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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

( elizabeth waits while ilde says the whole of her piece. and there is a lot of it. one can tell precisely which moment it is when it begins to head in a direction she neither has expected or wanted. her eyes widen, and her teeth sink into her lower lip hard. she does not devolve into a sobbing mess; but one tear does fall, followed by many more. and for a long time, she lays there crying in silence.

she has never contemplated it. because she has been afraid to. the idea of either of them leaving this place and going about their lives because they would never remember a single moment they'd spent here. she screws her eyes tightly shut against it and wraps her arms around herself. it wouldn't matter, if she never remembered him, she is certain. her feelings are such that her heart would go with him, no matter if either of them would be aware of it or not.

and she will go on, hollow and without feeling without knowing why. that is all that would happen. )

His parentage has never been an issue to me. It is the lack of trust he has in me. And that.. I cannot have someone I cannot imagine my life without any longer.

( her breath hitches, and it's hard not to turn away completely to avoid being seen like this. ) You know it is not so simple.

If I were returned home deflowered with no recollection as to who did it, or when, why or how it happened, I truly would be the whore they name me at my Uncle's court. He has attempted to reduce me to the role of mistress.

And I have seen enough of those on my father's arm to know they are disposable in the eyes of men. Toys meant to be lain aside when they are bored. And I.. I care too much to merely be content with that from him.

Edited 2014-09-09 09:46 (UTC)

Two things.

( ilde has straightened up, over the course of this exchange - now she leans forward, takes elizabeth's hands in her own. )

First thing. He needs to earn your trust back, has to treat you like he respects you because he respects you - he needs to understand that he needs to do that, and he needs to prioritize it, and if he doesn't, fuck him. Airlock.

( maybe not the airlock part. )

Second thing. You're not inherently lessened in some discernible way because you had sex. I read this quote, once-- I gave it to my daughter, a while ago. It says 'if a man thinks you're less pure after he's touched you, he needs to look at his hands'. If you were to return home with no recollection of any of this life...you're not changed, in any physical or recognizable way. You'd leave it behind with everything else.

But treating you like something disposable, that's something else, and that's not on.

( grasping at ilde's hands like a lifeline, she focuses upon her face, despite that there are tears still running down her own. this is perhaps the most clearly someone has seen her cry. and she is not being judged for it. elizabeth nods quietly, squeezing her friend's hands. )

The first, I agree with you about. But for the second, I do not.. ( she frowns, the established and clear-cut gender roles of the middle ages being put on blazing and dubious display in this reaction from her. )

I have never heard such words before. All I know is that it is something only a man I marry has a right to have. I had thought, perhaps foolishly that one day it might be him.

( rather than henry tudor, or manuel i of portugal or her uncle. ) Would that those words were put into common belief.

But we are people of our time, Ilde. I have seen my father parade so many women beneath my mother's nose at court and then send them away when he grew bored. I am not a toy.

( she turns her head to half-bury her face in her pillow. )

I want to hit him, to yell and scream.. and weep, and so many other things. It overwhelms. Being without him feels unnatural. And given the circumstances, it is more than passing irritating.

Teaching you that isn't about anything but controlling you, and it's bullshit.

( straightforward. )

No one has a 'right' to your sexuality, and it's not something you 'give away'. People are nasty, and fucked up, and they treat each other all kinds of awful ways because of stupid, stupid things, but that doesn't mean they're right. And you can not want to be treated those ways without having to believe that there's something you can do that would make you deserve it. Those women weren't any more disposable than you are. They weren't 'toys' just because he treated them badly. They were women he chose to treat badly.

( she talks a good game for someone who has always privately suspected she, at least, pretty much deserves whatever she gets. she knows better, it's just - one thing to say it, and another to live it. she's fierce when she thinks of her daughters. herself, it's a bit more complex. )

You're a woman that Cesare chose to treat badly. He can fix that or not. You can decide whether you want him to, or not.

It has always simply been the way of things. Just as my father was a King, therefore he could not be expected to remain faithful to my mother. Perhaps it is.

( considering. because this challenges basically everything she has ever been taught. )

Ere I arrived here, I had never heard such an opinion thought, let alone spoken. Personally speaking, no matter if my own view changes—and it has been, a little—it is a thing I only wish to experience with someone to whom I will be bound to. Who will be bound to me. I would ensure that I am enough, nay, that I would be all he might need. It is what someone in the future might call a "big deal" to me.

I know they were not toys. They were people, with feelings and needs of their own; and I do not think my father met the former with any other than my mother and Jane Shore.

( she sighs, not wanting to think about her father's bed sport a terrible lot, thank-you. the tears have mostly cleared up, but an errant few fall in their wake. )

He is bound to another. How might that be fixed? I would not share him with another. I am worth more than that.

Nothing and nobody makes a person unfaithful but that person.

( and if she sounds bitter - if she smiles a little oddly, a twist to it that isn't terribly kind - then maybe ilde knows what she's talking about. on that particular subject. elizabeth's already drawn her own conclusions about the paternity of the third, undiscussed child in those pictures; she's not wrong. the truth is complex, but in the simplest way, she is not wrong. even in the complex way, frankly. )

Not a crown, and not a particular person. It's just a choice. That's the thing. You can't make yourself be enough for somebody-- if he's not faithful, if he isn't going to be faithful, then that's not got anything to do with you. You can't fix that by being better. You're not the problem.

People make choices. You only get to be in charge of yours.

Edited 2014-09-09 11:03 (UTC)

( ilde does sound bitter; and the look on her face is not a pleasant one. and in that moment, she's confirmed what lizzie has been much too polite and frankly above asking. because it isn't her business and she's in no way qualified as a single girl already saddled with relationship issues to judge a married woman who is nearly twice her age. )

What happens if one is not enough? I have never wanted another this way. I do not know if I ever could again. I know not what this feeling is. But It makes all of this cut that more sharply.

I feel.. I feel as though I am being torn apart inside, Ilde. I want to be enough for him. In my mind, I understand what you say. But my feelings would say different and it makes my head ache.

( she takes in a shaky breath. everything. that is what she would've given him: her hand. her heart. a crown. a throne. everything. )

You learn to live with it, or you learn how to live without it.

( you can do those things in a lot of different ways, but at the end of the day - that's what it all boils down to. what you can and cannot live with. what you will and will not go without. the balance of which is worse, in the end, and how you choose. people don't always make the choice that would've been right for them, but one way or another, they choose. )

If you can't trust him - really can't, if he won't change and he won't fix anything, and you can't make it better than it is - then you get used to pain, or you move on and one day you turn around and you're breathing again, and you hadn't even realized you'd been holding your breath.

If I return home, I will never feel like this again. Either the happiness I have known, or this pain. I will be empty and shackled to a man who will not inspire anything in me other than disdain.

I do not know what to do. Only that I wish it would cease, one way or the other. My chest burns inside with it.

( she does not realize that she's in love. it has been something her mother has always taught her never to expect; and so she is quite oblivious and ignorant to the very obvious signs of it in her own thoughts and feelings. at this point in time, all she knows is that it is improper to live with him as things stand; and impossible. because there is clearly no room for either trust or honesty there on his part, and that, perhaps, is what hurts her most of all.

but living without him isn't helping things, either. it is a horrible catch-22, and she would rather not burden ilde with the whole of it. she releases a shaky breath, and feels another tear roll down her cheek. )

It is he who does not trust me. And now I do not know if I can trust him. He would die before he allowed someone to harm me. Or kill anyone who would try. I believe that. But as for the rest..

( she shakes her head hopelessly. she is pathetically out of her depth with this. nothing she's ever experienced or learned in life has prepared her for something like this. )

( love is a strange, abstract thing - ilde doesn't trust it, doesn't like it, never looked for it. she sometimes thinks jasper is determined to love her out of spite, to be patient with her because it makes her angry, to be a good father because it's just one more way he's better than her. that is not a conversation she wants to have with-- anyone, frankly. she doesn't want to talk about how reliant she's become on him, over the years, how adrift she feels without him to push against and scratch at.

who the fuck is she to talk to this child about trust and respect. she hasn't told her husband what species their children are. they're only faithful because it's easier. )

Ah. He's not treating you like a toy; he's treating you like a possession.

You can't trust somebody who doesn't trust you.

( she should know. jasper has never been able to trust her. and he has, on the whole, been correct not to do so. she has few illusions about herself in that regard. )

( elizabeth would not know, either way. she has seen her parents together, but their outward displays of affection weren't ever really an indicator as to what went on behind closed doors. much of it was genuine, but she isn't foolish enough to think some of it as years progressed wasn't the very same public face she'd learned to put on, herself. love was not a known quantity to her. it was a dream, if a beautiful one. an ideal. one she'd imagined in her mind from reading the tales of king arthur, and the classics. it is not always good and kind; but rather a feeling she would not and cannot recognize.

books and tales and songs are of no help to her on that score. and even then, as ilde points out, the point is rather moot. elizabeth cannot disagree. turning her face more toward her, she nods while swallowing hard. )

Even by the standards of my era, he has not the right to do so. I am not his wife. And I can never be.

( she finds herself nodding again. more slowly, this time. )

You are right. ( she has two more things to ask. one: ) What do you think I ought to do?

( and two: ) I think I would like that drink now, if it is permissible.

( when ilde stands, it's pretty clear that she's only guessing there's bound to be alcohol in here somewhere - she knows herself well enough, particularly at that age. she doesn't know where it is, but there's a limited pool of options and she'll find it. they may have to just pass a bottle between them, but she'll find it.

so occupied, she doesn't look back when she speaks, but her tone hasn't changed any. )

I can tell you what I'd do. I can't tell you what you should do.

( sitting up, elizabeth glances at her quietly while she searches out the liquor, considering her for a moment. )

And what would you do?

( her exhalation isn't soft enough to be a sigh. )

I would decide if he was somebody who I could be with and have my self-respect.

( that's not actually true, but it's what she'd tell her daughter to do. ilde gives better advice than she's ever made choices. )

And if he's not, then he's not.

( ah, well. that does rather succinctly answer that. she falls back against her pillow and stares up at the ceiling. )

No. He has been good to me in his way; even so far as to avoid taking my virginity. ( she flushes at that, and continues. ) But if he has hidden this from me, what else is there? And would he have told me, had I not told him that my mother had happily tossed aside her marriage to my father for a dwarf? I doubt it very much.

I cannot be with him.

( the statement is harsh and blunt, and she closes her eyes against how horrible it sounds. her feelings rail against this logic and tighten her chest, and make her head pound. but she is not wrong. and she will endure this pain as she has endured watching the death of her relatives play before her eyes in her visions. )

I shall simply be content to never care for another in this fashion.

( there's only so much energy that ilde has, right now, to expend on the romantic melodramas of adolescents that she's still trying to catch up to actually remembering. it's not insensitivity, it's just what it is: she doesn't particularly want to deal with the fact that she's struggling, herself, but not admitting or discussing something doesn't change the fact that it's there, that distracting herself with somebody else's problems only helps so much--

she isn't going to shut elizabeth down or out, but instead of answering, she holds out the bottle that she found, one of those squirreled away from her excursion on arima. maybe they should just have a drink. )

( ah. all right. elizabeth takes the hint and says no more, merely nodding once. yes. drink is good.

she will need to find a new place to stay sooner than later. she may just have overstayed her welcome. )

( had she, she'd know it; ilde would say so. she's never been particularly restrained, in that way. but for now--

maybe there's just not much else to say. maybe somebody else would handle that better, but she does her best and then she pulls back when she knows pushing any harder is just going to make a mess. the years have given her enough self-awareness to know that that's sometimes the best thing she can do, even if she doesn't consistently recognize the moments where it needs to be true.

eventually, she says, )

I think my husband thought he was being-- I don't know, courteous. When he was still shagging around, ( she talks about it so casually, like that's just something you frankly discuss any old time you feel like it. which it's not, not even when and where she's from, even if the french fancy themselves more sexually sophisticated than other peoples, ) he'd never go near anybody he thought I might run into. No one I might have to be polite to at a gala or who might end up on the same, fucking-- no one of our class.

( she says 'of our class' with great drollness. )

I always wondered what they thought about that. If they realized he was purposefully slumming. If it even mattered, it's not like he was having affairs, per se. Bonk some slag in a bar. Still. I'd think he was a prick, if it were me.

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