ataraxionlogs | thirty-first jump;

CHARACTERS: Any and all.
LOCATION: Gravity Couches and beyond.
WARNINGS: Maybe some swearing, or even some violence, and more than likely some implied (and possibly explicit) nakedness.
SUMMARY: Another month, another jump, another round of new faces.
NOTES: There is something very easy about waking from the gravcouches this month. The sensation of being watched is absent, and so is much of the sickness - even for those characters who entered Engineering in February. Instead the jump feels comfortable, the stasis fluid warm on your skin, the medbay lights not too harsh as you emerge amongst your fellow passengers. The sensation may be unnerving in its strangeness, but there will be a deep feeling of being well-rested, calm and content, that will not be completely lost no matter how much you question it.

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You wake up in darkness.

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.

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. Others have much less amiable plans. Some are merely alien and inexplicable, but there are always those who might mean you harm.

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

Don't tell me it's the dog.

[ his expression falls into mild, disheartened surrender, the face of a hopefully disinterested vampire. while simultaneously being one who'd love to sink his teeth in. because if it's the dog, that's going to cause more problems than it's worth it to explain. especially in a day or two when he'd have to explain where the hell the little thing went. ]

Nope. [ spike digs around in his duster, looking at the dog while he goes. a few minutes later and he's pulling out a blood packet. ]

Don't-- [ make something out of this. he can't finish the sentence, handing the blood over. there's a little handdrawn label of a pig on the front. ]

[ eugh. ]

How many pigs you have to kill to get this?

[ act enthralled but not impressed, surprised but not too surprised, interested but quietly so. it was all a game, all something that angelus could sink his teeth into (no pun intended) and play around in, like putting his hand into the puppet of his own body and making it march to whatever tune he chose. but still, blood was blood. and for the time being it was convenient. ]

None. [ he lit up the cigarette and tossed the blood in angel's locker. ] And I know you need it, so.

[ i've been working on this a bloody long time, you bastard. ]

[ because i'm a douche bag who would take it any other way, yeah yeah get over it. ]

Thanks.

[ he can say thanks right, that's allowed? all frowny and unkempt about it but he can say it nonetheless, even stare at the bag for awhile until he wants to knock Spike over and sneer in his face about what he knows he needs. ]

[ except that reaction makes him frown. he gets a little closer, squinting as he tries to catch the look on angel's face. ] And that's it, huh?

'Thanks.' [ is he reading too much into this? or has angel really just given up. he's honestly worried either way, invading more of his space by the second. ] Well, you're bloody welcome.

What do you want me to do, Spike? Dance for you?

[ angelus narrowed his gaze which felt all too right, glowering down heatedly at the other vampire. there wasn't even a reason to get all pissy but it felt good to do in the moment, letting out some of his inner... self for no reason other than to just do it. ]

Wouldn't hurt. Not that anyone wants to see that. [ spike looks angel up and down, and for a second he's transported to another time and place - before souls and complications and buffy and sunnydale. back when it was just them and things were just right.

fuck. he stumbles back as if burnt, eyes wide with trepidation. he's got to be imagining things. angel is still just angel - he's just being a douche because that's what they do; they banter and bicker and fight and shove and claw until one of them gives up and packs it up for the day.

except this feels different. darker. ]

Just eat it. Grumpy.

I'll eat it when you stop hovering.

[ it was half teasing, half rough pressure, pushing space between them and holding it there in ways that angelus found amusing. it kept space between them when there never should be any - not if angelus didn't want to abuse it - but the faces spike were making were just priceless all on their own.

he wanted to eat it now, sure, but he could use it to torment spike that much more easily. hang it over his head and watch just for shits and giggles. ]

Nope. Not going anywhere until you clean your plate. [ it's instant, a challenge, crossing his arms across his chest. he doesn't actually want to watch angel eat but he does want even a shred of recognition - proof that he's doing the right thing in helping his sire. ]

[ angelus is a hundred percent sure that he's more than offered whatever recognition needs to be given but apparently he hasn't done enough in spike's eyes. there's always more that needs to be done for him, more giving, more showing of whatever it is that spike expects. but angel rolls his eyes into absolute stubbornness, looks back to the bag and then back to spike, a war waging behind his eyes. ]

This out of the kindness of your heart, Spike?

Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. [ but he's sighing - busting through the whole facade. fuck this. ] I just want to know if it's any good. So drink up, guinea pig.

thirty-first jump;

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