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[hatch log] welcome to the void-- wait no, waypoint shril
CHARACTERS: New Hosts & EVERYONE
WHERE: The Station, Waypoint Shril
WHEN: DAY :027
SUMMARY: New hosts take the universe for a spin.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!
YOU WAKE UP and suddenly you're a different person. --No. Wait. Scratch that. Not suddenly. It's been a while, hasn't it? Something feels off anyway - a combination of the strange and familiar right there in your own head - and you know intuitively that you've been unconscious for more than just a blink of the eye. It’s impossible to tell exactly how long ago or how exactly you escaped the danger that had been breathing down your neck, but you know it was more than a moment ago.
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. That feeling persists even as you find the tube running from the base of your neck to the compartment's rear wall.
But when the tube's disconnected? Things get loud. 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 happening 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. Maybe it's time for a change? 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 the closer you are to these strangers. --No. That's not right either. A sense of familiarity runs so deep between you it might as well be cellular.
Welcome to Station 72. It is... exhausting. There's both a both deep weariness in your bones and a pulse of anticipation crawling under your skin. Your body feels heavy at first, like you're somehow too dense or too real. But maybe that sensation eases eventually. Or maybe you just get used to it?
( ▬▬▬▬▬...There you are. Join us on the hangar, won't you....▬▬▬? )
It doesn't sound like a voice as much as it just resembles sounds, the sensation of warmth and security like napping in a window at the height of summer. If it's followed, you'll eventually wind your day to a massive hangar bay peppered with a myriad of small and medium ships ranging from strange to ornately beautiful to hardly recognizable. Waiting in front of a small silver craft is an aging woman with greying hair, fine jewlery chains tinkling with a multitude of metal charms sound through her clothing and along her forearms. You know instinctively she was the one who spoke to you.
She smiles now, moving to climb into the (very) small ship. There's room enough for all of you if you pack in tight. "Come along," says Cathaway. "The line for Platform Alfa is long enough that we can answer your questions on the way."
WAYPOINT SHRIL might be bursting at the seams with activity, noise and people, but there's no missing when something in the universe shifts. For most older Hosts, they wont quite be able to put their finger on what's going on, but Chuuya and Elena? They know exactly what's happening - somewhere in this universe, new Hosts are hatching and at least one of them belongs to you.
Not that the mystery lasts long for everyone else either. A few hours after the shift, Cathaway's speaks to you. Her voice is clear as a crystal bell, suffused with an intense and simple joy that has nothing to do with--
( New hosts have arrived. Please come meet us at Platform Alfa if you're able. They'll need your assistance. )
--and everything to do with the sensation of a ship hurtling as a bullet through space, the nauseating feeling of darting between other small craft and buzzing around larger class ships.
Come fetch your new friends, everyone. Waypoint Shril could be dangerous for the initiated. After all, the Catacomb Hotel is filled with construction zones and open elevator shafts, the streets are thronged with vendors looking to make a quick Shen off unsuspecting tourists, the area immediately surrounding the Stadium Zone is jammed with intergalactic reporters and especially hot headed or famous competitors filming a pre-competition conference, and - most mortifying of all - the line to leave Platform Alfa is apparently several hours long. What's a new Host to do without a little guidance?
((OOC Notes: This is the hatch log for the new hosts and anyone looking to greet them after their hatching. You’re welcome to make your own logs separate to this going forward and tag any old logs that have been forward dated to this point or beyond. We're about halfway through the first week at Waypoint Shril, so feel free to touch the mission drop post as long as you're appropriately timing your encounters.
Additionally, you can find a more detailed overview of the hatching process HERE. You can find additional setting information about the Station HERE. Information about Waypoint Shril is located at the Current Mission Brief - you may consider this information more or less ICly known. Last but not least, if you have any questions, please hit up either the FAQ or MOD CONTACT pages!))
WHERE: The Station, Waypoint Shril
WHEN: DAY :027
SUMMARY: New hosts take the universe for a spin.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!
YOU WAKE UP and suddenly you're a different person. --No. Wait. Scratch that. Not suddenly. It's been a while, hasn't it? Something feels off anyway - a combination of the strange and familiar right there in your own head - and you know intuitively that you've been unconscious for more than just a blink of the eye. It’s impossible to tell exactly how long ago or how exactly you escaped the danger that had been breathing down your neck, but you know it was more than a moment ago.
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. That feeling persists even as you find the tube running from the base of your neck to the compartment's rear wall.
But when the tube's disconnected? Things get loud. 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 happening 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. Maybe it's time for a change? 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 the closer you are to these strangers. --No. That's not right either. A sense of familiarity runs so deep between you it might as well be cellular.
Welcome to Station 72. It is... exhausting. There's both a both deep weariness in your bones and a pulse of anticipation crawling under your skin. Your body feels heavy at first, like you're somehow too dense or too real. But maybe that sensation eases eventually. Or maybe you just get used to it?
It doesn't sound like a voice as much as it just resembles sounds, the sensation of warmth and security like napping in a window at the height of summer. If it's followed, you'll eventually wind your day to a massive hangar bay peppered with a myriad of small and medium ships ranging from strange to ornately beautiful to hardly recognizable. Waiting in front of a small silver craft is an aging woman with greying hair, fine jewlery chains tinkling with a multitude of metal charms sound through her clothing and along her forearms. You know instinctively she was the one who spoke to you.
She smiles now, moving to climb into the (very) small ship. There's room enough for all of you if you pack in tight. "Come along," says Cathaway. "The line for Platform Alfa is long enough that we can answer your questions on the way."
WAYPOINT SHRIL might be bursting at the seams with activity, noise and people, but there's no missing when something in the universe shifts. For most older Hosts, they wont quite be able to put their finger on what's going on, but Chuuya and Elena? They know exactly what's happening - somewhere in this universe, new Hosts are hatching and at least one of them belongs to you.
Not that the mystery lasts long for everyone else either. A few hours after the shift, Cathaway's speaks to you. Her voice is clear as a crystal bell, suffused with an intense and simple joy that has nothing to do with--
--and everything to do with the sensation of a ship hurtling as a bullet through space, the nauseating feeling of darting between other small craft and buzzing around larger class ships.
Come fetch your new friends, everyone. Waypoint Shril could be dangerous for the initiated. After all, the Catacomb Hotel is filled with construction zones and open elevator shafts, the streets are thronged with vendors looking to make a quick Shen off unsuspecting tourists, the area immediately surrounding the Stadium Zone is jammed with intergalactic reporters and especially hot headed or famous competitors filming a pre-competition conference, and - most mortifying of all - the line to leave Platform Alfa is apparently several hours long. What's a new Host to do without a little guidance?
((OOC Notes: This is the hatch log for the new hosts and anyone looking to greet them after their hatching. You’re welcome to make your own logs separate to this going forward and tag any old logs that have been forward dated to this point or beyond. We're about halfway through the first week at Waypoint Shril, so feel free to touch the mission drop post as long as you're appropriately timing your encounters.
Additionally, you can find a more detailed overview of the hatching process HERE. You can find additional setting information about the Station HERE. Information about Waypoint Shril is located at the Current Mission Brief - you may consider this information more or less ICly known. Last but not least, if you have any questions, please hit up either the FAQ or MOD CONTACT pages!))
or not II B
The alien, in all its creepy bug-like mannerisms, makes another unintelligible noise. A dismissive sound, before it decides that whatever is going on now isn't worth its time. It scuffles off, returning to its place in the queue. (Which, admittedly, hasn't moved up much at all.)
Noct's eyes flicker from the alien to the newcomer. His attention is so haphazardly ripped from one to the other that it can probably be felt reverberating through their mental link -- a link that Noctis feels quite clearly with sudden proximity.
That doesn't make the notion any less confusing, though.]
It's not... [He straightens, frowning. The sword in question disappears from his grasp, in the same manner that it appeared.] Not for sale.
no subject
Probably be useless even if it was, right? It's you doing the whole [He makes a loose circling gesture with one hand.] appearing disappearing thing. [A beat, curls of dry amusement.] I'd ask, but I don't think I want to know where it goes.
[He turns half a step.]
Come on, we should get out of here before you piss anyone else off.
no subject
He’ll follow, then, a step or two behind him.]
Doesn’t seem to take very much around here.
[Implying that he wasn’t exactly looking for trouble, but trouble came looking for him instead. (A theme as of late, it feels like.)]
no subject
[Half sarcastic, but good humoured as he continues leading the way through the crowd. At least the guy wasn't naive enough to think the fight he'd almost ended up in was a unique occurrence.]
You'll get used to it. [He'd have to, but Murphy's not been feeling so inclined to the doom-saying recently. He glances back over his shoulder.] Unless you're from a place where that sword's seriously just for show.
no subject
He scoffs, following Murphy's lead.]
It's seen its fair share of monsters and daemons. [And more recently, a man, twisted by the darkness. Something sinks in his stomach just at the thought, but he decides to leave that part out.] Not... these guys, though.
[Aliens. He means aliens.]
no subject
Yeah, well, don't go chopping any of them up just yet. Save it for the competition. [A beat, idly scanning the line they've been walking parallel to.] I think I'm going to hope whatever it is doesn't need swords, though. Never really been my strong point.
[Unless he counted having them held against his neck.]
Murphy, by the way.
no subject
Guess we'll see, but if it's any consolation, I'd prefer not to fight if I don't have to either. [It feels like that's all he's been doing lately. Brandishing his sword against the enemy -- would it be too hopeful of him to wish for some other sort of tournament, one that didn't make him feel so tired just thinking about it?]
My name's Noctis. Have you... been a part of this "Nest" for very long?
no subject
[But before he can expand on that, or wait for Noctis to ask, he's spotted what he was looking for. A gap in the queue up ahead, a couple of aliens arguing over a ton of spilt luggage, a big enough scene gathering around it to work as a distraction. He glances back at Noctis.]
Come on.
[As he picks up the pace, slipping through the crowd to a better spot, one where he can sidestep into the queue as if he'd always been there.]
no subject
Regardless, he isn't given time to respond, nor is he sure he wants to. Murphy's slipped into another crowd, and Noctis makes a cognizant effort to stay close. Right now, another host is the only laughable semblance of a "familiar face" (even though he knows nothing about him), and he isn't eager to detach himself from Murphy.
Still, he can't help but hiss out a question.] What are we doing?
lmk if any of this isn't okay!
[It's a distracted answer, Murphy not even really realising he's slipped into talking mentally rather than out loud. He's keeping his attention firmly on the argument, the crowd, the aliens stood in line nearby. If any one of them are looking their way when they cut in, the fight Noctis almost got into would be nothing.
There's a golden moment. A split second of everything being perfect. He pulls Noctis with him as he takes the two steps necessary to slip out of the crowd and into the line. No hands on him, no grip on a wrist or arm. Just an insistent press of now and move.
And then it's done. Murphy's body language relaxed, glancing back over his shoulder at the length of the line behind them. If you don't want to get caught doing something you shouldn't be doing, don't look like you just did something you shouldn't.]
By... I'd say about four hours.
[He looks - and feels - pretty pleased with himself.]
no worries, this is fine!!!
Ironically, the notion of move is still enough to make his body follow suit. He's stepping almost exactly in-time with Murphy, settling into line. A showing of control in the chaos, something he's grown accustomed to thanks to years of training. (Someone thank Gladio for it.)
And then a thrum of self-satisfaction from his new companion, and Noctis realizes just what happened. He doesn't know what to say at first.]
Four hours. [Said breathily, almost disbelieving.] ...You're pretty good at that.
[Cutting in line, he means. He wonders how much practice he's had at it.]