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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
Stiles, how long do you think you've been gone?
[ it seems like the best approach, shuffling the blame immediately onto the ship before stiles can think it's something wrong with him. it's been a fair amount of time since the nogitsune, but derek hasn't forgotten. ]
no subject
Uhhhh, it's forty-four now, so forty-four minuuuuus twenty-nine is ... fifteen. I missed fifteen jumps.
no subject
You're from before. [She says, not bothering with any attempt ease it to him gently.] You left, and then you came back a couple of jumps later. Not remembering anything.
[And now this. She turns, abruptly, moving to sit at the end of the nearest bed.]
no subject
Lydia didn't remember anything either. Neither does Erica. [ is this suppose to make anyone feel better? who knows. ] We can tell you why happened. We've had to do it before.
[ maybe meant to be comforting, but with Derek's track record on information sharing it might not manage to do even that. ]
It's...good to see you.
[ no matter what stiles does or doesn't remember. Derek's sincere about that. it'll be better for them all to have Scott and stiles here, and Derek's trying to get that point across, awkwardly maybe, but still. ]
no subject
instead he holds up a hand, fingers splayed, in Derek's direction. ]
Don't get all sappy on me.
[ As though Derek's weeping and hugging him. But, hey, sarcasm is his only defense and all that. It's not like he can say the same, say he missed Derek, when for him no time passed at all. Screw memory loss — he'd developed a theory of multiple universes and he's holding to it. Still, just because he doesn't feel like that other guy was him, doesn't mean everyone's gonna feel the same. ]
But sure, yeah, fill me in. Am I gonna have people coming up expecting me to know them?
no subject
You were working in Engineering. [She says, trying to think of who might know him outside of those from Beacon Hills.] There was a woman called Sally, I think she's still here.
skips eppy this one time
[ Lifted eyebrows, like he's trying to think of a good euphemism and can't. ]
no subject
No.
no subject
That's what you're concerned with?
[ judgmental, not that derek has much right to be. ]
no subject
[ Stiles protests, holding up his hands to ward off matching sibling expressions of being deeply unimpressed with him. Hales, man. ]
I just don't wanna make it awkward when I've forgotten someone's name, you know.
[ It occurs to him he could have hooked up with people whose name he does remember, which would also be incredibly awkward. And unfair, that he doesn't get to remember. A sigh, and he decides to put this train of thought to bed before he asks something waaaaay more stupid. ]
It'll be fine. Everyone's still trapped in a spaceship, how much can really have changed?
no subject
no subject
[ aside, voice gone tight. it isn't that derek doesn't understand what she means. they're still trapped here. they're still dealing with various types of horrors. but there's more to it than that.
though when derek considers it further, he doesn't want to delve into isaac's continuing struggle with smiley, or even into how badly injured derek had been, how inconvenient his humanity still was after all this time. ]
You haven't missed much. [ he says, relenting. ] We're still here. There's still trouble every couple weeks. That's what Cora means.
no subject
[ Stiles says with a shrug. It may seem like things are the same, still struck on the ship with regular horrors, and the fact that he's found them in the same rooms as always is kinda nicely reassuring too. But he missed a bunch of Jumps, his memory's all jilted around, there is gonna be a year of people come and gone that he's missed. ]
I mean, the red paint on the lockers, that's new.
no subject
Security's bright idea to bring everyone together. Ask them how much it's helped anything.
[Her tone's biting as she says it, like security might as well be one specific name, like she already knows the answer to be not at all.]
no subject
They still don't have enough people.
[ and derek was gardening rather than attempting to alleviate that, but it was better for everyone. maybe he even liked gardening better, but he wasn't about to volunteer that. ]
There's still room here for you, if you want. You should stay close anyway.
[ for all that's changed about derek, the urge to keep everyone within a few rooms of each other hasn't been altered even the slightest. the idea of scott and stiles heading up to the higher floors together has derek's face preemptively creasing into a concerned frown. ]