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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
But she does, and she chooses not to tease him over it.
"You didn't do anything wrong, either," she tells him softly.
Where she's coming from, sexism and gender roles aren't a big deal. People have better things to fuss over, like not getting blown up. At least, that was what Rey's life was all about for a long time.
She goes to her locker, opening it with her number. Then she stops, looking to Firo with his head down like a chastised dog.
"Would you be comfortable with just turning around for a minute?" After that, she's not about to change right then and there. "Maybe try to imagine I'm a guy or whatever."
She really doesn't want him to go just yet, but at the same time she's become more mindful now so not to make him embarrassed. More so than he already is.
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It means something too that she also doesn't strip down right then and there; Firo realizes with some horror that that is probably the sort of thing Rey would do.
He sighs, "That'd be about half as bad in a different way..." Pretending she's a guy that is. Normally half bad would mean a good thing, but it still means pretty bad when you're dealing with something as heinous as being near a woman changing.
Even he's not sure if he's trying to make a joke about it or allowing himself to be honest with her. Maybe doing the latter through the former.
But he nods anyway, the motion somewhat awkward and jerky. "I'll just. Um, call me when you're ready."
One good thing about so few people from the first jump remaining is that he doesn't really have any other naked people to contend with in this area. He turns his back to Rey, wanders away several paces, stands right up against a wall, and covers his face with his hands.
no subject
Rey exhales through her nose, and turns her head to her locker. It only takes less than an actual minute for her to get dressed, not squandering any time trying to decide what to wear and whatnot. When you were used to living in the middle of a war zone, you didn't always get the luxury of taking your time prepping, and the routine has just become like clockwork for her now.
So much that she nearly overlooks a certain addition lingering in the back of her locker, behind the fancy evening dress she's had in there for some time. Her brows furrow, reaching inside with one hand while holding the locker door ajar with the other.
"Finished," Rey calls to Firo as she sifts through the inside of her locker space. He'll find her fully dressed in all but her socks and boots before getting distracted.
no subject
As she considers her locker and clothes herself, he tries to focus on willing the blush-blood out of his face. It kind of works, eventually leaving him only a little pink by the time she calls over.
"O-okay." He waits a couple more seconds before slowly pulling his hands away from his face and peeking over his shoulder. It's not that he thinks Rey will deceive him and insult him with the sight of skin (well, more skin than her usual shameless arms). Just that he has been tricked before (thanks, Czes) and he tries to be cautious.
He makes his way over, trying to peek over her shoulder as she searches. "You lose somethin' in there?"
His eyes wander to the fancy dress. He glimpsed it when they'd come down here looking for the notebook, but he was still curious about it. It seemed so not-Rey.
no subject
As Firo sneaks a look over her shoulder, there are a few new additions to Rey's locker space since the last time he had joined her here. A harmonica on the top shelf, with a player and some other items. Other than the fancy dress and TQ jumpsuit and a couple spare set of clothes, Rey doesn't tend to store much in here anymore.
She reaches in, confirming her mental query when she takes the sleeve of a black, full body suit behind the dress. It's definitely more material than Rey is used to wearing.
"The opposite," she says absentmindedly. "Looks like something came back with me. Should be useful, actually."
no subject
More clothes? That's good, Rey definitely needs more clothes. But the way even she acknowledges its usefulness makes him think that there's something more to it.
He blinks at it, the intense half second of thought he gives it not sufficient to crack the mysteries of that outfit. "...What is it?"
no subject
Even though Rey has better control when she lights up like a roman candle, it's good to have something she can utilize that ability with and not worry about burning off all her clothes. Firo would probably be relieved to know that.
no subject
Somewhat.
Again, he feigns understanding and nods. "So it makes you... more on fire?"
no subject
"Sort of. It acts more like a modulator." She bites her lower lip. "And it's also fireproof."
That much she knows Firo should be able to understand, at least.
"Actually... Figured out how to not burn out of control just before coming back. Turned out to be rather simple, really."
In spite of the circumstances at the time, she may be a little proud of herself.
no subject
It would have brought great peace of mind when he saw her practicing.
If Rey's only a little proud, then Firo has more than enough joy and pride to make up for it. His grin grows even broader and for one of those rare moments, he bounces up on his toes without a care for how childish he looks.
"Hey!" He shoves at her shoulder playfully. Because that's how you congratulate people. "That's amazin'!"
no subject
The corner of her lip tugs into a tiny smile at Firo's excitement. "That's nothing until you see this."
She holds out her right hand, the stumps curled towards her palm so her two remaining digits can form the shape of a mock-gun. Her thumb presses downward six times, each one completed with a bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang! for effect. And each time, the tip of her index finger lights up. The neon veins wrapping around her digit to let out a six-inch spark of flame from her bone to her skin.
Afterwards, she bends her elbow, a surprised look on her face.
"Shit. Can't believe that worked."
no subject
"Wow..."
He laughs at her comment, raising an eyebrow. "What were you gonna show off if it didn't, huh?" But he doesn't so much expect an answer to that question, so he dives right into the next one. Hey, he's excited. "Do you have to pretend your hand's a gun for it to work?"
no subject
She then gives him an amused look.
"Hell no. That was just for show." Good god, that would suck.
no subject
He shakes his head and just barely keeps the sarcasm out of his words. "It made you look really cool, just so you know, cowboy."
no subject
I'll be here all week.
Her other hand shuts the door to the locker, securing away its contents.
no subject
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Not that it sounds like she's complaining, as she tries harder not to worry about the state of things the last time she had actually seen Orion...
Yeah, not going to think about that right now. There's already enough bullshit to go around.
no subject
He knew he liked that guy.
He pauses a moment. "Was it good? Seein' him again, I mean."
She looks like she's been through the wringer. If anything, he hopes Orion's presence could provide a little bit of light in the dark times.
no subject
Rey nods. She isn't one to deny her brother's sense of style. He'd even shown her a few of his favorites, including some old silent films. Orion's weird like that, but something tells her that he'd get along with Firo.
Which is why it's a little difficult for her to know how to answer that question. She looks away, her teeth grinding for a moment.
"Y... es." It's not like her to hesitate like that between syllables, especially when it's just one. "Yes, it was good, seeing him again."
no subject
Firo blinks and leans over to try and insert himself into her field of view. "Somethin' wrong?"
no subject
"Long story short? That son of a bitch was careless and got himself caught, and now he's being sent to a PoW camp. Stowed away to perhaps try and figure out how to break his and some other dumbasses out until--"
She holds out her hands, indicating that her being there has deterred her from something that was important.
Not that she doesn't have important things to attend to here, at least. It sucks feeling so torn.
no subject
"Damn, I'm sorry you're stuck here. Stupid boat always picks a great time, huh?"
He scuffs the toe of his shoe against the floor.
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"No worries, I hate being in small spaces anyway." You wouldn't think it, but she's extremely claustrophobic. "Surprised that I'm even back, to be honest. Almost suffocated to death in that undercarriage."
Climbing into the landing gear of an aircraft totally made sense to her at the time.
no subject
He hums as he thinks. "So it's almost like it rescued you, then. Kinda leaves you feelin' torn, huh? This place basically broke me outta prison, but... It's hard to feel grateful sometimes."
no subject
Since there's nowhere they can really go outside of the Tranquility, it may as well be prison. The universe has a cruel sense of humor.
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