forty-fourth jump;

[ataraxites]

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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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.

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Comments

[queasycrow]

By now, Hawke has finished with the novelty of being slimy and naked. No, by now, he's decided to experience what it's like being dressed, like maybe once he gets to that stage, he will promptly wake up from this ridiculous nightmare and laugh about it with Fenris. Or he will laugh. Fenris will look tolerant. Maybe smirk a bit.

But that's not happened yet. Dog has made himself into a furry mountain at Hawke's feet while he peruses his locker, taking out his furred cloak and lowering his head to sniff it. It still smells like sweat and horse and travel through the Free Marches.

And he looks up, the elf getting a look up and down.

"Is it the hair?" he inquires. Dry humoured. "Or the strong jawline? They breed us handsome, I know, you've an excellent eye."

Dog wags his tail, which thumps impatiently against the hard ground.

"Oh, right."

[storiesandknives]

That gets an amused snort. It's the sort of answer Zevran might give so she's less likely to snap back at him and simply replies with the same dry humour.

"Yes I know. I'm from Ferelden myself."

She glances over at the dog though who gets an actual smile. It took a LONG time but the breed eventually grew on her now that rich shems weren't using them to try and kill her all the time.

"My mabari didn't end up showing up with me here sadly.""

[queasycrow]

Ahh. Hawke pauses in his locker perusal to look her over again, as if physical countenance might give a clue as to family name and lineage. It doesn't, because he isn't any good at that sort of thing, even if Leandra had always been. But we don't ruminate too much on the dead.

He takes out an apostate's staff and leans it casual against the floor. You can tell a lot about a man or woman in Thedas by what weapon they carry.

"There was a saying in Kirkwall about how you couldn't swing a cat without hitting a bloody Ferelden. I don't think that'll catch on, up here, I haven't seen any cats."

A beat, less frivolous; "Lothering, originally. What about you?"

[storiesandknives]

"Denerim. The alienage of course. I passed through Lothering during the Blight thought."

Her own weapon is strapped to her back, a sword for striking quick and fast.

"Mira Tabris. Warden Commander of Ferelden."