station72 | [hatch log] into the garbage chute, flyboy(s)

Entry tags:

[hatch log] into the garbage chute, flyboy(s)

CHARACTERS: All
WHERE: The Station + Concordia
WHEN: DAY :43 - :44
SUMMARY: New hosts hatch on the Station; their arrival on Concordia is bumpier and smellier than usual.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary.

YOU WAKE UP and nothing will ever be the same again. A moment ago you were somewhere familiar - or familiar enough; now you're lying in a small faintly hexagonal chamber lit by a gentle white light emanating from the surrounding walls. You can't shake the sensation that you've been asleep for a long, long time.

The sluggishness of coming out of a deep, dreamless sleep persists all the way until you disconnect the tube running from the compartment's rear wall to the base of your neck. Then things get loud. A wave of emotion fills the void. Fear, uncertainty, relief, a sense of purpose or loneliness or anxiety; maybe some of these emotions are yours, but they can't all be. Somewhere, someone else is feeding their thoughts and emotions into your mind. On the plus side, it's easy to follow that digging, familiar sensation to each other. After all, you're part of the same brood. You belong together.

Welcome to Station 72. Sirius and Kavinsky will have one day aboard the Station to acclimate to their new reality before they're whisked away to Concordia to join the rest of the young hosts. Get to know one another, ask some burning questions; in a day's time you'll be boarding a shuttle and going somewhere far, far away.

MEANWHILE IN CONCORDIA, the host's espionage efforts are coming to a head. Preparations for infiltrating Public Security HQ are in full swing, a handful of hosts are planning to get in close with Representative Goram Saffit himself and there's currently a semi-functional android taking up one of the beds of the Bearings apartment block. Honestly, there's more than enough on everyone's plate without piling new hosts on top of it all. But that doesn't stop Nirad from disappearing when he's called to return to the Station. Presumably, this means everyone better get ready to debrief some new arrivals soon...

     ON THE STATION, there's a hum in the air - or the mind, rather. Follow the buzz and it'll lead to the Hangar Deck where a slick brick-shaped black transport is waiting. The source of the mental hum seems to be a young man: Nirad has come to collect you. He'll answer any questions; in fact, he seems happy to talk and length about absolutely anything. The boy's apparently the rambling type with little to no filter between his brain and his mouth. The combination of talking and mental hum can be disorienting. Once safely aboard the transport, the ship’s landing platform descends through the floor of the hangar. It snaps into place in the airlock. For a moment there’s a beat of perfect stillness, a shiver of anticipation. Then the transport is flung through the shaft and 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, the rest of your brood is waiting for you.

     A BUMPY LANDING
The stealth ship slices down toward the planet until it fills the entire viewscreen. "All right, everyone out," Nirad announces, unbuckling his harness and jumping to his feet. Uh. What?

He leads to the port side of the transport ship where there's a small series of circular ports. They're roughly shoulder width. At a touch of a button, the ports open out to a series of escape pods. There's only enough room for one and it looks like you'll be lying on your back the whole trip. "Hop in. I'll launch you and then follow you down in my own. The pod's stealth tech should keep you invisible to the locals until someone comes to find it, but don't forget to scrap the pod when you're out of it. We can't risk someone finding it laying around." A pause. "Sorry, by the way. Usually we'd just land the ship but it's getting kind of obvious."

Hopefully you weren't expecting a nice, easy trip down to the planet because this is dark and joyless. The escape pod has no windows. It launches from the transport ship and rockets downward at the behest of the planet's gravity. Everything shakes. It's desperately cold, then violently hot and then-- something gives. The sound of something whistling. A jerk. The escape pod trembles as the anti-grav jets at the base deploy. It's a last attempt to soften the landing, then the pod drives down into a mountain of debris like a tent stake into muddy earth.

Congratulations, you've landed more or less safely in Concordia's only open air landfill.

     SEARCH & RESCUE
It's three in the morning and maybe you're asleep in Bearings or maybe you're burning the midnight oil; either way, Carata is in your mind telling you to get up and get ready. "The new hosts have landed. Let's go pick them up, shall we? If I were were, I'd wear some clothes you don't really care for."

Time to go digging through the city's biggest ~~dumpster~~ transfer facility!

The escape pods will have to be unearthed and opened from the outside to rescue their inhabitants. Once free, be sure to dismantle pods and scatter them through the piles of debris. Eventually all of this will be recycled, but we don't want anyone finding mysterious alien technology in one piece now do we?

((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. Any threads on Concordia can be open to both new and old hosts!

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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[Fortunately for them both -- or for Shiro, in any case -- patience is something that gets stronger. Sturdier. You build it up like a muscle, dealing with situations like he has. Granted, the team was mostly well-meaning irritants, but.]

[No, it's not important, and it's shouldered and shoved away behind a hastily erected wall of space. Images of stars swirling. The shielding Sam had taught him.]

Welcome to the weirdest team you'll ever find. Probably. [A short nod, and he steps back, flexing metal fingers.]

It should be easier if we cut it down a few sizes. [As purple light kindles to life across synthetic fingertips.] Might want to duck. In case something gets molten and snaps.

[Kavinsky knows as well as Sirius that there's more out there. For the threads, Kavinsky arranges a game of cat's cradle, fingers digging in and arranging everything into manageable loops. Sirius is the only thread here, tugging and winding through his heartstrings, so that's the most important to pluck and lie flat.

It isn't patience. It's priorities. If he was on the station alone, Kavinsky wouldn't be nearly so well behaved. The presence of another, particularly one bound to him in some substantial way, is how he remains cool and disaffected. His attitude is maintained by an audience; solitude drives him nuts.]

What's your plan?

[I'll help. Because if Sirius wants something, Kavinsky could start to want it, too. He's sure of that. This is the most he's ever felt for another person, and while it's a fabrication-- someone else's design-- it's under his pursuit. He'll redress it until it's unrecognizable as anything but his own.]

Stab everyone with the stick? Cool shiv, by the way, but I've got something better.

No. Tomorrow.

[He has a job to do and it begins by making sure the pod is put away. The second thing is showering until the smell of garbage spirals down the drain. The third is sleep; he is not tired in a specific and demanding way, but if he sleeps, he can dream. And if he dreams, he'll have the material he needs.

Part of it will involve--]

Give me your wallet. I want to see something.

[Hand out. Expectant.]

They kept us about a day.

[The whole time, Kavinsky was shaking, scratching, tapping his feet, wanting to be where the people are. He dogged Sirius' steps, wandering off on his own only enough to keep up the appearance of not hating the Venn diagram middle of loneliness and sobriety. Even his dream version of Prokopenko would've made better company than the empty halls while the niggling knowledge of there are more elsewhere kept chewing at the grey matter of his brain.

He doesn't mind his rescuer sighing at his jokes, frowning at his flippancy. It's someone.]

Were you expecting something else?

[ He frowns again, taking a few steps back to give the kid some more room to stretch his legs.]

Did you wake up with anyone else on the Station? Meet Catheway or the Prince? [ The guardians of the station have a very hands-off approach, choosing the let the waking hosts come to them. Most everyone's found at least one of them before heading down to Concordia, so far. ]

[The only team Kavinsky's ever had is the one he handpicked; Prokopenko, Jiang, Skov, and Swan. One dead, the others living in a debatable way, all literal worlds away at the moment. But since he made that pack of wolves, he's assured in his ability to do it again. This time his sampling pool isn't only rich kids with free time to piss away, there are grown folks caught in an inexorable relationship with him.

He presses against the wall of stars, testing to see if it's all real or the glow in the dark kind, easily peeled away.]

Hold on.

[Kavinsky doesn't duck or even stand back. He does, however, make sure to have his sunglasses perched on his ears and nose.]

Okay, now I'm good.

[It's not real -- not in the sense there are actual stars present. Just the wall of space pulling back in a swirl of a black-light nebula. Another defense. Another layer.]

[Fortunately, everything moves on to destroying the pod. His expression turns skeptical, eyeing those sunglasses.]

[Well, he tried.]

All right then.

[That black-light, pretty much purple and intense, flares along metal fingertips, covering his entire hand. No sooner does it finish than he all but plunges those fingers into the pod. Stabbing, really. Leaving molten metal dripping away in its path.]

Fuck you.

[ At his 'no', then in Petre's own response. ]

Does it look like I carry a wallet?

[His mouth twists into a smile, mildly amused by her exasperation.]

I'm not in the habit of fainting.

[Despite, you know. How very much like shit he looks. All the same, annoyance is a strange reaction to have, but without further explanation Sirius assumes it's a smaller thing, these Sith. Interest still keeps the corners of his thoughts warm, curiosity picked through like embroidery thread.]

They're so easily sorted, these Sith?

[That's precisely it. If you don't mind watching the world end. Sirius' mouth twists into a bitter smile, as he rubs his wrist over his forehead again. There is a sort of steady idealism in the sense that comes along with prioritisation. Three weeks is no time at all.

Perhaps idealism isn't the word for it, but near enough that it's what Sirius goes for first. Perhaps because he remembers it that way for his own part, will go back to it again. It's only the world. It's only innocent lives. Not a choice, but certainly the way it is.

The question distracts him, narrows his eyes, wary. A mild retreat.]

No. [Suspicion ripples off of him. He keeps quite still.] Why?

[His personal associations with driving are two-pronged, one familiar and the other distant, weirdly foreign but fascinating, sluggish interest that's not lately been needed.

Significantly, though: there aren't any cars or carts around.]

Are they invisible automobiles, or made from rubbish? Or made invisible by rubbish, I s'ppose.

[A fair possibility.]

[He's not quite in a mind to appreciate jokes--which is perhaps why the flatness of this particular joke strikes a chord with him, coupled with the broadness of honesty. Suspicious, first, Sirius holds his glance. Then a smile carves its way across his face. Not very pleasant. His expressions need work.]

You could do worse. [He speaks from experience on that.] And yet being out's nothing to complain about, so I s'ppose I'll go along with it all.

[And again: no real choice in it anyways.]

What's your deal that you've made, exactly?

[Shiv is a word that he processes squarely, blankly, puts it away as he doesn't know what it is. The lap of feeling bowls it over and under anyways. Eager helpfulness. Intent. It's as fortifying as it is overwhelming, and he keeps as much of it away from himself as he can, though the temptation to wrap it around himself is tempting.

He glances back at Kavinsky. He doesn't have to. Far too aware of him.]

What.

[What's better. I doubt it would be the snappier reply. Sirius can't quite muster it, but the sentiment darkens his request all the same, sceptical around the edges like a bruising pattern. Go on and show off, then.]

[Shiro has no reason to be anything but honest. There's nothing to hide. But, really, he won't judge if someone is still suspicious. Or doesn't take him at his word. It's a strange situation to be in.]

I'd be surprised if I did. [All things considered.] Yeah. That's about what everyone figures.

[One shoulder twitches.]

When I was brought here, I saw monsters trying to kill my team. The ones in charge here took me up, saying if I went with them, everyone I left behind would be safe.

That was the deal.

Nah, that sounds about normal.

[ He shrugs. ]

I got like ten minutes before they politely suggested I get moving, but as far as I know, I'm the only one who woke up alone? So maybe that had something to do with it.

[ Blink. ]

Are invisible cars a thing where you're from?

If you've been properly trained. [She looks him over.] You haven't. Believe me, I'm not in the habit of giving free advice unless it's important.

[She doesn't expect him to listen. What would a walking corpse care for the words of the living?]

There's another guy. Sirius.

[Kavinsky laughs, realizing how it sounds, though the adjective works as well as the name. Sirius. He's always been the sort of boy that liked the culture that leaned toward use of the last name. It speaks of being something larger, the heir of a line descended down from the gods (or at least those with especially deep pockets). He can't thank his father for much, but there was always that. The money and the lineage; the right to attend a good school and turn all the good boys into the worst, most naughty little fucks the world had ever known.]

And I met Catheway. She's great if you like having your balls in a vice.

[Kavinsky doesn't sound like he minded it, whatever that means.]

[Why become a fortress like that? Kavinsky doesn't understand the exercise, and he'll likely never build up such enforcement unless someone puts themselves to laying siege. He's one more modern day prince, previously schooled in an institution full of them. The only one that offered him real danger was the king-- the mobster, his father. But he gave him a couple gifts: Kavinsky doesn't understand fear as other people know it.]

Blow that shit up.

[He cocks a finger gun, watching Shiro with an eager eye. Destruction always gets his pulse pumping, no matter what else has been injected into his veins. He'd been pleased with the instruction to go and wreck the pod after he'd escaped it; no complaints from him.

Sparks fly before metal melts, fizzling out sometimes as close as a half inch from Kavinsky's nose. He doesn't even flinch.]

Where'd you get that!

[He yells it in order to be heard over the man's work.]

You look like a virgin.

[It's a test to see how much the strongman can take before he picks a physical fight. Kavinsky keeps his tone light so as not to incite too much violence; he can take a punch from your average Joe, but his new friend's proven more formidable than that.]

What's the money look like here?

[He never wastes a chance to meet Sirius' gaze. They read far beyond a look, their communication as much spiritual and cerebral as anything else. Kavinsky's fluent in the language of the body, the set of one's jaw, the carrying of weight, but this is so much deeper. He waded before, now he plunges in for the best dive, the kind where he can get so overwhelmed in the undertow that he doesn't know which way the surface is anymore.]

A gun, for starters, but what do you want? I can get you anything.

[And he will. That is a sworn promise. Sirius can have anything he'd like.]

[So many comments to make and such little time; waking up alone is such a sad thing. Kavinsky doesn't usually wake up alone. He wakes up in a tangle of sluggish bodies, forehead throbbing until he finds the hair of the dog he needs to get by. When he is alone, it's quite on purpose so that he can wake up with the dream item he needs without too much questions getting asked.]

We can work on that.

[He doesn't clarify.]

Where's your car?

[Because it keeps people safe. It keeps them out of everything bouncing around in his brain. But... that's not an explanation he wants to give anyone newly arrived right now. Or anyone who hasn't already heard.]

[Meanwhile, he's focusing on his job. Peeling away the severed panels as the heat from his hand turns them into useless scrap. He should be more concerned about those flying sparks, but, as usual, his own safety doesn't quite cross his mind like it should.]

[His shoulders stiffen at the shouted question. Face tightening. The sensation of stars in his head flickering wildly for a moment before he reins it back in. Voice terse and short:]

I don't remember.

[About as close to a lie as he'll get. And even then, it's a half-truth at worst.]

[ It's a weird way to put it. Work on it?

But okay, whatever. First things first. ]

Carata drove.

[ He doesn't even have a learner's permit yet. ]

A lot of the new hosts don't always know how to control themselves, or the rules where the symbiote is concerned. It happened to me, accidentally. [ he tries to explain it as patiently as he can, but there's some worry there that he keeps in check. in giorno's case, he had been the one who had accidentally let slip a memory. ]

If it were accidental, that's something else entirely. If it were deliberate, that'd be problematic, hence the question. I don't want to be anyone's guardian, [ unless you want him to, but he won't make that offer now - ] I just want to know.

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[hatch log] into the garbage chute, flyboy(s)

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