station72 | [hatch log] everything happens so much

[hatch log] everything happens so much

CHARACTERS: New Hosts & EVERYONE
WHERE: The Station
WHEN: DAY :039
SUMMARY: New faces and old losses - a hatch occurs and a number of older hosts go comatose. Coma'd hosts include all auto-piloted dropped characters to date.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!

NEW HATCHES
YOU WAKE UP and suddenly you're a different person. No. That's not right. You're you and there's no suddenly about it. It's been a while, hasn't it? It feels like waking up from a very deep, extended sleep or like surfacing up from the darkness of the ocean and right there in your own head there's something both familiar and strange. You know intuitively that you've been unconscious for more than just a blink of the eye. While it’s impossible to tell exactly how long ago or how exactly you escaped the danger that had been breathing down your neck, you're certain 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 once 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. The closer you are to these stranger, the louder the sound in your head becomes. --Actually they're not quite strangers either, are they? Something is wound about and between you and these people, whoever they are, are as familiar as this place you've never been is.

Welcome to Station 72. The air buzzes with activity. Somewhere deep in the Station, other minds call to yours. They are bright, brilliantly celebratory spots in your subconscious. They are sun-warm gentle, or they are fire and the taste of ash, or they are a vibrant frenetic whirl, or they are a tangled garden, or they are the feeling of flight through dense cirrus clouds. No two links are exactly the same, but you know for certain that you are connected to all of them in at least some small way.

Which is why it's easy to tell when something goes terribly wrong:

OLD HOSTS
THE ENDORPHIN RUSH of making it back to Station 72 (relatively) unharmed, having successfully acquired exactly what you'd set out to get your hands on can't be denied. Even if you're not necessarily the type to celebrate, there's no ignoring the thrumming celebratory sensation from those Hosts who are.

After a few hours of being back in the void, something else stirs in the air: the clear, prickling sensation of new hosts hatching on the Nesting Deck. They're a rush of mental information - as if someone's turned the volume on the radio all the way up -, a cacophony of sensation and emotional feedback for anyone unprepared to shield against it.

The swell of feeling might make it easy to miss what follows immediately after: the dull, gut-deep quiet as The Darkling, Chuuya Nakahara, and Nasu Rei go suddenly comatose.

((OOC Notes: This is the hatch log for all new hosts. Feel free to make your own logs and posts additional to this if you care do. You can find a more detailed overview of the hatching process HERE. You can find additional setting information about the Station HERE If you have any questions, please hit up either the FAQ or MOD CONTACT pages!))

NAVIGATION • SETTING • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

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[It's rare that Noctis is the first one to speak, the first to walk up to another and actually start a conversation. Rare, but not unheard of. When he senses there's help to be given, when someone so obviously tired radiates nearby, he's drawn in. His empathy is wide and yawning for a man usually so aloof, and the trials and tribulations of others echo within him, reverberating until he cannot ignore them further -- not that he makes much of an effort to ignore them to begin with.

So maybe it's not all the surprising that Noctis is the one to walk up to to Prince, offering his help. The timbre of his own voice is tired, but he's here anyway. There's too much to be done, too much energy in the air, for the young king to stand by idly and do nothing.]

Do you need help?

[It is a question that bears measuring, because many of the hosts had not returned without some effort on their own part. It had been meant to be a relatively safe excursion, but it had gone very quickly sideways, which, if he were being cynical, he would say it always seemed to.

Still, in the end there is one simple answer to the question.]

It would be appreciated.

[Nocits's day may have been difficult, but he would face much worse in the future. No point in attempting to keep him from something as simple as unpacking the ~~minivan~~ ship.]

We will need to inventory what it is you managed to return with, and it is better done where it can be neatly arranged.

[He did so prefer neat and arranged.]

[Noctis hasn't been a part of the Nest long enough to know if missions were keen on going pear-shaped at the very end. If he was going to have to get used to escaping by the skin of his teeth, or if he should maybe think that not all future missions would end with success.

But it didn't matter right now. All that mattered was that there was sorting to do, organization to be had, and it was a task too daunting for one person. Noctis allows the wave of euphoria flowing through all the hosts to gently let him break the surface of his weariness; as a result, helping seems like the only natural course of action to take next.]

Right. Neatly arranged. I can do that.

[He echoes, revealing perhaps that being neat and organized was never a forte of Noct's, but he can make an attempt, perhaps with a bit of direction. Still, one question rises to the forefront of his mind, even as he gets situated to start unloading.]

So, what exactly was this prize that was supposed to benefit us?

[Were Prince the type to place his nose in other people's private thoughts, he may have warned him against such things. Of embracing those feelings that were not his own. But he is not, and even if he were there is a chance his advice has recently changed.

Etiher way, he is not aware, and he says nothing except-] Thank you.

[He moves with some small effort- the creak in his bones not as surprising or bad as Cathaway's had seemed- and reaches for the first of the boxes, shifting it free of whatever scattered mess it had ended up a part of in the escape.]

It is a kind of- [A slight frown, this was not his strong suit from either angle. Cathaway both knew the particulars of it and of the technology better than he did] Shield, I suppose. For information. The Nest once had access to one, but it was lost. There are certain missions where it could be quite useful, and we believe the next will be one of those.

[He had been less interested in that, though, than he had on giving the new ones a goal and seeing how they folded into the old. Not-well. It seemed.]

Edited 2017-05-09 14:57 (UTC)

A shield? [A question echoed back, but he'll not just stand there while they talk. He follows Prince's suit, grabbing at a box and lifting it up in his arms; it's with a strange sort of ease that Noctis manages to do so, not seeming to strain at all, even for someone with as slender of a build as he. His years in the Crystal had granted him this boon of strength, even if it recently flickered and waned due to his distance from Eos.]

For the whole station? [He wonders if that's the case. Memories of his father, King Regis, upholding the Wall around Insomnia with his own magical strength, spill forth from his consciousness. He doesn't have the practice, nor the cognizance wrought from it, to stop it completely.

Regardless, this only sparks his curiosity further.] How did the original one get lost?

Edited 2017-05-09 15:28 (UTC)

[He hesitates only the slightest amount before he turns and exits the ship, finding a clear space to set the first box. He then waits patiently for Noctis to join him, gesturing to a place directly to the right of his box. There is something micromanaging about it, but he would prefer that it be done right the first time. He didn't have the energy for patience.]

No, not for the station. It rarely enters real space. This was an unusual exception to the way things are done.

[Not that there had been no reason, but most would not care to know it. The slow leak of Noctis's mind only seems to enforce that idea. But for all that he is aware of the other host's mind being open, he pays it no mind. It takes him slightly more effort than usual to enforce his barriers. It helps him to remember the last time the station was moved. That alone is enough to keep a slightly greater distance between himself and Noctis than he might normally.]

It was destroyed on a mission, we believe.

[He had not been here then. His own brood had been out in the universes, with their own missions to manage.

That's a thought he does not latch on to. His barriers were not quite strong enough for him to trust it. Instead he turns back to the ship, covering the distance again with long strides.]

[There'll be no complaint from Noctis as he follows, box still in his arms. There might be the slightest lift of the brow as Prince specifically motions where he wants it placed, but he doesn't comment. He supposes right next to it is as good of a spot as any.

He drops it in its proper place, then straightens. The idea of the station rarely entering "real" space is an odd one, only illustrating the strangeness of the situation he's found himself in, the moment he left his home and woke up universes away.]

So then what's it a shield for?

[He follows again, hurrying his step to stay within speaking distance to not make this an awkward conversation. It's only a matter of time before Noctis picks up another box, this one a little heavier, with a small grunt.]

[Prince goes to his knee in the cargo area, careful about shifting a small pile of miscellany out of the way before shifting another box free of its mooring, only the smallest cascade of junk falling to fill the emptied space. Apparently there had been little time to strap things down.]

For one of the ships. Whichever Cathaway thinks best.

[Most of the Station's resources were his to manage and maintain, but he made special exception to anything related to the ships. That had always been her specialty, and his competence did not trump that.

He shifts the box in his arms before moving it to the same are as before, aligning it almost obsessively correctly when he places it down among the others.]

Hosts are primarily deployed via one or perhaps two crafts. Occasionally the situation allows them to keep them in whatever place they are operating. Other times they must be hidden again on the station.

[Once again, Noctis follows. And once again, he drops the box in its proper place, though he realizes it's a bit off-alignment when he straightens to assess his work. Out comes the toe of his shoe, nudging it subtly into place.]

I see. [Shielding for a ship. He can see why that might be useful, though the reason why they might need one is worrisome, if he bothers to focus on the notion for too long. He doesn't.]

So then, basically it depends on which places would find a ship suspicious. [It makes sense. Though he has no frame of reference, he can still doubt that every waystation or planet they'd end up on would be as variable as Shril.] Which one of these containers is it in?

[The shield, he means.]

Precisely. There are places where such things are unknown or are simply anathema. There are other places where it would not be noted as out of place, but which may find the precise methods of the ships functions to be unusual and suspicious. That is what we are concerned with, in this case.

[He doesn't overly study Noctis's placement, but there is a mild form of approval for the slight shift, something almost near enough to the surface to be felt, with his barriers so weakened.]

That is a good question. Let us find out.

[He knew- or Cathaway knew- or someone else knew, or suspected- that this place had such a thing, but chances were it would not look precisely like the last one, even if he were familiar with it. It probably wasn't the motorcycle, which did not, honestly, narrow it down very much. So it is simply down to taking a knee in front of the boxes and reaching for the first, searching for whatever kind of latches it had to keep it sealed.]

I get it. If a ship like that landed in Eos, it would've turned more than a few heads.

[He picks up that faint disapproval, a scruple under the an even surface. Once again, Noctis tries not to comment, but this time success is questionable. When he speaks, it isn't a criticism so much as an observation.]

You like your organization, don't you? These will probably all just get shuffled around more once we start digging through them.

[He moves to help, regardless. Crouching down to inspect a container opposite of where Prince is, fidgeting with the latches. They pop open with surprising ease for this one, at least.]

Yes, but we shall then know where it is to return to.

[His fingers search silently even as he speaks, and there is only the slightest twitch of his lips to answer the slight click as they come to the right spot. He stands on no ceremony as lifts the lid and reveals-

He sighs, an uncommon display from him as he drags his free hand through the cage, fingers sliding through the contents.]

Only currency.

[A vast vast amount of glittering, golden currency. He tips his head to the next box.]

Try that one, would you?

[If Noctis could see the golden currency glittering within that container, he'd make some remark about it being only currency. Funny how one's priorities shift completely, depending upon circumstance -- funny, but not surprising.

However, he's too busy bringing his attentions to the box that Prince indicates, and crouches down again to fiddle with the latches. These do not open quite as easily, and he frowns down at them for being so stubborn.]

Working on it.

[In the meanwhile, though, he realizes (a bit awkwardly) that there was no real introduction between them. It's a thought that makes him a feel a little self-conscious, and opts to fix it.]

Oh, and- I'm Noctis by the way. I'm not sure if you already got that from my head or not.

[He smooths the glittering money back into place, tamping it down until he is sure the top will close again, as if it were something far less valuable. They would hold on to it, but who knew when such a thing would be useful again. It was, in this place, so much junk. More useful, perhaps, for it's raw materials.

He turns his attention to Noctis, and his box.]

I do know it, but not from your mind. It is not in my nature to intrude on one's private places. My name is Prince. I assume you know my duty here, but if you have any questions, you may ask.

[He knows of Prince, naturally. He had heard of his role through the grapevine, but it's only until now that he's entertained a conversation with the man.

One question rises up from the rest, and while he's sure it's been asked before, Noctis takes advantage of the invitation to indulge himself in his curiosities.

The first latch finally pops up. He scoots over to work on the second.]

Is that a title or your name?

[He may have been surprised by how few truly did. Which is enough in and of itself to cause Prince to pause before he answers, watching Noctis's hands as he searches out the second patch.]

Not quite either. It had been a part of a title, many cycles ago, but it is more accurately a nickname. [There is a pause, a moment of hesitation, a thing unsaid he usually left as such.] Given to my by my brood. It is the only name now with any meaning to me.

[That admittance is enough for Noctis to latch onto. He looks over his shoulder at Prince, frowning, taking a second to really look at the man. It's obvious that words hinge on the tip of his tongue, and that Noctis is trying his best to sort them.]

"Many cycles ago." [He echoes, and his gaze falls onto nothing for a prolonged moment, before turning back to work on the latch. Stubborn thing that it is, it finally releases itself with a loud pop.]

Does that mean you left a kingdom behind too?

[There is only the slightest pause before Prince answers, his fingers curling into a loose fist.] I did.

[A kingdom, yes. An army in the field. A father still in his manor. The aunts who were the closest thing he had to a mother. A faithful beast. Many things, but not so many as most.]

And so I would suggest you heed what I tell you now, knowing that if I had believed it when I was still young and new to this place, it would have made things far more simple. [Safer. Easier. Happier, for what value he placed in happiness. There is a chance it would have saved lives, although he knows better than to dwell on it.]

And perhaps it would have saved some heartache. Your title means nothing here. Neither do the things you were raised to do. The nest has no need for kings, no want for generals. There are no soldiers here, no subjects. What I was raised in to- and I would guess in part what you were- has no bearing here, where you are among your equals.

[He reaches across swiftly, sets his hand to the lid and lifts it open, revealing a container of thick rich blackness. Something for Cathaway, it seemed-]

I cannot speak for you, but I found it difficult to shed the mantle, even though it was a burden more than it was ever a boon.

[Noctis rises to his feet as Prince lifts the lid of the container. He opts to respond, gazing inside of it, unsure of what the blackness is, but only really half-focused on the sight.]

It isn’t about the title.

[Noctis was never one for commanding armies, for throwing his weight around for the sake of garnering satisfaction from authority. Everything about the way he conducts himself reveals this; distant, sometimes soft-spoken, glimmering with hope but and sensitivity, never severity.

A half-turn, looking at the other man.]

It’s about repurposing myself. No one expected me to lead, back home. [Of course, they never told him this. That revelation came late.] I was born to die, to fulfill a prophecy, and—

[He pauses, setting his jaw. He wasn’t sure where he was going with that, and a moment passes before he tries again.] I guess what I’m saying is, I’m just wondering how you got past the guilt of leaving it all behind.

[There's something surprising in his words- born to die, and clearly not in the way all men were. No, there is a story, but Prince will not pry. it is not in his nature, and he thinks that Noctis has likely had enough pressure placed on him for one day.]

How I personally got past it? [He pauses, closing the lid again, letting it click closed. He was a poor liar, but equally poor at conversation he would consider intimate. Still, it was his job to guide, and in this, he had some experience] Not well. I was angry, for many cycles. I wanted to return, because I could not imagine that they could survive without me, and I could not imagine what good I could do in this place.

[He straightens, rolls his shoulders and moves to stand again. It was a poor attempt at comfort, up to this point.]

But, stubbornness aside, I realized how- long it had been. I had to admit that they had either moved on or already suffered the fate that I feared for them, and that if I had attempted to return they would have suffered one worse. I had to admit that, in the face of all that I had seen, I was not so important as I would have imagined. And I had to admit that I was not the boy I had been, when I had been their Prince. So I left it behind.

[So he said. It clung, despite his efforts. Possibly because of them, it was difficult to fault himself for it.]

[He listens, taking each sliver of advice and comparing it to what he wants to hear and what he needs to hear. Noctis thinks that he's self-aware enough to tell the two apart, though perhaps he's leaning towards the former more than he realizes. He crosses his arms, lips pressed together into a thin line. His fingers flex when decides on how to respond.]

So, you're telling me that it's all a matter of time. [Of time passing, allowing him to let go. Allowing realization to sink in, that his world would either fight and survive in the face of darkness, or wither and die on the vine. An impossible notion to accept, and would cycle upon cycle really make this easier to parse? Being here, now, away from his responsibilities, away from what he was born to do — it feels as if a part of him is missing. Left behind.

He doesn’t mean to condense everything that Prince has told him into one single statement, but it’s easier for him that way. Despite his own doubts simmering through his entire being, it’s impossible to miss the thrum of gratitude for the attempt of consolation, regardless.]

I’m not angry, not really. I’m just— [Feeling guilty.] Frustrated with myself.

Most things are.

[Very little could stand against time. Possibly nothing. It was why his people had valued what made a valiant effort. Stone, mountain, the ancient forests. The things that held up best against the inescapable. The impermanence was terrifying, when it was not a comfort.]

That is understandable. [Even if it was not precisely as he had felt. It was at times close enough] But there is nothing you could have done.

[There's a faint echo of an old guilt in Prince's chest, but it does not escape. It's an old, meaningless thing.]

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