station72 | ( hella open, hatch log )

Who: Sam Anders and yooooou
Where: Nesting deck, Flight deck, Circle Gardens, Life Support/Telepathy
When: Day 165
Summary: Hatch log, delivery for Castor brood + wandering the station
Warnings: Sam's fuzzy little coma head, n/a

[A] wakey wakey eggs and bacey;

--on the other side. [ there's distant, monotone muttering just before sam gasps in a deep breath, eyes snapping open wide - too wide, like he can see to the end of the universe, through the walls of the pod and the station and all the endless void of space through to the moment of the big bang. for a moment that seems like an eternity, there's silence in his mind, a deafening kind of silence after hearing so, so much, and he just breathes. it's been months since he's moved his limbs, but the fingers of his right hand curl, holding a necklace on a chain, pressing the edges of it into the soft flesh of his palm, eyes blank and wide, but mind scrambling, chest heaving, like he's mid-panic attack. it's hard to go from what he was, back to this, but something's reaching out to him, soothing and spreading warmth through his mind, and soon, he knows he's safe here. healthy and well, repaired, pieced back together, and safe. eventually, his limbs twitch, muscles in his shoulders flex and contract, and he raises a hand up slowly to the base of his skill, and the thick cable plugged into it. a deep breath, and sam yanks it free. ]

Frak! [ ow, headache. not an incredibly fierce one, but sudden, along with a wave of sensation, both familiar and entirely foreigner, causing him to squeeze eyes shut, blinking them rapidly open, and yet, he knows this. memories flash, the cold of a viscous he's lowered into, sparks of electricity felt somewhere far away, and then, everything. he's had more in his head than this, before, and while Sam can't quite place his finger on the details of it, like a word you've forgotten. but he'd been there. he knows that much. ] When...

[ there was a rescue. the light of New Earth's sun had filled up the CIC, blinding him, and for a moment, Sam knew perfection. but something had come, and this he has such a clear picture of - someone had reached out for him. live. and then, here. he must have been in this pod for some time, the datastream liquid no longer clinging to him, his hair having grown slightly back, though there's still an ache at the base of his skull, where the bullet had been removed, a couple fingertips touching tenderly to a healed scar there now. carefully, cautiously, Sam starts to move, shimmying down the length of the pod, until his bare feet touch the bars of a ladder below, some weird medical space pajama being all that's keeping him decent for the moment. pulling himself free, Sam looks out, over the nesting pods lining the vast open deck, and feels like he's forgotten how to breathe. ]

The hell... [ how many times can his world be completely turned on its head? how many times can Sam Anders feel lost beyond any kind of retrieval? clinging at the edge of the ladder, breathing coming heavy and staggered, there's a singular longing for stability, for assurance, and a single name that comes from his lips in vain hope, right hand squeezing tight around the necklace there. ] ...Kara?

[B] flight deck, that's not a viper;

[ kara's necklace lays heavy on his chest, heavier than it should be. a chain, with a dogtag, a simple silver ring, and a bullet. ] Bullet that killed me. [ sam murmurs, as he paces through the flight deck, letting out a humorless snort. it's both very touching and very sad to know she attached it with the rest. and very telling, where she laid blame. always, where she laid blame. these clothes feel odd on his frame, the silence of the ship disquieting, and he's practically bald, which he hates. there's some fuzz there, like a very buzzed buzzcut, but it still feels like being a hospital patient. note - find a hat later.

simple shoes tapping against the smooth, flawless floors of the station, he's still not really sure if it's a building or a craft or something much stranger, but through the whispers and blurred passing emotions streaming through his mind, he gets the feeling of something immense. but he'll take that one room at a time. right now - flight deck. pacing in, he doesn't immediately see anyone else, which feels so bizarre to him. an empty deck. no engineers scrambling, no pilots shouting as they drop into their planes. just quiet. too much quiet, and, of course, the hum of so many consciousnesses in his head. foreign, and still the same. ] And still frakking confusing.

[ letting out a begrudging exhale, hand on the tag of Kara's necklace with his thumb passing over the engraved letters, sam lets his feet carry him to one of the ships, the other hand reaching up to smooth over the hull, before he stops, blinking at that hand. he's petting it like it's an animal - a dog or a horse. like it's a damn Cylon Raider. gods, this never stops being weird. ]

[C] wandering/circle gardens;

[ hours, it seems like, sam's been wandering the station. he'd met with some people, had some questions answered, but this place still mystifies him. not to mention, in the life support room, and the rec wing, there'd been things left around. belonging to who, the other hosts? where was the crew for this thing? why have such a massive thing with nobody in it? and the most striking thing he's noticing, as he paces through, is that it seems so, so much like a Cylon basestar. chrome and white walls, bare, and the organic spliced in here and there. and yet, it isn't.

turning a corner to wander aimlessly down another hall, sam finds himself facing the circle gardens. for the first time since waking up, something that isn't completely weird. grass. halleloo.

his shuffled walking towards to power walking, and then to jogging, and then to running, before sam's flopping himself bodily against the lawn of the gardens. not only had it been an eternity since he'd touched grass this green and alive, since Caprica's fall (the New Caprican grass was just never the same), but this station has seemed so empty and lifeless, aside from the other hosts. chest against the grass (close probably stained), and cheek turned against it as he lays there, sprawled, he spots another person some distance away, feels the vague pull of their connection again, and calls out. ]

Hey! This place is empty. Why's it empty?

[D] telepathy, sam would like some pants pls;

[ eventually, he settles in the room he'd found for himself in life support, staring down at the grass stains on his white space pajamas. which feel entirely too loose and too thin on him. like pajamas, imagine that. he's heard a few other snippets of thoughts and conversation here and there, in the mush of his mind, and he decides to give it a shot himself. he'd operated the entire frakking Galactica with just his brain, how hard is chatting? ]

( Anyone have any normal pants to spare around here? Or a hat? Feels like I'm shuffling around an old peoples' home. )

[ a really high tech old peoples' home. but that's it, that's all he has for now. did it work? sam's sitting still on the edge of his mattress, head tilted, like it'll make him hear the voices any better, waiting for something to come back. ]

[E] wildcard;

[ idk man choose your own adventure, slap sam anywhere you need him /o/ ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

You're on the quest for pants? A noble goal! A goal that I could certainly help you with.

[Says a cheerful mental voice in reply, suddenly, even though its speaker is nowhere around to be seen. It's still weird for Nathaniel to communicate like this - it's a little too open for his tastes - but still, he can't say it isn't useful.]

Which is to say, that yes, I have a free pair. Don't know if it'll fit you, but it's worth a try. Where are you?

Edited 2016-04-30 01:15 (UTC)

[ sweet lords, this is the first really personable, outwardly friendly person he's run into since waking up. thank frak. ]

( You might be my new hero, buddy. I'm 6'3", so hopefully you're not short, but I'm up to checking it out anyway. )

[ and then there's a handwaved room number in the life support deck here, because i'm not sure how they work, yolo. come chill, homie, bring your free pants. ]

[Ooh, and there's a problem. He's only 5'8". Not that he couldn't be taller, but, well, the pants he has can't change size like he can.]

I'm here to save the day! With pants. [A pause.] They...might be a bit short? But hey, look at this way, maybe you'll rock them as sweet capris.

[Always good to stay positive. He knows where to go, and sure enough, in a couple of minutes he walks in, green pants draped over one arm.]

Pants delivery! [He says, with a wide grin as he tosses it over.] Here's hoping it fits.

[ nathaniel enters with his exclamation of pants, and sam tosses his arms up, like they're celebrating a goal on a sports broadcast. ]

Praise the gods! [ said in the mildly sarcastic way someone might have said 'hallelujah'. come, friend, come sit here and give him your gift trousers. ] Come on in, man.

[ and, wow. those are... some pants. ] Well. Always did think green was a nice color. Thanks.

Hey, at least they're forest green instead of eye-searing neon. They're the ones I came in with, but you can have them. [He says, moving over to sit by Sam's side casually like they're college roommates chatting it up after a long night partying.]

Not a problem, dude. [He gives him a salute.] You just woke up, huh? Good to know your priorities included pants, that's always high on the list.

You sure? That's so good of you, thanks. [ Setting the pants aside on his bed, he resolves to try them on later to check for fit. he's rather not start flashing this guy to do it now. ] I had the bad foresight to be bare-assed before I came in, so I guess that's why I've only got these.

[ maybe tmi, but it explains it at least. for now, he'll just sit and chat, get to know one of these people that are his new ship-family. the galactica's not coming back, but that doesn't mean he can't hold up the ideals Admiral Adama inspired in them. ]

Yeah. I think I was here for a while, before. Kinda been in a coma, I guess. Long story.

Not a problem! I'm always happy to donate pants to the right cause. [He says, with a flap of his hand - no big deal!] And that is unfortunate, though I guess we've got that fixed.

[He cocks his head to the side.]

Long story? I would say "do tell", but... [He shakes his head.] A lot of us came in because something really terrible happened. I guess it was the same for you.

Nah, wasn't that terrible. [ okay, well, there was the being shot, and the having his head drilled, and then the whole becoming some weird robot prophet in a freaky space bathtub... but also the part where he basically knew all of time and space and god, and finding a new earth???? ] Well. I mean, it was sort of terrible. Depending on your perspective. But also kind of great?

Yeah, long story.

[ so how about you stop sounding like a crazy person, sam ]

So, they ever make stops at an outlet mall? Or is what we see all we've got for the rest of forever?

Great? Huh. [That does sound like a long story, a very interesting story, and he wants to know more...but he's not going to push it if the other guy doesn't want to talk about it. He just woke up into the brood, after all.]

Well, no outlet malls, but we do stop at planets from time to time. I don't know when the next pit stop will be, though, but you've got that to look forward to, at least.

It was, uh. A coma, but also sort of a really existential, transcendent acid trip? [ it's weird. basically he had all of the universe and time and also God inside his head. so that was cool. but also a lot to deal with. also, someone shot him in the head for him to get there, and that part was much less awesome. ]

Planet works too, man. Don't let me forget I owe you a pair of pants next time we stop.

I'm Sam, by the way.

( hella open, hatch log )

D

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