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ataraxionlogs2015-06-08 12:00 am
ataraxites) wrote in ataraxionlogs2015-06-08 12:00 am
Entry tags:
- !jump,
- ai enma,
- ailanne rei,
- allison argent,
- bail organa,
- brigid tenenbaum,
- captain hook (killian jones),
- cora hale,
- daryl dixon,
- death (discworld),
- death (sandman),
- derek hale,
- eleanor lamb,
- elizabeth,
- enfys llewelyn,
- fenris,
- firo prochainezo,
- garrett hawke,
- grant ward,
- hermione granger,
- ivan,
- jackson "jax" teller,
- karone,
- laura roslin,
- lee "apollo" adama,
- leo fitz,
- leonard "bones" mccoy (xi),
- maes hughes,
- max rockatansky,
- minho,
- nami,
- robin,
- scott mccall,
- skye,
- tadashi hamada,
- takeshi,
- taylor "tyke" kee,
- thomas
forty-fourth 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: Awareness comes to you slowly in the smothering quiet of the blue fluid. In the light piercing through from the medical bay you realise there's a shadow, a figure stood at the glass of your gravcouch, a hand pressed to the surface just above your face. Fear spikes through your gut as waves of alien sensation crash into your mind, a rage that feels endless, all-consuming, furious, molten hatred that you know is for you.
When the fluid drains, door sliding open to deposit you on the medbay floor, you remember it. Remember it coming again and again, like a nightmare that plagued your sleep over and over, leaving you with no respite, no rest. Days. Perhaps even longer.
You remember that the light coming through from behind the shadow was red.
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.
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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: Awareness comes to you slowly in the smothering quiet of the blue fluid. In the light piercing through from the medical bay you realise there's a shadow, a figure stood at the glass of your gravcouch, a hand pressed to the surface just above your face. Fear spikes through your gut as waves of alien sensation crash into your mind, a rage that feels endless, all-consuming, furious, molten hatred that you know is for you.
When the fluid drains, door sliding open to deposit you on the medbay floor, you remember it. Remember it coming again and again, like a nightmare that plagued your sleep over and over, leaving you with no respite, no rest. Days. Perhaps even longer.
You remember that the light coming through from behind the shadow was red.
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.
garrett hawke | dragon age | ota: pods, lockers. closed: showers.
Burnish-brown eyes flash in quick looks around, taking in the mass of equally naked, slimy bodies collecting themselves and herding off to only the Maker knows where, dismissing them all from being immediate threats while his captor remains elusive. His hands at a testing hover, his breathing low and deep plunging, blinking hard. Letting his heart rate hike back down. Bitter, foreign fear gathers at the back of his mouth like nausea, slowly getting swallowed.
Nothing happens that warrants immediate violence. He goes ignored.
Lifting his hands, Hawke palms at the slime on his face, slicking his hair back, knuckling away the stuff from where it clings to the dark hair that grows in down his jaw. There's a pause, before he cannot help but taste at the corner of his mouth, before a look of distaste flickers across his expression, and he spits sideways.
"I don't know what I expected," is muttered, mainly, lacking the audience. Lacking, too, any better plan, Hawke moves in the direction of the strangers around him.This is a good idea. Hawke would appreciate this idea better if a sense of urgency wasn't already clawing at him from the inside.
The showers, that is. Hot water, needling his skin, feels like a welcome comfort from the stark cold of the rest of this place, but it's a trapping that he is determined not to delay him longer than necessary, save for the several seconds spent studying the markings appeared on his arm. He ensures he doesn't have any lingering slime clinging to any part of his person, washing himself down with impatient hands and keeping a side eye on those that range near.
Hawke leaves the water running as he turns away, deciding he is clean enough. Blunt nails scratch at his chest as he considers where to go next, noticing that yet again, a certain direction is being herded in. It reminds him of sheep being funneled down to slaughter, willing to meet their doom, as game as any of the people making brisk strides in that direction.
Maybe if he meets his doom too, he can punch its shadowy red-glowing formless self in the face.There are sounds coming from his locker.
Growling, whining, snuffling sounds, and Hawke -- standing steady, having achieved cleanliness and a towel wrapped around his waist -- remains poised and considering, checking the numbering on his arm and comparing it to that of the numbering on the metal cabinet it's led him to. No one else's seem to be making that sound, but it only takes a moment's decision to decide that those sounds are too familiar to his ear to have any doubt.
Bracing himself, Hawke opens the locker, and predictably, a large animal comes rolling out of its cramped confines. Part mastiff, part prehistoric wolf, part bear, possibly, but all Dog, whose black lips snarl back to reveal fangs before even sharper intelligence takes in Hawke's presence, and his hackles immediately flatten, his tail starting to wag.
Hawke ducks down onto a knee, giving the animal a hug and a rough scrub around the ears, a deep laugh unlocked in his chest. At least he's got one friend aboard.
[ ooc ; feel free to revert to an action spam format, i will follow suit. ]
lockers.
"Do we all get dogs?" Merrill inquires brightly from her place at his left shoulder, standing in front of her own locker which so far she's only looked at curiosly. It's immediately apparent that she skipped the showers in favor of puzzling out the numbers, since she's still all blue-slick beneath the towels she's swaddled herself in for modesty.
She's also incredibly shaken, stomach still roiling with that feeling of dread that always follows waking from a nightmare. But seeing Hawke's familiar broad shoulders has done a lot to ease that. Everything will probably be all right, so long as Hawke's here. He might even know where they are!
Merrill doesn't, but that's not really a new state of being for her.
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lockers!!
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pods.
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Lockers. Hope you don't mind one more.
never!
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pods.
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lockers
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pods!
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lockers
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skye / showers or lockers
When she spills out of the grav couch, though—short of breath, freezing, and ready to puke—it's definitely a new one. Top five at least. Tight contender for number one, steadily winning that top slot. She sputters blue liquid past her lips, pulling her hands up around her naked body as she looks around at the other people in the room—some naked and confused like she is, but some stepping out like they're just showering or paying taxes.
Dark hair sticks to her, and she pushes it back away from her face as she looks up and around. There's no sign of the dark figure, hovering outside the grav couch before it opened. But she can still feel it, rage pulsing out of it, like a weight on her mind. She pulls herself up. ]
Come on, come on. [ She mumbles blindly, feet carrying her in a hurry through the medical bay. Towels are stacked by the showers, and she invites herself to one without washing the blue fluid off. It's only when she's wrapping it around her that she even notices the tattoo. 044 - 084. ] What the hell? [ Her hand reaches down, trying to smear it away, but it's not marker. It's embedded deep in her skin. A brand. Like something out of a nightmare, something that can't be real, can't be happening to her. ]
[ Later, once she's got some idea of where she is and what's happening, she's managed to shower the stasis fluid off and bring herself to her locker. Some of the contents, she doesn't recognize. Some strange, metal device. Her fingers brush against it for only a brief moment, and the surface seems to ripple when her hand draws near. She pulls it back, perplexed, and settles on dressing herself. She can run that by Fitzsimmons when she links up with them later.
Right now, she needs to find Coulson. She grabs for the comms device once her clothes are on, scanning the previous entries to catch herself up while she uses her free hand to tug her hair out of the collar of her jacket. ]
Locker.
[It's a bit sheepish, mostly because Takeshi's pretty sure it's rude to intrude on people while they're at their lockers trying to figure themselves out (she's new, Takeshi thinks; she acts new). He has just cleaned off his wet hair, had just gotten his sweater back on, the black leather powersuit underneath only shown at his neck and over his hands as he observes her. She was poking at something weird, and he's too nosy for his own good. And short. Very short, even for his age, and he has to crane his neck up to see.
His panda, which is sitting a little ways behind him chewing on his own foot, is not so nosy.
Yet. Lucky you.]
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showers?? ish.
objectifies jax
business as usual.
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showersish!!
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lockers!
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lockers~
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thomas | ota + closed to minho.
[ this happened once before. thomas remembers it vividly, waking up, sliding out of his pod and looking to his right for teresa and finding no one. there’s a sick, sinking feeling in his stomach, compounded by the red light, the smothering press of anger that made thomas' hands shake, but he refuses to accept anything just yet. he pushes himself up, visibly attempts to shake off the unsettling sensation, then grabs his clothes, and goes looking. ]
Excuse me, have you seen Newt? [ hasty, addressing anyone close enough to catch at. ] He’s blond, taller than me, walks with a limp?
[ thomas’ less than stellar descriptive skills might be working against him in this case. he’s trying to keep his voice steady, but some of the worry is bleeding through, obvious in the expression on his face. ]
lockers / closed to minho.
[ it takes time for thomas to admit defeat. when he finally comes back, finds minho, he’s pale and his hair has dried in crazy tufts, and the panic has dipped into frustrated resignation. ]
Did you--did you find him? [ hopeful, in spite of himself. ] I asked everyone I could, no one had seen anything.
[ he wants minho to tell him he’s wrong, that newt’s in the showers, that thomas is a shuckhead and they can all go up to their room together. it’s a long shot, but maybe, maybe… ]
lockers
I didn't see Newt! Is he okay? Did he get in his pod okay?
[Takeshi can feel that worry, man. He'll do whatever you need help with, if that's the case.]
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lockers
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Ailanne Rei | OC | OTA
Ailanne's eyes drifted open slowly and, for once, panic seized him as he recognized that he was submerged in some sort of liquid. And then he saw the hand pressed against the glass. An unfamiliar jolt of fear pierced him as the feelings of rage washed over him. Time must have passed -- he must have gone unconscious at some point, but when his eyes snapped opened the next time, panic set in in earnest as he realized he was still submerged. He still had air in his lungs somehow, but he stole that and used it to force a pressurized burst of air away from him in all directions, trying to break out of the casing. It didn't work, but the liquid began to drain. Immediately, his attention focused to the object jammed down his throat, but even as he reached for it, it removed itself and the door to his tomb slid open, spilling him naked onto the floor.
There were people all around, but Fates damn whoever had done this to him -- his memories were broken fragments and he couldn't properly get his bearings.
Hissing a curse, Ai dragged himself up from the floor and breathed in deeply, replenishing the air he had stolen a moment ago.
[Wandering the Halls]
Waking up in unusual locations was, to put it as delicately as possible, not something Ailanne was completely unaccustomed to. Waking up in those locations with no memory of arriving? A little less common. Given his line of work, Ai had trained himself to never wake up groggy or experience the bleary disconnect with where he was and where he had been.
He couldn't be blamed, therefore, for cutting and running nearly a moment after stumbling from the Fates' damned machine he'd woken up in. Sure, he could have stuck around and tried to talk to a few more of the other naked, milling individuals in that initial room, but it just made so much more sense to take his possessions and beat a hasty retreat. Ai might not have even stayed long enough to locate his things if he had been even a touch less naked, but circumstances had been what they had been.
And now he was lost.
Momentarily without a direction was the phrasing he preferred, however.
As he walked through the strange metallic hallways, he kept his steps soft and his eyes alert, constantly observing his surroundings. Everything about this place put him on edge. This was nowhere within his homeland. He was getting that feeling loud and clear.
Halls
Serah ran into Ai somewhere along the cabin halls, almost retreating into her room before seeing his face. Sensing that he might be angry (and letting angry people just run around? not a good idea), Serah called out to him.
"Hello?"
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stiles stilinski / teen wolf / open
Face first into the metal floor isn't the way anybody wants to start their day. Stiles let's out a pained groan, which loosens the fluid in his lungs enough that he starts to hack until he vomits, a disgusting dribbly smear of blue fluid and bile. Every jump he steps into his tube in his tighty whiteys thinking hey, this time will be easier. And every jump? It's freaking not.
Once he's recovered enough to pick himself up he starts to go through the usual motions: find a towel. Head to the showers to rinse off, broad feet slapping on the wet floor. Walk still dripping to his locker — not as embarrassedly modest as he once was, because the gods of puberty have been pretty good to him, and anyway, it looks like he's one of the first wave of open pods, 'cause there's not that many people around. Get dressed, and then go looking for...
Except, his routine gets interrupted when he gets to his locker, hanging open, empty. Stiles feels around for a moment and then looks around the fourteenth row for the culprit.
"Okay, ha ha, not funny, guys. Come on, gimme my stuff back," he deadpans, but every other locker in that row is hanging loose too. Like none of his neighbors are gonna come claim their stuff. A shiver runs down Stiles' spine unpleasantly, and he nearly stacks it skidding on the wet tile as he goes to try and find anyone — any other person at all, suddenly desperate to hear the sound of a human voice. "Hey. Hey."
It doesn't occur to him to check his forearm, and the gleaming new number there.
LOCKERS AGAIN; 044; PREFERENCE FOR NEW ARRIVALS;
Let's assume he eventually works out where he's actually gotta go. So there he is in front of his brand new locker, 044, 014, real funny joke with the numbers, and all that's in there is junk. Medication is important, sure, but his keys are useless, and the Go board is just fucking with him.
For now, he's gonna shimmy out of his towels and into his crew jumpsuit, but it's obvious he's not cool with his hoard.
"Hey, excuse me, did anyone get an extra t-shirt I can borrow?" he asks, loudly, to whoever else is around and going through their stuff.
CLOSED TO HALE SIBLINGS;
He's waiting on the ninth floor, hands jammed in the pockets of his jumpsuit, for whichever one of them steps out of the lift first. Everything is weird and different now, and he wants the reassurance of someone he knows has been around. If Derek or Cora still live here, then they'll be able to give him the information he needs.
Let's overlook the fact that getting information from any Hale that isn't Peter can be like pulling teeth. He also suspects Derek probably has his stuff, like the weirdo hoarder he is, so, you know, beggars can't be choosers.
(( note: brackets are fine! ))
slaps this tag together hi boo hi
for all derek's mostly adapted to life without his powers, he still keenly feels their absence. especially in moments like this, where he wants to know if it is stiles, wants to be able to scent him, hear his heartbeat, be certain in all the ways he can. but wishing for that won't necessarily make it happen. derek looks at stiles intently before his expression softens, relaxes as he tips his head in greeting. ]
Stiles. [ quietly, tension in derek's shoulders dissipating as he comes to a stop, triggers the mechanism to open his door. ] Loitering around my locker get old?
[ it's an obvious attempt to deflect his own relief at seeing stiles again. in the back of his head, he's thinking about texting lydia, wondering if she's already seen him. the invitation in is implied, not that he thinks stiles wouldn't have just followed him into his room regardless. ]
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lockers part ii, the lockening
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Lockers part II
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Max Rockatansky | Mad Max: Fury Road | some OTA, some locked!
'Out of one situation into another. It's always a terrible idea, to let people get to your head, think that there will be a moment's peace; there never is. Not really. But at least the voices were quiet — for just a moment.'
"Max, can you hear me?" a soft voice whispers, and the little girl stands outside the wall of glass, putting her hand against it as a shadow stands beside her — and it's all red behind her, red red red, which is not necessarily new, but it's different; he scrabbles, and he swears in the chaos of rage and roiling emotion burning through him he puts his hand out to press desperately against the child's; her curly hair is wet, blue eyes piercing and burrowing in the middle of that bloody color —
And then Max's eyes snap open before he's catapulted unceremoniously into a very blue, very gray world. Which really makes no sense at all, because for the longest time, his vision had been all warm, hot colors caked across a deserted whistling dust bowl. He vomits what little is in his stomach, glancing around in a panic with dilated eyes. 'Max, hey Max, Max — LOOK AT ME, MAX — !!, and the figured around him are all foreign, all too blue and pale colors, metallic but not old scraps — and the hallucinations are coming back violently, storming in and crowding him, the imprint of that black figure close at hand and likely ready to tear him apart.
He jumps for the nearest person who moves toward or around him, likely slams their face into the pod doors before making a run for it buck-naked through the showers. No time for second-guessing, not really. But it seems like there's no where to really hide and sort his head out, and the voices are screaming as always in the middle of his more blind panics — the little girl of his nightmares flies at him from every young woman's face, eyes dark and demanding. He feels the limp of his run, his bad knee uncomfortably throbbing with every footfall; he needs his brace. Needs to get out of here. It's like the citadel all over again.
Best get out of his way. He's in flight mode — people will definitely be getting pushed down if they're in his way, and if they try to step toward him or talk to him (or stop him), they'll be getting a fist to the stomach or face. There's no calming him right now, not with words. Not with touch. Feel free to try, but it will likely be a short encounter with a naked guy with a large, still healing back tattoo, trying to throw you into a wall and growl at you like he's mostly rabid.
[MED BAY // LOCKED TO TADASHI]
When he finally slides into the med bay, he figures he's safe for five seconds to try and readjust. Except... would you look at that, someone else in the room. Surely they would not mind a scalpel held to their throats; it's the closest thing to him, and the guy there doesn't seem built for fighting — likely not a threat as a warrior, so he rushes him with all intents and purposes to throw him into a wall and hold a very sharp medical instrument to his neck.
"Where do I leave?"
It's sufficient ice-breaking.
Sorry Tadashi.
[CORRIDORS // LOCKED TO BUCKY AND TYKE AND I THINK JAX IS GONNA BE A SNOOPING ASS AND POPCORN AT THIS MESS]
Somewhere in that mess, Max gets pants. Thank god. Last thing he needs is to be tripping out in a mysterious prison with no fucking pants. Where is my fucking jacket, more like it, only his head won't stop spinning and his adrenaline hasn't gone down since he fell out of that weird goo-filled pod. He still has it in his hair, itches it away from his messy bangs as he rushes to get the elevator; luckily, there's not a lot of people there, all of them still doing... whatever the hell they do back in that room. He's getting up to the actual floors of this place — what the hell is this place — before he steps out with the scalpel in hand and scissors in the other. You never know which you'll need. Maybe both.
He's aiming for wherever an exit is.
God willing, he's getting the hell out. Then he can wonder just why this place is so different from every single place he's ever laid eyes on. This all was so new, so clean, so different. How?? Who made this place? Why? Why didn't anyone know about it? Are they harvesting people? He's got a new tattoo on him, and he's none-too-thrilled after his last close encounter.
Time to move.
Gotta get my head on straight.
'Max — this way, come this way...!'
A gun sure would be nice, right about now.
Med Bay
He closed his eyes and pressed a hand to his forehead as he leaned against one of the counters. Before he went up to the room he shared with his brother, he was just going to take a minute away from everyone to clear his head and--
What was that sound?
Tadashi shoved up slightly on the bill of his baseball cap and squinted toward the gravity couch area as some sort of commotion broke out. Concerned, he pushed away from the counter and started toward the noise. Everything happened quickly after that. A man slid into the med bay. There eyes locked for a moment and Tadashi opened his mouth to ask a question.
Thud -- Max was right, Tadashi wasn't a warrior. The karate he did know was insufficient when put up against someone who's actually fought for his life. Tadashi grimaced as he hit the wall, then froze as he noticed the scalpel at his neck while the mad man's demand echoed in his ears. Tadashi's gaze darted to the gravity couch area, his first concern being for his friends -- had this guy hurt any of them? Fear gripped him for a moment as his attention flashed back to Max, but Tadashi swallowed it.
"No one wants to hurt you." He tried for a level, calm tone. It was difficult with the scalpel there. "Let's just... let's just talk, okay. Just... just put that down. I'll tell you whatever I can."
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hello here to get knocked over, as is right and canon
oh gosh hook forgIVE me this is the shortest CR thread ever and yet the most rewarding
max's path of naked destruction
naked max: tanned booty road
i strip, i dress, i strip again
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COME AT ME BRO
1/3
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here to provide representation.
oh my god stop it
never
grant ward || varied locations
.PODS .SHOWERS .LOCKERS - OPEN TO ALL
.LIFTS .ETC | c l o s e d
((ooc: I will match format!))
( lifts ) for later
Almost.
The doors slide open, and Skye's attention flicks up briefly from her comm device's screen, ready to assess the area in front of her and step in—it's automatic. But she startles and freezes in the threshold, dropping her comm.
"Ward!" She's on her knees beside him in an instant, slipping one hand behind his head. Last time she saw Ward, he was on the other side of the table in the interrogation room on the Bus, waiting for eval after shooting the Clairvoyant in the chest.
As uncertain as she'd been about the lengths he'd gone to then, she's not uncertain now. Concern overwhelms all of that. In the same way he'd lost it trying to protect her, she abandons all baggage, driven straight to her desire to help him. She checks his pulse at his neck, exhaling her relief as the doors slide shut. "Wake up. Come on, wake up." She keeps one hand cradling the back of his head, moves her other to shake his shoulder.
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laughs (i mean lifts, typo obvs)
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Maes Hughes | Fullmetal Alchemist | ota
Hughes tries not to chalk everything up to fate, because that sort of thing is made exclusively by yourself — but even he has to admit, this seems like something out there in time and space wasn't quite done with him, was it? Granted, he could do without the blue goop and the general panic and the — everything else. But this isn't the worst thing ever. It beats a lot of moments in Hughes' life, dying included.
Crap. Crap, crap, crap.
He tries not to think about that too much, because it's torturous and doesn't do him any good; if he thinks about dying, he thinks about home, and if he thinks about home, he thinks about the little girl waiting for him — asking where he is in the morning, when she's getting ready for the day and needs papa to put her hair up — and he just could not go down that path right now. It's easier to focus on how utterly screwed over Amestris and the surrounding nations are than his family, easier to think about how he had the information there at the tips of his fingers and the carpet got yanked right out from under him, just when it was the most crucial moment to get Roy on the damn phone (and wouldn't you know it, he's got a scar on his chest as proof of his smart stupidity).
There's gotta be a way to get in contact with them, right? This place is supposed to be a technological wonder (and boy, is it). Surely there's some way of... he's not sure, shooting a freaky phone line down? How fun would that be, contacting Roy-ol'-buddy-ol'-pal from a space ship that takes in the dead. How would you even begin that conversation? 'Hey, Roy, I'm super dead — sorry about that! How's my girls? Sorry for turning into a crime scene. How's the team? By the way, there's a giant transmutation circle you should probably look into.' Yeah, that's not gonna fly very well. Ugh.
Maybe he can at least put some faith in Roy's smarts. Maybe he'll figure out just what Hughes couldn't get to him in time. Maybe his death'll at least be a clue in and of itself that something horribly, horribly wrong is going down. He could only hope. Sighing in defeat, he pops open the locker (wow, this technology is insane) and thinks about how much he wants to see his family's faces right now — which is pretty funny, because it just so happens his locker is full of pictures. They fall over like a jenga tower, covering Hughes and creating a rather impressive mountain all around him.
"Holy — " he starts, eyes big as he adjusts his glasses. "Well, the mysterious space gods sure know the way to my heart." He looks over his shoulder, calling out, "Anybody know where to find some boxes around here?!"
He's gonna need a lot of 'em.
[POD ROOMS // SHOWERS // WHEREVER]
Later on, he's got everything under control and he's mostly just hovering around the lockers and pod rooms to take inventory of who he's dealing with around here. He's being a total bro about it, though — you need some pills to help with the nausea and stomach problems? He's got you some, right here man. Might as well make himself useful while trying to get some information out of anyone around.
Lockers
But even caught up in his own problems, he can't miss something so dramatic as the cascade of photographs. As he kneels to help gather the pictures up, he sees that they all feature the same subjects. Particularly, a rather cute little girl. "Is she yours?"
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scott mccall | teen wolf | open!
[ For once, Scott isn't in the middle of anything particularly important when it happens. He's lying in bed, window open, trying to sleep — and failing miserably, mind too unquiet to let him really settle. When he finally closes his eyes, he wakes up surrounded by blue.
It isn't his first time in the pods, and he's done enough drowning back home that the press of liquid's familiar. The press of fear — that's familiar, too. He yanks the tubes free of his throat quickly, coughing as his feet hit the grates. One hand's flung out to the side of the pod to help him keep his balance, then it's two, three heavy breaths before he pulls it out to something more steady.
One hand swipes over his face to clear his vision, and there's a flicker of red as his eyes narrow, pushing through the confusion and gaining focus. Definitely the Tranquility. He follows that observation up with an attempt to sniff out more familiar clues, only to get a nose full of chemical goo that causes him to sneeze, loudly. ]
B | LOCKERS
[ He goes to the wrong locker first. Row seventeen-ish, not even close, and he has to shake his head (both at himself and to clear it, admittedly) before he heads to the right one. There's a familiarity to the way he swings the door open that's in stark contrast to the 044 on his arm, but he still startles when something falls out of it, jumping back half a step.
It's a mask. There are uneven leather straps dangling from the sides, what looks a little bit like blood both dried and fresh splashed across the brow. But the thing that registers before any of those details is the fact that it's a large skull, origins unknown.
More importantly, Scott has no idea what the hell it is. The ship, probably. That's a thing the ship does, right?? Put random creepy shit in people's lockers. He stares at it for a moment before crouching down to pick it up, slowly rotating it over in his hands. ]
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Scott? [ He seems distracted, anyway. Her eyes flicker down to consider what's hidden behind his locker door, and she digs her heels in, freezing in place when it comes into view. ] Was that in your locker?
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a)
nnnnooooooooooooo
already crying about it
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hops in.
words, who needs em
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lockers!
sorry about canon points liam
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rolls up late with tacos
mmmmmm tacos
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screw hiatuses
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Eleanor Lamb | Bioshock | Open
The nightmares would have been worse if Eleanor hadn't been having terrible dreams for years already. The nightmares that Rapture created set a very high bar for things that left you shaking and screaming when you awoke, but this one came close...or at least, it would have, if her attention had not been yanked away the second she woke up by the tube in her throat and the liquid all around her.
She clawed at the tube even as it retracted, and landed with all the grace of a panicked monkey when the couch dumped her out onto the floor. The cold metal of the floor pressed against her skin made her realize she was naked, but as she hauled herself to her feet, she didn't have time to worry about it. Not yet. Other people were climbing from their own couches, in the same state of panicked confusion. People she didn't recognize, which made no sense. She knew everyone in Persephone, they were all mother's ridiculous followers. But she didn't see a soul here who was familiar, so how had they...
This wasn't Persephone. Her head turned, this way and that, finally processing the room, the walls, the couches. There wasn't anywhere like this in Rapture, but...then what was going on? Some of the fluid still left in her hair dripped into her face, yanking her from her thoughts, and she reached up to wipe it away with the back of her hand, shaking it away onto the floor as she whirled towards someone...approaching her. Someone else from the couches, but that didn't mean someone she could trust.
Her hand came up, pointed at them almost like a weapon, though she surely didn't look terribly threatening. A scrawny, naked, too-pale teenager, but her eyes were hard and furious.
"What is going on? Where are we?! Is this one of Mother's tricks? Answer me!" She wasn't quite shouting, but it was close, the edges of her strange British/Irish accent more obvious in her panic. Rationally, she knew that this was beyond even Sofia Lamb, but that didn't mean she could quite believe it yet.
Showers and Lockers
With her panic, at least, temporarily abated, by necessity more than reassurance, since she couldn't just stand there by the couch she had woken up in, naked, for the rest of her life. Eleanor had showered, choosing one as far away from everyone else as possible. She'd discovered the tattoo on her arm while she was doing so, which had led to a whole new wave of confusion and frustration, but she was forcing it down as she stood in front of 'her' locker, with a towel wrapped around her.
The jumpsuit inside caught her eye, but that wasn't what had her attention, as shoved into the locket was a rust-colored, steampunkish diving suit. She reached in and yanked the helmet out, barely fitting it through the door, and turned it over in her hands. If whoever had brought her here wanted her as a prisoner, why would they give her something like this back?
She pulled the whole suit out, setting it on the bench behind her, with the helmet and syringe-spear resting against the side, but rather than put it on, she pulled out the ship jumpsuit and began changing into that.
Her diving suit was a comfort, but it was also a reminder of the monster she tried to pretend she wasn't. She didn't need to put it on just yet...she hoped.
But once she was dressed and gathering up the suit, she carefully pulled the glove and spear free and pulled that on, flexing the fingers a few times and thrusting the spear forward into the empty air. Okay. Being armed made her feel a little better...
Looking for a room
The spraypaint on her locker had convinced Eleanor of one thing, and that was that even here in this strange place, there were crazy people writing messages on the walls. Just like home. But the one thing she had learned early on was not to do what crazy graffiti told her too, which was why she was heading in the opposite direction from the 'recommended' floors, still wearing her spear glove, her helmet and suit tucked under her arm, with the other odds and ends she had found in her locker stuffed in the helmet like a bucket for now.
She knew this was probably a bad idea, but she'd spent so much of her life out of her control, and even if this wasn't any different, at least she had the option of not doing as she was told.
Besides...how dangerous could it be? She'd been awake for hours now and hadn't seen a single splicer....
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Eleanor could follow that voice just slightly to her right, and — it's a little boy. Specifically, a little boy covered in goo, but not quite so naked as she is; he's wearing his full Gantz suit (well, but small, a very small little suit), and his hair is covered in goop, but he's alert and concerned. And unafraid, it seems, stepping toward her with his brow wrinkled into a worried little look.
"Don't be afraid; I don't know what kinda tricks your mom does, but I don't think she did it."
Pinky promise, ma'am. Don't mind the panda wandering off behind him; Hoi Hoi needs to go get dressed up.
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room search.
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Karone | Power Rangers | Open
[She doesn't take lightly to being kidnapped or waking up in strange places. Each time this has happened to her, it's ended with bad consequences. She was brainwashed into being evil and thinking that her family was dead. She'd had cybernetic implants put in that quashed any good freewill that she had.
But this was different. Yes, she's in a strange place, blue goo dripping uncomfortably off of her, but there's nothing there that makes her think that she's been kidnapped by a villain intent on harming her this time.
Well, nothing except the tattoo that's on her now.]
Something tells me this will be more difficult to get rid of than those implants.
[She looks around warily, seeking a familiar face, but there's no one. Not her brother Andros, not her friends, not even someone who she can take her ire out on, like Trakeena or Divatox. There's no one that seems familiar at all.
Uncertain of what to do, she starts following the crowd around her. Strength in numbers, right? ]
B | Corridors
[After getting cleaned off - using a combination of showers and telekinesis to get the blue goo off of her - Karone had found her locker.
Along with some odd messages in red.
But at least her locker had given her her clothes, as well as her old locket with a picture of her brother. The familiarity of having her things is nice. She'd taken the crew jumpsuit in the locker as well and slipped it on over her leather vest and leather pants. Might as well take everything that had been offered to her, right?
She keeps on flashing back to what she'd seen in the tube, though. That figure, that hand.
That hate.]
But who?
[She needs answers.
The only things she knows for certain are that she is once again taken from home, and that she is once again in space.
This place could be nowhere else.]
B
The warnings aren't as dire as they look.
[Now, what had happened earlier... that was dire.]
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A
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McCoy hits the ground hard, falling to his hands and knees, and for a moment he's so shocked he can't even breathe. He chokes on air, trying to gasp, then he coughs weakly, then explosively until the choking feeling eases. Catching movement in the corner of his eye he rears back until he's pressed up against what feels like a wall, heart pounding.
It takes a moment for his vision to clear, for the shapes to solidify into humanoids in much the same shape as he is. Queasily he fumbles for his communicator and that's when McCoy realizes he's naked.
It's like first year of undergrad all over again, he thinks, slightly hysterically.
The people he sees vary, some like him, with shocky expressions and unsure of what to do. Others are calmly going about their business as if this whole 'surprise! you've been kidnapped and stripped naked by aliens!' thing is an old hat to them.
"Hey," his voice is roughened from the tube that'd been stuck down his trachea, god damn it, "Hey!" McCoy barks out more forcefully, snagging the arm of someone nearby who looks way too calm, "What in the hell is this place? What in god's name is going on?"
[ I hope the grabbing is ok, I can change it if it's not! ]
LOCKERS | OTA
He stares into his locker. Of all the god damned ridiculous things in the universe-
"Well, thank god." he drawls, as he pulls out a familiar pair of black briefs, "I can rest easy now that I have my damn underwear."
LOCKERS
What's up, man.
Takeshi's already dressed up in his suit, looking horribly amused at McCoy's joy at finding his undies. He's not sure why so many people get so worked up about being naked; the people in the aparpment back home always gotta be naked before they put their suits on. He's seen his dad's butt before. It's no biggy. bro.
"Resting's import'int!" His eyes twinkle a bit with familiarity. "Is that you, Mr. Reaper?"
That's one guess, anyway. Did he return? Does he remember? Or is it the doctor?
oh my god what a wee bab ;~;
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PODS (8
omg what a delight
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LOCKERS
p u p p i e s OMG
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Pods
SORRY MA'AM 8(
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pods.
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CRASHES IN HERE HI BOO pods!!
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Rey | Open
For several seconds she gaps at the pod room like it was a psychedelic trip -- a feeling she had not experienced in quite some time. Not since the first jump, when she had woken here barely remembering her own name. She barely remembers it now, but not in the same way as she had back then.
Her body is trembling, fueled on pure adrenaline; her trembling arms out in front of her--
Seven fingers. Five on the left hand, thumb and forefinger on the right, leaving three little stumps where the remaining fingers had once been. It seems as if she's seeing it all for the first time, until her mind is able to rifle through the crowded memories in her head...
Her head... Quickly she touches her hair. Much shorter now than it was before having reluctantly entered the gravity couches the last jump. A memory that she's slowly recovering now, among other things. Things about here, the Tranquility. And also things about home.
Home.
Her hands slide down to her throat, feeling the vertical scar over her windpipe.
She remembers, but only little things here and there. Pieces of a puzzle revealing themselves bit by bit. The mob, shouting. "Burning Woman!" The knife, stabbing her in the throat. Down into a dark hole, falling, and falling. There are many others, flashing by in her mind at lightspeeds. Hard to keep up. Can't keep up.
Another piece then falls into place. A jagged piece: Dark. More recent. Something that had been peering at her through the glass just moments before slipping out of the pod. Something that is angry and wretched.
(in the shadow of his hand he hid me)
Did she really see that -- or was it another hallucination, brought about by her own fear?
The rush of it all makes her dizzy now. The pod room spinning relentlessly. So she sits there, wide-eyed and gasping. Getting her bearings once again as to where she is now and how much time could have possibly passed. Because it's like waking up from a long dream, only this time presenting a significant haircut, with new scars revealed by minimal clothes under a layer of blue goop.
Bearings? Check. Showered? Check. Clothes?
She needs clothes.
Rey really needs clothes, since a towel is hardly enough material to hide the evidence of newer injuries to her body. And, well, clothes being a necessary article of life and social graces. That, too. She's made it this far from the showers, until nausea takes hold and she stumbles. First slamming a shoulder against a couple of long since abandoned 001 lockers, then slowly settling down over the nearest bench.
The row of first jumper lockers is eerily derelict. The only current sign of life is a woman hunched over the bench with her hands over her head, panting like she's just run a marathon.
"Get your shit the fuck together, you cocker..." Rey hisses to herself.
[What it says on the tin!]
[ooc: As of this jump, Rey has received a canon update! Refer to link for more details.
Additionally, I can toggle between action and prose, whichever you prefer.]
lockers
His plan is to look for his friends after he has some proper clothes on, but he stops in his tracks when he sees Rey.
"Uh, Rey? You all--?"
Though he hasn't yet seen some of the nastier scars, the ones that are visible are enough to make him concerned. Wounds and the fact that she's hunched over like this, how can he think anything's okay?
Forgetting modesty for a moment, he grabs for her shoulder and tries to look her full on in the face. "What the hell happened?"
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hermione granger | harry potter | open + closed!
[ Hermione's exit from the pods isn't a graceful one. It's as disoriented as the worst of them, panicked and sobbing, and it's only the sight of strangers that snaps her out of it. Kicks her mind into gear long enough for her to realise the abrupt absence of pain, save for where her knees and palms struck the grates.
It feels like a bad echo of the bank. Observing, falling into line. It's the best option until she makes sense of it — or, at the very least, until she finds a wand. It isn't until she catches a glimpse of her reflection in the showers that she realises she'd been crying, and there's a ridiculous surge of humiliation at it, the fact that she'd been sobbing in front of strangers. She turns away from that distraction to focus on possible explanations: Apparition (of course not; she wouldn't leave the others behind), death.
That's it, that's the list. But this seems very counterintuitive, wizards dying and going to a place full of technology — which is everywhere, confronting, from the pods to the taps to the showers. There's a dark expression on her face when she finally makes it to her locker, unhappy and distrustful, and there's something awkward in the way she lifts her hand to open the door. Like she's not quite expecting it to work, just waving a tattoo and having tech fill in the gaps.
She doesn't even get that far. Instead someone passes the edge of her locker row, not so much close as sudden, and she jumps. Takes a full step back and throws a hand forward out of simple muscle-memory, the other holding white-knuckled to the towel wrapped around her. ]
B | LATER, still technically lockers fight me
[ It'd be an exaggeration to say she's calmed down after she's gotten dressed and done a quick inventory of her locker, but she's fifty percent less likely to assume the worst of random strangers. Which is for the best, considering the fact that she's now got a wand.
Two wands, actually. Hers is tucked safely away in the waist of her trousers, but the second's in her hand, dark and twisting and crooked. It feels alien. It feels hideous, honestly, and part of her wants to find a bin to throw it in. But the logical part of her knows throwing away a perfectly good wand's a stupid idea, particularly when you've just woken up in a strange place.
So instead she's standing at one end of the row of lockers, ugly wand in hand. Nearly all the crowd's filtered out by now, save for a few stragglers. It's quiet enough that when she lifts the wand and speaks, it's easy to make out the strange words: ]
Accio book.
[ The book in question is Hogwarts: A History, sitting on the floor at the opposite end of the row. The book gives a small jump, teeters on its spine, then falls over onto its face. ]
[ CLOSED TO ARRY OTTER ]
[ By the time she runs into Harry, she's a) nearly convinced she's gone mad and b) absolutely ready for a change of scenery. She's also nearly relaxed, or at least relaxed enough that she isn't expecting to hear Crucio at any second. They step onto the lift and she drags the sleeves of her sweater over her palms, a tactile and absent sign of wariness, but she still offers a small smile when he looks over and meets her eyes.
She seems content to peer at the details of the ship as they walk rather than rattle off a thousand questions. For a moment, anyway. It isn't until they step off the lifts on the floor that's presumably his that she starts speaking again, steps slowing as she leans towards one of the walls and risks running a hand over the cool paneling. ]
I think I preferred Hogwarts.
[ That's supposed to be a joke. Except she says it in and she means it, joke or not; she'd give anything to be back there, even if it hadn't been safe for a very long time. ]
A, INTERRUPTING
[Sirius's approach had been both close and sudden, a veering of direction once he caught sight of Miss Hermione Granger. Confronted with a hand, he arrests his approach halfway, hands partway up.
And he is, blessedly, already washed and clothed. No wand in hand, either. He doesn't know Hermione Granger quite well enough that he would have presumed to rush up and hug her--but he is glad to see her, he does like her, out of amusement and association--enough that, for all that she's in a towel, he might have thrown an arm around her neck or something, pulled her in sidelong for just a second, a brief press of warm firm slightly-hairy bulk against her--
But.
Whatever else is going on this jump--the usual sickness, the new edge of fear that is still lingering like a presence hovering just at his periphery--and then the factor of loss, both recent and long past, always keen when you're hauling yourself out of slime and heading toward the showers--
Well, it's not that all of that is forgotten. It's all there. The prickling of fear is especially sharp--something Sirius is not used to; what fear he feels, he typically overcomes, either by confrontation or by repression or by explosion. This is different. This is something that is still eating at him, inside-out. He isn't as good at those.
But. Instead of considering any of that, Sirius focuses at the problem at hand--i.e., Miss Granger--who, by the way and speaking of at hand, still has a hand out toward him. Sirius raises his eyebrows, patient and challenging all at once.]
And are you going to do something with that hand, miss, or can I relax? [Teasing, of course--but now that he's had a look at her face--] What's happened?
[Assuming, of course, she remembers. But she has to. She's gone right to her locker and opened it, even if she's not gotten anything out. Was this where her locker had been before? Sirius finds that he can't remember, but he begins to lower his hands anyway, even if he doesn't take another step forward.]
Who's the Minister of Magic, how many fingers am I holding up, can you walk a straight line for me, et cetera. [Bracingly, a touch more serious, he adds:] You're all right.
rude
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me meee me!!
youUUU
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B!
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A if that's alright!
absolutely!
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A
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pod room;
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lockers pt 2 please.
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lockers pt 2!!
bAEEEEEE
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Tadashi Hamada | BH6 | Open
After some of the stories he heard about people disappearing, Tadashi went out of his way to try to spot everyone he'd come to know in his month aboard the Tranquility. Even though he knew that he'd been new at the last Jump, it still surprised Tadashi to see so many new faces. Some of them, he was sure, were just people he hadn't met yet. Others were obviously brand new and confused. He didn't know how much help he could be to them compared to some of the more veteran passengers, so he went for the lockers first, checking to see that his hat and everything else were still waiting for him before heading for the showers at a quicker pace -- he really wanted clothes on.
Once the showering thing was done, he lingered at the locker for a while. He was still unnerved by what he had experienced in the pod this time, but he tried to push it out of his mind and offer a friendly smile to anyone who approached.
He might not be the best one for any of the newer passengers to get an explanation from, but he would still try his best to help.
[AFTER THIS ORDEAL/Med bay]
Tadashi was fairly certain that no other passage of time had ever been so slow. Seconds crawled by as he waited tensely for the lift doors to slide shut, gaze locked with Mad Max. When the lift finally left, Tadashi slumped in relief, stumbling sideways to grab the nearest solid source for support and took a deep, grateful breath.
That... had been the most intense experience of his life. Even counting the nightmares he'd faced on board this ship already -- the ones he was trying very hard to not think about lately.
Shaking himself free of that, Tadashi yanked his communicator from his pocket and sent a quick, brief message out onto the network. That done, he turned and jogged toward Max's path from the gravity couches. He had to make sure no one was hurt or needed help.
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That is, until he's caught up by Tadashi's friendly smile. He's not sure if it's aimed at him or just the general populace of humans around him, but regardless, he feels like it would be rude to just brush the person off. The alien lifts his hand tentatively in return, halting for now.
"Hello. Are you adjusting to the jump alright..?" He's unsure if this person is a newcomer, but he somehow doubts it. Most didn't just hang around greeting people after their arrival on board this ship.
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Heather Mason & William Tsang but OPEN!
That fucking sound.
Her cry is somewhere between a scream and the dying whine of air collapsing out of a punctured lung. It doesn't sound human, but William recognizes it immediately. He would recognize her anywhere. He turns so fast that his blue feet almost slip on the floor, and goes scrambling down the pods. It isn't far, of course; friends tend to pod together, simple social reciprocity. Still, he doesn't see the empty gravcouch beside the one that Heather Mason stepped out of. He doesn't even have to look to know that Ned is not emerging out of it. He knows that it's empty.
He wraps his arms around Heather automatically. One around her naked waist to support her, even though he's as weak as usual from recon syndrome-enhanced Jump sickness and depression superimposed over that. Suddenly, his colorful bouquet of problems seems small. Stand next to the howling void of Heather's loss, and your problems may, too. He bends his shoulders and says some nonsense thing to her ear, his back bearing up under the weight of two. He would like to get her to Medbay, thinks maybe it would be better to wash up in private, even if she doesn't care about anyone seeing or whatever now. He suspects, too, she'll start to feel her cyborg leg again; that it'll drag, innervation failing to draw enough bio-electricity from the lethargy of her movements.]
Oi, can I have that towel? [he asks the nearest passerby, desperation creeping unexpectedly into his voice.
William thinks she's usually got something arranged for the Jumps vis-a-vis decency, but he can neither remember clearly nor find it now, casting around. His eyes have blue in them and there's people and his mind, already taxed from the inexorable grind of his own sadness, is wobbling from the raw, new force of hers. Where's Takeshi? What the
fuck
everything.]
and now also a drive by
On silent feet, Natasi had started towards her. Blue leaves its colour behind in her pale hair, raked back off her face with fingernail tracks, and she wears nothing but the numerical tattoo printed harsh on her arm, and an expression that is more curious than it is concerned, but that too. Some memory diverts her focus away from shadowy figures and the urgent need to evade Security, and instead pulls her towards the young woman with the intent to
do what William is doing as he gets there first, Natasi pausing in her approach. Context reshuffling together.
She observes the two of them with her usual wintry stare, her hands at her sides, possessing the kind of grace and dignity that implies the swiftly thinning slime puddling past her toes is all the clothing she's ever needed. She doesn't, by extension, have a towel.
So she passes by, then, refocusing, and headed for the lockers. ]
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Sophie | OTA
Sophie wakes to the shadow and stares up at it, uncomprehending. The feeling of all-consuming hatred isn't new to her, not at all, and it makes the Red flare up inside her because that must be what it is, the Devil somehow come for her again. She's paralyzed with terror and the combination of the Devil's oppressive presence and the echoing hate and the comprehension of the pointlessness of life that sings through her tainted blood.
She barely even notices the tube being yanked from her throat, but once the gravity couch drains she leaps out of it, her body seeming to literally bristle and change as she circles, looking for the Devil. Somehow, she seems to be wielding a sword of shining ivory--or is that bone?--despite having come from pod stark naked.
Be wary on approach, she's more than likely to lash out, or at least start to.
[lockers]
Once Sophie has calmed enough to at least realize where she is, she forces herself to maintain routine, showering and then dressing. She's still jumpy, though, and worse, the Red is still singing in her blood.
Right now, to her, the process of life seems entirely pointless. People seem like puppeted corpses just waiting to die so that God and the Devil can have a competition to see who gets the most, and her own struggle to continue being Sophie seems equally foolish and purposeless. It would be so much easier to give into the Devil, to be what has been expected of her all these years. She might even be happier. This knowledge is a burden she has shouldered before, learned to live with, but it hasn't been so strong since the night she fought the Devil.
Those that know her will find that she seems quiet, still, not angry so much as sad, mechanically going through the post-jump motions. The people she cares about she doesn't seem to care about now, and to strangers she'll be outright cold.
pods
He falls backwards, recoiling from her unusually quick emergence from the pod, and hits the ground hard, scrambling back to his feet after only a moment. The fairies that were fluttering right above him have risen higher up in the hair, and Sophie is greeted on the ship with the sound of chiming silver bells, a sound that would be happy and joyful if it didn't sound so angry. They're just out of reach, and will quickly retreat if she lashes out against them.
Brigid Tenenbaum | Open to all
[She's terrified, furious and confused when she falls to the ground out of the strange tank. She's also covered in a strange substance and she has a tattoo on her arm. It's a new one though, black and the numbers mean nothing. It takes her a moment, longer then it should to get up. However as her mind starts to work normally again she realizes that she wasn't alone in her last memory.
She starts looking frantically around for the children in the group she was leading.]
Little ones? Are you there?
[Locker]
[She's fairly clean now and dressed. Only because she realizes that it's better to be clothed when searching. She stops and stares however at the vials in her locker. ADAM. She was in a strange place and they gave her ADAM and took away her little ones.]
Whatever it is they want from me, they will not be getting it.
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jemma simmons | ota
[It's not the first time that a pod has spit her out on the sterile Tranquility floor. It is, however, the first time that Jemma comes out screaming. She's still trembling as she draws herself up, touches her face, her arms, her legs, like she's confirming that every last part of her is still there. Because that's exactly what she's doing.]
I'm here again.
[She recognizes the ship after a look about, though there are memories that are much fresher in her head, things she knows now that she didn't before. Well it all makes a bit of sense, doesn't it? Alien artifact, spaceship. She crawls to the nearest column of towels, drawing herself up and grabbing one to start frantically wiping herself down, rambling to herself like she's trying to reassure a nervous patient.]
There, you see? Just stasis fluid, that's all. You haven't been...digested.
[Like a rodent swallowed up by a snake in a David Attenborough documentary. That's what it felt like before it felt like nothing at all. Jemma presses her face into the towel, takes a deeper breath when she lowers it. She needs to clean up, clean up and find Skye and Fitz, and everything will be better.]
lockers:
[She's been staring at her locker for the longest time, like she's afraid something might jump out of it and eat her. Jemma doesn't honestly know what she expects to find inside it, or why she's so afraid. She just more afraid than she was before, of everything, some of her enthusiasm soured. But she takes a deep breath and reaches swiftly to open it-
Exhale. No monoliths, no pieces of Trip, no Hydra lab coats.]
Nothing to it. Now pull yourself together before they find you talking to yourself.
lockers - lmk if this is ok!
And if there's anyone he wants to stay on the good side of, it's the people most primed to make the call about handing him over to Security; the ones who've seen the aftermath of his loss of control, such as it was.
His voice is concerned, not over-solicitous, but not sharp. (Ivan's bad at playing human, and he won't bother with someone who's presumably looked at blood under a microscope, but he can show concern when it's warranted.)]
Dr. Simmons, isn't it?
[He doesn't ask if she's alright, and graciously allows them both the fiction he didn't hear her speak. Instead, he adds:]
This bloody ship; I don't know if I would have credited that this part seems almost normal now, by comparison.
[Engage or not, it's up to her, but at least he's tried for some solidarity.]
definitely!
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lockers!
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pods!!
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robin | ota!
[ Jumps were really starting to become a pain.
A quick look around proves that he's not the only one to feel this way. New faces and old emerge from their gravcouches, covered from head to toe in blue goo with similar expressions; fear, confusion. Shock from suddenly being yanked out of their homes, only to wake to find some tube jammed down their throats in some spaceship. Robin's only been here for a few months, sure. But he still feels that. Your very first jump was always the hardest, though.
He staggers out of the gravcouch, trembling legs barely keeping him upright. A hand reaches up to brush black strands of hair away from his masked eyes, which are clumped together by goo. Robin really, really wants to go looking for familiar faces, but the urge to shower comes first. A really long, hot shower. ]
LOCKERS
[ In his locker, Robin finds the usual things. A yellow utility belt, and a small little communicator with a big T in the middle. A uniform that fits him perfectly, but doesn't don the colors that he's used to. With his towel still wrapped around his waist, Robin picks up the communicator and rubs over the engraved T with his thumb. He feels homesickness bubbling up, but he pushes it aside. If he's going to look for someone, now would be the time.
He quickly slips into his uniform, fastening the belt and communicator on his waist. Whatever strength he seemed to have lacked from the couches comes surging back as he looks from locker to locker, hoping to find someone at least vaguely familiar.
As time passes, his hopes began to fade. The rational part of him thinks, well, yeah. Nobody from home had shown up at his first jump. Or the second. Or third. Disappointment was a horrible thing to feel here, but it had to be something you expected to. Unfortunate, but true.
Robin continues forward, but a bump to his shoulder stops him. The impact wasn't enough to send him flying down on his butt, but enough to at least sting a little. A grunt and a mumble escape him, but Robin turns. ] Sorry. I didn't see you.
Lockers
He stares long and hard at the messages written on the lockers, but the strangely shaped letters confound him. He's accustomed to recognizing place names, but it's been so long since he's done any actual on-the-fly reading that, after an intense stare-off with the letter "O" he curses under his breath and goes back the way he came. Just in case he missed anything while trying to get away from the blue goop they had tried to drown him in.
It's when he's looking over his shoulder, thinking some nasty thoughts about one of the idiots that he's spotted, that he rams into Robin's shoulder.
Despite the queasiness that keeps trying to take hold of him, muscle memory takes over and Ai twists his body to the side, absorbing less impact than he should have for the speed he was going. He slips slightly on some of the blue goo that's spilled out on the floor, but all it takes is a wedge of invisible, solidified air in the right place and Ai jams his foot against it, regaining his balance.
He turns as well, nose wrinkling in distaste as he takes in the appearance of the masked kid.]
And what are you supposed to be?
[Sorry, Robin. He's never learned how to make a good first impression.]
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Nami | ota
[As if waking up covered in goop wasn't enough, nightmares beforehand, too? It only takes a moment to shift between the hazy murk of sleep and reality-- straight into panic as she feels something lodged in her throat. And this stuff-- is she drowning? She's striking out with rubbery limbs that don’t want to cooperate when the door slides back, suddenly dumped out on a cold floor, all coughing and scrabbling limbs. And naked.
Naked. Kidnapped and stripped, that's a twist on an old theme-- someone was going to pay for this. Just as soon as she stopped freaking out, anyway, reaching around dizzily for either something to pull herself up or something to hit people with. Either way. So if she latches onto you and snarls in your face, don't take it personally, okay? She promises she's not usually this cranky.
She'd be lying, but that's not the point.]
Where the hell are my clothes!?
LOCKERS
[Her irritation has simmered down into a cold kind of fury at this point, mostly internalised. She still doesn't know what's going on, not fully-- she just knows she's not the only one this happened to. So okay, she can deal with that. It could be worse.
What's keeping her anger going is the new tattoo on her arm. Trying to tell herself everyone's got one doesn't help. After all, you get pressganged back home, you're gonna get branded like everyone else, too. It's a violation as far as Nami's concerned, even if it does end up directing her to a locker with all her things in it.
She's tempted to ignore the uniform, but she's cold, and it's a little less vulnerable in this bizarre place than a bikini top and hiphuggers. She does thread her belt over the top of it, though, so she can jam the pieces of the climatact into their usual place on her hip. And thank god that's there. She shakes the log pose, tapping at the needle's glass case, before buckling it on her wrist.
Everything else gets tossed out onto the floor with slightly more violence than necessary. Shopping bags, pens, clothes-- did they really bring everything she had with her at the time? Maybe it's just as well she went shopping first. And if there's everything--
Her fingers close around the neck of a bottle, and she promptly sits down with her back to the open locker, unscrewing the cap. At least she's got some rum from home to get her by. She'll just... deal with the rest when she's feeling less homicidal. Alcohol helps.]
ANYTHING ELSE?
[Dealer's choice.]
lockers
[It's spoken with a completely friendly aura, though, no worries.
Hughes just be patrollin', because when you're suddenly on a weird ship you tend to want to scavenge around, learn faces, figure out the best new course of action to take while you're a prisoner(?) on board a freaky freak place like this one.]
Thank god you didn't throw the bottle; I would have worried for your sanity.
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Bail Organa OTA
Bail and Leia had an unspoken agreement. They always dressed before meeting up after a jump. Only if something seemed wrong, like her not waking or widespread illness would they do otherwise. So he showers and dresses with well established routine.
It's only when she doesn't meet him afterwards, ready to discuss the strange thing they must have both seen does he start to realize something must be wrong. He doubles back to the gravcouches. He's not heard of anyone failing to wake two jumps in a row, but what did they really know of the rules here. "No."
And then he returns again to the lockers, retrieving his communicator and performs one simple test. Not found. He knows all too well what that means.
He holds tight to the holocube he always keeps nearby as he repeats himself. Quietly, never one for true dramatic, but also not hiding the emotion. "No."
He's not used to this after all.
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Robe still tight around her, she looks at Bail and places a hand on his bicep. "Bail," she says softly. "I'm so sorry."
She can't imagine what pain he's in. But, she can imagine it's something like losing her mother, her father, her sisters.
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Lee Adama | OTA
The blue gel drained from the gravity couch with a smooth fluidity. Lee was only barely aware of the process, choking on the breathing tube that was mechanically removed from deep in his throat. As the doors moved away he had enough room to bend his arms and drag his hands down his face. Looking down, Lee found his palms coated in the thick substance that he would later learn helped suspend the body during FTL travel. He choked again, this time of his own volition, confused. Edging into horrified.
Lee stumbled out of the couch, all the while running his hands tightly over the contours of his body to slick away more of the sticky blue substance. Naturally, the solider took in his surroundings quickly. No Cylons, not that he could see anyways. No familiar faces either. Including his own which proved to be the biggest relief of all. Seeing copies of his own face would've been more than he could bear. There was an edge to Lee's movements, sharp motions punctuated by apprehensive glances. Where he was before remained fuzzy but that shadow, the silhouette of a palm ringed in an aura of red, flashed behind his eyes every time they closed. Even the quickest blink wasn't fast enough to find reprieve from the haunting image.
He didn't seem concerned with his lack of clothing. A career man in the relatively progressive forces of the Twelve Colonies showers and bunks with a fully integrated, co-ed military. Instead, Lee was interested in finding something he could use as a weapon in such a foreign place. Anyone new he came across would be regarded with suspicion. Eventually, he would bother to look down at his own arm and find his new tattoo that would lead him to the lockers.
[LOCKERS]
The shower Lee took was incredibly fast. Just long enough to rinse off the goo from the gravity couch. He'd been on strict water rations for months. Motivated by a need to be dressed and armed as soon as humanly possible and Lee was out in under two minutes. After he was done, it wasn't hard to make the connection that the number on his arm would lead him forward. There were a few people here and there, mostly keeping to themselves but moving in patterns nonetheless.
When Lee found his own locker, he was surprised to find it contained personal items from home. Most importantly, his BDUs and sidearm. The black flight suit was disregarded for the time being. Perhaps he should have been aiming to blend in but, given the uncertainty of the situation, Lee had no interest in try to make a run for it in unfamiliar and potentially restrictive clothing. Tanks, pants, combat boots were slipped on with ease. His duty belt was clicked into place the weight of his gun and ammunition magazines an instant comfort. Lee strapped on his watch, set to the time back home, and when he looked at his wrist memories moved in the haze and threatened to make themselves known.
When he finally had to come to terms with his best friend's death, after swearing she could trust him to fly her wing, Lee was going to be a mess. For now, he swallowed down what he could in favor of tackling the present.
Lockers
He wasn't expecting to see his son though. And as complicated as their relationship might be, right now the overriding factor is that he hadn't seen him in... it must have been a year now. "Lee?"
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pods
Sorry for the delay! Was out of town and didn't get to tag like I thought I would.
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Ellis | Lockers | Open (and partially closed)
Done with showering and dressing, Ellis stands by his locker as he always does, looking around for new faces as well as familiar ones. Ellis is always up for a chat, with anyone at any time. It could be a friend, stranger, or even horrible monster, Ellis doesn't care. He just needs someone to jabber with.
CLOSED to Eiri Yuki
After their recent encounter, Ellis has been honestly pretty worried about Eiri. He seemed really shaken up when they parted ways, after talking to that strange man. As he finishes dressing, he turns around and scans the room for the tall blonde man. Everyone on the ship has their pods in this area, so there's no chance of him not being here.
Soon enough, he spots him at a locker across the room and starts over. "'Scuse me, sir?" He stops a few feet away from him.
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...why did that thing hate him?
And then, he jumps slightly, hands clenching into fists and wrenching at the fabric of his shirt until he calms down. The world rights itself. And then he looks over and sees... oh.
That guy. The one from before. The one who came and pulled him away, when he was trapped, helpless as an insect in amber, by the gravitational pull of Yuki Kitazawa.
Eiri tries not to think about Yuki.
And then it dawns on him that the guy spoke. Right. Answering.
"What?" he asks, sounding more than a little impatient as he turns around, his blonde hair still dripping from the shower. The last two buttons of his shirt close swiftly under his nimble fingers.
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