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CHARACTERS: EVERYONE
LOCATION: MED BAY
WARNINGS: ... Partial nudity? It should be pretty tame, but let me know if I need to add anything.
SUMMARY: Side-effects of a jump may include disorientation and temporary memory loss. Fortunately, there are a handful of others who have been through this before.
NOTES: Yes, it's a rehashing of the game premise. Don't worry, you can personalize your own (re-)introduction!

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. 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.

Don't worry, you are not alone. There are others who have come before you, others who are awakening beside you. Some may be familiar to you, perhaps even friends. They will help you through your disorientation, even though they might suffer from it too.

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.

This is your welcome party.

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Nigel stares at her as she speaks and, for the first time since waking in this strange place, actually finds it in himself to smile, the corner of his mouth crooking up slightly. The whole topography of his face seems to change, seems to go from still and meaninglessly blank to alive and animated, something even vaguely resembling a boyish charm finding its way to his eyes. Personally, Nigel has no interest in bettering the lives of other people, whether his own or someone else's, though he can appreciate the sentiment of scripture, of the other-life, of inheriting something better.

It's that idea that his mind latches onto readily, that suggestion of a smile broadening in a welcoming way as he looks up at her standing and then pushes himself up to rise in tandem. His knees are a little bit uncertain so he stumbles slightly, catching himself on her elbow to keep from slipping. Even naked, he has no real sense of personal space and so he offers that smile to her again; behind it, he prods at the bald sockets where his molars had been with his tongue. "Natalie," he says, suddenly polite. "My name is Nigel, hello."

A pause and then: "I was shot too. It was very painful and I shouldn't have survived, but yet: here were are. Not in hell, as you say." He turns to survey the room, only now letting go of the arm that he had caught moments earlier. "What else do your scriptures tell you?"

"Many things," because Cylon religion does in some ways line up with aspects of human religions, but not the ones of her world. They were polytheists, heathens in some ways. Destroying their world had been ... well, a part of God's plan. "Above all, that love is the most important thing in the world." She nods slowly, his words helping her to piece together part of what's been going on in her own life.

"I was -- shot by someone familiar. She thought that I was abducting her daughter." She hadn't been, though -- she'd just wanted to see Hera, the first human/Cylon hybrid who was a product of a true loving relationship.

"Nigel." She doesn't ask where he's from, since it hardly seems relevant here. "I wonder if this place has windows." Because if it does, she can look out and at least extrapolate where they are. Assuming they're in an explored part of the universe, at least.

"Love."

Nigel get sidetracked by the word, forgetting her comment on the windows, even as he begins to move about the room, inspecting some of the other newly vacated gravity beds, pressing hands onto the faces of ones that still held their sleeping occupants. He turns to look at her again, that interest focusing, growing more keen and pointed and directed specifically at her. There are some concepts of organized religion that Nigel abhorred, misreadings of the texts to skew towards the vanities and pettiness of man, but at the very heart of it all there was something transcendental and illumination, something that could elevate man to the highest levels of existence and empower him in the most literal and metaphorical of ways.

That was what eternity was, in the end. God's hand touching the brow of man so that he may know himself and realize his fullest potential. And love — Maraclea, a brother Templar's truest love — was the means to open the door.

"There is nothing more exultant in the world than love," he says, his smile spreading again, this time in something like relief. This voice is light though the words seem to carry a dangerous sort of edge to them, like a weapon that he means to wield. "Only through love can man know God, Natalie, and obtain the keys to heaven."

Luckily for Nigel, this is a superb distraction from the fact that she has appeared on a ship that is in no way familiar to her. It is certainly not the medical bay of the -- the Galactica, that was the name of the vessel where she'd been shot -- and it is no Cylon ship.

That means it's something else. Absently, she thinks that perhaps this is just another trial for her to endure -- perhaps she is meant for something greater than being gunned down by a paranoid mother. That contents her a little, and she returns his smile with beauteous one of her own. If he's a human, he's a human who has taken God's love into himself willingly.

"You speak like a true believer, Nigel. There are many people who don't understand that their life is precious and to be lived with great meaning -- being able to die is a reason to be even more grateful for life." moves to walk next to him, occasionally touching her stomach. A weakness, yes, but she can't help the brief pangs of concern over it.

Truer words have never been spoken: Nigel Colbie is a believer. What exactly he believes, the hows and the whys to it all, is very often kept to himself, hidden behind the tidy buttons of his blazer and the impenetrable weight of his stare. What he believes isn't fit for polite company, nor truly for impolite company either. Because what he believes is such an utter delusion, such a gross perversion of concepts like God and love, that sharing it would no doubt lead to persecution, prosecution, and the firm hand of the secular law.

So what Nigel believes is often kept quiet, a secret that lingers behind his eyes that he shares with only those who are truly blessed with enlightenment. That he's begun to share it with Natalie now, only having met her minutes earlier, is not a good sign. Neither of them seem to be aware of that fact, however. If and when and how it will reveal itself eventually — only time will tell.

His attention falls to her side where her hand lingers on her stomach. "Then perhaps what this is—" He exhales a breath like a laugh and then touches the side of his own face, the side where the molars are missing, where Jack had pressed the barrel of the shotgun as Nigel prayed and thought thank God. "—is a blessing. Great meaning, waiting to reveal itself." It has to be, Nigel thinks. Eternity is inherited by the faithful.

As his eyes pull upwards to meet her gaze again he's reminded, passingly, of her nakedness and his own. He doesn't seem particularly bothered by it, nor truly fazed by it in any way. Most teenage boys would probably trip over themselves to find themselves in a room, naked, with a such a statuesque beauty, but to Nigel it seems to hold little interest. What she has to say about God is much more appealing to his slanted mind.

Silently, Nigel stares at Natalie in silence for another along moment before smirking. "I think it'd be best to find you some clothes. Then we can see to your windows."

A blessing. Well, that wouldn't be -- completely awful, she thinks. She nods absently, looking over to the door people seem to be disappearing into when he mentions getting them clothes. It isn't actually a big concern for her, but it's an option. Modesty isn't -- quite as big a deal in the Cylon religion as in other religions. "Yes, that might be best. I'm a little ... cold." She doesn't have to worry about getting sick, but it's best to keep up the ruse until she knows how he might respond to someone who's less-than-exactly-human.

"A blessing or a trial," she returns after a moment, pleased to have someone to speak to about religion without having them look at her like she had three heads (although talking with the Refugee Fleet, it might've been more that she was an actual Cylon than what she was speaking about that made them look at her so oddly). "But at any rate, we need to know more about the situation here before we make any decisions about why we're here." Whenever exactly they'd become a 'we' as far as she was concerned.

"Somethings reveal themselves with time," Nigel says absently, touching her elbow once before moving past her in the direction she'd been looking — the doorway where some of the others had moved to and through, from which there came the muffled sound of conversation and movement. It's not clear whether he's speaking to himself or to her, and it's more than possible that he's speaking to both, though he doesn't take even a moment's worth of time to clarify in either case. "Other things require inspiration to be revealed. So long as it isn't complacency."

He pauses in the doorway, surveys the room beyond and it's long lines of lockers; Nigel glances at Natalie over his shoulder and again, flashes her that schoolboy grin of his before moving on, down the nearest aisle. "I hate complacency, you see. There's nothing worse than a man who squanders what's been given on things like apathy and inaction."

As Nigel moves along the lockers, he touches them lightly with the tips of his fingers, as if looking to read their faces like Braille.

She takes a breath. "Yes, of course. Sometimes we need to be patient." If they are being tested, she doesn't want to appear greedy or unfaithful. "Sloth is one of the worst sins," she agrees, nodding.

Natalie, for her part, opts to go straight to the locker with the number 006 on it. She hasn't actually noticed the tattoo, but once she steps toward the locker and reaches toward it, she sees it on her forearm and is -- amused, actually. She laughs quietly, something light and soft, and looks over to Nigel.

"What's in your locker?" It's part conversation, but it's also curiosity. Natalie's own locker is bare except for the standard jumpsuit, a copy of the Cylon version of the bible and a Centurion telencephalic implant. The suit is -- less-than-flattering, but once she pulls it on she takes some liberties with creative tearing and sleeve-rolling to make it something a bit better. She slips the implant into her pocket and turns back to Nigel.

It takes Nigel a bit longer to find his locker, it being much further along the aisle than Natalie's. When he does finally locate locker "111", he's quite pleased to find his uniform waiting for him there, hanging neatly from a wooden hanger like the kind he'd grown used to back home but which his father had forbade him bring to school for they much too costly and well-made to hang in a preparatory school closet. Nigel dresses slowly and carefully, being mindful to scrub his hair as close to dry as possible with the Tranquility uniform that goes otherwise unused and unworn.

He pauses midway in his dressing to survey the rest of his bounty, his jacket still hanging and his tie still untied and draped around his neck as he kneels to find his trusty leather satchel also waiting for him. Inside is his journal, a personal tome documenting the reign of the Templars and his and Jack's place at the very end of the Templar bloodline, as well as a copy of the King James Bible, a mechanical pencil, a deck of playing cards, and a fair assortment of tools used in pathological procedures (the most notable of which is an 8 inch bone saw). Nigel is holding the saw in question in one hand when Natalie turns to him to inquire. He makes no effort to hide it from her, calmly looking between the blade and then her and then back again before moving to tuck it away along with the rest of his things. "There's a uniform from school," he tells her evenly, finally straightening. "As well as some of my personal effects. I'm rather fond of this bag. It has—" A pause. "—sentimental value."

She heads slowly down the rows of lockers toward Nigel once she's dressed since he's gotten so much farther down, and -- something tickles in the back of her mind. He's going to school, which means he's either a minor or something close to it. That doesn't change the fact that they seem to have much in common; she has a feeling she's going to end up being some sort of mentor to him. It -- wouldn't be the first time.

And then he's turning to her casually with a bone saw before he places it back into his things and she furrows her brows, arms crossed over her chest.

"It's good to see this place returning personal items." However, if it knew that the bag was important to Nigel, there's the potential for there to have been some sort of memory-reading devices in the gravity couches. She won't bring that much up, though.

"This place," Nigel repeats somewhat skeptically, not sure if Natalie means quite literally the place itself or whatever Powers That Be were responsible for bringing them in here in the first place. But matters of 'place' dreg up thoughts of 'home' along with them, and Nigel finds himself thinking not only of the cold stone facades of the school and its grey as grey can be buildings, but also the warm wooden floorboards of his parents' house in the suburbs, his secret place hidden underneath, tucked in the crawlspace of the basement. "Perhaps it means for us to be comfortable. Reminders from home."

Slowly he begins to adjust his tie and go about the process of tying it neatly. There are plenty of knots that Nigel knows; many of them have become very useful as of late, what with the whole mess with Susan in the greenhouse of the girl's school. Neckties demand a different sort of knot altogether, though Nigel knows his fair share of those two. In the end, four-in-hand is his knot of choice and so his fingers and hands proceed without much hesitation or through, his chin tipping upwards as he lifts the collar of his shirt so as to make more room in which to work. "Might I ask where you're from, Natalie?" he eventually inquires. "I can't quite place your accent. America, is it?"

She knows that hesitating is just going to make her seem suspicious, so she goes with the truth. "From a starship, most recently. Not one like this, though." Because she wasn't born as much as she was activated and downloaded time and time again, it isn't a lie. She lived on Caprica and New Caprica both, but she didn't really consider either of them her home. Being on Gemenon had been nice, being a reformist had been nice as well -- but it had still felt like a lie.

"Comfortable. It's got a long way to go for me to consider myself comfortable here." For one thing, she'd need at least a few familiar faces -- and maybe some confirmation that she was here for something bigger. Maybe it was to help this poor human boy. Hm.

Nigel's expression changes as his hands pause and then promptly resume in the business of tying his tie. He's always had a head for academic studies, but only in the areas that held his personal interest: anatomy, zoology, history, religion. The physical sciences like chemistry and astronomy were oftentimes left sorely to the wayside, along with things like pop culture, and so his point of reference when it comes to space isn't very far off the ground (to pardon the pun).

He waits until he's done with his tie, smoothing it down the front of his shirt with both hands before moving to pull on his blazer. It makes Nigel look older, the slacks and tie, the formal black blazer and the shined dress shoes, and it's obvious when he finally straightens with a somewhat sigh, that he's used to being tidy and probably prefers it that way — at least where personal grooming is concerned. Only when he's finished does he give Natalie a look.

"A spaceship. Really."

The statement serves double portions of incredulity. Both in where she's from and where they are presently.

"That's quite a bit different from what I'd expected."

Edited 2012-01-16 14:56 (UTC)

She notices the way that he takes his time putting on each part of his clothing, notices the way that all his clothes look lean and neat -- and files that in the back of her mind for the moment, smiling softly at the image. He seems well-behaved so far, if a little -- eccentric, being a believer like her. It's atypical of most humans.

"Why?" She raises an eyebrow. It hasn't really occurred to her that this place might be in the midst of some sort of temporal disturbance, although the idea starts to blossom even as she asks why that would be strange.

"...is space travel atypical where you're from?"

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