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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
no subject
It's a nice stalling tactic before he goes to confront Finn at the brigg, anyway.
Besides, the name catches his interest, and he nearly freezes.]
Oxygen gardens? [He repeats in disbelief, because- there's no way it can be what it sounds like. He spent too long affronted with the possibility that him and everyone he knows could run out of air impendingly to think a solution could really be that simple here.]
no subject
[He looks super content with himself, anyway.]
First level is all machinery crap — but important machinery crap. Then you've got your water filters, your simple vegetable gardens, all that fun stuff; I grew potatoes here I plan on picking up. Marty's Munchies, you know? It's a business venture.
[He'd keep on blabbering about his awesome schemes regarding snack foods, but the doors open up at last and reveals the very overgrown and green landscape. It's opened up pretty well, the sounds of nature not perfect but permeating. The air smells nice, too. Smells more like Earth. Marty steps out without any fear — there's nothin' here other than their own people, probably.
And, yeah, there is a distinct sound of crickets, Bellamy. Enjoy the atmosphere.]
Whaddya' think? Not the worst a tin can has to offer?
no subject
He's got to double-take and glance at the elevator behind him just to make sure he did in fact step off of one, and yeah, sure enough, it's still there. Marty seems to be forgotten for a second in favor of drifting toward the nearest plant and reaching out to touch it.
A breathy laugh escapes out of his mouth.
It's real.
There are crickets.
Marty's voice behind him startles him out of it, and he glances over with that half-smile still on his mouth.]
...Yeah, no kidding.
[He agrees, hand dropping away from the plant.]
...All the lives that could've been saved.
[He mutters, shaking his head, hands on his hips, and for a second he just... breathes.
He's going to have to show this to Clarke later.]
no subject
Just gotta be careful not to get yourself lost here.
[...Hmmm.]
Your ship didn't have anything like this, huh?
[Then again, this place is fuckin' huge, so.]
no subject
If he can navigate the vast uncharted wilderness of eastern north america, he can probably handle the forest on a spaceship. It's not getting lost that he's worried about up here. He's not so sure what jump splatter is or how it would effect the wildlife population, but he doesn't really feel like asking.
He'll learn the details later, right now he just wants to breathe. He has the good manners to huff a courtesy laugh at unicorns, but it comes out so tired and unenthusiastic he's not even sure it counts.]
No. If we did, a lot more of us might have survived.
[He says quietly, solemnly, ducking forward to rest his head in his hands for just a second, before turning to give Marty another once-over.
A little less judgementally this time.]
There was an oxygen shortage where I'm from. They looked for any excuse to trim the population- any broken laws warranted execution. They'd throw you out an airlock.
[He's not sure why he's sharing this, not sure why it matters, but he feels like he owes the guy at least a few honest words after receiving a gift like this. Maybe it helps to put into perspective why this place is such a big deal for him.]
no subject
Which Marty endured enough of. So what if it made him a little unhinged?
He flops down, adjusting the pack on his shoulder. Mostly, he's just transporting his CD player and his weed and his Little Nemo book back to his room, now that he's returned. He supposes he's not in the same room as before, huh??]
That's rough, man. The system screwing over its people, same as usual. That's how my universe worked, anyway. Us and our technology, thinkin' we were hot shit, feeding unaware kids to some sacrificial alter. [He shakes his head, sighing.] You're in good company, amigo. This place is full of people who are sick of their world's BS. And who are kind of tired of being jerked around anyway.
You get any of your people from home?
no subject
His lips purse together when Marty brings that alter thing up again, the sacrifices, the old gods, and while he'd been quick to dismiss the entire story as ludicrous, he's starting to second guess that assessment.]
Yeah.
[He says slowly, torn between answering the question and bringing up the gods thing again.]
A lot of them. Four or five, actually. What about you?
1/2
He shrugs, itching the back of his head.]
I'm, uh... the last one.
no subject
But dude, enough of that depressing stuff — that's awesome; I mean, it's not, but you get what I mean. It's good to have your people close to you, y'know? And — hell, people who die could even show up here, so really, it's kinda' like a second chance for some people. They cool people? Not a buncha' troublemakers, are they?
[He's
mostly teasing
but...]
no subject
Whether or not Marty's story was real, his pain certainly was. It's enough to convince Bellamy finally that he'd been telling the truth, or at least the truth as he knew it.
Although his lips turn upward, the expression on his face lacks the happiness that accompanies a smile. It's a gesture without any heart, but still.]
Cool? Maybe.
[He shrugs.]
Troublemakers? Absolutely.
[The smile gets a little more sincere at that.]
But they're... they're good people. I'll introduce you sometime. I think you and Jasper are gonna get along just fine.
[Since, you know, Marty's the only one of his people left. And if it sweetens the deal:]
He makes his own brand of moonshine.
no subject
[IT'S ONLY THE FACTS, BELLAMY.]
Oh. Right. [He holds out a hand, totally aiming for a handshake. Be a bud.] I'm Marty. I guess it should have been info-dump numero uno, but I'm a rebel like that. Or just dyslexic.
no subject
So he huffs out something of a laugh, shakes his head, and reaches out to shake that hand.]
Bellamy.
[He says, shaking firmly. As soon as the handshake's complete, he pushes himself to stand.]
Thank you. For showing me this. You're right. It helped.
no subject
No problem. You and your crew should have a place that reminds you of home, help you mellow out if you're feeling overwhelmed. [He doesn't move to stand, just drops his hands to his pockets and relaxes a bit into his spot. He's gonna hang out with his thoughts for a while.] It's not an easy place to be, even if there's a perk here or there. Watch your back and all those generic sayings. I've been here stumbling around long enough to know it'd be a bad idea not to.
You got any questions or you want a fresh back of chips, shoot me a message on the network.
no subject
Bellamy hesitates for a second, takes in Marty's words with a grim sort of uncertainty, eyes flicking over him, studying him. Is there more to be said? Maybe an apology for being so degrading over Marty's apocalyptic home-world?
..In the end, it's easier to let that go for the time being and just decisively nod.]
I will. I'll be in touch.
[And he will. It's a promise. With those parting words, he makes his way back toward the elevator.
...what chips have to do with anything is completely beyond him, but whatever. A second later, he's gone.]