ataraxionlogs | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( the tattoo covering most of milagros' back, rosevines wound around the words vive memor leti, is a bit of a departure from the impression she otherwise gives. she turns as soon as she hears sam's voice, though, so it's not something the other woman gets too long a look at-- )

I missed out on the worst of it. As did you, I can see.

( what with the lack of lingering mutations. ) Well done.

( that is a rather pretty tattoo. the languages of thw words is vaguely familiar; a variant of tevene, perhaps? maybe. sam has one of her own on the small of her back, an emblem of the god hakkon of the avvar tribes.

she allows her gaze to slide smoothly up mila's body until she meets her eyes, smiling wryly. )

My constitution is good enough to withstand Oghren's special brew. If that didn't knock me flat, it's going to take more than that to fell me.

( except what's already in her bloodstream, apparently. now serious, she pauses. ) I'm glad you're all right. I'd have helped in any way I could if you'd needed it.

( they aren't cheerful words; mila is not known for being a cheerful woman. the roses are beautiful, though - one a little moreso than the rest, a little more vibrant in colour, a little larger, given a little more detail. it's subtle, but all the same. )

I appreciate it. ( it isn't rote - she does. learning how to ask for help when she needs it has been a difficult lesson to learn, and not something she does with particular grace, but she has learned. she knows the value of someone who can be asked. she likes to forget that, sometimes, when she has to ask her father. ) But I was all right. Not hit the hardest. It's just going to be more work to do.

Have you spoken with Dr Knutson, yet? I've forwarded her your information.

So I can see. You look lovely, and your department is frightfully short-handed. It was difficult not to notice.

( sam shakes her head. ) No, not yet. I was helping those I could.

I'm what's called a spirit healer in my realm. One of my companions taught me well.

Good of you.

( she says it like it's an observation and not a compliment - not that it's uncomplimentary, either, but as if she's merely sharing an assessment of empirical evidence. mila is Like That, and her father would say that she always has been. her mother would say, in tones of great despair, that they are all like that, and then slam a door and wait for someone to chase after her and ask what she means.

aloysius and lilia explain rather a lot about their daughter, but neither of them are here, and so conclusions must be drawn independently. )

We'd benefit, I'm sure, if everyone were as forthcoming with their gifts.

( the lampshade mila just hung from her own reticence is such a big lampshade it has tassels and sparkles and is still attached to a damn lamp. )

I try to give back when I can.

( moreover, when she chooses. no one will ever make that decision for her again. or force her to do things she does not wish to. may duncan rot in the very belly of the fade for all eternity.

sam does not take mila's words as anything other than a compliment. after all, the woman has no obvious reason to insult her. she is practical like that, but the realization has been a (welcome) shock to her. genuinely-meant niceties from others are not at all the norm for her. )

Of course, I'll be more than happy to help. ( since she's asked so nicely. sam quirks her mouth upward. ) Better that than security. I've tried being part of an army once, and it didn't work out. I have a tremendous loathing of authority.

( mila's typical method of handling other people is to make observations, and then-- well, if it's a compliment, well done that person, for being observably decent. and if it's an insult, then...maybe they should reexamine their own behaviour if they find having it discussed out loud insulting???

it can be cruelly impersonal in the latter case - frustrating to deal with, when she's so damned indifferent to how other people see her - but she could always choose to say nothing at all when she sees nothing to criticize. she doesn't. she's equally honest then, too, and in her opinion it should therefore carry more weight when she effectively pays a compliment. you can be damn sure that if she doesn't mean something, she doesn't say it. )

I've never done terribly well with anyone else's. ( the shadow of a smile - she just doesn't like other people's authority, obviously. her own authority she can be extremely fond of. )

Edited 2014-09-15 08:38 (UTC)

While I had no choice, I have played the part of the dutiful apprentice well.

But to be perfectly honest, I share your sentiment exactly.

( it is precisely now that her dog emerges from the stall she had commandeered for him, and decides to shake himself all over half the room.

sam gives the dog a deadpan look, and sighs. )

This is Griffon. Sadly, despite my best efforts, he still behaves like a boor.

( mila is briefly, genuinely amused - it softens her in a way that's rather flattering, for as rare as it happens. )

My father keeps wolfhounds. I'm familiar with the attitude.

( the mabari gives an enthusiastic bark as though he approves of mila's opinion, and comes to sit expectantly at sam's side. she glances down at him and shakes her head with a small grin. )

Does strenuous exercise keep them out of trouble? I've had no such luck with Griff here.

thirty-fifth jump;

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