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ataraxionlogs2015-04-08 12:00 am
ataraxites) wrote in ataraxionlogs2015-04-08 12:00 am
Entry tags:
- !jump,
- bail organa,
- bethmora fortescue,
- booker dewitt,
- carl grimes,
- carlisle longinmouth,
- daryl dixon,
- elsa,
- evangeline de brassard,
- feuilly,
- firo prochainezo,
- hoban "wash" washburne,
- jemma simmons,
- john blake | au,
- kyle crane,
- leia organa,
- leo fitz,
- lúthien,
- muscovy,
- raven reyes,
- rebecca "newt" jorden,
- rick grimes,
- robin,
- sebastian vael,
- skye,
- the warden (mira tabris),
- valya,
- zoe washburne
forty-second 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: There's a strange sense of contentment that greets you as you wake from the jump. Deep and certain, it doesn't warm you or cloak the unpleasantness of the stasis fluid on your skin and the disorientation spinning in your head. It feels disconcertingly distant, instead, a sense as though an answer has been decided on - and that you won't much like to experience it coming to fruition...
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.
----------------
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.
ＴＨ̀ＩＳ͜ ̶Ｉ͠Ｓ͡ ͘Ｙ̵Ｏ͝ＵＲ ̕Ｗ͝Ｅ̛Ｌ̨Ｃ͡Ｏ͝Ｍ͏Ｅ Ｐ̛ＡＲ̴ＴＹ͜
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: There's a strange sense of contentment that greets you as you wake from the jump. Deep and certain, it doesn't warm you or cloak the unpleasantness of the stasis fluid on your skin and the disorientation spinning in your head. It feels disconcertingly distant, instead, a sense as though an answer has been decided on - and that you won't much like to experience it coming to fruition...
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.
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.
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.
no subject
she assumes it's about engineering. but then her eyes find wick.
and thank god for that itty bitty towel, because there's absolutely no way she's ready for the alternative first thing post-jump. she'd literally contemplate just turning around and crawling back into her pod, but as it stands she can step forward just slightly to meet him, her brow furrowed just slightly. ]
Who the hell invited the engineer? [ but she's grinning, she can't help it. ]
no subject
Holy hell am I glad to see you.
[ He informs her kindly once he pulls back, one hand still on her bare shoulder, probably a little too close for comfort, totally ignoring that whole banter thing right now because priorities. Objective number one, be concerned and confused. Objective two, be a smartass about it. He's still working through to that point.
For example, allow him to lead off with an incredulous: ]
Did you see- like- four hundred naked people falling out of creepy goo pods, or am I on the best drugs right now?
'bemused' should mean amused and bewildered, it seriously should
Closer to two-hundred, and yeah, that definitely happened. [ but her head tilts a little now for the amused-confused follow-up: ] You might still be on drugs, though. Everyone else is neck-deep in what's commonly called the 'post-jump hangover'. It's the half-hour or so where this? [ a gesture to wick in general, to his level of enthusiasm more specifically. ] Is probably gonna get you punched in the face by someone both wetter and more naked than you are.
I'll sign your petition
His eyes narrow suspiciously, flicking over her form, factoring in post-jump hangover into the equation, still doesn't fully account for her reserved yet casual demeanor. Not even pretending we didn't have sex levels of aloof yet casual yet distant, just full-on...
Something.
He points at her. ]
Okay, a few things- number one, so wouldn't be the first time I got punched by someone wetter and more naked than me. [ He throws that out first because it's the least important fact, and he's already plowing ahead because it doesn't matter in the slightest. More importantly: ] Number two, you're legally obligated to tell me if you're an alien manifestation of Raven Reyes instead of actual Raven Reyes, and number three, why aren't you wearing my brace?
[ Oh sorry, does she have a migraine and want space right now? Post-jump sickness? Would she like a little silence in her life?
Too damn bad answer his questions. ]
ok good we just need apprx 750k more signatures and we're in business
Number one, I'm not even gonna ask, [ she says, and you bet she's ticking these off on her fingers as she goes. ] Number two, if I were an alien manifestation of Raven Reyes, I'd at least make sure I could use both legs, and number three, because suddenly being back in space doesn't make it any less of a piece of shit and I'm standing by that.
im on it.
I know this is gonna sound crazy, but-
[ He holds up a hand, shakes his head a little.
They're naked. Well, okay, he's naked, soaking wet, mid-shower, still trying to get his head on straight. ]
Nevermind. This conversation isn't over, though, I need to talk to you in like... twenty minutes, alright?
no subject
It's our locker number, too. So you know where to find me.
[ because there's no doubt he'll be done before she is, bum leg and all. them's the breaks. ]
no subject
And then he tugs back, shaking his head unhappily. Yeah, so not going to go down that road right now, that's freak-out alley, he can do that later. ]
Right. Yeah. Alright.
[ A shade of preoccupation and discontent coloring his face as he nods jerkily. With that total lack of goodbye, he's slipping through the stream of passing bodies and back to his own corner of shower central. All good things must come to an end, including hot running water. For now. ]