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.


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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.

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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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Comments

[righteously]

[Dean's had some time to get himself together, but more importantly, he's had some time to make sure Blake's snapped the hell out of whatever weido post-coma trance he was in for the moment. As soon as the big issues were dealt with, as soon as they had a moment to breathe, it was time. Rather than explaining to John Blake the full details of who exactly was here, he opted for a far more entertaining route.

Prefaced with an innocent enough, "Follow me, got somebody I want you to meet," he lead the other man down the halls, shooting off a rapid text to River in the process. Blake, always asking a million questions and not willing to let the matter die, was a real pain in the ass to get to the meeting spot in the first place, let alone stand there for the few minutes it took River to navigate her way there.

As soon as she rounds the corner, though, and Dean catches sight of the look on her face? He knows the deception and the nudging was well worth it. He crosses his arms in amusement, settling back against the wall to watch the reunion scene he'd set up for himself.

Just like his spanish soap operas back home. Man, he misses those. Bring on the tears, you two.]

[oversight]

Both've got inky quills...

[ He says it quietly, carefully, as if there's a wrong answer in this scenario, and then takes a scant glance at Winchester like he's trying to judge just how disoriented he should appear to the young girl in front of him. He doesn't really know her, not immediately, but the riddle is so familiar, it's practically an automatic answer.

Hesitating, he closes his eyes and takes in a long, deep breath. This is not a dream. He's not dreaming anymore and Dean proved that, but the way that the whole world is awash with gray haze, the way the faces pass as strangers and then creep back in his memories to remind him he's forgotten them, makes him uncomfortable. He's certain he's supposed to know her.

It takes seconds of searching, of deep concentration, but when he starts thinking of the riddle, of her round face, of the collection of people in this hallway, he feels a familiar warmth and he knows.

Closing the remaining distance, he reaches out and pulls her into a desperate and tight hug, one that he clings to longer than necessary. ]

Is it really you?

[ How could it be anyone else? She couldn't feel more real in his arms. Still, he looks to Dean once more for direction and it's obvious that he's backing this up, too. This really is River Tam. Their River (although he can't help but guess she somehow transcends more than one level of reality and would probably recognize her immediately). ]

[perceptum]

[ Dean gorram Winchester and his stupid spanish soap operas. She'll have to have words about setting up emotional reunions specifically for his own entertainment, but that's a problem for later - much later, because said emotional reunion is far more important than chastisement. Dean had already mentioned to her that Blake was here, and that he remembered them, but she'd still held a large amount of disbelief on the matter, especially as she'd poked through some of the other passengers on board and found their faces and memories woefully blank. Surely it was too good to be true, right?

Apparently not.

He responds to the stupid riddle that had eluded her for some time - days to her, months to others, who knows how much time had really passed - and the nervous expression pretty much instantly finds itself replaced by a beam. She's still walking over, but Blake moves to close the gap too and before she has a chance to offer her own solution (don't ask, seriously) he's pulling her into a hug. ]

The grass isn't as green here, [ she laughs a little, leaning up and hugging Blake back just as fiercely ] but even uncharted space doesn't seem so bad right now.

[ The time since their last meeting is subjective, hard to really determine, but it feels like long enough that she's justified in keeping a hand wrapped tightly around his wrist even as she drops back down to the flats of her feet and brings her arms back to herself. ]

We all remember. This is strange, you know. The odds were not in our favour. One in...five hundred thousand, at least. Theoretical science isn't her strong point. It's very unlikely.

[ And River is very, very pleased. ]

[righteously]

[Yeah, okay, he knows both of them are probably gonna kick his ass up and down the hallways for this, but come on. How often do you get to orchestrate a reunion and watch the people involved have feelings at each other and shit? It isn't like they've got cable on this friggin' ship, and besides, believe it or not, he cares about these two idiots. It means a lot to him to see them back together.

He's gonna get all choked up, swear to god.

Their lives suck pretty hard sometimes, but moments like this? Moments like this...

Makes it all worth it, you know?

So he hangs back for the moment, a small smile on his features, more genuine than it's been in a long time. He doesn't mind being on the outside of this, because it's those two that matter, with or without him in the picture.]

[oversight]

[ John tries not to think of life as a gamble, does what he can to avoid citing the odds, but he's not so naive as to think that River's cursory calculations are anything but accurate, and if he had to place any kind of bets it would be on the three of them. Granted, five-hundred-thousand-to-one really does sound like a longshot, but never has he met more viciously loyal people willing to do whatever it takes.

There are others, of course — the people that belong to his people — but for John this is his family and its been returned to him and he's never had the opportunity to experience this before, not quite on this level, at least.

He laughs — it's a bit choked — and before he can get too sentimental, he presses a kiss to the crown of River's head, ruffles her hair and then turns to pull Dean into a goddamn hug. On the outside of this? Like hell he is. ]

—we're too stubborn for goodbyes.

[ And thank god for that because he'd much rather take on space with the both of them than just about anyone else.

When he pulls away a moment later, Blake looks between the two of them and counts himself damn lucky, even considers that he might have already put his money on the table some time ago. I mean, this certainly feels like a payout, doesn't it? Maybe even one appropriate to the odds, he thinks, if he's allowed to be that sentimental. ]

i am the weak link

[perceptum]

[ Really Dean, you should have seen that one coming.

It's easy to forget for a moment that this probably isn't anything good. Being dragged to Wonderland was a situation in and of itself, but it happening again? River wasn't kidding when she said it was 'unlikely' - hell, the chances of winning the lottery had to be higher than the likelihood of strange unseen forces pulling all three of them back together again - but it's hard to feel anything other than incredibly lucky with the two of them there.

Being back in this kind of situation would be hard on anyone, harder on River than your average person most likely, and it's a lot easier to stave off any kind of real panic with familiar faces around. She has Simon, she has far more of her old crew here than she ever could have hoped for, and she has her chosen family too. She isn't about to start questioning that kind of luck. ]

Now.

[ She stands up a little straighter once the hug releases, tries to look a little more serious (though the smile she can't quite get rid of ruins the effect a little). ] She needs to know the details. I have questions, where can I find the answers?

I am the weaker link

[righteously]

[The hug catches him by surprise, but there's no denying the family-fuzzy sentiment. After a huff, he thumps Blake on the back for a second or two before extricating himself.]

Alright, alright, jesus. It's like a Hallmark commercial, you two're giving me space diabetes.

[Too many feelings, too much family, it's gross.

And awesome.

But, you know. He doesn't handle this stuff well, and he's not about to tear up in public, so. Moving right along. He crosses his arms over his chest, shakes his head something equal parts exasperated, fond, and amused. You two're gonna be the death of him, you know.]

There's a pretty comprehensive guide you can snag on your phone. Think it would've gone over better as a pamphlet, but you know, whatever. You can read through all the juicy deets there, but you know, anything... big and personal, we're all ears.