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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
[ She smirks just a little, to show purposeful misunderstanding. Besides, he'd probably look pretty cute in bunny ears. And maybe a little bunny poof for a tail. Although no one else in the gym would be able to concentrate on exercise. ]
no subject
Hey, if they're on a decent pair of headphones, I'm not entirely opposed. The kind the block sounds, please.
no subject
Perhaps the floppy-eared type of bunny, then. Noise-cancelling flop. [ She nods at the boot. ] I'm glad it didn't come with a severed foot in it or something.
no subject
You get anything this time 'round?
no subject
No, nothing. Perhaps it's gearing up to try and startle me.
[ Nothing for several Jumps, and then wham! An arm. It would take a lot to surprise her, at this point, though. ]
But I hope not.
no subject
[ He's almost afraid to ask. ]
no subject
Oh, just some objects from home. Nothing disgusting.
[ She glances briefly at the ceiling. ]
Which, I hope, doesn't give anyone any ideas.
no subject
[ And yet he can't stop himself from wondering how it knows what to pick and why it picks what it does. ]
The canned shit's a mystery to me, though. SpaghettiOs? Really?
[ He is not a fan. :| ]
no subject
What are they?
[ Beyond her time. And not something brought back from another world, oddly enough. Or not so oddly... ]