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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.
pods
[Selina can't help but stop by John's pod and see what's what. The number had her curious. So, wrapped tightly in a towel, she eyes it. Alright, so she should have showered and put clothes on first, but she's interested and she's thirteen and maybe attractive guys kinda are attractive? Maybe?]
no subject
Trackin' time. Or the jumps, I guess.
[ He's not so sure how much time passes when they're in the pods, so he's counting perceived time, and especially conscious time. If he spends another whole month in the pods he wants to know pretty much right away. It's not a without the potential for error — Skye could forget to update the number or be otherwise disposed if he's not able to do it — but John feels it's somewhat more tangible resource than just asking around all the time. ]
You okay?
[ When he goes into the pods, he's doing so in boxer briefs, so he's covered on his way out. Nevertheless, the towel he brings along as well is held close enough that he's mostly covered from his check to his knees, too. ]
no subject
It's okay though. Dean is ten times hotter. So much hotter. Also not a cop. Also teaching her to shoot. Dean > Blake. Always.]
How long've you been here, then? [Her hands are on her slim hips.]
Yeah, just fine. Don't think I'm gonna be getting Harry Potter's cat.
[She doesn't ask if he's fine, she doesn't care. Not caring is so much better than caring.]
no subject
Been here for 7, or so.
[ Which is what's written on the side of the pod. ]
Listen, Cat, we gotta talk. Just you an' me.
no subject
[That's a whole lot longer than her. But she shrugs it all off, because it really doesn't matter in the end. He already figures himself some sort of superior figure, so what's the bother?]
Yeah? [She crosses her arms over her chest.] Y'want me to change first, or would you rather interrogate me in my towel?
[If you say yes to that, she will kill you with her bare hands. Kthx.]
no subject
[ Seriously, Selina, do not skip out. He will find you and pull you around by your
catears. ]We'll have somethin' to eat, too.
no subject
[Seriously, Blake, step up your game if you want her to stick around for the actual conversation. But gosh.]
And seriously, eating? You're serious about this talk thing, aren'tcha dad?
no subject
[ No humor there, surprise surprise. But he doesn't quite have it in him to make the sass work in his favor. ]
It'll be good, whatever I make. Promise.
Just be there.
no subject
Fine. Gimme 15 minutes and I'll be there in the kitchen on 10.
[Now if they could get this thing over and done with, that'd be awesome.]
no subject
When he arrives on 10, he steps into the kitchen — late, believe it or not — and even if he's off his game, he looks very present in this moment. ]
Sorry, got caught up in the lift.
[ He gestures her toward the counter. ]
Come help me, please. Gonna ultimately benefit us both.
no subject
Fine. What we making this time?
[She could go for pizza.]
no subject
[ He has a backup just in case, but he's actually committed to this project. It's taken a mishmash of things that probably shouldn't go into a pizza, but in the end, it's mostly going to be made from ingredients from the Oxygen Gardens, so he at least feels confident it's edible. ]
You like cheese pizza, right?
[ It might not strictly be cheese, but he's not going to say so unless she asks. ]
no subject
[Yes, she was pretty sure. But whatever. She was a teenager, her native language was pizza.]
I can do pretty much any sort of pizza. [Even dumpster pizza, but she preferred not to talk about that sort of food at all.]
no subject
It's gonna be simple. [ Mostly vegetables and what he's hoping counts as homemade mozzarella.
He places some small tomatoes (those are tomatoes, just pretend they're not an odd color) in front of her. ]
Can you cut those up? [ It's a rhetorical question, really, because he's already passing her a knife. ] And then tell me what you know 'bout Castiel the angel...
no subject
She's about to start chopping when he questions her.] Castiel? He made some sort of post on the network a while back. [A pause, then she turns towards him, the knife dripping with a few tomato seeds.] I don't need my soul back.
no subject
Why not?
no subject
Because I don't need it.
[she shrugs, because really, she doesn't even feel different without it.]
no subject
no subject
[You will have to hold her down and force her to get her soul back.]
no subject
It's gonna have long-term effects, that's why. Can't just... stay like this. This isn't you, Cat, it's just some half-tuned station in the vicinity of you.
[ Blake vigorously mixes in some water with this makeshift dough he's trying his hardest not to ruin. ]
no subject
[She does not need a babysitter. At all.] You don't even know me.
no subject
[ He's trying not to take offense here because he doesn't think any of this is a real complaint, just her lack of soul talking. ]
I do. There's no changin' that. And I think I know you well enough that it's warranted.
[ Dough, dough, dough. ]
no subject
she's done cutting.] no. you know some other Selina Kyle. From your Gotham where people dress up like animals. you know her. you didn't even bother to find out my real name.
[he only knew because she'd told Dean.]
no subject
Look, I spent twenty minutes with that Selina Kyle. On two diff'rent occasions, both times on official business.
[ And that's the truth. Even with her spending time with Bruce, she wasn't ever around when Blake was. ]
We're a lot closer'n that, you an' me. I'm makin' you pizza, for Christ's sake. Can you gimme a break here? I'm allowed to care.
no subject
[Your life is not looking like a great one, Blake. She crosses her arms, petulant, before reaching out and sliding the cutting board she'd been cutting on to the floor.]
I don't want you to care. I don't want anyone to care. Bruce started caring and I ditched him.
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