ataraxionlogs | 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.

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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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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Thank the chickens that the primary layer is even there, because if not it'd be much closer to a re-enactment of the first time they'd met.

As it is, his assumption - that MarTopher-faced-person would open their yap before he even finished his approach - is proven correct. Marty, then. He rolls his eyes and plops down heavily on the opposite end of the bench, chickens drifting along behind until the dolly bumps against the wall and they all cluck in outraged and disapproving unison.

"Incubator," he supplies, then does a strange thing for him and elaborates without prompting. Marty'll probably want to know. "Built it a while ago, with Josias. Y'weren't here." And. "He's gone now."

You're lucky it's not like the first time, because this time he might've actually punched you in the naked dick out of sheer horror and panic. But then you gotta go making things all depressing; geez, Netherlands, you're still the biggest moodkiller ever.

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

He remember Josias well enough. That must've stung a bit.

"But that's good, isn't it? Having livestock. Where the hell did you keep all of them?"

Uh. Wait. He shifts from his sprawl to look at Marty and knits his brows, then raises a brow, wondering if that's all Marty got from his mini-speech, there. And - losing Josie sucked, losing Bran last jump sucked (he wonders if they knew one another), but that wasn't exactly his point.

So he just grunts for the first reply and nods for the second. Jerks his thumb over his shoulder and up and left a little, pointed toward the Gardens, for the third. And then, flatly.

"You were gone, too. When we built the incubator." Maybe that'll work. Just in case though. "You left."

"... I, uh. I figured..." He swallows hard, tapping the network device with a finger. "I was scrolling through, I mean. Didn't see as many familiar faces... I've been out for a while, huh?" It makes him wonder what shitty things went down in the meanwhile. Fuck. He knows how this place is; it was probably the usual misery.

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

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

"Gesundheit."

Whelp.

"Anything change dramatically while I've been gone? Anyone grow any extra limbs? Animals take over everything?"

He makes a face at that. Don't German him, sir.

"Gezondheit," a correction. If you must, Mertie.

As for the latter - he sighs and looks over, kind of wants to ask for a drag but thinks better of it. Anything change dramatically, huh. He chews on the side of his nail and tries to sort out what happened with him from what happened in general.

"Don't know if anyone grew limbs. Maybe. Whole damned ship got sick while ago, some people grew shit." Aren't you so glad you asked, Marty. "Lost my hair, my uh - skin," he rubs his hands together to demonstrate, "here. Forearms. Sucked. Other people got sick, different ways. I don't - don't know what happened, to them." Since he was kind of on his deathbed at the time. "Ask William. CMO." A tap to his inner forearm, with the bright red CAO stamped there. Not that he explains that change, or what a CMO even means.

"Lot of people left. Ah. Gone. Animals got sick last jump. Landed on a pirate - " handwave, "outpost, or whatever. Sucked too. Other bullshit."

And that has been a summary of the past year, great job Ned.

"Bless you," Marty replies casually to the correction. He folds his arms and looks totally not thrilled with any of the stuff Netherlands is throwin' down. "So you're saying the ship got hit with a big ol' face full of illness, cool. And a pirate ship? After the big execution we had going on with the pirates before? Greaaaat. But what's up with your job title there? Looks different."

Marty may be a ditz sometimes, but he remembers things very, very well.

"Mm." Which is a yes. And, "Not a ship. Outpost, or whatever. Arima. No government anymore."

As to the job title shit... it's best not to think too hard about where Marty's brain goes or how it operates. He rubs a thumb over the lettering again, dragging the skin there.

"Changed. Don't know why."

He sighs. "Doesn't ring a bell. Probably a good thing for me."

But more importantly, bro — "We should probably figure out why. Nothing around here is completely innocent, right? Something changes, we go 'oh sure why not!' and then bam, it bites us in the asshole."

WHAT IF WE'RE LITERALLY BITTEN IN THE ASSHOLE, NED.

"Mm." Which, again, agreement. Isn't he just a scintillating conversationalist, Marty? He's lucky you're here to pick up the slack. He cants his head and listens to what suddenly sounds like plan-making, interested. Blinks at bites us in the asshole because that's a new one, he's not sure if it's a Marty one or a wherever Marty is from one. (He's assuming Marty.)

"Should. Carolyn didn't know." Which is. Pretty much how far his inquiries got - he would've gone to Nathan, or Simon, but they were gone by then. Who the hell else was he going to ask? If Tyke knew, she'd be telling him.

"Ask William, maybe. Or."

Or what? He doesn't know. He shrugs, not only shoulders but palms up too.

(You should always assume Marty.)

"Really? Isn't she one of those people who always knows too much shit?" But then, nobody ever knows enough around here, right? Because this place is fucking crazy and likes its secrets, just like his world like their royally fucked up secrets. "Who's William??"

"Knew." Correction. But he's spending zero time on that, and it comes out clipped and brusque - conversation over, there. If Marty's curious about Carolyn he can ask half the ship or go back a few jumps on the network, whatever.

"William," which, of course, he cannot pronounce correctly and so poor Marty might just think the guy's name is Vill-ay-hem, "Chief of Medical. Nosy shit. One of China's, maybe."
HAR HAR
Strangely, it doesn't come with the usual grump behind it. Just flat facts.

... Ah. So Carolyn's even gone.

Shit. His shoulders slump a bit.

"Feels like a new high school with new freshman rolling in and all the seniors graduating."

For some, leaving is fucking fantastic. For others... not so much.

thirty-ninth jump;

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self maybe press "post comment"

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self is rude

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