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[hatch log] a lonely, distant place
CHARACTERS: Closed to Misato, Beth, Seviilia, Shepard & NPCs
WHERE: The Station
WHEN: DAY :045
SUMMARY: Somewhere far away from Concordia, new minds gain awareness.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary.
YOU WAKE UP and the person you were a moment ago is gone. --No. Not a moment. It's been a while, hasn't it? Something feels off - a combination of the strange and familiar right there in your own head. You know intuitively that you've been unconscious for more than just a blink of the eye, but it’s impossible to tell exactly how long or how exactly you escaped the danger that had been breathing down your neck.
But here you are, a small miracle of the multiverse: lying in a small faintly hexagonal chamber, a gentle white light emanating from the surrounding walls. If you were injured during your escape, those injuries have been healed. If you were anxious or frightened or distraught, those feelings have been briefly calmed. There's something strangely peaceful about waking up here and that feeling persists even as you find the tube running from the base of your neck to the compartment's rear wall.
But when you disconnect the tube things get loud and a wave of emotion fills that peaceful 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. After the initial sensory overload, the mental buzz elongates: stretches out into a murmur like the sound of a party behind a closed door.
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. Drop down the ladder to the floor of the Nesting Deck and you’ll find you’re not alone - and that those sounds in your head are louder. For two of you, the sense of familiarity runs so deep between you it might as well be cellular; one of you doesn’t share their connection, but you still feel like you know them somehow.
Welcome to Station 72. It’s quiet, still. Beyond the Nesting Deck in Life Support, there are a series of small personal rooms, all of them without doors. Some of them have personal belongings and a sense of life, but all of them are empty and it’s unclear how long they’ve sat that way. The only thing that’s obvious is that people are missing. For the time being, you’re alone with whatever (or whoever) has been left behind.
((OOC Notes: This is the hatch log for the new hosts. You’re welcome to make your own logs separate to this for your time on the Station, but please be aware that until the current mission ends that you’ll be unable to play with older hosts currently away on Concordia.
Additionally, you can find a more detailed overview of the hatching process HERE. If you have any questions, please hit up either the FAQ or MOD CONTACT pages!))
WHERE: The Station
WHEN: DAY :045
SUMMARY: Somewhere far away from Concordia, new minds gain awareness.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary.
YOU WAKE UP and the person you were a moment ago is gone. --No. Not a moment. It's been a while, hasn't it? Something feels off - a combination of the strange and familiar right there in your own head. You know intuitively that you've been unconscious for more than just a blink of the eye, but it’s impossible to tell exactly how long or how exactly you escaped the danger that had been breathing down your neck.
But here you are, a small miracle of the multiverse: lying in a small faintly hexagonal chamber, a gentle white light emanating from the surrounding walls. If you were injured during your escape, those injuries have been healed. If you were anxious or frightened or distraught, those feelings have been briefly calmed. There's something strangely peaceful about waking up here and that feeling persists even as you find the tube running from the base of your neck to the compartment's rear wall.
But when you disconnect the tube things get loud and a wave of emotion fills that peaceful 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. After the initial sensory overload, the mental buzz elongates: stretches out into a murmur like the sound of a party behind a closed door.
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. Drop down the ladder to the floor of the Nesting Deck and you’ll find you’re not alone - and that those sounds in your head are louder. For two of you, the sense of familiarity runs so deep between you it might as well be cellular; one of you doesn’t share their connection, but you still feel like you know them somehow.
Welcome to Station 72. It’s quiet, still. Beyond the Nesting Deck in Life Support, there are a series of small personal rooms, all of them without doors. Some of them have personal belongings and a sense of life, but all of them are empty and it’s unclear how long they’ve sat that way. The only thing that’s obvious is that people are missing. For the time being, you’re alone with whatever (or whoever) has been left behind.
((OOC Notes: This is the hatch log for the new hosts. You’re welcome to make your own logs separate to this for your time on the Station, but please be aware that until the current mission ends that you’ll be unable to play with older hosts currently away on Concordia.
Additionally, you can find a more detailed overview of the hatching process HERE. If you have any questions, please hit up either the FAQ or MOD CONTACT pages!))
no subject
Her exhale is forced, a sound that rattles like death, unnatural and unnecessary. She can't tell much more about her from the connection they now apparently share, only that she doesn't trust her -- no more than Seviilia herself doesn't trust her, of course.]
I am Seviilia, Deathlord of the Knights of the Ebon Blade.
[She pauses, and starts to pace at the base of the ladder with metal boots echoing, running through several possibilities in her mind, torn between the present and what she had seen before she had woken up. There was a chance this woman woke up much like her -- confused, and a foreigner to the world. There was an equal chance that someone was trying to force her to let her guard down.
Anticipating the latter, she tries again.]
I would prefer not to be your enemy, but you should know that my patience comes in limited quantities.
no subject
[The ladder makes her vulnerable, she knows that. And anyone who feels a need to mention their patience is probably not someone she should be getting involved with. But she can't shake the persistent feeling of calm that keeps settling over her anxiety, like the two of them are supposed to be here, talking to each other.
She'll reach out over the gap first. She can do that.]
no subject
Beth's introduction and agreement to descend convinces her to stow her weapons. Perhaps fortunately, most of her is hidden beneath layers of plate and a hood kept up over her head. Should Beth decide to look down, she might spot a pair of rotting ears, and glowing blue eyes peering out from under the cowl on her head.
Its easy enough to assess a bit now that she's out in the open. A human, by all appearances, and as predicted -- not someone particularly well armored.]
You don't belong here, do you?
no subject
Beth stays near the ladder when she makes it to the bottom, and watches Seviilia with wary eyes. She looks— strange, which is a mean thing to think, but her ears are too long, and the little Beth can see of the rest of her reminds her of a walker, which makes her uneasy at the best of times.
Walkers don't talk, though. So she shouldn't be dwelling on it. She lifts her shoulders in a weak sort of shrug instead, expression blank.]
Do you?
no subject
[The sense of belonging and familiarity isn't enough to wipe away the fact that visibly, the Station is too overwhelming. Too white, too clean -- and it feels like its breathing, if she could only barely remember what breathing felt like.
She's consciously aware of that feeling now, and it makes her chest uncomfortable and heavy under all of her plate armor.]
Is this your first venture out of that pod?
no subject
But that doesn't matter, because she has to handle it anyway.]
I didn't know we could get back in it. [A beat.] I wouldn't even know how to get back in if I wanted to.
[She very, very much does not want to. Being in it had been probably the most peaceful she's felt in years, but disconnecting had been overwhelming and borderline painful. She doesn't want to revisit that just to get back some temporary peace that isn't even real.]
no subject
[Beth doesn't paint the picture of a warrior. It had been easy for Seviilia to piece together why this--Nest, her mind provides--had come for her. She was a leader of her people, a strategist, and a fighter. To her eyes, this woman appears to be a civilian.
It doesn't add up.
She glances up at the pod, frowning softly. She doesn't look back down at the other woman when she speaks.]
Do you remember how you came to be here?
no subject
[She says it blandly, like "knocked down and nearly torn to shreds" is a normal item on her schedule. (It kind of is.) It's the rest of the story that makes her uncomfortable, the parts she doesn't understand and the parts she doesn't remember.]
There was a man. He... helped me. He got me somewhere safe, and then.... [And then she doesn't know. The rest of the sentence just kind of falls off, until she finishes lamely:] And then I was here.