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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.
----------------
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.
A if that's alright!
When he sees motion to one side, he skids to a stop and backs up slowly. Peering around the corner of a locker, he sighs when he sees it's just a girl. A very scared looking girl, probably knew to this place, but still just a girl. And even if he's on a mission, he feels a sense of obligation to help someone who looks so scared and lost.]
Are you alright? I mean, not hurt or nothing?
absolutely!
You shouldn't run in here.
[ Because you'll slip and fall, obviously. But also because you're likely to scare new arrivals. She belatedly realises that's a bit rude and also doesn't answer his question, following it up with a tiny dose of humility. ]
No, I'm not hurt. [ Not physically, and the rest of it doesn't merit explaining. ] Thank you.
no subject
Raising an eyebrow, he has to laugh at that. Shouldn't run? There's nothing in this world that he does better.] You're gonna have to get used to running, girl. That's our number one pastime here.
[The change is a little strange, and he narrows his eyes for a moment as he thinks about it. Minho isn't used to people backing down so quickly.] You're a greenie, right? New here?
no subject
She considers lying. Maybe being new here is a disadvantage, something she should cover. The thing is, she doesn't know the first thing about this place, so it'd be a hard lie to sell. After that brief hesitation: ]
Yes, I'm new. [ A little defensive, though curiosity beats it out a second later. ] What are you running from?
no subject
At the defensive tone he holds up both hands, trying to show that he hadn't meant anything bad by it.] Hey, just trying to find out how I can help you. If you want help.
[He gets serious with the question, though.] Nothing, for now. I'm running to something.
no subject
Sorry. I'm just a bit… [ Traumatized. The usual. ] But I'm fine, really. [She takes a second to consider him, the way he'd been running. It's good manners to return the concern, in any case. ] Is it anything I can help with?
no subject
kinda cutegirl who had piqued his interest, Minho would've brushed off a new arrival and split. But he doesn't know a lot of people on the ship anymore since so many of his friends... Well, they're not around for one reason or another. Time to be friendly, or at least make some alliances, right?]Yeah, right. We're all peachy. [He says it in a tone that clearly isn't making fun of her but rather commenting dryly about their situation. Raising an eyebrow at the offer to help, he shakes his head.] Just... looking for someone.
no subject
She won't be of much help. She knows that, given that she's still getting her bearings, but it doesn't stop her from trying anyway. ]
What do they look like?
no subject
About this tall. [He lifts a hand over his own head several inches to indicate around six feet.] Thin as a shucking beanpole. Longish blondish hair. Walks with a limp. [He shrugs, trying to look less concerned than he really is.]
no subject
[ There's a glimpse of a smile along with the question, though the sympathy isn't gone. The lack of 'boy' or 'girl' as a descriptor's also a little amusing, put down to nerves, maybe. She thinks of something else a moment later, tone helpful when she continues. ]
How should I contact you? If I see them.
no subject
[Hesitating a moment, he stuck out his hand.] I'm Minho. If you use your little comm device thing, you can find me that way.
no subject
[ Towel, spaceship, missing Newts. It's all a bit less than ideal. ]
no subject