station72 | This horrid mass shall give us pause

Entry tags:

This horrid mass shall give us pause

CHARACTERS: Open
WHERE: WAYPOINT SHRIL
WHEN: Day 29
SUMMARY: Alien rock, other stuff in the top levels.
WARNINGS: N/A, will update as necessary.

Annie Westwind doesn't have down the whole 'not bleeding out her every thought and feeling' thing. She's not given to it, really, she's always had too much going on in her head, and she just lets it go where it will. Unless someone gives her a reason better than 'making others comfortable' she probably won't try.

Her excitement starts out tame. She's found something interesting, one of those little sparkles of intrigue that you may even have gotten used to over the past few days. It's not an unpleasant feeling, after all. However, her eagerness ramps up increasingly over the following few minutes, quite dramatically.

She's found an impromptu alien band blocking off one of the alleyways, set up on stage of crates, stolen plating, and torn fencing. At first she'd thought they were just boring ass street preaches, yapping about something dramatic she hadn't listened to at all, but then they began the drumming. Like an infernal military march. So she'd crept closer, winding her way through the gathering crowd. As the other instruments began they were just as wild and noisy, and then their alien singer began to snarl and growl, the crowd of unruly aliens before them beginning to jump and sway.

( Holy shit! )

It's about the most articulate thing that comes out of Annie as she joins them. Unfortunately for the rest of you, she's taking in and essentially re-transmitting this noise. Not just the terrible alien punkrock, but the press and excitement of the pit. Her breathless exhilaration as she dances and stomps and raises up a yell when prompted by the huge hairy alien on the stage.

His first song, assuredly, is dedicated to the large swinging genitals between his legs.

The worst of it, however, is when Annie actually picks up the lyrics of one of the songs. In person, her accent in emulating the alien growling is not up to par, but in her head it sounds legit, ok.

Watch on YouTube

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

The noise of Waypoint Shril is still too much. And that’s saying something, really.

Insomnia was a city that lived up to its name — buzzing with activity at every hour of the day, thriving and pulsating as if it were a living organism. Noctis is used to that, even if he sometimes spent an inordinate amount of time within the walls of the Citadel. Regardless, the rhythms of the city are indicative of home to him; frantic schedules, massive crowds, and everything else.

But it was nothing like this. Wherever he’s managed to find himself now (a club? so many aliens, so many bright lights), alien bodies pressed against each other, everyone yelling in a language he can’t understand above the vibrations of the music coursing through the establishment — by the Six, this was a level of hectic he never knew could exist. Noctis currently has his back pressed to one of the walls, just watching as aliens pass for now.

When a certain broodmate’s mind presses into his own, even louder and with a recklessness that takes him by surprise, Noctis mentally calls out almost immediately.

(Where are you? What are you doing?)

Excitement floods him, adrenaline and noise. Music? Noctis' own voice in her mind is a tired tendril, just him trying to be heard over the energy. It probably sounds far away, drowned in elation.

Filled with adrenaline and the endorphins from her exuberant thrashing, she's a smear of noise and color in psychic space, but her mind is mainly quiet. Lacking the usual infernal twists and turns of her dissatisfactions with her human existence. It's almost not surprising that this kind of chaos is what it takes to challenge that hulking otherness and longing that pries her thoughts in every direction. She's left off thought, worry, despair in exchange for sweat and gasping breath. That kind of lust is always where she's turning, it's all she can trust herself with. The heat of a crowd of roaring aliens is pretty good, like she might almost fit in for a minute, just another alien thing here for the ABA, partying in the streets until its time for the motherfucking competition to finally begin.

Quite honestly, she doesn't want to focus enough to answer Noctis. She's not very good at conversing telepathically, it takes a lot of effort to gather all of her words in on place on her enormous psychic map. Although right now with so much sheer spirit behind her, the attempt comes out overly loud rather than the way she usually sounds as though she's calling out from under water.

( ROCKING OUT?! )

Her response in his head is jarring in its loudness, though Noct quickly chides himself for believing that it would have been anything but. He physically grimaces, his mind recoiling, yet still latched onto hers as if he doesn't know how to disconnect completely. (He doesn't.)

Now's not the best time to practice, anyway, not with this onslaught of chaos and uproarious music and something else that feels oddly like lust. He decides to find his way out of the club and out into "street" (construction everywhere, as expected), for he's not sure his mind and his physical body can focus in a stream of noise. He can at least give one of them a reprieve.

He can already feel where she is, relative to where he's standing, like a string perpetually tugging in one direction.

(Could you not?)

( Make me. )

Her defiance is jubilant, contrary just for the sake of it. Or maybe contrary because she hasn't had this much fun in years. Not since Daylight came with his dank alien smell and fluttering hands. Before all the bodies and all of the regret. Used to be, fun was all that mattered, but that had given way to saving the world, and all the endless rescue work that had come after. She's had more fun with these aliens in a few days than she'd had on Earth in seven years. Make me. Make me stop.

(Real mature answer.)

A thought that sounds ironically and hilariously petulant for a 30 year-old man, maybe, but Noctis doesn’t seem to care. At the same time, the next part he offers is less of an actual threat, instead tinged with exasperation.

(Don’t make me find you and drag you away from whatever— whatever it is you’re doing.)

He may as well be standing right next to her, the way he can feel movement pulsating all around him, that surge of excitement that he’s trying to push away with varying success. Already, his feet start to move in what he believes to be her general direction. Follow the noise; easier said than done, but a start.

Congratulations, Annie, you now work at the pop-up arcade just outside of the Arena Zone. It's filled with alien children. Where are their parents????

VIDEO GAMES
[ She's watching everyone else play these fucking games with a bored look on her face, chewing something that kind of tastes like clove flavored gum. It's slightly medicinal, sort of refreshing, but has a deep spicy scent that is not entirely pleasant. She blows lazy tar-colored bubbles as she watches yet another idiot lose their money. How hard can these fucking kiddy games possibly be? ]

Jesus, move the fuck over, I'll do it...

WHY CHILDREN
[ She's never been real good with little kids. Teens she could handle, she'd just begun teaching and tutoring for the Academy when all of the really regrettable shit went down. She'd been enjoying it. It had been kind of satisfying thought, that she might pass on the last of her liveliness to another girl, keep her kicking a few years longer than she would have done before. Little kids though... they had an innocence to them. A bumbling lack of death in their impenetrably stupid little eyes. She didn't see herself in little ones, since most of her young years were a blur of her own madness. She most certainly doesn't see herself in these alien brats, one of whom is pulling on her clothes wanting to fondle her long dyed hair. ]

Oh my god get the hell away from me... don't you dare drool on me...

[ No amount of free tokens will get the squirming little bastard away from her, and she casts a horrified pleading look at the first host who comes along. Oh my god halp.]

SHIIIIT
[ Look. It is not her fault that one of the brats got themselves wedged into one of the games. Nor is it her fault that they got a bit scraped up when she unceremoniously pulled them loose... Their large gelatinous parents disagree, and are gesturing in wide oozy waves of anger and bellowing. ]

Get out of my face, snotball.

[ She emulates one of the ugly alien obscenities she learned at the concert the other day. This only enrages other aliens who wish to remind her there are children present.

She isn't looking for help this time, but she sure could use it before she ends up in a fight. ]

Edited 2017-04-06 22:24 (UTC)

She's roaring, on the inside. A flare of a wild thing she once was, stretching her legs after a long stint in confinement. She's possibly getting out of control, letting loose her restraints too far even though she's convinced herself that since she's not drinking, it's alright. She's not reaching too far for the bliss, she's not letting the fractures spread.

( Eat shit and die N̼̞̰̯̍ͦo̢̯̩͍̮̪̗̅̇c̕t͎̫̎̀̈́͂i̘͙̭͉̯͌̈͒̃̊ͮ͊͠s̲̼̮͉ͅ )

Warbling and unearthly, infused with stagnant water and delirium. Maybe he should come find her and drag her away over his shoulder.

[ Petre is no stranger to angry aliens and their victimized children. It's beginning to look a situation that'll be fun to watch, popping a lollipop into his mouth with a blood-jello center, until the smol demon recognizes that the bleached-haired bitch is actually one of the Hosts.

Sighhhh. He steps on over, looking like one of the aliens he's gathered up in his mental shape-shifting portfolio, a species in the likeness of the Mimic octopuses back on planet Earth. Color and texture of the skin blending in with the lights and loudness of the arcades' colors. ]

Are you actually stupid?

[ A rhetorical question: of course she's stupid. ]

[ Her attention swings around on him. Psychically, her attention is an eerie, queasy sensation. Like a sun turning round in the sky to grin madly at you. It's better for Petre. He's not a broodmate, and being male she dismisses him as anything of consequence almost immediately, the full force of her notice fleeting. ]

If you got a fuckin' problem, kid, get. The fuck. In line.

[ She gestures at the squalling aliens around her. ]

Can't you see I'm fuckin' busy here?

[ Her annoyance, unlike a lot of her emotions, is actually more than just skin deep, but there's a part of her that thrives on confrontation. She's having fun cussing people out, and she'd have some fun fighting them too. ]

Maybe he would, in a world where he wasn’t so distracted by the swath of emotion and thought emanating from her alone. Hearing her words is like straining to hear them from underwater, but not so much that the sentiment isn’t hilariously clear to him. The feeling of a frown deepening courses through, but if it was meant to offend it misses its mark, lost in both Noctis’ growing exasperation and lingering curiosity.

He doesn’t bother responding, but instead only follows the pulse of where he believes Annie is. The rhythm and frenzy of it all isn’t difficult to pinpoint when it’s so blaring.

Eventually, the young king finds on the edges of a throng of people, of impossibly loud music and alien gyrations. He shuts his eyes closed, as if blocking out anything unnecessary, and focuses on his broodmare the best he can.

(Please stop?)

Since when did he start sounding like a tired parent since his arrival here?

For just a second, she's seventeen again. She and her sisters -- her teammates since childhood -- are still alive. They've taken their time coming home from a mission to root out some 'bad seeds'. Male power bearers who had been bullying one of Chicago's outer neighborhoods, they feel kind of heroic, ready to celebrate. They use Anita's charm to sneak in to a night club even though Sara looks the least convincing of them all that they're old enough. Loud noise, dancing, god so much booze. Body contorting to music, sweat beading her forehead. For just a second, it's at her fingertips. Even Helka lured off her tablet for a few songs, her hand warm in Annie's. Who gives a shit about the death trap they'll be going back to in a few hours. The long hours, the grueling classes, the frayed-edge girls crumbling one after another. The booze and the fun keeps it off them, let's the pretend that they still get something for themselves. Let's them pretend that they'll make it out in the real world.

Just a second.

And then she turns and there's Noctis with his tired eyes, and all the light and color drains out of her. Leaving behind a tired woman, ten years older. Her eyes widen, shocked by the abruptness of it, and the crowd buffets her to the side. She stumbles, shoves the alien back. They briefly exchange so lewd gestures and growls, but she crawls her way out without actually getting in to a fist fight.

Her clothes are disheveled, her shirt is over sized and distressed with bright color blocking, it slides deep down one shoulder. She gives Noctis a resentful look. Resentful that he couldn't just let her have it.

"Better? You fuckin' happy now, Noctis?" she shouts at him. She fiddles out a cigarette, clamping it irritably between her teeth.

Edited 2017-04-10 18:00 (UTC)

It’s funny how Noctis feels a surge of irritation when an alien decides to shove Annie away, half-tempted to go over there and give it a disapproving look coupled with a few sharp words. Despite his irritation and how tired he feels, it’s difficult not to feel a spike of protectiveness over a broodmate — no, someone who’s in the same situation as himself, even though she coped with it in a different way altogether.

Still, no need. Annie’s got a hold of the situation, even as she storms over to him, bitterness in her look. The exact opposite of how she had been just moments before, all that life and energy gone. None of it throbbing behind his eyes any longer.

He takes a step or two back, distancing himself from the edge of the crowd. They’re still too loud, just not as loud as before.

“Yes.” The response is quick, because yes, it was better. He crosses his arms, fingers playing idly at the black fabric of his sleeves. “Whether or not you believe it, I’m not trying to police your fun. I just couldn’t hear myself think.”

"I don't know what to fuckin' tell you, dickwad," she grumbles. "I don't know why the fuck they put this telepathic fuckin' bullshit in me--"

Her increase in swearing is a gesture of her frustration, chewing over the words like chaff, unpleasant and gritty in her mouth, spitting it out in pieces.

"It's a fuckin' bad idea, having anyone hooked up to my fuckin' mind. Cause I can't do a goddamn thing about it. It's gonna be like this, every fucking day for the rest of this shitty experience. You're gonna hear me. I'm gonna be there, and what I am is gonna touch you."

“It’s gonna be a two-way street, isn’t it?” He almost hisses the words through his teeth, because despite the name-calling, he can’t hope to tell her she’s wrong about that and he knows it. Noctis only wishes that his own mental barriers were not so malleable and laughably non-existent.

“Even if you’re always in my head, if neither one of us can control it, then I’m always going to be in yours too.”

The intermingling of whatever Annie is, that feeling that makes his skin-crawl, and his own images of flickering light (and unending dark) just feels… wrong, somehow. Like a puzzle piece that fits too tightly, that aligns wrong against the edges of his mind.

“Can’t you at least find a distraction that’s not as loud? Like…”

Like… like what, Noctis? He pauses.

“…reading, or something?”

"I don't give a flip about you. I had plenty of voices before this shit. I don't care, the fuck load of you can come in and out, doesn't bother me one bit. You're the ones hurting. You're the ones who are too--"

She stops,teeth grit. They're the ones who are too small. Singular little things troubled by the press on their individuality, not knowing what it was like to be part of a greater thing. Annie knows it two fold, as a soldier and as a being of life and death.

"Find me some fuckin' art supplies. Pen and paper, paint, whatever. You fuckin' do it if it's so important to you."

Like it isn't important to her, but it is. She's always needed art. She's always made time for it, but this was supposed to be a new adventure, all the routines out the window. But she knows better. She knows what will happen to her if she looses her restraint. She flicks her stub of a cigarette away and lights another.

"And as many cartons of cigarettes as you can get your hands on."

He wonders to himself just exactly how it’s his fault that he can’t help but feel it, either. If she thought that everyone was too sensitive, that they were the ones hurting, then maybe the problem is her, not him.

But that’s not fair, and as much as he wants to say it, it won’t make him feel any better. It won’t make the voices and the feelings go away, it won’t give him his peace, it won’t make this entire Waypoint Shrill place less of a hassle to be on. Noctis drops his hands to his side, fingers flexing.

Art supplies and cigarettes? He’s not sure how reasonable a request that is, but maybe he could manage — maybe it’d be a nice enough distraction for himself. He’ll do her a favor, even if she was just sending him on a fetch quest and nothing more significant than that.

“What, like… brushes and oil paints?”

This is classic Annie. Seeing the weaknesses in others, because that was how you survived, but to call what she's doing right now tactical wouldn't be anywhere near the truth. She's just out of hand, let herself get too wild and now her head is buzzing. Alight with memories of dead comrades, otherworldly beings, inverted purple skies. And it's just as classic of her to slough that responsibility off onto someone else. For years and years it was Helka, Anita, Sara. When they were dead, it was Therese for a little while before she left Annie's side to go play evil master mind. Then it was Jenny and Sotiro, bleeding heart kindergarten teacher types that would do anything for anyone.

And now there's Noctis. A weary king tied to a broken down soldier.

"Yes," she mutters, feeling irritated with him, herself, the reality of her existence: part woman, part symbiote, part stardust. "I'm not picky, just bring whatever."

For all the fatigue in his bones — still too new to not feel exhausted at everything — Noctis wants to assist. It’s an odd compulsion, he likes to think, though the truth of the matter is that he’s merely too sensitive of a soul. Secondhand empathy comes naturally to him, in ways that he can’t avoid. Even more so when his mind brushes so closely with others now, and twice as much when it’s a broodmate.

It’s decided, then. He’ll find art supplies for her, or at least, he’ll for damn sure try. Maybe even cigarettes if he happens to stumble across a carton.

Already his mind is filtering through a palette of colors he could search for. For some reason it always settles on the color black, though he knows that alone won’t do.

“All right. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

A hand moves to his hip, considering.

“Just… no more alien rock concerts for today, okay.”

"They were super gnarly though," Annie complains absentmindedly. Her heart isn't in it, but much like her psychic voice, she doesn't always put effort into controlling what she says. It occurred to her, so she muttered it. She drags a hand back through her tangled, sweaty hair, grimacing as her fingers catch in knots. She makes a face as she extricates it, finally actually agreeing,

"I'll go find some coffee."

[ It's his symbiote that stirs more than he does, despite being so used to Petre's chaotic little brain by now. That just goes to show the impact of Annie's horror version of the Teletubbies' baby god face, and now he's not sure if he wants to find out more or punch her for even inflicting it on him.

Anyway. She's rude. Petre hates that she just decided to ignore him after that; it's his fuel to let the bitch taste trouble in full instead of letting her get away with it.

Alien-shaped Petre grabs her shoulder and turns her toward him, flashing teeth. They're neon green, like they'll give her radiation poisoning the moment they sink into her skin. ]

I don't wait in line.

[ Aliens going hey!, and Petre turning back to tune into their wrath and tell them to go walk into a wall. They do over and over. Everybody is wondering what the fuck is up with them, now, so the hosts have no attention on them anymore. ]

Apologize to me.

[ Annie's grin when he turns her around is terrifying. Her emotions, unlike any of the sins that sins that Petre feeds on, are a void of alien nature. She was not a peaceful creature, and in agitation she becomes even less so. It's better to keep her calm and happy. She's halfway to wheeling back a punch aimed at Petre's squishy little nose when she spots... Lucina watching her.

Her eyes widen, fist lowering.

Wow. Not a great example to set for her little sister, shame burns in her chest. ]

[ This isn't the kind of place she'd normally wind up, but that could be said about just about anywhere on Waypoint Shril, to be fair. She's at least been trying to acclimate. The more she sees, the less she's going to have to pause and double-take at everything ever (she hopes).

But the flare of angerannoyanceadrenaline that she picks up as she's passing - it's not hers, she knows, even if it feels like it is, and it doesn't point to anything good.

So here she is, working her way forward and watching with one hand on Falchion's hilt, in case things go to hell -

- but, thankfully, watching seems to be good enough. (Also, why are those aliens walking into the wall over and over again?) ]

Is something wrong?

[ He's baring his teeth, strange features all lined up to show just how irate and violent he can be at the drop of a hat. Who the fuck does this bitch think she is, that she'll just get here and be as useful to him as the family currently trying so hard to beat the wall at its own game?

She lowers her fists, though, and Petre's attention flips over to another host. New, too, but apparently less of a walking flesh suit of Dumb. ]

Yeah, this bitch needs to shut the fuck up and go home, that's what's wrong.

[ He does not look human in the least, the texture of his skin flowing, harsh then smooth, adapting to the colors around them, but he is very much one of the nest's members. ]

Watch your fucking mouth.

[ Annie says rolling her eyes as she goes to Lucina. ]

Nothing, nothing is wrong.

[ See all smiles here!!! ]

[ Looking straight at Petre too long is threatening to give her a headache, the way his appearance seems to ripple in response to the space around him. (She is, at least, getting much better at taking whatever strange sight crosses her path next in stride. Okay, so here's a weird color-shifting guy, and there's one behind him with a top jaw that unhinges into another set going in the other direction. This is apparently her life now.) ]

I'm certain I don't need to remind you that this is not the time or the place.

[ More to Petre than to Annie, since Annie seems to have come to that conclusion already. ]

Fuck you, bitch.

[ Hissed at Annie like a sullen child, stinkeye thrown in her direction. He wonders what's so special about the other girl that this idiot would want to hide the trouble she was about to get herself into. Why was she ashamed, of all things? ]

Well, I was trying to help her.

[ ... Sure... ]

Didn't need any help, thanks though.

[ Just because she was about to get in a fight with a bunch of alien moms is completely beside the point.]

[ Well. She's not going to tread on everyone's mutual right to hate each others' guts, as long as they've managed to avoid a fistfight or worse. Important things first and all. ]

As long as we can agree on that much, then.

[ She glances at the aliens walking into the wall. ]

Are they...all right?

Fuck off.

[ Stupid chick. He readjusts his alien clothes, scratches at his neck, changing into a flare of what looks like orange feathers, and back. Tipping his head toward the aliens, ]

Yeah, that was part of the help. But I guess she won't be needing it anymore.

You're kind of a ruthless little shithead, just taking over all their minds without fuckin' blinking like that.

[ She doesn't.... disapprove. She's just. Saying. ]

[ So that is, indeed, what it looks like.

Which causes her to grind her teeth a bit because unlike Annie, she most definitely does disapprove. ]

We're past needing that, yes. You can let them go.

Yeah, thanks, but I don't need your fucking compliments.

[ Yes. That was, and always will be, a compliment in his stupid little monster head.

With an annoyed shrug, he shifts over to the poor alien family, utters a couple of words, and they're free to go, more confused than anything else. ]

Are you gonna tell her to stop doing that shit? Or put a leash on her or something.

Motherfucker, please.

[ She can only control her mouth so much, even for Lucina. There's annoyance in her tone, but underneath it is a rather staid lack of fucks to give for anything this irritating child has to say. Although she is now wary of his abilities. She always did hate these fucking telepathic types. How the hell did she end up in this situation. ]

I'd prefer that leashes were not necessary. For any of us.

[ And yes, to be honest, she includes herself in that thought, inasmuch as she would want to be called out before things got dicey if she were the one about to cause a scene and bring trouble crashing down on their heads. ]

Fuck off, albino bitch.

[ His own lack of fucks to give rivals Annie's own, except his are out of a kind of pettiness that refuses to back down from anything she tells him. The immature need to have the last word to feel like you've won. ]

So who are you supposed to be.

Like I ain't ever heard that one, limp dick.

[ Her lips curl in a sneer, all of her heavy attention focused on him. It is unnerving, even without her trying to be. A hair-raising sense of something great and looming. She's really just making sure he's not rude to Luci. ]

[ Just standing in the middle of this much free-flying venom makes her feel snappier, but she swallows it down and firmly tells herself that she doesn't have a reason to be. She's always sought not to let her emotions rule her before; no reason to act any differently now, even if she has a few more from elsewhere to contend with.

she is zen, goddammit ]

Lucina. We are broodmates.

[ There's just a split-second of hesitation before "broodmates;" she's still getting used to the word, and everything it implies. ]

[ You have a strong will, Lucina. Between Petre being a shit and Annie throwing shade, there's plenty of crazy monkey business being juggling back and forth in their heads. ]

Wow. It's gotta suck balls to be you, then.

[ Between Annie and Lucina, something pinches, flinching. Yeah, it does suck, and it's not like Annie had a lot of choice in the matter. Between the three of them: Annie, Noctis, and Lucina there was plenty enough sorrow and duty to go around without also smearing Annie's alien monstrosity on top of it.

But Annie doesn't show that, just continues to sneer, ]

You're no prize yourself.

[ Lucina grits her teeth. She can feel that - flicker of discomfort, and whatever the slang she doesn't quite get is implying, it's certainly not flattering. ]

I believe we can consider ourselves finished here, if all that's left is to trade insults.

[ Annie is technically meant to be manning this arcade, but she hates the idea of staying here while Petre and Lucina go, so... ]

Lemme get you lunch, Luci.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

This horrid mass shall give us pause

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

OPEN | WORKING THE ARCADE

no subject

shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject