(no subject)

[theguidinghand]

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.

Comments

[neutralises]

Durham knows better than to interrupt Aberdeen mid-flow, for all her sometimes jagged personality traits this movement of information between them is smooth, like silk. Experience usually on his side now that he's considered a mnemokinetic veteran by most Orders' standards, he uses it to ensure his own mind isn't overloaded, stores everything she offers in a place ready to be sifted through later. He assumes, perhaps prematurely, that there will be a later.

It isn't until her hands drop away from his face that he moves again, blinks once and then twice before there's a small crease showing between his eyebrows. It's possibly because he both dislikes this talk of 'Warp Sickness' and because even he can't help but be comforted by physical contact that is now lost, but he makes no attempt to hide it.

"I know," he finally speaks and is referring directly to her assertion that she will find out. He knows with colleagues like Aberdeen -like Hallah- around it really is only a matter of time. There is little one can do to escape from all that she hears, and he doesn't believe that's necessarily a bad thing in this situation.

"Until we know more I suggest we stay very much in contact."

[wiretap]

She looks at him now, her head very slightly inclining to one side. On someone else, the gesture would make her look curious, but Aberdeen's expression remains oddly blank and intent in that blankness. Her attention lingers at that crease between his brows and there's an impulse to reach up and smooth it away with the tips of her fingers. Absently, she teases the piercing in her lip with the tip of her tongue, the hoop jostling, relieving the itch that's settled there ever since she woke up from stasis and her body has taken up the task of trying to heal up the holes without any degree of success. After a moment, she indulges that impulse (if there's one truth about Hallah Tawse, it's that she does what she likes on the terms that she wants to do them) and presses her fingertips to Durham's brow — pushing one way and then the other way, re-establishing that contact for another passing moment.

"This is a colonization ship, though the colonists are missing. There are passenger quarters in the lower levels of the ship." Aberdeen's hand leaves Durham's face again to peel back the sleeve of her leather jacket (truly the only thing right now keeping her from full-blown nakedness). Down the inseam of her arm are a bunch of numerals, tucked neatly beneath an older tattoo of hers (the first 100 digits of pi written down along the inside of her arm from wrist to bicep). "There are corresponding rooms below."

002 » 200 reads her tattoo. Now he knows where to find her if she's not here in the arrival area. Aberdeen's always been something of a 'stay at home' type, anyway.

[neutralises]

Again, Durham doesn't feel the need to interrupt, or promise that he will deal with any lingering effects from the less than delightful tank of liquid he awoke to. Instead, he listens to the information he is being gifted freely and determines internally whether or not the two of them should be more worried. Aberdeen doesn't seem to think so and Durham, rightly or wrongly, is inclined to believe her. Overreaction isn't the other operative's style, and he can't help but be glad of that.

When her hand finally drops away again he makes certain he doesn't frown this time, and if he has noticed the very distinct lack of clothing beneath that leather jacket, he says nothing. He glances down at his own arm, now covered by a newly fitted jumpsuit, and tugs up the sleeve to reveal his own number: 002 » 030.

"I suppose I should try and find my room, then," he almost sounds like he's resigning himself to it, his tone very much betraying the kind of silent suffering and stiff upper-lip only the British can pull off like this.