station72 | [hatch log] pull plug, enter multiverse

Entry tags:

[hatch log] pull plug, enter multiverse

CHARACTERS: All
WHERE: The Station + Concordia
WHEN: DAY :025 - :026
SUMMARY: Somewhere deep in Station 72, a hatch happens; new hosts arrive on Concordia.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary.

YOU WAKE UP and in a very real sense you are born again. You’re not the same person you were the last time your eyes were open. You’ll never be that person again - well, except for you, Jessica Jones. You know how this part goes, don’t you?

You might not know it right away, though. What you do know is that you’re laying down in a place very different than you were before. The walls angle around you, claustrophobic, and they emit a gentle white light that’s faint enough not to hurt your freshly opened eyes. For a moment you feel fine even if you didn’t before you went under. Whatever injuries you might have had, whatever agony you may have been experiencing, whatever fear dogged your heels, they’re all gone. It’s quiet. When you’re conscious enough to take stock of anything beyond that, you realize that you’re wearing your own clothes and that there’s a faint pinch at the base of your skull - notable as the only discomfort you feel. Reach up, feel along the tube running from the base of your neck to the compartment’s back wall. It pulls free without much fuss.

Then it’s not so quiet anymore. There’s the sensation of something more, something louder, something both big and broad and something intimately near to you. There’s the realization that you aren’t alone, that you won’t ever be alone again. You belong here. This is as correct as the murmur of something like muffled voices in the back of your head is somehow familiar, or how the press of emotion that sweeps over you now doesn’t necessarily belong to you but doesn’t feel out of place either.

You can sit up - barely -, and shift out of the pod. There’s a ladder at your feet, and a little cubby just before it with anything you brought with you, as well as a set of crisp, loose-fitting white clothes; while your injuries are healed, whatever you’re wearing is in the exact state it was before. You can hear a sound in the back of your head, a faint buzzing, something like distant waves or the murmur of a party behind a door. Drop down the ladder to the floor of the Nesting Deck and you’ll find you’re not alone - and the those sounds in your head are louder. Other people’s thoughts swim up: some of them seem clear, most of them are a jumbled mess. Some of these people call to you - their voices are louder, their feelings more clear, they feel right. Further, there’s an awareness that there are others like you - not here, not close, but somewhere: an indelible tug at the back of your mind.

Welcome to Station 72. All new hosts will have one day aboard the Station before being whisked off to Concordia to join the others. Get to know the other new hosts, and ask the guardians of the Station - Prince and Cathaway -, any burning questions you might have. By the time the day has passed, Carata will arrive on the hangar to collect you.

MEANWHILE IN CONCORDIA Angel slips into a coma on :025 at almost at the exact same time that some Hosts become aware of missing pieces fitting into place. Those hosts with new brood members waking up on the station will feel somewhere more complete; you might want to let everyone know you’ll be getting new roommates soon.

Everyone might be putting themselves and their broods back together in the wake of the explosion that left the nest down one host and injected everyone with renewed motivation to either find the people responsible or make sure nothing like what happened at Royal Street ever happens again. Things are progressing on multiple fronts, but on DAY 26 there’s an option to put some of those efforts on the back burner...

     ON THE STATION, the new hosts are herded onto a sleek, black brick-shaped transport. Carata, a woman young enough to almost be called a girl, carefully makes sure everyone is seated and strapped in. She’s all gentle, easy smiles and cheerful responses to any questions posed to her. When everyone’s safely aboard, the ship’s landing platform descends through the floor of the hangar. It snaps into place in the airlock and for a moment there’s a beat of perfect stillness, a shiver of anticipation. Then the transport is flung through the shaft, ejected into the wild black of space. There’s a nauseating lurch in your belly as it bursts through the delicate shell of the multiverse and snaps into real space above the blue and yellow marble of the planet Opia. Somewhere, thousands of miles below in the city of Concordia, your brood is waiting for you.

     IN CONCORDIA
IN CONCORDIA, as dark falls, Nirad announces he’s going to fetch Carata and the new hosts from their landing. Anyone’s welcome to accompany him on the hour long drive to the stealth transport’s landing zone. The rented bus - manned by that same (now very stoic) android - takes everyone to the outskirts of the industrial block. They arrive at a different parking garage just as the stealth transport drops out of the sky, shivering into sight as it touches down. The hosts on the ship step down and then the stealth transport lifts back off the rooftop and wrinkles out of sight. It’s unclear how many more time they’ll be able to get away with this.

Get your meet and greets in and stretch your legs; you have a few minutes before everyone piles into the van and takes the long drive back to the Bearings Apartment block where the hosts have rented out the entirely of Level 13. New hosts will find there are rooms there that as of yet unclaimed, and they’re free to begin making this their home in whatever ways they please. Get familiar with your new comrades, explore the city, or maybe just take a well deserved breather. Officially speaking, nothing much happens until--

     EARLY ON DAY 27

A NEW WINDOW POPS UP IN YOUR EXTRANET PANEL...

((OOC Notes: This is the hatch log for all new and recently returning hosts; any threads on the Station should be closed to newly awakened hosts or Station-based NPCs; a top level for Cathaway and Prince will be going live shortly. Any threads on Concordia can be open to both new and old hosts! For anything happening beyond these calendar dates, feel free to create your own logs and posts.

If you have questions about the mission specifically, direct them to the most recent calendar post HERE. You can find a more detailed overview of the hatching process HERE; you might also want to take a glance at the MISSION CONCORDIA BRIEFING. For all other questions, please hit up either the FAQ or MOD CONTACT pages.))

NAVIGATION • SETTING • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

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[ Clint's more than aware of exactly how Shiro feels. It was his first thought, his first instinct, all those months ago. Easier now, with Sam and the soft understanding between Darkling and Bellamy and him. ]

Nah, just busy work. [ Easy, no hint of lie in his tone or thought. Because it isn't, not really. His head finally lifts, thumb smoothing out the line of fletching. There's no hint of censure in the blue of his gaze, just a steady reassurance. He knows how this goes, it hasn't been long since he was the one trying in vain to hold his mind close to his chest.

Doesn't usually work, but by now he's learned some tricks to the trade. Enough to keep from wincing when Shiro's mind resonates with his, alien regret a sharp ping beneath his ribs. One hand lifts, gesturing out for Shiro to pick a spot, before he settles the arrow and picks up another. ]

Name's Clint. [ Fletching beneath fingertips, he smooths it out, trims the edges. Calm, calm. ] You met the others yet?

[ Of the brood, he means, because there's no hiding the way Shiro is one of theirs. ]

[Is he jealous, for a minute, of busy work? What is the world coming to, where that's true? But to have something to distract yourself with sounds like heaven right now. Anything not to be in his own head, or anyone else's for a minute.]

I've never seen a bow like that.

[This is definitely an attempt at casual conversation. Maybe too casual. But what else is he supposed to talk about? "Hey weird how we can almost read each others' minds, isn't it? By the way, I have selective amnesia."]

[Yeah that's. Not going to help anything right now. So talking about the bow it is. At least it feels... calm up here. Something he's been looking for.]

I think so? [No, he knows so. He doesn't know how, but he does. Admitting it just feels like something unnatural right now. And he pushes his hands -- human and metal -- through his hair.] Shiro.

It's overwhelming. [No sense in hiding it.]

[ It's somewhat surprising, that little burst of jealousy, sour upon the tongue. Clint's brow lifts, momentary, before his features smooth out once more. He shouldn't be surprised, not when he reacted much the same the first time he woke up here. So he doesn't bother calling out Shiro, simply, shrugs a shoulder and leans back a bit. A flick of his wrist collapses his bow, and another snaps it open. Simple, practiced moments. He might be showing off, but there's nothing arrogant behind it. ]

Yeah, not surprised. She was made for me. [ Aching fondness, steady pride. The bow was shaped for his hands, two halves of a whole; this is what he was made for. It's also pretty clear that he's full of sappy thoughts about archery. Clint just really loves arrows, ok.

The half-question is acknowledged, but unreplied to. Yeah, Clint can read that awareness, that soft, unvoiced admittance. He gets it. ]

It gets easier, eventually. Hard to control sometimes, but most don't tend to pry.

[He's a little fascinated -- more than a little. He's not Hunk, or Pidge, but he can appreciate a specially designed machine. Weapon. Both, maybe. His own hand flexes a bit in response, like he's wondering how that would feel.]

[... maybe it's like what the others feel, when they use their bayards.]

[But that's neither here nor there. And not meant for him.] You're lucky something like that came with you.

[One eyebrow lifts.] No one's talked specifics yet. But... maybe I've been afraid to ask.

I've heard easier -- what's the worst case scenario?

[ Clint can't help it, a little huff of amused agreement escapes his mouth. Yeah, he knows just how lucky he was to have this. How lucky he was to have this chance. The still new scar stretching across his gut twinges, blood and guts and the thick burn of bitter regret.

He sold himself for their safety, and here he is lucky for a bow. Well, it's true. ]

Don't try to force it. [ There's a commiserating little look on his face, something that says that's exactly what Clint had done. ] It's near impossible to keep anybody out at first, 'specially your brood.

[ He doesn't leave it at that, though. Thoughtful, even as Clint turns his attention back to his bow. Its in pristine condition, but that's due to his constant attention more than anything. He fiddles with gears, carefully cleaning as he speaks. ]

You'll come into it soon enough. It's like building muscle, all practice and will. Far as I can tell, worst case is you spill more than you want to before then.

[Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. Why is it easier to be inspirational and supportive to teenagers, but adults, or anyone else, makes it sound like he's tripping over his own words? It should be harder to talk to people like Lance than a reasonable human being.]

[He shakes his head.] Nearly impossible. But not impossible.

[Sorry, Clint, if he seizes on that. He'll get his thoughts straightened out at some point. But for now, this is all too daunting.]

Has it happened before? Someone 'spilling' too much?

[ Stubborn. Hell, Clint can't say anything -- he's guilty of it too. And judging from the new faces and reactions, he's fairly certain the other two broodmates are right there alongside them. Maybe putting six stubborn people in one brood wasn't the greatest idea. Whoops. ]

Keep trying and you'll figure it out, yeah.

[ Seemingly idle, a sniper's calm patience beneath his every action. There's a pause, too long to be anything but a yes, even if Clint's mind wasn't humming with distant affirmative. But nothing he can say will stop Shiro from trying, and it really shouldn't anyway.

Eventually, he heaves a short sigh. ]

It's not uncommon. [ One hand lifts, scrubs through short shorn hair at the nape of Clint's neck. A wry little smile tugging at his mouth. ] It's tied to emotion, and we're all pretty haywire when we arrive.

[Stubborn, because it's better for everyone. Because stubbornness means you can make it through a lot. You can pull up a brave face and keep it there. Because someone has to. And he's the only one who could.]

I'm sure I will.

[Because he's been doing this for so long now, this Brave Leader thing. He has to keep doing it. Pidge is here, and she doesn't need him falling apart because of people in his head.]

[He looks down at the words. Tied to emotion. So if he keeps it all under wraps... and doesn't end up having any unfortunate dreams, maybe he can keep the 'spillover' to a minimum.]

[Protecting people. Even from himself.] I'm going to look forward to when things start settling down, in that case.

[ That's-- Clint pauses, fingers stilling their perpetual movement, body turning to face Shiro. He'd afforded distance, privacy, in so much as he could before. But now, now he stops, and he looks.

The blue of his gaze is sharp, bright; brighter than it had any means to be. He looks at Shiro, steady, careful, flicking over the profile of his face, the line of his shoulders, the way his fists unspool in his lap and curve back in. Clint knows what it means to be a leader, even if it wasn't often he bore that title, and here, now, he looks at Shiro as if he was picking him apart. Clint looks, and Hawkeye sees, in that soul-searching gleam he's known for.

This is -- this is Steve; broad shouldered and trusting, Chitauri blood on his hands, the ashes of Sokovia staining his golden hair. This is Steve, lonely and forever hunting, the loss of an entire world stitched into his bleeding heart.

But Steve -- Steve is bird-boned now, forgetting and forgotten, with a curved back and unforgiving brow. Young. Young as Shiro is, beneath the scars and the unforgiving flay of his mind.

It's almost funny, he thinks, just how brave the sacrificial lamb could be. ]

Yeah. [ He says, when the silence has dragged on a moment too long, the ebb of his mind inscrutable. ] Gotta appreciate the little things.

[It is quiet. It's really quiet. And he can't help but fidget a bit under what he knows is a Look. He doesn't need to glance over at the other man to know it. It's discomforting. Mostly because he doesn't know why Clint is looking at him like that.]

[He shifts, rolling his shoulders, idly. Flexing metal fingers. If Clint is looking at him, he's doing everything he can to avoid that stare.]

[Has he overstepped some boundary? Did this guy get something off him, even if he hadn't tried to 'overhear'? What--]

[Now he drags his hand down his face.] Look, if... there's something wrong, I'd like to know.

[It comes out more accusatory than he means it to. Maybe if he were more at ease, he'd be able to pull himself together better. He's so used to it, in the context of the Castle and the Others... he just needs to regain it, here.]

[For everyone's sake.]

[ Too quiet, and Clint knows its his fault. But he's never gotten anywhere by avoiding awkward situations. Hell, sometimes he purposefully pushes people into it, into confrontation. He has a problem, and that problem is that he's kind of an asshole. But at least he's self aware....?

Still, Shiro shifts and Clint watches, waiting, remembering. His brows lift at the too sharp lilt to Shiro's words, but it's not really a surprise is it? ]

Nothin' wrong. [ Clint pulls back, purposefully picking up another arrow. There's a whisper, the faint press of his mind before he can stop it, If we're going to win this one-- and a slow inhale as he reigns it in.

Grief, in it's own way. Muted, muddled, curling beneath his breastbone like--]

You reminded me of someone.

[He can take the confrontation. It's just easier to handle when he knows why it's happening. This throws him, and, as a result, puts him on his guard. His back up. His shoulders tensing under his armor.]

[... it's not until the soft whir of machinery that he realizes he's clenched his fists up. Relaxing is a slow process. Counting down internally. Breathing. Nothin' wrong. Okay, then why -- ]

Win? [His eyes snap over to the man, to look him up and down, before realizing:] I -- sorry. It's still hard to figure out what's verbal.

[He doesn't look away.] Friend of yours? Or otherwise?

[ It's a familiar sound, just like Barnes' arm, the subtle whir of machinery. Clint breathes in, out, soft, soft. Trying to keep a tight grip on his control, trying not to let his mind flay open under the press of Shiro's thoughts to his own. He can do it -- except, he doesn't gather himself quick enough.

There's a slow tensing of his shoulders, steel gilding his spine. --some of us might have to lose it, he doesn't spill, but completes the thought in the dark of his mind. There's a slip of something wry, brittle, even as Clint reaches up and rubs at the nape of his neck. It's sharing a little too much, but he purposefully doesn't hide. Instead, Clint shrugs one shoulder, gaze lifting to meet Shiro's own. ]

It's cool. [ It's not. A huffed breath, not quite laughter. ] Yeah, friend of mine back home.

[ Though technically, Steve's here too. ]

[It just seems like he keeps putting his mental foot in his mouth. Without realizing it or meaning to. His own shoulders drawing up, body doing its best to keep from kicking the hand online. Tension means a threat, right?]

[The last thing he wants to do is make this guy uncomfortable. Especially if they're going to have to work together in some future capacity. Or whatever it means for them here.]

[He meets that gaze for a moment, before purposefully looking away.]

I feel like I keep overstepping boundaries here. [Meaning: the tension.] I'd apologize, but I'm still learning what for.

[ Usually, maybe. Except -- except for in those uniquely trained for this. Relaxed limbs, sharp eyes, hidden steel fighting the softest parts of the throat in a blink. Everything is a threat, but by the way Shiro curls in on himself, the uncomfortable way Shiro's mind turns, it negates that.

He didn't mean it, Clint knows.

So he scrubs his hand over his face, rubbing at his temples where the low thrum of a headache builds. ]

You didn't mean to, it's fine.

[ Clint waves his free hand, a little gesture to say all's well.]

[There's the flicker of a headache on his end, too. Tension, strain, not nearly enough sleep for too many days. It's a lot to take in. A lot to adjust to and try not to make enemies.]

[... maybe if you hadn't lost the princess, you could be a better leader here...]

Can I ask how long you've been here?

[It's a subject change. Sudden and sharp, but it's better, he thinks, than nothing.]

[ Sounds about accurate for their entire brood, tbh. Headaches and sleeplessness, the cautious stepping of people unsure of each other in this space. There's a reason Clint spent the majority of his first couple months here holed away, trying to gather as much information as he could without tripping over other minds in his own head.

Easier when both parties try. ]

Uh, 'bout three months? [ Give or take, because Clint's still not sure how much time he's missing between Wakanda and the ship. ] Some of the others have been here double that.

[Spending his time holed up and far away sounds ... pretty good, if he's being honest. But he can't. Pidge is here. He has to look out for her, if nothing else. She's his team. More than anyone else here.]

[No matter what they might want him to believe.]

Has anyone ever gone home? Gone back where they were taken from?

[ It's a tempting plan, but one that's unfortunately not viable longterm. Clint was always going to have to come back down to earth, in a sense. The strange sense of completion that came with new arrivals made it all that much harder to keep away.

Still, Clint grimaces, an answer all it's own. ]

Far as I know, no. Seems like we're stuck here for now for better or worse.

[ Not that Clint doesn't think about it often. A flash; Blood, dust, the flail of too many arms and the tang of gunpowder. A breath, keeping small hands and gaptoothed grins to himself -- he'd give so much more to protect them. ]

... Honestly, 'worse' sounds more and more likely, the more people I talk to.

[Worse in that keeping people out will become impossible. Keeping himself separated and in control might not always be possible. And he can't.]

[To protect them.]

[I'm not letting it happen again. Not letting anything happen to another crew ever again. Not letting someone pull him out of danger and stay behind - that's his job, isn't it? That's what he'd done for Matt, what he did for the others whenever possible, what he should have done for Allura.]

[He doesn't shove it away quick enough. Things are too new here and too raw nerved for that much control. But he tries.]

I'm hoping I'm wrong.

[ Well, that's true. Clint tries to be optimistic, but sometimes there's only so much you can do or say. Or believe.

But if there's anything that can be said about Clint Barton, it's that he'll try his best. And sometimes, often, the best will get that job done anyway. He sacrificed himself for his family, for his team, once, twice, time and time again. Joining this life was simply another bargaining chip. Protect them -- that's all he could do, that's all he would do.

From the frayed nerves and grasping, aching, desperation that slips from Shiro, he's in the same damn camp. So Clint takes a breath, slow, rubs at his brow. ] Hope you're wrong too, man.

[Maybe that's why they're in the same boat. Literally and figuratively. People who came here with the hope of protecting someone else. Multiple someones, in this case.]

[Clint isn't the only one who's doing his best here. But, he might be the only one on this rooftop who feels like it's good enough.]

Guess we'll just have to wait and see.

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[hatch log] pull plug, enter multiverse

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