onemind: (Default)
THE N E S T ([personal profile] onemind) wrote in [community profile] station722017-05-07 07:56 am

[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!))






miscreant: ({ starting to break; ❄)

[personal profile] miscreant 2017-05-08 10:57 pm (UTC)(link)
Aloy's comparison makes her chuckle. For all of the horrible things she faces daily, retelling them doesn't seem to bother her. But it couldn't -- or she would likely be driven insane, if she was not so already.

"I would encourage you to keep that perception." Death Knights were, after all, machines of war. Their suffering was a tool to keep the machine oiled and moving. There was no real cure for it, and so Aloy's sympathy is wasted on her.

Perhaps she will learn to curb such curiosity in the future, so as not to be burdened with such plague of the mind.
huntsmachines: (Conversational)

[personal profile] huntsmachines 2017-05-09 03:21 am (UTC)(link)
"If that's what you want me to do. I've just never... met a person who was also a machine." Well. One. the name GAIA passes through her mind briefly. A motherly presence. An aching feeling of longing and wistfulness. The sense of rot and decay around Saviilia makes her twitch. She adores life and living, the sensation of creeping death is distinctly uncomfortable.
miscreant: ({ the scars will remain; ❄)

[personal profile] miscreant 2017-05-09 03:55 am (UTC)(link)
"I suspect it will be easier for you," Seviilia offers in kind. The feelings that come from Aloy are foreign to her, a sort of kinship she doesn't understand -- motherhood. The closest she knows is the suffocating blanket of the Lich King's control. That is familiar, makes her chest ache more out of habit than any real desire.

She has to physically shake her head to pull herself from it. What it leaves behind is a pit in her stomach.

"If it brings you comfort, you will not find others here like me. I am the only undead creature that walks these halls."
huntsmachines: (focus)

[personal profile] huntsmachines 2017-05-09 03:50 pm (UTC)(link)
"I don't know if that's comforting or not." Aloy tilts her head to study Seviilia a bit closer. What does this all mean?

"It must be lonely, being the only one of your kind." Assigning that sort of emotion is probably a little foolish, but Aloy is doing it all the same.
miscreant: (Default)

[personal profile] miscreant 2017-05-10 04:07 am (UTC)(link)
"It is a bit misanthropic," she admits with a minor shrug. "But for a construct born from magic, our existence is hardly natural to begin with. The connection we all share with the Nest is not unlike that which I experienced with my brethren. Just on a larger scale."

Aloy will be ok with that, or she won't be. The worst part about it wasn't what came with the connection to her -- but that was a conversation for another day.
huntsmachines: (Default)

[personal profile] huntsmachines 2017-05-10 07:27 pm (UTC)(link)
"Ah..." If she's honest, the woman reminds her a little of Nil, except even Nil didn't give her the same sort of chills down her spine for all his strangeness.

"That's. Interesting. I might come ask you about that later. I think I'm going to go... uh. See if I can find something to eat. Feels like my stomach is attached to my spine." A convenient excuse to get away from the Death Knight. She's left with a strange, uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach. What if Saviilia sees through the white lie?
miscreant: ({ starting to break; ❄)

[personal profile] miscreant 2017-05-11 12:40 am (UTC)(link)
Seviilia sees easily through her lie, but finds no purpose in calling her on it. After all, discomfort around her was normal and to be expected. To take offense would be childish, among other things. Though Aloy is not as young as some of the other humans she has acquainted herself with on the station, they were all practically children to her.

So, she gives a small nod and turns her back on Aloy. "Shorel'aran, little one." The Thalassian translates between them easy, without effort on either of their parts. A simple farewell.