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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
the answer is clearly the glass - it's glowing now, not quite moonlight but still a glow of its own. when he tells her to release it, sally half expects it to drop and shatter, but she's take his word on this and let it go into the air. ]
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Sirius keeps his wand pressed against the piece until he's got his arm well over his head. And when he can no longer reach, he lets go, with an extra little push, like he's flicking a soap bubble. The bit of glass, now a sphere, and still gently glowing, keeps going up, and up, and up, toward the ceiling, until--with a jab from Sirius' wand--it stops again, arrested in mid-air. And there it hangs, a little moon, casting a glow down on them.
Satisfied, Sirius puts his elbows on the bartop. He knits his fingers together, wand slid to hold between thumb and forefinger. He lays his chin on the bridge of said fingers. And he smiles at Sally, very charming.]
Now, look at me.
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but then her eyes drop to his, lips pressing together slightly as she tilts her head. yes, sirius? ]
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With feeling:]
Your eyes look lovely in the moonlight, Sally.
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Do they really?
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Best I've seen. Come on: would I lie to you?
[And in case she's wondering, he tells her, voice all graveled and low:]
No.
sally don't be gross
her eyes lift to his again, and underneath the appreciation and vague humor he can probably actually read that afore-described train of thought in the good two or three seconds of silence before she triet to nonchalant the UST right the hell out of here with: ]
I mean, it's not exactly a real moon - but I guess it'll work. [ it definitely works. like 300% works, she almost prefers this fake moon over a real one because this one's for her. ]
omg sally
And yet he can appreciate Sally's situation, because hasn't he put himself in that position, a little? Whatever he's got with Sera, or hasn't got, or maybe half has got--it's messy, and stupid, and he hates it a little. So yes: UST, remains U, for now. He even gives her a little nod, a little sad, like, okay, I get it. We can't actually snog here and now. Doesn't mean it might not still happen. Doesn't mean he'll back off with the gravely voice and hooded eyes. But he gets it.
(Kennex, you're lucky. Too lucky. You probably deserve a punch.)
The moment of silent understanding passes; Sirius cocks his head a little, still teasing.]
What d'you mean, you guess. You guess? Tell me the last bloke that made you a moon, eh? Or d'you want the real moon, Sally? You, what. Want me to lasso it down for you? What would you do with it?
she's a goob :c
still, that train of thought doesn't linger for long - his sass has her grinning, even laughing a little as he goes on with it. ] Well, I'm pretty sure it's my turn to compliment your eyes. Or... something. Maybe your hair, or just - [ a hand lifts to vaguely gesture to his entire face region. ] All of it.
best goob c:
And then he raises his left eyebrow, just a little. what.]
That's it? That's all you've got? I give you a moon, and tell you just how absolutely smashing you look--really fit, beautiful eyes, beautiful moonlight reflected in them--and I get all of it?
Come on, Sal. Where's the poetry?
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[ whoops, that was supposed to be one of those unspoken things. fortunately a realization occurs to her now, and she's pointing a finger at him. ] But ha, that doesn't even count anyway. It doesn't count unless an actual moon happens and I still screw it up. That's the rules.
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No? Because Sirius doesn't! Because face on face action sounds pretty good right now, especially the way they're looking at each other, or are briefly looking at each other, Sally's laughter and all, and it is very very hard not to just-- lean forward and kiss her, even as she's going on about rules. Face on face action was her idea anyways! She said it aloud. So. There.]
Is that so.
[He crosses his eyes, a little, to stare down at her finger. Uncross, to stare at her face.]
Just who the hell is making these rules, anyways?
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'just who the hell is making these rules, anyways?' ] I am. [ it's matter-of-fact, and she leans in just slightly closer to ask: ] Is that a problem?
[ eye contact is such a bad idea right now, why can't she stop ]
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[All innocence--which he immediately takes back, as he drops his tone and leans a little closer across the bar, all thoughts of allowing-Sally-to-be-loyal forgotten.]
But, you know. Rules were made to be broken. And if we were just breaking rules that you made... that wouldn't be so bad, would it?
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yep okay, fuck it, she's leaning in the rest of the way to meet his lips with hers, a little clumsily but that's his problem now. at some point she murmurs ] This is a really bad idea, [ against his lips, but it's more making that fact known than anything, since she doesn't seem to be putting any space between them. ]
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It doesn't actually matter: because her clumsy kiss gets upgraded into something a little sloppy, but definitely hot despite that. Maybe a little too much tongue to start with, but who the hell cares, he's leaned over a bartop and there's alcohol soaking at the hem of his t-shirt, and her mouth tastes like alcohol just as much as his does--but even if it didn't, there would still be something good and intoxicating about this kiss.]