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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!))
no subject
[He leans forward and rests his chin in his hand, smiling in a way that maybe isn't entirely friendly, but certainly isn't purely antagonistic, either. More like he's in on some joke.] And you're right, I can't really promise I'll be less rude. But I'll be less hostile, if that works for you.
no subject
[That might seem like a lie, given her usual attitude; she's deceitful, yes, but but Shepard is rarely dishonest. There's a fine line between the two.]
What's your deal, anyways?
no subject
My deal?
[He has an idea what she means: where is he from? What's his story? Why the fuck is he such an asshole? But without clarification he doesn't know which it is, if any, and in any case he's lSoearned from experience that it's more fun to force her to explain herself.
So even if he has an idea, he'll play dumb and see what she does.]
no subject
[Why are you at least five elves worth of pissy, all crammed into a one-elf bag]
Aside from the obvious, I mean.
no subject
[He rests his chin in his hand, observing her. He could be honest, and it would likely be more productive, what with this... mixing of thoughts that he has to live with now. She'd be likely to tell if he lied.
But he'd be remiss if he didn't try.]
My story is I was nobody special, living a not-very-special life, when I was attacked by something I don't remember, and then woke up here. I've run afoul of authority figures before, and that's why I didn't respect yours. A bad habit that I'll try not to indulge in the future.
[Not incorrect, but not anywhere near the whole truth, either. He's testing her, and the link itself; he wants to see how much she'll be able to tell, and how much she'll say aloud.]
no subject
But hey, you learn something new every day. Shepard eases back on her shields a little, lets some of that roiling, unconsconable heat-pressure boil out into the air between them. Oh yes, she's mad. She burns.]
You're here because you thought the other option was to die.
[She spits that out like an accusation.]
You were picked because you're special. And you're used to being special because you've been in charge for a good long while now. Got your arm blown off for your trouble too, didn't you? [She's not even pushing hard, just skimming the surface, making educated guesses with what she finds. Shepard is good at intimidation, with her red-core eyes and unblinking hawk-stare.] I don't give a damn what you think about authority figures, your own or otherwise, but if you don't respect me enough not to lie to my face, then you better hope you can handle the consequences all on your own. And right now? You're not making a good case for yourself, Inquisitor.
[Shepard lets it linger a moment more, than pulls back, physically as well, retracting the single, menacing step she'd taken into his space. Her shields rush back to fill the gap, like the tide coming in, all soothing blue water and frantic fish.]
Do not fuck with me. You want me to go? Fine. I'm leaving. Good luck with your day.
no subject
He stiffens the longer she goes on, expression tightening, the building panic at how effortlessly she reads him mixing with the running thought of oh shit, I've misstepped. It's not from embarrassment or pride it's from fuck I didn't want anybody to know I didn't want anybody to know. How badly he fucked up. How stupid he was. He doesn't want to be that person anymore.
(without thinking he fists the loose fabric of his left sleeve and winces)
His throat's gone dry, but he manages to speak somehow, his voice coming out strangled.]
If you can tell that much about me already, then you should know why I didn't want to admit it.
no subject
[She gives him a vague, impatient gesture. That, as if the volcano pressure of her mind, and the unpleasant siphoning of information could be summed up in one sharp chop.]
You're a new host. Every one of us can tell what you're thinking, like you're shouting it at us. It's annoying as hell, but it'll get better. Maybe you can stop running your mouth long enough for someone to teach you how to shield. [Shepard opens both palms as if to say It could even be me, if you want.] You gotta make a choice, Lavellan. I'm not your enemy. Now, you want me to stay, or go?
no subject
Like fuck.
Still, he clamps down on it, keeping it to a simmer rather than a boil. A more rational part of his mind tells him he's not thinking straight, right now, and some things are more important than getting to release an emotional pressure valve in the moment.
Lavellan swallows, grits his teeth, but keeps his voice even. Maybe Shepard will appreciate the effort he's making to stay civil.]
I think you'll do what you want, regardless of what I want. Or are you waiting for me to give you permission for something?
[Read: fuck off.]
no subject
Fuck off it was, then. This has been a waste of everyone's time.]