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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ＹＯＵ͘ ̨ＷＡＫＥ̢ ̧ＵＰ ́ＩＮＤＡ̛ＲＫＮ̢Ｅ̕ＳＳ̶

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 ̧Ａ̨ＲＥＮＯＴ҉ ̷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 ̕Ｗ͝Ｅ̛Ｌ̨Ｃ͡Ｏ͝Ｍ͏ＥＰ̛ＡＲ̴ＴＹ͜

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[He thinks back to that accursed little boat that brought him to Alcatraz and smiles again.]

...No, you're right about that. Guess I should be grateful.

[The smile quickly fades and Firo shrugs, visibly irritated just thinking about the answer.]

No idea, 'cause nobody tells us anything. This place is some huge damn mystery. Apparently we all got picked up by mistake or somethin', but what idiot makes this many mistakes?

[He waves his hand at the rest of the locker room. ]

It's hard to believe that something like this could be nothing more than a mistake.

[He looks around them, then at the lockers. He ought to find his own, perhaps find some clothing, but for the moment answers are important. Dorian feels no particular shame standing around like this talking.]

How many of 'us' are there?

[And which ones were dangerous? He'd find that part out on his own sooner or later, he was certain.]

[Firo blinks and at first spends hardly any time considering his answer.]

Uh. A lot.

[Dorian's asking the wrong guy if he wants a number answer, but Firo will do his best.]

Probably over a hundred. Sometimes people disappear, but there are new ones back every jump.

'A lot'.

[Not very helpful at all. But then, what did Dorian expect?]

So people come and go, and we have no control over it? And no one knows why, but everyone thinks it's an accident?

[Sigh.]

This many be the most ridiculous thing that's happened to me recently, and that's saying quite a bit.

I wouldn't say everyone thinks that. I bet just about as many think we're here for some terrible and probably evil secret reason.

["Accident" is just the closest thing they were given as the official story.]

You got the rest of it down, though.

[He smiles.]

I'd hate to see what kinda stuff you go through back home, then.

Oh, the usual. Blood magic, time travel, archdemons attacking. This is just the newest in a long line of ridiculous things.

[And he'll handle it, as he always does, with a few witty remarks and enough drinking to get him through the day.]

And this mark on my arm? Rather rude of them to do with without my say-so. What is it for?

[He peers at the numbers, suspicious.]

[...Blood magic? Whatever that is, it sounds unpleasant. Maybe this guy will be more prepared than most for all the craziness that haunts the ship.

He's dying to ask for a bit more explanation, but he figures he should answer the question first.]

It's for... a few things. The number gives you your locker--that's where your stuff'll be--and your room. The actual tattoo itself has these nanite... things in it. They unlock doors and all that. And they poisoned us once. Don't ask me how they work.

Well, isn't that pleasant. How nice to know I could be poisoned at any time.

[A sigh. This place just gets better and better. Oh well - at least this man doesn't seem so bad, though Dorian still isn't sure whether he can be trusted. But if his things might be somewhere...]

I ought to find that locker and get dressed, at the very least. Then I suppose I'll see how things go from there.

[Firo smiles apologetically.]

That's just the start a' the fun here, pal.

[More random sickness than you've ever dreamed of. Monsters. Weird people on other planets. It only gets better!

He nods.]

Yeah, good luck. Hopefully nothin' too weird'll happen before you get settled in.

One always lives in hope. Thank you for the information.

[Hopefully it's true. He'll find out sooner or later, he's sure. He turns to leave, intending to find his locker, but turns back after a moment.]

Ah, how dreadfully rude of me. I didn't get your name.

[He nods at the thanks and only smiles in amusement when the guy comes back.]

Don't worry about it.

[The man just fell out of a weird tube into a creepy spacestation. Some rudeness can be excused.]

It's Firo Prochainezo. What's yours?

Dorian of House Pavus.

[He sketches a slight bow in the air, more self-mocking than serious. He's not much of a noble anymore, but he always will introduce himself as if he still were.]

I appreciate the help, ser. No doubt we'll meet again, if I'm not eaten by some sort of hideous monster the moment I step out of this room.

[He laughs at the bow, one eyebrow raised. You don't meet many people who introduce themselves like that where he's from.]

'S a pretty fancy name.

Sure we will. I'm not goin' anywhere.

[Willingly.]

And I am an exceedingly fancy man.

[So it suits him, right? Dorian smiles.]

At any rate, your information was welcome, and I'll repay it when I'm able.

[At that, he turns to go on his way.]

thirty-ninth jump;

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