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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
That's definitely a grumpy old woman wielding a broom, and Fitz visibly jumps when she speaks, nearly dropping the tablet he's been fussing with. ]
I'm not— [ ?? Actually, he's got nothing. He was never particularly good at spinning lies to begin with, now it seems like a moot point even trying. Even settling on something truthful takes a few seconds, and it's sort of lacking as far as explanations go. ] I'm not taking anything.
no subject
Ain't askin' what yer not doin'. Asking what ye are.
no subject
[ Except that clearly won't work. He stumbles over the second attempt at an explanation, looking properly chagrined. ]
I'm looking for something. Research.
no subject
[Because if it's something she can just go find rather than leaving him to muck around willy nilly it will save everyone a lot of trouble.
And if it's not something she's willing to go find she wants to know that too.]
no subject
The brain. Anything about the brain, scans, research. Tech. I need to know what the ship can do for it.
[ 'It' being brains in general, presumably. The chagrin's gone, replaced by a determined focus. If she can help, he'll take it. ]
no subject
But neither is admitting such things.]
Got all sortsa new fangled things in here that can study just about anythin'. Customary to ask if ye ain't with the department.
[Manners!]
no subject
[ Said apologetically, not defensively. He lifts a hand to scrub restlessly at the back of his head, then he gestures towards himself. ]
I didn't know if I'd find anything, and I didn't want to make a big deal out of it, so I thought I'd just...
[ Dig through medbay and cause problems anyway, apparently. He finishes the sentence up with a slight shrug. ]
no subject
[The things people on this ship think are good ideas.]
Ain't likely to find mucha anythin' like that.
no subject
[ Quick and a little bit defensive. Medical isn't his field, but he knows better than to wreck equipment — not that she knows as much. ]
I was just— never mind. I'll come back.
[ Which is possibly not the best note to leave it on. A slightly guilty look, then: ] With someone who's got access. Unless... I mean, you do, yeah? Do you know what sort of tech we've got? Like, um— magnetic... magnetic.
[ Not happening. Stick with the basics, then. ] MRI equipment.
no subject
[Which she's not about to admit she doesn't really understand. But delegation? That's a perfectly legitimate thing to do.]
Simon or Jennifer'll talk to ye 'bout the details.
[That's right, will.]
no subject
[ If he notices the deflection, there's no sign of it — instead he seems eager for a lead or an out, or both. He starts towards the door, but he's hesitant to just slide past her without further comment, pausing for a passably polite: ]
Thanks.
no subject
[That's almost like you're welcome, right? Even if there's a definite undertone of "and don't come back here unsupervised"]