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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.
no subject
Yes, well, your cooperation is very much appreciated, especially when things get...difficult around here.
[Horror ship. Moving corridors.]
I hope it wasn't too difficult on you?
no subject
[The ship's attempts to keep the passengers apart, or whatever it was, had been paradoxically useful. With only another vampire for company, his temptation was more or less minimal once the worst of whatever it was had happened.]
I expect you'll want to retain supervision, under the circumstances, but I think I'm back to as normal as I'll be on the Tranquility.
[It's not an accident, giving her something related to her job to focus on. He's strangely practiced at calming people, considering who and what he is.]
no subject
A little check-in could be arranged - for your good, as well.
[Truthfully, people who aren't human make her a little more nervous now. But she can also be friends with them too, like with Skye, and the desire to help hasn't faded.]
I wouldn't want you to get into the state you were before. I can't imagine that it was enjoyable for you either.
no subject
[He considers her a moment, then adds:]
Forgive me if it's in poor taste to observe, and believe me, I'm not complaining, but you seem rather... non-judgmental. About my condition.
[And about him attacking another passenger last jump. It was pure luck she was someone who could subdue him.]
no subject
[That seems encouraging, and she doesn't know if it helps that she first knew him before, when less of the bad things had happened and "different" equaled exciting. Jemma takes a deep breath before facing him, choosing her words carefully.]
I think it's important for anyone working in Xenogen to keep an open mind. There are people who are...different in my world. Even alien and often dangerous. [She lifts her eyes to his and gives him a smile.] But that doesn't necessarily mean bad, does it? Maybe it's more important what they do with those differences.
no subject
Not necessarily, I suppose. But it's not a theory everyone is successful at maintaining in the face of being on the prey end of the prey-predator equation. Make no mistake, you're as safe with me as I can promise anyone breathing, but that is never going to be perfectly.
[A pause, then:]
Well, I suppose unless you're a shapeshifter. I can always tell at home, but I can't always, here.
[It... might be a joke, but it doesn't really sound that way.]
no subject
Then again, Ward's as human as they come, and could she hate anyone more? Nope.]
A shapeshifter? [Jemma arches a brow, folding her arms in interest.] How can you tell?
no subject
[Normally he'd be leery exposing a weakness this way, and in truth, he isn't sure it's the right move. But she doesn't seem like the sort to lace his treatment just to see what happens. He hopes he's not misreading her.]
no subject
[Jemma smiles a little to herself, distracted from all the horrible things and unanswered questions that she'd opened her eyes to.]
So if there's ever a shapeshifter running amuck, you could stop them.
no subject
I could, in theory, but unfortunately the toxicity doesn't go both ways, and my strength isn't what it would be if I were feeding at my regular levels. What I could do, however, is possibly identify a shapeshifter in human form, at least if they're similar enough to one from my world for me to notice the... Their blood smells rather like meat that's gone rancid, for lack of a better metaphor.