ataraxionlogs | (no subject)

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

With Joker set up more or less in front of his locker, she wanders her way down the long aisle of lockers until she finds her own, right near the very end 002 » 200. Even without her hearing, he's still within earshot, so it's not wholly rude. As he goes about sorting through the contents of his locker, so does she, managing to get as dressed as far as her underwear and her black leather jacket before shoving the Tranquility-issued uniform into her bag with the rest of her things. (She, very much like him, isn't going to be wearing that jumpsuit, thanks very much.)

She's combing her fingers through her hair, trying to make sense of all of its roughly-hewn geometric angles when she makes her way over again, messenger bag slung across her body, her legs and torso still very much bare despite the black leather that covers her here and there. "It's a nickname," she tells him; the truth, more or less.

"I was born there." A lie.

"Not shy, are you?" he says -- in the black and white of Cerberus' uniform, he is significantly better dressed. But he' steady on his crutches now -- and moves with the familiarly of someone who is on them very often.

"I was born with my legs busted, but I still got named Jeff," he points out helpfully. Aberdeen is still pretty weird as names go. "So, uh, to the lift? Unless you got more stuff to do down here. I need to get off my feet and regroup some."

She adjusts her bag on her shoulder, the leather of her jacket creaking slightly as she shifts, her head tilting slightly as she looks at Joker in her odd, assessing way. Her fingers have resumed their typing along the strap of her bag, it's less poignant than it was before, more absent and distracted, a subconscious habit almost. For all the Aberdeen is meant to be inconspicuous about her abilities, she's not very good at it (nor does she try very hard).

"You're not either," she says matter-of-factly and though her voice doesn't seem to fluctuate towards either the good or the bad this is definitely a plus as far as Aberdeen is concerned. She then lapses again into one of her long, prolonged silences, her eyes flickering down and then up again to get another once-over of Joker in his uniform before she ticks her head in the direction of the lifts.

A silent, let's go.

He doesn't call her on the oddities-- the funny typing, the strange mode of speech. Really, everybody who goes into the Navy-- or in Shepard's crew -- has some seriously messed up lives and everybody has their quirks. It's just the way it seems to play out. The cripple, the crazy, the imperfect perfect woman...

"Nope, I'm not. Because I'm the best. No hiding your light under a bushel and all that, right?" he says-- before he turns, managing on his crutches with ease-- heading for the lift.

He doesn't bother with ladies first, because he's got to fit on the lift with his crutches, and she can get on once he's situated. "Here's hoping this doesn't jettison us into the vacuum of space, huh? Pick a button."