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Entry tags:
- *hatch log,
- aloy [horizon zero dawn],
- annabeth chase [riordan mythos],
- annie westwind [original],
- asuka langley sohryu [evangelion],
- bellamy blake [the 100],
- cathaway,
- commander shepard [mass effect],
- derek souza [the darkest powers],
- helen magnus [sanctuary],
- ilde vilmaine [original],
- john murphy [the 100],
- lexa [the 100],
- misato katsuragi [evangelion],
- noctis lucis caelum [ffxv],
- nyx ulric [ffxv],
- pidge gunderson (katie holt) [voltron],
- sam wilson [mcu],
- steve rogers [mcu],
- the prince
[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!))
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!
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:
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!))
Ilde Option
For her part, Ilde is quite at peace despite losing yet another beloved, but... she is willing to explore her wealth of festering emotions for the Death Knight's pleasure, just as she promised she would.
For this moment, however, she waits in the dark, listening to the echoes of all those that Station's broad body remembers but no longer possesses... There are ghosts here, of a kind. Remnants of a waking dream. She closes her eyes comfortably, humming to herself. ]
no subject
So she braces herself on the walls, tugging on the line connecting her to Ilde. She is hungry, the void seems never-ending where the severed limb should be, trapping her in a loop that she fights to keep self-contained.
The wall beneath her fingers freezes as she turns to be met with the humming. She'd known Ilde was safe long before then -- but it was nice to see her in flesh and bone. Its not enough to ease the pain, not even enough to give her any real comfort, but there is still a noticeable pause as man and animal separate themselves for a moment to acknowledge her existence.
How pathetic she must look, a construct of hulked flesh, weak enough to need something to lean against, crippled by her own poisoned blood.
She doesn't bother to speak -- she doesn't want to acknowledge the root of her pain. She just wants it gone.]
cw: gross
But there is no way around the intimacy of feeding monsters. Whether they pawed at the black depths of the soul, or spilled out the red depths of a body, they were monsters for the forbidden, intimate, things which they touched, the things humans would keep hidden to themselves. Ilde suspects the symbiote makes creatures of them all, most certainly herself. A kind of excitement thrums under her skin as she opens up her worst memories. Adrenaline plays a part, activated by opening up the fearful parts of herself, triggered to life whenever she thinks back on her life in the burned world. It makes her chest flush, even in this pitilessly cold embrace, sweat prickling on her neck. There is, however, also the hazy swirl of desensitization that comes, a softening numbness that had come over her early in her life of picking her way through piles of shredded corpses, scavenging in the smoldering remains of the old world for anything anything to eat.
She knows the taste of blood so confidently, knows the omens of every scattered pile of bones, and the portents of flayed open bodies, their drooling organs.
She gives. ]
cw: blood, gross, nsfwish
Their proximity, the way Ilde opens her mind to horrors, gives her understanding to the gesture. Her head bows easily, a position that almost feels too natural for what she's risen against. The other woman is not a soft creature -- she feels that excitement long before the horrors are deposited, and she reciprocates with ease. One hand pulls itself from the wall, a crack that echoes in the dark chambers as armor separates from rime.
She uses what momentum she has to grab at Idle's side, to turn the pair of them and press her into the wall. Her claws seek blood, refrain from disease only thanks to the mediocrum of control she finds herself still possessing. She consumes, and consumes, her hand pulls from its perch against stone to press to the red she finds at the other woman's neck. It balls into a fist, a heavy weight, resisting the urge to squeeze the life from her. But the thought is there -- its always there, alongside soothing, cruel whispering.
The taste of blood is sweet on her lips, her teeth drag across her's and cut off airflow, the smell of decay so sickeningly familiar that something in her shoulders ache for it. She turns from the thoughts of squeezing the life from Ilde to bathing in the grotesquerie of her memories. Tissue peels like skin from fruit, muscle shreds like paper, and the wheeze that comes might be false, but with it comes the sweet relief of air after being pressed under water for too long.
Her grip on her side will bruise. Something in the elf's elbow shakes as she prevents herself from breaking slender bones under her monstrous grip. She allows Ilde her lips back with interest only when she feels her lungs begin to struggle.]
cw: still gross. still nsfw. now with added mention of noncon and torture...
She remembers being a child, beneath the great weight of a shadow. The enormous scar the drags from one shoulder, down the length of her back and around the opposite hip, glows bright in her mind. All the other little marks: teeth, claws, burning fingertips, light up in her thoughts, one by one, making her a constellation of injury and heat to mirror Sevilia's glowing runes and terrible cold.
Over-charged, pushing, pulling in opposition, what they agree on is cruelty. Sevilia resists crushing Ilde into sweet brittle little pieces and the woman beneath her fantasizes about rending flesh from bone to make a crown and a mantle. How else will she get her hands on that sweet fortifying power Aleksander had always been there to feed in to her. His touch so poisonous and seductive, she had thought she had a better handle on that, until this moment as Sevilia ekes it from her, like the overripe syrup at the bottom of a rotted barrel of harvest.
She inhales deeply when the elf looses her grip.
Hot, dizzy, she lifts her eyes carefully. ]
Is your condition improved?
no subject
Her lack of self control is evident then in how her shoulders and knuckles quiver, blood hanging heavy in dead veins while her mind aches to continue. To bleed Ilde for all she is worth, to soak the warmth she bleeds until the chill of her bones ceases to rattle her joints. She blinks hard, pushing back the memories of Dreus, of Angel, of Kylo Ren.
Of the face that bears a name she doesn't recognize. Of the poison she remembers, goaded into pure rage, spitting and feral. The Darkling -- Aleksander Morozova hemorrhaging, collapsing in her arms with blood trickling from his nose and mouth.
She flexes her fingers, slowly pulling them back off Ilde, forehead still resting against the other woman's. Its not enough -- its never enough. But to take enough would send them both into slumber. Aleksander had shown her that more than once.
She pushes those memories away too. A beast, trying to stretch its wings in a cage that is too small.]
For the moment.
no subject
One day, there will be no more of me. No more memories of the burned world, but I will find you what you need.
[ She is learning, more and more, how to reach, how to find. There is enough in the Nest, in its many disparate parts. ]
no subject
Nothing lasts forever.
[Seviilia knows better than to trust that her needs will be met. Her needs were vast, unending, far beyond anything what one life was able to give. In turn, she unwinds, lifts her head from Ilde's.]
It is best that we end whatever this enemy is before that happens.
no subject
[ She's on the edge of it, of understanding, and she supposes she can tell Sevilia that, as she tells Sevilia many things she no longer shares with the others: ]
I met Cathaway anew. The woman the body is named after.
no subject
But the information is useful to her, not quite a comfort, but an insurance she knew must always have been there. The Nest, as a living creature, would surely not allow her pain to run rampant. It was a poison -- it would kill all of them.
There's an old wound that suddenly feels open and on display, something she must address, a concern she hadn't known she'd had until that moment.]
Does she also consider me worth preserving?
[Where was the line between being a boon and being a menace?]
no subject
[ How many times has Ilde asked herself that question? If she belonged here, or if she was merely a toxin. How she had fretted to Cathaway, to Angel, to Carata... Wondering what it was her stark life would inflict upon the innocents around her-- They have all fallen, and she remains. Stronger than ever. ]
And I have as much right to it as she.
no subject
[It would perhaps be best if she didn't -- but Seviilia cannot deny the small piece of her that doesn't want to cease. Her existence is a poison on the Nest, but what came with that poison--
Well.]
...thank you.
[That seems like the right thing to say. And...for once, she thinks she might mean it.]
no subject
[ But there's affection in her voice. ]