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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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

[oversight]

[ Just listening to her seems to help bring him a little closer to reality, though he still doesn't feel one hundred percent. He scratches at the side of his head, eyes on her. ]

Really? That's— somethin' else. Those kinda accidents happen all the time or do you got a bunch of super villains over there makin' trouble?

[unmakes]

[ supervillains? she-... what? that's so far down the wrong track that it gives her pause, and she tries to think of how to backtrack and explain but there's just so much of it. ]

I-... It's kind of a long story. Like, this is actually the extremely short version so far, like 5% of it or maybe 6% or something, just a super tiny number. And there's like - fricking magic and vampires and werewolves and the Reaper, kind of, and it's just. A mess.

[oversight]

[ Just another universe nothing like his own, apparently. John hears more about vampires and magics and werewolves than anything else. But super villains? Those he knows better than he probably should. ]

Sounds like it. It's, uh— [ He scratches at his temple. ] —diff'rent. Than what I'm used to. Little hard to imagine, that's all.

So, you miss that or is here better?

[unmakes]

Trust me, I totally felt exactly like that like - I mean, either a year ago or like six years ago, I don't know how bad it screws the math all wiggy with the whole timeline... mixing-upping thing. [ half of that didn't feel like english. her 'yolo' comes in the form of reaching for her glass again, but she remembers it's empty and slides it over for the bartender to trade out instead. ]

And I mean, I guess I kind of miss it? Some of it. I miss my roommates, like - god, I wish they were here. They're pretty much my best friends in the whole world, but then if you go back you don't even remember it here and I don't want to forget. Does that make sense?

[oversight]

Yeah, that's— [ Blake laughs, albeit tiredly, his attention growing distant for just a second. He knows that feeling well — so well. ]

Kinda hard imaginin' leavin' people behind. Hell, harder imaginin' you wouldn't miss 'em, right?

[ Since being pulled from Gotham, Blake hasn't once returned home to not experience that loss but Dean had gone through it more than a few times and it hadn't exactly inspired a lot of enthusiasm in either of them to know for a fact they'd eventually forget each other (and everyone they'd met in the journey since). ]

You get that feelin' yet where you feel bad for wishin' people were here? That's the worst.