ARRIVAL ▒ 002

[ataraxites]

CHARACTERS: Any and all.
LOCATION: Basecamp, Medical and beyond.
WARNINGS: Implied (and possibly explicit) nakedness.
SUMMARY: The Tranquility jumps again.
NOTES: Can be found at the bottom of the post.

T H E   C A M P   ( C U R R E N T   C H A R A C T E R S ) Clouds have rolled in, obscuring the high noon in grey shadow when the alarms start. Wailing through the air, not as keenly as it had when base camp still huddled in its shadow, but still loud enough to turn heads and give people pause. It sends a shiver of nervous energy throughout camp. They were out of range the last time, and there is no sudden scrambling attempt at retreat, but the crowd does begin to thin. Some pick up and go, just to put distance between themselves and the inevitable, because you never know. Others stay behind, for whatever that reason might be. Those who were closer towards the ship emerge from the treeline in a hurry. It's ten hours later when it happens. A tremble in the earth, shaking up through the trees, sending the jungle's wildlife into distressed flocks of movement and alarmed cries. Under the shrouded sun the wreck of the Tranquility begins to cord with lines of white light, threading across the hull like veins, some patches remaining dark, standing out against the vision like splotches burnt to the back of the eyelids. There's no great sound. In an instant, the ship is gone, a soft whomp, a feeling of air rushing past, the trees bending towards the site as if blown by a fierce wind. It's only a second. With a crack, the wreck returns, a rumble rolling through the air like thunder. The earth shakes. The trees tremble. The ship groans, the sound echoing out like the cry of a wounded beast. The jump has passed. Before search and rescue can gather and see for themselves if anyone new was dragged from their homes, something strange happens. A gas mask, old fashioned and heavy, round-eyed, with a filter like a muzzle at the mouth, lands in the packed earth at someone's feet. With a clatter of plastic and metal, something that was once a radio receiver apparently plummets from the air, shattering on impact when it strikes the metal framework of a communal tent, and another lands in softer earth, intact. Tin cans of food, earthenware bottles of water, candles wrapped in paper and tied in string, a box of matches, a set of well-used playing cards with roughed up corners, a rough woollen blanket, a pillow, a gas lamp all hit the ground throughout camp, or are discovered in the jungle beyond. This unusual rain of items ceases, hardly a minute after it has begun. M E D I C A L   ( N E W   A R R I V A L S ) You wake up, alone in the dark. There's a breathing tube jammed down your trachea, and you're suspended in a tube of clear blue fluid. Through the fog you can see shadows of movement, the muted sound of alarms crying. 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 suddenly dropped several feet onto the opposite wall. The impact is painful, winds you, and it takes several seconds to overcome and persuade uncooperative limbs to move. All around you is chaos: the sirens of alarms are shrieking in your ears, close and claustrophic in the wreckage of the medical bay you've awoken in, lit dim and red. Around you, others are waking up, falling from other gravcouches, stumbling to their feet. Light catches your eye, and you look up to see a huge rend in the outer wall high above you, overhung by broken structural beams and damaged cabling. Climbing up takes all the strength you have. You emerge in bleak, grey sunlight, surrounded by an immense, vast jungle. As your vision clears, you realize you stand on the hull of a colossal spaceship, crashed on an unknown world, two moons hanging heavy in the sky above. In the distance, far out on a great swathe of torn up earth through the jungle are a clustered crowd of figures, moving towards the wreck. Your welcome party, but are they friend or foe? N O T E S Anything remaining within a mile radius of the ship when it jumps will be irreperably damaged. Soft organics will be pulverised, while all trees and plants will initially appear fine but crumble to pieces within a day (or sooner if disturbed). Non-organic material will also be weakened, bending or falling apart when touched. Newly arriving characters venturing through the medbay will discover their inventory items somewhere in the heavily damaged locker banks. They will also be able to find jumpsuits and other standard clothing in the wreckage. The alarms will cut after two hours, a which point a looping audio message telling passengers to make their way to the blue lifts will be audible. The lifts, if investigated, will be missing, leaving only empty elevator shafts. The wreck will show increased signs of instability for a few days after the jump, and will have seemed to have sunk further into the rock of the cliff than it was before. As mentioned, items as described above will also rain down on camp and all areas beyond it. Feel free to find these in sporadic quantity. If you have any other questions, please don't hesitate to contact us via PM, the FAQ or Questions pages!

Comments

open; the day after the jump.

[echopraxia]

It's a rough arrival; one among many, subsequent thuds and groans of strangers a charming soundtrack to her own hard, wet landing, sliding in the fluid that's come with her when she first tries to get her bearings, stand up. She tries knees first, and then slowly a bit higher, her head ringing from the impact, and looks up to see the pod she fell from - at this point there's nothing much to the observation that that isn't where she went to sleep last night, and she regards it dispassionately. Whatever purpose she was brought here for, it seems superseded by the absolute state of the ... ship? in which she's found herself.

She wipes fluid from her face, ineffectually, pushes her hair - thick and tangled with it - back and picks her way through the wreckage. She will need to climb out, that's obvious; there's probably something worth scavenging down here, first, and she is sensible before she's desperate. She's naked, tired, and most of her hurts - if she can possibly avoid having to come back in here, later, all the better. Picking her way through the broken lockers, she finds what would've been her own by sheer accident, attracted by the glint of light on metal that identifies her own jewel casket.

Benevenuta crouches for a better angle, and so no one who isn't paying attention anyway can see the moment where in another life she might've sat down, suddenly, much struck. Numb fingers explore, find-- yes, it is what she thinks. And a backpack that she recognizes (she's getting this awful stuff all over a Proenza Schouler, and she'd despair if not busy being grateful that whatever's inside is protected by the leather), that was a gift -

And a crossbow. Hers, as well.

She hefts it, tests the weight, finds the bolts and secures them in one of the pack's empty pockets.

So, she thinks, that's how this is going to be.

The first night she spends alone, waiting in the shadows of the ship until she's certain that those who arrived with her are gone; digging out some of the Tranquility-issue clothes and tearing fabric, using it and accumulated rain-water to clean the dried, sticky gravcouch fluid from her body methodically. Selecting something to wear, packing more clothes into what she'd found of her own. Waiting hours, patient as a rock, until night falls to cover her ascent and subsequent undignified tumble from the wreckage. Hungry, tired, and angry at her own fear, she marks the passage of those who went before and strikes out in another direction, catfooted, leaning against a tree when her vision swims and she knows a moment's regret.

Sheer stubbornness keeps her moving, curious in spite of herself at the alienness of her surroundings; she brings down something birdlike and pink with a crossbow bolt that proves more effort expended than it's worth (she does take some of the unbloodied feathers) and spends what feels like a very long time on her knees beside its bizarre corpse, laughing into her hands.

This is all so fucking absurd.

She takes the bolt, and upon consideration, buries the body lest it attract questions, later.

In the morning, she stumbles - and it isn't as much of an act as she'd like it to be, exhausted - back to where she marked the campsite--

"I was frightened," she says, repeating it in accented English when German gets only blank looks. "I get lost."

It's not without a glimmer of humour she adds, "We are very lost, yes?"

Re: open; the day after the jump.

[atent_dead]

Granny of course speaks not a word of Foreign. It's surprising this one took so long to show up, but some people can be stubborn. "More lost than oughta be possible."

Obviously it is though. "We all are."

granny vs. max; there are two types of people...

[theroadwarrior]

Max looks at her with a straight face, re-wrapping a now neatly swathed set of candlesticks he'd gotten to place in his pack. Is she talking to him? She's looking at him, and he's now officially looking at her, so he imagines that was the intention (which always surprises him, because of all the people, he never figured himself to look much worth speaking to; what the heck, guys). At least this one isn't hitting him in the head with things. Though the sudden rain of items from the sky earlier did the job well enough. He's got a little gouged cut on his hairline where a tin can tried to murder him as it rained.

His brow twitches upward slightly at the question.

Are they lost?

What is your interpretation of 'lost'? He knows exactly where he is. Camp is etched in his blood on his cloth-made map.

...

...

Max shrugs at her.

[coldshot]

That the German receives no more than a blank look is only because it takes his brain a second to reorient at the sight of her. Her, here.

"Anya," he says, his tone not unhappy to see her beneath its tight urgency. They must have missed each other in the chaos that first day, but she doesn't belong here. She isn't ZDG, she wasn't taken at Olympus, and if she's here that means REAPERS closing in beyond ZDG ships. In the other cities. In Zion.

"What do you remember?" —in Russian, reflexive. "Where did they strike?"

octavia blake ⇒ ota

[tectus]

⇒ the naked part ( arrival )

[ it's the alarms that wake her up first. there's a dull drone swimming somewhere in the background and she half-wonders if something has happened to the wreck of the ark to make this happen. she goes to furrow her brows, realises her jaw aches, and promptly becomes very suddenly aware of the tube jammed down her throat again. her eyes fly open and she immediately regrets the move, because for a split second before the pod drains and deposits her on the opposite wall there's clear blue fluid swimming around her eyeballs. disgusting.

octavia lands without much ceremony and quickly realises that she's naked, but that isn't nearly so big a problem as whatever the hell is going on in the ship. the memories aren't quite all there yet, edging through the haze in little chunks of significant moments rather than all in a rush, but she knows that this is the medical bay, and she knows that it's the wall she's sitting on right now, not the floor. something is clearly very wrong with the place. ]

Hey- [ she calls out loudly, voice rough, and she clears her throat before trying again ] hey! Come on, this is f-

[ there's no need to start cursing, and besides all the shouting hurts like hell. octavia falls silent momentarily with a scrunched up face and a hand to her jaw, but that lasts all of three seconds before she grits her teeth and drags herself up off of the floor. there'll be someone around here, surely, and she'll get answers however she has to.

( it should be noted that the concept of her strongarming anyone right now is laughable, but god knows don't tell her that. if anything the injuries are just making her more determined. ) ]

Where the hell did everybody go?

[ the lack of response is surprising, the jumps have always been thriving with people, but rather than wait octavia just turns her attention to finding clothing. it's not a huge priority, but it's always a little nicer to demand answers with your parts covered. ]

(( which incidentally means if you would rather your character to run into her once she's clothed please feel free ))

⇒ the dirty part ( later )

[ two moons stresses octavia out. the tranquility in complete disrepair stresses octavia out. the circle of destruction surrounding it stresses octavia out - but at least they're not in space. she knows how to do survival, though. if anything it'll be easier, with no sight of bellamy she can focus purely on staying alive. that would be a hell of a lot easier if she could still see straight out of both eyes, but the swelling will go down in a few days, and in the mean time all she really needs is a little food and water.

she's looking for some of the latter to clean herself up a bit, pausing here and there to push a toe through the dirt and see what (if any) signs of life are around on this planet. when octavia hears movement behind her she jumps, quickly pulling out the machete strapped to her back and brandishing it without hesitation. she doesn't know yet if there are threats in these woods like there are back in her own, but god knows octavia isn't about to get caught out because she's hoping the flora and fauna are nice. ]

Show yourself, [ she tries to sound gruffer, more authoritative than she feels - and looks - and she swipes a hand under her nose to mop up some of the blood still slowly trickling before adjusting her grip on the weapon. ] I know how to use this.

[ ooohhh, big scary threat ]

⇒ the lazy part ( wildcard )

[ have a scenario in mind? want to run into octavia as she busts into base camp, or find her judging admiring the shouting rock? want to stop her from drinking from the acid lake or just make something up off the cuff completely? be my guest! i'm super duper easy (feel free to pm / pp sharknado with any qu's) so go nuts! ]

(Later)

[hairrands]

[If it hadn't been for the fact that the sky had begun raining relics after the jump, AJ might have gone to inspect the desperately new goo-bath arrivals to see if perhaps she could loot any of them of their gear, or see if maybe any of them shared the same origin as did she and her ice-alien friend. However, she was held up by that first heavy ceramic jug that had managed to survive impact with the ground by bouncing off of a ratty tarp and landing in a pile of loamy moss a few feet away.

From that point on, the scavenger hunt had begun, and not least of which because the ceramic jug had been full. It was not quite as full now, but AJ was prone to saving anything of value, and a dribble of ale seemed more miraculous than a rain of fishes as far as she was concerned.

Moreover it had prompted her to go out and check her various experiments, buried and hidden out around the jungle, lest other scavengers decide to start digging up signs of tampering. It is at one of these little nooks on the edge of the devastation that the ship had wrought that AJ finds a gas mask and, playing with it, she can probably be heard making slightly melodramatic breathing noises from the relative darkness and shelter of the forest line.

When Octavia yells, and AJ stops immediately, startled enough to fumble her mask and nearly drop it. Peeking around the huge, gnarled tree trunk that she's built her little experimental stash beneath, the woman spots the machete first, then person who it belonged to. Nope, not dealing with this.

AJ hurriedly begins covering her little hole in the ground and tamping it down, but the effort is made more difficult because she is a little bit inebriated and juggling a lot of tins and things that she'd been finding that she definitely doesn't want to give to this gruff and deadly bruiser. Bruisee? Whatever the case, AJ has been meeting her fair share of brutal women these days and she's not taking chances. If Octavia manages to spy AJ, it's because she's trying her damnedest to circle around to another trunk to make a fuss and a noise about, much like mother birds will feign broken wings to save their nests.]

[theroadwarrior]

[Max doesn't hesitate when he steps out from the jungle and towards the threatening woman; she's got a blade, and that's all fine and good, but he feels pretty capable of handling her if things go sideways. Especially since his shotgun has gone unused, despite the rare ammunition he has, which he holds limply in his better hand. He's not a clean guy, all grass stains and mud and unkempt hair, scarf tucked around his neck and newly stocked (minimal though it was) pack on his back.

Dammit, woman, you're standing near his favorite sleeping spot.

He stares at her for a long moment.]

You look like shit.

[Hi Octavia, I'm Max Rockatansky, and I've been working on my people skills.]

Should go get treatment somewhere in camp.

later!!

[romancekiller]

[from the moment they crash landed on this planet, clarke's priority wasn't to search for people she knew mostly because of her lack of memories but other the past few months, things had slowly been coming back to her in bits and pieces which she'd been slowly piecing together. the people she knew, the things that she'd been through and while another jump seemed to pass, it still never occurred to her that anyone from home could show up. the days practically blurred together for her and while she normally would search for her people if they show up, it's been so long she's been on her own both her and on the tranquility that there's a part of her that thinks they didn't make it since disappearing on the ship.

the weather wasn't looking all that good and on top of that supplies seemed to be inexplicably be falling from the skies but rather than worry about how that was possible, clarke was trying to salvage as much as she heads out into the jungle. she walks a bit further and practically stops in her tracks hearing the threat come from a very familiar voice] Octavia?

[she knows her, she remembers that and clarke can't help but stare in complete surprise while taking in the sight of octavia standing just a few few away from her looking a bit worse for wear for reason she isn't quite up to speed on either]

later!!!!

[forerun]

[Minho doesn't bother himself with arrivals, mostly because he's always been bad at that part. Even in the Glade, he didn't interact with Greenies much until it was their turn to try out as Runners. His job had been an important one, and that got him in the habit of not dealing with people who didn't know their heads from their asses.

So he doesn't spend time near the ship if he can avoid it. He'd hated those months spent confined inside of it, and he hates the danger it presents now. Being on the planet is familiar and yet so different from anything he's experienced before. Being free to run anywhere, not just set paths, is exhilarating and terrifying and he can't imagine growing tired of it any time soon.

He's coming back from one of these runs when he hears something up ahead. Slowing down, he pulls the machete from his back and inches forward. When he hears the voice, he cocks his head to one side and steps into the clearing.]

Octavia?

dirty part!!

[kutte]

Yeah?

[ jax doesn't sound particularly concerned, though it's easy to be casual when he knows the person waving around the giant blade. and when said person looks like they've been through a grinder. the relief and joy at seeing octavia again is tempered by that, concern warring with amusement on jax's face. ]

Is that how you settled the last fight you were in?

clint barton - ota

[bowsbeforehoes]

[Clint's been in some crazy situations before. Brainwashed by an Asgardian trickster god, on a city that's flying and battling a sentient robot bent on world annihilation. There are worse things that could happen than waking up Matrix-style in a place he doesn't remember falling asleep in.

He hits the wall hard, and he has to sit there for a moment, curled up and trying to breathe. Ow. Every muscle and pore in his body hurts, and he struggles to his feet. It doesn't even occur to him that he's naked, because that's what they always do in sci-fi scenarios when you come out of gross goo like that. He wipes his face, and takes a few deep breaths.

At least he's not alone, but that's the part that worries him. Is this an alien abduction? Is he going to go home to his farm to find crop circles? Son of a-

Common sense kicks in. He needs to find clothes. He needs to find his bow, and he needs to find someone he knows and formulate a plan. Avenger brain is in full force now, and he's scrambling to the lockers in the medbay, opening a few until he finds what looks like his things. Bow, quiver of arrows, uniform. He wipes what he can off of himself and gets dressed, and it's the familiarity of the uniform that makes him feel a bit whole again.

That is, until he makes his way to the hull of the ship, muscles screaming the entire time. How long had he even been asleep? His muscles felt like they hadn't been used in weeks.]

This looks bad.

lets just bewilder clint 24/7 (also lemme know if I need to change anything)

[throwsdown]

[YO MATE I HEARD SOMETHING LOOKS BAD.

As Clint makes his way through the ship and finally gets near that sweet, sweet escape, an exceptionally short figure in a gas mask and a black fullbody power suit under a disheveled, too-big sweater flies down and lands next to him with surprising endurance. 'Cus, you know, usually most kids would break their legs jumping down that shit. Anyway — surprise!! This isn't a horror movie, promise. Takeshi whips off his cool new mask quickly, revealing a Japanese boy who looks five, maybe six.

Whoa, wait a sec, though.]

Mr. Clint! You're here!

[... Welcome???

He remembers you! You and Natasha found him in the vents. Good times.]

[vdova]

[ She doesn't normally come to investigate the jumps. The ship's too unstable for too many people to go, and she's usually too busy trying to track Skye down in the forest. She decides to go this time, one of the first people to help the people the ship has dragged in from God knows where.

There aren't many this time, a surprise, and Natasha nearly turns around and leaves because her help isn't really needed. And then she hears it. It's a catch phrase she's used to, in a voice she knows as well as her own. Natasha whips around, spotting him from afar. ] Clint!?

[kutte]

You get used to it.

[ is jax's greeting, grim amusement in his tone. ]

Looks like you came out of the jump alright, anyway. That's not a bad start.

[ it's not much a welcome. even before the crash, there hadn't been a good way to ease people into their situation. jax's gaze moves past clint briefly, looking into the depths of the ship to assess before he shakes his head. ]

How's it looking in there?

Ivan - ota

[deservesadaisy]

Ivan had begun to laugh, when he found the matches. It really wasn't that funny, but the very first thing he'd thought was What, no cigarettes, and it signaled something of a shift.

His memory was back. There was a lot of it, it had come back largely in fits and starts at first. He'd gained momentum as more and more memories had returned. (Some he was not entirely certain were his.) He'd been away from the camp through at least one jump, though he hadn't been able to wander far enough to miss it happening. He'd taken awhile to crave and think and consider. ("And pout," he could almost hear in an old friend's voice.)

The fact was that he couldn't stay on his own indefinitely. He'd have to go back sometime. The matches - the jump - it's as good a trigger as any other.

Ivan looks a bit rough, as he makes his way back toward his fellow castaways. He's clean, more or less, but he's not had a razor to shave with and the jumpsuit is a) ridiculous and b) a bit worse for wear after weeks in the jungle. Still he looks calm, collected. Perhaps even as if he knows what he's doing.

He's looking to see who he knows, who's left. But he won't be rude if someone else approaches. Rudeness, in this case, is a poor survival tactic. And he does intend to survive. He's decided.

[milagros]

Milagros and Ivan didn't exactly-- meet. It wasn't necessary; moreover, it wasn't preferable. She would prefer to go on having absolutely nothing to do with this monster, but her sense of responsibility is sufficiently developed that that isn't really an option.

She'd hoped, when she managed to sort through her memories, that perhaps he'd not made it, and wouldn't be her fucking problem any more.

But here he is, and as she's on one of her jaunts down to camp - the jump seemed like a wise time - here she is, as well. She regards him with flat, unfriendly dislike for a long few moments and then, briskly--

"What have you been eating?"

...and the lack of accusation in her tone is a conscious decision.

sally malik, jump day, locker rooms & just outside of the ship. ( ota )

[unmakes]

❰ so that - that was different. so very very different. different enough that it takes most of her willpower not to panic just a bit as she surveys the destruction that once was the most painfully routine part of each month.

the climbing's a decent distraction. though it would theoretically make more sense to evacuate toward the daylight - holy shit, she's on the TQ and there's fucking daylight, can we take a second on that?? anyway, heading toward the light would probably make more sense despite being a horrible cliche metaphor for someone who's spent much of the last few years dead, but true to routine, she climbs for the lockers instead.

her shit's right where she left it, though it's not the same shit. it's her locker, though. and, balanced on the narrow side of her usual bench, she manages to get dressed and gather the rest of her stuff. most of it's shoved in the purse for transport, but the buttons (one black and one brass, and they get a long and almost troubled look that anyone around is free to notice) are placed carefully in her pocket instead.

and then realization strikes.

cue sally pulling her pants back down right here in front of everyone so she's standing in her underwear, staring at and brushing a palm down the outside of her left thigh. under her breath: ❱

Hooooly shit. ❰ the wolf scars are gone. that means she's not a wolf. that means she's - what?

sally shoves her locker closed and turns back toward the pods, closing her eyes and drawing a preparatory sort of breath. if you're going to speak up, do it now.

otherwise, ten or fifteen seconds later, she dissipates from sight.



meanwhile, those outside the wreckage by now might spot a gooey woman in skinny jeans and a douchey leather jacket appearing from thin air just clear of the ship. her eyes are closed, but just for a second before she opens them, glances around, and busts out in a relieved sort of grin.

and though she's dimly aware that she's not alone, you're gonna have to give her a second, because as she drifts a few steps away from the ship, her eyes are soaking in everything - the landscape, the sky, the wreckage. one more time now: ❱ Holy shit.

outside what up what up

[ontheline]

'Holy shit' is one way to put it.

[Why hello there, young miss. Hughes has been hanging out around the camp, collecting radio parts and so on in case they could be of later use to the communications crew (what with him being partly useless, since he's from a world where this tech is still pretty damn advanced and he's only been in this situation for a few months). But once he does that, he also makes it a point to speak to faces he doesn't recognize.

So hey!

He offers her one of the fallen bottles of water, figuring she'd probably want it after, you know, likely being stuck in one of those unpleasant blue pods. He doesn't miss 'em.] Welcome. Don't drink the river water, careful not to wander too far, and don't mind the weird flora and fauna!

[Yes I am talking like a welcome person at a hotel, I like to mix it up. Don't mind his high energy, he just can't help it. Peppy motherfucker that he is.

He holds his hand out for a handshake, but be warned — it's a sturdy, good shake.]

I'm Hughes! Pleasure to meet you. Good job climbing out of the hell ship!

Out and About Around the Ship | OTA

[throwsdown]

[Takeshi comes back to the ship, after the jump. It's easy to remember that a lot of shaking means something's changing with it, probably bringing in new people, maybe sinking into the ground more or making problems for everyone else. He likes to be helpful, though, so he likely has to convince William to hang out on the outskirts comes back to see if maybe... maybe there's someone here that he knows. Who may remember him. That's the problem with six-year-olds fast approaching seven — they hold hope way beyond the scope of usual adult counterparts.

He happens upon a bunch of things. Some food cans, is one thing. But a gas mask, that's another!

He puts it on just because it seems like a cool play mask.]

Cool... It's like another part of my suit!!

[So you may see in the jungle outskirts or around camp casually even, as you leave the ship area:



NOTHING CREEPY ABOUT IT.]

Re: Out and About Around the Ship | OTA

[hairrands]

[Out on the forest line, the one between where the trees are still more or less hale and the ones that have crumbled to dust, AJ can be found with a very similar mask, one that she had found in her mad scramble to collect on all of the goodies. She's had the presence of mind to double-check on all of her little stashes of experimental, in-process moonshine, just in case any other scavengers have gotten overzealous, but now she's distracted playing with the stupid thing because she thinks she's completely alone.]

Breaker-breaker one-niner, [KSHHHHT] We, er, got a code red down here at the Burp-N-Go, could use some backup on this sludge bucket, do you copy?

[As she's checking in on her month-old brew of something she's been calling dingleberry brew to nobody but herself. She's also been huffing Darth Vader voice, but that might also just be the action of the mask.]

Tranquility / Base Camp OTA

[spittle]

Jump >> Lockers:

[ Flint's already pulling his pants on by the time company rolls around, waistband held bunched around bony hips. He's tall, slouched in the shoulders, long and gaunt in the face – the wiry grizzle of his hair is still drying, lifting sparse around the back.

One of the neighboring lockers already has its door tented in. After a long enough look to be sure no one is paying attention, he leans to muscle it open. Wet clothes, more wet clothes. A moldy alarm clock. A belt.

He takes the belt.

After that, he's more interested in what the others are shuffling out of their lockers than he is the clutter of blue and brown wadded up in his. Anyone within range is game to catch his eyes flashing eerily back at them in the gloom while he pulls his shirt down past his ears, or hauls the tarp blue of his jacket out of the garbage cluttered at the back of his locker.

A heavy set of manacles slithers out after it like an anchor, all chain rattle and crashing metal.

It's loud.

Flint watches it go, jacket in hand, scruffy chin tucked. After an uncertain beat, he rustles an arm through the sleeve of his jacket.

Maybe nobody noticed. ]


Later >> Base Camp:

[ The stink of wet earth clots in the sinuses, cloying, another night filtered through the rap of rain over canvas, or the buzzing of insects, or the howling of wind through the trees.

There are only so many tents, and the nights are cold.

So it is that there’s something else here when the first dawn light ghosts in grey through the open flap -- something with bony shoulders and eyes that flash pale silver after the first sign of wakeful movement from the makeshift bed. Flint is sitting cross-legged on the hard-beaten floor, rawboned, bristling, rough shaven. He’s wearing a windbreaker the color of Ty-D-Bol and both of his hands are rustling past the wrist in a bag that doesn’t belong to him.

Most of the contents are already strewn to the side, sorted into categories according to usefulness.

When the sheets shift again, he draws up into himself, elbows and eyeshine, watching, breath whistling thin through his nose.

A sudden surge of movement will spur him into a scrambling sprint, through the flap and out into the fog.

Anything less – anything quieter, slower, or more calculated -- and he pushes his luck.

Waiting. ]


[ OOC Note: feel free to adjust the particulars of the second scenario for your individual base camp situation. ]

Base Camp

[metempsychotic]

[ The sodden earth is sweet perfume to senses recently reawakened, the buzz of insects a ceaseless chorus to life, life, life! Even the chill wind and the discomfort it inevitably brings is a welcome change from true numbness. When she can no longer feel her fingers, Ieza can at least feel that lack of feeling- a fine distinction that couldn't be more significant to her.

And there is so much work to do, so much she has to learn while she still has the means. Strange stars speckle the dark blanket of night, all in need of charting, their sidereal secrets still fresh. New constellations need new names, new moons defining new months that will in turn define years, that will unlock a truth as close to divine as a scholar like she can aspire to.

Iezabel's tent has the advantage of natural sturdiness, its struts the great blade-like roots of an ancient ficus, a strangler vine that has long since slain its host and taken its place, leaving a great dry hollow within. Its accommodations are admittedly spartan, consisting of little more than a mat of desiccated ferns, a linen-wrapped codex resting between two roots, implements of writing and embalming. A bag of dried mushroom-pearls that have proven not only edible but quite palatable. A jar full of sluggish but still-living insects that may or may not be either. A little pile of fine bones and leathery skins.

It also has the advantage of being unoccupied for most of the evening, its habitual inhabitant returning only once the first pale fingers of dawn put an end to her quixotic task of enumerating the innumerable.

As such, there may be some question as to who is more surprised when she pulls aside the tarp and draws back her hood, revealing a flushed face: healthy, pretty, panting. Alive. And startled into indelicacy when she finds an intruder rifling through her already-meager cache: ]

What the drek are you doing here?

ota, jump, lockers

[mead]

JUMP;

[ It’s terrifying. She doesn’t know where she is or what’s going on, just that’s she’s floating and naked with something jammed into her throat; it causes her to choke, and when the liquid drains and the tube is whipped out of her trachea, Diana falls to the floor, coughing. Goo comes out of her lungs and nose, and she registers that she’s cold but it’s second to how scared she is. Diana lays in the fetal position for what feels like an eternity, but it’s probably only a minute or two. She pushes herself up, first using her forearms and then her hands, looking around at her surroundings.

And terror turns into a sort of bemused awe.

She’s never seen anything like it before. She’s not the only one coming out of the tubes, and people are slowly making their way towards a hole not straight above them, but enough of a climb that Diana’s not even sure she’ll be able to make it at first. She follows suit eventually, struggling her way up the climb. The sun is blinding when she pulls herself up and over, collapsing on the edge. She takes a few ragged breaths, and pushes herself up again, staring at the trees surrounding them. ] Where am I?

LOCKERS;

[ She's managed to find the collapsed lockers, and she uses them as a resting point, trying to work feeling back into her limbs. Her luck was good enough that she found a jumpsuit that fit her, as well as a couple of discarded and possibly already used towels — but she's not going to be picky right now. The goo is sticky and flaking off her skin in a way that Diana can only describe as 'gross'. It's not a real shower, but it'll do. She's steadfastly ignoring looking at her right hand; that's a reminder of home she doesn't want to deal with right now, even if the brand itches, likely because of the goo.

When she's done stripping her hair of the blue substance as best as she can, she tosses the towel down, and leans back, closing her eyes. There's nothing there for her to lean on, and Diana loses her balance, falling back onto an overturn locker. The contents spill out, and Diana sits up, rubbing at her head.

She stops when she sees the book. Hands shaking, she reaches for it slowly, eyes wide. It's brown, bound in leather, with a triskele mark embossed on the cover. Her Book of Shadows. But how? Diana stands up, setting the book down on the locker she'd been sitting on previously and starts digging out the contents of the locker she'd knocked open. Her clothes. Her mother's necklace. Her heart starts to race, and she looks around again, like she might start crying. ] What is going on!?

jump

[ontheline]

[Hey, hey, Hughes is out and about under a tarp converted into a roof, and he pokes his head out just in time for her startled question. Welcome the jungle, ma'am, it's all weird plants and concerning amounts of bad weather from here. But he has a soup that tastes pretty good, which is just what is needed for people with horrifically bad post-jump stomachs.

Anyway. Check out that random head poking out, like whack-a-mole.]

A currently unnamed planet!

Would you like a blanket and some soup?

Bill Adama OTA Camp

[oldmanhusker]

At least the jump didn't take them by surprise this time. And now they know the radius. Not an ideal situation, but when was everything ever?

He frowns when he comes across a gas mask that had fallen from the sky. Supplies didn't just rain down from above for no reason. Either they've been deliberately dropped, or something has happened to someone passing through who meant to use them. Either way, there is likely a reason there are gas masks and he can't think of a way that will end well for them.

He picks the mask up and glances around. "We should figure out how many of these dropped." Just one might be a coincidence. More than that though? Then they're going to want to know how many they have in the future.

[ex_paragon697]

the jump;

He's got to stop waking up like this.

It's a distant snatch of wry thought that doesn't negate the confusion or dread or impulse to try to jerk free of the tubing, but all of those, too, are familiar. Steve's hand is already halfway to his head before he realizes that his fingers have broken the surface, blue fluid draining from around him; he grasps at empty air at the back of his head just as the tube down his throat starts to pull free, and there's nothing tugging on his arm, either, countering and slowing his reach: he's not jacked in. That's the first difference.

In the first moments when his body has to keep his airways open on its own Steve starts to cough, a gagging, constrictive sensation farther down in his lungs than the tube had reached, and at least he's already pushing back against the fear hard enough that this part is so much old hat. When he hits the— floor? wall? he's just a guy trying to breathe here — it's less kind than the long flush of extraction, but he'll take it. Steve well knows how to tolerate pain, and it's preferable to nearly drowning in human waste (best and impossible not to think of exactly how much human that meant). At least he's breathing air, even if it's like trying to inhale through cotton and hurts like hell. That's the second difference.

The next (maybe not last) is this: around him he sees others through the alternating gloom and flashes of red, in various stages of weakly pushing to their feet. Steve can't make that attempt and hope to draw a real breath any time soon, but— he's not alone. He's not sure why it's important, but something's changed, and he's come too far to have lost again what he came for. He presses one side of his forehead to the damp floor, temple throbbing to the cry of the alarms, and he manages to overcome the press of gravity enough to punctuate a cough with a weak thump of his fist to the floor beside him. Suck it up, Rogers, you've been hit harder than this.

It's a while before his body's willing to listen.

the lockers;

He doesn't let himself think too hard on the contents of the locker. Most of them have already been emptied by the time he's able to get up and move in that direction, but he only pauses briefly. He pulls on the jumpsuit, tying the arms around his waist to cinch it, then shrugs into the roughspun material of the light gray sweater, scratchier still for the flakes sticking to his skin. The blue pill he closes inside of a compass he hasn't seen in a good six months; on Peggy gazing up at him from inside even in the red dark washing out the newsprint photo. He straps the shield to his back, and the bag, with the rest of the locker's contents shoved inside, thumps hollowly against the wood when he puts that, also, over narrow shoulders.

He'd found, over the last six months, that it helped to fall back on old habits. Old ways of surviving when he didn't have a body that could do the heavy lifting. It's one breath at a time, and one step in front of the other. Now it takes Steve to where the ship (he's been in enough of them lately to recognize what he's in) slopes upward, broken and smooth all the way up. It's the light he fixes on regardless, but his breath is still coming thin, winded before he even starts, and it's one of the few times in his life that he's not sure he can make it.

He closes his eyes for a brief moment, thinking of the remembered shouts of his drill sergeant when he'd gone back to Jersey — he'd reflected once, in Zion, that it was easier to feel nostalgic about it when you weren't currently tangled in barbed wire, but it's oddly focusing right now — then starts to climb.

base camp;

The tents are a dead giveaway for a base camp, makeshift as it may be, but there's little relief upon seeing it, despite the knowledge that he's taken long enough getting here that he ought to make sure he's got a place to sleep before night falls. His clothes cover the jacks on his body, his hair grown long enough to mostly cover the one at the base of his skull, though the sticky mess of it may make that moot. He's clearly pale and in need of the place to rest, but instead he scans the area with sharp eyes as he comes nearer, like a man who intends to turn over every tent until he finds what he's looking for.

His certainty in that faint flicker of hope from earlier takes on a more stubborn edge the longer he holds on to it.

( please feel free to be the one who helps steve out of the tranquility! )

jump b/c here's a new small homie to put in your pocket

[throwsdown]

Takeshi just comes in to see if anyone from before had come back — admittedly... he's more eager to see very particular people, but they're not here, so. So it's okay, though. He can still help out, since he's never, ever lost his Morale Officer title for the ship. Never. He'll always do his best, for his mom. He remembers explicitly the terror he'd felt when they first landed on the planet like this, when he was suffering from a killer case of amnesia and couldn't remember life before, on the ship. It must be so scary for everyone who doesn't know this place like he does.

He spots Steve quickly in the flashing but otherwise dimmed lighting, so the six-year-old hurries over to his side, getting onto his knees to be more on the poor guy's level since he's on the floor and whatnot. Did he hurt himself in the fall? He looks kind of... like he would hurt himself in a fall.

"Are you okay?! Let me help you up!"

He's stronger than he looks. Promise.

open!

[culver]

the camp, post-item rain

[She'd thought they were chunks of metal, at first. It would make sense that with the earth shaking so much, something from the ship would come loose. But once everything has settled and she cautiously approaches the camp area, she realizes that though there had been some metal, it wasn't just random pieces. No, there were actual things, useful things that had rained from the sky.

It's bewildering. She has no idea how it's even possible. But Nill nearly steps on a paper package tied with some twine, and decides that whatever's inside is at least worth seeing. Gently, she lifts the packet and unties the string. An excited smile finds her as three tall candles nearly tumble out of her hands. She barely manages to catch them, but the smile doesn't disappear. Candles! It had been a long time since she'd seen any of these. Her wings perk, and she immediately starts to search the area. If there are candles, there have to be matches, right?]

[theroadwarrior]

[GRUMBLING OVER HERE GRUMBLE GRUMBLE

Max is mostly just complaining because a metal can whacked him really good on the head, but hey, he's used to having injuries at this point; what's another cut bound to scar? Psssht. He happens upon Nill in the middle of his incoherent grumbling, though, recognizing her instantly by her wings. Oh. Chook feathers. He raises an eyebrow at her happily collecting candles — where on earth are these coming from?

He looks up at the sky, looking suspicious of it.

Is there some weird higher power again, trying to play nice?

Because usually it ends with them getting caught off guard and bullied around.

...

oh and hi nill]

( OPEN )

[20mentholkools]

[A month since he'd climbed out of the ruined shell of the Tranquility, and Riddick has been careful to avoid all contact with any of the other survivors. They've gathered together into one camp, stray groups wandering out for hunting or exploration - easy to keep out of the way of. Easy to observe. It hadn't taken long for him to have the patterns down, to recognise a handful of faces from time on the ship, to understand many of the others were the Tranquility's original crew, not so dead after all.

But he still sticks to the trees. Never the same place, always moving, hunting, watching. The alarms, when they start crying, don't draw him out - but the rumble rolling through the ground, several hours later, does. Further down from the camp, closer to the ship, he stands out in the wide gouge of bare land that makes the ship's crash path, jackal at his side. Watches the Tranquility strain against space to leave. But she's caught here, like an animal in a trap. And she's going to keep trapping people with her.

Another moment to listen to the sound of strained, aching metal groaning against the ground and he turns. Looks back to the camp with a tilt of his head, then moves to disappear back into the trees, jackal bounding ahead.]

[suddenlycaptain]

[ A month, also, since Carolyn has climbed out. A month of not knowing his fate, of Wash saying "most of the others" disappeared when she did but not really knowing what that means. A month of being too angry at herself for caring as much to ask.

A month and another jump, like clockwork. As if it would stop, even here.

A month and she sees a familiar canine-like shape, alien here and alien to everyone else, and the dark form of a man. And she knows it's him, knows he didn't just come this jump, and Carolyn Fry is caught between anger and relief so bright it's almost crippling. ]

Hey!

[ She shouts, but her faith in him turning to acknowledge it, in even knowing it's directed at him, is limited. So instead she whistles, sharp and piercing, hoping the jackal will come to her.

Even if Riddick doesn't follow, she can maybe attach a message. She can see what sort of shape it's in and judge Riddick's condition accordingly.

And in truth, she may have missed having something warm and furry to pet behind the ears. ]

Minho | OTA

[forerun]

jump day

Minho is feeling pretty happy about his little camp. He'd moved away from the ship before most of the other survivors had, mainly because he hadn't had all that much to carry with him. He's alone now, the only Glader left, and it means that he doesn't have all that many attachments. It also means that, when supplies start raining down on his little camp, he has it all to himself.

Scrambling to collect what he can, he journeys closer to the main camp as he hunts for things that could be useful. He has plenty of scrap to use for his shelter, but klunk like bandages and the odd can of food is worth running around for. He's not sure what use there is in a pair of bright pink women's shoes, but maybe he can trade them for something more his size.


next day

Now that people have things he might want—some new shoes would be really nice, especially some that fit and won't make him stick out like a sore thumb—Minho knows it's time to make friends. Somehow he'd been surviving on the ship with minimal interaction with strangers, mainly because he hadn't known who to trust. Now, though, he needs to trust everyone a little bit more or he'll probably end up dead. At the very least, he could use a flashlight.

So here he is, sitting on a tree stump on the edge of camp and sharpening his machete. At his feet is a sign that says sᴜяᴠɪᴠᴀʟ ʟᴇssᴏиs in some kind of paint made from mud written on a scrap of metal from the ship. Hopefully no one is scared off by his poor handwriting—he's offering survival skills, not English lessons.

next daaayyy

[circumitus]

Since the second arrival and the drops of supplies, Rey hasn't come back to the camp. It's been a good few days since she's even dropped in to check on old, familiar faces. Too busy gathering whatever she could find dropped in the jungle, it's goes without saying that she'd found herself busy with other matters than dabbling into the social scene.

After swinging by to check on the usual suspects, she finds herself slowing down when she notices a vaguely familiar teenager next to a crudely written sign. Though she's never spoken to him before, she recognizes the pre-crash people from the various jumps.

She eyes the words and the backwards letters, before they dart back to the boy with the machete he's sharpening.

"Take it you know how to use that?" She nods at the weapon. It's not used for shaving, that's for damned sure.