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ataraxionlogs2014-09-08 12:00 am
ataraxites) wrote in ataraxionlogs2014-09-08 12:00 am
Entry tags:
- !jump,
- aaron doral,
- alex summers | au,
- alison hendrix,
- arya stark,
- benny lafitte,
- caprica six,
- captain hook (killian jones),
- caroline forbes,
- castiel,
- charles xavier,
- cora hale,
- death (discworld),
- derek hale,
- elizabeth of york,
- erik lehnsherr,
- fenris,
- firo prochainezo,
- gwen stacy,
- harry osborn,
- helena,
- ichabod crane,
- ilde knox,
- ivan,
- james 'bucky' barnes,
- james vega,
- jean grey,
- jennifer keller,
- josias st. john,
- katniss everdeen,
- kieren walker,
- lily potter,
- milagros gallo,
- peeta mellark,
- raven reyes,
- remus lupin,
- robin hood,
- sally malik,
- simon monroe,
- simon tam,
- taylor "tyke" kee,
- the warden (samara amell),
- zoe washburne
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.
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.
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.
kieren walker | in the flesh | ota!
lockers?
It's the most attention she's paid to anyone yet. Some people haven't figured out that nudity isn't a requirement, apparently. It makes her a little testy.]
I'm sure I can manage not to - oh!
[It's not loud, not a scream, but it's there. A muffled little pop of shock over his appearance, escaping in the wide-eyed moment before one hand flutters up towards her mouth.
She rallies. Clearly, he's ill. Maybe the lingering effects of last jump's sickness - she doesn't recognize him, but she'd had too much on her plate to spend time socializing. She collects the case (lower towel clutched firmly in place as she crouches) and holds it out to him.]
There we go.
alison!! <3
She moves on a beat before he does, and Kieren forces a more neutral expression, abruptly aware of what he must look like. Meeting her eyes is difficult, mostly because he's not sure whether or not she even wants him to. He manages it, just barely, gaze shifting briefly to the case as he accepts it. ]
Sorry. Thanks. [ Sorry about the face, sorry about being bossy, take your pick. There's a noticeable pause, and when he speaks up again the nonchalant tone's clearly forced. ] Are you... have you been here long?
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Oh, just one jump. Which is a jump longer than I'd like, but that's probably true of everyone here.
[She times eye contact against his - glance, tactical glance away to the case or their surroundings. Space is still new and terrifying; navigating social minefields is a comparative cakewalk.]
I didn't get as sick as everyone else. I suppose I should be grateful for that, at least. [Though her tone says she'll be no such thing.] Will you be staying in medbay for treatment once you get your things squared away?
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And then there's the last bit. Treatment is familiar, something he thinks about and talks about every day, but the context isn't quite right. He ignores the urge to look back towards his locker and the kit tucked safely away there, gaze steadier on her as he tries to work out what she means. ]
No, I'm treated. I mean I've been treated— sorry, you said everyone got sick?
[ Still polite, but the confused edge gives more strength to his voice. ]
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pods!
That's what she's looking for as she walks through the gravcouches towards the showers. That's what she initially thinks has to be doing on where she sees him, the colour of his skin, the desperate way he's curled into himself. She's crouching down in front of him before she even thinks about it, already reaching to touch his shoulder when the post-jump uselessness of her senses lets her identify specifics under the overwhelming chemical scent of the stasis fluid.]
Calm down.
[His arm's cold under her hand. Too cold, in keeping with the rest of what her senses are telling her. She chokes down the immediate what the hell, some slim idea of bedside manner gained over the last month, but part of her still instinctively grows tense at the unnaturalness of it, ready to spring back and away from him if she needs to.]
Are you hurt?
[Dead.]
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Yet, anyway. It takes Kieren a few long seconds to answer. He waits until he has some semblance of control over his breathing, distracted by her hand on his arm in the meantime. All it takes are those few seconds for his expression to settle into something more confused than frightened, and when he finally rallies enough sense to process her question, he lets out an amused scoff.
Which is obviously completely rude, so a slightly panicked, baffled beat later: ] No. I don't think so, I just— am I in Norfolk?
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Not that it goes too well with vague look of irritation she gets a moment later, realising that she's caught in the position of being the welcome wagon here. She barely believed what was going on with the ship from day to day, she really wasn't a good person to be explaining it to anyone.]
No. [She's not actually sure where Norfolk is, except maybe England, judging by his accent. Or maybe he was from some other universe where space travel was normal, and the rest of this wouldn't be that difficult.] You're in space. This is a spaceship.
[Said like she knows exactly how ridiculous it sounds.]
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The thing is, he's got a slightly bizarre benchmark for what constitutes crazy, these days, and she doesn't seem to be lying. Her wry tone doesn't go unnoticed, either.
There's a long pause before he works out a reply. When he does, he sounds disbelieving, and he's making an obvious (and only half successful) attempt to dodge heavy sarcasm and be respectably polite. ] A spaceship. That's...
[ Exactly what it looks like, actually. Kieren looks past her for a moment, distracted by how thoroughly spaceship-like the immediate environment looks. ] That isn't possible.
[ Sorry about your welcome wagon life, Cora. ]
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casually reminds you of naked zombies
casually reminds you of naked werewolves
ty
j/k lockers!!!! one dead guy to another for now
Or maybe he'd have crushed the case, because he was a lot closer to typical vampire arsehole last jump. Not that he's exactly over that condition right now. It's still in him, lurking, the way it arguably always is--but close to the surface, threatening to wrench out of him. He needs to go and find Annie and George, now, or at least go back to the room to wait for them--he should have arranged some escort or something, someone to conduct him between grav couch and the chair that awaits him--he should never have given himself the chance to move among the human population of the ship, smelling their blood, listening to the steady beating of their hearts--]
Here.
[He mumbles the word, as he makes to kick the case back toward this panicked kid--but just as he's about to complete the movement, Mitchell looks up. The slack and tired expression on his face ripples, growing sharper and narrower. No heartbeat. No pulse. No blood. No real smell, no more than a flat registration on his senses--like the way a taxidermy museum might smell, with just a hint of old blood.
And white eyes. He's staring, he knows he is, but he's too numb from the stress of his own fucking problems to curb that rudeness.
Dead. This kid is dead, but he's not a vampire, and he's not a ghost. It's not the first time Mitchell's come face-to-face with something he didn't know about, aboard the Tranquility, but he can't work himself around to do more than stare and, after a second, murmur, dazedly--]
Jesus.
'for now'
He's half successful. There's a certain numb quality to his expression, guarded and withdrawn, but it's too obviously forced. It makes a thin mask for the strange spike of familiarity and fear that quiet curse provokes, and for half a second he can't help but think of Gary. Not a great first impression, for the record.
The silence settles in heavy after that remark, and it's only through sheer force of will that he manages something to fill it, voice steady and deeply uncertain all at once. ] It's not always like this. I can— I do wear the cover-up, it's just that I... [ What the fuck do those awful pamphlets say. ] I'm sorry I caused your anxiety. I'm a— a fully compliant PDS sufferer.
[ Well, barring abductions. ] Usually.
for now. wait 2 days. also i know who gary is NOT COOL
[Dead, is the real answer, has got to be the real answer. All signs point to it. But come on, he's got more tact than to shout it out. Even weak and half out of it from his month coming down from that blood high, he's still got what might pass for supernatural manners. And the words that this kid uses, it's all so-- clinical, so detached. It suggests something else.]
Compliant with what?
[Maybe the better question would be what the fuck does PDS stand for?--but Mitchell feels, stupidly, suddenly very thick and also rude. Like those are things he ought to care about. Like he gives a shit what this dead kid thinks of him. On some level he does, of course he does, and the two feelings fight at it for a bit as he crouches down to retrieve that contact lens case, pinching briefly at the bridge of his nose, as if to alleviate some headache.]
You're not the cause of my anxiety. Believe me. Here-- [Repeated, more firmly this time, as he holds out the plastic case.]
maybe don't be a dick then mitchell-gary
Kieren's face takes on a bemused, faintly annoyed expression while his mind's on the pay back programme, replaced by a flicker of uncertain surprise when Mitchell retrieves the contact case and offers it over. He hesitates for half a second before taking it, hand steady, and then he tucks the mousse under one arm so he can fuss with putting the case back in with the rest. ] Thanks.
And it means I'm not a threat to anyone. [ It's almost absent, said while he's looking at his current task instead of meeting Mitchell's eyes. When he stops fussing and looks back to Mitchell, he sounds a bit more confident. It's slightly counteracted by his intensely awkward existence, but you know. Points for effort. ] Is this... [ Is there a good way to put this? Not really. ] Is everyone okay?
[ Not a whisper, though he does lower his voice out of sensitivity. Kind of a pot & kettle question, but the lingering effects of last month's illness are still out in force. He's seen some shit. ]
maybe your mom
maybe your face
what about it
it's perfect that's what
aww you i bet you say that to all the girls
yeah that's true
oh well i accept being a sisterwife
it's ok you'll always be my favorite. don't tell the others
giggles + blushes
i like the juxtaposition of that subject next to that icon
that's what a vampire blush looks like ok
how v charming
u know u like it also we're going to finish another thread so proud :,>
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HERE YOU ARE YOUNG MAN.
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Thank you.
[ Very sincere, considering how confused he is. ] Sorry. You're— are you alright?
[ Seems more polite than asking "what are you". ]
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I AM FINE, THANK YOU. THIS IS HOW I ALWAYS LOOK. I AM DEATH.
[A small pause before he decides to add.]
YES, THE PERSONIFICATION AND NO, I AM NOT ON DUTY ON THIS SHIP. YOU SEEM RATHER FLUSTERED, IS THIS YOUR FIRST TIME WAKING UP HERE?
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You're death. That's funny, actually, because I've got a few questions for death. [ Sarcasm aimed at life in general, of course. Nothing personal. He manages to reroute it long enough to respond to the question. ] Yeah, it is. First time in space.
[ Wake up in space, talk to death, why not. ]
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lockers!
He seems coherent and she approaches quietly. She doesn't look afraid, or bothered - concern is there, but it's gentle enough. ]
Are you all right? The first jump is often the hardest. [ She'll ask if he needs medical soon, but it's important to make the right approach. ]
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Needless to say, it takes him a moment to register what she's said. Nerves aside, the concern's unmistakable, and it goes some way in settling his focus. ]
I'm fine. [ He answers on autopilot, only to think better of it a beat later. The fear hasn't totally gone from his voice, but it's heavily subdued by an almost flat, wry tone. ] Actually no, I'm not fine. What do you mean by first? Are there going to be more of these?
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There seems to be generally about a month's time between each time we have to do the song and dance with the pods and the showers, but time is strange on board so it's hard to tell. It involves space travel, which I'm unfortunately still woefully unversed in. I've only been here a few jumps. [ Okay, that probably sounds a little crazy? But. That's all she has. ] That was so many words, I'm sorry.
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He has the small box and the mousse tucked under one arm, posture protective and a bit stiff. There's a deliberate effort to relax as he eases into the whole human interaction thing, but he never really shakes the awkward edge. ]
And that's fine, it's very helpful. [ Just kidding, he got like, half of that. He's at least heard the space spiel already, so he isn't completely lost. And he should maybe prioritize getting more information, or getting out of here, but after an uncertain pause: ] Where are you from?
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um sorry for the horrifying delay ilu U DON'T HAVE TO PICK UP AGAIN IF U DON'T WANNA
lockers.
Shit - [ but it's fine, she's got her balance back and the box is still intact. a glance to kieran, then she ducks down to snag the contacts case and offer it out to him. ] Close one.
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Wow, that's... thank you. [ Blatantly amused, sure. Maybe also a little bit impressed. ] Sorry, I shouldn't have dropped it in the first place, it's just. It's all a bit overwhelming.
[ Space. He sounds polite, just shy of genuinely outgoing. He's still hyper-aware of the fact that he looks like actual death, and it's taking everything to pretend otherwise. ]
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No kidding, [ she agrees with just a hint of sympathy hidden under the casual demeanor. ] Anyone give you the run-down yet?
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He takes a second to consider it, though it's more of a theatrical gesture; hard to forget the details he's picked up so far. ] We're on a spaceship. It has "jumps" that make time a bit funny, and there's no getting home.
[ Which is all varying degrees of awful, but he manages to sound vaguely amused by it. Mostly because it hasn't really sunk in yet— denial makes things surprisingly easy to roll with. ] So how many jumps have you been through, then?
[ Already got the lingo down!! Though he says it like he's half mocking it. Space. ]
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