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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[ Misato sees no need to hide the scowl on her face when he delivers the jab. The hurt is plain on her face, even if she doesn't allow herself to dwell on it long enough for it to turn into resentment. She crosses her arms in front of her, the very picture of petulance, but she's listening closely all the same. He means well, she knows. Harsh truths. Face reality with sober eyes, then act accordingly.

It's strange, hearing someone else tell her to place more emphasis on her own survival when she thought that it was already the only thing she cares for at the cost of everything else. Just as strange as it was to hear Cathaway say she believes in her, only to realize that she doesn't in fact have as much faith in herself as she previously thought. Maybe a candle, trembling and puny, close to the end of its wick, seems bright only in a dark room.

She heaves a sigh to follow the breath he takes, and unravels her arms. Attrition, he says. ]

Survivability takes priority, is that it?

[ Survivability, that is, the continued viability of the entire family of symbiotes and not the survival of each host, mind. Very few of them will make it to the very end and she has every intention of being one of them despite her actions. She hums, a smile on her face when she fingers the cross around her neck. ]

I know the value of my own life. [ So she would insist. It is the value of her father's life, of Kaji's life, of the two billion who had to die so she could survive. ] I guess I'm too used to every fight being the decisive battle, when sometimes it's just a matter of a little stealing. You think we could've won if we had competed fair and square? Would that have been better?

[Having hosts mad at him is not terribly unusual, even if he does not particularly enjoy it, even at the best of times. It is not exactly like he can fault her for it, even if he is sure that had she died for something like this, it would have been for close to nothing.

His hand rises at her question, fingers at his beard, a motion that he would cut off if he realized he were doing it-or cared as much in this moment about the appearance of such things than he usually did. It was a tell, but this was no court.]

Perhaps. Or perhaps it could have been taken in the transport. Or perhaps if you had instead placed a tracker on one of the guards, or found a way to question them. Perhaps many things. It is impossible to say now.

[It's a weak excuse for an answer, but honestly he did not know. He could ask Cathaway, she may know better, but as it was he simply would have preferred that none of the hosts had been captured in this- exercise.]

Please do not imagine that I am unaware that, all facts considered, things had ended nearly as well as could be expected. But you did ask for this.

[Perhaps she judged her success on how thoroughly she was dressed-down afterwards. It would be very contrary.]

[ Misato is exacting and ambitious, highly critical of herself and those who report to her, but she's no perfectionist. She would rather come out flawed, broken and bruised, having achieved something great, rather than busy herself with polishing all the edges.

She nods and hums, acceding. ] I did ask.

[ Her anger subsides as quickly as it appears. From zero to a hundred to zero in a handful of seconds. She starts walking back toward the ship to help him with the rest of the presents, looking over her shoulder to see if he would follow. By then her smile has returned, cheery bordering on cocky. ]

You know-- when I was younger I might ask you if I did well, and it would kill me if you said no. But that was a long time ago. [ So long ago that it may as well have been another girl cowering under her great father's name. Still she knows what she's about, having self-supervision in plenty, even if knowledge is only the start. ] I'm here for things far more important than me. We all are, really. I think you understand that too.

[He pauses only the shortest second before he does turn heel to follow her back to the ship- and the responsibility momentarily set aside. It was, at least, not the worst of them.]

I am glad you are here now, then, instead of in your past.

[Perhaps there were some hosts that he would prefer were more- tractable, in some small way, but for the most part that would be exhausting and serve no one well, in the end. It was an interesting contradiction, how independence could be somewhat necessary in such a group consciousness. But unless a host was deep in the nest, capable of receiving that feedback and operating with the confidence of many, too much dependence was undesirable. There were so few steady hands that one could rely on.]

Perhaps not all.

[Some were only here for reasons of self-preservation. That was nothing to judge them for. It was a very, very strong instinct. And, in time, it could change.]

[ On the other hand, that her crafted self-reliance pleases him may mean she remains that girl, doesn't it? Still hoping for acceptance, a pat on the back, anything to help her believe that she is somehow worthy of love, of attention, of existing. She knows this and lets out a little laugh at the realization. Oh, the treachery of the human mind.

She picks up the glass pole containing the black liquid, tipping it from left to right to watch it shift. ]

Just surviving isn't enough reason to survive. You need more.

[ That's no kind of life. Didn't he say something similar to her too at one time? Maybe this makes her a hypocrite, but to her this is already more. Back then, suviving is sitting in the middle of a white room, refusing to speak or look anyone in the eye, waiting for the inevitable. She turns to hand him the pole, hoping to meet his eyes when she speaks again. ]

You want to win, don't you? By attrition or whatever way works. You're not just here to count the days until you run out of them.

[ You're like me, aren't you? ]

[He considers that the thing with which she toyed may be quite dangerous- they did not yet know what it was, after all, but it seemed stable enough. Clearly the ride had been less than stable and it had held up fine. Worrying about it now- well. It would be very like him, but he was still out of sorts. Still, it's something of a relief to have it firmly in both hands, feeling the palpable shift of weight as the dense fluid shifts within.

The question seems- simple. If the opposite was to lose, of course, what other answer could there be? But he finds it difficult to answer, with any speed. And it shows, as he steadies the container, studying it when the only other option was to meet her gaze, which he imagines would be- demanding. Urgent.]

I want this to be over. For the hosts in my care to be safe, for those in the future to be unaware the danger ever existed. For this thing- this gift or burden or responsibility- to be able to do some additional good, something more than lashing out at the hand tightening around our necks.

[Did he want to win? He would settle for the threat simply being gone. Perhaps he would even settle for it being- disinterested, although there is a shame in that. A cowardice. He sighs, shifting the tube to rest under his arm. It did not matter.]

Certainly I do not wish to simply wait for death.

[ Misato is always demanding, and urgent. It's easy to mistake firmness for strength when she simply can't afford to be pliant, accepting, submissive when she relies on her self-imposed rigidity to keep herself together. She seeks to coerce others, like him, to agree with her point of view not because she believes herself right, but because she doubts and doubts and needs every assurance that she is right. ]

We'll find the neck that hand is attached to and crush it.

[ Both fists clenched. A little boy fantasizing about crushing his taller, more numerous bullies. ]

What about Cathaway? What does she want?

[He has no words for that, for her tightly clenched fists or the stone of her words or the fact that she felt the need to say it aloud as if it otherwise would not exist, or like saying it would make it true. It seems foolish, in a way, but he cannot imagine how or why he would want to try to convince her of that.]

Many things. As many things as the minds that share hers want. As many things as the minds that shared theirs. But mostly, I believe, she wants this place to be safe.

[It is hard to say whether it is a genuine desire, something she believes with her heart, or an instinct, the way a bee wishes to protect the hive. Something more than want, deeper than desire. It all came to the same point, either way.]

[ Saying it means she has to make it true. Words become promises and promises are the goal posts she needs to mark her next destination, because running, swimming, crawling toward something (anything) is the prerequisite she has set for her own life. This is the price. Keep moving, or else. What that says of her penchant for setting near-impossible goals is, well, up for question. It stinks of self-sabotage. ]

We're safe here, but we're not safe out there.

[ It almost sounds like a grumble. The next thing she picks up is the box containing dueling pistols, holding it firmly with both hands as she walks over to him, stepping in too close to be polite, shoving the box toward him like a challenge. ]

Really, what do you want, Prince? What do you think this symbiote can give you that you're still here after all this time?

[The question is so- absurd- so completely beyond his understanding that he can only laugh, a startlingly bright noise, too loud even in this space. As startled out of him as it is, it's not quite cruel, something almost genuinely amused in the creases of his brow.] You humans, you all seem so alike at times.

[He takes the box as if it wasn't wielded like a weapon, transferring it from her hands to his. He isn't terribly focused on her- on the narrowness of her that belied her strength or the stern look on her face.]

I do not stay here for what it can give me. What I want matters very little, and it certainly has almost nothing to do with what has kept me here. And why should it? Desires are fleeting and fickle things. [For the most part. Some did stick, but did they stick as long as a mountain stood against the elements? As long as a family name? As long as an empire or a kingdom?]

If you are fortunate they align with your duty and your responsibility. Mine do, in many cases, but even if they should change my responsibility would not.

[They do. They did not used to. When he had been pulled away from what was his duty, he had wanted, very stringently, to return to it. He had learned quite quickly he couldn't, but even with his responsibility so changed his desires did not, for many many cycles. It was at least something of a relief to no longer spend so much time disregarding them, but he had disregarded them. To do otherwise was to be something like the beasts of the forest or field. Something weaker than what he was meant to be. More base. His people had tamed their instincts for megacycles. To bend even slightly- well. That had taken practice.]

[ Her face cycles through a handful of expressions, like a deck of cards being shuffled, a slot machine flipping through the pictures, games of chances. In the span of a few seconds she goes from astonishment at the realization that someone as somber (sober, didn't she call someone else that once?) could let out a laughter so bright, before reverting behind the cover of offense at being laughed at, isn't that so? No, he's laughing at the entire human race and as such the insult is thinly distributed, and she loosens her grip on anger to turn thoughtful, eyebrows knitted to make sense of his perspective.

Misato has no desire that doesn't directly correlate with her self-imposed duty owed to her late father. It's personal, yes, very much so but that makes the burden no less light, the responsibility no less serious. But no, no, that's an easy lie to tell herself. All she has ever chased after are desires, the promise of absolution, that is no noble duty no matter how much she would like to believe it. Denial of desire is also a want.

She feels rather ashamed all of a sudden, bowing her head slightly and turning aside to find something else to pick up and fiddle with in hopes of hiding her face. Even then she can't resist looking back at him, her gaze as pointed as ever. ]

What do you mean by your responsibility?

[ He called himself a guardian, didn't he? ]

I mean my responsibility to this place, and to the Hosts who rely upon it for their survival. The Station requires care. The new Hosts require guidance and protection and training, when they will take it. The agents require their help, when it can be provided. There are very few left who can do these things, and fewer still who want to.

[Being an agent was dangerous. Traveling in the multiverse, you could be killed, by the Enemy, or simply by bad luck. But it was often beautiful. Exciting. There was so much, so many things to see. He could still smell the salt on the air, the window opened through Cathaway's mind. How much more that was than waiting here for hosts to arrive, knowing that many of them would at best be ambivalent, at worst hateful. But someone had to do it.]

So it is our responsibility. Duty, and dedication to that duty. Those things are important.

[He makes a noise, soft, and adds after a moment-]

I do not think this will provide you whatever answer it is that you need, Misato.

[ Misato rarely thinks of herself as particularly intelligent, a side effect of spending most of her adult life caught in the middle of a lauded scientific genius and a sleuthing prodigy, but she has her intuition, her own way of finding the signal among the noise even if she can't quite explain how she got there. Like now, she intuits that the idea Prince wishes to impart is that this, this life, is something permanent and so she should align herself with it, wants and responsibilities and all.

It's foolish to dream of home, to busy herself with a world so far removed from here, to deceive herself into thinking she could have any more hand in its salvation. A hard pill to swallow.

She draws in a breath, too sharp, too tense, then lets out a huff. Her expression still stern. ]

No. No, there's the answer I want, then there's the one that I need to hear.

[ Better to face the facts and act accordingly, didn't someone wise say that? She rouses herself with a smile first, then by squaring her shoulders, a brightness willed into being. ]

Well! Enough chitchat. These things aren't gonna move themselves.

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[hatch log] everything happens so much

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