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station722016-04-28 12:44 am
frakkincylons) wrote in station722016-04-28 12:44 am
( hella open, hatch log )
Who: Sam Anders and yooooou
Where: Nesting deck, Flight deck, Circle Gardens, Life Support/Telepathy
When: Day 165
Summary: Hatch log, delivery for Castor brood + wandering the station
Warnings: Sam's fuzzy little coma head, n/a
[A] wakey wakey eggs and bacey;
Where: Nesting deck, Flight deck, Circle Gardens, Life Support/Telepathy
When: Day 165
Summary: Hatch log, delivery for Castor brood + wandering the station
Warnings: Sam's fuzzy little coma head, n/a
[A] wakey wakey eggs and bacey;
--on the other side. [ there's distant, monotone muttering just before sam gasps in a deep breath, eyes snapping open wide - too wide, like he can see to the end of the universe, through the walls of the pod and the station and all the endless void of space through to the moment of the big bang. for a moment that seems like an eternity, there's silence in his mind, a deafening kind of silence after hearing so, so much, and he just breathes. it's been months since he's moved his limbs, but the fingers of his right hand curl, holding a necklace on a chain, pressing the edges of it into the soft flesh of his palm, eyes blank and wide, but mind scrambling, chest heaving, like he's mid-panic attack. it's hard to go from what he was, back to this, but something's reaching out to him, soothing and spreading warmth through his mind, and soon, he knows he's safe here. healthy and well, repaired, pieced back together, and safe. eventually, his limbs twitch, muscles in his shoulders flex and contract, and he raises a hand up slowly to the base of his skill, and the thick cable plugged into it. a deep breath, and sam yanks it free. ][B] flight deck, that's not a viper;
Frak! [ ow, headache. not an incredibly fierce one, but sudden, along with a wave of sensation, both familiar and entirely foreigner, causing him to squeeze eyes shut, blinking them rapidly open, and yet, he knows this. memories flash, the cold of a viscous he's lowered into, sparks of electricity felt somewhere far away, and then, everything. he's had more in his head than this, before, and while Sam can't quite place his finger on the details of it, like a word you've forgotten. but he'd been there. he knows that much. ] When...
[ there was a rescue. the light of New Earth's sun had filled up the CIC, blinding him, and for a moment, Sam knew perfection. but something had come, and this he has such a clear picture of - someone had reached out for him. live. and then, here. he must have been in this pod for some time, the datastream liquid no longer clinging to him, his hair having grown slightly back, though there's still an ache at the base of his skull, where the bullet had been removed, a couple fingertips touching tenderly to a healed scar there now. carefully, cautiously, Sam starts to move, shimmying down the length of the pod, until his bare feet touch the bars of a ladder below, some weird medical space pajama being all that's keeping him decent for the moment. pulling himself free, Sam looks out, over the nesting pods lining the vast open deck, and feels like he's forgotten how to breathe. ]
The hell... [ how many times can his world be completely turned on its head? how many times can Sam Anders feel lost beyond any kind of retrieval? clinging at the edge of the ladder, breathing coming heavy and staggered, there's a singular longing for stability, for assurance, and a single name that comes from his lips in vain hope, right hand squeezing tight around the necklace there. ] ...Kara?
[ kara's necklace lays heavy on his chest, heavier than it should be. a chain, with a dogtag, a simple silver ring, and a bullet. ] Bullet that killed me. [ sam murmurs, as he paces through the flight deck, letting out a humorless snort. it's both very touching and very sad to know she attached it with the rest. and very telling, where she laid blame. always, where she laid blame. these clothes feel odd on his frame, the silence of the ship disquieting, and he's practically bald, which he hates. there's some fuzz there, like a very buzzed buzzcut, but it still feels like being a hospital patient. note - find a hat later.[C] wandering/circle gardens;
simple shoes tapping against the smooth, flawless floors of the station, he's still not really sure if it's a building or a craft or something much stranger, but through the whispers and blurred passing emotions streaming through his mind, he gets the feeling of something immense. but he'll take that one room at a time. right now - flight deck. pacing in, he doesn't immediately see anyone else, which feels so bizarre to him. an empty deck. no engineers scrambling, no pilots shouting as they drop into their planes. just quiet. too much quiet, and, of course, the hum of so many consciousnesses in his head. foreign, and still the same. ] And still frakking confusing.
[ letting out a begrudging exhale, hand on the tag of Kara's necklace with his thumb passing over the engraved letters, sam lets his feet carry him to one of the ships, the other hand reaching up to smooth over the hull, before he stops, blinking at that hand. he's petting it like it's an animal - a dog or a horse. like it's a damn Cylon Raider. gods, this never stops being weird. ]
[ hours, it seems like, sam's been wandering the station. he'd met with some people, had some questions answered, but this place still mystifies him. not to mention, in the life support room, and the rec wing, there'd been things left around. belonging to who, the other hosts? where was the crew for this thing? why have such a massive thing with nobody in it? and the most striking thing he's noticing, as he paces through, is that it seems so, so much like a Cylon basestar. chrome and white walls, bare, and the organic spliced in here and there. and yet, it isn't.[D] telepathy, sam would like some pants pls;
turning a corner to wander aimlessly down another hall, sam finds himself facing the circle gardens. for the first time since waking up, something that isn't completely weird. grass. halleloo.
his shuffled walking towards to power walking, and then to jogging, and then to running, before sam's flopping himself bodily against the lawn of the gardens. not only had it been an eternity since he'd touched grass this green and alive, since Caprica's fall (the New Caprican grass was just never the same), but this station has seemed so empty and lifeless, aside from the other hosts. chest against the grass (close probably stained), and cheek turned against it as he lays there, sprawled, he spots another person some distance away, feels the vague pull of their connection again, and calls out. ]
Hey! This place is empty. Why's it empty?
[ eventually, he settles in the room he'd found for himself in life support, staring down at the grass stains on his white space pajamas. which feel entirely too loose and too thin on him. like pajamas, imagine that. he's heard a few other snippets of thoughts and conversation here and there, in the mush of his mind, and he decides to give it a shot himself. he'd operated the entire frakking Galactica with just his brain, how hard is chatting? ][E] wildcard;
( Anyone have any normal pants to spare around here? Or a hat? Feels like I'm shuffling around an old peoples' home. )
[ a really high tech old peoples' home. but that's it, that's all he has for now. did it work? sam's sitting still on the edge of his mattress, head tilted, like it'll make him hear the voices any better, waiting for something to come back. ]
[ idk man choose your own adventure, slap sam anywhere you need him /o/ ]
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[Said without any particular inflection - it's a statement of fact, nothing more. Cathaway's lessons still cling to his mind (as does her presence), but Avera 9 had been a potent experience in and of itself: Rogers' disdain, his brittle, permeating weakness acting as a damper for Ren's own prowess and what it had cost the Nest entirely. That he could blame Ilde for their collective failure is a thought that has occurred to him, but if his broodmate was not so...fragile, perhaps Karlon would not have thought to seize an advantage against them.
Steve Rogers was a walking pressure point; only time would prove whether or not the final addition to their brood is the same. Ren hopes not.
He makes no move to come closer.]
I don't know. [For a beat, Kylo Ren glances away - light catching across the bridge of his nose where the shadows break, revealing a harsh expanse of scorched skin.] Perhaps they outgrew their nest.
Perhaps they're dead.
[A beat, and then:] Either way, it doesn't matter: they're gone, we're not.
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[ Ok, bro, let's not go overboard with the cheery brain-family affections or anything. Not that Sam was expecting it, but this guy is distinctly removed. The kind of removed that has intention.
Well, whatever, that's not exactly new in the spectrum of weird crap people do, so you do you, man. Sam figures he'll just give him, and his excessively staticy, too intense brain, a wide breadth. He's fine with Ren keeping himself to himself. Though, Sam interest spikes some, when his broodmate glances to the side, and he's given a view of a nasty scar straight across his face.
Ouch, is the first thing that comes to mind. And then 'don't freakin stare at it, Sam', followed up by 'well where the frak else am I supposed to look, it's in the middle of his face'. Sam, shut up.
Anyway, about that question he had. About the former occupants. That's important. However, Kylo Ren doesn't seem to think so, which Sam can't even fathom. In what world does it not matter, when they replace a bunch of mysteriously vanished people?]
It matters because what happened to them could happen to us. [ History, repetition, all that shit. You know. It matters. ]
Ignorance never did anyone any favors.
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Of course it could. [The distance between them hardly seeming small until at last Ren strides forward to narrow it down with a cutting brand of decisiveness, far from passive even with his hands hanging both empty and idle at his sides. There's a heaviness to his presence that infects an otherwise peaceful landscape: the weight of something vast and intangible, dragged along in his wake as if he were an amplifier for the hum of the symbiote in their veins.
Stare harder, Sam. Go on.] Do you truly need to know the lives of those that came before you to know not to let fire touch your skin? To keep your enemies from narrowing their focus?
Ignorance is pretending knowledge alone will save you. [To map the fall of his predecessor and yet still suffer for striving to tread a different path. A better one. He stops no more than a foot away, chin dipping low as he cants his head towards his shoulder.] Guard yourself, treat your every move with anything but carelessness, and you'll have nothing to fear.
[
data mining is for babies]no subject
They're matched for height, so at least this isn't Sam having to awkwardly look up at someone being a dick. It's nice to be a giant sometimes. But the wave of heaviness, of that loud, all encompassing hum of the nest that crescendos as Ren moves closer, wasn't expected. For part of the speech, sam's brows are drawn, and yeah, he is staring harder, because what the hell are you? He leaves himself open to it, absorbing, trying to piece through the torrent of it and find the why, while the other's berating him about common sense, head tilted, like he's listening to some distant song, hard to make out.
But he hears what's being said, and it still seems absurd to him, Sam lifting his face up again to squint at him, asking conversationally - ] Do you think the people here before us were idiots? That they weren't careful?
[ why would you ever just forego knowing a situation because you think just being wary is all you need? ] What's careless is assuming you don't need every advantage you can have.
[ his voice is still level, quiet, even, like he's sharing a secret, and Sam takes a small step forward, narrowing that distance to inches, as he meets Ren's eyes and accepts the weight of what's dragging along with him, and holds to the too loud static of intensity that feeds from Ren's consciousness. Sure, he'll take that too. ] You know what sentient life just loves doing? Repeating the same damn mistakes, over and over and over again. Forgetting the last time it happened, thinking that, because it's them, because they're better or smarter or stronger, they won't have the same problems.
And then there's no one left to feel sorry for them when they're wrong.
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Besides, his broodmate isn't necessarily incorrect— necessarily being the key word.] I think some of them did not merit the power they were given, yes.
[Already one of their own has died from the most recent pool; with Ilde's violent outburst at the epicenter he could place blame for it on her shoulders, but were Parker's forged bonds stronger— were he himself stronger— it would have ultimately been inconsequential. Yet another scuffle in some dark alley, managed without incident. Much as Cathaway has endeavored to make him feel responsible for what transpired (he accepts her logic despite how it conflicts with his own) it is Ilde that he would rather act as a brace to, rather than burdening her with the loss of someone so unfamiliar and unecessary. She, after all, was his blood.
Parker was not.
None of this he masks when he meets Sam's searching, steady stare. Unlike so many aboard the station, he leans into the draw of gravity without fear, and Ren— Ren is content to let him see it. Taking hold of their bond and washing Sam in the full, echoing expanse of the Force and all its ties where it spiderwebs out across the distance: thoughts, sensations, emotions pouring over one another in some buckling, pulsing amalgamation of life itself. The pain of it.
How deep it runs, nearly screaming its own existence where the symbiote amplifies it, threatening to tear them both apart. Echoes of his own life. Echoes of what could have been. The taste of blood and the burning sting of salt sweat.
#justgirlthings]tl;dr liek woah 8| hahahahahah fkjdfa
the response he gets is... surprisingly reasonable, for the fierce anger walk he'd just gotten from the man. though still with something arrogant in it. it's better than before, at least, and there's some small measure of wryness in sam's response. ] Knew them personally, did you?
[ rhetorical. the man knows where sam stands on this, no reason to keep beating a dead horse. especially when this conversation has turned into something else, it seems. kylo ren and his hurricane of a consciousness falling onto him like gravity had just be jacked up several more notches. flood gates opened, and sam knows ren's not worried about him seeing any of it. least of all his complete lack of remorse for the lost life - Adam Parker. That's the name he digs up, and along with it, something interesting. A care for Ilde. A connection between them that isn't like the others. It passes as quickly as the rest, and Sam knows better than to try to cling to it in this, near physically shaking with the strain of what Ren's pushing onto him, eyes wide and pupils dilated as he holds the other's gaze. ]
( What is that? Is it always so loud? ) [ he pushes into Ren's mind, hardly aware it wasn't said outloud at this point. the source, where all with weight and vastness comes from, and sam presses towards it, likely despite what better judgment would say. maybe his mind is still too shattered for something like this. maybe that fluidity is all that's keeping him enduring this.
And then there's this, at the center. The eye of the storm - the Force, Ren's mind tells him, and Sam knows this feeling. thoughts, colors of emotion, life and every fractured facet of it, and despite the chaos and screeching intensity of Ren's soul attached to it, it's beautiful. Simple and yet so vibrantly complex it's overwhelming. and all wrapped up in what Ren is - fear, anger, a struggle in the core of his bones, manic violence like an animal caught in a trap. chaos folded on chaos, and an unending thirst for it. he understands it. doesn't like it, doesn't agree with it, but the beauty of this link is that he has to. there isn't another choice.
sam's consciousness, since he woke here, had been left open, flowing too much into the connection, a broken valve sam hadn't yet figured out how to fix, but he hadn't pushed it yet. now, he does, and his eyes go blank and unfocused, like he's staring off to the end of the station, through the walls and out the other side. he'd tried to keep this out of his mind, around the others, so it wouldn't bleed as well, but here, he lets it go. the moment he'd been jerked out of the endless silence of coma, submerged in the datastream, and the moment the current was finished, the entirety of reality split open like an earthquake, and for that instant, he could see to the end of universe, of time, of everything in between. the perfection of creation. if there were any kind of physical representation of this, it would be sam reaching out and grabbing Ren by the wrist, dragging him into this. know this.
he remembers it, this feeling. but nothing of the details, what truths he learned or what events he watched unfold, only of feeling each particle of your being, knowing the journey it'd taken since the beginning of everything, and the complete and final peace of it. serenity, in it's truest form. the chaos of existence, of life, and the source of it, churning like a whirlpool, but perfect.
with this, everything of sam is held up. the vastness of 2,000 years of life, of watching two civilizations annihilated, and one born, supernovas and nebulas. the memories he has are scattered and faded in places, only those he'd told the other Five about on the Galactica. His last message to them. Dying - watching the wave of a nuclear bomb shredding everything in it's path before being disintegrated into it, suffocating in a cold room with despair clouding your final moments. staring into the blazing sun and feeling like you're looking at the face of divinity, the core of everything that is. and lastly, kara thrace. burning like the candle in a lighthouse at the end of the world. and gods, how he misses her.
what he doesn't notice is the splitting, piercing ache in his head. he's pushing far too much, and this is about to have him collapsing. ]
it's beautiful
Curiosity second only to a pale brand of tentative admiration, Ren feeds into it all, letting Sam's mind chart the ebb and flow of scattered particles across the distance. Like a guardian holding a child's hand - a tether to ground, rather than control. It's easier this way; he sees so much more with so much less pain attached, and even the wracking grief of loss feels abstract in comparison. Fleeting.
But this to him is not so new. He can feel it, where his broodmate's body finally grows tired under the strain despite how his mind yearns to crawl forward; the connection is severed abruptly, Ren reaches up without hesitation (the pads of his fingers rough and heavy as they catch) to wipe the trail of blood from Sam's nose where it's fallen at the crest of his upper lip.
It isn't a kindness, there's no emotion attached - only a knowledge that the man is too inexperienced in this to even take notice in the moment.]
They lacked the benefit of the Force.
:'| i love this thread
It would've saved them, if they could all feel it. But it defeats the purpose. [ Gone, the rest of that gone, and his eyes blink rapidly, hands coming up to grip Ren's shoulders, half as a need to support himself and half because he wants his focus. ] Creation is chaos. Forcing order is strangling it.
You'd have been a good Cylon-- [ whether that's meant as a compliment or dig, it's not clear, and he's not revisiting it, because: ] I might barf.
[ Ooookay. We're done with that, Sam coming back to himself, and deciding he needs the multiverse's strongest Advil ever. Reaching up a hand, he's dabbing gingerly against his nose, checking if he's still bleeding. That was fun. ]
Good talk. [ Huffed out in a harsh exhale, as Sam gives Ren's shoulder a pat, maybe half in thanks for cutting them off before he broke his brain (and for taking care of the nose bleed), and half in amused sarcasm, as he pulls away, and resolutely sits his ass back down on the grass. ] How about we don't do that again for a while.
me too, me too...
Which, no thank you, Sam. Hard pass on that.] As you want.
[After all, even with his own ability to steel himself, he still feels much of Sam's discomfort - nausea boiling in the pit of his stomach. A deeper longing, like cut thread.] Cathaway and Prince survived. I trust her counsel and experience to see us through what lies ahead.
Seek her out. [It's better that his answers are found in the infinite pool of her mind than what flawed opinions their broodmates might generally carry, tainted with bias. Stained with morality.
Gross.]
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Are you being nice to me? [ spoken after a long moment, with amusement in the tone, and if Ren were to glance over to him, he's see one corner of Sam's lips quirking up into a smirk, as the hand that'd been covering his eyes lifts just at the bottom for him to crack one eye open to him. ] You should. You just frakked up a coma patient. It's like punting blind kittens.
[ well, recently recovered coma patient, but still in recovery, okay. his skin is still a sickly kind of pale, dark shadows under his eyes, and his body isn't near as strong as it was before the bullet hit him. but either way, he doesn't expect Ren to feel any kind of sympathy for him, or to feel at all bad for what just happened. he'd seen inside his head, looked at what he was. Sam won't ever expect Ren to feel guilt over anything, really. Or empathy. Or anything beyond the whirlwind of what he is and what effects him.
And so, the comments were more just Sam's own amusement, and his voice returns to something more serious, as he drops his hand back down over his eyes, blocking out the lights of the garden, as he comments on what was actually brought up. ]
But you don't trust Prince to?
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Leaving him like this.
Couple that with a place at Cathaway's side as something she treasures, and he hates Prince with a fervent passion. If Cathaway is his substitute for Snoke, Prince is the misshapen ghost of Ren's own father, unwilling to brook any leeway or understanding when differing perspectives lie on the table.]
I imagine he's very good at it.
[Said as if he were peeing on the idea itself.]
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[ at least, that seems like what Ren's saying in a round about kind of way. Sam hadn't gone to meet either of them yet, and knows very little about Prince outside of just 'he's in charge of the flight deck'.
he's also not really sure how much he can trust Ren's opinion of him, seeing as Ren isn't the most sane crayon in the box. there seems to be a lot more to this whole thing besides the symbiotes and the brood. and getting to some kind of ship to head back to the new Earth and make sure they're all still alive down there.
but, for now, it's Prince. And the fact Kylo Ren dislikes him enough to feel like he won't keep the rest of them alive and kicking. ]
Why's that?
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So basically you just don't like him.
[ that's okay, homie. you can not like people. it's allowed. in fact, sam feels pretty sure there's a lot of people you probably don't like. ]
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[Congratulations, Sam. You did it. You got Kylo Ren to say a thing without flipping a table into the sun or crying.]
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That sucks. [ that he's apparently not a likable person. by ren's standards. which maybe aren't the best, but he's trusting his judgment for the moment. he'll eventually make his own opinion. ] Does he have stick up the ass syndrome? Or just an jerk?