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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.
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[Past the Apocalypse, not that things are perfect from what he's heard. But they never have been.]
But yeah, me too. Being home is better than being stuck here, though.
[His voice sounds distant, though, like he doesn't really believe it. Like the one he's really trying to convince is himself.]
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Things tend to go to hell when we get separated.
[He glances up, sees what she's doing.]
Careful with that. He would have kept it sharp.
[He's already talking about Dean in the past tense. Abruptly he puts the bottle to his lips and takes a drink.]
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[He knows it's a mistake, but it hurts. It doesn't matter in that moment that Dean's probably just back where he's supposed to be. In his temporary selfishness, Sam is just very acutely aware that he's alone.]
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Yeah. [The word comes out choked.] I do. I know.
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[How many times had he watched Dean leave? Die? Too many to count.
It sucked every time. It never got easier. But:]
I'll figure it out. I always do.
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