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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
[ Fortescue has Jazz on her shoulder, now, as she's heading for the lift, but pauses at the sight of her drinking buddy and his... unusual items. She can't fathom the usage of the thing that seems to go on an arm, but it does look similar to something back home that's used for close-range combat by the Soviets.
She quirks a smile. ]
Find any bullets?
no subject
[ He gestures to the hand cannon with a rueful look. ]
I guess I'll have to start looking for more ammo here. Problem is, I'm not sure they manufacture anything for these models anymore.
[ Understatement. The problem with using weaponry centuries out of date... ]
no subject
[ She chuckles. Projectile weapons have more or less made way for energy weapons, which aren't as wasteful though they're a bit more temperamental. Fortescue relies on her bladed gauntlets more than she relies on her energy pistol. She has neither, here on the ship, and sometimes wishes she did. ]
You'll just have to get creative, darling.
no subject
The only smith I've found so far here was making shields and spears. Seems it's either that or ray guns.
no subject
Have you tried an energy weapon yet? They were my go-to, during the war. I'm not certain how reliable the ones on the ship are, though.
[ Though most of the time, she preferred to get nice and close to her opponent and then use her gauntlets on them. But if she couldn't, shooting them was a nice option. ]
no subject
[ There had been Shock Jockey...but that's not quite the same thing. He glances at her, curious. ]
You were a soldier?
[ And that's all he's asking - a simple yes or no question. If she doesn't want to talk about it, he won't press. ]
no subject
More or less.
[ More, for the most part. ]
Special forces. Very dangerous missions. All the stuff that makes a good story after the fact, but makes you doubt you'll see next Tuesday when you're actually in the moment.
no subject
[ "Special forces" didn't exist in Booker's time, but it's clear she wasn't a grunt. ]
I take it you're from the future, too.
[ spoiler, booker: when you're from 1912, everyone's from the future. ]
no subject
Nineteen forty-four. For a lot of people here, that's the past.
[ And yet, her home's a lot more advanced than some of them. ]
no subject
At least that's a year I might have a hope of seeing someday.
[ He'd be an old man, but still. At least it's not hundreds of years in the future. ]
And they've got...energy weapons by then?
no subject
Yes, but... we're not precisely typical.
[ In fact, she hasn't met a single other person whose world has access to the same technology in the same period. ]
Where I'm from, we cracked how to travel to other universes. Like coming here, except we can control it. And we've sent people out to collect things, like information or technology, to boost us past where we were 'supposed' to be.
no subject
You mean tears? You can open tears?
no subject
Not exactly, but I suppose, in concept, they're similar. We send a person through one at a time.
no subject
[ Or so he suspects. Why would she still be here otherwise, rather than walking back through to her own world? And if Elizabeth's abilities don't work here, it's unlikely that anyone else's would. ]
Can everyone there open them?
no subject
[ There's the Void Gate, too, but she's just going to... gloss over that one. Too many bad memories, even if, technically, the Void Gate is the more impressive of the two. It's also the most ill-used. ]
Part machine, part magic, though these days it's getting to be less magic and more technology, the more we see of other universes.
no subject
[ Well, it's as good an explanation for what Elizabeth can do as anything else, he supposes. He shrugs, willing not to think about it too hard. ]
Is that how you got here?
no subject
[ She'd been on another continent entirely, in fact. Very deliberately. ]
However I got here, it's the same as everyone else.