forty-second 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: 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.


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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.

ＴＨ̀ＩＳ͜ ̶Ｉ͠Ｓ͡ ͘Ｙ̵Ｏ͝ＵＲ ̕Ｗ͝Ｅ̛Ｌ̨Ｃ͡Ｏ͝Ｍ͏Ｅ Ｐ̛ＡＲ̴ＴＹ͜

Comments

Galadriel was just using her epic voice

[underthevines]

[ Lothlórien is unknown to Valya, despite her pouring over history. But she is not so arrogant to think she knows anything close to it all. She looks back up at the woman, head shaking slightly. ]

Of this place? Nothing. I just woke.

[ And found the small chicks, one less than the thirteen found. ]

that would be mildly terrifying

[inafadingcrown]

[Galadriel's brow furrows. It's never easy to explain this, no matter how many times she does.]

Then allow me to offer you what welcome I can. [A wane little smile. "Welcome" is a strange word, considering that none of them chose to come here, but, well... And then she realizes something-]

Forgive me, I have not yet given you my name. I am called Galadriel. [She'll get on with the explanation in a second, she promises. Names are important.]

just a friendly warning to other elves /shot

[underthevines]

[ The woman continues to speak, in tones that Valya figures are royal or ancient or godlike (who knows). Continues to speak until she introduces herself, in a long, melodious name.

Valya blinks at her, until she realizes she should reply. Her words come out a squeak at first. She clears her throat, flushing, and tries again. ]

...Valya. My name is Valya, hahren.

[ Try to get out of the respect term, Galadriel. =| ]

[inafadingcrown]

[Far be it from her to object to a term of respect- and she can tell that's what it is. Even if she does not speak the language, the tone is clear enough.]

A beautiful name. [Though if she hasn't the faintest notion of its meaning.] Well met, Valya. I only wish we had met under better circumstances.

[Now to the explanation. She folds her hands neatly in her lap, her expression turning slightly apologetic.]

You are aboard the Tranquility. It is a ship, of a sort, though one which sails among the stars rather than the seas. And for its passengers, it draws people of all kinds, from any number of place- any number of 'worlds,' one might say. It sounds mad, I am aware, but it is true nonetheless.

[underthevines]

[ ...The woman thinks her name is beautiful. It is enough for Valya's mind to stutter instead of politely responding, and the moment has passed before she thinks to reply.

Instead Galadriel tells her a fantastical tale of a ship in the stars and people from different worlds. Indeed--Valya would have denied it, and did with others, but coming from someone who Valya viewed as a forebringer of her own race, she's prone to belief. For there is much and many that "true" elves know that the Dalish and the elves in the alienages do not. She swallows, accepting the facts and trying to move past them. She touches the griffon in her lap and moves a finger against it. ]

...I...I believe you. Is there any way to... To return to where we were?

[inafadingcrown]

[Galadriel shakes her head] If there were, I would not be here to speak to you. People have been known to vanish during 'jumps' such as this, as suddenly as they arrived, and there is some indication that they may return to their homes. But we have no choice in the matter.

[underthevines]

[ That sounds-- ]

It's like we're slaves.

[ It's a quiet, bitter mutter, given before she blinks at the lack of respect and swallows instead. There are so many things to ask, so much; enough that she nearly has no questions at all. She thinks to thank the woman instead, for her kindness first. Valya is used to--is comfortable with--being ignored. Having a woman like this speak to her is new. ]

...Thank you. Honestly. For speaking with me. And for being concerned about the chicks.

[inafadingcrown]

[To the first statement, Galadriel simply gives a grave nod. She would not have phrased it that way herself, but it is difficult to argue too strenuously. But the rest- that's easier to respond to.]

It was not only the welfare of the chicks which concerned me, Valya. You need never thank me for such a small kindness.

[underthevines]

[ Again she is staring at the woman, eyes widened for a beat.

Then she glances down away, eyes on the griffon. ]

...Why are you concerned for me? I'm nothing to you.

[inafadingcrown]

You were in obvious distress. Is that not reason enough? I do not think showing compassion towards a stranger such a strange thing.

[underthevines]

...It's strange to me.

[ It's self-depreciating and she knows it. She needs to... explain a little. ]

Where I come from elves are... unwanted. We're less than people. And mages--

[ She glances to her staff. It's obvious that she is one of those mages. ]

...Mages are even worse. Most people think that we're all evil. That we should be killed. We--the people I was with-- We ran away from that fate.

[inafadingcrown]

Where I am from those who do not regard our race with fondness do so, at least, with a healthy respect for our might- and, among my people, having a gift that might be termed 'magic' is a reason to be honored.

[She's not a mage- Elven mages do not exist in Middle Earth. Or human mages, for that matter. The Istari are something else altogether. But nevertheless, Galadriel is no stranger to 'magic.' She is comfortable with it- regards it as a natural working of the world. And, depending on how one views her own gifts, an integral part of her identity.]

But even were that not so, I pray that I would still posses the wisdom not to fear what I do not understand and to see beyond whatever differences we may have.

[Galadriel reaches out and gently places a hand on Valya's shoulder.] You have naught to fear from me.

[underthevines]

[ The conversation--the explanation--makes her want to laugh bitterly. She knows if she did, she would only start crying again. She swallows the urge, a hard lump in her throat, one that only grows at Galadriel's continued kindness. ]

...I want to live in your world. It sounds so different from mine.

[inafadingcrown]

If I could offer you sanctuary in my realm, I would, pinig. Alas, I cannot even return there myself.

[underthevines]

[ So they are indeed stuck here. At least this place does not seem to be in the middle of a war. She regrets reminding the woman that they are trapped, and tried to smile at her instead. ]

Pinig?

[inafadingcrown]

Ah- forgive me if I have been too familiar. It is Sindarin for 'little one,' an endearment.

[underthevines]

[ She flushes slightly, caught off guard at the explanation of an endearment. ]

It's not... too familiar. Oh, um.

[ Then Galadriel probably isn't aware of the meaning for the word Valya used. They can trade languages. ]

Hahren. It's a term for respected elders.

[inafadingcrown]

I surmised it was something of the sort, from your tone. [Her smile warms by a degree or two.] You honor me.

[underthevines]

[ Again, she flushes. ]

The honor is mine.