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

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me." It's muttered to himself, his hand drifting briefly toward his gun. But he gives up half way. He could definitely say it could be worse. Hallucination or not, it could be Sloan stood there, and doubts he'd be able to hold himself back. He's heard the whole story of shooting a gun on a plane. Had to be an even worse idea to start shooting on a spaceship, right?

"Are you meant to be my subconscious trying to dick around with me?" Reminding him of one of the few good things that'd happened in his life, and just how well that had ended up. Though, really, shouldn't there be a spray of blood, or at the very least, a gun aimed at his own head? He may not have seen the bullet hit her, but he saw enough of the others to know she doesn't look like she faced down a bullet any time recently.

His mind clearly needs to get itself back in gear and try harder to fuck with him. He's not buying it.

Fox stood with her back perfectly straight, arms resting at her sides with one idly on her hip. Relaxed but firm as she watched his annoyance, his hand going to the gun then stopping. For a moment she looked more amused than usual. When did her lost little puppy start baring his teeth? Last she saw of him was in the office of the Fraternity, calling for Sloan's blood. Well, he'd gotten hers instead that day.

Or that was how it was supposed to be.

"You know what I would have done if you imagined me in my underwear," She answered back. She seemed to not mind that she was still undressed.

"I must be in Hell if I have to see your face again. not that I had my hopes set high." What was going on here?

"I'd like to think I've got a better imagination than that." A response he'd never give otherwise. You don't fuck around with Fox. He learned that lesson the hard way. But he's not the same kid she knew. He's different now; he knows that, and he's proud of it. Of what he's become. He's following in his father's shoes, and even Sloan couldn't stop him.

Shifting to lean against the wall, he does his best to seem as relaxed as possible. But it's not as easy with Fox right there. He can't put on a show because she's one of the only people who'll likely ever set him on edge. Seven weeks ago she got under his skin, and he still can't dig her back out.

"Isn't this the part where you're meant to say you missed me? Or that you're just glad to see me again?" His words sound amused, a hint of a smirk on his face. He's still aiming for that upper-hand that he's never really had with her.

"Find me my gun and I'll show you how much I missed you."

She didn't hate him. She was past hate now. She was a living phantom, abandoned of regrets but living without purpose. At one time Wesley had been that purpose. Training and perfecting him. Anything she felt for him disappeared when his name had appeared on the loom. And again when that bullet had come for her.

There was something different about him, though. He stood with more self-confidence now than any other time she'd seen him before. She didn't know whether to be proud or mildly concerned about what kind of threat Wesley might pose to her.

"You found your things, I see." She nodded to his clothes and guns. "Where are mine?"

It's the last thing on his mind; to purposely give Fox a weapon any time soon. She may not have killed him in that room, but there's no reason to think that's the end of it all. His name had come up too, and she'd willingly sacrificed her own life for that very same Loom. What's to say that she won't finish the job now?

Assuming, of course, than any of this was really happening.

"Coming? Or do you need me to hold your hand?" Because he's offering one now. A figurative one, that is. He may not trust her, but even in his mind, even while she's a figure left in his past, there's still a part of him that can't just leave without helping. She's Fox; the same person who tried to kill him. But she's also the person who saved him first.