[A sensation crawls between the muscle and skin; it feels like something living, something pulsing and ready to burrow its way free. It's dread and wonder and the sweet taste of some base anticipation and it calls from a place deep in the Station's gut. Should it be followed, eventually the labyrinthine corridors become a straight line: a hall leading faintly and purposefully down, down, down to a small inconsequential doorway and a bare circular room unremarkable save for the mirror shine of its floor and the animal feeling of something living there.
At the rooms center stand Cathaway and Prince. She's gripping his forearms, white knuckle tight and he's trapped in the obligation of keeping her upright as all her weight sags in his arms. Her knees have buckled and every ounce of them flows from the crown of his dark head through the length of his arm and the unnatural slope of her shoulders, through the crooked angles of her ankles to the very floor of the room itself where it radiates and grows and is steadily consumed by the need to breath.
Breathe.
The air lurches. A distance collapses. Reality finds this place again and both Cathaway and The Prince crumple to the floor of the Station's bridge.]
PRINCE and CATHAWAY | NPCs | pile in for one group thread, max 3 player characters
At the rooms center stand Cathaway and Prince. She's gripping his forearms, white knuckle tight and he's trapped in the obligation of keeping her upright as all her weight sags in his arms. Her knees have buckled and every ounce of them flows from the crown of his dark head through the length of his arm and the unnatural slope of her shoulders, through the crooked angles of her ankles to the very floor of the room itself where it radiates and grows and is steadily consumed by the need to breath.
Breathe.
The air lurches. A distance collapses. Reality finds this place again and both Cathaway and The Prince crumple to the floor of the Station's bridge.]