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ataraxionlogs2015-07-07 10:04 pm
ataraxites) wrote in ataraxionlogs2015-07-07 10:04 pm
Entry tags:
forty-fifth 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.
NOTES: There's a sense of quiet as you wake from the jump, a silence that seems to stretch into the medbay around you despite the slowly increasing sounds of gravcouches draining, releasing, bodies tumbled to the floor. A lack of any shadowed presences could be a relief, but as you fall into the process of cleaning up and getting dressed, you begin to notice it - there's no confused, uncertain faces in the crowd. No new, scared people, number 045 on their arm.
The bustle is thinner, the medbay a little emptier. People have left, been taken in the jump. But no one new has been brought in.
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.
NOTES: There's a sense of quiet as you wake from the jump, a silence that seems to stretch into the medbay around you despite the slowly increasing sounds of gravcouches draining, releasing, bodies tumbled to the floor. A lack of any shadowed presences could be a relief, but as you fall into the process of cleaning up and getting dressed, you begin to notice it - there's no confused, uncertain faces in the crowd. No new, scared people, number 045 on their arm.
The bustle is thinner, the medbay a little emptier. People have left, been taken in the jump. But no one new has been brought in.
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 then there's the other thing —
He glances at the horse, eyebrows raising in surprise. A horse, huh? He'd ridden a horse before. They're rarities to find, particularly healthy ones, but... Oh, right. Girl smiling shyly. He ducks his head a little, giving a nod. Hey, it said. He's plenty more relaxed than he was in the kitchen, to be sure. He'd like to think he's relatively good at judging a character by looking at them. And while some are a bit harder than others, Nill might as well, like, give to charities, feed the homeless, bake people cookies.
Blow up labs.The usual. She looks mostly harmless.Though he supposes even the harmless ones can impale you on something.
So.
He takes a bite of tomato, unimpressed with his own imagination of him skewered on a spike.
no subject
The nod only makes her smile seem more gentle, and she casually starts moving in his general direction. Mostly because the apple tree is just past where he's sitting and she needs to go that way anyway. If some kind of awkward, mostly wordless conversation happens on the way, she wouldn't be opposed. Horse shakes his head as they pass, eyeing the stranger with as much curiosity as a horse can muster.
no subject
"............."
no subject
WELL I MEAN, THIS IS A GOOD REASON TO PIPE UP.
YOU HAVE WINGS. ON YOUR BACK. LITTLE FLUFFY CHICKEN WINGS.
ARE YOU SOME BIZARRE SCIENCE FICTION FUSION.
DID SOMEONE HERE FUSE YOU WITH THE CHICKENS.
no subject
Her answer is a simple nod, but she does stop just past him, back mostly facing him. The wings twitch and flutter occasionally, proving that they are alive and real as opposed to mere fashion accessories.
no subject
No, ma'am, Max does not.
He's a very simple soul. Instead he rubs his chin, looking at them now with full interest, since she just nods and doesn't seem to have much care for people knowing or questioning them. Hrnn. This place is a space ship, and all. He has to assume the absolute most ridiculous concept.
"... Chicken-turned-girl?"
Okay, he thinks it sounds fucking hilarious, but he's totally deadpanned about it anyway.
no subject
Her previously shy smile transforms into a wide grin.
Nill's mouth opens in one of her silent laughs, shoulders shaking slightly with the sound she cannot make. These moments are too far and few between nowadays, but hearing him call her a "chicken-turned-girl" is almost at the top of her funnier than hell list. She drops Horse's reigns (it isn't as if he'll wander off), and shakes her head as she turns towards Max and pulls a piece of paper and a pen from the pocket of her jeans. Carefully, she writes something and then offers it towards him.
In a neat scrawl reads: Maybe girl turned part chicken.
no subject
"Did you let them know they would need to be much bigger to fly with?"
He is mostly humoring her by being a sassmachine, motioning with his hand.
But really, it's a genuine question. How can you even use those?
no subject
A year ago, the question might have made her shoulders slump and her smile fade. But she's been around so many people for so long that she recognizes it as a joke rather than a jab. She pulls more paper from her pocket and writes: If they were bigger I could not fit through doors.
A skinny little thing like her not fit through a door? Preposterous.
no subject
He realizes that he's been oddly quiet a beat too long, so he adjusts.
"Didn't know we had horses," he says a bit lamely, to recuperate from spacing out.
no subject
She's patient, trying not to stare at the place he's staring. What if he turns around and sees her looking and thinks she's being rude? She had always made it a point to look away from Heine when he became lost in the void of his own inner demons.
Her brows raise, but she nods and gives Horse a pat on his thick neck. Then she holds up two fingers--there are actually two of them on board. As far as she's aware, anyway. It wasn't unusual for strange animals to show up unexpectedly after jumps. The blonde pauses a moment, and then makes a gesture for Max to come towards her. Horse is a rather calm animal. He won't start.
no subject
His hand hovers near the horse's neck at those thoughts. Wouldn't much appreciate him thinking of it as food, would it? But then he rubs his palm across the horse's neck and finds she's being honest. He's a good horse, okay to pet.
"Do you — put him in a pod?" he asks, incredulous.
seventeen years later
Thinking of Bran makes something inside her chest hurt, so she decides to stop.
Quickly, she nods in answer to Max's question. Everyone and everything has to go in a pod.
no subject
Because you should learn. It can be fun.
He prefers cars and the roar of motorcycles, but still.
Horses are good for being discreet.
no subject
She shoves her paper and pen back in her jeans' pocket and makes an attempt to climb upon the beast's back. Usually she'll take him by a rock or stump, maybe a bench. But as none of those things are available, all she can do is do her best. Her wings flap in a vain attempt to help her up, maybe give her an inch or so of lift.
This is a futile endeavor. But at least she's trying.
no subject
....
....
He crouches down and puts his hands out, forming a step ladder with his palms.
Please just stop embarrassing yourself and take the boost.
no subject
But she smiles in thanks, humble, because that's just how she rolls. Her cheeks are only a little pink from embarrassment. The boost is more than enough to get her up on to Horse's back, and she balls her fists into his mane to help balance herself. He won't bolt with her on his back, not unless Max does something to spook him. Without further ado, she squeezes with her legs and Horse starts walking. She gently tugs his mane to demonstrate that he will go in whatever direction she tells him.
Behold, girl riding horse.
no subject
He may be pretty damn stoic and grave sometimes, but it's a horse ride. It's nice to see it look so calm and typical, not anything like the wastelands. He may be unsettled by this world, may not fit in, but he can appreciate the little moments when he's not climbing the walls.
"Mmm, s'a good horse. Well-trained."
He furrows his brow.
"Should get a saddle, though."
... And a step ladder.
Shorty.