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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
[Eleanor's response isn't aggressive, and her own smile might be faintly...amused? She's spent the last few years with very few people to talk to, even arguing was nice.]
No. [She shook her head.] Only...an hour or so, I suppose.
no subject
Then perhaps you've got a lot to learn.
[ She says, as if she's got any idea about how this ship works. But she's run into a few people; Sirius, others who have given her the rundown, as unbelievable as it might be. Either way, she does a good job of sounding in-the-know. ]
Magic and science coexist, but they aren't the same.
no subject
If you say so. [She finally decided, then glanced down at the book.] May I see what you were trying to do?
Making the book move, I mean?
no subject
Accio book.
[ This time, the book lifts off the ground entirely and closes the gap between the floor and her hand, and Hermione catches it easily. ]
It's a summoning spell.
no subject
Does it work if you don't say the words?
no subject
[ Which she does, technically. Just not so much when she's just woken up on a spaceship and has yet to get her nerves completely under control. There's a touch of humility in the thought, and it adds some chagrin to her expression as she pockets her wand. ]
Wandless magic is fairly common, but it's very difficult to control.
no subject
[Her smile turns a tad sly, and she holds out her hand towards the girl. Her power isn't magic, it's genetics and biology and science gone all wrong, but there was always something a little nice about showing off.]
Accio Book.
[She reached out with her telekinesis and tried to tug the book from the girl's hand. If it worked, it would jump between them into her own hand.]
no subject
It's disconcerting, to say the least. For someone who had been dismissing magic a second before to practice it with apparently no effort — although she did just wake up on a spaceship. Maybe she needs to rethink her expectations. ]
What was that?
[ Curious, yes, but she can't hide the note of accusation in the question. ]
no subject
[She stepped back afterwards, looking a tad sheepish.]
It's not magic. I just said the words as a joke. It's...[Oh lord. How to explain.]
Telekinesis? That's what they called it anyway.
no subject
You mean you moved it with your mind?
[ Oh. Probably not a joke. And not that far from what magic is, really. She schools her expression into something more respectful a beat later. ] Sorry, I've just gotten— used to a certain way of doing things, I suppose.
no subject
Don't apologize. I imagine I'd much rather do things your way than mine. Did you just...learn how? Can anyone learn how?
no subject
It's something witches and wizards are born with. [ She's lightly hugging the book to her chest, but she holds it out a second later, the title clearly visible. ] If you're curious, you're welcome to borrow this. It's very thorough.
no subject
[A beat as she considered the book.]
...Are you sure? [She doesn't reach out to take it. Eleanor knows all about reluctantly going along with something.] It looks rather important to you.
no subject
[ There's something stubborn about the way she prompts Eleanor to take it, like she's making a point to herself. She doesn't need a security blanket (or book, as it were). ]
My name is Hermione, by the way. Hermione Granger.
no subject
Thank you, then. [She bobbed her head, honestly a bit surprised by the generosity. Her irish/british accent was a little more obvious when she spoke again.] It's very kind of you. Ah...My name is Eleanor Lamb.