thirty-ninth jump;

[ataraxites]

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 ́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.

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Comments

[unmakes]

Show-off, [ she accuses, but there's a note of appreciation underneath the flat pseudo-humor. he could've made this a lot more difficult, asked more questions or said he had somewhere to be or something.

after just a second further, she turns to head out of the shower.

if he manages to beat her to her locker (which isn't so hard, despite her comment about getting out of here soon), she shows up maybe ten minutes later, a towel wrapped around her middle. she's got this routine down to a science, washing the goo off of her undergarments and letting those dry some while she showers the rest of her so she doesn't have to do the whole 'let's not flash my neighbors' song and dance at her locker each round, so the towel's mostly just to get rid of as much excess moisture as she can before she slips her clothes on over them. especially the moisture in the cloth bandaging around her upper thigh, the one thing she doesn't take off in the shower for reasons that would be pretty obvious if she did. ]

We're gonna have to drop by my place. [ is her greeting as she swipes her wrist over the locker panel and it pops right open. the towel's unwrapped, and she squeezes it around the thigh bandaging to soak up as much water as it can for a second before she tosses it into a heap on the benches and slides into her requisite post-jump sweats. ] I'm willing to postpone getting totally smashed by like five minutes in the name of clothes that are actually dry. [ spoken as she pulls a dark t-shirt on over her damp bra. ]

[pushesback]

[Nick is...well, no muss, no fuss. He washes the shit off as fast as he can, pulls his clothes on without really drying off. That's why his shirt sort of sticks to his skin, but hey. It'll dry.

He's leaned back and waiting, hands stuffed into his pockets. And to his credit, he mostly looks away when she's doing the whole towel...dressing thing.]

That's what you're worried about? [Nick snorts softly, smiling over at her again.] Wow, I didn't know I was drinking with royalty today.

[Punching him, pinching him, biting. All acceptable.]

[unmakes]

If choosing not to be wearing the galaxy's slimiest bra while I get totally shitblasted makes me royalty, then y'know what, I'll take it. [ it's mostly dry, but there's a note of humor underneath. no promises that it's genuine, but at least the effort's been made?

and on goes the shirt, which brings me to the fact that it actually doesn't quite occur to her that he might not be watching. she figures that's kind of the price you pay for voluntarily changing in front of a hundred other people, at this point. but hey, if she had any idea, she'd totally say thanks? ]

[pushesback]

[Nick purses his lips at that. Does he say it? Does he not say it?

He's saying it. It might be helpful!]

You could always just not wear a bra. Problem solved.

[unmakes]

So literally everyone at the bar can see my boobs? Oh yeah, I'll get right on that. [ she shuts her locker now and turns back to nick. ] Ready?

[pushesback]

I just don't think you'll have any complaints - in fact, I will personally handle that department.

[Nick smirks, pushes away from the lockers with a nod. Ready.]

So what's with the bandage anyway? I think I saw that before.

[unmakes]

[ oh, of course he had to ask about that now, what else could they possibly talk about?

but on the other hand, part of her almost just wants to say 'fuck it' and tell him. what's the worst he can do, ditch her? which he's pretty much gonna do one of these days anyway whether he likes it or not, thanks to this stupid ship. ]

I've got a few scars I got kinda sick of people jumping to conclusions over.

[ the one on her neck's bad enough, the two pairs of crescents unmistakable for anything but what they are: bite marks, from when a ravenous mitchell sank his teeth into the side of her throat first once and then again. they're on her wrist too, but not quite as bad. sally's resigned herself to the relative impossibility of hiding those long-term (in fact, she's surprised he hasn't asked about those yet too), but that doesn't mean she's ready to add wolf scars to her list of blatant oddities. ]

[pushesback]

[They could go back to the subject of her boobs, but somehow this seems more important. Especially after her response. Nick doesn't make a lot of assumptions, doesn't jump to a lot of conclusions. He just takes things as they are, even though he lives in a world that's not entirely what it seems.

He studies her for a moment before finally asking.]

So what's the truth about 'em?

[unmakes]

Pretty much exactly what it looks like. [ is her dry response. just because she's sick of people jumping to conclusions doesn't mean those conclusions aren't true. ]