station72 | EMPTY CHAIRS AT EMPTY TABLES

Entry tags:

EMPTY CHAIRS AT EMPTY TABLES

CHARACTERS: All
WHERE: Concordia - VEN DIAGRAMS HQ + BOUT IT OUT PARLOR + BEARINGS APARTMENT BLOCK
WHEN: Late Day :022 + Early Day :023
SUMMARY: The results of all your hard work - for better or worse. One win, one draw, one loss. Anakin Skywalker bites the big one.
WARNINGS: Violence, non-graphic character death.

IT’S BEEN A LONG DAY. Unfortunately, that’s not about to change any time soon. In the late hours of the evening, two things are happening: the final round of the Bout It Out expose between Kun-Kun and The Darkling is spooling up; meanwhile, the infiltration team at Ven Diagrams is working to retrieve information on H+H1 from the company’s security drive. Unfortunately, neither is going to reach the natural conclusion.

At the REGAL STREET GAMING PARLOR, emotions are running high. After a long day of simulation violence and the reveal of Kun-Kun’s new automaton fighting avatar, the crowd has been stoked to a few pitch. The music’s loud but the crowd is louder: cheering and booing, shouting for every landed or evaded strike. There’s an electric pulse of excitement in the air-- and then there’s a very literal one as an electromagnetic pulse rocks the Regal Street Parlor. The Bout It Out ring shorts and the entire parlor is pitched into total, window-less darkness. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for the crowd’s excitement to melt into panic. Pushing, shoving, shouting - a piercing shriek as one of Kun-Kun’s representatives is stabbed. The nearby hosts (Lexa, Sam Alexander, and anyone in their faux attachment) should be able to help Kun-Kun and his reps to safety, but the crush of the crowd tangles up everyone else. When a rudimentary bomb goes off in the center of the parlor, it catches plenty of people in the crossfire.

There’s a white hot flash. A pulse of heat. A sizzle of agony. It’s a pain that guts, that persists long after the flash of the bomb and extends all the way to the infiltration team at Ven Diagrams. It’s like a limb badly severed. Anakin Skywalker is killed by the blast and every host knows it before they’re aware of anything else.

Unluckily for the infiltration team, they won’t have much time to recover. News of the bombing hits Extraspace in a matter of seconds, which triggers Ven Diagrams - paranoid from the recent attack on their own properties - to lock down their headquarters. All systems are tightened and security clamps down before the infiltration team can access the private servers. If you’re somewhere you’re not supposed to be, now’s the time to get the hell out of dodge.

Retreat, regroup. Upon returning to the Bearings apartment block, the hosts will find that two of their previously comatose friends have woken up: Hux and Aoba Seragaki will probably need to be briefed on the current situation.

     I. THE ROOM WHERE IT HAPPENS
In the Regal Street Gaming Parlor, a pulse flashes. Electronics sizzle. A fight reaching rhythm is shattered and darkness consumes the parlor in its entirety. There’s something like a collective inhale - and then the panic sets in. Screaming. Pushing. Elbows in the dark and a wave of bodies forcing their way toward wherever they think the exit is. Parlors like this one are supposed to be shielded from this kind of problem, but today that doesn’t matter. In just a few short moments of panic, a bomb - basic compared to the one that blew out the Ven Diagram warehouse only days ago - goes off.

There’s a buzz. An electrical hiss. In the wake of the explosion - in the wake of the agony of Anakin’s death -, the parlor’s fire systems go off flooding the upper and lower levels, the spectator balconies with flame retardant powder and coolant. The emergency lighting kicks on, throwing the carnage into stark fluorescent light. The probable intended victim has escaped, along with his entourage, but there are plenty of wounded - groans and weeping permeate the chemical stale air. In addition to Anakin, three people have been killed and two androids have been rendered into scrap by the explosion. Countless others could use help; maybe even a few other hosts have been wounded by the blast.

     II. MEANWHILE...
If you’re part of the infiltration team, you’ve officially overstayed your welcome. Security tightens to a chokehold; if you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be, it’s time to leave. An alarm blares through the development laboratories. The building is evacuated and then sealed throughout. The powerlifts cease operation. All networked systems go offline.

     III. FROM THE JAWS OF DEFEAT
Back at the parlor, the evacuation continues. The parlor is half-collapsed, there are injured to tend to and local authorities to deal with. In a matter of minutes, the the parlor is swarmed by public security and medical personnel. If you’re able bodied, you’re welcome to assist with rescue efforts - or try to find a lead on who could’ve been responsible for this. Some evidence, some sign - anything to make this worth it. During this time those with Kun Adetokunbo will have the chance to make their case.

It’s a long, protracted clean up and triage; it’s absolutely possible that some of the infiltration team members might make it to the site of the explosion to assist or care for their friends.

     IV. WE TEND OUR WOUNDED, WE COUNT OUR DEAD
In the early hours of the morning on Day 023, the hosts limp back to Bearings. Maybe it should be achingly quiet, but it’s not - there’s a murmur of activity in the mental air as Hux and Aoba muddle out of their way from out of their comas. From here, it’s up to to the hosts to recover, to discuss how they want to proceed, and come up with a way to recover from this setback - and from Anakin’s death.

((OOC NOTES: Here it is, your wrapup log for the event! You may have noticed that the Hosts didn’t succeed at the Ven Diagrams infiltration. We thought this was a better way than asking everyone to handwave a huge amount of plot or simply having the NPCs get the evidence. Don’t worry though - there will be other mysteries to unravel soon. Very soon, in fact.

There will be an NPC top-level for the escape with Kun-Kun, but otherwise you’re free to make your own top levels! If you have any questions please feel free to ask them in the event OOC post.

Thanks everyone!))

NAVIGATION • SETTING • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

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[It's late. It's taken him a long time to work his way back to the Bearings apartment. Lots to do. Lots to look into. Lots of information to collect and compile and all of it surrounded by that hollow, pulsing gut sick drag of a dead host boiling out of the other young little things around his brain. He'd stayed away for longer than he should've - longer than was necessary - and riding the lift up to their block level has him anxious. He can feel the layers of grief, thick like some desolate fog lingering heavy across dark water, and he's rising up into it.

Maybe it would've been better to stay away. To hide himself somewhere quiet and small and safe while they all figured out how to be all right. Nirad picks at the scar tissue on his lower lip. As he steps off the lift and into the apartment common area, he tries to focus on the little sting of his finger and thumbnail against the skin instead of that bile taste at the back of his mind.

He goes straight for his room. It's late and not wholly quiet, the level punctuated by the small sounds of hosts awake still - doing things, feeling things. He tries to ignore them, though the buzzzzzzzzz of his own mental activity hums loudly through the corridors as he passes through them.]

[ It's the noise he's been waiting for - been keeping awake with on cup of coffee on the couch for, listening. At some point he drifted off and forgot to listen with his mind and not his ears. It's the same noise he was so annoyed with the first time he heard it, and it still pains him now, even at the brink of sleep. It vibrates right at the edges of his mind, threatening to reignite the headache he'd been nursing. When it finally registers, Nirad is already halfway down the hall. Aoba is usually slow to wake, but now he wakes with a start. ]

Nirad?

[ He's perhaps a little too eager, sitting up on his elbows, neck craning to look down the hall. He tries to be gentle when he reaches out, but half asleep and still aching with grief his consciousness washes over like a wave at high tide. ~~Like being dosed with cold water SURPRISE your blue boy's awake.~~ ]

[There's always noise. There's always lots and lots of noise. Most days he likes listening to it - it's a good reminder of where he is, where other people are, that no one has to be by themselves. That's a good thing to keep in mind. But today he's tender, brain all scrambled from the repeated poking and prodding, the repetitive trauma of Skywalker's loss felt through the reflecting mirror of the nest connection. It's an old scar scraped open. He doesn't like it. He just wants to lay down and put his hands over his ears and ignore the pressure of thoughts rolling through the apartment block, over and through him and--

It takes a second to unsort and unpack it. He pauses, startled, and turns with an uneasy look to peer back the way he's come toward the common room he's blown through without any attention. There's something stricken about his expression from a distance, the white tattoos stark in the low light of the hallway.

???????????]

[ That questioning stare hits him from down the hall, and the pressure of it nearly bowls him back over onto the couch. But Aoba gets up, pressing forward despite the sound and his limbs being stiff and clumsy. One hazel eye squints across at the dark pair staring back, the other covered by his rubbing it under a mess of cyan hair. He pads barefoot down the hall, trying to keep both his steps and his mind quiet for the sake of the other tired hosts nearby, and Nirad's. ]

Hey.

[ It's whispered, again for the ones who may be sleeping. It's also a pretty weak way to say hello after what he'd done to Nirad, both intentionally and accidentally. There's guilt in his mind, hovering at the forefront and waiting for the chance at an apology. There's worry too, but he focuses instead on the pair of eyes in front of him. How they stand out bright against Nirad's contrasting skin. And despite all that's happened and all the other mixed emotions swirling in him, there's a cautious happiness there. He's glad and relieved to see him again.

In the dim light, he can't immediately tell what kind of physical shape he's in. Mentally, he's loud as ever. Maybe not the best sign. ]

Are you alright?

[Technically people come back all the time. They go to sleep, sometimes they wake up. There's still something dissonant about it, something fiercely unsettling. He's reminded strangely of ghost stories - a young girl in white and grey walking along the high bluffs, walking the same paths she's walked for a century and falling from the same slippery stone outcropping she's always fallen from. (He never saw a ghost like that, but some people said they had.)

He's seen other strange things though. Aoba waking up isn't one of them, he reminds himself. Don't be stupid. People come back all the time when they aren't dead.

Nirad straightens as Aoba draws closer. The glove on his right hand, heavy with technical equipment, glows a dull red in the low light of the corridor. He turns it this way and that unconsciously, some small anxious shift that doesn't mean anything but manages to throw the light one way or another between them.]

Uh yeah I'm okay. Are you?

Yeah, I'm fine.

[ The answer is given a little too quickly to have any real thought behind it. But then, compared to what every other host has been through that night, he really is just fine.

An awkward pause falls over them like the shifting light from Nirad's mechanical glove. Aoba stops rubbing tired eyes and busies his hands with tucking loose hairs behind his ears, (carefully, because it always hurts to touch and the last thing he needs to do is spread more pain). Nirad may be accustomed to Hosts sleeping and returning and sleeping and returning regularly, but Aoba is still new. He's seen it happen to himself and others a few times already, but he has yet to find or accept any normalcy in it.

Even if he did, Aoba would still doubt how normal it was for him to slip into a coma at the time it happened. And it's that memory that makes the apology that had been hovering between his mind and his mouth come tumbling out. ]

Nirad, I... I'm so sorry for falling asleep like that right after... after I...

[ Guilt is quickly accompanied by shame, his face turning redder in the already red light. He can't even recollect what he'd done without embarrassment. Can't put into words what came over him that night, to make him act that way. ]

It was unprofessional of me to... during a mission... and if I upset you at all when I didn't wake up, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me.

[ He bows rigidly, deeply, and holds it formally. Partly because it's only appropriate to apologize this way to his senior, but mostly to avoid those dark eyes and getting inappropriately lost in them all over again. ]

[There's something in the tenor of his mental link, the low reverberating hum, that goes all crooked and anxious the moment the first words of Aoba's apology start to fall out of his mouth. He stiffens a little, angles of his shoulders compressing into an awkward line and the shift of his wrist stilling. The low red light emitting from the seams of the glove stops shifting and he thinks, for a second, about being a boy and covering his face with his hands to avoid being embarrassed - about parting his fingers to peer through them anyway. About the back of his neck going hot like a stone in summer sun. Like Aoba's hands and breath on--

Anyway.

His hand is there at his lip, fingernails itching to pick at old scars, but instead he just shields his mouth it. Thud, thud, thud goes the hum of his mind - loud like a pulse.]

No. Uh. It's okay. It was fine. [His neck is hot now. He's trying very hard not to think about being short of breath, about twisting up into contact, about-- Carata wouldn't care if it came leaking through the mental link but someone else might. Aoba might. Aoba might be embarrassed. Aoba clearly is embarrassed.] You're good. A good person, I mean. Not-- uh. I mean that was good too.

[ Thud, thud, thud goes the hum of Nirad's mind against his. Or is that just the pounding of his heart? It reminds Aoba of waves beating against rocks in stormy weather. Wait, is that memory entirely his? How open is Nirad being right now? Despite the tense moment, his head still bowed low, the thought of Nirad being more open to him makes Aoba's heart jump into his throat.

And then it jumps even higher when he realizes how awkward he's made everything. What a mess. He'd just wanted to apologize, and now it feels like his apology needs another apology, which he's just about give when- ]

Y... it was?

[ That isn't what he was expecting to hear, coupled with emotions he wasn't expecting to feel. Is this... cautious reciprocation? Perhaps it's better to try and keep using words to say so rather than the network, clogged enough as it is. ]

I-I mean, it was nice for me too... even though I never... before... especially with a man...

[ It wasn't acceptable, back home. Maybe to some, like his family and friends - they would understand. Though he's far from that type of society now, it's still hard to rid his thoughts of it. ]

[He can feel it, those little bolts of something like-- like a heart racing. He can't tell if it's good or bad, just that it's there. Something glittering under the surface of the water, catching light: a coin or a barbed fish hook not yet rusted. He could put his head under the water, open his eyes to the salt sting of it to be sure--

Or he could just thrust his hand down through the water and close his fingers around it. Hope for the best. That's what his brother would've done, he thinks distantly and completely divorced from this hallway or Aoba stuttering along in front of him. How many small pieces of lovely sea glass and carefully preserved shells did their mother still keep arranged on her mantle?

He blinks the thought back, but the miasma of thinking about home lingers something - fed by the line of Aoba's thinking, maybe. Nirad clears his throat forcefully. He's never been especially bold.]

Things are different here. [Said with some authority.] You can do whatever you want here.

[A pause. Some of that hard line fades back into fumbling awkwardness.] I mean. Not do but-- [He does start picking at his lip then, nail of his thumb digging absently against the hard line of scar tissue.]

[ That authoritarian tone, however short lived, takes Aoba by surprise. It shouldn't - Nirad is one of his supervisors on this mission, after all - yet it tugs at his chest harder than the pounding coming from inside it. His words resonate within him, forming a beat of their own.

Things are different. He can do what he wants. It's almost musical.

Aoba focuses back to Nirad as his hand goes to his mouth, fingers picking at a wound there. Whether it's old or new from what happened at the parlor, he can't tell. But he wants him to stop, let it heal. And with this new idea jumping around in his head, he reacts. Reaches up and places a hand over his, gently tugging it away from the opening flesh of his lip.

And then he closes the gap between them, leans forward, and presses his lips on Nirad's. ]

[It's not-- a shock. No, not that. When Aoba had come to his room and found him there and offered-- no, that hadn't been shocking either. A surprise, maybe, but not--

There's something inevitable or comfortable or easy to this: Aoba taking his hand and drawing it away from the old scar curved into his lip, then leaning in and kissing him instead. It's warm. There's some kind of gentleness there and the buzz of Nirad's mental connection goes louder and brighter and more vibrant for a split second before it too eases. He gives by a degree, then by three and five - faltering into the kiss even as the mental buzz fades to a dull, comfortable hum and his hand turns in Aoba's grip to tentatively lace their fingers together.

It's brief. He tips back - easily done thanks to the handful of inches he has on Aoba.]

Uh. I'm glad you're awake.

[ It's easy to kiss him here, in the perceived privacy of the small dark hallway. Easy to thread their fingers together the moment he feels Nirad's hand reaching to. It's surprisingly natural as well, despite all he's come to believe. Those beliefs aren't totally gone, but the worries they come with are momentarily eased, like the frequency humming in Nirad's mind. Likewise, the headache Aoba had been nursing before is fading.

They separate, and for a moment Aoba remains breathless, flushed, and looking up like he's lost. He stares like he doesn't realize it, eyes following the stark patterns dotting the space just below Nirad's gaze. Nirad speaks first, and it draws him back down. ]

A-ah, thanks. I'm happy to be, too.

[ Hazel eyes turn thoughtfully downward. Another pause, and the silence makes his nerves dare to crawl back up again. But before the onslaught of guilt and doubt settles in, he looks back up for assurance once more. ]

You're sure this is alright? This...

[ He squeezes Nirad's hand lightly, where it's still woven in his. Though it's light, he doesn't release. Consciously or not, his grip won't relax again until he's sure... ]

[He can feel some of that - that fleeting murmur of anxiety bubbling under the surface level contentment. Maybe it's all Aoba's, but maybe not. It reminds him of hours ago, dragging and pushing Bellamy Blake ahead of him from the Ven Diagrams headquarters. And of other anxieties too, farther removed but no more distant: tender like a bruise.

Nirad's grip on Aoba's hand tightens in turn. No. Put those things away, he thinks. It's hard to do it - he can taste the acrid edge of them on his tongue - but for the moment he can force himself to fixate instead on the gentle but persistent lines of Aoba's fingers in his and across his knuckles.]

It's fine.

[He sounds sure.]

[ Aoba's grip relaxes, and so does the tension humming in his ears. Not Nirad's frequency - but his own, (he thinks). That simple reassurance seems to turn down the volume on his every nerve, even the fluttering beat of his heart going back to steady. ]

Okay.

[ He leans up once more to kiss Nirad. It's brief, a single beat. ]

Get some rest.

[ Reluctantly, he steps back and moves to untangle their hands. Despite only being awake for half of it, Aoba knows it's been a long night. This - they - might be fine, but Nirad should sleep. He shouldn't try to stay and risk repeating what happened, even if some small still-buzzing note in his chest wants to. ]

[There's something that brightens like a bulb about to pop at even just that easy, brief kiss: a filament buzzing bright-- but it fades before it fractures, dialing back as Aoba rocks back and draws his hand free. Despite a brief, knee jerk urge to sna his grip shut on his fingers, Nirad lets him. Okay. It's okay. It's all fine.

He absently slips his hand into the pocket of his jacket and nods, running his thumb across the pads of his fingers.]

Okay, sure. You too.

[A beat where he lingers-- and then Nirad nods a second time and turns on his heel, slouching along the hallway to his disaster of a room.]

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EMPTY CHAIRS AT EMPTY TABLES

ii-ish!

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