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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.
no subject
[ Not her. She'd come to hate Songbird, of course, but he had been her only friend for the longest time. ]
Thank you. [ She keeps up the smile, looking much happier than when they'd last spoke, and in clothes of her own making. ] How are you?
no subject
This is an enormous understatement. His mother disappeared. He's waited to meet her for nineteen years, and he only got a few months with her. It's almost visible, the way he steels himself, pushing up his glasses and forcing the smile on his face. It's better that she's here, though, enough that he wants to be honest with her.] Some people from my world disappeared over the Jump.
People I really cared about. It's strange how so much can change. [He stands a bit straighter, reaching up to push his hair back out of his eyes. His scar flashes into view just for a moment.] Do you want to get rid of the toy?
no subject
[ Not sick, but... lonely, maybe? She tilts her head, observing. Scrutinizing. ]
I'm sorry. I haven't lost anyone yet but I imagine it's... really difficult. [ If Booker left, or Miss Fortescue, Chell, Mr. Pendleton... she'd be just as sad. ] But they could still come back, you know. I've heard that to happen.
[ Beat. ] Oh! No, it's... um, it's all right. [ She gestures vaguely to the locker, indicating he might as well just leave it. ] It's only a toy, it just... startled me.
no subject
But he shakes it off, glancing back over his shoulder into the locker. It's an old kind of grief anyway: it'll come and go in the next few days. Elizabeth is a good distraction, as long as he manages not to get sidetracked also by the high stakes of meeting this cute girl you just started talking to, for the first time, after experiencing major personal tragedy, when your hair is doing that awful thing.] I'm trying to carry on, [her tells her honestly.] I don't think there's anything else for it.
Have you ever gone and come back? [It occurs to him to get out of the way between her and her locker, so she can get her toy again if she wants.]
no subject
[ Not at all. The brunette stares at the wall opposite with a slight frown, as if trying to recall the memories, and then shakes her head. ]
Have you?
no subject
He's left to be grateful that there are, apparently, more than one of his friends and family who'd be dead otherwise.]
Coming out of this Jump felt a bit different, didn't it? [he asks. Cold, lonely.] I can't tell if it's just me because the others are gone, or if it's different. Do you feel anything odd?
no subject
[ It makes things easier. It may well be that it wasn't her at all, but another version of herself; Elizabeth knows a lot about different universes and metaphysics, so that explanation calms her more than the idea of her losing her memories. ]
A little. [ He's thinking of something else, but she admits a tiny smile. ] I didn't have my soul before and it's very different to have it again, so that's something.
no subject
I was going to take you for a broom ride, [he says.] It's actually right in my locker. If you aren't waiting for anybody, I could go ahead and give you a lift back to your room. [He suddenly wants to lean suavely on the lockers, but his hair isn't as long as Sirius' and he isn't as tall as Uncle Remus, so he foregoes that much posturing at least. He's trying to cheer up, and probably falling down ass over teakettle while Elizabeth looks on wouldn't help.]
No pressure. I know it's a bit odd, for most worlds.
no subject
Really? Now? You don't have anything to do?
[ It's a bROOM RIDE OKAY. She's been living in the sky all her life and has more than once imagined flying; it's nice to be able to have an actual opportunity to try the real thing, impossible as it seems. ]
I'd love to. [ She says finally. ]
no subject
Then he immediately remembers again, and his smile gutters slightly, before finally stabilizing, but the warmth hasn't left his eyes. IT SHO IS A BROOM RIDE. He can still remember his first time. Riding a broom, that is.] I've got nothing else to do, [he reassures her.] Come on. My locker's over here-- [he motions, leads the way, but not walking too fast; he'd rather go side to side.]
Have you got any magic where you come from? [he asks.] That bird monster seemed like it might be magical.
no subject
[ And she walks alongside him, all but glowing, glad for both the distraction and the friendship. ]
Oh... well, no, not that I'm aware of. [ Constants and variables. ] Songbird was built by Columbia's chief manufacturer. He's only a machine.
[ A very violent and lifelike one. ]
The city is powered by science and fraught with religion, but has no magic. If only it did.
no subject
[Says the wizard.
Who then stops by his locker and pulls out a broom-- which he lets fall to the floor. Except that it doesn't land; it simply hovers there, about a foot off above its own narrow shadow, while he turns again to shut the locker door. There are no strings; she can waft her hand above or below the broomstick, if she likes. It's floating.]
no subject
[ And incredibly dangerous. ]
Movies? Hmm... like videos, you mean? [ They don't really have movies in 1912, but: ][ But then, he pulls out the broom, and it hovers, and she gasps, looking positively thrilled. ]
That's amazing! How-- [ And she crouches down peer around and under it; this is a girl who has the potential to travel between and create infinite universes, but she's completely floored by the broom. ] That really is magic, isn't it?
no subject
Isn't it? I only found out I had magic when I was eleven-years-old, [he tells her.] When they invited me to wizard school. I've never forgotten what it was like to see, for the first time. You've really not got anything like that at all, your world? Some real wild science, instead? [He swings his leg over the narrow piece of wood then, and somehow, unmistakably, despite its fragility, its independence from floor or ceiling or walls, somehow, it's supporting his weight. He lifts a foot off the floor to demonstrate that it's truly got enough strength in it, and then gestures for her to climb on.
Put your arms around me is a natural next instruction. However, he finds himself abruptly accosted by the realization he's got an ugly wet patch in the fabric of the back of his shirt because he just came out of the shower, and his mouth simply flattens itself into an awkward smile.]
no subject
"Only?" You've had it for some time, then. [ She tilts her head to smile at him; he doesn't seem anywhere close to eleven and she's envious of how much time he's had with the magic of his world. ]
No, nothing like this. The Sky-Lines are a little like flying, but it's all very industrial.
[ Practical. Not nearly as enchanting, pun intended.
Elizabeth perks up when he motions for her to follow and she does so immediately, no awkwardness or hesitation in climbing on and wrapping her arms around him. Growing up alone in a tower doesn't allow for much in the ways of social cues, so she's free with her expression, both physical and verbal, more often than not. ]
Like this?
no subject
The lockers drop slightly around them, the ceiling tugging down closer. Despite the narrow broom, the fit isn't terrible and the balance is inscrutably stable, especially here, in the corridor free of wind or other weather. In a blink, they start forward, a brisk clip from the start. He telegraphs his first turn with a lean, instinctively knowing that she's sharp enough to know what's coming. The broom swings around the corner of lockers, clean as a whistle.
It wouldn't be nearly as fun or attractive, he suspects, to lose themselves in the labyrinth of carnivorous corridors or hover in an elevator, so he's grateful for the innumerable lockers. They give him space to trace boxy figure-eights, faster than a run, but not so fast as to turn his stomach in the residual traces of Jump sickness.
At one point, he glances back at her. To see how she's doing.]