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

Personal, yes, quite! A betrothal, no, but you are close! Oh, m'sieur Crane, I have found myself what they call, in the future, a boyfriend!

[Ichabod arches a brow. Boyfriend, yes, he learned that term as well. And that Abbie had...questionable tastes, but that was really no business of his. He suspects that she would've told him as much.]

And who his this boyfriend? I trust that he's treated you kindly.

[Eponine's tastes were even more questionable than Abbie's, if we're being honest.]

He is from my world, Michel Combeferre. He was at the barricade with me. He has been far too kind, excepting when he hit me with a chair. [Though that hadn't been on purpose. He wasn't really the violent type. Except when liberty was involved.] He had wished to save me.

Your suitor hit you with a chair?

[What is it with violence with courtship these days.]

He meant to hit another. But I was in between. [She'd had to explain it a thousand times now, how she'd wanted to leave with Marius, but Combeferre had done all he could to keep her with him.]

I have had suitors do worse, do not fear.

Ah, I see. Well I suppose that explains it.

[Still a little concerned. Mostly at how this man still sounds better than most she's known.]

And he meant to hit another, because...?

It was the ship, Ichabod. It made us see and feel things. People- people from before. The man I loved.

thirty-fifth jump;

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