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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.
----------------
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.
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I am not a snowman--[what even is that]--my name is Glacius. [He's just now noticing the mask, given that it's been dropped to the floor... but if he's judging Rhys for it or put off by its rather fleshy appearance, he doesn't say or express anything over it.]
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Well. That, and he has zero chill and is prone to very rash decisions.
Basically, perfect new friend material for a socially shy ice alien.]
Right, Glacius. Was on the tip of my tongue.
[Rhys grabs the mask then, his focus now on the alien in front of him as he deposits it in his locker and pulls out his shirt. The collar of it just barely doesn't hide the tattoo on his neck, though the blue one on his chest is covered quickly as he slides his organic arm through the sleeve and his robot arm through the... not sleeve (because in addition to having no chill he also has no fashion sense).
He starts buttoning it up while talking, his fingers slightly shaky.]
Good to see you out and about. I think. [Pause.] Do you, uh... wear clothes? I mean, it's cool either way, aliens and stuff, but it'd be nice to know if I'm talking to someone who's technically naked right now.
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... Which answer do you want to hear?
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[That's... kind of a good question.]
Just tell me you're decent.
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[Pause. Things... are getting a little awkward. The alien flexes his fingers, fishing for a new track to put the conversation on. He could ask about the mask, but that feels like it might be prying.] Ah... are you feeling alright? I've heard that the jump can often times be disorienting.
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[There's a pause, and Rhys glances from Glacius to the locker, and then back to the giant iceman, still not entirely sure what to do here. He clears his throat. Glacius is decent, apparently, and that makes him feel a little better.]
-anyway yeah, I'm fine, I just... [How do you say that 'oh, my sadistic dead ex-boss has downloaded himself into my brain and I'm now finding pieces of his definitely for-real existence in my locker like some high school girl with a celebrity crush'? ]
Uh, jumps are disorienting. Mostly. You get that 'kinda wanna puke' feeling all mixed together with the 'no amount of showering can get the goop off' and then a happy helping of 'something is definitely wrong with my brain chemistry'. I dunno if if ice aliens can really sympathize, but that's how it is for us humans.
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[At the mention of gills though, Rhys just sort of squints at him, before slowly leaning forward so he can stare hard at the side of Glacius' neck.]
...and I thought the intubation was bad. Does it hurt?
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Only minutely, for a little while after the equipment retracts. [But that doesn't mean he likes the idea of someone or something getting close enough to the organs to place something in them.]
god i'm so sorry
[There's a pause. Rhys cringes.]
...wow, I just... really opened myself up for a dick joke, there. Come on, lay it on me. I'll even laugh, 'cause I'm a good person.
hahaha fuck and i'm sorry for glacius
... A what? [Something tells him he doesn't want to know, honestly.]
jfc i love these two
[Oh my god is he going to have to explain this.
Oh my god, how much of this is he going to have to explain.
Glacius doesn't understand cat memes, how much can he possibly know about dicks.]
It's a... uh. You know, like... when you take an innocent comment and apply- uh, sexual... connota- youknowwhat, lets just forget that this ever happened.
ME TOO!!
rip me
[He's reeling a little at that, and just hold on a damn minute here.]
No- oh my god, no. I was- dicks, I was joking about dicks in my mouth, just- [WOW THAT'S ALSO NOT THE RIGHT THING TO SAY HERE, HMM.]
Not your- I mean, no. No, it was a stupid joke that had nothing to do with you at all.
hoLY SHIT HOLY SHIT
[Well Rhys, at least you can officially say you were the first person on the Tranquility to break through the alien's icy reserve! He is actually getting a little bit flustered right now; he shakes his head quickly.] I-- yes. Okay. I see. Okay. I did not mean to--misinterpret.
im sorry again
He just closes his eyes for a few seconds, comprehending what he'd just said. Not good. Glacius is freaking out a little, and Rhys is just doing this wonderful internal scream that's probably going to last from now until the moment he dies.]
...right, so, how about those pods? I mean, the way they just- goop all over. Man. What a mess, am I right?
[Why does everything sound like an innuendo right now.]
shhh no apologies only beautiful tags ;w;
c:
[Rhys manages a smile and starts to move away from his locker, beckoning Glacius to follow.]
Where I come from, that's called a Tauntaun Situation, man. You either freeze to death or you cut open your horse and sleep inside of the corpse. Neither option is good but sleeping in horse guts starts looking pretty appealing when your toes snap off from frostbite. You start being like 'well I'm sleeping in a pile of intestines, but at least I'm not dead!' That sort of thinking is a one-way trip to Stockholm Syndrome.
[Rhys, who has been making some wild hand gestures up until this point, sheepishly glances back toward Glacius. Filters, he has none.]
...so trust me, buddy, you don't wanna say that.
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Just because I am happy to not be dead does not mean I appreciate what our captors have done to me. I will survive this, no matter what happens, and eventually I will find my way home. [That's what he's hoping, anyways. He's not going to let himself slip into that sneaky spiral of despair just yet, even if he misses his people and his planet with all that he is.]
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Sounds cool to me.
[Get it? Cool? Get it?
...Glacius does not get it. Rhys clears his throat and moves along.]
What's your home like, anyway? Waitwait, don't tell me- I'm imagining lots of ice. Am I right? I'm right, yeah? Tell me I'm right.
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[Lots of resolve is needed when dealing with Rhys. Don't you forget it.]
Sounds... pretty boring. What do you do for fun?
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[Glacius' brows remain furrowed for a moment more, then he huffs as the worst of his offended demeanor blows over. Well, he can't expect a human to know what his homeworld is like.] There are many things you can do for fun. You can visit the mountains, or explore the towns and cities. You can visit the open markets and trade goods if you so desire. You can take speeders out through the open tundras... the list goes on.
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[Rhys seems a little pleased, now that he's gotten a bit under Glacius' skin.]
Do you guys get a lot of wars out there? Guns blazing and cars filled with spikes and all that?
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