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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
But being in space is a little— overwhelming? [ Understatement of the century. ] I've got a condition and shit to take care of back home.
However y'all picked me up, you could just do the same thing and put me back. Right? [ Space Knowledge clearly isn't in her inventory... ]
no subject
[That puzzles him enough that he momentarily forgets that he's not supposed to be looking her in the eye. Rescue is the last thing he would've called this.]
We didn't really pick you up. Near as I can tell you, the ship just kinda does it and people who leave leave by chance.
Or from dyin'. I'm not really sure what happens.
no subject
No.
No, that can't be right. ]
You mean— There's no way back? We're all stuck in space?
no subject
Maybe there's one we haven't found yet. But for now you're stuck.
[And maybe there was a way, but they ruined it with recent events. Firo tries not to think about that possibility.]
Sorry.
no subject
And no. She's not crying again. Shut up. ]
...where do I start then? A room, right? [ Someone tagged her locker in red about that. How rude. ]
no subject
Yeah, the number on your arm--
[He holds up his own tattoo to show her.]
--that one's yours already. But everybody's been goin' to floors 1-10--easier to keep everyone together.
no subject
[ Firo's tattoo is an interesting choice— she wasn't fond of tattoos herself. Between the vomiting of stasis fluid and general shock to her back, it barely processed that she now had a similar tattoo stamped onto her arm.
Now that things have calmed down, her eyes shift down to her own forearm and she can get a better look at it— ]
...what the shit is this anyway? Who thought this was a good idea?
no subject
...Uh, I'm actually not sure about that. It's not like you're gonna get any answers from 'em, though. People are vague as hell around here.
no subject
Well, fuck. Is there anything that we do know about this place?
[ SIGH. ]
Sorry for bein' on your ass. You probably get this a lot from the new people.
no subject
[He got pretty rowdy, though not as bad a reaction as he could have had.
He shrugs, the look he gives her not without sympathy.]
We know there're monsters sometimes.
[Yes. This is a great way to bring up that topic.]
no subject
The monsters that give people supernatural abilities?
Or the monsters that eat people?
[ Definitely would like to be clear on that. ]
no subject
...Never heard a' the first one. But it's definitely the second kind--got big nasty teeth and everything.
no subject
Oh. That's. Fantastic.
Just wanted make sure. Now I regret asking.
no subject
Sorry. It's the truth, though, and it's good to be prepared.
If it makes you feel better, they're not always right up in our faces. They came around before the jump, so you might not see 'em for a while--that's usually how it goes.
late; because i'm awful :c
Monsters. Space ship. Trapped. Got it.
[ Damn, she's feeling small all of a sudden. Is there somewhere she can just curl up and breakdown for like, an hour? ]
Could you, uh— help me find my room? Think I need to just... settle in.
It's all right!
[He nods, but pauses just as he's turning to lead her out.]
Sure. Though, actually--they've been tellin' all the new people to skip out on their rooms and find one on floors 1-10. Keep everyone together and all. You wanna go find a new one, or go to the one on your tattoo?