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ataraxionlogs2015-01-08 12:01 am
ataraxites) wrote in ataraxionlogs2015-01-08 12:01 am
Entry tags:
- !jump,
- bellamy blake,
- benny lafitte,
- bethmora fortescue,
- bucky barnes,
- captain hook (killian jones),
- caroline forbes,
- charles xavier,
- cole,
- commander shepard,
- cora hale,
- cullen rutherford,
- derek hale,
- dick "robin" grayson,
- ellen ripley,
- eponine thenardier,
- firo prochainezo,
- harry potter,
- heather mason,
- ivan,
- jackson "jax" teller,
- jennifer keller,
- johanna mason,
- john blake | au,
- john mitchell,
- kieren walker,
- l "ryuuzaki" lawliet,
- leo fitz,
- levi,
- liara t'soni,
- marian hawke,
- marty mikalski,
- minho,
- mordin solus,
- netherlands,
- octavia blake,
- padme amidala,
- raven reyes,
- richard rider,
- rick grimes,
- river tam | au,
- sally malik,
- sam alexander,
- simon tam,
- sirius black,
- takeshi,
- taylor "tyke" kee,
- thomas
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.
----------------
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
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.
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.
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.
no subject
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-
no subject
this requires staying present, at least for the time being. ]
Dean?
[ she still isn't all quite there yet, waking up is taking it's toll, but he's present enough in her memories that there's no way all of that could be missing. they've been here before, maybe not here in the sense of a ship in space, but certainly in river panicking, and dean stablising, and before she says anything else river just reaches up a hand to touch his face.
it's...less of a loving touch of the cheek and more her hand directly on his face, fingers half covering one eye as she leans in a little closer. her voice drops to a harsh whisper, and she gives her peripherals a decidedly suspicious glance before mumbling to him: ]
Why are we here?
no subject
She stopped screaming, she recognizes him, and that's- hot damn, that's a good sign. He almost can't quite believe the way she's reaching up to smush a hand against his face and-
Shit.
It's River.
God damn, it's River and she remembers, he thought he'd never see her again. That puff of relief becomes something of a breathy, incredulous laugh, and he shakes his head slowly, shaking her fingers out of his eye socket.]
It's- trust me, it's a long story, and I'll tell you the whole thing, I swear.
[He promises, gently releasing her shoulders from his grip now that he's sure she's not going to fly off.]
But only if you keep it together for a few minutes, alright?
no subject
she doesn't go anywhere when he releases her shoulders except rock slightly forward onto the balls of her feet, and though the temptation to run again is still very much present, the desire to get an explanation from someone she trusts to deliver it is far more important right now. ]
One hundred and eighty seconds, at least. Promise. [ she makes a little cross gesture over her heart and everything, if that helps. ] Where's our mansion? We weren't in space, last time she checked.
no subject
Instead, he just stands close enough to her that he's sure he's blocking out the view of her body to any passers-by, head ducked enough that what they say stays between the two of them. If he catches anyone sneaking a peak, so help him god he'll ram their head into the glass of the nearest closed pod, but nevermind that right now.]
The mansion's gone.
[He says bluntly, dispelling the entire idea in a swift and time-efficient move.]
This ship stole us just like the mansion did, us and everyone else. Some of the people are the same, but most of them don't remember us or the mansion. Blake's here. Your brother's here. Some of your crew is here, too, but I don't know which ones. It's about as safe and as unsafe as the mansion.
[He spills it all out in a series of facts, tone an interesting mix of business-like and calm. She'll have a million questions, he knows, but having the bigger picture painted for her seems like a good strategy right now.]
no subject
Population count? [ irrelevant and unnecessary, but cold hard facts help to ground her just as much as a friendly face, and it seems like something worth asking. ] Or rooms in the ship. Or floors. Or a date? Where in the universe are we? Can you see the stars?
[ the answer to just one is needed, frankly, and it seems like throwing out a few options gives her the best bet of hearing an answer that she's going to enjoy. ]
no subject
[He answers immediately, because he's done the math a few times himself. It's impossible to maintain an accurate number when people came and went from this place almost as often as they did Wonderland, but it's always good to have a rough estimate. It seems to stabilize around that area anyway.]
There are a shitload of rooms. More than we need. A shit load of floors, too, same answer. Who gives a shit about the date when time is relative, we got no damn idea where in the universe we are, and you can go to the observatory when you stop being naked.
[He answers the questions back to back as soon as she stops asking them, a rapid-fire response that used to be familiar to him a dozen months and a universe ago. It comes back pretty damn quickly, though, and it has something pleasant filling his chest.
He doesn't get people back too often. Sue him.
That stop being naked part is said a little pointedly, to draw her attention to her current state of undress and the fact that it's definitely not acceptable for any amount of time longer than it takes her to stop freaking out.]
no subject
right. ]
Where do I stop? [ she hasn't exactly seen a stack of clothes hanging up somewhere for her convenience, although she didn't give the room all that detailed a look through to begin with. she does fold her arms though, as if choosing now to preserve a scrap of modesty is a solid enough compromise. ] Are the clothes near the observatory?
[ because that's the real priority here. it's been so long since she's seen the stars. ]
no subject
Obviously someone has to do it, especially since Blake's MIA. Speaking of which, that guy's going to shit himself when Dean tells him. He takes the fact that she has even any remote interest in clothes as a sign that she's good enough mentally to handle herself for a while, at least long enough for them to part for a few minutes and clean up.
He points toward the door.]
Through there is a shower. You're covered in goo, that shit itches after an hour, so you're gonna need to take one. If anyone looks at you below the neck, punch them in the face and tell me later.
[He points, because that's a serious instruction, thank you very much.]
There's a tattoo on your arm with a number on it. After the showers, there's a locker with the same number- there are clothes in there for you and probably some other crap too. Got it?
no subject
another spaceship, an unfamiliar piece of the galaxy, but simon was here, and dear friends that could well have been lost to her in any other universe. it's not good, sure, but river can certainly think of worse spots to be in. ]
There wasn't a tattoo before. [ she sounds vaguely displeased by this, but not 'sprint in full panic' levels of displeased. the rest of the instructions are fairly simplistic, and she nods quickly in time with them before raising a hand to mirror that point of his. just one question: ]
Should she really punch them in the face?
no subject
Something of a smile twitches at his lips at her question, but he surprises it in an instant because
yeah, he is 100% freaking serious about that instruction. He makes sure it's spread all over his face without question, all pointedly determined eyebrows.]
Yes. Abso-friggin-lutely.
[He orders.
Then nods his head toward the showers.]
Beat it, kid.