ａｘｍｏｄｓ. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ataraxites) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ataraxionlogs2014-05-07 08:58 pm
ataraxites) wrote in ataraxionlogs2014-05-07 08:58 pm
Entry tags:
- !jump,
- adam monroe,
- aidan waite,
- alex summers | au,
- angel,
- arya stark,
- athos,
- biggs darklighter,
- bran stark,
- bucky barnes,
- buffy summers,
- carolyn fry,
- cesare borgia,
- charles xavier,
- commander shepard,
- cora hale,
- daenerys targaryen,
- damian wayne (robin),
- derek hale,
- elizabeth of york,
- ellie,
- emma swan,
- eowyn,
- eric northman,
- fenris,
- fili,
- galadriel,
- graham humbert,
- hank mccoy,
- harry potter,
- ianto jones,
- ilde featherstonehaugh,
- isaac lahey,
- jack harkness,
- jaime lannister,
- jason "red hood" todd,
- john "reaper" grimm,
- john mitchell,
- kate bishop,
- lucrezia borgia,
- luke skywalker,
- marian hawke,
- merlin,
- ned | au,
- netherlands,
- nuala,
- odessa knutson,
- peeta mellark,
- peter parker,
- regina mills,
- remus lupin,
- rikku | au,
- robb stark,
- robin hood,
- sally malik,
- scott mccall,
- severus snape,
- sirius black,
- skye,
- spike,
- stiles stilinski,
- taylor "tyke" kee,
- teresa agnes,
- thomas,
- thor odinson,
- tiffany aching,
- tony stark,
- wendy beauchamp,
- will graham
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.
----------------
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.
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.
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.
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.
no subject
It's not as good as it could be, but paradoxically, that's better, somehow. Certainly better than Sirius was expecting, and better, too, in that it's nothing definite. Not an answer given too quickly, either positive or negative. It just is. Belief is something real, and Sirius immediately clings to it. If Remus believes him, that's a start.
It's not as good as it could be, but it's enough that he nearly forgets to take the towel from Remus. For other people, casual nudity might be more of a thing--and maybe it still should be, because this is Remus-but-it-isn't. He has to remember that. It's just that beneath everything else, this is Remus. There's a point where you're half a semester in to living in a dormitory with someone and modesty becomes sort of a luxury that you adjust to living without, until it's sort of not something you much care about. So when he does realise that the towel is being offered, when he stops staring up at Remus with a stupid hot feeling behind his eyes--well, then, he just takes the towel from him, and rub it over his face. That hurts as well, but it's good, it takes his mind off of those three words that are rattling around in his head. Even when he's cleaned off a bit, his voice is still a bit thick--which is stupid, but there's nothing he can do about it, no matter how much he hates it.
"Thanks." And that's even stupider than a thick voice, and Sirius barks a dark laugh, as he gives one last push of the towel over his face. "There's more, down that way, or just-- your clothes. I'll give this one to a robot to wash."
And then he looks around again, and there's Remus' hand, and Sirius takes it at first without thinking. And then, once he's gripping at Remus' palm and he can feel the tiny little differences--maybe it's a new scar, or just a different grip--he realises the magnitude of that tiny gesture as well. He stares at Remus--same height; if Sirius thought about it he could probably pick out a year where Remus had stopped growing taller--but he's not thinking of that, he's just thinking of the weight of Remus' hand in his and the coolness of his palm and how stupid it is, that he hasn't yet managed to blink away that hot feeling behind his eyes.
"Thanks," he says again, uselessly. He has to force himself let go of Remus' hand. He doesn't want to. That's even stupider, he's not a child, they can't go around holding hands--and he wouldn't want to, not really. It's just that instinct to keep close to Remus. He believes you. Get out of it, Black.
no subject
The robots can have that towel, and he'll go get a new one, and he'll find his locker, and—
"Right," he says, turning his attention and his posture toward the showers. Towels. It's better than facing Sirius, with his sincerity and his gratitude Thanks. Remus can't answer that. If every bruise forming on his skin isn't a mistake that Remus has made, then letting him talk away now is a new one, and Remus can't deal with either option at the moment. "Right. I'll come find you."
He doesn't say when and he has no idea where or how, and if he knew himself better—if he had any idea that his last six months of intentional distance were possibly the start of a new lifelong habit—then he might have known he was lying.