towels, stopping at people who look particularly miserable being covered in goop--must be greenies. ] Here. It'll do you a world of good, yeah?

lockers.
[ said pause at the lockers comes just after the hot shower. newt opens his locker expecting to be met with the jumpsuit that he's been (unfortunately) living in for the past month, but instead of that, there's a folded mass of white cloth. newt's heart jumps up in his throat and he reaches into the locker to unfold what looks like a dirty henley style sweatshirt, looking entirely too big for the person who's holding it.

newt stares at it for a second, and the bitterness and the hurt and (alby's death, watching him get torn apart by grievers, if he'd just moved sooner, if he'd just grabbed him sooner, if he'd followed him)--

he takes a deep breath, eyes squinted shut, then folds the sweatshirt together in his arms for a minute. newt looks from left to right, to make sure no one's watching, then buries his nose in the cloth, inhaling and trying to pinch away the tears threatening to leak out of his eyes. it doesn't smell anything like it's former owner--just like the glade, a little like grass and dirt and metal and blood, and if he stays there just long enough, maybe a twist of something spicy and familiar.

composing himself, he pulls it up and over his head first, and stuffs his hands in his pockets, walking to the lift looking profoundly more slouched than usual. ]

pods!!

[rocketeer]

[ Rocket will continue to curse stasis travel for the next millennia, he thinks, because it's just pointless when your end of the universe has managed to advance past that kind of bullshit. But, thankfully, this time he gets into the grav couch and gets back out of his own volition, instead of being kidnapped like last jump.

Scratching his deft fingers and sharp claws through his fur in an attempt to get rid of the goop, he grumbles under his breath. It's a lot of unsavory commentary about his predicament and the message that was posted to the network just before the jump.

But the thoughts fade out as he hears a familiar voice talking to some poor damn newbie. Heading over, he reaches out and tugs on Newt's pants leg. ]

Hey, kid. Wanna share the wealth?

octavia blake; ota

[tectus]

[ SHOWERS ]

[ there's nothing quite like breaking up a fight between two friends (friends is what they all are, right? after all they've been through it seems wrong to think of them any other way) to start off your introduction to a place like this, and honestly all octavia wants to do is get the gross goo out of her hair and try to clean herself up a bit. it's been a long time since she's had the luxury of a hot shower, after all. the problem with winding down from the adrenaline fuelled wake up is the time it gives you to think though, and she certainly isn't immune to freaking out over the situation they're in - even if it takes a little longer to set in.

by the time she's out of her shower and wrapped in a clean towel her hands are already starting to shake, and even though it kills her to fall apart in the presence of others there isn't much she can do to stop it. she just got out of space, and now she's back, trapped again, and the realisation hits her like a tonne of bricks. before she has the chance to get out of there the panic sets in, and octavia has to find somewhere to sit before the feeling threatens to overwhelm her completely. she finds a spot to take a seat and promptly drags her head down between her knees, slow deep breaths accompanying the movement as she desperately tries to get a handle on things. don't worry, it'll pass. ]

[ LOCKERS ]

[ back to aggressively pretending like everything is alright, octavia makes for far better company by the time she finds the lockers containing her things. the familiar sight of her own clothes, even that stupid wrist band has her feeling a little better, and by the time she's decked out in a lot less towel and a lot more of her regular gear (octavia pls think of the children stop getting changed in public) you would be perfectly within your right to think she was taking this in her stride.

maybe later might bring more rough times, but for now she's just interested in that ominous looking message: ]

So what's wrong with floors eleven and up, then?

[[ the question can be posed to friend and stranger alike, along with fun alternates such as "how the hell did we all get up here" and "what's down this corridor", depending on who gets in first/what you want to do/etc. ]]

[ CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE ]

[ want to get to her pre-showers/post fight break up and find out why that blue goo is all muddy and bloody too? want to have a mid shower chat? bump into her creeping around the halls? your wish is my command, go for gold. replies can come in prose or brackets as you prefer, i'll follow your lead. ]

showers | here have a kiddo first

[throwsdown]

Hey. It's okay. [In the middle of her little moment in the showers, a particularly small hand will suddenly reach over to rub a circle on her back. It's this kindergarten kid, already dressed in his black power suit with his old tattered sweater over the top, looking patient and pleasant. Takeshi's always been used to people arriving here and having Moments, which to him is completely understandable; back home, everyone who got dragged into Gantz's games had their own way of responding. A lot of people, it was a lot like this. Actually, his first mission after he died was like this. He sat there with his eyes closed and drowned everything out.

But that's not good. And people need to stick together.

Rubbing circles on his back makes him feel better. Maybe it'll help her?]

Is your stomach hurting?

Rich Rider | Pods + Lockers

[brassbucket]

Pods

Something was wrong. Something was different, and Rich had spent way too long outside ordinary life to be able to tell as soon as he woke up. He was weary, and that was just weird. And there was something in his mind, about dreams...

He sat up, disengaged himself from the pod, and stepped out, blinking around. There were new faces. Peter was there (still. again. whichever) and so was Sam, so that was a start.

He pushed himself away from the pod, standing up straighter.

"Anybody need any help?"

Didn't hurt to ask, right?


Lockers.

Rich's shower was quick, mostly washing up the goo, and then he was out with the lockers, keeping his eyes still open for anyone who was not okay. It was what he did. He would get a chance to process later.

Well, keeping his eyes still open for anyone who was not okay... and for familiar faces. Just to check in.

Pods?

[newnova]

Sam is there, alright. But he's slow to get out of his pod. Lethargic, pale, and are those dark circles under his eyes under the blue goo? He hardly even registers that Rich's pod has opened, he's so focused on just standing up straight.

johanna mason || lockers || OTA

[axeyou]

Maybe she should be glad to be alive. Instead--bad-tempered, as always--Johanna slams the door of her locker and slams the handle of her axe against the door, and her fist. And then she sets the axe down, hard, on the floor, the handle leaned against the locker beside hers.

Naked, still, her hair dripping down her bare back, she stares straight forward for a second, and then she twists her arms behind her back so she can wring out her hair. Three sharp and methodical twists of her hands, and then she lets go. It's growing a little longer, and she hates it, the tickle of it against her shoulderblades.

And then, fuck it, she jerks the door of the locker open again. There isn't much in it. She doesn't have many personal belongings, beyond the hoard that she keeps in her room. The shorts and shirt she stole from the laundry room, the torn-up suit from the Arena. Her other axe, and her knife, which is what she's after, and she grabs it, squats down on the floor, one wet hank of hair in her hand, and gets to work, sawing at the hair.

The first bit comes away easy, uneven, brushing against her cheek. She grabs hold of the other side, and starts to cut, her teeth set together.

[throwsdown]

Well, if there's one thing that totally throws Takeshi off, it's watching someone chop away at their hair. And it's perfectly nice hair, too!! What the heck? But of course, his young brain starts, y'know, making up stories on why she could be doing it — and the next logical conclusion is clearly that she must have some bugs in her hair. He wanders over, his panda Hoi Hoi hot on his heels in the same black leathery powersuit he's also sporting, and he quickly speaks up with all the implication that he's gonna help a sister out. "Do you got something in your hair?! I can shake it out!"

Bellamy Blake → Open

[unguard]

lockers;
[He's been awake for an hour, and he's already exhausted. As if waking up surrounded in a gravity couch for the very first time on a spaceship distinctly not your own wasn't traumatic enough, he'd had the privilege of waking up to a friend trying to strangle an already dead friend to death, not to mention whatever the hell was going on with Clarke's timeline. He likes to think he can roll with the punches, he likes to think he's prepared for just about anything considering all he's been through, but as per usual, he turns out to be totally wrong about everything.

Go figure.

When Raven and Finn are taken away to what Bellamy has to assume is this ship's version of a prison block, Bellamy wants to fight it at first. They've served enough time for past, present, and future crimes thank you very much, and they're perfectly capable of sorting through their problems without a holding cell and strangers laying down the law. He's forced to let it go, though, and with an already bad taste in his mouth about this place, he heads off to the showers.

(Tries not to think about how he saw way more of certain people than he ever really intended to, no matter how lax the dress code at the drop ship had been.)

When he makes it to the lockers, he paints a grim picture. He has the presence of mind to put on a pair of pants but not much else, and he stands for a while with one hand braced on the neighboring locker, hunched over a little to give himself some privacy, head bowed, trying to process it all. His lips part absently as it washes over him; the hum of the engines around him, of machinery that never really stops, the way you can sort of feel yourself moving through the void, and worst of all, the smell. Or, rather, the lack of smell- the air here is better than the air on the Ark had been, it doesn't smell like electricity and freon, but it definitely doesn't smell like Earth. On the ground, it was... sweet, it was open, it was permanent, and now suddenly it's gone.

He's back in space...

and he can't help but wonder how long his group manages to last without floating this time around.]

elevators & beyond;
[When he finally manages to collect his things and escape the locker room, he heads toward the blue lift. Judging by the messages spraypainted on the lockers, crew have been relegating themselves to the tenth floor and below. He's not going to challenge this; if for some reason they need to jettison some compartments or prioritize air, they're going to do it around the highest population density. He's better served sticking with the crowd.

Beyond that, he seems to be at a loss. His fingers hover over the elevator floor buttons for just a little too long, unable to come to any sort of decision on where he should take up residence. When a few too many seconds tick by and he can feel the impatience of his lift mates, he finally selects one at random and settles back with an unhappy look on his face.]

let me know if i need to change anything holla

[foolproofed]

[A finger snakes around Bellamy's to push one of the lift buttons, the scent of cannabis permeating strong with whoever it is that has decided to walk up beside the man. Marty wasn't really trying to get in the dude's personal space, but he kinda wanted to get out of the shittiest part of the ship, okay. Nobody likes the med bay and the pod rooms. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, eyebrow shooting up as he looks at Bellamy. Yet another buff scary dude, he just knows it. Sheesh.]

Having some trouble with the scenery, compadre?

[Despite smelling like weed, he seems to be firing off of all cylinders, which is kind of weird, but you gotta understand man - his tolerance is through the roof.]

cullen | ota!

[troops]

[Pods]

[Cullen ordinarily considers himself a calm enough person. Part of what he does involves remaining level-headed and calculating in the midst of battle.

Here, he panics.

It's not enough that there was a thing jammed down his throat until a moment ago, or that he'd recently been dumped mostly-naked onto the floor, but when he's finally able to focus his vision, he doesn't recognize anything- anything- about this place. The walls are too flat, the lack of texture is unnatural, everything is too sleek and smooth and foreign.

What is he doing here? He coughs, scrambling to sit up and put his back against the nearest wall. He can't remember how he got here- can't remember much of anything, but nothing that his mind supplies can come close to looking like this. There isn't anything nearby he can use to defend himself with, and- it's not real. It can't be- but who would dream this sort of thing up?]


[Lockers]

[The number on his wrist matches one of the containers lining the walls. However long it takes him to settle and start moving, he's here now. Cullen moves almost mechanically, as if in a daze until he's standing in front of his designated locker and it slides open effortlessly.

His things are in there. Of course they are. A small fraction of the tension bleeds out of his shoulders when he can see the familiar mantle hung from a hook next to some uniform that definitely isn't his. Just as well, though- if he's going to figure out what happened to him, he'd rather do it clothed.

Which is why anyone who cares to look is definitely going to find a guy in the middle of a space station absently putting on a few pieces of medieval armor over his old fashioned clothes. It's practical, alright?]

[sparkler]

[Dorian rounds the corner of some lockers to find, oh thank the Maker, a familiar face. And look! They're both clothed. Miracles do happen.

He can't quite describe how reassuring it is to see Cullen, someone he knows, in the midst of such unfamiliarity. Of course, he doesn't know Cullen well, but they are acquainted, and Cullen is trusted enough to lead the Inquisition's armies. Dorian can extend him some trust as well, particularly considering the circumstances.

Honestly, he'd even have been happy to see that hairy Grey Warden. Cullen is about a hundred steps up from that.]

Commander. [He can't quite keep the relief out of his voice.] I was beginning to believe I'd been abducted alone.

dorian pavus | ota

[sparkler]

[pods]

[He panicked at first, of course, and Dorian isn't doing much better a few moments later. He doesn't know where he is, he doesn't recognize anything, and considering the excitement that is his life - he's almost certain someone or something is going to try to kill him at any moment.

But that is no reason to light things on fire (at least he still has his magic) or start screaming and never stop, no matter how much he might want to. Instead, he clears his throat. There are others moving around, he knows that. Enemies, or possibly allies. He may as well find out, while trying to swallow down that terror that threatens to burst out of him.]

Excuse me?

[lockers]

[Dorian's initial panic has faded, and he's found his locker. That in and of itself is a victory, considering how incredibly far out of his depth Dorian is. He doesn't even know what half the things in this place are, much less anything more than that, though as his nerves settle he's beginning to find himself very curious.

It's not the Fade. That much he knows. And if nothing else, that's something to start with.

He's dressed, because no matter how much people might appreciate his glorious nudity, he still has no real idea what to expect, and fighting naked does not sound fun. His mage robes are no doubt not the usual fashion, but they're his, and that's what matters. Also, he wouldn't be caught dead in that sad excuse for a uniform. He reaches out to finger its fabric, an expression of distaste clear on his face.]

[pods]

[foundafamily]

[Firo's one of the few (if there are any others) in the area who's fully clothed, being too much of a prude to stomach the normal pod nudity. He'll take being covered in goop, thank you.

He's prepared to book it out of the area as always, but pauses when he hears a voice. The stranger doesn't sound too cheery and who can blame him?]

Yeah? You new or somethin'?

[Not that being new is the only reason to be nervous around here, but Firo assumes it's the most likely.]

John Blake | ota

[oversight]

pods—

[ Hard grating rushes up to meet him and even if his mind isn't following along, John's body reacts appropriately. The last time he'd dropped out of the gravcouch it had been unceremonious, painful. This time around there are palms flat on the plating and he's up before ever really going down.

John knows where he is, not the why and how, but there's a solid conception of who he is and what's going on — space, Tranquility, the jump — so he has that going for him (plus a pair of goo-sodden boxers and not much else).

Scrambling, he's to his feet and properly moving in mere moments, hunched over and following the lead of his uncertain legs. Warily, his dark eyes dart this way that, and he doesn't have words for anyone in passing, only scant glances that end with him looking away quickly, especially when anyone really goes to take notice. Faces look vague and he senses that his body wants to accept them, to stand down, but it's taking longer to place the people on the landscape of Blake mind than he's really allowing himself and there's no desire to stop at the moment, even if it might lead him to figuring things out.

He feels chased, like there's a beast on his heels, but he can't quite put his finger on what it is, or where it's hiding, or why he feels this way, but he's driving forward toward the parts of the ship and this process he remembers from the last time around, now two months in the past. ]

lockers—

[ For some time after leaving the pods, John drops off the radar. Somehow he manages a shower and some clothes. Much like last time, he ends up back at the lockers well after the fact. Last time he went to it pretty quickly, gathering his remaining things in order to hoard the objects back in bunk. This time he just stares.

Something lingers just on the periphery still, but it's transformed from an unseen predator into a more wraith-like creature, transparent and fleeting and ominous. It tugs at John's attention in the moments where his mind's not racing, makes him look every bit in a stupor when caught unaware.

He holds his wristwatch in his hand. Staring at face, his eyes follow the second hand for a long time. Maybe too long.

What was it? He'd had a dream, some kind of dream. A flash of color, then inky skies splashed with pinpricks of light, but that's here not there. He can't remember. Why can't he remember?

By the time John looks up again, he's standing in front of a mirror at the end of a row of lockers and for the life of him, he can't remember if he walked to get here or if this is actually when he's waking up from the dream.

Maybe he's been asleep this whole time. Maybe he's still dreaming. Could he still be asleep and suspended in gel right now? No matter how hard he tries, like looking at his watch, staring at the mirror yields no acceptable results but the passage of time. ]

[[OOC: John is disoriented from his month of coma-statis! I doubt he'll get violent, but just in case, I'll PM to make sure it's okay to proceed if something potentially upsetting might happen.]]

lockers;

[righteously]

[There's no denying that it's a rough jump for everyone involved. There's a different feeling this time around than there had been last time, and even though Dean's starting to get used to it, there's a churning sensation in his gut that hasn't dissipated since he woke up. Other people can feel it too, he knows because he could see that look on their faces as they slipped from their wombs. He's seen that look on a thousand civilian faces when things are about to go bad, that dread that pulses in their core, pulling at something primal and instinctual inside them.

He doesn't like it.

There is a speck of good news amidst that feeling, though; when he had the presence of mind to circle around to Blake's pod, it was already empty. He doesn't exactly go looking for the other man in the showers, he's got a firm sense of shower conduct that he tries his damnedest not to break, but as soon as he's dressed and geared up, he goes looking. He finds the man a solid twenty minutes later after most of the population already cleared out, standing there alive and in the flesh in the back of the locker room in front of a mirror, fingers wrapped around a watch.]

Blake!

[He calls, frustration and relief in equal measure in his voice. He doesn't get a response, though, and neither does the second one. By the time he makes it across the room there's a frown on his lips, and a hand claps down gently onto the other man's shoulder.]

Hey, Earth to Rocket Man, did you seriously not check your phone yet?

river tam; locked + ota

[perceptum]

[ LOCKED - dean ]

[ the first thing she does as she hangs her head over the edge of the gravity couch is dry heave. like a lot. her stomach is empty and nothing comes up, but for a solid few minutes all that can be seen is bedraggled dark hair draped over the edge, shaking slightly as the shock of waking up forces her system into overdrive.

which, incidentally, isn't the first time that's happened - and much like the first time, river doesn't take too kindly to waking up naked in a pod. her head jerks up with a gasp and she stares around, all wild eyes and panicked sounds as she clambers out onto the floor, hitting the deck before her legs fully wake up. this isn't going too well.

as with her legs, it takes a moment for everything to catch up, and mostly she's just aggressively aware of the fact that this isn't Wonderland - an event maybe? it couldn't be, everything feels too different, too many unfamiliar voices and faces for it to be anywhere other than other. sucking in a deep breath, she picks herself up off the floor, and promptly sprints for the door-

-and its a shame that spatial awareness didn't kick in sooner, because right between her and that door is a very solid, very familiar person, who she fully intends to greet.

right...when she stops screaming long enough to recognise him, of course. ]

[ A. LOCKERS ]

[ things are a little more relaxed here. not much, but at least she won't be attacking anyone, right?

the act of seeking out her corresponding locker is something that gives her enough to focus on that she isn't going to lose it again, which is a step in the right direction and about all anyone can ask for right now. river hums lightly under her breath as she paces along the lockers, leaving small wet marks behind her as evidence of the odd tip toed pattern that she's walking with.

when she finds her number, river glances from the locker to the number on her arm a few times, and then announces to the room in general: ]

How does it open?

[ kid genius indeed. ]

[ BEYOND ]

[ later she's a little drier, a little brighter as she walks down the halls with the seeming intent of finding someone, somewhere around here. (hint, it starts with a b- and ends in -ig brother - he's here somewhere, she can feel it). sometimes that searching might lead to her finding another, non-Simon soul. she doesn't mean to be quite so invasive, at least not intentionally, but all the same she still catches hold of an arm as she passes people by, familiar face or not. ]

Excuse me, do you know the way to Tam?

[ very polite ]

[ C. SURPRISE ME ]

[ from wandering halls to knocking on doors, river is going to be up in everyone's business. if you want to wing something this is the option you want! go for gold, buddies. again, brackets or prose are both fine! ]

[righteously]

[A dozen pods to the left her, Dean Winchester half-collapses out of his own space womb, catching himself with his palms and lowering himself down onto a knee as he coughs. No, he distantly decides between hacking coughs, downing a fifth of whiskey does not help this whole thing go easier, and his throat feels like it's been filled with angry bees. Coughing is a common sound, it breaks through the room all around them at random intervals, but dry heaving is an unusual one. His eyes are drawn to the source as soon as he can lift his head, and he can't help but feel a little sympathy for whatever poor kid that is. All he can see at first is tangled, soaking wet dark hair obscuring a clearly heaving face, and for a few seconds he ignores it.

Spends a little time trying to force himself to his feet, pushing his flopped hair away from where it mats against his forehead. He seems to make a little better progress standing up than the girl to the right of him; or at least he thinks he does. Before he can manage to get his aching into gear, she's already sprinting. More than that, she's screaming god damn bloody murder, and it only takes a second for the sound to forcefully rip recognition to the surface.

Before she can steam-roll passed him, he manages to catch her with two sticky, damp hands on either of her upper arms.]

River, River-

[It's flying out of his mouth desperately, head already pounding, feet cold on the floors, all of that forgotten in the wake of this sudden turn of events. He doesn't stop to contemplate whether or not she recognizes him, remembers him, if she's the same girl from Wonderland or a new version, or whatever- it doesn't matter, because it's River and she's freaking the fuck out and it's first nature, immediate instinct to calm her down.

The fact that she might actually take his head off in the process does occur to him, but it takes a back seat for the time being.]

It's okay- it's okay- you're okay- it's me-

sally malik | pods or lockers (and bar?? idek) | ota

[unmakes]

pods.

[ for some reason, sally's always made a point to keep track of which pods a small handful of people frequent each jump. in part, it's a quick and easy way to make sure everything's still okay - that nobody she cares about has up and disappeared overnight.

it's a stupid habit. three times out of four, someone has. someone she never expected to lose - because see, there are people she expects to lose and people she doesn't, people she's got her eye on sharp and people she doesn't quite check on right away so it blindsides her when she glances down toward their pod and finds it sealed up tight.

it's been a couple of months since someone disappeared, and some part of her got it in her head that things were leveling out. but she finds herself now in front of robin's hollow pod, one hand lifting to press the glass as she wraps her head around this discovery. this tragedy. or maybe it's a good thing. maybe he's gone home.

maybe she'll never see him again.

sally's next exhale is a breath of laughter, borderline desperate but not quite enough to call her on it, and she retracts her hand so only a blue smear marks that it was ever there. in fact, she's taking a step back altogether, lips curling in the shadow of a sharp grin. ]

Well alright, then. [ it's astoundingly casual, much more so than the last time she discovered a friend's disappeared. ] If that's how we're gonna play this, fine.

[ and after a few more seconds (your character's window of opportunity), she turns to head for the showers. ]

lockers ( + bar)

[ sally's still a little wet from the shower when she slips into her clothes, wringing her hair out on the floor a little before she stands up and it tosses back over her shoulder. ]

Okay, [ she starts, clearly addressing the locker room at large - or at least her general vicinity. ] So, I'm pretty sure I don't know like 75% of you, but I'm about to head down to the bar on 005 to partake in a little thing my people like to call 'hardcore day-drinking'. Consider this an open invitation. Getting shit-faced is ten times more pathetic when I have to do it alone.

[ she ends her address with a two-fingered salute, then shuts her locker and turns to head for the door. you can catch her before she leaves, or find her chilling on a barstool in the fifth floor bar, take your pick. ]

post rousing locker room speech

[righteously]

[There's a long and awkward pause after Sally's announcement and departure in which everyone that had been in her immediate vicinity exchanges confused and uncertain glances. Dean is among them and meets a few strange eyes, flicks his gaze to her retreating back, and then straight up kanye shrugs to the next person that glances at him.]

She's got a point.

[He announces loudly, and proceeds to follow her out- which seems to get a few murmurs of agreement before everyone goes back to what they'd been doing and accepts the whole display as a reasonable post-jump decision.

Any excuse is a good enough excuse for hardcore day-drinking, but especially this jump, which had been... particularly weird and unsettling. He'll be heading toward the bar shortly after her, intent to drink away his post-hangover-jump-hangover.

(You read that right. It's two levels of god awful, and the only way to cure it is with the hair of the dog that bit you.) ]

bethmora fortescue | open

[blackmagus]

lockers }

[Things start as easily as they ever do. Fortescue pulls the breathing tube from her throat, and then pulls the second breathing tube from her growling cat, as she climbs from her grav couch. Jazz quickly settles, at least in comparison to the last two awakenings. He complains a bit through the shower, as if for 'manly' appearance alone, but ultimately puts his ears back and suffers through it. Unlike his experiences with the blue goop and showers, however, he squirms out of the towel Fortescue procures for him and simply walks at her side, shaking himself ever so often.

Fine by her. One less thing to worry about. In fact, she's almost cheerful as she approaches the lockers with a towel wrapped around her. Maybe this will be the new trend and she won't pick up any more scratches.

Ultimately, though, the cheer lasts until she opens the door of the locker, when she notices it has contents more than the standard. A worn-looking leather-bound book sits on a shelf with a thick piece of parchment stuck into it, a book that she recognizes instantly and which makes her freeze in place. She knows, without even trying, that the rich brown leather would smell like pipe smoke and the sharp cornucopia of graphite. Her father's old workbook, a book given to him on his fifteenth birthday by his own father, filled with sketches and math equations and rambling thoughts. The sidekick of an engineer and physicist.

Jazz's small mew brings her back to reality and Fortescue quickly changes into her dress, putting off the inevitable as much as she can before pulling the book from the locker. It's as unwanted as it makes her heart fondly ache. She remembers holding the book and being allowed to look through it while sitting on Clyde Fortescue's lap, all of seven years old and uncomprehending of the theoretical work inside. But the parchment... It's heavy and official and doesn't belong in it. Her father had never kept anything in the book; it would hurt the spine, he'd told her once. Frowning deeply, all but uncomprehending of the lockers around her, she opens the book and pulls out the parchment, unfolding the thing — which turns out to be an official government document, decorated with a heavy gold and blue order. Only two such documents carry this particular parchment, which is expensive. Birth and death certificates. Most records are digital, and in fact even digital copies are made of the two. But one official print exists. Seemingly for tradition.]

Date and place of death... Unknown, Brighton, February 3rd, 1928... Name and surname... Mirabelle Fortescue... Sex... Female... Date and place of birth... London, December 14th, 1918... Cause of death... Succumbed to radiation...

[Very still, Fortescue swallows and stares at the parchment for a few long moments, unconsciously leaning back into the locker across from hers, where she's stepped as she's read. It feels as if her heart has stumbled to a stop, and the lockers are just an indistinct din in her ears. Everything still seems to be in another world as she's distracted away from the parchment in her hands. But not too long after that, and she closes her locker and heads for the lift.]

elsewhere }

[Part of her wants to leave the book and the parchment and forget she saw either one of them. Again, in the case of her father's book. But she doesn't. Instead, she carries them with her as she unconsciously manages to navigate the ship for the nearest bar. Her hand has a hole in it which only a glass can fill. Or a bottle, if she's lucky and feeling particularly shameless. Her expression is carefully blank — too blank, in fact. For those adept at reading faces, Fortescue's culled her external emotions too much and is showing the daze underneath the skin.

She might know the ship quite well by now, but Fortescue still might stumble into someone as she heads to a bar and pulls out a bottle of something dark. It looks potent.

This will do.]

[songofhappiness]

[ It's as she's reading the birth certificate that Caroline turns a corner and spots her.

She's relieved to see Fortescue - after that last jump, with Elena being gone, Caroline's been a little more neurotic than usual, if that were possible. As it was, she stuck close to Benny's side and did her best to check in with others, including Fortescue, just in case they should suddenly disappear, too.

Benny did get lost in the hallways a couple of months ago. That's reason enough to keep an eye on people.

In her relief, she doesn't immediately notice Fortescue's demeanor. Instead, she practically bounces over to the woman. ]

Okay, I'll admit I was totally worried that everyone I knew would be stuck in the gravcouches, but it looks like that - [ Once she's closer, she notices there's something off about Fortescue. Looking down at Jazz, Caroline tilts her head to the woman, as if asking the cat if she's okay. Whether he gives any indication of any understanding is up to interpretation, but he's the closest being she can do this with.

With much less bounce to her step, she comes a little closer, looking worried. ]

Are you okay?

caroline forbes | open!

[songofhappiness]

[ If it were possible to go through the motions of her cleanup routine at vamp speed, Caroline would do it.

Okay, so it is possible, but that would draw a lot of attention and bring up a lot of questions. Even when she's frantic to get finished and start looking for others, she keeps in mind that she has to keep herself in check.

As it is, her movements are just a little too fast for normal humans. Caroline's too distracted with what her next steps are to notice - though it seems like others around her do notice. It's just enough to make someone pause and do a double take.

After she's clean and closing her locker, she glances around her, taking in the familiar and unfamiliar, before deciding to hunt down the people she knows. She's got a few to check on, and a best friend that she's hoping will be awake this time around. ]

[ OOC: Run into her anywhere, feel free to observe her movements are just a little inhuman, or anything else! ]

If you prefer anyting tweaked about this, lmk!

[deservesadaisy]

[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.]

mitchell || OTA

[humanistic]

Beside the lift, Mitchell presses the palm of his hand against the wall, like a man trying to steady himself, or stop himself from being sick. The surface is cool even to his cold skin, even through his glove. His eyes fix on the floor, on nothing. Unfocus, and then refocus.

Hundreds of heartbeats and the smell of skin, and flesh, and blood under all of that, blood running through veins fat and ripe and ready. And he's never going to be on the other side of caring about it. Hunger is always at its worst straight after the Jump, he'd say that, if asked--but it's not true. It's always bad. Sometimes he misses the safe pressure of ropes around his arms. Sometimes he misses the taste of blood, but he always cuts that thought short. The twinge in his knee, the twinge in his side. It's all old phantom pains. None of it is real. There are no scars. When he wakes up in the pod, he always thinks, first, of waking up backwards out of death, the chill and the terror and the sickness. He thinks of waking up on the floor of the funeral parlor, his ears ringing, and everything burnt and smoking and ruined. Ivan, and the others. Herrick, smiling at him in the dark of the car. I'm going to keep an eye on you.

Annie, he thinks, then. Annie. He has to find Annie. She is still here, he knows she is.

With a breath, he shoves away from the wall, tugging the glove down over his wrist, like he can ward off the chill that emanates from inside of him, echoing the chill of the room. It's compulsive, distracted, and when he turns around, he nearly walks right into-- whoever's standing behind him, or coming up to catch the next lift.

Christ. "Sorry," he mutters, "uh," and steps back, a little dazed. Not necessarily in a good way, but not in the worst way he's ever been on this ship, either.

[invisibilitea]

Annie, meanwhile, is at her locker. It's been empty for months, since her last shipment of tea, and she almost forgets to check it, these days. But being there serves two purposes; she can check for little odd gifts, yes, but mostly it's a good place to wait for Mitchell, because it's an easy place to find her.

So she waits and opens her locker, and she's so surprised at the contents that she gives a little shriek - it looks like a heart, a human heart, except it's glowing a bit - a heart shaped night light? - and she claps her hands over her mouth for a moment, to muffle any other noise.

After a moment she turns, apologizes quickly to the air around her, and reaches in to take it in her hands. It's not bloody, or disgusting, it's just a little warm, a bit comforting, like a person standing nearby. In typical Annie fashion she decides that she likes it, whatever it is.

She doesn't pay attention as she wanders, still looking at it, and the Mitchell bumps into her and she gives a little, "Oh!" and drops the heart on the floor.

"Mitchell!" she exclaims, and bends down to pick it up. "Look what came in my locker-"

Commander Shepard ; ota

[servator]

[ This is the third time that Commander Shepard has woken up in the stasis pods, the third time she's been through a jump aboard the Tranquility. The redhead exhales heavily, blinking to consciousness, brain tick-tick-ticking into motion. She isn't used to these kinds of jumps, not when, aboard the Normandy, things had been so smooth and… well, didn't require being inside the pods to prevent an unfortunate and untimely death.

Her expression turns dark as she heaves herself out of the pod, shaking goo off of her face and body. Shepard has thought about the “other Shepard” a lot, about how she’d been different, had been a big figure aboard the ship, had died between jumps. It’s disconcerting to know that you, but not you, had been somewhere before and couldn't remember it. She can’t at all, though she tries sometimes, closing her eyes and imagining that it might have been her, before; different in appearance and memories but still, maybe… But she could never conjure the memories, had to admit that it was another Commander Shepard after all. This makes her think of the clone—Why you? Why you, and not me?—but she has to quickly cast aside those thoughts, too. The doubts still trail her like a shadow and she can’t afford it, not in a situation with so many unknowns.

Unabashed as she walks unclothed to the showers (she’d been a regular soldier before having a cabin of her own), Shepard rinses herself off and removes as much of the goo as she can. Already, she recognizes some of the other faces: people who’d gone missing, or those who had been in stasis continuously since the last jump. She’d have to track them down later, check how they were doing, see if they’d learned anything. In addition, there are a number of new arrivals (dammit), though none of her own crew or acquaintances. Sighing, she resolves to think of the "old days" less and of the present more; nothing would or could be solved by wishful thinking or regret… ]

Leoben Conoy; open to all

[hairlocked]

[ It's still new to Leoben, and while the pervasive sensation of dread recedes, he has the pleasure of watching the humans about their routine. He's riveted by their outright misery, their coping mechanisms, the way they respond to the people and stimulus around them. This time, less shaken by his own arrival, he doesn't rush to leave, doesn't seek to make a captive of the first Colonial he sees. He watches, and schemes.

The conversations he's had on the network have given him ideas, a desire to insinuate himself where he's not wanted. More importantly, he wants to get back in contact with the people ghosting this ship. They don't mean well; this he's certain of. Either they meant to establish some kind of confirmation that nobody of any value was on board so that they could destroy the ship, or they were scheming some effort to capture it--both meant death, and while Leoben wasn't afraid of it, it seemed folly to die - and die permanently - when it could be avoided.

But Communications? Hah. That wasn't going to go down well with Laura Roslin. Somewhere else, then. Until then, he had to get to know people better, and he had a specific approach-- ]

Excuse me, I'm looking for a friend of mine--you may know her. Kara Thrace? Have you seen Kara Thrace?

[diplomaticsolutions]

[It might be her second jump, but so far it had gone better than the first. The tube had still been an annoyance and her throat was still a touch sore, but Padmé at least knew where she was this time. Like last time, she had pulled herself up and taken a shower, before changing in to one of the sets of clothing that had been given the first time around.

The voice though drew her attention, and always one to help, Padmé stopped.]

Kara Thrace?

[Truth be told, Padmé hadn't met too many people since her arrival. While she wouldn't have called it hiding, waking up after everything that had happened at home had taken a toll. The time between her first jump and her second had been spent pulling the pieces of her life back together.]

I'm sorry. [There was a little shake of her head after having thought it over.] I haven't.