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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( 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. ]

Edited 2015-01-08 05:28 (UTC)

[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.]

[ derek's gaze flicks up, expression guarded. he's met dean winchester a few times, in a few different incarnations. he isn't unfamiliar. he hadn't known dean was back, but it seems like derek's missed a lot while he was stuck in a tube. ]

Derek. [ he agrees. ] How long have you been back?

[ though the real question for derek is why is dean winchester seeking him out in the first place? but he's at least trying for pleasant small talk to start off with, to try to talk around the question maybe. he assumes immediately that dean's recognition means it's the same one as before. that's typically the only scenario in which people from other worlds remembered each other, and derek isn't--

well, he's not thrilled, but he's technically not dean's problem anymore, is he? derek's not much of a werewolf these days. he wasn't advertising it, or intending to even acknowledge it, but it's still there in the back of his head, impossible to ignore. ]

[His lips purse at the question. Evidently they'd known each other here as well, and Dean can't say for sure whether that's good or bad. On the one hand, they'd gotten along more or less alright in Wonderland, but there he'd been tempered by months of stabiliy, months of growing to give the residents of the mansion the benefit of the doubt. They'd all been stuck together after all, they'd had a common enemy, a common cause, and he'd gotten a little more face-time with monsters of the vegan variety.

There's no guarantee things had been the same on the ship. For all he knows, the last version of him could've found out Derek was a wolf the hard way, could have hunted him down and threatened him, could have walked in on him during a change, could've done any number of things to start it off on the wrong foot. He'd have been sure he was making the right call at the time.

Derek seems neutral enough, though, so maybe they'd gotten along. Who the hell knows.

He scratches absently at the stubble beneath his ear, ambling a little closer before drawing to a stop a few feet away.]

I'm, uh- I'm not back.

[Which is a crap answer, so he clears his throat to elaborate.]

That last guy- I'm not him. Memory wipe or... doppleganger swap, I don't know, the point is I don't know you from here. I showed up fresh-faced about two months ago.

[ derek's eyebrows raise. he doesn't know quite what to do with that, how to reconcile it with the way dean had greeted him. and truthfully, derek isn't sure whether he should be wary or not, whether he should even be entertaining this conversation. he scrubs a hand along his thigh, wishing for his shirt but unwilling to make a move for it, like that's some sort of retreat. ]

Then where do you know me from? Did someone say something?

[ since it's not hard to find out what derek is. it's a small ship, and stiles had made that one slip not that long ago. ]

Is this a problem?

[ it's just derek bracing himself, uncertain of what he's dealing with. he's seen dean rail against supernatural creatures before, but he's seen other things too, seen him back down, seen him bite his tongue. he doesn't know what this is, not yet, but he's aware he looks weak right now, and that's enough to make him defensive. ]

derek @ pods (closed) + medical (open)

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