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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
[At least on the network, he's not sure about her plans for lying low after recent events.]
Doesn't talk a whole lot, but don't let that fool you--she's really nice.
[This is obviously the most important point to make at this time.]
no subject
I guess I'll keep a look out for her.
no subject
[He pauses, then adds.]
Actually, that'd probably the best place to look for a lotta stuff. They put out a guide every time there's a jump.
[And it requires little if any socializing to get it!]
no subject
Right. I'll- I'll make sure to check it out.
no subject
Yeah. You can make your own posts to ask questions and everything too--that's what a lotta new people do.
Other than that... Well, there's a lotta confusing stuff goin' on, so try not to look at it too hard. The important stuff is not to mess around with anything weird. Or the monsters.
no subject
Whoa, what? Did you just say monsters? [He looks equal parts confused and skeptical of that.]
no subject
Yeah, monsters. They're usually far out in the hallways, but sometimes we'll run into 'em.
...They're pretty rough and a pain to deal with. I'd say stay the hell away from 'em, if you can.
no subject
And you've... seen 'em yourself?
no subject
Fought 'em myself. Really nasty things--harder to take down than a person.
no subject
no subject
Like really screwed up dogs and rats. You'll definitely know 'em when you see 'em.
no subject
No one knows where they come from?
no subject
[He chews his lip as he thinks it over. There might be more information on the creatures, but he doesn't really have it.]
No idea how the hell they got the way they are, though. Not sure I wanna know.
no subject
Right... Well, I guess I'll have to really make sure to stay away from them.
[Except, knowing himself the way he does, he might not quite follow through on that.]
no subject
Good plan. And definitely make sure you're armed when you go out, just in case.
no subject
Does everybody wander around here with-- with lasers or whatever?
no subject
[He furrows his brow and shakes his head. That'd just be weird, kid.]
But you should always be prepared, like with a knife or somethin'.
[He taps the breastpocket of his jacket where he keeps his.]
no subject
Though he did make plasma blades for Wasabi without Baymax making any complaints.]
Right. I, uh... I'll keep that in mind, look for something to defend myself with.
So- The, uh, monsters. Are they the only thing to look out for?
no subject
The ones in the kitchens aren't perfect, but they work fine enough.
[He pauses, reflecting on all the terrible things they have to deal with here...]
Sometimes this place messes with our heads, too, but there's not a whole lot you can actually do about that. Just get ready to go through some rough times.
[Comforting advice, he's sure.]