ataraxionlogs | thirty-ninth jump;

Entry tags:

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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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.

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CLOSED TO EMMA.

[ The curse breaks, and then—

And then he's back on the damn ship. It almost feels like an inside joke, at this point, and it's met with a certain amount of bitter humor as Killian regains his bearings and makes his way through the routine. His movements are rushed, and it isn't until he opens his locker that he gives any pause.

He wasn't expecting the new clothes, for whatever reason; he's still quick to put them on, modern trousers and waistcoat and jacket, if very obvious variations on a theme. Once he's dressed, he slams the locker shut and books it for Emma's locker.

Well, more of a light jog. Still pretty obvious. He'd been lucky to find her here the last time he'd left, and he hasn't bothered to find out what jump they're even at — for all he knows, she won't be waiting this time. ]

OPEN.

[ Emma's fine. Everything else is fine, too, in the sense that they've dealt with the curse and apparently survived a suspect jump. The smile he offers her as he sees her off at the lift isn't false, but it doesn't last long — the second the doors close, his expression goes flat.

Killian turns away from the lifts as he digs his comm out of his pocket, raising it to his ear as he dials Gold's ID. The answering lack of connection causes him to draw his hand back and stare at the screen for a moment, then he tries again as he starts doubling back to Gold's locker.

Nothing there, either, and eventually he finds himself outside Gold's pod, conspicuously clean and silent.

Rumplestiltskin's gone. He should be glad. Part of him is, but another part of him's aware of a distinct, unnatural chill coursing through him. The comm's slipped back into his jacket pocket before he rubs a hand idly over his chest, right where his heart's meant to be — and where it's definitely not. ]

Well, this is getting bloody complicated.

Edited 2015-01-08 05:38 (UTC)

[ this isn’t right. he’s forgetting something, he dreamt, jax knows that, but it’s--

it keeps slipping away from him. that and everything else briefly, jax blinking around in confusion before he pushes himself up to his feet. and nearly falls over, but he catches himself on the edge of his tube. jax curses under his breath, leans over to spit out a wad of blue gunk, like a true goddamn gentleman. he keeps trying to chase the threads of a dream, pull it all back to himself before it fades, but he can’t. all jax has is the idea that he’s losing something important, but he can’t call back anything concrete.

he opts for showering instead. a shower and a cigarette from his locker, but he has more than he’s bargained for there as well. he sits on the edge of the bench and leans forward to rifle through the new items sitting at the bottom of his locker. a hoodie and a t-shirt are chewed to shreds, but everything else is in one piece. cigarette dangling from his lower lip, he pulls out the clothes to reveal what’s left. there’s a bottle of whiskey, but that only gets a cursory glance as jax’s attention fixes on the last two items. ]

Well, I’ll be damned.

[ there’s his father’s manuscript, charred pages bound in a plastic binder, abel’s blue knitted cap resting on top of it. jax sighs around his cigarette, reaches to take out the baby hat first and rub the material through his fingers as he regards the book. ]

I must be something right. I think.

[ unwelcome presents and a forgotten dream. welcome back to the tranquility, jax teller. ]

Take two. When Takeshi gets himself dumped back out into the Tranquility, it's all autopilot — he goes to a locker that matches his tattoo, collects his suit and puts it on as religiously as before beneath his clothes... and then realizes everything's off. Like a light switch, mostly: one moment routine, the next a blind panic in realizing faces aren't the same and numbers are all off. He wasn't where he was supposed to be! This isn't right at all! And where was Hoi Hoi? A cold fear prickled the back of his neck at thought of his panda being left out of the pod. That would mean... No, no, it couldn't be!! He told Hoi Hoi he'd protect him! Maybe the suit protected him... maybe...

He had to go find Heather and Mr. Ned. He had to see if they knew where Hoi Hoi went. Maybe they knew why everything's so wrong, so off here... Why is his numbers different? Was the ship being weird again? The ship was always weird! But — it'd be okay, because things always worked out in the end, and that's what mattered.... They'd know. They'd definitely know!

He wanders back toward the shower rooms and pod rooms, not quite realizing they would likely be out a bit before him anyway... And, well, if anyone looks dazed or confused along his path, he could always make sure they're okay! And maybe hold their hair if they throw up! It hurts enough to throw up anyways! Or slip and fall. Sometimes people act real crazy when they wake up — they really should stay calmed down. How's he gonna find his family if people are always needing help??

"Heder? Mr. Ned? Where are you...?" W-well. Maybe he should just wait at their lockers. Maybe they're busy somewhere and they forgot to come check up on him anyway. He's a big kid now! He's six! He can handle himself, and they probably know that now, so. He'll just wait here.

And fret about his panda.

[ This makes the third time he falls out of the pod and panics. This time there's a stillness to it, eyes wide and breath uneven as he climbs to his feet and leans back against the door after it closes. His hands are shaking, and he watches them for a few long seconds as he tries to calm his breathing. The shaking doesn't calm along with it, so he just stops looking at it, crossing his arms tightly against his chest as he watches the other passengers milling about.

He skips the showers. His hair's short enough now that it's easy to towel most of the stasis fluid off, and he's passably dry and clean by the time he gets dressed. Fitz spends a full two minutes trying to button up his dress shirt, hands still trembling, and it's only halfway done up when he calls it done and drags a cardigan on over top of it.

If he spots anyone he knows, he's quick to avert his gaze and try to avoid them. But even if the plan had been to get to the lifts without having to make conversation, a stray glance towards the medbay proper stops him mid-stride.

He's familiar enough with the tech from lending the occasional hand, but outside of the nanite scare, he's never had cause to take a closer look. One last glance back towards the lifts, then he heads over to inspect the equipment. Anyone who lingers in the room after the last waves of passengers have filtered through is likely to see him, or hear the odd tumble of boxes or gear as he digs through drawers and storage. ]

[ memory is a funny thing. or it is when it comes to the gladers, and to thomas. he spills out of his pod, flailing and coughing, gasping for breath as he lands hard on the floor. there may have been more graceful exits from the pod, but that’s not where thomas’ focus is right now. he pushes up on his hands, head whipping around, mouth opening as if to say--

say what? he doesn’t know what. thomas looks lost, eyes wide as he scrambles up to his knees. ]

Wait, wait, I...I had it, I just had it…

[ it’s quiet, more to himself than to anyone else. he looks at his hands, a little lost. he’s forgetting something. it’s like before, when he’d had all these gaps and holes, things he wanted to know, but worse because he knows this already, he just can’t remember it. he’s forgetting, even as he strains against it.

of course, he doesn’t get much more time to consider it, since newt barrels into him a second later. ]

[ Kieren's gotten used to having a foggy memory. It's sort of part of the deal, these days, but even this is pushing it; he's struggling to remember the name of the ship by the time he gets to his locker.

He's just dragging an oversized sweater over his head when it comes back to him, and he smiles to himself (slightly dorky, whatever) for the accomplishment before kneeling down to check on the last few items tucked into the back of the locker. The Blue Oblivion's still there, wrapped up in a spare crew-issue shirt. He makes sure the bottle's safe and intact before hiding it away again, then pushes back to his feet and swings the door shut.

He keeps his cover-up and contact in his room, these days. There's no real point in keeping it here when everyone's going to see him right out of the jump, anyway, but he still hasn't quite shaken the habit of ducking his head slightly and avoiding eye contact as he makes his way towards the lifts.

Between that and the post-jump haze, he isn't paying enough attention as he rounds the end of the locker row. If you aren't quick on your feet, then you're about to run into a zombie (literally). ]

( pods, closed to tyke. )

[ this has happened before. this has happened more than once, and all derek has is that faint memory to make it clear that something’s wrong this time. he tips out of the pod, gasping, nearly trips over tyke and her dogs in the process.

it almost doesn’t register, that anyone else is there. except someone says his name, and derek looks up, has a moment of confusion. who-- ]

What?

[ is all he comes up with, murmured blankly as he staggers back a step to lean against the pod. his side is aching, throbbing, but that only registers distantly as his attention is pulled in a million directions. he’s forgetting things. he dreamt--something, but it’s vanishing and for a terrible moment he doesn’t recognize her at all, before familiarity starts to seep in. ]

Sorry, I--Tyke?

[ he sounds less certain than he should, but already things are clearing as he shakes his head slowly, like he’s trying to get water out of his ears. ]

( med bay, ota. )

[ derek still feel off-balance, nauseous. what he isn’t sure of is whether that’s lingering because of this particular jump, or that’s just what it is to experience the jump without his powers, as near to human as he’s ever been. this is the longest he’s spent in the medical bay ever, lingering as cora cleaned the bullet wound on his side, taped clean gauze over it. he’s still a little in awe of her, hadn't realized how exactly how much he’d been missing her until this exact moment.

but he’s under somewhat strict orders not to move while she gets whatever else derek may or may not need. ( his grasp of first aid is sorely lacking, even if derek doesn't think so ) so he’s sitting on the edge of a bed, prodding lightly at the edge of the gauze, trying to ignore the pounding in his head, the nagging sensation he’s forgetting something. this is your big chance to sneak up on him, folks. ]

Edited 2015-01-08 05:28 (UTC)

Marty envisions the jumps as an old hick sitting on his porch, spitting tobacco into a can. That is, the people on board are the tobacco and the ship is the old hick. Pi-too! Right into the thick of it again, in the dark and naked and praying to god nobody's about to swing their willies in his face again. He already had to endure that once before from a nude country chasing chickens. He doesn't need the added trauma. But this is what he's learned, wandering around the medical bay: he's been gone a hell of a time, nothing in his brain feels much different, and he's still dead as a door nail back home.

He remembers it in pieces: the burning, horrible feeling between his shoulder blades (he touches his hand to the spot; it's still just scar tissue, thank jesus, fuck); then, there was the rumble in his ears, the intensity in which the world fell to shit around him and Dana — fuck. Dana. He's got to go make sure she's okay; if it's been a long time... shit, how did he not think of that immediately? She's gonna be pissed. She's gonna kick his ass. Maybe punch him right in the nose. Lord knows everyone does that to him as it is; sure, he's got a pretty intense nose, but does everyone really have to punch it?
And dammit — why isn't she answering her network calls?

... Ah. Because they're falling through.

Fuck.

"Looks like it's just you this time, Marty," he whispers, and if his throat is tight and his eyes burn, it's not like anyone's around to see it in his little dark neck of the hallways. He scrubs his face, letting his head catch up with the ship, and starts figuring out which way he's supposed to be going on his internal compass.

And then he just

sighs

and says

fuck it

— and low and behold, in his own personal corner of the locker rooms, hidden from plain sight, he lights up a joint as if it's just one cigarette out of a full pack and gets to puffing while he scrolls through the network to try and see any familiar faces. He's not high enough for this shit... but damn is he more than willing to live up to his stereotype right now if it means getting him baked and floating. Besides, it's like pouring one out for Dana, except it just makes him wanna cry and he can't let her legacy be him crying because she'd be hella pissed at him. Goddammit. How much did he miss? How long was he out? This blows.

[The smell of blood and mud is what he remembers before he awakes, suddenly and in a panicked state. The tube retracts from his throat, and he manages a couple pounds against the glass before the blue gunk is drained and he's dumped on the floor. Finn trembles in fear as he stands shakily. This isn't right. He has to find Clarke. He couldn't be back here. The huge feeling of dread isn't helping his mental health in this moment. It feels like he can still smell it, the blood, and he screams] No, no, no!!

[Finn pounds against the glass, from the outside this time. A person bumps into him while going by, and he registers them as a threat. He's immediately running after them, and when the person turns, he leaps upon them, slamming them to the ground. His arm draws back, his hand turns into a fist, and he slams it into the person's face.] Where's Clarke?!

[he bellows. Another strike, and he can hear a crunch, see the blood flowing from their nose as they cough and try not to choke. He holds up his fist again.] Where is Clarke?!!

[Gone is the boy of peace, of jokes and magic tricks. He's been replaced with a wild, violent boy in this moment, a terrified, desperate boy who will do anything to protect Clarke, to protect the person that made him feel safe.]

It's been a long time since Eponine has seen Marty, but she remembers the smell he had about him. The smell, and his wonderful floating chips. Those had been glorious, and were too soon gone, and he needed to hear the good news about her boyfriend! So, a slightly-healthier-than-before looking Eponine, the moment she's dressed in one of her usual dresses, light and flowy, far better than the strange uniforms often found here, approaches quietly.

But the quiet only lasts until she taps him on the shoulder.

"M'sieur Marty! You have returned! And you brought floating chips, did you not? Oh!~ And the CDs! Are those back as well?"

[ -- you're damn right he does.

newt had fallen out of the gravcouch with the usual pain to his legs but it had been completely forgotten in the face of one thing. for the past month he'd been checking up on the stasis pods, but there was no way to break into them or to try and get the person within them to wake up. one day thomas was there, and the next he was in the pod and newt was freaking out a little, okay? he knew he was, logically, completely fine. but, tommy is tommy, and frankly, in the month he'd been in the glade and the time they'd spent together here on the tranquility, newt's way too attached to the shank.

so when he gets out of his own pod the first thing he does is head for thomas's, and the joy that goes through him beats out any logic of A) getting dressed first and B) approaching not like a crazy person. he drops to his knees down next to thomas-- ] Tommy! [ and throws an arm around him, kind of half trying to help him and half trying to sit him up at the same time. ] You alright?!

[ Her locker's filled with trinkets she never thought she'd see here. A series of mementos that she was better off not thinking about. Reaching out, her fingertips hesitate on the curve of a plastic toy ring, ready to pick it up when she hears the thud of boots hurrying towards her.

Whipping her head around, she catches sight of Hook well before he's on her. A tremor in her breath from reflecting on the last thing she has of Ingrid, she drops the ring and beelines for him. Emma reaches for him like he's the shore and she's drowning. When she crashes into him, her arms wind around his shoulders, and she leans into an immediate, yearning kiss.

Considering how they'd parted, it feels warranted. She had no way of knowing when she'd see him again. No way of knowing what had happened to him, why he hadn't been out on the main street with her parents and Regina. No way of knowing why a temporary goodbye had felt like such a permanent stain on her lips.

But none of it mattered, not now. Knowing he was here—alive, safe. The rest could be worked out. Her fingers pull at him, finding purchase at the back of his neck, curling against the end of his hair. ]

She moves without thought, her bare feet dragging her from one room to the next.

Of course, there's no display of modesty in the showers. Not from Rey. She is far too accustomed to the openness of this place to really have any conscious awareness to hide the scars on her skin, or the little stubs on her one hand where only the thumb and forefinger remain, tangled through her hair as she rinses the goop from the strands under scalding hot water.

Covering her nakedness with only a towel, she makes her way to the first row of lockers. Compared to the original jump, it's become so barren here. Quiet and away from the ruckus of newcomers pouring in.

Head swirling, her feet stop in front of her own locker. Those old numbers in front of her, reacting and opening to the nanites in her arm.

She hesitates, gaping at what few possessions she can say she owns. With her stubbed hand still holding the towel around her body, she reaches in and finds her fingers clasping around a chain that she had neglected for some time.

The dogtags bearing the name R. Schuyler chink together, sliding out of the metal shelf. She lifts the chain, holding it in front of her. The tags swing side to side on their own accord, and she stands there, as those hypnotized by the little trinket.

[This jump? Sucks. There's this feeling, this awful, sick, pit-of-your-stomach feeling like oiled eels, making her sure something's wrong.

Her first thought is Hoi Hoi. It's stupid, she knows, but she couldn't forgive herself if something happened to him. He's there, though, waiting all blue-gooed and patient outside his pod like he's learned to do. Netherlands being gone after the conversations they've had would be just like this place, but no, his pod is open, with sufficient goop beneath it to tell her he's come out of it okay. There are other people to check on, of course, but by the time the lingering nausea from her jaunt in Engineering subsides, the feeling of something being off has calmed enough for her to make her way to the showers, clean off herself and the panda before she starts doing the frantic checks.

He gets away from her as they near the lockers - moving in a rapid, four-legged lope faster than she's seen him go outside his suit, and for a moment the panic returns - until she sees what (who) he's running for, and then she runs too, damn near tripping over her own feet in her haste.]

Ta-Takeshi-!

pods.
[ if there's one thing newt really hates about this bloody ship, it's the drop from the gravcouch to the floor. his bad leg's bad enough without taking a fall once a month, and he grunts when he hits the floor, naked and cold and in a lot of pain. it takes a long time for him to get up, sitting with his hand resting on his right ankle for a minute to try and compose himself.

once he's done that, muttering a swear to himself and trying to massage the ache out, newt gets back up and limps over to the showers. once he's cleaned himself off more or less and paused at his locker for long enough to have gotten dressed, he returns to the pods with a small stack of towels, stopping at people who look particularly miserable being covered in goop--must be greenies. ] Here. It'll do you a world of good, yeah?

lockers.
[ said pause at the lockers comes just after the hot shower. newt opens his locker expecting to be met with the jumpsuit that he's been (unfortunately) living in for the past month, but instead of that, there's a folded mass of white cloth. newt's heart jumps up in his throat and he reaches into the locker to unfold what looks like a dirty henley style sweatshirt, looking entirely too big for the person who's holding it.

newt stares at it for a second, and the bitterness and the hurt and (alby's death, watching him get torn apart by grievers, if he'd just moved sooner, if he'd just grabbed him sooner, if he'd followed him)--

he takes a deep breath, eyes squinted shut, then folds the sweatshirt together in his arms for a minute. newt looks from left to right, to make sure no one's watching, then buries his nose in the cloth, inhaling and trying to pinch away the tears threatening to leak out of his eyes. it doesn't smell anything like it's former owner--just like the glade, a little like grass and dirt and metal and blood, and if he stays there just long enough, maybe a twist of something spicy and familiar.

composing himself, he pulls it up and over his head first, and stuffs his hands in his pockets, walking to the lift looking profoundly more slouched than usual. ]

Stop the presses, Netherlands is wearing underwear this jump. (Masses of flailing chickens and their scratchy chicken feet kind of necessitate some level of junk-protection.) They're black crew-issue briefs, to be specific, though they're damp with stasis fluid and clinging enough to reveal plenty and Marty's already seen it all so does it really help, Mertie, does it really. There's leaving little to the imagination and then there's not needing your imagination at all.

Still, though. This time around when Ned comes by, it's with an entire hoverdolly of wet, loud, tied-up chickens floating along behind him. And there's not exactly a double-take so much as a raised brow thrown over - could be Marty, could be a Marty who doesn't remember, could be a Topher or someone else entirely - by the time he gets to the bench whoever it is is going to open their mouth and let him know.

Other than the pile of chickens and impending space PETA sanction waiting to happen, what Marty might notice is that in the time he's been gone, dude has gone from pretty jacked to a goddamned marathon runner's build - lean and all sinew.

[ SHOWERS ]

[ there's nothing quite like breaking up a fight between two friends (friends is what they all are, right? after all they've been through it seems wrong to think of them any other way) to start off your introduction to a place like this, and honestly all octavia wants to do is get the gross goo out of her hair and try to clean herself up a bit. it's been a long time since she's had the luxury of a hot shower, after all. the problem with winding down from the adrenaline fuelled wake up is the time it gives you to think though, and she certainly isn't immune to freaking out over the situation they're in - even if it takes a little longer to set in.

by the time she's out of her shower and wrapped in a clean towel her hands are already starting to shake, and even though it kills her to fall apart in the presence of others there isn't much she can do to stop it. she just got out of space, and now she's back, trapped again, and the realisation hits her like a tonne of bricks. before she has the chance to get out of there the panic sets in, and octavia has to find somewhere to sit before the feeling threatens to overwhelm her completely. she finds a spot to take a seat and promptly drags her head down between her knees, slow deep breaths accompanying the movement as she desperately tries to get a handle on things. don't worry, it'll pass. ]

[ LOCKERS ]

[ back to aggressively pretending like everything is alright, octavia makes for far better company by the time she finds the lockers containing her things. the familiar sight of her own clothes, even that stupid wrist band has her feeling a little better, and by the time she's decked out in a lot less towel and a lot more of her regular gear (~~octavia pls think of the children stop getting changed in public~~) you would be perfectly within your right to think she was taking this in her stride.

maybe later might bring more rough times, but for now she's just interested in that ominous looking message: ]

So what's wrong with floors eleven and up, then?

[[ the question can be posed to friend and stranger alike, along with fun alternates such as "how the hell did we all get up here" and "what's down this corridor", depending on who gets in first/what you want to do/etc. ]]

[ CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE ]

[ want to get to her pre-showers/post fight break up and find out why that blue goo is all muddy and bloody too? want to have a mid shower chat? bump into her creeping around the halls? your wish is my command, go for gold. replies can come in prose or brackets as you prefer, i'll follow your lead. ]

[Takeshi turns to face them, not so much surprised to see them as he is just relieved to see them; he had worried Hoi Hoi had gotten himself crushed in the halls, after all! So with a grin he extends his arms toward his panda, letting the giant animal rush over into his arms. As he's smoothing back the bear's ears, he finally realizes Heather looks more stunned and caught off guard than anything. But why?]

What's wrong, Heder?? Did something bad happen?!

[Did something go awry?? Does he need to protect someone?! Point the way!!]

Pods

Something was wrong. Something was different, and Rich had spent way too long outside ordinary life to be able to tell as soon as he woke up. He was weary, and that was just weird. And there was something in his mind, about dreams...

He sat up, disengaged himself from the pod, and stepped out, blinking around. There were new faces. Peter was there (still. again. whichever) and so was Sam, so that was a start.

He pushed himself away from the pod, standing up straighter.

"Anybody need any help?"

Didn't hurt to ask, right?

Lockers.

Rich's shower was quick, mostly washing up the goo, and then he was out with the lockers, keeping his eyes still open for anyone who was not okay. It was what he did. He would get a chance to process later.

Well, keeping his eyes still open for anyone who was not okay... and for familiar faces. Just to check in.

What is it with this place taking in people younger than him?! Dick finishes rinsing the goo off of his hair, and peers around the at the littler kid. Who seems to be somewhat less confused about the place than most people who show up here, which...

"Hey. You okay?"

Which means, to the teen detective's mind, that he's been here before. Great.

[ they're sopping wet, covered in blue goop, and for a brief moment thomas looks visibly confused. it's a lot, and it takes him a long minute to place newt's face even as he slips all over himself trying to let newt manhandle him upright. there's a twinge of pain in his legs that thomas ignores, trying to remember-- ]

You're...Newt. [ slower, like he's telling himself, reminding himself of it. ] Newt.

[ the dream's gone. it was something. he knows it was something, but he can't remember it, and he can't focus on it when he's still trying to place newt's face. ]

I think so. [ maybe??? ] What's happening?

Yes!

[The worst thing, the worst thing happened - as soon as she's at his side she scoops him up, cradles his small body tight against hers and buries her face against his cheek, muffling all her words.]

Oh, my god. I missed you, I missed you so much.

[It doesn't occur to her yet that Takeshi doesn't realize he was gone. Or that she was down a leg last time she saw him and now she's back to two. Or that every second she spends here hogging the kid is time away from Netherlands, who'll definitely want to know. For now, all that matters is Takeshi. The familiar weight of him, the way he smells. Her son.]

Hey. It's okay. [In the middle of her little moment in the showers, a particularly small hand will suddenly reach over to rub a circle on her back. It's this kindergarten kid, already dressed in his black power suit with his old tattered sweater over the top, looking patient and pleasant. Takeshi's always been used to people arriving here and having Moments, which to him is completely understandable; back home, everyone who got dragged into Gantz's games had their own way of responding. A lot of people, it was a lot like this. Actually, his first mission after he died was like this. He sat there with his eyes closed and drowned everything out.

But that's not good. And people need to stick together.

Rubbing circles on his back makes him feel better. Maybe it'll help her?]

Is your stomach hurting?

Maybe she should be glad to be alive. Instead--bad-tempered, as always--Johanna slams the door of her locker and slams the handle of her axe against the door, and her fist. And then she sets the axe down, hard, on the floor, the handle leaned against the locker beside hers.

Naked, still, her hair dripping down her bare back, she stares straight forward for a second, and then she twists her arms behind her back so she can wring out her hair. Three sharp and methodical twists of her hands, and then she lets go. It's growing a little longer, and she hates it, the tickle of it against her shoulderblades.

And then, fuck it, she jerks the door of the locker open again. There isn't much in it. She doesn't have many personal belongings, beyond the hoard that she keeps in her room. The shorts and shirt she stole from the laundry room, the torn-up suit from the Arena. Her other axe, and her knife, which is what she's after, and she grabs it, squats down on the floor, one wet hank of hair in her hand, and gets to work, sawing at the hair.

The first bit comes away easy, uneven, brushing against her cheek. She grabs hold of the other side, and starts to cut, her teeth set together.

[No, he certainly doesn't put two and two together about her leg; mostly, he's just getting squished and is squinting at her with a heck of a lot of worried confusion. He pushes at her to try to get a little room, and then grabs her face in his hands to squish her cheeks.] Are you sick? I sawed you; I didn't go anywhere!

[You're crazy, mom.

Hoi Hoi is just sparkling in delight all the while beside them.]

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thirty-ninth jump;

captain hook | closed + open!

jax @ lockers

Takeshi | OTA | lockers + showers + pod rooms

leo fitz | open, interrupt wherever!

thomas @ pods, closed to newt.

kieren walker | open!

derek @ pods (closed) + medical (open)

Marty Mikalski | that corner of the lockers that smells like weed

finn collins | closed to the 100 cast, warning for violence

no subject

my tommy!!!

no subject

Rey | Lockers

LOCKERS psa any tag-ins should be assumed to be BEFORE this

newt | lockers, pods. ota!

EY BUDDY

octavia blake; ota

no subject

Rich Rider | Pods + Lockers

showers

clutches u close!!!

no subject

showers | here have a kiddo first

johanna mason || lockers || OTA

no subject