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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.
screw hiatuses
he isn't sure whether he's happy or not that he did.
a bundle of clothes under one arm, and isaac stands out in the open for the first time in weeks. stands in the middle of the locker room, staring blatantly at the familiar back up ahead. a shaky breath, and he's left feeling trapped; caught between the alpha in front of him and the one hidden in the depths of the ship. between the teen that was there for him before, and the faceless figure who has been there for him ever since.]
...Scott?
[quiet, and almost pained. this shouldn't be anywhere near as difficult to deal with as it feels.]
(8
There's a second's delay before he turns around, concern writ in the furrow of his brow, the lingering tension in his shoulders. It isn't caution or distrust. It's an instinctive response to the uncertainty in Isaac's voice — and, admittedly, there might be a trace of what'd been between them before. Uncertainty on Scott's side, like he's not entirely sure Isaac would even want his help if it was offered. ]
Isaac. [ He looks away just long enough to close his locker door, then he's ignoring his sundry belongings in favor of heading over to the other teen. He stops just shy of reaching out and placing a hand on Isaac's shoulder, deliberately shutting down the impulse to offer comfort in favor of giving him some space. Instead, he glances towards Isaac's forearm, but he can't quite make out the numbers. ]
Are you...
[ The same Isaac. Both loaded and awkward, as far as questions go. ]
no subject
[he knows that this could be a new scott. that him being "back" could mean nothing to the teenager in front of him. between his departure and the time isaac spent in the hallways, its been years since he last saw scott. differentiating between the one from back home and the one he'd slowly started growing apart from here-- they're still the same person.
(that he could be from further back than that. from before. from a time where peter hale had been their biggest problem. it doesn't cross his mind.)
his fingers tighten around his clothes, his gaze flicking away from scott and off towards the corners of the room. to the hallways that lead away from the med bay.]
You shouldn't be here. [words forced out through shaky breaths.] You can't.
[and that's all he manages before he's stepping back. before he's putting a little distance back between them. scott can't be there because it makes things too difficult. he has no idea how he will react.]
no subject
What are you—
[ He stops as Isaac takes a step back, one hand lifting as if to reach out and stop him, fingers splayed in a settling gesture. He doesn't step forward. ]
Isaac, wait. It's okay. I'm here. Whatever's wrong, I can help.
no subject
I don't need help.
[though he know the rest of the people from their world would disagree. but they have no right to interfere in his life anymore. no say in what he does, on who he talks to. but then there's scott, and everything has suddenly been made complicated in a way he doesn't know how to deal with. doesn't know where to even start.]
You can't make me go back. [to the shared floor. though, of all the people here, he knows scott is one of the only ones who could.] Don't make me. Please.
sorry i'm terrible we can wrap this one in a few tags and i will hit his network post y/n??
He has no idea where "back" is. He can't mean home. There's a pause while he considers asking, but— the details don't really matter, do they? It's the fear, the begging. ]
I won't. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do.
[ He means it. Right now, he means every bit of it, even if he's making the promise without all of the context. The memory of the jumps crosses his mind, having to force Isaac into the pods — but they're past that, right? Isaac's still here. He has to be past that. ]