ataraxionlogs | thirty-fifth jump;

Entry tags:

thirty-fifth 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: You wake feeling cold and alone. There is a strange sense of emptiness, and the jump holds no surprises for you. There is nothing buffering the jump sickness and disorientation for you this month, and those still suffering the lingering effects of August's plot may find it more difficult than usual to get through the post-jump routine.

New arrivals will find messages spraypainted across their lockers telling them not to follow their tattoo numbers, and instead to find a room on Floors 001-010.

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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.

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( the voice is familiar enough, somehow, that ilde restrains her instinctive response - less than friendly - and turns, pushing her damp hair over her shoulder and out of her way. some things don't change, and 'ilde having more hair than any one woman actually needs' is one of them. )

I've-- yeah, I have a couple of things, thank you.

( it's not a total lack of recognition on her part - she's scrutinizing elizabeth like she's sure she should know this girl, just...it's on the tip of her tongue. she's nearly got it. )

( Not a total lack of recognition, no. but neither is it the camaraderie she has become so used to over the past several months. to her credit, elizabeth doesn't miss a beat, as she casually drops her hand from the woman's shoulder with a small but friendly smile. )

That is good. Have you any need of assistance? You and I are ( her mind leaps to think of the word. ) assigned a shared quarters.

So if there is anything you need, I am here.

( ilde hooks her bra into place and tugs her fingers through her hair - there's a small fortune in jewels on her left hand, like more diamonds were supposed to make their marriage more secure - before she exhales, too forceful to be called a sigh, and... christ, there's so much 'and' here. and what. she doesn't know. they'll be fine without her, and that's the worst part-- )

I don't suppose that room happens to have a stiff drink in it.

( it's ilde's room. of course it does. )

--no, I do know you, don't I?

( a wry smile flits upon her mouth for a moment, and she nods. )

I believe so. I would not say no to one, myself.

( elizabeth stills, canting her head forward in a slow, measured gesture. ) Yes, you do.

I am Elizabeth Plantagenet. Though I am also called Elizabeth of York.

Fuck me, you are, too.

( this is not something ilde should be able to be so confident about, she feels. long dead tudor queens - god, she's so young. shouldn't she be older? why should she be older. because ilde was young, too-- )

Oh, Christ. All right.

( her cheeks flush at the use of that word. she's picked up on the general fact that it no longer means to harvest one's fields. thank you, tranquility. )

I think that would be rather difficult for me to do. Being a woman. But yes, I am.

( although she does not feel much like herself of late. )

Let us finish and quit this place, so we might seek out that drink.

Oh, honey. You'd be surprised.

( --that is not nearly anything resembling like necessary, ilde, even if you did do your homework so the sex talk you gave your kids would account for as many possibilities in their lives that you could think of and are therefore at least nominally qualified to hand out lesbian sex ed.

yep.

... so. )

That sounds like a good idea, though. Just - yeah, give me a minute.

I would? ( hey, look, ye olde distraction! she snatches at it, desperate to think of anything other than her own (trainwreck) love life. )

Now, I confess to finding myself curious. It is against the teaching of the church and is a sin in every manner I might think of. But I am curious.

( because it's future!stuff, for it to be so casually and flippantly mentioned as though it is normal when it is anything but in her era. and she can't help but wonder what manner of world that is, and if it might lend to people being happier, freer. or not. if she does not ask, she will never know.

she nods her head, seating herself beside her on the bench. lizzie is much at ease around women whilst changing and bathing and does not blink an eyelash if she sees anything she shouldn't. )

Of course.

If you ever meet a man, Lizzie, ( as she turns back to her locker, wiggling into her leggings and fastening her necklace before putting her blouse on, ) who tells you that he has no idea how women have sex without men, don't fuck him. What he's actually just told you is 'I have no idea how to pleasure a woman, and I'm so ignorant I don't even know that's what I've said'.

( LIFE LESSONS WITH ILDE, THE CONTINUING SERIES. that's so much nicer than talking about the photos she doesn't want to have to talk about when she puts them up in their room. )

( all at once she bursts into startled laughter, a flush bright in her cheeks. distraction: achieved! thank god. )

Thankfully, I have not had such a thing happen to me. Though I would hazard that most God-fearing men of my country would apply in that case.

( and elsewhere, too. an interesting thought to consider if she ever goes home. )

God forbid something not be about where some bloke's cock is at any given moment, after all, ( dryly.

clothed, her hair damp but not dripping, she turns back and offers elizabeth a bit of a wry smile. )

I'm not sure where we're going, exactly, you're going to have to refresh my memory.

Edited 2014-09-09 06:20 (UTC)

Indeed. ( one word and spoken rather curtly. ) Or where they desire to put it.

( the remark is borne more from frustration than any actual truth. elizabeth stands, though, and holds out her arm. )

Then allow me to escort you. It will be my pleasure.

( and she will lead her to the lift and thenceforth to their room. which she is trying hard to think of as home. maybe if she does so with enough fervour, it will actually start to feel true. )

( it's not hard to figure out which bed is hers - it's the unmade one with grey satin and lace abandoned, tangled, at the end. yeah, that seems about right. some of the belongings are familiar - god, it's been years since she saw her father's cardigan. she remembers it worn out, holes in the elbows, but here it is. clean and whole, and without her father in it. her perfume sitting on a table; a pair of Louboutin flats on the floor, one right-side up and one upside-down.

she sets down what she brought with her, sliding her pictures out from inside the folders and notes and setting the frames down on the table by the perfume bottle. there's a double frame, featuring two pictures of three children; a boy and a girl of equal age, and a baby whose father was almost certainly not white. in the first picture, the baby is clasped in one arm by the girl, whose free hand is pushing her determined brother away by his face - a woman's hands, identifiable as ilde by the wedding rings, is reaching into frame to confiscate the baby from her feuding siblings. the second picture is rather more posed; the boy in a suit, his sister in a cream dress with a golden bow, the two of them sat neatly in a manicured garden with their infant sister tucked in their combined lap, wearing what looks like a baptismal gown.

the third and fourth pictures are in a second double frame, featuring the boy and girl - much younger - and a tall blond man with a much simpler platinum band than ilde's profusion of overpriced jewels. in the first of that frame, the trio are pictured on their way out the door, the twins in an urban jungle mountain buggy and their father waving off the photographer as he ties his running shoes. the second picture must be later that same day; dad sweaty, sleeping on the sofa, the twins sprawled across his chest and lap. )

( tilting her head, elizabeth takes a tentative step toward ilde and therefore the pictures, her eyes taking in the three children, the hands, and the man. they tell a story, which she reads much this way: ilde has experienced much since she left the ship. in seemingly an instant, years have passed by. there are clearly two men involved, which lends her to wonder privately about the state of her marriage. not that she intends to pry.

and she has had the joy of holding not one but three children in her arms. this is the shadow of a life elizabeth has always wanted. albeit obviously an extremely unconventional adaptation. she has never seen such photographs before, like portraits but alive. they capture the liveliness of the twins and the busy nature of their lives.

she envies ilde just a little bit. motherhood has always been something she's known to be expected of her. but it is also something she has always wanted: a happy family, as her own had been for such a brief instant in time. )

They are beautiful. ( she says quietly, not prying as she's promised herself. )

( the second frame had sat in pride of place on their mantel, where jasper had routinely complained that ilde had chosen the least flattering of options to display and not too secretly quite liked it. the first, though - ilde kept those photos in her dressing room, which despite being attached to their bedroom is not anywhere jasper makes a habit of frequenting. yvonne and guy knock first, and she usually just comes out. no one really sees them. )

They really are, aren't they? These are a bit old, now - Yvonne and Guy are not much younger than you, I think.

( she doesn't mention the baby at all. )

( she has the grace to hide the majority of her surprise, because ilde looks older. but not that much older. )

They are? I must be past nineteen by now. I have not left and returned as you have. Mere days have passed for me since I saw you last.

( since she'd panicked and thought the worst, though she makes no mention of that. it is telling that ilde does not mention the baby. who looks like no infant she has seen before; but whom she finds beautiful, nonetheless. very much so. she admires the plump face and the vibrant eyes for a moment, and turns away from them quietly. )

Would that I had such living portraits of my own family to show others. They are all beautiful, as well. Bridget, especially.

She would be four now, I believe.

A few years younger.

( the twins are about fifteen, sixteen come december, just after their mother turns thirty-nine; gul would be about five or six, and it's been almost that long since ilde even said her name. the twins learned to stop asking after their sister, eventually, when the unsteady optimism that they'd be seeing her again soon became quiet dismissals and then, eventually, just tears. )

I've got more, on the laptop-- ( with a gesture. ) It's my uncle's, he kept a lot of what I sent him. Some videos, some pictures. None of it's any more recent, really, but...it's nice to have.

( to think that she won't have to be without even their voices, here. )

People have been talking about how terrible the internet age is since I was younger than you are, but-- you know what it's like to not have that.

I would like to see them one day, if you would allow me the pleasure.

( yeah, ilde really doesn't look old enough to be the mother of someone that old given the age she'd appeared to be mere days ago. it's odd, though she has no idea how long folks actually live in the future. the live expectancy in her time is dismal, as ilde well knows. )

I do know, yes. And if by internet you are alluding to something akin to this network we have here—I shudder to think what the people of my time would do with it.

But there might be comfort in being able to save a recording of my father's voice, or somewhat similar. ( she shakes her head, and moves to sit down upon her own, much more neat and plainly made bed. )

Life has been kind to you since your departure after a fashion, I hope.

Life has been life, but I wouldn't mind showing you.

( "no". )

The internet's - a bit different from the network, ( as she sits down, taking her shoes off again and stretching out. ) The network's more like something that could be a small part of the internet, it's a lot...smaller, more limited. It's sort of like - I used to talk to my grandparents through a kind of network that functioned through the internet.

How I met my uncle, actually. So I'd send them things, keep them appraised of my family from the other side of the world.

I thank you.

( from the other side of the world? excuse elizabeth as she does a double-take and appears slack-jawed for a moment. )

And this.. internet. It functions like this network but on a grander scale? Good God.

( the problems it could cause in 15th century europe. just no. nope. she lays herself back on her bed, and stares up at the ceiling. )

Until recently, I had thought I might have some sort of happy life of my own. I apologize for not speaking of it when I arrived, Ilde.

( she exhales sharply, and glances away. ) Cesare has been married all this time, it seems. There is no future for us.

( it takes her a moment to put it together - drag out the old memories, connect the dots, and then... )

Better or worse than still being a Cardinal?

( not helpful!! a valid point, not that she knows it, for why ilde had never inquired after those details the first time around - it's a bit awkward to ask your friend if her boyfriend is still technically forbidden to know any of the things he is infamous for knowing in great detail. there was a period of time between the cardinalate and his marriage; ilde had probably just hoped he was 'from then'. for all that it was a bloody brief period of time - it isn't as if she'd had the dates on hand. )

No, I'm sorry- I'm guessing he wasn't as honest with you as he should've been.

( elizabeth, she is certain, would never have got involved with him in the first place if he'd been truthful. she just seems like that kind of girl, even with as vague as ilde's memories of her previous time here currently are. )

( her expression twists, and then becomes a neutral mask for a moment. )

He is a Cardinal no longer. By his word, whatever it is worth any longer, he merely donned the habit to please his sister. As she does not know. She is from further back in time than he.

( and will likely be a spitting cat if she mentions any of this situation to her. not pertaining to whether or not he is still a man of the cloth, but this. the dishonesty, a wife neither his sister nor lover knew of, and likely more. she can't help but wonder now just how much more there is, though there is little point in it. the little she has been told has already determined that there is nothing to be had here for her.

and she'd really just prefer to return home and find herself a husband other than henry. but she wouldn't wish to, and she wouldn't be able to leave without her heart remaining behind. that is how it feels. like she is being torn asunder. she bites her lip. )

No.. no. He was not.

( no, she wouldn't have, at all. she doesn't know what he's thought to gain from this deception all this time. but he has made her care, and the depth of her hurt can be seen in her eyes. )

( ilde considers her for a few moments, quiet in the face of elizabeth's obvious unhappiness- god knows she knows from unhappiness.

finally-- )

Do you want my advice, or do you want me to tell you he's a bastard and get you blind drunk so you can forget about him a while?

( it's not brisk tough love, presenting the latter option as stupid - it's two options. lizzie can pick one or both of them, and they'll go with that. )

( after considering her options a moment, she glances over at ilde in quiet misery. )

I would have your advice, please. And then that drink would be lovely.

( because god, she does need one. )

( tipping her hand, acknowledging. and then, frankly: )

I didn't remember any of this. When I was at home - none of it. Not you, not him, not this room, not this ship. Nothing. I didn't lose any time. I'm not sure when exactly it was that I was here because I don't exactly remember, and I don't have any time I can't account for. Nobody missed me, because I wasn't gone.

( it isn't, although it may at first seem to be, a change of the subject. )

So here's what I think. The only future that you are ever going to have with someone on this ship is on this ship. That means how much importance you put on things that aren't on this ship, when you're thinking about who you're with here, is up to you. He's a bastard, that's for sure - he's a stupid bastard for trying to treat you like anything besides a bright girl who can make her own damn mind up. He should've been honest. Period.

What I'm saying-- you know, I don't think it's impossible to work out, but he'd better be on his damn knees when you do if you want to. And if you don't want to, that's fine. You don't have to. He lied to you and you don't owe him shit. But I think if you don't want to because you can't marry him--

( she spreads her hands. )

It's a nice idea. But he's not even going to be a dream you had once, if you ever leave here. This is what there is.

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