ataraxionlogs | fortieth jump;

Entry tags:

fortieth 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: Nothing unusual greets you as you wake from the grav couch this month. Disorientation and discomfort, but those are familiar in the process. As you shower and dress, you find yourself waiting for something to change, but nothing happens - it leaves a curious feeling of lack, as if someone important has turned their attention away from you. But it would be silly to feel bad about an easy jump, wouldn't it?

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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( PODS. )

[ She's pretty sure she'd died. And that everyone — everyone — had lied about dying. It is not tragically romantic, it's not relieving; jumping off the cliff had not been the slightest bit exhilarating, and didn't do much to sooth the deep seated guilt and self loathing that had been building up in her chest since she had shoved a rough-made blade into Wells Jaha's neck. Her life hadn't flashed before her eyes, either, but cold wind had whipped around her face, stinging her eyes and tearing at her hair; freezing any scream she might have tried to let out in her throat, and she'd fallen silently. It'd been dark, and the bottom of the ravine had been obscured by the thick fog that had settled across the forest in the damp evening, but not being able to see her impending doom — free falling into space, again, but this time without a dropship or seatbelt to keep her from breaking her neck — didn't make this any better.

Time had slowed, but just enough for Charlotte to try to reason with herself, to justify that this was the best course of action, that she deserved to die. She'd killed someone, endangered people she couldn't come back from that. But even inside her head, the words ring sad and hollow.

And then she —doesn't remember hitting water. But she must have, because when her eyelids flutter and she regains some bleary form of consciousness, she's submerged in (something like) it. Light, and floating, and it's just like she'd always imagined swimming to be for about 0.05 seconds before Charlotte tries to breathe and realizes she can't inhale on her own. Not only because she's underwater, but because there's a breathing tube shoved down her windpipe. Her throat spasms at the sudden realization of the intrusion, and water (is it even water?) floods her nose just as there's a faint beep, a ding, and the doors to her watery encasement slide open. The breathing tube is all but ripped from her throat by some unseen medical mechanism, and Charlotte tumbles onto the floor with about as much grace as a wet rag. For a split second, she's free falling again. But when she lands, she lands hard; bangs her knee in a clumsy attempt to catch herself, and her wrist smarts a little when she lands on top of it. But she is definitely alive in this landing scenario.

Alive and cautiously, oh so cautiously picking herself up from the wet tiled floor to pull her knees to her chest, the throbbing one first, clinging to her shins in hopes of gleaning of faux comfort from how tightly she holds herself. She's wearing wet and goopy tank top and a sudden, convulsing shiver serves as a painful reminder that she isn't at the bottom of some ravine. She's no where on Earth, for that matter, and that realization brings big, fat tears to her eyes.

(The crying may abate eventually, but is definately going to redouble when she leans she's in space. Again.) ]

( LOCKERS. )

[ Later: notably (bleary eyed, upset, sad — but calmer) she spends an absurd amount of time marveling at the contents of her locker. There's her belongings, the only ones she really has; there's her ratty jacket, her worn shoes, her old, old, old pants. There's the borrowed knife that she picks up only to realize what she's holding and drop it with a loud clatter on the floor.

But most importantly, there's a jumpsuit. A sleek, brand new jumpsuit. Practically nothing on the Ark is new, and certainly nothing Charlotte had ever owned. And in some sort of awe, she spends several long minutes testing how stretchy the material is, feeling the fine fabric between her thumbs, and just sort of ~*~admiring~*~, oh the marvel of new clothes. ]

( MAKE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE. )

[ ooc | far be it from her to stray from the crowd, shortstack is going to be going with the flow of people in general. this might get her lost, especially because she's going to be spending a good amount of the time staring at everything around her or picking at her tattoo. feel free to encounter her anywhere, have fun, do the thing. ]

Edited 2015-02-08 08:45 (UTC)

[ This is not Bellamy's first jump, and though he stumbles out of his pod initially as disoriented as he had the first time around, it only takes a few minutes for him to realize where he is. To accept it as normal, and to find something akin to calm when he remembers he's the one that put himself into that pod this time. That doesn't make it any less unpleasant, any less freezing or sloppy wet and disgusting, but at least he has a handle on things. He knows this is reality.

Seeing the hunched figure on the floor, on the other hand, makes him rethink that. He doesn't recognize her right away, just another soggy, sad child in a place that seems to enjoy kidnapping kids like her and subjecting them to this crap. It's only when he's close enough and his vision is clear enough to see the face beyond the sopping hair that he realizes who she is, and he stops dead in his tracks, lips parted.

Finn was one thing. Finn felt like he was supposed to be alive, even weeks after seeing his death. Her, on the other hand? ]

...Charlotte?

[ Her name comes out of his mouth, cracking with disbelief and still rough from the tube being removed swiftly from his throat. ]

[ Scarier than waking up in a strange place, practically naked and submersed in strange liquid was waking up in a strange place, undressed, strange liquid alone.

Given she wasn't completely alone. There'd been others around her, spilling from their gravity pouches with varying amounts of grace, but none of them were people she recognized. Some were even full grown adults, which certainly meant she wasn't on the ground anymore, but none of them were members of the guard swooping down on her to haul her back to the Skybox, so they weren't on the Ark either. Not to mention she'd never heard of a room like this on the Ark, so —

The crying continues, and she presses her face into the crook of her arm to hopefully at least stifle the wheezing (her throat burns) whimpers in hopes that no one will notice her.

Until someone does. And what's more, knows her name.

That's enough to have her looking up from her wet floor, pulling her face up from her wet arm and staring; marveling at Bellamy Blake with wide eyes and a tear streaked face. Relief floods her system, because last she'd seen him, he'd been about ready to take on four primitively armed, bloodthirsty teens, and had put himself between (her) the edge of a cliff and them out some misguided attempt heroism. He was a good person to have around if you were scared, like she was right now. But if he was here too... ]

Are we dead?

[ It's on the tip of his tongue to tell her she's dead, that there's no we involved, but he bites the comment down before it even starts. That's not exactly the best way to get her calm and collected. Instead, he shakes his head slowly, lowering himself down in a kneel until he's on her level, blocking her body from the view of most passers by. ]

Worse.

[ He answers finally, gravelly, darkly. ]

We're in space. Again.

[ A small shrug. ]

But we're alive, so let's try to keep it that way this time, huh?

Uh-huh.

[ Staying alive sounds like a good idea, but then again, Bellamy is always full of good ideas. Killing Wells Jaha had been an excellent idea, everyone saw how well that panned out.

Space again, Bellamy says like it's an inconvenience, where Charlotte still views it as some strange sort of miracle. ]

But — how? This isn't the Ark. ( spoken like a statement, but her eyes rove over his face for some reassurance. then maybe an explanation because she's wet and cold and confused. )

[ octavia actually dip to pick up the knife before she realises two things in very quick succession. the first is that the knife now in her hand is very familiar to her (because seriously - who could forget that day) and the second is a little more complicated, namely in that she actually recognises the face of the girl who dropped it in the first place.

the thing is, she's not clarke. hell, she's not bellamy, both of whom seem to have this whole parental instinct thing down pat when it comes to the little murderer-that-could. octavia's good at feelings, sure, she's by far the better of the two blake siblings, but when it comes to kids?

--it's complicated, basically. ]

...Charlotte, right? [ she still picks the knife up off the floor, already half committed to the action by the time she realises all of this anyway, but she doesn't pass it back immediately, holding it loosely in her hand instead - deliberately loosely, she doesn't want the girl to think she's confiscating things right off the bat. ] The food here is way better, I promise.

[ she's totally nailing this, right? right. ]

( totally nailing, go you octavia. but forgive her if she's not entirely thrilled to see you either. every familiar face she sees makes her wonder if they're all here, if her lynch mob is about to pop out from her other side demanding she be floated. not that she... has voiced any of her anxieties to the few friends (friends were they?) she'd seen thus far, that would require her to admit that she'd done what she'd done.

thus far everyone was treating her with kid gloves, as if she hadn't killed a boy and jumped off a cliff. part of her wonders if maybe, just maybe, they don't actually...remember.

and then if they did, maybe if they thought she didn't. )

I'm not hungry, ( she whispers at octavia, spectacularly pathetic because crybaby. it's a wonder she's not incredibly dehydrated after all the crying she does, get her to the messhall and get her some gatorade stat. ) My stomach hurts.

( it's doing a series of painful flips and flops right now, with the first source of her discomfort being octavia's face; the second being the knife in her hand. )

[ she doesn't ask, because the memory of clarke's blank expression at raven's fury is still fresh in her mind from last jump. octavia remembers, but things have been...messier since then, since charlotte's death and murphy's near-miss, since the time where they could all still track their body count on one hand. remember when the biggest problem was figuring out how to handle a child killer? it's got to say something about their lives that charlotte is a reminder of simpler times, really.

but that's the past, and time has passed since then, and it's not like any of them can exactly judge a little girl for losing it and ending up with blood on her hands now. ]

That happens, you'll get used to it. [ she keeps her voice kind, even smiles as she looks down at the knife - tense, but she's not a miracle worker or anything jeez. ] Listen, this place-

[ she should really have a speech of some kind prepared, but instead she just sighs and takes charlotte's hand, gently curling it around the handle with her own. ]

You'll need to be able to protect yourself. [ even though every part of her is practically screaming that this is probably a bad idea, she straightens up and lets go of the little girls hands anyway. of course she'll never forgive herself if anything bad comes from this, but she can't in good conscience confiscate the weapon knowing the dangers she's already had to face in her first month alone. it's a lose/lose situation, really. ]

Do you want some help finding a room? Something near Clarke or Bellamy would be nice, huh?

[ a.k.a. subject change please ]

( man, she wishes it was the past. that life had lasted past the cliff, that it'd gotten harder to the point where charlotte could effectively look back on killing wells jaha and get past it, because that wasn't the worst thing she'd ever done. but it was. and although she'd jumped no more than an hour ago, it felt like minutes. her stomach was still doing lazy flipflops as if she were still plummeting through the air, and charlotte hangs her head when octavia pushes the knife back into her palm.

her fingers curl loosely around the handle, wrist limp and tears threatening to fall because the blade feels so familiar in her hand; so secure, and she feels so bad about it.

but subject change octavia wants? subject change octavia gets, because it's the same arm as her fresh tattoo. charlotte's still in her soaked tank top and long undershorts, and the marks stand out fresh against her pale forearm. sniffling: ) Is this a serial number or a room number? ( because in one way or another — everyone except octavia — they've all been catalogued their entire lives. tagged and dumped on earth, but now they're back in space, and it wouldn't surprise charlotte to learn that whoever piloted this ship had their own way of doing things.

with her non knife wielding hand, she picks at the skin. )

[Eren's fingers close around the strange metal before she can stoop to retrieve it. She looks like she might have been crying, but he's polite in at least some ways, enough not to say anything about it - and definitely too polite to meet anything but her eyes, no matter what state of dress or undress she's in.

His thumb rubs up against the blade briefly to test its cruder edge before he tips the handle towards Charlotte.]

You shouldn't lose that. It could save your life one day.

[ She'd sort of just been considering...leaving...it...there. More could be fashioned for sure; it'd be hard to believe there wasn't additional scrap metal all around this ship like there had been the Ark, but this knife — has a brief and bloody history, especially in her hands. It should have stayed in the woods. Everything would have been so much better if it had stayed in the woods.

And if not in the woods, at least on the floor, but she's still blinking at it in shock when fingers curl around the yellow and black handle and a stranger lifts it up between them. Charlotte's gaze flicks nervously between the knife and the boys face. And if not recognizing him (stranger danger) wasn't enough to scare her heart rate up, she visibly shies away from the knife when he offers it back to her, almost as if he'd made to stab her instead of offering the blunted side. ]

No, I... I don't want it anymore.

Edited (the period lackage was going to bother me asdfghjk) 2015-02-11 08:14 (UTC)

Huh?

[What a weird reaction. Perhaps she hadn't dropped the makeshift knife out of mere clumsiness. His hand looks like it's going to dip away at first (what an irresponsible way of thinking), but he holds it out steadier instead, reproducing the knife and this time insisting that she take it.]

Not everyone here will give you the benefit of handing a lost weapon back to you. And if we're not even given an explanation, it's obvious that what we get in these lockers is all we'll get to defend ourselves.

[He's watching her more carefully now, probably to study her reaction. No. Really. Take the knife.]

You don't want to save your life?

[ He's giving her a reproachful lecture about safety, and all the while all she can do is stare at the handle and try not to retch. At least right now she's all cried out and isn't making a complete fool of herself in front of this stranger, just a slight fool from the way he's talking to her.

And really, when it comes down to it, does she? Want to save her life? Her impromptu cliff diving hadn't been successful. But waking up on this ship hardly felt like a second chance; more like fate mocking her. And what good would a tiny knife do against a proverbial lynch mob? Not much. Not any. ]

I just, I don't want that knife. Can't I have a different one?

[ And she casts a forlorn glance back over at her locker, which is only home to her dirty old earth clothes now. You get what you get, Charlotte. ]

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tatakai - 2015-02-12 21:37 (UTC) - Expand

[sure, jasper had the same sort of appreciation for new as anyone who'd lived their whole lives up on the ark would, but there was something familiar and grounding about his own clothes, and donning one of the jumpsuits had always felt like resigning himself to the idea of never getting to see the earth again, so he'd stuck to mostly appreciating that this ship wasn't liable to fall apart around them at any moment instead.

but then, he supposes that charlotte wouldn't have the same connection to earth and ground as the rest of them.

jasper edges his way carefully over to charlotte when he spots her, skirting around the knife on the ground and making sure not to startle her when he approaches. there's a lot about that time that is blurry in jasper's head, still recovering from the spear, but he remembers the fingers. he remembers those.] You're Charlotte, yeah?

How are you feeling?

[ Not that the Ark had been any better, especially after she'd been locked up in the Sky Box, but the ground was... — scary. She'd only lasted ten days, the last of which had been an emotional roller coaster from start to painful, bloody finish, and at the end of it she's almost wished she was back in lockup, where she never could and never would meet Wells Jaha.

And it so far looks like she'd gotten half her wish. She was back in space at least, and when no authorities had descended upon her and carted her off, when no Murphy had been screaming her name, Charlotte couldn't help but think maybe space wasn't so bad; maybe that she'd missed it. And she's not even alone here, having already run into none other than their fearless leader Bellamy Blake, so seeing another of the 100 pop up isn't all that surprising. But her head still shoots up so quickly it's a wonder her neck doesn't crack, and her eyebrows still shoot up her forehead, eyes wide and mouth parted. ]

Hi, [ comes the stilted greeting in return, and after a beat she nods stiffly. Yeah, she's Charlotte, and he's Jasper Jordan who'd almost died a couple days ago; Jasper Jordan who looks markedly better right now, and whom she's never spoken to but is now asking how she's feeling. How is she feeling? Her gut's in knots at least. ] ...A little sick. My stomach hurts.

[it really was amazing what months on the ground and months back up in the sky could do for your complexion after taking a spear to the chest. though being thrown back up into space hadn't done anything for whatever tans any of them might have started to cultivate down on earth.

could you miss a tan? maybe in conjunction with the rest of the ground.

he frowns a little at charlotte's response because, honestly, he's not the one among their group that would be any sort of help with a medical problem. though he supposes with the situation, there was always a very real chance that it was simply anxiety. he wouldn't blame her one bit if she was.]

Do you think you just need to sit down for a bit? Maybe get you a glass of water? Or would you like to see if there's someone in medical that could give you something to help?

[When Carl found the kitchen on level 40, he immediately had a smile grow on his face at the sight of it all. Really, it was awesome to see so much food again. And for a while even, he finds himself going about moving what is right in his reach to the kitchen counter. Well right until the moment he goes to open something, that is.

See as nice of a find as it all was, he drags himself back right then, to the colder reality of things where it's best if he doesn't let himself dive right into whatever he wants. (Especially since he already treated himself to 112 oz. of pudding not too long ago...) Besides in his knowledge, or there lack of, eating it all now could mean having nothing to eat later. This could even be all of what was left, for all he knew.

And so his facial expression sobers into to a tight line. It's only in this moment that he notices that somehow in all this, from his happier to calmer expressions, he had missed a girl around his age coming in. And after of course giving her a brief stare in silence and concluding that she is no real threat to him, he decides make it easier for himself to save the food he's found by offering up some of it with these words--]

Uh, do you want some? Go ahead... take what you want.

[Which is totally logical considering his mild embarrassment and frustration with himself, and that he can't carry it all anyway.]

[ No real threat? Why, Carl Grimes, you shouldn't be so quick to dismiss little girls just because they keep their knives in their pockets and out of any real view. Charlotte has her dirty earth jacket on over the nice, sleek new Tranquility jump suit, for the added layers because she was still cold (and still scared). But thinks she could probably take it off to form some sort of impromptu knapsack for provisions, snacks she could carry back to her room when she sees a boy who's trying to do much the same thing.

Rather, he sees her, and offers her food, and Charlotte hedges away warily. ]

It's yours if you found it first. [ Ah, the carnal law of prison and Earth. Finders keepers, losers... Well, looking into the kitchen beyond him, she hardly feels a loser. There's so many smells, so much more food visibly stacked than there'd ever been on the Ark — in those last few days, they'd all been reduced to wafer thin vitamin crackers, and protein sludge before being dropped down in the woods — and her stomach gives a painful lurch. ]

I don't want to take your food.

[Well, that's not exactly the reaction he was expecting, but then again he really wasn't sure what he was. If she didn't want to take it though, there was more for him. How could he complain with that? He gives her a shrug, but doesn't quite look away from her to go back to collecting food yet.

Because really, technically, he found this room first so everything was his until he was done with it. So he thinks her logic is pretty dumb. But he's still feeling a cautious willingness to let her work around him so--]

Well, you don't have to. But if you want any, then you're gonna... [He starts, pausing briefly to look just slightly over to where he's already picked stuff from before pointing to the one area.

It's a safe distance away so they can work around each other and even though he'd taken some stuff from there already it was his just favorites so there's still good things left for the taking. He wouldn't feel guilty knowing that later.]

Have to wait or take whatever's over there. It's up to you.

[ Charlotte's wrinkling her nose while he talks, while he glances back and points back to various parts of the kitchen that she's allowed to scavenge from. It takes her a second or two to discern exactly what it is that's bothering her about the way he's speaking to her, but realization hits like a ton of bricks and her eyebrows shoot up her brow when she realizes it's because he's being bossy.

Which isn't new, she's the baby of the Sky Box, people were always really bossy on Earth, or else left her alone like they thought she'd wet the bed if they slept anywhere near her (night terrors are a bitch, it makes it really hard to make friends) but this kid —

She looks him up and down, and purses her lips because he can't even be that much older than she is.

Dryly: ]

Do you own this kitchen?

(no subject)

nokidstuff - 2015-02-23 23:57 (UTC) - Expand

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gowrong - 2015-02-27 07:47 (UTC) - Expand

[clarke is already aware of the fact charlotte arrived on the tranquility alive this jump after a conversation with bellamy just moments ago. once she washes her hands of the blood from the incident with her locker, she sets off to find charlotte.

the thing about knowing in advance was that it eased both the shock and confusion she would have felt from seeing the younger girl. it also helped her mentally prepare a bit and temporarily put aside any resentment she would have otherwise felt. clarke figures that by now charlotte would have had her shower so she walks further down the halls, keeping an eye on the lockers and anyone who passes by just in case she spots charlotte or runs into her. it doesn't take long either because as soon as she sees charlotte by her locker, it stops her right in her tracks. she can't help but stare at first because it seemed so surreal but without anymore hesitation she starts to approach her] Charlotte?

[Being the nosy person he is, Firo sometimes hangs out by the lockers to keep an eye on everyone. You never know when something funky might happen here and Firo's of the mind that only a select few people in the world are terrible enough to have to deal with the ship's tricks on their own.

Nothing too bizarre is happening this jump, though, so the sound of the knife dropping sticks out. Firo follows it to the little girl and, after spending a moment wondering what on earth is so fascinating about that jumpsuit, walks over.

He carefully picks up the knife by the flat of the blade and holds it out to her hilt-first.]

Hey. Is this yours?

[His own jumpsuit is tucked under his other arm, still dripping a bit from the showers and the pod slime. Though it's way out of date compared to everything else on the ship, he prefers to wear his suit from home.]

No.

[ She responds quickly — a little too quickly, and a little too sharply — with a vigorous shake of the head, because that knife? That knife has been used for some very bad purposes; very bad purposes while in her hands. And Charlotte is trying her hardest to distance herself from the reality that had been Earth now that she's dead and in space.

Again.

So even when the stranger picks up her knife and offers it back to her, rough hewn, yellow and black striped handle first, Charlotte just clutches her (amazing, awesome, shiny, new) jumpsuit against her chest like a lifeline, and flicks big, watery doe eyes between his hand and his face. ]

I don't, I don't know how it got in the locker.

[One look at that face and he immediately feels guilty. For what, he's not quite sure, but he has the feeling he's definitely doing something wrong.

He lowers the knife and tries to smile his best, nonthreatening smile. He leans down a bit so he's closer to her level, too.]

Oh, uh... Hey, it's all right.

[Crap. Of all the bizarre things Firo's had to deal with in life, a crying little girl is somehow one of the things that seems more difficult than the rest.]

Weird stuff like that happens all the time here. Can't hurt to hold on to it, just in case you need it.

[...That sounded a lot more comforting in his head.]

[ She's been written off enough — by adults, by other juvenile delinquents, by the guard back at home; considered expendable by the authorities of the Ark — that really anyone paying the slightest bit of attention to her, and going so far as to bring themselves down to her level, makes her markedly less standoffish. She still flinches, of course, but only a little, and doesn't stumble back into the lockers. ]

I don't want to hold onto it. [ So far as she's concerned, if she ever needs it again, she's going to deserve what's coming her way. Again. ] You take it.

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foundafamily - 2015-02-23 18:52 (UTC) - Expand

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fortieth jump;

charlotte | pods + lockers & hella ota

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lockers bc sob

s o b

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Lockers!

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lockers

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adventure

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lockers!

Lockers!

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