ａｘｍｏｄｓ. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ataraxites) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ataraxionlogs2015-05-07 09:14 pm
ataraxites) wrote in ataraxionlogs2015-05-07 09:14 pm
Entry tags:
- !jump,
- bethmora fortescue,
- booker dewitt,
- carl grimes,
- carlisle longinmouth,
- chell,
- elizabeth,
- enfys llewelyn,
- felix gaeta,
- fenris,
- fiona (borderlands),
- firo prochainezo,
- hiro hamada,
- ivan,
- jemma simmons,
- john blake | au,
- laura roslin,
- minho,
- muscovy,
- nill,
- nowi,
- philip (penumbra) | au,
- remus lupin,
- rhys (borderlands),
- rikku | au,
- samantha martinez,
- selina kyle,
- sophie groeneveldt,
- tadashi hamada,
- the warden (mira tabris),
- valya
forty-third 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: As you emerge from the grav couches following the jump, the chill of the medical bay pales in comparison to the hollow feeling that settles deep within your chest. Grim and foreboding, the grip of isolation spreads through you like a gnawing void, as though you've been left behind. That nagging sensation of neglect that comes from someone turning their back on you only worsens as you move through your routines, leaving you feeling distant, disoriented, and unwanted.
New arrivals will find messages spray-painted in red 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
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: As you emerge from the grav couches following the jump, the chill of the medical bay pales in comparison to the hollow feeling that settles deep within your chest. Grim and foreboding, the grip of isolation spreads through you like a gnawing void, as though you've been left behind. That nagging sensation of neglect that comes from someone turning their back on you only worsens as you move through your routines, leaving you feeling distant, disoriented, and unwanted.
New arrivals will find messages spray-painted in red 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.
Tadashi Hamada | Open
Tadashi’s throat felt vaguely like he’d gargled with sand off of Stinson beach once the tube was removed. That was the first clear thought he had after exiting the gravity couch. The next was that he was naked, and there were a lot of people around. He felt off kilter – anything that could have led up to this moment was blurry, slipping out of his grasp the moment he reached for any solid memories. There was no the last thing I remember I was-- for a reference point, and that set him on edge more than the unfamiliar surroundings.
Hiro’s botfighting was something recent, though, right? But it wasn’t something that could lead to this.
As disoriented as he was, Tadashi knew he needed to focus. Noticing what was happening and working through this like any other problem was vital. He didn’t have clothes, but he needed to ignore that embarrassment and look at the bigger picture. It was difficult, though, with that unsettling hollowness taking hold over him. He felt like he'd utterly lost something he couldn't even name.
His gaze flitted over the crowd of unfamiliar faces before something caught his notice – several of them had looked down at their arms. Something about this triggered him to glance down at his own forearm, squinting as he took note of the unfamiliar tattoo.
144.
Aunt Cass was going to eat at least two-dozen boxes of donuts when she found out about this.
Shaking that thought away, Tadashi took an unsteady step forward, then another, fighting his way through his confusion and the mounting fear that was beginning to take shape as he followed the general flow of people and found the locker that matched up with his number. Once he was dressed and had jammed his baseball cap onto his still-damp hair, he retrieved Baymax’s chip, squinting at it for a moment before looking around again, his eyebrows knit close together in worry.
What had happened to him? He needed to choose someone to talk to – someone who could clear this up and tell him how he’d been abducted as well as how to get home before his family started to stress out. Fear made him shy away from drawing attention to himself, but he needed to work past that and get some answers. Lips pressed tight together, he hovered near his locker, balanced agitatedly on the balls of his feet, but unsure where to go.
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The boy that is looking at him from around the corner of the row of lockers (how long has he been there? We just don't know) accompanies the words with a smile. He is wearing the ship uniform and his long hair is braided artfully, but aside from that he has nothing else with him.
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Or, you know, someone who could use a helping hand.
Tadashi is the one that catches her eye this month. How lucky is he.
As casually as possible (which, for Rikku, means not-very-secretly peeking around corners and such) she follows him to his locker, waiting until he's dressed and seems able to stand on his own two feet before approaching. Her smile is bright, if tired, but sincere.
"Hey there! You seem like you could use some directing, or at least someone to tell you that you're not crazy and you probably didn't have too much to drink last night. I am here to do both."
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[She really needed to look into making more of that.]
[And then she closed her locker door, turned, and froze. Tadashi? There he was, standing at the end of the row of lockers, looking as dorky as she remembered. What?]
[She didn't even realize she had walked over to him until she was a couple feet away, staring up at him with an expression that could only be described as shock.]
...No way.
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Hanging around by the lockers, looking a little lost? It seems like a textbook case of a new arrival. Firo adjusts his hat on his head and approaches. "You need somethin', pal?"
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He's sure he's imagining things. He's positive, in fact, that he has to be. Maybe this is a hallucination caused by the gooey blue stuff that he'd been floating in earlier. That's the only explanation that makes sense.
Whatever the cause or the reason or whatever, Hiro's staring, wide-eyed, face pale, mouth slightly agape, at what would appear to be his older brother. He can't speak, he can't look away, he can barely move. All he can do is stare.]
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John Blake | ota
lockers—
medbay—
lockers
[ Shepard walks by, pauses at the boot, and chuckles. ]
Better one new shoe than none. Santa doesn't seem to have my number.
[ And here she'd been hoping for some of her armor, weapons... and crew, but that isn't something she'd like to find stuffed in her locker. Shepard leans against one of the ones nearby, trying not to look too frustrated, crossing her arms over her chest. ]</small. How've you been?
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html!!
hahaha, it's fiiiiiiiiine
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pods
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lockers
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lockers;
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enfys llewelyn | open
sʜᴏᴡᴇʀs
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You will have to dry off your axe afterwards, yes? [Just. For the sake of being nice.]
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lockers (after showers)
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maria hill ( open )
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[ The concerns in his voice even before he makes his way over to her. He's ahead of the game for once (somehow) and there's this very... pervasive sense that there's something off here. ]
Maria?
[ He approaches her, a towel wrapped around his waist, the rest of him bare and still gooey. ]
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Firo Prochainezo | open! | cw: an eyeball
Firo hasn't had a chance to change out of the goo-covered, shower-soaked jumpsuit he wore into the pods when he spots something... glistening in the back of his locker. Something he really hopes he's not recognizing like he thinks he is. Because he's not really in the mood to be dealing with poor old Huey LaForet's freaking eye right now.
"Are you fuckin'--?" He cuts himself off as he reaches back into the locker to pull out the glinting object. It's a pretty small thing, seemingly unworthy of the rather big reaction it elicits from him. He snarls, visibly and audibly, and kicks the bottom of his locker.
The object is a human eyeball.
He wrinkles his nose as he holds it up to his face to inspect it. He looks up at the ceiling as he speaks to the locker gods or whoever the heck is responsible for this stuff. "...Wow. Thank you. I'll treasure this forever."
He'd thought his work with this thing was done. Apparently not.
[ooc: brackets or prose are both a-okay!]
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It seems to be rather interesting after all, going by the reaction.]
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Philip (Penumbra) | OTA
Philip claws at the tube faster than it can retract, leaving little but a very sharp burn in his throat to show for it. Christ, there's springing another event on you, and then there's this. Unimaginable nightmares, why can't they at least respect a man's need for personal space? He pushes against his confines, but already they give way on their own. Philip spills out onto the floor, entirely undignified. All right, guess that's it for the spa weekend.
He coughs, and half expects blood splattering his palm for greater dramatic effect. But there isn't. There is a number tattooed on his forearm that wasn't there before, and despite all the hours he clocked in at the bar last week he imagines that another drunk bet isn't to blame for this one. Although it probably means something very meaningful to somebody. Probably.
Once on his feet he looks around for the familiar closets, for whatever form they might be taking here. In this and that corner of his eyes Philip catches other people's faces, and not enough of them are familiar ones by far. That's the first time he feels the thin layer of dread underneath his disorientation. There was no announcement. There was not enough time. Something isn't right...
He exhales slowly. Some people move into an adjacent room, their confident steps creating a sharp and unpleasant contrast to his own perplexity. Philip decides to follow their pull all the same. Neither flesh-eating monsters nor existential doubts fight themselves all that well naked, and over there seems as good a place to start looking as any...
[ #2 ] Sickly Suite Part 3: Gone
The bottle crashes to the floor, and spills whiskey and glass at his feet. Bloody shame that'd have been, if his locker wasn't stuffed to the brim with those things. Missed one wedged between his clothes, that's all. Good thing the closets still know what he needs most, anyway. Philip snorts silently, and slips on whatever Wonderland wants them to wear for its latest costume party. He takes stock of his inventory then, because apparently the one with his number is all he's getting today, and--
And no gun. No weapon of any kind. Just that thing again, of course it's that thing, and no gun. He scowls, and extracts the notebook from underneath another stack of bottles. It's empty, not his, but it might come in handy, anyway. Because the network--
"So whose fault is space?" he types into his comm device, but it doesn't seem to want to transmit. An automated welcome and a whole lot of static, that's what he's getting out of this so far. Shaking his head Philip pockets the device, anyway. Leaves both books, thank you very much. (Alice in Wonderland? Did he really need that reminder?) He'll take one of those bottles though, just in case. Just for later, he reminds himself grudgingly, because this is starting to strike him as the sort of situation he should probably investigate a bit further before drinking its existence away entirely....
[ #3 ] Escape From New Yorkshire
Comforting as the permeating stench of whiskey might be, he should probably start looking around. He's dressed (for the occasion and little else) and about as ready as the situation will allow him to be. Asking around, see, that might be a plan too, but he's only so invested in going around silently with a 'Whose event is this?' note held up like a beggar looking for informative alms about the situation.
Instead the writing catches his eyes. 'Don't follow your tattoo numbers,' it suggests very helpfully, in as foreboding a colour as can be. Well, at least that settles things.
Philip leaves the locker room for the blue lifts, and follows his tattoo number to the forty-third floor.
[[ OTA, will match format! Here's my intro for some info on how Philip communicates & where he's just come from
and still thinks he is. ]]#2
Well, being neighborly never hurt anyone. Right? ]
Hey.
[ He slams his own locker shut and wanders over, his skyhook held loosely at his side. ]
You new here?
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#3
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#3
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#2
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Mira Tabris/The Warden : Lockers : OTA
Adraste's ass. Guess I'll have to actually try to get used to this place then.
[She still puts her sword on her back though. Space magic or not, she can still stab things.]
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Sure, she can; definitely. But seeing the Warden-Commander is a welcome
reliefdistraction. The girl pauses near the other elf, offering a hesitant smile. ]Unless we can bludgeon this place into submission by force of will.
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whoops, I forgot to update the rooms. ty for that.
XD np
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Lockers
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nill | open
[Nill has already cleaned herself up enough to put on some clothes--she isn't about to wash Horse and Dog uncovered, where anyone could just walk in on her. To be fair, years on the ship had desensitized her towards her own and others' nudity, but that didn't mean she'd completely abandoned modesty. The shirt she's chosen was one of Heine's, a simple tee with the back ripped to make room for her wings to stick out. Along with a pair of simple black shorts, she's created an outfit that she doesn't much mind having gunked up with a mix of blue goo and water.
Horse shakes his head, flinging sludge off his mane, most of which splatters on to her shirt. It makes the cloth stick to her even more uncomfortably than before, and Nill grimaces. She will bear the burden of owning animals in silence. Heh.
She's tired and still a little nauseous, but that's routine now. Nill never really feels like herself until a day or two after the jump. With a low sigh, she goes back to scrubbing the blue away from Horse, trying not to trip over Dog as he trots around, between, and underneath her and the larger animal.]
padfoot aka sirius black | lifts | ota
This isn't actually all that usual. There are plenty of dogs aboard the Tranquility, and plenty of other animals as well. Hedgehogs, rabbits, cats. Chickens, unless someone's eaten them. Et cetera. Like a small petting zoo of mixed dangers.
This dog is massive: big and black and bear-like, and more than a little menacing based on sight alone, when you first turn the corner and come upon him. But there's very little menace to him. His tension is more nerves, evident in the way that he paces--settling down a moment on his haunches and then jumping up again just a moment later, as if called to action by some signal only he can hear. Nervous, then, he paces a line to the other side of the lift, sniffing at the floor--turning tight circles, sniffing at other patches of floor. At times, he scents at the air, trying to pick something out. Sometimes he just whines, and ducks his great head down to paw at his nose.
He's waiting for someone, or looking for someone. Or both. As time passes, as more and more people filter past, he starts to get more agitated, and the length of his pacing increases--halfway back toward the lockers, and then back to the lifts again. His whining starts to take on growls at the end, especially if someone gets too close. But he stays where he is, in that same general area, waiting. Sniffing at the floor, sniffing at the air. Waiting, anxious.]
I promise he's not stalking Sirius, but I had to because bears.
Carlisle adjusts his glasses as he rounds the corner, nearly knocking them from his face as he leaps from fright the second he sets eyes on the beast pacing near the elevators. He backs around the turn again, his muscles seizing, petrified from terror as he flattens himself against the wall. His mind runs a mile a minute, becoming a phobic train of thoughts that runs off the rails the instant it starts. There's a bear. There's a bear on the ship. There is a bear on the ship someone let a bear on the ship why is there a bear bears don't belong on ships they belong in caves not on ships who let a bear run loose on the ship.
He's there another few moments, pressing himself into the wall as though it might hide him. It offers him neither sanctuary nor stealth, and with no choice but to take the lifts to the residential quarters, Carlisle finds he has to move eventually. There are other people walking past the bear, after all. They're fine. He will be, too. He just has to act natural. Not panic.
Swallowing the knot in his throat, he peers around the corner again, trying to get his blurry eyes to focus on the bear. It's bear-like indeed, but upon further inspection, it's not a bear at all. It's a dog. A big dog. A big, bear-like dog.
Carlisle sighs to himself, his hands still trembling as he smiles nervously, his heart thundering away in his chest despite the relief. It's a dog. He was worried for nothing. There aren't any bears on the ship. That's ridiculous.
Finally peeling himself from the wall, he heads for the elevators, but finds his revelation hasn't helped him much. He's out from around the corner, but is still several steps from actually making it to the lifts -- the dog manages to be intimidating even though it's not a bear. Dogs aren't bad, he reminds himself. He's met loads of dogs. Just... not ones that are so bearish. It doesn't seem unfriendly, Carlisle insists inwardly. He just needs to convince himself of that.]
Hey, er. Dog. [A pause as he reaffirms that yes, that is a dog and not a bear.] Yeah, you're a dog. Just a dog. Dogs are fine.
[And another as he wonders if a dog will think him foolish for talking to himself.] Are you lost?
I'm so pleased 8> sorry about the bears
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I on the other hand do not promise he's not stalking Sirius.
mutual friendly stalking like friends do
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here to stalk dogs, nobody cares about sirius
liar
........... cries about sirius
that's what I thought
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Hiro Hamada || OTA
[It took Hiro a good five minutes to recover from the moments of panic he'd had upon waking up in a giant goo-filled test tube. He'd long since stopped coughing out the feeling of a tube shoved down his throat, and he's been staring at the number that's burned into the inside of his forearm, trying to get himself to breathe normally while deciding what to make of this tattoo. And it's definitely a tattoo. He's dimly aware that Aunt Cass is not going to be excited about that, though he can guess Gogo and Fred might think it's kind of cool.
But the bulk of his concern is focused on the fact that he'd just woken up in a goo-filled test tube. It raised all sorts of questions, all of which Hiro had no answers for, which is what had him freaking out just a little more. What happened? Had they been trying to put a stop to some dastardly plan and had everything go wrong? There are other people here, though. How had they ended up here? And why were they all simply getting up and moving around without trying to find someone who could explain what was going on?
He should probably ask. But everyone was naked and that was awkward. It takes him another moment's hesitation, mostly because he's embarrassed and awkward and would rather wait for the crowd to thin out before he even attempts to get himself cleaned up. He really needs answers, though. That's really important.]
LOCKERS
[Hiro stares at the message painted across the lockers with a deep frown. He's clean and changed, with his SFIT hoodie on and the rest of the contents of his locker tucked into his superheroing helmet (a comm device, a dead tablet, his gloves, and Baymax's karate chip), but he's still standing there with his eyes fixed to the message.
Don't follow your tattoo numbers. In bright red. Sure, that's not ominous at all. What is this place, really? What's happening here? And how soon can he go home?
As if it isn't bad enough that his chest is tight with the thought that he's completely on his own here. No Baymax. No Aunt Cass. No team. He needs to go back, to get out of wherever-this-is, and get to the people who need him. Or - more accurately - the people he needs.]
Pods
Hiro? Hiro!
[He probably barely had enough time to turn around before he'd find himself suddenly being hugged by the asian speedster. Who was also naked. So yeah that was a thing! At least it only lasted a moment though, since she was stepping back, her hands on his shoulders, looking him over for injuries. After so many months here, nakedness stopped really being a thing. Or it had for her, at least.]
Are you hurt? How do you feel?
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Booker DeWitt | Lockers | ota
Maybe someday he'll get used to it. In a million years or so.
He showers and dresses quickly, his tense posture easing visibly once he gets the jumpsuit zipped up and is fully covered once more. A cursory glance into the bottom of his locker makes him pause, and a slow smile spreads across his face as he reaches for the items within. ]
Wouldja look at that.
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....what is that?
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elizabeth ; pods to lockers ; ota
It's difficult; her motor functions are more sluggish than usual and her brain hasn't quite caught up. Memories from before the jump are like pictures torn in two; she can hear distant cries of things that had been said over the past month (nasty-sounding and loud, she thinks), but can't quite place them. Sees a number of faces that she recognizes (Booker, Mr. Pendleton, Harry, Chell, Miss Fortescue), but they come with no emotional response. This time, it isn't because she can't, due to the physical detachment of her soul, but because the gears aren't exactly set into complete motion. Yet.
Once showered and goo-free, Elizabeth meanders to her locker and opens it. For once, there is something inside aside from the usual jump suit; it contains a set of her own clothing, a series of paints (mostly red, she notices), two books. Smiling faintly, glad to see such familiar objects, she dons her clothes and gathers up the other objects.
Except for one, which she'd almost missed. Transfixed, the young woman withdraws a strange toy from the bottom of the locker. Her eyes widen in fear and she drops it, along with all the other objects, which clatter to the ground in a ruckus. Worst of all is the sound that the toy makes upon colliding with the ground, a shrieking cry, mechanical, yet birdlike, distorted and echoing loudly all around them.
Startled, Elizabeth cries out, backing away in a hurry. ]
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But this time is different. She'd fallen unconscious under Castiel's hands, and - much to Booker's distress - hadn't woken in the days leading up to the jump. In the end, he'd had to carry her down and settle her in her pod himself.
And now she's awake, and afraid - if not worse. He pushes through a group of people talking, and stops, just staring. That's Elizabeth, all right, but rather than the jumpsuit they've both gotten used to wearing, she's clad in the dress she'd had on when they first met.
Is this real? Maybe he's still asleep...
He approaches slowly, suddenly hesitant now that he's here. Castiel had promised that the procedure had worked, that Elizabeth would be her old self when she woke, but there's no way of knowing that for sure. What if something had gone wrong? What if she's still...
There's only one way to find out. ]
...Elizabeth?
[ He calls softly, but doesn't reach out to her, not yet. ]
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lockers;
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Bethmora Fortescue | ota
[ At first, things pass routinely. Fortescue begins the unpleasant business of removing her own breathing tube as well as her cat's, while the former growls and flails just a bit. Jazz has become used to the whole thing, but still protests. Probably to keep up his "distant" reputation, which living on the ship has more or less obliterated. She hauls him off to the showers and showers the goo away, which is possibly the only bath he holds still for. But only to get the goo from his fur, of course.
Wrapped in a towel, with a wet cat riding on her shoulders like a parrot, she makes her way for her locker and braces herself. Just in case another journal or unpleasant document is inside of it. But to her relief, there's nothing but her clothing. She pulls her dress over her head neatly, after nudging Jazz to the floor.
Jazz contents himself with being invasive of those around them, while his mistress is distracted, which means a soaked black cat might be poking its head into your belongings. ]
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muchthis time. Valya knew it was coming--mostly--and could try to compartmentalize this time. She hurries to her locker this time; opens it to make sure the black griffon--Revas--is alive and well.The chick peeps up at her, nestled in its carry-sling, and Valya exhales heavily, not realizing until then how much tension was in her form.
She goes about getting dressed and pulling her staff and pouches out from the locker. In the process of doing so, she realizes the chick has started peeping again.
Because a cat is shoving its face at the chick. Valya makes a sound of dismay and moves to pick up the chick's sling hurriedly. ]
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Re: Bethmora Fortescue | ota
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Rhys | ota
[There are some things you'll never get used to. Falling naked out of a slime pod and extubating yourself, surprisingly, isn't one of them. It's pretty much routine by now, and if there's one thing he's good at, it's routines. Rhys manages to slip and slide around a little before he hits the showers and then the lockers for his clothes-
Except there's a surprise in there for him. Well, maybe not him- maybe not specifically him, but sort of him. He reaches for it and then hesitates, is it bad to touch something like that when you're still naked? So, pants at least- that's probably important- but after he gets himself some version of decent, he crouches and picks up a mask from the bottom of his locker. It's sort of an eerie looking thing, vaguely uncanny valley, more fleshy looking than normal. You know, for masks. If you're a connoisseur of masks, that would be a thing that you'd notice.
The hinges are broken, one of them is completely snapped off. When he turns it over, there's just a tiny spot of blood on the back. Rhys fixates on it, rubbing his thumb over the spot before something startles him and he spins, fixating on the nearest person.]
Holy sh- oh. [That is not the face he was expecting. Rhys' shoulders lower a little, he forces a thin smile.] You scared the crap out of me.
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......
Sorry?
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lockers
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Carl Grimes | OTA
[ Carl has already marked this down as the worst jump yet. Of course it's not any part because of the numb, disorienting routine of falling from a pod anymore, but actually more so the headache that comes from memories washing back to the surface. More particularly the new ones that disjoint the clear linear timeline in his mind. And for it, there's other visible signs: hair that's grown out a little more and a sweat on his brow that conveys just how well he does not feel with the aches in his head.
The only small comfort for it though is what he finds when he opens his locker. It's the second set of clothes he had...or hadn't been wearing recently, the deck of cards he knew belonged to one of his new friends at home, and also the music box he sees. The very same one he gave to Maggie that inevitably became his baby sister's favorite thing after the plastic cups she played with - which reminds him that she is really okay. Alive, and safe. He'd even been babysitting her in the last of his new memories. That much he recalls the instant he lays eyes on the yellow paint of the box.
And so reaching for it first, he opens it carefully with his hands, letting the ballerina inside twirl along with the music that plays as he watches it. It saddens him that it also reminds him that he isn't and can't be there for her with still being stuck in space hell so his expression tugs down at both corners of his mouth. ]
( etc )
[ You know, or your own scenario here. ]
felix gaeta / lockers / open
He doesn't think he's dead. This isn't Elysium, and he never believed in that, anyway. And he doesn't think he's a Cylon, resurrected. Not with his leg still missing and a constellation of bullet scars on his chest. He doesn't know what to think, which is somehow, at the moment, worse than either of those two possibilities, and turns his hands fumbling while he tries to roll up the too-skinny fitted leg of his jumpsuit to accommodate attaching the prosthetic propped against the bench beside him.
Scissors would be nice, he thinks. His second clear thought.
His first was Six, watching a Cylon be escorted out under guard. It's the only comforting thing he's seen.
The rest is white noise and broken fragments, distance and sourceless loneliness. He gives up on his pant leg after a second attempt and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes instead. Like maybe it will be easier to think in the dark.
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So when she sees him sitting on the bench, clocks the leg and the jumpsuit, she drops to her knees right in front of him and reaches to roll it down for him.
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Serah Farron || Open--Lockers
Arms covering her chest, Serah stands shakily, just now noticing the number on her arm. "26...?" she asks no one, simply mumbling to herself. Was she dreaming? She moves in the same direction as the people around her, looking for something familiar and finding nothing. She changes into her clothing first before noticing her bow, and she picks it up with glee. "Mog!" she yells, and when nothing happens, she frowns again. Is she in the Void Beyond? How did that happen? Had Caius gotten her, somehow? She barely even looks at the writing on the wall, instead searching the sky.
"Vanille? Fang? I need you. Please...please get me out of here!"
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Fortescue finishes up at her locker and then walks closer to the young woman, leaving her black cat behind for the time being. Jazz is busy sniffing at someone's locker door, anyway.
"Love? Are you all right?"
The obvious answer is no, but it helps to know where someone is coming from in a time like this. She smiles, trying to look as friendly as she can despite the unpleasant feelings trying to well themselves up in her head. Friendly is something she can do well, having an accent similar to an English one that people usually associate with being businesslike or informed.
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samantha martinez . pods / lockers . ota
[ A first jump is a typically awful experience. But Sam was about to drown anyway. So waking up in a vat of blue goop wasn't a horrible alternative.
Except she could have done without that fall— gagging out the residual gunk in her lungs while simultaneously crying out from the attempt to catch herself, limbs collapsing beneath her, connecting her fully to the ground. That pinching twisting feeling in her lower back was enough to start the waterworks. And, shit, is she naked as Below right now. Blue sliding off her body, those scars on her back are the most obvious feature.
At least she's trying not to sound like she's sobbing in gross pain. Instead, she's staying down on the ground propped up on her elbows in the most comfortable position she can be while looking for the nearest thing to assist in getting her up. Whoever the shit put her in there clearly didn't think to put her crutches anywhere nearby. Only managing to get herself to a close bench to sit entirely uncomfortably, she admits that she might need some more help.
Semi-desperately eyeing you for some help right now. Mind her, or don't. ]
. lockers .
[ Doing better. Much better. If you caught her sobbing uncontrollably before or even helped her to the showers, it'll be good to see that she's now free of blue stuff and began dressing herself. Awkwardly balancing a hand on the locker while the other maneuvers cloth around her limbs. Final touch is one of several infinity scarves, which she adjusts her wet hair around with care.
Propped on crutches under her pits, she's leaning casually in and out of the locker to go through the other scarves and to grab at the knick-knack communicator. The technology isn't foreign to her. But still fucking weird. Sitting at shelf of the locker is a blue pill bottle containing four hefty white pills. She's noticed them. But she also isn't done being a little scattered brained over this whole ordeal, paying close attention to the random chatter around her to piece together the situation. She doesn't like it.
Looking up as other passengers walk by, she's definitely not still crying. It's just blue goop in both eyes. ]
Pods!
Fortunately, Murphy isn't one of the mostly-naked people when he hears what sounds more like a cry of pain than anything else. That would be awkward as he was on his way out of the pod area when he hears it, turns around, and sees the girl lying there in front of her own pod. And she doesn't look like she's doing so hot.
"Shit," he mutters before doubling back to check on her. He holds a hand carefully out over her. "Are you all right?"
Maybe it's nothing. Maybe she's just going through the motions like everybody else here. But he sees the scars on her back and she looks like crap and--
Welp.
. pods! .
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Minho | open, will match style
Something was wrong. It was like he'd woken up too soon, or perhaps he'd made his way into a faulty pod. The breathing tube was still shoved down his throat, choking him and yet supplying him with very important air as the blue goo around him failed to drain away. He tried lifting an arm but it felt like he hadn't moved it in weeks, muscles straining to remember how to work. Panic rose up inside of him. Any tolerance for this that Minho had built up over previous jumps seemed to drain away. He gagged on the tube still stuck inside of him, and he forced his arms and legs to lash out against... something. Anything. If he made enough noise, maybe someone outside would help him. Maybe he could break free.
Miraculously, he must have done something right—or someone helped him from the other side—because the pod started to empty of goo and of him. The breathing tube slipped from his throat as he fell out of the pod and onto his hands and knees where he promptly began retching. It was only after he'd emptied his stomach that he realized he felt weak, even weaker than previous jumps.
"What the shuck..."
[Showers/Lockers]
Minho made his way into a shower and didn't leave for a good ten minutes. Usually he was efficient when washing, no matter how much he wanted to enjoy the luxury. But this time he was shaken because of the huge unknown he was facing. People had said the word "coma" but he didn't know what that meant for him. He'd missed a month of the ship's madness, apparently, and woken up with a weaker body as his payment for the brief vacation. His clothes sagged where they had once been tight around his muscles, and this more than anything made him feel vulnerable. If he could run or fight, what was his purpose? Resting his head against the tile as the water poured down his back, he started making plans for daily training. He'd been getting sloppy, so maybe this would help in the long run.
When he emerged from the shower, naked and pruney, he was quick to find a towel and fresh change of clothes. He was curious about what he'd missed, so he tried not to look as intimidating as usual. If someone came up to him to talk, he'd be happy to listen.
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Fortunately, by that time, the mechanics controlling the pod seem to recognize the person inside it is wake and it's not long until Carl is there to greet him with a concerned look all over his face. It's pretty clear he doesn't know what the hell that was or why it happened either. And though he doesn't know Minho at all, he lets out a sigh of relief.
And waits for the other teen to get himself before saying anything.]
... You okay?
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team action threads 2k15
tags along
embraces you both
( CLOSED )
She focusses on the dogs, instead. There's sixteen of them that need drying off. Normally it would be an exercise in chasing some of them down, but this month they're staying gathered close, seeming just as spooked as her, watching the crowd and waiting for their turn under the towel.]
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All through his hasty shower, his trip to locker 042 » 024, dressing and collecting his few martial possessions, he broadcasts fuck this place pretty clearly. He interacts with his fellow passengers only through mutual avoidance, skirting personal space with practised efficiency...
And then there's a dog. Dogs. He's seen animals aboard, but never this many in one place—come to think of it, he's never seen so many dogs all together, except maybe in a movie or something—and that alone is enough to put a hold on his exit.
So now he's a guy with a crossbow, standing there, watching some dogs in various stages of dampness. He doesn't try to make eye contact with their keeper, but it probably happens anyway.]
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